#Christoph Waltz x reader

[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.

[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.”

[filmscruise]

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

[mlmxreader]

Family | King Schultz x m!reader

@margheeeeritii asked: hello it's me again, i hope your'e having a nice day :)

i wnated to request an M!readerxKing Schultz whit the prompt "You didn't tell them we're married?" were Django comes to visit his old friend only to find out he's married now and settled down.

thank you very much!

summary: a visit from Django and Broomhilde gets Schultz both excited and anxious.

tws: swearing, smoking

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Django and Broomhilde were in town for a week, which was fine and dandy by all accounts, and although you were excited to meet them, to meet your son-in-law and his wife, you could see that King was more than nervous about it; pottering around the house to make sure that everything looked perfect for them, tearing his hair out to make family dishes just the way his Mutter and his Vater used to.

He wanted it to be special, and although he was in agony doing it, you could tell that the only way be would calm down would be when Django and Broomhilde walked through the door.

You had heard many stories about Django, of course, of what he and King did during their time together as bounty hunters, and you couldn't deny that you were absolutely looking forward to meeting the man, the myth, the very legend himself; even if your husband was in agony over it, wanting everything to be perfect, wanting everything to be just right.

When you heard the sound of horses approaching, you looked out the window, and smiled when you saw two people; it couldn't be anyone else, as nobody ever came too close to the house for fear that the big guard dog, an old greyhound called Moritz, would tear them limb from limb. Even the postman would abandon letters and parcels at the very edge of the property.

But as the two riders came closer, Moritz didn't stir. Still sound asleep in his basket beside your desk. It wasn't until the riders had dismounted, left their horses with Fritz, and knocked on the door that the big dog dared to open an eye; he huffed, and raised his head, following after you when you went to answer.

"Uhm, pardon me," the man took his hat off, and looked at you with raised brows. "But you ain't seen King Schultz, have you?"

"Yeah, he's in the kitchen," you nodded. "You're Django, right?"

"Right," he smiled, clearing his throat and gesturing to the lady beside him. "This is Broomhilde."

"Hilde," she corrected, shaking your hand. "And you are?"

"(y/n)," you smiled at them, gesturing for them to come inside. "(y/n) Schultz... and that supposed guard dog is Moritz."

"Moritz," Broomhilde smiled, dropping to her knees so that she could pet the dog as he wagged his tail.

Django looked around, noticing the various little trinkets and keepsakes that littered the house, but when he noticed a particular photograph, he paused, and gestured for you to come over. "That's you and King, ain't it?"

"Yeah," you shrugged. "We took that when we were visiting Vienna together."

"Huh," Django nodded. "What was it like?"

"Oh, absolutely lovely," you grinned, fond rememberance in your eyes. "We went to this little saloon not far from where we were staying, and the whisky was dirt cheap... but the food was even better, if I'm honest."

Django hummed, not thinking very much of it. "Where's he now?"

"In the kitchen," you told him, patting his arm gently. "Make yourselves comfortable, I'll go get him."

You left Broomhilde and Django to look around, to get comfortable, heading to the kitchen; Schultz was smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the counter, a pot on the stove as he sighed.

"Everything alright, Hase?"

Schultz nodded, scratching his beard as he grumbled ever so softly. "This is taking far longer than it should, mein Mann."

You smiled, shaking your head as you came to stand beside him, your arm going around his waist. "Django and Hilde are here... Moritz didn't even fucking stir until I opened the door."

"Of course he didn't," Schultz laughed softly. "He's a guard dog, he won't protect us from family."

You dared to chuckle, but then you frowned a little as you thought about how Django had not even recognised your name. "King, by any chance, did you forget something?"

He fell silent, thinking about it for a moment. "Actually, I did."

"What did you forget?"

"I forgot to mention that I had a loving husband," he admitted, like he was ashamed at his own momentary forgetfulness. "Didn't I?"

"You didn't tell them we're married? What next, you'll forget our anniversary?" You joked softly, making him laugh as he tried not to grumble at you. "It's fine, I'm sure they'll figure it out - they're smart."

He was relieved, to say the least, that you weren't angry at him for forgetting to mention that he had settled down and had a stunning husband who he hoped to spend the rest of his days with; but he did still feel quite guilty about it.

"If it helps, we've got your favourite for dinner."

"Yeah?" You asked with a soft hum. "Is it your Vater's recipe, or mine?"

"It's a mix of both," he admitted. "Aber... it'll be gut, trust me."

"I dunno about trusting you," you teased. "You did forget to tell Django and Hilde that you have a husband."

