#caseoh fics

🔹 Fluff + Teasing🔹 GN!Reader🔹 Size Difference🔹 He Picks You Up Like It's Nothing🔹 Mad but Flustered🔹 CaseOh is a Menace🔹 Casual Strength🔹 Soft Hands, Big Arms🔹 Legs Just Swingin'🔹 Request 🦋

You were mid-rant.

Something about how he left the cabinet open again, or how he kept tossing your hoodie across the back of the couch instead of folding it. You weren't even really mad—just one of those moods. And Case? He wasn't taking you seriously. At all. He stood there, arms crossed, biting back a smile while you paced and pointed. "...and I'm not even saying you have to be neat, I'm just saying—would it kill you to try?!" He tilted his head. "You done?" You huffed. "No." That's when it happened. Before you could even process it, his arms were around your waist and he lifted you clean off the floor like you weighed nothing. "CASE—!" "Damn," he said, laughing as he adjusted his grip like you were a pillow, "you really are tiny. I ain't even tryin' that hard." "PUT ME DOWN." "Nope." "I'm serious—" "You wrigglin' like a fish," he grinned, spinning you slightly. "You gonna admit you like it or am I just holdin' you here all day?" You swatted at his shoulder, but he caught your hand and kissed the back of it dramatically.

"You're so annoying." "And you're so cute when you're mad." You squirmed again, but the truth was—you weren't trying that hard to get away. Not with the way he was holding you. Not with the way his arms flexed just enough to remind you how easy this was for him. How strong he was. How much bigger he was than you. And judging by that look in his eye? He knew exactly what he was doing. He shifted you to one arm—ONE ARM—and used his other to brush a piece of hair out of your face. "You know you're not intimidating, right?" Your face was on fire. "Shut up." He leaned in, grin lazy and sweet and dangerous. "Make me." You didn't. You couldn't. Because all he had to do was hold you a little closer—just enough to make you forget why you were even mad to begin with. Eventually, he sat down on the couch with you still in his lap, arms wrapped around your waist, legs draped over his like they were made to fit there.

"You comfy yet?" he teased. "...I hate you," you muttered, tucking your head into his neck. "Mmhm," he said, kissing your temple. "Sure you do." He didn't let go for a long time. And neither did you. Eventually, you both calmed down—still tangled on the couch, your head on his shoulder, his thumb rubbing lazy circles into your side like he hadn't just been yelling at him ten minutes ago. You should've let it go. You really should've. But as you sat there, arms crossed now while he grinned smugly at the TV, you made a decision. A very dumb decision. "I'm getting revenge," you muttered under your breath. "What was that?" "Nothing."

The next afternoon, you waited until he was in the kitchen—focused, headphones in, back turned. You had a plan. Sneak up. Jump on his back. Prove that you could overpower him for once. Balance the scales. Establish dominance. You tiptoed in with the confidence of a raccoon about to do something very stupid. You launched yourself—and immediately regretted everything. Case didn’t even flinch. Not a stumble. Not a sound. He caught you like he knew it was coming, arms automatically locking around your thighs as you clung to him like a confused sloth. “Really?” he asked, grinning as he pulled one headphone out. “That was your plan?” “Shut up. I caught you off guard.” “You tried.” “I committed.” He laughed—full-body, evil laugh—and then without warning, hoisted you higher over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “CASEY—!” “Nope. You wanna sneak attack me?” he said, spinning slowly, “You deal with the consequences.” “Put me down!” “Not until you say I’m strong and handsome.” “I’d rather die.” He smacked your ass lightly, making you squeak.

Do all you can and do it the best you can. It's the only way you ever get that feeling of accomplishing something. ⭐️

Welcome readers! my requests are open! Check out my list for all the Celebrities I will write for. I will not write smut for real people. I can hint at it but I won't write it because I want to be respectful.

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Caseoh

🔹 Fluff 🔹 GN!Reader 🔹 Post-Surgery Chaos 🔹 Wisdom Teeth Extraction 🔹 Loopy Casey 🔹 “Chat” Doesn’t Exist 🔹 Loud Declarations of Love 🔹 Soft Relationship Vibes 🔹 Embarrassing But Adorable 🔹 Reader Is Dying Laughing 🔹 Request 🦋

You were already trying not to laugh when they called you into the recovery room. “He’s, uh… awake,” the nurse said with a smile she was clearly holding back. “And he keeps asking for you.” You stepped into the room and nearly choked. There he was—Case. Slouched in the big reclined dentist chair with gauze sticking out of his mouth, cheeks puffy, and eyes glazed over from anesthesia. And yet, somehow? Talking. Loudly. To nobody. “Chat,” he slurred, staring directly at the overhead light like it was a facecam. “Chat. I love this person soooo much.” You covered your mouth with your sleeve. “Oh my god.” He whipped his head toward you—slowly, dramatically. “THERE THEY ARE,” he yelled, arms flailing. “THE LOVE OF MY LIFE.” The nurse nearly dropped a clipboard. You approached carefully, trying not to laugh. “Hi, babe…” He reached for you instantly, gripping your hand like you were his emotional support animal.

