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truefandemonium · 9 months ago

Note

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.”

…

#fandom #fanfic writing #django #django unchained #dr king schultz #dr king schultz x reader #king schultz x reader #king schultz #christoph waltz #request #my man <3 #so hot 🔥🔥🔥

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garden-0f-eden · 2 years ago

Text

FREE I • DR King Schultz

• ☆ •

The niece of Calvin Candie finds herself in desperate need of saving, when two men approach her uncles farm looking for fighters, she see's them as a prefect opportunity.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse and slavery, fem!reader

°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°

You sigh as you lay hidden within the overgrown, green grass, far away from the house, the plantation, your family. Far away from every part of you that you hated.

You open your eyes and stare up at the summer sky, clouds drifting aimlessly overhead, birds singing distantly. For once, you felt at peace.

You hear slow, gentle footsteps behind you, before the gate squeaks open. "Miss Candie?" You hear Estie say softly, you sit up and look over your shoulder at her, "Your uncle wants you back at the big house, some guests are here." You nod at her, smiling half heartedly. You push yourself up off the grass, straightening out your skirt.

You stumble through the overgrown greenery and slowly head back to the plantation, following closely behind Estie.

Estie was your friend, a relationship disliked by your family, not that you cared, you would protect her from your Uncle and his workers punishments. She was a young, short girl, maybe around late teens. You enjoyed her company more then anyone elses on the plantation, youd always sneak her food and old clothing. She was your only friend.

As you approach the big house you catch the tail end of an argument between Steven and Uncle Calvin, "In the damned big house..." he mutters angrily as he heads inside. You walk up the steps and stand beside your mother.

You look up at the men before you, an older looking man with a short graying beard, wearing a matching grey suit and hat, beside him, a darker man on horseback. The other man wore a green shirt tucked into brown trousers, he wore black sunglasses and a brown cowboy hat. Both men held their reigns with black leather gloves.

"Dr Schultz," Uncle Calvin addressed, "This attractive southern belle is my widowed sister, may I present to you Lara Lee Candie-Fitzwilly." You mother does a southern bow, smiling at the doctor. Calvin then places a hand on your waist, pulling you towards him making you jump slightly. Schultz frowned. "And this beautiful, young mare, is my niece, Y/N Candie-Fitzwilly." He pulled his hand away from your waist, the doctor lifts his hat to you, his gaze lingering prehaps a little too long, he then clears his throat.

"I am Dr. King Schultz, this is my second here, Django." The man on horseback beside him tips his hat, Schultz then gestures to the two horses, "And these are our horses, Tony and Fritz." The horses bow, making you and afew other women coo and giggle.

Your mother was staring at the doctor, a blush on her face, you roll your eyes as she batts her eyelashes. "Well arent you gentlemen charming. You're not from around here are you?" She asks with a grin.

"Actually, I'm from a far off land, Dusseldorf to be excact." Ah. That explained the accent.

"Ah! This smart, beautiful lady here can speak some German herself!" You uncle exclaims proudly, squeezing your shoulder roughly, you flinch and move out of his grip discreetly. Schultz looks at you with a raised eyebrow, before looking back to Calvin.

You zone out as your mother, Uncle Calvin and Schultz engage in boring conversation. Something about fighters...

You refocus when the door squeaks open, Stephen now joining the conversation, "Actually Monsieur Candie... Theres somethin I ain't tole you yet..." Stephen says guilty.

"What?"

"Hildis in the hotbox."

You notice how Schultz and Djangos head now snap up.

"Well what's she doing In there?!"

"What 'cha think shes doin in there? Shes bein punished."

"What she do?"

"She ran away again."

You watch as Djangos hand moves towards his gun holster, resting on his thigh, he notices your gaze yet dosent move.

"Lucky for her the dogs were busy huntin some other slave, she only a little beat up, but she did that to herself runnin through all them bushes."

His hand now moves away from his pistol, and back to his reigns, you sigh, heading inside towards your room. You walk up the stairs, passing past afew women in the corridor before pushing open your door.

You run yourself a bath, laying in the hot water for what felt like hours, the warmth putting your aching muscles at ease. The scent of cherry and coconut filling the room.

You open your eyes as you hear a soft knock on the door, you sigh, moving the bubbles to cover yourself up, "Yes?" The door opens slightly, your mother pears around the corner, smiling gently at you, "You uncle wants you to get ready for dinner in an hour..." You nod, a sigh leaving your lips. She leaves, closing the door behind her.

#django #django unchained #dr king schultz #king schultz #King schultz x reader #Dr king Schultz x reader #historical fanfiction

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