#christoph waltz fanfiction

[theverystrangegirl27]

⋆⭒˚.Be My Once In A Lifetime ⋆⭒˚.⋆

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

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

"You're kidding, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shoots you a look.

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

You suppose he has a point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You give in.

“And cut!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm not hurting you, am I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes everything in you not to drool.

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

“You look lovely.” He breathes.

It takes you by suprise, pink dusting your cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have we?” He asks, raising a brow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs.

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

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

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

You wiggle your brows, watching as Christoph nods.

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

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

You shudder at the thought.

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

Christoph laughs along with you, shaking his head.

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

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

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

“And you blush so prettily, my God.”

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

Is this really happening? You think.

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

It's all the permission he needs.

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

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

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

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

He lifts your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

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

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

“Christoph,” You begin, shocked.

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

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

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

Of course you want him.

You squeeze his hand.

“Will you take me back to your room?”

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

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

“Lead the way, liebling.”

*

*

*

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

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

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

You want him so bad.

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

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

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

“Yes.” You breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You close your eyes, hands scrabbling at his back.

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

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

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

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

Christoph works you through it relentlessly.

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

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

“Please fuck me, please Christoph.”

He smiles, eyes meeting yours.

“I love the way you say my name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He groans, burying his face in your neck.

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay with me?” He asks quietly.

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

You kiss him gently.

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

[quilloftheages]

Chapter 1: A Night in Vienna - Hans Landa x OC (1st Person)

Premise 

Set in the Inglourious Basterds universe, Elizabeth Acton, the daughter of an Oxford diplomat, is studying history at the University of Vienna in the 1920s. After an unexpected encounter with the enigmatic detective Hans Landa, their lives intertwine in a passionate romance. Despite a loving marriage and idyllic life together, Elizabeth's world is shattered when Hans mysteriously disappears, leaving only a note. Heartbroken and alone, she embarks on a journey to Paris to rebuild her life and confront the haunting question: why did Hans leave? And will she ever see him again?

Story: 

Chapter 1

Vienna, in the late 1920’s, had a certain magic to it. It was a city of art, music, and intellect, where the streets echoed with the footsteps of philosophers and dreamers. I had arrived here from Oxford, together with my family. My father’s career as a diplomat meant he was stationed in the city, and though Vienna was a world away from the rolling green hills of England, I found myself captivated by its allure. The university of Vienna was renowned for its history program, and studying here seemed the perfect way to carve out my future. 

But if I’m honest, I was just drawn to the idea of escape. Oxford, for all its charm, had always felt like a cage. My father’s expectations, the stifling formality of our lives – it all felt so scripted. Vienna, on the other hand, promised something different. It was a city alive with possibilities, and I was determined to take advantage of every one. 

In the evenings, after long days of lectures, I’d attend French lessons with my friends, Elise and Margot. The lessons were my ticket to the next dream: Paris. I’d always imagined myself walking the boulevards, teaching history at a lycée, living among the poets and artist. It was a romantic vision, perhaps, but at eighteen, I had no reasons not to dream big. 

One night, after our French class, we decided to stop at a bar near the city center. It was a cozy little place, dimly lit with a warm glow from the gas lamps and the gentle hum of conversation in the air. The scent of tobacco smoke mingled with the sharp aroma of schnapps and beer, and the clinking of glasses felt like the pulse of the room. We took a seat in a corner, practicing our French while laughing at Elise’s attempts to order wine In the language. 

It was then that I saw him for the first time. 

He stood near the bar, dressed in a dark, tailored coat, his posture straight and confident. There was something striking about him – sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes that seemed to take in everything around him without giving anything away. His gaze moved across the room and paused on us, or more specifically, on me. 

I tried not to look back, but curiosity got the better of me. our eyes met, and a flicker of smile played at the corner of his mouth. Something about it unsettled me, though I couldn’t quite put a finger on why. Still, I felt drawn to him. 

Elise noticed my starring. “He’s a handsome one. Though I must say perhaps a little too old for you.” She teased. Margot noticed what we were talking about and chuckled. “Good for you, Liz. He’s handsome and older. Every woman’s dream” she teased. I chuckled at both of them. Margot was the flirt of the group. Every man wanted her, and every woman wanted to be her. 

“Not interested,” I lied as I took a sip of my glass of wine, trying to escape the conversation. Elise sent me a small smile while Margot just chuckled, “If you say so,” she teased back. Our conversation flowed until suddenly I noticed a presence standing by our table. I looked up and spotted the man from before. Up close he didn’t seem tall, but he had a commanding presence. 

“Good evening, ladies,” he said in flawless German, tipping his hat politely. My German was rudimentary, but I caught enough to understand his greeting. His voice was smooth, carrying an air of authority. “May I join you?”

Elise glanced at me a bit unsure. But Margot, always the bold one, nodded. “Of course,” she replied. 

He pulled out a chair, sitting down with ease, his attention now fully on me. “Hans Landa,” he introduced himself, extending his hand. 

I shook it, trying to suppress the shutter of nerves. “Elizabeth Acton,” I replied in English, my German too weak for conversation. 

“You’re not from here,” he said, switching effortlessly to English. It was more of a statement than a question. 

“No,” I smiled, a little surprised at his fluency. “Oxford, originally. My father is a diplomat, stationed here for now. I’m studying at the university.” 

“Ah, a student of history in the city of history and culture.” His smile widened, though there was sometime about it that remained enigmatic, unreadable. 

“How did you know I studied history?” I asked baffled, not having told him that. He sent me a wolf-like smile. “Intuition,” he replied, making all of his chuckle. 

“What brings you to Vienna? Aside from your father’s work?” he asked. 

“I wanted to study here. It seemed… different. And I’m learning French. We all are, actually.” I paused, feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze. “I’d like to go to Paris someday.”