"Es tut mir leid," Schultz sighed. "Vergib mir... bitte, mein geliebter?"

You kissed his cheek, gently padding his chest as you pulled away and nodded. "I'll forgive you, Doctor."

He was still nervous, especially when he brought out dinner as everyone sat at the table, and still felt guilty for forgetting his marital status, but once everyone was eating, Schultz finally started to relax; a mix of small talk and roaring laughter started to fill the house, scatterings of in depth intellectual conversation and retellings of the good old days. It felt more like home than it had ever done before.

A family, sitting at the dinner table and eating together - laughing, swapping stories, having real conversations together. It felt more like home with Django and Broomhilde there with you.

"So, come on," Broomhilde set her fork down, a mostly empty plate resting between her elbows on the table as she looked at you with slightly raised brows. "When did you and the Doctor marry?"

"Ooh, uh..." you rubbed the back of your neck as you tried to think about it. "Our ketubah was signed nearly... two, three years ago."

"Three years," Schultz started, "two months, one week and fourteen hours."

You stared at him for a second, a grin coming to your lips as you dared to reach for his hand. "You kept time?"

"I kept time," he agreed.

"That's really sweet," Django nodded. "Y'know... Hilde and I were talking while you was in the kitchen."

"Yeah?" You hummed.

"D'ya think, maybe, we could stay here, with you, while we're in town?" He asked.

There was a moment of silence, but the Schultz looked at you, and then he looked back at Django as a grin came to his lips. "Natürlich, mein Sohn!"

A family, under the same roof.

[stupidfuckingwindow]

[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.”

…

[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.

[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…

[marycorleone]

@msmercury84

Fic request: Like we talked about, riding Hans’ thigh while making out. He uses your hand to pleasure himself 😌

I'm sorry this is a bit short, but I hope you like it!😊💛❤

Come Here.

Colonel Hans Landa (Inglorious Basterds) x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, thigh riding

Masterlist

Tagging: @daddywaltz @jawline-of-steel

Like my work? Buy me a coffee! 😁

"Cat got your tongue?" The colonel's voice is mocking, one eyebrow lifted as he stares shamelessly at me, a smirk playing at his lips.

"N-no, sir, you've just...caught me off-guard, is all." I hasten to answer him, blinking to hide my embarrassment, my legs inadvertently rubbing together under the intensity of his gaze.

Inevitably, Hans' eyes flick down to acknowledge the movement, triumph creeping into his expression already as he watches me, sitting back in his armchair with a hand on one thigh, the other resting on the armrest. Returning his grey eyes to mine, his lips pull into a strong line and his tone loses the playful edge it had before.

"Undress." 

The one word has me moving of my own accord, quickly yanking at my clothes as he eyes my actions, face still stern even as I uncover my bare form for him. He makes no move to remove his own clothing, remaining clad in his unforgiving uniform, not a hair out of place on his immaculate jacket and slacks. The only sign that he's enjoying himself is the very slight gleam in his eyes, which roam torturously over my body as I stand before him, naked.

"Good. Now come here." The colonel beckons me over, waiting until I'm standing just inches away from him before giving me his next instruction, "Sit down."

His finger comes down on his thigh, a clear gesture. I blink, looking at him.

"Sir, are you-" I begin, only to have my own thigh swatted sharply in reprimand.

"Did I say you could speak? Do as you're told." He almost growls, threat very clear in his tone now - I can't tell if it's genuine or if it's a facade, but I don't want to find out. 

Hesitantly, I straddle his clothed thigh, biting back a soft gasp as the rough fabric of his slacks rub over my already slick clit. 

For a moment, we remain in silence, before he suddenly slaps my thigh again, giving me a disapproving look.

"I am not doing this for your benefit. Make it worth my time." His words instantly remind me of what he's already asked me, my pulse jumping as the words come back to me: "you're always so needy, aren't you? Maybe I should make you cum right here, though I don't think you've done enough to deserve my cock today. Maybe you should come over here and get yourself off on my leg?" 

With a stifled groan, I start to move, dragging my rapidly-wetting cunt over his muscular thigh, biting my lip tightly at the stimulation. It's almost uncomfortable, having the fabric rub up against my sensitive spots but I quickly manage to forget that, pleasure starting to creep into me as I move, hips grinding down on his leg. Biting back a moan, I place my hand on his other knee, using the grip for leverage as I start to move a little faster, feeling his slacks getting damper and damper beneath me.

