HAIII sorry to ask for another pav x reader req, i just loved the fic yiu wrote with him !!! if you want, could you write pav x reader headcanons? like general relationship headcanons, can be sfw or nsfw!!
I AM SO HAPPY YOU LIKED IT ANON I'D BE ECSTATIC TO WRITE FOR HIM AGAIN!!!
Pav x Reader Headcanons!!!
Warnings : NSFW, PTSD, Jealousy, Voyeurism, Pav is pretty freaky overall, brief mention of suicide
Enjoy!!!
Starting off with some general hcs!
ಿৎ Pav lacks the ability to be serious at least 90% of the time, half of what he says is straight sarcasm. He finds it even better when people get annoyed by it!
ಿৎ Adding to this he'd be damned to find something he gets about as much pleasure from as pissing people off. Thats basically food for his soul! Though he often has no real ill will behind it, he also appreciates when people do it back!! He finds it much fun
ಿৎ I believe he is definitely NOT German and also very much NOT Russian, I've heard people theorize he could be Ukrainian or Polish and I think those make a lot more sense. (I'd say he's from a place like Ukraine in game)
ಿৎ He is bilingual but also knows a bit of lots of languages, he finds its something he can pick up on easily. He can speak Ukrainian and English fluently but also knows some German, Polish, Russian etc.
ಿৎ He is not great at math, he definitely never got a chance to go to or at least finish his education. So he knows not much of English.
ಿৎ Pav has a preference for women over men, not just in terms of his sexuality but in general. After being in the war and seeing mostly men of the battlefield committing such terrible atrocities, he doesnt think very highly of his own sex! Most women he's met however he finds very pleasant, even if he treats him badly or dont like them, he doesn't mind one bit. Pav knows a women would likely never try to harm him in the ways a man would, he sees them as much more gentle and kind people. Not to say he denies their strength, in fact he can easily feel threatened by strong women as seen in game! He just gets nervous around girlbosses (me too king)
ಿৎ He likes caramel icecream the most because I fucking said so. He really loves SALTED CARAMEL. He is caramel maxxed.
ಿৎ He LOVESSSS industrial music!! (Let's just pretend it existed at the time he was alive) He especially likes skinny puppy, acumen nation, genitorturers and orange sector! Other than industrial he'd love And One and a lot of other electro/pop music. Of course also lots of metal like Rammstein, Lindemann, and Orgy
Relationship hcs!
ಿৎ Pav LOVESSS PDA. In public he knows no shame, he want to be attached at the hip to you at all times. He loves holding SQUEEZING your hand tightly and kissing you an unnecessary amount of times. He deliberately does it in front of people too as to say "Fuck off im married" (You guys are good as married in his mind.)
ಿৎ He wouldn't mind being married to you officially but in all honesty he doesn't care much. He's already eternally devoted to you, so what's really the need to have a big fancy ceremony for that? Though if it'd make you happy he will have one for you ♡
ಿৎ He gets pretty paranoid over you sometimes, he's used to always being on edge so he worries about you A LOT even if he tries acting nonchalant about it. (Which he's not good at) What he is good at though is borderline interrogating you "Oh you're going out? Well thats fine! To where though? With who? When will you be back? Should I come with you???" He doesn't mean it in a he doesn't think you're trustworthy way, more like he'll kill himself if you died way. So please show him empathy!
ಿৎ A bit of a toxic trait, he doesn't like your friends or your family. He doesn’t really like most people honestly but like he can't quite pinpoint why he doesn't like them specifically. Maybe its because he's worried they'll try taking you from him? Or they could have bad intentions towards you? Or maybe even he's jealous of you.. Maybe he wishes he could find connection with more people like you can. But he would never dig that deep into his own feelings, burying trauma is one of his greatest skills after all!
ಿৎ Overall you are without a doubt his #1 favorite person. Pav probably wouldn't keep many other people in his circle, maybe he'd make a few acquaintances but he has long since stopped getting attached to people (you being the exception) He just doesn't feel like he needs anyone else, you're already the best person in the entire universe so like, why would he?
ಿৎ On that same note he'd never cheat on you, like he simply just knows he wouldn't be nearly as happy with anyone but you.
ಿৎ Internally he overall is so grateful for you. He is half convinced you're like an angel or something sent to save his life. Other than his goal to kill the Kaiser, he lives and breathes for the possibility of a beautiful future with you. ♡
ಿৎ If you would like to ignore my other fic, I believe in reality he would never lay his hands on you with the intention of hurting you. Even with the things that are haunting his mind, the terrifying images and thoughts he gets that make him feel crazy, he would never want to take that out on you. He laments at the thought of you experiencing anything even close to what he has been through. I mean overall he doesn't want anyone to feel the pain he does, he really is not as uncaring or cynical as he seems! But he would without hesitation lay down his life to protect you, so hurting you is off the table.
ಿৎ He likes to lick you, he knows its weird and thats why he does it!
Now for what you've all been waiting for,
Pav nsfw hcs!!
