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gremlinmodetweeker · 9 months ago

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Dead Weight On A Saturday Morning

So this was inspired by a comment from @callof-beauties on this story I wrote here about König yelling at his soldiers. The thought essentially boiled down to 'but what if he yelled at us like that' and I realized that both due to König not wanting to be that loud without a good reason and the physical limitations to being able to indulge, König wouldn't really be able to yell at you quite like that.

Would he totally have the meanest and nastiest tone as he whispers all sorts of nasty degrading shit into your ear? Absolutely. 100%. There's no doubt about that. But yelling? He can't do that.

Of course, reader doesn't know this, so reader fucks around and finds out just how König'll punish them for trying to make him mad.

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: Reader purposefully trying to anger König, König being a bit heavy, pretty much pure fluff

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Story Below the Cut

Dead Weight On A Saturday Morning

Ever since you’d seen König at work, you’d been insatiable. You needed König to yell at you like he yelled at his trainees. You were feral, frothing at the mouth and doing everything in your power to drive König up the wall. You needed him more than you needed oxygen at this point. Unfortunately for you, König hadn’t picked up the memo.

Rather, König had just turned into an awful grouch. A part of you knew that the single answer to your problem was the beautiful term ‘communication’ but you couldn’t help yourself. Part of the excitement was getting him to do it spontaneously. After all, that was the whole goal, right? Get him worked up and watch the fireworks fly.

Of course, König was König and whenever König was involved in a plan, things were bound to go awry. You had to wonder how he ever became a colonel when he was a magnet for disaster. That said, König was a disaster for other people, not for himself. He could walk through Hell unscathed yet leave a trail of mass destruction in his wake. It was almost supernatural. You heard the stories from Horangi, how König would be perfectly comfortable sipping his drink while a brawl was wrecking the room around him. König, if he noticed at all, showed no signs.

This of course meant that whenever you planned for a specific reaction with König involved, the Austrian would gleefully (obliviously) throw a wrench into whatever wild machinations you were constructing. It was bizarre how effortlessly he screwed up everything around him. You had to wonder if he was actually oblivious, or if he was perfectly aware yet happily upturning any and all plans he encountered. It was a maddening life of chaos around him, with him sitting all content in the eye of the hurricane as he sipped his morning coffee.

This morning, however, you determined things would be different. You were sure of that. You were perfectly sure in your actions because you’d finally be violating the one rule of the household: don’t disturb König’s coffee time.

It was a simple yet effective rule. König was a coffee snob like no other. You’d tried to make him coffee in the morning when you first lived together, but he’d pretty quickly shooed you away to fix your mistakes. Of course, your greatest offense was using that abhorrent sludge you referred to as ‘instant’ coffee. He’d sniffed and called it instant laxatives, and that was the last day you ever had instant coffee in your house.

Over time, you learned König’s routine and managed to replicate his preferred brew perfectly. It was a strange combination of brewing for a set amount of time using bottled spring water he specially ordered online and steaming milk to a set temperature before cooling it to pour into König’s mug. On special days, he might even go for a spoonful of coconut sugar. Not caster, not brown, heaven forbid refined, but coconut. It had to be coconut or else he’d throw a hissy fit.

Today, of course, you knew König was champing at the bit for that spoonful of sugar and you’d be happy to provide. You choice of sugar, of course, being the dreaded white sugar that he so despised.

Of course, his coffee wasn’t all. König was a beast of habit, and little traits of his stuck with him since childhood. He had to have his orange juice in a small glass (‘I could never have more than a single serving! That would ruin my calorie distribution for the day’) and a cup of milk. Once he drank his milk, he’d wash his glass and fill it with water to chase down the milk. You’d asked him why, and he had only shrugged and told you it was good to stay hydrated. He had then gone into detail about why your morning nutrition was key to a successful day, then proceeded to nitpick your breakfast and accompanying drink until you’d been so sick of his madness that you left back to the bedroom to sleep for another hour.