“Paris is beautiful,” he said, leaning back slightly. “But Vienna has its own charm. You may find it hard to leave once you lived here long enough.” 

Our conversation drifted into safer topics – Vienna, my studies, the little things about the city that charmed me. Hans listened attentively, nodding at all the right moments, his dark eyes never leaving mine. There was something magnetic about him. He was older, more worldly, but that only made him more intriguing. 

As the evening wore on, I found myself relaxing in his presence. He had a way making you feel like you were the only person in the room, as if your words mattered more than anyone else’s. And yet, there was something guarded about him, something he held back. 

I was drawn to that mystery. ______________________________________________________________

It had only been a few days since that night at the bar, but Hans Landa had already lodged himself in my thoughts. There was something about his presence that lingered, like a faint scent you couldn’t quite place but couldn’t forget. His attention was exhilarating.

After another evening of French lessons, my friends and I decided to take a different route home. The bustling square near St. Stephen’s Cathedral was vibrant with life – street vendors packing up for the night, the smell of roasted chestnuts in the air, and couples hurrying off to their favourite cafés. And then, as we turned the corner, I saw him. 

Hans stood leaning casually against a lamppost, his hat tipped slightly forward, watching the world pass by. His eyes flicked toward me, and I felt my heart skip. 

“Good evening, Miss Acton,” he greeted me with a slow smile, ignoring my friend, focusing solely on me. 

I was momentarily stunned that he remembered my name. “Mr. Landa,” I replied, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt. 

“Vienna is small, after all,” he said, his English accented but fluent. “We seem to be crossing paths again.” 

He gestured toward the street. “May I walk with you? Unless, of course, I’m interrupting.” He glanced briefly at Elise and Margot, but it was clear he was only asking out for politeness. 

I hesitated, glancing at my friends. Margot just smirked, while Elise gave me a knowing look and whispered. “Go ahead. We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

And just like that, I found myself walking with Hans through the twilight streets of Vienna, the atmosphere between us buzzing with curiosity. We talked – well, mostly he asked questions, and I answered. I found myself telling him more about my studies, about Oxford, my father’s work, my childhood. He listened with an intensity that made me feel seen. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said as we neared my street. “How are the French lessons going?”

I smiled sheepishly. “I understand much more than I can speak. My accent is… rather terrible.” 

He chuckled, and the sound warmed me. “Perhaps I could help.” 

I looked up at him and smiled. “I would like that very much.” 

The next week, Hans appeared outside the university as I was leaving my class. His presence was becoming less of a surprise and more of an expectation – one I wasn’t sure how to feel about, yet undeniably looked forward to. 

“Miss Acton,” he greeted, falling into step beside me. “I’ve been thinking about your French. If you’d like, I could assist with your lessons.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “You speak French?”

“Fluently,” he said, with a touch of pride. “After all, I’ve spent some time in France during my travels for work.” 

I was hesitant at first. Hans was a detective, a man with a mysterious aura, and this offer felt oddly personal. But I agreed. 

And so, our meetings took on a new routine. We would meet after my French lessons, and Hans would quiz me, correcting my pronunciation with gentle patience. It was strange – he was often so sharp and perceptive, but with me, he was careful, as though he didn’t want to rush anything. 

One evening, after correcting my imperfect “R” sound for what felt like the hundredth time, he looked at me with a teasing smile. “If you wish to speak with Parisians, you must soften your tongue. Let the language move through you like music.” 

His voice was so close, his breath warm against the evening air. I tried to phrase again, and he nodded approvingly, his smile lingering just a bit longer than usual. 

A few weeks later, after one of our informal lessons, we stood on the street corner, neither of us quite ready to say goodbye. 

Hans shifted, his eyes narrowing in thought before he spoke. “Elizabeth,” he began, using my first name for the first time, the sound of it unexpected and somehow intimate. “I’d like to take you out. Properly.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You mean… as in a date?” 

His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Yes, a date. Tomorrow evening? There’s a small café near the Danube. Quiet, warm…I think you’d like it.” 

I hesitated for only a moment before nodding, with a smile. “I’d like that.” He smiled charmingly back which made my heart flutter. ______________________________________________________________

The café Hans had chosen was quaint, tucked away from the busy streets of Vienna. It had wooden tables, candlelight flickering in the soft breeze, and a view of the river that was simply enchanting. We sat by the window, the city reflecting off the water in soft hues of gold and blue. 

Hans seemed more relaxed than usual, the guarded air he often wore like amor fading in the candlelight. We talked about everything and nothing. I told him about my life in Oxford, about my younger brother, James, who was still in school. In return, he shared snippets of his life – he’d grown up here in Austria, in the Alps to be precise. He had travelled widely for his work, but seemed to evade anything too personal. 

As the evening drew on, there was a brief silence. Hans reached across the table, gently placing his hand over mine. 

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice lower, more serious. “I enjoy this. Being with you. I… don’t often feel this way.” 

I felt my heart quicken. “Neither do I.” 

We walked along the Danube afterward, the stars reflecting off the water. When we stopped by the river’s edge, Hans turned to face me fully, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, he simply looked at me, his gaze intense, as if weighing some unspoken decision. 

Then, without a word, he leaned down and kissed me, his lips warm and soft against mine. 

The kiss was gentle, tentative, as though he was testing the waters. His hand came up to cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across my skin. I responded instinctively, letting my eyes closed as I melted into the warmth of his touch. The city seemed to blur around us, and for that brief moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. 

When we finally pulled away, the air between us was thick with unspoken emotions. I looked up at him, trying to gauge what he was thinking, but Hans, ever the enigma, simply smiled softly and took my hand, guiding me away from the river. ______________________________________________________________

The weeks that followed were filled with long walks, secret glances, and quiet conversations. Hans was unlike any man I had ever known – intelligent, mysterious, and yet gentle with me in ways I never expected. He was thoughtful, bringing me books from his personal collection, surprising me with small gifts like pressed flowers or an ink bottle from Paris, knowing I dreamt of going there. 

