#Django Unchained x reader

[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.”

…

[theverystrangegirl27]

this is gonna be a deep cut ladies but a Christoph Waltz fic is now in the works so keep an eye out!!!

[truefandemonium]

Petition to get a pt. 2!!!

One of the best little pieces of a fic I have EVER read, I need more desperately

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.

[if-you-are-tired-clap-your-hands]

I've just watched Django unchained and I scrolled on Tumblr to see what people's opinions on the movie was, and find some fanart. Now, you need to explain to me, right now, how a movie with a black character as the main character, and with the central subject being slavery, generates a fandom which has for center king Schultz??? The nice German character?

Yes he's a good character, but he's not the godamn center of the movie ?? Why is there so fucking many reader X Schultz fanfics and posts while Django the freaking Main Character has almost none ??? Dude ????

Like. No hate on those reader X Schultz. I read a lot of X readers and imagines in other fandoms. I get it, the character is kind and cool, no problems. But the movie doesn't center around him, it centers around the hell slavery is for black people. It centers around torture. It centers around vengeance.

And, alright, the movie is really, really harsh and difficult to see, because of the violence and the racism, and I get that the fandom might wish to see lighter subjects related to the movie. It's always like that, the fandom creates what the art lacks ! That's cool ! So how about fanfics around django freeman ? Around Brunhilde? Even around Stephen ? There are other characters as interesting and deep as Schultz. Just had to get it off my chest.

[unculturedswine-101]

Lemme spoil u bitches <33

[purplelupins]

Rapture

Part III

Summery: A call from a friend needing a favour would turn into the biggest opportunity of your life. You can’t help but hand on for dear life along the way, but the held you get from a new acquaintance serves to pull you through it.

Pairing: Christoph Waltz x fem!reader

Warnings: Reader has anxiety, smut, praise kink…DNI if you are a minor!

Note: warnings will change for each part so please read them. This is the most self-indulgent piece of writing I have ever made. I can’t write a summery to save my life.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The paused film bathed the room in a soft pink glow, reminiscent of the Wes Anderson film that was long forgotten on the screen.

When you had said his name, Christoph’s eyes fell closed for a moment as the sound suck into his mind. A soft sigh from his nose blew across your cheek as you stared up at the older man.

Your fingertips pulsed when his green eyes re-opened, and your own breath hitched. As you gazed at one another, it was suddenly very real that you were in the arms of the revered actor. Your heart began to beat even faster, and you couldn’t help the incredulous grin that began to spread across your face.

His eyes crinkled at the sides as he stared down at you, slowly easing you onto the soft mattress. Christoph braced himself above you on his arm, and you half expected him to kiss you again, but it never came. Instead, he simply looked at you- studying you.

Finally, the older man’s soft voice broke the comfortable quiet.

“Du bist… wunderschön, meine Schatz.(you are…very beautiful, my darling)” He murmured.It was said so thoughtfully that you almost wondered if he meant to say it in his head.

“You’re not bad on the eyes either.” You whispered with a small, cheeky grin.

Christoph breathed out a laugh.

“If only the world knew how cheeky you are…” He teased. When the public began to take notice of you since being a part of the Tarantino universe, you kept much of your true self to your small friendly circle. You had seen time and time again what happens when a celebrity (though you could barely call yourself that) let too much of their personal self out to the public, so you remained the shy but charming new actress with a name that most had to ask you for.

You knew Christoph was a private man, and you respected that greatly, and you did your best to follow his admirable example.

You sighed and reached up a hand to trace from his jaw to his chin. The older man held so still as you mapped out his handsome face.

“Christoph?” You finally asked.

He sighed contently at the sound of his name, and nodded, “Hmm?” He hummed.

You traced the a line by the side of his mouth, then his lips.

“Küss mich. (Kiss me)” Came your barely audible demand.

Christoph gently grasped the hand you had been tracing his face with, and kissed the inside of your wrist.

“If you insist.” He murmured. An image of his portrayal of Dr. King Schultz about to shoot Calvin Candie flashed through your head when he spoke those words, and you had to suppress a giggle.

You grinned, and let your eyes drift closed as his lips brushed against yours again. Then again. It was like he was teasing you, just barely touching you. A frustrated sigh came from you and you slipped a hand to the soft grey hair at the back of his head and pulled him closer. You could feel the smirk on his lips, but he gave in and eased himself into your embrace; his kisses were slow, and meticulous as if he made each one count.

Christoph ran his knuckles along your cheek, and slipped them into your hair, and brought you closer. When you felt his possessive touch, you were certain your heart would give out as his smell enveloped you. A soft moan escaped your mouth as his free hand moved down to your waist, and pulled you against him. You barely kept in the mewl on your tongue when Christoph’s thigh slipped between yours, and you rocked against it as subtly as you could.

It seemed that your reaction only pleased the older man more; he eased his tongue between your waiting lips and smoothed it against yours. This time, you could not hide the moan that came from you. Your grip in his hair tightened, which only made his own grip constrict as well.

Christoph pulled away slowly, and brushed his nose against yours. “Does my pretty girl have something to say?” His soft breath fanned across your face. Your brain was fuzzy and you could partly form a sentence to save your life, so you went to lean up and kiss him again in hopes that he would understand, but Christoph was having none of that.

He shook his head and placed a finger on your lips.

“Ah, ah,” he tsked, “Use your words Fräulein.” Christoph threaded his deft fingers through your hair, and you swore that every stress in your body disappeared.

You sucked in a long, deep breath.

“Can I be honest with you, Christoph?” You whispered, somehow finding a brain cell to speak.

“I would not have you speak any other way. Please continue.” The older man murmured.

“I’ve…” you sighed, nerves starting to creep back in, “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time…but I’ve been enamoured by you for longer…I guess what I’m trying to say is that if we wake up in the same bed in the morning, I want you to know that this is not something I do lightly…” you looked up at him to see if he followed your awkward confession.

Christoph was gazing at you intently, absorbing each word.

“Please correct me if I am wrong, meine Schatz, but I think you are very sweetly trying to tell me that you are not looking to be tossed aside like a…rag doll after a bit of fun…” the older man said, still stoking your hair, “Am I close?”

Your blush was evident, “Yes…” you said, thankful that he understood.

Christoph nodded, and his lips curled a little, “Well then I suppose it is a very good thing that I do not ‘toss’…Nor do I take anything lightly…” he whispered and tilted his head to the side to study you. “If we are being completely truthful with one another, I will then confess that when I recommended you for the part of Lena…there was a small selfish reason attached to it.” He said a little sheepishly.

“Oh?” You rose a brow.

Christoph nodded and blinked as he thought about his next words.

“Let me paint you a picture, my dear,” he said, thinking, “A man goes to work- the same job he has done for decades- and puts in the time to be successful, but this time he is in a foreign country. One of his co-workers cannot seem to wrap her head around the environment of the work this man knew well, nor did she grasp his work ethic…but there is another young lady, who is very pretty who does understand. Better yet, she speaks to him in his beloved mother-tongue. However, she is not directly in his department. But, when the position of the other young woman is free to be filled, who do you think this man would recommend to fill the vacancy? Someone new who he will meet for the first time and have little history with, or someone he has been admiring previously, and who makes him feel at home and appreciated?” He finished, waiting patiently for you to process his words.

He had been watching you.

He appreciated you.

He wanted you.

Your head felt light when you tired to speak, “You…?”

Christoph nodded, flicking his eyes down then back up to yours.

“I may be a snob but I have eyes.” He teased, running a finger down your face. “I like you very much Fräulein…I will not hurt you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your head spin and your throat tight. It had been a long time since someone spoken to you like that.

“It doesn’t bother you that I’m younger than you?” You asked, frightened of his answer.

His brow furrowed, but not in anger- he was amused.

“My dear, I am Viennese, there is truly very little that will disturb me. We are very simple when it comes to such things…I like you very much…I think you like me as well. So long as we respect one another and do not cause any pain…it was not something so…taboo. Simple.” He shrugged; it wasn’t dismissive or aloof, it was simply to punctuate his point.

You had often wondered why relationships with age gaps were so shunned; if two people liked or loved each other, were consenting adults, and worked well with one another, then what was wrong with that? You had seen so many relationships between people closer in age fail, so there was really no argument.

A slow sigh escaped you as you stared up at him, “…okay.” You murmured, content.

“Okay?” He echoed, his brows rising a little at your simple statement.

You grinned softly and nodded, “Okay.”

Christoph lips spread into a handsome grin and he nodded as well, “Okay.”

You bit the inside of your lip as you stared at one another, daring the other to move first.

It seemed that the older man above you had far more patience than yourself, as he was completely content to gaze at you tenderly.

But you were not as patient.

You leaned up and brushed your lips over his again, and you could already feel the smirk on Christoph’s face at your eagerness. He hummed as you slipped your hand to the nape of his neck, and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

Your heart beat erratically, and couldn’t help it when your hips began to move against his solid thigh that still rested between your legs. As if hearing your silent desire, Christoph moved his hand from your waist to your hip and pulled you against him tightly; you gasped against his lips and he only chuckled.

Christoph slipped his hand across the exposed skin of your stomach, and under the waist band of your pants, but no further. The older man drew away from you, and you were once again under the spell that were his green eyes.

“Darf ich?(may i?)” He whispered.

Without a second thought, you nodded and shifted your hips for further confirmation. “Bitte.(please)” you breathed.

The older man’s eyes lit up as he eased his hand below the fabric, and slid over your panties to the heat radiating from your centre. A mewl escaped you, and you gazed up at him pleadingly. Without breaking eye contact, Christoph pulled your panties to the side, and playfully mocked the gasp you let out at the feeling of his deft finger toying with your clit.

You keened against him, helplessly gripping his shoulders. Christoph watched you closely, seeing what made you mewl and squeeze your eyes closed; then, much to your pleasure, he eased a finger inside you, and you completely lost control.

A long, pleased moan slipped from your throat, which Christoph peppered gentle kisses along.

“Does that feel good, meine Schatz?” He cooed in your ear as he fingered you slowly. You could barely form a coherent sound in your mind let alone from your mouth, so you nodded and rocked your hips.

The older man grinned and added a second finger, and curled them, stroking that spot inside you that made your skin burn and your heart sing. A cry escaped you.

Christoph took his time, coaxing the most pleasure as he could put of you; this was a man who knew what to rush and what not to rush…and from what you could tell, there wasn’t a lot to rush.

“Are you going to come for me, Fräulein?” Christoph purred, tilting his head to the side as he gazed at you.

You opened your mouth to answer as you threw your head back and arched your spine, but you felt the hand that had been in your hair move to your chin and draw your face to his. “Ah ah. Eyes on me.”

You nodded again with a moan caught in your throat.

Christoph hummed, and the smirk he wore was akin to the cat that got the cream. “Good.” He cooed, “ Now answer my question with your words, Fräulein.”

“Yes…” you whispered breathlessly.

“Yes…?”

“Yes Christoph.” You rushed out.

“Gut.(good)” He murmured with satisfaction. With that, he leaned back down and the feeling of his lips on yours once again muddled your head; it was soft and slow, just like his ministrations between your legs. You moaned and gasped into his mouth, and he drank it all in, caressing your lips with his tongue.

Christoph curled his fingers again, stroking that sensitive spot inside you lovingly. He took so much care to cater his attention to what made you sing for him until he literally had you on the edge.

“Das ist es, mein Schatz…loslassen. (That’s it, my dear…let go)” Came his voice in your ear.

How many times had you dreamed of him saying those words to you?

But you were not about to get wrapped up in your thoughts; and let go you did.

You gripped his shoulders tightly and rocked your hips against his deft hand as shockwaves of ecstasy coursed through you. Your jaw when slack in a silent cry and your mind went fuzzy. You kept your eyes on him regardless of the blush that coloured your cheeks, just as he had told you. A fiery shiver scorched your spine and weaved through your veins as you came undone around his fingers, drenching his hand, but Christoph only continued to finger you, albeit much more gently.

“There we go…well done my dear…” he murmured, slowly withdrawing his hand from your centre when your muscles began to relax. You could barely even process his words as you laid there in a daze, but then you felt his hand stroking your cheek, slowly bringing you back.

The older man stared at you so tenderly, like you were the only thing in the world. Your breathing slowly returned to normal, and you reached up to pull his lips to yours. After a moment, you release him just enough to whisper, “Christoph, please.”

He pulled back enough to look you in the eye, and when he saw that pleading look there a small grin spread across his face. “You’re sure, meine Schatzi(my darling)?” Came his soft voice.

You nodded, “I am.” You heart beat uncontrollably in your ears.

He nodded as well, and flicked his eyes down to where his hand had just been, and looked back up to you, “May I?”

“Are you asking if you can undress me?” You managed with a small grin.

“I am.” He echoed your words with a glimmer in his eyes.

“You may.” You breathed out. Christoph placed another kiss to your lips, then one to your forehead. He leaned up from resting over you, and straddled your calves; his hands gripped your pants and stared into your eyes as he slowly eased them down your legs along with your underwear. You swore your breathing stopped as he placed them neatly on the bed beside your ankles.

Christoph’s eyes grew cheeky when he got off your legs and tugged you down the bed to lay flat. You gasped in surprise, not only at the action but also by his strength. Then, he took a place next to you, and let a sigh escape his nose as he admired you.

You leaned up onto your elbows, and sat up completely to be level with his green eyes; you couldn’t help the kiss you gave him- it was sweet and small. Christoph pecked another kiss to your lips, and stood; you missed his warmth next to you instantly, but upon seeing him standing, you crawled to the edge of the bed. He watched you intently as you took the edge of his shirt in your hands, and looked up at him for permission. It came in the form of a small but confident smile and a single nod.

You lifted the soft shirt slowly, and kissed the skin that was revealed. Christoph’s head fell back and he sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to grab your hair, push you down into the mattress and fuck you until you couldn’t stand.

But he wouldn’t.

This was you.

His y/n.

The spatter of hair on his torso tickled you as you let your tongue join your lips on their journey up. When you reached his chest, the fabric was taken from your grip as he finished the job, leaving you to freely touch him.

You knew Christoph was a man who took care of himself inside and out, and you knew he was much older than you, but you had to be honest with yourself when you admired just how well Christoph had maintained his physique. You hadn’t realized how long you were staring at him and feeling him, until you felt his hands cups your cheeks. Your eyes finally flicked up to his, and your cheeks burned as you both watched one another intently.

“I’m going to take care of you, meine Leibe (my love).” He murmured, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. Your ears burned, and you were certain your cheeks were glowing, but you didn’t care anymore; you nodded and grinned up at him.

If this was anyone else, you might doubt the sincerity of their words; especially words so tender. They sounded like something out of a Jane Austen novel, or a poem; no one really spoke like that anymore.

But this was not just anyone.

This was Christoph.

Your safe place.

“Lay back.” He whispered, still holding your cheeks. Christoph gazed down at you for another moment, then released you. You did as he said, and scooted back until your head hit a pillow. When you looked back at the older man, he was stepping out of his pants; a part of you was thankful that he kept his briefs on, but the other part of you was not so prudish and wished to know what you were dealing with.

He sat back onto the bed, and crawled over to you, straddling yours legs just as he had before. You couldn’t help your thought running a mile a minute at you looked up at him above you.

God he’s handsome…

Then, the more your mind ran, you hands started to shake as your anxiety started to rear its head.

It only took Christoph three seconds to notice.

He held his hands out for you to take, which you did. This was a common thing the two of you did when settling you down; you lost count of how many times he had taken you aside on set or sat with you in your or his trailer or in a small restaurant and just held your hands like that. Your chest felt tight, and you felt as if you might wake up and find that this had all been a dream or that you had been in a coma…but it never happened.

He cared for you, and with him continuing to care for your well-being even when you were sharing the same bed, your heart felt as if it was about to burst.

“We do not have to do anything.” Christoph said gently, rubbing your pulse points. But you shook your head.

“No, no…I want to. I just…” you trailed off, and looked away. It wasn’t that you hated how you looked, but the man above you was beyond just good-looking. It was almost unfair how handsome he was.

“You just…?” He prodded, refusing to move until you finished your thought.

Always a gentleman…

“I know you asked if I was sure about doing this with you…but…Are you sure you want to do this…with…me?” You asked. You almost wanted to take your words back when he stopped stroking your wrists and pulled back a little.

Was he having second thoughts? Oh god I just ruined everything-

“My dear girl have you seen yourself?” Came his reply, almost chiding but still soft as ever.

Your eyes finally snapped to his, and you waited for him to continue, which he did. Christoph let go of your wrists, and eased himself down your legs to rest where your calves were. As he sat, he took each of your ankles from under him, and rested them beside his hips so he was effectively between your legs. Had you not been focused on what he would say, you would have likely been far more flustered than you already were.

Christoph traced your ankle with this thumb as he gazed at you, and pondered his words like he often did, “I do like to think of myself as a reserved gentleman…but if I must resort to more blunt measures to demonstrate to you your beauty, then I will.”

You watched him for a moment, then nodded your consent to his proposal, not fully knowing what he meant.

“Gut.(good)” he said, “Now then, I will start by saying that you have the most charming nature…what was it was Tim called you?”

“Mouse.” You breathed out with a lighthearted laugh as you remembered when the man had first called you by the name.

Christoph nodded.

“Mouse, that’s right. It is quite a perfect fit for you, and I mean that in the best way,” Christoph said in that slow way he did when he truly was thinking of what to say, “ Your small smiles…and when your cheeks go all red it is mesmerizing. Even when you are nervous, your eyes are bright and when you find comfort the ease in your shoulders is so cute.” He grinned, shaking his head, “ I know you know that you have a good heart…so you cannot sit here and tell me that you do not look in the mirror and see just how beautiful your outside is, if you know that what you have inside is truly stunning too.”

