#demother asks

ohh my god the tummy ache that would follow this would be abysmal. Come my beloved, let us talk about it✨🙂‍↕️

“You did this to meee,” you whine accusingly, hands laced over your stomach as you hiccup again and again. “You—hic—can’t possibly believe I can finish this. So full…help me.” God, he could implode with the sheer amount of love he feels for you right now. König always seems to fall in love all over again at the oddest of moments, like now for example, looking so smitten at the sight of you frowning because you ‘happened’ to overindulge. Totally not his fault. König doesn’t seem like he has an ounce of regret in his bones, as long as you’re happy, fed and well hydrated, he can handle your hiccuping complaints because he made you stuff your face.

Do you have any earthly idea how often and how hard he shook his head every time you mentioned ‘Girl Dinner’? Too many, now this is what you get.

mmm, lethargy… diagnosed with chronic eepy

König wakes up at the ssa crack of dawn, absolutely no surprise there. He’s an early bird who gets the worm, you on the other hand, well, you don’t give a flying… Sleep is the most important thing to you, followed by König. Combine the two and you’re in heaven. So when the bedsheets rustle in the morning and he begins to stir, it’s normal that you don’t budge.

Now as much as your boyfriend would love to stay in bed and lay with you all day, he gets antsy. Has to commit to his morning routine or else, he fears he might lose it. He’ll try at first to get you to wake up, whisper all softly in your ear, “Hallo, mein Schatz…it’s morning.” He’ll brush his lips against your temple, “Time to get up.” But some mornings, you’re just not feeling it. And he can’t fault you for that, so carefully, he’ll scoop you in his arms and go about his day.

First, he’ll go to the bathroom alone, then comes back to fetch you. While he can’t prop you on his hip for long, he’ll opt for carrying you some other way like wrapping your legs around his middle and letting you rest your weary head on his shoulder. He uses your blanket to secure you to his chest so you don’t fall. He can support you with one arm while he does his tasks one handed. It takes skill but he manages.

yes, yes! i’ll take any opportunity to write some Loser!König 😌🤲 your wishes are my humble command

cw: fluff. man flu, the horror

Loser!König who becomes the biggest baby at the event of a cold, trust that if there’s the slightest hint of a tickle in his throat, he’s pulling all the stops, the man is shameless and utterly desperate for your loving attention. “Schatz,” he calls out weakly, chest rising and falling with effort, baby blues screwed shut to avoid the light. “I’m dying, mein Schatz…” his mouth feels dry and there is a steady throbbing at the base of his skull, he looks absolutely miserable. “Could you please check my temperature?” Not with the thermometer, no, but the way his Mutti used to, lips pressed to his forehead and preferably, while petting his hair. You oblige, König feels blissful for about three seconds. “Meh, warm,” you mumble, pulling away much too soon for his taste. His brows bunch together and he’s whimpering from the loss of your lips, how could you be so cruel? “That- that’s it?” He sputters. “Please come back,” he rolls from his side of the bed onto yours and immediately goes for your neck, wiping his runny snot all over your shirt, arms like steel around your waist so you don’t pull away even more. “Don’t leave me to my devices,” he sniffs and coughs, purposely talking through his nose to sound more nasally. “Please, can’t you hear that? My nose is all stuffy, see? I need you…”

Loser!König who you have to gently coax into letting you go. He doesn’t listen. “C’mon, König-” You huff, exasperated, but there’s no real bite to your words, he knows this, you can’t get mad at him no matter how much you try and he takes full advantage of it. Big, scarred arms locked around your body, pulling you flush against his own, he’s almost like a Venus fly trap, the more you struggle the stronger the hold. “I need to get your cough medicine from the store,” you strain, “König-” “Nein!” Dear God. “I don’t want this! I want you, Schatzi, you’re my only medicine…” Soon enough his uncomfortable temperature sky rockets into a full blown fever, when his hair is slick against his skin and he’s complaining about the room being too bright, you sigh, “Can I go to the store now?” He concedes, boy does he ever sound pitiful now, “Yes…please.”