Our time together felt stolen, as if we were living in a world apart from everything else. We would meet in the afternoons after my classes, sit in a café or stroll through the gardens. There was always a tension beneath the surface, something deepening between us that neither of us could ignore. 

It was late one evening after dinner, and we were sitting in a quiet park beneath the glow of the streetlamps. Hans had been quieter than usual, his mood more intense, his eyes following me with a kind of hunger. I felt it too – the pull between us, the unspoken desire. 

We talked, but it was the only surface-level, both of us skirting around what we were really feeling. Finally, as the conversation died down, Hans turned to me, his expression unreadable. 

“I’ve been holding back, Fräulein,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “But I don’t think I can anymore.” 

Before I could respond, he kissed me again, but this time there was nothing tentative about it. His lips pressed harder, his hands pulling me close, and I felt the full force of what had been simmering between us. I returned the kiss with equal intensity, my arms wrapping around his neck as the world spun around us. 

When we finally broke apart breathless, the air between us had changed. We didn’t speak, but there was no need. We both knew that things had shifted. I smiled up at him, and he smiled back. And in that moment, he seemed to me to be the most beautiful and charming man, I had ever met. ______________________________________________________________

It didn’t take long after that before Hans suggested to meet my family. My parents were cautious, particularly my father. He was sceptical of Hans, though polite. 

Dinner with my parents was a formal affair, and Hans, to his credit, handled it well. He charmed my mother with his knowledge of art, and even managed to get a laugh out of my younger brother, James, who was typical shy around strangers. My father, however, remained distant, his questions sharp, probing Hans’ background and intentions. 

After the meal, when Hans and my father retreated to the study for a private conversation, I was left with a knot of anxiety. My father was protective, and though he rarely interfered with my life, I could sense his concerns. 

When they finally emerged, Hans looked calm, though my father’s expression remained unreadable. Still, when he shook Hans’ hand, there was a sense of grudging respect. 

I followed him to the door, and while I really wanted to kiss him, I couldn’t with my parents lingering close by. He smiled at me and winked as he left, making me chuckle. 

That night as I went to bed, I had a smile on my face and dreamed of Hans. 

We continued like this for months. He would help my study, take me on walks, to see museums and art galleries. He had come over a couple of more times to dine with my family, and in time my father seemed to like him more and more. 

Even after all of this it still took me by complete surprise. I came home one evening after class, expecting the house to be quiet. Instead, I found Hans sitting in the Parlor, his hat resting on the table beside him, his coat neatly folded over the chair. My heart raced in surprise. 

“Hans? What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping into the room, confusion clear on my face. 

He stood, walking over to me with a serious expression. “I’ve just spoken with your father.” 

My stomach flipped. “About what?” I asked in concern. 

Hans took my hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. His eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time since we’d met, I saw something like uncertainty in his gaze. 

“My liebe, Elizabeth,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve asked your father for his blessing to marry you.” 

The air seemed to leave the room, and I stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. 

“I love you,” he continued, his hands tightening slightly around mine. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll have me.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and all I could do was nod. 

Hans smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that made my heart soar. He pulled me into his arms, and as he held me close, I whispered, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

We kissed again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty - just the promise of a future together. 

Just a few short months later, I graduated from the University of Vienna. Hans was there, sitting in the audience with that same proud smile that made my heart flutter. The diploma in my hands felt like a culmination of years of hard work, a symbol of the life I had dreamed of building. But the moment I walked across the stage, my eyes found Hans, and I realised in that moment that the future was no longer just mine – it was ours. 

Our wedding followed soon after. It was a small, intimate ceremony in a charming Viennese church, attended by my family and friends, and some of Hans’ friends. My mother fussed over every detail, while my father walked me down the aisle, his expression soft with emotion. Hans waited at the altar, looking more handsome than I’d ever seen him, his dark eyes flowing with affection and promise.

The ceremony was simple but perfect. The moment we kissed as husband and wife, I felt a swell of love so strong that it left me breathless. I knew my life had changed forever. ______________________________________________________________

After the wedding, I moved into Hans’ apartment – a beautiful, sunlit space in the heart of Vienna. The rooms were filled with the warm, earthy scent of wood and leather, and large windows overlooked the bustling streets below. It was smaller than my family’s home, but it felt infinitely cozier. We spent our first days as newlyweds either in bed or arranging the apartment to make it our own, combining our lives piece by piece. 

Life settled into a peaceful rhythm. I found work as a teacher at a local girls’ school, a position that fulfilled me more than I could have imagined. The students were eager to learn, and I found myself pouring my heart into every lesson. 

Hans’ work as a detective kept him busy, but when he was home, we filled our time with quiet dinners, long walks through Vienna’s parks, and cozy nights reading together by the fire. He would often surprise me with flowers or a new book, and I loved the small ways we cared for each other. We were happy – truly, blissfully happy. 

A year or so into the marriage, my father received word that his posting in Vienna was coming to an end. My parents were being re-stationed back to England, and though I knew this day would come, it still felt like shock. 

The evening before their departure, my family gathered for a final dinner at our favourite restaurant. The air was thick with emotion – my mother trying to hold back tears, my father quieter than usual, and James, now taller and more mature, struggling to say goodbye. 

“I’m proud of you,” my father said, hugging me tightly. “And I know you’ve made the right choice.”

I watched them leave the next morning, waving until their car disappeared from view, tears streaming down my face. Vienna felt emptier without them, but I still had Hans. And that was enough.  ______________________________________________________________

Hans I had tried to start a family, but as the years went by, our hopes began to fade. Each month brought fresh disappointment, and I started to fear that the fault lay with me. Doctors confirmed my worst fears – something about my body, something I couldn’t fix, made it difficult, perhaps impossible, for me to conceive. 

