#request ♡

[cosmiclily]

domestic cait omgggg... winedrunk chats on the balcony, swimming together, forcing her to go fishing/hiking with u, her dragging you to fancy dinners AHHH I NEED HER

domesticity never looked better on you - caitlyn x f!reader

wc: 3.3k

notes: 😖 i want her!!!! i like cassandra but had to make her mean for the sake of the plot lol

When you first started dating Caitlyn, you were convinced your social status would be a huge problem.

You were raised in a perfectly normal family, in a modest little house miles away from anything even remotely close to a mansion. No housekeepers. No garden parties. No marble foyers or private tennis courts. Just cracked sidewalks, secondhand furniture, and dinners that came out of crockpots—not five-star kitchens.

Caitlyn, on the other hand? She grew up behind iron gates. Old money. The kind of wealth that didn’t need to be flashy because it was so deeply ingrained it didn’t have to prove itself. Quiet wealth. Generational. Silver spoons. Ballroom etiquette. Family heirlooms that were probably worth more than your entire zip code.

So when she started showing interest in you, it honestly felt like a joke. Some kind of social experiment. A rich girl slumming it for the thrill of it. You half expected hidden cameras to pop out from behind the bushes.

“Surprise! You’re on ‘How Long Can the Poor Girl Last?’”

Weeks turned into months, and yet... you never once invited her to your tiny downtown apartment. Maybe it was pride. Maybe shame. Probably both. It just seemed easier—safer—to keep her in her world. Rooftop bars. Sleek restaurants with floors so polished you could see your reflection. Minimalist lofts where dust dared not exist.

But one dinner turned into two, then three, then too many glasses of wine. Then hands—her hands—hungry and desperate, fingers tangling in your hair, lips dragging across your skin like a whispered promise.

Suddenly, your one-bedroom apartment was a lot closer than her fancy penthouse.

Horniness beat shame. Every time.

And when she shoved you against the door of your cluttered little hallway, laughing breathlessly into your mouth, it hit you like a freight train—she didn’t care. Not about the pile of dishes in the sink. Not about the bathroom faucet that wouldn’t stop leaking. Not about the cabinet door that hung crooked and refused to close all the way.

She cared about you. About this.

And God, that was a dangerous thing to realize.

After that, she started coming over more often. It became a rhythm. A routine. A quiet sort of domesticity neither of you acknowledged out loud but both leaned into.

You’d cook dinner together—cheap pasta or something overly ambitious from a YouTube video—and laugh when it inevitably went wrong. You’d split a cigarette on the tiny balcony with the rusty railing, legs tangled together on an old chair that squeaked every time you shifted.

You talked about the future. Sometimes seriously, sometimes just… hypothetical.

"Maybe we should get a bigger place," she mused one night, exhaling smoke through a lazy grin. “Somewhere with a balcony that doesn’t feel like it’s plotting our murder."

"Somewhere with more than one drawer," you grinned back, pretending the idea didn’t make your heart somersault.

She made you feel like the most important person in the world. Like you were the luxury.

The way she’d cup your face with one hand, fingertips gentle beneath your chin, while the other hand held a cigarette between two fingers, the ember catching in her lashes as she looked at you like you were something sacred.

"You know," she’d whisper, her accent syrupy-sweet, "you drive me absolutely insane."

And then she’d kiss you—hungrily, desperately—like she needed you more than air. Pinning you against the kitchen counter. The old leather couch that complained beneath your weight. The rickety dining table. The bedroom door you never managed to fix properly.

She’d sip wine from the fancy glass she bought you for Valentine’s Day—because “no one should drink good wine out of a mug,” she’d scold—and look like a painting. Legs crossed. Chin tilted. Sunlight pooling in her hair like gold.

“You look surreal right now," you’d tell her, breathless, like it was the first time you’d ever seen her.

She’d just smile, slow and knowing. “Good," she’d murmur, sipping her wine. "Because I feel surreal whenever I’m with you."

──────────────────────

Then things got serious-serious. No going back. “Bring her home to meet the family” serious.

Which, of course, meant the annual family hiking trip. A tradition that sounded wholesome in theory but, in practice, was a chaotic mess of your brothers arguing over who forgot the fishing bait, your dad retelling the same “legendary stories” you’ve heard since you were in diapers, and your mom sighing her way through it all with a wine thermos and her well-practiced tolerance.

Caitlyn, in designer boots—boots that had definitely never touched mud before—stepped onto that dirt trail like she was walking a runway. You half expected her to tap out before the first mile. But no. She laced her fingers with yours, smiled like it was the easiest thing in the world, and just… fit.

And then, as expected, came The Story.

Your dad cracked open a beer, leaned back in his folding chair like a king, and started with the classic dramatic sigh.

“You know, girl… there was this one time… I almost took down a bear. All by myself."

You groaned internally. Here we go.

“It was me and my buddies. Middle of the woods. Big hunting trip. They all ran—scared shitless of the damn thing. But not me. I stood my ground. Looked that bear right in the eye and—"

Your mom let out a groan of her own, leaned over toward you, and whispered behind her wine cup, “There he goes again.” Shaking her head, but smiling anyway.

But Caitlyn? Caitlyn sat there with her legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded neatly in her lap, nodding like she’d never heard a more riveting story in her life. Her blue eyes wide, her lips parted just a little, like she was utterly captivated.

"Wow," she said softly when he paused for dramatic effect. “And what happened next?"

Your dad lit up like a Christmas tree. “What happened next? Hell, I scared it off, of course! Big ol’ thing ran like hell. Must’ve known it was no match for me." He slapped his knee, letting out a big belly laugh.

Your brothers exchanged a long, telepathic sibling eye-roll.

But Caitlyn? She just nodded like he’d confessed the cure to cancer. “That’s… that’s really brave of you.”

And somehow, in that moment, watching her charm your family—your chaotic, loud, beer-drinking, fish-failing family—you felt something squeeze in your chest. Something warm. Something terrifying.

She wasn’t just tolerating it. She was choosing it. Choosing you.

Mud, fishing disasters, exaggerated bear stories and all.

Later that night, as you sat together on an old log by the fire, watching the flames flicker against her cheekbones and the stars get tangled in her hair, she nudged your shoulder softly.

“You know… I think I could get used to this."

You turned to her, something huge and heavy and terrifying blooming in your chest. "Yeah?"

“Yeah." She smiled, lacing her fingers through yours. “ I like seeing where you come from. It makes sense now… why you are the way you are."

You laughed, nudging her playfully. “Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Definitely a compliment." A pause, then softer, like a secret: “A very, very big one.”

And that was the moment you realized… you were so, so in love with her.

──────────────────────

After that trip, something shifted. Quietly. Permanently.

It started with a toothbrush. Then a silk robe. Then a drawer. Then two. Her favorite mug. Her preferred brand of tea—loose leaf, of course, because “You are not putting that cheap microwave-heated water near me ever again.”

"It tastes the same," you argued.

She rolled her eyes. "It really doesn’t. I’m fixing this. For both our dignity."

Mornings became a ritual. You’d wake up tangled together, sunlight pooling across her skin, her cold toes tucked under your calf like they had every right to be there.

"Five more minutes," she'd mumble into your neck. “Just… five.” Always bargaining with time. Always pulling you back in.

She’d shuffle into the kitchen wearing one of your shirts—nothing else—while scrolling the news, groaning dramatically every time a headline pissed her off.

"Your country is insane," she’d mutter, sipping her coffee.

"Yeah, well. We make up for it with free refills."

Even arguments became familiar. Comfortable.

"That’s not how you cut an onion."

"It’s fine. It’s rustic."

"It’s a crime against vegetables."

Some nights you cooked together. Other nights it was takeout eaten on the floor, because the couch was covered in unfolded laundry neither of you were willing to touch.

She started humming. Classical. Jazz. Sometimes stupid jingles that got stuck in her head. And when she thought you weren’t paying attention, she’d sing softly under her breath—barely a whisper.

Sundays became sacred. Farmers markets. Bickering over which wine to buy or what flowers would last the longest in the tiny vase on the kitchen windowsill.

"Get the sunflowers."