"If you keep muffling those sounds, I'm going to have to find some way of punishing them out of you." Hans suddenly interjects, watching me almost impassively. Almost - I can see a bulge growing in his trousers, aching to be touched. 

Apologizing hastily, I moan out loud and whimper as the colonel lifts his thigh unexpectedly, driving the rough fabric directly into my aching clit. Panting out his name and title, I reach up to play with my breasts, my head falling back as pleasure swiftly builds in me, my senses alight now from the stimulation. As I do so, however, I feel a large hand close around my throat, fingers squeezing warningly into my pulse points, silently commanding me to keep my gaze fixed on him. Dropping my head again, I moan loudly at the absolute lust now etched into his stare, wishing he would let me lean in and kiss him to feel how his tongue might ravage my mouth as his cock will at some point in the near future. 

Keeping his hand on my throat, Hans uses his other to take my own and move it to his crotch. Both of us gasp at the feeling of his large erection through his slacks, his hand pressing my palm down on him, using me to rub over himself. Moaning, I let him use my hand even as I use his thigh, matching the thrusts of my hips with the movements of his hand, circling my sex over his leg needily, sweat beading on my skin as I start to get closer to finishing. Slick coats my thighs, my clit fast becoming sensitive now from the friction of the cloth, but I can only mewl more at the feeling, utterly absorbed by the way this man is using me to get himself off.

Deftly, the colonel unbuttons his trousers, returning his grip to my hand and thrusting it into his underwear, freeing his cock from its confines as best he can. His flesh is hot and heavy in my hand, weeping over my fingers as he moves my grip up to squeeze his head, drawing a soft sound of appreciation from me. Veins pulse in my grip as he drags my palm over his length, pants and grunts escaping him now. Spurred on by his pleasure, I rock my hips faster, moaning loudly for his benefit, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten as I get closer and closer.

He pulls me in, lips suddenly on mine, rough and insistent as he kisses me hard. Caught off-guard, I can only moan into the kiss, allowing his tongue into my mouth, where he proceeds to thoroughly ravage me, as I'd hoped he'd do, the hand on my throat moving to my hair to yank me closer. Groans and moans are swallowed by both of us, my hips moving faster as he bites down on my lip, sucking it into his mouth without further ado. In my hand, his cock twitches, his need very evident in the way he jerks up to meet each movement.

Hans' breath hitches suddenly, a sharp curse escaping him as his hips buck upwards into my hand, his lips pulling from mine, saliva connecting us.

"Finish yourself, (Y/n). Do it." He growls between pants, the grip on my hair tightening as his hand starts to speed up, making me jerk him off fast and hard.

With one last, forceful push, I drag my cunt over his thigh in just the right way, sensing myself over the edge. Gasping loudly, I squeeze my eyes closed and grind down on his unforgiving thigh erratically, riding out the pleasure as best I can, mewling in ecstasy as I throw my head back. This time, Landa doesn't stop me, only groaning one last time before he, too, cums all over my fist. He jerks himself off a few more times, bucking into my hand as he does so, before stopping to sit back in the chair. 

Catching our breaths, we stare at each other, the grip in my hair suddenly pulling me back down to him. Sloppily, Landa kisses me again, tongue sliding lazily into my mouth as he explores to his heart's content, saliva dripping down my chin from the messy gesture, my eyes falling shut again. After a moment, he chuckles lowly, and pulls back, the mocking edge back in his voice.

"You will do anything to cum, won't you Liebling?" 

[puppymlovemail]

♫ baby steps!

word count: 5k overall, roughly 700 per member

pairings: OT8! x fem reader

warnings: mentions of cutting fruit in changbins, brief mentions of work/working late/work related stress, CHILDREN/PARENTING!

summary: stray kids as parents. or just in a more domestic familial setting.

sorry some of these are RUSHED i just really wanted these blurbs out of my drafts! these are fresh off the printer so if u see any typos no u don’t. don’t even worry about it.

in other other news, i finally fixed the issue w my ask box so. it should be in my bio now! feel free to request something! or just pester me :)

Christopher Bang

To say your date night did not go to plan would be an understatement. You and your husband had gotten all dolled up to go to a red carpet event with the band, Chan even helped you zip up your velvet red dress and you helped him adjust his tie. Everything was going to plan until you were putting on your stilettos when Chan walked into the bedroom, caution written all over his face. “Sana just called. She can’t make it tonight, her car broke down on the way here.” He said, his right arm finding solace on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing small circles into your collarbone reassuringly. “How will the boys accept the award without their leader? You should go! I’ll stay and watch the kids.” You sighed, taking off your shoes and running a hand through your recently styled hair. He squeezed your shoulder to get your attention again, your gaze immediately turning back to his. “Absolutely not. Jeongin can make the acceptance speech, he’s the leader after all.” He teased, opting to sit next to you on your shared bed. “The boys understand that we’re parents now. So does the press. It’ll be alright if I miss one award show for the Bangs.” He leaned in and left a sweet kiss to your red lips. You cupped his face, fingers treading through the hair at the nape of his neck.

