Anyways I think when you’re close to coming Victor likes to stroke your neck and touch your pulse all sensual like. It’s weird and vaguely threatening but it makes your toes curl until your feet cramp
Heisenberg may not be the generically soft, rose-petal, sweet-nothing whispering kind of guy but he's not an asshole either who'd just roll over and light a cigar. Atop, he'll press his weight against you with his chest heaving against yours then wraps one of his heavy, factory-scarred arms around you to pull you flush against him. His rough hand finds its way to lazily stroke over your back or ass while he smokes, muttering in that gravelly voice with a tired grin, “Not bad, buttercup… didn’t think you’d survive that one.”
If he wrecked you all the way, which he usually does, he'll grumbled the whole time but he'll still pick you up and haul you into a warm bath in one of the rusty factory tubs; surprisingly, he's a pretty gentle guy when he wants to be, as he washes the mess off you with surprisingly careful movements.
He secretly lives for the times you curl up next to him and nuzzle against his coarse hair and warm skin. Don't expect him to always praise you, but the way he holds you a little too tightly says more than his sarcasm ever could.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
On Himself: Arms and Hands; as years of working with molten iron and wielding his huge hammer have made them muscular, thickly veined, and strong. He enjoys holding you down or manhandling you with them, knowing how helpless you'd be in his grasp.
On You: Thighs. The inner portions of your thighs, which tremble as he stands between them, are particularly enjoyable for him. He enjoys grasping them tightly until bruises appear, burying his head between them, or them wrapping around his waist as he thrusts into you. Bonus if your thighs got teeth marks on them, thanks to him.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Messy is an understatement. Heisenberg's cum is hot, thick, and plentiful, flowing in endless streams inside you due to years of pent-up frustration and the boost in endurance thanks to the Cadou living within him now. He loves finishing deep inside you, on your stomach, thighs, tits, or face; he'll smear it into your skin, smirking. “Look at you… all painted up like my personal canvas. Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”
He'll have you lick him off your fingers or his cock, mocking how eagerly you do it but the sight of you doing so couldn't stop his cock from twitching hard, oozing out more cum from the tip.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Deep within the factory's darkest corners, there were times were Karl experimented with his Soldats during moments of extreme isolation and sexual frustration. His dirty secret was that one depraved night where he left two of his strongest creations double-team him while he was sucking off a Sturm; all while he yelled at the creature to "shut it's fuckin' fan up", because the clattering loud noise messed with his concentration.
He'll admit it out loud and would rather take it to his grave, but the memory still gets him hard when he’s alone and pissed off. Sexual frustration in the Heisenberg Factory runs deep.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Quite experienced, actually, but in a raw, unrefined way. Lonely nights and rough, quick encounters with whoever, or whatever, crossing his path have taught him well how to wreck a body. He's more observant than given the credit for once he decides that you're worth the effort; every sensitive spot, reaction he learns of yours is exploited ruthlessly. He’s a fast learner and adapts quickly to what makes you scream his name.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Pronebone, without question. He would love to push you down into the workbench or, when feeling in a "distinguished gentleman" mood, mattress and press his own larger body against yours body; thrusting deep into you with rough, hard, punishing thrusts.
He'd always be a feral bastard like biting on your neck or shoulder to leave hickeys there, growl nasty things into your ear. Karl would make you feel every twitch of his cock inside you and his rough, growled out moans against your ear while you're completely pinned against his weight and whatever surface he's fucking you in, leaving you unable to move.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
He's funny in the most meanest and sarcastic manner. In the middle of thrusting, he'd make crude jokes, tease you and mock your overwhelmed expressions like, “What’s the matter, buttercup? Can’t handle a little metal? Thought you were tougher than that.” He lets out low, dark laughter at your whimpering and begging, but it’s never light-hearted; it's more like laced with dominance and wicked amusement at how easily he breaks you.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Not really the most well-maintained guy; Heisenberg's dark happy trail is thick, leading down to the wild, coarse brush of his pubes, which are of the same shade as his unkempt hair that is sprinkled with silver streaks. He keeps them trimmed to a decent extent only if he feels like doing it, but more often than not, it’s quite unkempt due to his preference on keeping it a "bit on the masculine side". The hair is more thicker on his balls and around the base of his cock; him enjoying the raw, animalistic feel of it scraping against your delicate skin when he’s buried deep inside you.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
By nature, he's pretty unromantic yet when it comes to his intimacy? Extremely possessive in the most primal manner. He stares right into your eyes as he fucks you senseless, grunting both insults and compliments alike: “Fuck, you take me so well… my perfect little slut.” He marks your neck and shoulders with his almost canine teeth and mouth, marking his territory on you.