ಿৎ Remember how I told you guys he loves PDA? Well he also loves exhibitionism. He lost the ability to feel shame long ago so he could care less if you get caught, no scratch that he gets very excited at the thought of you two being caught. He would definitely love for you guys to wander off to somewhere semi-public, like a (mostly) empty park or even a bathroom if you guys are feeling extra nasty. The thought of getting to fuck you where people could see, to bear witness to how much he loves you turns him on A LOT. He'd also find it a lot of fun to watch you get embarrassed or try to muffle your moans, or when you guys are done and you're trying to clean up or at least hide the cum dripping down your legs.
ಿৎ He is in fact a switch! He doesn't care as long as he's fucking you. If you wanna tie him up and ride him until his balls are empty thats great! Or do you wanna dick him down until he cant remember his own name? Amazing! Or would you like him to hit it from behind and use you like a sex doll? HE DOES NOT CARE HE JUST WANTS HIS DICK SOMEWHERE INSIDE OF YOU!!!
ಿৎ He lovessss to call you good girl/boy, I mean he does like to randomly call people that in game so its just a thing he does. But to you its different, he likes to praise you and make you feel special. If you're on your knees sucking his cock while he pets your head he'll love to say "You're such a good girl/boy.." And if you noticeably like it? He won't stop!!! He will be moaning directly in your ear in the most slutty voice while he's inside of you "You're my good girl/boy.. You're so fucking amazing.."
All in all he really enjoys praising you.
ಿৎ On the other hand he really likes to be degrades by you. Maybe it comes from his own low self esteem. Anyways he gets a lot of enjoyment from it. If you're calling him a dirty whore for wanting to fuck you in a public space, that only makes him wanna do it more!!! If you tell him he's a disgusting pig who can't control his sexual urges he is hard on the spot.
ಿৎ I think he'd love both gentle and rough sex. He would love it if you sat on his cock while you two made out, until after a good while he bursts inside you. Or if you're doing it missionary and he slowly thrusts in and out of you while praising you, and how good you take him, how good you make him feel.
But maybe instead you've got his wrists tied up to the bed frame, you're teasing him until he becomes a whiny mess begging you to let him cum. Maybe he's fucking you from behind at some inhuman speed?! If you're ok with it he will slap your ass and tell you how sexy you are letting him balls deep inside of you.
ಿৎ If you are okay with it while you're being rough together he might do things like slap your ass or pull your hair just a little! But he'd never wanna do anything serious like hitting you. Even if you asked he just can't bring himself to do it, he feels terrible about himself at the thought of it, so thats unfortunately a no...
ಿৎ BUUUUUUT if you'd be interested in hurting him he is very open! He'd let you slap him and pull his hair, and he LOVES the idea of being choked by you. God if you did that to him, even out of pure hatred, he thinks he'd just get hard on the spot. He likes to think about you in complete control, showing him little mercy. (This helps him cope with some issues he has idk)
ಿৎ Back to the exhibitionism thing real quick, he likes flashing a little too much. Sometimes in a battle, he'll flash his nipple or even his dick to distract the enemy and get in a good hit. But in more normal circumstances if maybe you're in public and a bit far apart, from a distance if no one is looking he'll flash you a nipple, or even his penis. If someone sees him do it he will just smile at them before grabbing you to quickly evade the area before the police come. (Theres a chance he may end up on the register while you guys are dating)
ಿৎ He would literally LOVE if you did it back to him, if he saw you quickly show him your chest or something then put it away he'll go MAD. You guys are immediately going off somewhere to have intense sex
OKKK THATS THE END I RLLY HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED!!! Would u maybe wanna send me a request? Check right here!
could I please ask for some yandere pav NSFW and sfw head canons?
As always, NSFW will be under the cut~
Warnings: Yandere, Dubcon, Face Fucking, Marking, Gun Play, Overstimulation
SFW Headcanons
He opens all doors for you, and pulls out/pushes in your seat whenever you use one.
You have so many nicknames: sweetheart, darling, radiant one, enchanting one, lovely, love...
Always, always, always has a hand on your body. On your shoulder, on your hip- he loves holding you by your hip...
Pav likes to play with your hair, mostly to just tease you a bit. He twirls it around his finger(s), pulls on it a little... maybe a little more under different circumstances...
He does the same with your collar, or with any necklaces that you wear.
Pav basically loves to tease you as much as possible, especially in front of others.
You are his, after all... If he isn't allowed to touch you, to run his fingers through your hair... Well, Pav is, and you better be damned sure no one else is allowed to do so. How else will he show that you are his and his alone?
Well, he has his ways...
NSFW
He's not different behind closed doors, but he loses the facade that he has crafted exclusively for pubic viewing.
You will either be naked the entire time you are behind closed doors or dressed in one of his shirts (unbuttoned, of course), there's no room for arguments.
So, so incredibly jealous, and more insecure than he'll ever admit. Any perceived kindness to another person will be seen as a threat to your relationship (if you could even call it that) and you will be punished for any transgressions against your bond or him.
Face slapping, spitting, spanking- oh yes, Pav loves to bend you over his knee and slap your rear until your cheeks are red-raw and you are covered in tears and snot (and arousal-).
If you aren't covered in tears and saliva and cum- Well, you always are, if Pav has any say in the matter.
