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comfortless · 9 months ago

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Only Other

chapter two of three.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, mentions of an arranged marriage with a large age gap, slight sexism, descriptions of violence & gore, more groping, allusions to abduction, dubious consent to a nonsexual genital inspection, animal death, minor character death, masturbation.

wc: 10.6k.

<- previous.

Everything feels unsound, a thicket of heavy vine curling it’s way up from the dirt to settle over you, in your belly, hair, anywhere. Sharp thorns and sap so thick you could drown.

Gaius is here, again, poised with his arms folded over his chest. You swallow thickly after you ask him to repeat what he’s just said. Something about eyes and ears between every crevice, beneath every board. He had a litany of reasons to believe you were not the sweet little maiden he had promised a halfway decent life to.

Careful as you thought you were, sneaking past the gate to roll in moonlight with the giant men of myth and smell the beasts and their pelts past the wall… The following morning had been the downfall of bliss. People take note when wolves begin to sniff around their cattle, and it’s no surprise that König was noted doing just that when he brought you back here on his horse with some sort of bloated pride when he named you his ‘Göttin’.

“Disrobe,” Gaius commands for the second time. The voice that comes from cracked lips and weathered jowls never falters: always so self-assured, stern, and where it may have sparked an interest in you from anyone else, here… it only feels vile. He’s the embodiment of the city itself: worn, cracking, splintered filth, left alone to wind and twist out of control.

You imagine he must have taken up the demeanor during his days as a centurion, but your head clouds when you try to recall the many times he’s monologued those times to you. Like his proposal, the dowry and arrangements, all of it feels blurry in your mind. You lose yourself to it when the strap is slipped down your shoulder, your body goading you do as asked for the sake of fewer future headaches.

There are no lemures looming over your shoulders these days, they only guide his hand, his voice. They haunt you in the shape of Gaius, an old hawk that screeches the commands you’ve no place to refuse.

The stola drops to your ankles with a dreadfully slow sweep, a century passed in a bolt of lightning. It pools down at your feet in a river of white. Graciously, Gaius doesn’t prompt you to remove the breast band where the truth of your bout lies embedded in little bruises, the mark of teeth scraped right by your areola in a rolling fit of passion.

Your betrothed boxes you in against the bench until the backs of your knees meet the wood, guides you down with weighty palms until you’re seated: feet pressed onto the seat, knees brought back toward your chest. In earnest, your stomach froths with a displeasure and embarrassment, but this is not the first time that the man had taken to inspect your pussy as if it’s your only worth in the world.

Whichever malady he possesses to make him like this… you could only hope that König did not have it. This weak, old soldier would be nothing short of a toothless dog should your bull take to charge him.

What was a dull glimmer of longing for his safety immediately sours to a wish for his goring when those cold fingers tug your loincloth aside and you’re laid bare for him right there on the bench.

The old creep inspects your cunt as though he were a medicinal woman. His fingers part your parched labia, not so much as a dewdrop of arousal there— completely unlike how your body had only seemed to melt and sing its pleas for König. He doesn’t whisper his pleasures in Latin about how pretty it is down there, doesn’t capture your mouth in a kiss that scorches you right through, only probes and prods at your slit to see if there’s any give.

Of course there isn’t.

It wouldn’t have mattered if you let the entire barbarian camp take their turns with you; you wouldn’t be any more blooming for Gaius. Men like him didn’t have the slightest idea of how to make a lady soft and dewing, they only thought that they did.

You knew with a certainty that this wasn’t normal by any stretch. After the first instance, asking the women nestled against their open windows, humming to sleeping infants curled on their chests only prompted sympathetic stares. “Have you no midwife?,” one had replied, face paled as she looked to you: the pitiable woman who had been inspected like a strange fish just for bartering with a man at his market stall for bread. Gaius had not found a thing then, and you had only begun to doubt his intelligence.

… Did he even know what a hymen was?

You will keep your secrets, and he will always play the fool. That’s just how peace would operate once you did share a roof with him.

“Well?,” you prompt, shifting a little in your seat when his cold fingers move to grip the plush of your parted thighs, examining closer with a low, raspy gasp.

A feint that earns no response.

Seemingly satisfied by a lack of a shimmering semen trail or whatever dullards like Gaius sought, he scowls and backs away, hands falling to his sides. There’s no bulge stirring beneath his toga, either. There’s an absence of anything that would make your relationship seem anything more than some strange transaction.

If anything at all, you have become a kept dove, clipped wings and cooing in a gilded cage. No more a wife than a pet or a pretty, glittering jewel. Something meant to waste away its days possessed.

You didn’t even know why he had chosen you, a lady with no gold, silk, or land to her name. Everything you owned he had given to you. Father, mother… whether or not you even had siblings, you were uncertain. Trying to remember only stirs up another aching in your head and you’ve had more than enough to worry about lately without the added sting,

“You’ve done no wrong.” It’s decided in a cold tone of voice. There’s a belief there, but only because the truth of the matter would make him look entirely the part of the fool that he seemed to play without notice.

“As I said.” You won’t run pleading to Juno for her forgiveness this time, or ever again. For the goddess of marriages and women to bless you with… this. Surely she never favored you very much at all.

You wouldn’t waste your bronze coins on fortune tellers anymore, either.

“Mind your words, girl.” He pats your cheek, feigning an affection that has never been present in this villa, in this city at all. You feel little more than like one of the slave girls— not whipped into submission, their plight was always far worse, but if you looked into their eyes for a moment too long, you knew you would find a part of yourself held there.

You nod your head and carry on puppeting yourself as you always have. Conversation comes stiffly as he wanders about your little home, noting what would need fixing before the night of your wedding, checking your food stores and even helping himself to a bone cup filled with wine. Even with it offered to your lips, speaking with him does not come any easier.

Finally, you utter the words that have nagged at the back of your throat since the day of his proposal, “Why do you want for us to be wed?”

The man pauses as he sets the cup aside, finger drumming at the rim momentarily as he regards you with an upturned brow.

“Your father’s dying wish was for us to be married.”

“Yes, but… who was he?”

“A great warrior.” That’s the only explanation you ever get, even when the confusion paves way to a simmering concern. How could you not remember your own kin? It seemed so unfathomable. Seeing so many large families walk these same streets as you… and yet you only had Gaius, hardly better company than a corpse.

“That’s all that you ever tell me.”

“… You will make a great wife.” He concludes the conversation, gives you a firm kiss on the cheek and leaves you to stew in the nothingness that haunts this place as though it were an ancient tomb.

Your days remain the same, nothing ever changing in your eternal cage that only grows ever-colder, more and more like a crypt.

Stitching, weaving, flowing. The animals needed tending, the marketplace was always bustling, and you’ve stopped listening to the poets. Their words only make you feel colder now.

You have met the things that lurk beyond these walls, and they do not speak of bubbling creeks and your gods; they soak their weapons in you, whisper like the trees and bellow like the mountains, ride their horses into battle without a scrap of armor on their hides. They don’t even fear the lemures or Jupiter’s lightning strikes. Maybe not even the changing seasons; harvests must be plentiful when your home isn’t surrounded by chalked clay and ivory.

You don’t turn to Juno any more, but you do turn to Mars. You pray not for the empire, but for his bastard.

Her altar had been tucked away to a corner of your room, replaced now by a stagnant cup of wine you dutifully purge and refill each night, a stray dagger you had acquired from a thieving child on the street, and a strip of red fabric torn away from an old tunic belonging to your betrothed.

When night comes and the weight of it all curls over your shoulders, you find yourself tugged down to the floor on your knees, whispering great fortune for that arrogant beast who had promised to take you to bed when next you meet. It always starts the same, your voice pleads to Mars, only to dither off to murmurings of a different name.

Though he remains distant, barking and bleeding out prey far from you, some semblance of him remains tucked between your ribs. A small echo, one that only seems to grow into a roar when your eyes close and you dream of wolves and their sharp-fanged promises, wisps of wind through low-hanging branches and not paved streets, dirt giving way beneath your feet.

He holds you in those dreams, whispers to you about your false gods when you stand over a stream, points out the only two in existence amidst the reflection with a curled finger.

In those dreams, you think you hear the voice of Mars, a fluttering leaf on the breeze detached from what he’s come to be: it tells you of thyme and rosemary, a foreign glade, of death and longing, and never does it breathe fire.

Then, you wake, ripped from the Elysian and back to wander Orcus with a heavier weight upon your soul.

— — —

Mars answers your prayers in the late autumn.

You do not wake to the sounds of horses or crackling fires outside, only something quieted and peaceful. The street beyond your window is silent as you stretch out to see what’s stirred you; not an animal or a man lies in wait, only the cool gloom of the moon tucked beneath clouds above.

Time only seems to pass more viciously these months. There’s a wedding to be had when the seasons changed; your yellow-red veil had been stitched with trembling fingers nicked several times over by needle, the lectus had been prepared and set on the first floor of the villa. The red cloth covering the modest couch seemed a threat in itself. You don’t hazard it a glance when you wander out of the door to take to the street tonight.

Dim moonlight does little to guide you, only making each shadow seem to stretch and warp in mocking, uninvited guests to set your shivering heart spinning.

There is just no time anymore, not here.

There, sits an owl atop a roof. Its dark wings stretched out as if to begin another flight, to coo its retribution to the sleeping city. You don’t dare to attempt to capture it, there would be no ritual tonight and no care if some harbinger brought doom to this place. It regards you with shimmering yellow eyes, and you think, for just a moment that you see the same feral look in them that you saw in your warrior. The bird wasn’t always the omen that others may claim, sometimes it’s only a sign.

The son of Mars has returned, his horse is waiting to take you upon its broad back and carry you to the mountains and the sea.

The chill on the breeze only guides each step you take as you clamber through that chipping hole in the wall and flee to the field once again. Strangely enough, the air even feels different out here, colder still but devoid of the shadows that climb and crush. The soldiers usually stationed outside the wall are not present now. You only reason that it was rare that they ever were, anyway, always too bathed in wine and kisses from flighty little women slaves to focus on the scape just beyond.

And there, further out from the opposite bank the stream, you see the glow of a fire.

It was strange to see the Goths had returned before your city’s own soldiers. Perhaps you had slept through their march, tucked away at some vast banquet filled with pillaged riches, the finest of wines and the most fresh of smoked meats before you had even begun to stir. Peculiar thing, being so accustomed to the rituals of men that for the most part you had learned not to even bat an eye. It mattered not, anyhow. What you sought was not another Roman to steal away your aspirations to take you as his woman.

Your pace is light and tentative, feeling the earth sink and mold around your bare soles. The thorns risen up from grass dare not poke you with their spines, the owls lurking in the trees do not chase or call, and the horses in the pastures seem at ease.

Even in a world bathed in black and silver, you feel golden, warmed from temple to ankle by that someone other lurking just beyond reach. The other gods could be condemned— it was Mars at your side all along.

The barbarian camp is in a similar state to when you had first seen it, just as you are with the ends of your gown drenched in water from the stream.

There are fewer to their numbers now. You count only three: two busied away with roasting meat over the fire, one running his blade over a flat stone at the mouth of his tent. You recognize them, somewhat, as you step closer, each just as imposing as the first with thick hair and wild eyes, but there’s no sign of König, not here in the open.

You’re stricken by fear immediately, clouding your head with doubt and worry: not for your own safety, but at the thought that your warrior was left to rot in the forests beyond, struck down by some other barbarian king.

You’re stood at the edge of the camp when your breath grows thin, pulse racing as your veins try in earnest not to burst with panic.

One of the men rises from the fire, gruffs something at you in his mother tongue, a deep rumbling like the rocks of old mountain and the timber of trees: like König. He stands before you, a wild mane of dyed hair atop his head, so deeply crimson and maroon you would even think it had been colored with blood from sheep or man, perhaps both.

He claps you on the back with a strong hand, the shove nearly enough to send your shivering form tumbling to the dirt, before you’re righted with a strong grip on your wrist. Then, he laughs.

“Come. König,” the man barks in his heavily accented voice, tugging at your wrist as if you were a mere calf to herd.

Your panic dulls somewhat, enough to wriggle out of his grip and shoot him a glare you had only previously reserved for your betrothed. Intent on playing the part of some strong yet benevolent noble woman it seemed, as you straighten yourself out and ignore the way that the mud and blades of grass stick right to the dirtied hem of your loose robe.

“He is here?” You ask after a moment, feeling a bit misplaced as this other, less familiar giant stares down at you. His eyes are not blue, but gold when the light of the fire pit illuminated him.

This one does not understand as much as you had hoped, because he only murmurs more incomprehensible words and pushes your forward with a palm placed right between your shoulder blades.

You don’t trip, but you had half a mind to hiss at him then, until you realize he is only leading you towards that same ugly tent from before.

The pelts have been changed out, somewhat. There is less gray now and more brown, hides from deer and boar alike, taken from their months of travel. The maroon fabric remains, layered beneath in such a way that seems to make it only seem more alive and bleeding this time.

“Keep warm.” The man speaks up again, and there is no mistaking the amusement in his voice. Insulting, what he dared to insinuate with those two words, yet… there’s a cloud of fuzzy, warm excitement billowing up between your breasts all the same.

The flap of the tent is held up by your own trembling hand, elation tinged with an anxiety, a clustering song played without harmony in your very bones. Though, it settles so easily when the light of the moon mingles with the candles within the cradle of wool and leather.

König is sat, recognizable from his very being, laden with scars and coarse light fur, vast as he had always been. However, his face has changed. Gone is the bleeding shroud you had seen upon him before: the cloth has been tossed away on the mattress, revealing a face that both chills and heats you to the very base of your being.

His face is not unlike others you have seen, maybe upon gladiators a time or two once the helmets were discarded and the dancing with beasts and men alike had subsided. There are scars there, too, a broken face revealing a menagerie of pain from the bump upon his nose to the chip in his tooth as he smiles. His eyelids are still smeared in darkened mud used to make him seem that much more sinister in battle, streaking down his cheeks not unlike the carmine that tended to use to paint your own.

Those eyes though… they stand out above all else, heart wrenching and sullen, and still, they rise to crease at the outer corners when his stare meets your own.

A man with more polish would have concealed the state of himself from a maiden; turned his face away and covered his nudity in the furs lining his mattress. You’re thankful that König is not like those men. His stare is as open as his body’s own articulation: he only lies back into the bed and beckons you near with a curl of his fingers to his calloused palm.

“I made offerings for you.” To you, but thankfully that phrasing doesn’t make its way out. You take your place on his mattress, carefully placing a palm over his chest just to feel— to touch, to be nearer to your god in some way. The time apart hasn’t been entirely cruel, but ‘kind’ would never suit it well either.

Your touch is answered by a heavy grip around your forearm, a gentle yet demanding tug that leaves you sprawled across him like some tiny animal gripping onto a tree: your head presses against his bare stomach, one hand tucked to your chest while the other is quickly pulled up to meet his mouth. König kisses you, right on your palm in some peculiar sort of reverence.

“Your blessing was enough.” You feel his mouth stretch, the brush of teeth against your flesh as he grins, something you’ve missed.

It’s a ruse; there are winding strips of fabric haphazardly tied over his chest, thick with the stench of iron. The blood is dried, but you could only imagine the state of the wound beneath it. Months upon months of travel with a chest wound… your heart crumbles, struck with worry then.

The seax sits intact, however, propped up against one of the wooden poles keeping the shelter in place. Even sheathed, you could assume with how dutifully the barbarian cared for his blade that it had been cleaned, sharpened and greased to keep rust at bay. Though the benevolence he had coaxed from you had not saved him, a part of you was almost pleased to see the weapon unscathed.

“You’re hurt,” you hear yourself say, far away, out amidst the turning leaves that surely watched him take a spear or a dagger, maybe even an arrow, toward his beating heart.

“Hm…? Men get hurt in battles, meine Göttin,” he says, so nonchalant, as though the fear of dying out amongst the trees and hungry animals did not exist for him at all. “You worry?”

You pull your hand away from him when he playfully nips at your fingertips; even wounded König seems more inclined to bite and make you squeal than settle into this expanse of fur to rest and heal.