You had no words, you only stared up at him and nibbled your lip as you tried to process his words.

He sighed and tilted his head to the side, “Do you know how many times that look you have right now almost made me trip over my words? And I do not say that lightly by the way- I do not trip easily.” He teased in that stoic way.

You shook your head, “I can’t say I do.” You breathed.

He continued, “Do you know how many times I considered myself revoltingly lucky that I was able to be your safe place?”

You shook your head again.

“And I suppose you do not know how long I have wanted to have you in this exact position, hm?”

At his admission, your breath caught. You weren’t expecting that at all. Once again, your ears burned, and a part of your brain - the part that made your hands shake- told you he was lying, but thankfully that part lost.

Christoph continued.

“How long I wanted you to say my name as I held you…? Touched you?” He purred.

You breathlessly shook your head again.

“You are so beautiful, meine Leibe(my love).” Christoph whispered with conviction.

You stayed quiet as you sat up, and held his jaw. For a moment, you just stared at one another. It was like you were both reaching a silent agreement or sending a telepathic message via eye contact.

And it seemed to work.

You kissed him slowly, your tongues seducing one another as your body-heat began to rise. You let a moan sneak out, and felt him smirk against your lips; Christoph eased you onto your back and slowly kissed his way to your cheek, down to your throat where he nipped and suckled. Then, you couldn’t help but mewl and weave your fingers into his hair as he lifted your shirt and kissed your chest, down the valley between your breasts.

With a surge of confidence, you gripped your shirt and brought it up over your head and rested it on the mattress next to you. When the air hit your skin, your nipples hardened, and you saw Christoph pause and pull away to admire what you let him see. A pulsing heat coursed through your veins when he breathed out a controlled sigh, and his eyes darkened; you swore you could see the vein in his neck pulsing.

Christoph leaned up to your lips and nipped at them gently before kissing down to you ear. “You’re sure?” He asked you one more time.

With his chest against yours, you could feel the hardness of his cock against your thigh, only hidden by his underwear. A blush crept across your cheeks when you took note of the size. In answer to his question, you let out a shaky breath and nodded, running your fingers through his silver hair. You almost hated how soft it was. “I am.” You said, swallowing. “And I’m on the pill.”

You were certain that the older man could hear your heart beating in your chest when he eased away from the side of your face and gazed down at you. His eyes were soft; inspecting your face for any trace of uncertainty or discomfort.

He found none, just like you knew he would.

You knew you wanted him.

Christoph slipped his hands into the waistband of the only fabric between you, and you locked your eyes with his, not daring to look away. He smirked ever so slightly and eased the underwear down his thighs. In your peripheral you saw his cock come free, and it took all of your will power to hold that intense stare between the two of you. Christoph’s eyes were alight as he sunk down to your lips once again.

His kiss was gentle- more of a caresses. It was as if he was reminding you that you were safe.

His hands held your thighs and pulled them up over his hips as he fit between them snugly, “I am going to take care of you, meine Schatz.” He whispered. You stared back at him, biting the inside of your lip as you nodded.

Christoph regarded you for another moment before slipping one hand between the two of you, and you felt the slick head of his cock part your slick lower lips. Then, with the same precision as he had been exercising all evening, he eased the first inch inside of you. You lips parted in a gasp at the feeling, and your hands gripped his shoulders as he suck deeper into you.

In the back of your mind you recalled a joke made towards him about being a ‘horse’and how he hadn’t denied it. Now with him almost splitting you open with a cock far larger than you had thought, you understood why. Ever the gentleman, Christoph paused every half inch to help you to adjust.

“Such a good girl…that’s it.” He cooed to you as his hips almost met yours.

Your cunt tensed around him at the praise, and you tried to hold back from moaning; it resulted in a gasp instead. His breath tickled your cheek as he chuckled, “Does my sweet girl have something to tell me, hmm?” He murmured, “Does my little one like it when I tell her how good she is?”

You whimpered and nodded, squeaking out a little “Yes!”, rocking your hips against him. Christoph grinned and pulled out until just the head was inside you, then pushed back in achingly slow. His cock dragged across that sensitive spot inside you that made your back arch and your core throb. This man would be your undoing- literally and figuratively.

His thrusts were measured, taking his time just as he had went he made you come on his fingers. Christoph pressed kisses to your neck and sucked at the skin gently; he stroked your outer thigh with his thumb as your pleasure mounted.

“I’ve wanted to have you like this for so long meine Schatz…” he breathed out, snapping his hips against yours harder with each thrust. You couldn’t help the moans that began to fall from your lips freely.

His confession echoed in your ears, making your skin heat up even more. You couldn’t help but imagine now that some of those secret glances he had cast you over the months of knowing one another did indeed mean more than a fleeting glance. You wondered if he had imagined taking you like this all those quiet evenings together, if he wished to move those innocent hands on you thigh further up until-

A harsh snap of his hips cut off your line of thought and you cried out at the sudden quickening of his pace. The sensitivity inside you grew more and more with each passing second until it felt as if your insides were scorched. Your legs began to shake and you could barely contain your hips as they met his.

“Chr-Christoph I’m-“ your words died on your tongue when you caught his eyes boring into yours.

He grinned evilly and almost growled, “Is my girl going to come? Be a good girl and come for me, yes? That’s it…So ein gutes Mädchen…(such a good girl)” His breath fanned across your cheeks, and you almost felt intoxicated, so you nodded and rocked yourself against him eagerly to please him; you wanted him to feel what he did to you, how he had inadvertently tortured you since you learned his name.

Christoph hummed und satisfaction when he felt that tightness form around him. “Ficken…das ist es (fuck, that’s it)”

Your nails dragged down his back and your legs locked over his hips as you came. A series of cries and mewls poured from your lips as you felt your thighs become slick with your own cum. Your breaths came in quick gasps as the older man fucked you through your orgasm, only slowing for you to finish. You knew his own was close as his thrusts became quicker and more calculated.

You decided to have a little fun of your own.

“Wirst du in mich kommen, alter Mann??(Are you going to come inside me, old man)” you murmured into his ear. At your words, his hips stuttered and he drew away from you to stare at you incredulously. Christoph searched your eyes for a moment, still rocking against you, then cracked a smile with a breathy laugh.

“You filthy girl…” he whispered. It seemed that your words did exactly what you wanted, as the next moment he pulled out of you, and flipped you onto your stomach then dragged you to the edge of the bed and sunk back inside you. A whiny moan tore from your throat as his pace became too quick to keep up with; your hands took purchase of the sheets and gripped them tightly. You buried your face in the plush mattress, trying to not wake the entire floor with your desperate moans.

Christoph pounded into you, his hands gripping your hips in an iron grip. You breathed and mewled, becoming more and more of a mess with each harsh thrust.

“Mein schönes Mädchen…(my beautiful girl)” Christoph breathed out. You felt yourself begin to tense up again as the heat inside you grew increasingly more and more unbearable. You barely had time to warn the older man of your climax as it shook through you, but then not moments later, Christoph pushed deep inside you until his hips were flush with yours, and you felt his cock pulse inside you. Your core became all warm as his cum flooded your walls, filling you up until it began to gush down your inner thighs.

Christoph slumped onto his hands on either side of your waist, and kissed down your spine. You both began to pant and sigh as your highs wore off; you realised how sore your legs were as you unclenched and relaxed.

“Are you alright, mein liebe?” He whispered as he pulled from you carefully.

All you could manage was a shaky, breathy “Yes.”

He pressed one more kiss to your shoulder, and stroked your head lovingly; You heard him leave the room, but then heard the water for the shower turn on. You gingerly turned around and laid on the bed with your eyes closed, but just as you went to get up on your own, you felt a hand brushing the hair from your face. Upon opening your eyes, you saw Christoph knelt before you gazing at you tenderly. Your poor heart pounded in your ears.

“Can you walk or shall I carry you?” Came his soft teasing voice. Your heart felt as if it might burst right there in your chest. Somehow you managed to sit up and swing your legs off the bed; Christoph took your hands and stood you up slowly. He wrapped one arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist as you both walked into the steam billowing from the beautiful shower.

The two of you stood under the warm water with Christoph’s arms wrapped around you firmly. You rested your head against his shoulder as he ran his hand up and down your back soothingly, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear. You were certain you would wake up any moment to be back in your own room, and find that this had been a dream. But the longer you were cradled in Christoph’s arms, the more you realized that you were don’t dreaming at all.

His fingers massaged your hair, and his hands gently washed away any sweat; you never in a million years would have thought that an older man would be caring for you so lovingly after bringing you the most pleasure you had felt in your life. Christoph kissed where his hands had gripped you tightly, up your throat and to your waiting lips.

Then, he dried you and wrapped you in a plush white robe before guiding you back to the bed. You both laid down- your leg over his thighs, and head on his chest; his arm around you and his other holding your hand that played with his chest hair.

“Now…where were we?” Christoph said with a little chuckle, which made you smile.

The film continued, and he occasionally made a comment; you noticed through your sleepy haze that his voice became lower when he was tired.

You slept in each other’s arms that night, not a care in the world that you had a flight to catch in the morning.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@dogmatic255 @funandfancyfree

[cozywriting]

Dr. King Schultz angst imagines

requested by: nobody (me)

Dr. King Schultz often keeping his distance from you, attempting to ignore his growing feelings in fear that he will lose you like he lost everyone else.

You sat next to Django, staring across the fire at King. He was looking down at his dinner and hadn’t said a word to you for most the night.

“Did I do something wrong?” You asked quietly to Django.

“Nah, he always like that.” Django replied, returning to his food.

You gave Django a look. “Not with you.”

Django did not reply and instead took a sip from his canteen. You looked back over at King, who finished eating and was now staring at his feet. It was almost as if he felt your prying eyes so harshly, that he was looking for anything to do but return your gaze.

Django was first to break the silence. “Y’all gonna turn in soon?” He asked, looking back and forth between them.

“Yes, my dear boy,” King finally replied. “I think some sleep would do us well.”

Django retreated across the camp back to his tent, and you and King were alone. You watched as the older man rounded up the mess of his dishes.

“You know if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were giving me the cold shoulder,” you spoke up.

“Now why would you think that?” He asked, taking a moment to reply. His back was turned to her.

You got up and crossed your way to him.

“You went from talking to me every day to,” you paused for the right words. “…this,” you said with a gesture of hands.

“And what is this?” King asked nonchalantly. Clearly, he feigned ignorance. 

“I don’t know!” You huffed, ready to give up. “I just want you to talk to me.”

“We’re talking,” he responded, making no effort to turn his face.

His cold demeanor was disheartening. It angered you, but ultimately you knew better than to chase something that never existed.

“Forget it,” you said quietly. You turned away from him and began walking to your tent.

“Wait—” King called out behind you.

You slightly turned your face and saw his eyes roam to the ground. You could tell he was still attempting to avoid looking at you.

“I’ve lost people,” King said.

You turned around to face him, arms crossed. He looked up and for the first time the entire night your eyes connected with his.

“And I haven’t?” You challenged.

“This is different!” He shouted, causing you to slightly jump. He immediately regretted his tone after seeing your reaction. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded softly. “Please, don’t make me say this.”

“Say what? God forbid I ask you to show me the littlest respect of at least acknowledging me!”

“I have plenty of respect for you and more,” he replied harshly. “Do not belittle my emotions.”

You said nothing and King ran a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath, calming himself down.

“I care about you, King,” you finally said, breaking his reverie. He looked up at you.

“Fraulein, I care about you too much and there lies the problem,” he said. Even lengths apart, you could see the sadness in his eyes.

“Then why won’t you let me in?” You asked him quietly.

“I never want to watch another person I love die ever again. And at the hands of myself, no doubt.” King’s eyes welled up and he blinked hot tears away. He did not wait for you to reply before continuing. “Besides I’m no good for you, that much is clear. I’m too impulsive and you’ll only get hurt. I could never be so selfish.”

Still shocked by his confession, you remained silent. With King’s mind made up, he headed into his tent. Leaving you out and alone in the cold.

[one-boring-person]

May I request some smut about riding King Schultz’s gorgeous face? 😩 And perhaps he has shaved off the beard but kept the big mustache (I actually asked him to do that in a dream recently hehe).

Man, I'm jealous of your dreams! I hope you like this!

Sweet As Sugar.

Dr. King Schultz (Django Unchained) x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, oral (fem receiving), mentions of violence

Masterlist

The sun is low in the sky by the time we stop up for the day. Warm orange light floods the frozen land around us, the pure snow glittering slightly as it catches in the last rays of the day, promising a bone-cold night. Already, the trees and mountains in the distance look black, looming shadows on the expansive landscape, casting huge shadows over the white sheet covering the wasteland. 

I might've found it all beautiful if I wasn't so set on getting out of the saddle for the day, my back sore from the rhythmic movement it's been put through for hours on end. I'm not the only one who's eager to rest up, my two companions shifting in their saddles. Django shoots King a look every so often, which I eventually find I start mirroring, silently pleading for the older man to allow us to stop, sighing a little louder just to catch his attention. Our companion has his heavy grey coat pulled around his shoulders, chin pushed into the soft folds at the front, the chill of the evening already setting in. I can tell his newly shaven chin is not popular with him at this moment. 

Eventually, he calls Fritz to a halt.

"Let's set up camp here for the night." The ex-dentist declares, climbing down from his mount, groaning softly as his joints crack a little. 

Unable to suppress my own sigh of relief, I rein my horse in, dismounting swiftly, relishing the release of pressure on my spine as I rest against the stallion's flank. Django follows suit, quick to hand over the reins to King as he sets up a hitch for the horses to be tied to, using two nearby boulders as markers for the pegs. In no time, we've got the creatures secured and unsaddled, our necessary belongings removed and set up, bedrooms spread around a fire I'm trying to start up. Watching me for a short moment, Django speaks.

"I'm gonna go wash." He gestures vaguely to the nearby river, disappearing into the fading light as King and I nod in acknowledgement. 

Continuing to struggle with the fire for a moment longer, I let out a small sound of triumph as an orange flame flares up at the base of the tinder we've managed to scrounge, blowing gently on it as it begins to grow. 

"Wonderful, (Y/n)." King praises me, smiling as he hands me a pot filled with snow, "Would you get this melted? I'm afraid I'd rather not go to the river and disturb young Django. I fear he might find it somewhat inappropriate."

Chuckling, I take the small pot.

"Yeah, sure. It'll be done in no time." I tell him, setting the metal contraption up over the flickering flames, making sure it's stable before sitting back.

Looking over at King, I tilt my head as I find him looking rather perturbed, twirling his moustache around his fingers over and over, swiping them down his smooth chin with a small frown.

"My friend, I have never seen you so enraptured by your facial hair. What is the matter?" I ask him, teasing him a little by mimicking his speech.

The bounty hunter glances over at me in surprise, clearly not having expected to be caught. 

"To tell the truth, it does bother me. I am not used to having a bare face in such detestably cold weather." He sighs, rubbing his chin again, "It is far more biting with no protection. The cold, I mean." 

"Aw, come on, you still have your moustache! That has to count for something." I point out, unable to keep my eyes off him as he twists the ends of said facial hair again, licking my lips as I imagine the feeling of those hairs in a very different place…

"Less than you'd think, my dear." He mourns, removing his hat to run his hand through his hair. Once more, I watch him, swallowing tightly as I feel a familiar heat start to build between my legs. 

Biting my lip, I try to suppress the rapidly arising images in my head, unconsciously rubbing my thighs together. 

"Is everything alright, (Y/n)?" King suddenly asks, watching me closely. 

His gaze does nothing to abate the glowing desire inside me, images of that sweeping stare roaming over my bare body swiftly flooding my mind.

"Y-yes." I manage, cursing the stutter in my voice, "Just...thinking."

"May I ask as to the nature of your thoughts?" The bounty hunter questions, lips quirking up slightly at the corner, an almost mischievous expression creeping onto his face. 

Floundering for a suitable response, I can't help the deep red blush dusting my cheeks. 

"I was thinking about the ride tomorrow." I lie, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

His eyebrow lifts.

"Is that all?" The man is perceptive. 

"Yes." I nod, hoping I look convincing. 

"Well, I'll be honest with you, my dear. I don't believe you." He smirks, an expression I've not seen directed at me in that way very much at all; it strikes me then that he knows exactly what I was thinking about.

Instantly my face goes ruby-red.

"N-no?" 

"No." King leans back on his hands, tilting his head as he looks over me, making me hot under the weight of his gaze, "I think you have something much...dirtier on your mind. Am I right?"

With that tone, all knowledgeable and authoritative, I can only give in. Somewhat ashamed to have been caught, I nod.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." He says, not quite commanding but still compelling.

Obeying, I look back up at him.

"Now come sit here." He gestures to his lap, patting his thigh with a somewhat crooked smirk. 

Swallowing tightly, I stand and go over to him, hesitantly going to sit on his lap, straddling him with my gaze turned downwards. As soon as I'm in place, King grasps my hips and pulls me into him, drawing a yelp of surprise at his uncharacteristic roughness. 

"What did I just say about looking at me when I'm speaking to you?" He hums, breath fanning over my skin from the new proximity. 

Trying to ignore the rising desire inside me, I meet his gaze carefully, nearly groaning as I find that his eyes have darkened with lust, a smirk playing at his lips. 

"Much better." He murmurs before leaning in and sealing our lips together. 

Instantly, I kiss back, pressing closer to him, my hands moving to the back of his neck, fingers gripping lightly at the hairs there. His own hands untuck my shirt and slide in under the fabric, pressing against my warm skin, drawing a soft moan from me at the contact. Heat swiftly pools in my gut as he kisses me, his lips skilled on mine, his moustache tickling my skin deliciously, making me wish it were somewhere else. Whining into the kiss, I buck my hips into him as my need mounts, the bounty hunter swiftly slipping his tongue into my mouth as I part my lips for him, swallowing my sounds as he moves his grip to my ass, massaging it. 

