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[little-wicked10]

You're working with a professional here!

BEETLEJUICE, 1988

[little-wicked10]

Dr. King Schultz, you’re the c u t e s t ❤

[little-wicked10]

There can never be too many Dr King Schultz gifs

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Christoph Waltz as Dr. King Schultz in Django Unchained

[little-wicked10]

Geheimnisse - Hans Landa x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: Landa’s onto the secret that you, your fiance, and your father work undercover for the Allies– and if he finds out, he could blackmail you into anything. (Title means “secret”) 

Notes: Finally, another Landa fic! This one has sub!Landa too hehe. I know a lot of you have been requesting another, so happy early holidays ;) NSFW, reader dominating Hans, hair pulling, dirty talk, teasing, smutty smut galore! Thank you so much to @mysticaltimemachinewench for requesting this awesome and creative prompt! 

Also, I apologize for my poor German translation haha. If anyone wants to beta my German writing in the future, I’d be very grateful! 

This is Gerhard, your fiance’s, faceclaim. 

Tagging (Ask to be added):  @bungeewabbit @booklover2929 @mysticaltimemachinewench @fangirlandnerd @agent221b @deborahlazaroff @obsessedadryana @underratedcharactersimagines @hiddles-whispers @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @this-is-mysuperwholockd-design

Word Count: 4.5k

You and Gerhard Schreiber had been engaged for four months, and the wedding was already being planned. It was not to say you didn’t love the young man, but it had been an arranged relationship in the first place; or so you referred to it. Gerhard was your father’s colleague’s son, a tall blonde boy about your age, soon to be following in his father’s footsteps. At a dinner party one night, you had been introduced to Mr. Schreiber, a rotund older man with a bushy moustache who insisted you were the most elegant creature he’d ever laid eyes on, and that it would simply be a crime for you not to marry into his family.

Your father, a foreign diplomat, had taken a firm stance at first, assuring you he would never urge you to marry into a certain family for status, but you understood the situation– you understood that your father was this man’s subordinate, and that if you married into the Schreiber family, it would mean higher social standing for your own family, and most importantly– viability for your father.

You and your father held a secret. Ever since your Italian mother died, your father had found new cause to do something right. Your mother had always fiercely opposed the regime’s beliefs (in private of course, for your safety), so your father, on a diplomatic mission to Britain, had taken you with him, and after speaking to Churchill himself, the two of you had become members of the SOE.

It was a dangerous double life. You were constantly on high alert around any officers, and you had to be worried for your soon to be husband now, who had overheard a conversation between you and your father. He had assured you he would not tell anyone (you suppose because it would likely get him killed as well at this point), and had decided to join the SOE with you. Though it was dangerous, you did enjoy the excitement of pretending to be someone you weren’t. Nobody had been able to see through your lies thus far, and nobody would. Nobody was smart enough.

Gerhard lights a cigarette, taking the needle off the record player. You look up from where you’re styling your hair at the mirror, and take the pin from between your teeth.

“Was ist da los, liebling?” (What’s the matter, darling?) you ask.

“I have… doubts, about tonight,” he responds in tired English, forgetting about his cigarette in a tray.

“Doubts?”

“The place will be swarming with Nazis.”

“I should hope so, it’s a German event.”

“Still. Nazis.”

“Which according to the state, we are. No different than your work day.”

“Yes.” He swallows. “Yes, forgive me, sometimes I don’t have the stomach for what I agreed to do for the executive operation.”

“I know. That is why you divulge the information after I dig it up. We can’t have you caught on your back. Especially if what you say is true, with all these scary Nazis around.” You stick the rose-adorned pin through the coiffed curl just above your cheekbone, and admire your reflection. You’ve got a long, forest green dress on, that accentuates your bust and leaves room to show off your neck. Gerhard comes up behind you, feeling a hand up your arm.

“Ich bin fest davon überzeugt, dass ich, wenn ich sie nicht bei mir habe, bereits in einem gefängnis verfaulen würde.” (You know, I have full confidence that if I did not have you with me, I would already be rotting in a prison.)

You quirk a perfected eyebrow. “Gefängnis? Ohne mich wären sie tot.” (Prison? Without me, you would be dead.)

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[little-wicked10]

Verführung - Hans Landa x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: To help the Basterds steal a German map, you’re given the seemingly impossible task to distract the infamous Hans Landa– with seduction. 

Notes: Very NSFW (even though I wrote this at work lmao). Rough smut. Face slapping, spanking, choking, and daddy kink. Hans is a kinky man! 

@underratedcharactersimagines here it is!! 

You’re all lined up, each waiting for the leader of the group to bark a command at you. Roles are assigned for the upcoming mission, and you’re last in line.

“Hold on,” you say, “If Bridget’s doing that, what the hell am I doing?”

“(y/n),” Raine says, coming over and crossing his arms. “You… have got jus ‘bout the worst job of all of us.”

You blink, and it starts to dawn on you at all the guys’ sympathetic glances down the line. “Seduce Landa?”

“Seduce Landa,” Raine nods.

“Seduce the Jew Hunter.”

“Seduce the god damn Jew Hunter, that’s right.”

You run a hand through your hair. “Why can’t you do it?”

“I’d love to, I would, but I just don’t think I’m his type.”

You sigh. “This is shit.”

“Grade A shit, you bet your sweet lil buns it is. Tell me, what do we do?”

“We kill Nazis,” you scoff, “Not fuck them.”

“Well in this par-tic-ular instance, fuckin’ 'em leads to killin’ em. So if we’re gonna get those Nazi maps, then you’re gonna need to get down and dirty to distract the man with the plan. Just don’t let him get your name.” You must have an incredibly detesting look on your face, because Raine laughs. “Come on, fake it! Ain’t nobody better'n you at that.”

“He won’t let me,” you say, “Haven’t you heard the stories? He’s too smart. He’ll see right through it.”

“He’s sharp,” Raine nods, “But hell, you’re sharper. You’ll figure somethin’ out.”

“Do I have to go all the way?”

“You have to go pretty damn far. The longer you take, the better for us.”

“Let’s hope the colonel knows how to last,” Donnie jokes.

“Right,” you whisper, and take a deep breath.

Your heart is pounding hard in your chest, legs almost jelly as you walk into the gala. You had been talking yourself through this all night, and sure, you were a skilled conversationalist and a magnificent actress, but could you really take on the famed Jew Hunter’s wit with only what’s between your legs as a weapon? You’d never even met him before, only heard stories of the big bad Colonel Landa. You could only imagine how horrible he would look, how terrible he would be to speak to. You flatten your tight dress against your stomach, wondering if there would be bullet holes through it by the end of the night, and turn to Raine.

“How do I look?”

“Scrumptious.”

“Suits me,” you sigh, and straighten your posture, striding through the crowd with a delicate confidence that could garner the attention of any man present. You part company with the Basterds, looking around the room. Either Hans was on his way now and hadn’t arrived yet, or he had and you were up shit’s creek trying to find him for the rest of the night. You keep your calm, cool, collected persona as you scan the room. You grit your teeth as you think back to the exchange you’d had with Raine on the way here.

