#Karl Heisenberg x you

[multific]

A Rare Flower in a Factory

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Summary: Everyone has their own hidden little secrets, it just happens to be that Heisenberg's secret is the rarest and most beautiful flower.

Everyone has their secrets. Even the four Lords.

But no one could have guessed Heisenberg's.

Down deep in the dark, the deepest and most hidden place in his entire factory, just about where the rust ended, there was a living space.

A small, yet comfortable little place that the Lord himself built with his two hands.

Heisenberg was proud, he provided a home.

And in that home lived his beautiful little flower, his bride.

Someone no one would expect to find in such a place.

Yet, there you were, hidden away from Miranda and the other Lords.

Heisenberg's beautiful flower.

You were the reason he wanted to fight to be free. You were the reason he wanted to leave this Godforsaken place and start a new life. 

But no matter what he did, he failed.

He always moved back to his chambers, feeling like a failure. But each time, when he saw you, he felt at ease. As if all his worries melted away.

And you loved him so much.

"Karl?" you called out as he got out of the bath. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes." came his reply and soon he joined you in the kitchen. His arms moved around you as his mouth moved to your neck.

"Not like that..." you giggled as he pulled you closer.

"I'm always hungry for you, Doll. But I do need some food before I have my dessert." you smiled at him as you both finally moved to the table so you could eat.

---

You woke up to the feeling of cold on your feet.

You were naked under the blanket, with an equally naked Karl attached to your back.

It got rather cold in the factory during winter.

But you woke up with the need of pee and your throat felt dry.

You wiggled out of Karl's hold.

You put a long shirt on, which reached to your knees before leaving the room and headed to the bathroom then the kitchen.

On your way to the kitchen, you noticed the door to your home open, you found it weird but decided to just close the door and get your glass and go back to bed.

You poured a glass of water for yourself when you thought you heard a noise.

The factory did make a lot of noise so you didn't think much of it.

However, the second time, you couldn't ignore the footstep you heard, you knew it wasn't Karl, you could hear him snoring.

And just as you rounded a corner, there it was.

One of Karl's many creations. 

It had human legs but it was mostly a machine with huge machetes for arms.

You wanted to run but the thing was faster, it slashed and as you put up your hand to protect yourself, it cut into your palm.

"KARL!" you managed to yell, hoping he would come and save you. 

And again, the monster got ready and this time it slashed your forearm. You made another sound of pain and the machine-human fell to its knees, you heard the metal in his body squeeze.

You looked to your right and noticed Karl.

He was looking at your bloody hand. He made a gesture with his hand and the monster flew backwards, right out the metal door.

He rushed you into the bathroom, taking out a first aid kit and he started to work on your arm.

"This is all my fault."

"It is not, Karl."

"I didn't check if the door was closed."

"It's not your fault." you insisted, but he kept on avoiding your eyes. "Karl." you called out but he didn't listen. He bandaged up your arm and took you back to your bed.

"I'll clean up." he said and you knew he needed his own space and time. So, you allowed him to have it.

By the time he arrived back, you were fast asleep.

---

The next morning, you woke up alone.

You looked for Karl, but he seemed to have gone missing.

You knew better than to roam the factory, so you stayed put, reading your romance books and cooking lunch and dinner.

You also didn't forget to take care of your wound, you cleaned and re-wrapped it.

Karl arrived back later than usual, you waited in the living room for him.

He came into the room, his eyes filled with pain.

"I'm so sorry."

"It is not your fault. The thing wandered where it shouldn't have."

"Exactly, so, I prepared a new place for you, it is still rough around the edges but..."

"Will I get a window?"

"Yes, and a balcony. I'm done hiding you down here, it is far too dangerous."

"But what if Miranda finds out?"

"I bet my ass, she already knows." Karl made his way over to where you were sitting on the couch and knelt down, holding your hand in his. "I always fared something would happen down here with you, you will be a lot safer upstairs." he said and you nodded, you leaned over and placed a kiss on his lips.

"Okay, when will I move?"

"Hopefully tomorrow. I have them working on the rooms for you, then you can add your touch to it." you smiled at him.

"Thank you, but you got to stop blaming yourself, Karl."

"How can I ever make it up to you?" his fingers gently ran along the edge of your badage.

"I have a couple ideas. You can start with your fingers, then your mouth and last-"

"You are naughty." he smirked.

"Just the way you like it." you put your hand on the back of his neck and pulled him up to kiss you.

Karl was definitely thankful for you and your forgiveness. He was so mad with himself all day, he killed every single one of his machines in revenge.

He shouldn't have, but the thought of losing you became overbearing. It was all too much for him.

And he will make sure that no one ever will get to you. Not Miranda and not the entire world, for you were his hidden flower in a garden of madness and pain.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse   @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

In case you want to help out a dreamer: patreon.com/multific  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS 

[margaretoakgrove]

The typical date invitation from Karl Heisenberg sounds like: Heisenberg: *calls you at 1:30AM* Hello there, Buttercup! I hope you're not sleeping?! Listen, would you like to come to my factory right now and watch me blow something the hell up?

[actuallysaiyan]

Kinktober Day 1: Werewolves(No one could save me but you...)

warnings/kinks: werewolves, arranged marriage, unprotected sex, creampies, scratching, slight dub-con, mentions of mates

word count: 2.8k

pairings: Karl Heisenberg x Fem!Lycan!Reader

teaser: “You didn’t ask everyone in this village if they oppose this union,” Karl says loudly from the doorway. Your body trembles as he walks closer to you and Hans.

taglist: @beneathstarryskies @loki-love @witchofcustom @dreadsuitsamus @pyrofanatic @butterflieskeepcominback

a/n: welcome to the first post of Kinktober 2023! I got a little carried away with this one and it's probably the longest one. But I hope you all enjoy!!

You always felt different growing up in this village. It was like you were always meant to be held back. Something always felt wrong about leaving even if you desperately wanted and needed to leave. You knew that one day, you’d be married off to some asshole and have to push out at least five of his bratty kids. The thought alone made you want to run away but you always felt like something was making you stay here.

As the years rolled by, you found yourself more and more intrigued with the way people were so judgemental of the one person in this village that you found absolutely intriguing. Despite hardly ever speaking to the man, you knew you were so curious about him. Often you found yourself thinking about him and joining him in that factory of his. How it might even give you purpose in life to join someone who’s ideals don’t match all the other clones in this place.

Yet you could never drum up the courage to make your way to the factory. It often scared you just to look at it because of how much it meant to you. It intimidated you, and almost mocked you for being such a coward. A new life was only so many steps away and you could actually attain this. Though you never really could do something else and you knew your time was running out. Soon, your twenty-first birthday would be here and your parents had promised to find you a suitor by that point that would be your husband.

As the days go on, you find yourself desperately wanting out of this arranged marriage. The man your parents chose is horrible and you know that if you go on with this wedding, your life will be over. It doesn’t help soothe your nerves that your wedding night is meant to be on the full moon.You can already picture the monstrous sounds of the Lycans outside your window as your marriage will be consummated. It sickens you that you have no say in who you will marry.

Your mother sits you in front of the vanity table, and she begins getting you ready for the wedding ceremony. You know better than to protest what’s happening.

“Such a beautiful young woman you are now,” your mother coos as she brushes some makeup onto your face. “You’ll make a wonderful bride.”

Your stomach is in knots as you begin thinking about all those times you could have snuck out of your home and joined Karl inside his factory. All those nights you could have run off to somewhere new and started a life outside these walls. It’s too late for those fantasies now. You know you’ll have to swallow your pride and marry the man your parents have chosen.

The hours tick by faster than you’d like, and despite the fact that you know you have almost no way of getting out of this, you’re beginning to think of an escape plan. You consider all your options, and your mind goes to the Lycans. Maybe you can figure a way to rile them up so much that they will cancel your wedding. That way you’d have a few more days or at least hours to be able figure something else out.

Once you’re all dressed and ready, your mother escorts you to the carriage waiting for you outside. It’s almost completely dark outside, but there’s a little glimmer of the setting sun on the horizon. You’re ushered into the carriage that will take you further into the village and drop you off at the church. There’s no sight of the Lycans just yet but you know they’ll be present very shortly.

At the church, your husband-to-be is waiting impatiently. He knows he’s getting the better deal than you are when it comes to this marriage. Not only are you a good cook and very beautiful, but you are very adept with your hands and have a brilliant mind. All he can bring to this marriage is a good dowry that has impressed your father. 

There is a slight buzz from the people who are entering the church. You feel your heart sinking as you slowly approach the building. Your father brings you inside, squeezing your arm comfortingly. He knows you don’t necessarily want to marry this man, but he knows it’ll look bad on him if he doesn’t marry you off to someone who is worth your family’s time and wealth.

Once the doors open and you begin walking down the aisle with your father, everyone stops talking. You see the man you’re supposed to marry and your heart sinks even more. He looks way too smug for this to be good for you. You look away, staring out the stained glass windows for some sort of sign. Any sign will do. But the closer you get to the altar, the more you realize there is nothing left for you to do now. You have to accept your fate.

