rosiemylovr

[rosiemylovr]

I JUST GOT IT AND YALL KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.....A WHOLE LOT OF SCREENSHOTS

[rosiemylovr]

birthday indulgences

the kiss we silently swore never to talk about again...

summary: years ago, on your birthday, you & caleb shared a forbidden moment. it isn't until his birthday that all those hidden desires are finally indulged in.

★pairing: caleb x fem!reader ★wc: 3.5k ★content: fluff & smut. drunk first kiss & grinding in the memory, caleb panics, a tiny bit of angst. sloppy makeouts, spit kink, dry humping, coming in pants, desperate & subby caleb, overstimulation. caleb calls reader pipsqueak, baby, honey and love. reader calls caleb baby. ★a/n: I love that theory that the kiss they don't talk about happened when they were younger, and then I thought ooo I could do a parallel with this. it was supposed to be sweet and it turned smutty, but it's still sweet. I'll probably do a more intimate version of their first time once his card is out! ★masterlist ★read on ao3

You couldn't believe you had actually gotten Caleb to go along with your plan.

When you'd told him you needed a break from your college campus, and that you wanted to go out and get drunk in Skyhaven for your birthday, he was already nodding along on the video call.

"Alright, pipsqueak," he agreed with a grin. "I'll tag along and take care of you. Gotta make sure you're staying hydrated."

"No, no, no." You shook your head, grinning wickedly when he cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. "You're going with me."

He arches an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Uhh, earth to pipsqueak, did you not hear what I just said? I am going—"

"Nooo," you interrupt, wagging your finger. "You're going drinking with me."

He'd sputtered, complained and argued all he wanted, but he had agreed to every one of your terms by the time you hung up the call.

And here you were, tipsy and laying back on the floor of his Aerospace Academy assigned studio apartment, watching the ceiling fan spin while you both giggled over something you can't quite remember.

You glance over at where Caleb's sprawled out beside you, smiling at the happy, hazy look in his eyes that surely matches your own. It was impossible to see him ever completely loosen up, and this was the best birthday gift you could've asked for.

Then your thoughts immediately take a different direction when he licks his lips.

They're too dry. You know because you'd jokingly held him down as you swiped your own chapstick across them countless times.

And you'd caught him running his thumb over his cracked bottom lip, tongue darting out across the lingering taste of you when he thought you weren't looking.

Your whole face feels too hot suddenly, blood rushing so fast through your ears that you can't even hear the idle sounds of Skyhaven late at night that drift up through the cracked window.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss someone.

To have their lips press to yours, all tentative and sweet. To know that liking them wasn't in vain, that hoping they felt the same way wasn't just a daydream you'd kept hidden for years. To see the adoration in their eyes when they pull back and caress your cheek.

Purple eyes with an orange sheen.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss Caleb.

"Caleb," you whine, watching the dopey smile grow on his face at your voice. "Am I too old to have never been kissed?"

Caleb's eyes widen, flashing to yours.

"I—" he blinks rapidly, and you giggle at the rare occasion of having caught him completely off guard. "What?"

"Kiss-ing," you draw out, tapping your lips with each letter you spell out for him, "k-i-s-s-i-n-g."

Caleb watches each tap with rapt attention, so captivated that his own lips slowly part. A bit of drool collects at the corner of them, and your vision goes hazy before he quickly looks away.

"Oh." He sounds breathless, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "Uh, I dunno, pipsqueak. I mean, I'm older than you and I've never kissed anyone. Is that weird?"

He gives a little laugh, but you hear the stiff edge to it, can see the uncertainty haunting the façade of his easy expression.

"Really?" you roll over onto you stomach, propping your chin onto your palms.

Your legs kick behind you, and he glances at you and away again.

After a stretch of awkward silence, he turns onto his side, meeting your gaze.

"I mean, yeah," he mutters, shrugging one shoulder. "Why would I?"

You look down at his never-been-kissed lips, feeling your blood rush to your head when he bites them.

Your eyes dart back down, watching his necklace brush against the floor from the angle he lays at.

"Sooo…you've never wanted to kiss anybody?" you ask, trying to seem casual, even as your fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt when he shifts closer.

"I didn't say that," Caleb mutters, and you go rigid.

"Oh."