“How am I supposed to identify him?! I don’t know what he looks like, you never showed me a fucking picture.”

“You’ll know it’s him. I assume he commands a room, so you’ll know it’s him immediately.”

You pick up a glass of champagne, and just as you’re about to take a sip, you notice someone has just entered. He’s followed by about four men in uniform, and you strain to see his face.

Your heartbeat picks up as people part for the man.

That’s him. That’s Landa.

You can barely identify what he looks like from here, but you can tell by his presence alone that it’s him.

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[little-wicked10]

Mood Swings - August Rosenbluth x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: August isn’t happy another man flirted with you. When August isn’t happy, things get fun.

Tagging: @bungeewabbit @booklover2929 @mysticaltimemachinewench @fangirlandnerd @agent221b @deborahlazaroff @obsessedadryana @underratedcharactersimagines @this-is-mysuperwholockd-design @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @coffeepot-pilot

August has been in a mood since last week. He’s been moping around, snapping at you, snapping at the workers. You know exactly why he’s like this, too, and you won’t stand for it.

Last week, the custodian had been hitting on you. The man who cleaned up all the animal droppings had said something a little “out of line” (he had only complimented your earrings, which August had bought for you anyway) and August was being sour about it. You’re about to change that.

You strut up to the tent, dressed in August’s favourite outfit on you, with your hair back and curled. He said it makes you look like the sexiest pin-up model he’d ever seen, and you’re about to use that to your advantage. You toss open the flap.

“Care to explain why you’ve been in such a foul mood this past week?” you ask, folding your arms. August looks up from where he’s playing cards with the other men, puffing casually on his cigar.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No, it’s really not.”

One of the guys starts to get up. “We’ll just, uh… finish the game later, huh?”

“No, that’s fine.” Something flashes in August’s eyes. “My dear (y/n) was just leaving.”

“Sorry boys, but I’m not going anywhere. It’s time to go,” you say, and August’s jaw clenches as everyone starts to get up, eager to flee the tension.

August gets up. “This couldn’t have waited?”

“I’m your girlfriend, if I need to talk to you I will,” you snap right back, and instead of asserting himself even further, he just gives up, clenching his jaw. “Just because some janitor paid me a compliment– a very nice man, by the way, who didn’t deserve to be sacked because of your fragile masculinity–”

“You think I’m fragile?” he cuts in, offended.

“Right now? Yeah!” He grumbles, so you go on softly. “August. Baby. It will always be you.” You swing your hips as you saunter up to him, and tug on his suspenders. “You’ve got to be pretty disillusioned to not see I’m deeply… unspeakably… immeasurably…” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders, “In love with you.”

August looks down at your lips, and brings a thumb over your bottom lip.

“Truly?” he murmurs, taking your hands. “I just care about you so much. It’s a blessing and a curse to have such a beautiful girlfriend,” he sighs, “I’m constantly enraptured by you, but… paranoia indeed comes easily.”

“I only have eyes for you,” you whisper.

“And… are you certain of that?” August grips your wrist, and pulls you to him. You gasp– his erection is evident. He always seems to get aroused whenever you two have a falling out… it got his blood going, and for some reason, that turned you on too. Maybe it was the wild look he got in his hazel eyes.

“August–”

“Are you certain you haven’t fucked him? Hm?” He slides a hand down, and reaches into your minishorts, starting to rub you off slowly. He pulls your shorts down to your knees, and you kick them off as he continues to use his fingers. “–Haven’t let him use that little pussy of mine?”

You smile a little, seeing how fired up he is. You sit down on the edge of the table, crossing your legs. You reach back, and take his expensive cigar out of the tray, suck on it, and let the smoke curl in your mouth. He groans, and you lick your red lips, squeezing your bust together and letting your legs fall open for him. “Never, baby.”

He watches closely, as you put the cigar down and reach between your legs, slowly rubbing yourself through your panties. You bite your lip, whispering his name, and after a minute, he can’t take it.

“Let me show you just how fragile I can be, you little slut,” he growls, and pushes you down over the poker table, scattering the chips and the cards. You grin as he rips your panties, and unbuckles his belt before kicking your legs open. Moaning, you grasp the wooden table as August drags a finger down your stomach, before pressing a single kiss to your hip bone, worshipping your body. You smile slightly, knowing this to be his little reassurance that you can always still ask him to stop. But that’s not what you want– you want him to absolutely wreck you right now, get rid of all that pent up frustration. When you two fight, it always results in the hottest sex.

He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows to reveal the flexing forearms that always drove you up the walls, and, grabbing you by the thighs, he pushes into you rough. You welcome him, wet from the touching and how close he was holding you. He leans down, hair falling into his face as he desperately clutches onto your leg and thrusts again, kissing you deep and passionately.

“I must have you. I need you, I need you–” he mumbles, eyes roaming your body. Whenever he gets this worked up, he acts like a kid in a candy store– eyes lit up, hands ready, not knowing just what to touch first. You groan.

“I need your big cock.”

“Ohhh, fuck… my girl is so good for me, that cunt is so fucking tight for daddy.” He keeps pushing into you fast.

“August… August… No one can fuck me like you can, daddy!”

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours, I could never come as hard as I do for you for anyone else!”

“Show me,” he hisses, “Come for me, my dove.”

You scream as you come around his cock, surely loud enough for the entire circus to hear, but they’re used to the evenings surmounting to this when August gets in his moods. Seconds after, August smacks your ass, the table shaking violently with the fucking. Your ass is pushed back a little more with each thrust, and by now, there’s poker chips all over the floor. August doesn’t care. He seems to enjoy the anarchy.

“Fuck me like you’ll never fuck me again,” you whisper against his lips, and the auburn ringleader looks into your eyes.

“Ohh, my darling girl… will I?”

“If you play your cards right,” you smirk, and he grunts as he comes, letting out a gasp so beautiful it makes you ache. He slumps over you for a second, then when he finally pulls out, you turn around, laying underneath him on the table. You reach your hands up to play with his sexy auburn hair, and sigh.

“Maybe I should flirt with more men, if this is the kind of sex I get for it,” you tease, letting your legs fall open again so he can get a good view. He looks down, obviously affected by it, and kisses downward, placing small, open mouthed caresses in and around where he had just destroyed you. He smiles primly, smile lines evident.

“If you do my dear, there will be many accidental elephant tramplings,” August informs you, glancing down once more to admire your body, and you giggle.

“Have I told you that I love you?”

“Just enough to bolster my ego,” he smirks, “Oh– I love you too.” As you get up though, August pauses his meticulous routine of doing up each button of his shirt. Locks of his hair have fallen into his face, and with his lips swollen like that, he looks wrecked, but he’s got that authoritative look again. It’s a look that tells you he means what he says.

“Don’t wash up. I want to know that I’m inside you all day.”

You blush, grinning as you hop down. “Yes, daddy.”

[little-wicked10]

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.

