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#heisenberg smut
ilovedonnabeneviento · 10 months
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heisendaddysimp · 1 year
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dadbod Heisenberg > muscular Heisenberg
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Eye candy 🍬🍬☺️
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Credits to ghostwolf ☝️
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Credits to woodywoodchoppr. ☝️
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『Heisenbergs Ideal S/O』
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anon asked: Headcanon ask, what do you imagine would Heisenberg ideal partner be like personality-wise? :D
a/n: good question anon! And I'll gladly answer it!
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pairing: Karl Heisenberg x gn!Reader
type: sfw | headcanons
tw: swear words
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・if you ever get together with Heisenberg then lucky you — it's really hard for him to let people become close with him, thus his S/O should have veryyyy much patience him
・our metal boi loves to work on his experiments so his S/O should be able to go a few days and nights without any affection from him or being able to see him
・talking about affection — his love language is gift giving and quality time, but he loves to receive physical affection and words of affirmation
・it's hard for Heisenberg to talk about his feelings and even harder to show them, so his S/O should be able to read between the lines
・Karl is very impulsive and finds himself often getting angry, either for a reason or without one, so his S/O should be able to know when it's about them or he just had a bad day and let's it out on them — but don't worry, he'll apologise later on
・as we all know he's a cocky little bastard and loves to tease the fuck out of people and you're no exception, his S/O should be able to take it and shouldn't take everything personal, maybe even being on the same teasing level as him
・he's a heavy sleeper and literally nothing can wake him up, not even his own snoring or the sounds of the factory, so his S/O should be the same
・Heisenberg smokes a lot thus his S/O should be okay with it and shouldn't always try to tell him to stop because of his health, he'll just get mad and storm off
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phatnomad · 10 months
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I wish I was this man 👨🏿
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imthegreenfairy86 · 1 year
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🎤 (how loud they are)&🎉 (celebration sex headcanon) for Heisenberg please?😇😇😇
Well hello dear @apple-mole . I would be happy to indulge in a little metal man headcanon 🥰
First up...🎤
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Karl Heisenberg has been told his entire life he's too outspoken. Too bosterious, much too loud with his opinions. So much so, that his spirit was slowly broken down and stifled by a woman who called herself Mother.
So, he learned very quickly to play the honored son and kept his thoughts and emotions suppressed and hidden so deep inside they were nearly suffocated out completely. Until he was able to be by himself. Just him and his thoughts that eventually burst forth in the lower levels of his factory in seething anger, ending up with him having the very scars that scatter across his skin.
So, his idea of giving in to his instincts, letting his uncontrollable sounds leave his large, expansive chest was dangerous. It made his blood run cold to know what outcome he may get if his thoughts were exposed to anyone.
He would give into his release of course but, only the rough grunts and slap of his hips would echo in the back alleyways of the village while he let go of his needs into any willing village participant.
Then of course he met you.
Your relationship grew, quickly, neckbreakingly fast into something he's too terrified to name out loud. He couldn't, not without the consequences of anything good, pure or sweet getting ripped away from him.
But he was telling in other ways. Very, telling.
His grunts became deeper the more you two got physical. His praises once whispered along the shell of your ear, were now grunted out through nashed teeth. The sharp slaps of his hips into yours. The hitched breath if you moved in just the right way.
Then the crescendo of his release would escape him, sounding as though it came from the depths of his soul. Not a loud sound but, heavy. A heavy, needy noise that made the metal of his bed frame vibrate along the floor, aiding you in your own release.
Next up...
Celebrate 🥳 Holiday... 🎉
(Apologizes for it being a bit long... I kind of went in)
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Heisenberg doesn't celebrate much. He thought the idea of celebrating life was meaningless since his was taken from him. He never understood traditions or Holidays. He would much rather sulk in private buried away in his factory to work.
But, the taste of freedom that lingered on the back of his tongue made him needy for it. Wanting of that beautiful day when he would see the life drain from Miranda's ashen face.
That day came sooner than expected. After decades of being under that bitches thumb he was free, and he had you to thank for it. You, and of course his dedication to all the work he put into his metal army.
You both defeated that bitch and his siblings before grabbing what you could and getting the hell out of dodge.
You both needed to stay on the run for much too long. Both of you tired and money running low. In those first few days of freedom there wasn't much to celebrate.
Not until you both made it far enough away.
Away from the cold desolate village. Away from the BSAA's reach. A quaint little town on the northern part of Greece. Far from anyone or anything.
The sun shown brighter here, felt warmer against your skin as the two of you found a place to rest, a moment to reflect. Freedom. Something that he never knew he would have, never thought he would feel. And you, unsure if you would know what it felt like again.
He had always wanted to see the ocean and on the beaches of the Tyrrhenian sea he was able to see it in its truest, oldest form.
He wanted to lay out in the warm white sand, having the sun beat down on his scarred skin all day. Take i all the beauty that freedom allowed all at once but, he soon realized that being isolated in that small village for the entirety of his life made him anxious around people he didn't know.
He clenched your hand so tight you were fearful he'd snap your fingers off while you both ventured to a quaint stay with views of the beach. The rest of your money was spent but the idea of being where you were with each other didn't give you a care in the world.
He seemed grateful for that. For the time alone in the warm and quiet.
It was then that you both were able to let the realization of how heavy this was weigh on both of you.
Small touches started first. His hand venturing up your arm, shoulder, all the way up to the nape of your neck. His fingers resting there, trailing lazy patterns along your skin. The softness of it under his naked fingertips reminds him of how long it's been since you've both been intimate.
His strong hand starts to gently massage your neck, making a noise of relief escape through parting lips. Both of your bodies ignite in the want that's been weighing on you since you left his factory. Since you both defeated the one thing that kept you from truly enjoying one another.
"Buttercup..." He'll whisper, softly almost as a plea of need and you'll fall into it, every time. Your face turns to his, hands lifting and gripping into his hair, tugging him closer to you.
You forgot how much you needed this man, how much you absolutely craved him until his lips met yours. The taste of him lifting on your tongue and you needed to devour more.
Shirts, pants, undergarments all discarded in a haze of fast moving fingers and vibrations of metal zippers. You were both finally bare to one another and so incredibly ravenous.
"Please..." Was all you could muster as he finally slid into your silky warmth. His head falling back as he found the leverage he needed to relentlessly drive you into this mattress.
"Fuck, how can you feel this good?" He asked no one in particular. His mind completely lost in the haze of you. Your back arched as he filled you, grasping at his arms, stomach, chest, anything your fingers could get your fingers on. Never wanting the feeling to end, scared that this would all be a dream and the both of you could come crashing down to reality.
But, the pleasure only continued. No interruptions, no meetings, no planning or scheming to survive. Just the two of you, joined together finally in absolute bliss.
The celebration of your freedom lasted throughout the night. Until your body was covered in bruises and bites and his wasn't any better. Claimed and marked as yours as you are his.
You would get a call from the front desk claiming that there are several complaints about the noise. You'll both laugh as you apologize with no real intent to quiet down. Only having some time enough to break for water and whatever food you could scrounge up.
It wouldn't matter, once morning broke you'd both be gone and traveling to another hostel or hotel to ruin another room and another night of noise complaints.
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averysexyleon · 8 months
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in which i make myself laugh hysterically while writing wintersberg sexeh prawns
Ethan entered, a rather wild look passing across his gorgeous hazel eyes. His lips parted in a toothy smile when he saw Karl, which was unsettling enough, but then the blond closed the door behind him, and began pulling the long cloth curtains together.