However beneath that primal, greasy presence of his lies an intense need within him to be close to someone else; he doesn’t just let anyone get close. When he’s vulnerable, which includes bottoming of course, that intimacy becomes more obvious than he wants it to be.
Quite frequently and aggressively so. If it comes to the point when the factory or Miranda's theological bullshit gets under his skin, he'll just storm into his private workshop, slump down on the chair to pull his pants down halfway and begins to stroke himself.
At times he'll even use his magnetic powers to levitate a custom metal toy against his prostate while he jerks off; his mind filled with thoughts of you the entire time. He gets pissed when he cums too quickly because “it’s not the same as ruining you in person.”
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Hard Dom/Power Bottom Switch: The most important of all his kinks. Karl is the OG switch, but it'll take you a while to have him give up control, even when he’s in the bottom position. When he's a Hard Dom, which means he’s brutal and in control. He’ll throw you around like you’re scrap metal, pin you down because of his superior strength, and fuck you hard and unrelenting. He’ll leave bruises from his grip, marks from his teeth, and his voice will always remind you of your place. During certain rare moments where he's the Power Bottom, which makes him even more dangerous. He’ll open his legs for you, ask you to peg him or fuck him, but still maintain control. He’ll give you orders, make fun of your pace, hold your hips to force you in deeper, and laugh menacingly at you when you struggle to keep up. “Is that all you’ve got, buttercup? Thought you wanted to destroy me? Now fucking do it". Vulnerability turns him on, but he weaponizes it to stay in control even when he’s being fucked.
Pegging: This is what Heisenberg is absolutely shameless about. He enjoys that raw, intense stretch and how it stimulates his prostate that makes his cock leak and thighs shake. The combination of feeling not only exposed but overstimulated drives him mad. He'll go on all fours or ride you in cowgirl or reverse but even then? He's still gonna talk shit the entire time with a shit-eating grin like, “C'mon, Y/N. fuck my ass harder! Don’t you dare go soft on me now". He'd growl, swear and sometimes uses his magnetic powers to pull you deeper. But the moment he cums from pegging, it's going to be loud, messy and violent; hips bucking, muscles flexing, and the way his moans would echo through the factory. Afterward he’ll smirk and say he only let you do it because he felt like it.
Rough Manhandling: He loves using his physical power on you; such as him lifting you with one arm, effortlessly flip you, or slam you against the nearest metal surface. You'd definitely feel absolutely weightless and powerless once you're in his grip and nothing makes his cock throb more than this very contrast of him being stronger than you, who's naturally weak before his Cadou-enhanced strength. On a workbench will he hoist you, pin your wrists above your head with one hand or folds you in half while he fucks you. Your body yielding to his strength feeds onto his bottomless ego and his hunger.
Dirty Talk: Non-stop, filthy, and perfectly designed to drive you insane with pleasure. Heisenberg is able to blend insults and flattery in the most perverse manner imaginable like, “You’re such a pathetic little slut, dripping all over my cock already" or “Look at you taking every inch like you were built for it, good fucking toy". He growls each word into your ear, voice deep and gravelly, explaining in excruciating detail how far gone you are, how tight you feel, and how he plans to ruin you until you can't walk straight.
Bondage with Chains: The rope is too soft and forgetful for Heisenberg. He loves thick, cold metal chains that rattle and dig deep into your skin. He can use his magnetic abilities to tie you up and suspend you precisely as he likes to. It turns him on a lot when the chill of the metal presses against your overheated skin, the weight of the links, and the helplessness in the position he desires. He even insists on being tied up and chained when he is bottoming but be warned, he'll try and would definitely want to struggle from the his bondage to spice up the bedroom performance.