The moment was quickly cut when your three year old waddled into the room. “Mama!” She whinnied, immediately catching your and Chans attention. “Bath time!” She said, smile gracing her features, her eyes sparkling just like your husbands when he smiles. “And story time!” Her brother chimed, as he waltzed into the room, probably in search of his twin. Chans hand left your shoulder and squeezed your thigh quickly before clapping his hands together and standing up. “Bath first, story time second, you know this Tae.” He stated. “I thought Auntie Sana sleeping over tonight?” Tae inquired before whispering under his breath. Probably something about Sana letting his have story time first. “We decided we’d miss you way too much!” Chan then leaned down and grabbed his mini me. You giggled watching Tae try to squirm away playfully from his dad. Your daughter walked over to you, placing her hands on your knees to keep herself stable. “Up!” She chided, making grabby hands with her tiny little fingers. How could you say no?

That’s how you and Chan found yourself on your knees on the bathroom floor, situated in front of the master bathtub. “No more bubbles, Aera! Your brothers gonna drown in them darling.” You scolded, taking the soap away from her greedy hands. After that, the twins started conversing with each other, sharing a splash here and there and sharing their bath toys.

Chan leaned over and kissed your cheek, pulling away and interlocking his fingers with yours. “I love this. I love getting to do this with you.” He whispers. His words immediately make your cheeks tint. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You and them. Not even for a silly award.” You smiled, letting the warmth from the bath and from his words take over your being. “Best bath time ever, right guys?” You teased, directing the question to your children. “Would’ve been the bestest best if Auntie Sana was here.” Tae said, and his sister chimed in, “Yeah! Auntie Sana doesn’t hold hands with anyone but us!” She says, point at your hand interlocked with your husbands, your wedding ring on full display. “Bestest isn’t even a word, Tae!” Chan stated right before playfully splashing them with some of the bubbly water, their laughter filling the air with such love and joy. Your kids may be giant jokesters, but you know they get it from their dad and because of that you, as well, wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

Not even a silly award.

Lee Minho

Your husband had decided to take your son outside to look at the fresh snow from the most recent snowfall last night. It’s freezing fucking cold out so you couldn’t even begin to conjure up a reason for why they’d be gone for longer than 15 minutes. Little did you know your son had stumbled across a kitten, no older than four weeks at most. The cat had crawled right up to your son, and laid down on his mitten covered hands. He looked up at your husband with most love struck face imaginable. “He’s purring Dad! Must mean he likes me…” He hummed, moving one of his hands to very gently scratch behind the grey kittens ear. “Or it could just mean you’re warm and it’s well below freezing out here.” He stated, sending your son a knowing glance. “Pleaseeeeee! Dori would love to have another girl in the house!” He whined, very carefully cradling the kitten in his arms. “And your mother would not.” But after those words left his lips Minho got a good look at the feline. The poor thing was shivering and mewling, no doubt hungry and cold. A stray. His big hand reached out to very lightly stroke the kitten, whose tiny glazed eyes sparkled with the snow littered across her fur. He let a sigh escape him. “We’ll have to take her home to get her warm, but after that we have to call someone and see if they’ll take her, alright bud?”

At that your son practically jumped out of his skin with excitement as he started speed walking straight to your front door, his father in tow, shaking his head, a smile smile gracing his face.

That’s how you ended up here. A few years later. Sprawled out on the couch, your back against your husbands chest. Doongie situated to his left, Dori at his right. Soongie was sat loafed in your lap. The kitten? A grown adult cat by now, also laid across your sons lap, fast asleep. Your son? Also asleep, and a teenager at this point. Getting to watch your son grow up with his kitten was well worth the battle keeping the cat costed the family. You could remember to this day when your little boy all but ran into the house with the kitten mewling in his grasps as he held her out to you, snow dripping down his winter coat and puddling onto the wooden floors. “We’re keeping her.” And then Minho came through the door, closing it before exclaiming “No we’re not!” You couldn’t help my smile at the fondness of the memory.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, hm?” Minho whispered, leaving a fleeting kiss to the top of your ear from behind you. You leaned further into his chest, allowing the warmth of him and the cats and the family all situated on this couch take over your senses. “Would you believe me if I said my undying love for you?” You teased. “Absolutely not.” He chuckled, as his hands roamed your hair, lazily braiding strands together out of boredom. “I’m just thinking about our son and that damned cat.” You started, “Remember how mad I was when you finally told me you were thinking of keeping her?” You peered over your shoulder to look at him, his honey eyes meeting yours. “What can I say. She grew on me.” You scoffed, leaning your head back against him, breaking eye contact. “Either that or you just love the idea of this little family of 7. Whether you care to admit it.”

