The bar was bustling with night-time visitors, mostly the deutschland officers whom your cousins were flirting with. You made a face at the blatant ass-kissing to those assholes, your couere doing as you arranged the bottles in the storeroom. The bar belonged to your brother, and you occassionally helped him out from time to time - mostly in these situations of moving alcohol to the storerooms, since most workers lacked the care and fragility to deal with the bottles which you despite being strong had.

A woman's touch, you remembered your brother's distasteful words which he said with that smug face of his which you do occassionally like to punch from time to time.

After moving the bottles, you come to the counter, eager to get a glass of cold water after the hard work, as little beads of sweat dotted your forehead. But just as you were about to reach for the glass, you felt it - a very firm squeeze to your arse.

Rage filled your mind as you turned around furious, all 5'2'' tall, as you looked at the looming lustful german officer smirking at you. Without even thinking about it, you immediately smash your fist at his face, sending him flying at least 15 m off as he crashed to the street through the glass, much to your cousins's gaping faces.

The bar fell silent.

Chairs scraped. A beer bottle wobbled on the counter, then fell with a thud.

Several German officers jumped to their feet, hands twitching toward pistols, confusion flashing across their faces. One barked a sharp “Was zum Teufel—?”, while another muttered a curse under his breath.

Sara gapes at you as she shrieks out while still holding the arms of the german officer, '' Sister! We talked about this! You do not fight like men! ''

You turned to her scoffing, '' The monkey grabbed my ass. What did you expect me to do? Go down on my knees and suck his cock? ''

Your cousin sputters as you grunt and turn around, only to be met by your scowling brother.

'' Hey lil sis, you just broke my darned glass! That shit's expensive and you know that! Pay up! ''

You scoff again, '' No, I don't. You were about to get the thing demolished anyway. Cuz the men whose girls you sleep with piss on the window all the time. ''

Your brother fixes you with a glare, '' Sometimes I hate you. ''

You scoff again, '' The feeling's similar, brother. ''

You huff, before turning around, and going to your bedroom on the second floor.

And then you stop.

The door is half-open. The lamp is lit. And he's already there.

Seated on the edge of the bed that used to be just yours, Major Dieter Hellstrom looks up with his pale, unblinking gaze—like a hawk that had been waiting for the rabbit to finally return. One leg crossed over the other, gloves folded neatly on his knee, uniform pristine.

Your heart skips.

It’s been weeks. Weeks since your brother gave him your room—your bed—and claimed it was "business." You knew better. You knew a man like Hellstrom didn’t ask. He decided. And people obeyed.

He had never touched you. Never spoken to you in any vulgar way. And yet his silence often curled around your throat tighter than any hand.

You gulp.

He scared you. Deeply. In a way no one else had. And yet..he fascinated you too. There was something in his composure, in the deadly patience, the way he looked at you like a puzzle he had all the time in the world to solve.

Dieter rose.

Not a word passed between you. He approached slowly, eyes locked on yours. He didn’t ask about the broken window. He had watched it happen. Watched you burn. And now, he stood only inches away.

His voice, when it came, was soft. Warm, almost.

“Bold,” he murmured. “And utterly... unruly.”

A pause.

“Should I be afraid of you, Fräulein?”

You scowl as you turn away to the stand, taking off your sweater and scarf.