You flop back onto your back, glaring up at the ceiling fan before he can notice how your brows have pinched, your mouth pressed into a firm line.

"Pips?" Caleb pokes at your cheek, and you pout, turning on your side away from him. "What's got you all frowny-faced?"

"Nothing," you bite out, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Uh-huuuh."

He pokes at your back, then your side, until his fingers are lightly tickling at your ribs. You giggle, kicking your feet out at him.

"Caleb, stooop," you whine, pushing back at him as he tries to tug you back over to face him.

"C'mon, pips," he teases, pinching your waist, and you squeak. "Why won't you look at me?"

Flipping over to smack him, you accuse with totally justified, totally sober and coherent anger, "I'm mad at you, dummy!"

He blinks, and you try and not melt at how cute he looks like this—drunk and flushed, with those big confused puppy dog eyes.

"Why?"

Instead of answering him directly, you ask, "Was it the girl in your chemistry class?"

"The—" Caleb blinks again, shifting back in surprise. "What?"

"That you wanted to kiss sooo badly." You frown, crossing your arms again. "The one who copied off your homework, and you were too nice to stop her. Or was it the guy who always tried to beat your track record?"

"Pips—"

"Or the cheerleader captain? Or is it somebody at university, huh? Are you sneaking around making googly eyes at the other pilots?"

"Oh, quit it." Caleb rolls his eyes, rubbing a hand over his forehead with an unamused huff. "I didn't want to kiss any of them. I don't want to."

"Then who?" You push yourself up, and he sits up to match your restless energy. He always rises to that familiar challenge in your eyes, pulling when you push. "Who exactly is just so damn special that you're still saving that kiss for them?"

Caleb's eyes flash, and he leans up and over you until his large frame is surrounding you completely.

"Maybe it's someone I like with a bratty mouth," he snaps, gently pinching your lips shut between calloused fingers.

Your wide eyes meet his blazing ones, and you both freeze.

His fingers loosen on your lips, and your lashes flutter.

He watches your eyes dilate, then looks down to where he gingerly brushes his fingers along the seam of your lips, his breath audibly hitching when they part for him.

Caleb's lids fall heavy over his darkening gaze. Your breath speeds up in your chest. He looks from your lips to your eyes, then back down to your lips again.

And when you glance down at his own mouth, you're both crashing into each other.

Your first kiss with your childhood friend, your best friend, was anything but the magical one you had just been daydreaming about.

This was sloppy and needy, all tongue and spit and teeth. Years of emotion you didn't know how to unpack began to unravel at the seams, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you as you fall back onto the floor.

Neither of you knew what you were doing, only that you were desperate for more. His hands grab at your waist, slipping down to your thighs briefly, and snapping back up when he realized what he was touching.

Then his arms are wrapping around you, corded muscles tightening to hold you close to him as you squirm from all the years of pent up tension.

Your lips meet his again and again, needy sounds filling the air. His own spit dribbles down your chin as Caleb licks into your mouth and moans against your tongue.

Your foot trails up his leg, wrapping around his calf, and he mindlessly grabs at it, hoisting it up until it was wrapping securely around his hip. The fabric of your skirt rides up, and you jolt when you feel the growing bulge in his jeans rub against the thin fabric of your dampening panties.

The sensation is brief, then harder, until you're rolling against each other in a delirious haze of desperation.

He's mumbling something incoherent into your lips, teeth sinking into the soft flesh until you feel it start to break, and you moan his name.

Caleb jerks back, eyes wide and pupils swallowing all the purple except for the thinnest ring around the edge. His chest heaves, kiss-swollen lips forming soundless words.

Lips swollen from your kisses.

You whine, reaching for him as he begins to panic, de-tangling himself from you.

"No," you beg, trying to tug him back as he gently pulls your grabbing hands away. "No no no—"

"Pips, you're—" his voice is ragged, and he sucks in a deep breath.

His eyes are wild, darting around at everything but you, even as he tugs your skirt back down around your waist. His cheeks blaze red when he steals another quick look at the ruined panties underneath, the soaked fabric with a lacy band, before he turns away in shame.

"You're drunk," he breathes, shaking his head sharply.

