#Christoph Waltz x reader

[theverystrangegirl27]

⋆⭒˚.Be My Once In A Lifetime ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Summary: You're a young actress with a supporting role in Inglorious Basterds. You and co-star Christoph Waltz grow closer under the pretense of practicing a scene together.

Warnings: smut, older man younger woman, vaginal sex, multiple orgasms

"You're kidding, right?”

The camera pans up your bare leg, revealing the tight black dress you'd been hassled into by Quentin and the costume designer.

Quentin paces back and forth in front of you, eyes squinted.

“No! I think this is perfect, maybe shorter heels, though.” He says, gesturing to the costume designer, who comes back with some tasteful kitten heels.

You've known Quentin for most of your life, having worked at the video store together and collaborated on many of your own short films.

It only seemed right for him to cast you in his latest project, though you don't understand why he'd want you, an amateur actress, working alongside legends like Brad Pitt and the talented Christoph Waltz.

The cameraman stops on your face, which you can see in the monitor, and you try to school it into a more pleasant expression but it's hopeless- you've never acted in a scene like this before.

“Quentin, are you sure I'm the right fit for this?” You ask, carefully walking down the short staircase.

He shoots you a look.

“Of course, I wouldn't have cast you if you weren't.”

You suppose he has a point.

“Besides, I think it'll be good for you to branch out and play a little dangerous, if you know what I mean.”

You can't help the laugh that escapes you as he raises his brows, obviously intending to cheer you up.

“Okay,” you agree, slipping off the stilettos and replacing them with the kitten heels. “Let's do it.”

That's how you end up beneath Christoph Waltz, or rather, Hans Landa.

The camera is zoomed in on both of your faces, Christoph tracing the line of your lips with his eyes as he recites the lines.

“The Basterds must know that I am not a stupid man.” He says, low and condescending. “To send a seductress after me, how infantile.”

Yet his lips draw nearer, his grip on your waist harsh and unforgiving. You look into his eyes, gaze cold as he looks back into yours. You arch, trying to get away, but he holds you tighter.

You gasp as he fingers dig into the dress, sharp blooms of pain growing from the skin there.

“However,” He begins, the corners of his mouth pulling into a horrible smile. “I would be more of an imbecile not to take this angelic little gift that was practically served to me on a silver platter.”

You feel yourself getting wet at the lilt in his voice, how hot his thigh feels pressed between your legs. You want him so bad.

He pulls you in, big hand spanning across your arched back, pressing you to him.

When his lips meet yours, you go a little weak in the knees.

You fight it at first, hands curling into fists against his chest, trying to turn your head away, but you can't fight the desire any longer.

You give in.

“And cut!”

Christoph pulls away, panting. Your chest heaves a little as you shakily pull air into your lungs, looking at the way your hand is still pressed against his chest.

“That was perfect,” Quentin praises, a wide smile taking up his face. “One more take, and I think we've got it.”

He comes up to the both of you, Christoph still holding you, albeit softer.

“Now, Y/N, the struggling was great, but maybe kick your feet out just a little. Really try to get away from this guy, but then, after a few seconds, sink into it like you did just then.” Quentin directs, and you nod, pushing a lock of hair out of your eyes.

“Christoph, don't be afraid to just-” Quentin makes a quick grabbing motion with his hands. “Latch onto her, really grab her.”

Christoph runs his hand down your back, and you can't tell whether it's intentional or not, but it makes you shiver anyway.

As Quentin walks away, Christoph turns his attention to you.

“I'm not hurting you, am I?”

You give him a reassuring smile, ignoring the way your heart does somersaults in your chest.

“No, I'm okay.” You say, and he smiles down at you.

“Tough girl,” He says, and you fight the urge to bite your lip. His gaze turns serious, business like. “You can really push back for me, I can handle it.”

You nod, blushing a little at the double meaning his words conjur. Soon enough, Quentin is calling action, and the two of you are back at it.

After the last take, Christoph and you are left on set together while the crew packs up, Quentin looking over the footage a few feet away.

Christoph slicks back his hair, watching you lean against the desk, kicking your shoes off idlily.

“Would you like to have dinner with me this evening, Y/N?”

The question is sudden, out of the blue. You look up quickly, and your suprise must show on your face because Christoph begins to explain himself.

“To discuss the scene, if you'd like.” He says, looking a little sheepish. It's so uncharacteristic of him that you don't think twice before saying yes.

“I'd love to.” You say, beaming at him.

The smile he gifts you with makes your heart flutter wildly in your chest.

That night, you meet at Christoph's hotel room. The suite is huge, yet not overly extravagant. It suits him well, you think, as he lets you in.

“You'll have to forgive me for running a little behind.” He apologizes as he fixes his jacket.

“That's alright.” You tell him, sending him a small smile.

He's wearing a simple black blazer over a white linen shirt, black slacks to match. Christoph is clean-shaven, and his hair is immaculate as always.

It takes everything in you not to drool.

He seems to be thinking the same thing because he's stuck staring at you, lips slightly parted.

“You look lovely.” He breathes.

It takes you by suprise, pink dusting your cheeks.

“I could say the same about you,” you respond, cheeky.

Christoph smiles, lips pulling back to reveal pearly white teeth.

“You flatter me.” He jokes, moving towards the door.

“This hotel has a wonderful restaurant at ground level, I think you'll enjoy it.”

You do, as a matter of fact. The red wine Christoph order's is delicious, paired with some kind of salmon dish you can't pronounce.

The whole dinner is spent laughing, bantering back and forth, and listening to Christoph’s many stories.

“I really can't remember why I did that particular film,” He's explaining, setting his empty wine glass down. “To tell you the truth, I was probably hard pressed for money at the time.”

He had shed his blazer twenty minutes ago, left in the white linen shirt that looked so, so good on him.

You press the tips of your fingers to your lips, giggling a little. The wine has begun to go to your head, making you feel light and airy.

“Well, we've all made desperate acting decisions.” You joke, your foot accidentally nudging his under the table.

Christoph looks at you, a soft smile on his face and an unreadable glint in his eye.

“Have we?” He asks, raising a brow.

You blush, sitting back in your chair and sipping the last of your wine.

“I mean, I was in these terrible short films during college, I'm sure Quentin can tell you all about them.”

Christoph surprises you by leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Tell me about these short films.” The way he enunciates the last two words makes you shiver a little, and you hope he doesn't notice. “Been in anything I would have seen?”

That startles a laugh from you, and deciding to match his energy, you too lean forward, propping your chin in your hand.

“I hope not.” You say, smiling wide as you look into his eyes.

They're so pretty. Christoph has this warm, comforting aura to him that you can't really explain.

You've seen him in American interviews, how he's often described as cold- his dry wit lost on the likes of Jimmy Fallon and Kimmel- but you can't imagine those people are describing the man currently sitting in front of you.

He laughs.

“Come on, I've told you about that embarrassing German television spot I did. You owe me.”

You bite your lip, looking down at the tablecloth before deciding on a story.

“You want to hear about my very first on-screen kiss?”

You wiggle your brows, watching as Christoph nods.

“I was twenty-two, and it was some student film Quentin had roped me into.” You sigh, thinking back on the film.

It wasn't very good - shakily filmed, poorly acted, and the worst part was the kiss.

You shudder at the thought.

“I don't think this guy had ever even touched a woman, let alone kiss one.” You say, Christoph huffing a laugh as you continue. “I swear to you, he leaned in, misjudged how close my lips were, and licked my chin!”

Christoph laughs along with you, shaking his head.

“God, what a nightmare.” He says, and you feel him gently tap your heeled foot. You furrow your brow, still smiling.

“You know, Y/N, you're an excellent kisser.”

Christoph catches you off guard, and you find yourself a little breathless.

“And you blush so prettily, my God.”

Now you're really looking at him, at the way his eyes are fixed on your parted lips, how his left hand is lying face up and empty on the table.

Is this really happening? You think.

With only a slight bit of hesitance, you reach forward, the tips of your fingers grazing his.

It's all the permission he needs.

Christoph takes your hand in his, turning it so he can trace your palm with his thumb. His hand is warm, strong against your smaller, softer palm.

You bite your lip, looking at him through your lashes.

“You know, when we first met, I felt like a dirty old man.” Christoph says, tone soft yet playful.

“Here's this beautiful woman, half my age, and I get to ravish her for the camera.”

He lifts your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

“You don't know how many times I've thought about that kiss.”

It's a confession, something that makes your breath hitch and your eyes lock onto his.

“Christoph,” You begin, shocked.

Christoph is looking at you, so sincerely, your heart aches.

“If I'm misreading this, please, tell me now.”

Christoph has been the object of your desire for weeks now, working with him day in and out a specific sort of torture you can't begin to explain.

Of course you want him.

You squeeze his hand.

“Will you take me back to your room?”

Christoph grins, something salacious in it that makes you want to kiss it off of him.

He takes the hand he's holding to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“Lead the way, liebling.”

*

*

*

Christoph has you up against the hotel room door, your dress pushed up over your thighs as he kisses you deeply.

You've never been with a man who kisses like Christoph does - with complete, sure confidence and finesse. It makes your insides hot and melt-y feeling, leaving you desperate for more.

Your hands clench into his white shirt, desperation filling all of your senses.

You want him so bad.

He pulls away slightly, eyes dark as he looks at the mess he's made of you.

“You'll let me have you, angel?” He asks, and you nod, eyes big as they take in the sight of him.

“Yeah?” He asks again, a slow, easy smile on his face.

“Yes.” You breathe.

He kisses you once, twice, three times before turning your body from the door, backing you up towards the bed.

“I've wanted to feel you for so long, beautiful girl.”

You pull the straps of your dress down, nipples hard in the cool air.

His eyes are immediately drawn to them, thumbs coming up to stoke at your nipples, the pads of them warm against your skin.

“Christoph,” you sigh, leaning up to kiss him again, one hand coming to tangle in his hair.

When you break for air, you move to slide your dress down your body, leaving in the black panties you had picked out for this occasion.

Christoph runs his hands down your body, eyes piercing as they take you in.

“God help me,” He mutters before leaning in, pressing you into the expensive hotel sheets.

You gasp, your naked back hitting the mattress with a surprising amount of force. You look up through your lashes at Christoph, who is leaning above you, undoing his belt hastily. You smirk, your hands sliding up his thighs and helping him with his fly.

“You wanna fuck me?” You tease, breathless.

Christoph swallows, his movement's slowing as he looks down at you.

“Liebling, fucking is for insolent, foolish boys.” He finally gets his pants down, boxers following soon after. Christoph leans down, and you think he's going to kiss you, but instead his lips find your ear.

“I'm going to make love to you, and believe me, you'll be thinking of me for weeks to come after I'm through with you.”

You feel yourself getting wet at his words, the promise of his dick finally getting inside of you, making you easy for it. Your legs fall open, Christoph making a home between them.

His face finds your neck, planting sweet, wet kisses to the skin there.

You want him inside you so badly, and you tell him as much, back arching when his fingers find your cunt.

“So soft, my beautiful girl,” He mutters, breathless as he rubs at your clit.

You close your eyes, hands scrabbling at his back.

“I want you, Christoph, please,” you beg, shameless.

He kisses you, silencing you. You get lost in the feeling of his hand on you, his lips devouring every moan and gasp he draws from you.

You huff, eyebrows furrowing as he rubs faster and faster on your clit.

“Oh my God-” You manage to gasp out, thighs clenching around his arm as you come.

Christoph works you through it relentlessly.

“There she is, that's my good girl. That's it.” He groans, forehead pressed to yours.

You whine, arching away from his fingers as the stimulation becomes too much.

“Please fuck me, please Christoph.”

He smiles, eyes meeting yours.

“I love the way you say my name.”

The two of you maintain eye contact as he enters you, agonizingly slow. You watch the way his breath catches, how his eyes flutter shut when his hips meet yours. That overwhelming, satisfying fullness makes you moan softly, hands gripping him close.

“You feel so good,” you tell him, all sorts of feelings bubbling up in you.

He rocks forward, hips meeting yours lovingly as he carves a home for himself in You.

Your eyes fall shut, head tilting back, and he sucks wet, lust filled kisses onto your neck.

The pace quickens, the headboard hitting the wall as you both grow frantic.

“You're going to come for me again, my angel, my pretty girl,” He pants, a hand coming up to brush your sweaty hair from your face. His palm is warm, and you tilt your head to kiss it.

“Yes,” your breath, hot, bubbling pleasure threatening to spill over you. “Make me come, please, please, Christoph-"

He groans, burying his face in your neck.

You wrap your legs around his back, wanting to keep him close, and the pleasure builds higher, higher, then-

“Fuck!”

You throw your head back, eyes closed and mouth agape as your second orgasm of the night overtakes you.

“Jesus, ich sterbe,” He groans, low and heady as he pumps you full of his come.

Christoph's hips stutter as your walls flutter around him, beckoning him further.

You hold him close to you as he rides out his orgasm, kissing his forehead.

Sighing and spent, he rests on top of you. You run your fingers through his hair, legs shaking as they unwrap from around his waist.

“Stay with me?” He asks quietly.

You put a hand under his chin, lifting it so your eye level.

You kiss him gently.

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.”

[keravnous]

wanna go where the girls are young and dumb? ; christoph waltz x fem!reader (smut, 18+)

being c. waltz's sugarbaby - the playlist

Your mother dragged you along to southern France for the summertime. Thus, you are forced to spend your spring break with your stepdad.

warnings: stepdad!christoph, lowkey sugardaddy!christoph, age gap (the reader is in her early 20s, christoph is in his 50s), finally putting my native language to good use, daddy kink, light choking, power play, riding/reverse cowgirl, fingering, pet names, name calling, unprotected sex, slight cumplay and breeding, multiple orgasms, viagra (unrealistic effects), controlling/possessive!christoph, bratty!reader, christoph's a little dark in this so heed the warning, he really just wants to wreck you he's been waiting long enough

translations: Liebes - love; Na, sieh mal einer an wer uns heute noch mit ihrer Anwesenheit beehrt - Well, someone's seen fit to grace us with their presence; Oh, das machen wir aber nicht - Oh, we won't do that, won't we

word count: 11,4k

choosing a gif for this was really just playing what's my favourite waltz era

the title is from the song young & dumb by cigarettes after sex

thank you v for not giving up on me <3

"Na, sieh mal einer an, wer uns heute noch mit ihrer Anwesenheit beehrt. Where have you been?", your stepdad's voice is hard enough to cut steel and you freeze dead in your tracks, white heels dangling from your hand. Well, fuck - so much for sneaking back in quietly.

The huge wooden doors to the living room are opened - and you can see Christoph sitting on the sofa facing the lobby, in the shadows of the room, dimly lit by candles. Your feet are pressing against the polished marble, warm skin on cool stone. It's still hot outside, only a small breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees and rolling in through the opened windows, toying gently with the hem of your nearly see-through, white linen dress.

This place could easily be heaven on earth - the old, 18th century countryside bastide with its lush citrus and olive trees, near a cliff at the water and a sleepy, small town nearby - weren't it for the devil himself.

Your vision zeroes in on him - your mother's boyfriend and soon to be husband - and you try your best to glare into the dim abyss of the barely lit living room.

"Why do you care?", you spit, ready to storm upstairs. You just want some peaceful silence, not whatever the fuck he's on about.

And, like he can sense what you are about to do, like he sees the way your calf-muscles twitch, he says softly: "Don't you dare moving an inch, Liebes." His velvety voice drips with acid honey; a threat in candy-wrappers. A frost descends with his voice, making you shiver.

"I am not -"

"Where have you been?", Christoph asks again, voice menacingly calm. He sounds like he knows.

Like he knows, that you have been out to get laid.

You had met a pretty, young man and shared a few flirtatious looks with him at the farmer's market just yesterday. Your French was sufficient to get the necessities across and thus, he was quick to grasp that you wanted to fuck. Sneaking out of the house around 10 you rode your bike to his place, only to find out that what he had to offer in looks - long, dark, and curly hair and eyes like the ocean - he lacked in experience. He had been clumsy and after he tried to finger you for what seemed to be an eternity of aimless thrusting and unpassionate rubbing, you had told him to fuck off and drove back home. You just want to go upstairs, get yourself off, shower and go to sleep.

But you can't just say that, can you? And thus, you blink, unnerved, hissing: "You are not my fucking father."

You wish you could see his face, see his reaction, but it is hidden by flickering shadows. You decide that tonight's not the night to be the pawn in one of his strange games. Thus, you suck in a deep breath, before eventually sighing: "I am going upstairs. Good night."

"Ah ah ah", he scolds and you can see him taking a drag of his cigarette, the tip of it gleaming before he is exhaling smoke that curls into the air, the thick mist illuminated by the flickering glow of the candles, "Is that a way to speak to the man who keeps you in college?"

"I am not having this conversation right now."

"But I will", he raises his eyebrows and you feel glued to the spot, helpless.

Something prevents you from just leaving. You do not know what it is, but you recall a few encounters in which he had a similar effect on you - where he intimidated you into submission. Another shiver crawls up your spine at the thought.

"Step inside here for a moment, please", and as you don't move, his voice turns cold - like you are in real fucking trouble, "I won't be asking you again."

Making a great show out of your reluctant-ness, you groan, rolling your eyes, before you unwillingly drop your shoes onto the marble. Entering the living room, you sigh audibly, throwing your head back a little in exasperation, coming to a halt only a few steps into the room.

Christoph seems bored by your behaviour, deliberately stomps his cigarette out in the antique ashtray before crossing his arms. He's wearing linen, too - in a fruitless attempt to combat the heat - the first few buttons of his shirt opened. You can see the greying chest hair peeking through from where you are standing, dusted on his skin like silver threads.

You are annoyed - annoyed by the pretty young Frenchman who turned out to be an absolute disastrous disappointment, annoyed by being stuck here in the middle of nowhere, annoyed by the heat, annoyed by Christoph looking at you the way he does, annoyed by the way his strict gaze has your stomach tingling.

Annoyed by how pretty he looks in the golden candle light.

The thought hits you like a chair to the head and you sway a little, hands gripping the edges of the armchair in front of you. You swallow, trying to fight the thought. The light toys with his features, has his eyes gleaming and the grey hair on his temples looking like fluid silver.

You can feel his gaze roaming your body, burning and heavy, as his eyes wander up and down - taking in both, your curves, and your underwear visible through the white linen.

"Come closer."

You do not want to. You want to hide behind the chair, safe from the confusing mind games he likes to play.

But you don't. Instead, like a puppet on his strings, you take two steps forward and into the room, standing there uselessly. Disarmed, your only weapon left is your tongue.

"What the fuck do you want?", it comes out rude, brash. Christoph chuckles, unimpressed. For a second, you two just stare each other - a silent battle of authority and obstreperousness.

"Closer", is all he says, with the steadiness of a victory.

"I don't have time for this", your voice breaks, irritated and a little unsteady around the edges. Christoph looks at you, unfazed but something small changes. It's in his eyes, something that grows stern and unrelenting. If your little display of brattiness a few minutes earlier was a joke to him, your behaviour now was an insult.

And thus, a little intimidated by him, you comply, carefully taking a few steps forward until only a couple long strides part the two of you.

It does not seem to satisfy him.

"Closer."

You furrow your brows and close the gap, mere inches between your and his knee. He looks up at you, eyes cold.

"That's it. Sit", you blink dumbly as Christoph pats his thigh, his tone light in an odd, uncanny contrast to the way he looks at you.

Alright, no. Absolutely not.

You aren't sure if he's joking. It must be a sick joke. Maybe he finds it funny: his adult stepdaughter sitting on his lap. You do not move.

You are certain, he will break any second - for Christ's sake, he's an actor - he's just joking. He will break. His lips will curl up any second now --

Looking at his serious face, stern gaze boring deep deep into your soul, you grow certain that he is indeed serious. Very serious.

You gulp. "I am not doing this. This is so fucking inappropriate."

"And I am not discussing this. Sit."

God knows, Christoph isn't - never was - very patient. And you can feel it, too; he oozes with it, the way his gaze grows cold as ice and you nearly stumble over your own feet as your body gives in. He is fucking intimidating, especially when the façade of the European gentleman crumbles, drops, like it does right now - leaves you wondering, what he is capable of. And you do not want to find out. Thus, your brain barely has enough time to fight it or to reason with you, you step closer and sink down on his lap. You legs dangle over his left knee while you avoid his gaze.

Let's get this fucking over with then.

"There you go, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

"N-no", you shake your head, feeling the heat of his body radiating through both of your linen clothes. It should feel odd, and maybe it does just a little, sitting on your fucking stepfather's lap like this, but -- it also doesn't feel that bad. It is strangely comforting, with his rich, warm scent now wrapping you in. You have always liked his perfume - a subtle wooden scent, of vetiver and a subtle splash of mint. Sublime, sophisticated.

One of his slender, large hands wraps around your hips, holds you in place, the other gently takes your hand, fingers brushing over yours.

"I -- where's my mother?", you hold onto it like a lifeline.

"Asleep." And there it goes - the lifeline slips out of your hands and you drown in the dark, deep sea that is his presence, all light out of reach as you sink deeper, nothing else remaining but him. Still, you can't help but notice that his voice sounds cold, distant, and you wonder why.

You recall something your mother had told you just days before the flight to southern France. Her voice echoes in your skull as you remember sitting in her spacious living room, picking out a few dresses for her to wear on vacation. "He's not even touching me anymore, honey, I don't know -" - "Ew, Mom! I don't wanna know, my god!"

You wonder, if their little paradise is already crumbling, turning ugly around the edges, and a part of you wishes for it to be true. You want him gone. But there's also a small voice in the back of your head that panics at the thought. You like your life like this - you can't deny the fact that he keeps you afloat financially, that whatever you want or need - you don't even have to ask for it, he just buys it. Like it's nothing. It's comfortable and easy and you would most likely miss it.

No - you are certain you would. Life's never been that easy for you.

It's fucked up, really. You still remember meeting him, and in the beginning, you got along just fine. Blimey, even.

Getting to know him started off well. Your mother had met him at the theatre while he had been working there and despite her being shy around him, he quickly convinced her to Just try it. The first time you had met Christoph in person was at a dinner at your mother's place during Christmas break and he had been so charming, so soft and well-spoken that he had made you feel right at ease, even though you were sitting across someone so familiar with the limelight and the high society of Hollywood.

It had been nice. You found out that he was recently divorced, with children around your age. You told him about college and your future goals. It had been homely and down to earth, just nice.

And thus, you didn't think much of it as last year's spring break rolled around, returning to your childhood and now their part time-shared Los Angeles home, as he was knocking on the door of your old teenage bedroom. "It's just a little something I got you - a special gift for my new stepdaughter, perhaps? The sale's lady said it would be - quite fitting - for a young woman your age." And Christoph had been so so charming that you didn't think much of it, as you unwrapped the large box.

Inside had been a set of lingerie, made of fine, white lace with frills. The soft fabric had felt and looked expensive and you had gasped - the set so pretty that for a short while, you had forgotten how inappropriate it was for him to gift you such things.

As you finally, after returning to your dorm and showing the gift to your roommate ("Girl, that's just creepy."), came to realize just how wrong it was, a sleek beige box awaited you on your bed one night in the dorm as you returned from your classes. Inside had been a Chanel dress, all pale-pink, flowers and bows ("Shit, that one's kind of pretty").

Christoph had kept sending you gifts: jewellery, dresses, lingerie. You dutifully called every single time and thanked him and he usually only chuckled, stating that it was nothing. You know you should have told your mother. It felt off and you knew that it was, too.

But you just didn't.

Unbeknownst to you, he was testing the waters. Every time you'd see him from then on, he would put you through agonizingly long inquiries about what you did on campus, who you were seeing. He would make it painfully obvious that he was checking your credit card billings and whenever there was something out of the ordinary, he would bring it up casually in the following conversation.

You remember going out with some guy from your lecture, meeting at a place you had never been at before. The date had gone horrible and to not lead him on, you had paid for yourself - even though he insisted otherwise. Christoph had enjoyed seeing you squirm, bathed in your shame and uneasiness, as he asked you if the drinks were as horrible as he believed them to be.

That's when the tables kind of turned. You figured that he was just a rich and controlling asshole that had barged into your life, had belittled you and had ruined your fucking peace. Maybe he was an award-winning actor but to you, that didn't matter.

You were fucking glad, that he kept the relationship to you mother out of the public eye. You didn't even want to imagine the media attention. You didn't even want to imagine what he had to say about you - "My stepdaughter? Oh, she's just whoring about, that unthankful little girl, don't you worry about her."

His mellow voice rips you out of your memory. "So, what are we doing about you breaking my rules tonight?"

You nearly burst out a laugh - you are in your twenties; you are allowed to do whatever the fuck you want. His made up, bullshit rules do not apply to you - quite frankly, up until now, they did not even fucking exist to you. He never told you there were any in the first place.

Not that you would have cared, anyways.

"You have no authority over me", you say, but doesn't come out half as cool as you wanted it to. Christoph's lips curls into a smile, gaze wandering over your face. His fingers brush over yours and then he leans in, voice low:

"We both know, that is not what this is about."

Something in your stomach tingles and you want to rip it out with both hands. "What-", you whisper, seriously confused.

"I have seen what little - well, shall we call them movies, darling? - you watch when you're alone", he purrs and then smiles, all dimples and small lines around his eyes, flashes his white teeth at you. A shiver runs down your spine.

You blink dumbly. What? Jesus Christ, please no - oh no. Oh shit.

Mortification burns high on your cheeks; your skin grows warm and red with it. You immediately know what he's talking about and his invasion of your privacy has your head swimming.

"You checked my fucking browser history?", you blurt out.

"Checked", he huffs, seemingly amused, "If you leave your phone laying around unlocked--" Christoph shrugs, gestures helplessly as if he's trying to justify eating ownerless chocolates.

You can feel your gut sinking. "Y-you--", you can't help but wonder how much he's seen, what exactly he's seen. You can't help your mind from wandering there - wandering to what he thought, if he liked what he saw. Stop it, fucking stop it.