"They never last."

"Yeah, but they’re happy. Look at them. They're objectively happy flowers."

She bought them anyway. You never argued.

Even silence became something soft. Something safe. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch—her reading some heavy political memoir, you scrolling through nonsense—but her leg always touching yours. Always.

She fell asleep on you more often than not. Her head on your shoulder. Her breath warm against your neck. You’d lower the volume, pull the blanket over her, press a kiss to her temple without even thinking about it.

By then, it wasn’t a question of if you loved her. It was just… a fact. Quiet. Irrevocable. Written into the very fabric of your everyday life.

It wasn’t grand. Wasn’t cinematic.

It was folding her laundry without being asked. It was her refilling your shampoo before you noticed it was running low. It was kissing you goodnight even when you were mid-argument.

It was love.

Carved softly into the routines of your day.

And God… it was the most terrifying, most beautiful thing you had ever known.

──────────────────────

Everything was great.

Until you met her family.

Her father was welcoming—warm smile, firm handshake, the kind of man who knew how to make anyone feel comfortable. But her mother? No. Her mother had that look. The kind that peeled back your skin and saw every flaw you’d tried to hide. Cold eyes. Tense mouth. Perfect posture.

It hit you like a punch straight to the gut—dragging you all the way back to the beginning. Back to those first months with Caitlyn, when you felt... unworthy. Out of place. Dirty.

Her mother’s gaze swept over you like you were a scuff on her polished floors.

“So,” she started, tone razor-sharp but calm. “You’re the one my daughter has been spending all her time with.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement wrapped in judgment, tied with a bow of condescension.

Your throat tightened. “Yeah. Yes, ma’am. I—”

Her eyes flicked over your clothes—simple, nothing designer. Your shoes—practical, a little worn. And then back to your face, where she lingered, unimpressed.

Caitlyn, bless her, immediately stepped in. “Mother,” she warned, voice clipped. “Don’t.”

“I’m simply making conversation,” her mother said, tilting her head with a smile so practiced it felt weaponized. “It’s not every day Caitlyn brings someone... different... home.”

“Different how?” Caitlyn snapped, jaw tightening.

“Oh, darling, you know what I mean.” Her gaze didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “It’s... refreshing, I suppose. To see you… expanding your horizons.”

It felt like acid under your skin. You shifted your weight, suddenly hyperaware of how small you felt in this pristine, echoey sitting room—with its velvet furniture and marble fireplace that probably cost more than your entire apartment building.

Caitlyn’s fingers found yours, squeezing tightly. Her thumb brushed against the back of your hand—reassuring. Grounding.

“I’m not expanding my horizons,” Caitlyn said, steel in her voice now. “I’m dating someone I love.”

Her mother’s smile thinned. “Of course. Love. Naturally.” She stood, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her silk dress pants. “Well. I hope you understand, dear,”—this, aimed at you, dripping in false politeness—“that our family has certain... expectations.”

Her father coughed awkwardly into his glass, choosing silence.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. Your stomach twisted in on itself, throat tightening until you felt like you were going to suffocate.

Caitlyn stood abruptly. “We’re leaving.”

Her mother’s eyes barely flickered. “Suit yourself.”

Caitlyn didn’t even wait for her father’s awkward attempt at a goodbye. She laced her fingers with yours and marched you out the front door, heels clicking sharply against marble.

The second you were outside—air hitting your lungs like a slap—you pulled your hand from hers. “Cait, wait—”

She spun around. “No. No, don’t. Don’t defend her. Don’t tell me it’s fine. Don’t do that thing where you pretend you’re not hurt when I know you are.”

“I’m not pretending. I just... God, Caitlyn. What was that? She looked at me like I was—like I was some stray dog you brought home!”

“You think I don’t see it?” Her voice cracked. “You think I didn’t hear every little thing she was implying?!”

You shook your head, backing away a step. “I knew this would happen. I knew it. I don’t belong in your world, Cait. I never did.”

“Stop.” Her hands trembled as she grabbed your face, forcing you to look at her. “Stop. Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

“You heard her! You heard exactly how she sees me.”

“I don’t care how she sees you!” she shouted, voice raw, breaking. “I don’t care how anyone sees you. I love you. I choose you.”

Your lips trembled. “I... Caitlyn, this isn’t just about today. It’s—God, it’s every time I step into your world. I feel like I’m holding my breath. Like I have to... shrink. Make myself smaller. Pretend I fit when I don’t.”

Her breath hitched. “Then let’s stop pretending.”

Silence. Thick. Heavy.

“W-What?”

“Let’s stop pretending we live in two different worlds. Let’s move in together.” Her eyes searched yours, desperate, pleading. “Really move in. No more overnight bags. No more ‘your place or mine.’ Just... ours. A real place. Together.”

You blinked, stunned. “Caitlyn...”

“I’m serious.” Her voice softened, cracking around the edges. “Let’s get a place that’s ours. Somewhere where no one gets to look at you like that ever again.”

Your heart stuttered. “You mean it?”

She exhaled, stepping forward until your foreheads touched. “I mean it. I want... I want a kitchen that smells like us. A bed that feels like ours. A home where you never—never—have to question if you belong.”

Your hands curled into her shirt, gripping tight. “I want that, too.”

She kissed you then. Desperate. Fierce. The kind of kiss that tasted like promises. Like defiance. Like home.

When you pulled apart, breathless, she grinned. “Let’s go apartment hunting.”

“God,” you laughed wetly. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.” Her thumb brushed away the tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “I don’t care where it is. Penthouse, shoebox, treehouse—I don’t care, as long as it’s with you.”

And just like that, the fear—the weight of not fitting, of not being enough—started to crack. Not disappear completely. But crack.

──────────────────────

So, apartment hunting you went.

And, God, it was harder than either of you expected.

Trying to find a place that fit both your budgets was like searching for a unicorn. You didn’t want to drown yourself in extra shifts just to afford half the rent—and Caitlyn, well, she wasn’t thrilled about sacrificing every ounce of comfort and freedom she was used to.

It was a balancing act. A frustrating, exhausting, sometimes hilarious balancing act.

“This one’s cute,” Caitlyn said, scrolling through listings on her phone as you both sat on a park bench with iced coffees. “Two bedrooms, decent commute for both of us. Oh… wait. Nope. No pets allowed.” She tilted her head, frowning. “You do want a cat eventually, right?”

“Obviously,” you snorted. “Non-negotiable.”

She grinned. “Agreed.”

The next place had gorgeous natural lighting but smelled like old cigarettes and regret. Another was perfect—until you saw the price tag. Your stomach dropped so hard you thought it might leave your body entirely.

Then, finally, you found it.

A little apartment on a quiet street, right in the middle between both of your jobs. Big enough for the two of you, with space for her obnoxiously large bookshelf, plus a balcony that didn’t feel like it was one loose screw away from collapse. The rent was… steep. Manageable for her, definitely. For you? Not without sacrificing sleep and sanity.

Caitlyn could see the stress written all over your face. She reached over, lacing her fingers through yours. “Listen,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I can cover the rent. You can help in other ways. It’s not a problem for me. Truly.”

But your stomach twisted. Your jaw tensed. “It is a problem for me,” you said, sharper than you meant to, pressing the heel of your palm into your eyes like you could physically hold the headache back.

She sighed, squeezing your hand tighter. “Why? Why does it have to be this complicated?”

“Because I don’t want to feel like a charity case, Caitlyn,” you admitted, voice cracking at the edges. “I don’t want to wake up every day knowing I can’t pull my weight. I don’t want to owe you. I don’t want to owe anyone.”

Her face softened immediately, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Baby.” Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Is that seriously what you think this is? Some… some transactional thing? You think I’m keeping score?”

You stayed quiet, staring at the scuffed floor of the real estate office.

“Hey,” she said more gently now, tipping your chin up so you had no choice but to meet her eyes. “Look at me. I don’t care about the money. I care about building a life with you. And that life? It’s gonna look like us. Not like what my mother expects. Not like what anyone else thinks it should be.”

You swallowed thickly. “But it feels unfair.”