Hans watches carefully as you get closer to him, and he extends out his hands almost as if to snatch you up from your father. You look down at your feet, and you focus your ears on the sounds outside. You’re not sure how you’re going to pull this off, but you know you can do your best to get the attention of the Lycans.

“Finally, you’re here.” Hans says in a snarky voice. “I was beginning to think you’d never show.”

Your father smiles uncomfortably, “We wanted her to look absolutely ravishing for you.”

Hans smirks as he looks you up and down. You shudder at the way he looks at you. It’s like you're some kind of prize to be won.You swallow hard as your father finally hands you off to the man you’re about to marry.

Your eyes watch as your father sits in the front row, then you slowly move to be right in front of Hans. The priest saunters over, a bright smile is on his face. Then he grabs a large, leather bound book from the table. Your heart pounds in your chest when you realize that this is now truly happening.

“We’re gathered here today…” You hear the priest begin but you can’t think straight to keep up with his stupid little sermon.

Your eyes return to the stained glass windows. Outside the moon is now visible and with well-trained ears, you can hear the Lycans howling. You begin to pray and wish for them to hear your pleas. You’ve never prayed so hard in your entire life. Nothing would make you happier than to have them interrupt this wedding.

Hans squeezes your hand in a harsh way, bringing you back down to earth. You hear the priest clear his throat, and he begins reading more of the words from the old book. Then he looks up at the crowd and smiles at everyone. Everyone looks at you and Hans.

“Before I continue, I must ask you all if there’s anyone who opposes this union,”

Those words give you a sliver of hope. Just as he finishes saying them, you hear the loud howl of a Lycan very close by. Everyone looks around the room, their smiling faces make you so uneasy.

“Anyone? Is everyone okay with this union?”

Once more, you feel like there’s a bit of a stall in your marriage, and you wonder if some deity that exists outside this village has heard your pleas. The priest takes a breath before looking down at his book.

“Then let us—”

He’s interrupted by the sound of a loud thump. Followed by another one, and then another one. It’s not long before everyone’s attention has been taken from the priest and is now on the sound of the thumping coming from the door.

With a loud crash, you watch as one of the old wooden doors from the church falls over. You gasp when you see the person responsible for this. Your heart skips a beat as he looks over at you, grinning.

“You didn’t ask everyone in this village if they oppose this union,” Karl says loudly from the doorway. Your body trembles as he walks closer to you and Hans.

The priest rolls his eyes, “Like you really matter in this affair,”

Hans places his hand on your chest and pushes you so that you’re behind him, “Just what is the meaning of this?”

Karl is finally right in front of you and Hans, and he hasn’t wiped that grin off his face. You never truly realized just how intimidating and threatening he was. His large build makes him look even scarier than before, but somehow you know that he is your savior.

“This little sweetheart isn’t meant for you,” Karl explains as he pushes Hans to the side. “She belongs to me.”

There’s a bit of hushed speaking that begins to happen when Karl takes a hold of you. Instead of being rough with you, you feel his gentleness. You’re falling even deeper in love with him if that’s even possible.

The rest of the village remains mostly stunned, not really sure if they should even decide to intervene. Hans looks incredibly angry and your parents are cowering away in their seats.

“You see,” Karl begins, “She never was yours to begin with. She’s always been mine.”

Something about his words hit you so deep inside. You begin to see why you stayed all these years in this village. It was for him. He's been your reason to stay. You know that you always felt different from everyone else, but you never knew you could feel such a connection with someone like this.

Karl begins to pull you away and Hans tries to grab you again. He says that you are his bride but you’re already shaking your head.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Karl spits at Hans. “Nobody but you even cares if I take her or not.”

And with one look at the crowd of people, you know he’s speaking the truth. Nobody says a word. Nobody gets up to separate you from Karl. Hans tries to say something else, but he stops when Karl shoots him a dirty look.

You take Karl’s hand and he leads you out of the church. Nobody is saying anything. Nobody is doing anything. This is finally happening. You laugh to yourself, so happy that you were somehow able to leave everything behind so easily.

Karl doesn’t say much as he begins to lead you back to his factory. The moon is so bright on the walk home. The Lycans are causing a very big ruckus. The sounds they make as they howl at the moon soothes you all of a sudden. There’s some growling here and there, making you wonder if they are fighting one another to get closer to you and Karl. And you smile when you notice them beginning to circle around you and your beloved. Karl watches them carefully and he pulls you in closer. Then his voice booms as he tells the Lycans to not only calm down but to also leave the area. Without another action, the Lycans begin running off in the opposite direction.

You’re nervous but in the best way possible as you finally approach the factory. The grass is overgrown and it’s not very well-lit from the outside. You want to go inside despite everything you’ve ever heard about this place. Karl makes sure to keep holding your hand as he guides you inside.

This place feels like home even if you’ve never even stepped foot inside. You gasp softly as Karl sweeps you off your feet and carries you over the threshold. Your cheeks burn when you realize just how close you are to him now that he is carrying you bridal style.

“I couldn’t let that opportunity go to waste. You deserved to be carried over the threshold like that,” Karl explains as he lowers you to your feet.

The air between you is electrifying and heavy with a sudden need. Your eyes lock in a sensual gaze as his large hand cups your cheek and his thumb caresses your face. 

There’s no time for explanations as Karl kisses you with hunger and passion. His hands are busy unbuttoning your wedding dress. Your teeth clash and your tongues rub together as he begins backing you into the corner. Without another thought, Karl pins you to the wall and he begins to nip and suck on your neck.

“Have you ever wondered why you felt like you could never leave this place?” He asks you between the sensual kisses.

You nod your head and moan as his tongue rubs against yours. You know he’s got the answers you’ve been looking for.

“Let me tell you why…” he says, leaning in closer so he can whisper in your ear.

Karl explains to you that you’re also part Lycan, just like he is. That’s why when you were trying to get the Lycans attention, it actually worked. It also explains why they’ve never bothered you and how the sounds of their howls have soothed you instead of frighten you. And Karl ends his explanation with a heated kiss.

“You’re mine, sweetheart. You belong to me just as I belong to you.”

The skirt of your wedding dress is pushed up as far as it’ll go. Karl growls in frustration as he can’t quite touch you the way he wants with all the tulle and lace in his way. His large claws shred the beautiful wedding garment to bits.

“There, that’s much better.”

You whine as you feel his teeth and lips kissing your neck and collarbone. You feel like you’re floating on a cloud, shuddering and shaking with all this pleasure. You begin to feel something hard rubbing up against you as Karl keeps you pinned against the wall.

“One last thing I should mention, darling.” Karl growls in your ear. “The real reason why you couldn’t leave this place…it’s because I’m your mate and your mine.”

He holds you up against the wall as he begins undressing himself from the waist down. Your little panties are soon pushed aside and as Karl kisses you with animalistic hunger, his large fingers are spreading your folds to dip two of his fingers into your sopping wet cunt.

“Almost seems like you’ve been anticipating this, sweetheart.”

His words go straight to your core, making you drip even more of that arousing nectar. Karl knows he should take more time with you, but he’s been waiting for much too long. A few more strokes of his fingers and he deems you ready to take his cock.

Your eyes widen when you see the size of him. He’s large and thick, and you can see the red angry head of his cock leaking the pearlescent fluid. Karl smirks as he prods your hole with the tip, making you whine.

You cry out as he impales you onto his cock, and you feel something deep inside of you snap. You begin to rock against him, making him grunt at your sudden movements. He had a feeling you’d react this way given your Lycan nature, but he never knew it would feel this good.

Karl ruts against you, keeping you pinned tightly to the wall. You whine and moan, clawing at his back as the pleasure begins to take complete control over you. Though you have never made love before, something about this animalistic way of fucking has you soaking his shaft. It’s like you were made to take his cock.

“That’s it, pretty little mate. Ride my cock.”

You grunt at those words, your walls are squeezing him tighter and tighter as he fucks you so roughly. Neither of you can stop now, almost like you’re caught in a frenzy. It’s too good to stop. Too euphoric to imagine an end to this mating.

The coil in your stomach tightens impossibly tight, signaling your peak. You know you want it to last even longer, but it’s too good to quit chasing your high. Karl is right behind you, ready to stuff you with his potent seed.

A few more thrusts is all it takes for the both of you to be whimpering and growling at the immense pleasure you’re both feeling. You hadn’t realized until this moment that your claws have grown and are digging into his shirt.

His thrusts are more erratic now that you’re both reaching your peak. You see stars dancing in your vision as you’re falling off the edge to such a violent orgasm. With your walls milking Karl, he can no longer hold on. A loud rumbling of a growl comes from him as he fucks shots of his sticky, potent cum deep inside of you.

When he slowly pulls away after catching his breath, Karl leans in to kiss you softly.

“You’ll never have to be scared anymore, my beloved. I’m always going to keep you safe.”

[lady-z-writes]

(Jealous Karl x reader. "You're mine" smut)

Swear I thought I posted this, but here you go:

(ETA: ...I'd posted it in 2021, apparently. 🫣)

He'd made the decision to bring you, despite his best efforts to avoid this type of thing.

As soon as Alcina found out about you, she'd been urging him to join her little charade where she pretends to be a good oversized hostess.

She just wanted to get a taste of you, he was sure; lock eyes with you and hope to seduce you, steal you away from him.