He could face fuck you for hours. Maybe he has, you always lose track of time, having to focus solely on him and his cock, face stinging and burning from all the slaps you take, from keeping your mouth open so obediently for him as he chokes you with his dick...
Making you squirm is what he loves doing the most, be it from fucking you until you scream and beg for him to stop (even for just a moment, for fuck's sake!) or pointing a loaded gun in your face during the act, or even shoving it inside of you and 'pleasuring' you with it (even if you're screaming and begging him not to hurt you...).
Every sensitive place you have is often covered in bruises and bitemarks. You aren't allowed to hide any of them, especially when you are in public. What, are you ashamed of him and his love for you?! Who are you worried about seeing his love marks!? Does he need to remind you what real love looks like?! Feels like-?!
Pav cannot get enough of you... Fucking you is like a dream come true... He's done it in every position one could possibly conceive, for hours every single day, until you are coated in his seed and it is spilling out of nearly every hole that you have...
Makes you beg for it, even when you physically cannot take it anymore...
Hi, may I pretty please request a domestic fluff with Pav in the future, like maybe 5 years from termina? Thank you ♡
Pav x Reader
Authors note : I hope you enjoy!
Life had become peaceful—slow, even. A reality I never thought I’d grow accustomed to.
Pav had once commanded the infamous Berman army, but now? Now he took on odd jobs here and there—nothing too loud, nothing too violent. Just enough to keep his hands busy and his mind quiet.
We bought a little house. Just for us. Tucked away from the world. Something simple, something soft. Something that felt like comfort.
But even in this quiet life, the past never really let go. The Termia Festival still haunted my dreams—burned into the backs of my eyelids. The screams of friends, the flicker of moon-scorched eyes, the way Conrad’s hand slipped from mine… it’s all still there.
And Pav—he remembers it too. Not with words. No, he never says anything. But I see it in the way he holds me tighter at night. The way his hands tremble ever so slightly when he thinks I’m not looking. How he always has to be touching me lately—fingers brushing my arm, head resting on my shoulder, arms looping around my waist like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
That’s when I know. The memories are creeping back in. The weight of the past pressing on his chest.
And every single time—I’ll be there. To hold him. To ground him. To remind him that this peace we’ve found is real. That he’s not alone anymore.
warnings - ENEMIES to lovers..., non-graphic deaths and violence, i humanize and objectify pav in the same breath, fem reader (referred to by "girl" bc he's the worst)
first time capitalizing a fic title in months
DAY 2. NOON.
Blood splotches decorate the cobblestone floor, already drying into maroon against the wood planks of the train cars. The droplets lighten in shade the deeper into the train you go, and eventually, you find crimson. Pure cherry ink on dark wood. Cherry rots into a blackened smudge once again on the wheel of Olivia’s wheelchair. One hand settled over the thin black rim on her right, and the other twisting a roll of bandages around her fingers. She blinks up at you, bottom lip tucked so tight between her teeth that the rosy flesh is blistering white.
“I’m really sorry,” she sighs, abandoning the spool of cloth in her lap to push up her wiry glasses, “Terribly, I am, but I don’t- “ she pauses, “I’m worried that the others would be… biased in their care…”
Your gaze flits up from Olivia’s pensive face to the blonde man spread across the train’s cushy two-seater. His midsection is wrapped with reddish blooms vining all down the white crossings, arm bound in a sling over his chest. His eyes are scrunched up, brows furrowed towards the middle of his forehead; a fitful, delirious limbo overtaking him. Occasionally, he jerks himself awake in a wide-eyed panic before the pain knocks his brain topside again.
The Bremen lieutenant would hardly be a challenge to put down in his current state. You are one of few from the contestants that Olivia feels can be trusted not to undo her hard work of keeping the soldier alive. Combine your level-headedness with your lackadaisical attitude in searching Prehevil, and you make the perfect candidate to watch over Olivia’s patient.
Unfortunately.
“If he annoys me, can I press on his wounds?”
A wild grimace overtakes Olivia’s face, “No! No, please, please do not do that.”
“Fine,” you waltz past Olivia and study the blonde’s pinched face, “Go, go. I’ll watch the traitor.”
“Thank you!” she sighs in relief before exiting the train car, calling back hurriedly, “I’ll try to come with more bandages before sundown!”
When the lieutenant is not trapped under the rolling, ruthless waves of agony, you could almost mistake him for any other man. Maybe even a handsome one: with a strong nose and symmetrical bone structure. His lips are faintly the color of roses, too. Pale and pink. Dry, though. Not nearly as luscious as pretty petals.
Golden tresses, which you are mature enough to admit are alluring. His hat was off and his hair ruffled and fanning out over the magenta seat. Skin frail and pale - you could crush his ribs if you tried. Charming in a way you’ve only known real men to be.
Certainly, though, as soon as the pig squeals - the illusion of perky flowers and honey will melt away. Scorched by the moon as the villagers outside.
Foolishly, you agree to sit around waiting for the swine to be well enough to squeal. A smarter woman would’ve put it down (especially when it's previously shown a taste for blood), but you like Olivia and her tender heart so you do no such thing.
DAY 2. NIGHT.