“Well technically speaking 7 isn’t little.”

You grinned, smacking him lightly on the thigh in retort. “Oh shut up!”

Seo Changbin

You rubbed your eyes for the tenth time in the last three minutes. Waking up at 6am every Saturday to ensure your boys had lunches packed for their little league games was becoming a usual routine in your house, however it did not mean you enjoyed it.

Your husband was stood next you at the kitchen island, helping you cut up the fresh honey apples you both harvested from your garden a hour ago. Of course, only after having woken up the boys and telling them to get dressed and packed for the busy day ahead. Changbin turned to you, apple slice in his left hand as his right went underneath it, as it it were going to leave crumbs. “Open wide.” He instructed, flashing you a smile, his dimples on display. You fall more and more in love with him everyday, you think. You both certainly didn’t think you’d be here 10 years ago, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You open your mouth willingly and let him guide the bite sized slice into you mouth. “How is it?” He asks, his eyes glowing as he locks them with yours. “Tasty.” You hum, before redirecting your eyes back to the task and closing the tupperware on your finished slices.

Just as Changbin was about to close his two sets of tupperware, a cry sounded over the baby monitor placed on the kitchen table. Worry rushed onto your face as you grabbed the monitor without hesitation. Before you could utter a word your husband wrapped his arms around you, and let his face rest on your shoulder. “‘S okay! I’ll get him. It’s about time he got up anyway. You finish up here.” He stated, leaving a lingering kiss to your neck before pulling away and nodding his head to you reassuringly as he headed up the stairs. He knew how stressed everything has been making you lately, especially with your youngest just turning one. You smiled to yourself as you placed the monitor aside and finished putting snacks in the kids rightful lunchboxes. All of a sudden the monitor next to you lit up, detecting movement and your eyes darted to it once again. The quality had increased substantially since Changbin opened the blinds, it would seemed. “Hey kiddo! You ready to see your brothers play some ball?” He questioned, as he carefully reached into the crib to cradle the fussy baby. “Nah I think you’re more interested in seeing Momma, huh?” He hummed, leaving a kiss to his sons head. The toddler immediately rested his head against your husbands chest, finding comfort in his touch. His little thumb sucked in between his teeth. Trying to pry him off pacifiers wasn’t working very well, obviously. The moment left an unspoken feeling in your heart. Your thoughts were quickly cut short when you heard padded footsteps speed down the stairs to reveal your second child slide into the kitchen; heading straight for you.

“Momma! Are you ready to see me hit a home gun!” He giggled as he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head against your stomach. “It’s called a home run, Jun.” You teased as your reached down and ruffled his hair. He turned his attention to you and peered upwards. His eyes mirrored his dads almost perfectly. “Whatever!” He smiled, as he grabbed the lunchbox laid in front of you with his initials embroidered onto the center of it. Then it hit you. You and Changbin had only managed to make time for packing lunches this morning, you didn’t even check to see if the mini van had the kids gear.

“Hey! Iseul, do you have your baseball glove? Or is it in the car?” You shouted from the base of the first floor kitchen, only to get no response from your eldest upstairs. Tweens. You open your mouth again, preparing to scream a bit louder when you see your husband approach you, with your youngest in his arm, situated on his hip. He places his free hand on your shoulder and leaves a kiss to your cheek, making you complete forget why you had your mouth open in the first place. “Iseul left his glove at practice remember? We have to stop there before the game.” You rolled your eyes. Of course he left his glove at practice. At this rate, you were all going to be late to the game. As if Changbin could read your mind, his hand traveled to cup your cheek and redirect your gaze to him.

“Hey, we’re leaving early, alright? We’ll get there in one piece, don’t worry.” You leaned in and left a chaste kiss on his lips.

“How the Seo family makes it to every event unscathed boggles my mind every time.”