As we kiss, one of his hands moves round to my front without me realizing, snaking down to the waist of my trousers before I notice. A long moan escapes me as I break away from the kiss at the first stroke of his fingers over my clit, his hand having pushed into my trousers, now cupping my sex. Waves of pleasure flood through me as he smirks and repeats the motion, dragging his finger through my wetness, drawing a figure of eight around my clit. My hips roll into him, pants and moans of his name falling from my lips even as his own brush down my throat.

"Ah...more, King, please more!" I whine, gripping his shoulders tightly as he ghosts the pad of his finger over my entrance, teasing me. 

"You look so beautiful like this, (Y/n), though I believe I have figured out a benefit of my new facial hair." He smiles at me, continuing to rub my clit, "Would you like to try it out?"

Breathless and hungry for more, I nod eagerly, whimpering as he removes his hand.

"Patience, Liebling. Take your trousers and underwear off for me." He smooths back my hair with one hand before ushering me off his lap, watching as I do as he says. 

His eyes stray briefly to my exposed legs until he moves to lie back, propping himself up on his elbows. Confusion fills me briefly as he looks at me, grinning.

"Come here." He gestures to his face, and then it hits me properly. A flood of desire washes over me and I bite back a groan, my knees buckling as I go over to him, crawling over his prone body whilst he observes me, the bounty hunter licking his lips.

"Na? Komm hier, Fräulein." King commands me, his accent slightly more pronounced in anticipation. 

Hesitant, I move to hover over his face, sitting up on my knees for a moment, biting back a moan as I feel his breath ghost over me. The man's hands are swift to grip my ass, his thumbs digging in a little. 

"Do not hesitate to make those wonderful sounds, my dear. I adore hearing them." Is all he says before his tongue is flattened against my clit, lips following after to press his mouth against me. 

I can only let out a loud, broken moan, the ecstasy from the situation nearly sending me over the edge already. One of my hands flies to his hair, gripping it lightly as he licks over my clit over and over, sucking on it very now and then, making the most obscene sounds I've ever heard. I can feel his moustache scratching slightly at my thighs and the sensitive skin around my sex, only increasing the intensity as I start to grind down against his pleasurable onslaught. Pleas of his name drip from my lips, my head falling back as I feel a fire building inside me. 

His tongue suddenly plunges into my entrance, tearing a half-scream of pleasure from me at the sensation. He rubs over every sensitive area he can reach, the soft muscle probing and exploratory, keen to reach whatever it can, bringing me faster and faster towards my climax. Removing his tongue, he moves up to suck my clit again, soothing it with hot, wet licks, listening closely to the moans escaping me. 

Grinding down against him, I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning back to brace myself on his chest with one hand, biting my lip until I remember his words from earlier. With every movement of his head, his moustache brushes over me, stimulating me more and more. As he slides his tongue deep inside me again, the hairs ghost over my clit, the contrasting sensations bringing me swiftly to the edge of my orgasm, which he seems to realize. My pussy clenching around his tongue, he pulls back and lightly bites down on my clit, sucking it harshly into his mouth, groaning at the same time.

The vibrations combined with the euphoric sensation sends me crashing over the edge, pleasure exploding within me as my orgasm washes over me, my hips rocking down onto his face unashamedly as I chase the wonderful feeling. Moaning uncontrollably, I feel my pulse pounding, every nerve inside me alight as King licks me through it, cleaning me up thoroughly, groaning in appreciation. 

Coming down from my high, I weakly climb off of him, collapsing to the floor beside him, breathing heavily. Sitting up, he looks down at me, licking his lips, his moustache and chin covered in my cum. 

"Liebling, you taste as sweet as sugar." He smirks, cleaning off his face with a cloth from his pocket. 

I laugh weakly, blushing in embarrassment as I try to recover from the overwhelming bout of pleasure from before. He watches me, smiling in adoration until we're interrupted.

"Are y'all finished yet?" Django's voice filters over to us from somewhere behind the rocks surrounding our camp.

Eyes widening, I look up at King, who only laughs and replies.

"That we are, my friend." 

Scrambling up, I yank on my underwear and trousers, doing them up in time for our companion to round the corner, the man shooting us a sheepish look.

I glance at King, blushing as I watch him licking his lips once more, the bounty hunter winking at me. 

[headoverhiddles]

The Romance Of A Yellow Rose - Dr. King Schultz x Reader [Smut]

Words: 5.6k

Synopsis: You and King get married, and celebrate your first night together by consummating the marriage. 

Commissioned by a friend! Enjoy.

Your eyes open on the rugged planes of the Southern state the three of you had found yourselves in. As you roll over to stretch the sleep out of your body, you find a single yellow rose, native to this area. A smile grows on your face. It’s King’s way of saying good morning to you, as it had been for many months.

For years now, you had been tagging along with Schultz and Django. Having attached yourself to their travels three hot summers ago, the two men had become quite fond of your travelling company; King in particular. Over time, your relationship had evolved from a companionship, through friendship, to having romantic feelings for one another. You were the first to admit to them; King hadn’t wanted to say anything, as he still held a fruitless hope that one day he could return you to the pleasantries of the normal life you once knew, before it had been uprooted. But as the months passed, you getting more and more comfortable and (dare he say) suited to the lifestyle of a bounty hunter, it was becoming apparent that you were going nowhere. Not without him, anyway.

Hildy had decided to stay with some friends in the North while the three of you travelled the country on business. Texas Jack, Turkey Creek and Jack’s wife Camarilla were more than happy to keep her with them. It had put Django at ease at least, knowing they had one less person they had to worry about with them catching a bullet. Hildy was even teaching Camarilla different things she had learned over the years at their home, and the four were getting on fine from what Django took from her letters to him. King wished you had enough sense to stay with them, but where the older bounty hunter went, you went. You had made that quite clear.

Today, a warm day in mid October, you, King and Django were headed to visit a plantation in Conroe, Texas. There an outlaw by the name of Amos “Sly Eye” Little had been posing as an overseer for 3 months, flying under the radar on the small eastern Texan plantation. He wasn’t a particularly dangerous outlaw, only wanted for his habit of skipping out on poker games before paying up. Three months ago, he ended up double crossing the wrong man which led to legal involvement, and now to deter trouble in peaceful towns he was wanted dead or alive by the state. King and Django had discovered upon visiting this plantation that the family who owned it had been dodging the law for a while as well.

After the slaves had been freed by King and Django, this outlaw family just so happened to get in the way of a few bullets. The last man left alive on the property is now Amos.

“Back here!” you call. King dashes toward you, swiping you out of the way as a bullet whizzes by your ear. You sit in shock for a moment, King’s arm still around you. For a man who isn’t very dangerous, this Amos sure is trigger happy.

“Django!” King shouts, but his partner is already far ahead in pursuit. “Never listens,” the doctor mutters, loading his shotgun and aiming. You watch as Django dodges a couple more of the outlaw’s bullets before grabbing Amos by his collar, lifting him up a few feet. The man tries to scramble for his gun, but Django of course is faster. Just as he’s about to fire at close range, King clucks his tongue, looking through his target. “Bullseye.” Your eyes shut briefly as the snap of the bullet leaving the gun jolts you closer to the older man. He pulls you out of sight once more as the bullet hits Amos through the side of his head, out the other side in a bloody deluge. Django jerks his head up your direction, dropping the corpse into the carnage at his feet.

“I was handling it!” he mutters.

King comes out from behind the tree, helping you up with one hand. You brush off your pants as you both approach the other man. “You were being hasty again,” King says.

“I was handling it,” Django insists with a look. You two nudge arms amiably, and King gives you a disapproving look.

“You are encouraging him.” He turns to Django. “And you’re encouraging her.”

“What’s wrong with a little congratulations?” you giggle. “You got your dead cowboy.”

“I would trade a thousand dead cowboys to keep both of you alive. You’re the best things that have ever happened to me, do you know that?” King gives you a meaningful look, before brushing off Django’s jacket and squeezing your hand. “Forget this place. We’d better get the horses and get out of here.”

Taking the initiative, you go off in search of Tony, Fritz and Ida, your mare. Django approaches King, taking off his bloodstained gloves. “You talked to her yet?”

“She doesn’t know, no.” King looks down, nervously stroking one side of his moustache. “I was waiting for the right time.”

“You wait any longer, she’s gonna be burying her husband to be.” King doesn’t bother taking offense—he knows Django is right. He’s much older than you—not one foot in the grave as Django likes to tease, but older. That had been another source of insecurity for him during the burgeoning relationship, but you had made it clear that you didn’t mind; in fact, you liked the difference in age. King’s fellow bounty hunter interrupts his thoughts. “Y’all should get married here. Nice place, no one left in it now.” Schultz looks around the grounds. It is pretty, and it would be nice to marry you in such agreeable weather... but King shakes his head.

“No Django. This place was built on treachery and suffering. It would be not only tasteless, but bad luck to get married here.”

When you three make it to the next town in the state over of Arkansas, something is waiting for King at the inn.

“You Doctor Schultz?” the innkeeper asks, spitting tobacco into a spittoon. King nods, taking out his billfold. The innkeeper sizes him up. “Yep, man who sent this said fella looking like you’d be coming through here. This’s for you.” He takes a letter out from behind the desk in one of the cubbies, and slides it across. King expects it would be from Texas Jack, but it instead it’s from a different friend in the North; a sheriff acquaintance he had written to before about his situation with you. Thanking the man, you all head upstairs, and when King gets to a desk, he slips on his reading glasses.  

 Thought you’d make your way through this here town, Schultz-

Sounds like a hell of a woman, the one you’ve told me about. You softie. Knew you wanted to settle down, and it’s about damn time, too. What the hell are you doing with her down in the South then? She oughtta be up here. Maybe I’m biased, but there’s a lot more law n order up here. Better people too. I am biased, spose.

You asked me what I thought about asking for her hand. Why wait to marry her? Hell, bring her up, we’ll have a ceremony here! I’m not only a sheriff, but an ordained minister too. Bet you didn’t know that. Wouldn’t kill you to ask. Anyway, no reason why I can’t make things look good, clean up the place nice and host your happy union. Got some more birthday cake here too, for someone to eat. Pretty good.

Come on up when you finally convince yourself she won’t say no.

- G. A.

“You got a letter back from Sheriff Snowy Snow?” Django smirks. King stares at the letter in his hands for a long while, before looking up at him with a smile.

He could do it. He could finally ask for your hand.

“Django, my boy. We’re going to Nebraska.” You overhear, and turn back with the bags.

“Up North? What for?”

“To see an old friend of mine, fraulein,” King says, taking the bags from you to carry inside. “Sheriff Gus Arnett.” You smile. It’ll be nice to get out of all this heat and around some likeminded people—people who King can relax and be himself around.

You had all stopped off to pick up Hildy in Boston after travelling by train through the Southern states and switching back to horsepower as you made your way up through the wintery landscape of barren northern land. It was worth it, of course; King and Django had insisted Hildy come too, and you had been happy for female company.

“Has my troublemaker been behaving himself?” is the first thing Hildy asks you, kissing your cheek in greeting.

“About as much as mine has,” you laugh.

“Coming from the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. It is you who has been the naughty one,” King chastises you right back.

“Maybe one day, you can teach me a lesson for it.” King blushes as Hildy lets out a loud laugh at the connotations of such a taunt. He knows you’re still virginal, waiting for marriage as you’ve told him before. Once united by matrimony, that’s another wall that could be knocked down between you, if you decided you still wished to give yourself to him.

It was no secret you wanted King, and he had made it plain he would wait for you—he’s a gentleman in every sense of the word. Still, men have needs, and some late nights it had been hard. Many evenings by the fire had ended with you in his lap, grinding down as you kissed him with feverish intensity. It had always ended the same way however, with you heading off to sleep alone and leaving him with nothing but his mind to picture what the next hour may have felt like. This time, King feared he wouldn’t last once he finally got to feel you as he’d wanted to for so long. Either way, he had a silver tongue, and experience in the art of pleasuring a woman. He wouldn’t leave you wanting; whatever you needed he would give you.

 Arriving at the snowy lodge some days later, Sheriff Gus Arnett comes out the front door. A couple of minks and rabbits are hanging from the roof over the porch, and two pairs of boots caked with snow are drying outside by a wooden rocking chair that had been collecting frost no doubt since September.  

“King Schultz and Django Freeman, in the flesh! Come on in with your little ladies!” he says, opening his arms. You approach first, and he shakes your hand with the assurance of a man who’s not used to gentle handshakes. “I don’t believe we’ve met, ma’am,” he says softly, “But any friend of King’s is a friend of mine. Especially a friend like you.” He winks at you and smirks over at King, who ushers you in out of the cold quickly. Gus tips his hat at Django and Hildy, closing the door after they come in.

“Like I said,” he sighs, “We got some cake. Y’all want some?”

“Perhaps we wait until after dinner?” Schultz proposes.

“I wouldn’t mind some,” Django speaks up, giving King a look. King just chuckles.

“Go ahead, my boy. I was a dentist, remember. Old habits remain, I suppose. Would you like some, (y/n)?”

“I’ll have the piece you didn’t want,” you tease. You lean closer to him to brush your lips against his ear. “When it comes to you, I want everything.” The former dentist swallows. This proposal couldn’t come at a better time, as things between you two are heating up.

That night after dinner of rabbit stew and some leftover cake for dessert for everyone but your beloved, everyone had retired to bed a few hours after the sun had gone down. In your own room, you set your satchel on the bed of clothing you had been travelling with in the South, and just as you’re about to unpack, a knock at the door distracts you from your task. King slowly pushes the door open—he’s dressed in his white shirt and grey vest, his hair freshly combed back. It seems counterproductive to groom that well before bed, but to be fair, you had never personally witnessed King’s nocturnal habits in a place that allows such a luxury. He offers his arm, and when you take it in curiosity, he leads you out the back porch of the lodge home. The wind isn’t too cold tonight, but he still wraps his arm around you. The mountains are beautiful out here, and the snow has stopped for the night to allow for a crystal clear view of the surrounding landscape, snow white on the bottom and starry black on top.  

“It’s been a while since we’ve been able to sit together like this,” King says. “Just sit and enjoy one another’s company alone. It’s very rare we get time just the two of us without our faithful hero.” You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Mm. We’re usually around a campfire, with Django snoring behind us.”

“At least we don’t have any of that to score our evening. I think Django’s gone to bed with Hildy in there.”

“You should be in bed too,” you fret. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I never have been very good at that. I’m a light sleeper, fraulein. Especially when I have lots on the mind.”

“You know what helps me when I can’t sleep?” You smile. “Something I learned from you.” King turns to look at you, a soft chilly breeze blowing the silver blonde hair from his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“A story.”

King ducks his head, and pulls you closer to him. “I think that would do the trick. Go on then, my love. Will you regale me?”

“I know a story of a deep running love, where a woman slowly developed feelings for one who she learned to depend on.”

“A common story, no?” King teases.

“Shhh. She loved very freely, but this was different. She not only loved this man, but worried about him when he wasn’t around, yearned for him, desired him in ways that drove her crazy sometimes.” King’s breath audibly quickens.

“And what did our heroine do about this tumultuous situation?”

“Oh, she took care of things. But not like she knew he could.” His breath hitches. You bite your lip as you go on. “The two had been together so long... learning one another’s quirks, laughing at little things and sharing moments others wouldn’t understand. They knew what scared them, what made them smile. At the end of the day, she told the man a million times how she adored him. But she was afraid he still didn’t know how much.”

King rubs down your finger, eyes trained on it before looking up at you. “I think I do.” You forget whatever you were going to say next as King rubs his rough fingers over your knuckles, bringing them up to his lips to kiss them. His beard grazes your skin pleasantly as he opens his mouth. “Will you be my wife?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Truly?”

“True as my love for you.”  

“Tomorrow?”

“If you wish.” You lean in to kiss him.

The door bangs open, Gus tosses a pail of water out all over you two. He realizes where you two were sitting, and his eyes widen.

"Gott verdammt."

“Oh, hell. I’m— what are the two of you doing out—?” He can’t even finish his sentence—you’re laughing too hard. King tries to keep up a grumpy facade at the fact that you had both just been drenched in ice water in this weather, but he can’t help it. Your laughter is infectious.

“Please tell me there is enough boiled water for a bath,” he sighs, and you shiver. “For the fraulein, at least.”

Django and Hildy had been up to witness the commotion from the noise of it all, no doubt committing the sight to memory for future teasing. They returned comfortably to bed with one another, which was a comfort you and King couldn’t currently afford in your state.  

You get to work drawing the bath as Gus passes you each pails of hot water. King comes in, shedding his dripping fur coat and tugging at his tie. Your eyes drift down to his chest, then back up to his face. King subsequently tries to distract himself so as not to focus too hard on you. You had stripped down to your slip, which was stuck to every curve of your body from the water. The temperature hadn’t done much to help any other evidence of the cold, around your breasts. He tries not to look too long.

“Would you take me out of this?” you ask. It’s a harmless question, but King’s thoughts run wild. He could simply refuse you, but what reason would he give then? That he couldn’t control himself around you, so close to your wedding night?

“Of course,” he sighs softly, and approaches. He takes the back of the slip and undoes the buttons, helping you pull it over your head. He inches it up, the wet material dragging along your skin. He turns to go as you’re revealed, and to his dismay, you don’t stop him. Only one more night, and he could have all of you.

As you step out of the lodge, it’s as if you’ve stepped out into a painting. A light dusting of snow is falling over you, snowflakes catching in your eyelashes and melting tracks down your cheeks like tears of happiness. King is standing there at the end of the pathway shovelled out, just by the small lake. It’s frozen over, reflecting the light of the moon through every little icicle hanging from the branches of trees hanging over top of it. Mountains soar around the group of you, boasting the most beautiful landscape you’d ever seen.