“Uhhh…” Karl inquired.
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The added pressure of this second wrap brought an abrupt feeling of restriction to the engineer’s wide chest, and he exhaled in satisfaction.
“Maybe you shoulda’ done this in the factory,” Karl teased with another giggle. He could almost see Ethan’s eyeroll in his peripheral vision. The blond’s tone was dry. “You think me tying you up and fucking you would have helped things?”
Karl shrugged; it was incredibly difficult with the bindings. “Wouldn’ta’ hurt.”
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“Anybody ever tell you, you’ve got a huge chest?” Ethan interrupted as he worked; the rope was wound under Karl’s chest and around his arms, effectively pinning his entire upper body completely.
“Oh sure, all the time,” he found his sarcasm as Ethan gave a particularly firm tug around his chest, causing his breath to catch in his throat. “Karl Big Tits, that’s–”
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As Karl’s attempt at a smartass comment dissipated into a series of short impassioned moans, Ethan noted triumphantly, “So there is a way to make you shut up.”
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Karl balked, shrugging against the restraint, but he sat onto Ethan’s lap immediately. “Ride you! With this?” It seemed he still hadn’t quite coped with the fact that Ethan had just robbed them both of an orgasm, an orgasm he was happy to take while being slammed into the carpet at terminal velocity.
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“Next time, huh.” Ethan’s smile was so dopey, so innocent, it was hard to believe he’d only recently been plowing the older man into a pile of carpet and fur.
“Uh huh. You ready for dinner?”
Ethan gestured at himself; his shirt was sweaty, his pants had finally been kicked to the floor, and his hair was completely ruffled thanks to Karl’s using it as a handle. “Sure, yeah.”
full chapter: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48624256/chapters/124270483
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steriotypicaloutlaw · 2 years
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Did I stay up all night writing Chapter 3 of "Karl's Stupid Boots"? Yes, yes I did.
Do I regret it? No, not one fucking bit.
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veritaea · 1 year
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Heisenberg x Reader: The Villager Part Two
More Heisenberg content on my Wattpad.
More Heisenberg content on my Tumblr.
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Part one.
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  You gaze back at your sleeping father one last time before pulling the door closed behind you. He'd been taken care of by your neighbour while you were gone in the morning, much to your relief. You'd been tugging at your hair nervously as she bid her goodbye, hoping she wouldn't see the large, red marks on your neck.
 The sun has set an hour ago, yet the sky is still painted vaguely red. You close the door to your house behind you, feeling doubt twist in your chest as you leave your father behind in the night. The early night air sends a shiver down your spine as you hurry down the dirt paths. Some torches are lit around the houses, but most lay silent in rest.
  You pause at the gate, looking around you warily to catch a glimpse of the child from earlier, but she seems to have stayed at home. The old metal of the gate creaks loudly as you push it open. You pull the cloak you'd brought with you tighter around your shoulders, your steps lost as the wind picks up along the narrow bridge.
  Like last time, the heavy metal doors of the factory open as you get close. This time, Heisenberg is leaning against the wall, lit cigar hanging limply from his lips. He perks up visibly as you enter the factory.
  ''If I didn't know any better I'd say you were happy to see me.''
  He looks you up and down and smirks. ''Who wouldn't be?''
  You feel your cheeks heat up at his comment, the steel doors closing behind you. The soft humming of machines vibrates through your chest as you follow Heisenberg down to his living space. The cold of the night gets replaced by steam and metal.
  ''How's daddy doin'?'' Heisenberg asks, pinning one of his inventions to the wall with a flick of his wrist, allowing you to pass by safely.
  ''He's doing okay. Asleep, I hope,'' you feel shivers running up your spine as his hand lightly touches your lower back, guiding you along the narrow pass.
  ''He'll be fine, doll. Don't spend all night worrying or you might as well head back.''
  You bite the inside of his cheek indignantly at his blunt remark, but realize he's right. Your father rarely woke up in the middle of the night.
  You enter his living quarters first, and to your surprise it looked considerably cleaner than it usually did. An old radio in the corner of the room softly plays rock songs, distorted as the signal struggles to pierce layers and layers of metal and stone.
  You drape your cloak over the back of a metal chair, releasing your hair from the braid it had been in to cover the side of your neck. Heisenberg lets himself fall on the couch, pulling out a new cigar and lighting it swiftly. You take your seat next to him, sinking into the warmth of his body.
  His hand moves your hair out of your neck, tracing lightly over the marks he'd left. ''You've made it quite obvious,'' you say, trying to ignore the urge to move your hair back.
  His eyes find yours. ''They give you any trouble about it?''
  You shake your head. They hadn't. Not more than before, anyway. ''I guess this just confirmed their suspicions.''
  Heisenberg smiles. ''Good. They can know I'm fucking you for all I care. You want a drink?''
  You can't help but feel taken aback at how nonchalantly he handled the situation. You give him a half-assed nod as he gets up and pours the two of you a drink.
 ''If they do,'' he says, handing you your drink, ''tell me their names.''
   Heat pools in your lower stomach at the intensity of his voice at the words, a complete turnaround from his casual demeanor a second before. He downs his drink in one go before even sitting down, his hand snaking around the inside of your thigh as he sits.
   Your brain gets clouded as he starts talking to you about a malfunction he'd fixed today, his hand holding a firm grip on your thigh as he speaks. The fabric of your dress has hitched up a bit when you sat down, revealing part of your legs. You notice a smirk forming on his lips as you involuntary press your legs together at his touch.
  His story finishes, and he takes a long drag from his cigar, eyes trained on your lips. Your breath hitches as his hand trails further up your thigh, exposing more skin.
 ''You're getting desperate, aren't you Princess?'' his low voice sounds. You only manage to produce a soft whimper before his lips crash into yours. His hand travels from your thigh to your hips, pulling you on top of him without breaking the kiss.
  You shudder lightly at his touch, his hands reaching underneath your skirt, feeling every inch of you. Your hips involuntarily start grinding down on him, earning a groan as he bites your lower lip. Your moan gets muffled by the kiss when his tongue meets yours, slow at first, but steadily increasing in pace.
  The lace holding your dress together is undone much quicker than last time, making the fabric fall loosely along your shoulders. Heisenberg breaks the kiss, his eyes falling on your exposed collarbone as his hands rest on your hips.
  ''You're gonna be the death of me,'' he says lowly.
  You let out a squeal as his hands wrap around your legs, lifting you up from the couch as he stands. Your exposed back presses against the warm metal of the wall adjacent to the couch. Your core burns as he presses up against you, holding you up.
  His head dips down to your neck, but his touch is significantly less rough on the sore, red marks. Your hands lose themselves in his hair as his lips move to your collarbones. Your mind void of any coherent thoughts, you let yourself get lost in him.
//
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  No sunlight hits the small living space Heisenberg inhabits. You wake up with a start, looking around the dark room frantically as you struggle to recognize your surroundings. A large warm hand wraps around your arm softly, pulling you back into the warmth of the covers.
  You give into him, relishing the warmth of his body. He hasn't opened his eyes yet, and you were taken aback by the serenity that surrounded him as he slept. Your fingers gently brush a few stray hairs over his face, lightly tracing the scars across his cheek.
  Then, your stomach sinks, as you remember you should be heading home now. Thoughts of your father being alone sting in your chest, causing you to get up from the bed quicker than Heisenberg anticipated. He sits up slowly, watching through half-closed eyes as you scramble around the bedroom.