“Then let’s make it fair,” she countered immediately. “You handle groceries, I handle rent. You cook, I’ll fix the Wi-Fi when it inevitably dies at 2 a.m. You deal with the plants—because God knows I’ll kill them—and I’ll make sure we always have a bottle of good wine in the cabinet. Equal doesn’t mean identical.”

Your lip wobbled. “That’s… actually not a bad deal.”

A soft smile tugged at her lips. “It’s a pretty damn good deal.”

You sighed, leaning your forehead against hers. “I hate that you’re good at this.”

“I know,” she chuckled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “It’s very annoying.”

A beat of silence passed. Then, grinning mischievously, she added, “So… should we go sign the lease before someone else steals it?”

You laughed, despite everything. “Yeah. Let’s go get our place.”

And just like that, it became real.

It wasn’t just moving boxes and new keys. It was picking out curtains together and arguing over which plates to buy. It was discovering that Caitlyn folded towels like some kind of military operation—perfect rectangles stacked with mathematical precision—while yours looked like abstract art.

It was realizing that her version of grocery shopping involved imported cheeses and $30 olive oil while you were just trying to find the cheapest ramen.

It was watching her struggle to assemble IKEA furniture, muttering under her breath in perfectly enunciated rage, while you tried (and failed) to hold in your laughter.

It was burning your first dinner in the new kitchen because neither of you remembered the oven ran hot. Eating cold pizza on the floor, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, laughing until your sides hurt.

It was whispered “I love you” in the soft light of the morning, when your voices were still scratchy from sleep.

It was making out, half-tipsy on wine, tangled together on the living room floor because the couch wasn’t built yet—but neither of you cared.

It was falling asleep with her arm draped lazily over your waist, her soft breathing warm against your neck, knowing—really knowing—that this was yours.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[violetteshoneybee]

Heard you were doing Thorins company request, would you mind doing a hobbit reader x Fili? Thank you again

˖°Of Waves and Whispers°˖

Summary: in which Fíli falls in love with a hobbit

Fluff

Word counts: 1,330

Note: thanks for requesting this, love! i'm sorry for the delay. i hope it fits what you wanted, though. i was inspired by snowy beaches or, more generally, the look of dry grass covered in snow. i don't know, but i find it so beautiful. for the town, i was inspired by the city i live in (Brest, France), which ngl is a very ugly seaside one, but people are super warm here ♡ hope you'll enjoy!!!

don't forget that feedback and reblogs are the best way to show support on this website! thanks!

Fíli had been travelling south for weeks now. He had managed to find your isolated seaside village through rain, storm, fog and snow. So isolated indeed that it was a rare sight to see any visitor from foreign lands, particularly one as important as Erebor’s crown prince. Most people would lose their way before even entering the woods, separating your village from the rest of Middle Earth. Yet, somehow, Fíli had found his way. He didn’t know why, but he felt drawn to an abandoned path in the woods, as if Mahal himself was pulling him onto the road.

After a few hours of walking, he exited the tree canopy and discovered a sand path over a long beach. It was the first time the dwarf laid eyes on an ocean. Something so different from the heart of the lonely mountain. Instead of the rocky road alongside the mountain, his feet sank into wet sand, slightly covered in snow. Fíli lifted his head and looked to the horizon, enjoying the cold breeze blown by the rolling waves and the little pearls of salted water caressing his face. The scent was overpowering. After the strong smell of pine trees Fíli had walked through for the past few hours, it felt nice.

The cool and fragrant air sent a wave of calm through Fíli, but it was short. Though it was the first time the dwarf had seen waves, he had to reach the village before sunset. He half-heartedly parted from the view he wished to enjoy. After all, his mission, directly given by his uncle, the King, was crucial. Thorin’s deadline was relatively short, and Fíli knew he would need to fight to get what he wanted, but that was precisely what Thorin expected of him. He wanted his nephew to realise that a king needs to be intransigent in such matters.

The dwarf prince stayed for a few days in your village, searching for a dwarf hammer his grandfather had sold a few decades before the fall of Erebor. A heirloom that was very dear to the dwarves of Erebor. Fíli was so busy with his quest that he barely got out of the tavern, doing his best to live up to his uncle’s exigence, so he waited at a table for an agreement, showing up every day to request his heritage.

He would look at the village through the tavern’s dirty window during this time. Not exploring the town much. He had to admit he had never seen such an uninteresting village, even during his quest to return to Erebor. Even Lake Town was more lively, he thought. He also thought the village wasn’t nearly as good-looking as Erebor. There were no intricate designs on stone pillars or any carved knots in the wood above the doors. But the people seemed to love this place despite its simplicity. Maybe the village’s identity came from the sea and the long beach he had seen. His mind would often wander back to that beach and the dark ocean. This, he thought, was beautiful.

On his fifth day in the village, Fíli decided to take a walk around the docks as advised by the taverner after Fíli confided to him about his frustration in lacking results for his mission. He only had two days left, and the agreement wasn’t even spoken of yet.

But he went still. He discovered that the closer he came to the port, the more lively the people seemed, with laughter and songs echoing through the streets. Fíli couldn’t help but feel a bit lighter listening to those people live their lives unbothered by his presence.

There weren’t many colours on the walls. Yet, it seemed the village was painted with joyful yellow radiating from its inhabitants. As the paved streets started giving way to wooden bridges above the water, more people passed beside him, hands holding huge baskets full of various fish, each more colourful than the other. Some grilled them directly from the water, and Fíli’s mouth watered from the delicious savoury smell. On the sides of the wooden paths were shops, most selling fruits imported from far away or selling the fishermen’s night catches.

At the end of the dock was a small table on which baskets full of seashells reflecting sunlight were spread. Fíli took one of the jewels in his hands. It looked almost dwarf-made, like a precious stone his kind would extract from the mines, yet no dwarf shaped those, but the powerful rolling of the waves did.

“It’s one gold for two necklaces.” A small and soft voice erupted from behind the table. Fíli’s eyes betrayed him as he looked at you. He immediately recognised the features of one of his friends in your face.

“What is a hobbit doing here?” He said, a playful grin hanging on his lips. You did look like your kind, but one thing was sure: you were the prettiest hobbit girl he had ever seen. Your lips turned upwards in a charming smile.

“I could ask the same. What is a dwarf doing here, sir?” You shook your head, the soft curls in your hair bouncing with each movement.

Fíli chuckled. “I’m on a mission.”

“Must be a very particular mission for you to end up here. What is it about?”

“Can’t say,” he whispered, “but it’s important.”

The cold breeze bit at your cheeks, colouring them pink. Or was it the dwarf that made you blush? Your eyes studied his features, and you caught yourself enjoying the view a tad too much for your liking. What kind of hobbit finds a dwarf hot, exactly? Undoubtedly, your mind was playing tricks on you. But the blonde braids, like a masterpiece’s frame, did force your attention on the pink of his lips.

“Is it dangerous?” You asked, trying to keep the conversation going, too worried that handsome dwarf would disappear from your life in the blink of an eye.

“It’s more fun when it is.” He smiled, sending a wave of butterflies in your stomach. “But this one isn’t.” It’s your turn to smile. “You seem happy about that.”

Fíli’s blue eyes noticed the pinkish hue on your face. The dwarf prince couldn’t help but tease you a bit, enjoying the sense of naivety your eyes seemed to have. He wasn’t as much a flirt as his brother or some of his fellow companions. But he didn’t want to miss his chance now. He forgot his quest momentarily, preferring to focus on the beautiful hobbit before him. A year ago, he would have found it weird for a dwarf to fall for a hobbit, but now that his uncle was practically married to one, it wasn’t such a big deal anymore.

“Sorry to take you out of your daydreaming, sir dwarf, but I still have to sell those.” You muttered, smiling softly.

The blond dwarf turned around to apologise to whoever he thought might have been waiting and laughed. “Are your customers invisible?” He joked.

“Future clients, sir.”

A second laugh.

“Alright, I’ll go if you join me for dinner tonight.” His piercing eyes met yours; his smirk dropped slowly as vulnerability shined in his gaze. For a moment, you pondered whether to refuse the proposition of that stranger you had only met a few minutes ago. But he did seem nice. And well, he was hot.