"I'm not—"

"I'm drunk." Caleb laughs, disbelief coating the sound, long fingers running through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "Shit. Fuck. This wasn't—this wasn't supposed to happen—"

Your body begins to defensively curl inwards, and you blink quickly to try and keep the sudden sting of tears at bay.

Caleb finally dares a glance back at you, going from flushed to shockingly pale in seconds.

"No, no, pipsqueak—"

"No, it's fine," you sniff, pushing yourself up and scooting back against the floor. "I get it. You…you didn't want it to be me. I get it."

"No, no no no," he keeps mumbling the word the entire time you're moving away, and suddenly Caleb's on his hands and knees, crawling after you with those big, sad puppy dog eyes. "No, pips, that's not what I meant—"

"It's fine, Caleb."

"It's not fine," he insists, resting the side of his cheek against the top of your knees. His eyes are wide and wet, begging for you to just look at him. "You heard what I said. Who I said. Who I…wanted."

His voice gets impossibly quiet, and Caleb's honest gaze begs for your attention.

But you're too fixated by the dark indentation your teeth had left in his lips, the shine on them that could've been your saliva or his.

"It's just not a good idea, pips," he whispers, and you flinch, followed by his own grimace. "Shit, no, that sounded bad. It's just because—"

He stops, shaking his head, palm covering his face.

"I can't think straight," he mumbles, peeking at you through his fingers. With a sigh, he drops his hand onto your knee, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. His voice is so gentle, so Caleb, but it still grates at your sensitive nerves right now. "I think we both just need to sleep this off. We'll talk about it later, okay?"

You sniff, still not meeting his eyes completely.

"No, we wont," you mumble, even as you let yourself be gently directed towards his bed.

He's silent as he helps you prepare for sleep, even as he moves to sleep on his little couch, opting for his long legs to cramp up on the furniture instead of cuddling with you. The tension radiates off him at your accusation—because he knows you're right.

"We'll never talk about it again."

But here you are, years later, in the same situation as before.

You're both sober this time. You're older, maybe wiser, and scarred from being torn apart before coming back together.

But the way Caleb looks at you has never changed. Like you hung the stars in the sky, like you were the moon the sun chased with every morning.

He doesn't shy away when you look at him just the same. He doesn't pull back now, doesn't keep his longing locked away when your thumb brushes his lips, collecting the residue of the candy you'd fed him.

You wanted today to be a special birthday for him. You wanted to give him everything he'd ever wanted.

"Remember when you kissed me?" you breathe, and his eyes flash in surprise at what you'd silently sworn to never speak of again, beautiful lashes fluttering at your exhale across his lips. "On my birthday?"

He laughs, a little quiet huff of air, and his shock melts to something knowing. Something you'd both always known, deep down.

"You kissed me," he accuses, all low and sultry in his teasing, and you shiver.

You smile, your thumb caressing the corner of his lips.

It didn't matter who had kissed who anymore, who pulled back from who. You'd still ended up where you both belonged.

Caleb gazes up at you, awestruck when your eyes darken.

"Then you knew I wanted it," you whisper, nose bumping against his. "So why did you stop?"

You lean in slowly, giving him a moment to pull away if he still wanted to, if he still needed time. He'd given you all the time in the world, after all. You'd happily wait for him, too.

But then Caleb's lips are on yours, and everything finally feels right.

He tastes like sour lemon candy, and you whine, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. He moans, fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck me," he groans under his breath, and you laugh between the kisses that heat up between you.

"If you insist," you murmur, smirking into his mouth when his hips jerk up into yours.

The whimper that leaves his lips is quiet and needy, and you eagerly swallow it down.

"Don't tease me like that, baby," Caleb rasps, and your own hips roll in his lap at that low huskiness to his voice.

His hands tighten on your hips, stilling you. You pause, wondering if you'd taken it too far.

But then he's directing you, pulling your legs around to straddle him completely. He guides you into a deeper roll, and you both moan.

You sink down onto him with slow grinds, the hem of your dress hiding just how quickly your panties were getting wet. In the rosy haze of growing pleasure, you wonder how long it'll take to soak that erection he's been sporting since you walked in the room.

"Didn't even try and hide how hard you were when I came in," you whisper into your languid, sensual kissing. "Did you?"