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[little-wicked10]

Such A Tease - Dr. King Schultz x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: King teases you relentlessly like the smut little shit he is, making you wait until you can’t wait any longer to have him. Tables are turned.

Inspired by a particular tantalizing conversation with @wingsy-keeper-of-songs 😏😏😏😏 thank you for inspiring me to write this one bb

Tagging: @bungeewabbit @booklover2929 @mysticaltimemachinewench @fangirlandnerd @agent221b @deborahlazaroff @underratedcharactersimagines

He had been teasing you for a week now, refusing to even so much as touch you.

The touches he would give were agonizingly brief, so brief he would feel compelled to tell you they were an accident. The other day, meeting the plantation owner you were tricking, his hand found its way to your ass, squeezing while the slaver was watching.

“You alright miss?” he had asked.

“Fine,” you had balked, and King have you a winning smile.

“My apologies, my sweet. My hand must have slipped!” he gave that impish little grin, to which you just narrowed your eyes at your shit of a lover.

At the table tonight, you, Django, and King were enjoying a beer and dinner at a local saloon.

You lift the glass to your lips, and see King’s eyes start to wander down. They ultimately come to rest on your breasts, and your cheeks heat up as you watch him stare. The entire meal is spent like this, King’s eyes always returning to ogle you. The share intensity of his gaze, imagining what he could be thinking or picturing about you, arouses you to the point of discomfort. You had already soaked your underclothes, that much was certain– but it appeared King didn’t much care what he was doing to you.

“May I speak with you for a moment, love?” you ask with a smile, and his eyebrows raise as he places a hand on his chest in surprise. “Yes, you,” you grit out, and get up, dropping your napkin on his lap. He pats his mouth with it, and gets up.

“Excuse me, Django. We may be a while.”

Django huffs a laugh. “Y'all want me to wait for you?”

“No no, my boy– by all means eat, before it gets cold.”

King undoes his top button, adjusts himself so his erection isn’t too noticeable while he’s walking, and strides over to where you’re waiting outside.

The back doors flap behind him, and suddenly, he feels you pull him against the wall, holding him there.

“I know what you’re doing,” you growl, already growing wet at the scent of him so close to you.

“My dear, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he feigns with a dismissive scoff, “If this is about the lack of sexual intercourse, well, we’ve been so busy I haven’t even had time to think about such things!” He chuckles, but you purse your lips.

“Like hell. I saw you staring at my breasts like you wanted to eat them.”

“In there? Oh, I was simply admiring the tablecloth,” he says, waving his hand. You clench your jaw.

“Fuck me.”

“Wha–”

“Right now. Right here, I can’t wait any longer.”

“I think we all need to calm down, I’ll apologize properly for my teasing back at the hotel–” You cut him off by placing your hand to his bulge and rubbing between his legs, grasping him and massaging his cock through his pants.

“Enough talking. Start doing.”

He starts to moan.

“(y/n)… (y/n), Fraulein, not… not here,” he grimaces, his hips betraying him by bucking into your touch.

“But I’m horny,” you pout, “And it’s your fault.”

King’s eyes, hooded with lust, roll back as you begin to unzip him, and your warm hand finds his thick, throbbing member, stroking it slowly with the precum beading at his tip.

“Ah…” he whispers, and groans softly into your hair, “I need to… I need to be inside you, my dear, not… not like this…”

“You want me?” you murmur, stroking him again. He gasps, his hands squeezing your ass. His dick throbs.

“I do.”

“Come and get it,” you grin, clucking your tongue and removing your hand from his pants. King flies into a panic, and he chases you with that scrunched up glare.

“(y/n)! You can’t just–!” He lets out a frustrated noise, removing his jacket and sticking it in front of his crotch as he follows you back inside to the table, stroking his mustache angrily with his other hand. “Django, get your hat, we’re leaving.”

Django pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. “I just got my damn potatoes!”

“And?” King snaps.

“And,” Django blinks with attitude, “I wanna eat ‘em.”

“We have to go,” King grits through his teeth, “Now.”

Django scoffs, finally catching on to the doctor’s situation. “I see what y'all are up to. I told you that whole teasing thing was gonna come back to bite you, but fuckin’ hell no, you ain’t gonna listen to the one that ain’t bein’ led by his dick–”

“Django, please,” King hisses, and you wink at him.

“I’ll make you potatoes myself tomorrow. Better potatoes.”

“You’s got yourself a deal,” Django smirks at you, and the three of you hurry back to the local inn you’re staying in for the night.

The minute you get back in to your room, you both realize with horror that somebody’s taken your bed.

“Oh, yeah,” the innkeeper mentions, scratching his head, “I let this poor cow puncher crash in here while you three was gone. Hope y'all don’t mind.”

King puts on a polite smile, doing his best to keep a straight face as you graze his erection with the back of your hand. “N-not a problem. Now eh, would you kindly remove him? Hastily?”

“Well…” the innkeeper shifts awkwardly, “I would, but… he paid a pretty penny for a couple hours of shut-eye. I was thinkin’ you three could come back a little later to stake your claim then?”

King just growls, and takes your hand. Django shrugs, walking into the room, and takes a place on the chair to wait for the cowboy to wake up.

“See what you get when you keep a lady waiting?” you giggle as you two make it outside, “Revenge–”

King silences you by holding you against the back of the inn, covering your mouth with his. You moan into the kiss, grabbing his hair, and rock your hips against his.

“You sure like the backs of buildings better than beds,” you joke, and he huffs, unbuttoning his pants.

“Under these strenuous circumstances, we will make do.”

You tug his hair as he lifts you up, holding you there as he bunches your skirts up. You then help him position, and clench hard as he finally thrusts into your wet heat. Both of you let out a sigh of relief at the feel of one another, but your work’s not done yet. He’s painfully hard inside of you, and you could cry you’re so aroused. Heat burning in your stomach, you grind down to take him deeper, and he braces himself against the wall as he starts to fuck you hard.

“Ugh… unf… oh, K… King…” you groan, breasts bouncing with every thrust. His breath is hot on your neck, and he presses a soft kiss there.

“You… are astonishing,” he whispers, “You’re perfect, scheisse… oh, bitte, bitte Fraulein, you feel so good for me…”

“King, take me, 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.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I’m so… I’m so wet for you, King, please, I need your cock…”

“You have me, (y/n),” he manages out, eyebrows moving together in pursuit of his sweet climax, “I’m here, you have all of me, always.”

“Ah,” you moan, and come on his cock, clutching his shoulders. King sighs, feeling your pussy squeeze him, and with a stuttered thrust, he comes as well, spilling inside you. You both rock together, riding out your orgasms, and when you’re both finished and satisfied, you hop down, helping King do up his buttons and tuck himself back up.

“Naughty old man,” you giggle breathlessly, slapping his shoulder lightly. He chuckles into your hair, kissing the top of your head.

“I don’t know why you were so anxious to jump my bones, my dear,” King mutters playfully, “You know I always follow through with my teasing.”

“Hey! What’re you doin’ at the back of that there inn?!” a voice shouts, and you both turn. King runs a hand through his hair, and squints.