“I don’t even know you are, sir.”

“Fíli Durin, at your service.” He bowed, smirking. “Now you have to say yes.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as your face turned a bright shade of red.

“Alright,” You mumbled. “but it’s really so that you leave.”

Fíli hummed, satisfied as he turned around, waving you goodbye with the biggest smile. “Sure thing, amrâlime. I’ll be waiting for you at the tavern.”

Making his way up the streets, Fíli thought that maybe not getting that hammer wouldn’t be so horrible if it meant being with you for a bit.

masterlist

[anglbunny]

Safe word ♡ ryomen sukuna

cw: smut mdni, use of safe word, soft sukuna, based on this request

You’re not sure how long he’s been fucking you. Time’s gone blurry—melted into moans and muscle spasms, fingers digging into sheets, your body arching under his like instinct.

You're soaking wet. Wrung out. Shaking. And still, Sukuna doesn't stop.

"Look at you," he pants, watching the way your tits bounce with every brutal thrust. "All fucked dumb and you’re still takin' it like a good little slut."

Your mouth drops open—another moan spilling out, high and wrecked. Your thighs tremble on either side of his hips, limp now from being held up so long. You can barely move.

But you love it. Every second.

You were made to be spoiled like this. A princess, built to be touched, worshipped, ruined.

He presses his palm over your belly, smirking when he feels the outline of his cock moving inside.

“Such a perfect fucking body,” he growls. “Takes me so well. You were made for this, weren’t you? All mine.”

You nod. Nodding feels easier than speaking.

Your body jerks with the rhythm of his thrusts. Your wrists are pinned above your head. His other hand is tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make your eyes water.

But suddenly—it’s too much.

The moment creeps up fast. You’ve come too many times. Your body can’t handle more.

Your lips move without thinking—

“Rose.”

Your safeword.

Sukuna freezes.

Immediately.

Silence.

His hands loosen. His hips pull back. The feral, dominant glint in his eyes is gone in an instant—replaced by something soft. Something vulnerable.

"Shit—hey, hey." His voice lowers, gentle. Concern slipping into every syllable. “You okay, sweetheart? Look at me.”

You blink up at him. Overwhelmed, but safe. Still gasping.

“I-I’m okay. Just… needed to stop.”

His hands are already moving. Untying your wrists. Stroking your cheeks. His lips kiss your forehead, then your shoulder, then your temple.

"Good girl,” he whispers. “You did so good telling me. So proud of you.”

He grabs a blanket, covers you up, and lies beside you—pulling you against his chest like you're made of glass.

His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“You were perfect. You’re always perfect. I got you now, yeah? Just breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod into his neck, tears slipping down your cheeks—not from pain, but from how held you feel.

Sukuna holds you tighter.

“Next time,” he says quietly, brushing your hair back, “we take it slow. I wanna hear those pretty sounds without hurting you. You’re too precious to me, baby.”

You manage a soft smile.

Because no matter how hard he goes—he always brings you back. Always holds you after.

TL: @samm1e13 @syleepy @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @yanderebluelockfan @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @valexqpt @snowsilver2000 @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @ravenbc @mihyas-dieehefrau

A/N: bleh

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

[dollbrbie]

wait i JUST read ur rules so don’t answer that previously ask LMAO

do you think you can do a fanfic with like f!reader absolutely DEMOLISHED kaiser in bed and just leave kaiser like bewildered

when you told you boyfriend, kaiser that you wanted to be on top tonight, he certainly wasn’t expecting this.

with your hands placed firmly on his shoulders, the sound of your ass colliding with his pelvis echoed throughout the room with choked moans coming from kaiser’s lips as he tries to fathom what the fuck just possessed his girlfriend.

your hips rocked back and forth as you bounced up and down on his cock, your eyes rolled back as you feel the tip of your boyfriend’s cock kiss your cervix, bottoming out inside of you with the pain mixed with pleasure.

“fuck- slow down, would you?”, kaiser moans out, his hands gripping the plush of your hips in attempt to slow you down as he feels his cock throb, his release on it’s tipping point.

there was no way he was about to cum this fast.

you choke out a moan in response, nibbling of the plush of your bottom lip as you continue fucking yourself dumb on his cock, the sound of your boyfriend’s choked moans motivating you even further.

you soon feel your pleasure knot in your stomach, rubbing frantic circles on your clit as your gummy walls flutter around kaiser’s cock - that being the final straw for him as he groans in response, his tip throbbing as all compose leaves his body, his thighs shaking beneath you and his cock emptying out inside you.

as you feel the warmth of his seed fill you up completely, your own orgasm hits, your body convulsing with your head thrown back and your pussy clenching around kaiser’s now sensitive cock, eliciting a choked out moan from overstimulation.

“get off- get off- get off-”, he chants, pulling you off his cock as he watches his cum drip out of you, running past your shaky thighs.

with a heavy breath and pure bewilderment written all over his face, he asks, “what the fuck was that?”

“huh? what was what?”, you ask with a breath of your own, looking at him like you didn’t just completely demolish him.

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[retquits]

butch march for anon! 🔨

[elliekuma]

୨୧ cw. overstim, oral sex

⋆˙⟡ pussy drunk! ellie

it’s hot. scorching. your body feels like it’s on fire, tingles spreading down your legs and up your arms. she’s wrung yet another orgasm out of you, probably your fourth one by now, but she’s not done. haven’t had enough.

you look down for a moment—your eyes finding ellie’s. her lips are latched onto your cunt, warm and wet, milking every last drop you’ve poured out for her. her hands are gripping at your hips tightly. you grind down on her mouth, once, twice, fucking yourself on her slowly. the over sensitivity makes you shudder, shaky gasps as ellie continues licking at you. her lips are covered in your slick, chin messy and sticky. her nose is covered in your arousal too, and ellie can feel herself going insane from your scent. it’s purely you, nothing else, just you. you can faintly see the glossiness in her eyes, the pink blush spread across her cheeks. if you pay attention, you can feel her slightly thrust up against the air, her own arousal coating her inner thighs. she wants to be consumed by you. wants to smell you, taste you, feel you come all over her face and mark her. her brain is going hazy at your sweet pussy almost suffocating her.

and when you still for a moment, catching your breath, her fingers are digging into your skin immediately. she drags you up and down on her mouth like she’ll die without it. the pace is sloppy, too fast, and you’re whimpering when your clit bumps against her nose over and over again. she’s gasping against your pussy, “no, babe, c’mon keep going, please.” ellie’s throat tightening, she can’t breathe properly—but you’re addicting. the wet slide of your folds against her face is better than anything she’s ever had, and she finds herself moaning into your cunt when something drips down her neck, probably a mix of her spit and your slick. the feeling spurs her on, a loud whimper of her name when she slides the tip of her tongue into your heat.

“ah, ellie, too much..” you’re moaning uncontrollably, hands finding ellie’s hair. she’s shaking her head under you, moving you against her like you weighed nothing. “you taste so good, just give me one more, i know you can.”

when ellie was like this, which was often, it was hard to stop her. she was completely obsessed with you, your pussy. she loved making you writhe above her, feeling you shake against her lips when you came. she pulls orgasm after orgasm out of your body until you’re limp, your hair sticking to your forehead and that pretty breathy moan of her name when you’ve been fucked dry. and of course, as usual, today was one of those nights.

you’re on the verge of tears, grip tightening impossibly on her hair. she slaps you gently on your ass, “keep movin’, don’t stop babe,” she slowly releases her hold on your body, smiling against your messy cunt when you fuck yourself on her again. “i wanna feel you make a mess again, give it to me, please.”

the desperation in her voice is what makes you finish, your orgasm almost painful, too sensitive, your legs twitching violently and your pussy clenching when ellie continues to lick you through it. your ears are ringing, vision going blurry as you rock yourself shakily against her face—no aim, no momentum, just loud whimpers of your girlfriend’s name and your overused cunt brushing against her face. you can vaguely hear the pornographic slurps below you, she’s cleaning you up, her favorite part of eating you out. the way you taste is so sweet, something that could never be replaced. it drives ellie crazy.

so you’re not surprised when ellie only gives you a few minutes to recover, not even a little bit shocked when ellie hasn’t moved you off of her yet, kissing you like she always did after she was done with you. her calloused hands find your hips again like routine, gently shifting you up and down her dirty mouth again.