Of course you’re worried, men fall to mere scrapes in time: grime coaxes its way in, wounds fester with an almost laughable ease, infection paves way for fever and…

“Take care of me…?” König’s voice comes soft, the softest you’ve heard. Gone now is that boyish, mocking lilt, replaced by something akin to trepidation. Fear for him does not come from the shouting of men with blades held high, but in small whispers begging for affection.

“Sure…”

The ruddy bandages are pried away from his chest by gentle hands, uncurled and left on the dirt floor to the side of the bed. The wound in his chest is not as severe as you had expected, a few centimeters deep, jagged as it curves upward… whoever had done this had not had the opportunity to properly pierce him before the offending weapon had been pried from their hands. Crushed. Followed by what you could only imagine was the attacker’s fretful shrieks when König advanced upon him.

Your fingers brush over the wound, gentle, as you inspect the blaze of red around its edges. There’s no clear indication of infection, but when a clay jar of honey is plucked from König’s belongings and brought to your hands, you dutifully dab the wound in its sweetness.

You tell him how it will heal, using the phrases you’ve only heard from the physicians about the city, failing to mention that you had not tended to someone like this before. He breathes his appreciation in a soft rumble when you wrap his chest in strips of cloth, tightening it comfortably just to tie at his side.

“Did you kill the man who did this?,” you ask once you’ve stripped yourself bare, shed your clothing to lie in a heap with the ruined bandages he had previously worn. Your body rests at his side, arm curled over his middle. A woman’s warmth was necessary to heal a warrior… perhaps it could remedy a forgotten god, too.

“All of them,” he hums into your hair, a whisper of a voice harboring words that should chill you to your very bones. König only appears pacified as he speaks, never minding his own madness, nor the blood caked beneath his fingernails.

You ask him what these men were like, who could have been capable of wounding a man as mighty as himself, and in turn he laughs. Surely, the gash must ache, but his voice never falters when he gathers you in two treelike limbs to pull your body ever-closer to his own.

He tells you that they were familiar, that your men in their dye red tunics held their spears and struck down some of his men but could not hope to best him.

He tells you of the cowardly ambush, how the warriors of your city turned upon his own with shouts and anger after a slave woman had been released. The way the woman spoke… as if she knew more about you than you ever had, how he could not bare to watch her suffer when she even resembled you in some ways: older, but still so very much like you. He had felt killing her captor to return her to the forest was the only way he could keep your favor.

While you listen in a stasis, stuck ridged against him as your mind drifts, pulls memory from the darker corners within your skull, he strokes at your shoulder, presses his nose right up to yours.

The man who had struck him was smaller… weaker, he had not survived König’s first blow, but… There’s a frothing madness in his eyes like the sky threatening storms when he tells you that he could not bear the thought of a man that would think to harm anyone like his goddess finding a way to return. His attacker was ripped limb from limb, body burned with the rest of those that followed his order.

You remain entirely silent, taking in this whispered tale as though it were breathed from the mouths of the gods themselves.

You never needed to pray to Mars, to Juno, to Vulcan…any of them. The embodiment of fear lies as a welcomed presence next to you, stroking along your back as though you were a mere kitten while he breathes this gory story against your lips. The smile returns when he finishes, pets at your jaw as if awaiting a reward for his perceived good deed… and you allow his madness to slip right past your teeth.

The touches brush over you like the featherlight breezes of the past spring, fingertips grazing from your waist to neck, nails leaving lightened stripes over the flesh he carefully claws at, gathering your skin, the meat from your bone, to roll between each pad of his digits. There’s further worship, a desperation to ensure that you are still here as he pants into your mouth, grips at your hip to pull you closer to where he aches the most.

There’s no pelt sprawled over his groin to hide himself from you, no thin linen to protect where he wishes to reach most. All you have is your words, and a thumb delicately rubbing over his bandage. When the kiss breaks, only then do you think to speak.

“When you’re better.”

The man makes his protests, gives his cock a few strokes as he hisses into your ear about promises, the horse, how long he’s dreamt and waited. You don’t need to be convinced, but now… your mind is riddled with what’s occurred in your months apart. Though the tension remains thick and wafting in the air between you, the physical could wait until you’re both sorted.

While you remained stuck and forlorn, struck by longing and misery, he had only found some semblance of meaning for all of what has eluded you, slayed every man who he could envision bringing you- anyone like you- harm, came back with another wound to fold over into a puffed scar.

You’ve only been waiting for your own sentencing.

Your warrior softens when your eyes begin to swim, fragile and overwhelmed as you’re tucked away beneath him. He only holds you, protective with an unwavering grip as the moon sweeps through the tent with its melancholic comfort that finally pulls the tears right from your eyes.

“Meine Göttin…,” he whispers against your temple, before you press your face into a broad shoulder, hiding tears and frail hiccuped sobs. “I prayed only to you.”

The words come barely audible, though they were never truly necessary.

You feel them in every touch, every hurried whisper as he coos his apologies in that keening voice, every kiss pressed over your warmed face when relaxation snares your limbs, and you do bloom further against him. The comfort and adoration is near staggering, taking you in and pulling you under, further below than even the rivers of your dreams and the ocean just out of reach could ever hope to.

As though this were the most natural thing…

The altars of your villa before were mere practice for the worship of lying next to your own deity; bastard son or Hercules, a wolf or a wild boar, none of it mattered.

He sighs, cups your face to kiss you just once more, something far more chaste than what you’ve come to know from him; the small peck to your lips holds more weight than the clatter of teeth and tongue from before. When you begin to drift off to a dream of a glade filled with nymphs where the trees breathe sap that tastes of honeysuckle, all bathed in the glow of starlight, you only feel the need to silently pray for one last thing: that he will never let you go.

— — —

It’s only on the seventh morning that you come to a realization over a breakfast of figs and water from the stream just below the hill— one that you haven’t been home. You feel at home enough here. The stuffy villa seems only a distant memory when you’re seated across from him, the giant who showers you in so much love it feels warmer than the great flames of Vulcan’s own fury.

No one has come to seek you out, either. Gaius had to have had an idea, should he have even bothered to search for you in that now desolate home. The few soldiers you have witnessed on their patrolling across the field never seem to turn an eye to the barbarian camp. You fill your pots with water, taking aid from König’s men, and never once have they turned to you.

Judgment always seemed so swift with all apart from destiny. You reason that this is surely what it must be, a destiny painted high above in the stars on nights where the mist does not curl up to conceal them from your gaze. You watch them sometimes, when König relaxes his grip in sleep: you turn to the outside of the tent to stare up at the expanse of stars and hear the stories of this nameless king from the mouths of the very men who have braved each storm with him.

They tell you in shattered language of stories you know with a certainty must not be entirely true. They range from talk of the hundred wives König supposedly had that he released all when he met you, of the temples built in his name all lined with gold and the names of jewels you had never once heard spoken, of how he had even slain your great god Jupiter… You have always listened with great amusement, wondering just how highly he must speak of you to have his men lie for him so brazenly.

Laughter follows you back to König’s tent each night, waiting to hear the cries of their king expending his love upon you that never come. You tend to his wound, observing its healing as the days come and go, and with each rebirth of the sun, his touch only seems to grow more imploring, his words sweeter than even the fruit held up in your palm.

In the haze of the morning sun spilling in from the parted flap of the tent, his eyes seem alight with an unnatural flame when he pulls you in to seat you upon one of his muscular thighs, far too rowdy for an injured man. You think not to refuse him when he laps at the juice from the fruit that has trickled down your chin.

“I love you.” He professes his devotion in that same pleading voice, an arm curled around your middle to keep you securely in place. Another thing that you never needed the words spoken to know.

You bring a fig up to his mouth, feed him with a kiss to his cheek and a whispered confession of your own. From the moment you saw him tending to his seax on the bank, your heart had become a howling, skittering animal in the cage of your ribs. You murmur words stolen from the poets against his jaw, about love and flowers, the mating dances of beasts and gods alike. With each word spun, he clutches you tighter, echoes them in his mother tongue.

The confession ends in a kiss that leaves you cloudy, aloft, a union of tongue and soft panting that leaves each nerve thrumming rapidly. The bowl of fruit slips from your lap, left to scatter over the ground forgotten.

König lowers you to lie back on the bed, teeth nipping and raking down along the column of your throat, over your pulse… back to your breasts that he caresses in two large palms.

“Not yet,” you remind him. His touch grows more insistent, thumbs pressed to your nipples to roll over them until your back arcs and your thighs tremble. “You’ll open your wound…”

“I am fine,” he huffs when he releases you from such delicious torture. “Let me…”

You can not bring yourself to tell him the true reasons as to why you can not. Not yet. You’re a mere stroll away from the city’s beckoning gates, from the place where you’re set to be wed only a fortnight from now. The mouth of Orcus that will drag you back in and keep you caged away from him… it would be too bittersweet to make your passions clear when your doom still imposes upon you with just a glance outside. If it ever comes… and you silently begged to any greater thing that it never would.

“When you’re healed… when you take me away from here,” you promise.

König listens in his own way. You see a flash of mischief when he separates from you with one final generous squeeze to your breast. This isn’t just the casual acceptance that comes with children being scolded, but an urgency to contend your words, a desire to prove himself buried in those shimmering eyes.

“Meine Göttin thinks that I am weak, hm?”

“That is not what I said.”

“I will show you.”

All at once, König rises from the mattress, casually shedding the bandage over his chest to discard it. You want to protest to whatever it is that he’s doing, but you knew very little of the minds of these men, their proclivities and desires, only that above all his intentions only seemed to be to prove himself worthy of worshiping at your feet, between your parted thighs…

As if to taunt you, the stiffened cock between his own legs bounces, drools when he stands. Your head spins as you force yourself to sit up and look into his eyes instead.

“What are you doing?,” you ask when he gathers his seax from the place he’s left it propped up, followed swiftly bu the pelt he usually donned around his middle with its leather straps and worn, gray fur.

“We will go on a hunt, hm? I will show you how…” He trails off with a grunt as he fastens the straps, finally conceals the pale, proud pillar when the fur comes to cover his groin. The seax follows as it’s tied to his narrow hip, the pommel glinting in low light as he approaches the opening of the tent and gestures for you to follow.

He should not be going on a hunt, and you… still did not even possess a weapon to aid in such an endeavor. Still, the thought of seeing him actually in the midst of a heated battle stills your breath for a moment, spurs you forward to follow along behind him.

The men around the camp speak with him for a time, prattling on in their mother tongue, gesturing out towards the trees with grins brimming with excitement. They all seem enticed by the prospect of felling some noble creature to drag back to their camp, make a true sacrifice for the goddess made mortal that lurks here. König dismisses them with a wave of his hand, clearly intent on being the only one to gift you such an offering.

He barks an order to the man that led you to his tent, and within moments this other man brings a Roman spear to your warrior, recognizable by its intricate engravings and barbed tip. König weighs it in his hands for a moment, glances back at you with a grin that simply screams his satisfaction of holding a trophy pried from the grip of one of your own detestable soldiers.

You follow after him through the dense forest bordering the clearing. The trees have long since shed their summer green, replaced instead by reds and golds, the dead falling to bathe the forest floor in bronze and brown. König walks slowly as to not cause too much sound to pass beneath the weight of his bulky body, encouraging you to do the same in a hushed demand with each crunching leaf beneath your soles.

Finally, he comes to a halt overlooking a small ridge that overlooks a small clearing. The brush and thickets rise high here, no doubt the birthing place of brambles and thorns, ground passive and untouched by all except the animals hiding within trees and bedded down in burrows. One still walks, awake and alert, a brilliant red stag with antlers more vast than even the horns of the bulls sent off to play war with the gladiators.

The creature is stationary, chewing cud with each movement of its dainty little jaw. It’s tail twitches, ears flicking on occasion when a bird swoops too close or the sound of a snapping twig out in the distance echoes through the forest. It’s a beautiful, delicate thing, but still strong and sturdy. The stag looks perfectly at peace here, not noting the wolf that watches over the ridge.

By the time that the deer does catch sight of König, it’s already too late. The arm holding the long spear is already pulled back and raised high. When the creature moves to resume its prance, the weapon is sent spiraling through the air, twisting and spinning in the absence of a breeze like a living thing until its point is found bedded in the stag's protruding belly.

The creature bleats in pain, writhes and kicks as it comes crashing down to a bed of brittle leaves that clamor beneath its weight. You close your eyes when you see the ground painted with blood from its seeping wound, and König begins to descend upon it. There are other sounds that follow, thudding blows in quick succession that leaves very little to your imagination; you’re only grateful he brought such a pretty thing a swift death.

You walk ahead of him on the way back to camp as he carries the animal’s corpse, politely telling him that if you look, you will not eat.

He gives his spoils to the other men once you’ve reached the camp again. They cheer, readying their blades to carve the creature up for a meal of venison and whatever amount of wine remains in their stores. The rations had been cut off since the others had failed to return, it wouldn’t be long until there was no wine left without one of them fetching work for coin within the city and purchasing it himself; still, König ensures that your cup is filled to the rim with it’s tart sweetness, grape with notes of something earthy, a mixture of thyme embedded into it to bless it with scent like a pomander.

You seat yourself in his lap, looking every part of a pretty earthen goddess as he presses his face to your bare shoulder, traces shapes into your hip while you sip from your cup. His men do not stare, either, regardless of your state of nudeness. There’s respect here, embedded into their flesh, their beliefs, and you only feel the part of a noblewoman when you take note of it. You are not just any man’s woman, but their leader’s most revered treasure.

The others pick apart your harvest of flesh, hang the skins to dry for further use, the antlers and bone left in a heap to be cleaned, then sharpened and carved. Your stare is appreciative as you watch them work away, never having seen this side of things from your modest villa. A fire is stoked when the usable meat is peeled away from what remains of the bones, ribs and femur, others that you could not hope to name.

“See?” König chimes as he takes hold of your hip, squishing you closer, tighter amidst the space of his palm. “Not weak..,” he hums into the hair at the back of your neck.

His touching grows more persistent, eager as the tips of his fingers graze your inner thigh; though appeased, you were not keen on the idea of straddling him before the eyes of his men as though you were only a breeding pair of foxes, screeching your passions into the forest for birds and bears to hear. When a throb resounds from his stroking, you wind yourself away to sit at his side instead, jaw resting on his knee and cup raised up to hide your breasts from his field of view.

“I did not say you were. Just hurt.”

He gives an impatient grunt in response, but allows you to linger in this new position, taking to stroke at your face and shoulders instead.

When the meat is cooked to their standards, still bloody and near raw to your own, the men chatter away between mouthfuls and thick swallows of their wine. You try to keep up, forcing yourself to commit some of their more common turns of phrase to mind— obvious yeses and nos, the way that they call one another, the names that would sound strange on your tongue but suit the others all the same. When your expression falls to confusion, König whispers translations into your ear; they’re discussing the Romans… what they will do if their rations are cut entirely, something about a deal struck before your interest summers and you resort to eating the venison you hood in silence.

It is not that you feel out of place, only lost. These men live in a separate world entirely: there is no talk of ironed out politics, organized festivities, of weddings an plotting for farmland. There is laughter here, even song when one of the trio seated across from you and König begins to bark out a loud chorus from a tune that your warrior so sweetly explains to you is about a woman who ventured out to elope with a cave-dwelling bear. Peculiar wild men that they were, you don’t even bother to question how that could ever possibly work.

When the afternoon sinks into the coziness of evening, you walk hand in hand with König back to his tent, and just as with any other night, there are cheerful, foreign goads and tedious little sounds elicited behind you. The wine had you peaceful for a time, but its haze has since passed. Your sheepishness is apparent at the implication, but the wolfish grin König shoots back at his men is anything but.

You know he expects to fulfill his promise entirely— make you his lover, wife, whatever he seems to see you as. That could not happen… as much as you thrum for him with each brush of his warm palm against your backside or upon your face, eternally gazing up at him with your dumb and doting stare.

To your credit: when his gaze crawls over you to take every bare expanse of flesh in, he only sees a beauty that he seemingly can not comprehend. The tells range from the tightening of his jaw, the twitch of each digit when they meet your skin, the way his nostrils glare and eyelids sag. His profession from earlier was anything except just that: it was a truth.