King takes your hand as you approach. Beside him, you see Django dressed in a handsome green winter’s jacket, black leather gloves pristine. On your side, Broomhilda is wearing a beautiful green dress under layers of a form fitting brown jacket. You’re in a beautiful snow white dress with furs covering your shoulders and a fur hat. King is also wearing his grey fur coat. The two of you join hands, and recite vows.

“I know I’m a considerable number of years older than you,” King tells you softly, “But I promise to make up for this. I promise to protect you with my life, cherish you, and support you in every endeavor you wish to pursue.”

“I will stay by your side no matter what,” you tell him, “I’ll be brave when you can’t be. I’ll be strong when you need me to be. I’ll love you as long as my heart beats, and oppose anyone who tries to take you away.” Kindness in his eyes, King smiles down at you, crow’s feet crinkling. He lifts your hand up to kiss.

“Do you take this man?” the sheriff asks.

“I do.”

“Do you take this little lady?” King sighs out through his nose, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles.

“I certainly do,” he breathes.

“Well hell, you may kiss the bride then!”

When King leans forward, you surprise him by taking a step forward and wrapping your arms around him, deepening the kiss. It lasts for an eternity between you, and when you part, King brushes the snow off your rosy cheeks and presses his lips to your forehead.  

“Ich liebe dich,” he whispers into your hair, and you slide your arms around his middle in embrace.

Inside the bedroom upstairs, a fire crackles in the hearth. The curtains are open to the snowy view outside, and the frost on the glass only makes you savour the warmth inside. King pours you some bourbon, and comes to sit down beside you in front of the fire. As you cuddle into him, he puts a hand on your back and draws you in for a kiss, his beard pleasantly tickling your face. Bourbon forgotten, the kiss deepens, and you feel his tongue slip into your mouth as you part your lips for more. You pull away, smiling.

“Can I ask you something?”

He looks at you. “Of course. What are you thinking about?”

“How does it feel?”

King looks at you. “You will have to be a little more specific.”

“How does it feel to finally consummate a marriage?”

 He stares into the flickering fire. “We don’t have to do it if you’re nervous.”

“I didn’t say that,” you say, crawling over to straddle him. King welcomes you into his lap. “I just wanted to know. You’ll show me?”

“I would love to.”

“You know I’m inexperienced.”

“I do,” King nods.

“Isn’t that undesirable?” King seems offended that you would even suggest such a thing, at the very least ruffled by the idea of it.

“My dear, of course not. Being inexperienced merely means I can show you how to do things.” He hums against your neck, grazing his lips down.

“I’m not completely clueless,” you breathe as you tilt your head back to give him better access. You stand in one smooth movement in front of the fire, leaving King sitting and gazing up at you. “I know what fucking is.” You hear his exhaled breath.

“Yes. I would assume you wouldn’t be entirely in the dark about that.”

“But I’ve never felt it,” you whisper. “I wanna feel it, King.” He doesn’t get a chance to respond. You undo your dress, lace by lace, letting your fingers twine slowly between the hooks. You sigh his name as the corset comes free, recalling how you’d longed for him to do this last night, and you hook the straps of your dress under your thumbs, sliding it down to reveal the slip beneath. You hear his breath hitch, but he doesn’t make a move.

You run your hands down over your ass, letting out a soft noise. You hear him readjust where he’s sitting, and you work now on the cream coloured pants beneath the white gown, sliding them down ever so carefully.

“(y/n),” King whispers.

You let out a moan. “I’ve been wanting to get out of this the entire ceremony just to see how you would look at me, seeing me like this for the first time.” You swing your hips a little, arching your back, and finally wiggle some more as you drop your pants to the floor. King’s breathing is heavier now, and you stretch your arms above your head, sighing again as you let your hair free. “Like I said. I may not have done this before, but I know a lot more than you think I do.”

“I’m not certain I believe that, my feisty little one,” King huffs, averting eye contact. Oh, no. Not tonight he doesn’t. You’re only in your chemise now, and you turn to reveal smooth skin he’s never seen before, bunching the fabric up just enough to give him a peek of the v of your hips.

You can see the visible outline of his hardened cock in his pants, straining against the tight confines and desperate for some kind of relief. You put one leg over his lap to straddle him.

“Touch me?” you whisper, and reach down. He doesn’t stop you, just watches closely as you bring your hands to his pants, untie them, and reach in to take his cock in your hand. He does as you say, returning the touch with his hands up your back, taking the straps of your chemise down. He takes a shallow breath as your fingers come in contact with his warm cock. You grin wickedly, swiping your thumb up to spread his precum around a little. He meets your eyes as you pull him fully out of his pants.

“Oh,” he huffs gently, head falling back a little as you stroke him once.

“Is that good?” you ask softly, pressing a kiss to his ear. “Am I doing it right?” King stutters a little, gasping for air when you swipe over his swollen cockhead again.

“You are doing just fine,” King whispers, lips parting.

“Mmm,” you mumble, pressing a trail of wet kisses down his face and lazily taking his lips between your teeth, leading into a dizzying kiss full of tongue and one another’s slow breath.

“Stop. Wait my love,” King mumbles, stalling your wrist with his hand. You pout.

“What’s wrong?”

He opens his eyes to look at you, pupils blown with lust.  “After a show like that, I am at your complete and ready service, not the other way around. Tell me exactly what you want me to do,” he whispers gently, and you get off of him, lying back on the floor like a princess awaiting a treat.

“Could you pleasure me with your mouth?”

Your cheeks heat, but King nods with a smile, dispelling any nerves you might have for such an intimate display of sensuality. He lays you on the floor, pressing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone and across the top of the soft skin of your breasts. His hands come up to gently hold your hips down as they circle upward—he moves your legs so he can brace himself between them, pressing more kisses down over your stomach to the impressions on your hips he’s left with his fingers.

“I want you to have me,” you whisper. King strokes one hand along your thigh.

“It takes time to discover each and every spot that will make you weak for me, lieb,” he mumbles, mouthing at your panties with a practiced finesse. “Be a good girl now for me. Be patient. There is more to come.” The bounty hunter takes the panties down with deft fingers, sliding the fabric down your legs until you’re bare to him. Your cheeks heat, but he reassures you with a starstruck gaze, looking over your body like a lovesick man. He dips his head back down with a soft kiss to your thigh, reaching up to hold your hips as if he’s predicted your body’s reaction already. He presses a reverent kiss to your clit, and his tongue takes a sweep of your folds, making you quiver as his beard scratches the soft skin of your thighs. His prediction proves correct when your hips jerk up as he gives his first lick between your lips. You reach back to grab the carpet, before deciding instead to grip onto his blonde and silver locks where his mouth works between your legs. It’s a surreal pleasure—unlike anything you’ve felt before, and you want more.

 “Does that feel good?” King asks. All you can do is nod, but he encourages you to tell him exactly how you feel. “Use your words, fraulein.”

“Yes. Don’t stop,” you sigh.

“My good girl.” King dips back down, swirling his tongue around your bud until you’re shaking. Taking care to hold you close to him, he moves himself up until he’s grinding himself against you. “I want nothing more than to be inside of you,” he whispers.

“Take me as you wish then,” you groan.

“Tonight is about you,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I want it.”

Unbuckling himself, he takes his time slowly working a finger inside of you. He adds another and gently curves them up, before gauging your reaction. Going by the desperation in your face, he slowly replaces his fingers with his cock, pausing every inch to check and see if you’re still alright. You can tell how he’s exercising his restraint—you’re so tight, and all he wants to do is take you until both of you are sweaty and screaming, but he must make this last. You can feel him sliding into you, and his hand comes up to hold yours. Your eyes screw shut as he finally bottoms out, and he presses a kiss to your chest. “Tell me when it is okay to move.” You nod.

“Please.” He starts up a slow pace, covering your body with his as he takes his time with you. Too desperate to take the time King might have in mind to teach you patience, you push your lips harder against him, and roll over on top of him. You kiss the bounty hunter, again and again until your lips are swollen and King is painfully hard inside of you.

“Lift up your shirt for me,” he whispers, his voice gentle. “That’s it.”

“Have me,” you mumble.

“What was that?” King asks, “You must use your words if you would like something, hm?”

You blink up at your older lover. “Please take me King,” you raise your voice, and he smiles.

“Hm.” He gives you an affectionate smile. “I have no choice but to oblige my lady love when she asks as nicely as that. Very well. As you wish.”

He pumps in harder, ripping a groan from you. You’d dreamed of what this would feel like, and it turned out better than you had imagined, King’s soft sighs and the rocking of his body against yours heightening every touch he grazes your sensitive skin with.

A moment later, he pulls out and flips you over gently. He then positions himself between your legs and brings his mouth back down between your legs, suckling around your clit again. “King,” you whisper, breath hitching.

“Louder,” he encourages, and goes back to masterfully taking you apart with his tongue. He soon encourages you to sit on his face, and you do, feeling him lick you perfectly as the pleasant feeling of his beard returns to tantalize your skin. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue as you reach down to touch his cock. It’s a foreign feeling in your hand, but you soon get the hang of the motions, twisting your fist and using his precum to slick your strokes.

“King... don’t stop,” you groan, his tongue delving just barely inside of you. He moves off of your pussy as you moan, and licks his lips.

 “I must admit, I wanted nothing more than to do this all day,” he groans as he moves back up your body, “But I am a gentleman.”

“Too much of one sometimes.”

As if in challenge, he picks up his pace and starts to grunt your name, leaning down every now and then between thrusts to press a kiss to your breastbone as his face scrunches up. You love how uncharacteristically possessive King is getting�� it turns you on beyond belief. Your moans grow loud as the bounty hunter’s cock fills you over and over again, satisfying your need for him as your noises blend together into the creak, groan, gasp of making love for the first time.

“K… King…” you groan, breasts bouncing with every thrust. His breath is hot on your neck, and he presses an open mouthed kiss there.

“You are astonishing,” he whispers, “You’re perfect… oh, bitte, bitte Fraulein, you feel so nice… you are my everything.”

“King, just like that, oh god–” you groan, and he makes a noise at your slutty display, reaching up to massage your breasts. You feel your orgasm approach as he continues to touch you, and his hand quickly comes down to rub your clit.

“Ah,” you moan, and clutch his shoulders. King sighs, feeling your pussy squeeze him, and with a stuttered thrust he cums as well, spilling inside you. Soon, you’re crying out his name, and he squeezes your hand tighter as you both finish at the same time, the love you share burning at the height of its passion as your bodies become one. You both rock together to ride out your orgasms until you’re satisfied. Panting breaths mingle as you snuggle close to him.

 “Is that what all the fuss was about?” you tease. King frowns at you, and you laugh into his chest.

“Into bed before I take full offense to your jokes, beloved,” he murmurs. You nod, smiling as he helps you up with one hand and carries you bridal style over to the bed covered in furs for a warm night’s sleep together—finally together. 

"I am lucky I have such a pretty creature warming my bed tonight," he jokes, "A plucked chicken like me should be very grateful." You huff another laugh, rolling over beside him to finally tuck in with your love. 

"I've only ever wanted you. That'll never change, no matter what." You grin. "Tonight only helped solidify that fact." 

"So you are with me for my talents in the bedroom, ah!"

"NO--"

"I understand it now." 

"King!" 

"Shh. Let's sleep now. We will argue like an old married couple in the morning." 

The next day, Hildy and Django are already in the living room of the lodge. Gus is in the kitchen making up some breakfast.

“You look radiant this morning,” Broomhilda says, smile wide.

“Yeah. You do look pretty good. Different,” Django nods, narrowing his eyes as if to try and decipher what could have changed about you. Hildy just rolls her eyes, turning back to you from her own husband.

“So. Where’s your significant other?” You grab yourself a cup for the coffee that’s brewing, settling in across from them at the table.   

“He’s still sleeping. He worked hard last night.” Tucked in the pocket of your nightgown is a single perfect, yellow rose he had saved you from the South, one King had left his new wife to find upon waking.

[fandom-of-pulp-dogs]

{BLOG UPDATE & REQUEST INFO/UPDATES}

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello, my fellow sinners!

This here is just as titled, a small blog update.

Now the only things that are changing are how I will take requests, who I will write requests of and possible smaller future changes.

The smaller future changes are just changes in my writing. I'm hoping to improve my writing and take more time for my writings. Since my future writings are gonna change that means I will probably go through all my old ones and update them (I will add whether I have edited them or not on the post.) I also may change the aesthetic of my blog slightly but that's not as important lol.

Now for what you guys are waiting the hear about: The Requests.

Not much is going to change other than how many requests I will take and who I will write for (I'm also going to add what I won't write of/for but the list is very small lol)

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[Characters I will Write for]

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Reservoir Dogs:

- Mr. White / Lawrence Dimmick

- Mr. Orange / Freddy Newandyke

- Mr. Blonde / Victor Vega

- Mr. Pink / Sterling Bancroft ((Since Mr. Pink didn't have a real name in the movie I made one for him lmao I hope yall like it))

- Mr. Brown / Julian Dalton ((Once again, the character didn't have a name so I gave him one :)

- 'Nice' Guy Eddie Cabot

Pulp Fiction:

- Vincent Vega

- Jules Winnfield

- Mia Wallace

- Winston 'The Wolf' Wolf

- Marsellus Wallace

- Jimmie Dimmick

- Fabienne

- Butch Coolidge

- Buddy Holly

- Pumpkin

- Hunny Bunny

Django Unchained:

- Dr. King Shultz

- Broomhilda von Shaft

- Django 'Freeman'

The Hateful 8:

- Joe Gage

- Oswaldo Mobray

- John Ruth

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Those are all the characters I will write for. I have decided, due to my new chaotic schedule, that I will only be taking 5 requests at a time. I will frequently update my requests from Open to Closed so keep your eyes open if you want to make any requests!

Now the things I won't write:

- Incest

- R@pe/Non-Con ((In certain fics I might allude to these topics but I refuse to go into detail and write scenes about them ALSO this does not include Con-non-con I am open to writing those types of fics but not real non-con or r@pe))

- Nothing with feces, I don't mind writing for piss kinks but DEFINITELY no feces

- Angst- let me elaborate, I won't write a full-on angst fic (at least not 95% of the time) But I will do hurt/comfort type stuff, just not full-on Angst.

Types of Structures I will write in:

- HCs

- Drabbles

- One-Shots/Imagines

- Mini-Series ((2-6 Fics))

As I am currently writing this, I can't think of anything else to add But I might update this sooner or later so until then these are the updates and new rules for the requests and for my blog in general.

I currently only have 2 Requests that I am working on currently so if you are wanting to make a request I have 3 slots open!

I hope you all don't mind me doing this, I just wanted to add a little bit more structure to the blog because it's really taken off. I know I haven't posted a lot lately but I'm really trying to get better at that. :) I hope you all have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening/night. Thank you for reading and supporting me <3

- Fandom Of Pulp Dogs

[truefandemonium]

Hi sweetheart!! Your number 1 fan here 🤗

Can I request for a fic where King and reader have a very special relationship where both of them love each other, but they never admitted their feelings. One day she gets shot and King freaks out, almost crying and finally admits his feelings for her. The rest is up to you, love! Hope you like it, hun. Sending lots of love 🤗💖

Thanks so much again for the request! Sorry this one took so long to come out 😭 I hope this one is as good as the other you requested! I struggled a little bit with some of the emotional scenes but hopefully it fits what you were wanting to see!! Much love!!

“For Every Moment”

[Dr King Schultz x Fem!Reader] (Mature)

TW: Blood, violence, strong language, innuendo

Tags: fluff, angst, love confessions, soulmates, possessiveness, tending to wounds, kissing, bed sharing

5,285 words

…

You always wondered if King felt the same way about you as you did him.

The flirting, mostly from you, so it happened, was nice. As were the gentle touches— which lingered longer in the dark of campsites and after private interactions in tavern hallways. On long rides across desert landscapes, you would find King’s eyes wandering to land on you— his gaze rarely left your face, and you wouldn’t expect anything else from such a self-proclaimed gentleman. However, there was once when you’d been down at the river washing yourself and had forgotten to warn neither King nor Django, and the men happened upon you half nude.

Django couldn’t have cared less, stripping down and taking his own corner of the undertow to bathe in, not giving you a second glance, while King turned a shade of red you’d thought was reserved only for tomatoes, and after taking a prolonged look of shock at your breasts, turned tail and fled back to the wagon. He couldn’t even look in your direction the rest of that day, keeping his chin tucked into his chest and hat pulled low over his brow to avoid your eyes.

You’d found the whole thing quite funny, if not slightly embarrassing on your behalf, but King refused to speak of it again, shying away from the mere mention of the occurrence.

Which was why it made this whole thing so damn confusing. Did he love you or didn’t he? Perhaps in Germany, the men were simply more prone to shows of romanticism. You shake your head to yourself as you lean forward and stir the beans in the pot over the fire with a wooden spoon. Maybe you’d never know what was going on in King’s head. Either way, you’d enjoy his company until your last breath, and happily.

“Something on your mind, frauline?” King’s buttery voice breaks into your thoughts as you sit back down on the log in front of the fire, and you panic for a moment, watching him out the corner of your eye as he approaches and takes a seat across from you.

“No, nothing,” you say, wondering how to breach the subject plaguing you. Debating whether or not you should at all…

“You have the look of a kicked pup, my dear,” the man purrs, his tone so convincing and gentle. “You’re certain there is nothing I can do to ease your burden?” You just want to melt when you hear him speak— like a glass of whiskey; making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

But you shake your head again, suddenly choked at the thought of telling him your true feelings for him. “I’m fine, King— really.” The lie is obvious, and you regret it as soon as it leaves your lips, noticing the way the scorn hits King like an arrow to the chest.