"I--?", Christoph smiles smugly, raising an eyebrow.

You wonder if he saw the countless videos of older men fucking younger women, making them beg and cry, teaching them manners. You remember one porn you have watched plenty of times - the one of a greying man tossing a young woman around, ripping her underwear apart, slapping her face and tits and railing her until she was crying, gripping her hair and spitting in her face.

You remember how deep you had plunged your fingers into your tight cunt, squeezing around them at the thought of an eloquent and handsome older man railing you until you couldn't walk, having his way with you for his pleasure, and his alone. Every single time you watched that one porn you came hard, harder than the time before, draining your sheets with your squirt until it ran down your legs. As fucked up as it is, just the memory of it has your pussy aching right in this moment, wetness pooling between your legs.

Shame crawls up your spine at the thought that he knows - that he has seen the frequency of it popping up in your browsing history. Maybe he had even clicked on it, watched it a little, indulged in your secret little fantasy. The thought has your cheeks burning red with humiliation, but there's also something else, something primal clawing at your insides, making your lower stomach tingle.

"This is none of your business", your voice is small and quiet, your eyes avoiding his drilling gaze.

"Oh, but what if it is?", Christoph's eyes gleam mischievously.

"Excuse me?", you blurt out, heart racing in your chest.

"Mh well", he weighs his head from one side to the other a little, as if he's carefully considering a thought, "You know, if you wanted what you saw in those little movies you could've just asked me?"

He says it so nonchalantly, as if he's talking about buying some milk. You blink, completely speechless.

"Do you want to know why? Why you could've just asked me?", and you nod, head swimming a little, "Because I do not want some dirt-poor, hicktown-boy touching what is mine."

Your breath hitches, and he shrugs. "There's no need for you to compensate your fantasies elsewhere any longer, Liebes, hm?", his voice is soft, dark and deep, like soft silk wrapping you in, "I can give you exactly what you crave."

It feels like your brain has just blown a fuse, blinking at him dumbly. His lips tilt up, one of his hands brushing over your knee. "You just have to say it, darling. Just say the word", and you feel like drowning in the grey sky of his eyes, loins tingling, "I can make you feel good, better than the young men can."

You swallow, excitement bubbling up in your stomach, hitching your breath. It's not like you haven't thought about it, about him - the memory buried deep, deep in the darkest corner of your brain.

You should say no. This is not okay, it will hurt your mother. It's not right. It is inappropriate, at best.

But you are also so fucking horny still, your whole body aching for a touch and the way he looks at you - your fucking stepdad who's a full-blown, silvery 30 years older than you - has tingles spreading through your limbs, fire spreading in your loins. Fuck it.

"Y-yes", you whisper instead of doing the right thing - the spirit willing but the flesh weak -,"Yes, please."

And then, he leans in.

Christoph's kiss is soft and firm, and goosebumps roll over your skin at the thought that it doesn't feel foreign or odd, like if it isn't the first time, he kissed you. It feels a lot like coming home, returning to a familiar touch - it's the way he grabs your waist, mostly, like he just knows how to touch you.

His hand brushes over the small of your back, tips gently stroking your warm skin through your dress, before snaking around your waist and pulling you closer - just as his tongue brushes over your lower lip. The other crawls up your leg, grabs the flesh of your thigh, gropes you and feels you up.

You part your lips obediently, letting Christoph's tongue slip past, brushing over yours. He tastes like cigarettes and liquor and you inhale deeply through your nose - his scent wafting around you, rich, and deep, and sophisticated.

One of your hands comes up, cups his cheek, and pulls him closer. You have never been kissed like this before, never with so much verve, so much lust. He kisses like only a man his age does, like he has tasted a hundred women, but decided you tasted best.

The hand on your leg sneaks higher, and you spread your legs needily, allowing it to slip past and between your thighs. Christoph wastes no time, his index-finger pressing against your pussy, gently rubbing it along your panty-clad folds. You are wet already; the fabric damp and you can feel your loins going up in flames as he rubs you through the thin lace.

Christoph eventually breaks the kiss, has you panting against his mouth, his lips curl up in a smug smile. His fingers dance of your cunt, gently circling your clit through your lace string. "Those boys never treat you right, do they?", he is right, he always is, has you gasping quietly, rocking your hips against his digits, "Only I get to touch you, from now on. Do you understand?"

And you nod, mind already a little hazy, nothing more important than the pulling in your stomach and the wetness between your legs. "Yes", you sigh, leaning into his touch.

"Yes --? You will address me properly", his other hand grabs your chin, "That's certainly not hard to do, now, is it?"

You swallow, your cheeks turning red once more as he digs deep into your fantasies. "Yes, Daddy", you say quietly, the word heavy on your tongue, fresh arousal flooding your cunt.

Christoph hums, visibly satisfied, thumb caressing your jaw and a soft gaze wandering over your face, takes you in, before it grows cold again, as he pulls his hands away.

"Let Daddy see what's his, then", and you follow his stern command.

Hooking your legs over his thighs you practically present yourself to him, the soft velvet cushions pressing against your calves as your back sinks against his chest - the soft material of your dress pooling between your spread legs. Christoph's hands roam over your body - from your hips up up up, brush over your stomach and then cup your tits through your flowy linen dress. His grip is firm and he squeezes them a little, making them spill out of your bra.

You gasp, looking down at his hands and watching the way they fondle your tits, pulling the hem of your dress down and hooks the fabric underneath your breasts. Being so lewdly exposed to him, reduced to being a pretty object to admire and to fondle with, has your head swimming, sparks shooting down your thighs.

"I'll show you off, hm, my pretty little girl? What do you think?", he whispers, one of his slender, large hands cupping your left tit and twisting your nipple between his fingers, "Taking you with me everywhere, let everyone see just how beautiful you are." You gasp, nodding frantically at the thought of being his pretty and expensive little arm-candy - all dolled up and looking pretty for him on the red carpet, adorned in shining jewellery and flowing dresses.

"Let's take this off, shall we?", Christoph tugs at the linen dress and helps you out of it, tosses it to the ground carelessly. You can feel his gaze roaming over your body as he looks over your shoulder, feel heat creeping up your cheeks as you suddenly realize that you wearing one of the lingerie sets, he had gifted you a couple of weeks ago.

A low growl leaves his throat, has the hairs on your arms standing up. "Have you been wearing this for him?", he sing-songs catatonically, his index finger hooks underneath the strap of your string, lets it snap back against your skin.

You have, but it makes you feel stupid now. Childish. Like you have done something laughable. Shame bubbles in your stomach and you feel the urgent need to explain yourself to him: "Y-yes, but--"

"Sh, be quiet", Christoph says softly, his hands casually making quick work of your bra, unclasping it, pulling the strings down your arms, and tossing it into the darkness of the room, "It's fine. You didn't know any better, did you, Liebes?"

"N-no, I didn't", you squeal, the cool air brushing over your hardened nipples, making you shiver while his hands run down your body.

"And do you think, it's fair that he gets to see you all dolled-up like this? In something I have bought you?"

Your teeth catch your lower lip as you shake your head. "Right", his thumb brushes over the strap of your lace string, "And why is that?"

You swallow. You know what Christoph wants to hear and you might just be very willing to give it to him. "Because I belong to you", you say quietly, your stomach fluttering after the words left your mouth.

"That's right", his thumb toys with the lace trimming of the string, "You always have, haven't you?"

You blink. "Huh?"

"Don't be stupid, now."

"I -- I don't-", and he tsks at your aimless stuttering.

"My pretty little airhead", Christoph coos, "Why do you think I bagged your mother?", and suddenly - it clicks. Like a heavy lock falling shut.

You remember the first day of rehearsal at the theatre. It had been his first day there and you had driven your mother, who was responsible for the stage designs, to work since she still had a broken thumb from working on the furniture and was pumped up on painkillers. Saying your goodbyes, you had been seeing him standing a few feet away, smiling at the two of you. You had paid it no mind - especially later, since he ended up going out with your mother. But he hadn't been smiling over the situation, he had been smiling at you. You. Not your mom.

The realization hits you like a freight train, leaves you breathless. "I always get what I want."

"Oh", you make dumbly, mouth agape a little, while his fingers dance over your panty-clad pussy.

"You are just a dumb little baby, aren't you?", for a split second his hand leaves you, only to come down rather hard, as he gives your cunt a firm slap, "I think, I might have to fuck some sense into you."

You squeal, a sharp gasp escaping your lips but you can't help it, as you feel fresh wetness pooling between your legs, rocking your hips against the palm of his hand. "Yeah, I thought so", he sounds rather pleased, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, "Nothing more on your dumb little brain than getting off, hm?"

"Y-yes", you croak, flinching as he strikes your aching cunt another time, moaning sweetly, "Daddy - fuck - p-please!"

"I know just how you feel", his other hand grabs your tit roughly, gropes you, pinching your nipple, "You made Daddy jack off to you so often, princess. Can't wait to see if you're really that tight."

And with that, he unceremoniously pulls your string to the side and you sigh, as your plush and hot skin gets exposed to the cool air.

One of his fingers immediately brushes over your slick folds, and you can hear him hum, a low sound that ignites your lust, has you gasping softly.

"Mh, so wet already, aren't you?", you are, you can hear it. You can hear your juices squelching as his finger runs up and down your cunt, circling your hole and giving your clit the slightest bit of stimulation. Your whole body tingles with it, and you look down, watch him exploring your wet pussy. And maybe, just maybe, you have thought about this, too - with your vibrator pressed snugly against your clit and fingers plunged deep in your cunt - maybe, the thought of him had been flashing through your mind, made you cum at least once.

Christoph's lips brush over your neck, goosebumps spreading over your skin, his free hand wrapping around one of yours. "C'mere, let me show you how wet you are for your Daddy, princess."

And you moan quietly, as he guides your hand between your legs, runs your fingers through your folds. You are incredibly wet, wetter than you have ever been and you gasp at the sensation as his hand guides your fingers through your slick. It's thick and watery and warm and your mouth falls agape at just how much there is of it. It drips down your cojoined fingers, that glide along your folds easily, runs over the palm of Christoph's hand and over his wrist.

"I have never seen a cunt wetter than yours", he whispers and you mewl, gaze dropping down between your legs, watching him guiding your fingers over your pussy. The grip on your fingers is firm and his movements come to a halt, as your digits brush right over your clit. Your breath audibly hatches and you mewl, the slightest bit of stimulation already having you begging for more.

Christoph grins against your warm skin, teeth brushing over the soft flesh. He knows that you had had sex before - he has seen the messages you sent to your roommate about the boys from class, about the one with the pretty blonde hair - but he can't help but notice how you turn into puddy in his hands, like you have never been touched before. Like a fucking virgin. It makes his blood boil, dick straining against his trousers, wanting to see you come apart under the touch of his hands. He wants to see you go insane on his cock, until there is nothing else left but him - all your flings from college washed from your mind - a clean slate for him to claim, ruin.

"Are you always that needy? I don't even want to think about how poorly he must've touched you", Christoph mumbles against your neck, tongue darting out, licking a wet stripe over your warm skin before moving his fingers along with yours, rubbing slow and wide circles over your clit, "I bet it was downright pathetic."

Your hips buck and you gasp, eyelids fluttering. "Oh god, yes", you breathe, feeling your own wetness beneath your fingertips, and the lust sparking in your loins like a wildfire, "Yes, it was."

The way Christoph touches you is just so so different from what you experienced earlier - his slender fingers move yours skilfully, rubbing your clit like he just knows how you like it, like he's done it a hundred times before. You sink back against him, and he gently removes your hand from your cunt, places it onto your thigh instead - lips brushing and sucking on the back of your neck. "Let me show you how good I can make you feel, darling", he hums, "Let me show you how a real man can make you feel."

And with that, he unceremoniously pulls the lace of your string apart, riiips it cleanly in two, lets the fabric fall to the floor, before spreading your legs further. His fingers dance over your cunt, gliding through your slick, before two of them dive back in on your clit. Rubbing wide, slow circles he has you gasping within seconds, watching his digits working you with your mouth agape - your hole clenches around nothing, hips bucking.

"Does that feel good, princess?", he sounds so so smug, like he knows that it does. You can feel your loins catching fire, slowly rolling your hips against his fingers.

"Y-yes, fuck yes", you huff, moaning quietly.

Christoph's finger delves deeper and circles your hole, has it fluttering under his touch, before he carefully pushes it in. You gasp, and he chuckles, feels the way your walls clench around him.

"You're so tight, princess", he pushes his finger in completely, curls it a little and you moan as it brushes over the spot that usually has you seeing stars - before he starts to move it slowly, agonizingly even, rubs your walls and feels you squeezing him.

Christoph can't wait to fuck you, to get his dick wet, feels himself growing even harder in his slacks at the thought. He has been thinking about it for so long, that touching you makes him a little dizzy, and it needs a whole lot of willpower not to throw you off his lap and push you into the cushions, ass up, pounding into you until you're a drooling, crying mess.

He really wants - needs - to take it slow, get a taste of every single second, make it last as long as he possibly can. He will make you beg for it, drunk with it; drunk with the way he is going to fuck you until you see stars, until there is nothing left on your mind but him and his dick pounding into you, his hands on your body. He had already made you dependant on him financially, and now, finally, he will own your body and its countless pleasures, too.

Christoph smiles to himself, all crinkled crow's feet, and white teeth, as you roll your hips against his finger, desperately adding some more friction. He loves giving it to you: pulls his finger out of you, only to push two back in, stretching your hole out a little. You are so fucking tight around his digits; he can feel the ring of muscles clutching and straining against his fingers. "No one's ever fucked you real good, Liebes, I can tell."

He shoves his fingers deeply into your cunt, gives you a short moment to assess to the feeling, before moving them slowly, fucking your slick in and out of you. First, your hips tremble and then you squirt, moaning deeply, wetness splashing against the palm of Christoph's hand. Gasping, you watch his other hand crawling between your legs, his index-finger slowly circling your clit.

Pleasure shoots through your body and you moan, goosebumps spreading over your body, your heartbeat rattling with lust. "Fuck", you gasp, head lolling back onto his shoulder.

With his lips ghosting over your strained neck, Christoph gently speeds up, harvests the desperate whines and gasps falling from your lips as he pushes his fingers in and out of you.

You feel like you do not even have to tell him what you want, what you like - it is like he hasn't only dug deep into your browser history, but also your brain - like he just knows which switch to flip, how to touch you and how to rile you up with a deadly precision. It also feels oddly familiar - his touch, his smell, your body pressing against his with lust and a thin layer of sweat - like he has known your body for years, like he had fingered and touched you a hundred times before.

And thus, you do not even have to vocalize it, that you need more, need it harder - he just knows, reads you like an opened book or a fucking road sign. Christoph starts to fuck you quickly, his fingers pushing your cream in and out of you, pussy gushing around his digits. Your hand flies to his wrist, clutches it tightly, as you moan and sigh, desperate of any sort of leverage.

The way he fingers you feels so fucking good and you wish it would never end, but you can already feel your muscles clenching and then his other hand starts to rub your clit hard, two slender fingers circling it quickly and you gasp, mewl.

"D-daddy", you shriek, walls clutching around his fingers rapidly as you feel your orgasm approaching quicker than any time before, "I-- I'm gonna-"

"Go ahead", he sounds amused, and the humiliation that floods you at his tone has your orgasm rolling over you, coming loose around his fingers on his command.

Shudders roll over your body as you cum, pathetic whimpers leaving your mouth while Christoph fucks you through your climax, fingers circling your clit and making you squirt against his digits. You are slowly coming back down to earth, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, before you moan, throwing your head back while you rock down on his long fingers, riding out your orgasm. Your juices squelch around his fingers as he rubs them along your walls, your squirt wet the sofa's cushions beneath. You can feel your slick running down your legs, and you gasp.

"There you go", Christoph coos, lips brushing over your exposed shoulder, his other hand still on your throat, thumb brushing over your jaw, "Doesn't that just feel wonderful, angel?"

You nod, a breathless Yes, Daddy escaping your lips - and you are just so turned on, fire in your loins and fresh wetness pooling between your legs, that you can't help it. You continue to roll your hips onto his fingers despite the last remains of your orgasm still rolling over you, gently and slowly rocking down, meeting the equally gentle thrusts of his fingers. Your cunt squelches as you squirt against the palm of his hand.

Christoph whistles lowly, pulls his fingers out of you - leaving you a whimpering mess - takes a good, long look at them in the dim, golden candle light. They glisten with your juices and he considers shoving them into your mouth for a moment, but the way you roll your hips onto him with your ass rubbing over his bulge, is fucking distracting, has him stalling.

"Oh fuck", you gasp, your head falling back on his shoulder, "Oh god, please, 'stoph, please please -"

"Oho", he chuckles smugly, "Still needy, little girl?"

You are. Your cunt aches, like you haven't just cum and made a mess out of the sofa beneath, but you feel so so empty. You need more. You need -

"N-need your cock, please! Daddy, please--", you roll your hips on his crotch, feeling his hard dick pressing against the soft linen, hot and heavy. He feels big against your wet and aching cunt, leaving stains on his expensive slacks, and you can't fucking wait to feel it inside of you.

Christoph grabs your hips hard, stalling your movement and pressing your slick pussy against his bulge. You can feel his hard cock twitching while you stain and wet the fabric and you moan, needily, while his tongue and lips graze over your shoulder, lapping at the soft skin.

And then, he suddenly buries his teeth in your shoulder - gentle but still hard enough to leave a mark - makes you gasp and sob, before he is licking over the bruised and red skin. Christoph's lips move up up up, over your neck, sucking and kissing. His tongue dances over the shell of your ear, his voice nothing but a deep rumble: "I can't wait to fuck you, darling. Been thinking about it a lot, I just can't get enough of you."

Your breath hitches, and you look over your shoulder, your gaze meeting his unrelenting one. "Please", you say quietly, his grey eyes boring into you, "Do it."

And then Christoph leans in, locks his lips with yours once more, licking into your mouth, while one of his hands wanders down, opens the fly of his pants. He is getting impatient now and you are, too, one of your hands joining his and pulling the hem of his boxers down. He is panting into your mouth, against your lips and your hand wraps around his cock, all hot and hard, gives it a few experimental strokes.

You wonder if he will fuck you like he kisses you; like he is going to swallow you whole, like he is never going to let you go again, with the way his nose digs into your cheek and his hands hold you close while his tongue explores your mouth in between open-mouthed kisses full of panting and groaning, leaving your lips plump and plush. You want him to fuck you like that - until there is nothing left but him.

His dick is bigger than you thought, long and just the right girth and you have trouble closing your hand around it fully. The way you stroke him, despite the angle being a little clumsy with your body in the way, has Christoph groaning into your mouth, licking your tongue, and gripping your waist, his other hand dipping back between your legs.

Your pussy is soaked, and he spreads your slick over the hot, plush skin - so responsive from your previous orgasm, that you gasp and moan against his lips, and he catches your lower lip, gently bites, and nibbles at it. Your hand massages his dick, your thumb occasionally flicking over its tip, smearing the drops of precum pooling beneath your digits. Eventually, Christoph is parting from you, cheeks blushed a little and pupils blown wide, swats your hands away. His voice is deep and dark, nothing but a low and soft whisper, that has the hairs on your body standing up as he addresses you again: "You fucking slut."

And that, that has you moaning. You never thought you'd hear such things from him, but the way his eyes grow dark and his voice rumbles in his chest you are certain, that something primal has kicked in his inner doors and makes itself comfortable. "First, you dress up like a whore for a hicktown-boy and now, all I have to do is to give you a cock and you're gone so quickly you won't even let go of it, eh?"

"It's jus'so big, Daddy, feels so good", you slur, already a little gone, trying to get your hands onto him once more. He tuts at you, shakes his head a little. "You'll get it back, sunshine, don't you worry."

Christoph grabs his dick with one hand - the other arm wraps around your frame and adjusts you in his lap, your naked, shivering body resting against his expensive linen - and presses it against your seeping hot cunt. The feeling alone makes your loins tingle, has you spreading your legs further.

You gasp, needy for him to finally fuck you, finally shove his cock into you. "Please, Daddy--", you whine, rolling your hips against his dick, wetting it with your juices.

"Been teasing me for so long", he sounds unnerved while thinking about it, his cock twitches against your hot cunt, "Did that get you off?"

"N-no", you mewl honestly, because you didn't, you did not know what you were doing to him. You feel guilty, wanting to make it right - to finally be good for him.

"Bet it did", he hums, not listening to you, "I will have to teach you some manners, one day."

Shivers tingle on your arms, run down your body and you nod, the promise of a punishment lingering in the air, your hole clenching around nothing at the mere thought of it. You need him - now. Need him to stuff your cunt, fuck you until you are a drooling mess, not a single thought remaining. "Daddy, please, just-"

"You know, I have kids your age", Christoph is slowly rubbing his cock along your cunt, the tip of it nudging against your clit, making you shiver and whimper. The complete and utter filth that leaves his mouth has you squirming on his lap, his tone - smug and calculating - makes him sound nearly proud that he's bagging someone as young and pretty like you. You can feel some fresh wetness spreading between your folds, warm and sticky, as he rubs his precum through them, eventually presses the thick tip against your waiting hole.

Christoph knows that you usually only let someone fuck you with a condom on, he has seen your contraception laying around in your room but he will make sure that tonight's a little different - he'll claim you, pump you full of his cum and make you remember the way it will mingle with your own juices.

Expecting you to protest as he finally pushes in without one on, he is genuinely surprised as you don't; instead, your hole flutters open, invites him in deeply, accompanied by the sweetest, softest, high-pitched moan he may have ever heard. The second your hot walls close around his dick, squeezing him tightly with your hole stretching around his thick cock, his face comes loose.

You can hear Christoph exhale deeply, a pleased and satisfied sound, his eyes falling shut and face growing soft as he relishes in the feeling of your throbbing, wet cunt. His dick isn't only bigger than you thought, it fucking feels like it, too. The thick head presses snugly against your cervix, while your hole stretches around its base, walls pressed against it, feeling his cock throb.

"Ah, that's it", he sighs quietly, hands gently rubbing your hips.

"'S good?", you slur, already a little out of it but wanting to be good for him, good for your Daddy.

"Better than I have ever dared to dream, darling", one of his hands brushes over your thigh, caresses the warm skin.

You sigh with the praise, hole clenching around the thick base of his cock while it stretches you out. "Y'feel so good, Daddy", you mumble, looking down to where his dick vanishes inside of you, has your cunt spread on it.

"That's my polite little girl", Christoph's hand brushes over your stomach, up up up and cups your right tit, gives it a firm squeeze.

"Why don't you start moving, sunshine? Make sure it will keep feeling good for me, hm?", he suggests, silky voice dripping with honey, and he lets go of a ragged breath as you do. Rolling your hips experimentally once, feeling his cock moving inside of you, and you quiver. It gently prods against your cervix with every moment, making you mewl and gasp.

Starting off slowly, you raise your hips and then move them back down carefully, feeling Christoph's cock stretching you out, rubbing along your walls. His hands brush over your thighs, your waist. "There you go, darling", he croons, lips brushing over your shoulders, "Keep going, make me feel good."

And you really want to - thus, you grow braver, lifting your hips and sinking back down quicker, rolling them on his cock. He groans, throaty and deep, hands digging into your thighs. You start to ride his dick, fucking yourself back onto him quickly, hands darting out to his knees, desperate for any sort of leverage as you lift your hips and sink back down.

Moaning, you throw your head back as your body sacks forward a little, back arched and Christoph gives your exposed ass a firm slap, before his hand snakes around your body, closes in around your throat. "Upright, girl", he scolds, has you gasping and straightening back up immediately. The hand does not vanish, instead, it adds pressure to your delicate neck, pressing your windpipe shut. Your hips stutter and your eyes widen, right before pleasure shoots through your body, hot waves of lust making you squirt against his cock. Your thighs clench, knees darting together. "Keep them open for me, baby girl", he huffs, his free hand darting between your thighs, grabbing your left and forcefully spreading your legs in the process.

Christoph's hand lets go of your throat, now laying gently against your soft skin instead and thus, keeping your upright on his lap, back arched. "Oh", you gasp, so fucking turned on, you might combust on the spot, "Oh, fuck -- Daddy!"

The hand on your thigh gropes you lightly, thumb brushing over your skin gently. You move up and down on his cock, cunt throbbing and walls squeezing him occasionally, while the tip of his dick prods against your cervix. The way Christoph's cock splits you open, rubs along your walls is delicious, has you gasping and whining.

"Mhm, don't you just look pretty, bouncing on your Daddy's cock like that?", the hand around your throat clutches once more and you moan, high pitched and whiny, hips bucking.

The lack of oxygen has your walls clenching around his dick as you rock down on it, hands desperately grabbing the linen of his slacks. The stretch in your back is deliciously painful, the hand on your throat adding to it.

Feeling your orgasm approaching slowly, you speed up a little more, the sounds of your slick skin hitting his cock filling your room, mingling with his groans and your whines. "There you go, sunshine", Christoph's praise is sweet and soft as you speed up a little more, rolling your hips up and down up and down, hands clutching the linen of his slacks, while you fuck yourself back onto his dick. You can feel your heart pounding in your throat, you can taste your arousal on the tip of your tongue, hear your blood singing with it.

With your cunt squeezing him, practically milking his cock as you rock down it, Christoph can't help but wanting more. The hand on your thigh sneaks between your legs, and he feels you shivering in his lap as his index-finger brushes against your clit. Your gasps are sweet and turn into dirty, wanton moans quickly as he starts to circle your clit with it and Jesus fucking Christ - he wishes he could hear it every day, when he wakes up, when he goes to bed, wishes he could just do nothing all day, only play with you, and make you cum over and over and over again. The way you roll your hips and fuck yourself onto his dick becomes more erratic, desperate and a little clumsy and his lips curl up - he just knows you're close.

"That's a good girl", Christoph coos, voice rough and deep, "Cum on my cock. Be a good girl and cum for me."