As thanks for not murdering Pavel as soon as she’d turned her back, Olivia brought you fresh water and dried meats from scavenged homes alongside the fresh bandages. She left again soon after swapping the bloodied cloth for fresh ones.
“Do tell me when he wakes up,” she grins up at you. As if apologetic for having you carry out a duty you’d already agreed to, “I’m sure this isn’t an easy ask. I’m sorry.”
“If I wanted to make you feel bad for asking, I wouldn’t have said yes,” you wave off the concern, “Don’t die out there, Olivia. I’d miss you too much to do my job,” you gesture vaguely towards the immobile lieutenant.
She chuckles quietly before nodding, “I’ll do my best.”
Pavel’s groans are increasing both in frequency and throatiness - he’ll wake soon, you’re sure of it. He even turns onto his side, exhaling thickly - so harsh and ragged he actually coughs up bubbles of spit. Jittering with alert, he gasps sharply and rockets upward. Snapping at his waist and swiping out wildly with his unbound arm, clawing at the musty air directly in front of him; even attempting to swing out the arm wrapped and tied around his neck.
As soon as the hair-splittingly thin burst of adrenaline fades, he hisses in pain. Cupping the covered gash in his chest before curling his uninjured arm around the other, he throws his head back and gasps again. Suffocating under the re-stretching of closing wounds and fragile muscle.
Despite his uniform, you find yourself at Pavel’s side. You brush a hand down the length of his spine before patting between his shoulder blades, your other hand soothing down his navel to press him down into the cushions. Swiping aside curls of gold, you shush his groaning and search the care bag Olivia left behind. In your palm comes a bind of tobacco and a pipe that is smooth and cold against your skin.
“Quiet, quiet,” you coo, stuffing the chamber of the pipe with the almost sickly sweet, nutty-scented tobacco before raising Pavel’s head and sitting the lip into his mouth.
His eyes are still wrinkled shut, chest beginning to sporadically pop and shrink in a struggle to suck wind through his throat.
Part of you wants to tug his hair and call him stupid, but a larger part of you is consumed with pity. Pity for a creature so entrapped with torment that he cannot remember the second most basic function of his body.
“Breathe through your nose,” you continue to run your fingers through his sweat-matted hair while striking a match against the train’s floorboards and lighting the tobacco, “Smoke slow. It will ease you.”
Pavel’s neck cranes upward and remains there, head pushing against your stroking hand as he (rather noisily) inhales through his nostrils. Then, he fills his lungs with the sting of tobacco, blowing it back out through the pursed corner of his mouth.
Once you’re confident Pavel can breathe and smoke without choking himself to death, you turn again to rattle through Olivia’s care bag for herbs. Anything to aid the physical pain before the distraction of tobacco wears off.
Eyes fluttering open, Pavel stares down at you as he lifts an arm to pull the pipe from his mouth - blowing smoke down into your face. You pinch the exposed skin of his side harshly, only letting go when he jerkily arches his back to escape your cruel fingers.
“Unbelievable,” you shake your head, “No. A Bremen pig would, of course, disrespect someone trying to heal them.”
“If you wanted me dead, I already would be.”
“I still have time.”
You unplug a glass vial the shade of elderberries and press it to Pavel’s closed lips. When he stubbornly fastens his lips tighter, you glare directly into his eyes.
“Open. Or it’s being poured over your neck.”
Pavel groans in protest, but finally opens his mouth and allows you to dump the blue liquid into his throat. He gags at the bitterness of raw, untempered pressed herbs, almost gagging until he realizes you have no intention of stopping your pour. So he chooses to swallow down the vial as quickly as it comes instead of drowning to a mere glass of blue.
When you’re tucking the emptied glass away, Pavel replaces the pipe and huffs down at you, “You’re not a very courteous nurse.”
Instead of dignifying the jab with a response, you sit up fully on your knees to scour over the lieutenant below. From his tousled hair to his bloodied and wretched uniform to his muddied boots.
You reach up and contemplate digging a thumb somewhere in the center of his bandages before thinking better of it and snatching the pipe from his lips, “You should put away your breasts.”
Inhaling the smoke, you blow it down in Pavel’s annoyed face and grin when he coughs.
He glares up at you somehow harsher than before, “I could shoot you for that. I should shoot you for that.”
“Then who would protect you from all the other people that want you dead?”
Silently, he mulls over the question. If he reaches some sort of logical conclusion, he refuses to share. Most likely, though, you’re assuming he has no such answer. Aside from you, there is Olivia, but even she could not be swayed into staying on this train longer than necessary. It could drive one mad, bound inside this narrow tube of car after car after car with the same seats and floorboards and rolling rug. So she very politely requested you to stay behind instead.
You sit down on the hard floor below you, pulling your knees to your chest and winding both arms around your legs. Pavel turns his head to the side, lips in a pout. Drinking the blue liquid earlier has revived them, at least somewhat, they are even pinker. More full. Smoother. When you’ve had enough staring there, you stare at his eyes: so gray they shine like gun metal in the flitting moonlight.