He practically winces as he nods. “My apologies— I do not mean to pry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, wrestling with yourself. You pull the pot off the fire and nod your thanks as King stands and holds out two small tin cups for you to scoop the food into cautiously. “It’s just…” You stop as Django returns from where the horses are tied several yards away, the thickness returning to your throat.

Django instantly senses your odd behavior, his eyes narrowing as he takes one of the tin cups from King’s outstretched hand. You blink at him, silently pleading for him to give you and King space, and thankfully, he picks up on your desperate expression.

Poking a spoon into his cup of beans, Django glances between you and King with a sniff, grumbling, “Need some air. I’ll be… over there.” He jerks his head sideways and starts off into the desert, and you instantly feel a twinge of guilt, alongside relief.

King, confused, opens his arms wide, gesturing to the wide open space around you. “You have all the air of Texas, dear Django!”

The ex-slave just waves one hand above his head, calling as playfully as you ever hear him, “Not with what you two got hangin’ in it.”

You flush at his words, and King’s gaze flicks back to you, his green eyes wide. “Oh?” he says, clueless, which only makes you burn further, setting the pot down after dishing your own helping. “I didn’t realize we had things to discuss,” he says slowly, sitting back down, his eyes still glued to you. As he sees your expression, suddenly teary eyes and red face, his own gaze changes; softens with realization. “Oh,” he adds in a near whisper, swallowing.

“Frauline,” he says gently, the firelight casting shadows across his worn face. “I do hope you know that you can always speak to me.” He tries to joke, adding with a stressed chuckle, “I cannot promise that my advice will be all that helpful, but—”

“No, see— King, that’s the problem,” you sigh, dropping your head into your hands. “I… I can tell you anything— everything. And I do. But you—” You look up and see the way his brow is furrowed, confusion clouding his gaze. You say gently, “You don’t tell anyone anything at all, King. Not even me.”

At that, he smiles ruefully, even the small gesture making your belly tighten. “Ach, mein lieb,” he sighs softly, “I am an old man. I do not expect a girl like yourself to be a confidant, and that is not something you should ever feel is required of you—”

“But I want to be,” you argue. King seems taken aback, even leaning up from where his forearms had been resting on his knees to look at you.

“Y/N,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a child. “I need you to know this: I love you.”

Your heart stops in this moment, and you’re sure if physics weren’t against you— you’d be floating right up into the stars above your head.

King continues, gesturing to the dark desert where his partner has just disappeared to, “Just as I love our dear Django. You two are my closest compatriots— dare I say friends.” At that, he smiles, and you feel your chest begin to constrict, sadness creeping up your throat and threatening to steal your breath away. Friends, right. Nothing more. But as quick as it had appeared, King’s smile leaves again, in lieu of his expression growing deadly serious. “And that means that you are both at a greater risk for being the targets of unhappy acquaintances of bad men I have a duty to dispatch. I enjoy your company— and always have. But I will not allow myself to be the reason either of you get hurt.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you try to reason, simply wanting to hear him admit that he likes you more than he’s letting on.

“Then what—” King’s words are cut off by Django’s sudden and panicked return from the desert; the fellow bounty hunter practically sprinting to your side, eyes huge and breathing heavy.

“Damn rattlesnake ‘bout bit my ass up,” he pants, jerking one thumb over his shoulder.

“You what?” King asks, clearly having been so focused on snapping back at you that he hardly heard his friend.

Django frowns, saying in a choppy, disdainful tone, “A rattler, King. Almost bit. My ass. The hell up.” His brown eyes flick between you and King, trying to gauge the tension there. “You two done bickerin’, then?”

King looks at you, his gaze managing to still remain confused even after your outburst. “I did not think any bickering occurred, Y/N—?”

You stand up without looking at him, pushing your half-eaten tin cup of beans into Django’s hands. “I’m not hungry. Goodnight, Django.” You turn slightly and mutter, “Night, King.”

As you make your way toward the horses to acquire your bedroll, you don’t see the way Django shrugs and sits down to begin digging into your leftovers— nor how King watches you go with a broken expression. There was so much he wanted to say… he just didn’t know how.

Little did you know, this was the first time in King’s life he’d found himself speechless.

…

“Dammit fuck, King, he’s getting away!” Django curses, his burning eyes glued to the form of the desperado booking it across the sandy desert.

King smiles, his silver beard catching the sunlight beating down from above, his green eyes shimmering as he watches the horse gallop with his bandit rider atop him.

“Django, my boy— patience is one part of bounty hunting you need to learn sooner than later,” King tells him, his tone stern but affectionate.

“Yeah? Well I’d rather pop this sumbitch a bullet right up his ass before he has time to tell all his buddies that somebodys are skulkin’ around up in the desert,” Django barks back, seething.

“That ‘somebodys’ ‘d be us, right?” you ask, sitting placidly on the wagon, playing with Fritz’s reins.

King speaks before Django can annoyedly answer you. “I was going to let you figure it out yourself but since your common sense has seemed to have deserted you at this time, I will explain.” King leans over Fritz to stare at Django and say slowly, “We are missing two of three outlaws. That one—” King points toward the disappearing shape of the man on the run without looking away from his partner. “—will lead us directly to the other two, that we are looking for.”

Django’s eyes flash with understanding and he curls his lip in a growl.

“Do you understand now, why we are going to simply follow him instead of impulsively putting a bullet in his brain?” King asks him.

The other man glowers for a moment before responding. “Yeah, you don’t gotta be so con-sendin’ ‘bout it,” Django snarls, hopping atop his horse and clicking his tongue to steady the beast.

King just smiles. “I prefer the term patronizing, but yes, condescending works, too. I will continue to use that tone until you learn to trust me,” he says, and Django nods ruefully. “You know I only have either of your best interests at heart,” King reminds you both, getting onto the wagon beside you. With a grin, he adds, “And money, of course. You really think I’d sabotage a bounty for my ego?”

Django rolls his eyes, lips twitching up into a smirk as he replies, “With you, doc— can’t never be too sure.”

King chuckles, the sound making butterflies take off in your belly, and you distract yourself from his utter perfection by handing the reins off and awaiting departure.

“Ready, my dear?” King asks you, and you swallow, nodding. You want desperately to bring up the talk last night— but you can’t. You just wish you could poke around in his mind until finding the honest truth behind his affection for you.

But before you can even try to see past his gaze to find out the intention behind his words, he’s telling Fritz to giddyup and flicking the reins commandingly. You try not to watch the side of his face as he calmly drives the stage, his brow unfurrowed and a soft smile playing on his lips.

You wonder how he can be so unbothered by everything— when you feel like your very world is crumbling without knowing how he feels about you. You force yourself not to dwell on it. Getting into a deadly situation while stuck in your own head could spell disaster, and you need to be the lookout for your two partners.

After a considerable time following the tracks of your runaway bandit, you arrive in a near-ghost town, streets empty and buildings falling apart. No wonder the trio chose this place to hideout, they’d never be suspected to be found here.

King pulls the wagon up to a tree down the street from a saloon, where he glares and points out a familiar horse to Django, accompanied by two others. The two men dismount and begin muttering to each other, guns on their hips ready to go while you look on in awe. No matter how many times you see it, you’re still in wonder of their ability to work together like a machine, producing bodies of bad men like it’s nothing, and then profiting from it.

You wait atop the wagon behind Fritz until King turns to you and orders, “Stay on the wagon, alright? If you hear two or more shots, and neither me or Django comes out— take his horse to the nearest town, about ten miles that way, and get the sheriff.”

“You’re scaring me with that kinda talk,” you tell him, hating the moments that he gets so serious about collecting bounties. Most often, Django and King make jokes and promises for grand sleeping arrangements in hotels before going to do a job. But every once in a while, King gets a twinge of anxiety, and makes you promise not to try and avenge his death in the scenario he’s killed by his own target.

King chuckles softly, now, dipping his head. “I’m sorry, frauline. I do tend to catastrophize things. I will be out in six minutes, how is that?”

You smile. “Make it five.”

“I’ll make it two if you both shut up in the next ten seconds,” Django interrupts, narrowing his eyes at the saloon down the dusty street.

You and King fall silent, and changing one last (what you hope is meaningful) glance before the two hunters depart from you, and you wring the hem of your dress in your sweaty fist as you wait for them to return.

You watch with a knot in your stomach as they disappear one after the other into the saloon, your eyes finally wandering away from the door and coming to rest on the wagon seat you’re sitting on.

Your heart stutters at the sight of King’s crumpled paper sitting there, right next to your clenched fist. You scramble to pick it up and read it, recognizing it as the arrest order from the judge for the three men inside the saloon with Django and Dr King Schultz.

Shit. King needs this paper, he always takes the judge’s order with him on a job! Panic floods you, and you stand up, hurrying off the wagon and down the street, heart racing.

You’ll be quick. You’ll simply appear with the order, make sure it’s in King’s hand before racing back out— nothing more.

You reach the saloon and get close enough to hear voices. Fear grips you at the sound of arguing.

“You’ll never get all of us, you son of a bitch!” someone yells, and you hear the bang of a bullet being fired as the saloon doors burst open. A stranger races out and collides with you as scream, your head hitting the hard ground with a smack.

The world spins as more sounds ring out, and suddenly you’re being dragged to your feet by a man’s strong hand. An arm winds itself around your throat, too tightly for comfort, and when your eyes focus again, you see Django and King standing in shocked horror just outside the saloon.

The man holding you against his front calls, “Let me and Jake go and you can have the girl! Or else—” You suck in a gasp as you feel the cold barrel of a revolver dig painfully into your side, and you struggle against his hold.

You see King’s eyes fill with fury and pain at the sight of it, his fists flexing at his sides. Django, contrastingly, is calm and still as he stands before you, analyzing the situation with a careful eye. It seems like the first time that Django has ever been the collected one, compared to King.

“William—” King says slowly, but you can hear the way he’s nearing his breaking point. “Let the girl go, she is not part of this—”

“She sure as hell is, now!” the man holding you screams, and you wince as the gun prods you again. You finally notice now, another man standing only a few feet away, unarmed. He looks between all of you fearfully, malice radiating off of him.

“King, shut the fuck up,” Django hisses, not taking his eyes off the man keeping you in a tight chokehold. Panic begins to set in and you start to thrash in his grasp.

“Hold still, you bitch—!” the man grunts, his hand moving to cover your mouth. You shriek as his nails dig into the flesh of your cheek, and you strain, rearing back to elbow him hard in the stomach.

“Leave her alone!” King screams, his eyes huge and filled with terror as Django’s jaw clenches.

“King!” the other man yells, lifting his gun and letting off two rounds in quick succession. But you hear three.

The first man— Jake— drops to the earth in a moment, his corpse sprawled out and bloody.

You feel William’s hand slowly release your face, the marks his nails left already beginning to sting as blood pricks at the surface.

And then you feel the heat in your belly. Warm— no, hot. And wet— you glance down and blink a few times at the growing stain of crimson just below your ribs, on your left side. You don’t even feel the pain until you tip over.

The world must stop for a moment, or maybe you do, because when you open your eyes again, King is there, clutching you desperately to his chest as he leans over your body.

“Ach Gott, mein Gott, nein, nein,” King whispers, his green eyes traveling across your face and body, tears pricking at the edges of his vision as he takes it all in. The blood leaking from your side, the pale skin of your face, growing paler by the second. “Please, no,” he begs in a breaking tone, his hands firmly holding you.

“King—?” you manage to croak, your hand slipping upwards and finding purchase around his coat collar. You grip it like a lifeline, your pounding heart beginning to stutter. “Don’t go—!”

“I’m here, frauline,” he tells you, his eyes never leaving your face. “I’m staying right here, I swear it.”

“It— ah— it hurts,” you whimper, the pain now ripping through you like a whirlwind.

“I know,” King says, his normally smooth voice breaking a bit. “I know, and I am so sorry, mein Liebling.”’

“Don’t be,” you cry, emotion starting to choke you. “I— I should have—”

“No, schiesse, Y/N, this is not your fault,” he says, stopping you. He shifts you in his arms so your chests are nearly flush— you can feel his heart hammering his ribs as he speaks. “I should not have let you get close enough for this to happen. Curse every moment I let pass without telling you… I should have just told you last night—”

“Told me…?” For a moment, the pain is gone. All you feel is a sudden rush of hope. Of affection.

King has never cried in front of you. This time is no different. But he gets damn close. His voice shakes and his verdant eyes grow wet with unshed tears as he confesses at long last, “That I love you.”

He shuts his eyes now, the tears dropping to land in his beard. The last thing you feel like doing is crying, however. Even with your gaping wound, you feel like you could dance. You’re lighter than air.

But King isn’t finished. He shakes his head to recenter himself and chokes out, “More than love, Y/N— I adore you. I crave you. Do you have any idea how long I have waited— longed to hold you?” His hand, calloused, yet surprisingly clean, and oh-so gentle, comes up to push a strand of hair from your sweat-slicked temple.

You shiver at his soft touch and decide to throw caution to the wind. If this is to be your last moment alive, you’re going out taking what you’ve always wanted.

Still holding tightly to his collar, you pull hard, half yanking him down to your level and half lifting yourself to reach him— and slam your lips against his.

The world erupts in butterflies and sun bursts of every color and magnitude. King’s lips against your own feel so right; interlocking with yours in an explosion of warmth and taste and comfort. His tongue finds yours, and you let out a soft whimper into his mouth, startling him to pull away in concern.

He pants, his cheeks already a quiet rosy red and his eyes wide and glittery with affection as he gazes at you in silent wonder.

You wish you had more time, more energy, but your strength is waning. In lieu of another kiss, you manage, “King— I’ve always loved you, too.”

King blinks in apparent shock, an almost disbelieving chuckle pulled from his chest as a smile tugs the corner of his lip.

But he has no time to say more, because then you hear the scuffle of boots on sand and suddenly Django is there, too. He crouches low and inspects your body with a scrutinous gaze— though you can tell how desperately he doesn’t want you to know he’s scared.

“I need to see how bad it is,” the man says, almost to himself before looking up at you. You thank the heavens he isn’t mentioning the atrociously dramatic confession you just received, nor the equally impulsive kiss. “I gotta lift up your skirts, girl,” Django says sternly, his brown eyes pinning you in place as you hang in King’s arms.

King’s grasp on you tightens defensively for just a moment before he returns to his senses and nods briskly. He looks deep in your eyes before laying you down on your back in the sand and ripping off his coat to cover your soon-to-be-bare legs.

You hardly notice as Django carefully but urgently pulls the cotton layers of your dress above your hips, then a bit further to reveal your belly (thank goodness you weren’t wearing a corset), because your eyes are intently glued to the way King’s white shirt sticks to his shoulders and chest, sweat making the cloth form to his muscular body as he watches Django study your wound. You wish you could see past his vest, too, but now is really not the time to ask for a strip tease.

You blink your thanks as King lays his coat down over your legs— not scandalous, as you’re wearing bloomers that reach your mid thigh, but still more than you’ve ever been exposed to either of these men (aside from the aforementioned fateful incident at the river).

Django mutters something for you to prepare yourself before laying his hands on your side and checking the size of the shot. You cry out, and King’s hand instantly finds yours, letting you squeeze him as the pain subsides.

You open your eyes after a moment and are surprised to see Django smiling, teeth flashing and everything. He looks at you and smiles wider. “You're one lucky bitch, you know that?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulls your dress back down over your legs and uses King’s coat to wrap tightly around your injured waist.

“She’ll be just fine, we jus’ need a doc to stitch her up…” you hear Django telling King over you as you begin to drift off. The loss of blood has made you sleepy, unsurprisingly, and although it seems a bad idea, you just can’t help closing your eyes, just for a moment…

…

You wish you could remember the ride here— wherever you’ve ended up. You’re certain King held you the whole way while Django drove the wagon. Maybe you’re completely wrong, but the presence of a snoring Dr. King Schultz at your bedside confirms your suspicion that he hasn’t left your side since you were shot.

Speaking of which…

You shift with a wince and look under the covers to prod at your side curiously. It hurts, of course, but whatever drug they gave you sure has helped with the pain. Your head swims pleasurably, though perhaps that’s the after effects of your kiss with King.

You lie back down on the considerably cushy pillow and turn to gaze at the sleeping form of your beloved King Schultz. His body cocked sideways so he’s facing your bed, coat off, hat in his lap. His head rests on the back of the chair, brown furrowed deeply above his scrunched-shut eyes.

You decide to risk waking him from his gorgeous sleep and slide your hand upward to cup his bearded jaw.

As your fingers brush the stubble along his throat, King snaps awake, snorting gently as his hand snatches your wrist in an instinctive defensive response. His wide eyes pin you before recognition seeps in, and he softens his grasp on your wrist, bringing his other hand up instantly to gently cradle your palm.

“Y/N,” he breathes, sitting up and never taking his eyes from you.

You smile shyly, feeling bare beneath his gaze. Not that you'd exactly protest. King’s own lips turn upward as he stares at you.

“How do you feel?” he asks you concernedly, his hold soft and warm and strong. His grip doesn’t waver, like now that he has you, he’s not ever going to let go. And you want to bask in the safety of it forever.

You nod. “I’m alright, King. I’m doing just fine…”

King chuckles, in that way that reminds you of the way he broke down when he held you in his arms only yesterday. “My dear— you nearly stopped my heart with that little stunt of yours.”

“Stunt?” you echo, giggling at how suddenly nonchalant he sounds about the ordeal. Though you know he’s only trying to keep the conversation light.

His brows raise, and he plasters a mock-serious expression on his worn face. “Well, yes— didn’t you do that to get my attention?”

“You wish,” you snort, pumping his hands up and down once weakly with your own.

King smiles, warm and sweet, like honey. It’s contagious, it seems, because soon so are you.