Who knew the fucking caterer was going to be yet another threat.

The way he's staring at you makes Heisenberg notice. Sipping his whiskey, he keeps an eye on things as you chat kindly, probably unknowingly.

The smile on your face, the way you look in that outfit tonight - it's too much. He barely let you leave the factory without a mark on you; just in case someone got close enough to see the bite marks on your inner thigh.

You knew you were his. But with some alcohol in you, he wasn't so sure you'd behave yourself. Clearly, you hadn't started this interaction. Of course Heisenberg had been staring since you got up from the table; always an eye on things. He'd rather silently watch you than play socialite at Alcina's ridiculously over-the-top gala.

You'd been good, he just didn't trust the rest of these fuckers.

And the longer he stares, the more heated he's getting.

You'd noticed Heisenberg's staring. It was hard not to. He'd been grinding his teeth when he wasn't taking a sip of that almost-empty whiskey glass.

Speaking of, you knew you were meant to get the bottle from the server.

The caterer is nice enough but if he doesn't watch it, Heisenberg is going to make him into a mechanical plaything.

As you say goodbye, the caterer takes your hand and kisses the back of it. Totally flabbergasted, you shake your head at him.

"You need to stop," you say.

"Stop? We were having such a lovely chat. Perhaps we could have a drink under moonlight."

You glance over your shoulder, but Heisenberg isn't there.

Fuck.

"No, thank you," quickly, you back away toward the serving plater with the whiskey he likes.

It's gone.

Eyes wide, you gaze around the room to see if it's on anyone's table. If you come back without that bottle...-

Suddenly a familiar smell of cigar smoke overwhelms your senses. Glancing to your left, you notice Heisenberg's gaze fixed on you from a few feet away; whiskey bottle in hand.

"Come with me," he demands, shoving the bottle into your arms as he passes.

Before long, you're in a loading bay area, wrapping your arms around yourself from how cold you are suddenly.

"Karl, I-"

"Take your clothes off."

"What?"

He exhales smoke in your face as he shoves you against a crate.

"Now," he hisses.

Shivering, you follow orders, hand him the bottle of whiskey, watch him take a hefty gulp as he stares at your nakedness. As he hands you the bottle back, his eyes linger on the bite marks on your thigh.

You sip the booze in hopes it'll warm you up. Heisenberg takes pity on you - or maybe it's an act of ownership - but he gives you his coat and you're greedy for the warmth.

Not wasting time, he hoists you up, shoves you completely back on the oversized crate. It's freezing and hard but you don't sit up. You set down the booze before you spill it. Heisenberg pulls himself up, crawls over your body with a deep growl that exhales smoke around the cigar in his mouth. When he's eye-to-eye with you, he pops it out of his mouth, ashes it near you, uses his gloved fingers to uncover your right nipple from beneath his jacket. And then the left.

His eyes scan hungrily as he takes another inhale. You can feel him hard against your body and to be honest you're not surprised. It feels good to be this wanted.

He nods down at you and you know what he wants so wordlessly you undo his pants and belt. When his cock springs out, you guide it toward your naked pussy and let him shove himself inside you.

Arching your back, you moan out for him, knowing he wants you to be loud and the pressure of his thick cock is tender without any prep. But he wants it like this. It's a punishment of sorts.

"See you made a friend tonight," he grunts as he puts his cigar out beside your shoulder.

When he's completely in, you feel like you can finally speak. "N-no, that's not it at all. Karl, I-"

There isn't a second of hesitation: he starts pounding into you at such a pace, you can't help but grip his shoulders and whimper.

"You're mine," he growls. "You got that?"

"Yes."

"Say it," he grunts, biting your neck.

"I'm yours."

"Again."

"Karl, I'm yours!"

"Mmm, that's right. You are. You're mine to bite and to fuck. You're mine to make a scene about."

He's putting so much pressure on you, you're consumed by him and it's such an overwhelming feeling you can't help but love it.

"This cunt is mine to fill," he chuckles. "Oh? You're close, aren't you?" a deep laugh. "Bad girls don't get to cum."

You whine and grip him tighter. "No, I'm good. I promise."

"Oh, are you now?" he teases. You nod. "You look good...my jacket falling off your body like some centerfold...tits with my bitemarks on them, little marks from my facial hair...heh, it's like you're my little plaything."

"I'm yours," you whisper out, nodding against his chest as you feel your orgasm nearing. "Please, Karl, please."

He hums as if thinking it over. "One condition, doll."

"Anything."

"You sit in my lap and ride my cock while you cum."

You nod quickly and shift positions, staring in awe at him. This new position gives you so much pleasure. Your mouth is on his shoulder then kissing at his neck, moaning and crying out his name as you ride out your orgasm.

"Good girl," he laughs. "Ah, that's it, kitten...getting me so close."

After you've come down, your heartbeat in your ears, you kiss his neck again, open your eyes, throw your head back a second to stare at the ceiling as he pounds up into you.

It's only when you look straight ahead of you that you notice the door is open.

"Karl," you whisper, tapping him on the arm, trying to pull back.

It's too late. He's got an iron grip on your hips as he's moaning and pumping into you.

All while the caterer stands there in shock next to his crates of pastries.

"Get a good enough show there, bucko?" Heisenberg pants a yell over his shoulder where you're still staring in shock.

No response, just the sound of footsteps retreating.

You smack him on the bicep.

"You knew he was there."

He laughs loudly. "Of course I did!"

"Heisenberg!" you hiss.

"No harm. I didn't even kill him. Besides, look at that entire crate of pastries he left...just for us to sneak back to the factory."

You groan, hiding your face in his chest out of pure embarrassment.

"What? You're a sight when you're cumming. Probably gave that guy plenty to think about..."

"Can we go now?"

"Depends. Learned your lesson about talking to strangers?"

You roll your eyes.

"Yes, sir."

[reobsessed]

Sickness In His Care

Pairing: Reader X Karl Heisenberg. Content Warning: 18+, Mentions of sex but no actual sex in the story itself, Reader X Karl Heisenberg fic, slight humour. Can't think of any other warnings but please let me know in the comments if I missed anything. Summary: You'd been seeing Karl Heisenberg for a while now and had since started staying in the factory. However, one day you come down with a fever. Expecting him not to care you do your best to avoid him but you find yourself at a loss for words when he tries to take care of you. This is just a short one, inspired by my current illness. Wanted to write about a sick reader being taken care of by Karl =p Hope you enjoy! Might add more one-shots to this series later. Thanks again to Suri for editting and reads!

Your body was racked by coughs and splutters, occasionally drowned out by the sound of heavy machines whirring. You did your best to fall asleep but the oppressive heat of both your fever and the humid factory air wouldn’t allow for that. How Heisenberg worked in this, day in, day out boggled your mind. You had a lot of questions concerning that man.

With no such luck in drifting off, you flung your legs over the side of the makeshift bed and wrapped a blanket around yourself, for modesty’s sake. You made your way to the main elevator and adjusted your underwear while you walked.

Despite their inability to see, you felt intimidated beneath the many dead eyes of the factory. They’d long since had the life and humanity extinguished from them, but much like a porcelain doll, their eyes followed you across the hall.

Unfortunately you weren’t wearing any shoes either. They’d been discarded halfway across a room, (you couldn’t remember which) when he’d accosted you from behind several nights before. He did that sometimes, he’d enter a room irritated, ranting and raving about his ‘life’s work’, Mother Miranda or some other insignificant event. Then as he would throw his coat to the floor he’d come up behind and bury his face in the crook of your neck. It was his silent plea for attention, the only release in his life that didn’t coincide with destructive violence.

Things would get rough sometimes. Tumbling around with shrapnel and a dirty man who never left his basement certainly had its risks; but at the end of it all, nothing ever went outside of your comfort zone. Cruel and ruthless Lord Heisenberg was capable of some decency, if only in that regard.

Memories of the prior night filled you with excitement. You brought your hand to the swollen cluster of love bites mapped across your chest and neck. You’d returned the favour, and left a colourful array dotted across his neck, ensuring they were in full view of any who encountered him. You hoped to God he got called into a family meeting sometime soon. With an impish giggle you clicked the button on the elevator and ascended to the top floor. You hoped he was anywhere but his office, but unfortunately your luck had run out around the same time you’d met him.

As soon as you opened the door you were greeted by his side profile, head in hands, slumped over a diagram on the table. Probably sulking again.

“The fuck are you doing in here? I thought I told you not to bother me while I’m working.” He let out a puff of cigar smoke. Didn’t even have the decency to look at you. Dick.

As per your usual pettiness you ignored him and made a beeline for the door at the back of the room. Suddenly you toppled backwards as a thin chain of metal wrapped itself around your wrist, not intended to hurt you but to stop you from going any further. However, he’d miscalculated and hadn’t noticed your sickly state until after you’d begun to tumble backwards. As you fell to the ground, he steadied you with more offcuts of metal.

“The hell is wrong with you?” he raised his voice, a combination of tiredness and confusion. 

Metal clattered to the floor as he stood up. With a rough grip, he pulled you upright and turned you to face him. He studied you intently, glasses slipping down past his nose. You stared into his eyes, watching as anger dissipated into uncharacteristic worry.