Grease & Sweat: Heisenberg obsesses over the raw, messy reality of sex in his factory; there's nothing more he loves than the slick slide of sweat mixed with with machine grease on skin. The metallic smell of it as well as how it makes everything slippery and and filthy is what gets him going. Though he can't get even more aroused when you two playfully wrestle with grease drenched all over your body; what becomes a mere play between you two becomes a one filthy sexual encounter for the messier it gets, the harder he gets.
Semi-Public Workshop Sex: Knowing that at any moment one of his Soldats or God forbid, one of the roaming Lycans, might catch wind of you only makes every thrust more urgent. He loves making you bend over railings to the sounds of machinery clanging all around in the distance, or fucking you against the wall so that anyone could come walking in at any moment. The thrill sends him into a frenzy and covers your mouth if anyone is near where you both are, but it's only to see how loud you can moan.
Hair Pulling: Used as a means of control and affection. If he's the one topping, then he'll pull your hair to force you to look up at him while he pounds you from behind. If you're the one fucking him, then he'll have his hands on your hair and guide you as you thrust in and out of him with your cock/strap-on.
Tease & Denial: This is Heisenberg’s specialty, and boyyyy is he good at it. He'll tease you for hours on end, bring you to the point where you think he'll fuck you deep with his hard throbbing cock, or make you cum with his tongue or fingers but deny you with a laugh. “Not yet, you come when I tell you to come” says Heisenberg while watching you sweat, begging, whining and even crying because he won’t let you cum.
Overstimulation: He won't stop after you've cum once. He keeps fucking you, rubbing your overly sensitive clit or cock, and pushing you through orgasm after orgasm until you're a crying, twitching mess. "Too much? Tough shit. You can have one more for me". He loves how your body fights and then gives up completely, leaving you a whimpering, dripping mess who can only moan his name.
Mocking Praise: Similar to his Dirty Talk kink but with more cruelty. Every compliment that comes out of his mouth is evidently laced with cruelty and dominance. He'll make sure his words impact you so much you'd crave for his twisted approval while absolutely petrified for the next mocking remark. This psychological push and pull is what keeps you addicted and off-balance; exactly how he likes you.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
EACH AND EVERY PART OF HIS FACTORY. INSIDE AND OUT.
You're going to be bent over massive machinery, your body pressed against cold metal walls, or completely sprawled across his cluttered desk surrounded by scrap and tools. The whole idea of being overheard by his Soldats just thrills him so much, making the overall experience even hotter. He'd go on his way to drag you to the village outskirts or abandoned buildings if he's in a bold, territorial mood.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
The way you're not bothered getting your hands dirty while working on the machines with him or at least try to; covered in grease, determined to learn and manufacture and totally unafraid of the overall chaos.
However, Karl gets a full-on boner when you mouth off on Lady Dimitrescu or anyone, including Mother Miranda (oh you brave Reader you), who'd try to belittle him. The fuckton of defiant spunk you have turns him on like nothing else.
Which basically means that he'll get to push back, test your limits and piss you off just so he'd fuck the attitude out of you. Confidence and fire in a partner are his biggest weaknesses.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Plain vanilla sex that's devoid of any risky edge or BDSM. Anything that strips away his agency without his explicit permission. No extreme violence or age play, and forget about sharing you with anyone else. Soft and sex aka "making love” with nothing even remotely rough is unbearably boring for him.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Receiving: LOVES IT MORE. He'd just lean back against the seat with his cigar held between his teeth as he grins down at you with one hand clutching your hair, bobbing your head back and forth. Expect he to be super vocal, like there's gonna be plenty of growling, cursing, and ordering you around like the (ruggedly handsome) asshole he is.