  ''So this is how it's always gonna be,'' he asks, making you stop dead in your tracks.
  ''What do you mean?'' you ask.
  ''I get you for only a moment, then it's rushing back down to the people who despise you?''
  You lock your jaw. His childish take on the situation wasn't what you needed right now. ''You know why I can't stay. It's not about the people down in the village. I can't run off like a teenager and leave my father to fend for himself.''
  ''Can't that neighbor girl of yours head over?''
  You shoot him a look. ''No,'' you bite out, annoyed at his attempt to negotiate.
  ''Go then,'' he says through gritted teeth. ''Get out.''
  You fight the urge to talk back to him, gathering your stuff and heading for the door. You get halfway there before he speaks again. ''Don't think about returning, either.'' Your hand's grip on the door falters.
  ''I'll find another way to get what I need up here.''
  You don't spare him another glance as you throw the door open and storm out of the room, not bothering to close it behind you. The trek through the factory is a dangerous one, and you sigh in relief as you finally make it to the exit.
  Stepping out into the sunlight you realize that it's nearing noon. A newfound panic sets you in motion, sending you down the path leading to the gate. Apart from hoping he's okay, you find yourself in a childlike fear of getting scolded.
  The road back to your home is, to your luck, crowded with people. You'd forgotten all about the proof of you and Heisenberg's situation on your neck, instead focusing on getting through the dense streets as quickly as possible.
  Drowning out the insults and stares, you catch the eye of the Duke across the square. The look in his eyes is worrying, accusatory, even. Dread settles in your bones. Something had happened.
  The house looks eerily quiet as you burst through the gate. Not a thing is out of place, the whole site looking just as you'd left it the night before. The door creaks as you open it slowly, your hands shaking.
  But even on the inside, the house looks normal. The pots above the stove dangle ever so slightly as the wind breezes through the cracks of the wood. Your footsteps sound muffled on the floor, the planks shifting under your weight.
  You push open the door to your father's bedroom and your heart falls out of your body. He's there, sure enough, laying in his bed as if peacefully sleeping. You could tell, however, that he was dead.
  Your knees give out, but you manage to catch yourself on the edge of his wooden bed. Your mind feels numb. Realizations of all that had to be done try to enter your consciousness, but to no avail.
  You don't notice the body being moved before you, a couple townsfolk kindly offering to help, though shooting you dirty looks the entire time. They helped only because they liked your father.
  Your insides are turning at the feeling of guilt. Had you not spent the night at the factory, you would have been here with him as he passed. The thought of the factory sent a whole new stabbing pain through your heart as you remembered you weren't even welcome there anymore.
  The crowd outside falls silent, followed by heavy footsteps entering the house. Your blurred vision is centered upon your father's body being carried outside. Only when the men step through the doorframe, out of sight, do you manage to tear your eyes away to find Heisenberg standing in the room.
  Your mind struggles to catch up with your heart. You wanted nothing more than to find comfort in his arms, but you couldn't. Not anymore.
  "Don't be ridiculous, sweetheart," Heisenberg softly says, noticing your hesitation, before pulling you against him.
  In his arms, you fall to pieces. The grief washes over you like a tidal wave, relying only on Heisenberg's strong arms to keep you upright. His rough hands stroke your hair, the other wrapped tightly around your waist.
  You pull away from him slightly, sighing as he brushes the stray hairs from your face. It is then you notice the stares from the crowd through the open front door, making you feel uneasy. Heisenberg glances behind him, making most of them hurry away.
  He turns back to you and wipes a tear from your cheek. "Let's go home."
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More Heisenberg content on my Wattpad.
More Heisenberg content on my Tumblr.
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heisendaddysimp · 1 year
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A short Essay on why Heisenberg is Austrian and not German
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(please get me some help, it's 2am and I've been watching Die Königin (the queen) all day long on Netflix)
Okay first of all — Karl Heisenberg is the most Austrian name I've ever heard. I literally have 2 or 3 great uncles called Karl :D
Second of all — Romania was once a province of the Habsburg monarchy. Let me dig deeper (but shortly) into history:
・under Leopold I, after the war against the turks, the princedom Siebenbürgen (containing Romania and other regions) became an Austrian province after forcing Michael I Apafi to hand it over to the Habsburger
・1690, after the death of Michael I Apafi, king Leopold I wrote the Leopoldinisches Diplom (leopoldian diploma) which said that Siebenbürgen is now inseparably associated with the Habsburg monarchy
・1699 Michael II Apafi fully gave Leopold I the princedom Siebenbürgen, the Vertrag von Karlowitz (contract of Karlowitz) legitimated this handing over between the Habsburg monarchy and the Osmanian empire
・1765 queen Maria Theresia and her son Joseph II declared Romania as separate, but still part of their territory
・on 31st October 1918, after the king died and before Austria became a democracy, Hungary parted from the Habsburg monarchy and until 1st December Romania stayed part of Hungary
Third of all — the economical part:
The princedom was rich of Gold, Silver, Copper, Lead, Iron, Mercury, Rock Salt, Antimonium, Arsenic, Earth Color, Marble, Chrysolite, Amethyst, Opal, Agate, China Clay, Bituminous Coal, Sulfur, Alum, Saltpeter and Mineral Springs. Thus there has been a small (compared to today) industry making paper, wine, brickworks, mills (including oil mills and sawmills) and, most important for the equation, having smelters for iron, hammer mills, rolling mills and more. And guess what? Romania is rich of Gold, Silver, coal and gas! Making it easy to build factories there and make good money!
And that's it. That's my small essay on why he's Austrian and not German (also I hate that there's literally no representation of Austrian people in media — and yes we speak German, but with an Austrian touch)
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Hello lady, just stopping in to ask where my daily crack of Karl Heisenberg's What If Stories and Artemisia Stories are? Please don't stop 🛑. I need it. I love it. 💕 🥺
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They're coming. I am taking a little break. My brain shut down for a couple of days, but they're coming and I am still answering questions. I just haven't posted it on Tumblr yet, and I am trying to figure out how Miranda should die at the moment. hehehehe ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️. I am thinking way ahead than I should, but going with it.
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Also,I am working on a Dante from DMC story since he is one my first loves. I always thought him and Bayonetta should be together or someone else. we will see though.
Credits to Sean budanio⬇️
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𝑩𝒆 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑶𝒃𝒆𝒚— 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆
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summary: your birthday came and your mother invited every lord to a party — including her arch nemesis heisenberg. but what she didn't know about was your growing interest for this mysterious man.
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pairing: Karl Heisenberg x fem!Dimitrescu!Reader
word count: 1361
tw: royal au
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It was a snowy winter evening, like so many have happened the days before. The lights in the village were dimmed, almost none of them existed at this time of day. Only in the big castle on top of a near mountain some lights still shone and that not without a reason.
The crying of a newborn echoed through the hallways. A new life saw the light of the day. It's name chosen from her mother was (name). She was later to be known as the fourth princess of the Dimitrescu family.
And this is the story about said girl. About her love for her family and her obedience towards her mother but also about the lust of a young woman and the desires she had. Only the gods know how her story will end.
....
"No not like that! The sigils have to be on the outside of the chairs!"
As you entered the big dining room you saw your mother, the current Lady of the Dimitrescu House, scolding one of her servants.
"(Name) my darling! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be up in your room with your maids trying on dresses?"