As he strips away his pelt and sets his blade aside, your hands rise to press against his shoulders, forbidding him to go any further than this simple reveal. And you speak true, explaining your exasperating engagement with the foul man who made certain you were spied upon, your distaste for your life within the walls itself, and lastly the marriage that would occur once the seasons did change.

Your eyes feel nothing short of pure liquid when you seat yourself upon his mattress for what you assume would be the very last time. Your voice tapers when you reveal that those very reasons were why you had come to him that night for the horse, why you came back even now.

König listens until your voice is reduced to a somber whisper, broken up by weak sniffles. The flirtation in his gaze is lost, and there’s no grin that splits apart his thin lips. You think that, if he asked you if you felt similarly to him then, that you would break down in full, but he doesn’t.

Instead he hisses something in his mother tongue, a singular word: “Scheiße.” Then, another laugh is coaxed from his throat, the dozenth that you must have heard this night alone. He seems fully unperturbed, unbothered when he descends upon you as if you were nothing more than the very deer he had slaughtered earlier.

“It is fine. Alles gut.” He covers your face in kisses, biting at your cheek when you squirm against him. “I can fight him, hm?”

Stupid… so terribly impulsive and cute. You sigh as if exasperated with him, but envelope him in your embrace anyway.

“I just want to be free of all of it,” you explain in a hushed voice.

“Then we will be free,” he confirms. We. No longer just yourself, and you almost bring yourself to ask if he has truly meant it before you're reminded of his declaration with a swift kiss that punches the air from your chest and leaves you shivering.

You hold him tighter still, fingers weaving into his hair to massage at his scalp and draw back in a tug when his head cocks to nip at your jaw. Again, always, he encompasses you, pulls you down into darkened water that warms and thumbs around you. You lose yourself more and more with each touch, thumb brushing over the pulse of your neck, teeth nipping at your clavicle, the brush of his groin as he rolls his hips to meet the plushness of your thigh.

You ache, cry when he guides your nipple into his mouth, languidly lapping over you until his salivating is evident over your tit. He only grows less patient the more vocal you become; one hand remains played to the side of your head while the other steadily slinks down past your naval, trails off to grasp at you hip and steer you closer before descending lower, where only his blade had dared venture before.

“I have dreamt of this, meine Göttin,” he purrs when he shifts his hips. His cock rests heavy over your thigh, weeping the sheerness of its own demand to paint your flesh. He guides your hand there to palm at his steadily growing arousal, curls your hand around his length and guides it up to stroke.

His chest rumbles his pleasure as he groans against your cheek; the sounds are somehow more surprising than the ones you had heard outside the brothels. Before König… never had you heard a man voice his pleasure, and though it may have been emasculating to some, it only makes you wet, there where his fingers reach to pet once he’s satisfied with the pace you’ve set as you pleasure him.

Your thumb grazed over the flushed tip, smearing the preejaculate that drools from it, his hips buck then. Your own sounds join his chorus when he ghosts a fingertip over the hood of your clit, buried his middle finger into your cunt. The entire ordeal is lazy, lazy as the slow kisses that connect your panting mouths.

With each twitch of your wrist as you milk his cock, you’re met with a finger probing deeper. At some point, one becomes two, a try for three before he draws back and realizes you’re too close to begin to take anymore.

“Tight..,” he appraises in a low voice, tongue lapping over your teeth as you writhe at his side.

You pick up pace at his praise, adoringly offering him your love with quickened sweeps of your hand, of your thumb over the weeping head, until he begins to throb in your hold. König mutters a curse against your jaw as he struggles to keep his hand steady then, bludgeoning you with his fingers, circling your clit until you begin to whine.

The heat builds within you so quickly you begin to see the night sky beneath your eyelids— an expanse of stars, of glowing blooms, and all at once the heat becomes too much. You curl into yourself, struggling to keep the demanding cock in your grip as you grind your hips down upon his hand to ride out your orgasm, bleary eyes and weakened by the intensity of it all you merely muffle your cries against his waiting mouth.

It takes no time at all for him to finish then, thick spurts of white seed paint up from your mound to your belly, coating your fingers in its stickiness. He hurts his teeth through it, intent on stifling the desperate little sounds building up in his throat, kisses you with even more fervor when you bless him with another tug to milk out every last viscous drop as it kicks and throbs in your hand.

He settles briefly, trailing kisses from your jaw to shoulder, then rises to part your legs with a strong grip around each thigh. For a moment, you almost think he’s prepared to fuck you proper, but the thought dissipates when he gathers his own seed over the head of his still hardened cock, settles it against your cunt, and grinds his seed against your salivating hole.

Your whine is clipped and almost pained when he brushes over your clit, hips rising to pull away when you feel the tickling burn of overstimulation. It doesn’t last; satisfied that he has left his spend close enough to your pussy that he may as well have laid claim to it, he crashes down over you, head pressed between your breasts.

König’s breath still comes in a pant while he huffs his affection for you: praises, those three wonderful words again and again. His tone is tender, reverent, as he tells you that he loves you… immediately following it with a stout and crude declaration of how roughly he will fuck you when the time does come.

“Do you mean what you said…?” You find your voice when he finally stops whispering the filth of his fantasies to you, when your cunt ceases its pleading for more. Right now… it would not be as special anyhow. Your fate still lies in the grasp of another, and as much as you wished for it to align in full with him, that simply was not so.

“Ja,” he answers immediately, no hesitation when he commits himself in full to you, the Roman woman who had tamed him down with her silly whims and ache for him. “I will take you to the mountains, the sea, …the stars if you ask.”

You comb your fingers through his hair, filled with mirth as he speaks of such impossibilities. There is no place in the stars for two misplaced lovers, but you don’t dare say that. The things that fill your imaginations would leave even the poets balking, scrambling for the words pretty enough to describe a love so peculiar.

— — —

You had not questioned why they remained, that was your folly.

You had never thought that you would even care should you see the city fall. Though… dread immediately strikes your heart with ice and silver when you’re bolted awake by the sound of shrill shrieks and loud crumbling. There’s a war just beyond the veil the tent provides: loud sounds of heavy feet, shouts, even the clash of metal upon metal if only for a single stuttering beat of your heart.

Vulcan has descended, rode right through on flaming steeds with flame rising from his open maw. You know it with a certainty without even approaching the opening to look. But you do. You do move away from the empty mattress, finding the space where König had slept against you, snoring softly and tugging you closer in your bliss, entirely devoid of any warmth. The air is warm, tinged with the heat of coursing flames, but the bed is cold, frigid like the fear that cinches at your heart and steals the breath from fluttering lungs.

There’s ash in the air, falling like the first snows of winter when you make your way out of the tent, coughing into your hand as it clasps over your mouth and nose. The air is so thick, noxious and darker than even the backdrop of velvety sable marking the horizon. Your eyes track the twisting, feathering pillars of flame as they rise even higher than the wall: a gold and red death.

Shadows scramble across the field— men, women, then the horses, the bulls, that come thundering past. The animals trample and shriek: broken bones, hooves driven through skulls to erupt into mush, leaving twitching, scorched corpses in their wake.

Fire billows up only to fall and rain down, back onto the murderous beasts in some abstract punishment. You watch the puppets writhe and squeal; perhaps your own cries join them, wailing and crying out as all you’ve come to know is engulfed, smothered, destroyed. What the fire does not take, the shattering structures do.

Amidst it all is glee.

There are shouts of men on horseback that come out as the victory roars of men amidst battle, yipping and howling as all is reduced to rubble around them. Your feet do not guide you toward the chaos, they do not bring you to peace either, only far— far as you can go.

The smell alone makes it worse than it ever appeared in your dreaming. Blood, oil, cinder and ash that plummets deep down into your stomach, pushing back up to purge what became of the deer. You feel how that creature must have: alone, terrified, certain that death was biting at your heels. If you had fur it would bristle, antlers would plow through the brush to carry you to safety, but… you do not. You’ve only the ability to gather yourself enough to fall. You descend down the hill in a painful roll as your legs give out beneath you.

You want to close your eyes, to sink into the stream and bid the fire away with desperation alone. When you lower to the grass to wretch, fingers digging into the earth, your gaze snaps back to the scene just beyond the stream.

You know, know dreadfully well that the people here that have managed to escape were hunted down in a veil of inky blackness. The ghouls of myth could not compare to this… This was very real, real as the scent of cooking meat and hair and wood.

And you watch and wait for the fire to burn out, for the animals to cease their rampage and fall back to a calm that never comes.

You stand to your feet, meekly trembling before the wrath and chaos, and you wait with splintering nails clawing at your thighs and unshed tears blurring your vision. There was always a price to pay for freedom, you had seen it time and time again in gladiator pits, monetary and dull, but never this…

And you know the price for yours was paid in fire and vengeance, promised before you ever even had the notion to disappear at all. There was always tension between the Goths and your people. This was bound to come about sooner or later, but the guilt of potentially being the catalyst to it all brings you back to your knees.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring out into the abyss in silenced fear, but eventually all that fills the quiet is the dull roar of the fires still burning and the dull sounds of a horse’s trot growing nearer. Just across the bubbling little stream, untouched by the death beneath the full moon, is König atop his sable steed. The creature huffs just as König cocks his shrouded head, prompting you in his silence to say anything— deliver your blessing, your thanks, your kisses.

Yet, you can not bring yourself to deliver anything but a weak, anguished wail.

The stream is crossed before you’ve even the time to raise your head, limbs gathering you up to pull you against the broad chest of your god in the cruelest tenderness. You feel limp there, atop this frustrated horse, in the arms of the man who had sacked this city. They will come for him, kill him too… You will be alone with nothing and no one, and stupidly, you find yourself longing for the comfort of calling to Juno in that bedroom you would never see again. All of this just for pleading for the very horse you now perch upon.

He lets you cry as holds the reins in one hand and carries you away from this desolation. The horse walks further than you have ever even seen. The stream before the barbarian camp is not the only, there are orchards and glades and fields of tall grass even further beyond it. You take in the beauty as the city becomes a glimmering speck far behind you.

König only remains silent, stroking your back with his free hand, so lovingly and gentle you find it almost impossible to believe him capable of such cruelty. Your mind is tired, limbs weighty and chest aching from breathing in so much smoke. You do not even realize your exhaustion until you find yourself in a fitful sleep.

There are no dreams, no wonderful comforts, only slow breaths and pained whimpers.

When you do wake, the sun has risen in full.

You’re lying on your back amidst withering grass, a pelt thrown over your body and a figure sat at your side. There’s no longer the stench of smoke, no drab gray clouds hanging over your head. The air is light and tinged with the tartness of buckthorn. There are white, puffy clouds hanging up in the vast blue of the sky, and as you blink, a thumb moves to stroke at your cheek. Soft, so soft and even tentative when it rises to your temple.

“You should have slept longer.” König’s voice comes, not reprimanding, but in a gentle surge of breath. He sounds as exhausted as you still feel.

You’re angry… but you know not why. It feels performative, almost, when you shove his hand away. You want to wail for what you’ve lost, but that voice never comes. Gaius? A home you never liked? The lectus that would be used as a stand to consummate a marriage you had begged to avoid for months on end? What was lost?

“You are going to die.” Your whisper comes strained, tight and tinged with your own misery.

“You worry for me again?”

You shake your head at that, fierce as you turn on your side and away from him again. The dying grass digs into your flesh beneath the fur, scraping like claws, like König’s very touch.

“We are not going to die, little one,” he continues as he moves closer to you, trying to gather you up into his arms in an act of comfort. Your tension rigidly leaves you, though you try to force yourself to remain closed off, it does not happen. You mold against him when he lies at your back, hand splayed over your stomach.

“I never said we. Just you,” you huff. Your hand meets his wrist as his thumb begins to stroke at your naval. The desire to push him away again only dissolves when he winds out of your grip to take your hand into his own, forced lower to feel the cold earth and the warmth of each digit beneath your touch. “They will hunt you down.”

“Then I will die at your side.”

You don’t respond to that, finding his desire to further prove whatever this was entirely incomprehensible now. It is not endearing, you force your mind to reason. This man was more than just tedious at times, but dangerous to… To burn an entire city on a whim then curl against you like this… You whimper, keening and sorrowful as you squeeze your eyes shut— force the macabre thoughts out.

“You are like me,” König continues, a low rumble as he lowers his head to press his cheek to the side of your neck. Even amidst the chill of winter, he’s so warm, so soothing, enough to make you melt like wax from candles… perfumed by his own sweat and the ash he left in his wake, so earthy and lofty all the same. “Kleine Göttin…”

“No… I’m not.”

“You come from the mountain,” he urges with a kiss to your shoulder. His grip around you becomes more insistent with each muttered word, the pads of his fingers pressed further to dimple your skin. “The slave woman told me so.”

You didn’t know the woman he spoke of, you didn’t know anyone still living apart from himself and his men. You want to yell, to drill it into his very skull with your words, but even more than that, you want this comfort.

You want to feed him figs, allow his tongue to sip the wine from your own, and to fall asleep against him with his breath tickling at your scalp. More, to share the life with him you once promised to a deceased man buried in ash…

Truth be told you were not even sure of your standing, Roman or barbarian… Though you had never told him that, his resolute tone leads you to believe all of it. You had always longed to bathe in rivers rather than crowded bathhouses, to crest the tops of mountains and taste fresh honey on your tongue… The titan promises you all of those things and more with his tight hold and in a purred, breathy, “I love you.”

All that you could not prevent dissipates in a plume when you twist around to bury your face against that chest, curl your fingers into his hair and breathe out your resistance in its entirety. The most pitiful of surrenders.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #konig x you #cod fanfiction #f: only other

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moonphaseswrites · 2 months ago

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I got an idea but not sure if you are comfortable to write or not.

Poly!NiktoKrueger x reader. I feel like these two are going to be so much fun, especially in bed.

i whole heartedly assumed that it was way too early for me to actually start getting requests! ive hardly had this account up for 24 hours! this excites me to know that ive peaked peoples interests!!

and of course, i havent thought too much of krueger as of late, so i may not portray him too well.

poly!niktokrueger x reader thoughts! both sfw and nsfw, dont worry

sfw

despite the two men being on active duty and neither seeming to be touchy or affectionate people, they happen to make great lovers. between niktos voices calming down with kruegers unneeded usage of german, usually so nikto can zone out, and just your calming aura calming his head down, its not as hectic as youd imagine.

of course, if you didnt know any german or russian going into this, oh boy will you know at least how to speak a bit of each within a few months.

krueger is the one out of the two thats constantly using petnames and sweet talk on the two of you. he adores giving you two gifts, usually something as simple as little notes that he hand wrote. these notes tend to have both an english and a german translation.

the names he calls the two of you vary, but usually stick to the same theme. he is big on the use of "mein". making it known constantly that youre both his, and that he wouldnt think of separating.

your nicknames from your austrian boyfriend are "schatz" and "maus". his name for nikto is "spatzi", although he interchangibly uses "liebe" and "liebling" on both of you.

your russian boyfriend on the other hand isnt a huge fan of nicknames or many loving gestures. he finds it very difficult to express himself, especially with constant arguing going on inside his head about how he should react.

that being said, hes more of the acts of service type of guy. he knows all too well that you can simply take care of yourself, but when hes home he has a knack for telling you to shut up as he quietly does mundane things. washing the dishes (yells and curses at you and krueger if you try helping), tying your shoelaces for you, and even bathing you. its his way of showing that he really does care, even if he doesnt or cant show it in any other way.

i feel like theyd both be a bit overprotective with each other, constantly deployed at around the same times, usually ending up grouped together when deployed at the same areas. meaning theyd also be a bit obsessive protective of you. youre theirs, body mind, and soul. all theirs.

nsfw

being protective, if anyone ever tried to chance the fact that you were theirs, theyd stick a bullet in the person. although, theyd probably joke about pinning and fucking you over the dead body... although youre hoping that its all just a joke.

as nice as it would be in bed, whenever the two of them get home from a long deployment, theyre all over you. nikto being a bit more touchy than usual, rubbing your shoulders and your back. while krueger on the other hand is acting like some needy mutt, almost sitting on his knees in front of you, trying to lean his cheek against your thigh, slowly tugging his face covering to offer up his mouth.

both men tend to be more dominant leading, going at it as more of a duo than anything. although, if there had to be one who was the ultimate dominant, it would be krueger. explaining to nikto just how to do things to make whatever it is feel great, either to whoever was within niktos grasp or even nikto himself.

some nights its you on your back, spread across the shared bed as nikto uses your throat to get off, being rougher than he intended to be as he lost himself. sometimes your hands are tied behind your back, and sometimes youre helping him with your hands as well. its during these times that krueger is pretty much a service top, giving you head while you choke and whine pathetically. any squirms or sudden movements gaining a gentle nip to where his mouth is, occasionally nipping your inner thighs instead.

if youre into biting or pain, theyd make sure to mark you up really good. bruises to mark their territory like some stray mutts, but making sure any bad or violent marks are treated properly with a nice clean.

because their is two of them in this relationship, each with their own needs, youre almost always left satisfied and laid down between the two.

nikto, usually over heated and overstimulated with everything after constant interactions, keeping a bit of a distance between you, but he stays faced towards you in order to witness your tired yet blissful expression. gazing and watching you for a while before you would fall asleep.

krueger curls up against you on the other side of the bed, muttering german compliments and praises into your ear. his hand affectionately caressing your side with a half assed hum, or gently kneading onto your hip and lower abdomen in silent apology for any rough touches.