Giving: Least likely but when the horniness hits, it hits like a wrecking ball. Surprisingly passionate and talented with his oral skills. He's gonna suck or eat you out until you’re practically quivering with pleasure and anticipation. Once you start losing it, he's gonna tease you relentlessly.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Usually fast, rough, and unrelenting; he fucks like he builds his machinery. There will be sounds of skin slapping and metal creaking around the factory. Some moments where he'll slow down just to tease and edge you cruelly, but he always goes back to brutal thrusting again when you least expect it; making you moan and scream in eggshells.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Absolutely. He's an impatient guy and horny most of the time, so whether it would be a filthy quickie against the wall, bending you over a railing, or a dark corner at the factory is quite normal for you. He loves leaving you oozing wet and frustrated but promises to "finish the job properly" later.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Always down to take risks, after all he's Karl Heisenberg. He's ready to try almost everything out and loves the adrenaline rush from semi-private or dangerous places. Using his magnetic powers mid-sex; such as levitating toys, light metal restraints, or even suspending you, is a favorite thrill of his.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Unbelievably enduring. Decades of being infected with the Cadou and extra more decades of pent-up energy indicates that he can go for multiple long rounds with any downtime, like barely. He would fuck you for hours, if he must, switching between rough and teasing until you’re a trembling, oversensitive mess.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
He makes them himself; custom metal vibrators, cock rings, prostate stimulators, and heavy chain restraints. He enjoys using some of the toys on you to drive you absolutely mad with pleasure and occasionally on himself when he’s in a submissive mood. Metal clinking and magnetic humming from the toys is his go-to stimuli.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Unfair would perhaps be his middle name, that's how unfair he'd be. This guy is beyond good at teasing and denying you your release, pushing you to the point where you're begging for it forever. The whole time he'll make fun of how desperately you need him.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Loud as fuck. The whole factory vibrates from his loud growls, profane moans, contemptuous chuckles or laughter (mostly at you because he loves pissing you off), and animalistic grunts. Once he comes or if you hit the right spot when pegging him, then he starts to become even more shamelessly loud, like something out of a rabid animal in heat. He would care less who ends up hearing him.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Once, he used his abilities to make a heavy-duty metal dildo stick to the wall and then made you fuck yourself on it while he sat back smoking and jerking off. He would give you orders throughout the entire thing, changing angles and positions with his mind to perfectly torture you.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Karl is thick and sturdy; measuring in at a hefty 8.5 inches once fully erect, with quite the girth to match. He isn't circumcized but it's heavy, veined, and slightly curved upwards, making sure to hit all the right spots in you. The head is blunt and almost aggressive-looking, and the entire package is bordered by his dark, wild pubic hair. Karl's balls are large and full, swinging heavily against your ass with each thrust. Once he's fully aroused, it visibly throbs and drips with precum like a wolf in heat.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
The yearning is extremely high because of how deeply touch-starved and rage-filled he is from years of isolation and manipulation. But the moment he has you, he'd want you constantly. Forget once, twice, maybe more; morning, night and randomly in the middle of his goals to create an army against Miranda. Hell, even a single defiant look or grease smudge on your cheek can set him off.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
He won’t sleep right away. He’ll be awake for some time, smoking and holding you with one arm in the darkness while listening to the distant sounds coming from the factory. After confirming that you’re all stable from the mind-blowing sex, he’ll finally fall asleep, still clinging to you with both his arms around you.
in the rare quiet of the factory, karl wakes up softer than he means to be.
touch-starved and drowsy, he spends the morning wrapped around you — tracing your skin, grumbling through tenderness, and slowly letting himself be held.
notes: soft karl, lazy morning intimacy, body worship, comfort, established relationship, fluff with no plot
divider by @cursed-carmine <3
morning came badly to the factory.
it did not pour in gold through clean curtains or wake the room with birdsong. it seeped in through cracked, filthy panes, thin and gray, catching on dust, bolts, scattered tools, and the cold backs of machines left unfinished in the night.
somewhere deep below, a pipe knocked once.
then again.
then went quiet.
for once, nothing screamed. nothing sparked. no machinery shrieked itself awake. no metal dragged across concrete. no soldats lurched through the lower levels with their ruined, mechanical groans.
there was only the faint ticking of cooling iron.