Hwang Hyunjin

Work these days was wearing you out. Your boss had insisted you put in extra hours considering you took two weeks off a few months ago to celebrate your husbands birthday, which just so conveniently was followed by your anniversary AND your daughters birthday the following week. If you had to guess you’d just assume your boss hated people with happy families because he’s been working you like a dog with extra paperwork. When you do get home, which hasn’t been till roughly 9 pm every night now, you felt utterly and completely exhausted and guilty. Not only were you missing your daughters childhood but you were causing Hyunjin to stay home more often, or get off work earlier so he could watch your daughter.

Today was no different. You put the key in the front door and after 5 unsuccessful tries you finally got the door to unlock. You walked in and noticed the living room TV didn’t happen to have a K-Drama on. Maybe Hyunjin put Yujun to bed early? You’ll probably find him in bed hogging all the blankets, you’re sure his day hasn’t been very easy either. You sighed as you kicked off your shoes and hung up your coat and purse. “Jinnie?” You whispered through the hallway, only to get no response. That was until you stopped in front of your daughters room, her door left ajar just by an inch.

“Oh but you must try the tea! Mr. Rabbit made it all by himself!” You heard your daughters voice ring, there she was, sat at her pink table dressed in her matching hot pink Disney princess dress. “Well if he made it all by himself…” That’s when your eyes drifted to your husband. You couldn’t decide if you should burst into laughter or coo at the sight. There he was, sitting crisscross applesauce in front of the table with an Elsa dress on. Most definitely Felix’s from Halloween, you could tell by how it was slightly too short on him considering his stature, which his daughter inherited quite the same, one of these days you’re going to have to get her a bigger table, as she was already towering over it.

His pinky lifted off the teacup as he brought it to his lips and took a sip. A grimace met his face as he lowered his cup back to the saucer on the table. “W-Wow! Mr. Rabbit has exquisite taste.” Hyunjin said, very obviously struggling to gag on the tea that was probably a mix of various liquids in your fridge.

It was then that you couldn’t help but laugh as you pushed the door open all the way. Your daughters eyes lit up the minute she saw you, a smile eating half her face as she ran towards you, almost toppling you over in an attempt to hug you. “Momma! You’re here just in time for the main course!” Hyunjin joined her side, patting her head, standing before you in his glittery blue dress. “Oh also this is Princess Elsa.” She stated, gesturing to Hyunjin. You leaned in to kiss him on the lips. “Welcome home, Y/N.” He whispered, chasing your lips for another kiss. “Leave that out of the castle! No Mom and Dad kissing allowed! Now go get a dress Momma! You have to join us!” Your daughter stated before trying to push you back out the door to make you retrieve a dress. “Let me go with her my queen! I have to make sure she picks out the best dress!” Hyunjin chimed, stepping into the doorway before wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you down the hallway to the master bedroom. You heard your daughter say something about setting an alarm and you better not take too long on your way into your room.

“Sorry for leaving you here to fend for yourself for so long Jinnie. I promise that today should be my last late d-“ and with that you were cut off by your husbands lips on yours, his mouth dancing gracefully with your own. His favorite way to express his love for you was always through kisses. He pulled away and held your face between his hands, as if he had the whole world in his palms. “Don’t apologize! I love being your husband just as much as I love being a father for our daughter, honey.” You all but melted at his words as you held him against you just a little tighter. “Plus, she hosts the best tea parties in all of land, if you must know.” He whispers, letting his fingers drum against your cheekbone as he takes in your features. “She loves you.” You hum, getting lost in his eyes. “She loves us.” He reassures, leaving one last kiss to your lips before you’re interrupted by a voice in your doorway. “That doesn’t look like picking out a dress to me!” Yunjun exclaims, causing all three of you giggle.

Nights like these reminded you why you go to work everyday. No matter how relentless it may be, at least you could guarantee you always had a fairytale to come home to.

Han Jisung

Your husband had proclaimed today as take your daughter to work day. This was in no way, shape or form a real thing. If JYP found out Jisung had snuck his four year into the company studio he might be found dead. But you? Oh you wouldn’t miss this for the world. You and Changbin had already laid a bet down for what you think would be broke in that studio before the end of the day. He argues it’ll be the mics, you argued it’d be the soundboard. As you neared the building you sent Jisung a text, letting him know you were close, as you made it to the front desk and through security, verifying you were here for your husband and no other sneaky business. You made it upstairs and into the studio hallways, your feet already knowing the way to your husbands by heart. Was it really your husbands? No. But Chans room was everybody’s room. That is until something ends up broken today. Then it’s definitely just his room. Your hand finally greets the handle and you push the door open, completely forgetting to knock once your heard Jisungs voice.