“This is them, chat. My partner. They're sooo pretty, like, so pretty. Like, stupid pretty. Like—like an angel fell outta Target.” You blinked. “Out of Target?” “Yeah,” he nodded, dazed. “Cuz they're affordable but flawless.” You full-on wheezed. The nurse bit her lip and walked away like she was about to lose it. You sat down beside him, holding his hand as he leaned his head toward your shoulder. “I wanna marry you,” he mumbled into your arm. You blinked. “Case—” “I wanna MARRY YOU,” he repeated, louder this time. “Like, tomorrow.” “You’re not even wearing real pants.” “Don’t need pants. Just need you.” You were crying from holding back laughter now, wiping tears from your cheeks as he tried to nuzzle into you with a face full of gauze. The dentist returned, gently patting his shoulder. “Alright, big guy. Time to go home.” Case jolted upright. “WAIT! Chat didn’t see their shoes. Babe, show ’em your shoes—” “There is no chat, Casey.” “Yes there is,” he said, looking around with wide, glassy eyes. “They’re watching. They love you too.”

You helped him out of the chair, and as he stumbled toward the door—with you holding onto him to keep him from wobbling—he shouted one last time: “EVERYBODY FOLLOW MY PARTNER!! THEY'RE PERFECT!!!” You gave the dental team an apologetic look as he tried to pose with you for a “selfie” using an imaginary camera. “Help me,” you whispered. They laughed. “He’s all yours.” You smiled. “Unfortunately.” But even with the gauze, the slurring, the total lack of filter—you couldn’t help but feel your heart melt every time he looked at you with that dopey, loopy grin. You were his person. And apparently? So was “chat.”

The next morning, you were already awake when you heard the groggy footsteps down the hall—followed by a grumble and a soft “ow” as Case shuffled into the kitchen, cheeks still puffy, hoodie half-zipped, and hair sticking out in every direction. He squinted at the sunlight. “M’head hurts…” You handed him an ice pack and a glass of water. “Hi, love of my life.” He paused. Squinted harder. “…Oh no.” You tried—really tried—to hold it in, but the grin broke across your face like a dam. “You don’t remember anything?” “I remember… dentist. Pain. Vibes.” You raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember telling the ceiling light you wanted to marry me?” He blinked. “The what?” You pulled out your phone and hit play. There he was—on video. Slurring to absolutely no one. “Chat, look at them. Look at their shoes. THEY'RE SO CUTE I CAN’T EVEN—” He launched forward. “NO NO NO—” You jumped back, laughing too hard to run properly as he chased you around the kitchen island. “DELETE THAT!!” “NEVER,” you cackled. “It’s my new lock screen.”

🔹 Fluff🔹 GN!Reader🔹 Fake Dating AU🔹 Chaotic Best Friends🔹 Mutual Pining🔹 Dessert-Fueled Tension🔹 Lingering Goodbyes🔹 Casual Intimacy🔹 Crush Reveal (Sorta) 🔹request🦋

“You’re telling me… if we pretend to be a couple, we get the dessert sampler and two free entrées?” you ask, squinting at the promo sign taped to the restaurant window. Case leans in dramatically, eyes wide. “Yes. And I’m not above selling my soul for crème brûlée.” You raise a brow. “You’re suggesting we lie to a small family-owned business.” He grins. “I’m suggesting we lie together. As a fake couple. For the greater good of our taste buds.”

“…You just wanna hold my hand and call me ‘babe,’ don’t you?” Case gasps like you just exposed him on live TV. “I would never—okay maybe. But that’s beside the point.” Somehow, thirty minutes later, you’re sitting across from him at a candlelit table. There’s soft music playing overhead. The waiter just called you both “the cutest couple” with a wink. You’re halfway through a laugh when Case clears his throat and turns to the server with the most sincere face you’ve ever seen him make.

“I knew they were The One,” he says, placing his hand over yours like you’re in a goddamn rom-com, “when they beat me at Mario Kart and then had the audacity to eat the last slice of pizza.” You choke on your drink. “That’s not even true—” “Our love,” he cuts in smoothly, eyes sparkling with mischief, “knows no bounds.” The waiter coos. Literally coos. “Adorable. I’ll be back with your appetizers, lovebirds.” As soon as he walks away, you glare across the table. “‘The One’? Seriously?”