and karl’s arm locked around your waist.
at first, you were only half aware of it. the weight of him behind you. the warmth of his chest against your back. his breath moving slow at the nape of your neck. the rough drag of his palm over your stomach, careful enough that it did not quite feel like he meant to wake you.
his hand moved like he was testing the shape of you in the dark.
over your ribs.
down to your waist.
back again.
not greedy. not hurried. almost uncertain.
that was what woke you more than the touch itself.
karl was many things, but uncertain was rarely one of them.
you kept your eyes closed.
his palm flattened against your stomach, broad and warm, the calluses on his fingers catching lightly against your skin. he traced a slow circle with his thumb, stopped, then did it again, as if he had discovered some private mechanism in the softness of your body and could not help but study it.
“you awake?” he muttered.
his voice was thick with sleep, scraped low and rough.
“no,” you whispered.
a pause.
then his breath huffed against your shoulder.
“liar.”
“you asked.”
“yeah, well. i was hopin’ you’d have the decency to lie better.”
you smiled into the pillow. “you’re the one touching me.”
his hand stilled.
for a second, you thought he might pull away.
instead, he dragged you closer, until your back fit more securely against his chest and his mouth brushed the bare slope of your shoulder.
“can’t help it,” he said.
the words were quiet enough that they almost did not sound like him.
you opened your eyes.
the room was dim, washed in factory-gray light. his coat was thrown over a chair. his gloves were abandoned on the floor. his hat had landed upside down near a pile of papers he would probably deny caring about. without all of it — the hat, the glasses, the swagger, the armor of smoke and steel — karl seemed larger and more exposed at the same time.
still dangerous.
still impossible.
but human, in the fragile, irritating way he hated most.
his mouth touched your shoulder.
not quite a kiss at first. more like he was resting there, buying time. then his lips pressed down properly, slow and warm.
once.
twice.
a third time, softer.
you shifted a little, and his arm tightened immediately.
“don’t start runnin’ off,” he grumbled.
“i moved half an inch.”
“slippery little thing. gotta keep an eye on you.”
“you’re ridiculous.”
“mm.” his thumb resumed its lazy path over your stomach. “and yet here you are.”
you turned your head enough to look at him.
karl’s hair was a disaster, falling loose around his face. his beard scratched faintly when he kissed your shoulder again. his eyes were open now, watching you with a look too naked to be called smug.
“you’re staring,” you said.
“observing.”
“that sounds worse.”
“i’m a man of science.”
“you build murder machines.”
“advanced science.”
you laughed softly, and something in his expression changed before he could hide it. his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite pain. then he ducked his head and kissed the side of your neck as if the movement could cover whatever had crossed his face.
it did not.
you felt it anyway.
“karl,” you said, gentler this time.
“don’t.”
“i didn’t say anything.”
“you were about to.”
“i was about to ask if you were okay.”
he made a low, offended sound. “jesus. worse.”
you rolled onto your back, despite the displeased grunt he gave when you disturbed his hold. his hand stayed where it was, resting over your stomach as if he had forgotten to remove it. or had chosen not to.
his gaze dropped to his own palm.
for once, he looked almost caught.
you covered his hand with yours.
that was when he went still.
not tense, exactly. not afraid. but arrested, as if some part of him had expected to be tolerated and had not prepared for being answered.
you threaded your fingers through his.
the roughness of his hand made the gesture feel strangely delicate.
karl swallowed.
“careful, sweetheart,” he said, trying for dry amusement and missing it by a mile. “keep that up and i’ll start thinkin’ you like me.”
“i do like you.”
his eyes flicked back to yours.
the silence after that was brief, but heavy.
then he scoffed, because of course he did.
“terrible judgment.”
“probably.”
“hopeless, really.”
“completely.”
his mouth curved. “pretty little fool.”
“is that supposed to be romantic?”
“for me? very.”
you laughed again, and this time he did smile. not the sharp grin he used when he was pleased with himself. not the dangerous one that showed teeth and trouble. this was smaller. sleepier. almost unwilling.
he leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth.
then your jaw.
then beneath it.
his kisses were slow, spaced out by breath and hesitation, as if the morning had stretched around him and made him forget what urgency was. his hand moved over your side, thumb brushing the curve of your waist, then your hip, then returning to your stomach with a kind of stubborn devotion.