I wept often during that time, feeling a deep sense of failure. Hans, ever gentle and patient, would hold me, his hands stroking my hair as I sobbed into his chest. 

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered, though I could hear the sadness in his voice. “We heave each other, my darling Elizabeth. That’s all I need.” 

He never blamed me, not once. But I couldn’t help but feel like I had let him down. 

To lift our spirits, Hans surprised me with a trip to Paris – the city I had always dreamed of visiting. We arrived in spring, the city blooming with life and colour. The air was warm, the streets lively with music and laughter. Paris was everything I had imagined it would be – romantic, vibrant, and a full of history. 

We spent our days strolling along the Seine, visiting art galleries and historical landmarks. Hans took me to a charming little café, the same one we had spoken about on one of our first dates, and we sat for hours drinking wine and watching the world go by. 

One evening, as we stood on a bridge overlooking the river, the lights of the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance, Hans pulled me close. “I promised you Paris,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “And here we are.” 

It was a perfect moment. I felt as though all my dreams had come true, even if the path was different that I’d imagined. 

Years passed in a contended blur. We had settled into a comfortable life in Vienna, one filled with love, even if it wasn’t the life I had originally planned. I was happy teaching, and Hans was content in his work, though he often spoke of darker times looming in the political sphere. 

One day, I came home from work, expecting to find Hans waiting for me, as usual. Instead, the house was eerily quiet. On the dining table, there was a single note, written in his familiar, neat script. 

I’ve been called away on urgent business. Fear not, I will return soon. Trust me. I love you, mein liebe, Elizabeth. 

I stared at the note, my heart pounding in my chest. Hans had never left like this before. His work as a detective sometimes required long hours, but he had always kept me informed. Now, he had disappeared with only a cryptic message. 

As I ate my supper I could not shake of the feeling of loneliness. I spent the rest of the evening reading but found myself often looking at Hans’ chair and felt sad. As I went to bed that night, I wore one of Hans’ shirts in hope that it would quench my longing for him, but it did the exact opposite. I only found myself missing him more. ______________________________________________________________

The days without Hans turned into weeks, and those weeks into months. At first, I tried to carry on as if nothing had changed. I went to the school, taught my students, and returned home to an empty apartment. I pretended I wasn’t watching the clock, that I wasn’t waiting for the sound of his footsteps on the stairwell or the creak of the front door.

But the silence grew unbearable. 

His note lay where I had left it, on the mantle above the fireplace, the ink faded but still legible. I must have read it a thousand times, hoping that somehow, if I stared hard enough, the words would change, or that they would reveal some hidden meaning. But there was nothing. Just the same cryptic message, and the same growing fear gnawing at my insides. 

Where had he gone? Why had he not told me? And – worst of all – was he ever coming back?

I had tried to remain strong, but Vienna no longer felt like the vibrant city I had fallen in love with. Every corner of the apartment whispered of our life together – the quiet breakfasts by the window, the evening spent reading by the fire, and the late nights when Hans would pull me close and hold me as if I was the most precious thing in the world. Without him, those memories were like shadows, haunting me with their absence. 

It wasn’t just his disappearance that hurt. It was the not knowing. Hans had always been so careful with his words, so precise, and yet this time, he had left me with nothing but uncertainty. His work as a detective had always involved secrets, but this felt different. This felt personal. 

One evening, I visited his office, my hope dwindling with every passing day. His colleagues gave me nothing but blank stares, polite refusals, and vague promises that they’d look into it. But they didn’t seem to care. Hans was just another name on a list of officers, one who had apparently gone off on some undisclosed mission. I was his wife, yet it seemed as though I knew the least of all. 

Trust me. 

How was I supposed to trust him when he had left me like this? ______________________________________________________________

I began to write to him. At first, it was just a few words on paper, trying to make sense of the chaos in my mind. But as the weeks went by, the letters grew longer, filled with everything I couldn’t say aloud. I told him about the school, about my students, and how they were thriving in their history lessons. I wrote about Vienna, the city we had both loved so much, and hot it now seemed to reflect the emptiness inside me. 

I even wrote about my dreams – the ones we had shared, the life we had planned. I told him how much I wanted to see him, to hold him, to hear his voice again. How I missed the warmth of his touch, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at me. 

But there was no address to send the letters to. no place where I could reach him. So they remained in a drawer, growing in number, waiting for the say when I might have the chance to give them to him. 

After months of waiting in vain, something inside me snapped. It wasn’t an act of anger or frustration, but rather a quiet, aching realisation that I could no longer stay here, trapped in a life that had once been filled with love and now felt like a prison. 

I began to pack my things, carefully folding away the clothes and trinkets that had once made up our home. The books we had collected together, the small souvenirs from our trips around the city – everything seemed to carry the weight of what had been lost. I left the ring Hans had given me on the bedside table, the one reminder of the love we had shared, but I couldn’t bear to wear it anymore. 

My final goodbyes were said to the few friends I had made, those who had watched me as I slowly crumbled under the weight of Hans’ absence. They offered me sympathy, but no one had any real answers. Vienna had become too painful for me to stay. 

Paris had always been my dream, and now, in the absence of everything, it seemed like the only place I could go. 

I booked my passage on the next train to France, leaving behind the life I had built, the one I had hoped to share with Hans. The city I had once loved felt foreign to me now, its streets empty without him by my side. As the train pulled out of the station, I looked back one last time at the skyline of Vienna, the domes and spires that had been the backdrop to my happiest moments. 

But I knew there was nothing left for me here. Not anymore. ______________________________________________________________

Paris was everything I had imagined it to be – the cut of lights, of romance, and art. But it was also a city of ghosts, filled with reminders of the life I had once dreamed of having with Hans. Every corner café, every bridge across the Seine, every street vendor selling flowrrs – all of it reminded me of the promises we had made to each other, the life we were supposed to build together. 