"We're finished already. I've chosen the red one."
And that wasn't a lie. In your whole 18 years of life you've never lied to your mother. Not even once. Not even a white lie.
"I'm glad you did! It's my personal favourite!"
You smiled, crossing your hands behind your back and walking up to her to inspect the table.
"Do we really have to hold a banquet for my birthday?"
"Of course we do have to! It's your 18th birthday after all! Everyone must see my now grown-up little (name)!"
You sighed and didn't say anything about it anymore. You knew your mother. She loved to celebrate herself and her family. Especially infront of the other Lords and their families. Especially infront of a certain family.
....
The evening came and so did your guests. One family after another arrived in Dimitrescu Castle, getting guided by servants into the dining room. There you and your family awaited the Lords' families, ready to greet them as soon as they set foot into the room.
First came the Beneviento family — the parents and her two daughters, Donna and Claudia. Your mother greeted them as if they were her own family. She often told you that the Dimitrescus and Benevientos were close with each other for decades.
After them the Moreau family with their son Salvatore. They and your mother had a relationship on buisness level, the greeting being more formal than the one before.
And as last did Lord Heisenberg. As always he was alone and came late to the celebration. Your mother despised him. For her he was the walking pest. "Man-thing" she'd always call him behind closed doors.
"Lord Heisenberg, I feared you wouldn't come anymore!"
"Initially I didn't want to but I just can't say no to a free meal with wine!"
His yellow eyes gazed over to your figure, you greeted him like all the others. He ignored this and proceeded to sit down at the table. Despite knowing he didn't, you felt like he never stopped fixating your body with his eyes.
The meal went on without any more comments of Lord Heisenberg, only your mother and the other families did small talk. Not even when your mother called out for a toast he said something, just raising his wine glass like everyone else did.
Despite wanting to he drew all your attention towards himself. You knew nothing about him. For you he was a big mystery, a man who didn't like to talk and even less about himself. You wondered how he was when he's all by himself. You wondered if he was like your mother or if he was different. You couldn't help but wonder so much about Lord Heisenberg.
The whole dinner got to much for you, you've never liked them and now even less. Even when it was over and everyone was just sitting at the table and talking you need a break. You need fresh air.
"Excuse me."
Wirhout explaining where you're heading to you stood up and left. Your mother followed your smale frame with a questioning look.
You went down the hallways until you finally reached your favorite spot — the balcony facing towards the village. You opened its doors and stepped out into the fresh evening air, goosebumps covering your skin and cheeks and nose turned into a rosy color. You rubbed your hands together and breathed onto them, hoping to get at least some warmth like that.
"I didn't think little miss (name) would flee onto a balcony."
You jumped and turned around, wondering who had caught you. Your eyes widened when you saw who was standing in the door frame.
"Lord Heisenberg, you scared me!"
He didn't say anything as he approached you, only a smirk plastered his face. He took place next to you, his back leaning against the railing, each of his elbows resting on it next to his, compared to yours, big frame. You turned towards him, leaning your hips against the cold stone.
"Why are you here lord?"
"I could ask you the same little miss."
You didn't know if you liked the nickname he gave you or not. He took a cigeratte and lit it, taking a pick huff from it.
"I needed to smoke. What's your excuse?"
You watched as he put the cigarette onto his lips, taking another huff from it. Your eyes wandered from his lips up to his scarred face, wondering how and why he got them. Wondering if it hurt much. Wondering if they still hurt.
"I just needed a break. I don't like those big gatherings."
Heisenberg laughed. You looked at him with a questioning expression, wondering what's so funny about your answer.
"As part of the Dimitrescu family I rather thought you're like the rest of them. More party-loving."
"I'm not. I'm rather by myself. In my room."
"You're one! A Dimitrescu who hates social gatherings and is introverted, something I thought I'll never see!"
He took a last huff of his cigarette before he rubbed its lit tip onto the stone and then threw it down the balcony.
Before you could even say anything or react he put one of your hair strands behind your ear, his gloved hand lightly touching your soft and cold skin, resting on it for a bit, his thumb grazing over it. You felt your face heat up, a blush crept onto your cheeks. Without any further words he let go of you and disappeared.
In shock of what happened you stood on the balcony for some more time until one of the servants found you and guided you to the entrance hall were your mother and sisters were saying good bye to the Lords, but one was missing. Lord Heisenberg already made his way home, not even saying goodbye to you.
Finally everyone was gone and you could slip into your nightgown, letting yourself fall onto your bed. As you sighed the memories of your interaction with Heisenberg. You again felt your face heat up and caught yourself thinking about things that could have happened instead of him just storming off. Unholy things that could have happened. You kicked your feet and put your hands over your face, trying to hide the deep red blush on the face as if someone would come in any moment.
You wanted to see him again. You needed to see him again. You needed to know more about him and why he did this. You just had to. But you knew it was nearly impossible. Your mother wouldn't let you go out of house, especially not if you told her you're going to visit her arch nemesis. Even less if she knew what he did, the only thing she'd do would be killing him with her own hands. You needed a plan. A plan to somehow sneak out and see him.
For the first time in your life you were dedicated to do something — even if it meant disobeying your mother.
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𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔
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You Smell Like Trouble (A Heisenberg Smut Fic) - Chapter 6/?
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pairing: black AFAB cis reader x lycan!heisenberg
CW: dubcon, NONCON*, dirty talk, frottage (i.e. non-penetrative genital-to-genital rubbing), overstimulation, rough PIV sex, unprotected sex, slight bondage (gag), vaginal ejaculation (i.e. squirting), dumbification/mind break, creampie
*EXTRA CW/AUTHOR’S NOTE: I CANNOT stress the noncon aspect of this enough. This chapter doesn’t get overtly “violent”, but the words “no”, “stop” and “don’t” get ignored A LOT. Even in a fantasy context (keep in mind the A/B/O dynamics at play here), I want to emphasize that we’re heading into some boundary-overstepping here. 
If that’s going to yuck your yum or worse, trigger you, please spare yourself.
🛑🚫✋🏾ADULT CONTENT, MUST BE 18+  ✋🏾🚫🛑      
You open your mouth and try to address him. 
The words you want to say are as clear in your mind as they can possibly be, considering the sheer amount of endorphins and lycan pheromones muddling your brain. You hear them echoing in your head:
Please, it's too much. We need to stop. Karl, please. Please, listen to me.
You don’t say a single one of these words. 
There’s only silence punctuated by your labored breathing.
The words continue to bounce around in your skull, stuck in the hazy expanse between your ears. You open your mouth and try again, try with all your might to say them out loud.
"Uhw … ina … ahn …" is all that comes out before your mouth snaps shut. 
Oh god, you lament. What the fuck has he done to me?
It’s a silly question, of course. You know very well what he’s done to you. 
Lord Karl Heisenberg just fucked you within an inch of your life. He just reduced you, his chosen vassal, to little more than a loose bundle of nerves, drool and tears in his bed. 
And, as you watch your Lord paw at you like he’s got all the time in the world to devote to this task and nothing else, it becomes clear that your gladiator is gearing up for another “round”.
It doesn’t seem to matter to him that his opponent isn’t at all up to the challenge. It doesn’t appear to faze him that your ability to speak is so compromised that all you can do is stare up at him and pray that he takes pity on you and stops on his own because you can’t even beg him outside the confines of your mind.