Caleb's hand slips down, cupping your ass easily in his rough palm and long fingers. You moan when he squeezes it, followed by a squeak of surprise at his gentle, experimental smack to it.

"You can't talk like that, pips," he pants, head tilting back against the couch. His voice is that delicious shade of darkness when he adds, "God, you can't make those sounds either. I won't last long if you do."

His eyes are hazy as he watches you lean down, kissing along the elegant slope of his neck. You stop at the harsh bobbing of his Adam's apple when he gulps, and your teeth graze along it, humming at the moan you feel vibrate there.

"I've thought about that kiss for years," Caleb gasps, hand sliding up your back to keep you pressed to him. His hips lazily roll up into yours, his eyes rolling back into his head when he suddenly bucks up once. "Every time I—"

He cuts himself off, biting at his already swollen lips with a blush.

You smile, devious in your intent, and his mouth falls open when your hidden possessive streak unfolds.

"Every time you—" you leave your question hanging, letting the way you begin to bounce in his lap be the answer.

"You—" Caleb chokes, gripping your hips.

His eyes glue to the motion of your hips flexing under your dress, ass coming up and smacking back down against the strength of his large thighs. You feel him twitch through his jeans, and you moan along with him.

"F-fuck," he groans, mouth hanging open, the tip of his tongue falling out.

You lean forward, collecting the saliva in your mouth. Realizing what you're doing, Caleb tilts his head up and sticks his tongue out, eyes wide and dilated.

You let your spit pool onto his tongue, and he takes it eagerly, swallowing it down with a whine and a thrust of his hips.

"I've thought about it, too," you breathe, and his lidded eyes flicker between your face and where you're shamelessly humping him. "Every single time. Even when I'm not trying to. But when I'm touching myself—"

"Oh fuck—"

"And I'm trying to come, all I can think about is how warm you were and your spit in my mouth—"

"B-baby," Caleb stutters, his head lolling to the side, unfocused eyes fluttering and rolling back in his head with each dry slap and grind of your hips against his. "Please, please—"

"I always think of kissing you when I'm coming—"

"Coming," Caleb gasps, and you think he's just mindlessly repeating you until you notice how rigid he's gotten, completely still and flushed bright red as he moans, "oh, fuck, I'm coming—"

And you can feel it, the sticky warmth flooding into the front of his jeans, seeping into you as you gasp. You grind down against his throbbing cock underneath the stifling fabric, wishing you were taking every drop of his cum instead, not letting a bit of it go to waste.

Caleb whines, crying out softly as you roll your hips, and you swallow every pretty sound with hot kisses until your clothed clit catches on his ruined jeans just right.

"Oh fuck, there—" you gasp, lips messily attached to his. You feel the tears of pleasure and overstimulation streaming down his face as he bucks up into you still. "Caleb, Caleb—"

"Come," he begs, and your eyes meet his. Your hips falter at the unadulterated affection there before you speed up, breath hitching when you feel yourself being to crest over into mind-numbing pleasure. "Come for me, honey, please come for me love please—"

Your eyes pinch shut, and you cry out for him when the orgasm hits you all at once, all your limbs seizing up as you convulse in his lap.

"Oh fuck there, there it is," Caleb grunts, grabbing at your trembling thighs under your dress, moaning when he feels your slick that had dripped down them. "You're coming, you're actually coming—"

Your pussy flutters and tightens in your soaked panties, and you moan, wondering what it would have felt like if you had had the foresight to tug his cock out of his pants, if your precious Caleb had filled you up before you came around him.

Next time, you think in a haze, giggling breathlessly when you realize there was an endless number of next times now.

Caleb's lips meet yours, and you meet each kiss as they slow into something lazy and content. He keeps leaning closer and closer to you, his hand cupping the back of your head, protecting you when you both end up weakly tumbling to the ground, and you laugh.

Your eyes are warm and shining with joy when you look up at him, pulling him down for another kiss, and another, because they were all yours now. Every kiss, every moment.

It was the same messy meeting of tongue and spit and teeth from that unspoken moment years ago, except this time, he wouldn't pull away.

"When do we get to do that again?" you gasp, and he laughs too, bright and happy and maybe, finally at some semblance of peace.

"Whenever you want it," Caleb hums, pulling back to kiss the tip of your nose, then your cheekbone, your eyelashes, all the way up to your temple and back down to your lips again.