Adding pressure to your windpipe once more, he presses the hand around your throat down hard. Your hips buck wildly at the sudden lack of oxygen, lust shooting through your veins, while his finger rubs over your clit fast, in rhythm with the thrusts of your hips. You can feel your walls clenching heavily around his dick and then you cum, your orgasm hitting you with such force, that all you can do is gasp loudly. Any sound and thought is wiped from your body as your cunt squeezes his cock, pussy clenching and legs trembling, hips stuttering as you squirt and squirt, your cream gushing against his dick.

Christoph continues to fuck you through it, moaning quietly while you milk his cock, one arm wrapping around your waist and keeping you in place, the other slooowly letting go of your throat. You suck in desperate breaths, your senses slowly returning and you moan, high-pitched and sweetly, as you feel his dick pulsating inside of you.

"Yeah, just like that, sunshine", he groans, while he fucks you through your orgasm, cock twitching inside of you and shooting hot ropes of cum into your hole, painting your walls white, "Such a good girl, taking it all."

Humming with his praise, you spread your legs wide over his lap, letting his dick in a little deeper, welcoming his cum home. His free hand roams your inner thigh, gropes you gently, while he huffs and groans into your ear - the low sound making you shiver. You relish in the feeling of his warm body beneath you, feeling pumped full by his cum and his hands all over you, while your body grows a little sore, your pussy becoming plush and plump.

His dick is still buried inside of you, hard and hot and heavy. You feel so so full, with his cock preventing his cum from leaking out, only a few drops run out of your hole lazily, drip down his balls and onto the sofa. His cock doesn't seem to go noticeably flaccid, having you gasp and moan with the sensation, relishing in the feeling of him filling you up to the brim. You want to ask why he's still hard, but the question becomes obsolete as your gaze flickers to the coffee table. There's a blister of pills there, one cavity empty. The pills are blue.

Christoph's thumb rubs along your chin, catches on your lower lip. "Surprised, angel?", and you nod, only a dumb Uh-huh leaving your throat and he snickers at the sound, pushes his thumb into your mouth. Immediately, like you are fucking programmed to, you start sucking on it, pussy clenching around his hardening cock.

"Oh, my pretty baby, fucked your brains out already? And I am not even done yet", he sounds genuinely amused while his other hand brushes over your inner thigh and your skin and the nerves below are so so responsive to his touch, has you squirming in his lap and on his cock, mewling. It makes him groan, a low sound, vibrating deep in his throat.

"I have been waiting so long for this", he husks, "I didn't want for it to end too quickly, hm?"

You can feel him growing back to full size inside of you, within mere minutes. It feels nice, nice being so full and you are so far gone in that thickly sweet daze that you don't even think once, as you roll your hips lazily - once, twice - while his hands roam over your body, your lower belly, your waist, groping your tits.

Christoph touches you with a righteousness, like you belong to him, like he owns you. Like there's no one else but you.

But you know that's not true. You know that upstairs your mother is fast asleep, and that on her nightstand lays an expensive engagement ring with a huge-ass diamond. If you weren't so fucked out of your mind, you'd care and you'd wonder if this is a one-time thing.

As if he can read your thoughts, he says: "Don't you worry your pretty little head, princess. I won't marry her anymore - it's only you darling, always been."

And you sigh, his sweet talk wrapping you in as he pushes his hips upwards once, buries himself deep into your cunt, hits your cervix. You look over your shoulder, and your gazes meet.

One of his hands comes up, rests on your cheek while he starts to fuck you slowly, softly pants with the way his dick slips in and out of you. "Oh, my sweet baby", Christoph coos while you are hissing quietly as his cock brushes over your overstimulated walls, spreads your tight and aching hole, your hand clutching his wrist.

"Daddy, i-it's too much", you mewl and he pouts at you playfully, shakes his head.

"No, it isn't, is it? You can take it", his thumb caresses your cheek, gives you a sweet peck on the lips, "Be a good girl and take it. You can give me one more."

But you physically can't, and neither does your pussy, walls tightening around him, pushing against his hard dick. "Oh, das machen wir aber nicht, hm?", Christoph scolds, his other hand diving back between your spread legs, two fingers gently circling your clit. You hum, body immediately relaxing, and within a few moments the dull pain of him assaulting your used hole vanishes in thin air, sharp gasps escaping your parted lips, your juices running down your cunt.

"There we are. I knew you could take it", his grin is nothing but devilish, peppers your cheek with soft kisses, "I'm so proud of you, sunshine, hm? Taking it so much better than your mom. I knew you'd be the one."

Stretching your already used cunt further, he nestles back in fully, sighs deeply. "Like you were made for me, angel."

"Yes", you sigh sweetly, because you sure feel like it. Gently, careful even, Christoph continues to circle your clit, pinching and rubbing it. Your body slowly, slowly sinks away from you, growing light and all that is left is the feeling of his hands touching you, his cock buried deep inside of you. Every nerve-ending tingles with it, your brain only focussed on him and the way he feels, the way he smells, the way he sounds. The only thing left is him.

Your body goes limp, arms dangling at your sides as Christoph grabs your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and thrusts you onto his cock - once, twice. Deep thrusts, that make your blood sing.

"O-oh, oh Daddy", you gasp, eyes rolling back. Your body practically goes up in hot, burning flames of lust, sparks tingling in your thighs and your chest and you want him to run his hands all over you and feel you up, but you also don't want him to stop manhandling you like he does - all his pent up energy coming lose, practically giving you taste of how long and cruel his wait had been. If you weren't so fucked out of your mind, everything a little hazy already, you would touch yourself, but you just can't - all you can do is spread your legs wider, mouth agape while you pant and moan, relishing in the delicious feeling of his dick fucking you into oblivion.

Your jaw goes slack with it, head lolling back onto his shoulder as he uses you, hammers you down on his dick like a fleshlight. Christoph's grip on your waist and hips is hard enough to leave bruises and tomorrow morning you will be able to see them, an angry red, count the ways he marked you as his.

The thought of you being nothing more to Christoph than his pretty little cocksleeve - young and attractive - that he can take anywhere and fuck whenever he pleases, makes your head swim. You think about him dragging you along to some award-show, showing you off on the carpet and then bending you over the sink in one of the bathrooms because another actor looked at you for a second too long, fucking you until you can't really walk anymore - only to later sit in the award ceremony and feeling his cum leaking out of you. You think of him taking you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant - maybe even with some of his Hollywood-friends - playing with your pussy at the dinner table, whispering sweet nothings in your ear - just because he can, because who would even dare to stop him? You think about visiting him on set, waiting for him in his hotel room - adorned in the jewellery he has gifted you, nothing on but a revealing set of lingerie - waiting for him to take his stress out on you.

It makes you fucking wet, squirt gushing from your cunt, that runs down your folds and that he pumps back into your wanton hole. "Jesus, fuck", you whine, starting to roll your hips with the way he thrusts you down on his dick, feeling him deep deep inside of your pussy, thick head brushing over and hitting your cervix. Hearing him moan with it nearly makes you lose your mind.

You cry out - overstimulated, but so so horny - with his cum squelching out of you with every single thrust, mingling with your juices and dripping, squirting onto the sofa. There are pleas falling from your lips as you yell out with lust and Christoph's quick to clasp one hand around your mouth, your cries and deep moans muffled by the palm of his hand. Your eyelids flutter as you fuck yourself back against his thrusts, his cock hitting your cervix and pain and lust ignite your body, making you want to curl up and just take take take what he gives you.

You feel like you are on fire, your whole body responding to his touch and his thrusts, every single nerve in your body on high alert, as you feel your orgasm coming closer.

Looking down, you can see how he is still thrusting your body down on his dick and you watch, panting. Seeing just how he is using you, like you are nothing but a delicate toy --

It's what tips you over.

A high-pitched scream escapes your mouth as you cum, muffled by his hand pressing against your mouth - before he pulls away, allows you to suck in a few deep breaths through your opened mouth.

Your body practically convulses on his cock, shakes rattling your frame as your third orgasm rolls over you, creaming and squirting against his dick, making a pretty mess of his linen slacks and the sofa beneath. You have left quite a few nasty stains tonight, and your cheeks will turn red in a few days, when your mother spots them and Christoph lies to her face.

Your cunt squeezes his dick and you can feel it twitch heavily inside of you, once, twice, and then he cums too, shoots hot ropes of cum inside of your pussy once more. You feel so fucking full, like you are about to burst, as you roll your hips against his, cunt gushing around his cock.

"Oh fuck", you moan sweetly, sacking back against him. You can hear him pant, one hand on your waist coming lose and resting gently on your stomach, rubbing loose circles over your warm skin.

"What a good girl, huh", he whispers, coarse and exhausted. His words barely reach you through the thick cloud, everything turns white and a soft numbness embraces you, makes you feel featherlight, like you are flying. Christoph's arms wrap you in gently, pulling your naked form close to his, the soft linen crinkling and pressing against your naked back.

You stay like this for a while, with his large and soft hands caressing your skin - rubbing your stomach and gently stroking your thigh - until your breath becomes deeper again, your limbs start to feel heavier, more connected to your body once more. "Oh God", you sigh, feeling his cock still plugging your hole up. It grows flaccid slowly, a few drops of his cum already leaking out of you.

Christoph's lips dance along your shoulder, your neck, kissing and pressing down onto the warm skin. His hands grip your hips tightly. "Ready?", and he sounds so so playful, like he is really enjoying this - taking some depraved satisfaction from it - and you can't help but nod, readying for him to pull out.

He lifts your hips, watches how his dick slips out of your hole easily, hears you hiss with it, and then it trickles down. Thick drops, streaks of white cum flush from your used cunt, and he's quick to swipe his fingers along your folds - spreads your pussy and his cum, collects it with his fingers.

They enter your vision and without thinking, like you're still far gone - despite the fact that you aren't - he shoves them between your obediently opened, waiting lips. You close them around his fingers, while the remains of his cum drip out of you still, and start to clean them up, sucking on them, tongue swirling around his digits.

"That's a good girl", his praise has your blood singing, and you whine in protest as Christoph pulls his fingers from your mouth, "So, tell me - where do you go the next time you want a good fuck?"

"To you, Daddy", you say softly, earning you a warm chuckle and a pat on the thigh.

***

Your legs are still wobbly as you make your way downstairs in the morning and out onto the terrace. Your mother and Christoph are sitting in the sun, a light breeze rolling around the terrace, making the seam of the table cloth sway gently.

Your mother is silently eating her breakfast while Christoph rustles with his French newspaper. He appears to be interested in the Feuilleton but you notice how his gaze flickers to you as soon as you're approaching the table, remains glued to your figure, small lines forming around his eyes.

"Oh, honey!", your mother gets up, happy that you are awake, and gives you a featherlight kiss on the cheek, "Oh god, you look horrible, darling! Did you sleep unwell?"

Christoph snorts, but your mother ignores it - holds you at arm length, iron grip around your arms as she assesses your timid frame.

"Yeah, 's just the heat", you mutter, freeing yourself from her death grip and sit down, flinching a little. You're so fucking sore, legs still heavy and hole aching, pussy begging for another touch through the slight pain. Christoph deliberately puts down the newspaper, a smug smile toying at the corners of his lips. It grows rather surprised than complacent as he takes you in fully.

You are wearing one of the dresses he had bought you. You also draped a silk scarf around your shoulders, hiding the viciously glowing bitemark he gave you. His face is expressionless as he looks at you, his cold stare boring into you. For a moment you think, he might rat you out - tell your mother that you snuck out last night.

But he doesn't. Instead, he wordlessly pours you a glass of freshly pressed orange juice, hands it over to you. Your fingers brush over his, goosebumps spreading over your skin at the thought that just a couple of hours, they had been in you, fucking you to hell and back.

You can still feel them inside of you, growing wet at the thought, squirming a little in your chair. If it weren't for your mom sitting right next to you, you'd get up and beg him to fuck you. Your pussy aches at the imagery that your brain conjures up; tits bouncing, one leg hooked over his shoulder, the expensive dress pooling around your waist, glasses on the table clinking with each thrust.

Your mother - oblivious to what is happening in front of her - brabbles on about her plans for the day, while Christoph's gaze is chained to yours.

It feels like his eyes are undressing you, a shadow dances over his greyish eyes, turning them into a darkened sky. Your hand grips the glass tightly, thighs rubbing together. You really wish you could just --

"Careful", he says quietly, pointing at your hand clutching your glass so hard your knuckles start to turn white, and you let go of it, like you just burned yourself. The glass nearly topples over on the white table cloth, the juice trickles down the insides of it lazily, silent testimony to an accident prevented. He's right - it might've burst.

Thank you for taking care of me, Daddy. You want to get up and thank him properly, unzip his pants and --

"Don't you think, that'd be nice, honey?", your mother chimes, still busy with her avocado, and pulls you out of your daydream - you on your knees with Christoph rubbing his cock and balls across your face and making you look like a cheap whore, before he slips it between your plush, waiting lips with their red lipstick smudged - you barely manage not to moan aloud, quickly turning your head her way.

"Huh?", you blink dumbly.

"Honey", she scoffs, "I said - Do you wanna go to the beach today?"

You rather wouldn't. Especially not with your mother around, gushing about the man who fucked you senseless last night. You would rather spend the day with him alone.

Thus, your gaze flickers back to Christoph quicker than you can think about it, quicker than you can stop yourself from doing it. He gives you the slightest nod, that goes completely unnoticed by your mother and rearranges his reading glasses.

Thank you for thinking for me, Daddy.

"Sure, why not?", you can hear yourself say. Christoph rustles with his newspaper and somewhere, in the trees, a bird chimes.

[filmscruise]

i'm working on a whole fanfiction of christoph, i'm inspired

[truefandemonium]

Heyy there! I was so happy the moment I saw you accept requests for King 🥹

Can I ask for a fic where King is jealous bc of Candie? Django notices this and tries to calm down King, which was useless. Later on, reader (fem or gn pls) notices King is a bit distant and ignoring her, so she confronts him and he accidentally admits his feelings (King and Reader had just a few intimate moments before, but nothing serious bc King have said it was dangerous). Fluff and Angst maybe? 🥺

I hope you like my request, tysm! 🤗✨

Thank you SO MUCH for requesting this!! I absolutely love the idea and writing Jealous King was fun! (As my first fic in the fandom, I hope he’s not OOC!)

I took some creative liberties with the canon plot to fit this prompt, but I hope you enjoy! 😍

Dr. King Schultz xFem!Reader

Mature. Tags: angst, fluff, jealousy, possessive!King, mentions of slavery, innuendo, implied sexual content, strong language

3,884 words

…

King had hardly been able to stop ordering you and Django around since getting onto the road that would eventually take you straight to CandieLand. “And make sure you do not make him angry,” he tells you. “I have heard from good sources that Mister Candie is not exactly what you’d call reasonable.”

“So, be a pushover, then?” you ask curiously, but genuine. You’re willing to do whatever you need to in order to save Django’s wife, and if that means pretending to laugh at a madman’s jokes and not smile at his slaves, so be it.

“Not in your wheelhouse, my dear, I know,” King says regretfully, glancing sideways at you on Django’s horse while he controls Fritz’s reins from the wagon. You used to argue with him about sitting on the stagecoach with him, but King had insisted that if a fight broke out, he would want you to be on Django’s horse to make a quick getaway if need be.

So here you sit, arms wrapped around Django’s waist as you stare longingly at the man across from you on the wagon. You shut your eyes for a moment and lean forward, laying your head against Django’s back and pretending it’s King’s warmth that you’re feeling now.

“Getting cozy, huh?” the man in front of you grunts, and you quickly pull back, sitting upright just as King glances sideways again and notices your rosy cheeks.

King smiles softly in your direction. “Frauline, if you are needing rest, I can request a room for you upon arrival…”

“No, no,” you shake your head, “I just— I would rather stay with you both.”

King nods, understandingly, while Django mutters, “Suit your damn self.”

The rest of the ride is relatively silent, besides the short huffs and whinnies from Fritz before the three of you arrive at the grand entrance of CandieLand.

You watch with a deep rooted pain in your chest as you roll past fields, seeing the slaves that fill the place. Righteous anger fills you— the need for justice overwhelming. But you remember that you’re on a mission, here. You’re saving Broomhilda.

The wagon rolls to a stop at a lofty porch, with stairs leading down to the dirt path you’re on now, and King waves, beckoning over a slave to discuss the reason for his arrival.

Soon, the head honcho of this place— Monsieur Candie —is chatting with King and discussing business.

You shiver as King eventually introduces you, and Candie’s eyes rake over your form atop the horse, half hidden behind Django’s body.

“Well, nice of you to bring such a fine young lady along with yourself, Dr. Schultz,” Candie muses, his brows raised as he runs his tongue along his teeth.

You feel sick with his eyes on you— feeling like a sheep laid bare for the wolf to devour. But you remember what King said and instead just smile politely, dipping your head as a shameful blush floods your face.

King chuckles nervously and looks back at you. “Yes, she is quite a help in the cooking department. I, myself, am not much of a chef.” You can see the way his green eyes fill with roiling emotions, the way he’s hardly managing to stay cheery. “We keep her around as a sort of maid,” he adds, and you have to stifle an eye roll at the absurdity. He’s not entirely wrong, but you know you contribute much more to the team than washing laundry and dishes in rivers as you pass them.

Candie nods, sucking his teeth. “Yeah? She good for anything else?”

You feel your face fill with heat once more as King makes a sharp noise in the back of his throat. You feel Django tense in front of you, one arm still looped carefully around his middle, and suddenly you realize that King is struggling for words. Struggling to stay calm.

Django saves him with a quick quip, “Shovelin’ horseshit.”

King whips his head to stare at his counterpart as Candie lets out a loud laugh. “Oh, I see! She’s not one to lie on her back, then? No matter, I’m sure we can accommodate you fine gentlemen if’n you feel the need for a little roughhousin’ later on tonight.” He punctuates his words with a sickening grin, and King forces his gaze back toward the man, plastering a smile onto his bearded face.

“Excellent,” King agrees.

“In fact, Dr— you said you speak German?” Candie continues. “We got a little comfort gal that could take care of you this evening. She even speaks a little German, the devil. Tilly!” He beckons over a female slave and leans down to mutter, “Where is Hildy?”

The girl wrinkles her nose and points to a metal box lying out in the far field, baking in the sunlight. “She got put in the hotbox, monseuir. She bein’ bad again, and runned off.”

Candie curses and glances up in embarrassment, ordering the girl, “Well, get her the hell out and get her cleaned up for my guests.”

You feel Django shift, his hand coming to rest on the gun at his hip as you squeeze his shoulder worriedly.

But before he can shoot, Candie is beckoning you all inside, and sending people to take the horses back to the stables. King hurries over to the side of Django’s horse and reaches up to help you down, his hands firmly planted on your waist as he lowers you to the ground. You feel him hesitate there for a moment, his fingers hovering over your body, your hands on his shoulders— faces mere inches apart.

Then he pulls back and theatrically beckons you to follow, rushing after Candie and diving into the false pleasantries between them. Django gazes out at the field as you watch a naked woman get picked up from inside the metal prison and placed in a wheelbarrow to be hauled inside. Her cries of pain echo toward your ears and you nudge Django’s elbow gently to break him out of his horrified staring.

The two of you follow King and Candie inside, ignoring the odd looks from strangers as you walk through the grand arched entrance and into a large living room.

Candie reclines in a large chair, offering King a cigar as they sit and open a jar of whiskey. Django stands in the corner, arms crossed as he watches Candie with an untrusting gaze.

You, too, remain standing, unsure of exactly where to sit— until Candie spots you and shoots you a wide grin, lighting up his cigar with a match. “No place to rest your feet, darlin’?” he asks you. You start to stammer a reply before he waves you to silence and flicks his fingers for you to approach.

“Come on,” he insists, reaching out and snatching the cloth of your dress in his fist to tug you onto the arm of his chair. You make a small sound at the sudden movement, arms wrapping around his shoulders for balance as he chuckles. “Well, Dr. Schultz, if you ever did get bored enough to bend your maid over, she sure does make pretty little noises.” He slides his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his side as you balance on the arm of his chair.

“Mm.” King’s eyes flash with a dull fury, his fingers tightening until he’s white-knuckling his smoking cigar. “Indeed,” he mutters with barely restrained disdain.

You remind yourself to stay polite despite the way that you want to smack Candie across the face and knock that smug smile off his chapped lips, recalling this is for Django. You’re going to save Broomhilda, and you won’t let this man’s disgusting display scare you off.

So you smile down at him, letting your hand plant on his collar, fiddling gently with the cloth between your fingers as he speaks with King and Django.

You pretend to not care that his grip on you makes your stomach turn uncomfortably, or that he smells of smoke and whiskey in all the worst ways. Instead, you distract yourself with stealing glances at King— a sigh working its way out of your chest at the sight of him. He’s so perfect— so wonderful. The way his green eyes sparkle in the firelight, his greying beard so perfectly framing his soft, crooked lips. The curl of his salt and pepper hair that falls around his ears to meet his sharp jaw.

“Poor bitch must be exhausted, she can’t even hear me,” Candie chuckles suddenly, and you whirl to look down at him.

“Oh— huh? I’m sorry, sir—” you start to say, panic filling your chest.

“I asked if you’re hungry, sugar,” he says, his tone slimy and low. You repress a shudder and force a smile onto your face.

“Oh, I could eat,” you tell him.

Candie chuckles wickedly, smirking in King’s direction. “Y’hear that, Dr? She’s a girl with an appetite.”

You burn at the implications of his words, giggling in lieu of calling him a bastard right to his smirking face.

You glance back to see King staring with a furrowed brow at you, eyes flicking between your falsely glad face and Candie’s, something dangerous flickering deep in his green gaze.

“Why don’t you three go get cleaned up for dinner, huh?” Candie then ushers you up off the chair arm, smacking your backside flirtatiously as he does so. You playfully wave him away, feeling close to throwing up. You wish King would do something– anything– to show Candie that you were his. But of course, nothing between you was official anyway, even if it wasn’t terribly dangerous to defy Candie in his own home. But you and King had kissed, once. After a particularly long day, Django and King had killed four men and had their corpses lying in the dark shadows beyond your makeshift camp in the desert, a roaring fire before you as the three of you downed bottle after bottle of watery beer in celebration.

Maybe being drunk had something to do with it, maybe because the tension between you both had grown too strong, but whatever it was compelled you to kiss him that night. You simply pulled him in by his collar and pressed your virgin lips to his, relishing in the woody way he smelled, and the rich taste of him. And it was wonderful.

You wished that the kiss would change things, perhaps solidify what you thought you had going between you, but alas, nothing more ever came of it. The two of you were still close– even romantically so, at times. But King never let you get too close. Why, you couldn’t say. You wish you could ask him, but your fear of losing his friendship remained stronger than your curiosity.

Candie instructs a servant to lead you up the stairs and to the empty rooms down the hall, and you follow in silence, looking expectantly toward King, hoping for a reassuring look of kindness or concern. But to your dismay, he seems to be avoiding your gaze, all the way until he reaches his offered room, and goes inside without so much as a glance in your direction.

You look to Django, who’s still in the hall with you, confusedly, hoping he has an answer to why on earth King is suddenly distant.

He simply shrugs, heading into his own room and leaving you alone to ponder the sudden sadness creeping into your chest.

When you finish washing up, a servant girl brings you a dress to wear, a gift from Candie, and you put it on, returning to the hall as soon as possible in order to visit King’s room. You rap on his door and wait for the muffled, “Komm herein– come in.”

He turns, fixing his collar distractedly until he sees you, and his throat bobs hard, eyes growing wide. He slams a wall down over his features so that his expression becomes unreadable, and hurriedly finishes with his collar before retrieving his coat and pulling it on. “Ah, frauline. Everything is fine, I hope?” he asks brusquely.

You look at him longingly, confused and hurt by his sudden coolness toward you. “King, is everything alright? Did I– Did I do something to upset you–?”

“I am quite well, Ms. L/N, thank you,” he says, turning toward the mirror above the empty dresser and fixing his grey locks, brows drawn over his darkened eyes.

You wince, feeling as though you’ve been struck. “‘Ms. L/N’? King– what is the matter with you? Please, if you’re mad at me, just say so–”

“Dinner is ready,” a servant tells you from just outside in the hall, startling both you and King into whipping your heads toward the open door. King smiles fakely, ducking his head.

“Ah, thank you very much,” he says, adjusting his coat once more before waltzing past you and out the door to return downstairs. You watch with swelling pain as he walks away without another word.

Dinner doesn’t go much better, King visibly pouting throughout the meal. You play along with Candie, reciprocating his lewd gestures, lingering touches, and laughing at all his dirty jokes. Your attempt at buttering him up seems to work, however, as he is incredibly calm at the prospect of King buying Broomhilda for a small sum.

“Well, I will be sure to send her up to your room tonight, then, doctor,” Candie winks in your friend’s direction, his hand flat on your thigh under the table as you try to remain calm and chew your food without choking.

King smiles again, and you begin to miss his real smile, the way his white teeth flash behind his mustache. “Thank you immensely, Monsieur Candie.”

“I do believe I could use some rest,” you say suddenly, pushing up from the table and glancing at King to see if he reacts. You feel the sting of rejection as he turns his eyes downward to his plate.

“I could walk you,” Candie offers, standing alongside you with a wolfish grin.

King stands, too, now, his eyes fiery. He opens his mouth to speak, and Django quickly straightens, grabbing King’s sleeve. “Mister Candie, my partner wanted to discuss the Mandingo fighter— Big Fred —we’ll be right back.”

With that, he drags King out the side door by his arm, and you mutter an excuse to Candie before following. He watches with narrowed gaze as you round the corner and hear the two men whispering in the hall.

“You need to calm the hell down,” Django whispers in a low tone.

King hisses, his accent more pronounced as he grows angrier. “Do you see that? I am this close to putting a bullet in his brain—”

“Y/N is not bothered, King,” Django says so softly you have to strain to hear.

A small sigh, and then, “That is what worries me.”