“Aha. You wouldn’t happen to be… Bad Chuck Wilson by any chance, would you?”

The figure swallows. “That’s me… well who wants to know?”

King digs around in his pocket produces a handbill with Chuck’s face on it, and hums happily.

“Mhmm. This bad day turned into quite the fortuitous night,” he smiles, kissing you once more and drawing his pistol.

[little-wicked10]

Bedtime Story - Dr. King Schultz x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: Your husband finds you reading a rather racy novel.

Notes: This was an actual book back in the mid 1800s, by Susannah Rowson lol (it wasn’t this explicit obviously, but yeah). It was considered so scandalous. So, naturally, I had to write a fic about it.

Tag List (ask to be added for Christoph!): @bungeewabbit @booklover2929 @underratedcharactersimagines

“Tired?” Your husband, King Schultz, asks you, noticing you yawning. The two bedroom cottage by the lake you lived in was quiet at this time of night, so you could hear the loons outside. It was peaceful normally, but tonight you were looking for a little fun.

“Mm,” you feign, “I might just settle in with a book and drift off.”

“Good idea, leibchen. I’ll just be at my desk, categorizing my bounties.” He clenched his fist. “Business is booming in the north!”

You grin to yourself as you hop into bed, grabbing the novel from your bedside table. It’s a Charlotte Temple, a guilty pleasure novel. It had all sorts of naughty ideas in it; the last chapter had the main character’s suiter between her legs, using his tongue! Every time you read, you imagine yourself and King in these situations, these positions. It never failed to excite you.

Cracking the book open, you find your place.

“Oh, surely sir! We cannot do that with my father just in the next room! He will hear us!” Miss Charlotte Temple whispered to her handsome older lover in the novel, and you read on to see what he had to say.

“Not if we keep quiet,” Mister Montraville whispered back, dragging her in for a dizzying kiss. His hands reached under her dress, and they kept kissing as Montraville slipped his fingers into Charlotte, muffling her cries with his other hand.

You get about 20 pages in, but just as they’re really beginning to go at it, King pushes back his chair.

“That’s it for tonight, no more corpses to sort!” He waves his hands wildly, running them through his hair and down to curl his moustache. You look up, setting your book down, and swallow. In your already aroused state, it’s not cooling you down any to see your husband standing there with his shirt unbuttoned and his spectacles on.

“What is it?” he smirks, that mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “That look always means trouble.” You exhale.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

He nods, and takes the spectacles off, beginning to undress. He unbuttons his shirt, takes off his boots, and gets into bed.

“Well. I think Django and Broomhilda are adjusting nicely,” he mentions, stripping the shirt off to replace it with an undershirt.

You bite your lips, pressing the heel of your hand down against yourself as you catch a glimpse of your husband’s chest, the silvery wisps of hair there making your head spin. A bucket of ice water would do you nicely right about now.

“Yes,” you manage, “They are.”

Django and Broomhilda had followed you to the northern colony of Massachusetts after narrowly escaping Candyland, and you and King had gotten married, purchasing this place with rich bounty money. Nowadays, Django and King continue their business here.

He reaches over to stroke your chin with a grin. “You astonish me with your beauty. Ah, I find myself wondering every day how I came to find a gorgeous young lady like you willing to settle for a plucked chicken like me.”

Your eyelids flutter from his touch. “You sell yourself short. I only ever had eyes for you.” You swallow, clutching at the sheets as you imagine your fingernails digging into the mattress. This book really set you on fire.

“Is something the matter?” King’s smile fades into worry, “You look flushed. Although I must say, you look lovely with a little color to your cheeks, I’m obligated as your doting husband to check you for a fever.”

“I’m fine,” you assure, “Really.”

He nods again. “Oh, very well. You’re just as stubborn as I am.” King lights his bedside lamp. He then starts to look over a few pages of his own book, before his curious eyes fall on yours. “What are you reading, my love?” he inquires. You pause, heart beating a little quicker.

“Oh. Not bad, but nothing good. A dull book I found in town, at the library.”

He shrugs, and goes back to his own book. As you read on, you feel yourself become so wet you can barely stand not taking care of yourself. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if you…

Your eyes flutter shut, and you supress a moan as you start to discreetly rub yourself under the sheets, imagining King doing all the things to you in this book. Oh. Oh, so close, almost there–

“(y/n), by your need to take up the act of pleasuring yourself, I can tell that the book is, in fact, better than not bad.” He chuckles, pouting a little. “Am I not satisfying my darling wife?” You’re quick to snatch your hand back up.

“Of course you are! I was just…” Getting ideas, you dare not reveal. He glances over your shoulder, and as he reads, his eyes widen.

“Meinn Gott…” He begins to read. “Miss Charlotte felt Mister Montraville’s hard–” he chokes a little, “–member inside her, in and out and in until she wanted to scream his name, but alas, her father was adjacent to them, and could be listening.” His mouth hangs slightly ajar, spectacles falling down his nose. “You read this?”

“Sometimes,” you shrug.

“They’re so… explicit!” he blurts, ruffled by the wording. “Do they…” He lowers his voice to a hiss, as if someone’s listening. “Do they arouse you?”

“What do you think?” you giggle, taking his hand under the sheets and letting him have a feel. His lips part as he feels your wetness, and he exhales shakily. He takes his spectacles off, rubbing over his eyes and running his hand through his hair again in a ruffle. You roll your eyes playfully. “They’re only stories,” you point out. He finally turns to you, and gives you a look.

“They don’t have to be.”

You gasp a little, and he cups your face, bringing you in for a soft kiss. Too desperate to go through any foreplay King might have in mind, 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.

“Lift up your shirt, liebchen,” he whispers, his voice rough with lust, “And get on all fours.” As you do as he says, he smooths a hand up your back. “That’s it,” he says.

“Fuck me,” you mumble into the pillow.

“What was that?” King asks, “Little girls must use their words if they would like something.”

“Oh, fuck me daddy,” you raise your voice, he chuckles.

“Very well. As you wish Fraulein.”

You feel the head of his cock between your folds and soon, realizing you’re past the point of teasing, he slams in, ripping a groan from you. He keeps fucking you like this, until you moan that you’re going to come.

A moment later, he pulls out and flips you over gently. He then positions himself between your legs and brings his mouth to you, suckling especially around your clit. “King,” you mewl.

“Yes. Get louder for me,” he encourages, and goes back to fucking you with his tongue. He soon encourages you to sit on his face, and you do, feeling him lick you perfectly while his beard scratches your thighs. He circles your clit with the the tip of his tongue as he jerks himself off, and you fall forward.

“King… oh, oh, I’m coming, oh fuck, right there don'tstopdon'tstop–”

He holds you tight as you ride his face and doesn’t stop his tongue until you’re finished.

Then you take over for him on his cock, and finish him off as he comes with a desperate cry of your name.

You snuggle up under the sheets beneath King’s arm, and he takes his nearby handkerchief off the bedside table to clean off his mustache.

“Well,” you breathe, resting your head on his chest, “You were ready tonight.”