But Paris was also where I began to heal. 

I found a small apartment near Montmartre, not far from the artists and musicians who brought the street to life with their creativity. It was nothing like the apartment Hans and I had shared in Vienna, but it was mine. A space where I could start over. 

Teaching had always been my passion, and I found work at a local school. The children here were different – more worldly, more curious. They asked questions about the world beyond France, and I found myself telling them stories of Vienna, of the history I had studied so passionately. In a way, it felt like I was teaching them about the life I had lost. 

Days turned into weeks, and slowly, I began to find some measure of peace. The ache of Hans’ absence never truly left, but it become more bearable with time. I still thought of him often – wondering where he was, whether he was safe, and if he ever thought of me. But I no longer let those thoughts consume me. 

Paris became my sanctuary. It wasn’t the life I had planned, but it was a life, nonetheless. And for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe again. 

I still had the letters, tucked away in a small box at the back of my closet. I hadn’t written to him in a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. They were a record of my grief, my longing, my hope. 

Sometimes, late at night, I would open the box and read through them, imagining what it would be like to see Hans again. I wondered if he would still recognise the woman I had become – the one who had been broken by his absence but had somehow found strength to go on. 

Perhaps one day I would find the courage to let him go entirely. But for now, I held on to the memories, the love we had shared, and the hope that somewhere, Hans was thinking of me too. 

I wasn’t sure if I would ever hear from him again. But I had learned to live with the uncertainty. After all, life in Paris had given me something precious – myself. 

Everything was getting better – until the war began. 

[truefandemonium]

Requests open!

I probably won’t do many of these, but because I’m on a King kick, I’d like to accept a few requests for some mini Dr King Schultz xReader fics. 👀

I don’t do explicit NSFW, but can write spice depending on the ask, just shoot me a message or drop a comment!

TIA for any requests!

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Currently working on chapter 1 of Spillways, my Gilded Age fanfic

the cast for the current (current, as in, starting from episode 5 of season 2) timeline are:

All the original cast in their current roles (so Christine Baranski as Agnes, Louisa Jacobson as Marian, etc)

my fictionalized version of George Stewart, Earl of Galloway (Christoph Waltz, circa 2023)

His son and heir, Randolph Stewart (Joe Alwyn circa 2023)

You can read the prologue to Spillways here.

[rey4kat]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Three Musketeers (2011 Anderson) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu/Comte de Rochefort Characters: Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu, Comte de Rochefort, Richelieu's cats - Character Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, No Beta we die like old man Summary:

Rochefort gets hurt. Richelieu takes care of him

So, I was bored and wrote that fic. Have fun with it

[filmscruise]

so just an idea for a fanfiction with christoph waltz. imma sit down and try to write it out and see what happens...

[allmyandroids]

Btw I would love to be tagged in ANY Christoph Waltz fanfiction there is! Especially FFs which feature August! I love him too much~♡

[theverystrangegirl27]

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

[headoverhiddles]

Meister - Hans Landa x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You wait to give Landa a sexy little surprise when he comes home, but realize he’s not alone. 

Notes: requested by anon! Not as plot heavy as my other Landa ones, and much shorter, but certainly as smutty! xx Enjoy a tiny taste of our Austrian daddy, it’s been a while.  

Herr Colonel Landa's home is a large one. He has money, and he's not one to shy away from displaying it. He’s not overly cocky about it-- he just takes pleasure in the fact that he’s living comfortably, and by proxy, so are you. 

Today, you've spent the day straightening up the place, telling your maids they've got the day off. You want to welcome the master of the house home properly... as his little French maid waiting for him. 

You had met Hans about a year ago at a party in Paris, where you're from, and it had been an instant attraction. You had been a dancing girl, and dancing girls did not typically start relationships with patrons of the bar, but Hans had been irresistible. He's so powerful, yet quietly so. So spontaneous, yet so well spoken. The man is a walking contradiction, and you find the mystery deadly attractive.

You wait in your sexy maid outfit on the stairs as the front door opens. You can’t wait to see his reaction-- you’re determined to remind Hans just how much he means to you.

"Hermann lernte ziemlich schnell, dass zweite Chancen nicht in meiner Natur liegen--" (Hermann learned quite quickly that second chances are not in my nature, when--) Hans stops as he sees you on the steps, and your eyes widen as you notice there are other men with him. His eyes widen as well, and you try to cover up as the two uniformed men accompanying him chuckle.

"Ah Landa. Es sieht so aus, als warte deine Dame im Warten." (Ah Landa. It appears your lady in waiting is waiting.)

"Sieht aus, als hätte das Mädchen ein Geschenk für Sie." (Looks like the maid has a gift for you.) The two officers continue to snicker, and you're mortified.

"That would be my wife," Landa says slowly, and the other two men stall their laughter, fear dawning on their faces. Landa just smirks your way. "How beautiful you look, my dear. As it so happens-- I am not the only one who thinks so."

The two other men chuckle again, nervously this time. But Landa just keeps smiling your way. With that same unnerving smile on his face, he straightens his uniform coat. "Gentlemen, would you excuse me for a moment? Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be with you shortly."

You back away up the stairs as Hans' dark eyes roam your body. You've got tiny lace panties on, and a white and black frilly apron that just barely covers your breasts.

"Hans--" you try to assure him, but he's not having it. He takes your wrist as if to lead you upstairs, but ultimately decides against it. He can't wait that long. 

Grabbing you by the thighs, he pushes you up against the banister, and parts your legs, moving down between them. After he has them open enough and unhooks your garter belt, you feel his tongue probe your panties, and you sling a leg over his shoulder. He quiets your moans with a pinch to your ass, and mouths along your swollen bud until you're practically crying.

"Hush, Fraulein," he snaps up at you, "Any of them could come out and see me defiling you on the stairs, and we don’t want that. Hermann and Stefan have seen enough of you for one day."