You jump on shock as Candie appears behind you, loudly asking, “Everything alright back here?”

King returns from the hall, grinning again. He claps his hands. “Peachy, Monsieur Candie. But as a matter of fact, we have all had a pretty long day and some rest would be most welcome.”

“Course! Make yourselves at home,” Candie assures you. He adds with a wink in King’s direction, “And I’ll send Hildy up to your room a little later.”

Django’s eyes flash hopefully. “Wonderful,” King says.

“Behave yourself until then,” Candie reminds him, fiddling with the cloth of your dress for a moment as he murmurs, “And you too. Ask Tilly where to find me if’n you get lonely, hear?”

You nod politely, counting the seconds until you can escape his gaze. “Yessir.”

He smiles. “Good girl.” The man ushers you all toward the end of the hall, leading to the staircase, and bids you goodnight. “Git, now. We can discuss further business in the morning.”

You curtsy before following the men upstairs and to your vacant rooms, heart pounding fearfully. Candie makes your chest squeeze uncomfortably— like the feeling you get when you know you’re about to get hurt, you just don’t know how.

You hesitate to follow King to his room, seeing him slam his door and taking that as a sign not to bother him. But the pain at wanting to be close to him refuses to leave. Do you quickly undress, pulling on a lacy nightgown and slipping back into the hall after the rest of the house has quieted.

You knock gently on his door, waiting for his reply, but instead of his usual German quip, he calls, “Just a moment!”

You hear the soft steps as he comes to greet you, the creak of the door as it opens and suddenly you’re face to face. His eyes light up, at first, before he furrows his brow and seems to grow distant again. “Frauline,” he whispers. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” you tell him, pain at his harsh attitude making your heart ache. “Please— I need to talk with you.”

“Can this wait until we leave tomorrow? Broomhilda will be up any minute—”

“No!” you hiss, startling him. His green eyes grow wide as you push against the door and close the space between you. King inhales sharply, stepping back to allow you to breach further into his room, and you shut the door quickly behind you. “King,” you start, the need to be with him beginning to be overwhelming, “I don’t understand why you’re treating me like this, but you need to tell me what’s wrong. What can I do?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he lies, avoiding your gaze as he walks to the bed and runs his hands through his hair in a panic. You watch the flex of his muscles beneath his starch white shirt, suspenders pulling taught over his shoulders.

“King, if this is about Candie—”

“I do not care how you choose to conduct yourself,” he bites back, speaking over you. His tone is clipped as he talks over his shoulder, still refusing to face you head-on. “If you misread my concern for romantic interest, I apologize.”

“But… isn’t it?” you ask softly, feeling as though your heart might truly shatter in this moment.

King still won’t face you, his head turned slightly so you can see the sharp curve of his jaw, the way his eyes cast downward as he struggles for words. “I have lost people, dear Y/N. I have loved, and lost, and I have never learned from my mistakes until now.”

Finally, he turns, and you can see the tears brimming in his eyes, and your heart wrenches.

“I don’t know how I came to be so graced as to bask in your presence on the daily, frauline, but believe me when I say that if anything happened to you because of my recklessness, I would never forgive myself…” His words cut like a knife, simultaneously stoking the fire that burns deep in your gut. His voice breaks as he grinds out, “I don’t believe I would like to keep living if you were not.”

“Oh, King,” you cry, pressing a hand to your mouth to stifle your tears.

He shifts and you close the space between you with a few short leaps, falling against his front and wrapping your arms around him. King hesitates only momentarily before folding his own arms over you, resting his chin atop your head as you whimper gently into his chest.

“You know I’m only playing along so we can save Broomhilda, right?” you whisper once you’ve caught your breath. King pulls back slightly to look you in the face, his expression cloudy with confusion.

“You mean…?”

You laugh gently, sniffling. “King— he’s an absolutely deplorable man. I think less of him than anyone I’ve ever met.”

You can feel the relief enter King’s body at your words, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “Liebling, forgive me… I have never been a patient man.” He chuckles abashedly, and you reach up to cup his jaw in your palm, reveling in the way he practically purrs, leaning into your touch.

“You don’t have to be patient anymore,” you tell him. “I’ve been waiting for you— for this. I want you, Dr. King Schultz.” His name on your tongue tastes like the sweetest honey, and you find yourself smiling as you stare at him.

“My dear,” he says, his tone strained as if he’s hardly containing himself. His hand comes up to encircle your wrist but doesn’t pull your fingers from where they’re buried in his beard. “You have no idea how much I have longed to hear those words on your lips.” His eyes flash painfully. “But I could not bear to let you get hurt.”

“I won’t,” you promise him, desperation leaking into your voice. “I swear it. I’d rather spend a short time as your woman than a long life without being in your arms.”

King’s mouth falls open as he croaks, “Honest?”

You smile again, tears filling your eyes. “Honest as the day is long, King.”

He gazes fondly at you, his grey hair framing his aged face, and you find yourself aching for a kiss. You cautiously let your hand travel down to his collar and King seems to get the idea, his eyes brightening with realization as a smile crawls onto his lips.

You press further against his front and his hand comes to rest at the small of your back, holding you gently but firmly and flush against his middle as you crane your neck to look up at him.

King pushes a strand of hair from your face before gently holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger and leaning down to place his lips to yours.

You instantly let out a soft moan of affection, deeply inhaling the scent of bonfire smoke, pine trees, and old beer. Beneath that: the musk that always reminds you of King, manly and sharp and sweet, somehow. His lips work against yours as you melt into his touch, the kiss deepening until you swear you’ll never stop tasting him.

King’s hands find your waist and he grips you, his hold almost possessive as if he’s afraid of losing you. You pull back to breathe and see King’s pupils are blown wide with want, his hair mussed from your wandering hands, his lips already red from your assault.

You smile at the sight of him so undone, and you start taking steps forward, urging him backward and toward the bed. King gasps as you push him fully onto his back, climbing atop him and leaning in to plant kisses all along his neck.

He pants gently, his hands now shaky as they hover over your hips, nervousness obvious in his sudden tension. “My dear,” he tells you, his voice breathy and worked up. “Broomhilda will be up here any moment, I will need to be presentable.”

“Tomorrow then?” you murmur, loving the feeling of his soft lips beneath your own. “Promise me.”

“Tomorrow,” he yields, grunting gently into your mouth as you press him deep into the mattress with a kiss. He grins as you pull back, gasping for air. King promises, “And every day after that.”

…

[dilfismz]

The Wolf and The Fox

Pairing: Hans Landa x reader, slight Aldo Raine x reader but brief.

Description: As the only female Basterd it's your job to seduce Landa to gain information that may just tip the scales towards the Allies in this war. However, this job may be more mentally and emotionally tolling than expected, leaving you wondering where your true loyalties lie.

Warnings: Manipulation, gaslighting, mentions of Nazism/Nazis (naturally), betrayal, character death (not reader), suggestive but no smut.

Length: 11.7k (ya'll I went crazy)

You stepped into the softly lit dining room of the chateau, each footfall measured, each glance deliberate. Your dress was selected to attract attention but not suspicion—elegant but understated, fitting for your cover as an American socialite stranded in German-occupied France. You were here to gather intel from Hans Landa, the notorious “Jew Hunter.” Your mission was to gain his trust, charm him, and extract the secrets buried in his cunning mind.

Landa rose as you entered, his wolfish smile already in place. “Ah, Fräulein,” he said in a tone dripping with feigned warmth. “I must say, you bring an unexpected brightness to this dreary war.”

“Colonel Landa,” you replied, offering a polite smile. You extended your hand, and he took it, his grip firm but not oppressive. His lips brushed the back of your hand, his eyes locking onto yours as though daring you to look away.

“Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to the small, candlelit table set for two.

You obeyed, smoothing your dress as you sat. The air between you felt charged, like a taut wire. Landa’s reputation preceded him; you’d been briefed extensively on his charm, his ruthlessness, and his unsettling ability to peel back people’s layers with terrifying ease.

“Wine?” he offered, already pouring without waiting for an answer.

“Thank you,” you said, accepting the glass.

He sat across from you, folding his hands on the table and leaning forward slightly. His eyes never left you, scrutinizing every movement, every breath. “So, Fräulein, tell me—what brings an American woman to our humble corner of the world?”

You sipped your wine, using the moment to gather your thoughts. “I was visiting Europe when the war began. Circumstances have kept me here longer than I intended.”

“Ah,” Landa said, his voice light, but his smile betrayed a deeper curiosity. “And yet, you seem remarkably at ease in occupied France. One might even say… comfortable.”

You tilted your head, mirroring his playful tone. “I’ve learned that survival often depends on adapting to one’s circumstances, Colonel.”

Landa’s eyes glinted with amusement. “How pragmatic. I find that adaptability is a trait I greatly admire in others.” He took a sip of his own wine, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make you feel his scrutiny. “And how, may I ask, have you adapted to the company of German officers?”

You met his gaze, allowing a hint of a smile to play at your lips. “By keeping them entertained, of course.”

Landa chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “A sharp tongue, an even sharper wit. I do enjoy clever company.”

You leaned forward slightly, careful to keep your movements subtle and deliberate. “And I enjoy men who appreciate a woman’s intelligence.”

Landa’s smile widened, his predatory nature slipping through for just a moment. “Then we are well-matched, Fräulein.”

The conversation continued, a delicate dance of words and glances. You allowed yourself to flirt just enough to keep his interest piqued, to keep him guessing about your intentions. Beneath the surface, you were cataloging every detail of the room, every piece of information he let slip, no matter how trivial it seemed.

But Hans Landa was not a man to be underestimated. He leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting to one of casual curiosity. “You are quite skilled at this, you know.”

“At what, Colonel?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“At making people believe exactly what you want them to,” he said, his smile sharp as a knife.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you raised your glass to him. “Then perhaps we’re more alike than you think.”

Landa laughed again, genuine this time. “Touché, Fräulein. Touché.”

As the evening wore on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking a razor’s edge. Landa was too clever, too perceptive. But you also knew that his ego was his greatest weakness. And if you played your cards right, you might just come out of this alive—with the information the Basterds so desperately needed.

For now, the game continued, with each move being more dangerous than the last.

The dinner wore on, the two of you circling each other like predators testing the boundaries of their territories. You leaned into the role you were assigned, allowing Hans to feel that he was the one leading the conversation, the dance. But with every veiled compliment you offered, every calculated sip of wine, you knew you were feeding his ego—your most valuable tool.

“Tell me, Fräulein,” he began, setting his glass down with deliberate care. “Do you enjoy the theater?”

“The theater?” you repeated, tilting your head in mock consideration. “I suppose it depends on the performance.”

He smiled, pleased by your response. “And how would you describe tonight’s performance?”

You felt the trap hidden beneath his words, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you allowed a soft, amused smile to curve your lips. “I’d say it’s riveting. A masterclass in… subtlety.”

Landa chuckled, the sound low and indulgent. “Flattery will get you far, my dear. But I must confess, you are far more engaging than most of the company I’m accustomed to.”

“And you are far more charming than I anticipated, Colonel,” you replied, leaning forward slightly, your voice dropping just enough to hint at something more. “I imagine you don’t often hear that.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” he said, his smile widening into something sharper. “I hear it often. But sincerity… that is rare. And I do believe you are sincere.”

He was testing you now, watching your every reaction, waiting for a crack in your facade. You forced a laugh, light and melodic, as if his comment were nothing more than a clever jest. “Well, I wouldn’t dream of lying to you, Colonel. That would be terribly unwise.”

“Indeed, it would,” he said, his tone dipping into something darker. “But you don’t strike me as someone who shies away from taking risks.”

You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. His words felt like a challenge, a thinly veiled acknowledgment that he suspected there was more to you than met the eye. But you couldn’t afford to falter now.

“Life is full of risks, Colonel,” you said, your voice steady. “The key is knowing which ones are worth taking.”

His eyes sparkled with something you couldn’t quite place—amusement? Suspicion? Admiration? Perhaps all three. “Wise words. Tell me, Fräulein, what risks have you deemed worth taking recently?”

You hesitated just long enough to make it seem as though you were considering your answer carefully. “Sitting across from you tonight,” you said finally, allowing a playful smirk to tug at your lips.

Hans laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh that echoed through the room. “Oh, you are delightful,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s been far too long since I’ve encountered someone with your… talents.”

You smiled demurely, but your mind was racing. Every word, every glance, was part of a game you couldn’t afford to lose. Hans Landa was far too intelligent, far too dangerous, to underestimate. And yet, you could feel that he was intrigued by you, perhaps even a little disarmed.

But then, just as you began to feel the faintest sense of control, he leaned forward, his expression shifting to something colder, sharper. “Tell me, my dear,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, “what really brought you to occupied France?”

Your blood ran cold, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you let out a soft laugh, meeting his gaze with a steady calm you didn’t entirely feel. “I already told you, Colonel. Circumstance.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Circumstance can be such a convenient excuse, don’t you think?”

The game had changed. Landa wasn’t just toying with you anymore; he was hunting.

And you were the prey.

Your breath hitched, but you recovered quickly. Landa’s eyes were locked onto yours, sharp and predatory, and yet there was something else there—a flicker of amusement, of genuine curiosity. He was testing you, yes, but you couldn’t ignore the magnetic pull of his presence.

There was a strange allure to him, something that both repelled and intrigued you. You weren’t blind to his cruelty, to the blood on his hands, but the way he carried himself—his charm, his intelligence—made it impossible not to feel drawn in, even against your better judgment.

You smiled, letting your lashes flutter slightly as you tilted your head. “Convenient, perhaps,” you said, your voice soft and measured. “But sometimes convenience is all we have in times like these.”

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that sent an unexpected warmth through you. “You’re quite adept at turning a phrase, my dear. It’s refreshing.”

The conversation had shifted again, the tension between you no longer just a game of wits. It was something deeper, more dangerous. You could feel it in the way his gaze lingered on you, in the slight smirk tugging at his lips.

“I imagine you don’t often find yourself in refreshing company, Colonel,” you said, leaning forward just enough to blur the line between formality and intimacy.

“Indeed,” he said, his voice low. “Most people I encounter are far less… stimulating.”

Your pulse quickened as his words settled between you. The way he looked at you now wasn’t just calculating; it was hungry. And to your own surprise, you didn’t hate it.

Landa rose suddenly, his movements graceful and deliberate, and made his way around the table. He stopped beside you, his presence overwhelming. You turned to look up at him, your breath catching as he leaned down, his face inches from yours.

“Do you enjoy dancing, Fräulein?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur.

“I do,” you managed to reply, your voice quieter than you intended.

He extended a hand, his smile deepening. “Then allow me.”

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing your hand in his. His grip was warm, firm, and he pulled you to your feet with an ease that sent a shiver through you. The room was silent save for the soft crackle of the fire, but Landa began to hum a quiet melody as he guided you into a slow waltz.

His hand rested at your waist, his other holding yours as he led you in a steady rhythm across the room. You tried to focus, to remind yourself why you were here, but the way he looked at you—the intensity, the confidence—made it impossible to think clearly.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice almost teasing.

“It’s the wine,” you said quickly, though you both knew it wasn’t true.

He smiled, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as he pulled you closer. “I find that hard to believe.”

The proximity was intoxicating. You could feel the heat radiating from him, could smell the faint scent of cologne and tobacco that clung to him. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared.

“Tell me,” he said softly, his voice like a velvet caress. “What is it you’re truly afraid of, my dear?”

Your throat tightened. He was too close, too perceptive. And yet, a part of you didn’t want to pull away. “I’m not afraid,” you said, though your voice betrayed you.

His smile widened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “Lying doesn’t suit you.”

Your breath hitched, and you felt your resolve slipping. You should have pushed him away, should have refocused on the mission, but the way his voice curled around you, the way his hand pressed against your back—it was dizzying.

“I wonder,” he murmured, his lips barely grazing your skin, “if the risks you take are worth the reward.”

“And what reward might that be, Colonel?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression a mix of amusement and something darker. “That depends on you.”

The air between you was electric, the lines between duty and desire blurring with every passing second. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but for the first time, you weren’t sure you wanted to win.

The room felt smaller now, the air between you charged with an energy that was equal parts danger and allure. Hans Landa’s hand remained firmly at your waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your dress in a way that felt far too intimate. You told yourself this was all part of the mission, part of the game you were playing, but the pounding of your heart betrayed you.

“Perhaps it’s my turn to ask a question,” Landa said, his voice smooth as silk. He stopped your movement abruptly, keeping you close as his dark eyes searched yours.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to maintain your composure. “What do you want to know, Colonel?”

His smile deepened, and he tilted his head slightly, as if considering his next move. “Why is it that you tremble when I touch you, but you don’t pull away?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. How could you admit, even to yourself, that his presence unsettled you in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying?

“I’m not trembling,” you said finally, your voice steadier than you expected.

Landa raised an eyebrow, his smile turning almost predatory. “Are you sure?”

Before you could respond, he released your hand, only to raise it to your face, his fingers brushing the line of your jaw. The touch was light, almost reverent, but it set your nerves alight.

“Tell me, Fräulein,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the corner of your lips, “do you always lie so beautifully?”

You stepped back instinctively, but he followed, closing the distance between you in a single, fluid motion. “You seem nervous,” he said, his tone soft, but his eyes were alight with amusement. “Do I frighten you?”

Yes. He did. Not because of his reputation, though that alone was reason enough, but because of the way he made you feel. The pull toward him was undeniable, and that terrified you more than anything else.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” he said, his hand sliding from your jaw to the back of your neck. “Because I would hate to think you didn’t trust me.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. You were acutely aware of how close he was, of the heat radiating from him, of the way his gaze lingered on your lips.

“This isn’t appropriate,” you managed to say, your voice faltering.

“Appropriate?” he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “We are at war, my dear. The concept of appropriateness is as fragile as peace itself.”

His fingers pressed gently against the nape of your neck, tilting your head slightly. You knew you should push him away, create distance, regain control. But the intensity of his gaze rooted you in place, your body betraying your mind.

“You don’t need to be afraid of what you feel,” he murmured, his lips so close to yours now that you could feel his breath.

The words sent a surge of panic through you. Did he know? Could he see the war waging within you—the fight between duty and desire, between logic and the inexplicable pull toward him?

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat.

He silenced you with a quiet hum, his hand sliding from your neck to your cheek. His touch was impossibly gentle, a stark contrast to the sharp edge of his words. “You are an enigma, Fräulein,” he said softly. “And I find myself quite unable to resist unraveling you.”

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed against yours—not a kiss, not yet, but a deliberate test, a dare. You froze, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice low and filled with a dangerous kind of tenderness.

You couldn’t speak. Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to remember the mission, the stakes, the lives that depended on your success. But your body betrayed you, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.

“Interesting,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your cheek as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You seem conflicted, my dear. Care to share your thoughts?”

You stared at him, your pulse racing. “I think…” you began, your voice trembling. “I think this is dangerous.”

Landa’s smile returned, slow and deliberate. “Ah, but isn’t danger what makes life exciting?”

You hated how much you wanted to agree with him. Hated how much you wanted him to close the distance between you, to give in to the tension that had been building all evening. But you also knew that giving in would mean losing control—not just of the situation, but of yourself.

And in Hans Landa’s world, losing control could be fatal.

______________________________________________________________

The barn was quiet save for the faint rustling of hay underfoot as you stepped inside, pulling your coat tighter around you against the night’s chill. The weight of the evening still pressed against your chest, the memory of Hans Landa’s hands on your waist, his voice curling around your thoughts like smoke. You wanted to shake it off, to bury it beneath the mission, but it clung to you stubbornly.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” Raine drawled from the shadows, stepping forward with his usual swagger. His sharp eyes swept over you, narrowing slightly. “Took ya long enough. Thought maybe the big bad wolf gotcha.”

“I had to make it convincing,” you said, keeping your voice steady as you crossed the room. You’d rehearsed your explanation on the way here, but now, under Aldo’s scrutiny, the words felt thin.

“You get anything useful?” he asked, leaning casually against a post, though there was nothing casual about the way he was watching you.

You nodded, recounting what you’d learned—snippets of troop movements, subtle hints about upcoming plans, just enough to prove you’d been paying attention without betraying the full scope of the evening. But even as you spoke, Raine’s gaze never left you, his expression unreadable.

“And that’s all he gave ya?” he asked when you finished, his tone flat.

“For now,” you said. “He’s careful. But he’s intrigued, and that’s something we can use.”

Raine didn’t respond right away, his dark eyes boring into yours. Finally, he stepped closer, his voice low. “You sure you ain’t the one who’s intrigued?”

The question hit harder than you expected, and you stiffened, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I know what I’m doing,” you said, a little too sharply.

“Do ya?” he shot back, his tone calm but cutting. “’Cause somethin’ tells me you ain’t as steady as you’re lettin’ on.”

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped when he stepped even closer, his voice dropping further. “Look, I ain’t gonna pretend this is easy. Landa’s a sly bastard, and I’ve seen plenty of people underestimate him. But you—you’re actin’ like you don’t know which way’s up anymore. And that’s dangerous, darlin’.”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself not to react. “I told you, I’ve got it under control.”

Raine studied you for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. “Maybe you do. But lemme tell ya somethin’—that snake don’t charm folks for fun. He does it ‘cause it gets him what he wants. You start thinkin’ he’s more man than monster, you’re gonna lose. And when you lose, we all lose.”

His words cut deep, and for a moment, all you could do was stand there, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know what’s at stake,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “And I know what he is.”

“Good,” Raine said, his tone softer but no less firm. “Just make sure you remember that next time you’re lookin’ into those snake eyes of his.”

He turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the barn. The silence felt heavier now, oppressive. You sank onto a bale of hay, pressing your palms against your temples as the weight of your own thoughts threatened to crush you.

You’d told Raine the truth—at least, part of it. You did know what Hans Landa was. But knowing didn’t make you immune to the pull of him, the way he seemed to peel back your defenses with nothing more than a glance, a word, a touch.

You told yourself it was all part of the mission, part of the role you had to play. But deep down, you couldn’t ignore the fear creeping into your chest—not fear of Landa, but fear of what he was beginning to awaken in you.

And worse, the fear that he already knew.

___________

The barn wasn’t just quiet—it was tense. You could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air as the rest of the Basterds lingered in various states of disinterest or curiosity. Most of them didn’t even look up when you walked in. You’d been part of the team long enough to earn your place, but tonight, the stakes were higher, and so was the scrutiny.

You caught Donny’s eye first. He was sitting on an overturned crate, absently fiddling with his bat. His brow furrowed slightly when he saw you, but he didn’t say anything right away. Beside him, Wicki glanced up from cleaning his weapon and offered you a faint nod—a small but genuine gesture.

“Finally back, huh?” Donny said, breaking the silence. His tone was light, but there was an edge to it. “Thought maybe you decided to stay and dance the night away with Herr Colonel.”

You sighed, tugging your coat tighter around you. “Funny, Donowitz. Very funny.”

“You’re a regular comedian, Donny,” Wicki muttered without looking up.

“Just sayin’,” Donny continued, ignoring him. “You go toe-to-toe with the Jew Hunter himself, and all you got to show for it is a couple crumbs about troop movements? Doesn’t exactly scream success to me.”

You bristled, but before you could respond, Wicki cut in. “Don’t listen to him. He wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit him in the head.”

“Subtlety doesn’t get results,” Donny shot back, turning his attention to you. “So? Did he spill his guts, or was he too busy trying to charm you?”

“Enough,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. The barn fell silent, and you felt their eyes on you—curious, skeptical, and in some cases, accusatory.

It was Omar who broke the tension, stepping forward from where he’d been leaning against the wall. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and calm. “You okay?”

You blinked at the question, caught off guard by the genuine concern in his eyes. Omar wasn’t one to speak up much, but when he did, it was always sincere.

“I’m fine,” you said, though the words felt hollow.

Omar studied you for a moment longer before nodding. “Good. Just… don’t let Donny get in your head.”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’ what we’re all thinkin’,” Donny said, throwing up his hands. “You spend too much time cozying up to a guy like Landa, you’re gonna forget whose side you’re on.”

“That’s enough,” Wicki said sharply, his tone cutting through the room. He turned to you, his expression softening. “You did fine. We all know Landa’s not easy to crack. Just don’t let him get too close.”

“He’s not,” you said quickly, but even as the words left your mouth, you felt their weight. Were you trying to convince them, or yourself?

“Good,” Wicki said. “Because the moment he does, it’s game over. For all of us.”

The barn fell quiet again, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of their gazes, of their expectations. You’d been on plenty of missions before, but this felt different—more personal, more dangerous.

As the group began to disperse, you caught sight of Raine lingering by the door, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave you was enough: a silent warning, a reminder of the stakes.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sank onto a bale of hay. Omar sat down beside you, his presence quiet but reassuring.

“You really okay?” he asked again, his voice softer this time.

You hesitated, the weight of the night pressing down on you. “I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “I feel like I’m walking a tightrope, and one wrong step…”

Omar nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Just don’t forget you’ve got a net,” he said. “We’ve got your back. No matter what.”

You managed a faint smile, grateful for the gesture. But as Omar’s words sank in, you couldn’t help but wonder if they’d still hold true if they knew the truth—if they knew how much of you Landa had already unraveled.

And worse, how much you feared you might let him.

_______________

The morning air in the barn was sharp, cutting through the haze of exhaustion that clung to you after last night. The Basterds were already stirring, their voices low but charged with energy. They were preparing, strategizing, and most importantly, waiting for you to play your role.

Raine stood at the center of it all, his arms crossed, radiating his usual mix of authority and impatience. As soon as you stepped inside, his eyes locked onto you.

“You’re late,” he said, though his tone was more matter-of-fact than accusatory.

“Long night,” you replied evenly, though the truth of it weighed heavier than you’d let on.

“Good,” he said, surprising you. “Means we ain’t wastin’ time. You’re meetin’ him again tonight, right?”

You nodded, and he gave a curt nod in return.

“Then we’re gonna make sure you’re ready this time. No surprises, no stumblin’. Landa’s a predator, and you’re the bait—but you’re gonna make him think he’s the one being hunted.”

