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cw: just fluff, soft fluff, konig x gn reader, height difference, furniture shopping with your bf

HEADCANON: you take your big hulking boyfriend furniture shopping. You didn’t, however, expect chaos to ensure. But apparently, being 6’9 and trying on Scandinavian cushions and chairs were never really a good mix

PAIRING: Konig x gn reader

It started with a chair. Because all battles worth remembering begin with something small and ridiculous.

“You can’t tell me that isn’t perfect,” you said, spinning the white dining chair so it caught the light just right, as if the showroom were a stage and the chair a performer ready to take its bow. “Look! It’s clean. Minimalist. It belongs in a magazine.”

Behind you, your massive hulking of a boyfriend can only stare. All 6'9 muscle standing there, gait wide, and arms hunched like a monument that didn’t quite belong indoors -- broad shoulders swallowing up the aisle, big hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, head tilting down as if to glare at the chair. “It will die if I sit.”

“It’s not going to die.”

“Mein Schatz,” he murmured, the faintest ghost of amusement threading through the vowels, “it is a skeleton. Look at the legs. They are… toothpicks.”

“They’re Scandinavian. It’s a style.”

“It’s a death wish.”

You threw your hands up. “You can’t just reject everything I like!”

“I can and I will. You want cute. I want… survival.”

So you marched him to the next aisle, tugging at his sleeve like a woman possessed. He followed, long strides and quiet patience, the picture of a man who could take a warzone but not a furniture showroom.

“This one,” you said, pointing to a pale pink loveseat next. The cushions all but inviting a sigh, the perchy cotton looking all plump and soft, like a cloud someone had coaxed into furniture form. “Reinforced frame. It says so on the tag", you added as you tapped the little laminated note like a lawyer presenting evidence.

König crouched, which in itself was an event. Hunking frame folding awkwardly, hands stretching down to examine said loveseat, yet still managed to dwarf the dainty couch nevertheless. His deft and hefty fingers pressing into the armrest with an almost surgical precision, and then he leaned, just slightly, like a predator testing the air. The loveseat groaned. A quiet sound, but enough for him to tilt his head at you with something dangerously close to smugness.

“Twigs,” he said simply.

You threw your head back with an exaggerated groan. “It’s not twigs! You didn’t even give it a chance!”

“It is -- how do you say -- matchsticks pretending to be wood", he murmured, standing back to full height. “And you will be sad when it dies beneath me. Then you will blame me.”

“Do you hear yourself?”, you asked, whirling on him, arms crossed. “You’re acting like you’re a titan stomping through the Alps.”

“I am not stomping,” he replied mildly, hands slipping into his hoodie pocket again, voice calm as a lake. “But I am large. And you are small. It is the natural order of things that I must… respect gravity.”

You wanted to be annoyed, but the faint curl of his words, that shy humor behind his puppy dog eyes, made it impossible. Still, pride kept your chin high. “Fine. Come on. There’s more.”

So you marched him onward, tugging at his sleeve like a general leading an army of one. König followed, his quiet patience stretched thin but unbroken, every long stride keeping him effortlessly at your side. He moved through the showroom like a bear let loose in a dollhouse. Large, careful, faintly amused, but always aware that one wrong step could level half the merchandise.

“This one,” you announced, your voice bright with hope as you stopped at a small settee, soft gray linen and brass legs gleaming under the lights. Yes! Yes! Definitely this one!

“Look at it! Elegant, timeless! Perfect for the living room. You could even nap here!”

“You could nap here,” König corrected, crouching again, his size making the delicate sofa look absurd. “I could… break it here.” His fingers pressed into the cushion, and once again, the furniture betrayed itself with a tiny, traitorous creak. He raised his head slowly, as if to let you absorb the sound.

You threw your hands in the air. “I swear, you are sabotaging me.”

“Nein,” he said, and the quiet warmth in his voice almost softened the word. “I am protecting your dreams from splinters.”

“Protecting my dreams,” you repeated, narrowing your eyes. “My dreams are chic and magazine-ready, not built for giants.”