"Yes sir, herr colonel," you breathe, head tilting back in ecstasy. He inserts a finger into you, and you cry out as he curves it. He continues to assault your G-spot with his fingers and your clit with his tongue, until you let out a moan, coming against his face.

He raises his eyebrows. "Très rapidement, ma cherie." (Very quickly.)

"Je suis faible pour ce que tu me fais, Hans." (I'm weak for what you do to me, Hans.) you growl, "Tu sais ça." (You know this.)

You drop to your knees, urging him down as well, and he lays on the stairs as you move down to undo his pants. You take him out, licking your lips at the sight of his erection. He groans, so you lower your mouth down over him, getting him even harder. You straddle him, lowering down onto his cock, and he grabs your hips, mumbling German curse words as you ride him like that on the stairs.

"You're right," you whisper, "They could come out at any time daddy, see me riding you, see you fucking me hard..." You moan, pressing your hand to his chest for leverage. "Fuck me hard, Hans."

He moans your name, and pushes his hips up, once, twice more as he gasps. "Are you close, my sweet? Mm? My sweet little whore?"

"Yes," you moan, "Bitte... Bitte Hans, ah..."

“Look at this costume... you knew exactly what it would do to me.”

“Yes!”

You bite your lip as you grind down once more and come hard at the same time as he does. He shakes his head, astonished. 

“I suppose there will be no explanation, will there?” You crawl up between his legs, and giggle. 

"Juste accueillir mon maître à la maison." (Just welcoming my master home.)

[cozywriting]

Love, from Nantucket

It is post-World War II, and the Nazi regime has fallen. Officiated war veteran and former S.S Hans Landa is living free from persecution as a local detective on Nantucket Island. Life suddenly takes a turn when Hans intertwines with a familiar face and conflicts arise when faced with the message: You can never thoroughly escape your past.

A character study centered on Tarantino's rounded, complex villain, Hans Landa.

“Wouldn’t you rather know if there are any Jews hiding under our feet?”

“No, because it’s you I wish to know about."

Pairing: Hans Landa x oc

Genre: Romance & Drama

Part I: Au Revoir

Chapters 1 & 2 available:

AO3 

Wattpad

[truefandemonium]

Fans of Christoph Waltz Discord Server!!!

Hello lovelies!! I am insane and therefore have created a discord server for our wonderful guy 🥰

It is a place to gush about Christoph, favorite films/roles, fanfiction, and hang out!

So come stop by, I’d love to hear from you!!

(Yes I know it’s not the correct translation of darlings but I don’t care) 😚💕

[f1yogurt]

you know a fic is legit when the multilingual character is so overwhelmed/surprised/happy/sad/hurt that they revert back to their native language

[movieexpert1978]

I posted 5,363 times in 2022

That's 1,462 more posts than 2021!

226 posts created (4%)

5,137 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@illiana-mystery

@faemorningstar

@morelikedoccock

@heythereimashley

@curbitkirby

I tagged 316 of my posts in 2022

#alfred molina - 183 posts

#fanfiction - 63 posts

#doc ock - 53 posts

#maxim horvath - 52 posts

#the sorcerer's apprentice - 36 posts

#otto octavius - 33 posts

#fluff - 30 posts

#fanfic - 30 posts

#christoph waltz - 29 posts

#maxim horvath x reader - 24 posts

Longest Tag: 45 characters

#it’s one of those days where i feel worthless

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Crescendo

So I wrote a big chunk of a story a while back. Another story between Andres Galan and my OC Luna. Luna starts seeing someone her own age. Andres respectfully takes a step back. However, things soon start spiraling for Luna. 

This is just a little Prologue to see what people think. So please feel free to leave a comment. Thanks!!! 

Prologue

“Andres, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Luna speaks nervously.

“What’s that?” He asks, looking up from the papers on his desk.

“I…I wanted to start seeing someone…I hope that’s ok.”

“Luna, of course you can see someone,” he says assuring as he gets up. “I’m happy for you, truly,” he says as he caresses her face.

“I wasn’t sure how you would react.”

“Luna, I want you to be happy. I know our relationship wouldn’t last forever.”

“Andres, I still want to be friends.” He takes her hands gently and kisses her palms.

“I know…and I’m very grateful for that. I will always be here for you,” he says tenderly.

Xxxxxxxx

“So who’s this guy you’re seeing?” Senna asked eagerly. Luna moan dramatically into her palms. Senna smirks and nudges her gently. “Come on, spill it!”

“Well, he wants to be a sports journalist…”

“What! Oh no! He’s not for you.”

“What do you mean?” Luna laughs.

“I’m willing to bet he wants to do stuff for the Riots. Trust me, a lot of people around my dad are sketchy as hell,” Senna emphasized.

“He’s not sketchy and he does want to do some with the Riots but right now he’s working on stuff for the L.A. Chargers too alright,” Luna explains quickly.

“Well…what’s his name?” Senna huffs.

“Jason Schultz.”

“Uuuugh…that has rich white boy written all over it,” Senna groans.

“Hey, come on! Why are you being so critical?” Luna asks genuinely hurt. Senna squirmed as she realized that she over did it with her attitude.

“Sorry, I know that wasn’t the right way to do it, but I just want to make sure he makes you happy…ok?” Senna says.

“Thank you, I’ll be ok. He does make me happy,” she nods.

“He better!” Both girls laugh.

37 notes - Posted November 3, 2022

#4

Happy Birthday to Alfred Molina!!!

46 notes - Posted May 24, 2022

#3

Totally taking advantage of the Alfred Molina open requests. But i hope i do it right… .

How about Doc Ock (or even Bob Aldrich) being insecure about his physique. But his girlfriend changes his mind!