The group murmured in agreement, though their faces told different stories. Wicki and Omar seemed genuinely invested, their eyes full of quiet concern. Donny, meanwhile, leaned against a post with his bat in hand, his expression skeptical.

“I don’t see why we’re wasting time,” Donny said, breaking the silence. “She already met the guy once. If she couldn’t nail him then, what makes you think she’ll do it now?”

“That’s enough,” Wicki snapped, his voice sharp.

“I’m just sayin’,” Donny continued, throwing his hands up. “She’s walking back into the same den with nothin’ but her charm and a prayer. Sounds like a suicide mission to me.”

“It’s not your call,” Raine cut in, his tone brooking no argument. He turned back to you. “Sit. We’re runnin’ through scenarios.”

You hesitated but obeyed, taking the chair in the middle of the barn as Raine gestured for another. He sat across from you, the air around him shifting as he leaned back and transformed.

In a matter of seconds, he wasn’t Aldo Raine anymore. His posture straightened, his grin turned sly, and his gaze sharpened into something unsettlingly familiar.

“Good evening, Fräulein,” he said, slipping into a near-perfect imitation of Hans Landa’s smooth drawl. “I trust you slept well after our last encounter?”

The room fell silent, all eyes on you.

“I did, thank you,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. “And yourself?”

Raine smirked, the tilt of his head eerily reminiscent of the real Landa. “Oh, I always sleep well, knowing I am surrounded by such… fascinating company.”

You felt your stomach twist, his mimicry cutting a little too close. Still, you straightened your back and met his gaze head-on.

“I’m sure you do,” you said, allowing a hint of playfulness to creep into your tone. “But surely a man of your… intelligence doesn’t trust so easily.”

Raine’s eyes narrowed slightly—he was testing you. “Trust is such a fickle thing, wouldn’t you agree? One must earn it. Or take it.”

“Which do you prefer?” you shot back.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and you could almost see the approval flicker in his eyes. “Ah, Fräulein, I think you’re beginning to understand me.”

“Enough of the games,” Wicki interrupted from the sidelines. “Ask her something real, something he might use to trip her up.”

Raine tilted his head, slipping further into character. “Very well, Herr Wicki. Let us see how the Fräulein fares under pressure.” He turned back to you, his expression unreadable.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice soft but cutting, “why is it that a woman of your beauty and charm would risk her neck for something as messy as war? Surely there are safer, more lucrative pursuits for someone like you.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. The real Landa would never accept a half-baked answer.

“Perhaps I enjoy the challenge,” you said finally, forcing a confident smile. “After all, a little risk keeps life interesting.”

Raine raised an eyebrow, his expression darkening. “Or perhaps,” he said, his tone turning razor-sharp, “you’re hiding something. A secret, perhaps? Something that would explain why you find yourself in such… dangerous company.”

The tension in the barn was palpable, every pair of eyes fixed on you.

“Isn’t everyone hiding something, Colonel?” you replied, leaning forward slightly. “But secrets have a way of revealing themselves to those who look closely enough. Don’t they?”

Raine’s smirk returned, and he leaned back in his chair, breaking character at last. “Not bad,” he said, his drawl slipping back into place. “You’re gettin’ there.”

“She’s better than ‘not bad,’” Omar said from the sidelines, his voice quiet but firm. “She’s ready.”

“Ready or not, she’s got no choice,” Donny muttered.

“Shut it, Donowitz,” Raine snapped, standing up and brushing off his coat. “She’s gonna be fine. But if any of you got doubts, keep ‘em to yourselves. Last thing she needs is a bunch of jackasses second-guessin’ her.”

The group dispersed slowly, the tension lingering in the air. As you stood to leave, Omar caught your arm, his grip gentle.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low.

“I’m fine,” you said, though the words felt hollow.

He studied you for a moment before nodding. “Just remember—you’ve got backup. No matter what.”

You nodded, grateful for his quiet support. But as you walked away, preparing yourself for the next meeting with Hans Landa, you couldn’t shake the feeling that no amount of preparation would shield you from what was coming.

Because this wasn’t just a game. It was a battle of wits, and you weren’t sure if you’d be the one to win.

__________

The sun was dipping below the horizon as you and Raine arrived at the edge of a quiet, cobblestoned village. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and wood smoke, and the sky was painted in muted shades of orange and purple. You felt a knot tightening in your stomach as you stepped out of the car, adjusting your coat against the chill.

“You sure about this?” Raine asked, his voice low. He leaned against the car, his sharp eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger.

“No,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But that’s never stopped me before.”

Raine smirked faintly, his gaze softening for a brief moment. “Remember what we practiced. Keep him talkin’, stay in control. You feel like it’s slippin’—you signal, and I’ll be there.”

You nodded, clutching the small handbag at your side, its hidden compartment housing a blade and a cyanide pill. “I’ll be fine,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

“Damn right you will.” Raine’s expression hardened again as he straightened up, adjusting his jacket. “Now go. And don’t let that bastard rattle you.”

You didn’t respond, instead taking a deep breath and walking toward the small café where Hans Landa waited. The street was quiet, almost eerily so, and the sound of your heels clicking against the stone echoed louder than you would have liked.

When you stepped inside, the café was dimly lit, its warm glow casting long shadows across the wooden tables. And there he was, sitting at a corner table with a glass of red wine in hand, his posture relaxed but commanding.

“Fräulein,” Landa greeted, rising to his feet with a smile that was equal parts charm and menace. “You look stunning this evening.”

“Colonel Landa,” you replied, your voice steady despite the quickening of your pulse. “Always a pleasure.”

He gestured for you to sit, and you did so, carefully draping your coat over the back of the chair. As you settled in, you felt his eyes on you, sharp and calculating.

“I must say,” he began, swirling the wine in his glass, “I was quite pleased when I received your message. It’s not often I have the opportunity to enjoy such delightful company twice in as many days.”

“I suppose I should consider that a compliment,” you said, forcing a small smile.

“Indeed, you should,” he replied, his tone light but laced with something darker. “Now, tell me—what brings you back to me so soon? Surely a woman like you has other… engagements.”

You tilted your head slightly, as if considering his question. “Let’s just say I found our last conversation intriguing. And I thought it might be worth continuing.”

Landa’s smile widened, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Ah, intrigue. A dangerous game, Fräulein. But then, you do strike me as someone who enjoys a little danger.”

You didn’t flinch, instead leaning forward slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Only when it’s worth the risk.”

He chuckled, a low, almost musical sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Well said. And tell me, what is it about me that you find so… intriguing?”

You felt the weight of his gaze, the challenge in his words. “You’re a man who thrives on control,” you said carefully. “And yet, you’re willing to let your guard down—just enough—to keep things interesting. That’s not something you see every day.”

Landa tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he was determined to solve. “And what of you, Fräulein? What secrets do you hide behind that charming smile of yours?”

Before you could answer, the waiter arrived with a bottle of wine, interrupting the moment. Landa waved him off with a polite but dismissive gesture, then poured two glasses, sliding one toward you.

“To secrets,” he said, raising his glass. “And the thrill of uncovering them.”

You hesitated for the briefest moment before raising your own glass. “To secrets,” you echoed, clinking your glass against his.

As the evening wore on, the conversation ebbed and flowed, a careful dance of words and veiled intentions. Landa’s charm was disarming, his wit sharp enough to cut through any pretense. And yet, you found yourself holding your own, the hours of preparation with Raine and the Basterds serving you well.

But there were moments—fleeting, dangerous moments—when you felt the lines blurring. When his gaze lingered a little too long, or when your own words came too easily, too naturally.

And then there was the touch. A brief, fleeting brush of his fingers against yours as he handed you the wine. It was deliberate, you were sure of it, and it sent a jolt through you that you couldn’t ignore.

“Are you all right, Fräulein?” Landa asked, his voice soft and almost genuine. “You seem… distracted.”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, forcing a smile.

His smile returned, slow and knowing. “Good. Because I’d hate to think I was boring you.”

“Far from it,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you.

The game continued, each move more calculated than the last. But as the night wore on, you couldn’t help but wonder who was truly in control—and whether you were losing yourself in the process.

The space between you and Hans Landa had all but disappeared. His eyes, dark and intense, never left yours, and the weight of his gaze made your pulse race. Each word he spoke was calculated to draw you in, to break down the walls you had so carefully built.

Landa’s fingers lightly traced the rim of his wine glass, his lips curling into that infuriating, knowing smile that seemed to suggest he was always one step ahead. “You hide so much, Fräulein,” he murmured, his voice smooth and velvet-soft. “But I can see the flickers beneath your control. The way you hesitate before responding. The way you move closer, even though you tell yourself you shouldn’t.”

You barely breathed as you absorbed his words. The room felt warmer now, despite the cool evening air that slipped through the window. Your heart pounded in your chest, the beat steady but frantic. The magnetic pull between you was undeniable. And yet, you tried to remain grounded, to remember why you were here in the first place.

But his presence was suffocating, and all your defenses, carefully put in place over the years, seemed to be crumbling under the intensity of his stare.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, your voice thick with uncertainty.

“Am I?” Landa asked, tilting his head slightly, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He leaned forward just enough to close the gap, his breath warm against your skin. “Tell me, Fräulein. What are you really hiding?”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you swore you could hear nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat. He was too close now, too close for comfort. His hand, casually resting on the table, was only a few inches from yours, and every inch of your body seemed to ache with the temptation to close that distance.

You tried to speak, to maintain some semblance of composure, but the words refused to form. He was drawing you in, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to resist anymore.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick with unspoken words and longing. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, and you saw it—the hunger, the desire, and something deeper—something more dangerous.

“Fräulein,” he said softly, his voice now lower, almost tender. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

His hand moved, slow and deliberate, brushing against yours. You froze for a moment, your pulse skittering at the light contact. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers lingered, just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

Your heart pounded as you realized there was no turning back. The moment had arrived—the one you had feared, and yet somehow longed for.

Landa leaned in even closer, his lips a breath away from yours. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his body so close now that it felt like an inevitability.

And then, without a single word more, he kissed you.

It was gentle at first, almost tentative, as though he was testing you. His lips brushed against yours in a slow, deliberate motion, and your breath caught in your throat. Your mind screamed at you to pull away, to remember the mission, to hold onto your resolve. But your body—your body betrayed you.

You kissed him back.

The kiss deepened, his hand sliding to your cheek, cupping it as though he were marking his claim. The warmth of his touch spread through your entire body, the sharp, electric feeling of his presence overwhelming your senses. You could taste the wine on his lips, the slight trace of something darker in his flavor, something that sent a shiver of desire down your spine.

You felt yourself leaning into him, unable to stop. Every part of you seemed to crave him, even as your mind screamed in protest. But the kiss was intoxicating, and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

Landa broke the kiss just long enough to pull back slightly, his breath heavy, his lips mere inches from yours. His gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“You don’t have to resist anymore, Fräulein,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with quiet triumph. “I know you feel it. The same thing I do.”

You couldn’t deny it. The desire was there, raw and undeniable. And for the first time since you’d met him, you realized that you wanted him—wanted him more than you cared to admit.

The room was spinning, your heart racing as he moved in once more, his lips claiming yours in a kiss that was full of promise and danger, a kiss that you knew would change everything.

There was no turning back now.

________

You entered the room with the others, trying to mask the unease gnawing at your stomach. You had gotten the intel—critical, valuable information—but it wasn’t just the mission that had weighed on your mind all evening. Hans Landa had invaded your thoughts more than you were willing to admit, and you knew you couldn’t stay lost in that dangerous game forever.

You placed the stack of documents on the table, watching as the Basterds gathered around, eager to hear what you had uncovered. Raine’s eyes followed you, calculating, unreadable, but you knew he’d been watching you ever since you left for your meeting with the Colonel. You didn’t dare make eye contact with him, though, afraid he’d see the truth in your gaze before you had the chance to explain.

“Well?” Donny barked, leaning forward with a grin. “What do you got for us, sweetheart?”

You took a steadying breath and forced yourself to focus. “I got everything we need,” you began, pushing the documents toward the group. “Landa’s plans, the key locations, and personnel lists. Even some of his more private dealings that could give us leverage.”

The room buzzed with excitement as the others pored over the papers, murmurs of approval and strategizing filling the air. They hadn’t noticed the tension in your posture yet, but Raine had. His gaze never left you, his expression too calm, too knowing.

As you stood there, watching the team digest the information, a creeping feeling of guilt weighed down on you. You had done your job—but at what cost? The memory of Landa’s touch, his quiet whispers, his deliberate flirty glances… it was all too much to process. You had let him get too close, and you weren’t sure what to do with it. What had started as a simple mission had turned into something far more complicated.

As the others discussed the next move, you stood off to the side, pretending to listen while your thoughts wandered back to the Colonel. You didn’t see Raine approach until he was standing directly in front of you, his presence commanding and intense. He wasn’t smiling—not that he ever did—but there was an unmistakable hardness in his eyes.

The moment the others were occupied with the details of their next plan, Raine spoke. “We need to talk.” His voice was low and clipped, and there was no room for negotiation in his tone.

You stiffened, swallowing the lump in your throat. “It’s been a long night, Raine,” you said, forcing a smile. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

“No,” he said sharply. “Now. In private.”

His gaze was unwavering, and though you knew it wasn’t a request, you couldn’t bring yourself to defy him. You nodded, and he led you out of the room, his footsteps echoing through the halls as you walked silently behind him.

When you finally reached a small, empty room, Raine turned to face you, his eyes cold and assessing. “What happened?” he asked, his voice quiet but filled with a tension you could almost touch. “You’ve been back for almost an hour, and you haven’t said a word about what went on. But I know you’re hiding something. The others think you’re a hero—giving us everything we need—but I know better.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words died in your throat. There was no easy way out of this.

“You’re right. I—I got the intel,” you began slowly, your voice shaking despite yourself. “But it’s… it’s not just that, Raine. I… I let him get too close. He—he kissed me.”

Raine didn’t flinch. He didn’t look surprised, but you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes. His jaw tightened, and the air between you grew heavy with tension. “Why?” His voice was strained, and for the first time, you saw cracks in his usually unshakable demeanor.

You struggled to find the words. “I didn’t plan it, okay? I wasn’t trying to let it happen—it just did. I… I thought I could keep my distance, keep focused on the mission. But he—he’s manipulative, Raine. He knew exactly what he was doing, and I—” You stopped, unable to finish the sentence. The truth was, you had felt something too. Something you couldn’t deny. And that was the problem.

“You let him kiss you.” Raine’s voice was thick now, the disbelief and frustration slipping through. “You let him use you, play you like a damn fiddle, and for what? Some information? What are you really after?”

The sting of his words hit harder than you expected. “It wasn’t like that,” you shot back, voice wavering. “I didn’t—he didn’t control me. But it… it did become personal. I’m not proud of it, but that’s the truth.”

Raine took a slow breath, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he processed your words. “You were supposed to be using him. Not the other way around.”

You looked down, guilt rushing through you like a tidal wave. “I know. I failed.”

He shook his head, taking a step closer. His eyes were full of something you couldn’t quite place—anger, sure, but there was something deeper. Something… personal.

“Do you think I don’t know how this works?” Raine asked, voice now quieter, more intense. “You think I haven’t had to walk that line too? To make sure you don’t get caught up in something you shouldn’t?” He stepped forward, his presence so overwhelming it made your knees weak. “You’re not the only one with demons. You’re not the only one who gets tangled in the mess.” His eyes flickered down to your lips for just a second before he pulled back, raking a hand through his hair. “I just… I thought you were better than this.”

You looked up at him, eyes searching his face, but there was no warmth in his gaze—just an unspoken distance that seemed to grow between you with every word.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, but it sounded hollow even to you. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t mean to let him in.”

Raine’s gaze softened for just a brief moment, but then it hardened again, his jaw clenched tightly. “You’re not just playing a part, [Y/N]. You’re putting us all in danger. And I’m not sure I can forgive you for that.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words pressing on you, but you knew you had no choice but to face the consequences. “I understand.”

There was a long silence before Raine spoke again, his voice quieter now. “You’re lucky you brought back something useful. But don’t expect me to forget this. Not yet.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the door, his steps slow but sure. He didn’t look back, and for a moment, you thought he might not say anything else.

But before he left, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “You should have known better, [Y/N].” And then, without another word, he was gone, leaving you standing in the dim room, haunted by his words and the decisions you had made.

You had no idea how this would end, but one thing was certain—you had just crossed a line you couldn’t uncross.

__________

It had been a few days since you last saw Hans, and though you tried to bury the thoughts of him beneath the weight of the mission, it was no use. His absence gnawed at you like a persistent ache, one you couldn’t ignore. Every attempt to focus on the next steps felt hollow, and the silence between you both felt deafening. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had heard from him.

Raine, meanwhile, still hadn’t said much to you. His cold demeanor was unsettling, the weight of his disappointment hanging over every interaction, but it was Hans that occupied your mind. You told yourself you had to stay strong, that you had a job to do. But the pull toward him, the memory of his touch, his words, was a constant undercurrent that you couldn’t escape.

After a particularly grueling morning spent preparing for the mission, you needed to clear your head. You slipped away unnoticed, deciding a walk in the nearby woods was the best way to silence the thoughts that crowded your mind. The air was crisp, and each step you took felt like it might ground you in something real.

The walk was supposed to offer some clarity, but the longer you walked, the more the tension inside you built. You tried to focus on the sound of your boots crunching the fallen leaves beneath you, but it was impossible to ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest.

It was then, as you rounded a corner, that you stopped. That familiar, unnerving feeling washed over you again, and you knew without turning around that someone was there. You didn’t need to hear his voice, though you did, soft and purposeful.

“[Y/N].” His voice, smooth and sharp like a blade, made you tense. You turned slowly to face him.

Hans stood at the edge of the woods, watching you with an expression that was harder to read than usual. His sharp eyes tracked your every move as though trying to figure you out, but there was something more beneath his usual calculating gaze—something raw, something that made your heart race for reasons you weren’t sure you wanted to explore.

For a moment, you said nothing. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, to form the words.

He took a step closer, his usual grace now tinged with a sense of urgency. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his voice a quiet accusation, though there was no anger in his tone. It was a statement wrapped in vulnerability. “I didn’t think you would leave me hanging like this, [Y/N].”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you struggled to maintain control of the situation. “It’s not that, Hans,” you said, the words almost choking you. “I’ve just… had a lot on my plate.” The lie fell from your lips so easily that it terrified you. But it was the truth, wasn’t it? You were trying to do your job and keep a distance.

His eyes flickered over you, narrowing slightly. He stepped closer, and you instinctively took a step back, feeling the tension between you grow. “Complicated, I’m sure. But don’t pretend it’s just that.” He paused, looking you up and down as if seeing through the barriers you had built. “We both know it’s more.”

You held his gaze, biting your lip. He was right. You were lying to both him and yourself. You couldn’t deny what was there, what had been there between you. But it was dangerous. He was dangerous.

“I thought I could keep my distance,” you murmured, but the admission sounded weak even to your own ears. “But it’s… harder than I expected.”

Hans studied you for a moment, his eyes dark and intense. “Harder than you expected?” he repeated, stepping closer still, the air between you crackling with tension. His gaze dropped to your lips, and you felt your pulse quicken. “I think you’ve been running from something far more than just distance.”

Your heart raced as he took another step, his breath almost too close. You tried to hold back, to remind yourself of the lines you shouldn’t cross, but you could feel the pull toward him again, that magnetic force you couldn’t resist. His fingers brushed against your arm as he reached for you, sending a shiver through your body.

Before you could stop yourself, you were stepping into him, drawn toward the heat of his presence. His lips brushed against your ear, and the sensation made you gasp quietly. “I’ve missed you, you know,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You didn’t know how to respond, your mind a jumble of conflicting emotions. You should pull away. You should stop this before it went any further. But every fiber of your being screamed that it was too late, that you already had.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you whispered, barely aware of the words slipping out until it was too late.

His gaze flicked up, a dark smirk curling on his lips. “Then why have you been hiding from me?” he asked, his voice thick with quiet amusement. “I’m not the kind of man you can just ignore. I won’t let you pretend like none of this matters.”

Before you could react, his hand cupped your face, pulling you toward him. There was no hesitation this time. His lips found yours in a kiss that was fierce, hungry, and all-consuming. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim, a challenge, a test.

You gasped as he deepened it, his hands moving to your back, pulling you flush against him. You had no idea how long you stood there, tangled in him, but it felt like time had frozen. The world around you vanished, and all that existed was the feeling of his lips on yours, the warmth of his hands, and the wild, uncontrollable pull between you.

When the kiss finally broke, you were breathless, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Hans rested his forehead against yours, his hands still on your back, keeping you close.

“You see now,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You can’t hide from this. Not anymore.”

You closed your eyes, your pulse still racing, and you knew in that moment that you couldn’t deny it any longer. You didn’t want to.

The question was no longer whether you could stay away from him. The question now was whether you would ever be able to walk away at all.

The tension between you and Hans was undeniable, thick enough to choke on. Every moment spent near him, every word exchanged, felt like a tightrope you were walking, straining at the edges of your loyalty to the Basterds and your growing feelings for the man before you.

The quiet of the night was broken only by the soft rustling of leaves in the cool breeze as you stood facing him, your heart racing. You couldn’t keep the truth from him any longer. You had already begun to fall for him, and now, you knew there was no going back.

“I need to tell you something,” you said, your voice steady but filled with the weight of the words you were about to speak. “Something important.”

Hans, ever the patient observer, simply nodded, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “I’m not just some civilian, Hans. I’m not just… a woman on a mission. I’m part of a group. The Basterds.”

The revelation hung in the air, thick with the consequences of your confession. You could feel Hans’s gaze on you, his sharp eyes searching your face for any sign of deception.

“The Basterds?” he repeated, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “You’ve been one of them this whole time?”

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze. “Yes. I’ve been gathering intel, keeping tabs on you, your movements. That’s why I’ve been working with you. To get closer, to learn everything I could.”

A long silence followed, the weight of your words sinking in between you. Hans’s face softened, his expression unreadable. You had expected anger or betrayal, but instead, there was only a calm scrutiny in his eyes.

“You’ve been playing both sides,” he said slowly, his voice cold and distant now. “This whole time, you’ve been working for them.”

You swallowed, the bitterness of your betrayal settling deep in your chest. “I didn’t want it to happen this way. I thought… I thought I could keep it separate, but now I—”

Hans cut you off, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. His eyes searched yours, a small smirk curling his lips. “And now you’re torn. Between duty and desire, between loyalty and… something else.”

You felt the weight of his words. “I don’t know what I feel anymore,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I never expected this. I never expected you.”

Hans’s expression softened, and he reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face with a surprising tenderness. “I can’t say I’m thrilled by your deception,” he murmured, his voice low and almost soothing. “But I can’t say I’m not intrigued by you, [Y/N]. Despite everything, I see something in you. Something that’s… real.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the pull between you growing stronger. “Intrigued?” you echoed, unsure of where he was going with this.

He smiled, a slow, almost dangerous grin. “Yes, intrigued. Because, despite the fact that you’ve been lying to me, I don’t think you’re as loyal to them as you pretend to be.”

His eyes bored into yours, and you felt yourself faltering, unsure of how to respond. The tug of attraction toward him, the pull of everything you had been trying to suppress, grew harder to ignore. He was playing you, yes, but there was also something genuine in the way he spoke to you now, something you had never expected from someone like him.

“You’re not what they think you are,” he continued, his voice quieter now, more coaxing. “And I can offer you more than they ever could. All you need to do is make a choice.”

The weight of his words hit you like a punch. The life he was offering seemed tempting—freedom from the war, safety, a place by his side. But the life you had built with the Basterds, with Raine and the others, was all you had known for so long. Could you really walk away from that?

“I… I don’t know if I can make that choice,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’ve been in this fight for so long. I can’t just leave.”

Hans’s gaze hardened slightly, and his grip on your arm tightened just enough to make you feel the intensity of his emotions. “You don’t need to leave the fight, [Y/N]. You just need to leave them.”

Your mind spun at his words. “What do you mean?”

“Leave the Basterds. Come with me,” he said, his voice calm, but there was a sharp edge to it now. “I can give you everything you need. A life where you aren’t just a pawn in their war. You can be with me. You can be free.”

His words hit you harder than anything before, and you could feel yourself wavering. The life you had fought so hard for was beginning to seem insignificant in the face of what he was offering. You wanted to say no, to fight it, but something in you yearned for the freedom he promised.

“You’re asking me to betray them,” you said, your voice shaking, but you couldn’t hide the desire that was creeping into your chest.

“I’m asking you to stop betraying yourself,” Hans said, his voice coaxing, but firm. “You don’t owe them anything. But you owe yourself the chance to choose something real.”

You stood there, torn between the two lives that were pulling you in opposite directions. The Basterds, Raine, everything you had worked for—they were all part of you, part of the fight. But Hans… Hans was offering something new, something intoxicating.

“I… I can’t just walk away,” you whispered, your voice faltering, but even as you said it, you knew you were already considering it.

Hans stepped closer, his eyes dark with desire. “You already have, haven’t you? You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know.”

Before you could respond, the sudden crack of a branch broke the moment, and you both turned sharply. Raine stood there, frozen in shock, his gaze flicking between you and Hans, disbelief written across his face.

“[Y/N]?” His voice was a mixture of confusion and betrayal. “What is this? You… you’ve been with him all along?”

You felt your heart sink at the sight of your dear friend, the man who had stood by you, the man who had trusted you. But now, with Hans at your side, offering you everything, how could you turn back?

Raine’s face twisted with pain and anger as he took a step forward, his hand instinctively moving to the pistol at his side. “I should’ve known. I thought we were friends, but this… you’re one of them.”

The words cut through you like a knife, but you didn’t have time to respond before Raine’s hand was on his weapon, the tension crackling between you all.

“I can’t let you betray us, [Y/N],” Raine said, his voice thick with emotion. “I won’t let you.”