“You’d be surprised,” he mumbles in slight offense, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m in the mood far more often than you assume.” He then kisses your lips, and places his book on the bedside table, from where it had fallen from the bed. “So? Verdict? Was I better than your,” he puffs out his chest in a macho manner, lowering his voice comically, “Mister Montraville in your book?”

You smile, tucking the book away. “Montraville who?”

[little-wicked10]

Forgive Me? - Dr. King Schultz x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: King is mad at you. You give him an irresistible apology. 

Notes: Daddy kink! Be prepared, as usual.

@underratedcharactersimagines here’s the continuation ;) Also tagging @bungeewabbit @booklover2929

“8000 dollars.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“King, he’s worth 8000 dollars!”

“Did you not hear me? I said that is enough!”

You watch your lover as he paces the campsite. He’s obsessively running his hand through his hair and angrily curling his mustache, which are two sure-fire signs he’s not at his happiest with you. Guilt coils in your stomach. King never gets mad at you, and when he does, it’s likely because you did something that made him worry about you.

Still– something inside of you kept you from apologizing.

“Are you saying you’d throw away $8000 instead of letting me take your gun and put a bullet in a stagecoach robber’s head?!” you retort. King turns.

“That’s like asking me if your life is worth $8000 to me.”

“Is it?” you shoot back.

“You know very well it is, dammit.”

You clench your jaw. “You should be thanking me.”

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrows at you. “I should? You’re right. Thank you for stealing my gun, my horse–”

“Fritz likes me better than you.”

“–significantly beside the point, you took my gun and collected a bounty without any help at all.”

“God, you make me sound like a child!”

“Well I apologize if this comes as a shock to you, (y/n), but you have never shot a gun in your entire life and you have most certainly never killed anyone before.”

“Yes I have.”

“Besides that poor devil you nipped in the back,” King snaps, and sits down on a rock, arms crossed in a huff. You soften a little, and the guilt comes back in waves.

“I’m sorry.” He looks over, refusing to fully turn while peering at you. You open your arms expectantly. “Do you accept my apology, my love?”

“I don’t think you fully understand what could have happened to you,” he sighs, tossing kindling into the fire, “You could have been shot. You could have been kidnapped. You could have been–” he stops, shaking his head. “Anything could have happened to you, and I would not have been there to save you.”

“Maybe I don’t need you to save me,” you mutter dejectedly, and he gives you a look.

“Do not start. I am the first to tell you that if I were any gunslinging outlaw, I would not mess with you. Unfortunately, I am not any gunslinging outlaw, I am your former dentist turned bounty hunter lover, and any gunslinging outlaw will unfortunately not chalk a young woman such as yourself up to be much of a threat.” His face screws up. “What am I saying? This is not supposed to be me complimenting you, this is me telling you how irresponsible you were!”

You pout. “I’m really… really sorry. I didn’t think. I just wanted to make you proud.” He reacts to this a little, but keeps his head down.

“You need to get some rest. We’re up early tomorrow to make for Texas. I’ve made the bed up in the cart, the extra blankets are on Fritz’s back.”

He gets up, and begins to dress for sleep. You chew on your lip, wishing he would just accept your damn apology already. Come on. $8000? That was an insane bounty, and you were pretty proud of yourself for it!

Whatever. King could sulk all he wanted– you’d find a way to apologize properly. 

The next day, just as King promised, you were both up at the crack of dawn for the long journey from Amarillo to Daughtrey. Though you two slept under the same blanket last night, he slept facing away from you.

He really was mad. He must have been incredibly worried. He must have thought you weren’t coming back.

There was that guilt again.

Riding into town, you two finally make it when the sun is going down. Deciding the business of provoking and shooting Willard Peck would be best conducted when the day is young once more, you both check into the town inn.

“Innkeeper!” King calls, taking off his hat and holding it under his arm as you two enter, “A single room, if you please!”

“Yep… just gimme a sec to fix this… here light…” The bald man turns, and gets down off the table.

“Busy night?” King regards the broken bottles and a man passed out with a call girl draped over him in the back.

“Oh that ain’t just a damn whistle,” the innkeeper scoffs, nodding, “I’d offer you two a drink, but… hell, I ain’t got much drink left.”

“Not a problem,” King waves his hand, “We’re simply two weary travellers, ready to fall asleep as soon as we can.”

The innkeeper nods, and you walk on ahead. When you come to the door, he leans in to King’s ear. “Hoowee. She’s a real beaut. Where’d you find one with a nice round ass like that?”

King blinks. “Somewhere you would never look. Goodnight.” He quickly shuts the door, sighs, and takes off your coat for you.

“You still mad at me?” you ask, and he takes off his boots.

“I’m not happy with you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“How much longer is this gonna go on, hm?” you ask, making sure the door is closed nice and tight, “Before you finally… forgive me?”

“It’s not about forgiving you,” he mutters, arms still crossed as he sits down on the stool at the end of the bed. “It’s the fact that you might do it again.”

“I promise I’ll never… ever… ever do it again,” you say in a low, sultry voice, beginning to untie your bodice. King frowns a little bit, and you study him. He’s adorable when he’s mad– his lips get all pouty in a scowl, his eyebrows draw together in a cute little scrunch, and his blue eyes narrow. As cute as he looks, you continue.

You undo your corset, lace by lace, letting your fingers twine slowly between the hooks. You then sigh a little in pleasure as the corset comes free, and you hook the straps of your dress under your thumbs, sliding it off. Just as the dress slides down to reveal your breasts through your see-through chemise, you do a turn, facing away. You hear his breath hitch, but when you check over your shoulder, he pretends not to care. Fine, you think, I can turn it up.

“I was such a naughty little lady…” you bite your lip, tugging on your skirts. “Naughty ladies don’t learn their lessons until they’re taught just how to behave.” You make a point to graze your fingernails down over your ass, and you moan softly. You hear him readjust in his seat, and you pull your skirts off, working now on your cream coloured pants, sliding them down ever so carefully.

“(y/n),” King tries to protest, “This isn’t…”

You moan again. “I’ve been wanting to get out of these all day.” You roll your hips a little, arching your back, and finally wiggle your hips some more as you drop your pants to the hardwood floor. King’s breathing is audible now, and you stretch your arms above your head, humming as you run your right hand down your left arm, letting your hair fall back. “So… so nice.”

“Hmf,” King huffs, averting eye contact like the grump he’s pretending to be. Oh, no. No way he’s doing that now. You slip your chemise over your head, and toss it behind you. You’re completely naked now, and King’s trying his hardest not to go through the roof in distracting himself from you.

You finally begin to turn, and soon, you’re fully facing him. His eyes are on yours, then travel down to your breasts, lower to your stomach, below more to take in your entire beautiful body.

“This doesn’t change how angry I am with you,” he mutters, glaring at you, “You should have known better, Fraulein.” You smirk, sauntering over. Despite what he says, you can see the visible outline of his painfully hardened cock in his pants, straining to get free. You put one leg over his lap, and sit down, making sure to wiggle yourself on his knee a little.