So, with König’s eccentric tendencies surrounding his morning routine in mind, that morning you placed König’s mug on his special coaster (knit by his Oma to celebrate his entrance into the army) before sitting across the table and waiting.

König was none the wiser, and who could blame him? You were his ever-faithful partner. You’d never dare to betray your beloved husband, would you? Never! Or at least, not until today.

König flipped through his book idly.

“Whatcha reading?” you asked as casually as you could while sipping your orange juice.

“‘A Brief Survey of Austrian History’,” he replied as he turned a page, “by Richard Rickett.”

“Is it any good?” you asked.

“It’s decent. There are some minor inaccuracies scattered throughout, but for the most part it’s a good read,” König said as he skimmed the page before turning the book to you, “here’s a nice drawing of Prince Eugene of Savoy.”

It was a beautiful black and white copy of what was obviously a commissioned portrait, the man in question with a full white wig and a high forehead, a pronounced nose and a subtle smile. He seemed so at ease, very unlike König in just a moment.

“Did he do anything cool?” you asked.

“I’m at the part where they’re discussing what he did on the eastern front,” König explained, skimming the page with a finger, “he apparently became quite the statesman after his success on the fields.”

“That’s interesting,” you sipped your drink a bit too loudly to be accidental.

König’s finger paused on the page as his eyes glanced up from the little book. He stared at you carefully before flicking back to the book, a quiet recognition of your rude behavior and a silent warning to stop.

“So what’re you doing today? It’s the weekend, so you gotta have some plans, right?” you watched him carefully.

“I was hoping to catch up on some reading today after I cut the grass,” König drawled, “maybe paint a couple of those soldiers my brother gave me at Christmas. It’s been months and I haven’t even touched them! He’d be horrified.”

“You sure do like your armies,” you mused.

“They’re perfect for my dioramas,” König muttered, “but aside from that, I expect Horangi or one of my sisters to bother me about something soon enough. They usually keep me busy.”

“Sounds like you’re pretty busy,” you nodded slowly.

König, polite as ever, made no move to ask about your plans and instead focussed on his reading. Once, you’d have been offended. Now you were just exasperated more than anything else. You should really know better than to try and talk to him when he’s reading, but you still sometimes wished he’d put his book away and actually talk, but that was a lot to ask for the quiet man.

You watched carefully as König made his way through his orange juice. Every so often, he’d dip his soldiered toast into the runny yolk of his egg, take a bite, and then put it away until he turned the page. When dealing with König, patience was key to success.

Soon, König had finished his orange juice (along with his toast) and had pulled a tray of fruits in front of him. He resettled himself on his chair with a grunt and lifted his cup of coffee. He took a sniff, then scrunched his brows.

“Is everything alright?” you asked slyly.

“Should be,” König muttered before taking a slow sip. He pulled his lips into a line. He took another sip. His brows knit tightly together. He took a final sip and put his coffee down.

You were practically vibrating with excitement.

König leveled you with a steely stare and flatly said, “No.”

You raised an eyebrow, “No?”

“No,” he grunted and drew himself up before slumping back in his chair with a huff, “I’m not doing it.”

“Doing what?” your eyes widened, shock and horror making your heart skip a beat in your chest.

He looked at you with an exasperated face, “I’m not yelling at you.”

“What!” you scoffed, “what do you mean? What-what are you talking about!?”

König closed his eyes and took a long breath in before slowly drawing it out his nose, “I know you think it’s hot when I yell, but I can’t do that to you. And again, I don’t want the neighbors to know.”

You groaned. The jig was up, and unfortunately König had played his cards expertly.

“If I raise my voice even just a tiny bit,” König explained with patience that rivaled that of a parent or a saint, “if I yelled, our neighbors would know everything.”

“These walls are pretty well insulated,” you huffed petulantly.

“Maus,” he sighed, “when I yell I can easily fill an entire parade square. If I have an army marching behind me, the farthest man at the back can still hear me yelling at them. I am too loud to yell at you in bed. Anyways, how would that even work? I fuck you and scream in your face? Maus that make no sense.”

