#demotherrambles

“Cough inside your arm,” he finally says, tone severely curt. The sergeant was going to oblige, what with König ranking higher but something about that snappy delivery made him talk back. “What’s your problem?” He goes, omitting the word “sir”. Certainly a choice, not a brave one.

The Colonel’s left eye twitches. His problem? His problem is being too overprotective of you.

“My problem?” He says. “My problem is you spreading your fucking germs everywhere. My problem is that my wife, who was here, working with me, caught your fucking cold and has been sick like a dog for six straight days.”

The chair’s legs scrape against the floor as König abruptly stood, “Six days, sergeant. Six days and six nights, I’ve had to stay by her side hearing her hack and wheeze her lungs out, she doesn’t eat, barely drinks anything and you’re wondering what my problem is?”

The sergeant shrinks into his seat as your husband stalks towards him and almost grabbed the man by the collar, but he held himself by some miracle. “Cough into your fucking sleeve next time.”

He looked like he was about to piss himself, good. The sergeant nods, unable to pry his eyes off the behemoth who stood before him, then he scrambles out of his seat and leaves König alone in the break room, never in his life has he seen the bastard move so fast, not even during drills.

Hopefully he got the message. Now, all he needs to do is get through the rest of the day so he can return home and cuddle beside you, and hear you whine and complain about being sick.

every time König’s hair starts to get long, some hopeful, maybe delusional part of you thinks this time he’ll keep it. only for him to emerge from the bathroom some time later with a smooth baby face and a buzzcut. you like freshly shaved König! nothing wrong with that but there’s something about scruffy looking König that just makes you wanna… yeah. so one day you had it and out of frustration blurted out, “You know your children would hate it if you shaved.”

“They’ll be like, ‘ahhh, papa. why do you look so naked, what happened to your hair?’”

Boyfriend!König who insists he’s not going to catch anything, that your virus can take a hike. He doesn’t mind staying, pushes his own exhaustion aside, his only concern lies with you, his darling, his everything. He couldn’t sleep even if he tried, you suggest with a rusty voice he take the couch, but he shakes his head and mutters, “Nonsense,” feeling too guilty about even fathoming getting a good night’s rest when you’re in the next room struggling to breathe. He swears he doesn’t mind, just wants you to get better soon, even if it meant sacrificing his sleep schedule for a few nights.

While it did take his mind off the bouncing, he has yet to leave your side, even after a whole week has passed, looking for any excuse to touch you. You suspect he’s been dodging the infirmary and beelines to you whenever a wound needs redressing, or he needs someone to “remind” him to take the pills prescribed by his doctor. He just wants to hear your voice, “Colonel, did you take your antibiotics today? Yes—I know the painkiller tastes bitter but you have to take that as well. Yes, all of it.” You’ve accepted that he follows you around base and pinches between two calloused fingers the fabric of your sleeve as you walk. No, he doesn’t cling to you, that’d be pathetic…

He understands, it just wasn’t in the cards for either of you, thinks you won’t rebook but you do, surprising him just a few days later.

Sure, yeah, you missed New Years together but that’s no reason not to do your own little thing with the family now that everyone’s here. It’s an emotional reunion, everyone goes quiet hearing a soft knock at the door, König goes to answer it. Your gentle giant gets all misty eyed the moment he saw you, your nose all red from the cold, little white dots of snow speckled across your hair, with the biggest smile he’s ever seen.

“Bonjour, mon cœur,” you whisper, König doesn’t waste time gathering you up in his arms, crooked nose tucked in your hair. He takes a big, deep breath in, like all is finally right in the world.

something something, carrying you out of your apartment building, something fire.

something, you’re pleasantly surprised by how easy he scooped you up, didn’t put up a fuss, didn’t grunt, nothing. Maybe it is just the fire, but you feel your cheeks getting a bit hot. No, definitely the fire. “Do I uh, even weight anything to you?” God, you could kick yourself. Why did you ask that? Maybe you have monoxide poisoning.

There is a pause, “Nope.” He tosses you in the air a bit as proof, you didn’t expect it and squeal. “Good lord…” you mumble, hiding your embarrassment in the crook of his neck. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t appreciate the… manly musk emitting from him, a mix of sweat and grit only earned from hard work… and a subtle scent of cedar just to pull everything together. He delivers you to your friends who are waiting outside with oxygen masks on, the look of relief washing over them along with their shouts tugged at your heart just a little.

“Oh, my God! Is she okay—are you okay??”

“Yeah…” You feel something in your pocket, whatever it is, it’s poking you, so you fish it out. An impossible grin invades your lips. It’s signed “König”.

Your wheezing laughter sounded like an engine sputtering to life. “I don’t know, at some point you gotta stop blaming your teammates and admit that you suck at the game.”

König gives you a sharp look, one. You’re gone, practically hopping off the couch, a squeal left your throat the minute you heard thunderous footsteps nearing you by the second.

“C’mere you little—just wait till I get you!”

“No!” You screech. He catches you sooner than expected and blows a raspberry in the crook of your neck, meaty paws scrambling to get under your shirt with the sole purpose of tickling you.