#nikto headcanons #cod nikto #nikto x reader #nikto #cod krueger #sebastian krueger #krueger x reader #sebastian krueger cod #sebastian krueger x reader #andre nikto #krueger headcanons #sebastian krueger headcanons

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s0ulryo · 2 years ago

Text

Flustering König Headcanons .:*¨༺

[König x Reader] Synopsis: Flustering König plus some general relationship stuff. Tags: Softish, kinda silly, there’s not a lot konig content so i will continue to contribute, I forgot the other tags, established relationship (i forget to put this tag on a ton of things whoops) Notes: Prolly ooc n not proofread, big men go brrr, originally this was gonna be a drabble but I couldn’t think of one plot to stick to (whoops x2)

Thank you @theoutlawfaleena for letting me write about this!

(Reader is always gn unless specified otherwise.)

Despite his massive stature, immense physical strength, and overall intimidating presence — König is a fairly reserved guy, outside the battlefield, that is. He’s not reserved out of humility or timidness, though — he’s reserved due to his anxiousness, constantly fearing being bullied or made fun of in some way.

König outside of the field is quite a fascinating sight. He rarely speaks, and when he does, it’s quiet and rushed, almost like he’s afraid to say something. He also tends to fidget a lot when speaking.

He also could be better with eye contact. Towards the beginning of your relationship, he would always look past your face or focus on your hands — he’s still not great with eye contact, but he’s much better than he was previously.

He tends to lose focus or entirely forget what he’s saying when he makes eye contact with you. It’s quite a funny sight; imagine this big guy fidgeting with his hands (or your hands) and diverting his eyes away from yours, looking at his feet or anything remotely interesting to spare him from embarrassment.

“Well, then I thought it would be cool to….” Then, swallowing thickly, König stops speaking, shifting his gaze from your eyes to his shoes.

“König is everything alright?” You ask him — your eyes filled with concern.

Stuttering, he mumbles out a yes and becomes super fidgety while continuing his story.

Stuttering is something that only happens when König is with you. When he makes eye contact with other people, he tends just to go silent— something that most people overlook because he's usually pretty quiet anyways.

The stuttering, though, comes as a result of wanting to talk or to continue to talk to you — but he tends to get nervous and back out mid-way when speaking, making him stutter.

He feels like a total idiot when he stutters around you, but he knows you don’t mind, which he’s super thankful for.

Something that noticeably flusters him is pet names. Whether he is saying or receiving the pet name, he will totally get flustered by them.

His favorite pet names to call you are ‘sweetheart,’ ‘darling,’ ‘love,’ or ‘honey’ (,or some Austrian German variation of those). He likes these in particular because they have a pleasant sense of intimacy.

König has definitely called you during his free time on the base or when he was able to when deployed and has totally addressed you by a pet name, forgetting that he was in a professional environment (and that his fellow operators are nosy) and got so much shit from his colleagues.

He really wanted to pass away that day due to the embarrassment the other operators teasing put him through.

Again, König likes pet names due to the sense of intimacy they have. That being said, he has some personal favorites of what he appreciates being called.

His favorite pet names to be called by you are either ‘love,’ ‘dear’, ‘big guy,’ or ‘handsome.’ He likes these in particular because they give him a sense of stability — they help ground him and help him remember that you adore him.

‘Big guy’ and ‘handsome’ make him feel happy and giddy — like smiling and kicking his feet giddy. He knows he’s taller than the average person. Still, König never really acknowledged his overall appearance, so the fact that you think he’s handsome and you recognize his physical features makes him feel special.

König, on the field, is someone else entirely, though. Sure he’ll still get flustered, but that’s covered up due to the sheer amount of adrenaline he’s running on — sometimes König won’t even think about what he said or what had been said to him; he’ll just bounce around and do his thing while being on that adrenaline high. However, he’ll be thoroughly embarrassed once that feeling wears off.

5K notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Note

I’ve read a variation of soft and rough König and I’ve enjoyed both but I’d love to see your take on his character.

I can’t deny I have a preference for soft König. I think his size is a major concern, especially if his partner is on the smaller side, which leads me to believe he’d prolong the inevitable and the pining and anticipation would be off the charts on his end. But maybe his SO thinks he’s not as interested as she initially thought.

Add in the fact that he’s gone for long periods of time in which there is little or no communication and perhaps she considers moving on. The ol’ miscommunication trope if you will, with a happy ending. Thanks!

Overflow the Stars

Pairing: König x F!Reader

Synopsis: One more abandoned date night later, you're left wondering if the man you're infatuated with is really interested in you at all.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Angst, feelings of insecurity, body issues, allusions to König's past w. bullying & his anxiety, size difference, fluff, soft!König, happy ending

A/N: This is my apology to the German-speaking people out there - I think I butchered your language (feel free to correct me). I'm so sorry lmfao. But, Anon, this request was adorable to write, hope you enjoy it!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wanted to say you were surprised when he didn't show up – really, you did – but in the back of your mind, you already knew he wouldn’t. It was hard not to feel disappointed when you swirled your tiny cup of Franziskaner tensely, watching the whipped cream sink away into the concoction of dark espresso and milk; calling attention to the same feeling in your chest.

König had a strange habit as of late, and with a delicate furrow in your brow and perhaps even a smidge of sadness in your eyes, you wondered what you had done wrong. Why had he been avoiding you so…violently? While you wouldn’t have called yourself perfect by any means, nothing you had done over the course of your meetings was strange or downright embarrassing.

You admitted that the man had never been the type to run away from something, and sighed as you brought the cup to your lips and sipped. Caffeine sits on your tongue along with a bitter revelation as the rain begins to pick up in velocity outside. The small and quiet café where you’re spending your afternoon is warm and unburdened by the weather.

Do you think…he’s even interested in me anymore? The sharp thought brings a pang to your chest, fingers over the warm cup flinching back as if struck with lightning. O-or he doesn’t like being around me?

Your relationship was still new, very new, and if you were asked you would say it wasn’t even dating yet. König hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend.

But it had still been going well.

“Or so I thought,” you take a breath, watching the fog on the window as the streets of Vienna are rapidly being emptied of tourists and locals alike. Your shoulders are painfully tight.

Aggressive rainfall like this into the cold seasons was unusual, but it wasn’t like mother nature cared about the whims of anyone but herself. It’ll freeze overnight, leaving a bitter chill that puffs from breaths and a shaky few steps out the door across hardened ice. You’d probably go out – alone – for a walk in the morning to clear your head, or try, at any rate.

Lately, all you could think about was the bear of a man that was supposed to be sitting in the empty seat ahead of you. The cursed wooden chair burns your eyes; its dark wood and red cushion stab your vision over and over until you’re sure you’ll bleed tears instead of water.

He was supposed to be here.

Taking another shaky sip of your drink, one that König had recommended to you himself a few dates ago, the brief moments of warmth it brings to your bones does little to satisfy you. You doubted anything short of a hulking figure trying to stick their knees under the small table could do just that.

The giant man you called your possible future boyfriend was avoiding you, and your subconscious was breaking itself to try and understand why. As if that gracious plea had been heard above the glossiness of your eyes and the gentle hum of the café workers who shuffle about, the phone in your pocket jumps.

You don’t want to admit how fast your hand snapped to your thigh, sneaking under the layers to draw out black metal. A single link to König when he was overseas or out of sight that you were told was unwise to use. He was rarely able to answer you, but for what it was worth, he always tried to call back later.

Even if recently, it had been a brief state of events.

“I-I can’t talk right now–”

“Forgive me–”

Your lips thin.

Pulling the phone out, you immediately look at the contact, though you already know the message before you read it. The sunken whipped cream finally falls under deep chocolate-colored waves.

“Sorry, Bӓrchen, I’m stuck in the building for the day! I swear I’ll make it up to you for missing–” You don’t bother reading the rest, thumb already scrolling upward to see the numerous times other excuses have been made.

His parents were needing some help moving furniture, he was drowning in post-operation reports, or simply just too tired. You weren't stupid. But every time you had stuffed down your pride and responded cheerfully, dressed to the nines and standing in your living room while your fingers shook over the keys.

Holding back tears.

It would hurt less if he’d just tell you to your face what you were thinking. Maybe all of this was just…

Your thoughts trail off.

But that didn’t make sense – König was never malicious!

Placing down the phone, you leave him on read, feeling the pitying eyes of the baristas burning into your skin like a brand. They knew as well as you did that he wasn’t showing up.

When he calls sometime later, you shut the device off completely. Staring out the window at the dimming light, you lean your head into the glass and try not to cry as you watch couples rushing for cover from the rain; laughing and holding the other close.

The empty chair stays motionless in the corner of your eye.

—

The first time you met König, you were left gaping at the sheer size of him.

Towering over ninety percent of the other patrons in the art shop, he had looked down at the package of charcoal pencils in his large, scarred, hands. Turning them over to read the description on the back like an expert with delicate eyelashes that you’d kill for.

You yourself had been cast in his shadow quite by accident, looking along expansive shelves for a sketchbook – your friend had gotten into a watercolor phase lately, and what better to give her than a birthday present she could actually use? The only problem was that you had no idea what was considered good quality or not, but had a strange suspicion the man beside you did. But what a happy accident it all turned out to be.

König had a black surgical mask on, but the milky-white scar that ran up his right eyebrow and disappeared into his auburn hairline was still starkly visible. Expressive dark eyes blink down at his object from a surprising height. Between picking up multiple books, running your fingers over the paper and whatnot, you can’t help but stare at the pure strength the man emanates. Compared to you, he was utterly gargantuan in both mass and height. A bear and a bee, you thought with a stifled giggle.

He blatantly appeared to know more about this stuff than you did as he placed the charcoal pack down and picked up another.

“Erm,” you begin, and his head snaps down to yours immediately, head of hair falling into gentle curls near the ears. He had looked partially surprised to hear you speak to him, and his eyes had flickered around instinctually. But it was only the two of you in the aisle. “I’m sorry to bother you, Sir, but you seem to know a helluva lot more than me about art supplies.” Your voice was cautious, and you were afraid you’d seem rude for disturbing him, but all he did was stare and wait for you to finish speaking. Feet every so often shifting, or his hands twitching as if he never was able to stay still; he blinks a few times like a rabbit. “Any suggestions for watercolor?” A small laugh meets the air as you move your hand to show off the wall of possible options for paper. “I’m not much of an artist, but my friend’s birthday is coming up – thought I’d get her something she’d actually use this year. She wasn't too enthralled with the plant I got her for her twenty-third. Killed the thing in a week.”

A nervous chuckle is softly met and your face heated as his own did. There’s a moment of a clearing throat before the man nods carefully, and the sparse freckles over his forehead shift. His biceps flex.

“O-of course, Ma’am,” his accent is quite strong, and you like the guttural raspiness of his tone. “I prefer Saunders Waterford, though I don’t manage to use it often. Better, eh, was ist das Wort?” He stumbles for a moment over the proper descriptor. “Beständig. Durable.”

A tilt of his head later, and you’re beaming, picking up the large pad with careful fingers, testing the weight in your palms as one would an apple.

“Wonderful! It looks like I owe you one, eh?” Looking back up, you watch his eyes widen as you notice him blatantly staring. Face crinkling into a shy display of heat and curiosity, he slightly moves back, a large hand going to scratch at the base of his neck as his sweatshirt bunches.

Chest tight, you stick out a hand and offer your name with a smile. It was only customary, but the action was pure instinct more than thought-out. All the while restraining a shiver, his limb encompasses yours so completely and radiates a large amount of heat.

“A pleasure,” your voice wavers, but it’s not so much nervousness as it is genuine intrigue. For a man so blessed with the tall gene, he really had a considerate hold – barely squeezing your skin in fear it would break.

The action makes your chest squeeze.

“Ah, guten tag,” he utters, nodding with a firm shake, though his eyelashes caress his cheeks as his eyes rove away, “König.”

A bit awkward, isn’t he? You have to ask yourself. Not that it was a bad thing – in fact, you found the nervous tensing of his thighs to be cute, along with that red tinge that was over his pale ears. So very opposite of how you expected him to act.

That was when you noticed the dog tags, as well, though you found no purpose to say anything. But everything about this man had caught your attention as a large billboard would, and the comparison has you practically bending in laughter. He probably could be a billboard with a build like that. No doubt he’d catch a lot of attention.

You tilt your head and release his hand, nodding to König’s charcoal pencils.

“I bet you can make some killer drawings with those things, huh?” The beast twists them in his hand and turns down to stare at the supplies as if he’d forgotten they’d been there at all. “You draw often?”

“Ja,” his eyes brighten, and the crinkling of his eyes tells you that a small smile pulls at his lips. “Whenever I’m able. I,” König pauses before his shoulders move in a soft movement akin to a shrug. “I…find it calming.”

Your ribs move in reaction to an interested sound.

A bear that likes to draw.

“You’re better than me, I’d just get frustrated if something doesn’t look right.” A deep laugh echoes off the shelves before a lapsing silence settles like a bird’s wings. Overcome by a sudden urge to speak, yet having no other words to say, König’s voice meets your ears before you can find something to say.

It’s slow, the tone, bathed in hesitation and even a smidgen of armor; like the outcome of your response was already measured and taken as null compared to the giant’s own thoughts.

“I…don’t suppose I could show you some if you’d be interested.” At your widening lids, his twitching hands come up to his sides, eyes blinking rapidly as a vermilion hue blossoms like a flower over his visible skin. Dark eyes like broken obsidian pay more attention to your shoes than your face.

“N-not, eh, scheiße, I only meant I–” Watching him stutter was similar to what a high schooler would do when he was called out during an assembly. Though, your giggle makes him clear his throat and pause with a stiffening spreading to his legs. His body seems to deflate, taking your reverence for his soft inward nature as making fun or at worse, a blatant rejection. The delicate makeup of his psyche was on display, though you didn’t know. “I’m…I’m sorry, Ma’am–”

“I’d love to see your artwork, König,” you begin, pulling the watercolor pad closer to your body instinctually, cheeks hot. The man perks up, and you can see his heart hammering through his clothes when his eyes blaze with light. “How about I give you my number and I’ll text you a day I’m free and we can work something out? A local café or library sound good?”

“I…yes, that sounds wonderful.”

—

You throw your soaked coat on the hook as you shut the door, hating how the frigid rainwater had wetted your hair, though still holding it as a blessing. At least no one could see the tear tracks as you walked back to your apartment.

Kicking off heavy boots and peeling the slick layers of fabric from your chest with a sloping sound, you flick on the lights with a shaking finger and a sniffle. Wet footprints are left over the rugs and hardwood as the phantom shuffles over them, beelining to the bathroom to strip.

Your mind was preoccupied as you slipped out of heavy fabric, the pile already on the floor creating a large puddle that you threw a towel on and left as it was.