Loser!König who has nothing better to do than count down the minutes until you come back, if he had the strength he’d wait for you at the door. He sits in bed, mourning all the times he took his good health for granted. You made him promise to stay put while you’re gone, knowing him and his legendary stubbornness, he’ll probably try to do something on his own, actively disregarding his whopping 103.7°F fever.

Loser!König who you find knocked out by the time you return. The sight of him clutching the blanket so tightly even in his sleep makes your chest ache, your poor angel. König looks even more uncomfortable than when you left, tiptoeing over to the bed, his eyes flutter open from the feel of your breath on his forehead, “Just checking,” you whisper. “You’re burning up, my love…” He whimpers when you slide into bed beside him, guiding his head to rest over your steady heartbeat with one hand while the other unscrews the cap off the medicine bottle. “For the cough,” you explain, “I also got you some antibiotics, please don’t fuss and take them.” He tries not to look offended but König wears his emotions on his face, it’s adorable, “Don’t frown, my love.” He takes the bitter medicine in one disgusting gulp and quickly reaches for the water, downing the wrinkled plastic bottle in one go. After the antibiotics too and a cold cloth laid over his head, he’s out like a light and drooling in your arms, looking a little better than before.

God, he’s a lot of work, but you don’t mind. He’s your loser.

click fireman!könig x chubby!reader i meann, it’s not NSFW…i’m game 👀👌👀👌👌

If life chose a different path for König and he became a firefighter rather than a military man, this is how things would go. Absolutely nothing would change, he’d still be the bullied child who yearns for total authority, who despite his crippling anxiety, rose up to a respectable position all on his own. Good on him. He is still socially awkward and quite frankly, just too much of a nervous wreck to execute anything outside of his job. That’s where Kim Hong-Jin somehow manages to fit in the picture, where would the sad, wet napkin of a man be without the devil on his shoulder. His friend is always going be there to give him that extra push.

metalhead!könig brings you to a Lamb of God concert for a first 'date' and opens up about a past experience

cw: brief mention of an overdose - pt. I

this obviously wasn’t König’s first rodeo, he seemed pretty prepared for this thing and had no qualms showing the many contents in his bag at the security checkpoint before going in.

“You sure are… stocked.” you comment. he gives you a melancholic smile, one that hides a story. within a minute, you start to feel your stomach squeeze, thinking maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

you walk around a bit more, weaving through the people trying to find a nice spot to settle somewhere since it was a concert being held outdoors. “What else is in the bag?” König hums, he is more than happy to show you.

“Ah, well, I have a few snacks in case the kids get hungry,” he refers to the baby metalheads, “bottles of water, some extra earplugs and narcan,” admittedly, the last response makes you flinch a bit.

when a beat or two of silence goes by, you hear a quiet sigh from above. you find that König chooses his words carefully and likes to takes his time speaking. he goes on to explain that some years back, sometime in his very early twenties, between the blur of booze and drugs and not knowing the body’s limits, his best friend overdosed at a concert. if it wasn’t for the older gentleman pushing past the crowd, yelling at everyone to clear a path and administered the kid with narcan, he wouldn’t have survived long enough to be taken to a hospital. König came ill prepared and the memory weighs heavy on his heart till this day.

you gave a sympathetic smile. “I’m so sorry.” but he shakes his head and leans over, surprising you by nuzzling his forehead against yours, “It’s okay.” he murmurs.

[x]

the concert was a blast, of course the band skipped a few amazing, nicher songs you’d hoped they would play but overall, it was fun.

he held you on his shoulders so you could get a better view, despite your many protests to be put the hell down. “Live a little!” he shouts over the crowd, you roll your eyes but do as he said and ‘lived a little’. he was right, from this height you got amazing shots and videos that you will definitely post on instagram later. the view from above certainly beat staring at somebody’s back for the entirety of the concert and it was an upgrade to being shoved around like a ragdoll. you tried your best to ignore how warm his hands are and how his blunt nails dug into the plushness of your thighs, trying to keep you steady. at the end of the show, the drummer launched his drumsticks at the crowd and without thinking, eyes on the prize, König abruptly puts you down and caught the two sticks. he’s usually the one to catch them, given his height. he’s gotten booed a couple times before because of that. but everyone kept their mouths shut right as König pulled you closer and pressed an apologetic kiss to your head, pressing his prize into your palm. “Für dich, Fräulein.” he rasped, sending tingles down your spine.