Maybe Pavel would notice you examining him if he could tear his own eyes away from where they’re lingering by the sliver of exposed skin by your ankle. Classic: boarish pig lives up to his name. His gaze crawls up your shin to your bent knees, then a little lower as if to catch a glimpse of where your thighs and rear are squished against your chest and the floor (respectively). At least you have the decency to not objectify him during your observation - not that you even could. The lieutenant is leagues more off-putting than handsome.
Once he’s gathered the guts to bore his steely gaze into your face, he grins with a half-hearted shrug, “I haven’t seen a beautiful woman not kissing the piss lord’s ass in ages.”
You ignore the pass completely, “So, the temple square?”
Pavel sighs and extends a hand, palm up and fingers splayed wide in front of your face, “A failure.”
“You don’t say,” you bypass his hand and feed the lip of the pipe directly into his mouth, pressing it against his tongue and watching him firmly tuck it between his lips before letting go, “Why try?”
Puffing from the pipe, Pavel only shakes his head while exhaling thick plumes of slate-hued smoke. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and cradles the pipe in his hand, turning it delicately to inspect the body, “Why not?”
You make a show of looking from his face to his bandaged torso before snickering, “Serious question?”
Pavel takes one final draw of the pipe before balancing it atop the wooden frame of the seat. He lays his uninjured hand gently over his torso, blinking up at the ceiling with tired, wet eyes.
“You are cruel, you know this?”
“It’s a good defense,” you grin at the man innocently, “Especially against brutalist pigwhores.”
“Targeted,” again, he pouts, “Mean. You are a mean girl.”
“Maybe that’s what you need. I think Mama was too nice to you.”
Pavel withholds the wince at your words, merely pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth and inhaling through his nose sharply. He shrugs when he really wants to bite, “You think so?”
Hopefully, he muses, he can rip out your throat when he finally snaps back.
“I do.”
“You know what I think?” you merely fold your arms, so he continues, “Nobody put the spoiled girl in her place. Now she’s a confident woman full of hot air,” he smiles, “I don’t do well with confident women like that. Make me jumpy.”
You ‘hmph’, but respond with nothing new before rising from the floor and snatching the care bag to squeeze against your chest like a child would their stuffed bear. Laying across the unoccupied, opposite seat, you turn so that you're faced away from the lieutenant.
Pavel stares at your back. He hadn’t been entirely teasing earlier - he truly hadn’t found a woman beautiful in a long while. Not that it was a problem to admit a girl was pretty, but there was always some dull ache to accompany the thought. Women riveted by his status in the Bremen army disgusted him, and women disgusted by him and his status were usually unwilling to bend to his charms. Even then, if he met a woman who was nurturing and sweet, undeterred by his enlistment, he was consumed with revenge.
Now that he’s officially gone and tried and horrendously failed, he can at least swim in the delusion that there is a chance for romance. Besides, he is in his thirties, that’s about the time when people begin settling down, right?
He reaches up for the pipe but finds that it’s gone out. No more vermillion embers to offer comfort.
“Oi,” he calls into the night. Not even crickets sing back. He shifts as if to sit up, but his entire waist flares with pain and sends him crashing back into the velvet cushions. So, he settles on raising his voice, “Hey!”
“Sleep, pig.”
“Pav.”
“Hm?”
“My name. My name is Pav,” he considers throwing the pipe at you altogether, but if the gold-encrusted bowl actually hits your skull then you’d likely leave and never return, “Call me by it.”
“Why should I?” you twist, scowling over your shoulder, “You signed up for the Bremen army, now take what comes with that in Prehevil.”
“You don’t strike me as a dull girl,” he grumbles, “So don’t pretend to be one.”
Suddenly, you’re sitting up again, the bag still clenched between both of your arms, “Do you know what the Bremen army has done to people? Has done to me?” you spit on the floor, right below where Pav rests, “Pigs! Horrible, wretched, rotten pigs!”
Pavel allows you to scream, allows you to finish, before returning, “Do you know what the Bremen army has done to me?”
He’s so quiet, he’s downright whispering. Voice husky and layered with years of buried terror and bloodlust.
“How should I care? You enlisted! Whatever they made you- !”
Now he cuts you off.
“They razed my home during the First Great War,” that once blinding sheen in gunmetal eyes is dark like obsidian, “My family. My mama,” he mocks you, “Dead. I joined to kill the Kaiser, I never wanted to be a Bremen pig. I never asked for this.”
“You came to kill the Kaiser as a lieutenant?”
“I did.”
“You must’ve known…” you swallow your words. A lieutenant to kill the commander? Even without the Kaiser’s other soldiers, Pavel wouldn’t possibly have been able to do that and get away with it. Not unless he wanted to hide out in Prehevil for the rest of his days.
“At least I will never die knowing I didn’t try,” he cackles sickly, “Great leader Kaiser spat the bullet out like it was nothing… Maybe he is some God sent back to torture us.”
“Maybe you missed,” you slump forward, elbows digging into your knees, “Couldn’t that be more likely?”
“No,” he looks at you with widened eyes, “No, no,” he shakes his head, “I don’t miss my shots.”
“If you’re sure,” you smile suddenly, shaking loose the stiffness in Pavel’s shoulders, “When you’re healed, we can try again, hm?”