“Your giant will still need to sit somewhere,” he said, glancing down at you, and for a fleeting moment his tone was so gentle, so amused, that it was hard not to smile.

By the fourth aisle, you were running low on patience, and he was running high on silent victory. Everything you loved, he tested like a cautious engineer. A tap of his fingers here, a slow shift of his weight there. Every groan of furniture felt like an argument won.

And then came the shelves. Because of course your apartment needed actual decent fixtures rather than piles of books balanced on nightstands and chairs. And because, naturally, the one you wanted sat up high -- just high enough to taunt you, like some smug display model.

“It’s perfect,” you said, craning your neck to see the top tier. Sleek white, gold brackets, the kind of thing that looked expensive even though it wasn’t. “We’ll take it.”

“We will take nothing,” König said mildly, already scanning the thing like a sniper with a target. “Bolts too small. Frame too thin.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not everything has to survive a nuclear blast.”

“Everything must survive me,” he replied simply. Then, when you ignored him and stepped onto the lowest shelf to reach for the tag, his tone changed. Low, warning. “Schatz”

But you were already on your tiptoes, stretching, fingertips brushing the glossy paper. “Relax, I’ve got it -- ”

That was as far as you got before the air shifted behind you, warm and certain, and two large hands circled your waist.

“Feet. On. Ground,” König said, lifting you off the shelf like you were nothing but a wayward cat.

“König!” you squeaked, half protesting, half laughing. “I had it!”

“You had death waiting for you,” he said, tucking you securely under one arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t even glance at the stares from passing shoppers; the only thing that mattered was keeping you firmly at his side.

“This is unnecessary,” you huffed, legs swinging as he carried you down the aisle.

“This is necessary,” he corrected, voice steady but threaded with amusement. “You climb shelves like squirrel. And you will fall. And I will not have it.”

You wriggled, but his grip didn’t budge. You could feel the quiet strength in him, the steady thrum of someone used to moving through dangerous places but utterly undone by the thought of you getting hurt in a furniture store.

“Put me down,” you tried again, though your smile betrayed you.

“Nein,” he said simply. “You are… safest here.”

By the time you reached the display of sturdy oak bookcases -- solid, grounded, absolutely un-climbable -- he finally set you down, slow and careful, as if you were breakable glass.

“Better,” he murmured.

You glared at him for form’s sake, but the truth was, your heart was warm. There was something almost ridiculous about it all. This man, massive and careful, treating every chair like an enemy combatant and every shelf like a trap, yet carrying you like you were the only thing worth guarding. And then, as you smoothed your hair and pretended you hadn’t just been carted through a store, you spotted it: a wide, deep armchair, leather worn soft, frame thick enough to hold a small truck.

“This,” you said, pointing like a queen presenting her throne. “This might work.”

König tilted his head, considering. Slowly, he walked over, crouched, tested the armrest, leaned in with measured weight. The chair stayed silent. He sat fully this time, sinking into it, and for the first time all afternoon, he didn’t grimace.

“You like it?” you asked, wary, hopeful.

There was a pause. Then: “It lives,” he said.

You broke into a grin, throwing your arms wide. “Finally! Progress!”

Behind the mask, his eyes crinkled, and though his words were calm, his voice carried a small, fond smile.

“It’s hideous though”, you replied flatly as soon as you get to fully examine the staunchy thing then. All thick leather and daunting wood.

“It will not break.”

“It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It will not break,” he repeated, as if it were a vow.

When you left the store, the sun was low, brushing gold over his shoulders. He carried the receipt; you carried your pride, muttering about taste and magazines and Scandinavian minimalism. König walked quietly, the corners of his eyes crinkling just so behind the mask, betraying the smile he wouldn’t give you yet -- a man content in the quiet, ridiculous wars that came with loving you. “You still cannot climb shelves though, liebling”

You could only hit him with one of the pink cushions in you arms as rebuttal.

drabbles

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blind dates and first kisses: kyle

Created for "Fluffy Ficlet Fall" Prompts: "First Kiss" & "Blind Date" Special thanks to fictitioussaturday for the prompts! Divider by aestas---estas

simon | johnny | john

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