Thank you regardless 🐙🕷🥰

Here you go!!! Sorry this took me so long to do.

short but lots of fluff promise!!!!

tag list:

@illiana-mystery @randomfandomtrash28 @doctoraceus

@curbitkirby @tsukiakarinobara

Otto groaned as he stretched and stood up. His legs and back felt sore. It didn’t help that he had been sitting and tinkering in his lab all day.

“Uuuhgg,” he mumbled. He scratched his chin and could feel the stubble of a beard growing. He was well aware of the grey hairs starting to poke their way through his auburn hair. He was frowning as he went to the open kitchen area where his girlfriend was making dinner.

“Hey you,” she smiled at him.

“Hey,” he nodded weakly.

“Something wrong?” She knows that tone.

“It’s nothing,” he shrugs. She waits a few minutes as she works on the food.

“What’s wrong Otto?” She asks gently.

“I’m getting old…my body sucks,” he says in defeat.

“Hey! Get that out of your head right now mister!” She huffs as she hurries over to him.

“But it’s true! My legs and back ache. I’m turning grey and getting fat!” He sighs.

“Otto stop!” She laughs gently. “You could take a shower.” She suggests.

“Oh great now I stink too!”

“Hey I didn’t say that!” She playfully smacks his arm. “You work too much. Your body has been through a lot of trauma.” One of the arms shakes it’s head in denial. “It doesn’t help you have these stubborn things on your back.” She teased. “Yes, Larry I’m talking to you.”  He turned away and ignored her in defiance, making Otto smirk. She straddles his lap and faces him. “I think you’re amazing Doctor Otto Octavious,” she whispers sincerely. He wraps his arms around her and rests his head on her shoulder.

“You think so?”

“Of course Otto…I mean that…and I mean it when I say I love you so much.”

“Thank you honey…that really means a lot to me.” He whispers. She kisses his cheek and then his temple. She turns his face towards him and kisses his forehead. When he looks into her eyes she smiles and gives him a tender kiss.

“You should take a break from work. You’ve been stuck in that lab basically for the last four days.”

“No I haven’t…have I?” Flo nods an eager yes making Otto huff. “Fine.” He relents with a smile. He helps her finish dinner and they sit down to eat. “You’re right…a shower sounds good after dinner…care to join me?” Otto smirks.

“I’d love to.”  

47 notes - Posted May 30, 2022

#2

Aftercare

Doc Ocktober 31: Aftercare 

As promised, the part 2 to Submissive 

lots of fluff!!! Otto taking good care of his submissive. I have no doubt he would be great with aftercare. 

https://movieexpert1978.tumblr.com/post/675601347692953600/submissive 

Otto gently takes the belt off as carefully as he can and puts it with his coat.

“Hey…darling are you ok?” He whispered.

“Yes Otto.” She gives him a small smile.

“Wait a moment.” He says. He leaved and she hears the sound of the shower running. Otto comes back in, fully naked now and helps her to her feet. He helps her into the shower with the arms being careful not to damage anything. Otto kisses her skin gently as he lets the water run over her. “I wasn’t too hard was I?” He asked.

“Only when you held my hair too tight.” She said.

“Oh I’m sorry. Do you want me to get you an icepack once we’re out?” He asked sincerely.

“No thank you, can you just massage my head a little bit?”

“Of course love.” Otto takes some of her shampoo and gently rubs it into her head. He smiled as he hears her hum pleasantly. He loves that sound. Next, he washes her body, being as gentle as he can. The belt marks are already fading. He doesn’t want to bruise her despite her asking him to sometimes. She helps clean Otto off before the water is turned off. An arm gives them towel, making her giggle. Otto is playful as he dries off. He puts his boxers back on as they go back to the bedroom. She puts a t-shirt and panties on before getting back into bed.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Otto asks.

“Later please.”

“Alright, sleep now my dear.” He kisses the top of her head as she drifts off listening to his heartbeat.  

52 notes - Posted February 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Garden Stroll

Just saw your message about your requests being open. How about a fic with his character from Breakable You? I’d love to read a fic where the OC doesn't leave that wonderful man for his BROTHER (who happened to be an ex). 😅😊

sorry this took me so long to get done anon. I wrote this and then I lost motivation to get this posted. I’ve just been going through a lot right now. I haven’t been motived to write at all either, so sorry about that. 

This is NSFW, safe sex, swearing, 

She wasn’t surprised to see Paul out front tending to his garden. He must have gotten an early start as he had certainly built up a sweat. She hurried inside with her things and grabbed a cold Gatorade for him.

“Hi Paul,” she smiled coming over to him.

“Oh hey there,” he nodded as he got up.

“I figured you could use a drink,” she said handing him the bottle.

“Oh thank you very much,” he nods and starting drinking. “Ahhhh…that’s good, nice and cold.”

“How’s the garden coming?”

“Oh, it’s coming, been putting in all kinds of flowers.”

“Any veggies?”

“No, even though I probably should. I’m not one for a vegetable garden. I’m a flower guy,” he says holding up a tulip.

“Your garden is always beautiful regardless. I need to do some of my own.”

“What’s that?” He asked curiously.

“Removing tree stumps,” she groaned.

“Yeah, those are always a pain. If you need a sledgehammer let me know and you can borrow mine.”

“You got a sledgehammer?”

“Yup.”

“Awesome, thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” she smiles. They go back to their own houses, and she starts working in her back yard. Paul chuckles to himself as he sometimes hears her moaning and groaning. “Damn tree stumps,” she huffs. “Get out you stupid roots!” She shouts at one point. Paul has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing too loudly. Once he’s done with his plants he heads back inside. He sneaks a glance in her backyard to see her refilling a hold she dug up, with a small stuff off to the side. Paul puts a water in the freezer and gives it a few minutes before he goes outside to return the favor.

“Here’s some water,” he announces.

“Thank you,” she sighs and eagerly drinks. “I’m sorry…I was probably way too loud,” she blushes.

“No, you were fine. I found your colorful commentary quiet hilarious actually,” he chuckles.