Heisenberg was never good at concealing his emotions, especially not his anger and now this too, apparently.

“I just wanted some fresh air,” you croaked.

Cigar smoke choked your already irritated throat and you began another coughing fit, you tried your best to turn away but his burly arms held you in place. You were shocked that he didn’t seem to mind when you spluttered all over his stained work shirt but then again, you’d covered him in worse things.

“Forgot humans get sick, haven’t been sick in over forty years.”

“Certainly starting to get sick of you.” 

You couldn’t see his eyes behind the blackened glasses, but you knew he was rolling them.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” He grabbed your arm and shook it. “What do you do when one of these gets sick?”

“Well, I was hoping to avoid you turning me into one of your new toys, but I guess that’s up in the air now,” you sniffed, swallowing a large glob of phlegm stuck at the back of your throat.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” he sneered at you, now holding you away from him at arm’s length.

“I can’t help it,” you spat, attempting to pull yourself free. “And besides, have you smelt yourself recently?”

“Wait a minute, I have something for this!” His grip slipped from your wrist and fell into your hand. You let out a nasalled grunt as he dragged you across the room to his desk. After rummaging around with one hand he pulled out a dusted bottle from the bottom drawer. “This should do the trick.”

Your nose wrinkled when you looked at the awaiting bottle. It was covered in a thick layer of grime and much of the writing had worn off the label a long time ago, based on the few remaining letters you assumed this used to be some kind of ‘medicine’. You turned it over to see the date ‘1923’ printed along the bottom.

“Yep. I’ll be better in no time with this.” You swivelled the bottle, watching as black ooze splashed against the sides. He had a triumphant grin on his face and you couldn’t bring yourself to ridicule him further. “Right, well I’m going outside.”

“Dressed like that?”

“What are you, my dad?”

He pulled the blanket around your shoulders and touched a gloved hand to your forehead.

“You’re cold.”

Stifling yet another cough, you laughed softly. 

“How can you tell? You’re wearing gloves, you buffoon.”

He wrapped you in an embrace, only when held in the stillness of his arms did you realise that you’d been shivering this entire time. Had your fever turned to chills? With his arms still around you he pulled you over to his chair and sat you in his lap, presumably so he could keep working.

“So… you not gonna turn me into a Soldat after all?” you laughed nervously.

He brought the cigar to his lips. “Bad materials.”

You slapped his chest playfully and turned to nestle yourself in his arms. Usually after sex you’d push him away, the man radiated far too much heat in the already sweltering factory, but you were currently thankful for the warmth. It must have been awkward trying to work around the mass of your body, but he didn’t complain. As the two of you sat together you came to the realisation that he wasn’t doing any work at all, and that in reality, all he wanted to do was sit with you in his arms while you recovered.

Fuck.

Somewhere along the way the two of you had lost yourselves. What was supposed to have been a one-night stand had spiralled into weekly hookups, and from there it had turned into shared space and something akin to actual concern for one another. You were filled with a sense of dread, but you pushed it down in favour of sinking further into his chest. Before you drifted off, you could have sworn you felt the brush of his lips against your hair. 

A bitter sweetness churned your stomach. You felt a unique longing, beyond anything you’d ever felt for anyone else. Sex and desire had become secondary in favour of a new want; if only you had more time to spend in comfortable silence together.

[danosrosegarden]

heart for brains - karl heisenberg x gn!reader headcanons (NSFW) ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚♡

{contents ♡ turbulent feelings, a good mix of fluff and angst, somnophilia, penetrative sex (genitals of reader not specified)}

{word count ♡ ~700}

{author's note ♡ this piece was originally going to be this year's kinktober day five, but i just couldn't wait! i'm new to the resident evil fandom, so if this is horrifyingly ooc or "he would not fucking say that" in any way, please avert your eyes and pretend you saw nothing. enjoy!}

♡ a bizarre flurry of emotions fluttered through your veins each time you looked at him. it was unfamiliar territory, whatever it was you two had going on. you were both navigating without compasses. the thick, sugary-sweet warmth of another body laying in bed next to him was something karl never thought he'd want. the comforting wrap of arms around your shoulders was something you never thought you'd need.

♡ but it was all a far, confusing cry from picturesque. you spent hours at the end of most days trying to piece together the shards of broken glass scattered around the frame.

♡ sometimes you raised your voices. sometimes you went to bed with any gently glowing, good memories snuffed out by the scorching hot anger you felt pulsating through your body. yet still, more times than you'd like to admit, you felt pools of tears glistening like dirty, shameful rivers in your eyes. goddamnit, why did you care like you did? if you were to be dancing this dizzying, aching tango with any other man, you would have ruled a long time ago that he just wasn't worth it. what made heisenberg so fucking special?

♡ the good moments did exist. you thought of them with a skipping heart and soft smile. how deeply those moments moved you. those moments where he'd let you run your nimble fingers through his hair. those moments where you'd let him sew tender kisses onto your neck. you knew it didn't come easy for either of you.

♡ you should understand something crystal clearly: it wasn't that he didn't care for you, too. karl reran the tapes in his head constantly, in fact: your sparkling sunshine smile. your wild, unbridled laugh. the slow, honeyed drone of your quiet singing voice that he secretly listened in on when you thought he was out. he truly didn't want to lose what he had, but it was just easier to push you away when the blackened claws of the lonesome past held a suffocating grip on his heart.

♡ it would be difficult not to think of...certain other moments as well. the moments of desperate grabbing and blazing hot desire. chaotic passion, reckless love. was it actually love? the word grabbed hold of your throat and pushed with might. it was entirely overwhelming, and you preferred not to think of it. emotions make you weak.

♡ sex was best served after marinating in your wrath for awhile after another pointless argument. that's really what they all were...pointless. you couldn't even remember what you were angry at him for as you felt the warm appetite shimmer between your legs.

♡ it crossed your mind every once in awhile, what something slow might be like. something soft and malleable like clay, something where the walls fell down and all those hidden feelings bubbled to the surface and spilled over.

♡ and it happens, one night where you wake in the inky dark of midnight to hear soft sighs spilling from his lips where he laid next to you. you could feel him shifting, could hear the rustle of his hand on the fabric of his trousers.

♡ "you could've woken me up."

♡ you feel his body jump. "didn't know you were awake. sorry." his rasped, half-hearted mumble gives you a chuckle.

♡ your emotions make you weak. you can't seem to bring yourself to care about that when he takes you up on your offer and slips inside of you, hands wrapped around your chest. "back to bed, sweet thing," he whispers.

♡ maybe you were weak. maybe you did crave to let your heart override it all. god, it felt good to let yourself tumble down the silk-soft staircase of unconsciousness as the hot, tingling knot coiled itself tighter and tighter in your gut with each gentle thrust. drowsy with sleep, drunk off the feeling of the mild stretch and warm breath on your neck.

♡ there'd be the days that upset you. sour snapshot memories that you'd look back on with a pit in your stomach. but you love him. you think of the bright days and you're sure of it.

[not-neverland06]

If requests are still open, how about headcanons of Heisenberg with a reader that is a fifth lord. Reader's Cadou allows them to manipulate sound (radio) waves, and go as far as sonic scream. No pressure or rush, just curious on your interpretation :)

Karl Heisenberg x GN!reader A/N: This is only the second time I’ve done HC’s and I’m still struggling to get a grasp on them. Thank you for the request, your prompt was interesting to think about. This is a little short, so if I didn’t give you what you wanted let me know and I’ll try again.

He really doesn’t give a shit about you at first

Unless you go out of your way to catch his attention he’s treating you the same as he treats the rest of the family

Whatever your powers are, he’s gonna assume you’re just as bad as the rest of them and dismiss you

You have to actively make him notice you

It wouldn’t take a lot, maybe one snide comment towards Mother Miranda and suddenly you have value

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” You scoffed, glaring down at the horde of Miranda’s worshippers that had surrounded the old church. You’d just been passing through town, picking something up from the duke before heading back up the mountain. 

Heisenberg happened to be there at the same time. You weren’t sure what his deal with the Duke was but it seemed to be complicated. His head perked up as you glared at the villagers. “What’s your problem?” He muttered, tone bitter. 

You nodded towards the villagers, “They are. All their Mother Miranda bullshit, I’m sick of it.” You walked back towards your lair, the old radio tower up in the mountain. It was the best place for you to be with the way your powers functioned, your strongest point. 

He watched as you went, staring at you contemplatively and wondering how he’d missed that hatred in your eyes. 

When he and Alcina start to argue, Miranda will just look at you and you’ll let out a scream so loud bits of drywall fall from the ceiling

It’s painful but it’s effective, you’re essentially used as a mute button when things get out of hand

You tend to avoid the others, keeping quiet and to yourself

When Miranda had first experimented on you, your experience with the sound waves had been less than pleasant

Learning to control them was difficult. The first time you spoke after waking up from her little experiment, you’d blown out your own eardrums. 

Even after you finally harnessed them, you figured that it was better to just be quiet. The times you did speak you kept your voice below a whisper. 

“You don’t talk a whole lot do you?”

You shrugged, “Only when I have to, really.” You sat in his workshop, mostly against your will. He’d invited you to dinner, though it felt like more of a command, and you’d tried to get him to make the journey up the mountain to you. 