“one more?”

[wolvenmaiden]

papilionidae pngs 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

send requests .ᐟ.ᐟ જ⁀➴ ✉

[velvetjump]

black forest graphics !!

──★ requested  𝜚

I LOVE HER !! im still trying to get her, i got wedding cake cookie in my first 10 tens though <33

f2u��◌　credit appreciated　  ⏜ ۫ . ⟡

TY FOR THE REQUEST ANON!! after i get the others done i will make an info/pin post <33

[adddddiiii]

Damian Wayne Headcanons

You catch him talking to Alfred (the cat) about how much he loves you

He leaves you handwritten notes in the most elegant cursive because he thinks texts are impersonal

He cannot take compliments

"You're cute."

"No. I am intimidating."

"You're blushing."

Whenever he's on patrol or missions, he leaves Titus with you knowing you'll take good care of his beloved dog

He takes you to art museums and spends hours explaining the history of every piece he knows you'll love

You're the only one he'll let patch him up after a mission — he trusts you completely

If you try to sneak out of bed early, he'll sleepily grab your wrist

"Dami-"

"Stay. Jus' a little longer."

He practices smiling in the mirror because he wants to perfect it for you

He turns red when you kiss his cheek in front of his brothers

When you're upset because someone said something offensive to you, he'll awkwardly offer to hold you

"Do you want to cuddle?"

"Yes please."

"Okay," he wraps his arms around you, "Who do I have to talk to? Or punch?"

[cosmiclily]

Omg i have a request for caitlyn x reader where reader tells cait she is ready to start a family (sorry baby fever has been going crazy lately)

baby fever

caitlyn x f!reader

wc: 1.2k

notes: im ovulating so i had babies on my mind the whole week too 😭

Maybe it started that Christmas when the two of you decided to spend the holiday with your family. Your sister had brought her two brats over, and while everyone else did their best to tolerate the chaos, Caitlyn was the only adult who gave them her full attention. She sat patiently, listening as your niece sang an improvised song about mashed potatoes and nodding along as your nephew excitedly explained the intricate lore of his favorite video game.

Or maybe it was that time you were hanging out with your friends, and the topic of babies came up. You hadn't thought much of it at first—until you caught the way Caitlyn's eyes sparkled at the conversation. She laughed, brushed it off, and insisted that the two of you weren’t ready yet. But for a fleeting moment, there was something in her expression, something wistful, something that made your heart skip a beat.

Or perhaps it was the day the two of you went shopping, and you found yourselves lingering a little too long in the baby section. You had only wandered in by accident—at least, that’s what you told yourselves. But then Caitlyn picked up a pair of tiny socks with baby animals printed on them, turning them over in her hands with an almost reverent curiosity. You watched as she smiled to herself, running her fingers over the soft fabric, and something in your chest tightened.

You weren’t sure when exactly it began, but once the thought of having children took root in your mind, it refused to leave. It followed you everywhere.

You went to work imagining what it would be like to wake up next to your wife and hear the soft patter of little feet running into your room. You made dinner picturing Caitlyn sitting at the table, patiently helping your child with their homework while you stirred a pot on the stove. You walked past a park and could see her there, kneeling beside a tiny bike, holding it steady as a small, wobbly figure pedaled forward with determination.

And it was driving you crazy.

Because now, every time you looked at Caitlyn, all you could think about was how incredible she would be as a mother. The thought consumed you, lingering in the quiet moments, in the way she absentmindedly twirled her hair while reading, in the soft hum she let out when focused, in the way she always seemed to have endless patience and warmth to give.

“Baby, can I ask you a question?”

She was resting her head on your thigh, her book open as she relaxed against you. The soft glow of the lavender candle flickered in the background, filling the room with its soothing scent. You ran your fingers through her navy hair, absently wondering if your children would inherit the same color, if tiny hands would one day tug at her locks the way you did now.

“Hmm?” she murmured, tilting her head slightly but not looking away from the page. “What is it?”

You hesitated for a moment before asking, carefully, casually, “Have you ever thought about having children?”

That caught her attention. Caitlyn lowered her book onto her chest and turned her gaze to you, studying your face as if trying to gauge where this was coming from.

“I mean… yeah, of course,” she admitted, her voice thoughtful. “I’ve thought about it before. But why do you ask?”

You shrugged, but the casual act didn’t quite land—not when your heart was hammering in your chest. “I was just wondering.”

Caitlyn let out a soft chuckle, reaching up to trace gentle patterns on your thigh. “You don’t just ask that out of nowhere,” she said knowingly. “What’s on your mind?”

You exhaled, glancing away for a second before looking back at her. “Lately, I’ve been thinking about it more. A lot more.”

Her fingers stilled against your skin. “Oh?”

You nodded, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. “I keep imagining it—us with a kid. Waking up to them climbing into bed with us, helping them with homework, teaching them how to ride a bike… I don’t know when it started, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

For a moment, Caitlyn didn’t say anything. She just looked at you, her blue eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, a small, knowing smile spread across her lips.

“Would it make you happy?” she asked softly.

Your heart swelled at the tenderness in her voice. “Yeah,” you admitted. “I think it would.”

She shifted, sitting up properly so she could face you, her hands resting gently on your knees. “Then maybe… we should talk about it.”

“Yes, I think we should,” you said, a smile spreading across your face. There was a nervous excitement bubbling inside you now, like the moment right before the first drop on a rollercoaster—terrifying but exhilarating all the same.

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly, studying you with quiet amusement. “You’ve really been thinking about this, huh?”

You hesitated for only a second before letting out a soft laugh. “Yeah… I know I said I was just wondering, but…” You glanced away briefly, suddenly shy. “I kind of have a list.”

“A list?” Her brows lifted in surprise, but there was no teasing in her voice—just curiosity and something softer, something almost affectionate.

You nodded. “Of things for our children.”

“Children?” She chuckled, catching the plural immediately. “As in more than one?”

You rubbed the back of your neck, sheepish but not backing down. “Yeah. I mean, I was thinking two… maybe three.”

Caitlyn laughed, shaking her head. “I love how you went from ‘just wondering’ to ‘I have an entire life plan in my head.’”

You grinned. “I can’t help it. Once I started thinking about it, I couldn’t stop.”

She hummed thoughtfully, tracing small circles on your knee with her thumb. “Alright then,” she said, leaning back slightly. “Tell me what’s on this list of yours.”

You bit your lip, suddenly nervous but excited. “Okay, well… first of all, I really want them to have meaningful names. Something strong, but also something that has a special meaning to us.”

She nodded in approval. “I like that.”

“And I want them to grow up knowing they can talk to us about anything. No matter what.”

Caitlyn’s expression softened. “That’s important.”

“Oh! And I was thinking—you have all these books, right? What if that became, like, a thing? A bedtime tradition? You could read them a story, and it could be our way of winding down as a family.”

Caitlyn smiled, the kind of smile that reached her eyes. “I really like that idea.”

Encouraged, you kept going. “I want them to learn to ride a bike early, to love books the way you do, and—oh! You know those little socks with baby animals? We have to get those.”

Caitlyn laughed again, shaking her head. “You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?”

You shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed but also incredibly full of love. “I just… I want to build something beautiful with you.”

For a moment, Caitlyn just looked at you, something unreadable in her expression. Then she reached forward, cradling your face in her hands before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours. “I want that too,” she whispered.

And in that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just a thought in your head anymore. This was the beginning of your family.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[violetteshoneybee]

so, I've noticed an alarming shortage of male!Reader with Kíli, I've found very few on AO3, most of which are gender neutral, none on ff.net, and thus far couldn't find any on tumblr, if possible, I'd really love to see a slightly awkward male!reader who cooks for the company slowly courting Kíli

⊹♡⊹A Spoonful of Love⊹♡⊹

Summary: in which male!reader court Kíli with a particular present

Fluff

Word counts: 857

Note: thanks for requesting, darling! i hope you'll enjoy it. i struggled with this one tbh. it's my first time writing from a male!reader POV so i hope it's not too bad. from what i found, love spoons are a welsh tradition (i'm thinking celtic in general, as there is an allusion to it in Téir Abhaile Riu) (yes, i'm a celtic language student)

don’t forget that feedback and reblogs are the best way to show support on this website! thanks!