“He…he’d tell me if he didn’t like me anymore, right?” Whispering, the broken words meet air as you toss on a large shirt – the hem meeting your knees as a pair of thick sweatpants follow.

Quite the look for someone who was having an internal battle. Your friends would say you looked like you were minutes away from grabbing a tub of ice cream and sobbing over a rom-com. The quick-witted part of you confessed that the idea wasn’t even that bad if you threw in a glass of beer. Preferably the shitty kind so you could complain about it and distract yourself.

“Get it together…” You would not cry over a guy that hadn’t even asked you out officially, but with that familiar sting in the back of your eyes, you hissed that König wasn’t just any guy.

You’d really liked him, and for what it was worth, your heart would have exploded if he had asked you out.

He was kind – respectful. Utterly adorable when he was speaking so passionately about his artwork and his parents who he held on a larger-than-life pedestal. König’s heart was just as big as his body, that gorgeous, bear-like body, and…oh, you’d wished he would like you just as much as you liked him.

Before you could stop the wave of hopelessness, the tears were already dribbling down your face, and the dark apartment was echoing with the barely-there sobs that hit the walls.

—

When you hadn’t answered him in the next two hours and his calls were going to voicemail, König was hit with a train’s worth of worry. Feet tapping faster than unusual and eyes were finicky as they passed over documents.

Although his contract with KorTac wasn’t exactly like his own had been in the military, the hyper-vigilance was still ingrained bones-deep. The Austrian man held his personal relationships tightly – and if someone wasn’t answering him, the anxiety reserved for large, uncontrollable, crowds reared its ugly head. König wasn’t sure when it had happened, but you had entered that loyal group consisting of his parents and a few work friends in an incredibly small amount of time.

He really should have bit the bullet and gone out with you today, the man acknowledged as he slipped out of his office and tried once more to get in contact with you. König watched the icon of your smiling face go straight to the familiar voice that in any other circumstance, he would have wanted to listen another moment too.

“...Thanks for calling! I’m not able to speak with you right now, but go ahead and leave a message–”

“Come on, Bӓrchen.” König lightly growls, hanging up and stuffing the infernal device into his cargo pant’s side pocket.

His usually hidden face was twisted up with worry, so commonly lit with bloodlust on Ops now left in a state of unknown. It was stupid to think like this, but how could he not? In such a small amount of time, you’d made him fall for you like a bird does the sky; that thin line between falling and flying caught underwing.

That was why he’d been making excuses, you see.

You were so…good…that he’d been worried about the way he carried himself; second-guessed small actions like a hand on the small of your back in public, or a comment about how nice you looked.

Did she take that the wrong way?

Why did I tell her that?

I hope she doesn’t think that I’m rude…

You were messing with his mind with every turn, but it wasn’t even all that, either. His size also played a part. Your form was so small as it trailed beside him on walks through the city – it fit in the clutch of his arm easily.

König was just scared he might break you, he’s never had to be…gentle so often before. It was against everything he’d been taught in the last decade or so.

Pushing open the front door of the KorTac: Private Military Contractor building, the man pushes on with a frown over his scarred lips and a drawn-in expression. He hadn’t even noticed he’d forgotten his surgical mask in his office, along with a jacket, and braved the volatile winds and slapping rain in a slight jog, an athletic shirt tight across his chest.

By the time he’d reached your apartment building, his hair was dark and stuck to his skin, slight puffs of breath escaping his lips and wracking shivers along his spine. König ascended the stairs in double steps, agile as his heart pounded.

Being ex-military left him with an undeniable state of readiness.

With heavy knuckles and panting breath, his hand quickly rasps against the door, and after a second of no sound, he does it again.

“Bӓrchen, it’s me. Are you there?” König’s shoulders are set, ready to batter the door down at the barest hint of something wrong. He calls your name but like a voice on the wind, there’s no answer. Not even a shadow under the barrier, a whiff of your shampoo.

Grunting, strained eyes going grim, the man’s hand encompasses the handle, arm and body going parallel to the wood. His hips tense, feet grinding over the floor as they set. But the nearly missed footsteps that his ears twitched at gives him pause.

After a few moments of intense listening, his body stone-stiff and eyes spaced out, there’s a clicking of a lock.

König moves back swiftly, hands going to rest at his sides, and when your face graces his vision, a large weight is lifted. Until he realizes that your eyes are red-rimmed. His lids go startlingly wide, fingers coming up to curl into themselves near his middle, but you speak before he does.

With a hatred for interrupting others, König keeps his lips sealed and watches with a concerned once-over and nervous lungs.

Your hand is clenched over the door frame, the muscle of your tongue licking at your lips as beads of water fall from your locks.

“What are you doing here, König?” With a voice more hoarse and dry than a desert. The man itches at the side of his hawk nose, hesitant about what he sees.

You’d never been like this before – always so happy.

“I…” He trails off quietly, seeing your eyes unwilling to meet his own. “Are you…alright?”

The Austrian’s fingers jerk when you laugh, and a surprised blink later he’s coming closer to check on you, hand almost outstretched before he sees the size difference and thinks better of it. He just taps on your cheek instead, delicately, like a hit from a flower.

“Sweet one? Please tell me what is wrong. You weren’t answering your phone.” He wants to beg for you to look at him, plead. “It made me worry for you. Why did you not respond?”

“So you want me to respond when you’re obviously bailing on me for what,” you pull back, disappearing partially behind the door. König watches with a still body as your arms go to wrap around your waist, dread creeping up his throat. “The third time? Fourth? I guess I’ve lost count.”

The man’s lips go thin, eyes crinkling as an expression of pure self-hatred takes hold. He had stupidly hoped you wouldn’t notice that. When times got tough for him in the past – whether with the schoolyard bullies or an operation on wrong, avoidance was usually his best tactic; it was one he had fallen back into time and time again without fail. But he’d never told you that.

And now he looked like a proper Arschloch.

But you’re not done yet. When you leave the door open and disappear inside the dark apartment, König follows after like a lost puppy, water still dripping from his strong chin and stuck in his stubble. Cursing himself out in his head.

“Ach, du Depp, jetzt hast du‘s getan. Die eine gute Sache ruiniert, die du hattest, oder...?" He mutters, slipping out of his boots and frantically looking after you as your form goes to the couch. König closes the front door and stays in the foyer, fingers twiddling and mouth opening and closing.

You hadn’t even looked at him yet, and you’d barely seen him without a mask on.

The Tv was on, playing some show that he’d never seen and he doubted you were watching. Your body plops to the couch with a shrieking of springs and bouncing of pillows. A small huff escapes your lips, though you speak no more.

König clears his throat again, a nasty nervous habit along with the fidgeting, as he takes a few steps forward. The finger of his right hand goes to spread through his hair, pushing the strands back like a red wave and unintentionally slicking them to his skull. The clicking of his jaw reverberates in his ears as he resets it, picking at the palate scar under his left nostril.

He opens his mouth to speak but closes it fitfully and already his face is reddening. König looks away from you for a moment, breathing before shuffling over like a guilty child would on drowned socks. He places one leg on the floor and kneels down in front of you so he can better look into your creased face.

“Bӓrchen,” he liked calling you that – little bear – because the comparison was enough to make him smile every time it passed his lips. It was such an endearing term that it became difficult to look past the blatant harm he could inflict on you if he wasn’t careful. While his size made him perfect for the field, home life was, well, let's just say he could easily force his way through a crowd. Not that he would, of course. But at any rate, that was what you were to him – a little bear. “I…I have to confess to you that I have been avoiding you, yes? That much has been,” a stiff breath is taken in. “Obvious.”

Your head turns to the side, knees brushing his own as you hold your hands in your lap. Behind König the show continues to play, spreading a silver light over the living room and the continuous droning of voices.

Not knowing whether it would be frowned upon or not, and with a steadying breath for confidence, the man loops a cold finger under your chin; bringing you back to him and finally setting your glossy eyes ahead.

He sees you blink in surprise when you find him maskless, and a faint smile flicks over his lips when your expression goes shy. Cautious like a bird.

“It was of no fault of your own, Sweetling, I ask that you believe me. I’ll try to explain the best I can, Ja? If you’ll let me, though, I know that I don’t deserve it.”

“If you don’t like me anymore, you can just say it…Stop dragging me on, please.” His heart stops, mouth still partially open before a sharp breath is sucked in. “I don’t know if I can take that anymore.” The pang in his chest hurts immensely, like taking an arrow and peeling back skin. You look at him so hopelessly, broken beyond belief as though a piece of you was being ripped out.

“W-why do you say that?” König tries to desperately stop the wetness of your tears from falling, shaking his head and cupping both of your cheeks, rubbing at the flesh in agony. “No, no, no, Dear One. That’s not what it is at all, I beg of you to listen.” In the fever, he switches between his native tongue and English, fingers shaking though not from the drenched clothes. “Meine Schöne, oh, meine Schöne. Bitte hör auf zu weinen.“

He takes quick breaths and finds in himself that he would do anything to stop you from crying – take a bullet, run a marathon, or learn to fly. Name it, any of it. Anything to wipe away the sadness that lives in your expression as if it even belonged there in the first place

“Do not cry over me, please, I-I,” König’s tongue trips over itself, but he persists, a similar burn in the back of his nose. “I…You scare me, Bӓrchen,” that gets your attention, creased eyes and a loose jaw going to give him full observation.

What?! Your expression screams.

Face on fire, the Austrian continues with intense eyes, dark obsidian awash with pure light that reflects stars. Overflowing with anxious tears that he refuses to let fall.

He can’t lose you. No, no, not you. You were the best thing to happen to him in a long time. Damn him – damn his own consciousness that’s more of a betrayer than Brutus. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go…

“...What?” Your voice wavers, nose twitching so adorably that the man is momentarily stunned.

“I am afraid of you, my Dear. Utterly and wholly.” König sucks down a breath, now the one unable to continue the stare-off. His foot shifts. “I am afraid of what you do to me. Your smile, Gott, your smile. A-and the way you speak, how you react so honestly to my paintings like you care with all of your heart.” He laughs wetly when you smile dimly, continuing as he caresses your skin. “Everything down to your very bones is like…like…” König’s words fumble, because comparing you to something earthly was impossible to him.

“Ever since I met you in that art store, I cannot string together words with any semblance of meaning when I am around you. Bӓrchen, you have entrapped my mind, and I am afraid.”

He watches you breathe in slowly, tears no longer falling, though the evidence still haunts him. The man’s chest lets go of a tightly wound knot, the anvil on the other side just narrowly missing his heart as the sweat on his brow evaporates.

“A-and,” König sighs, shaking his head and moving his hands to tightly hold your own in your lap. How could he explain the last part of this dilemma? He bluntly states, “you’re small.”

A brief moment of silence bleeds like a wound, long and slow, until a tiny snort echoes. Full-blown laughter emanates not even a second later, and he watches your body heave forward and slot itself with your nose in his shoulder. König’s blush stains all the way down his neck, but minuscule giggles also fall from him in retaliation to yours. His great arms wrap themselves around your waist, dragging you slightly closer as he breathes deeply.

Your scent pulls him under like a ship at the water, riding great waves with sea beasts under the waves guiding the vessel along its course.

“Everyone’s small compared to you.” Your mumbling in his shoulder makes his grip tighten, side-eyeing your visage as his head tilts down. “Not my fault you got every gene that made you sprout like a damn tree.”

With your lips caressing his neck, he blinks softly down at you, amused, as his breath mingles with your hair. He lets you speak, getting it all off your chest and feeling stupid for how he had been avoiding this.

“You’re afraid because you’re so big, then? That you might hurt me?”

“Ja.” Your hands circle around his shoulders, and with a sigh that leaves the man short of breath, you shimmy back and face him, fingers playing with the base of his neck; pulling at tiny hairs.

“Don’t you think being worried about that means something? And, c’mon,” you smile lightly to him, and he watches closely, fingers moving along your spine. “With how conscious you are of your body, it’s hard to imagine anything ever happening.”

Hands grasp his neck, and with a bobbing Adam’s apple, König yields to your pull, angling his head to you as your back straightens. Watching with awe; your silhouette bathed in silver light and eyes fatigued, though never more beautiful. You’re beaming.

“I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you, okay? So stop worrying about it, you big dope – and stop ditching me!” The Austrian’s dark eyes are fastly moved from one spot on your face to another, cataloging every bump and pore to memory.

He’d never been this close to you before, though he’d fantasized about it. And what you were telling him…it’s like his body deflates with relief, and a genuine, boyish, smile blossoms.

“Safe? W-with me, Bӓrchen? Oh-oh, my…” A kiss suddenly hits his forehead, and if you continued doing things like this, he was sure he’d explode. His body was vibrating with pure bashfulness; it was so odd to be complimented and doted on by someone that wasn’t his close family. For someone to reassure him of his flawed concerns.

She feels safe with me.

How could he tell you how happy that made him to hear aloud?

“Hey,” hands cup his jaw, and his spaced-out eyes snap back to you instantly, blinking away the rose-colored fog. You shake his head back and forth until he’s chuckling, like a kid again, and his grip catches your wrists to make you stop. Your breath fans over his blazing cheeks like a wind sent from Zephyrus himself, and the sticking clothes to his body matter little. “No more leaving me hanging, okay? I miss you, König. I want to be around you.”

The eyes that travel down his scarred and freckled face leave him slightly self-conscious, but as if sensing this, your lips curve. Before he could utter a grunt of surprise, your kiss had connected with the scar on his forehead, as well as the palate. Just brushing the top of his lips as his large nose poked your cheek.

“Mein Gott.” König gasps, eyes fluttering shut when you pull back and a grin slashes your face. A whisper meets the room.

“Thank you for showing me your handsome face, mein Schöner, I’ve been wondering what you looked like.” Shyly scanning his features, the redhead lets your fingers trace his flesh, shivers left in their wake, and a soft sigh.

If he opens his eyes, he’s afraid he’d start crying. So he lets you touch his scarlet flesh, nearly the same shade as his hair, though the auburn is more deep-set. Shivering every time you lay another press of your lips to a blemish; more addictive than drugs.

“You’re going to kill me,” König pleads, “but if this is punishment for causing you pain, I will gladly bear it.”

“Sly.” You smirk, pressing one more peck to his nose, and pulling back. He grumbles in his throat before his eyes peel open slowly; pupils blown wide and mouth parted. “Are you alive down there?”

“Barely. Perhaps I’ll need another kiss to tell, yes?”

“You’re horrible.” Looking at his clothes, your eyes suddenly go grim. Like you’d just noticed the state of him now that he was kneeling in front of you and struck by your beauty. “And shivering.” You huff. “Why didn’t you start by saying you were soaked to the bone, König?”

He looks to the ground, and you try to shuffle past and grab him a towel, but his arms trap you. You find yourself in a chest faster than you can blink, hands splayed over a pec that jerks as you’re lifted up.

König hears you squeak and laughs, throwing you up into a bridal-style hold easily. Laughing chest-deep, you curl under his chin and quickly comment, “what are you doing?!”

“Hush, Bӓrchen,” the man squishes you closer, “I’ll find a towel, don’t strain yourself.”

You direct him to the bathroom after he sets you on your bed, hearing the pounding of rain outside as he sneaks off.

The room smells of your shampoo, and König takes a pastel towel from the wrack after half-closing the door, slapping it to his head and violently rubbing it back and forth. Lost in his elevated thoughts and happy demeanor, the knock on the wood is almost missed. He’s just about to take off his shirt and wring it out when he blinks at the sound.

“König – I’ve got some spare clothes, but I doubt they’ll fit you well enough.” An amused twitch of his lips later, he’s opening the door to your soft face, staring down at it. Standing shyly, your eyes crease; head tilting. “Sleepover?”

The man looks at the pile of fabric and nods kindly, a lofty feeling in his bones.

“Yes, please. They’re perfect, vielen Dank.” It isn’t long before he’s coming back out, a shirt that barely fits over his wide chest and a pair of sweats clinging to his hips. But he didn’t mind.

They smelled like you, and thus, he smelled like you. König quickly found out that drawing wasn’t the only thing that could calm him.

An embarrassed smile and a sheen of giddiness never leave his face.

He slides into bed with you, and you quickly latch under his arm, limbs tangling with his own as his fingers twitch over the width of the base of your shoulder blades. An easy expulsion of air leaves him as your weight settles, back curving to the make of the mattress.

