Cocked & Loaded. (Hans Gruber x reader)

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You gripped the fabric of his suit and attempted to sit yourself back up, leaning against the mirror. Hans took in a slow breath and placed both of his hands on your knees, shooting you a cautious look that somehow brought a sense of calm over your trembling body.

He was an asshole. A huge, difficult, possibly psychotic asshole. But there was something about him when it came to you that didn't seem all that bad anymore. You kept your eyes on him and braced yourself, despite not knowing what exactly he had in store.

"Quite the mess you've made," he murmured that was enough to earn a weak slap to the top of his head with your palm.

"Don't be crude."

Hans raised a brow, lightly digging his fingernails into the skin of your knees before slowly pushing them apart. You yelled out, arching your back as fire burned around the billet wound in your thigh. He definitely did that on purpose.

"You weren't exactly complaining about my crudeness earlier, were you?"

In your feverish state, you couldn't think of a witty enough comeback so you instead kept silent, glaring daggers down into his darker pools.

Hands gently lifted the knee of your injured leg and urged you to prop your foot up on his shoulder, to which you followed suit. He reached over and opened up the small first aid kit and grabbed thread, a needle, and what looked to be alcohol wipes to clean the wound. You knew this was going to hurt like a bitch. But there was no other course of action at this point.

This particular position felt oddly vulnerable and intimidate, yet Hans went about preparing the needle like he wasn't practically staring head first in between your legs. Threading the line with the needle, he gripped your thigh with one hand and averted his gaze up at you, blinking.

"Stay still. This is absolutely going to hurt."

"Very comforting, thank you," your words were dripping in sarcasm as you rolled your eyes.

You gripped the edge of the counter tightly, leaning back against the mirror behind you and squeezing your eyes shut as you braced for the first initial pierce of the needle in your skin.

As careful as he could be (and you were surprised he was in the first place), Hans quickly pierced the sharp end of the needle through your skin and thread the string into it, continuing until the wound was entirely closed up.

You were sweating bullets at this point and you brought your hand up to wipe away beads of moisture from your forehead. Hans discarded the needle and closed up the first aid kit, looking over his hands that were, once again, slightly covered in your blood. You watched him curiously, giving a tilt of your head and wrinkle of your brow. What was running through his mind exactly?

Slowly, his eyes connected with yours in a looming stare and you immediately felt your heart jump, stomach twisting into a nervous knot. There was something swimming deep in the depths of his dark pools that scared you. Frightened you entirely.

Without looking away from you, he inserted the tip of his index finger into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. Your breath caught in the back of your throat and formed into a dangerous lump, heat rising and flushing in a shade of red beneath the skin of your cheeks.

Was he....?

His tongue dragged down the length of his finger, cleaning up the stain of blood with a satisfied hum rumbling up from his chest. You were completely taken aback, watching with wide eyes as he leaned himself up against the counter and flashed you a devilish smirk.

"God, you're disgusting."

Hans raised a thick brow, pushing off of the counter and slowly striding back over to you until he was flush in front of your smaller frame. He placed both hands on your knees and pushed them apart once more, situating himself right in between them like a puzzle piece.