Karl … Karl, please … I can't … Karl, I can't move … My Lord, please …
You continue to think the words - or rather, a sliver of your consciousness continues to shriek these words from whatever post-orgasm pocket dimension its been banished to in the aftermath of your first sexual encounter with a lycan.
You keep trying to move. You manage to raise your head off the mattress ever so slightly, but it’s too heavy. It drops back down with a soft thud. 
Karl starts laughing at you. The sound is quiet, almost vague, but the ripple of it through your skin is anything but. You feel it pouring down your back as he licks and sucks at your neck. You feel it in your belly, as he kisses down towards the curls between your legs and back up again.
"Shhh ... I know, honey, I know," your Lord chuckles. 
He sounds so relaxed ... soft, even. It derails what little train of thought you were on. He’s ... content. Maybe even happy.
Isn’t that all that matters?
Your stomach lurches. Where did that come from? Why would you think such a thing?
You swat those tender feelings aside and try to get a better grip on this sense of uneasiness at odds with it, eager for some kind of handhold, something that’ll keep you from floating away again. 
You catch a glimpse of his eyes peering up at you from under his brows, watching you intently as he peppers your belly with kisses. You look back for as long as you can. You tell yourself you’re just trying to keep him in your sights - the same way you would any other potential predator in the woods. 
But everything - his scent, his touch, his tongue tracing arcane patterns between your breasts, your sweat melding with his, the contented little sounds he makes every so often - is drawing you further and further from the very vital and necessary vigilance that's keeping your brain from shutting off entirely. 
You can still feel it - that part of you that won’t relax into your bliss, the part that won't surrender itself to the inevitable. It's still there, very much intact - growing more and more distant with each passing moment, but offsetting that distance by getting louder and louder.
You latch onto that strand of reason guiding you through the haze, holding tight to it even as his knee nudges your legs further apart.
His mouth - in your fragmented, hazy perception - seems like it's everywhere at once: between your breasts, at your throat, pressed against yours. His hands slide down, tracing the curve of your hips and your waist, gripping your thighs. Still touching you with no real aim or goal, it seems, just reveling in the feel of you while you fight the urge to fall to pieces again.
A much needed jolt runs through when his thigh draws up against your pussy, still so raw from him fucking you. Your heart thumps hard against your ribs. Your hands fly to his shoulders before you’re fully aware of the sensation having returned to your limbs.
The sensation, a fair amount of coordination ... but barely an ounce of strength,
What the … ?
You’re pushing against him, but with almost no force at all. The very same hands that subdued a soldat just a few weeks ago have been rendered purely decorative - reduced to a pair of fluttering little ornaments pressing against the broad expanse of his shoulders.
Come on, you think. Come ON ... !
You keep trying to hold him off anyway, appalled at the sight of your elbows wobbling. You seem to be fighting gravity more than your Lord, who continues to nibble at your neck and earlobe like he hasn't taken any notice of your pathetic attempt to shove him away.
Eventually, he does seem to notice, because he guides your hands back down beside you, pinning them at your sides. 
“Shh,” you hear him saying, “no need for that. I’ve got you …”
Unable to form the words to tell him that’s not at all a comforting sentiment, you use your slowly returning strength to squirm underneath him. He isn’t putting all of his weight on you, but between just a bit of his heft and your lack of coordination, you’re still not getting anywhere fast.
You wriggle and jerk slightly, testing your compromised ability to move. One of these restless motions proves to be your undoing, bringing your hips up against his. 
You freeze.
Then you shudder as you realize his dick - hard, hot and leaking with anticipation - is now pressed right between your legs, right where you’re still aching for more, but still too sensitive to abide his touch. Right against your throbbing clit. 
Shit, if he moves even a little bit -
He’s already shifted against you before you can even finish the thought.
... Oh, fuck …
You try not to react, but it's no use. It doesn’t even matter what gave it away - the way you flinched at the contact ... the ridiculous little squeak you let out when it happened ... the way your back arches up a bit in response ... 
It doesn’t matter. He knows. You hear him laughing again.
“You like that a lot, don’t you?” he asks, because knowing or not, he still wants to tease it out of you and rub it in. “Hmm?”
It isn’t enough to have the victory. No. He has to savor it.
You bite back a hysterical laugh as the random thought of scolding him for poor sportsmanship, of all things, almost knocks you (even more) off-balance. 
He props himself up over you suddenly, putting some distance between you, but rubbing himself harder between your thighs in the process. You squeeze your eyes and your lips shut tight, but another squeak escapes you.
“You do, don’t you?” he reiterates, feigning shock. “I bet you could cum again, couldn’t you? Just like this? I wouldn’t even have to put it back inside, would I … ?”
You’re jerking your head from side to side, trying to deny it, but before you can fix your mouth into some sort of coherent denial, Karl is already setting out to prove his theory.
“Nuh … Nuh,” you babble. “N … Nuh -”
He’s kissing you, further fumbling your delivery of a clear “no” - not that you were having much success getting it out anyway. Your resistance melts into a whimper as he crowds in close, body-to-body with you once again as he grinds himself between your legs.
The heft and motion of his hips puts an exquisite pressure on your swollen clit and a slippery friction against your slit, parting your lips with his length.
Setting a steady pace that slowly starts to unspool you all over again, he keeps going, overriding your weak mewling as he rocks you back and forth.
He watches your eyes glaze over again; your mouth still moving without any (intelligible) sound coming out. He holds you still and stares you down the whole time, rocking you back and forth under him, watching you come apart. 
You stare back up at him, unable to look away with his hands gripping either side of your head. You murmur desperate little pleas, each one rendered incoherent as you start to pant and groan. He kisses you until you give up. Your eyes drift shut in surrender.
”It’s okay … I like it, too,” he whispers against your mouth between his kisses. The two of you trade the same breath back and forth, back and forth. A bit of drool escapes out the corner of your mouth; he laps it up with his tongue and keeps going. 
“K … Karl,” is all you manage to say before he starts applying more pressure and you start seeing stars.
“It’s okay,” he whispers again. “I’ll take care of you … You’ll see …”
In the end, it’s all too much at once.
Pinned beneath his bulk, pushing as hard as you can (which isn’t very hard at all) against his shoulders and shaking your head, you cum anyway. It’s a comparatively smaller climax, not the thunderous crescendo from before, but all the more ruinous for its closeness, its quiet intimacy … its inescapable, delicious inevitability.
You barely even make a sound when it happens, too overwhelmed to offer more than a gasp as you come down the other side of your peak.
He’s kissing your cheek, chuckling into your ear. “Damn, that was fast. I knew you could do it. Good girl.”
Those last two words have a disastrously galvanizing effect, almost like a spell.
You hear them, and you feel your limbs move suddenly. Your legs fold around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back. Your hands claw at the back of his shoulders as you bury your burning face in his neck.
As a method of attack, it leaves much to be desired. Less a grappling hold and more like a harmless koala clinging to a branch. He strokes the back of your head as you cling to him and try not to die of embarrassment.
“You poor thing,” he whispers against your temple before he kisses it. “We’ve barely even started -”
Your heart nearly stops. 
He’s joking. 
Surely, he’s joking. 
There’s no way he’s serious.
“- and you’re acting this way,” he finishes, slowly tightening his arms around you in turn. His laughter rumbles through you like quakes in a fault line. You start to shake again.
He lets you go abruptly, watching you flop onto your back as he releases you. You feel his hands on your thighs, moving with renewed intent, and it starts to look less and less likely that he was joking.