“my girl,” he murmured against your throat.
your chest tightened.
he heard the breath you tried to hide.
of course he did.
karl lifted his head just enough to look at you.
“what?” he asked.
“nothing.”
“now who’s lyin’ badly?”
you looked away, heat rising in your face. “you’re being sweet.”
his expression soured immediately.
“take that back.”
“no.”
“i have a reputation.”
“not in this bed.”
“that so?”
“very much so.”
he stared at you for a moment, then lowered his head to your collarbone with a defeated groan.
“cruel woman.”
you slid your fingers into his hair.
karl stopped breathing.
only for a second.
but you felt it.
your nails scratched gently along his scalp, careful and slow, and the great, impossible man beside you seemed to come apart by degrees. his shoulders loosened. his eyes closed. the hand on your stomach flexed once, then settled. his weight leaned into you, not enough to crush you, but enough that you understood he was no longer pretending not to need it.
“there,” you whispered.
“don’t narrate it,” he muttered, though his voice had lost all its bite.
“bossy.”
“observant.”
“you like it.”
he did not answer.
you kept stroking his hair.
after a while, he said, very quietly, “yeah.”
that one word did something awful to your heart.
karl could snarl at monsters, bend metal to his will, and spit in the face of lords. but a gentle hand in his hair left him silent. a thumb brushing his cheek made his jaw tighten like he was bracing for impact. tenderness did not soften him all at once. it exposed him first, and he hated that.
still, he stayed.
his mouth found your skin again, lower this time. the hollow of your throat. the line of your collarbone. the place just beneath your ribs where the warmth of his breath made you squirm.
“ticklish?” he asked.
“no.”
“liar.”
he kissed the spot again, beard grazing your skin.
you jolted, laughing under your breath, and tried to push his shoulder. he caught your hand easily, but instead of pinning it down or teasing you harder, he brought your knuckles to his mouth.
the kiss he placed there was so gentle it hurt.
“morning, darlin’,” he said.
you looked at him.
there were shadows beneath his eyes. fine lines of exhaustion cut through his face, ones his glasses and his grin usually hid. in the weak morning light, with his hair loose and his mouth still pressed to your fingers, he looked like a man who had spent years surviving everything except being wanted.
your thumb brushed his cheek.
he turned into it before he could stop himself.
then his eyes opened, irritated at his own honesty.
“don’t look at me like that,” he said.
“like what?”
“like you’re about to make me talk about feelings.”
“i would never.”
“you absolutely would.”
“maybe later.”
“menace.”
“your menace.”
his expression shifted.
there. that was the crack.
he looked away first, scowling toward the dirty window as though it had personally offended him. but his hand slid down your waist and held you closer.
“yeah,” he said, barely audible. “mine.”
the word landed between you and stayed there.
not possessive in the way he joked about. not swaggering. not sharp.
careful.
like he was afraid of saying it too loudly.
you let your hand fall from his cheek to the back of his neck, drawing him down until his forehead rested against yours.
“i’m here,” you whispered.
his eyes closed.
“i know.”
“you don’t always act like it.”
“yeah, well.” his mouth brushed yours, not quite a kiss. “i’m a slow learner.”
“that might be the least true thing you’ve ever said.”
“let me have it.”
you smiled.
karl kissed you then.
slowly.
there was no performance in it, no arrogance, no need to prove something with teeth and force. just the deep, aching press of his mouth against yours, unhurried and almost clumsy with sleep. his hand came up to cradle the side of your head, fingers threading into your hair as if he needed an anchor.
when you pulled away, he followed for half a breath.
you noticed.
he noticed you noticing.
“don’t,” he warned.
“i didn’t say anything.”
“you’re thinkin’ loudly.”
“i’m thinking you’re cute.”
his face darkened at once. “take it back.”
“no.”
“take it back, sweetheart.”