He’d, of course, refused because he was a stubborn bastard. You didn’t even want to sit down anywhere, there was oil and blood on nearly every surface. And if it wasn’t covered in that, it was sticky with dried lycan drool. 

At least Moreau managed to keep his quarry clean.

Heisenberg hadn’t stopped staring at you since you sat down, it was starting to bug you.

You don’t normally speak with your family, mainly because you don’t really care for any of them. Having his attention on you was disturbing.

He sets his fork down on his plate and gives you an odd look, “How do your powers work, anyway?”

It was easier to show than it was to explain. You focused on the large pile of metal scraps on his desk and opened your mouth. The noise was nearly silent at first, a high pitched ringing that you questioned if you were actually hearing. 

Then it got louder, the ringing clear now. It was painful to anyone outside of the focused stream of sound waves, but it was lethal once you stepped into the stream. The metal shook, vibrating loudly against his desk. A few toppled over, the rest exploded in a violent display of clashing metal shards and sparks. 

Heisenberg clutched his ears, a small stream of blood leaking from between his fingertips. You want to apologize to him. You’ve always had a little difficulty controlling your powers in such close spaces. 

But he doesn’t look mad, he doesn’t even look like he’s in pain. Instead he’s grinning widely at you, something glinting in his eyes that had you feeling on edge. 

He sees the uniqueness of your powers, the untapped potential for violence and how helpful someone like you could be to his cause

He waters the seedling of resentment you already hold towards Miranda and helps it grow

He whispers words of hate and anger into your ear until you’re just as passionate about taking Miranda down as he is

You two work together, using your odd understanding of radio and sound waves to improve his soldat designs 

Slowly, your loyal followers from the village start to abandon you and move to different lords. Your connection to Heisenberg has soured your influence among the sheep in the village, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care

Your status as a lord meant little to you when you had him

He’s intrigued by your powers and loves to experiment with them, but more than anything there’s something soothed inside him because he’s no longer alone

He’s grateful for the support you provide when he feels like he’s just stagnant in his progress taking down Miranda

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Resident Evil Village, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[thepatronsaintoffilth]

You Smell Like Trouble - Chapter 7/?

🛑🚫✋🏾ADULT CONTENT, MUST BE 18+  ✋🏾🚫🛑

AO3 <- don't forget to leave me a comment

Tumblr:  Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 (TBD)

pairing: black AFAB cis reader x lycan!heisenberg

CW: voyeurism (sleep creep behavior but no somno - not yet), discussion of fertility/infertility/sterility, reader fantasizes about being bred against her will

AN: Wow. Been a minute, huh?

I didn't feel right heading into 2025 without giving y'all something. So I fired up Cold Turkey, blocked the dash and all other distractions, and finally managed to get this draft under control.

I was going to go the self-deprecation route and say this isn't an especially juicy chapter (as you can tell by the dearth of content warnings above), but honestly? I think it came out alright. Much better than all my worrying, overthinking and second-guessing made me believe.

For anyone who was worried, let me reiterate: this story is nowhere near over. Karl and Y/N have many more misadventures ahead of them. Unless or until Pr*ject 2*25 comes in to bulldoze all the smut, I intend to keep at my craft (this has been on my mind, sadly, and it probably didn't help my writer's block)

Let's not waste any more time, shall we?

🛑🚫✋🏾ADULT CONTENT, MUST BE 18+  ✋🏾🚫🛑

It’s been a little over a week since Lord Heisenberg left.

And everywhere you go, you hear whispers. 

This, in and of itself, is nothing new. These are the very same whispers that fill the factory each and every time Lord Heisenberg departs for one of his family visits. After a while, the repetition seems to form a chant:

We’ll know if ... we’ll know if ... we’ll know if …

Back when you were still a newcomer to the village and a new factory recruit, all this chatter seemed rather cryptic and ominous. Now that you’ve been here a while? It’s still ominous, but no longer so cryptic. You can fill in the blanks now and finish the refrain like a tired old jingle everybody knows:

"We'll know if he comes back later than last time."

"We'll know if he comes back earlier than last time.”

"We'll know if soldat security increases at the perimeters."

It’s war. They're talking about war. 

No one says the word, but it's right on the tip of everyone’s tongue: We'll know (we're going to war) if …

You’ve been a resident long enough to have gone through a handful of such visits. And each time is marked by the same feeling of unease and uncertainty. The same tension and speculation. The same whispers.

And why wouldn't it? Along with the whispers, you've also grown familiar with the village's precarious position - the curious razor's edge on which both it and the factory rests:

The four Lords, against all odds, have maintained an uneasy truce in the absence of the puppet-mistress that kept them all (relatively) in check during her infernal heyday.  

An inevitable power vacuum opened up upon Mother Miranda’s death - only to promptly collapse back in on itself when it became clear that none of the Lords were particularly keen on staking their claim over all four territories.

Or getting the wherewithal together to go to war for said claim. 

Or to do seemingly anything but retreat to their own respective domains and continue to quietly loathe one another from a distance.

And so they did exactly that ... for a while, anyway.

For a few years after Miranda's death - or so you had learned through a mix of research, hearsay and context clues - there had been … squabbles here and there. 

Nothing as dramatic as war. More like skirmishes - disputes over taxes and grain and which bodies were dropped in whose territory. Trivial things like that. 

Eventually, a pattern began to emerge:

The longer the Lords stayed out of one another's sights, the more suspicions began to brew. 

The more these suspicions were left brewing, the more these disputes tend to spring up.

And when more of these disputes sprung up, the more talk of honest-to-God warfare was bandied about seriously.

So despite not being able to stand one another, the four Lords realized - much to each of their chagrin - that they needed to maintain some form of close contact just to keep a semblance of peace.

Nothing approaching real unity, but … a mostly indefinite ceasefire, if nothing else.

And so it was decided: there would be a semi-annual gathering.

A "family reunion", of sorts. 

None of their strongholds are ever host to these gatherings, and to the best of anyone’s knowledge (anyone well enough to be alive and running their mouth anyway), no one but the four of them and their approved attendants are privy to these gatherings.

They can't tolerate being in close proximity to one another for much longer than a week, so that’s roughly how long these visits tend to last before they scatter back to their realms. 

How heartwarming, you think acerbically, more than a little reminded of your own purposefully distant relatives ...  

As far as family dynamics go, it's not quite ideal, but they seem to have made it work. You’re hardly one to judge.

You come to a stop in front of the open workshop door. You peek inside, still half-expecting to see him there, as if he never actually left. 

It's empty, of course. Just as you knew it would be.

You step inside, slowly touring the space as though you haven't been here so many times before.

You stop to linger over his desk the same way you did the first time you ever set foot in here.

His absence is an entity unto itself. Everywhere you expect to see him there is only a harsh, crackling void - a cluster of static where flesh, blood, bulk and wrath should be. It has the shape of him, a kind of rough outline, but with nothing inside the lines you have to squint to even see.

Is this what being haunted feels like?

You park yourself in his chair, take a deep breath and try to gather your thoughts, shaking off the uncharacteristic superstition with some difficulty.   

As much as the possibility of war might still hang in the balance, it seems neither more nor less likely than it did the last few times they gathered.

There's really no use worrying about it further. If it's coming, it's coming; if it's not, it's not. Even with your tendency to overthink, you're perfectly fine leaving it at that. 

Besides … even with all the whispers and speculation and the usual hand wringing all around, you can't help but dwell on ... other matters.

…

... Who are you kidding? Your mind isn't on war at all. It hasn't been for quite some time now. Not really.

The only thing troubling you at the moment is the waiting. The loneliness. The knowledge that you're here alone, he's nowhere to be found, and you have entirely too much time on your hands to dwell on how you'll likely fall all over yourself upon his return. 

That alone would be humiliating enough, but of course, your tortured psyche doesn’t stop there. Oh, no.

To add insult to injury, your sense of honor pretty much dictates that you have to thank him the next time you see him. 

You crumple over your Lord’s desk, dropping your head into your folded arms and letting out a wretched groan. 

Kill me. Fucking kill me.

You tried to reason with yourself. You tried to talk yourself out of your resolution. Really, you did. But you have to face the facts. The relief he gave you was essentially by force - no getting around that - but he gave it to you regardless.

An awful, queasy tenderness clenches your stomach. Yeah … Yeah, he gave it to me, alright … 

Your heat seems to have ... not vanished, per se, but ... it's calmer now.

Not calm, mind you, but definitely calmer than it was before he took you in hand.

You still have a libido, to be sure, but it seems to have returned to the state that it was in prior to you getting so close to Karl - perfectly healthy, able to be satiated by one (or two) self-induced orgasms before you fall asleep. 

It's a bit like the banged-up old furnace in the workshop: still chugging along, not in any particular danger of getting out of control, but always just a hair too friendly to leave anything flammable near it without worry.

It's not the dizzy, ravenous thing that it was before, ready to engulf you in flames. For that alone, you have to thank him. It’s only fair.

Maybe that's how this works? Maybe he fucked it right out of me …

The idea seems ridiculous. You can’t help but wonder, though.