“Really?” he’s shocked by the madness of your suggestion, “Did you miss the part where I said he took a bullet to the head and walked it off?”
“Apparently, we’ll die here anyway,” you shrug, yawning and fluttering back down onto the seat, “So, why not try again, Pav?”
A girl that nurtures despite his bloody uniform, and now despite his terrible need for revenge. You are as cruel as you are doting. Fiery and unfair and oh, he thinks he wants you to card your fingers in his hair again. Gentle only to him.
“As long as you don’t abandon me once you see for yourself,” Pavel can feel less burning in his chest when he breathes now, “Spat the bullet right out, I tell you.”
You shrug, “I guess I’ll die one way or another here.”
Pavel shakes his head, not bothering to tilt his head away from you as he drifts off.
…
DAY 3. MORNING.
He awakes to a great pressure around his throat. Snapping into consciousness, he finds you standing over him with shaking arms, and when he’s brave enough to follow the branches to where they’re stemmed - your hands are around his neck. Your breathing is shaky, and there’s wetness reflecting off your cheeks. Pavel claws at your wrists with his hand, twisting his body so his bottom half is hanging off the seat. Ignoring the scorching rage that sears over the fresh gash in his stomach, Pavel kicks out at you. His heeled boots dig into your gut, squishing intestines and fat and blood as he pushes you away.
Loudly, his boots thunk back against the floorboard when you’ve fallen away, throwing yourself dramatically across the opposite seat. Like a sick Europian lady from the Gilded Age, you drape over the frame with sniveling wails.
Pavel skims his fingers over where your own were clamping his throat shut as he shudders for breath. Ignoring your sobs, he shouts, “Did you hit your head or what?! Heal me, talk to me, just to end my life?! Are you- ?!”
“Enough!” you scream, voice snapping raw in the middle, completely fizzled out at the end. Wiping at the ceaseless tears gushing over your face, you scream again, “She should’ve gotten out of here! She should’ve gotten out and ran instead of… Instead of…” you cough out phlegm and despair trapped in your throat, “Instead of…”
Marina’s downcast face, moles decorating her frown as she twisted a cracked pair of Windsor glasses between her hands. She could barely look at you when she said it before handing over the glasses. I’m sorry, Marina whispered, Olivia… I just thought, maybe, you should know…
Pavel remains as he is, lumped against the back of the seat with both legs dangling onto the floor. Dried blood scraped up under his heels. He heaves for breath, watching as you cradle yourself in your arms and rock. You wither before him, babbling and wheezing and shrouded in shadow.
“What are you going on about?”
“Be quiet,” you snap, louring through puffy, red eyes and wobbly lips, “Be mournful. The woman that saved your life has died,” before Pavel can squeeze anything out from his gaping mouth, you stand and point down at him to command again, “Be nice. The war is over, and you’re not even a real lieutenant, you can show kindness when a person has died.”
He shuts his mouth. Opens it again. Shuts it. Then, finally,
“I didn’t know her.”
From the way you cross your arms and turn away, he can gather that that was the wrong thing to say.
“And yet she saved you,” your arms tighten around yourself, “She saved you, Pav… Be nice.”
You’re a sweet thing, Pavel thinks. You clearly hate him for not displaying the tenderness that you are around the woman’s death. At least at this moment, you hate him.
“I’m taking a walk,” you announce, flinging open the cabin door and slamming it behind you.
Pavel contemplates calling after you, but figures the sound of his voice could only make you stay away longer.
You’re a cruel, sweet thing.
Not even leaving the care bag closer for him to reach in and take from.
DAY 3. NOON.
When you return, the train car is silent sans the gentle hum of Pavel’s breathing. Almost reminiscent of clockwork, a well-oiled machine, his broad chest rises and falls smoothly as he’s rearranged himself sideways on the seat. With his slung arm over his chest and spare one tucked under his head as a makeshift pillow.
Having Pavel stretched out before you gives ample time for you to more thoroughly judge his physique - if you’d be able to strangle him while he’s awake. If he could fight back. If he could lift you with his pure muscle and restrain you with a single hand while the other…
Maybe, you think.
His arms are large, but not obnoxiously terrifying like the boxer. His waist is slim despite the broadness of his shoulders and chest.
Suddenly, he groans, nose twitching in his slumber. It draws your gaze up to his face. That unsettlingly symmetrical face with the strong nose bridge and soft, rosy lips.
Not to mention his flaxen hair - curled and tousled and forcefully in your sights with that Bremen hat off. And with his Bremen uniform (seemingly always) unbuttoned to his stomach, you make out his pectorals past his bandages. You make out two indentations over his heart: silvery scars.
He could almost be handsome. If he were more emotionally attuned.
You kneel by his side, swinging the care bag across the aisle and into your lap. His bleeding has visibly lessened, as only the lightest shade of pink has spread over the pale cloth. Sneaking scissors up by his soft skin, you avoid slicing him as you snip the bandages and begin unwinding them. Pulling gently so as to avoid waking the man, you successfully clear him from the restrictive cloth and assess his healing wound.