“Yeah and if you push that red button righhtttt- yep! Right there, it’ll start recording. See that blinking light up on the monitor? It’s recording everything we’re saying right now.” He instructed. His daughter held tightly against him as he leans her over the soundboard. She claps her hands together in enthusiasm. “I did it!” She giggles before he places her down onto the chair behind him and that’s when he notices you in the doorway. “Well hello gorgeous. Come round here often?” He remarks before pressing his fingers to the soundboard again and turning off the recording. “Only for super cool all rounder Han Jisung of hit boy band Stray Kids. See him anywhere?” You tease before closing the door heading towards him, he pulls you in close and you hug him tightly, your head finding comfort in his shoulder. “Lucky for you you’re lowkey married to him. No big deal or anything.” You giggle at his antics before snuggling deeper into his shoulder, your nose pressed against his neck. “How’s the piece going?”

“It’s going. Our daughters got some fire rhymes. I taught her to say swag on the mic.”

You rolled your eyes as you grinned and pulled back, placing a kiss to his forehead before peering over at the chair beside you. Your daughter was not sat there anymore. You knew it was strangely quiet. “Speaking of said daughter.” You said, resting your hand on his cheek as you redirected his gaze to the chair. “She was just there!” He stated exasperatedly. His expression was then met with a loud thud in the sound booth. You both peered over, your daughter hanging onto the mic stand which had now just unbolted from the wall. “Swag!” She giggled before puckering her lips and throwing you both a peace sign.

Needless to say that was the last take your daughter to work day that ever took place in Chans room. You were now 30 dollars shorter. Changbin? 30 dollars richer. But all that mattered to you was that your daughter never lost her quirkiness, and with her father wrapped around her finger, you know there’s no doubt she’ll ever be able to.

Felix Lee

Waking up in the middle of the night was never fun, especially with the lack of sleep you already got due to your work schedule. What didn’t help was the way your 5 year old daughter was also trying to get used to a new schedule. That schedule being kindergarten. So either way, having no sleep was becoming something you were trying to get accustomed to.

You squint your eyes open and glance at the alarm clock across the room on your shared dresser. 2:34 AM. You groan, and roll over, hoping that snuggling into your husband might make this sleeping task less daunting, but as your reach out to feel for his waist you’re met with nothing but cold sheets. Worry instantly dawns on you, sitting straight up in bed you bring your clammy hands to your eyes and begin to rub them awake.

“Felix?” You announce loudly into the dark space of the master bedroom you both share, expecting him to be in the in suite bathroom. You’re met with radio silence. Your feet find comfort in Felix’s slippers, which happened to be so conveniently placed at the end of the bed. You trudge your way down the hallway, already knowing where your feet will take you.

Leaning against the door, hand grasping the doorknob, you gently push your daughters bedroom door open and it’s then that you’re met with a sight that melts your heart.

There he is. Felix, in his 5’7 glory, situated on a toddler bed half his size. Your gaze shifts to the right and you find your daughter pressed snuggly into his chest, his right arm wrapped around her, keeping her safe even whilst they were both unconscious. As you carefully walk closer to them you notice a worn book in your husbands left hand, which was already dangling off the pretty purple and gold princess bed. Le Petit Prince.

You carefully place said book on the floor, removing it from his grasp as you place his arm back onto the bed, by his side. Felix will always be your daughters favorite comfort, and just because it’s your two favorite people in the world, you reckon sleeping alone tonight won’t be so bad, if it means she can wake up well rested with her knight in shinning arm by her side.

Kim Seungmin

You woke up to the sound of a slam, and instead of getting up to investigate it, you rolled over in your shared king bed, undoing your husbands hands around your waist in the process. “Min.” You whispered, leaning in and kissing his nose. No response. You could tell by the way his ears tinted pink he was definitely awake, so you kissed his nose again until you heard a throaty mhm? His eyelashes fluttered open slowly, puppy eyes locking with yours. He was unamused by you demanding him to be awake with you in misery, as he knew what you were about to ask. “Mini Min is in the kitchen, i’m almost certain.” You stated, dramatically throwing your right arm over your eyes. “Someone should definitely put her back to bed…” He blinked at you, but after a long ten seconds passed in silence, he knew arguing was fruitless. He sighed and rolled his eyes as he pulled himself off the bed. “You owe me.” He called out as he shrugged on the silk blue robe situated on the vanity near your bedroom door. If there was one thing Seungmin mastered over the past 7 years with your daughter, it was definitely Dad Fashion.