You’re wondering about a lot of things, in fact. Even if he did put that fire out, your Lord still left you with a lot of unanswered questions, far more than he did the last time he disappeared on you. 

Chief among them being just how he plans to debauch you the next time you meet.

You try to temper your expectations. After all, who's to say he's got anything up his sleeve?

You've been around the block once or twice. Enough to have known more than a few men who lose interest once the chase is over. 

Who's to say Lord Heisenberg isn't the same? 

Somehow you doubt that. With anyone else you might have called this misplaced optimism or maybe even an excess of confidence in your womanly charms, but … not him.

No, he made himself very clear.

You shut your eyes as his melodic voice breaks into your mind for what might be the millionth time that week: 

… Good girl … 

… We’ll do the rest next time …

A shudder passes through you yet again at the memory of that night and of that moment at the end, in particular. You rub the gooseflesh up and down your arms. 

What did he mean by that? 

What could he possibly have meant by that? 

What in the bloody fuck is "the rest"?

Yes, these are the questions and concerns plaguing you night and day.

Not the prospect of war. Not the possibility of the village and the factory and every living thing therein going up in smoke.

No.

It's what Lord Heisenberg might still have in store for the two of you.

****

Your Lord is standing over you.

Hovering, really. With clear intent.

The intent being sex. Needy, reckless sex. Hip-bruising, irresponsible, "daddy's home" sex.

Of course, you have no way of knowing this because you're fast asleep.

He returned to the factory under cover of darkness, didn't alert anyone to his presence, didn't drum up any kind of fanfare. Again: you don't know because you're asleep.

Asleep, less than half-dressed for bed and being utterly devoured by your Lord's travel-weary eyes.

You truly are a sight to behold - all brown skin, soft curves pillowing sinewy muscle, sweet little snores and such delicious vulnerability.

He sinks to his knees beside his own bed, watching the rise and fall of your shoulders and back. You're a face-down sleeper. He can't see your face in this position.

Thankfully, you're prone to toss and turn.

He watches you do exactly that. You toss. You turn. The longer and more intently he looks, the more restless you seem to become.

You roll onto your back. And then your side. You adjust and readjust several times, still deep in your slumber but clearly made restless by your Lord's proximity.

The tiniest smile - the first one he’s cracked in weeks - begins to stir at the corners of his mouth at the notion that even dead-asleep, you can't help but respond to his presence.

He's tired. Nearly worn out from this hellish but necessary trip. Not too tired to put it all behind him and lose himself inside of you again.

He watches you a little longer, the urge to pounce nearly unbearable.

Then his eyes shift to something else, something resting on your bedside table. Something that gives him pause.

Something that shouldn't be there.

He looks at you again. He backs away even as the urge to rut starts to claw at his insides.

Those welcoming curves of yours don't seem quite so friendly now as they did just a moment ago.

He swears under his breath, still tempted to hurl himself on top of you. If not for the express purpose of shooting another load into you, then to interrogate you.

That can wait. He's seen enough for now. Enough to know not to make his presence known.

Not just yet ...

He leaves again, fading into the shadows of the factory. 

****

Somewhere between sleeping and waking, at the foggy intersection of what might be either a dream or a memory, you feel a familiar, thrilling, pulsing awareness rip and crackle through your skin like lightning.

You wake up abruptly, heart pounding, with sweat beading in your scalp and two words blaring like a twin-bell alarm inside your skull:

He's back.

The certainty of it grips your chest so tight you can barely breathe. The excitement measures somewhere between a child on Christmas morning and a helpless bystander bracing for the impact of a nuclear missile.

It takes you a good minute or so, but you manage to get air into your lungs. You roll around, scenting the bed with the feverish determination of a bloodhound.

His scent is there ... but it's faint. Becoming even more faint with each passing moment. As though he was there before, but isn't there anymore.

Your pulse slows back down, becoming almost sluggish with disappointment.

A dream. That's all it was. 

Of course his scent is all around you. 

Of course it's faint.

You’ve been burrowing under the covers on his side of the bed for about six days now, chasing the phantom of his scent even as it grows weaker and weaker the longer he's gone. It's still there, but it wanes more with each night that you're alone.

That doesn’t mean he was here.

You glance around regardless. You were so sure. You could have sworn ...

But no.

You punch his pillow petulantly.

Pathetic, you berate yourself. This is pathetic. You're being pathetic.

You tug the heavy covers back over your head and try to force yourself to go back to sleep. And immediately you know it's going to be impossible. You're already fighting back the urge to climb out of bed and stumble half-naked through the predawn darkness into the workshop.

And then … what, exactly?

Do the exact same shit you've done for the past few weeks? Stare blankly at the schematics and blueprints and gears and jars scattered about the place as though standing where he stood and looking where he looked would somehow conjure the man up? Torture yourself that much more by wallowing in the inescapable fact that he isn’t there?

What good will that do? you try to reason with yourself. Go back to sleep. You have a long day ahead, and it’s still fucking dark out.

You shut your eyes and tell yourself you’re going back to bed - all the while still clinging for dear life to your Lord’s pillow … in your Lord’s bed … clad in one of your Lord’s shirts …

For fuck’s sake - !

It's no use. 

You find yourself drifting back to the last few moments of consciousness you remember prior to your three days of "rest".

Specifically, that unforgettable moment when your Lord spilled himself inside of you.

It's a well-worn memory at this point, every inch of it thoroughly engraved into your body and your brain - yet you still shiver and squirm in his sheets as if it’s still so fresh and new. As if it could be happening all over again, even now.

You remember the preternatural warmth of it, the delicious way it had crept through you, seeming to bridge the boundaries of organs and flesh so that it might seep into your nerves and bones.

You try to focus on that moment as dispassionately as possible. It's difficult because all you want to do is get lost in it again. You want it to overtake you.

By some miracle, you don't let it.

Instead, you consider what came immediately afterwards: namely, that overwhelming certainty that something was ... different. That feeling that something changed in that moment. 

You sit upright in bed, finally confronting the one thing you’ve managed to dance around for the entire time he’s been away.

Something has changed. Something is different. Inside. You don't know what it is, or what it was, or even how worried you should be. But something has definitely changed.

You snort, despite not finding much humor in it. Any other woman would know what that “something" is and not find it all so puzzling.

You place a hand to your belly, allowing yourself a moment to wonder what pregnancy might feel like. Or some other supposedly quintessentially "female" experience must seem like.

You picture your stomach swelling, becoming gradually more distended, a new life forming and growing within, nourished by your body’s resources.

... Then you shrug, bored with what amounts to a useless thought experiment on your part.

You don't menstruate. You never have. There was a time when you were very young when you wondered why, but you've long since outgrown that curiosity.   

When you were young, you grew curly hair under your arms and between your legs. Your shape developed early and opulently. Your features matured, your voice deepened, adolescence carving the woman you are today from the common clay of youthful baby fat, working the same womanly magic as it did on many, if not all, of the other young girls you grew up around.

... But you never bled. Never so much as a drop. Not even once.

Your curious hand had ventured down many times by that point, having discovered the pleasure you could give yourself and the glossy slick that accompanied your arousal - but never blood.

It should stand to reason that Lord Heisenberg couldn't impregnate you even if he wanted to.  

You aren't absolutely certain though. It might be another silly bout of superstition (one too many old wive's tales about men's virility, perhaps?) or your genuine lack of knowledge about lycan breeding, but in the privacy of your own mind, you can admit to worrying about it anyway.

After all ... if anyone's seed was potent enough to find a way around that, it would have to be his, right?

You draw your legs together tightly, crossed at the ankle, knees pressing up against your chest as you fold yourself into a fetal position. Humiliating shudders of arousal begin to ripple through you at the thought of your Lord setting himself to the task of breeding you thoroughly.

You make yourself breathe through your nose, fighting for calm even as the mental image of him hammering his seed into you as you cry and beg him to stop flashes vividly in your mind.

Holy fuck, get a grip, you tell yourself. Even to your own mind, it sounds less like a stern reprimand and more like the desperate plea of a woman on the verge of collapse.

You linger a little longer on the idea, heart fluttering stupidly at the sweet, horrid words your imaginary Lord growls into your ear, all the while keeping up a brutal, steady stroke.

But no. Your own special circumstance and the shared bond of lycanthropy aside, there's one thing that pretty much overrules everything else.

The "gift" coursing like ichor through each of the Lord's veins. The cadou. 

The very thing that makes the four of them so extraordinary. Too extraordinary to replicate or reproduce as every one of the Lords is widely known to be barren, infertile or mutated in such a way as to make insemination and childbearing impossible. 

That's about as close to a guarantee, you think sardonically, as a girl can get.

You wonder if any of the Lords - but Heisenberg, in particular - possess your same incurious stance on their own sterility.

You yourself have had several decades of knowing your particular branch of the family tree won't be bearing any fruit. If there ever was a time when you were saddened or even especially concerned by that, you've long since made peace with the notion.

Ultimately, you do with these thoughts what you did with the collective worries about war, and set them aside for another day. 

No use getting tangled up in hypotheticals. Similar to speculations about war, it wouldn't do much good dwelling on this sort of thing either. Not when there's work to do.

With that much resolved, you crawl to the edge of the massive bed and place your bare feet firmly on the ground. It’s time to start the day.