The words leave him in the delicate silence; water hitting the window and during the exploration of souls. Cheeks hot and heart hammering.

“Sei mein?” Be mine?

He feels your grin, nose nuzzling his flesh like it was the perfect pillow, and his heart speeds like a shooting star.

“Mein Herz war immer deins. Ja.” My heart was always yours. Yes.

He stays awake for a long while, listening to your breathing and staring at the ceiling, running knuckles over your spine and staying silent.

Smiling.

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judesmoonbeauty · 3 months ago

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Only Look At Me CE: Nica Schwartz

*Nica is calling Kate “robin” in German. Hence, each time he uses German, I will use quotation marks to denote that going forward in the story.

** Nica is calling Kate (robin) in English for this specific line. In other words, he is using the normal (komadori).

***The translation says "opposite" of him, but context suggests Kate is sitting next to him. That's how I interpreted it anyway.

This is a fan translation only. Not 100% accurate, so please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. Dividers: @/adornedwithlight. Thank you for your support! ☾.

On my way home from submitting my report, I was stopped by an unexpected person.

Nica: Hey there, Miss.

One of the Vogel twins stood in front of me.

Kate: Is something wrong?

Nica: Actually, I got lost, would you mind showing me around?

As I nodded in surprise, his almond-shaped eyes narrowed.

Nica: Thanks.

Kate: No problem, so where are you headed?

Nica: The chambers we’re staying in, you know the way right?

Kate: Of course, it’s this way!

I pointed down the hallway and started walking, with him chuckling as he followed from behind.

Nica: Meeting you here, seems like I’ve still got it.

(I’m little wary because of what Harrison said.)

(He’s easy to talk and doesn’t seem like a bad person.)

Even though I know they’re lying somehow, I still don’t know if it’s a bad lie.

(It’s not good to judge someone before you know them.)

We arrived in no time as I walked and thought this.

Nica: Thank you for your help, “Robin.”*

Kate: “Robin”?

Nica: It means “Robin” in German.

Nica: Doesn’t Crown call you, robin?**

Nica: Hence, “robin”.

He sat down and looked at the empty seat opposite to him.***

Nica: Won’t you have a seat?

Kate: Huh?

Nica: Let’s have a chat while you’re here. I’d like to ask you about work and other things.

Despite my being nervous that we were alone, he propped his chin on his hand.

Nica: Besides, I’m interested in you.

Even though he was smiling, his eyes pierced me like someone who’d caught his prey.

As I slowly sat down, he smiled in satisfaction while calling a maid for some tea.

Nica: Well then, should I introduce myself again?

Kate: Oh, please do.

Nica: I’m Nica Schwartz, the staff officer of Vogel, an organization under the direct command of the Emperor of Germany.

Kate: What exactly does a staff officer do?

Nica: I gather information, and support Dari in various ways by using my brains.

Nica: Details are a confidential.

Nica: Oh, by the way. You can call me Nica. There’s no need to call me ‘Mister’.

Kate: Okay then, Nica.

His smile deepened as I called his name, and then he pointed at me.

Nica: Right, now it’s your turn.

Kate: I’m Kate, a Fairytale Keeper. There’s several reasons why I got this job, but I used to work as a postwoman.

Nica: Hmm, then you’re well-informed about the roadways?

Kate: That’s right! We delivered all over London, so I could even guide you.

Nica: That’s great, next time I’ll ask you to show me around the city.

His words interrupted me as I reached for my teacup.

Nica: What kinds of things do you do as a Fairytale Keeper?

Kate: My job entails accompanying Crown activities and recording what happens.

(In reality, there’s a lot more to it than that…..)

I don’t want to say anymore than that because I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk in detail.

Nica: But you’re just an ordinary person aren’t you? Isn’t it dangerous?

Kate: The Crown members have promised to protect me.

Nica: Really….

He seemed to be thinking about something while listening to me speak, which made me feel a bit uncomfortable, but that feeling disappeared when his expression suddenly brightened.

Nica: You’re the verrry cute “robin” of Crown.

Nica: You’re cherished.

Kate: That’s n….

(It’s true that they treat me with respect but……)

It all started only because I witnessed them conquering evil with evil,

(I desperately didn’t want to die, which led me to where I am now.)

If I hadn’t said anything then, I might not be in this world now.

Nica: Dari probably wouldn’t like it, but it might be fun if Vogel had a Fairytale Keeper back home.

Nica: Oh, but Ring wouldn’t do well.

Kate: Wouldn’t do well?

Nica: Ring’s my twin brother, but unlike me, he’s doesn’t socialize with others too well.

(It’s true, the first time we met, he gave off a cold impression….)

While I was thinking of our first encounter, Nica looked into my face.

Nica: What, are you curious about Ring?

Kate: No, that’s not it…..

Nica: My - that’s. Don’t do that.

He put his finger to my lips, and he smiled with extreme charm.

Then we talked about trivial everyday life, and before I knew it, the sky had turned deep red.

(It’s already that time….)

When he looked at the clock, his eyes widened in exaggeration.

Nica: Wow, it’s already this late. I guess it’s time to part ways.

Kate: Well, it’s was nice chatting with you.

Nica: Same here, let’s do it again.

I stood up, thanked him for opening the door, and was about to leave the room.

Kate: What?

He grabs a lock of my hair and places his lips upon its tips.

Nica: Until next time.

Even when my lips parted I was speechless.

Nica: Oh, did you forget your way home?

Or do you want to stay locked up with me and not go home?

His inciting tone made me realize that I had been taken lightly.

(For Nica, this conversation was a wait-and-see thing, and if he got serious -)

-Then he could easily steal my heart.

Kate: Please, excuse me.

With my cheeks suddenly becoming hot, I started to run not caring if there were other people around.

Nica: Bis Dann (Later), “Robin”.

Before my heart is stolen by him.

As I lay on the sofa, my younger brother entered with a gaunt face.

Nica: What is it, did you get lost again?

Ring: Yeah….it’s so large that I couldn’t tell where I was.

Ring sat on a chair and sighed.

Ring: I wish I could memorize the layouts of buildings as quickly as you do Nica……

I laugh at his words.

Nica: It’s possible to get lost on “purpose.”

Tag List: @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @sh0jun @letter-from-afar

Dividers: @/natimiles [Master List]

Can't wait to tear this MF up /aff. GIMME!

#nica schwartz #ikevil nica #ikevil translations #ikemen translations #cybird translations #nica schwartz translations

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a-roguish-gambit · 4 months ago

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I made a turn of the century x men evolution au

Hey everyone so a big special interest of mine is the period from 1900 to about 1928 so I decided what if I took the kids from the X-Men evolution cartoon from their point at the turn of the 21st century and put them at the turn of the 20th century instead...and also added a few characters. I hope you enjoy this. I have a lot for this au, and I'm gonna put it all under the read more.

So Au thoughts

The year is 1912. Xavier has started his institute a few years prior with scott summers and jean grey as students. Scott was adopted by Xavier after his parents died in a train crash and jean comes from a family of doctors and scientists Xavier is friends with.

Because no computers yet, as the microprocessor has yet to be invented, Forge didn't get stuck in a pocket dimention and got to grow up he works for xavier. He helps design and build a modified danger room that's more steam punk/dieselpunk. Lots of things are gear powered and Holograms are projections onto steam curtians. Because no computers, no cerebro. But jean and Xavier have trained themselves to be able to sense those with mutant powers around them and have been working with a network of underground individuals, some cases literally like the morlocks, to find out about new strange individuals popping up in the states. The morlocks are much more involved in this. they are good friends with Xavier and frequently helps young morlocks train their powers.

One of those individuals is Gambit. Gambit is 17 in this and does various jobs for xavier. One is listening through the grape vine for odd individuals popping up. The other is essentially working the danger room with forge. As The danger room is more steampunk/dieselpunk in this, with storm's help as well it can simulate weather events, earth quakes, fires, unstable ground, flooding, (bb gun based) old west shootouts, explosions (thanks to Gambit), search and rescue, avalanche / rock fall settings, and much more.

Gambit helps set up the room and make the mechanisms work. it functions well with automatons, steam engines, pistons, and a lot of theater special effect tricks. Gambit helps forge scrap hunt for machinery to repurpose for it. He has befriended the local street children and finds out from them wherever a factory tosses out a machine.

Speaking of theater though, we have morph as well as a staff member. Kevin is well known fairy(period equivalent to someone who does not fit into either gender) and drag expert from New York where they worked on broadway and a very close friend of Logan. So close they share a bedroom....;)

Morph is there to help with tailoring as well as helping kids who need disguises to pass in public cause of their time in broadway and avoid harassment, like Kurt.

They also help simulate battles in the danger room with foes they have faced off against before.

Kurt doesn't have an image modifier in this obviously. No computers, no digital holograms. But with forge and morph they are able to help him pass. Morph designs pants for him that have a special pocket for his tail to tuck away, as well as boots with special braces that help disguise his digitigrade feet. Morph also helps him with makeup and hair in the morning to hide his blue face and pointed ears.

For his hands forge has built some prothstetic fingers that are controlled by the other fingers in his hand like a puppet, so it appears he has five fingers on each hand covered by riding gloves, as well as colored contact lenses for his eyes to disguise them as brown.

Kurt's parents came to America from Germany with him as a toddler. People found out about their adopted son and they had to flee. They settled in a small German speaking community in the middle of nowhere Iowa where they could be safe. They would have a priest visit Kurt to give him mass in private for his own safety and had a nun come to tutor him. Xavier found out about Kurt through gambits grapevine.

Ororo came from Africa as a citizen of British colony egypt to Jamaica where she met Charles she has family living in the states via her sister who do are wealthy merchants. they were british colony expats that moved to the states to control British imports to the states easier. Thus how we get Evan. Skateboard hasn't been invented yet so he is big into the turn of the century cycling craze as well as roller skates.

Rogue is still a goth. A very very classic goth. Victorian goth. She still dresses like it's the 1800s to in part keep others from touching her skin but also she is just a great appreciator of Poe and Shelly and stoker.

One thing that is different for Scott is that on top of the train crash his brother havoc is still with him at this time. His parents are very, very dead tho. No alien rescues. (Forgot to draw Alex tho but he's there as are the minor character students)

Beast is also there more from the begining as a teacher he helps take care of the kids medical needs. He got kicked out of his scientific circle, not cause of his mutant ness that came later, but because he insisted doctors must wash their hands before interacting with patients.

Jean grey is a highly educated absolute Gibson girl. She and Kitty sneak out to do suffragette stuff regularly. Speaking of, kitty is definitely a girl of the new century. Wants to go to college one day with Jean. Insists on wearing riding/sports pants wherever she goes. She is girly in certain ways, but defs is a very modern young woman. She likes helping Forge out with his projects.

Magneto's hatred for humanity in this case comes from his survival of the pogroms of eastern Europe only to see there is still antisemitism once escaping them. And mystique has a boarding house where the brotherhood kids live, but she wasn't principal of the bayview school.

Wolverine is a cowboy in this au yes. He has a horse, but he's also toying with some of the very few motorcycles. They are more of dirt bikes at this point tho, so his horse his still his go too. It's a deep black mare named Blackbird. He does not have an adimantium skeleton but his claws have been capped with silver to help protect them.

No x jet but they do have a few biplanes they are training with. Forge is modifying them to be able to cary more people. So far he's made one that can vary five.

Gambit introduces everyone to jazz cause it hasn't left Louisiana yet. He brought his Grammaphone and all hell broke loose from there.

Also rogue having a bit more of a high society upbringing thanks to irene. Gambit hasn't had a day of real school as public school wants universally established until the 1910s. He knows his reading, writing, and arithmetic from Sunday school and such and whatever jean luc had him taught, but he's excited to learn about what the kids are learning about in their normal school.

Rogue brings him her study material and teaches it to him and in return he teaches her the various crafts and skills he learned in the bayou and as a member of the theives guild.

Hope you guys enjoy all this!!! Please feel free to share your thoughts!

Tried to keep things period accurate outfits wise.

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luna-andra · 1 year ago

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StepDad!König Headcanons (SFW & Wholesome) ✨

Image @cozyhuii (@miss_bozo on Twitter)

Headcanons I thought up of König being a step daddy to reader's kid

A/N: Y'all got my very first König headcanon list to 600+ notes earlier today and I had to pump this one out. I had been in a writing rut for a while (still kind of am? But I'm finding my way back) and this is my way of showing my gratitude. StepDad!König originally was something I did for me (König being step daddy to my kid? YES PLEASE) but I made this gender neutral (& gn kid) like the other ones 🖤

Domesticated!König Series: Part 1 Part 2

I write other stuff too! Masterlist here 🖤

👑 His reaction was the better outcome you had thought up when König found out you had a kid from a previous relationship. Why would that deter him from continuing to date you? He was a man that didn’t view single parents as “spoiled goods”, and would quite frankly curb stomp someone if they heard them refer to you as such.

👑 He was aware of the possibility of you postponing and rescheduling dates, and unfortunately they did happen. “Sitter canceled? No problem.” “Mom/Dad bailed on their weekend? I get it.” You were so relieved by his patience and empathy for the times plans would fall through.

👑 It was clear to König that you were going to hold off on introducing him to your child. He had great respect for that rule, it meant you were very keen on not having a revolving door of people coming in and out of that kid’s life.

👑 As time went on, he would always show an active interest in your child by asking how they are doing in school? Did they still like [insert movie/TV show here]? He hoped they liked the treats he had bought at the PX on base.

👑 But the one time you seemed extremely defeated and bummed out about another postponed date, he took his chance and threw out the idea of hanging out - the three of you - at your house. You hesitated, but it had been nearly long enough for you to be okay with it. The guilt weighed on you considering it had been a hot minute since the two of you had any time for each other. König was such a sweetheart, reassuring you that this is how he wanted to spend his time, with you and your kiddo.

👑 Almost every date after that became an outing with the three of you. He was referred to as Onkel König by your child, a title that warmed his gigantic heart.

👑 Came to every sports game/martial arts competition/band or orchestra event/etc. Became as active as the bio mom/dad (if they were still around) in their extra-curricular activities. He didn’t want to miss a single thing.

👑 Speaking of bio mom/dad/ex-spouse, he made the conscious effort to be acquainted with them if they were still present in Kiddo’s life. As long as they were cordial, so was König.

👑 Spoiled the hell out of Kiddo for Christmas and birthdays. They wanted for nothing and sometimes you hated it but were also thankful that he has come to love a child that originally wasn’t his.

👑 We all know König is of older age given his rank of Colonel. It’s so funny when he has to ask you about lingo the younger kids use. “What is bussies and why do they want to go there so much?” That was fun explaining it to König as his face grew intensely pink at his ignorance. It’s best if he comes to you every time he hears something new fly out of that kid’s mouth.

👑 He always used German terms of endearment for the both of you, and Kiddo picked up German the more time they spent with König. It forced you to learn too (you were already learning but you were putting in extra hours after bedtime to stay ahead of them).

👑 100% a prankster. And oh god… did it get out of hand quickly. You had to sit both of them down to scold them about putting soy sauce in your coffee when you weren’t looking; that was the final straw. No one messes with the morning coffee.

👑 Came home with a puppy from the animal shelter because Kiddo got an A on their test (failed to mention to König that it was a test they had already got rewarded for).

👑 The only time you ever saw this man cry was at Kiddo’s graduation. They said to their friends “Can you take a picture of me with my Dad? He showed up in uniform for this.” He held it together for the event, but let the tear loose on the way home.

Likes & reblogs are always appreciated! Asks are opened for requests & ideas for others. Might do some for Ghost in the future ✨

#konig #konig mw2 #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig x y/n #gn y/n #gn reader #konig x you #konig headcanons #headcanon #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod #cod mwii #mw2 #call of duty fanfic #task force 141 x reader #stepdad!konig

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

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Helped my parents in our garden today and just couldn’t stop thinking about König x florist!reader.