He shuffled into the kitchen and his eyes could already faintly make out the silhouette of his daughter in the dark, before an open overhead cabinet. “If you fall off that counter I am not going to catch you.” he grumbled, leaning against the archway in the kitchen and flicking on the light switch to reveal her hand in the candy cabinet. Little Mins head snapped to look at who caught her red handed. Whilst turning her head around so quickly, she started to stumble. Despite telling himself to stand still to prove his point, he sped over to the marble counter and put a hand behind her back to prevent her from falling backwards. “Thought you wouldn't catch me?” her voice chimed childishly with her hushed dove-like voice.

She sounded like the perfect mix of you and him. You’d tell him all the time that he better watch out because she’d make a perfect singer. You’d both have to agree that she resembled him to an uncanny degree physically, with her honey brown eyes and shoulder length soft black hair. It was hard to stay mad at her for long though, since her behavior was always so reminiscent of you both. "You better have a good reason for being out of bed." Seungmin said, rubbing his eyes as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her off the counter, opting to rest her on his hip instead. She clang to his robe immediately as he quickly closed the cabinet he found her rustling in. "What were you doing?"

Minnie looked away from him shyly before muttering "Nothing… just wanted some of Uncle Lixies brownies." Seungmin laughed as he casually started heading back down the hallway towards his shared bedroom with you, turning off the kitchen light in the process. “We ate the rest of those last week puppy.” He chimed, stopping in front of the bedroom door, fingers digging into her sides as he tickled her “You’re gonna have to sleep with Mama and Daddy tonight, so we can keep your crimes at bay.” The air filled with her breathy laughter, her head leaning backwards as she smiled in joy. “Whatever you say, Daddy.”

Yang Jeongin

You sighed for the millionth time in the last hour. This car ride was pure and utter torture. “Hey! How about we play an awesome new game called stop kicking Dads seat, mhm?” Jeongin quipped, shooting a narrowed glare to your son in the backseat and flashing his effervescent smile to him. The 5 year old swiftly ignored him and continued his temper tantrum. You and your husband were bound to have migraines at this point. However, you had to give your son the benefit of the doubt, you were driving him to his first day of kindergarten, his first day all by himself.

In protest, you placed a finger on the volume dial on the SUVs dashboard, turning up the music loud enough to crack glass. Jeongin glanced at you before redirecting his eyes back to road, faking a wince as he giggled in fits as you began to sing (if you could even call it that) Can’t Stop. After a long ride filled with endless Jeongin song covers on the car speakers, your husband turned into the parent drop off line, hopping out of the car and opening his sons door. His protests died down once he got to listen to his fathers singing. It’s always worked wonders on him, ever since he was a newborn.

Jeongin quickly unbuckled him from his car seat before lifting him and placing him on the floor. You followed in suit by meeting him on the other side of the car and placing his bookbag on his shoulder. You crouched down to his height, hand reaching for his cheek. “Hey, baby. You’re gonna do great. Your teachers will contact me or Daddy if you need anything at all. We love you, and we’re super proud of you being such a big boy today!” You stated, locking eyes with his the whole time before leaning forward to leave a kiss on his bang-covered forehead. Jeongin watched you both interact with hearts in his eyes before he mirrored you and crouched parallel to you, taking his sons little hand in his big one. “Mamas right. Despite your tantrum on the way here, we will always love you. You didn’t hear it from me but I think piano class may be your first subject today….” He trailed, winking at your son. He smiled back at his Dad and you, his expression mirroring his fathers perfectly. “No way! I have to get to the piano room first!” He exclaimed, kissing your husband on his cheek and then kissing you as well before sprinting to the doors of the school, his teacher meeting him at the double doors. With one glance back to you both, with a big toothy grin, he walked into the building, likely bolting to get to the best piano in the music classroom. His teacher waved at you both from afar before following him in. You sighed once more, right arm wrapping around your husbands waist as you leaned up against him.

“He’s all grown up, Jeongin.” You all but whispered, glancing upward to steal a peek at your husband, but his eyes were already scanning your face. He leaned forward and kissed you sweetly for a second before pulling away. “He’s gonna be such nerd because of your scholar brain.” He teased before undoing your arm and heading to his drivers side door, and hopping back into the car. What a loser, you thought, as you rolled your eyes and hopped into the passenger seat. You can bet the car ride home consisted of Stray Kids songs being sung as duets between you two, and endless teasing was surely endured as well.

[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.

[theverystrangegirl27]

christoph waltz fic coming today at some point!!! I'm locked in

[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💋💋

[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 😫