You could feel the pull between the two men in your life, each offering you something completely different, and for a moment, you felt paralyzed. But as Raine’s gun moved toward you, your body reacted before your mind could. You pulled your own weapon and aimed it squarely at him.

The pain in his eyes was the last thing you saw before you fired.

Raine collapsed to the ground, his body twitching as life left him. The air around you seemed to freeze, the weight of what you had just done settling heavily in your chest. But Hans’s hand slipped into yours, steady and sure, pulling you away from the scene without a word.

“You made the right choice,” Hans whispered, his voice calm as he led you away.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The loss, the betrayal—it all felt like it was choking you. But as you walked side by side with Hans, leaving everything behind, you knew that there was no going back. The choice had been made.

You had chosen him.

And nothing would ever be the same again.

[unculturedswine-101]

Hey! How are ya?! I’ve been a little MIA in terms of posting like CONSISTENTLY. But I got that writing ITCH so plz send requests! (Smut and or fluff)

Characters I write for

Steve Harrington

Eddie Munson

Christoph Waltz (or any of his characters)

Han Solo/Harrison Ford

STAN PINES (he’s always been that bitch tbh)

Hugh Grant/Daniel Cleaver

Patrick Bateman (if yk, yk)

Captain Von Trap - Sound of music

Ash Williams - Evil dead

Matt Smith/Prince Phillip/Jack (last night in soho)

If u had a character in mind that’s not listed, don’t hesitate to DM…

[yagirlsanauthor]

Regus Patoff Taking An Interest in You Would Include...

AN: Okay you guys. Everyone knows the drill by now. Once again I have yet to find any x reader content for our zaddy Regus Patoff (even though the show came out like a week ago...shut up). Plus, I saw a few posts complaining about the lack of content. So, I have decided to take it upon myself to see if I can write a little somethin' somethin' for all you mfs out there thirsting for this guy. Enjoy :))

P.S. This is soooo fucking long omg. I'm so sorry.

Word Count: 2,332

Pairing: Regus Patoff x GN!Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for The Consultant!! Slight NSFW 18+ Below the Cut!!

--------------------------------------------------------------

~ You had worked at Compware for a little over 5 months before the untimely death of your boss, and were an intern and somewhat personal assistant for Sang-Woo.

~ When Sang was still alive, your main job was to deal with whatever he needed. Fetching him coffee, lunch, a document he's misplaced, help arrange meetings, and generally do any other necessary things for him and any of the more important guests that met with Mr. Sang. That's how you met him.

~ One day, you were putzing along, cleaning up and organizing a few files that your boss had needed for tomorrows meeting, when you had been called up to his office.

~ He didn't clarify if he needed anything, or what he needed from you, he just sounded tense and it sounded urgent, so you quickly made your way to his office.

~ As you came around to the main door of Sang's office, you could hear an unknown voice with a strange, what sounded to be, vague European accent, speaking with Sang.

~ And as you pushed open the last door, your are met with the sight of a very sharply dressed, and quite handsome, older gentleman.

~ The air seems to shift as you enter the room, and though you struggle to take your eyes off of this intriguing new man, you force your gaze settle back onto the man who called you here in the first place, Sang.

~ He quickly asks you to give the man across from him a brief tour as well as show him his way out. He looked pale and sweaty and sounded extremely shaky, almost like he just ran a marathon and was fighting to catch his breath. His eyes were also shifting all around the room, landing everywhere else except on him.

~ You quickly nodded your head and opened the office door, beckoning this stranger to follow you out.

~ Sang and his guest shook hands before he turned and followed suit.

~ During the tour, he wasn't very chatty. You provided a bit of information about the employees and what everyone did there, but he hardly seemed interested, in fact he didn't seem like he was listening at all. He asked a few simple questions about the building itself but nothing about what you actually did there, or what the company was even about.

~ As the tour came to an end, you eventually walked him out, and assumed you'd never really have to see him or speak with him again, as you never typically have had any reoccurring interactions with any of Sang's collaborators in the past.

~ But, as days pass, and Sang's unfortunate death pops up, your eyes land on a vaguely familiar face in the office.

~ This time, however, he actually introduced himself.

~ For some reason, it's like time had slowed and the world was now running at half speed.

~ He looks up at you as you approach him, and he cracks a growing smile. He stretches out his hand toward you, and with that oh-so-familiar European tone, lets his name fall from his mouth. "Regus Patoff."

~ After exchanging pleasantries, he puts you to work. Something along the lines of "Whatever you did for Mr. Sang, while he was alive, you'll do for me..."

~ You didn't think much of him at first, only that he was a bit of an enigma and very eccentric, but beyond that, all you really had to do for him was bring him a coffee or grab some food if he'd ask. A far less demanding job than when Sang was in charge.

~ It wasn't until about a few weeks or so after he had assumed the role of "boss" that things started to get more intense around the office.

~ With the rise of the new up and coming mobile game, Jungle Odyssey, he had asked you to sit in on a brainstorming meeting and take notes.

~ As the meeting progressed, he had passed around a timer and everyone had a short amount of time to pitch their ideas to him. As it reached the last person, he let out a disgruntled sigh, letting everyone else in the room know that he was not pleased with any of the ideas he heard.

~ Without thinking, you let one of your own ideas slip from your mouth.

~ He slowly turned to you with an unreadable expression, and in that moment you were sure you were either going to be severely told off or fired for your interruption.

~ It wasn't until you saw a mischievous glint in his eyes and a small smirk grace his lips that you realized he was intrigued by what you had said.

~ From then on his behavior toward you became a lot more...friendly?

~ Typically, when you would bring him something, he'd let out a quiet and monotone 'thank you' and would pay no attention to anything else you'd have to say, solely keeping his gaze down and focused on the work in front of him.

~ However, as of late, he's started asking you a bit more personal questions.

~ At first, he had asked you questions like where your favorite place was to eat. Or if there were any good clubs around. You had originally thought that he was asking simply because he was new to the area and was looking for a bite to eat. But then the questions began to shift into something more.

~ Now, whenever you brought him a coffee or a print copy of a file he needed, he would actually stop what he was doing and ask about your day, or what kind of body mist you were wearing, what shampoo and conditioner you use, what was your shoe size, or what did you eat for breakfast that morning.

~ He started initiating physical contact as well.

~ A man such as Regus Patoff seems (and most often is) untouchable. The first and, what you thought would be, only time you had come into physical contact with him was when you had first shook his hand. But now, it seems like you're constantly running into situations where your hands brush as you hand him his tablet, or he lightly grazes your arm as you lean over to place his lunch down in front of him. Once, he even placed his palm on your lower back to gently move you out of the way.

~ Gestures like this would be quite ordinary from anyone else, but from him, it was so out of character that you couldn't help but begin to pick up on it.

~ This continued for days until, one night, around three in the morning, you receive a call from Mr. Patoff himself, asking you to come in to the office.

~ This wasn't anything new really. When you worked for Sang, he would often text you or call you late at night, asking you to pick up something from the office that he forgot to grab, and needed you to then deliver it to his place. So you threw on your most work appropriate sweats and raced back over to the office.

~ Once you arrived at work, you let yourself in and made your way up to his office.

~ As you walk in, you notice he looks a lot less tidy than he did during the day. His blazer was off and resting on the back of his chair, his tie was undone as well, lying loosely around his shoulders, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, letting a bit of chest hair peak out from underneath.

~ He doesn't say much other than a gentle 'ah, you made it' and a 'come here' while he quirks his index finger in the air to beckon you closer.

~ As you slowly walk over to his desk, prepared to take a seat in the chair across from him, he lets out a sort of tsk sound and pats the spot on his desk right in front of him.

~ When you move to take a timid seat on the surface of his desk, he quickly reaches for your hands and pulls them toward himself, ultimately pulling you down along with them.

~ Your eyes were still trained on his hands connecting with yours until he began to speak. And it wasn't until you looked up had you noticed just how close your faces had been.

~ "Do you know why I called you here tonight?"

~ You shook your head unsurely. From what you've heard from your coworkers, this man could be ruthless and had been known to strike when they least expected it. So, you braced yourself for the worst.

~ "You've peaked my interest. And I am very hard man to impress."

~ He goes on to commend you for the work that you do for him and the ideas you've shared in the past regarding a few company products.

~ With the close proximity and the seemingly endless words of praise sent your way, you can feel a heat rushing up your neck and to your cheeks.

~ Sang had hardly ever acknowledged your existence if it didn't benefit him, let alone call you into his office, hold your hands in his lap, and compliment you.

~ Too lost in your train of thought, you hardly notice the warm hand that comes up and cups your cheek.

~ Again, you look up and gaze into his hazel eyes.

~ After a long while of just looking at one another, immersed in the quiet of his office, you begin to open your mouth the break the silence, but right before you can do so, he stands up from his seat, now towering over you ask you're still seated on his desk.

~ From this lower angle, he looks menacing, like a predator eyeing down his prey.

~ He remains still, holding your gaze until he, himself breaks the contact and makes his way over to a cabinet in the corner of the room opens it up. He pulls out what looks to be two glasses in his right hand and walks back over with a bottle of dark liquor in his left.

~ He places them down onto the desk beside you and begins to pour a generous amount of alcohol into both of your glasses.

~ Without saying a word, he picks up both glasses, offering one to you, and keeping the other with him as he settles himself back into his chair.

~ You both make a silent gesture of 'cheers' before knocking the mystery liquid back.

~ It burns as it goes down, and it tastes like sweet medicine.

~ While you're busy grimacing, you hear a small chuckle to your left and look over to see your superior giggling at your animated show of disgust.

~ "Not a big whiskey fan I presume?" he says with a grin.

~ You shake your head and let out a lighthearted, "no."

~ After sharing a few more drinks, and loosening up a bit more, you find that you both exchanging laughs and are seemingly lost in meaningless conversations about anything and everything, ranging from work talk to chatting about your biggest pet peeves, or guilty pleasures.

~ The air within the office had changed from a stiff and stale cell to the warmest, coziest place on earth. The right company had aided that too of course ;)

~ Boundaries had lost all sense of meaning that night, as you began to run your hands along his arm and had quickly found your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as you rested your arm across his shoulders. He too became a lot more touchy and began rubbing circles into your inner thigh with his thumbs, slowly creeping higher and higher causing a very different heat to pool within you.

~ You weren't sure if it was the alcohol throwing you off balance, or if it was just the raw gravitational pull from someone as charming as Regus Patoff, but you were slowly inching your self further and further toward him, almost to the point that you were sharing the same breath.

~ If it wasn't for one of the whiskey glasses, that he had placed beside you earlier, diverting your attention by falling and shattering onto the floor from your movement, you most likely would have ended up in his lap.

~ Soon though, you had to come back down to reality as the affects of the alcohol began to wear off. Plus, the sound of the glass shattering had you far more alert and sobered up than you thought.

~ A little embarrassed and overly apologetic, you slowly started peeling yourself off of him, realizing just how touchy you had been for the past few hours.

~ "I should probably head back home for tonight, if, of course, you don't need anything else that is, sir?" you finally said after a moment of silence.

~ He looked almost...disappointed by what you said. And looked as though he was going to ask you something.

~ His brows knit together in an earnest fashion and he opened his mouth, only to quickly shut it.

~ Across his face appears a light smile that doesn't seem to quite reach his eyes.

~ He helps you gather your things and leads you out of his office.

~ He walks you to the top of the stairs and bids you an adieu. But, before you begin your descent, he reaches for your hand, pulls it to his lips and places a gentle kiss to the back, never breaking his intense gaze.

~ He let out a final "goodnight" as you said your goodbyes as well and made your way down the glass steps.

~ He had watched you the entire way as you left the building, and only when you had finally made it outside and out of his sight did you let out a breath that you didn't even know you were holding in.

~ As you walk to your car, you find the fresh cool air of the night has you sobering up. Though, not from the alcohol you had, but from the hypnotizing aura that is Regus Patoff.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

A Midnight Waltz With The Pharaoh - Ahkmenrah X Female Reader

Title: A Midnight Waltz With The Pharaoh

Ahkmenrah X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Larry, Teddy, Sacagawea (Mentioned), Dexter, Rexy, Octavius, Jed, Reader's friends, Nick (Mentioned), Christopher Columbus (Mentioned), Eastern Island Head (Mentioned), and The Huns (Mentioned)

WC: 4,154

Warnings: Halloween fic, italics, teasing, banter, flirting?, nicknames, confession, friends to lovers, and it's just a lot of fluff

The golden leaves of Autumn gently blew in the October breeze, making their way to the ground. Sidewalks and nearby parks were practically covered in fallen, dead leaves; in hues of gold, yellow, red, and brown. Street lamps were on bright, lighting the way for those few who passed by in the dark of night. It was the middle of the month, on a weekday. You were helping Larry decorate for the upcoming spooky holiday; Halloween - with some additional help from a few of the other exhibits.

Teddy and Sacagawea were helping set up the little plastic, glow-in-the-dark pumpkins; placing them on the front desk with the fake battery candles that they had placed earlier. Dexter - who had always had a soft spot for you, and never misbehaved with you - helped with sticking the paper black bats, ghosts, and pumpkins to the walls. And, with the help of Rexy - and Octavius and Jed leading the dino - you were able to hang up the many paper banners, and fairy lights. 

Halloween was a couple of days away, and you were super excited. Halloween was probably your favorite holiday. You loved the costumes, the food, the candy, parties, movies; just having fun. It was a time that made you feel like a kid again. You loved Halloween, so much so, that the day after Halloween, you were back to planning the next one. You always ended up with a plan for your Halloween costume months before the actual date. 

Finishing the many banners and fairy lights, you thanked Rexy for helping you, giving him a few rubs on the nose. "Thanks, Rexy." You cooed, before looking down at the remote-controlled car, "And thank you, Oct and Jed. You both were a great help."

"It was our pleasure to assist you, dear friend," Octavius spoke, his head popping out the window. 

"Yeah," Jed, popped his own head out the driver's side window, "Let us know if ya need any more help!" He tipped his hat.

Nodding, you waved them goodbye for the time being, watching as Rexy followed after his bone, down the hall. 

"What an enchanting transformation," You heard a voice, making your smile instantly brighten. Turning around, you watched as Ahkmenrah entered the main room. His golden attire reflected beautifully against the museum lights as his eyes surveyed the Halloween decorations for a moment, before turning back to look at you. "Are these apparitions and pumpkins a part of your more modern festivities?"

Walking over, you felt butterflies instantly erupt in your stomach, you clasped your hands together in front of you. "Yeah, we use ghosts, bats, pumpkins, witches, and more for Halloween. Anything creepy and spooky is used." You shrugged, "Fun, right?"

He nodded, his head tilting slightly to the side as he looked at all of the decorations. "Indeed. The holiday does sound quite enjoyable." You had actually explained Halloween to Ahkmenrah a while ago. He knew the history, the traditions, and whatnot. Overall, you were really excited for Ahkmenrah to experience his first-ever Halloween. Well, with you, at least.

You couldn't help the way your heart raced whenever Ahkmenrah was near. His radiant, gentle smile, deep blue eyes that seemed to hold centuries of wisdom, and the way he carried himself with such effortless grace had captivated you from the moment you met him.

It was unlike anything you'd ever experienced. This soft, flowy feeling that seemed to wash over you whenever he was near, or even when just his image crossed your mind. It wasn’t just his undeniable good looks; it was the way he spoke, gentle yet commanding, and the kindness that radiated from him like the sun. And oh, how easy it would be to worship that sun, to bask in his warmth forever, if only you had the chance.

The thought made your cheeks flush, and you mentally shook your head, embarrassed by how hopelessly smitten you sounded, even in your own mind.

Quickly snapping out of your thoughts, you cleared your throat. "So, are you planning to dress up for the Halloween party tomorrow night?"

He looked at you curiously, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Dress up?"

"Yeah, like in a costume," You explained, "If you want, I can go out and find something for you in the morning. We could make you a wizard or... I don’t know, anything you want!" You laughed softly, your excitement bubbling over.

Ahkmenrah chuckled, a sound that made your heart instantly flutter. "I appreciate the offer, but I think being a Pharaoh will suffice."

You grinned, rolling your eyes playfully. "Fair enough. You’re kind of a natural at it."

"Perhaps it's the centuries of practice,” His smile widened, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, "And what about you?" He then asked, his expression turning curious. "What will you be for this celebration?"

"Oh, uh, it’s a surprise," You replied, fidgeting slightly with your hands in front of you. "It’s part of a group costume with my friends. We planned it months ago."

"Your friends?" He tilted his head. "You were planning to spend the holiday with them?"

"Yeah, we usually go to a party together every year," You admitted, a small smile on your lips. "But this year, I decided I’d stay here and celebrate with you, Larry, Rexy, Dexter, and everyone else."

"Have you considered asking Larry if your friends could join us here?" Ahkmenrah suggested, and his question made you pause.

You shrugged, the idea hadn’t really crossed your mind. "I don’t know if that’s allowed. You know, with the whole secret about the exhibits being alive and all." You gestured vaguely. "It’s not like the special night program we do sometimes where everything’s staged. This would be... Different."

Ahkmenrah nodded thoughtfully. "I see. That is quite understandable. Still, if it’s something you’d like, perhaps Larry could make an exception."

You shook your head, waving your hand in the air dismissively. "Nah, it’s okay. My friends don’t mind, and honestly, neither do I. I’d rather be here with yo- everyone. It feels more special this way. Our first Halloween all together."

His expression softened, his warm smile making your heart skip a beat. "Then I look forward to celebrating this holiday with you. It will be... A night to remember."

"Yeah," You murmured, returning his smile as warmth spread through your chest. "It definitely will be."

~~~

Later that night, a few hours before dawn, as you were busy playing hide-and-seek with Dexter, Ahkmenrah made his way through the museum with determination. His footsteps echoed through the quiet halls as he searched room to room, finally finding Larry and Teddy; spotting them from the balcony near the stairs.

He approached them, his usual calm demeanor replaced with a subtle urgency. He had been thinking about it for a good thirty minutes now, and he felt that it was important.

“Larry,” He began, his voice steady but with an edge of sincerity, Larry turned, raising an eyebrow, but his face softened when he saw the seriousness in the Pharaoh's expression. He glanced at Teddy and back, “I apologize for interrupting.”

“Nonsense,” Teddy grinned, “We were just finishing up away. Besides, I should go check on Sacagawea before the night ends.” He bowed curtly to both of the men, “Ahkmenrah. Lawrence.” With a final nod, Teddy turned and exited the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he left.

Once Teddy was out of earshot, Larry turned his attention to Ahkmenrah, a curious glint in his eye. "So," He began, a half-smile forming, “What’s up, Ahk?”

The Pharaoh hesitated for a moment, then spoke clearly, “I have something I must ask of you.”

~~~

The atmosphere was buzzing with excitement as you scrambled through the museum, making sure everything was set for the Halloween party. The walls were lined with banners, paper ghosts hung from the ceiling, and soft fairy lights flickered in the dark corners, casting a warm glow over everything. The punch bowl sat on the table, the bright orange liquid inside reflecting the light from the nearby jack-o'-lanterns. You made sure it was filled and had enough cups around it, then turned to double-check the party games.

The board game stack was neatly arranged, and the pin-the-broom-on-the-witch poster was ready to be hung. You had planned this party carefully, wanting it to be perfect - it only made sense why you were the one to organize the party, you were the museum’s event coordinator after all - and now, it was finally coming together.

The music from an old Halloween playlist drifted through the air - classic spooky tracks mixed with upbeat songs like “Thriller” and “Ghostbusters.” The eerie melodies provided the perfect backdrop as you hummed along, adding the final touches to the decorations you had helped set up the day before. Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. It wasn’t quite time for everyone to arrive, but you were ready for them. The sun was just beginning to set…

“Everything ready?” You heard Larry from beside you.

Turning, you nodded your head and let out a sigh, “Yeah, all ready, and almost time for our guests to arrive.” It was only then that you realized Larry wasn’t dressed up at all. He was still dressed in his usual night guard uniform. “You’re not dressing up?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m in my costume. I’m a night guard.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Really, Larry? That's your idea of a costume?"

He shot you a grin. "It’s a classic."

You only huffed in reply.

Soon enough, the party was in full swing, and you found yourself standing by the punch bowl, watching the chaos unfold. Laughter and chatter filled the air, and the energy in the room was infectious. 

Teddy and Sacagawea were sitting together on Teddy’s platform, chatting; just being a couple of love birds. Meanwhile, Rexy was running around like a playful puppy, chasing after Nick, who was dressed in an inflatable dinosaur costume. The two were having a hilarious race around the room.

On the front desk, Jed and Oct danced together, trying to outdo each other with moves that ranged from unexpectedly graceful to downright goofy; drawing a small crowd of other miniatures who cheered them on. Dexter was also dancing on the front desk, wearing a little cowboy hat you’d given him. It was a perfect fit.

Everyone was having an amazing time, most, if not all, of the exhibits dancing on the large dance floor. Even the Eastern Island Head was humming along to the music from the hallway.

And then you looked up, your attention on Ahkmenrah, who stood on the balcony. His hands flew over the DJ controls, but it was his body - how he moved - that caught your eye. His movements were mesmerizing, you couldn’t help but stare as a smile graced your lips. Suddenly, he met your gaze, grinning widely when he caught sight of you. He waved and continued to shimmy, his hips moving to the beat of "Monster Mash". You smiled in return and waved back, a warm feeling filling your chest, and embarrassment for getting caught staring. 

"Hey, kid," Larry's voice broke through your thoughts, pulling your attention away from the balcony. You tried to act nonchalant, despite your face burning from getting caught.

"Yeah, Larry?" You asked, forcing a casual grin as he gave you a knowing look.

He gestured to the museum's front doors with a lazy jab of his thumb. "I think someone is here to see you."

You blinked in surprise, confusion creeping onto your face as you glanced at the doors. "Huh?"

Larry feigned ignorance, before turning you toward the entrance. "Better go answer the door."

He gave you a gentle push in the direction of the doors, and you sighed, rolling your eyes. Looking back at him, you saw him busying himself with another cup of punch. You shook your head, then turned and approached the doors. Tugging the handle, you pushed them open, surprised when you came face to face with two of your best friends.

"Hey, girl!" Your first friend greeted you, pulling you into a tight hug. "Thought you could party without us?"

You stood there, stunned, your mouth hanging open for a moment before you burst into laughter. "What- what are you guys doing here?" You asked, still in shock, but excited all the same.

Your second friend grinned, "Your friend Larry called us," They said with a wink. “A Halloween party at midnight? Amazing! Why didn't you invite us?” They pouted jokingly, making you huff.

“I wasn't sure my boss would let me. But he called you so…” You shrugged as your first friend peered over your shoulder.

“It looks like everyone from the night program is here.” They spoke and you let out a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah, we’re all really close. They are practically family.” You tried to sound as convincing as possible, but it was true, and your friends seemed to buy it. "How did Larry get their numbers?" You then thought, but that didn't matter. Grinning, you pulled your two friends inside, feeling the warmth of the museum flood over you as you laughed excitedly. "Nevermind all that though! I can't believe you’re here! This is going to be so much fun!"

You looked back at Larry, hoping for some explanation as to why your friends were here, but he only nodded toward the balcony, gesturing to Ahkmenrah with a subtle nudge of his head. You looked up just in time to see Ahkmenrah glance down at you. The moment his eyes met yours, he grinned, and as if on cue, your favorite Halloween song started playing. It filled the room, the familiar beat echoing in your chest. His smile turned playful, and with a quick wink, he pointed down at you from the balcony; dedicating the song to you.

Your first friend wiggled their eyebrows at you, a teasing smile on their lips. "Is that your boyfriend?" They teased, voice filled with mischief as they nudged you in the side.

"No, uh, he’s just-" But the words got lost as your excitement overtook you. Trying to ignore your warm cheeks, you grabbed both of your friends’ hands, pulling them toward the dancefloor with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. "Let’s dance! We’ve got a Halloween tradition to keep alive!"

The three of you joined the crowd, dancing, laughing, and enjoying the night. And in that moment, surrounded by friends, music, and the warmth of the museum, you felt like everything was perfect.