Just imagine peacefully working in your flower shop when a guy walks in, looking for the perfect bouquet for his date/partner but he’s accompanied by this massive mountain of a man. He is clearly far too big for the small space of your shop, and just looks so out of place. Whilst you’re serving his friend, König can’t keep his eyes off you, asking you everything and anything about flowers. What they mean, where they originally come from…just anything! And when you name a flower, he mumbles its German name. "We also have peonies for example." "Ah, yes, Pfingstrosen. They are very beautiful." like you

And shortly before he and his friend leave, this sweet giant asks you what your favourite flower is!!

Plus, picture me this: It’s a more rare or exotic flower, which you don’t easily get in normal flower shops. But he gets them regardless, just to see that ethereal smile on your face again!!

I had to share this, because I am melting…

This is so sweet! König bringing flowers to his heartthrob even if she’s a goddamn florist is canon for me now 🩷

I had another quick imagine with this setting, I hope you like it anon!

Florist!Reader who explains everything there is to know about flowers to this hulking man who seems so very interested in them that you could almost think he wants to be a florist himself.

But then you notice it’s you he looks keenly when you speak; not the flowers. You get flustered soon and start to prattle about stupid things such as how brides are the worst customers: so demanding and bossy usually, don’t they know that peonies are seasonal like every other flower, even if this is a flower shop you can’t get all the things with the flick of a wrist from December to May!

Then you realize you’ve just babbled nonsense about weddings and brides and floral wreaths for about 5 minutes straight... and the gentle giant is still looking at you like you’re the flower he wants to take home instead of all the beautiful varieties in the display cabinet. He’s smiling, too. Softly, as you close your loose mouth and look up at him with sudden shyness.

“And which flowers would you pick for your own wedding wreath...?”

There is an awkward silence that follows as your eyes widen from his question. He realizes his blunder immediately and swallows – suddenly shy just like you are.

“I’m sorry. I mean, if you are not yet married…”

“I’m not married,” you quickly say and swallow the following “I don’t even have a boyfriend” that tries to come out of your mouth.

Hope sparks alive in his eyes again, and you’re feeling like swooning right there on the floor of your old little flower shop. His smile is warm, even if everything else in this man is rather intimidating and tense. And Christ, no one has ever asked you that. No one except this big, silent, shy giant of a man – the kind of shy that probably turns absolutely crazy and feral in bed... Your cheeks heat up just from the thought.

“Ah. Is that so? Surprising,” he comments on you being free, or at least not yet married. “How come that is?”

“I guess I haven’t yet… found the right one,” you try to hint to this man that you’re absolutely single, free, with no strings attached whatsoever to anyone or anywhere.

“Hm. That makes two of us,” he says and smiles again.

The hotness on your cheeks only gets worse when the giant's friend sighs audibly a few feet away – he's just trying to choose a bouquet and didn't know he'd have to suffer the awkward but oddly successful flirting of his mate.

“Get a room, you two...”

#florist!reader x könig #cute hot and sweet #awkward flirting #answered

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ninyard · 8 months ago

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The monsters and their ability to pick up languages is so interesting to me so here’s some random HCs about monsters + languages that are definitely not original at all:

- Neil learned French in Europe before him and Mary found their way to French-speaking Canada. He essentially had to semi-adopt the language discrepancies while he was there, and even though his fluency is in French from France, sometimes he messes up and pronounces things weirdly or differently (and Kevin frequently makes fun of him for it)

- Kevin has some rusty Japanese that he was forced to learn growing up. He can understand it pretty well, and can somewhat speak it to a lower level, but he can’t read or write it. He’s not fluent, and probably couldn’t hold a conversation with a native speaker, but he could understand his Japanese counterparts in the Nest when he needed to.

- In turn Kevin isn’t able to order in Japanese at a restaurant, but he could explain the rules of Exy to someone fairly coherently if he had to.

- This isn’t an original thought by any means but Neil and Kevin definitely speak in French when they’re by themselves just to make sure they don’t lose it.

- They sometimes make calls to each other on the court in French, and because of this, most of the team picks up very basic calls in French. None of them can actually speak it, but Andrew picks up a little more than the rest, having spent so much time with Kevin. Again, couldn’t hold a conversation, but every now and again he recognises certain words in their conversations.

- Neil is like a walking version of those White Guy Speaks Chinese And Stuns Waitress (he can understand her?!?) polyglot youTube videos. It becomes more of a hobby for him once he’s settled and the FBI are off his back, but the foxes are constantly shocked by how many languages he can speak. He is fluent in English, French, and German of course, with some conversational Spanish, but he can pretty much have a basic interaction in most of the languages of countries he’d been in. His Dutch is the worst, because he could never quite grasp the proper pronunciation of things, but one time he speaks to a waiter in Italian and Andrew can’t believe it.

- (RIP Neil Josten, you would’ve loved duolingo)

- When he goes to the Olympics he’s like a kid in a candy store. It’s like a subconscious bingo game for him to speak to someone from every country at least once.

- Aaron loves listening to music in German. He would definitely drag Nicky to a rave if they ever found themselves in Berlin.

- Katelyn asks him whenever they have their kid if he wants to raise them bilingual, but he decides not to because he only really learned German for Nicky and his brother, and doesn’t really speak it at all after he graduates.

- Neil and Nicky study Spanish together sometimes. It helps Nicky stay close to his roots now that his immediate family is pretty much out of the picture. It means way more to him than Neil even knows.

- Another unoriginal one but Andrew and Neil definitely do learn sign language in the future. I could talk about this one forever.

- When Kevin gets frustrated, he finds it hard to speak ANY language. He messes up words in English, forgets how to say things, and occasionally is the butt of the joke when he combines a French and English word accidentally.

- Kevin watches anime when nobody is around. He thinks dubbed anime is a crime.

- Andrew thinks he’s pretty good at German until he tries to have a conversation with Erik and realises wow native speakers talk a lot faster than we do. You wouldn’t know, because even if he just understands half of a sentence, he can usually piece together what is being said 90% of the time, and he would never admit out loud that he needs Erik to slow down when he’s talking so he can understand him.

- He is, however, REALLY good at accents. He has a talent for speaking gibberish but sounding as if he’s speaking fluent French. It drives Kevin up the wall when he does it, but he also hates when he can’t understand what Kevin and Neil are saying to each other.

And Bonus:

- Jeremy is really bad at accents. He is initially frustrated by Jean and his French, but once he understands that it is Jean’s first language (that the Moriyama’s took from him), he makes an effort to try and learn. He’s just really, really bad at it. Jean cringes every time he tries, because he speaks with a heavy American accent. Jean is not pretentious about his language, but he is, at the end of the day, French. So when Jeremy says bonjour in that hideous so-Cal accent, it’s in part endearing that he’s trying, but mostly like nails on a chalkboard.

#this is so. pointless #and not original #but I just want to share :)#Kevin day #Neil josten #aftg #tfc #Andrew minyard #Nicky hemmick #jean moreau #jeremy knox #thank u for ur time

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parasolladyansy · 3 days ago

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hello! i've liked ansy's adventure for a while, and i noticed how you play on japanese names for the pokemon, especially for mizumi's and sasmu's. what do you think of the languages in the pokemon world? i can guess hisuian equals japanese, but does sinnohan/kantonese also translate into japanese? or the four japanese-based regions are adapted into english ( or unovan?) i don't know if i'm explaining myself, but how do you view the pkmn languages and their equivalents in our world?

こんばんは! Good evening! Thank you for following along ^o^/

Class is in session lol! Professor Laventon seems to be most comfortable writing in his native Galarian, though he also has various notes in traditional “Japanese”, written vertically & read right to left.

So, language is a very interesting thing in fiction, & the Pokeverse is no exception! Through the games (& especially the latest ones, Scarlet / Violet) we’ve had a number of characters who spoke in different languages. I remember a couple of NPC’s in BW Unova, there’s Fantina in Sinnoh who peppers her speech with Kalosian (French), & a Hiker on Galar’s Route 6 who spoke what I’m guessing was Paldean (Spanish) rather than Galarian (English). Then in SV, we have Mr. Salvatore who teaches (& uses) many languages (off the top of my head, I remember him teaching how to say “thank you” in Spanish, French, Chinese, & German).

It does get tricky when it comes to the “Japanese” regions of Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh / Hisui, & Kitakami, as those regions otherwise make up one country in our world, but this has yet to have been canonically established (which is why I always put “Japan” / “Japanese” in quotes, as there currently isn’t a name for that one country, same with “America”). I do believe they share the same language - at the very least Hisui & Kitakami have the same written script, & I feel pretty confident that if they were to retcon it, they would have the other “Japanese” regions use it, too (before Legends Arceus, they just used random shapes that didn’t seem to spell anything, which I interpreted to just be placeholder characters).

If there is a common language in their world (& I think is, from characters from different regions being able to talk to each other no problem), I personally would guess it to be “Japanese” - as we look at the other regions, we can see a sort of Japanese flavor that would otherwise not be there (though they clearly did their homework on the various parts of the world these regions reflect!). Of course, Pokémon is from Japan, so it would make sense that they would add some of their own culture to this world they created. For a possible in-universe explanation, the Pokeverse seemed to have started in Japan (specifically in Sinnoh as we learned in Legends Arceus, so I guess their universe actually is geocentric like old astronomers used to think ours was?).

I think that’s about it. In DxP REWRITE, while my own language is American-English (& beginner-level Japanese lol) so I read the characters to be speaking American-English, they are actually speaking “Japanese” while in Sinnoh (which is why I haven’t really been peppering Ansy’s dialogue with Japanese). I have tried to write in the “Japanese” or Galarian scripts for signs & things a couple times:

The sign just says “Gear Station”

Here I (tried to lol) translate Mizumi’s letter to Japanese then wrote it out in in-game characters (in the modern horizontal, as Mizumi is from the modern era writing to someone in the modern era).

Thanks for reading yet another post of me geeking out lol. Feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments! じゃあ、またね! Until next time! ^o^/

—

PS: For funsies, here’s the (non-canonical, as these were made by fans) references I’ve been using when writing in either Galarian or “Japanese” in DxP REWRITE:

I personally was confused by the “Japanese” script also being alphabetical rather than phonetic like hiragana / katakana (two common scripts in Japan, the first being mostly used to spell Japanese words while katakana is used to spell foreign words - the third script, kanji, is used to write whole words). If that is the case (which is how I wrote it in Mizumi’s letter), “Japanese” is written in what’s called “romanji”, where they write out words in the Latin (aka Roman) alphabet rather than phonetically: “ありがとうございます” becomes “arigatō-gozaimasu” (“thank you very much”).

Whether it is actually written out that way in game though…? At a glance of the signs I saw in Hisui & Kitakami, it does look like it’s more like hiragana & kanji instead, but this chart is all I got for now. Any Japanese folks or fluent Japanese-readers who can tell me if there’s anything out there in the Japanese fandom about this, please lemme know so I can do right by it into future - as of writing this, I haven’t seen much else among the English-speaking fandom 8u8;

As for the Galarian script, it’s clearly based on the Latin alphabet that much of the Western world uses for our various languages - we see it in Paldea as well as Galar, & according to the trailer in Pokemon ZA, they retconned it to be used in Kalos as well. In universe, I wonder if they were at all influenced by the Unown, being based on the Latin alphabet themselves. Again, who knows? (though I question the accuracy of this particular font / chart: if it is, the first thing Laventon’s chalkboard says “REXBOQ” lol XD)

#pokemon #lore #DxP Ask #Ask #lots of geeking out #language #the struggle of being someone who likes languages but is TERRIBLE at grammar lol XD

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otdiaftg · 11 months ago

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The King's Men - Chapter Three

Day: Friday, January 5th Time: 11:25 PM EST

He took the tray with unsteady hands and brought it back to the table. He wanted to send Kevin away, but Andrew would never let him get far without a guard. Luckily Kevin couldn't speak a word of German. Neil sat sideways in his chair, facing Andrew, and said, "Why does Roland think you're tying me down?" Andrew hesitated with his glass halfway to his mouth. He glanced down at Neil's hands where they were clenched on the edge of the seat between his knees. Neil didn't look to see if the angry lines were showing again. He couldn't take his eyes off Andrew's face. At length Andrew put his full shot back on the tray. He didn't let go of it completely but tapped his fingers on the rim in an uneven beat. It seemed an eternity before he finally dragged his stare up from Neil's hands to his face. "Presumably he thinks you're as bad at following directions as he is," Andrew said. "Roland knows I don't like being touched." "That doesn't answer my question." "It is the answer," Andrew said. "Rephrase the question if you don't like it." "I want to play another round," Neil said. "What's outside Coach's pay grade?" Andrew shifted in his seat to face Neil and propped his elbow on the back of his chair. He cradled his face in his hand and considered Neil. He didn't look at all bothered by the sudden interrogation but that calm did nothing to ease the gnawing in Neil's stomach. "When Coach signed us, he promised to stay out of our personal problems. He said the board paid him to be our coach, nothing more and nothing less." That answer wasn't much better. Neil wasn't sure he should keep pushing, but if he didn't get the truth now he knew he never would. "I didn't think I was a personal problem. You hate me, remember?" "Every inch of you," Andrew said. "That doesn't mean I wouldn't blow you." The world tilted a little bit sideways. Neil dug his shoes harder into the floor so he wouldn't fall over. "You like me." "I hate you," Andrew corrected him, but Neil barely heard him. For a dizzying moment, he understood. He remembered Andrew's hand over his mouth in Exites as he backed out of their conversation. He thought of Andrew yielding to his prodding and holding him up when Neil needed him most. Andrew had called him interesting and dangerous and had given him keys to his house and car. He'd trusted Neil with Kevin because Kevin was important to both of them and he knew Neil wouldn't let him down. Neil tried to piece it all together, but the more he pushed, the faster it fell apart. It didn't make sense. He didn't know what he was supposed to think. It could be a lie, but Neil knew it wasn't. Andrew was a lot of unpleasant things, but a pathological liar wasn't one of them. Honesty suited Andrew because he was an instigator at heart and his opinions were often unpopular. It took Neil three tries to find his voice. "You never said anything." "Why should I have?" Andrew lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Nothing will come of it." "Nothing," Neil echoed. "I am self-destructive, not stupid," Andrew said. "I know better." There was nothing Neil could say except, "Okay," but it didn't sound okay and he didn't feel okay. What was Neil supposed to do with a truth like this? He was going to be dead in four months, five if he was lucky. He wasn't supposed to be this for anyone, Andrew least of all. Andrew said all year long—had said it to Neil's face just this week—that he didn't want anything. Neil shouldn't be the exception to that rule. Andrew downed his shot and dropped the glass carelessly back on the tray. He pried his cigarette pack out of his back pocket on his way to his feet and flicked it open to check the contents. Neil should let him leave unchallenged, but he said, "It's your turn." Andrew shook a stick into his hand and propped it between his lips. The pack was safely tucked away again before he looked at Neil. "I do not have to take it now."

Art used with permission by smokesontheroof. Thank you @smokesontheroof!

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signfromeywa · 1 month ago

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AUNGIA TA EYWA (A SIGN FROM EYWA)

Chapter 04: Language exercises

Description:

Anastasia Novak is a behavioural scientist tasked with socializing a captive Na'vi on behalf of the RDA. The longer she works with the Na'vi and the closer she gets to him, the more she has to rethink everything she thought she knew and redefine her morals and values. Can she just carry on like this, or will she follow her heart?

Content: Rating +18, Avatar fanfiction, human x Na'vi ship, Na'vi captured

Characters: Human OCs: Anastasia Novak, Steven Turner, Patra// Na'vi OCs: Ean'tu,

Word Count: 3688

⊹˚₊‧─────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

❗️English is not my native language! I apologize very much if it reads a bit bumpy here and there.

I’m a German author and this is the first time I’ve tried to translate a story I’m working on into English and upload it. I still hope you enjoy it.❗

Ana pointed her finger at her eyes and waited.

"Eyes." Ean'tu said with a still strong accent. Ana now pointed to her mouth, her nose, showed her hands and pointed to his feet. The na'vi already knew the English words. Then she pointed to his chest and looked at him expectantly.

"I am Ean'tu." he said.

"That's right!" now she pointed to herself.

"You are Ana."