“Interested?” you tease, 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 takes a shallow breath as your fingers come in contact with his warm member, and you grin wickedly, swiping your thumb up to spread his fluid around a little. He meets your eyes as you pull him fully out of his pants, trying his best to appear disinterested, but while King’s a wonderful actor when collecting a bounty, he’s a terrible one in the bedroom.

“Oh,” he pants gently, head falling back a little as you stroke him once. “Das fühlt sich perfekt an…”

“Does daddy like that?” you ask softly, pressing a kiss to his ear. King stutters a little, gasping for air when you swipe over his swollen cockhead again.

“Daddy… i-is enjoying it very much,” 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, stop,” King mumbles, stalling your wrist with his hand. You pout.

“What’s wrong?”

He looks at you, his eyes dark with lust. “I have to have you.” You exhale with a shudder, and get up, parting your legs wider and sinking down over top of him so that he slides deep inside of you.

“Ohhh King, oh King–” you moan.

“That’s it… that’s it… like a good girl,” he chants in your ear, holding your chest to his as you start to work your hips down. “Daddy needs his kitten very much… right there, just like that…”

“Ahh…”

“(y/n), oh my–”

He holds onto you, keeping one hand on your back to keep you steady against him as you ride his cock, and moves the other down to squeeze your ass. You reach back to tug his shoulder length hair, going in for another kiss. His beard scratches pleasantly against your chin, and you smile through the kiss as you tug some more on his locks. He groans your name, and you start to feel his dick throb inside of you.

“Are you close?” you breathe, and he nods, eyebrows lifting desperately.

“I need you, oh, (y/n), scheisse…”

“Say you forgive me?” you bite your bottom lip, stalling your movements and staying seated with him deep inside of you. He moans a protest, but when you grind down against his cock, he nods quickly.

“I forgive you, I accept your apology, all of it, oh!”

“Finally,” you growl in his ear, and you slam down onto him perfectly, his dick grazing your g-spot and making you come hard. Feeling you clench around him, he releases too, unable to hold his load any longer.

“Ah… ah… ah…” he spasms, holding you close as his hips stutter up, and you watch his beautiful face as he comes, how his mouth falls wide open and his eyes shut. When you’re both done, you lift off of him, feeling his come leak down your thigh. You smirk, feeling your cheeks heat up, then lay down on your stomach over the bed, combing your fingers through his dishevelled hair from behind.

“King, baby. I am really sorry for collecting an $8000 bounty on my own.”

He throws you a glance, and smirks. “No you’re not.”

You giggle. “No I’m not.”

[little-wicked10]

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. 

[little-wicked10]

⋆⭒˚.Be My Once In A Lifetime ⋆⭒˚.⋆

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

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

"You're kidding, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shoots you a look.

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

You suppose he has a point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You give in.

“And cut!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm not hurting you, am I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes everything in you not to drool.

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

“You look lovely.” He breathes.

It takes you by suprise, pink dusting your cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have we?” He asks, raising a brow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs.

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

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

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

You wiggle your brows, watching as Christoph nods.

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

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

You shudder at the thought.

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

Christoph laughs along with you, shaking his head.

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

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

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

“And you blush so prettily, my God.”

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

Is this really happening? You think.

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

It's all the permission he needs.

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

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

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

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

He lifts your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

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

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

“Christoph,” You begin, shocked.

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

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

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

Of course you want him.

You squeeze his hand.

“Will you take me back to your room?”

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

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

“Lead the way, liebling.”

*

*

*

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

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

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

You want him so bad.

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

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

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

“Yes.” You breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You close your eyes, hands scrabbling at his back.

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

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

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

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

Christoph works you through it relentlessly.

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

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

“Please fuck me, please Christoph.”

He smiles, eyes meeting yours.

“I love the way you say my name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He groans, burying his face in your neck.

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay with me?” He asks quietly.

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

You kiss him gently.

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

[little-wicked10]

Assist Me - Dr. King Schultz x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You and King had been tiptoeing around each other for months after you began working for the man in the small town he arrived in with Django. A touch here, a look there, but nothing seemed to ever come of the small advances… 

Notes: Eee King’s back! This is short, but this was a dream I had a while back. The dream actually ended very sadly lol but this is just happy and sexy! Yay!

Part II

You had started working for King a little under a year ago. He’s a nice gentleman, having arrived from Germany, then Tennessee he had said, where he practiced dentistry before. Here in Daughtry, he had been interested in continuing his practice.

He had arrived with another man named Django Freeman, a former slave from around these parts. The man you work for is mysterious, never really speaking much about his past, but you suppose he’s got a reason for that. Sometimes he shows up for work a little late and dirtied, and you get curious… but it’s not your job to question him.

 —

“Morning, doctor,” you say, setting a bottle of numbing alcohol on a high shelf.

“(y/n),” King greets, the bell tinkling above the door as he comes in and takes off his hat, “And how are you today, Fraulein?”

“Fine, thank you,” you accept his offered hand as you step down, and he smiles at you, tucking his silver blonde hair behind his ears. He’s captivated for a moment, unable to look away, then catches himself. 

“Well. Long work day ahead of us is it?”

You look down at your little journal you keep on the wooden desk by your quill, smirking slightly at how red his ears just got.

“Johnny Baskers is coming in this morning for a toothache. Burt Castie got two teeth knocked out in a bar fight last night and needs a pull on a third one. It’s loose.”

“Wonderful,” he rubs his hands together, sarcasm evident. “Have you ever thought about what the elimination of stupidity would do for people’s health?”

You smirk as you gather some more bottles. “All the time, doc.”

He watches you walk away as you go, and bites his lip. He’s had a thing for you for a while, but you must never know. It’s inappropriate. You’re half his age, maybe even younger, and would be more suited to one of the town’s eligible bachelors who would offer you a life of more than skipping towns and bounty hunting.

He steals another glance your way. You’re smart, but you still haven’t figured out his double life here with young Django– not as far as he knew, at least. Nobody had, which was a relief, since if anyone found out, it would be time to pack up and leave for the next southern town. Emancipation sympathizers weren’t welcome in these parts, and that was putting it lightly. 

As for eligible bachelors, however… you constantly expressed your distaste with all the juvenile men around. You talked of settling down with a more seasoned man who knew how to handle a woman. Perhaps…

King forces the thought away, and focuses on cleaning his pliers. He could always take care of himself if it got to be too much. 

 —

The appointments that day didn’t make things any easier for King. You keep bending over, stretching, reaching, and it’s getting him more than a tad bit flustered. 

“–Was just swingin’ at me like a mad buffalo!” Burt howled in the dentist chair. You raise an eyebrow, pouring out some whiskey for him to down. 

“Have you ever seen a buffalo, Castie?”

“Well… no, but– doesn’t matter! He was a mad buffalo, and I got my teeth knocked in, damn it all to hell!”

“Well,” King smiles, coming over, “You will be out one more problem once I pull this one for you.”

“You’sa gonna yank my other tooth too?!” he blurts. King stares at him in deadpan. 