The summer evening breeze blew softly on the camp as the dwarves of Erebor walked around, busying themselves with building their home for the night. You enjoyed slow evenings like that. The ones where everybody is too tired from the journey to bother anyone. It was a rest. As a hobbit you often found yourself missing the calm of your home at night. You loved your comfort and your little kitchen, which was perfect for your lonely dinners. You didn’t miss that loneliness, though. You had never had many friends, preferring to learn how to cook the best fish around or make a casserole of vegetables, a ratatouille or just the perfect omelette. All those fancy words meant nothing for the dwarves – except for Bombur. But you took it upon yourself to cook for this joyful company and found that your dishes always tasted better when making them for the dwarves. Or was it all for only one dwarf?

You shook your head, dissipating this questioning. You already knew the answer, of course. After all, the dwarf prince was always the sweetest with you. Kili always made sure you were safe and comfortable in any situation. And you would lie if you were to say your heart didn’t threaten to burst out of your ribcage every time he did this.

The pleasantly warm breeze gave you confidence. You had been wanting to ask Kili to court you for the longest time but never managed to find the right moment, constantly tripping on your own words. Maybe words weren’t your forte? Maybe there was another way of making Kili understand you? And you thought about an old hobbit tradition. There was a time when lads would carve spoons in wood pieces, often with intricate designs, to show their lovers how much they cared about them. You remembered your mother showing you the one your father carved for her, and your mind was made with that. You would show your feelings to Kili through this gift.

For three days, you carved and carved. Often breaking the wood pieces and having to start again. But it didn’t bother you. You wanted your spoon to reflect exactly how you felt, and that meant taking proper time to make it perfect. You had asked Dwalin to cut a beautiful oak tree for you to use. The wood was like amber, and you couldn’t help but think of Kili’s eyes while carving. The glow it had after a few polishings was like diving into the softness of his gaze.

Kili had noticed your work. You focused on it for days, and the poor dwarf thought maybe you were bored of him and that you had found wood carving a more interesting subject of focus. But the dwarf prince couldn’t tear his eyes away from your thoughtful and focused expression while you worked the material in your hand. The way strands of hair would fall before your eyes without you noticing, or the soft biting of your lips every time you broke the wood piece. You were so handsome, and he wasn’t ashamed of thinking that. Kili had always thought what his lover might have between their leg was unimportant if the feelings were reciprocated. So, he didn’t think much of it when you caught his attention the moment he saw you. You were so different from dwarf-kinds. He had never seen such a joyful face before.

He thought about this when he was on watch at night when everybody was asleep. He was surprised, however, when he felt a hand on his shoulder on tonight’s watch. Kili looked up to meet your jewel-coloured eyes.

“Not too tired?” You asked, sitting beside him.

“Not more than usually.” He smiled at you. “Can’t sleep?” You shook your head, fidgeting with your pockets. “Is something wrong?”

You took a long, calming breath and turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry we haven’t talked in a few days.” Kili adjusted in his seat, concern splattered across his face. “But I have a good reason.” You smiled, watching Kili’s brow furrow.

“Pray tell.”

“Well, you see… There’s something I’d like to give you.”

Kili’s face relaxed as you handed him a small present wrapped in fabric. His rough fingers quickly pulled the tie holding the fabric, and he was surprised to find a spoon-like stick with heart-shaped knots on the handle. His heart skipped a bit as his fingers brushed against the careful designs.

“That’s what you were making?” He asked, lifting his head to look at your nodding figure.

“It’s a love spoon. It’s a tradition in Hobbiton.” You smiled, looking at the carved object, a crimson shade covering your face and ears. “It’s a way for someone to show their love.”

Kili smiled brightly, putting the spoon to his lips as in a religious prayer.

“I’ll cherish it forever.”

“Don’t feel like you have to.”

Kili’s lips prevented you from finishing your sentence as they crashed on yours in a soft kiss. You couldn’t help but gasp a bit at the suddenness of the prince before melting into his embrace.

“I will cherish it forever, my love.”

masterlist

[moanz111]

Could you maybe do an ateez fake texts where you send them a video of their concert and in the video your screaming for another member and they get jealous👀. (Crack)

ateez reaction to you sending them a video of you screaming for another member at their concert

genre: fake texts/smau, crack/humour (i tried)

tags/warnings: some are a bit suggestive, stupid jokes, swearing, they're all jealous, no gendered words are used for reader, the relationship with the members is ambiguous so imagine whatever you want to

note: thank you so much for requesting and i'm sorry for making you wait for such a long time!! i hope you enjoy this! 🤍 also, this was hilarious to write right after i went to their concert for real 😭

[anglbunny]

let me teach you ♡ rin itoshi

cw: smut mdni, corruption kink, dark con, dub/non-con, bunny!reader, based on this request

“You’ve never done this before?” he asks, voice low, rough — almost taunting.

You shake your head, cheeks burning. You're in his lap, thighs spread over his, his hands planted firmly on your waist, thumbs stroking your hips like he owns them.

Rin doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smirk. He leans in. Presses his forehead to yours.

“Good,” he breathes. “I want to be the only one who ever gets to.”

You whimper — quiet, unsure — and that makes him twitch under you. You’re so soft, so untouched. Every little reaction is real, and it's driving him fucking insane.

“Don’t worry,” he says, dragging his hands up your spine, lips ghosting over your cheek. “I’ll show you everything. I’ll teach you what you like. What makes you shake. What makes you cry.”

He bites your earlobe gently.

“You’ll learn to take it for me. You’ll beg for things you don’t even understand yet.”

His hips grind up — slow, hard. You gasp.

"You feel that?" he whispers darkly. "That's what you do to me. And soon, I’ll make sure you feel it. Every inch."

He takes his time. Makes you say the words. Tells you where to touch. when his fingers slip past your lacy pink panties, rough pads grazing your damp folds that have you whimpering his name. Tells you how good you're doing when your voice shakes and your body arches just right. he doesn't rush, he makes you ride his fingers, slowly, controlling your every move, his fingers alone are so thick, the stretch is nearly unbearable for your untouched cunt.

And when you finally fall apart under his hands, ruined and panting and dizzy?

He kisses your temple and murmurs:

“See? So easy to ruin you… and I haven’t even started yet.”

TL: @samm1e13 @demiitria @syleepy @chaoslibra @bontenxo @pinkymangacaps @riinniies @samthesimp1 @sapphireluv @s4turnx1 @nevvynev @cookiesandcreammy @rinniebinniebay @ravenbc @kamelika @luvsymai @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @silverwings920 @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @yanderebluelockfan @valexqpt @bigclownshoes @rinniewinnie787 @satorella @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @mihyas-dieehefrau @ravenbc @greekyoghurtwithberries

A/n: woof

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

[dollbrbie]

Just imagineeee , isagi is a sweetheart outside but when in fcking sessions he's super mean UGHHHH 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫 (femfemme) , i would let this man insult me lololol#maschotistReader

your boyfriend isagi is a sweetheart, the real picture perfect boyfriend. he’s the type of guy you’ll see doing those cringey tiktok videos with his girlfriend, wearing matching onesies and wearing hello kitty masks just simply because that’s what his girlfriend wanted. he’s just adores the way your face lights up when he says that word. ‘yes’.

he’s always treating you like such a princess, buying you things that he sees you eyeing, always holding doors open for you and he always makes sure to make time for you considering his busy life as a football player. you’re always going to be a priority in his life, and makes sure you know it.

he’s just so sweet. everyone in your life loves him, your parents calling him a ‘real keeper’ whenever he comes over for dinner and your friends are always gushing about how sweet he is, how they wish they had a boyfriend as sweet as him.

what they didn’t know though, was just how mean he could be during sex, that his sweetheart persona shuts off completely once he has you completely bare beneath him.

and you didn’t realise how much you loved it.

he’ll have you in a mating press with your legs held down and completely under his control whilst pounding into your abused pussy with such vigour, crying out his name through broken moans and sobs.

and your gummy walls stretch around him as he bottoms out inside of you, wrapping his large hand around your throat and gently squeezing, causing you to roll your eyes back in ecstasy. god, you loved it when he choked you.

he’ll keep going until tears form in your eyes, whimpering out as you feel your legs go weak, your pleasure building up in your stomach and it just gets a little too much. but, isagi has no intention of being nice about it.