"Well," you start, grinning as your loop your arms around his neck. He smiles down at you in befuddled admiration, like he couldn't believe you were really here. "You're the birthday boy."

There's a subtle shift in his eyes, suddenly shining with vulnerability when he asks, "But you want it?"

"Oh," you whisper, brushing at the leftover tears that cling to his long lashes. You kiss them when his eyes shut, your nose nuzzling against his.

Dummy, you think fondly. Worried you didn't want any more when you just had the best orgasm of your life, just from dry humping his lap.

When you'd been dreaming of doing this for years. When you would've been happy if all he wanted was just a kiss.

But his post-nut shyness was sweet, even if coupled with that deep-rooted fear that when he closed his eyes, you'd disappear. And your heart was too full of love not to reassure him.

So you banished the shadows that haunted the corners of his mind with another gentle kiss, pressing all your love for him into it.

"Of course I want it, Caleb," you murmur, smiling up at him. "You're all I've ever wanted."

He sighs, his lips meeting yours in another kiss. This one is unhurried, an intimate promise between you.

"Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, and he smiles.

[rosiemylovr]

I'm going absolutely feral over this- I NEED A MASTER OF FATE ZAYNE SMUT WHERE HIS HAIR IS DOWN AND HIS ROBE IS SLIDING DOWN RIGHT NOW

(AND WE ALL SAY THANK YOU JUNE/THE.SUNSETPRINCESS FOR GIVING US SUCH A SCRUMPTIOUS ANIMATION♡)

[rosiemylovr]

Hi! I love your writing and would like to request Caleb and princess treatment please 💝

caleb and his princess treatment

pairings: bf!caleb/husband!caleb x fem!reader

warnings: suggestive, slight hinting of jealousy?, mentions of pregnancy

a/n: you’re very sweet, thank you for the request!! i hope it’s to your liking <3

As far back as you could remember, Caleb had always treated you with the utmost care, tending to your needs in any way he could.

During your secondary school years, Caleb decided he would make not only his own lunch, but yours too. You’d always been a picky eater and he couldn’t trust you to feed yourself if the cafeteria didn’t have enough foods that interested you. After finally moving in together as a couple— he picked up the old habit and began making your lunches for work too.

Growing up, you and Caleb often took the public transportation to and from school or town. On extra crowded days when you could only find one empty seat he’d always give it to you.

He had always been the looming overprotective presence in your life, like the time he told the entirety of the school basketball team that you were “off limits.”

And of course he picks you up from the Association in his sports car, leaning against the sleek vehicle with a cheesy grin and deep dimples, aviator shades perched on his nose. “Well hello girlfriend..” which later became his personal favorite, “Hello wife..” Followed by wrapping a lengthy arm around your waist the other around your shoulders, kissing your flushed face.

Insists on carrying you if your feet hurt, you’re sleepy, or it’s even remotely inconvenient for you to walk. Bonus: bridal style all the time.

He talks about you like you’re his entire world (because you are)—casually, without shame. “Yeah, my girlfriend made this.” “MC said that once, it stuck with me.” “She’s smarter than me, actually.”

You try to help him clean up or fix something? He gently turns you around, plants you on the nearest seat, and kisses your forehead. “Let me take care of it, baby.” “Uh Uh Pips, just sit here and look pretty for me, yeah?”

One of his love languages has always been acts of service— taking note of every little detail of your daily routines so he can find a way to make them easier for you without question.

His clothes? Pfft no, they’re our clothes. Whatever he owns he considers yours as well, emphasis on the clothing. He even buys things for himself based on how he pictures you in them eventually..

As cringey as it sounds, this man will hand feed you like a baby. Whether you’re working overtime from home or gaming he’s making sure you’re getting your meals.

Studying or working together proved to be challenging when he couldn’t tear his eyes off your figure or halt his lingering touches of affection which proved to be quite the distraction.

You're not just loved—you’re revered. He never lets you forget how special you are to him. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Let me prove it every day."

For some blissfully, wonderful, unknown reason, this man is always on his knees before you, for you. Whether it’s to tie your shoelaces or to praise his most favorite, sacred part of your- (whaaaatt ?? who said that ??)