“As your health professional and amiable acquaintance, I sincerely do not recommend you walking around for the rest of your natural born life with your second front canine hanging by a string of flesh.” Burt stares, stunned, and King gives another one of those impish smiles. “May I proceed?”

He just nods, and you stifle a laugh. 

As King is pulling it, Burt kicks and screams, and knocks the bottle of whiskey off the table. You bend over to retrieve it, hoping for your sake King is watching you, and for Burt’s sake, he’s not. 

The former is true.

“(y/n),” he breathes, watching your skirts ride up. You don’t hear him, and he suddenly turns back to the bloody mouth he’s working on. 

“There,” he says, “Good as new.” The man gives a pained grin, a huge gap in the top middle. You nod. 

“You look great.” 

“I do?”

“Magnificent,” King confirms, “Eh, good day.” 

—

By the end of the day full of you bending over, accidentally exposing your breasts to him without noticing, and working incredibly close to you, the bounty hunter is hot under the collar. 

The sun goes down outside, and you watch the good Christian townspeople head home, and the ne’erdowells start to accumulate around the saloons. Most of them headed over to the place to be on the corner, which was run by a sleazy, racist bald man named Hetter. King didn’t like Hetter much, as you could tell whenever he ‘forgot’ to numb his gums a little. You don’t blame him– you’re sure Django, King’s younger friend, hadn’t received the warmest of welcomes from the man. 

“Ah. What a day,” King smiles, resting against the wooden counter top. He tries not to look at you, because he’s been semi-hard all day and he really doesn’t need you noticing. 

“I’m going to stay for a bit,” you tell him, “If that’s alright. Burt made a damn mess of things, I’ve gotta clean up.” 

King hesitates. He usually tells Django to meet him here after his work to discuss plans of which plantation they would hit early the next morning.

“Do not worry about it, mein Fraulein, I will take care of it tomorrow.”

“It’s no trouble, really!”

King concedes, realizing he can’t get out of this situation any other way. “Of course. Take all the time you need.” He tries to shut his mouth. He almost succeeds, but– “I’ll also be staying a little late.”

“Good,” you wink, “You can help me put the tools away, doc.”

You start to do so, cringing at the bloody tooth left behind by Castie. King comes up behind you, passing you a couple of dental instruments. You look so good, and he’s flushed, he can’t stop staring at you, god– what is the matter? King usually had perfect control over things like this. It’s like you had a spell on him.

“Something the matter?” you ask. He looks a little dizzy. 

“(y/n),” he murmurs, and you look down at how flustered he looks. You bite your lip, getting down, and raise your eyebrows.

“Something wrong?”

One piece of errant hair has fallen into your face, and your lips are slightly parted. King can’t dispel the thought of dirtying them up, and his fists clench at his sides. He tries to think of something to say. He can only kiss you.

“Mmm,” you let out a startled moan, and he draws back, mustache twitching. 

“I apologize. I don’t know what came over–”

In the span of 3 seconds, you’ve cleared the table of bottles with a crash, and you urge him to lay you down on top of it, pinning you. You let out a needy moan, and King reaches up, hooking his fingers in your underclothes carefully. 

“Is this what you want, darling girl?” he rasps, and you nod feverishly. 

“I’ve wanted you since the day you rode into town.” You lean up to his ear, breath hot against his face. “I wanted to ride you like you were riding Fritz.”

He swears softly, and unbuckles himself. He holds your head up as he slides in, moaning softly at the feeling of you around him.

“I’ve been wet all day for you, doc,” you groan, “Fuck, daddy… need you.”

The name shocks him. “(y/n)…”

“It means something else,” you assure, grabbing onto his arms and laughing, “Please. Daddy.”

Hearing the unorthodox name again ignites something inside of King, and he goes a little bit harder, making you tilt your head back and cry out for him even louder. The bounty hunter doesn’t care one bit at the moment if the entire town of Daughtry could hear (if they took a minute to stop drinking and listen)… he’d been wanting this since the day you slipped your hand into his and introduced yourself. 

“Please, please, please,” you continue to chant, until King groans, burying his face in your hair as you come and clench hard around his cock.

“Oh, my dear, my dear,” he whispers, “I-I’m afraid I’m close.” 

You nod, and grind down against him. He pulls out just in time, coming into his fist. You looks down at him on the table through a mess of hair and swollen lips, and he sinks to his knees, parting your legs around him. He delves between them, and one, two, three licks and a long sucking motion is all it takes for you to finish. 

You two look at each other for a good long time, until King averts his eyes, putting his spectacles on. 

"You had better hurry home, (y/n).”

Your face falls a little, but you nod, getting off the table and gathering your things. Perhaps you’re just a means to an end, as usual. Maybe he didn’t mean to do that– men have urges, same as women, maybe you were just… there.

You gather your skirts, and pulls them down, grabbing your things and heading out. As you open the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder. 

“Wait,” King says, “I forgot something.” You turn, and he kisses you softly. His hands smooth out down your shoulders, moving in to curl a lock of your hair. When he pulls away, he lingers on your lips, caring not about the busybody townspeople staring at you two and whispering.

"I’ve always wanted to do that,” he admits with a small smile, and you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck and jumping in for another kiss.

“Am I interruptin’ something?” Django asks, elbows on his knees. He’s sitting on the bench in front of the shop, and King’s eyes widen. 

“Django, my boy–! You didn’t… we– you didn’t, you couldn’t, eh… hear… could you?”

“I was tryin’ not to!” Django grins, “But y’all gotta work on the volume. Sounded like you’s running a brothel in there.” 

You giggle into King’s shoulder as the man huffs and blushes, fixing his waistcoat. 

[little-wicked10]

Kneel

Summary: Negan reminds you what you’re supposed to do whenever you see him in the Sanctuary 

Pairing: Saviors Era Negan x f!reader

Tags: !NSFW!, power play, dominant Negan, swearing, intimidation, erection, pet names

Word Count: 1.8k (this was meant to be under 1k but I once again forgot how to stfu)

“My oh my, where are your manners?”.

Shit. You knew this would happen eventually. It feels as though Negan has had his eye on you for weeks now, just waiting to pop the question. Because obviously, six wives isn’t enough for one man and he’s in need of another.

You, more specifically. 

You’re in the middle of pushing crates piled on to a small trolley when he approaches. He smirks, baring his teeth as he casually swings Lucille by his side. As if the odds are stacked against you, the hallway is empty, leaving only you and Negan. Alone. 

“You’ve been here, what, two months now?” Negan acts as if that’s just a guess and he hasn’t been keeping track.

You stand tall beside the crates, making it abundantly clear that you won't be an easy target for him. Your eyes are steady, a defiant gleam in them as you hold his gaze.

No matter how charming or beneficial being with him would be, you refuse to be some damsel he can have for his own twisted amusement. After all, you’ve taken care of yourself for this long in the apocalypse, why rely on someone like him now?

“I have” you confirm, not wanting this conversation to draw out longer than it needs to. Even if you’re on his good side, it’s hard to feel relaxed with Negan’s attention on you.

He hums in response.