“I mean, maybe we could go to an abandoned forest or like…” you trailed off with a sigh, “you’re not gonna do it, are you.”

König shook his head slowly as he took another long sip of coffee. Loudly, you noted.

“Okay but can’t you do something like that?” you whined.

“I can maybe raise my voice a bit,” König relented, “I can try and shift my tone too. I think you’re more after the tone than the volume, I’ll be honest, but I’m not having our neighbors think I’m an abusive husband.”

You paused.

“Oh it would sound like that, wouldn’t it,” you mused.

“If I called you a dirty whore that needs a good slap?” König laughed, “ja! Ja I would! Maus please, I borrowed Austin’s weed whacker to cut our grass today. How could I look him in the eye if he thought I beat you?”

You nodded slowly. That certainly threw a wrench in your plans, but then again, such was König’s specialty. You were thoroughly beat. König was completely right. There was no way he could yell at you like he did his soldiers. Of course you’d accept a compromise, but it just wasn’t quite the same. Well, beggars can’t be choosers, you thought with a sigh.

“But,” König put down his now empty mug, “you can’t just do this,” he gestured to the mug, “and think I’ll just ignore it. You’ve been pestering me all week, and wouldn’t you know? My schedule for the weekend just opened up!”

A thrill raced down your spine.

“You, Maus,” König stated as he picked himself up from his seat, “are coming with me.”

And with that, he hauled over his shoulder. To your surprise, he didn’t make his way back up the stairs to bed, but rather to the plush sofa you’d put in the living room. Without any proper decorum or grace, he threw you down onto the ottoman with a laugh.

You turned to ask what he was doing when he promptly sat down on your gut and kicked his feet up onto the stool. He laughed at your pathetic wheeze as he turned on the television.

“Get the fuck off of me!” you managed to spit out under the 250 lb weight now sat neatly on top of you.

“Oh look!” he commented, “little Maus is squeaking!”

You grumbled and groaned.

"I don't understand why you're so upset," König drawled, "you wanted a big man to punish you, put you in your place, ja? And I did! You're right where you belong! Underneath me."

"I didn't mean it like this!" you whined.

He ignored your desperate please for mercy as he flicked through your subscriptions, finally deciding on a dreaded movie.

“No you’re not making me watch it!” you screeched and flailed under the heavy mass on top of you, but with a scooch he was firmly seated on top, happily ignoring you whinging as the Netflix logo flashed on screen.

“Stoppit!” you spat and hissed, but König was happy to ignore you.

Your deadweight of a husband looked down at you from the corner of his eye, “I’ve been wanting to watch some history documentaries on Netflix, see how good they are. You’re not opposed, are you?”

“Get the fuck off of me you fatass,” you snarled back.

“Oh good,” König turned back to look at the screen, “I’ve got a few lined up that I want to watch.”

König fell into a comfortable silence as the narrator began regaling the stories of Einstein’s involvement in the Heisenberg project, happily ignoring your writhing and squeaking with ease.

“I should’ve gotten some snacks,” König muttered as he ground himself into your bones.

“I hate you so much.”

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demothers-empty-blog · 9 months ago

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To take a picture

Day 9 of flufftober 🎃🤝 i’m not late, wym?

CW: I am… so extremely sorry this took so long. this lovely idea is from @callof-beauties💋 König and his absolute darling inability to take pictures of himself from the chest up leaves you guys at a stalemate. Dear Horangi gives a helping hand in that department without the big man knowing. shhhh don’t tell him. who said that? SFW.

There was a study done on taking pictures of people living in the moment, rather than facing the stress of posing for a camera. No anxieties whatsoever as you gazed upon the Polaroid image of your other half, a forever glimpse of whatever tinkering that man was doing with his Barrett .50cal miles and miles and miles away… from you. How you missed him.

It was the only damn picture you had. You loved your partner to bits but sometimes, you wanted to strangle him in his sleep. There hid no hatred for his awkwardness, no, you just missed the bastard, and you really wanted more of him to remember by when he was away.