“Y/N, truly— what possessed you to leave the horses yesterday, mein frauline?” King’s eyes grow genuinely serious, now, and you feel a twinge of guilt at the memory.

“I don’t know… I thought I was helping— it’s all so silly, now…” You hang your head, and King tuts gently, moving one hand to slowly lift your chin with his knuckle.

“We don’t need to discuss it if you don’t wish,” he tells you.

You argue, “No, I do! There’s— well, I’m afraid to ask you, but I need to know…”

The man before you blinks worriedly. “Anything.”

You feel a familiar sting at the back of your throat, tears threatening to choke you, but you force the words out around the lump. “Was it true?” You blink until your vision is clear again and continue, “What you said to me yesterday.”

King blinks, too, his eyes huge as he swallows thickly. You watch the bob of his throat and focus on the way he exhales softly, weighing his reply.

“It was a very tense moment and in tense moments I tend to say and do things that—”

“Was it true or wasn’t it?” you demand, pulling your hand out of his grasp, and you see the hurt enter his gaze instantly. You pin him with your burning eyes, not as furious as you’re desperate to hear him say he meant every word.

You sigh in relief as he stands from his chair to loom over your prone body, bringing his once-bloodstained hands up to cup your face. His eyes bore into yours as he mutters with a tone so deadly it makes your bones chill and alight simultaneously, “My dear, it was all true and more.” King’s green eyes flick across your face, studying every inch of you as he whispers, “If you were not so recently injured— and of course as long as thou doth not protest—” He momentarily smirked at his own quip before returning straight-lipped. “—I would take you apart in this bed right here and now. You deserve to be adored, mein leibe, every moment of every day.” Your breath stutters at his words, soaking up the sudden tears teasing the edges of his vision as he croaks out, “I was a fool for waiting this long to speak my truth, and for that— I offer my deepest apologies.” Without waiting for you to reply, King presses in to lock his lips onto yours. You gasp just before his teeth click against yours, his kiss firm and passionate, and speaking volumes. This kiss says you’re his, now. This kiss says he wants you, too.

You melt into it, arms wrapping around his shoulders and inadvertently toppling him off balance, dragging him down toward your body. He slams one hand down on the side of your head to keep himself from landing his weight on your injury, and you smirk playfully up at him through your lashes.

You take in the sight of his cheeks pink, his breathing heavy, hair falling in soft waves into his eyes as he hovers above you. You whisper, “I could get used to this.”

King sucks in a breath, embarrassment obvious in the way his face turns even redder, and he scolds gently, “Not until you are better, frauline.”

“I’d feel better if I wasn’t all alone in here,” you admit, and King’s brows raise again. You demonstrate your point by scooting to accommodate him and he pushes himself up and off of you, noticing the new space at your side in the bed. You lift the covers and pat the mattress, even, driving it home.

“Ah,” King realizes, his mannerisms screaming barely contained want as he wrings his hands. “I don’t think the nurses would be so keen—”

You shrug. “You kill thieves and murderers for a living,” you remind him, “and you’re scared of a few nurses?”

“I suppose you’re right.” King grins at your cheekiness and opens his arms wide. “Well, who can resist those charms of yours, you gorgeous devil?”

You giggle in victory as King kicks off his boots and pulls his suspenders down to hang at his sides as he takes the space next to you.

You sigh happily as you feel his body come flush to yours, and you’re quick to pin him with one arm draped over his belly, which softly heaves with each breath. “You’re perfect,” you whisper as you study his profile, fondling his beard with your curious hand.

King laughs softly. “My love, I don’t think you know what perfect means.” He turns and does his own fondling of your face, once again trailing his palm along your jaw. “Unless you have been studying your reflection in the mirror.”

“Don’t ever leave me,” you beg, suddenly, and King's eyes flicker with compassion and longing.

“Y/N,” he promises, leaning his head gently against your own. “I will do no such thing as long as I live.”

“And you’ll love me forever?” you ask hopefully.

Your heart thrums as a wicked, beautiful smile spreads across King’s face, nothing in his eyes but desperate devotion to you. “I swear, I’ll make up for every single second I ever let you doubt my affection for you, Liebling.”

With that, he kisses you once more, unlike the other times. This time it’s soft and tender and full of hope. It’s a promise. A promise that nothing will ever keep him from you again.

…

[fandoms-are-my-friends-1321]

Moon of my Life, My Sun and Stars

I know this is from Game of Thrones, but it works perfectly for this fic idea. This is my first time writing for King Schultz (even though I have another fic for him in my drafts). Anyway, hope you all enjoy it! As always gif and characters are not mine.

Description: Y/N thought that the person they liked returned their feelings, but they were sadly mistaken. Little did they know that a certain German has loved them all along

Warnings: cursing, mentions of murder/bounty hunting, a little bit of drinking, some insecurities/uncertainties, if I miss something feel free to tell me!

Y/N walked down the dirt road that cut the town of Daughtry in half. The sun had just started to set, and Y/N was eager to get to the local bar. They planned to meet with someone that they had fancied since they arrived in town a few weeks ago. It seemed obvious to them that this person had the same feelings, especially with the lingering looks and charming smile that they sent towards Y/N.

Y/N made sure to prepare for the occasion of course. They had on the nicest outfit they owned, and it was sure to impress the person they had fallen for. With a pep in their step, Y/N pushed open the swinging doors of the bar and walked inside. The other men and woman in the bar seemed to be enjoying themselves, and Y/N planned to join in on the fun.

Y/N spotted the person they were looking for sitting at the bar. They looked even more attractive than the first time Y/N saw them at a small shop in town. Y/N went to buy guns for Django and King Schultz, two bounty hunters that they started to travel with two years ago. The two men were trying to hide out, for they didn’t want their current bounty to know they were there. Y/N understood, and they were glad they weren’t with them that day. Sure, they were amazing people, but Y/N didn’t want them to interfere with their attempts at flirting.

Y/N’s attempts had worked, and that led to where they were now. However, things took a turn for the worst. A woman walked up to the person Y/N planned to meet, and they placed a rough kiss on their lips, which was gladly returned. Y/N could feel the bile rise in their throat, and they stormed out of the bar without looking back.

Y/N quickly dashed into the inn where they were staying with Django and King. The two were sitting at a table on the far side of the first floor, and they both noticed Y/N’s harsh entrance. The two men shared a look between each other before King stood up from his seat. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Come sit with Django and I, and we can talk about what happened.”

“I don’t need to talk about it! I just want to be alone,” Y/N shouted back as they climbed the stairs of the inn. They whiped at the stream of tears that started to fall from their eyes.

King simply stood in the middle of the inn. He had never seen Y/N so upset, and he never wanted to see it again. Over the two years that Y/N had traveled with him and Django, King had fallen for Y/N. Part of him knew that they deserved better, someone younger than him, and yet he couldn’t ignore his feelings for them. Django moved to stand beside King, and they both looked up the stairway. A loud slam could be heard from the top.

“Y/N seems pretty upset, Doc. I think we should leave them be for awhile,” Django commented.

“I can’t stand to see them like this. Y/N deserves the world, and I’m going to prove it to them,” King replied.

“While you do that, I’m going to take care of the bounty. If things go sideways, we’ll meet outside of town.”

King simply nodded his head, and Django went back to grab his gun that was laying on the table. Django swiftly left the inn while King ascended the stairway. Y/N was staying in the room across from Django and King’s, and on the other side of the thin door, the sounds of Y/N’s sobs reached his ears. He had heard men scream and beg for their lives, and yet this sound was far worse than that. He pushed back the long strands of his hair away from his face and sighed. King gently knocked on the door to Y/N’s room.

“May I come in Y/N? I’m not going to come in unless you want me too, but I want to help you through this, Fräulein,” King said as he waited patiently for Y/N to answer. No reply came, but King could hear movement from inside the room. Y/N appeared as they threw the door open. King’s chest tightened at the sight of them.

Y/N’s eyes were swollen, and tears still cascaded down their cheeks. King wondered how in the world someone could hurt Y/N, one of the sweetest people in the world, so much so that they reduced them to tears.

“There isn’t anything to talk about,” Y/N stated as they removed the tears from their cheeks in order to look somewhat presentable. “Everything is perfectly fine, but I appreciate the concern.” Y/N stumbled over to the vanity that stood beside a wide open window. They pulled a bottle of alcohol from one of the drawers, and took a long swig of the burning liquid.

King crossed the room in just a few steps, and gracefully removed the bottle from Y/N’s hand. “I don’t think you need any more of this, my dear.”

Y/N simply sat in silence. They were to wore out to try and argue, and they knew it would be pointless to argue since King was correct. The silence remained for a moment until King moved to stand next to Y/N. He placed his calloused hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Y/N inhaled a shakey breath. “I went to meet someone this evening. I thought that there could have been something between us, but I was a fool to believe that. I could never mean anything to anyone. I just, it’s hard sometimes.”

Y/N started to tear up again, but King had enough of seeing the one he cared about so dearly be torn apart by these emotions. He turned Y/N around and pulled them to his chest. The dam broke once again, and Y/N grabbed at King’s vest. King in return held them as close as he possible could, and rubbed reassuring circles on Y/N’s lower back.

“Shh, it’s okay, liebling. Everything’s going to be just fine. Come on, I have something I want to show you.”

King escorted Y/N down the stairs, his arm never leaving its position on their waist. They walked outside of the inn, and King gestured up at the sky. “Look around, and tell me what you see.”

Y/N sniffled as they moved their gaze up towards the heavens. “I see the stars and the moon.”

“That’s right, my dear. All across the sky are millions of stars, possibly even billions. Have you ever heard the Hindu myth about Ganesh and Krtikeya? It’s not as good as the German stories, but it’s not half bad.”

Y/N shook their head as they curled their arms around their body for warmth. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that story. Will you tell it to me?”

“Of course. You see, Ganesh and Krtikeya had a competition. Whoever could travel three times around the universe the fastest would be declared the winner. Krtikeya rode his chariot at lightning speed around the Earth, but he was still declared the loser. Do you know why?”

“Why was he the loser?”

“He lost because Ganesh had slowly moved around both of his parents. They were his universe.”

King moved around Y/N in a circle, his eyes never leaving their’s. At first, Y/N had no idea what the bounty hunter was doing, but then it all clicked together. King smiled upon seeing that Y/N had figured out the connection. He stepped towards them and took their hands in his. “Y/N, you are my universe. The moon of my life. My sun and my stars. I know you deserve better than an old man like me, but I can’t deny my feelings for you any longer.”

Y/N for the first time that evening smiled with joy. “Oh please, old man or not you are still the kindest person I have ever met. I’m sorry that I didn’t see it before.”

“What do you say we make up for the lost time then?”

Y/N answered by leaning up to kiss King. The two embraced each other under the moonlight that shone through the breaking grey clouds overhead. King’s beard scratched lightly on Y/N’s cheek, and they giggled at the feeling. However, their kiss was interrupted by the sounds of gunfire. The two turned and ran in the direction of the sound.

The gunfire had come from inside of the bar, the same one Y/N had been in hours before. In the middle stood Django, and at his feet was the person that had caused Y/N so much pain. “It’s alright folks,” Django started, “My friends and I have come to collect the bounty on this man. Here are the papers to prove it.” Django pulled a yellowed sheet from his pocket and slammed it on the mahogany bar.

Y/N still stared in shock at the body. King recognized the look on their face, and he leaned closer towards them. “This is the person that hurt you, no?”

Y/N shook their head. “Yes, and hopefully where they are going they will suffer more pain than I did.”

King laughed at Y/N’s remark. “I think you are right about that, my dear Y/N. Karma works in wonderous ways.”

Y/N grinned at their new lover. “I couldn’t agree more.”

[unculturedswine-101]

Lemme bless yo feed with long haired ‘stoph

[purplelupins]

Rapture

Part II

Summery: A call from a friend needing a favour would turn into the biggest opportunity of your life. You can’t help but hand on for dear life along the way, but the held you get from a new acquaintance serves to pull you through it.

Pairing: Christoph Waltz x fem!reader

Warnings: Reader has anxiety, age-gap, suggestive conversations but nothing explicit, kissing ***The 3rd part will be NSFW so please proceed with caution. DNI if you are a minor!

Note: warnings will change for each part so please read them. This is the most self-indulgent piece of writing I have ever made. I can’t write a summery to save my life.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your hands began to curl against themselves as you stared up at the bright tv screen. Even from backstage, you could hear the laughter of the audience, and it only made the butterflies in your stomach take flight. Your jaw clenched and unclenched; every hair seemed to tickle and irritate you. It was like your nerves had a mind of their own.

The intern clipping your microphone to your beautiful black dress quickly left the room. As soon as you heard the click of the door, you let out a long breath; ever since completing the film, you had been coached on public appearances, which included even the smallest interactions. So now as you sat without the public eye, you let yourself spiral a little.

You were sitting, waiting to be called into the orange and purple set to be interviewed for the first time. In hopes of elevating some stress, you closed your eyes. You half wished you were able to ease into the promotion with a smaller, less known talk-show, but no.

No your first interview was going to be on the Graham Northam Show.

“Fräulein?”

A slow sigh left you as you opened your eyes to see green ones staring back.

“Ah, there you are,” Christoph said, crouched in front of you, “Eyes on me. Deep breath in, yes?” He murmured, taking an exaggerated breath. A small smile graced your nervous face as you followed his lead.

This had become a common practice between the two of you since becoming co-stars. Just as he had been on the set of Inglorious Bastards, Christoph was often kept away from the rest of the cast so as to build the air of mystery around his enigmatic character. However, much to your surprise and panic, Tarantino had told and encouraged the two of you to spend as much off time together as you could.

While it petrified you at first, Christoph was quick to make you feel at ease. You knew he was a self-proclaimed snob -his words, not yours- but it seemed that he toned that specific nature down a notch or two when around you when your anxiety was high. Which was often.

He was a true gentleman, if you were honest.

“Can you take another breath, please?” He asked you, waiting patiently while you did as he asked.

“Thank you, Mr. Waltz…” You said as your last deep breath hissed from your lips.

He waved a hand and tsked you, “I won’t stand to have your first interview ruined by those nerves of yours. That’s the hosts job.” He said dryly.

You let out a little laugh, ignoring the blush on your cheeks as he took your hand.

“Does your hand hurt?” He asked, rubbing a circle around the scar by your knuckle.

“A little sore…definitely better than five months ago.” You said with a laugh, “How are your-“ you tapped your ear with your free hand and nodded to the almost invisible wire disappearing into his ear canal; his hearing aids.

“Good. Don’t blame me if I turn them off though.” He joked. You smiled and nodded.

Christoph clapped a hand onto your hand and stood, “Now I think we are going to be on soon- ah.” He said, acknowledging the assistant the opened the door as soon as he spoke.

“Mr. Waltz, Ms. l/n, if you’ll follow me?” They said.

“Bereit?(Ready?)” Christoph asked you, fully waiting until you spoke to move.

With one more deep breath, you said “Yes.”

The two of you followed the assistant down the hall to the flank of the stage. The sound of Graham Norton’s voice greated you as you stood there. Your mind began to reel as you remembered where you were.

How many times had you watched this program?

Laughed at people mocking Graham’s laugh or commenting on the state of the red couch?

Your throat felt dry.

But just as you started to clench your jaw, you felt a warm hand slip into yours and offer a small squeeze.

“Unclench.” He murmured gently.

You laughed softly, and saw him smirk from the corner of your eye.

“-But first, we have the cast of the most anticipated comedy noir of the year. You may know him best for his roles in Inglorious Bastards, Django Unchained, or Sepectre. He is a two time Oscar winner with a wit that will make you cry; please welcome Christoph Waltz!”

The assistant next to the both of you gave Christoph the sign to go, and as he took a step, he cast you a look of encouragement. You watched as he disappeared up the stairs, and he was greeted with a roar of applause.

You heard him being welcomed, and slowly the cheering died down. Then, your nerves came back tenfold when you heard the host once again.

“Now, the second part, and dare I say much prettier part-“ the audience laughed, “- of this duo may not be known to many of you. This is her first film, but most certainly not the last; please welcome the lovely y/n l/n!”

Just as they had with Christoph, they gave you the signal to go, and just like that, your ears ceased to work. The sound of the audience was deafening as the stage lights blinded you.

You waved to the audience, and yourheart beat in your ears, but you did your best to muster the dazzling smile you had been coached on, and shook the hand of the world renowned Talkshow host. Then, as he spoke, your hearing came back.

“Welcome, please take a seat, get comfortable!” Graham said joyfully as he shook your hand and held his arm out for you to follow Christoph to the red couch.

You gave him another smile and said, “Thank you so much.”

As you crossed to sit next to Christoph, he stood politely, and gestured next to him. The sofa beneath you had definitely seen better days, and the lack of back made you sit up straight.

You took a few more deep breaths, and cast a look over to Christoph who was clearly more comfortable than yourself. He gave you a charming smile and shifted in his seat as you both turned to look out at the audience who continued to clap. You then shifted your gaze to look up at the host who had yet to sit as he too clapped, nodding along with the audience.

“Hello hello!” He said, finally taking his seat. You were closest to him, and had to admit that his friendly demeanour put you at ease, “Welcome! Welcome back Christoph, such a pleasure to have you here again.”

“Thank you.! Good to be back.” Christoph said with a polite nod.

“And Y/n you’ve never been on the show at all, I don’t believe.” Graham said, leaning towards you a little.

You held your hands tightly in your lap, but your smile would never give away your nerves. “You’re quite right. This is actually my first interview ever!” You chimed.

Graham nodded enthusiastically, “What an honour to have you then.” He said, then he leaned a little closer as if to tell you something private, “Now, I must confess something to the both of you.” His tone was mock-serious.

You nodded and could feel Christoph lean against you, presumably to listen. Regardless of the reason you were elated.