"Yeah...I do that a lot when I work. I didn’t need the sledgehammer this time thankfully, just went around digging them up and cutting up the roots.”

“That’s not a bad method. It saves you a bit of money.”

“For now,” she sighs. “How have you been doing Paul?” She asks kindly as she starts to pick up her things.

“I’m alright, just keeping myself busy,” he nods. He knows what she means as his divorce had just been finalized a few weeks back.

“Not too busy I hope.” He helps her put some of her tools back in the garage.

“No, just the garden and a little house work every now and then. I’m alright,” he nods in appreciation.

“That’s good. Well, thank you for your help. I need to take a shower ASAP,” she groans fanning her face.

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72 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

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[mlmxreader]

Wounded Wolf | Blofeld x werewolf!gn!reader

summary: Blofeld acts strange when you get hurt after a hit attempt goes wrong.

tws: injury, mentions of violence, swearing

You groaned heavily as you lugged yourself into bed, clutching the freshly dressed wound on your upper thigh, trying to stop the pain from shooting through it; you weren't sure why Blofeld had ever told you to go after Bond, knowing that he always had the gadgets to stop his plans. You supposed it had something to do with what had gone on between them as children, but you knew for certain that once Blofeld had gotten wind of what Bond had done, he would be... extremely furious, to put it lightly.

You were his best assassin, a werewolf with the ability to shift at will - a very rare and very powerful thing - but you were also more than that; you doubted that he loved you, you doubted that his feelings ran deeper than the occasional satisfaction late at night, but you at least had some sort of relationship. He always made himself scarce when you shifted, though, when you allowed the wolf to break its chains he was never to be found - you often thought that he didn't trust you. That he didn't trust the animal instincts, and that you would rip out his throat.

Your thigh throbbed as you growled, exposing fangs that never truly went away, slightly curved and sharp at the ends; Bond just had to get his hands on fucking silver, didn't he?

You couldn't do anything as the door unlocked, but when you heard the familiar footsteps, you knew you didn't have to, putting a pillow under your thigh to keep it a little elevated as you tried not to look at the bandages. Tried not to rip them off and to itch at the wound; that was always the worst part of silver, the deep rooted itch that it left, so deep down that you would have reached your bones before even getting close to it.

"Bond did this," Blofeld growled as he stood at your bedside. His hands in his pockets and a flare of anger in his eyes. "Didn't he?"

You nodded, jaw clenched as you met his gaze. "Who else?"

He looked down at the bandage, and in an instant, that flare of anger was gone, replaced by something you had never seen before; such a look made you squirm a little, unsure of what he was thinking. "Are you in any pain?"

"Enough to make me angry," you chuckled, shaking your head. "Why?"

"I'll have my physician come over in the morning," he said, daring to sit down next to your hip, his hand going to your bare chest as he nodded slowly. "You're hot. Do you have a fever?"

You shook your head. "Werewolves are-"

"Have a naturally higher temperature than humans, I know," Blofeld ran his free hand down his face. "That wasn't the question."

You groaned, struggling to move and to get comfortable, but he kept you pinned with his hand on your chest. "No, I don't... Blofeld, what the fuck is all of this?"

His voice, calm as ever, gave nothing away as he added extra pressure to keep you in one place with just his gaze. "I'm the author of his pain. Not the other way around."

"It was a hit gone wrong," you grumbled. "I almost had him. I just needed more-"

"You did nothing," he got up, running a hand across the back of his neck. "You need to rest."

He wouldn't admit it, he could never admit to such a thing, but Blofeld wasn't just there to find out about your condition for himself, he wasn't just there for business either; there was something in his stomach, something that tugged and pulled at the edge of his flesh, that had made him need to see you. To make sure that you were safe.

"I'll have my men keep an eye on the property," he said, "you can rest, (y/n)."

"You ain't acting right," the words left your mouth before you could stop them, and you stuttered to apologise but he cut you off by gently grasping your chin between his forefinger and thumb.

Fuck, he had the prettiest eyes. Black in the dim light. So fucking pretty.

He let you go, and sighed. "Do your bandages need changing?"

You slowly shook your head, keeping a close eye on him as he prowled through the room, pausing at the window to peek through the edge of the curtains; there was something going on, and you could feel an uneasiness stick to your throat as you watched.

"Blofeld... you sure you're alright?"

He spared you a single look, and turned his attention to the unlocked window; he tugged it closed and double checked that it was locked. "You can't go anywhere in your condition. I'll have to stay."

You scoffed, a soft howl leaving your throat when you tried to sit up, able to feel the jagged edges of your wound pull and tug against flesh. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You can't stay here alone," he said it almost as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Not in this condition. So I will have to stay."

"Fine, fine, but..." you thought it was a silly request, but you had to ask. "Will you sleep here, with me?"

Blofeld shot you a look, one that always sent shivers down your spine, and he slowly nodded. "Of course."

Your shoulders relaxed as the relief left you, but when you struggled to move over, he tutted, shaking his head as he quickly made his way over; you weren't expecting him to be so... so gentle when he helped you to move over, but it was certainly a welcomed surprise.

"Say... I know you're not the feelings type," you started, "but, uh... all the things we've done... and what we've gone through... d'you think we could... y'know?"

He didn't answer, he merely grabbed another pillow and stuffed it under your leg. "I'll make sure you have painkillers and a decent doctor in the morning... have you eaten?"

"Uh, no," you said slowly. "No, I haven't."

"I'll be in the kitchen."

[the-blind-assassin-12]

B▪️I▪️N▪️G▪️O ▪️!

@zaffrenotes tagged me (thanks D!!) to play a little game of fanfiction bingo, so here’s what I got:

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tagging: @valkblue @something-tofightfor @pheedraws @honestly-shite @the-scandalorian @lightsinthedistancee @softpedropascal & anyone who wants to play!!