More coral pink than crimson red, now. You assume the mass improvement is thanks to the blue vial Olivia had provided. Even as the gnarly cut expands under Pavel’s breathing, it fails to start bleeding again. Which you’re grateful for since, as a precarious glance into the bag confirms, you have freshly run out of bandages. And you fear that snagging any old cloth from any old barrel could give Pavel an infection.
“What was it Alll-mer said? Pluck out your eyes if you cannot respect modesty?”
“I’m checking your wound,” you pinch his side. The skin is warm and fleshy and so, so soft between your fingertips. He whimpers and tries to evade your hand by squirming higher on the seat, “When did you wake up?”
“Not long ago,” he watches you reach into the bag and pull free another glass vial of blue liquid, “Only to see you ogling my body.”
“It’s a hideous one. Hard to look away.”
“You love to lie, mean girl?” he ‘tsk’s, “Shame. Lies are so ugly from a pretty mouth.”
“As if you would know.”
“Confident woman,” he sings to himself, grinning, “Confident, confident woman.”
Shoving the blue vial towards Pavel’s face, you square your shoulders and settle your face sternly, “Drink.”
“I liked it when you did it for me,” he opens his mouth then, refusing to break eye contact.
You comply, shifting onto your knees and pressing the chilled glass against Pavel’s lower lip; tipping it to flow into his warm mouth. He gulps down what you graciously offer, bringing his uninjured arm out from under his head and settling it over your hand around the vial. His thumb presses against your knuckles. You tangle your other hand into his hair and let the golden curls thread over your fingers. Once the vial is finished, you can’t explain it but there’s a sudden thundering in your chest. So vivid and hard in your ribs that it makes you nauseous.
Pavel blinks, lashes fluttering at you as his hand remains over yours.
Sunshine slants across his face. You see him more clearly now than this morning or last night or when he was wrought and warped with pain.
He looks pretty like this. Foul-mouthed and promiscuous and even forthright rude, but undoubtedly pretty.
His hand moves to your cheek, tenderly cupping the flesh with glass still pressed to his lips.
The thunder comes with lightning that strikes blazing fire. Heat fans through your chest and up to your forehead.
“If you want to go after the Kaiser, you should rest,” you whisper, as if speaking any louder could shatter the both of you from this moment, “We both should. Best to gather our strength before searching for him.”
Pavel shakes his head, obsessively smoothing the pad of his thumb over the apple of your cheek, “He will gut us both, cruel girl. I don’t want to see that for you. If I find him it’s alone,” he swallows thickly, “And I’m tired.”
“So,” you realize with a startled tremble that your internal combustion is affection for the former lieutenant, “you’ll stay?”
And with greater terror, you realize that you actually want to stay with him.
“I will die knowing I failed,” he sucks in a sharp breath, pressing his lips firmly before granting you sight of the rosy flesh again, “but I will have you to die with, cruel girl.”
At least even in humiliating defeat, Pavel can be loved.
“Are you scared to die, Pav?”
You’re a sweet one, he fondly recalls. Assuming he had much to live for outside his schlocky revenge scheme.
“Projecting, hm?”
You pinch his side. He lets you.
DAY 3. NIGHT.
“Now, bend it.”
Pavel hisses but manages to fully extend and curl his newly unwound arm with nothing more than a click in his elbow. He lays both hands in his lap as you bunch the bandages and sling into a ball and lay it off to the side.
“Good,” you utter softly, “You’ve healed a lot faster than I would’ve thought.”
“Right?” Pavel turns his head to stare down at you, tilting his head back, “You should sit with me.”
“You’re feeling charitable,” he scoffs at your tease, not moving to accommodate his invite, “Where should I even sit, then? You’re taking the entire seat.”
When he merely smirks, you get the idea.
“You’re gross.”
“Indulge me, cruel girl,” you rise to your feet, gnawing your bottom lip in contemplation, Pavel leans against the armrest and cinches his legs together, “Would you make a man die alone?”
“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.
But would you make Pavel die alone?
You swing a leg over his torso, careful to avoid the healing slash and straddle Pavel’s waist with both hands landing over his exposed chest. He cups your cheek again, now taking pleasure (and slight pain) in cradling your face with both hands. He hasn’t gotten to see a beautiful woman in ages, and he thinks maybe it isn’t so bad to go out staring at one.
Moonlight cascades over the both of you, so bright in the train cabin it almost burns.
“If we could still run, where would you go?” you ask.
“Where would you want me?”
“Flirt,” you’re leaning in, though, trailing a finger over his scarred chest. Your nails bite at the flesh, he grunts in disapproval, “How can I believe anything you say? You betrayed your leader. Would you shoot me, too?”
Pavel is sure you’re anything but serious in asking, but it's dangerous the way he feels compelled to answer genuinely, “Never. I’d miss your… What was it? Brutalism?”
“Enough,” the moonlight sears over where Pavel’s hands are curved around your cheeks. You lean down more until your lips brush his, “You call me rude, but you’re- “
He slices your derision short, pressing his petal soft lips against yours with a quiet, contented sigh.
Moonlight bares witness. And you cannot pull away even as the fire in your heart rages from affection to molten lava. You’re not even entirely sure you would want to.