"Yes, very good." she smiled at him with satisfaction. The couple of weeks they had had to practise had paid off. Ean'tu was a fast learner. Ana was about to start another query when she heard someone knocking on the glass of the room. She then turned around and noticed Turner. He indicated that she should come out for a moment and when his gaze fell on Ean'tu, his friendly look became uncertain and he waved timidly at the Na'vi. Ean'tu did not return the kindness and just turned his head away, scowling.

"I'll be right back." Ana then said and got up from the floor where she had just been sitting opposite of Ean'tu.

"Ok." Ean'tu replied and Ana was so proud and amazed that he was really trying to speak English to her as much and as well as he could. She gave him a brief smile, then grabbed the digital clipboard and went out through the airlock to Turner.

"He hates me," was the first thing Mr. Turner said, stroking the back of his neck. It was certainly hurting him, Ana had watched him for days with a mountain of paperwork and reports to write.

"Well you can't blame him, you haven't shown him any kindness for a long time. You must be an enemy of him. But now you're doing the right thing," Ana explained.

"Argh! You're probably right!" Turner shook off his steamy demeanor and refocused on work. "I have news about the enclosure. The tree hasn't been damaged, thankfully, and the wall is almost finished now. The enclosure is being re-cultivated with plants in one place, do you... well, what does the Na'vi like, if you have anything to contribute, we can still make changes there."

"Really? That would be great, I already have something in mind, I need to talk to Sky about it." They are still using Ean'tu's project name to avoid drawing attention to themselves and appear inconspicuous.

"Do that, I need more detailed information by tomorrow. Let's hope it's not too exotic, otherwise it would have to be obtained from outside and I don't know how to justify it to our boss."

"By God, he shouldn't make such a fuss, he has enough money." Ana snorted, she had never met the boss in person, but she couldn't stand him anymore. Not after all the secrets, the untruths and, above all, what happened to Ean'tu. No good person would let that happen.

"May I ask you a question?" Turner looked into the enclosure. "How did you know that the Na'vi would be interested in all this stuff?"

Ana now also looked into the enclosure. Turner was obviously referring to the fabrics, fibers, ropes and colors she had brought Ean'tu. He had not only painted the fabrics with the colors, but also the walls. He also wove things from the ropes, small yarn and beads that she had brought him later. Baskets, small wind chimes, or simply jewelry for the body. They were complex things that had taken him several days of work and that he had spent every free minute on when he wasn't sleeping or studying with Ana. Ana had already photographed and documented a lot of it for his file.

"I didn't really know, it was more of a hunch, he seemed interested in my drawing and colors. That motivated me to give him paint and fabric to have him do it," she explained. "I have to say that his creations really impress me, they are artistic and beautiful."

Turner listened to Ana and then smiled. " My dear colleague, the way you look at the Na'vi, I have the feeling that you find something else quite beautiful."

With suddenly red cheeks, she turned to Turner. "What are you saying!" It wasn't like that at all, at least that's what she tried to tell herself all the time. Her heart couldn't take anything else.

"I hope so, because we both know that you and the Na'vi are fundamentally different. Maintain professionalism. He remains an alien." Even though Turner smiled, his words had a cautionary tone.

Ana knew he was right, she had to remain professional. Ean'tu certainly saw her as a friend, if anything. Even that was an honor, considering the circumstances. Something she perhaps shouldn't even presume to hope for.

"I disturbed you during your practice, Novak. You can go back to him. He's been looking at me waiting the whole time. I've got some work to do, so I'll go back to my desk." He gave Ana a friendly pat on the shoulder and turned away again.

She had to take a breath for a moment, then she stepped back through the airlock to Ean'tu.

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

"What was wrong?" Ean'tu had gotten up and came over to her.

"It's nothing. We were just talking about your enclosure."

"Enclosure..." he repeated the word, which he didn't seem to understand but tried anyway.

"Where you slept before." Ana then explained the word to him. "With the tree and the plants."

She could see that he remembered now. "Are my things... broken?" he asked a little awkwardly, pointing to the homemade objects lying around in the room. At first Ana didn't understand why these things should be broken, then she thought she understood.

"You have these things in the tree too?" she asked, speaking slowly so that the Na'vi could understand.

He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I did things in the tree."

"-made things in the tree." Ana corrected him politely and slowly, remembering immediately that she had actually seen him weaving things at the very beginning. Apparently he kept them somewhere up in the tree. "What do you need for the things? At home." Ana then asked.

Ean'tu thought about it and then told her things she didn't know and couldn't categorize. She then looked at him, somewhat perplexed.

"I can show you... if you show me," he said.

That was an excellent idea, but what could she show him?

"Plants from home." he said and now Ana knew.

On the digital clipboard she had with her, she could access data from a kind of digital encyclopedia. Unfortunately, there was hardly any information, since much of it was not accessible to everyone, but at least there were pictures and a name.

"Come." Ana sat down on the bed with him and opened the encyclopedia in the device. The front page showed an overview of the categories. Trees, flowers, bushes and so on.

Ean'tu pointed to the shrubs and bushes. So she calmly went through the plants in this category. Showed him every single picture.

He then pointed to one, "Tautral is the name of the plant."

Ana looked at the caption on the picture, 'Beanstalk Palm' she read in her head.

"What are you doing with it?" Ana then asked.

Ean'tu formed a large bowl with his hands, "We can put things in it at home," he tried to explain, but it was difficult for him with the few words he knew in English. So he stood up and picked up a very tightly woven wind chime. It had an upper part that had a tightly woven surface. "This. Like this." He formed the bowl again.

Ana thought about it and then searched in her device for a picture of a woven round basket. "Like this?"

Ean'tu's expression brightened when he saw that Ana had understood him. "Yes!"

"It's a basket." she told him the missing word.

"Basket." he repeated a few times until it sounded right. "We have a basket at home. Big, for things and food."

"With the plant, can you make lots of things?" Ana asked. To which he nodded again. "I'll get the plant into your enclosure."

The Na'vi understood and smiled happily at her. Yes, he was almost beaming a little. Ana had never seen him smile like that before. This plant would give him back a bit of home and give him the opportunity to do what he seemed to love doing. Because he was really good at weaving things.

"I like your smile, it's pretty." Ana confessed honestly.

Ean'tu was surprised and thought about the words for a moment to understand them. Then he pointed at himself. "Pretty?"

Ana nodded and he blushed slightly as he understood the meaning, then smiled a little sheepishly and brushed a strand of his hair behind his ear. "Thank you."

Ana returned his smile, glad that he hadn't taken the compliment amiss or been averse to it.

"Ean'tu?" she began and the Na'vi looked at her again. Carefully, she touched his hair. "May I... make your hair beautiful?"

He looked at her questioningly. " Beautiful?" He didn't understand and looked at the rather disheveled hair himself. No one seemed to have paid much attention to it for very long. "Not beautiful..."

Ana touched his hand. "I'll help you, okay?" she wanted to comb his hair, he had long, dark brown curly hair that would certainly look fantastic with a little care. Ana had also noticed for some time that he didn't like his hair like this.

To her surprise, Ean'tu clasped her hand and looked her firmly in the eye. "Okay, help my hair."

Even though he said this in a calm voice, she recognized his uncertainty. His hair was obviously important to him, Ana would do her best not to disappoint him. Once he had his hair done, he would certainly feel more comfortable again.

She stood up and smiled. "I'll be right back." He nodded and Ana left the isolated room to Turner, who looked up from his work.

"So, did you find out anything?" he wanted to know.

Ana placed the tablet on his desk and pointed to the plant that Ean'tu had just shown her. "This one, he can weave baskets with it and other things too, I think that's what they used to do back home."

"A beanstalk palm, that's something that can be arranged."

"Very nice, thank you very much." She gave Turner a grateful smile and then turned away from him to go to her bags.

Since Ean'tu had been in this department, temporarily, she had also stayed here. She had slept in a staff room adjacent to the ward. That's why she had a few personal items, such as sleeping clothes, a change of clothes, a toothbrush and a brush and care products.

"What are you up to?" Turner looked over at her and watched Ana rummaging in her bag.

"I need my brush and my hair oil," she mumbled into the bag.

"Should I ask?"

"I want to comb his hair, no one has done that for a long time and I want him to feel good again."

"Well, I hope you know what you're doing." Turner was suspicious, as he often was. He had faith in Ana's abilities, but not in Ean'tu.

She emerged from the bag, armed with a brush and grooming oil. "There you go, let me get to work."

Finally, she grabbed the tablet again and went to Ean'tu in the isolated room. The Na'vi seemed to be waiting for her.

"I have what I need," she said and showed him the brush and the oil. She was sure that he was familiar with the concept of the brush, but he seemed to be taking a closer look at the oil.

"What's that?" he was unsure.

"It goes in your hair and makes it easier to comb," explained Ana.

But Ean'tu didn't quite seem to understand and was still looking at the bottle uncertainly. Ana knew it was because he didn't know enough English words for her to explain it to him in detail.

"Trust me, ok?" she gently placed her hand on his and looked at him. Now he nodded. "OK."

"Come on, sit down." Ana pointed to the floor in front of her and Ean'tu sat down with his back to her. His shoulders were tense, she could see his tense muscles.

She lovingly stroked his shoulders so that he relaxed a little under her touch. It was a great sign of trust from him, Ana appreciated it very much. After the Na'vi had taken a deep breath, she gently touched his hair. She carefully ran her fingers through it as best she could and found that the hair was not as matted as she had expected. Had he tried to take care of his hair? Which certainly hadn't been easy without tools.

"Look." She took a strand of hair and put the hair oil on it, bringing the strand to the front so that Ean'tu could see what she was doing. "Now I can comb it better."

Very slowly, she began to comb the many small knots out of his curls with the brush, careful not to hurt Ean'tu. He watched closely as she did this to the first strand of hair and seemed satisfied. Apparently he was no longer afraid or worried.

"You're doing well." he then said quietly and it surprised Ana. Her heart immediately began to beat faster. He seemed to relax beneath her and let her do it completely.

"Thank you." she replied shyly and continued. The Na'vi had thick and much hair. When she was so far through with one strand, she continued with the next. She quickly realized that this would probably take some time until she had carefully combed through all the matted hair. She really had to proceed very carefully, strand by strand. She might not even be able to do it in one day, but she did her best.

While she worked gently on his hair, Ean'tu held still. He didn't say a word, breathing evenly, and when she secretly checked on him, she noticed that he had even closed his eyes.

"Do you like that?" she asked cautiously.

"You're going slow... I like it." he replied in a calm, quiet tone. Ana didn't know exactly what he meant, but he certainly couldn't put into words what he was thinking any better. The important thing was that he liked what Ana was doing. He was going through enough, he should be allowed to relax and she was happy to help him.

For what felt like an eternity, she combed through many strands of hair one after the other and the hours passed. Her arm was starting to hurt, she clearly needed a break.

"I need a break." Ana stretched, even her back hurt from standing for so long.

"Are you done?" Ean'tu turned to her and grabbed his hair.

"No, I'll continue tomorrow." Ana thought about it. She didn't want the combed hair to get mixed back into the matted hair. Spontaneously, she had an idea. She removed her hair tie from her hair. "May I?"

The Na'vi nodded and turned his back to her again. Ana took his hair and braided it into a tight plait. That way, nothing would get tangled overnight and she could continue tomorrow. But she left the long braid he already had alone.

"You can sleep like this," she explained, hoping he wouldn't undo the braid. "I'll take it off tomorrow."

He nodded and turned back around. "Thank you." He looked surprisingly deep into her eyes. Once again she realized how beautiful his eyes were, a beauty that could not be compared to anything she knew on earth.

"Your eyes are pretty." A little hesitantly, Ana reached out to Ean'tu and touched his cheek.

He took her hand and placed it fully against his cheek. He seemed to like the touch. Ana's heart raced, what was she doing? Why did this touch feel so good and familiar. Why did she have such a bond with the Na'vi, so different from anything she had ever felt but also so much stronger than anything she knew. Could this really be?

"Oel ngati kameie" he said softly in his own language, looking deep into her eyes. As if he was looking into her soul with his big, beautiful reddish eyes.

"What does that mean?" Ana also asked very quietly.

"I see you..." he now placed his fingertips on the spot on her chest where the heart sat underneath. His touch was gentle and his fingers warm. "I see you here."

Ana's heart was beating fast and she was sure he could feel it. The touch and the words were so pure and in their purest form. She was so close to him at that moment. Ana didn't know what to say in response.

What was Ean'tu trying to tell her? Was she more to him than an alien? One of the humans? Did that no longer play a role between them? Was he describing the feeling she felt all the time and couldn't put into words?

She smiled lovingly at him. "I see you." Because she did. She saw Ean'tu. He was more than just an alien, an animal or a prisoner. She really liked him.

A beep on her tablet made them both jump up and let go of each other. Ana looked out the window in confusion and caught sight of Turner, but he wasn't alone.

As always, Turner was deeply immersed in his work. By now, it had become so normal for Novak to keep going back to the Navi in the isolation room that he had gotten used to it. He refrained from looking at it all the time and used the time to look at all the documents and reports. The repair of the enclosure needed a lot of organization and a lot of applications had to be made or landed on his desk. That was a lot of work.

Surprised, he looked up from his work when he heard the large mechanical door to the station open. He leaned backwards away from his desk to see who had just entered the station. When he recognized the man coming into the room with two soldiers to his right and left, he jumped up from his desk chair and hurried over. He hectically smoothed his shirt and straightened his tie.

"Good evening Mr. Cornett, what a surprise. Forgive the mess." He shook the man's hand in greeting.

He gave him a firm handshake. "Well, I thought I'd check on my pretty Sky. I would have come sooner after hearing that my pet was injured. But I wasn't in the area. How is he?"

"Oh you don't have to worry, he's in perfect health." Turner assured him.

"In fact, I'm also here to meet my new employee, Dr. Novak. We haven't had the opportunity in person yet." His eyes were already searching around the room. "Is she here at the moment?"

"Well, yes, to a certain extent. But she's currently with Sky in the isolation room, working on him." Turner explained, noticing that his boss was simply walking past him and taking a look at the situation himself.

"She's WITH Sky? In the same room?" he seemed disbelieving and wanted to see for himself.

"Yes sir," Turner pointed to the isolated room, which was separated from them by a large window. You could look through it into the room and see what was going on there. Turner looked in with his boss and held his breath tensely. He could hardly believe his own eyes. The Na'vi and Miss Novak had become surprisingly close, almost familiar. An inconvenient time, now that the boss was here. She certainly didn't want the boss to know.

Nervously, but as inconspicuously as he could, he took his cell phone out of his coat pocket. He should let Novak know that the boss was present to avoid anything worse.

"No, please," the boss had noticed his intentions and raised his hand slightly to indicate that Turner shouldn't do that. "I like watching Novak at work."

Turner looked at the man, whose eyes were fixed on Novak and Sky. The boss's eyes narrowed to slits and his jaw tightened. Even though he had just sounded calm, Turner could see that the boss didn't like what he was seeing. What exactly was bothering him he couldn't guess, but he had a feeling Novak was in trouble.

"Since when has Sky been so tame?" he asked.

"Well, I'd say since Novak started working intensively with him here. So after the incident with the crash." Turner didn't want to give too much away, so he kept his answer as vague as possible. He didn't want to stab his colleague in the back. After all, she trusted him.

"Interesting..." muttered the boss quietly. He sounded annoyed, even though he obviously didn't want to let it show. "I've seen enough, let Dr. Novak know she's coming out of there, I have things to discuss with her."

Turner swallowed and used his cell phone to send a message to Novak's tablet. They were both immediately startled and let go of each other. Novak turned to the glass, startled, and saw both men standing there. In just a fraction of a minute, she had jumped up, came out of the room and took off her mask to come over to them, where the boss was already waiting for her with his arms crossed and his jaw tensed.

Tag list: @twisteduniverse5 @yukilaaw @mooniequeen @anemonelovesfiction (If you want to get added, comment it under the post)

#avatar 2009 #na'vi #avatar the way of water #na'vi oc #avatar pandora #avatar oc #james cameron avatar #writers on tumblr #fan story #na'vi fanfic #fanfiction #na'vi x human #avatar fanfiction #signfromeywa #signfromeywa fanfiction

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