“fuck- isagi. t-too much, slow down.”, you beg, your nails clawing down his back.

“aw, i thought you could take it? that’s disappointing, how pathetic.”, he mocks, making you shake your head frantically.

“n-no, i can- i can take it, i promise.”, you cry as your hips stutter from isagi’s brutal thrusts.

and he’ll smirk, “that’s my girl.”

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[luvashli]

MORE THEN FRIENDS

Synopsis -> Heeseung has always been your best friend—but lately, the lingering touches and stolen glances feel different. Maybe he’s been waiting for you to realize he’s meant to be more.

Pairing -> best!friend!heeseung x fem!reader

Genre -> oneshot, best friends to lovers, suggestive

Status -> complete

Wc -> 3.4k

Note -> requestet by this ask :) hope you enjoy

The first time you met Heeseung, he was the quiet new kid in your fourth-grade class, staring down at his desk while nervously tapping his pencil. You had been assigned as his seat partner, and while the rest of the class chattered around him, he stayed silent.

Ever the curious one, you nudged his arm with your elbow. “Wanna trade snacks?” you asked, holding up your peanut butter sandwich.

Heeseung hesitated, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for the first time. Then, without a word, he slid his pack of strawberry Pocky across the desk. You grinned, breaking your sandwich in half and handing it to him.

And just like that, you were inseparable.

___

Middle school was a blur of shared lunch trays, inside jokes, and whispered secrets. Heeseung wasn’t as shy anymore—not with you, at least. He still liked to keep to himself, but you were the exception to that rule.

You balanced each other out. Where you were loud and impulsive, he was calm and thoughtful. Where you rushed headfirst into things, he held back and thought things through.

When the other kids teased you for being “too much,” Heeseung was always there, rolling his eyes and telling you they were just jealous. And when Heeseung got called a nerd for acing every math test, you sat beside him at lunch and loudly declared that smart people were hot anyway.

Back then, everything was simple. Heeseung was your best friend, and you were his. No questions asked. No complicated feelings.

But then came high school. And suddenly, things weren’t so simple anymore.

___

Heeseung had always thought you were pretty. Even back in middle school, when you still had braces and a habit of tripping over your own feet, he knew there was something about you that pulled people in—pulled him in. But he never really understood what that feeling meant until sophomore year.

It happened at a school dance, of all places. You had dragged him there, even though he insisted he hated school events. You’d rolled your eyes and called him a grandpa, saying, “Come on, Hee, what’s the worst that could happen?”

The worst, apparently, was watching you slow dance with someone else.

He hadn’t realized he was gripping his soda can so tightly until Jake nudged him. “Dude, you look like you wanna kill someone.”

Heeseung forced a laugh. “What? No. I just…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on you—on the way you laughed at something your dance partner said, on the way they spun you around like you were weightless. And that’s when it hit him.

He was in love with you.

It was a terrifying realization, one that made his stomach twist into knots. Because the moment he understood his feelings, he also understood something else—you didn’t feel the same way.

After that night, Heeseung tried to ignore his feelings. He told himself it was just a phase, just a stupid crush that would go away if he stopped thinking about it.

He dated other girls. Not many, but enough to convince himself he was over you. But it never worked, because every time something good happened, you were the first person he wanted to tell. And every time something bad happened, you were the only person who could make it better.

So, he buried his feelings. He smiled when you talked about your latest crushes, pretended it didn’t sting when you called him your platonic soulmate, and kept being the best friend you needed him to be.

Because loving you was easy. It was having you that was impossible.

___

Now, standing on the edge of adulthood, you still saw Heeseung as your constant, your safe place. But Heeseung? He had spent years pretending not to love you.

And he was starting to wonder how much longer he could keep up the act.

If someone had told Heeseung years ago that he’d still be hopelessly in love with you, he would’ve laughed it off. He had convinced himself—or at least tried to—that his feelings would fade with time. That someday, he’d wake up and you’d just be his best friend again, nothing more.

But here he was, sitting across from you in your favorite café, watching as you stirred sugar into your coffee with that same absentminded concentration you always had, and he knew—he had never stopped loving you.

“You’re staring,” you teased, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Heeseung scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “No, I’m not.”

“You totally are.” You smirked, taking a sip of your drink. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Heeseung wanted to tell you the truth—that you had his whole heart on your face, that he couldn’t look at you without wanting to memorize every little detail. But instead, he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you have ‘annoying’ written all over it.”

You gasped dramatically. “Wow. Is this how you treat your best friend? Unbelievable.”

There it was. That word. Best friend.

Heeseung swallowed down the bitter taste that always followed when you said that. He knew it wasn’t your fault—you had no idea how he felt. How could you? He had spent years making sure you didn’t.

But lately, it was getting harder to pretend. Harder to keep smiling when you told him about your latest date, harder to act normal when you rested your head on his shoulder like it was the most casual thing in the world. Because to you, it was casual. But to Heeseung, every touch, every laugh, every moment with you felt like something he wasn’t allowed to have.

And it was slowly driving him insane.

“Hello? Earth to Heeseung?” Your voice cut through his thoughts, and he realized you were waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry, what?” He blinked.

“I was saying, do you wanna come over tonight? Movie night, just like old times.” You smiled, eyes bright with excitement.

It was an innocent offer. Just another normal night in your friendship. But to Heeseung, it was another reminder of how much he wanted but could never have.

Still, he nodded, forcing a grin. “Yeah, sure. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Because no matter how much it hurt, being close to you—even as just a friend—was better than not having you at all.

___

Movie nights with Heeseung were nothing new. They had been a tradition since high school—just the two of you, a ridiculous amount of snacks, and an unspoken rule that you had to rewatch at least one childhood favorite before the night was over.

But tonight felt… different.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Maybe it was the way Heeseung seemed quieter than usual, his gaze lingering on you for a second too long when he thought you weren’t looking. Or maybe it was the way your heart kept skipping beats whenever his knee brushed against yours on the couch.

You shook the thought away, grabbing a handful of popcorn. It’s just Heeseung. Your best friend. Stop being weird.

“What do you wanna watch?” you asked, flipping through the streaming options.

Heeseung shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “You pick.”

“You always say that.”

“And yet, you always pick something terrible.” He smirked, reaching over to steal some of your popcorn.

You gasped, smacking his hand away. “Excuse you! I have excellent taste.”

He snorted. “Sure, if excellent taste means forcing me to sit through three-hour-long romance movies where nothing happens except people staring at each other.”

“You like those movies, don’t lie.”

“I like suffering through them for you—big difference,” he muttered under his breath.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest spread just a little. Heeseung always did that—acted like he was just tolerating the things you loved, when in reality, he indulged you more than anyone ever had.

You ended up picking a random movie, something lighthearted, but halfway through, you barely paid attention. Your focus kept drifting to Heeseung—his stupidly perfect side profile, the way his lips parted slightly when he was concentrating, the little crease in his brow when something in the movie confused him.

It wasn’t like you had never noticed before. You had eyes, after all. But tonight, it was like your brain refused to brush it off as nothing.

You shifted slightly, only to realize just how close the two of you were sitting. At some point, Heeseung had draped his arm across the back of the couch, and without thinking, you had leaned into his side. It wasn’t unusual. You’d done this a hundred times before.

So why did it feel like your whole body was hyper-aware of him?

A scene in the movie made you laugh, and without thinking, you turned to share the moment with him—only to find him already looking at you.

Your breath hitched.

He didn’t look away.