…
Karin cannot feel her fingers as she stands in the open train car door. She’s seen many things - many terrible, awful things. Especially so in the past seventy-two hours than her entire career as a war journalist, but this may be what truly drives her mad. She can feel it - the need to retreat inside her mind and shut down completely; the need to give up hope of salvation. Maybe she can suppress it long enough to sit by that seashore, get a good view to wash out the image before her.
Wriggling on the train loveseat is a fleshy creature, almost like mushed peaches. Occasionally, pleased sighs and hums will escape one of its two smiling faces as the lumps slide and shift along the cushion. One face nuzzles closer to the other and the measly bread and meat Karin swiped from deserted kitchens lurches in her stomach.
None of the other monsters she’d encountered had been so undeniable in its previous humanity. It reminds her of the holed, broken, pliant corpses of uniformed soldiers dead in trenches, and it reminds her of the first time she ever saw a real dead body. She puked on its boot, unable to run back and spew bile elsewhere before it was spurting past her lips.
Karin’s stomach is stronger now, though. She has the time to turn and trudge on wobbly knees towards the seaside before she pukes - squirming flesh and smoldered limbs tangling in her mind.
Moonlight burns at the back of her neck as The Lovers moan and coo happily behind her.
Warnings and Tags: English is not my native, Festival of Termina timeline, mention violence, guns, smoking
You with the dark curls
You tug the yellow material off O'saa's head as you stand together on the dust-heavy mattress, running your fingers through his curly hair. He lets out a rough, chest-heavy sigh, finally feeling the tension leave his body as your fingers skim over his scalp. You run your fingers through the curls and thick strands, not realizing you're humming a tune in tune with his raspy sighs.
You with the watercolored eyes
Henryk frowns slightly as he chops the vegetables into fine strips with practiced movements. A few strands of hair fall out of his hair, obscuring his eyes for a few moments, but soon he looks up at you. The candlelight that lights up the basement of the town hall catches his pale eyes as he watches your movements. Distracted by his actions, you almost forget that you should have been stirring the thick sauce the entire time.
You who bears all your teeth in every smile
Pav slowly takes out his gun and, grinning predatorily, without breaking eye contact, runs the barrel along the line of your jaw. He is not threatening, he is showing off, suddenly pressing his body into you, closer, rougher, he puts out his hand and shoots somewhere behind you, stunning you in one ear. That clanking sound somewhere behind you, that was instilling primal terror onto you, not allowing you to turn around all this , finally disappears. He grins at you again, in your face, so that you feel his warm breath on your face.
Says I can always hear you sing, I wanna hear you speak to me
August speaks in moralizing tones, he makes up legends, he tells things that have been covered by centuries of dust. He looks down on you while he says these things, you feel small and barely born next to him. The only thing you want is for him to really talk to you. Not pompously, not to the tune of ancient books, not as a mentor. But as a person.
While a stranger braids my hair back out on the street
Marcoh looks the same, the same as that young, ambitious man from the streets. But there is a gap between you and him in what you two have done. You look at him, so familiar, but those wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, that weariness in his face, make him a stranger. You look back at him when you pass by on the train, he catches your gaze, looks after you... and turns away to his reflection in the glass.
And while you were asleep, I was surely awake
Levi is shaking as he lies curled up on the flat floor of the basement kitchen. He shudders and occasionally thumps his head against the floor. The only thing you can do is put your hands under his shaking head, looking around for some kind of fabric. You run your fingers over his scalp to somehow ease his pain. To tell him he's not alone. And to shut him up when he breaks into convulsive screams and moans. If only the creatures upstairs don't notice you.
I was talking at a cigarette
There’s nothing left to say
Daan takes a long, heavy drag and exhales a cloud of thick, tart smoke at you. You inhale it. The smoke, Daan, the silence that has enveloped you. The cigarette in your hands has long since turned into a butt, the cooled filter staining your hands with ash. The man inhales, as if he has something to say, and the phrase fades away without ever being spoken. He drags on again. Each phrase disappears in a new drag. You don’t even try to speak anymore. You just ask him for another cigarette.
heyy! could u pls write a pav x fem!reader where she is the one that wears the pants in the relationship? she’s kinda like #ihatemybf coded and he’s the submissive in the relationship LMAOO i think that would be silly!! hcs or one shot idc just do it however u feel like!
Hope you like this!
Well, he never expected this to be happen to him. Submissive used to describe him? Pav would laugh at you if you told him three months ago. But here he was.
It is incredible what love can do to a man.
Pav of course put a fight, but you overcame him. He tried to find a weak spot, every word he spoke you had a one too. It was annoying, but also captivating. Like he found his personal adversary.
Until he realised he lost the war. Even he won small victories time to time, you won the end game. Pav can't understand how he stupid he was.
And you just laughed. How. Frustating.
He can't lie that this dance of words is appelling. Usually it is just him that attacks, no one dared to stand end of the barrel.
Yet he can't use that on you. His hands starts to shake even thinking about it. Love really put him to his place.
Here he was in your home, waiting for you to get ready for a another date. Moment passes and Pav knows that you won't be finished for longer. But your smile at the end makes the waiting worth it.
So he continues to play the role of "good boy." Maybe a life with you, will make it worth it.