He shrugs, completely unfazed. “I had to sell it. You want that sampler or not?” You roll your eyes, trying (and failing) to hide your smile. “You’re insufferable.” “Your insufferable fake boyfriend,” he says proudly, leaning back in his chair like he just won something. And then he winks. Like he didn’t just casually say the word boyfriend with enough confidence to make your heart do that annoying little skip thing. The bread basket arrives just in time to save you from having to respond. Sort of.

Because he immediately tears off a piece, offers you the first bite, and goes, “Here, babe. For your delicate little hands that shouldn’t be working so hard.” You stare at him, deadpan. “I’m going to throw this roll at your forehead.” “You won’t,” he says, smiling too wide.

You don’t.

You eat the bread.

You’re in so much trouble.

By the time the entrées arrive, you’ve already been complimented by three different staff members, had one old couple tell you they “see the spark,” and endured Case dramatically clinking your glasses together and whispering, “To us, babe.” You’re barely holding it together. And now he’s sitting across from you, holding a forkful of his pasta like it’s sacred, eyes wide. “This? This is life-changing. I feel like I’m cheating on every meal I’ve ever had before this.”

You raise a brow. “That’s how you described the cheesecake we got last week.” “Exactly. I’m a food whore with no loyalty.” He points the fork at you. “But you… you keep me grounded.” You snort. “That sounded like the kind of speech someone makes in a movie right before they die.” “Oh my god, right?” He straightens dramatically in his seat, clutching his chest. “‘Promise me you’ll go on… and find someone who loves crème brûlée as much as I did—’”

You throw a napkin at him. He catches it. With his face. And somehow still manages to look proud of himself. By the time dessert rolls around, the chaos has leveled up. You’re both laughing too loud. Your hand keeps brushing his on the table. And he’s definitely made too many jokes about “our song” being the jingle from a fast food commercial. But then the dessert tray is set in front of you, and Case picks up a spoon, scoops up a bite of something chocolatey and rich, and holds it out to you.

“Say ‘ahh,’” he grins, clearly messing with you. You stare at the spoon. Then at him. He waggles his eyebrows. “You’re ridiculous.” “Say it.” You lean forward, taking the bite off the spoon—intending to sass him with a sarcastic comment—but the moment it hits your tongue, you actually moan. Like, not that kind of moan. But a very real, eyes-closing, this-dessert-just-rocked-your-world sound. Case goes completely silent. When you look at him again, his face is flushed. “Damn,” he mutters. “I… uh… I didn’t think you’d actually—”

“Shut up.” “No, that was—That was something.” You can’t tell if he’s flustered or holding back laughter. Maybe both. Probably both. You bury your face in your hands. “This is a disaster.” Case taps the table gently, voice a little softer now. “Hey. Don’t worry. I’d fake date you again. Every day, if it meant more dessert and that noise.” You glance up. He’s smiling, but there’s something behind it now. Something a little less performative. A little more real.

You swallow. “You would?” He shrugs, suddenly looking down at his plate. “Yeah. I mean… I like hanging out with you. Fake or not.” You don’t say anything at first. You just look at him. And you realize—maybe this isn’t just about free food anymore.

——————————————————————

You step out of the restaurant into the cool night air, cheeks still warm from laughter, good food, and whatever weird feelings dessert stirred up. Case walks beside you, hands in his pockets, shoulder bumping yours every few steps like he can’t help it. You both stop at the curb, where his car’s parked a few feet away. The moment feels like it should end here.

But neither of you moves.

“Okay,” you say slowly, rocking back on your heels. “That was… ridiculous.” “Ridiculously successful,” he says, nodding like a business exec who just closed a million-dollar deal. “We scammed the system and got crème brûlée. I’d say that’s a win.” You laugh, tucking your hands into your jacket pockets. “I still can’t believe you called me your soulmate over ravioli.” He lifts a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “I was improvising! It came from the heart.”

You roll your eyes. “Your heart is full of memes.” “And you love that about me.” You glance at him—and this time, you don’t laugh. You just… look. And he’s already looking at you. It’s not some intense, dramatic stare. It’s soft. Familiar. Like he’s memorizing the way you look under the glow of the restaurant lights. Like he wants to say something but doesn’t want to risk messing up the moment. You clear your throat. “So… we should do this again.”

It comes out casual.

Too casual.

You immediately regret how normal you made it sound. But then he blinks, like he wasn’t expecting that. “Yeah?” “Yeah. You know. For more free food. Or, like… just for fun.” He smiles. It’s not his usual chaotic smile, either. It’s something gentler. More unsure. “I’d like that,” he says. Quietly. Like it means something. And then there’s that silence. Not awkward. Just full. Neither of you moves. You both smile, say “goodnight” at the same time, laugh about it, then still don’t move.