You find your voice again, forcing your mouth to work against the pull of desire: “… K-Karl … Ple … Please -”
“It’s okay, that’s a good thing … I’ve got you,” he says, his velvety voice vibrating through your skin as he steamrolls over your words with ease.  
He still won’t listen,  you wail silently, watching in helpless fascination as he sits up, stroking himself idly. You glance down and immediately wish you hadn’t. He hasn’t gone soft even a little bit, not once. And despite dripping profusely, he’s still not in any kind of hurry to wrap things up. 
I have to reason with him, you think frantically as the idea of facing off against this unholy stamina brings the feeling back to your limbs again. Distract him. Slow him down. Something. Anything. Fuck.
You tilt your head back and see something lying a few feet away on the bed. 
You turn onto your side, then your stomach, rotating underneath him now that he isn’t holding you down with his weight. You start to shimmy towards it, concentrating on the object like your life depends on it.
If I could just … reach …
“Oh?” He seems genuinely amused by your limited movements, electing to observe you rather than stop you. “Where are we going?”
You don’t answer. You feel him shadowing you the whole way, eerily patient and good-natured, but still clearly in pursuit. He’s humoring you, letting you inch - half-crawling, half-dragging yourself - across his bed. 
“So determined,” he teases.
You feel his hands and mouth on you as you struggle towards your destination, squeezing your breasts and your waist, kissing you down your spine till he reaches the small of your back.
Your Lord freezes suddenly, and your heart lurches. You feel the exact moment he realizes: you’re crawling towards what’s left of your nightgown.
The afterglow has hardly even begun - isn’t even yet a pinprick on the horizon as far as he’s concerned, since he’s nowhere near done with you - and you’re trying to get dressed.
He’s no longer amused.
The linen is ripped from between your fingertips as soon as you lay your hand on it. You flop forward onto your belly, arm still outstretched. All that energy expended for nothing.
You feel him covering you suddenly. You twist underneath him, barely moving as he uses his bulk to keep you in place.
“I have been very patient with you,” he mutters, a frightening new edge to his voice. 
His hands slip under you. One takes you by the throat, forcing your head upright, while his other hand slips down between your legs, dipping deftly between your thighs. You cry out, still too sensitive in that area to stand the way he’s touching you. He tugs you upright onto your knees, pulling you back against him as you start to flail.
“What, you have somewhere to be? A train to catch, perhaps? Or am I boring you?”
You hear something like wounded pride, maybe even hurt, in his voice - alongside a quiet fury that ties your stomach in knots worse than if he were bellowing at you.
“Please, no,” you whimper, trying not to rub against his length so much in all your struggling, “I just - ! I need -”
Without warning, he pushes you forward, making you sputter.
“Oh, I know what you need, you little bitch,” he snarls, gripping your hips tight and pulling you up onto your knees. Misjudging the way he’s maneuvering you, you try to push yourself back up, only to feel his palm flat between your shoulder blades, shoving you facedown with your hips still in the air.
You feel the tip of his dick rubbing against your slit, the smooth head parting the opening as he grunts and positions himself behind you.
No, not this soon, not so soon after - !
“What you need is your back broken, that’s what you need. If that’s what it takes, then so be it.”
Your attempt to crawl away from him earns you a few sharp slaps to your ass and thighs.  
“Gonna make me work for it, is that it? Fine … We’ve got all night for you to learn … Hold still, goddammit -  !”
You stop moving to spare yourself another slap, but keep begging: 
“Karl, don’t, don’t, don’t, please, I’m -“
Karl pushes into you again with a groan you can’t help but echo. His is one of triumph; yours, a jagged, shuddering little cry. You crawl forward barely an inch or two before he yanks you back against him, pulling your ass flush against his hips with a decisive smack. 
“Aah, fuck, that’s … perfect. You’re perfect inside,” he moans, almost as if to himself, the feeling of your walls closing and twitching around him seeming to distract from his anger momentarily. “Nice and broken … Yes …”
You lie still and let this now-familiar, but no less overwhelming sensation, pulse through you. There’s a taste in your mouth you can’t begin to describe, something almost, but not quite metallic. You feel yourself contracting and squeezing around him, further enfolding him as he pushes deeper and deeper still. 
You’re scared and more than a little disgusted with your crumbling resolve. But it feels so good, so unimaginably good. It's like your body somehow forgot the depths to which your Lord could take you. It feels like it did the first time he was inside you, brand-new and terrifying and thrilling and -
“Please,” you beg, voice trembling with the effort it takes to keep your knees from giving out. “Karl, please … ”
His palm comes down on your ass again, your barely audible whining seeming to return him to the task at hand. He starts to move inside of you, fucking you in short, hard thrusts. You sputter more half-hearted protests, every other word mangled each time his hips slam into you.
Willing or not, your body picks up his rhythm, his hands on your hips guiding you back against him to meet each punishing stroke. You feel the scale teetering back and forth inside you, veering wildly between the fear that he might stop and the fear that he’ll never stop.
“Karl, please ...“ you weep breathlessly, not even sure why or what you’re begging for anymore, if you’re begging for any reason other than that it feels so good to beg for something you’re definitely not going to get anyway.
Mercy, for instance.
He growls something at you, but you can’t parse it. You can barely hear him over the combined cacophony of his body ramming into yours, the blood churning in your ears like ocean waves, and the beleaguered wailing you’re trying to muffle with your face buried in the sheets. 
He locks his arm around your neck, scooping you upright with your back arched. He doesn’t miss a beat, still fucking you so deep that you can barely breathe.
“Fuck,” you hiss. Your hands reach up to claw uselessly at his brawny arm. His bicep and forearm squeezes your throat, and you’re mortified to hear a breathy little moan escape you at the sensation. 
“That’s right … Don’t be shy, sweetheart, I want to hear how much you love this … That’s it,” he growls, drinking in your sobs and curses like the brute that he is, “just like that. That’s it … That’s more like it …”
You reach both hands back and push at his hips, trying in vain to force him out or at least slow him down. He breaks his hold on your neck only to seize your wrists and hold them behind you. 
He drills into you harder, and a sound comes out of you that doesn’t even seem human. A keening, desperate sound wrung from a place deep entirely too deep inside, right in your guts where he’s hitting you.
That’s when you start to feel it. 
You don’t know what “it” is, but you feel it regardless.
Wait … What is … What’s … ?
Something is wrong. That spot he’s hitting inside you feels … volatile somehow. Like it could very well either break or perhaps break you if he keeps this up. Your thighs begin to wobble. Then the tremor begins to creep outward in both directions, taking over your whole body until you’re almost vibrating against him.
“Wai-Wait, wait, fuck, Karl,” you pant, feeling something strange building up alongside another impending orgasm, “Karl, stop, PLEASE -”
The renewed desperation in your voice spurs him on. You keep begging him to stop. He speeds up, digging deeper and deeper still like he’s trying to bring the thing - whatever it is - on faster.
You feel your spine turn molten hot, a column of fire running down to your tailbone. One final sob escapes you before you fall breathlessly silent. Your legs shake as you feel yourself seizing around him once again.
The climax overtakes your whole body as he’s still colliding into you, sending aftershocks through you that feel so good it’s almost painful. 
And as that internal valve releases, you feel fluid coming out of you.
A lot of fluid.
Like a geyser, each burst forced out by his thrusts. So much that it takes an effort for him just to stay inside you, the pressure built to a point where it does what your shoving couldn’t, very nearly forcing him to slip out entirely.