You watch as Negan's gaze shifts, his features becoming more stern as he stands there. It's as if a switch has been flipped, transforming him from the charismatic leader to the cold and dominant figure you know he can be.

“So you gonna do it?” he questions, the sharp edge to his words sending a clear message: he’s not asking, he’s telling.

You can feel your jaw clench. Is he expecting you to just throw yourself at him? Or thank him profusely for allowing you to stay here? 

Feigning innocence, you gesture towards the crates. "Do what? My job?" you retort, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you intimidated. You go to move the crates again when you feel it - the silent warning of Lucille’s sharp tips resting gently on your shoulder. 

Negan maintains a stoic expression, letting Lucille display his authority. His voice is low and gravelly, resembling a growl more than anything else. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, just cause I think you're pretty fuckin’ hot, and ask again" he explains.

Hearing Negan's flippant admission, the way his voice drips with lust as he mentions his attraction to you is enough to send a thrill down your spine. It's a complex feeling to know that a man like Negan is attracted to you. It's thrilling, dangerous, and undeniably exciting all at once.

You hold your breath, expecting Lucille to scratch her way across your face at any moment. But instead, Negan takes a breath and asks again “Whenever I decide to grace your fucking presence, what is it you’re going to do?”.

You feel as if you’re back in school, after getting asked a question by a teacher who knows you weren’t paying attention. You’re unsure what would be worse; to answer incorrectly or to not answer at all. 

Slowly, Negan starts to increase the pressure, Lucille’s spikes digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. She prickles at your skin, the feeling thankfully being more uncomfortable than outright painful.

Instinctively, your legs buckle and you sink to your knees before him. “You kneel.” Negan drawls as you go down “There you go. Not that hard, is it?”. 

Negan eases the pressure, the painful stabs from Lucille's barbed wire gradually lessening as you comply. You breathe a silent sigh of relief, hoping Lucille didn’t break your skin and leave puncture marks in her wake.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a defiant expression, you can feel a flutter of something in your stomach. It’s subtle, but undeniable. You stare up at him with a determined glare, refusing to acknowledge the confused mixture of disdain and arousal coursing through your body.

Negan lets out a low, guttural groan, his head tilting down to meet your gaze directly. His expression is equal parts hunger and satisfaction as he takes in the sight of you kneeling before him.

"Goddamn," he murmurs approvingly, "now this is a view I could get used to”. Negan's signature cocky smirk returns, the brief display of dominance seemingly fulfilled for now. 

It’s easy to feel somewhat distracted in your current position, your head level with his crotch. The temptation to look is strong but you’re aware of what his reaction might be and so you quickly push the thought aside. Fighting with your inner urges, you subconsciously nibble at your lip, accidentally fuelling Negan’s amusement.

He sees straight through you and you know it.

Moving the bat from your shoulder completely, he lightly taps it against the crates. “You come to me if you ever want a change of lifestyle,” he coaxes “I got some real sexy dresses upstairs that haven’t been claimed yet”.

The tension between you both is palpable. There’s no denying that you feel a throbbing sensation between your thighs, the logical side of your mind growing hazy and clouded by lust. Your response catches you off guard, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I think I’d look better without them on," you hear yourself say, the words daring and suggestive.

Are you really flirting with the man who just forced you to kneel!? Damn him.

Negan immediately picks up what you’re putting down, “Oh is that so? Think I’d need to be the judge of that, sweet thing”. 

Bringing his free hand down to your face, Negan surprises you with his soft touch. You can feel his fingertips tracing along your cheekbone before gently cupping your face in his hand. 

The contrasting sides of this man are striking and downright annoying to put up with but you don’t fight against it. It’s hard to decide which side of Negan you actually prefer; the dominant leader that forced you on your knees to satisfy his ego or this charmingly soft man who calls you pretty pet names. 

Unable to resist the temptation, you steal a quick glance forwards. You only sneak a brief look but sure enough, there’s an obvious bulge right there, a mere inches away from your face.

A part of you wants to whimper at the sight but another part of you wants to scoff and get up, stopping this game of cat and mouse no matter the consequences of ‘disrespecting’ his authority.

“Well, damn" he practically groans as you look back up at him "I don't see why we should wait until you try on one of the dresses." His words are direct, the implication clear that he's craving you just as much as you're craving him.

But the ball is in your court now. Negan keeps his hand on your face, staying deliberately still, leaving the next move up to you. He's put his cards on the table, making sure his desires are known. It's up to you to respond, to show him that you want him just as badly.

A thought flickers through your head. How bad would it be if you did hookup with Negan? You know you’d have a good time but there would be consequences. Even though Negan seems casual, there’s no doubt he would push you to become another wife. Once he sinks his claws into you, he won’t simply let go after a hookup or two. Why would he when he can have an unlimited number of wives just for himself?

Before you can make that decision, movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. You snap your head in their direction, watching as a figure hesitantly comes closer, uncertainty laced in each step.

Joey — or, Fat Joey, as he’s so graciously called by Negan — steps closer, nervously wringing his hands together.

Negan follows your gaze, letting his hand drop from your cheek as he huffs. “Fat Joey! Holy fuck, who knew you could sneak… or cockblock” he exclaims, putting on his bravado act.

Taking advantage of Negan's momentary distraction, you quickly stand up, using the opportunity to distance yourself and get back to work. The feeling of embarrassment washes over you as you realise what that must have looked like for Joey, who just stumbled across you both.

Negan shoots you a quick look. It's not an angry glare but rather a pout, as if he had expected you to patiently wait on your knees until he’s done talking to Joey. 

Joey speaks up, his voice a bit shaky as he tries to sound professional. "Boss, Simon wants to talk to you, he said it’s important" he says, attempting to mimic a soldier's stance "He tried contacting you on the walkie but didn't get an answer". 

Negan reluctantly gives Joey his attention, a hint of annoyance in his expression. You swiftly begin to move the crates, deciding to take Joey’s interruption as some kind of divine intervention that’s telling you not to give into Negan so easily.

“Simon already rounded up the other lieutenant’s, so they’re just waiting for you, sir” Joey rambles on as you pass by. 

Just as you're about to make your exit, you pause, unable to stop yourself from making a snide comment. You turn to Joey, purposely avoiding Negan's gaze. "Oh, Joey," you say with a hint of sarcasm, "don't forget to kneel. He likes that." 

Joey, completely oblivious to the sarcasm behind your words, takes your reminder as sincere advice. He immediately drops to his knees, a look of panic on his face as he hastily apologises. "S-sorry, sir!" he stammers "I didn't mean to forget!".

Negan takes a step back, his hand instinctively going to cover his bulge now that someone else is so close. ”Yeah, sure, just get the fuck up,” Negan grumbles.

As you walk away, you throw a playful goodbye over your shoulder. "Bye, sir," you say with a smirk, feeling a small sense of victory at having left Negan standing there with Joey, who’s still babbling on.

Negan stays silent, mulling over his thoughts. He can hear Joey drone on but he isn't interested. There's only one thing on Negan’s mind.

You’re definitely a keeper.