You made sure to thank Ahkmenrah later.

~~~

As the night continued, you found yourself in front of the museum’s front desk, laughing as you held Dexter’s tiny furry hands. The capuchin monkey stood on the desk, chittering excitedly, his head nodding to the beat of the Halloween song playing softly in the background.

“You’re quite the dancer, Dexter,” You teased, swaying back and forth, exaggerating your movements to match his jerky little hops. His mischievous chatter filled the air, and you couldn’t help but grin. You spun him gently, his tiny paws grasping your hand as you twirled him like a ballroom dancer. “A regular Fred Astaire, aren’t you?” Dexter responded with a dramatic squeak, hopping up and down in excitement, clearly enjoying the attention, his cowboy hat having fallen off a while ago. “Thanks for being my dance partner tonight, buddy,” You said softly, your voice affectionate.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Ahkmenrah walking towards the both of you, watching with an amused smile on his face. He stopped beside you - a few mere feet away - leaning against the front desk, arms crossed.

"You two make quite the dancing pair," He remarked, his voice carrying easily over the low music.

You glanced up at him, cheeks flushing slightly as you rolled your eyes playfully. “Jealous, your Highness?” You quipped as Dexter jumped up on your shoulder, “He’s a great dancer.”

Dexter, seemingly satisfied with his performance, hopped down from your shoulder and scampered toward the punch bowl, leaving you and Ahkmenrah alone.

The Pharaoh stepped closer, his hands now clasped behind his back as he regarded you with an expression that was equal parts gentle and intent. Then, with a graceful motion, he extended his hand toward you, palm up, his golden bracelets catching the soft light.

“Would you do me the honor of a dance?” He asked, his eyes locking onto yours, and without hesitation, you placed your hand in his.

“I’d love to,” You replied before he gently guided you toward the center of the makeshift dance floor.

As if on cue, the music transitioned seamlessly into a slow, romantic melody that seemed almost too perfect for the moment; though a bit odd since it wasn’t very Halloweeny, but you didn’t mind. You glanced up at him in surprise, a grin tugging at your lips. “Did you plan this?”

Ahkmenrah smiled down at you as he placed his free hand lightly at your waist, the other still holding yours. “Perhaps,” He teased, “Or perhaps the universe simply wanted this moment to be ours.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly as you looked up at the DJ booth on the balcony, spotting Larry manning the console. As he led you in the slow dance, it struck you how effortlessly he made you feel as if you belonged right there, in his arms.

“You look beautiful tonight,” He murmured after a moment, his voice so soft you almost missed it. “I had planned to tell you earlier.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the quiet confession. “Thank you,” You replied. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

Your fingers brushed against the intricate beads on his shoulder, adorning his wesekh, tracing their smooth texture absently as you lowered your eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of his gaze. Nervously, you glanced around the room, seeking distraction.

One of your friends was animatedly chatting with Christopher Columbus - your friend was fluent in Italian - their laughter carried faintly over the music, while your other friend was enthusiastically teaching the rules to Monopoly to the Huns, who were listening with rapt attention.

The sight brought a small smile to your lips, and your nerves settled slightly as you looked back up at Ahkmenrah. The question lingered on your mind until it tumbled out. “Did you ask Larry to invite my friends?” You asked, your voice tinged with curiosity. “I mean… I only ever told you about that tradition with them.”

Ahkmenrah’s smile grew softer, almost bashful, as he nodded. “I did,” He admitted, “You spoke of them with such fondness, and it was clear how important they are to you. I wanted you to have them here tonight - to share in something that brings you joy.” 

His words left you momentarily speechless, your heart swelling in your chest. “That’s incredibly thoughtful. Thank you.”

He looked at you, almost shyly, and after a beat, his lips curled into that familiar smile, “I must admit, seeing you smile as brightly as you did when your friends arrived… It reminded me of something… The way the sun catches on the Nile, early in the morning, reflecting off the water…”

The way his words tumbled out with such tenderness made your heart skip. You felt your cheeks flush, warmth spreading across your face as you glanced away, trying to suppress the giggle bubbling up in your chest. You bit your lip, trying to steady yourself, but you couldn’t hide the shy, giddy smile tugging at your lips.

Ahkmenrah leaned in slightly, and your breath hitched as his hand left your waist to gently cup your chin, guiding your face upward so you couldn’t look away. He then gently brushed his thumb across your bottom lip, releasing it from your teeth, his touch tender and slow.

“You have the most captivating eyes,” He murmured, his voice low and smooth, “They remind me of the rarest gems - eyes that could belong to a goddess. They gleam with the light of ancient stars, timeless and beautiful. It’s impossible not to be drawn to them… To you.” You stared up at him in awe, unable to form words. His words wrapped around your heart, making your pulse quicken. "You are truly breathtaking," He muttered, his voice soft but filled with an undeniable intensity, as if each word was a vow. 

You didn’t know when the dancing had stopped, nor did you care. Everything felt suspended in time, as if the world had momentarily stopped spinning just for the two of you. His touch, the warmth of his hands on your skin, and the magnetic pull between you both was undeniable.

You could feel your pulse hammering in your chest as his blue eyes drifted from your eyes to your lips and back again. You could almost hear his heart matching the rhythm of yours, each beat drawing you closer. His gaze was filled with such quiet intensity, as though he was memorizing every little detail of you - your expressions, the way your chest rose and fell, the softness of your skin beneath his fingers.

His free hand - once clasped in yours - slowly slipped from yours to cup your other cheek. You leaned into his touch instinctively, your own hands finding their way to rest on his broad shoulders. The heat of his hands against your skin, his nearness, made you sigh.

You breathed his name softly, breathlessly. “Ahk…”

At the sound of your voice, he leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours, sending a shiver throughout your body. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, each passing second stretching out like eternity. His hands gently cradled your face, tilting it just so, as if asking for permission - permission to bridge the space between you.

Your heart was racing, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts, yet there was only one thing that mattered in that moment: him.

He paused for a beat, his eyes searching yours, reading the quiet desire in your gaze. Then, without a word, he closed the distance between you. His lips brushed against yours at first, a feather-light touch that sent a thrill through your body. And then, sensing the soft sigh that escaped your lips, he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer.

Every inch of you seemed to melt into him, your entire being consumed by the softness, the heat, the intensity of the moment. His lips were warm, gentle, and yet there was an underlying passion in every movement. The world outside of him ceased to exist.

In his arms, you felt infinite, as if nothing could ever break this perfect moment. His kiss was everything you had dreamed of and more. When you finally pulled away, you both stood there, forehead to forehead, eyes still closed, breathing deeply. The softness of his touch still lingered on your skin, and the weight of his gaze, the truth in it, was more than enough to make your heart soar.

And in that moment, as you stood there in the quiet after the kiss, you both knew there was no going back. You were his, and he was yours. Mind, body, and soul.

But then, from behind you, a teasing wolf-whistle broke the stillness, making your cheeks flush with heat. You instantly pulled away from him, embarrassed, your heart pounding in your chest. Ahkmenrah’s grip on you tightened instinctively as you ducked your head, leaning into his chest to hide your burning face.

"Yeah! Get it, girl!" Your friend called out, their voice playful and loud enough for everyone to hear.

You could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he held you, his warmth enveloping you like a comforting shield.

You sighed against him, a soft laugh escaping your lips despite the heat flooding your face. "I wasn’t expecting that."

"Don’t worry," He murmured softly, "They mean no harm." You then looked back up at him, your heart fluttering in your chest. His eyes softened when they met yours. He leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead in the most gentle of kisses. “Now, my lotus… Let us dance."

You smiled up at him, heart full, the weight of the moment lingering as the soft melody of the slow song faded into the background. The upbeat rhythm of “Heads Will Roll” suddenly blasted through the speakers, and your excitement reignited. You felt a rush of energy surge through you once more, and without missing a beat, you grinned at Ahkmenrah.

With a laugh, you took his hand, tugging him into the rhythm of the song. He gave you a surprised but delighted grin, before he twirled you out and back into his arms. You couldn't stop smiling, knowing that the night, and this moment, would stay with you for as long as you lived.

~~~

Main Masterlist | Misc. Masterlist

[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

December 24: Christmas Party

Colonel Brandon x Reader

Last entry for @deepperplexity 's Rickmas2023!!! The second part of "Snow Prints". Not my best but I wanted to get this finished before new years, lol. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and that the New Year brings you wonderful things.

It was the night of the Christmas party Christopher was hosting. You watched Delaford house from the carriage window. The beautiful house was brightly lit and the warm glow from the windows cast across the surrounding snow, making it look like a chandelier in the night. You were wearing the finest dress you owned, wine red with gold embroidery. You had a very special reason to be excited for tonight and to want to look your best. A few days ago, Colonel Christopher Brandon had come to your house and asked permission to court you. Your aunt and uncle had happily granted their consent and you’d felt like you were walking on clouds ever since. Christopher met you as the carriage with you and your aunt and uncle arrived at door. By the look on his face when he helped you down from the carriage, the lengths you had gone to in your appearance were appreciated and you felt your cheeks heat in a blush under his gaze.

It was a wonderful party. The house was beautifully decorated with garlands and candles, music and chatter filled the air and everyone was in a jovial, festive mood, fuelled by fine food and Christmas punch. As the night went on, he spent as much time as he could by your side. As much as his duties as host would allow him. Young Margaret Dashwood had secured a dance with Christopher at one point and the sight of him dancing happily with the child endeared him to you even more. Since your first meeting where he had rescued you from your long walk through the snow, you had seen each other many times and written often. You knew you were easily and quickly falling in love with him. And while exchanged letters and time spent in the company of your family warmed your heart, you also longed to be close to him again. The feeling of being held close to him as you’d ridden double across the fields that day had stayed with you and you needed to feel that closeness again.

You had danced together several times tonight, happily becoming lost in the music. After a while, when you said you could use a rest from dancing and the crowded room, Christopher offered to show you some more of the house. You walked together and ended up in a picture gallery, lined with beautiful paintings. “Are you enjoying the party?” He asked. “Very much. It’s a wonderful evening. I’ve enjoyed dancing with you.” “I’m glad. You dance beautifully. But I’m afraid most of the popular dances are a bit fast for my meagre skill.” “I think you’re a very fine dancer. You have travelled a great deal, do you know of other dances.” “Well, these is one I like, called the waltz, but I fear it may cause a scandal when it reaches England.” You were intrigued now, “What would make this waltz so scandalous? Please, tell me.” Christopher took your right hand in his, the warmth of it soaking through your glove as his large hand wrapped around yours. “It’s danced between two people, and you must hold each other quite close.” “Show me.” You almost whispered. Christopher took a breath before answering, “You place your left hand on my shoulder”. You did as he said and almost gasped as his right hand settled on your waist and pulled you closer.

Your face was mere inches from his. Your softness under his hands was entrancing and Christopher wanted nothing more in that moment than to abandon all propriety, to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you. You felt yourself leaning closer towards him, drawn to him as if by an invisible spring. Softly, sweetly, your lips met his arms wrapped firmly around your waist as you clung to his shoulders. It was an intoxicating mix, the feeling of warmth and safety you felt in his embrace mixed with the dizzying thrill of his kiss.

A burst of chatter from the nearby doorway startled you both away from each other. Christopher’s expression was hard to read, “I’m…”he stumbled over his words, “I’m so sorry. Please…forgive my transgression.” “There’s nothing to forgive.” You said softly, “I was hoping you would kiss me. I’ve wanted to be held by you again since the day we met. Is that to forward of me?” Suddenly feeling vulnerable at your confession. Christopher took both your hands in his, “No. You are wonderous.” He wanted to kiss you again, but he couldn’t risk your reputation. Thinking clearly now, anyone could have walked passed and seen your passionate embrace. “We should so back before we’re missed.” He said. You nodded, still a bit breathless. And he linked his arm with yours and you headed back to the party, where you found some of the guests had started a game of Snapdragon. As you and Christoper watched the game, amused at the players antics, you thought to yourself how you didn’t need any game of Snapdragon to tell you that you would marry your true love soon. _____________________________________________________

Hope everyone who reads this enjoys it. (Snapdragon was an old party game where you'd light a bowl of brandy-soaked raisins on fire and try to grab them out of the bowl. The one who gets the most was said to marry their true love within a year) Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!!!

[stellarsturns]

Twisted Hate

part 2

pairing: dom!chris x reader, enemies to lovers.

summary; you and you’re enemy chris, are forced to go on a vacation. Yet, you both don’t hate each other as much as you think.

warnings: Swearing and angst.

authors note: Hi y’all ! i kinda hate this!! But whateverrrr

** Beep Beep **

I look at my phone which is ringing, I see the name. In bold print it says “Alex.” Which is my ex boyfriend.

I pick up the call, Chris starring at me. “Hello?” I state into the phone.

Alex : Hi, we haven’t spoken in awhile. How are you.

“I’m good! How are you?” I state. Chris starring at me as I make this phone call.

Alex: Im great, we definitely have to see each other again.

“You are so right Alex!! We gotta meet up again.” I state, a smile growing on my face. Out of all my exes, Alex is my favorite. He’s really nice.

Chris’s Pov:

I glanced at her, was she seriously talking to her ex? Like Alex? I thought she hated him..

I began to stare at her watching the conversation play out. Once the call ended I immediately felt my anger growing.

Y/N’s Pov:

After a few minutes I ended the call with Alex. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chris starring at me, once I notice him he looks away.

After a few moments in silence the brunette boy speaks up. “What the fuck was that.” He states angrily.

I look at him confused, “Chris what the fuck do you mean?” He glares at me, “I thought you hated Alex. You always talk so much shit about him.” He states.

“Oh, uh-“ I begin to speak but I am immediately cut off by him. “This isn’t a joke, you are such a two-faced bitch. No wonder why he broke up with you.”

I glare at Chris, growing angry by the second. “What the fuck did you just call me?” I state. He looks at me, “Called you a bitch.” Before I know it my actions take over and I slap Chris across the face.

“Don’t fucking put your hands on me again.” He states, aggression filling his voice. I looked at him, “You deserved it, now i’m grabbing dinner with Nick, stay here by yourself.” I state, walking away.

** TIME SKIP **

I come back into the room to see all my clothes I had put away thrown everywhere in the room, and no Chris.

I looked down at the mess on the floor, everything including my bras and undies were sprawled around on the floor.

He thinks he’s so funny for doing this, I told

myself. I sigh before I begin to clean up. Organizing and folding everything on the floor neatly.

By the time I am finished the food I hate brought back was now cold. I approach the microwave, placing the food in there and letting it cook so it’s not cold anymore.

Immediately once the microwave dings, Chris waltz through the door, this time stumbling around.

I look at him, “Are you okay.” I ask, not like I care. He smiles and giggles, “I am like soooooo fine.” He slurs, giggling at every little thing.

I roll my eyes, and sit down to finish the small slab of food I have from dinner. Chris took a shower whilst I ate. At least he was productive i say to myself.

Once I am changed and ready for bed, I turn the lights off hoping into the bed. Chris then hops into the bed getting under the covers. He quietly says, “Goodnight Y/N.” I blush a little bit, “Goodnight Christopher.”

I turn on my side, attempting to get comfortable before two familiar hands wrap around my waist.

@hysteria-things big thank you to Haleigh for helping with my writing block💋💋

[theverystrangegirl27]

christoph waltz fic coming today at some point!!! I'm locked in

[keravnous]

⟼ swimming pool glimmering, darling, white bikini off with my red nail polish

○ Christoph Waltz x Fem!Reader;

⚘ wanna go where the girls are young and dumb?: Your mother dragged you along to southern France for the summertime. Thus, you are forced to spend your spring break with your stepdad.

[lostinanatom]

Alright alright, I know The Consultant JUST came out, but…cmon y’all. I need my Christoph Waltz fanfic writers to start makin some juicy Regus Patoff x reader content!! MAMAS THIRSTY PLZ 😫

[rumple04]

Alchemy & Late Shows

OS Reader x Christoph Waltz

(Only fluff, no smut)

Inspired by “Emotional Interview” by @headoverhiddles

You are late to the studios of Jimmy Kimmel's Late Show. The traffic jams on the streets of New York got the better of your organization. You hate arriving late, especially when you are not responsible for it. Hair in the wind you hurry to join your dressing room so that the make-up artists try to hide your drawn features due to fatigue. Tonight, like every past and upcoming nights this week, you have to promote a film in which you shot. Yesterday you were alone against David Letterman, tonight at Jimmy Kimmel's and tomorrow at Jimmy Fallon's. Fortunately, tonight and tomorrow you are not alone since you are accompanied by your co-star Christoph Waltz. It is also the moment you come out of your dressing room perfectly prepared with a bun that you see it waiting in the backstage, tapping from the heel.

- Hi Christoph, you say as you approached to kiss him.

- Hi y/n, how are you?

- I was stuck in traffic jams at the height of Grande Avenue, I thought I would never arrive on time ! And you?

- I would rather be everywhere else than here, in fact. But I'm glad to see you.

You blush at these last words. You've been blushing for months at every sweet attention of your co-star. And, in fact - you've been trying for months to hide what you feel deep inside.

- Everywhere else, are you sure? Even in the burger restaurant where Joe (Whrite, the director of the film you just shot) brought us to last week?

- ... don't say that. But really, Kimmel's interviews...

- I know... Get ready, tomorrow is Fallon’s one.

- Dear me...

You know how much, Christoph hates these big Late Show, you don't like them so much either. Like him, promoting your work is not what you like to do the most, but you can't help but have a certain enthusiasm for sharing these shows with him. A man approaches to hang the microphones on your clothes. Christoph is always perfectly dressed. You think that you haven't seen him a single day badly dressed since you worked with him. Perfectly ironed shirt, perfectly cut pants, well-cut suit shirt. You're not bad either with your fitted blouse and your long high-waisted skirt. Without consulting you before, your outfits are in the same shade of color. Another man signals us not to speak anymore because our microphones are activated, and in the same movement we are invited to move forward. You hear Kimmel announce:

- And now, I know that you expect them as much as I do. They are featured in the new drama period by Joe Whrite: Pride and Prejudice. A thunder of cheers for y/n and Christoph Waltz!

You walk on the stage, a polite smile for Christoph, a shy smile for you. Christoph signals you to sit down first, to which you answer a complicit smile towards the audience with a hand wave to mimic a fan.

- Ah Christoph, always so polite! I must tell you that I’m really happy to receive you tonight, says Kimmel when the public stopped the applause.

- And we are delighted to be there, you hasten to reply.

-Yes, we will say that, adds Christoph, winning the laughter of the public.

- But I hope you are happy to be there! This is not the first time you have come Christoph since I had the pleasure of welcoming you a few months ago for the release of Django Unchained, and you there some time ago for the release of Sense and Sensibility.

- Indeed, you answer.

- I saw your film, of course, and what a pleasure to see you both shoot together! What an alchemy! Did you like to play together?

- No, really not. I can't stand the presence of y/n. Ironizes Christoph, still winning the laughter of the public.

- Really? Ask for dazed Kimmel.

- Stupid question, stupid answer, adds Christoph, crossing his legs.

You smile at him timidly and look at yourself a few seconds before you decide to add:

- No, you’re right. We really enjoyed working on this project.

- And it shows, precisely we have a small excerpt to show you! Answer Kimmel by turning to the camera.

The screen above us then shows the first images that your production communicated for the promotion.

"You appear reading letters in an Old England-style living room. You hear ringing and get up. A maid opens the door and reveals Christoph who seems confused, stressed and eager.

- Forgive me. I hope you are better, he says, walking mechanically towards the fireplace with the missing air.

- I'm better, thank you. Aren't you going to sit down? Answer by sitting near the living room table.

He doesn't answer you and an embarrassing silence takes place. He remains standing as stressed as ever. He looks in turn at the emptiness and your eyes, then he takes the hundred steps. His discomfort is really palpable and you look at him not knowing what to say. He wants to say something but seems sick at the idea of opening his mouth. He sits down not letting go of your eyes. Then gets up. Finally, after a fierce internal struggle, he declares:

- In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.

You remain speechless for several seconds in silence. He adds:

- By declaring myself in this way, I am fully aware of speaking against the judgment of my family, my friends, and I must say it - of my own judgment. The respective situations of our families are such that an alliance between you and me could only be perceived as highly reprehensible by society. My reason dictates me to consider it as such but I don't bring myself to it. No sooner had I met you than I felt an admiration and a passionate inclination for you that, despite my efforts - defeated any rational objection. I therefore beg you fervently to put an end to my suffering by agreeing to become my wife.

Eyes full of tears, you don't answer right away. Christoph is standing in front of you, in faith relieved to have delivered his burdens but at the same time anxious to see you not answer him right away. You finally answer:

- In such circumstances, I think it is customary to express gratitude, to feel gratitude. But I can't.

Christoph's shoulders sag slightly. He is hanging from your lips and it seems that this last sentence surprises and hurts him deeply. You add:

- I have never desired your affection and it is even reluctantly that you give it to me. I regret having caused you trouble but I did it unintentionally and I hope it will be short-lived, you add.

A heavy silence takes place in the room. He turns his back on you and joins the chimney on which he leans for a few seconds. Then straightens up. He is upset by your answer and turns to you.

- So this is the whole answer I would have the honor to receive. Can I at least know why I am repulsed with so little politeness?

- And can I know why with the obvious intention of offending me, insulting me you come to tell me that you love me against your will, against the concern of your reputation? ».

The screen turns off and you are covered with applauds from the public and Kimmel.

- Wow! It's breathtaking. What is the effect of dismiss Christoph?

You laugh and seem embarrassed. Christoph smiles gently and says nothing.

- This is only possible because it is written on the script, in fact ! You say by not daring to turn to your co-star.

- And you Christoph, how does it feel to be put back in place by y/n?

- My heart was just as broken as Mr. Darcy's, he replied to the heated applause of the public.

You laugh to hide the embarrassment you feel. You know that Christoph is joking, he always does it, but deep down you would like him to be simply delivering the bottom of his thought. Kimmel then adds to close the show:

- I am really delighted to discover you together in this new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice and I hope it marks the first collaboration in a long series. Ladies and gentlemen, y/n and Christoph Waltz!

You leave the stage and Christoph hastens to get rid of his microphone. You go side by side to your respective dressing rooms and he declares:

- Frankly, what did this interview bring? No relevant questions.

- It's true... you know that's what the public is always looking for. Showmen simply respond to the demand.

- You're right...

It stops at the height of your dressing room and you look at yourself for a few seconds. He adds:

- I would have invited you to eat somewhere but tomorrow is as busy for you as it is for me.

- Yes, unfortunately I think it would be wiser for us to go to bed early enough tonight. But we can see it at the end of the week, it would be a pleasure.

He doesn't answer, just smiles at you. He takes your hand and puts a kiss on it.

- See you tomorrow y/n.

———

Indeed, the day that awaits you is not easy. Each on your side has several trays to turn for the promo. It is only in the evening that you finally find yourself in Jimmy Fallon's studios. This is the last interview you have to give on your program. Unlike the day before you arrive early on site and while you are heading to your dressing room, some members of the technical team stop you to ask you for autographs and selfies.

- I'm really a fan of what you do. I love Jane Austen's adaptations and I find that your work really pays tribute to her, throws you a woman of engineer.

- Thank you very much, it's really nice!

- Can I ask you something?

- Yes, of course.

- Is... Christoph Waltz as grumpy as he lets it seem?

You can't help but let out a laugh. It's true that Christoph gives this impression. Moreover, he gives a lot of his person to always seem grumpy and sarcastic. However, this is not the attitude you know him on the set and behind the scenes. You don't want to undermine all the hard work of your co-star and you answer:

- He is adorable, but yes he is often grumpy!

The whole team laughs and with these words you enter your dressing room. It is only several minutes later, and after an intense makeup session that someone knocks on your door.

- Come in!

- So like that I'm grumpy? Announce Christoph by theatrically entering your dressing room.

- Wow, definitely the information circulates well here!

- Am I grumpy?

- I also said you were adorable!

- I hope so!

He smiles maliciously and comes to put a kiss on your forehead.

- We have to go, the team is waiting for us to put on the microphones, he says kindly.

You finish hanging your earring, you get up and you follow him. The team puts the microphones on you and just before he turns them on you touch Christoph's arm by whispering to him:

- Come on, it's the last one!

He smiles at you gently by placing his hand on yours. You don't have time to feel your heart beating the chamade you hear Jimmy Fallon announce to you.

- You loved him in Inglorious Basterds, and you loved her in Sense and Sensibility! They form an iconic couple in Joe Whrite's new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice! Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure to welcome y/n and Christoph Waltz!

As the day before you enter the stage under a thunder of applaud and as the day before Christoph shows gallantry by letting you sit first. You find your colleague more relaxed than the day before.

- Wow! You are both beautiful, begins Fallon with a glittering smile. I'm really delighted to see you here!

- Same! You answer with a polite smile.

- You are definitely subscribed to the roles of the drama periods, aren't you?

- Maybe well, indeed. I'm not going to complain about it, it's an area that I really like both in audiovisual and literature.

- You Christoph, it's the first time we have seen you in this register. How does it feel to have played the legendary Mr. Darcy?

- It's...somewhat unexpected. I did not expect to one day be led to play such a "British" role as this one.

- And yet! You are brilliant in this role. Would you be interested in continuing to shoot films in this same register?

- I didn't know how to oppose it. What interests me is the story that a director has to tell. As long as I like the script and is good, I'm always in.

- The alchemy between the two of you is powerful. Did it feel on the set ?

Christoph lets you answer, his head slightly bent and a shy smile digging the wrinkle of his cheek.

- Uh... I think so. In any case, it's true that I had never felt such complicity on a set, you answer timidly.

The audience whistles at this statement and the musical group on the set plays some sexy notes. Fallon reacts:

- Wouuu! It's hot this way! Have you seen what is being said on social medias about you?

- Dear lords, answers Christoph. I don't have social medias and it's very good for me.

The audience laughs for several seconds after which you add.

- I'm on Twitter, but I was careful not to show him what is said there, you reply laughing behind your hand, timidly.

- It's very good because I have here some incredible tweets that concern you both.

- My god... answer Christoph by collapsing on his chair.

- Come on, I'm starting!

On the screen above them displays a screen of tweets :

"Who would have thought that an adaptation of Pride and Prejudice would be as hot as that of @y/n and Christoph Waltz?! ”

"Thank you @JoeWhrite for bringing us together @y/n and Christoph Waltz on a set! I don't know if I ship more Elizabeth Bennet and Darcy or literally the two actors! ”

"Joe Whrite: You're going to play the mythical couple of Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy!

Literally Y/n & Christoph Waltz being the hottest couple of Jane Austen's universe. ”

You couldn't be more red and more delighted than right now. You turn - enthusiastic - to Christoph who against all odds wears a small satisfied smile. Jimmy Fallon notices it and adds on top of the enthusiastic applause of the audience:

- You see, there are not only bad things on social medias!

- I’m certainly satisfied to have done my job correctly, he answers a little timidly.

- You are incorrigible! But you are not as reserved on other TV sets. Replica Fallon bursting with laughter. I have a small excerpt to refresh your memory.

"On the same screen appears an excerpt from Christoph on Ellen DeGeneres' set. The latter declares:

- You have great complicity with y/n, it's quite striking on the screen. Did you feel it on the set?

- Yes, in fact I must admit that I even have a big crush on her...

Christoph smiles slightly and Ellen opens her mouth wide laughing to the applause of an amused audience. ”

- What do you have to declare in your defense, applies Jimmy Fallon?

- Absolutely nothing, answers Christoph with a smile.

- And you there y/n?

- You will never be able to laugh at Christoph, you say, turning to him.

He looks at you with great complicity and puts his hand on yours. Fallon does not pay attention to it and starts the end of the interview.

- You can find these two lovebirds on the bill of Joe Whrite's latest film Pride and Prejudice of which here is a short trailer. Thank you for coming tonight!