Still managing to stay buried to the hilt inside you, he finally lets your wrists go. You crumple to the bed, sniffling and shaking. You feel that fluid drenching your inner thighs. You hear the sound it makes as he finally pulls out of you, his skin unsticking from yours.
“... Holy shit, girl …“
The awe in his voice rings true through the haze of pleasure and mortification you’re lost in. If you weren’t half brain-dead, you would be leaping for joy that he doesn’t appear to be angry with you anymore. As it stands, you barely remember your own name, much less what the hell even just happened to you.
“Wh-What did … What did you do … ?” you stammer, disoriented and confused, fearing that he actually, factually fucked the piss out of you.
Karl laughs, the sound off-kilter and slightly out of breath.
“Me? Oh, no, little one, that was all you,“ he snickers, patting you on the hip. 
What the - ?
You sniff and realize he’s right. There’s a strong saline smell to it, identical to your slick.
You just ejaculated.
Before you can even begin to begin to wrap your head around this new development, you’re rolled onto your back. Karl holds your legs apart with barely any resistance from you aside from a bit of whining and more twitching.
“Look what a mess you’ve made,” he says. 
Oh, god. He sounds so proud.
Fresh tears well up in your eyes. You try to hold them back, try to tell yourself this isn’t anything to be ashamed or squeamish about. You try, but it’s all too much at once, and he’s … he’s looking at you. He’s seeing you like this, and it’s too much.
Apropos of nothing, your mind flashes back to the very first time you spoke directly with this man, the first time you stood in his presence and assured him of your capability, your eagerness to fulfill his purpose for you.
Now you’re on your back, wrung out and panting like what he’s ultimately revealed you to be - a horny little bitch in heat.
You try to blink the tears away, but he notices them before you can compose yourself. He arches over you, leaning down until you’re almost nose-to-nose, trading the same breath back and forth again as he looks you over.
A smile, almost boyishly smug, parts his mouth.
“ … First time, sweetheart?”
You close your eyes, knowing you can’t shut him out completely, but needing at least a reprieve from the sight of him gloating.   
“You’ve never done that before,“ he presses, “have you?“
You only have the wherewithal to sniffle and turn your head from side to side in response. He reaches down and pats you on the cheek - an affectionate gesture, to be sure, but he’s so heavy-handed, it feels like a slap.
“Oh, you’re full of surprises, aren’t you? What else can you do, huh?”
He examines you avidly, running his fingers up and down your slit, smoothing his palms over your belly, your hips. Your neck and your back. He keeps on touching you. On and on, making you squirm against the sheets, against him.
He’s taking his time again, you realize - just like he was before you went for your nightgown. You hold still this time - not difficult since you once again can’t feel your legs - and let him play with your body. 
You feel him stretch out next to you, laying on his side. His arm snakes under your back and gathers you against him. You feel him wiping you between your legs with something - a rag?
You blink through the haze of tears and glance over at him with wide, helpless eyes. He’s ... tending to you? Is this an act of mercy? Could he be taking pity on you? Surely, your tears couldn’t have moved him, there’s no way, but ... He’s being so gentle.
“Shhhhh,” you hear him saying.
You feel his hand through the fabric, cupping your mound. You shudder, and he makes a distracted sound in the back of his throat. His hand doesn’t let up, no matter how much you fidget. Still gentle, but insistent.
“Please … d-don’t …”
“Hmm? What’s the matter?” He sounds so patient. Almost kind. And also blithely unaware that your sanity is hanging by a thread.
You shake your head meekly. Some small, anxious part of you fears this is a trick, or maybe even a trap. And even if it isn’t, you’re not too proud to admit that you’re scared to try “reasoning” with him again. 
You know, since it went so well the last time.
He kisses you on your temple. He kisses your cheek, then your ear. He makes little shushing sounds in your ear, the calming sounds one might make to a cornered animal. He strokes your hair. 
And he keeps his hand right where it is, no matter how much your hips shift and twitch.
Against whatever remains of your better judgment, you start to relax, going so far as to turn your head towards him, letting him pepper your lips with his kisses. Before you even realize it, you’ve started to kiss him back a little, unable to help yourself. Unable to tell yourself you’re just “playing along”.
“Go on,” he coaxes between kisses. “You can tell me … “
You feel his fingertips playing with your clit. You gasp. Your head falls back against the bed, pulling you away from his kiss. You shake your head again, harder this time, eyes squeezed shut as he keeps rubbing you, undeterred.
You flinch every time his fingers dip down towards your hole, your hips jerking when he gets too close. You’re not ready for him to penetrate you again. You’ll lose whatever is left of your mind if he keeps going.
“What is it?” he asks softly.
You shake your head, scared to say it, scared of his wrath. He kisses and coaxes you some more, his hand easing up just a little. You start to soften again. Eventually, he gets it out of you:
“I c-c-can’t … It’s too … sore,” you finally mumble, mortified at the almost childlike timbre of your voice. “I can’t take any more.”
With your eyes half-shut and the light so dim, you can’t see the look on his face.
But as it turns out, you don’t have to see it to know. You can feel his smile against your skin, in the way the scruff of his beard creases.
“I can’t anymore,“ you whine softly. “Please ...“
“Aww, sweetheart. That’s okay …” 
The arm he’s been holding you up with slides out from under your back abruptly. You collapse with a slight gasp. 
“... I believe in you.”
You blink up at him, watching him as he looms over you, speaking directly into your face and further blotting out what little light there is left.
“You’re gonna do just fine,” he assures you.
He laughs deep in his throat, breathing heavier through his nose as his fingers keep toying with your clit through the soaked bit of cloth in his hand. He licks up one of your tears.
“You should know better,” he says, watching your eyes widen, “than to sell yourself short like that, princess. I know you have it in you … You can’t hide that from me.”
The tears come in earnest now, quiet, trembling sobs hiccupping out of you as you try to speak. “I can’t ... !“
“You shouldn’t lie about these things. I know you can.”
It’s only when you feel him positioning himself between your legs again that you summon enough motor function to put your hands to his chest. You know you can’t stop him. You can’t even stall him, not really. 
So you try to negotiate.
“Karl ... Karl, listen to me, please, I ... I kn-know it’s probably not the same, but ... you could just use my m-mouth, you don’t have t -“
Moving too fast for you to ward him off, he shoves your hands aside. Your plea is cut short as he stretches something across your face - the rag? 
No. It’s not a rag at all. 
It’s what is left of your underwear, the torn scrap he used to tie your wrists a few minutes ago. You taste your slick as he shoves it between your teeth.
“Your mouth is the problem,” he says, shaking his head as you snivel up at him. “You’re thinking too hard again. Getting yourself all worked up ... Let’s fix that, huh?”
What is he … ?
You're not sure when exactly he got his hands back on your panties. 
You’re also not sure when he found the time to fashion them into a kind of gag - one that stretches tight between your lips and ties even tighter behind your head as he holds you down, fixing your jaw in place like a horse bit.
Once you're bound too tight to speak coherently, he pats you hard on the cheek. You peer up at him with a wordless moan, drooling over the bit wedged between your teeth. No matter how much you work your jaw, you can’t dislodge it.
“See, I knew it. It was all that talking making you nervous … Isn’t this better?“
You moan pitifully and search his eyes for the tenderness he displayed just a minute ago. 
Much to your surprise, it’s still there, but … you seem to have misjudged its intent. It’s in service to your heat, not your fear. Genuine in its conviction, but not exactly benevolent. 