Graham looked out at the audience then back to you with a shy, mischievous expression, “I don’t want you to think we don’t know how to work our equipment…” he began, “…But I think there was a technical issue with your mics, because it seemed that they picked up a rather sweet moment between you two backstage.”

You looked back at Christoph who looked at you, his face neutral as he shrugged, but your brows rose and your cheeks burned uncontrollably. It seemed that it only spurred the excited audience on as they began to “Aww”

“Are you alright?” Graham asked, knowing your were embarrassed as you hid your face in your hands.

Christoph placed a reassuring hand on your back, which helped you to sit tall again and take a breath. “Yes, I think I’ll survive.”

Graham laughed gently, his eyes sympathetic to let you know he wasn’t mocking you.

“And by the way Christoph, I did take offence to your comment about the host ruining the interview.” He said, leaning past you a little to see the man next to you.

Christoph just shifted and shrugged a shoulder, “Well it seems that everything is going according to plan.” He replied with that dry wit you loved. You both laughed softly, your eyes crinkling at the sides. Graham joined in with that signature laugh you had giggled at many times.

You continued to speak, knowing you were there for a reason and you weren’t going to be a boring guest. “ I have quite bad anxiety, and Mr. Waltz, being the kind gentleman he is, has truly been my knight in shining armour since joining the film. He’s been very good at calming my nerves.” You surprised even yourself with how composed your here able to make yourself seem.

Graham, being the humorous pervert he is, raised his eyebrows at the mention of Christoph calming your nerves, “Hello.” He chimed, and laughed with the audience.

You, once again, blushed, but the man was quick to move on. His comedic timing was always your favourite.

“And I heard you speaking a little German to one another. I’ve heard that you’ve been learning German on set is that right?” Graham asked, curious.

Your mouth fell open, and no words came out as Christoph leaned over to you to join the conversation and said, shocked, “You told me you learned German in Highschool.”

You looked to him, and tried to laugh it off before sighing and nodding in agreement with the host’s statement, “I…I have. I thought it would be nice if Mr. Waltz could speak his mother tongue on set….so I stared teach myself German.” You said looking down at your hands then back up to Graham.

“Oh yes I’m sure he’s good with his tongue.” He teased, which only served to make you blushed again, but you smiled to hide your embarrassment. “Alright let’s leave the poor girl alone for a while,” he turned his attention then to Christoph, who still sat quite close to you, though he had removed his hand from your back, “Now Christoph, I understand you are back into your usual role as a villain in this new film, Rapture, is that right?”

You leaned back a little to look at your co-star, curious to see how he answered. Christoph absorbed the question and thought for half a second.

“Well…no.” He said a matter-of-factly, “My character is more of a love-sick puppy with good manners, strong morals, and stunning suits.” A charming smile graced his handsome face as he answered. You couldn’t help the smile that graced your face as he spoke. He was right about his character, after all; Maximilian was exactly a love sick puppy.

Graham burst into surprised laughter and looked even more curious, “Are we both speaking about the same film? Maybe you both did a secret film I’m not aware of…?”

When you looked back at Christoph, who only gazed back at you , you smiled again and decided to help out, “I have to agree with Mr. Waltz…Maximilian and my character, Lena, are both a little off kilter but just two people in love. Lena gets wrapped up in this eccentric man’s life who just so happens to be a renowned killer…who is afraid of blood.” You said with a little laugh.

Graham looked between the two of you, then to the audience as if to confirm what he had heard. “I’m sorry what? Afraid of…”

“Blood yes.” Christoph smiled with a satisfied nod and a light chuckle.

“I see…” The host said slowly.

You continued, “ And so she becomes a part of his life in a way…but she sort of starts to see his side of things and they start to fall into this morbid codependent relationship.” You finished with a small smile.

“Sounds like my usual Friday nights!” Graham said, earning a laugh from the audience, “Now I have to ask, because I think the last time you were on the show Christoph I asked this too, but did either of you sustain any injuries?” Graham asked, crossing a leg over the other.

Christoph shook his head “Thankfully no physical wounds. Psychological, perhaps.” They all laughed a little. “I believe you hurt your hand quite badly, didn’t you Fräulein?” Christoph asked, feigning innocence when you blushed and looked away from him.

You nodded and tried to focus on your hand, “Yes…there’s one scene that you’ll see in the film where Mr. Waltz’s character and mine are at a peak of their relationship-“

Graham shot you a suggestive look and you sputtered, only resulting in the audience laughing again.

You waved your hands, “-No! No nothing like that.” You tried to recover, “No, but there is an argument and in the heat of the moment…I punched the wall and almost shattered my hand. I think it’s almost a tradition on a Tarantino film- just look at Leo in Django!” You tried to play it off like you were flooded with filthy images of your co-star.

“She does have a hard punch.” Christoph added quietly with a smirk.

You gasp,“I never hit you that hard.”

Christoph waved a dismissive hand at your shocked look with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Oh any touch of yours was welcome.” He said, adding a charming grin at the end; you bit the inside of your cheek and looked at Graham, only to see him fanning himself animatedly with his cards; looking out at the audience- they laughed and Graham took a moment to clear his throat before continuing.

“Shall we all leave?” He asked, “ I feel like we’re intruding.” He gestured to you and Christoph.

Again, you all had a good laugh, which helped the interview along.

“Well now I have to ask, how was it filming with each other? Y/n I know this was your first big film, was it intimidating to work with such a star-studded cast?” Graham asked, leaning back in his seat.

You relaxed into the couch, and thought for a moment.

“Oh I don’t think I said more than two words to Mr. Waltz until he all but cornered me and asked about my anxiety,” You said with a small laugh looking back at Christoph who listened to you as you spoke, “But after I think the first week, I got used to it. They were all very lovely, honestly!” You said.

“Even the infamous grouch next to you?” The Irishman asked cheekily from behind his cards.

“Especially him.” You said plainly. “The other person I worked with a bit was Tim Roth, and he was good fun.” You smiled.

However, only Graham saw the colder expression on Christoph’s face at the mention of the other man.

Graham smiled wickedly, “Now you two seem to get along quite well, just as your characters do onscreen.” He gestured animatedly between the two of you, “Are you aware of the cult following this film has? You two have quite the fanbase.”

Christoph’s brows pinched together, “The film is barely out.” He seemed genuinely surprised.

Graham was positively giddy to see the two of you shocked, and - on your part- embarrassed. “Oh you’re right, but regardless you two have started to have quite the fan base from just the trailer and released clips alone.”

You looked at Graham, confused. You knew what a fanbase was- hell, you were a part of a few yourself, but you where having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that people were actual fans of yours. “W-what do you mean?” You asked, a little nervously.

“Means they want you two to bone, my dear.” Graham said factually. The audience laughed, and you exchange a look with Christoph who showed little emotion aside from a raised brow. But you knew better; you knew he was amused.

“Now y/n, I believe you were not actually a part of the original cast, is that right?” Graham asked, pointing at you with a card.

“Yes,” You breathed out, “It was a bit of a whirlwind…it all happened very fast. But I WAS working on set previously.”

“Oh? Do tell. This seems like a story within a story! I don’t know what I want to know more about- this or Rapture.” He said with a laugh, and the audience joined.

You looked to Christoph again, and he flicked his eyes from Graham to you, and your cheeks warmed again. Then you looked away before you could fully blush.

“It was all because of a friend of mine needing a favour, really.” You began, smiling as you thought about how such a silly thing changed your life, “I was working as an assistant to the costuming department, and so I essentially would patch up any tears, or missing buttons- the real work was left to the more experienced crew. But as you already exposed, I had learned a little German in case I ever interacted with the esteemed gentleman to my left…and it seemed that it came in handy.” You laughed, and heard Christoph chuckle a little. “Well, the previous actress who was playing Lena…exited the project and…well Mr. Waltz seemed to think I might make a quick fix and Quentin seemed to agree…the rest, I suppose is history!” You chimed, with a small shrug.

Graham shook his head and laughed, “So now, as you said earlier, you two were working very closely on the film…How did that work? Because I’ve heard that you, Christoph, are often kept away from the rest of the cast, especially in your first film with Tarantino- Inglorious Bastards?”

Christoph nodded, “Yes, indeed, I was quarantined in this film as well…but Quentin allowed y/n and I to…bond.” He said with a little smirk. You smiled softly, remembering how many times the two of you had sat for hours talking or sitting in silence comfortably.

But Graham caught his smirk, and laughed along, “Just bond?” He teased.

Christoph laughed a little, “Yes. Just bond.” He looked at you for the briefest of moments, but you were too busy sharing a cheeky, chastising look with Graham.

Indeed the two of you had gotten to know each other very well. The film itself was very intimate, and it was impossible to not grow attatched; though you wondered if it was just you who pined for affection. There had been countless late nights of running lines and on more than one occasion, strolling through the sleepless streets together.

Quentin had come to call the two of you new duo names every day; from Peanut butter and jelly, to Jekyll and Hyde. It might have been a little childish on your part, but you liked to think you and Christoph were good friends. You hoped dearly that the two of you would maintain your relationship beyond the press tour, even if it simply remained platonic like pen-pals.

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Graham laughed, looking past you to Christoph.

You all laughed a little, and Graham soon regained his composure before returning to you, “I believe you have a little hidden talent too.” Graham said secretively.

The blood drained from your face. It must have showed on your face that you were nervous again, before Christoph shifted next to you again.

“Talent?” You asked, trying to hide your anxiety.

This only made the host giddier.

“Well I’ve heard that you have quite the lovely little voice.”

You couldn’t help but sit there as Christoph looked at you, shocked. “What?”

You sighed and looked at Graham in the eye, “Does this anonymous source start with a J?”

“It might.” He said, hiding behind his cards.

Jules.

Graham smiled and said, “Would you humour us with a live performance?” The look he gave you from behind his cards was sheepish as he gestured to a microphone being set up off to the side. You sent him a scathing stare, but you lightened it up with a small, incredulous smile.

“Any song?” You asked, heart beating erratically.

“Any. If you need a moment to find-“

“No…I have one in mind.” You cut him, “May I speak with the sound engineers?” You spoke as calmly as you could.

“Yes, they’re just over there.”He pointed off stage.

You looked to see a small booth and nodded.“Graham, you are a sneaky little man.” You said, standing. “Please excuse me, Mr. Waltz, I’m about to embarrass myself as gracefully as I can.”

You half expected the man to say a smart comment, but as you went to walk past him, he only stared up at you with that unreadable expression he wore so often.

The audience clapped, and you did your best to steady the anxiety that seemed to inhabit every hair on your body. You strode to the booth, and found a few men with headsets waiting for you. Their eyes were sympathetic.

Christoph stared you, and blinked after a minute, before looking back at Graham. The host leaned over to him and asked, “I take it you’ve never heard her sing?”

“No.” Christoph shook his head, “She didn’t even tell me she sang.” He did his best to remain as calm as he usually was, but on the inside, he was ecstatic. Music was his second dearest love, next to film, and if you sang nicely he was determined to have you sing for him more often. A part of him wondered why you had never told him.

“Secretive, is she?” Graham asked him.

“Well…apparently.” Christoph said- his voice going up at the end with a little laugh.

You return to the standing mic, wringing your hands nervously. You had chosen an easy song; something that felt close to your heart at that moment.

“Ready?” You heard Graham ask.

You turned to look over at the two men staring at you. One excitedly, one softly. After a moment of adjusting the mic, you nodded with a secret little smile that you send to your co-star. The one he returned is curious, but pleasant.

The sound of soft piano began to fill the air, and you felt your shoulders relax.

Breathe.

“Slow down you crazy child

You're so ambitious for a juvenile

But then if you're so smart tell me,

Why are you still so afraid?

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?

You better cool it off before you burn it out

You got so much to do and only

So many hours in a day

But you know that when the truth is told

That you can get what you want

Or you can just get old

You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through

When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?” The song you had listened to for years fell from your tongue easily, though you had to keep from laughing; you were certain you would get a few comments from your Viennese co-star. Regardless, you found comfort in the song- it was bittersweet and melancholic.

Christoph watched you, and unbeknownst to him, Graham watched his every move; he had seen thousands of co-stars interview, but it was rare to see two so enamoured with each other.

“Slow down you're doing fine

You can't be everything you want to be before your time

Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight

Too bad, but it's the life you lead

You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need

Though you can see when you're wrong

You know you can't always see when you're right,

You got your passion, you got your pride

But don't you know that only fools are satisfied?

Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true

When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?

Slow down you crazy child

Take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while

It's alright, you can afford to lose a day or two

When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?

And you know that when the truth is told

That you can get what you want or you can just get old

You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through

Why don't you realize... Vienna waits for you?

When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?”

You enjoyed the piano as it slowed and faded. Then, as you came back to reality, you could have heard a pin drop for a full five seconds. Then your ears rang as the audience erupted with applause. You smiled slowly and ducked your head and you bowed graciously.

As you approached the larger stage, you almost tripped when you saw the vibrant smile on Christoph’s face. He stood and took your arms to help you get by him, and as you both sat he placed a kiss on your knuckles; this did not go unnoticed by your fiery host.

“Wonderful performance, y/n. Though I must say that it seems as though you have been harbouring some secrets.” He teased, “Christoph here didn’t even know you sang.”

“Anything else you want to tell me fraulein?” Christoph asked, leaning closer to you on the small back rest.

Graham gasped joyfully at you and chuckled, “How do you manage to keep yourself together around him y/n? If he called me that I would get no work done at all…and if he kissed my hand like that I would just-“ he waves his hand “- explode.”

Y/n smiled shyly, “Oh…I can’t say I’m much better than you Graham. Mr. Waltz is certainly a man of words.” You cast him a soft look, and saw that he was already looking.

“Only words?”

The audience laughed, and you whipped your head back to Graham at his comment.

“I work with what I can.” Christoph said cheekily, shifting a little.

You laughed softly, trying to ignore the fact that your heart was trying to jump out of your chest and run to the older man staring at you.

“Y/n I noticed that you call this esteemed gentleman by his last name. Is that some sort of rule or…?” Graham asked cheekily.

You played along with his mischievous grin, “Oh no, it started on day one of us working together actually…I was so nervous that it felt strange to call him Christoph-“

It seemed that the fact that said gentleman closed his eyes and sucked in a breath at the sound of his name from your lips escaped most attention.

“-so I called him Mr. Waltz. I have actually been a massive fan of his work for a very long time; besides I think it gives him a certain amount of respect. God knows he deserves it.” You said, turning around to say the last part to Christoph.

“You are too kind Fräulein.” He cooed to you, making Graham spin away and bite his fist.

“Y/n does he call you that in the film?” Graham asks cheekily; his accent coming out as he got excited.

You sighed and nodded. “ Max is Austrian…so he…he does.”

The host shook his head and slapped his cards on the table next to him.

“That’s it I’m becoming an actor! Get Tarantino on the phone!” Graham gushes and you couldn’t help but laugh softly, but when you turned to look at Christoph, you swore he stared a little longer at you with something else in his face.

“Well I think that’s all we have time for tonight folks! You can see these two in “Rapture” this Friday, have a good night!” Graham, you waved with Christoph to the camera.

“Aaand we’re out.” Comes the voice of one of the producers.

Graham looked out at the sound “Are the mics off this time?” He asked cheekily, to which he received a thumbs up. With the privacy, Graham turned back to the both of you, and his voice relaxed.

“It was such a pleasure to have you both here tonight. Y/n I hope you’re alright…the nerves seemed to wear off by the middle, yes?” Graham asked kindly.

You took a breath and nodded, and relaxed when Christoph rubbed her back.

“Yes…can’t say I’m not nervous, but I’ll get used to it. I’m just glad Mr. Waltz agreed to have me tour with him.” You said sweetly.

Graham laughed.

“I don’t think he could have said no. If I wasn’t -“ he flicks a limp wrist wrist “ - swinging the other way I could just eat you up!” Graham laughed harder when Christoph just stared at him with that stoic face.

“Oops, I think I touched a nerve.” Graham laughed, “It was such a pleasure to see you again, y/n I wish you the best of luck for the rest of your interviews.” He shook your hand as you stood.

“It was a pleasure, Graham…an embarrassing one but still a pleasure. Auf wiedersehen.” You smiled, and looked back at Christoph who stood just behind your shoulder.

“As the young lady said, auf wiedersehen.” The older man said, extending his hand to shake Graham’s.

As you descended the stairs to go backstage, you heard Christoph sigh.

It was not annoyed or exasperated.

Not even disappointed.

But you knew he liked his quiet time, so you left him alone until he spoke first.

An intern unclipped your mics, and handed you both some water, which you both accepted with a polite “thank you.”

You smiled at the sound of Christoph’s soft voice. Not many people knew how gentle he was behind the camera; you counted yourself unbelievably lucky to be able to say that you did.

As you were escorted out of the building, and into your transport vehicle, Christoph placed a hand on the small of your back as he had many times.

You thought back to when he had taken you to the smallest German restaurant one night after filming; he had claimed it was the best he had found. And if you were honest, it was some of the most delicious food you had eaten.

You thought about how he had indulged you with the information that one of his guilty pleasures are bubble baths. That memory made you giggle softly beside him as you relaxed in the back seat, being driven to your hotel.

“Something funny?”

You turned your head and looked at Christoph who was already looking at you with amusement.

“I was…I just remembered when you told me you liked bubble baths.” You said, grinning a little.

“I might just need one tonight…” he mused, placing his chin in his hand as he looked out the window.

“Geht es dir gut?(are you alright?)” You asked gently.

After a second, the older man turned back to you and held his other arm out to you. You scooted over and let his wrap his arm around your shoulders, and press a kiss to your temple.

“Ich denke nur nach. (Im just thinking)” He murmured, albeit a little absentmindedly.