“absolutely not.”
karl stared at you.
then, with all the dignity of a man losing a battle he had started himself, he dropped his face against your chest and groaned.
“you’re lucky i’m comfortable.”
“you’re lucky i like you.”
his arm tightened around your waist.
“damn lucky,” he said.
for a while, neither of you moved.
outside the room, the factory waited in all its ugliness. the rust. the engines. the endless work. the plans he would eventually return to. the anger he carried around like a second spine.
but inside the small, gray hush of morning, karl only breathed against you.
you traced slow lines through his hair.
he kissed whatever skin he could reach without lifting his head.
your shoulder.
your collarbone.
the center of your chest, over your heartbeat.
your stomach.
the soft curve of your waist.
each kiss was slower than the last, and none of them asked for anything. that was what made them feel dangerous. not because he wanted too much, but because he wanted so quietly.
at your stomach, he paused.
you tensed before you could stop yourself.
his eyes lifted.
the room held still.
“none of that,” he said.
your throat tightened. “none of what?”
his palm spread over you, warm and firm.
“that little flinch.” his voice was rough, but not unkind. “like you’re waitin’ for me to find somethin’ wrong.”
you looked away.
karl lowered his mouth and kissed just above where his hand rested.
then again.
then once more, slower.
“sweetheart,” he murmured, “i build monsters for a living. i know what ugly looks like.”
your breath caught.
he glanced up at you, eyes half-lidded, mouth soft.
“this ain’t it.”
you did not have an answer for that.
karl seemed satisfied by your silence. or maybe relieved by it. he kissed your waist, then your hip, then the outside of your thigh beneath the tangled sheet. not rushed. not hungry in the way you expected from him. just reverent in a clumsy, stubborn way, like he had decided worship was a kind of argument and he intended to win.
“my pretty girl,” he said against your skin.
“karl.”
“what?”
“you’re doing it again.”
“doin’ what?”
“being sweet.”
he lifted his head, hair falling into his face.
“must be your fault.”
“how is that my fault?”
“you make me stupid.”
the words came out before he could stop them.
you both froze.
karl’s ears went faintly red.
he cleared his throat, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the wall. “i mean—”
you kissed him before he could ruin it.
he melted fast enough to be embarrassing.
for him, mostly.
his hand cupped the back of your head, holding you close as he kissed you back with a low sound that rumbled in his chest. when you pulled away, his eyes stayed closed for a moment longer.
“there,” you whispered.
his eyes opened.
“what?”
“you didn’t ruin it.”
he narrowed his eyes. “there’s still time.”
“don’t.”
karl’s mouth twitched.
then, to your surprise, he obeyed.
he settled beside you again, pulling you into the warm, tangled mess of sheets and limbs. his hand returned to your stomach as naturally as breathing. your fingers found his hair. the factory creaked around you, old and restless, but for once he did not answer it.
no barking orders.
no muttered curses.
no rushing toward the next impossible thing.
just karl, quiet beneath your touch.
after a long while, he spoke against your shoulder.
“don’t know what you did to me, darlin’.”
you smiled, sleepy and warm. “advanced science?”
he huffed a laugh.
“somethin’ like that.”
his lips brushed your skin one last time. his arm tightened around you, not like a cage, but like a man holding onto the only soft thing the world had not managed to take from him.
“stay a little longer,” he said.
it was not quite a question.
not quite a plea.
but it was close enough.
you pressed your mouth to his forehead.
“i’m not going anywhere.”
karl closed his eyes.
for once, he did not argue.
for once, he let the morning keep him.
and in the gray, rusted heart of the factory, with the whole brutal world waiting outside the door, karl rested his head against you and allowed himself to be held.
a very wipful wednesday (all of these are fairly old, putting them here just makes me less likely to forget about them in the giant pile of other wips)
[WIP] if you want a doctor, I’ll examine every inch of you… anyways I hope this doesn’t get pixelated. Huge thank you to all the freecam screenshotters btw, but specifically creds to @/alexwlwesker for the image I referenced.
2087
snowghoul
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
origamiaround
dailybridgerton
areudirty