He truly seems to believe he’s helping you.
His hands seem to be everywhere at once, anticipating your every effort to push him away, slip out from under him or curl up into a ball. Between all your struggling and his growing eagerness, you can’t catch all of what he says, but you can parse enough in fragments:
“... has to be this way, baby -”
“- for your own good -”
“- feel better after, trust me, you’ll -”
You feel his hips wedging easily between your thighs, unimpeded by your efforts to close them. You push at his chest, and he doesn’t even try to push them aside or pin them down, he’s so unmoved. He knows you can’t stop him.
He sinks inside of you with a long groan, shuddering as you enfold him. He doesn’t stop pushing until he bottoms out inside you, crammed in as far as he can possibly go in this position.
“There we go,” he grunts, his teeth scraping your throat as you gasp. “We’re almost there …”
Your Lord begins to move, and you know he’s not lying. He drops his full weight behind each thrust, bouncing you underneath him. Rutting into you, slow and deep and relentless.
You can’t tell if you’re about to cum again, can never cum again or if you’re cumming right this second; you seem to have gone to a place beyond where such distinctions matter or can even be made. You’re a raw nerve, a cluster of pulsing sensation barely held together by flesh.
Every move he makes seems to spark and agitate you, igniting little chain reactions everywhere he touches. With no real build-up, it’s like starting right at the peak of climax and cruising at that same altitude. 
And all you can do is pray the fall doesn’t kill you.
The heft of his pelvis rubbing and rocking against your clit makes your cunt twitch and flex around him - something he’s sure to thank you for as he’s sucking on your ear.
You’re not sure when it happened exactly, because your sense of time has thoroughly splintered by this point, but you went from pushing at his chest to holding onto him for dear life, arms wrapped tight around his neck.
“Shit, here it comes,” he rasps. “You ready?”
Ready …?
“Shh, shh, yeah, you’re ready. Almost there, kid, just …”
It takes a minute for his words to sink in, for them to make sense. For you to understand.
Inside. He’s going to cum. He’s going to cum inside, inside me, oh, fuck, he’s -
And before you can even finish - or even start - coming to grips with that, the moment arrives, bearing down on you whether you’re ready or not.  
You feel him emptying himself inside of you, filling you to the brim as he growls obscenities against your throat in a tangled mix of English, German and wordless, lupine snarls. Your cunt seems to milk him, contracting and squeezing him like it wants to draw him in deeper than he can go and wants to drain him dry.
Your eyes become unfocused. Everything is getting hazy. You must jerk or otherwise twitch, because you hear him trying to settle you again.
“Aaaah … Don’t move, baby ... don’t move … Need to get it all inside, that’s it … Just like that ... Fuck ...”
You make a broken little sound against the bit wedged into your mouth, biting down on it as the tears keep pouring down your face.
“It’s like medicine … You gotta take it all …”
So you lie still and take your medicine - every thick, warm spurt of it. He rocks you back and forth some more, fucking it in deeper for good measure.
You feel it inside you and know that something has changed. Something too big, too profound for you to get a handle on in your fucked-out state.
You’ve had cum inside of you before. True, it’s been a while, and it wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence even then, but you remember what it feels like.
You remember what it’s supposed to feel like.
This … isn’t that.
A feeling of sticky warmth spreads through your torso and limbs, emanating from that place where his satisfaction is pooling inside you. It’s … rewriting something in there. Changing something. Something inside is different, like the feeling of soil after the rain has seeped into it.
Your mouth hangs open. That limp, almost boneless feeling in your body becomes amplified to a point where you feel strangely adrift; so untethered you might float away and so heavy you might sink. You feel your pussy twitching still even as he pulls out of you.
“There,” he pants, his labored breath gusting over your skin as he sits up. “There you go ...”
You feel nothing. You feel everything. There’s a profound ache, but somehow no pain. It makes no logical sense, but you’ve never felt clearer.
You try to say something, to tell him something of what you’re experiencing, to ask him what this could possibly be, but you can’t find the words. Apart from a faint gurgle, you can’t even make a sound. 
The last thing you feel before your senses finally overload is him unknotting the gag in your mouth.
The last thing you hear before before you sink into a sleep that feels more like a near-death stasis is his voice, rich and hypnotic and relaxed:
"... Good girl … We’ll do the rest next time …”
***
The second you wake back up, you know it isn’t the morning following your ordeal - it’s been longer. 
As for how much longer, you can’t say for certain yet, but there’s no denying that more than a night has passed.
The sheets you’re sleeping on are clean, for one thing; you can smell the washing powder.
Meaning that, while you were still unconscious, the bed had been stripped, the bedding laundered and then placed back on. 
You strain to remember anything in the black void of sleep, seem to dredge up the vaguest impression of being lifted and maneuvered at certain points before sinking immediately back into slumber.
The next clue is your hunger. You’re absolutely ravenous, having skipped god only knows how many meal times in your stupor. You’re not just craving breakfast when you wake up. You’re ready to empty the fridge at the first rumble of your stomach. 
You do notice you aren’t particularly dehydrated, so you must have had some water at some point.
Whatever the next hint might be will have to wait, as that rumbling is the only thing on your mind. You dress in a hurry, throwing on the first things you can get your hands on, and go in search of food, so determined to eat that you barely bat an eye at the fact that what you’re wearing is one of your Lord’s shirts, your unlaced boots and not a stitch more.
A few minutes later you’re parked in front of the fridge in the dining area, a pitcher of water and an almost comical amount of food piled in front of you on the table. 
Once you’ve eaten enough to stop shaking, you walk to the workshop. You feel somewhat bold doing this, creeping into your Lord’s inner sanctum in nothing but his shirt.
You look around to confirm: he’s not there. Then, heaving a sigh, you turn and take a look at the calendar tacked to the wall above his desk. You stare at it for a long time. As you let the truth sink in, two things become apparent:
First: It was Tuesday night when Karl fucked you, and the calendar says that today is Friday. 
So you’ve been unconscious for two days.
Second: This isn’t just any old Friday. This is the final Friday of the quarter. The agreed-upon day that the Lords gather for a family visit. Which explains why he’s nowhere in sight with no other scheduled obligations on his itinerary.
He’s with his family.
You close your eyes and exhale slowly, almost but not quite grateful that there’s another potential calamity to take your mind off of Tuesday night.
God help us. He’s with his family …
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lovelywingsart · 2 years
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Felt like some Metalworks smut tonight, so here you go~ uwu Couldn't decide on Wholesome or Filthy so have something kinda in the middle.
Censored smut under the cut!~
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Because to two people with a massive breeding kink, the oh-so-wonderful Mating Press is the only position that really matters~ … Well, anything that lets Karl top the everloving FUCK out of her, of course. Not that Emelia is really complaining…
Not that she can even speak. 😏
//Was absolutely THIS close to just having him call her a little whore. He absolutely has done so before, and he WILL do so again… I guess he just felt more like 'praise' this time around. 🤷 She likes it either way so it doesn't really matter!
Anyway, not TOO incredibly happy with this, but also not too upset with it, either...
I'm getting there. :'D//
As always, you can check out the uncensored version over on my 18+ twitter~ uwu
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karlskitten · 2 years
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Inspiration has struck!! More Heisendaddy smut is swimming in my brain ^_^
We gonna do it down in the forge 🤤 nice and hot, minimal clothes. Perfect lol
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