The bastard in question didn’t like pictures, of himself to be precise. He said he tried once upon a time but the results always came out… unsatisfactory. The angle would be wrong in some way or another, maybe his smile would be too crooked or his eyes somehow appeared too small to fit his features. He’d glance up at the mirror, confusion etched on his face, then back at his phone. He looked just fine, so as long as it wasn’t on camera.

Listen that man loved you to the moon and back thrice but what he disliked the most about you was your incessant need to take pictures. He didn’t understand it. Not while you were out on dates or walks, and especially not now when Horangi had this damn phone shoved in his face.

While the Major’s patience wore thin, his Colonel’s wore thinner. But knowing this was for you, König grit his teeth and tried to bear it. He didn’t last.

“Fuck off!” König finally snapped, his patience dry. He narrowly misses the device Horangi held, swatting his friend’s hand away in frustration.“Lass mich in Ruhe, du verdammter Flohsack.”

Horangi shrugs him off, letting the towering soldier storm across the empty hall and around the corner, disappearing from sight. One day, he swore, he’d get that fucking picture. If not for you, then it’d be for him to taunt König with.

So one day, early, super early in the morning Horangi got up with a spring in his step, he basically ate the floor when his foot caught in that flimsy cover they issue in every room. He rolled the fabric into a tight ball and tossed it in a corner of the bed, muttering a curse under his breath. “This better be worth it, y’know…” As Horangi voiced his thoughts out loud, he had you in mind. He told himself, while lacing his boots that he was going to hunt down that stubborn man you called a partner and take that stupid picture once and for all, one being not too blurry or close up.

Thus began the process of stalking KorTac’s beloved Colonel around base, while Horangi pictured himself as the perfect… well, tiger, stalking his prey, the recruits had different ideas upon seeing one of their superiors poorly concealing himself from the behemoth. How he climbed his way to the rank of Major, they’d never know.

It was only when König settled himself on a log bench outside the building that Horangi found the perfect shot. Honestly, he got the appeal now that he got a better glimpse of his friend. A gentle giant, with a bag of nuts in one hand and a little white squirrel feeding on a peanut, sitting with him on the bench. He snaps a picture, the small, fluffy thing sits on its legs on the edge of the table, with its twitching tail in the air whilst König patiently waits for the little bugger to finish cracking the nut before giving him another. The sun cast its soft glowing rays on the two souls, bathing them in a merciful warmth before the cold settles in for the winter.

The second picture Horangi managed to snag was of König being a teacher to one of his subordinates, the shaking lad who was too wrapped up in his own mind couldn’t hit the target properly. König recognized that unsure glint in his eyes and stepped in, guiding the young man, nudging him in the right direction rather than yelling at him for going in the other. Horangi had a moment watching his good friend almost gentle parent the soldier, he almost forgot to take a picture. In the nick of time, he manages to catch the frame of the young rook firing with a more steady aim, while König crossed his arms, standing behind the lad looking ever proud.

The letter you received by the end of that week was stuffed with Polaroid pictures, Horangi really outdid himself, and he was right to think so. Your König was everywhere, in every photo. One was of him at the gym curling 50’s, there was another of him in a grey hoodie with sweats, dark splotches on his shoulders and head told that it was raining that day, but that didn’t stop your love from his run. On the back, it said: nothing gets in the way of his morning jogs. You scoffed.

Turns out, they were all scribbled with messages on the back, König training the troops, König being a Disney princess, König bumping his head against the doorframe — that one made you laugh. He was icing the goose egg that had formed on his poor forehead, flipping the bird at the camera with a stifled expression. He looked like he wanted to laugh, you guessed he didn’t give that satisfaction and opted for petulance.

With time, Horangi didn’t have to sneak to get pictures of your partner anymore, with time, you witnessed how your love grew out of his shell through these pictures you loved so much. How his azure eyes shined bright at the camera now rather than shying away from it. How you healed a piece of him with just your love alone, just because you wanted to see more of him. He loves you, he truly does.

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