Under the applause you get up and go behind the scenes. You do not dare to speak while you reach your dressing rooms. As you approach yours, Christoph approaches you and asks you:

- Do you feel like coming to dinner with me tonight?

- With pleasure, Christoph...

You find him disturbed, and gently you put your hand on his arm:

- Is everything all right?

He looks at your hand on his arm and in the same movement grabs it and kisses you tenderly. You feel all your muscles relax one after the other. You realize that for several months now, your whole body has been tense and was only waiting for that. He barely detaches himself from you and whispers:

-I'm sorry... I've wanted to do this for a while.

- Don't apologize, I've been dreaming about it for months.

[truefandemonium]

Hi sweetheart!! Your number 1 fan here 🤗

Can I request for a fic where King and reader have a very special relationship where both of them love each other, but they never admitted their feelings. One day she gets shot and King freaks out, almost crying and finally admits his feelings for her. The rest is up to you, love! Hope you like it, hun. Sending lots of love 🤗💖

Thanks so much again for the request! Sorry this one took so long to come out 😭 I hope this one is as good as the other you requested! I struggled a little bit with some of the emotional scenes but hopefully it fits what you were wanting to see!! Much love!!

“For Every Moment”

[Dr King Schultz x Fem!Reader] (Mature)

TW: Blood, violence, strong language, innuendo

Tags: fluff, angst, love confessions, soulmates, possessiveness, tending to wounds, kissing, bed sharing

5,285 words

…

You always wondered if King felt the same way about you as you did him.

The flirting, mostly from you, so it happened, was nice. As were the gentle touches— which lingered longer in the dark of campsites and after private interactions in tavern hallways. On long rides across desert landscapes, you would find King’s eyes wandering to land on you— his gaze rarely left your face, and you wouldn’t expect anything else from such a self-proclaimed gentleman. However, there was once when you’d been down at the river washing yourself and had forgotten to warn neither King nor Django, and the men happened upon you half nude.

Django couldn’t have cared less, stripping down and taking his own corner of the undertow to bathe in, not giving you a second glance, while King turned a shade of red you’d thought was reserved only for tomatoes, and after taking a prolonged look of shock at your breasts, turned tail and fled back to the wagon. He couldn’t even look in your direction the rest of that day, keeping his chin tucked into his chest and hat pulled low over his brow to avoid your eyes.

You’d found the whole thing quite funny, if not slightly embarrassing on your behalf, but King refused to speak of it again, shying away from the mere mention of the occurrence.

Which was why it made this whole thing so damn confusing. Did he love you or didn’t he? Perhaps in Germany, the men were simply more prone to shows of romanticism. You shake your head to yourself as you lean forward and stir the beans in the pot over the fire with a wooden spoon. Maybe you’d never know what was going on in King’s head. Either way, you’d enjoy his company until your last breath, and happily.

“Something on your mind, frauline?” King’s buttery voice breaks into your thoughts as you sit back down on the log in front of the fire, and you panic for a moment, watching him out the corner of your eye as he approaches and takes a seat across from you.

“No, nothing,” you say, wondering how to breach the subject plaguing you. Debating whether or not you should at all…

“You have the look of a kicked pup, my dear,” the man purrs, his tone so convincing and gentle. “You’re certain there is nothing I can do to ease your burden?” You just want to melt when you hear him speak— like a glass of whiskey; making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

But you shake your head again, suddenly choked at the thought of telling him your true feelings for him. “I’m fine, King— really.” The lie is obvious, and you regret it as soon as it leaves your lips, noticing the way the scorn hits King like an arrow to the chest.

He practically winces as he nods. “My apologies— I do not mean to pry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, wrestling with yourself. You pull the pot off the fire and nod your thanks as King stands and holds out two small tin cups for you to scoop the food into cautiously. “It’s just…” You stop as Django returns from where the horses are tied several yards away, the thickness returning to your throat.

Django instantly senses your odd behavior, his eyes narrowing as he takes one of the tin cups from King’s outstretched hand. You blink at him, silently pleading for him to give you and King space, and thankfully, he picks up on your desperate expression.

Poking a spoon into his cup of beans, Django glances between you and King with a sniff, grumbling, “Need some air. I’ll be… over there.” He jerks his head sideways and starts off into the desert, and you instantly feel a twinge of guilt, alongside relief.

King, confused, opens his arms wide, gesturing to the wide open space around you. “You have all the air of Texas, dear Django!”

The ex-slave just waves one hand above his head, calling as playfully as you ever hear him, “Not with what you two got hangin’ in it.”

You flush at his words, and King’s gaze flicks back to you, his green eyes wide. “Oh?” he says, clueless, which only makes you burn further, setting the pot down after dishing your own helping. “I didn’t realize we had things to discuss,” he says slowly, sitting back down, his eyes still glued to you. As he sees your expression, suddenly teary eyes and red face, his own gaze changes; softens with realization. “Oh,” he adds in a near whisper, swallowing.

“Frauline,” he says gently, the firelight casting shadows across his worn face. “I do hope you know that you can always speak to me.” He tries to joke, adding with a stressed chuckle, “I cannot promise that my advice will be all that helpful, but—”

“No, see— King, that’s the problem,” you sigh, dropping your head into your hands. “I… I can tell you anything— everything. And I do. But you—” You look up and see the way his brow is furrowed, confusion clouding his gaze. You say gently, “You don’t tell anyone anything at all, King. Not even me.”

At that, he smiles ruefully, even the small gesture making your belly tighten. “Ach, mein lieb,” he sighs softly, “I am an old man. I do not expect a girl like yourself to be a confidant, and that is not something you should ever feel is required of you—”

“But I want to be,” you argue. King seems taken aback, even leaning up from where his forearms had been resting on his knees to look at you.

“Y/N,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a child. “I need you to know this: I love you.”

Your heart stops in this moment, and you’re sure if physics weren’t against you— you’d be floating right up into the stars above your head.

King continues, gesturing to the dark desert where his partner has just disappeared to, “Just as I love our dear Django. You two are my closest compatriots— dare I say friends.” At that, he smiles, and you feel your chest begin to constrict, sadness creeping up your throat and threatening to steal your breath away. Friends, right. Nothing more. But as quick as it had appeared, King’s smile leaves again, in lieu of his expression growing deadly serious. “And that means that you are both at a greater risk for being the targets of unhappy acquaintances of bad men I have a duty to dispatch. I enjoy your company— and always have. But I will not allow myself to be the reason either of you get hurt.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you try to reason, simply wanting to hear him admit that he likes you more than he’s letting on.

“Then what—” King’s words are cut off by Django’s sudden and panicked return from the desert; the fellow bounty hunter practically sprinting to your side, eyes huge and breathing heavy.

“Damn rattlesnake ‘bout bit my ass up,” he pants, jerking one thumb over his shoulder.

“You what?” King asks, clearly having been so focused on snapping back at you that he hardly heard his friend.

Django frowns, saying in a choppy, disdainful tone, “A rattler, King. Almost bit. My ass. The hell up.” His brown eyes flick between you and King, trying to gauge the tension there. “You two done bickerin’, then?”

King looks at you, his gaze managing to still remain confused even after your outburst. “I did not think any bickering occurred, Y/N—?”

You stand up without looking at him, pushing your half-eaten tin cup of beans into Django’s hands. “I’m not hungry. Goodnight, Django.” You turn slightly and mutter, “Night, King.”

As you make your way toward the horses to acquire your bedroll, you don’t see the way Django shrugs and sits down to begin digging into your leftovers— nor how King watches you go with a broken expression. There was so much he wanted to say… he just didn’t know how.

Little did you know, this was the first time in King’s life he’d found himself speechless.

…

“Dammit fuck, King, he’s getting away!” Django curses, his burning eyes glued to the form of the desperado booking it across the sandy desert.

King smiles, his silver beard catching the sunlight beating down from above, his green eyes shimmering as he watches the horse gallop with his bandit rider atop him.

“Django, my boy— patience is one part of bounty hunting you need to learn sooner than later,” King tells him, his tone stern but affectionate.

“Yeah? Well I’d rather pop this sumbitch a bullet right up his ass before he has time to tell all his buddies that somebodys are skulkin’ around up in the desert,” Django barks back, seething.

“That ‘somebodys’ ‘d be us, right?” you ask, sitting placidly on the wagon, playing with Fritz’s reins.

King speaks before Django can annoyedly answer you. “I was going to let you figure it out yourself but since your common sense has seemed to have deserted you at this time, I will explain.” King leans over Fritz to stare at Django and say slowly, “We are missing two of three outlaws. That one—” King points toward the disappearing shape of the man on the run without looking away from his partner. “—will lead us directly to the other two, that we are looking for.”

Django’s eyes flash with understanding and he curls his lip in a growl.

“Do you understand now, why we are going to simply follow him instead of impulsively putting a bullet in his brain?” King asks him.

The other man glowers for a moment before responding. “Yeah, you don’t gotta be so con-sendin’ ‘bout it,” Django snarls, hopping atop his horse and clicking his tongue to steady the beast.

King just smiles. “I prefer the term patronizing, but yes, condescending works, too. I will continue to use that tone until you learn to trust me,” he says, and Django nods ruefully. “You know I only have either of your best interests at heart,” King reminds you both, getting onto the wagon beside you. With a grin, he adds, “And money, of course. You really think I’d sabotage a bounty for my ego?”

Django rolls his eyes, lips twitching up into a smirk as he replies, “With you, doc— can’t never be too sure.”

King chuckles, the sound making butterflies take off in your belly, and you distract yourself from his utter perfection by handing the reins off and awaiting departure.

“Ready, my dear?” King asks you, and you swallow, nodding. You want desperately to bring up the talk last night— but you can’t. You just wish you could poke around in his mind until finding the honest truth behind his affection for you.

But before you can even try to see past his gaze to find out the intention behind his words, he’s telling Fritz to giddyup and flicking the reins commandingly. You try not to watch the side of his face as he calmly drives the stage, his brow unfurrowed and a soft smile playing on his lips.

You wonder how he can be so unbothered by everything— when you feel like your very world is crumbling without knowing how he feels about you. You force yourself not to dwell on it. Getting into a deadly situation while stuck in your own head could spell disaster, and you need to be the lookout for your two partners.

After a considerable time following the tracks of your runaway bandit, you arrive in a near-ghost town, streets empty and buildings falling apart. No wonder the trio chose this place to hideout, they’d never be suspected to be found here.

King pulls the wagon up to a tree down the street from a saloon, where he glares and points out a familiar horse to Django, accompanied by two others. The two men dismount and begin muttering to each other, guns on their hips ready to go while you look on in awe. No matter how many times you see it, you’re still in wonder of their ability to work together like a machine, producing bodies of bad men like it’s nothing, and then profiting from it.

You wait atop the wagon behind Fritz until King turns to you and orders, “Stay on the wagon, alright? If you hear two or more shots, and neither me or Django comes out— take his horse to the nearest town, about ten miles that way, and get the sheriff.”

“You’re scaring me with that kinda talk,” you tell him, hating the moments that he gets so serious about collecting bounties. Most often, Django and King make jokes and promises for grand sleeping arrangements in hotels before going to do a job. But every once in a while, King gets a twinge of anxiety, and makes you promise not to try and avenge his death in the scenario he’s killed by his own target.

King chuckles softly, now, dipping his head. “I’m sorry, frauline. I do tend to catastrophize things. I will be out in six minutes, how is that?”

You smile. “Make it five.”

“I’ll make it two if you both shut up in the next ten seconds,” Django interrupts, narrowing his eyes at the saloon down the dusty street.

You and King fall silent, and changing one last (what you hope is meaningful) glance before the two hunters depart from you, and you wring the hem of your dress in your sweaty fist as you wait for them to return.

You watch with a knot in your stomach as they disappear one after the other into the saloon, your eyes finally wandering away from the door and coming to rest on the wagon seat you’re sitting on.

Your heart stutters at the sight of King’s crumpled paper sitting there, right next to your clenched fist. You scramble to pick it up and read it, recognizing it as the arrest order from the judge for the three men inside the saloon with Django and Dr King Schultz.

Shit. King needs this paper, he always takes the judge’s order with him on a job! Panic floods you, and you stand up, hurrying off the wagon and down the street, heart racing.

You’ll be quick. You’ll simply appear with the order, make sure it’s in King’s hand before racing back out— nothing more.

You reach the saloon and get close enough to hear voices. Fear grips you at the sound of arguing.

“You’ll never get all of us, you son of a bitch!” someone yells, and you hear the bang of a bullet being fired as the saloon doors burst open. A stranger races out and collides with you as scream, your head hitting the hard ground with a smack.

The world spins as more sounds ring out, and suddenly you’re being dragged to your feet by a man’s strong hand. An arm winds itself around your throat, too tightly for comfort, and when your eyes focus again, you see Django and King standing in shocked horror just outside the saloon.

The man holding you against his front calls, “Let me and Jake go and you can have the girl! Or else—” You suck in a gasp as you feel the cold barrel of a revolver dig painfully into your side, and you struggle against his hold.

You see King’s eyes fill with fury and pain at the sight of it, his fists flexing at his sides. Django, contrastingly, is calm and still as he stands before you, analyzing the situation with a careful eye. It seems like the first time that Django has ever been the collected one, compared to King.

“William—” King says slowly, but you can hear the way he’s nearing his breaking point. “Let the girl go, she is not part of this—”

“She sure as hell is, now!” the man holding you screams, and you wince as the gun prods you again. You finally notice now, another man standing only a few feet away, unarmed. He looks between all of you fearfully, malice radiating off of him.

“King, shut the fuck up,” Django hisses, not taking his eyes off the man keeping you in a tight chokehold. Panic begins to set in and you start to thrash in his grasp.

“Hold still, you bitch—!” the man grunts, his hand moving to cover your mouth. You shriek as his nails dig into the flesh of your cheek, and you strain, rearing back to elbow him hard in the stomach.

“Leave her alone!” King screams, his eyes huge and filled with terror as Django’s jaw clenches.

“King!” the other man yells, lifting his gun and letting off two rounds in quick succession. But you hear three.

The first man— Jake— drops to the earth in a moment, his corpse sprawled out and bloody.

You feel William’s hand slowly release your face, the marks his nails left already beginning to sting as blood pricks at the surface.

And then you feel the heat in your belly. Warm— no, hot. And wet— you glance down and blink a few times at the growing stain of crimson just below your ribs, on your left side. You don’t even feel the pain until you tip over.

The world must stop for a moment, or maybe you do, because when you open your eyes again, King is there, clutching you desperately to his chest as he leans over your body.

“Ach Gott, mein Gott, nein, nein,” King whispers, his green eyes traveling across your face and body, tears pricking at the edges of his vision as he takes it all in. The blood leaking from your side, the pale skin of your face, growing paler by the second. “Please, no,” he begs in a breaking tone, his hands firmly holding you.

“King—?” you manage to croak, your hand slipping upwards and finding purchase around his coat collar. You grip it like a lifeline, your pounding heart beginning to stutter. “Don’t go—!”

“I’m here, frauline,” he tells you, his eyes never leaving your face. “I’m staying right here, I swear it.”

“It— ah— it hurts,” you whimper, the pain now ripping through you like a whirlwind.

“I know,” King says, his normally smooth voice breaking a bit. “I know, and I am so sorry, mein Liebling.”’

“Don’t be,” you cry, emotion starting to choke you. “I— I should have—”

“No, schiesse, Y/N, this is not your fault,” he says, stopping you. He shifts you in his arms so your chests are nearly flush— you can feel his heart hammering his ribs as he speaks. “I should not have let you get close enough for this to happen. Curse every moment I let pass without telling you… I should have just told you last night—”

“Told me…?” For a moment, the pain is gone. All you feel is a sudden rush of hope. Of affection.

King has never cried in front of you. This time is no different. But he gets damn close. His voice shakes and his verdant eyes grow wet with unshed tears as he confesses at long last, “That I love you.”

He shuts his eyes now, the tears dropping to land in his beard. The last thing you feel like doing is crying, however. Even with your gaping wound, you feel like you could dance. You’re lighter than air.

But King isn’t finished. He shakes his head to recenter himself and chokes out, “More than love, Y/N— I adore you. I crave you. Do you have any idea how long I have waited— longed to hold you?” His hand, calloused, yet surprisingly clean, and oh-so gentle, comes up to push a strand of hair from your sweat-slicked temple.

You shiver at his soft touch and decide to throw caution to the wind. If this is to be your last moment alive, you’re going out taking what you’ve always wanted.

Still holding tightly to his collar, you pull hard, half yanking him down to your level and half lifting yourself to reach him— and slam your lips against his.

The world erupts in butterflies and sun bursts of every color and magnitude. King’s lips against your own feel so right; interlocking with yours in an explosion of warmth and taste and comfort. His tongue finds yours, and you let out a soft whimper into his mouth, startling him to pull away in concern.

He pants, his cheeks already a quiet rosy red and his eyes wide and glittery with affection as he gazes at you in silent wonder.

You wish you had more time, more energy, but your strength is waning. In lieu of another kiss, you manage, “King— I’ve always loved you, too.”

King blinks in apparent shock, an almost disbelieving chuckle pulled from his chest as a smile tugs the corner of his lip.

But he has no time to say more, because then you hear the scuffle of boots on sand and suddenly Django is there, too. He crouches low and inspects your body with a scrutinous gaze— though you can tell how desperately he doesn’t want you to know he’s scared.

“I need to see how bad it is,” the man says, almost to himself before looking up at you. You thank the heavens he isn’t mentioning the atrociously dramatic confession you just received, nor the equally impulsive kiss. “I gotta lift up your skirts, girl,” Django says sternly, his brown eyes pinning you in place as you hang in King’s arms.

King’s grasp on you tightens defensively for just a moment before he returns to his senses and nods briskly. He looks deep in your eyes before laying you down on your back in the sand and ripping off his coat to cover your soon-to-be-bare legs.

You hardly notice as Django carefully but urgently pulls the cotton layers of your dress above your hips, then a bit further to reveal your belly (thank goodness you weren’t wearing a corset), because your eyes are intently glued to the way King’s white shirt sticks to his shoulders and chest, sweat making the cloth form to his muscular body as he watches Django study your wound. You wish you could see past his vest, too, but now is really not the time to ask for a strip tease.

You blink your thanks as King lays his coat down over your legs— not scandalous, as you’re wearing bloomers that reach your mid thigh, but still more than you’ve ever been exposed to either of these men (aside from the aforementioned fateful incident at the river).

Django mutters something for you to prepare yourself before laying his hands on your side and checking the size of the shot. You cry out, and King’s hand instantly finds yours, letting you squeeze him as the pain subsides.

You open your eyes after a moment and are surprised to see Django smiling, teeth flashing and everything. He looks at you and smiles wider. “You're one lucky bitch, you know that?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulls your dress back down over your legs and uses King’s coat to wrap tightly around your injured waist.

“She’ll be just fine, we jus’ need a doc to stitch her up…” you hear Django telling King over you as you begin to drift off. The loss of blood has made you sleepy, unsurprisingly, and although it seems a bad idea, you just can’t help closing your eyes, just for a moment…

…

You wish you could remember the ride here— wherever you’ve ended up. You’re certain King held you the whole way while Django drove the wagon. Maybe you’re completely wrong, but the presence of a snoring Dr. King Schultz at your bedside confirms your suspicion that he hasn’t left your side since you were shot.

Speaking of which…

You shift with a wince and look under the covers to prod at your side curiously. It hurts, of course, but whatever drug they gave you sure has helped with the pain. Your head swims pleasurably, though perhaps that’s the after effects of your kiss with King.

You lie back down on the considerably cushy pillow and turn to gaze at the sleeping form of your beloved King Schultz. His body cocked sideways so he’s facing your bed, coat off, hat in his lap. His head rests on the back of the chair, brown furrowed deeply above his scrunched-shut eyes.

You decide to risk waking him from his gorgeous sleep and slide your hand upward to cup his bearded jaw.

As your fingers brush the stubble along his throat, King snaps awake, snorting gently as his hand snatches your wrist in an instinctive defensive response. His wide eyes pin you before recognition seeps in, and he softens his grasp on your wrist, bringing his other hand up instantly to gently cradle your palm.

“Y/N,” he breathes, sitting up and never taking his eyes from you.

You smile shyly, feeling bare beneath his gaze. Not that you'd exactly protest. King’s own lips turn upward as he stares at you.

“How do you feel?” he asks you concernedly, his hold soft and warm and strong. His grip doesn’t waver, like now that he has you, he’s not ever going to let go. And you want to bask in the safety of it forever.

You nod. “I’m alright, King. I’m doing just fine…”

King chuckles, in that way that reminds you of the way he broke down when he held you in his arms only yesterday. “My dear— you nearly stopped my heart with that little stunt of yours.”

“Stunt?” you echo, giggling at how suddenly nonchalant he sounds about the ordeal. Though you know he’s only trying to keep the conversation light.

His brows raise, and he plasters a mock-serious expression on his worn face. “Well, yes— didn’t you do that to get my attention?”

“You wish,” you snort, pumping his hands up and down once weakly with your own.

King smiles, warm and sweet, like honey. It’s contagious, it seems, because soon so are you.

“Y/N, truly— what possessed you to leave the horses yesterday, mein frauline?” King’s eyes grow genuinely serious, now, and you feel a twinge of guilt at the memory.

“I don’t know… I thought I was helping— it’s all so silly, now…” You hang your head, and King tuts gently, moving one hand to slowly lift your chin with his knuckle.

“We don’t need to discuss it if you don’t wish,” he tells you.

You argue, “No, I do! There’s— well, I’m afraid to ask you, but I need to know…”

The man before you blinks worriedly. “Anything.”

You feel a familiar sting at the back of your throat, tears threatening to choke you, but you force the words out around the lump. “Was it true?” You blink until your vision is clear again and continue, “What you said to me yesterday.”

King blinks, too, his eyes huge as he swallows thickly. You watch the bob of his throat and focus on the way he exhales softly, weighing his reply.

“It was a very tense moment and in tense moments I tend to say and do things that—”

“Was it true or wasn’t it?” you demand, pulling your hand out of his grasp, and you see the hurt enter his gaze instantly. You pin him with your burning eyes, not as furious as you’re desperate to hear him say he meant every word.

You sigh in relief as he stands from his chair to loom over your prone body, bringing his once-bloodstained hands up to cup your face. His eyes bore into yours as he mutters with a tone so deadly it makes your bones chill and alight simultaneously, “My dear, it was all true and more.” King’s green eyes flick across your face, studying every inch of you as he whispers, “If you were not so recently injured— and of course as long as thou doth not protest—” He momentarily smirked at his own quip before returning straight-lipped. “—I would take you apart in this bed right here and now. You deserve to be adored, mein leibe, every moment of every day.” Your breath stutters at his words, soaking up the sudden tears teasing the edges of his vision as he croaks out, “I was a fool for waiting this long to speak my truth, and for that— I offer my deepest apologies.” Without waiting for you to reply, King presses in to lock his lips onto yours. You gasp just before his teeth click against yours, his kiss firm and passionate, and speaking volumes. This kiss says you’re his, now. This kiss says he wants you, too.

You melt into it, arms wrapping around his shoulders and inadvertently toppling him off balance, dragging him down toward your body. He slams one hand down on the side of your head to keep himself from landing his weight on your injury, and you smirk playfully up at him through your lashes.

You take in the sight of his cheeks pink, his breathing heavy, hair falling in soft waves into his eyes as he hovers above you. You whisper, “I could get used to this.”

King sucks in a breath, embarrassment obvious in the way his face turns even redder, and he scolds gently, “Not until you are better, frauline.”

“I’d feel better if I wasn’t all alone in here,” you admit, and King’s brows raise again. You demonstrate your point by scooting to accommodate him and he pushes himself up and off of you, noticing the new space at your side in the bed. You lift the covers and pat the mattress, even, driving it home.

“Ah,” King realizes, his mannerisms screaming barely contained want as he wrings his hands. “I don’t think the nurses would be so keen—”

You shrug. “You kill thieves and murderers for a living,” you remind him, “and you’re scared of a few nurses?”

“I suppose you’re right.” King grins at your cheekiness and opens his arms wide. “Well, who can resist those charms of yours, you gorgeous devil?”

You giggle in victory as King kicks off his boots and pulls his suspenders down to hang at his sides as he takes the space next to you.

You sigh happily as you feel his body come flush to yours, and you’re quick to pin him with one arm draped over his belly, which softly heaves with each breath. “You’re perfect,” you whisper as you study his profile, fondling his beard with your curious hand.

King laughs softly. “My love, I don’t think you know what perfect means.” He turns and does his own fondling of your face, once again trailing his palm along your jaw. “Unless you have been studying your reflection in the mirror.”

“Don’t ever leave me,” you beg, suddenly, and King's eyes flicker with compassion and longing.

“Y/N,” he promises, leaning his head gently against your own. “I will do no such thing as long as I live.”

“And you’ll love me forever?” you ask hopefully.

Your heart thrums as a wicked, beautiful smile spreads across King’s face, nothing in his eyes but desperate devotion to you. “I swear, I’ll make up for every single second I ever let you doubt my affection for you, Liebling.”

With that, he kisses you once more, unlike the other times. This time it’s soft and tender and full of hope. It’s a promise. A promise that nothing will ever keep him from you again.

…

[purplelupins]

I know it's been like 2 years since you wrote your Christoph Waltz fic but I just read it like 3 days ago and now i'm completely obsessed with Christoph and his characters . I've never read Actors x reader fics but since you're one of my favorite authors I knew it was going to be good so i read it and i'm glad I did. I just watched 2 movies of him in a single day bc of your fics lol. He is such a great actor. Your writing is amazing you know that? I literally watched Midnight Mass just because I wanted to read your Lamb fic. Thank you for writing masterpieces and I miss you. Can't wait for TRSOASW! Love ya! o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o

Ahh thank you so much! I love that man. I know too much about him since doing research for that fic haha! Thank you for your kind words…I really needed to hear that these days. Thank you thank you thank you 🤍

-Nora