you both got hungry after your little outing—date?maybe it was a date the way he held you during your walk by the waist to the nearest, greasiest fast food restaurant. you didn’t mind, his leather jacket smelled like him, so oddly comforting you thought, a bit ashy from the cigarettes but sharp and fresh from the cologne. lavender, mint and something woodsy? lightly sweet. you stuff your faces and forget the time, when you both stumble outside, tummies full, it was already dark.

all tuckered out, you fall asleep on the drive home. König didn’t mind, he remembered your address from when he picked you up. “Sie schläfst ja wie ein Engel…” he thinks. She sleeps like an angel…

if he had a bit more courage, he would stay for the night. even if you did insist on him staying, König refused. he touches foreheads with you and without opening his eyes, he whispers at you to get your butt inside. his heart slightly aches when you pout but he doesn’t relent, maybe next time. he turns to leave only when you reached your door safely and disappeared behind it and when he was certain you couldn’t see him, König blows a kiss into the open air. he walks back to his car with a quiet hope that you’ll want to hang out with him again.

🥹 oh what the fuck, that’s cute

the weight of the world sat heavy on his shoulders, his body begging for a minute of rest. the colonel sat down with a heavy grunt, acknowledging the exhaustion pulsing through his bones instead of ignoring it. it was finally over, the mission was done.

he allowed his head to fall back with a thud, glancing at the last of his men as they hurried onto the helicopter that would take them back to their base.

back home.

half an hour into the flight, he couldn’t take the throbbing pain anymore. he ripped off his glove with his teeth, hissing out a curse or two.

his finger was broken and the men could hear König mutter under his breath, "fucking great." subconsciously, one leaned forward to get a better listen. "another thing to worry about."

they caught glimpse of a golden wedding band shining around said broken finger, he was married. that’s news to them. König hardly talked about his personal life, so naturally this came as a surprise. they always wondered, what their leader was like at home. was he terrifying, cold and demanding like they know him to be, or was he simply never there, jumping from one life threatening op to the next?

but they were too afraid to ask. that’s how rumours start. König pretended not to hear them, trying to not let it get to him.

because he knew, deep down, that the only person who ever bothered to get know the real him, warts and all, was you.

his beloved wife, his life, his everything. won’t you put up with his ridiculous questions?

a week following the mission, the husband in question lay on top of you after successfully pinning you down, again. it was your idea to play wrestle with a giant. limbs entangled and out of breath, he asks, “Schatz?”

“Hmm?” you muster out, “What is it?”

there is a long pause, you brace yourself for a serious question, but out comes this banger. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

“Oh, my God…” you groan.

he stifles a giggle, “Or would you stab me through a hook and go fishing with my body?”

“Uncle!” you declare. “Uncle, uncle, uncle, I give up, you win! Get off me.” you tried shoving him off, but what are the chances of you succeeding? König knows this, and only tightens his hold on you, peppering your head in kisses.

“Would you,” he starts, “still love me,” another kiss, “if I was a worm?” and another. “I need an answer please.”

you look so fed up and that causes König to burst into a fit of laughter, hearty and tender. you can’t stay annoyed at him. he’s sheepish about it too, hiding his giggles in the crook of your neck like he knows he’s not supposed to bug, but gets away with it regardless.

“If you suddenly become a worm,” you start slow, “I would have to purchase a terrarium for you, wouldn’t I? With your favourite dirt, some plants and I’ll keep it nice and humid for you.”

König looks down at you with adoring eyes, smoothing your hair back he presses his lips to your forehead, “you would take care of me, wouldn’t you?”

“Always,” you murmur before your lips meet. “Now, what kind of worm?”