“Okay.” You whispered, letting him be.

You shut your hotel room door, and leaned against it. Your feet hurt, your stomach was growling, and your face felt heavy.

By the time you were showered and clad soft pyjamas, it was almost midnight. You were just about to curl up in bed and find a film to watch when you were startled by a knock on your door. Your nerves began to ramp up as your mind ran faster and faster as you stepped closer to the door.

But then, as you looked cautiously through the peephole, you let out a sigh of relief and unlocked the door and swung it open. “Hey stranger…is everything alright?” You asked, eyeing Christoph with a tilted head. He was usual fairly diligent about sleeping an appropriate amount of time, so this was a little odd.

“Yes, yes.” He said quickly, but without much care, “May I?” He nodded into the room.

You nodded and stood aside. “Of course…come in.” However, as he walked past you couldn’t help the deep breath you took; you had to try and not pass out from the wonderful smell that followed him- he must have showered. Your suspensions were confirmed when you noticed his comfortable clothes and damp hair.

As you turned back to him, you found the older man already sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg over the other. You didn’t blame him for skipping the armchair- you had both already commented on how hard they were when you had arrived. You sat beside him, and took a slow breath. “Did I do alright? I hope I didn’t say anything wrong- it was my first interview and I-“

“You learned German on set?” Christoph said, turning to you. Your heart almost leapt out of your chest at the question.

Was he mad?

Disappointed?

“I-…well yes. When- when I found out you were among the cast, I thought it might be nice for you to have someone to speak to in your native tongue…even if it was just a little. Your English is wonderful but I can only imagine how tiring it can be to keep it up.” You said quietly, looking at your hands.

He was quiet for a moment, absorbing your words.

“Why didn’t you tell me, meine Schatzi?” He says softly, leaning onto his thighs.

Your heart swelled at the nickname; he had only used it once after a night out with the rest of the cast post filming. It would probably be your favourite out of all the things he called you.

“Mr. Waltz…” you chose your next words carefully, “I have been a very big fan of your work for a long time…” You said, hoping it wouldn’t put him off “You’re an intimidating character because you are so charming and intelligent and that draws people in. I cannot begin to tell you what an inspiration you are, not just to me but to so many people. You’re funny and articulate and calculated and dedicated, and respectful…I was so nervous, and I wanted you to be comfortable around me…but I was a bit nervous. Hell you’ve seen me avoid getting a coffee from a café before just because I felt intimidated.” You said, laughing a little at yourself. You looked up to see those green eyes you loved staring back; he was listening so intently.

“Are you still intimidated?” He asked after a moment.

“Ein wenig…(a Little…)” You said sheepishly; earning you a little smile from the older man. It was sympathetic and kind, not condescending.

“Come here.” He said quietly, holding his arm out to hug you to his side. You clenched your hands to keep from fully curling up into his lap, but it seemed that he took it as a sign of nerves.

“I don’t bite, Fräulein.” Christoph murmured, his accent thickening with tiredness, and your jaw clenched at the sound. This man didn’t know what he did to you in the slightest…

After a moment, you relented and sat yourself closer, and leaned into his embrace; Christoph brushed a little hair from your face, and sighed softly.

“Good choice, by the way.” The older man murmured as he held you.

Your brows scrunched together in confusion, and as you thought, Christoph aided you.

“Your song choice.” He said.

Your ears burned again when you remembered that you had indeed sang on live TV.

“The song brought me a lot of comfort when I was younger…it still does. Plus I thought it would be a little funny.” You said with a soft laugh.

“It was. I enjoyed it immensely.” He said, rubbing your arm which only made you melt more.

You both sat there for a moment in a comfortable quiet, just looking out the window by the bed; the city was still alight with life and it made you smile.

“Tell me, is there anything else you’re hiding from me, little one?” Christoph murmured into your hair.

You felt your cheeks burn, and found yourself looking at your hands again knowing there was no makeup to hide it.

“Ah ah,” Christoph tsked, “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, please.”

Your ears burned, and you knew there was no hiding the blush, so you took a long breath to steady your head and brought your eyes up to meet his. Christoph grinned, satisfied.

“There’s a good girl.” He cooed, “Now, tell me.”

Christoph spoke as if he wasn’t Christoph Waltz, and you weren’t smitten with him. So casually.

Your head felt light and your hands were warm. Not that you were ashamed or uncomfortable by being there next to him- quite the contrary. You found yourself melting into his touch, but you knew he was wearing down your resolve. He wanted to know exactly who he was dealing with, and you were too embarrassed to tell him.

It was a little ironic really; who you were. He had said it himself that very evening.

A love-sick puppy.

“I don’t think I should…” You started, but Christoph quirked an eyebrow and your words died on your tongue.

“I do.” He said plainly, giving your arm one more squeeze before releasing you entirely. You found yourself missing his warmth, and almost whined when he stood and perched on the uncomfortable armchair. The older man leaned his chin into his hand and raised his pinky to run along his bottom lip.

His bold statement made you squirm, and you looked away again, breathing out a laugh, “Mr. Waltz-“

“Christoph.” He corrected, almost chiding.

You stared back at him, not knowing what to say; your brain was beginning to short circuit bad enough as it was.

“You will call me Christoph when we are alone, yes?” He said comfortably, removing his pinky to speak easier.

This time, you managed to nod without blushing too much, and shifted a little.

“Good. Now!” He stood, “I do believe I interrupted your evening, I will leave you to it-“

You stood quickly, and he paused, “Actually I’m…you didn’t at all- I was just going to find a film to watch…not that there’s ever anything good on their lists.” You shrugged, hoping he would stay.

Christoph regarded you for a moment and smiled, “Then it is your lucky night because I was actually about to watch a film I found that I think you will enjoy!” He chirped. Your heart swelled again at the sight of his pride.

You returned his smile and nodded, “Well how can I say no to that.”

“I will also add that I have food.” He said teasingly, knowing that you were likely hungry, and never denied his food choices.

It wasn’t your fault the man had impeccable taste.

It was infuriating.

“Das klingt perfekt. (That sounds perfect)” You murmured.

The older man’s smile widened and you swore his eyes glowed.

“Bitte, nach dir (please, after you.)” he said, and gestured for you to go first.

You slid on your wool slippers and took your room key as you both left to walk down the hall. It was almost surreal how quiet it was.

Christoph’s room was tidy, as always, and you clenched your jaw as the smell of him invaded your senses tenfold. You toed off your slippers and watched as the older man walked to the table that did indeed have a tray of food on it. The sight alone had you almost moan.

“Please, have anything you like.” He said, turning to you with a plate for you.

“Danke schön…” You murmured softly, and took the plate. It didn’t escape you how your fingers brushed against his.

It did not escape him either.

But neither of you said a word. Christoph smiled politely and took a piece of warm bread with him as he located the remote.

You couldn’t help but sigh happily as you ate away.

Once your stomach stopped speaking to you, you put your fork down and looked back to Christoph, who had sat in a seated position against the headboard of the bed, glasses perched on his nose and a book in hand.

How could he be so effortlessly handsome?

You noticed that he still wore his hearing aids, and idly wondered if he was-

“It is considered rude to stare, mein Schatz (my dear).”

You jumped, and looked away quickly, not having noticed that you were gazing at the man a little longer than you had meant to.

“I was just wondering…if you’re still wearing your aids because I’m here you don’t have to. You know that.” You said, coming to sit on the other side of the bed to speak to him.

“Not at all. I intend to enjoy this film with you, and I do rather like the sound production for it.” He said, putting his book down, “But if we were not about to watch a film, and you were here, I would still wear them. You know I like to hear you.”

His words, while innocent in nature, had a certain successive connotation to them that made your ears hot again.

“Come, get comfortable. You must be tired.” Christoph held his arm out and pat his shoulder. You gave in and crawled over to him, resting against his warm chest.

“I hope you like Wes Anderson.” He murmured, pressing play.

“I do. Very much…his attention to detail is beautiful…” You mused, trying not to be obvious about drowning in his scent.

“Good.” He chirped, “Do you know this one?”

You watched the screen for a moment, and smiled. “The Grand Budapest Hotel is a classic. It’s a favourite actually!”

“I had the pleasure of sharing an interview with Ralph Fiennes once. Very humble man…” Christoph said softly, watching the screen.

I know. You wanted to say, having watched the interview and smiled to yourself over how sweet they were to each other.

The two of you settled against each other comfortably, and you even placed your hand under your cheek. Christoph had his arm draped around you, and kissed your temple gently; occasionally running his hand through your hair.

As the film progressed you found yourself loosing yourself in the man below your cheek. You had admired him for so long, and knowing him in person did not take any of that away; in fact it only added to your adoration. He was unbelievably polite, he made you laugh, and most importantly he made you feel safe. You had spent the better part of the last six months completely falling in love with the older man, and as your time with him drew closer to its end, you found your own words ringing in your ears. “…This is the most surreal experience of my life and if I let it go by the wayside I’ll regret it until I die.”

You sucked in a long breath and waited for a lull in the film.

“I like you Christoph.” You whispered into his chest. You swore time stood still after your admission, but then after a moment, Christoph hummed, and rubbed your arm absentmindedly, but only served to set your skin on fire.

“Oh? I thought you were intimated by me.” The older man teased, much to your surprise. Your stomach did flips.

You sighed out a laugh, and pulled away just enough to look at him properly, “I am…but I…I still like you a great deal.”

There was a moment of quiet as he absorbed your words.

“Is that your last secret?” He asked, eyes twinkling mischievously, brushing a little hair from your face.

“N-no.” You murmured, flicking your eyes away for a moment before looking back at him and accidentally flicking your eyes to his lips for half a second before returning to those green eyes of his.

“Tell me.” Christoph whispered, his breath warm against your lips.

You knew he wouldn’t move unless you did. He was too much of a gentleman.

“I-“ You tried to find a smart retort, or even a silly one, but nothing came.

You sucked in a slow breath, and before you could back out, you brushed your lips again those of the older man holding you. That feeling alone was enough to keep your warm on a winter night. Then as you went to pull away, already blushing, you felt the hand that was on your waist move to the back of your head and pull you back.

His lips were impossibly soft, and warm; you felt your head spin as he kissed you so gently. But then when a small mewl escaped you, he slipped his tongue against yours, and just like that, you were gone.

Christoph placed one more kiss to your lips before pulling away, to look at you.

“I think we should discuss that secret in explicit detail, little one. Yes?” He said, pulling your body closer and smoothing his thumb over your bottom lip.

Your mind went blank, so you said the only thing you could think of.

“Yes, Christoph.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@dogmatic255 @funandfancyfree

[cozywriting]

Slow Hands //

Requested by Anonymous: could you do a King Schultz x reader where the reader is shy and stoic and gets injured and King Schultz comforts her and they admit feelings for each other.

Pairing: Dr. King Schultz x fem!reader

You winced in pain, eyes shut, biting your tongue as King gently worked the alcohol into your wound. King’s brows furrowed in focus.

“I apologize, my dear,” he said. “It’ll be over soon.” His tone was as soft as the feathered pillow and silken blankets you now longed for.

You daydreamed of sleep, away from the dangers of guns and outlaws. You relaxed at how hot King’s fingers were tracing alongside your chilled skin.

The bandage over your thigh tightened as King wrapped its layers.

“Does that feel okay?” He asked, his gaze finally adjusting upwards. His fingers trembled against your skin.

Your eyes averted back onto his, and you wondered if the back of his neck was just as warm as yours. Did his stomach do somersaults while yours fluttered? Or was it, perhaps nothing, but a cruel flicker of hope that somehow, he could return such affections?

King was a bounty hunter, you understood this. Invisible blood stained his hands. So how come the calloused ones pressed against you were anything but rough? How was it that passion blazed with each lingering touch? And why, did he stare at you every time with that beautiful sparkle in those hazel-hued eyes?

Finally, you nodded a response. Your tongue twisted to find some words of gratitude, but they did not come. You looked over at Fritz, who was sniffing at the grassy dirt, then up at the orange sky. The day would turn to dusk soon.

“Fraulein,” King said. He was examining the gauze on your leg.

A second hand grazed your left thigh and your heart jumped. You spotted King’s fingers as they caressed your smooth skin, he had not turned his attention away from your wound.

Heat arose within you once more, and you fixed your gaze on the valley of trees that surrounded. Internally, you sighed. How could you possibly signal that this was everything you wanted and more without scaring such a pleasant man away?

As soon as your eyes locked, King swiped his hand away. His quick movements sent a rush of ice down your thigh. You did not realize how much of his touch you longed for until it ceased to exist.

His eyes swelled with regret and your chest ached.

“I’m sorry…” He apologized. “I couldn’t resist.”

King stood up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He paced back and forth away from you and his flushed face was stricken with panic.

You sat, watching such a mess of a man. You did not dare to giggle as much as you wished to. You continued to stare at him in silence, hoping that he would overcome the silliness and help you to your feet.

A moment later, he did exactly that. As your fingers laced with his, you stopped him.

“Don’t let go,” you said, pulling his hand against your breastbone and the haste of your heart quickened.

King’s fingers twitched at the first thump. His chest mimicked deep breathes as his eyes moved up from your joined hands.

“Have you… always?” He asked.

You nodded in reassurance. Your stomach fluttered again, as King’s eyes softened.

“…And you?”

King tugged you closer, closing the space between you. His eyes roamed your face as his thumb grazed your cheek.

“I’ve always loved you,” he said.

King pressed his lips against your forehead. The whiskers of his mustache forced you to giggle. His finger hooked under your chin, tilting your head upwards.

The worry of the world was forgotten as your lips fervently met. Warmth fluttered inside you and King’s grip around your waist tightened. He held you as if that very moment would slip through his grasp forever, had he chosen to let go.

The two of you spoke through timid glances and heated kisses throughout the night. For now, this was enough. For King, you were enough.

And you finally let out a new giggle when the bristles of his beard nipped below your belly from underneath shared covers.

[one-boring-person]

Could you pls write something short and fluffy with King Schultz? You come home from a rough day at work, so he takes care of and cuddles you 🥰

I hope you like this 😊💛

Ich Hab Dich So Lieb.

(I Love You So Much)

Dr King Schultz (Django Unchained) x reader

Warnings: none

Masterlist

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The slam of the door echoes loudly around the small house, the wood rattling on its old hinges. The sound startles me a little, snapping me briefly from the turmoil in my head, though I ignore it as I move to toe my shoes from my feet. 

"Liebling? Is that you?" The soft voice draws me more carefully from my thoughts, my head lifting to find King standing by the stairs, having just descended. He's smiling at me, but his concern is obvious in his intelligent eyes. 

Normally, the attempt at humor would make me laugh a little, but today I can only manage a forced smile. 

"Hello." I greet him, going to remove my coat.

Swiftly, the bounty hunter steps over to me, gentle hands replacing mine as he slowly pulls the garment down over my arms, hanging it on a hook before he turns back to me. I turn to face him briefly, swallowing under his curious gaze. Once more, I give him a tight smile, hoping it's reassuring, though I can see it only serves to increase his worry. 

"Are you hungry? Django brought some fresh bread back with him earlier." King offers me, subtly scrutinizing me for a reaction. 

I shake my head.

"No, I think I'm just going to get some rest." I say, going to leave for the stairs.

He's too fast for me, catching my wrist lightly before I can go, tugging me a little closer to him.

"(Y/n) was ist los? Has something happened?" King tilts his head, moving to hold my hands in his, rubbing his thumbs soothingly over mine.

Sighing, I look down, biting my lip as I realize I should probably tell him.

"Just a rough day, that's all." 

"Rough?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?" His clear eyes are clouding with worry.

"Not now...Maybe later." I lift my gaze to his, tense in his hold.

"Of course, Liebling." He smiles reassuringly, moving to envelope me in a warm embrace, his arms pressing me against his body. Succumbing to the sensation of safety from being in his grip, I wrap my own arms around the bounty hunter, burying my face into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent: that cologne I love so much mixed with soap and the faint hint of woodfire smoke. Tension slowly starts to seep out of me, my body yearning to be intertwined with King.

Somehow telepathic, he pulls back, lifting a hand to smooth some hair from my face, smiling softly.

"Come on, let's get you to bed." His accented voice is quiet, tempting me.

I nod at him, allowing him to pull away completely and lead me up the stairs to our shared bedroom. Once there, he sets about removing my uncomfortable day clothes, stopping to lightly skim his hand over my revealed skin, seemingly in awe of me. A blush colors my cheeks at his gaze, only intensifying as he compliments me over and over in that smooth voice of his. 

Carefully, he helps me into some more comfortable clothes, leading me over to the bed. Pushing me gently down onto it, he makes sure I'm settled before he pulls off his waistcoat, pulling his shirt loose from his suspenders and trousers. Eventually, he climbs in beside me, instantly pulling my body into his as he sits up against the headboard. 

Easily, I fall into position against his lower torso, my head resting just below his sternum. Warmth flows into me from his body, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders and gently stroke circles into them, before one moves up to run lovingly through my hair. King deftly pulls the covers over me, lifting one of my hands to his face so he can kiss at my fingers and palm, a smile creeping onto my face as I find myself forgetting the bad day I had. 

Looking up at him, I use the hand he's holding to cup his face, leaning up to kiss him softly on the lips. Sighing happily, the bounty hunter kisses back, cupping my own face with his hand to pull me closer, his facial hair rubbing nicely against my chin and cheek. Parting again, he smiles, carding his fingers through my hair, kissing me once more briefly before urging me to lie with my head in the crook of his neck. 

Quickly becoming warm and sleepy, I lie there contentedly, pushing a hand under his shirt to splay over the firm chest, relishing in the softness of the smattering of hair there.

King's only response is to chuckle and pull me closer, resting his chin on my head.

"Ich hab dich so lieb." He murmurs softly, kissing my forehead.