Your gaze falls on the bedside table, drawn to the cassette player sitting there.

Put that back before he gets home, you think abruptly.

You try to tell yourself you're being paranoid, but you find yourself sitting up and taking the device in your hands anyway.

You stare down at it. You're not sure what this feeling is - apprehension? Dread? Excitement?

Perhaps this is what your dream was really telling you. Not that Karl had really returned, but that you had perhaps gotten a little too … comfortable in some ways during his absence.

Yes, some housekeeping is definitely in order.

You hit rewind on the cassette player, not sure if you're doing so for your own purposes or if you're covering your tracks.

You freeze. There it is again: that curious twinge of fear.

Covering my tracks?

You puzzle at your own phrasing. What an odd thing to say. But now you're wondering: would he be upset if he knew you had been listening his monographs?

Well ... maybe not if he knew why ...

Your face flushes molten-hot at the idea. No. Absolutely not. Confessing to that is simply a bridge too far.

You’ll thank him for fucking some sense back into you, but you can’t cop to anything more embarrassing than that. He’d be so smug and insufferable about it.

Just like he was about his gloves …

Another graphic memory of the two of you together barges back into your mind, sending an unhelpful ripple through your pussy.

GET A FUCKING GRIP, you scold yourself as you march into the workshop, determined to put this whole strange morning with all its circular ruminating behind you.

You're just starting to shimmy the device back into one of the higher cubbyholes over the workbench running along the workshop's back wall when you hear something behind you.

Before you can confirm what that something is, you feel a gust of wind and hear the unmistakable sound of something heavy and metallic connecting with the wall directly to your right.

You turn your head to see what it is and freeze.

A huge, magnetic sheet had been soldered to the wall within the last year or so. Crowding the bottom were a host of screws, wrenches and gears yet to be put to use.

And right at the top was your Lord’s enormous hammer. 

It wasn’t there a moment ago. 

It hasn’t been there for weeks. 

Your Lord took it with him. 

When he left. 

You blink slowly, your stunned brain trying and failing to put the very obvious pieces in front of you together into a coherent picture. 

"Looking for something?"

You finally turn around, unfrozen by the voice suddenly filling what you thought was an empty space.

And there he is, in all his rugged glory. Filling the huge metal door frame like Death come to collect His due.

You stare at him, processing this turn of events just as slowly as you did the sudden appearance of the hammer.

You realize several things at once:

Firstly, that you were right before: he did come back. He must really have been in the bedroom before you woke up in a cold sweat. It wasn't a dream or some weird premonition. Even in a dead sleep, you had sensed his presence.

Second ... during all the commotion, you had instinctively snatched the cassette player back out of the cubby, fearing you might drop or crush it during the chaos. As a result, it's still in your hands when you turn to face him. And even you can tell: it looks awfully suspicious that you’re holding it. 

Oh ... This doesn't look good, does it? you think dumbly as he begins to move toward you.

His eyes fall to the player clutched in your hands.

… Yeah, this doesn't look good at all.

[rockscs]

so i took a look at karl heisenberg and said that he deserves to be a girl dad. except theyre the most dysfunctional family ever.

Anyways, he, while kidnapping people to turn into lycans, stumbles upon a sickly 14-15 year old girl, and while it would never realistically ever happen, decided to do a different experiment. Just like miranda did to him, he decides to attempt to mutate her. Someone else like him would be seriously useful when the time to fight Mom came around, so might as well. She would not be any useful as a lycan in this state, there was nothing to lose with trying.

The girl, in and out of consiousness doesn’t understand jack shit of what’s happening, why are there needles poking her around, why the hell she feels so groggy. She doesn’t get it.

And so while the girl is strapped in a chair to avoid any complications during the process, Karl starts the procedure.

The girl’s eyes burst open, and a groan rips from her throat, she starts trashing as the Cadou starts to settle. But Heisenberg, lacks Miranda’s magic, hes a mere engineer, after all.

The girl screams in agony as her skin lights on fire, starting on her left eye and bubbling the skin around, spreading over half of her face, down her neck over her shoulders. Heisenberg in a panic, sends another vial mixed in the solution pouring into the girl’s arm. She does not stop burning, but her screams die down, and she passes out from exhaustion before she can register that the fire does not burn anymore.

Next time she wakes up with a start sitting up, gasping air, heaving. She leans over to the side, and heaves up her empty stomach, nothing but gastric acid and whatever she managed to scavenge before settling into bed.

She takes in her surroundings, noting the dirty bathtub she sat in, filled in water. She shivered, eyes wide as she started trying to cross her arms over her torso in a weak attempt of either warmth, or self soothing, she couldn’t know. Everything in the room seemed filthy either way.

She fliched as she made contact with something. Herself. She looked down, finally noticing the bandages around her arms, soaked through a mixture of water and blood. Her blood. She gasps, eyes widening as she scrambles up the bathtub splashing all over, whines making their way up her throat as she noticed she cant see out of one eye.

She reaches her hand up touching the bandages that not only covered half of her face, but half of her goddamned head. She cries out, either finally registering the pain she’s still in, or shock at discovering her new self.

She jumped out of the bathtub, falling unto the floor with a wet splat. She stands on shaky legs, shivering at the cold air and adrenaline. A buzz under her skin. She shakes her head, scarred hands grasping at the hair left in her scalp.

The outburst of emotions triggering a burst of fire. A gutteral scream rips from her throat once again, falling to the floor, expecting the never-ending pain from before. She still doesn’t register that it doesn’t hurt until a bucketful of ice cold water falls over her head. killing the flames, and doing a semi-good job at diminishing her distress.

She looks up in shivers and gasps, to see a shabby graying man, smoking a cigar in a heavy brown coat, pendants clinking, hanging from his neck. He looks unbothered as he throws the, now empty, bucket across the room, and takes a deep drag of his cigar, before letting it drop to the floor and stepping on it. She notices it was basically new.

“Oh boy, Oh boy.” He said sarcastically, picking invisible lint from his coat. “If it isnt the girl who lived!”

He knees down in front of her meeting her eye. “You are one resilient kid, let me tell ya’ that.” She looks in shock, still shivering from the cold at the stranger before her.

She watched him extend his hand, and with his other one, tipping the leather hat gracing his head. “The names’ Karl Heisenberg. Welcome to the team, kid.”

She had so many questions, many she was sure had no answer. But while she wasn’t able to find her voice, she reached out, shaking. She couldn’t help but notice how gently the callouses grasped her charred hand.

[heisenbergs-magnetic-dick]

chat who wants to read my trash-ass fic

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi, I was hopefully I could request a fem reader x heinsburg from the resident evil series, maybe like the reader is mother miranda daughter and uses reader to keep an eye on all the other characters but her and heinsburg fall in love, and maybe get married in secret or maybe they leave the village just before it blows up and live a happy life together

.⋆｡To Our End｡⋆.

Karl Heisenberg x plus size reader

Change was coming and it was coming quickly but Heisenberg wouldn’t let either of them fall to the wayside without a proper goodbye

Warnings: canon typical violence, reader is one of Miranda’s children, angst, secret relationship, I try to follow the events of the game, mentions of death, ambiguous ending

WC: 1.5k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Mother Miranda had her eyes everywhere in the village. She knew everything that happened in her domain and it was because of one of her daughters- Y/N. 

The youngest of her children, the most favoured. She blended into the shadows, moving with a quiet step and only leaving a chill breeze and a feeling of dread in her wake. Even Dimitrescu feared her and avoided her as much as possible.

Yet there was one who actively sought her out. 

“My darkest darling, how kind of you to bless me with your beauty on this dreary day.” Y/N stepped from the shadows of Heisenberg’s workshop and into the dim light with a bashful smile. The man had been hunched over his desk, toiling away on some new project of his but immediately stopped when he sensed her presence.

She practically fell into his outstretched arms in her haste to be in his embrace once more. The smell of motor oil and copper overwhelmed her senses as his warmth enveloped her. For a brief moment, the voices of all the people in town and Mother herself were chased away and her mind went quiet, as it always did when he was beside her.

A chuckle rumbled through his chest before the rugged man planted a kiss to the top of her head, revelling in the feel of her soft body against him. “Mother has something planned and it’s big. She believes that it will succeed but I know that it will kill us all.” Her voice, like the shadows she inhabited, was wispy and weak. But it grabbed his attention even more than the most powerful of sirens.

“I suspected so. She has been quite fixated on her daughter as of late.” He hugged her tighter as one of his large hands travelled to the back of her neck so he could keep her pinned to him for as long as he could manage. “We’ll figure it out- we’ve survived before, we can do it again.”

She nodded and nuzzled into his touch but the fear that slowly grew in her belly could not be tamped out so easily.

——————

The lycans were going wild- like rabid dogs they constantly howled and snarled, eager to be let loose. Y/N could taste fear in the air, it clung to everything like smoke after a fire. There was only a small collection of villagers left, holed up in a single building at the edge of town. 

She snuck them food and medicine, leaving it on their doorstep but they never looked out. She heard babies crying as their mothers desperately tried to keep them quiet and her cold heart clenched behind her ribs. 

Mother’s call pulled her away from the survivors and she melted back into the shadows, reemerging in the church built for their maker. 