For a second, neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the muffled dialogue from the movie, but everything else faded into the background. His gaze flickered down—to your lips, just for a split second—before returning to your eyes.

And suddenly, you knew.

You knew what had been different about tonight. You knew why your heart was racing, why his touches felt electric, why the way he looked at you sent heat rushing through your veins.

Because for the first time, you were seeing Heeseung in a way you had never let yourself before.

And maybe—just maybe—you were falling for your best friend.

Your heart pounded as you stared at Heeseung, the glow of the TV flickering against his face. He wasn’t looking away.

He always looked at you—watching, waiting, as if he had something to say but never quite found the words. But tonight, for the first time, you weren’t oblivious to it. You weren’t brushing off the way his eyes lingered, the way his fingers twitched against his thigh like he wanted to reach for you but held himself back.

And maybe, for the first time, you didn’t want him to hold back.

You swallowed, trying to play it off. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Heeseung’s jaw clenched slightly, and his voice came out lower than usual. "You’re the one staring first."

You weren’t. Or maybe you were. It didn’t matter.

The tension between you felt thick, heavy, like a rubber band stretched too tight, on the verge of snapping.

And then it did.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, Heeseung’s lips were on yours, crashing into you like he had been waiting for this moment forever. Maybe he had. Maybe you had, too, without realizing it.

A small gasp left your lips, but Heeseung didn’t hesitate—his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you melted into him like you had been made to fit there.

The movie long forgotten, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing between kisses, the quiet sighs you couldn’t hold back as Heeseung deepened the kiss. His hands roamed—one sliding up your back, the other gripping your thigh as he pulled you onto his lap.

You should’ve felt nervous. This was Heeseung, your best friend. The one who had always been by your side, the one you told everything to. But right now, nothing about this felt wrong. If anything, it felt like something that had been waiting to happen.

His lips trailed down, grazing the corner of your jaw, your neck—hot and unhurried, like he wanted to take his time memorizing every inch of you.

"Hee," you breathed, hands tangling in his hair.

His grip on you tightened, and a low groan rumbled from his chest, sending shivers down your spine. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmured against your skin.

The confession made your stomach flip. Because if he had wanted this for a long time… why did it take you so long to see it?

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. They were darker than usual, filled with something raw, something unspoken.

"Why didn’t you ever say anything?" you whispered.

Heeseung exhaled a shaky breath, his fingers brushing against your cheek. "Because I was scared you’d never look at me the way I look at you."

Your heart clenched. How had you been so blind?

You cupped his face, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. "I’m looking at you now."

And then, you kissed him again—slow, deep, like you were making up for all the lost time.

This wasn’t just a kiss. It was years of unsaid words, years of stolen glances, years of Heeseung loving you in silence.

And finally, finally, you were listening.

Heeseung’s lips moved against yours like he had been waiting forever—slow at first, savoring every second, but growing more desperate with each passing moment. His fingers dug into your waist as if he was afraid you might slip away, but there was no chance of that happening. Not anymore.

You were completely, hopelessly lost in him.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and Heeseung let out a quiet groan against your lips. The sound sent heat rushing through you, making your whole body feel like it was on fire.

He pulled you even closer—if that was even possible—until there was no space left between you. His hands roamed, one gripping your thigh, the other sliding up your back, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

When he kissed you again, it was different—deeper, rougher, like he had finally let go of whatever restraint he’d been holding onto.

And you wanted more.

You shifted slightly in his lap, your fingers tracing down his jaw, his neck, the sharp lines of his collarbone. Heeseung sucked in a sharp breath, his hands tightening around you.

"Y/N," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, almost pleading.

It sent a shiver down your spine. You had never heard him sound like that before.

You leaned in, lips brushing against the corner of his mouth. "What is it?" you teased softly, barely above a whisper.

Heeseung let out a shaky laugh, tilting his head back against the couch. "You’re actually going to kill me."

You grinned, feeling a rush of confidence. "Oh? Am I?"

His hands squeezed your hips, grounding himself. "You have no idea."

The air between you was thick, charged with something neither of you had dared to acknowledge before tonight. But now that the line had been crossed, there was no going back.

You stared at him—his swollen lips, the way his chest rose and fell as he tried to steady his breathing. Heeseung had always been beautiful, but right now? Right now, he looked absolutely wrecked.

Because of you.

Something about that realization made your heart pound even harder.

Slowly, you traced your fingers over his jaw, your touch featherlight. "Then maybe you should do something about it," you murmured.

Heeseung’s eyes darkened.

And in the next second, he flipped you onto your back, hovering over you with a smirk that sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

"You don’t know what you’re asking for," he murmured, his voice lower now, sending shivers down your spine.

You bit your lip, fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie. "Show me."

Heeseung groaned softly before capturing your lips again, his hands gripping your waist as he deepened the kiss.

And this time, neither of you held back.

___

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was warmth.

You were tangled in Heeseung—his arm draped over your waist, his face buried in your hair, his steady breathing fanning across your skin. The soft glow of early morning filtered through your curtains, casting everything in golden light.

And then it hit you.

Last night. The kisses, the way he touched you like he had been waiting forever, the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Your heart clenched.

What happens now?

You shifted slightly, and Heeseung groaned in protest, tightening his hold on you.

“Mm, don’t move,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped at how soft he sounded. “Heeseung, we have to get up.”

“No, we don’t.” He buried his face deeper into your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. “Five more minutes.”

You hesitated, staring at the ceiling. What were you supposed to say? Did last night change everything? Were you still just… friends? Did he regret it?

Heeseung must’ve felt the tension in your body because he finally lifted his head, his eyes barely open, but still filled with something softer when they met yours.

“You’re overthinking,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “I just… what does this mean?”

Heeseung blinked at you sleepily before a small smirk played at his lips. “You want me to confess again, don’t you?”

Your face heated. “That’s not—”

He cut you off by leaning in, brushing a slow, lazy kiss against your lips. It was barely a kiss at all, just a soft press of his mouth against yours, but it made your whole body melt.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispered. “I think I always have.”

Your breath hitched.

It was one thing to realize your feelings, to feel them creeping up on you like a slow-burning flame. But hearing him say it—knowing that he had felt this way for so long—made your chest ache.

“I…” You hesitated, but only for a second. Because deep down, you already knew the answer.

You cupped his face, running your thumb along his cheek. “I love you too, Hee.”

Heeseung let out a small, relieved laugh before kissing you again—slow and sweet, like he was savoring every second.

And this time, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing.

Just you and him, exactly where you were always meant to be.

Heeseung kissed you again, slow and deliberate, as if making sure you weren’t just a dream. His hands rested gently on your waist, his thumbs tracing soft circles against your skin, grounding himself in the moment.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice still thick with sleep.

You smiled, fingers brushing through his messy hair. “Waking up late?”

“No.” He pressed another lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Waking up with you.”

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you.” His smirk was lazy, teasing, but his eyes held nothing but warmth.

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was—you liked this side of him. The Heeseung who was completely unfiltered, who didn’t hold back anymore. And maybe, deep down, you always had.

A comfortable silence settled between you as Heeseung shifted, pulling you impossibly closer until your head was resting against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and the warmth of his skin against yours made you wish you could stay here forever.

But reality was waiting.

Eventually, you sighed. “We really should get up.”

“No, we really shouldn’t.”

“Heeseung.”

“Y/N.” He mimicked your tone, grinning when you shot him a glare.

You tried to move, but he tightened his arms around you, effortlessly keeping you trapped against him. “Nope,” he said, voice muffled as he buried his face in your shoulder. “You’re staying right here.”

You huffed, but your resolve was crumbling. He was too warm. Too comfortable. And if you were being honest… you didn’t really want to move either.

“Fine,” you relented, nuzzling closer. “But only for five more minutes.”

Heeseung chuckled, his lips brushing against your temple. “You say that now.”

And, of course, five minutes turned into ten.

Then twenty.

And before you knew it, the two of you were still tangled together, lost in quiet laughter, whispered confessions, and soft, lingering touches.

Because for the first time, there was no rush. No reason to pretend.

For the first time, you weren’t just best friends anymore.

You were his. And he was yours.

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