PLEASE 😩

his daughter is his ride or die, partners in crime (sorry johnny, he’s found your replacement) and the minute your baby figures out what’s been poking her so bad and the tears start making an appearance, he’s right behind her with equally misty eyes. now you have two babies crying over vaccine shots. if he hears you laugh he’ll mumble out a halfhearted, "Fack off," while swiping a single tear away. Simon sniffs and huffs like he had a bullet dug out of his thigh, adjusting your daughter in his lap, "S’alright, baby girl… worse is ova', yeah? Good, stiffen tha' bottom lip up."

he’ll be at your daughter’s recital, big hunk of a man in a frilly pink tutu with a star wand, giving death glares to fathers with fragile insecurities and you know he’s getting a kick out of shutting them up with just a glance. that is Simon Riley, your baby’s n°1 cheerleader, especially when costumes are involved

ohh mein Gott how old is this ask, i had to blow all the dust off…

cw: fluff. drinking - it’s Oktoberfest! 🍻

“Beer tents?”

“Yes, beer tents,” König confirms, amused by your peaking curiosity, knowing full well you have a soft spot for an ice cold beer, especially after the week you’ve had. “They’re large tents set up for different breweries. Each one serves only their own beer. People dress up, sing and dance… it’s quite the attraction.” He pauses, thinking what else to add in order to convince you into going to Munich with him. “They even have bands there, music galore.”

“And the food?”

König’s eyes crinkle at your sudden interest for the cuisine. “The food is incredible. Sausages, pretzels, roast chicken, potatoes… all kinds of traditional dishes. And of course, lots and lots of beer...” he trails off, noticing your distracted expression. “If you come with me, you'll get to see me in Lederhosen.”

You turn away from your work, “You are not wearing that….”

“Oh, I absolutely am,” König laughs heartily, enjoying your horrified expression. You shudder and return to whatever it was you were typing on the computer. “Just to see the look on your face? But don't worry,” he adds with a grin, “I promise not to make you wear a Dirndl.”

Imagining yourself in that frilly dress made you shudder again, “Oh good God, my love…”

König snickers, “Was? You don’t think we’d look good in that?” He waits for a reaction, baby blues brimming with mischief. “You know, meine Schatz, if you’re lucky, I might even do a little Jodler for you.”

You whirl around to face him, “You are not yodelling!” There’s the reaction.

“As lovely as it all sounds,” you sigh out, “I don’t have the money for a ticket to Germany now.” Without missing a beat, your partner goes, “I can pay for your ticket. I’ll pay for the whole trip.”

Before you could open your mouth to protest such a generous offer, König’s grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you along with him. In his head, the plan is already set in motion and you do not have a say in it, at all.

“But the files!”

“Ach, I’ll get some rookie to finish them.”

That night, you find yourself on a plane to Munich. You watch as German speakers board the plane, talking excitedly in their native tongue. You hear "Oktoberfest" thrown around a lot. You’re nervous, not knowing what to expect, but those nerves quickly settle once you see König boarding the plane, looking annoyingly handsome in civilian clothes — and no uniform.

No mask either. It was… rather refreshing.

“König?” The giant turns around at the sound of his name. He sees you sitting there, looking slightly anxious and out of place. It was adorable to watch. He walks over to you, features softening at the sight of your serious face trying to sit ramrod straight like a soldier.

“At ease, Soldat. We’re on vacation, remember?” He murmurs, placing a soft peck to your hairline. “Scoot over.”

You diligently make place for the towering man. The plane levels off, engines roaring to life and the flight attendants on either side start their safety instructions in German.

“Achoo!” You exclaim.

“Gesundheit,” König responds immediately, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small packet of tissues, carefully unfolds one and hands it to you with a teasing smile, “First sign of travel sickness already?” He mocks gently.

“Maybe I’m just allergic to you motherfucker,” you nasally reply, tissue pressed to your nose as you blow into it and sniff, “…thank you.” You can hear him chuckling right before you felt his lips on your forehead, “You’re welcome, meine Taube.”

Hours into the flight, you’ve fallen asleep leaning against your partner’s shoulder after a glass of white wine. He’s been sitting still for hours, entertaining himself with a book and two beers. The cabin is dark, most passengers asleep or wearing headphones. As the plane begins its descent, König gently shakes you, “We’re landing,” he whispers.

“No way…” you mumble, eyes closed, drool smeared all over your cheek, “five minutes…”

König couldn’t resist the smile forming on his lips at your sleepy resistance. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head before he tries coaxing you awake again. “Komm, meine Schöne. We’re already descending. You’ll sleep better once we’re on solid ground.”

“Okay…” you manage with a stifled yawn.