Donna and Angie were already perched in their usual chair, faithfully sitting in wait while Heisenberg was hugging the far wall, hat lowered over his face, at least until Y/N’s light footsteps filled the space.

Her eyes met the reflective glasses of her lover but did not remain there for long, lest the others realise the true nature of their affections. Dimitrescu stormed into the cavernous room, rage in her stride. “Why have you called us here?” She demanded, earning a scoff from Karl as he lit a cigarette. She levelled a glare at him before her attention turned to Y/N.

“You. Why has she called us?” Yet she remained silent, clasping her hands in front of her like the dutiful daughter she pretended to be. “Useless.” The giantess scoffed and turned her back on her youngest sister. Y/N felt Karl’s gaze still fixed upon her but she did not meet it. He loved to tease even when the risk was far greater than the reward.

“Mother is not here yet?” Moreau lumbered in next, carrying with him the sour smell of salt water and decaying kelp. 

“Do you see her here?” Karl retorted sarcastically as he breathed in the homegrown tobacco. Moreau ignored him and took his place beside Y/N, blocking her view of the others. She did not mind though, she preferred to be hidden from her ‘siblings’, it allowed her to watch the broad shoulders and overpowering stature of the man she loved without judgement or detection.

“Silence.” Miranda spoke through Y/N’s voice, immediately shutting up the bickering of her children. They did not turn to the youngest of them but instead to the altar where the air before it began to shimmer and warp as crows gathered together in a black mass that quickly took shape.

Y/N slunk back even further, her job now done as Mother appeared before her children. She trembled as anxiety mounts in her belly and her mind screams at her to run from whatever plan Miranda had for them. 

Five jars were lovingly placed on the altar, each one radiating a venomous yellow light and containing a dark object within them that was obscured by the fogged glass. “My children, this will be the greatest and most important task that I have bestowed upon you. These urns contain a new age for us, a new beginning of light and power. You will each receive one and I expect that you will guard it with your life.” 

Moreau took his quickly, tucking it into his bulbous chest as a mother would hold her infant. His glassy eyes filled with blind obedience- he would do anything for Mother’s approval.

The others rightfully hesitated but a withering look from their maker urged them forwards. Karl was the last to take his jar. His large calloused hand curled around the glass and he chanced a look at the shadowy figure to his right.

He could see the fear and the anxiety in her stance as clear as day. They both knew that this would be the last task that Mother would give them, their usefulness would run dry. 

He needed to act fast.

——————

“My love, we are in the middle of a war, do you really think a romantic night is necessary?” She asked but yet still approached him in the vast field wearing her best dress. The dark velvet clung to her generous curves in a way that drove the man insane with want.

He took her much smaller hand on his own and laid a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “That is exactly why we are having this night to ourselves. I wish for a perfect night with the woman I love before everything falls. Alcina has already been killed and I suspect that my number will soon be called.” His icy blue eyes, now not hidden by his dark glasses, reflected the bright moonlight like a still lake, capturing her in their beauty.

“Do not say that, we can fight this, we can survive.” She pleaded as he pressed another soft kiss to her inner wrist, savouring the way he could feel her heartbeat against his lips.

A chill breeze washed over them but neither of them were affected by the cold, they hadn’t been for decades. “Ethan Winters will stop at nothing to get his child back and not only have I angered him but I hold a piece of her. I just want you to grant me one last wish before I am to perish. Let me be selfish one more time.”

She shook her head. “Then he shall kill me too. I am one of Miranda’s children. I am a monster.” Karl smiled at her.

“You are not a monster, not like the rest of us. You use your gift to protect and to guide from the shadows. Ethan knows this and he will spare you.”

“What did you do?” Her voice carried off on the wind, weak with disbelief and grief for a loss she had not yet experienced.

“I made a deal. He gets his daughter and he helps me kill Miranda but he spares you. I suspect that I will not live to see dawn.” Tears black as night rolled down her full cheeks and he knew that she would fight him but she would not deny his request, she never could. 

“So, on my last night walking this Earth-“ Her hand remained in his grasp as he knelt on one knee before her. “-Let me make you my wife.” He produced a ring from the pocket of his coat. She gave a very undignified squeak and his eyes sparkled.

“Yes. Yes!” The dark metal, folded by his own hands, slid onto her finger, fitting perfectly as he knew it would. Y/N beamed and the shadows that naturally trailed behind her brightened to match her breathtaking smile. Before the ring even had the chance to settle against her skin, she threw herself into his strong arms, her lips connecting with his in a kiss that both radiated love and unimaginable fear.

Karl fell back into the long grass, dragging her soft body fully on top of him as the kiss quickly grew into something more. 

Their vows were howled into the night in shadow and in gunpowder, weaving together a tapestry that would never be completed. Their love, while born from evil, would last far beyond its destruction. They would love until their end.

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[spiritofboredom]

It's insane to me that I've only seen one edit of Karl Heisenberg to Nasty Dog,,, I can't get it out of my head and I need more

If I could draw him, I'd do it myself

[margaretoakgrove]

Duke, you, Heisenberg: *hanging out together in the safe room of the Dimitrescu castle, enjoying the thought that even lady Dimitrescu herself cannot come in and kick you out of there*.

Alcina: *fiercely knocking at the safe room door, knowing that the three of you are inside* You miscreants, let me in! LET ME IN!!!

[crowtrobotx]

Check Engine - Complete

Ya girl did it! My silly little Heisenberg x GN!Reader fic that started out as almost a joke and turned into Very Much Not A Joke is done! Thank you all for your support, comments, fan art and kudos. This might not be the end for this AU, but for now, enjoy your gross happy ending with the trash man. Read on AO3

[lady-z-writes]

Been a long time...found this in my drafts.

Sequel of sorts to this post:

In which the group meets at the church and Reader is too distracted by Heisenberg finger-fucking her under the table...

His fingers. His thick God damn fingers...

You cross your legs, let out a quiet, shaky breath, and try to regain your focus.

He notices. Of course he does.

He's watching you out of the corner of his eye and you swear you hear a low chuckle in the back of his throat.

The table setting didn't give you enough space. This is torture. He knows just what he's doing when his hand trails to your thigh.

You jolt up, gasp a little, try to cover it with a cough and a reach for your glass. His hand remains. Minutes pass without any movement from either of you.

He's really fucking good at acting invested. Practiced. You're sure there's reason behind that.

His eyes trail toward Alcina who sits across the table, making demands for something - you aren't really sure. Your focus has been on keeping your breathing even, not drawing attention to yourself. It's a tough job.

Especially when he starts shifting his fingers to hike up your skirt. Your hand instinctively reaches for his when it's between your legs. You grip him, pleading without even looking at him. But his hand keeps moving, shoves yours off, and starts slipping his fingers underneath your panties.

You tense your leg muscles but it's too late - his hand shoves your crossed legs apart, his thick fingers play with your opening, dipping into your wetness.

He shifts in his chair and you imagine he's getting hard from this.

You try to look really focused on Miranda and Moreau's conversation, but Heisenberg's thick digit is just barely moving inside you, but it's curled at the knuckle so it's hitting you just right.

He's glancing at you once again and you're sure that he's completely aware of your little secret: aware that in the past few days you'd fingered yourself in hopes you come close to the pleasure he'd given you. Two fingers, pressure on your clit...it all got you to the point of climax, but nothing compared to his mouth, to his cock.

You swallow down more liquor, inhale sharply as he just barely shifts his finger against your g-spot - constant pressure, slow and deep...

Your thighs press together to stop his finger, but instead he slips another into you and you have to rest your elbows on the table, cover your mouth with your hands.

Heisenberg responds to something Miranda asks him - completely composed - his left hand free and swirling his drink in his glass. The casual way he's going about this, they're none the wiser.

And yet you're barely composed, making eye contact as best you can, but completely overcome with arousal.

This is so public, so wrong in front of all of them.

When you manage to take a breath, sip your drink, attempt composure, his fingers return roughly, hitting you so deep.

He chuckles at something, you're unsure, but the deep vibration reminds you of his damn mouth on your core.

You let out a tiny breath as you cum on his fingers. It takes everything in you not to thrust your hips against him, gain more friction. You shield your eyes from the group, looking at the table like you're in prayer.

His fingers don't stop.

This is going to be a long night.

[acapelladitty]

For the first sentence prompt, Heisenberg and Reader "You're such a bastard... But you're my bastard."

"You're such a bastard...but you're my bastard."

A particularly wicked smirk crossed his features at the admission and his hips rolled against your own harshly, the movement forcing his cock to bury itself even deeper within your aching cunt.

"Who said I'm yours? For all you know I have a collection of other shameless whores that I parade through this factory when your back is turned?"

Refusing to rise to the bait, you squeeze around him and the delicious pressure nets you a rough growl which drips from his lips like sweet necter.

"As if," you tease him openly as you continue to ride him with a gentle rocking motion, "do you expect me to believe that anyone else puts up with your bullshit like I do?"

His rough fingers dig in to the already bruised flesh of your hips and the small spark of pain takes your breath away as you drop a steadying hand to the thick mat of his salt-and-pepper chest hair.

Send me a sentence and I'll write the next 5.