You send ONE moderately risqué photo his way and he’s blowing up your phone like the dozens of ships he explodes with the fleet.

You knew him to be protective and caring before but when you’re expecting his first child it’s a different story. He spends the whole first month of your first trimester researching beneficial recipes for expecting mothers and their babies. “I’ll set aside time to meal prep each meal for you daily, it’ll be great Pips.”

When your newborn arrives, Caleb insists on waking up with you for each and every night shift of feedings and diaper changes. The dark circles under your eyes tug at his heart strings as he urges you back to bed as soon as you’re done with the baby. “My little copilot wants to be around mommy all the time too, hm?” He rocks your newborn back to sleep with a yawn of his own.

Gaming at his desk while you're dozing in and out of sleep from the couch he can't help but check on you, even if it's mid match. “You good, baby? Need anything? Water? Snack? A nap on me instead of the couch?” He's just glad to have you near and willing to do anything to keep you close.

He's always carrying your things for you, literally everything. When the two of you would walk home from school your backpack was always slung over his shoulder, it didn't matter that he had his own backpack and his basketball bag. That quickly became the norm for everything, shopping bags, leftovers from the hotpot place, your luggage when visiting him in Skyhaven.. The list goes on, you weren't allowed to carry anything on his watch. It was no use protesting anymore, you'd just be met with a dimpled smirk and kiss to your cheek.

Don't even try to leave or go to sleep without giving him his last kiss of the day. "EXCUSE ME. Where do you think you're going without my goodbye kiss?" He'd steal a few extra and say it was just for safety precautions.

He loves complimenting you all day, everyday. He loves the reactions you give him, would do just about anything for them.

read zayne’s version here

read sylus' version here

requests open ❤︎

[rosiemylovr]

This is exactly how I envision Caleb crying in mc’s arms

Even down to mc wiping his tears.

(He’s most definitely a pretty crier)

[rosiemylovr]

"tumblr's the only social media without algorithms!" "you can still be anonymous on tumblr!" "tumblr's so nice because you don't have to show your face!" WRONG tumblr is special because you can have 3000 followers and still get an average of seven likes a post. i'm doing stand up comedy at a packed venue and one person is laughing

[rosiemylovr]

҉ ⁀➷ 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑩𝑩𝑼

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE: BLOSSOM ESCAPE

[rosiemylovr]

a closer look

synopsis: every time you try to take your relationship to the next level, you always shy away at the last second. lucky for you, dr. zayne has a solution!

tags: inexperienced reader & zayne, soft dom zayne, reader fears penetration at first, zayne sets up a surgical camera so she can watch him finger her, vaginal fingering (duh), “anatomy” “lesson,” praise, “good girl,” improper use of hospital assets  pairing: zayne x fem reader word count: 2.3k

a/n: this came to me in a dream. enjoy

“Have I given you reason to be afraid of me?” Zayne asks you softly, attentive gaze trailing down your stiff body.

“N-no!” you blurt, thrusting your hands out in mortification. “You haven’t, I swear you haven’t. This is just…new to me.”

“Me as well,” he retreats from above you, moving back on the sofa to give you breathing room.

Just moments ago, you’d been writhing under him needily, his tongue plunging into your eager mouth as you groped each other with abandon. Spurred on by your initial pleas, he’d dared to take it further this time—further than either of you had ever been. But as his hand had traveled down your body, dipping just the slightest bit inside your panties, you’d gone rigid. Zayne, ever aware of your reactions, had stopped his movements immediately, looking seekingly into your eyes for answers. Unfortunately for him, once that cautious hazel gaze had found yours, you’d squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment. 

“It’s nothing that you did, Zayne,” you sigh as you sit up, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I know you’d never hurt me. I’m just…scared.” 

“Of?” he asks softly, and the way his kind face is void of any judgment makes you want to extract your brain and beat it for denying you the chance to feel him. 

Another sigh escapes you as you gather your thoughts. “What if it hurts?” you wonder shyly, fiddling with your clammy hands. “I always imagined it’d hurt. And there’s never…been…anything there, outside of medical stuff. That’s the only thing I have to compare it to.”

Nodding along patiently, Zayne extends a hand to you, pulling you to him when you accept it gratefully. “I’m sorry that you’re frightened, but I understand your hesitation. I’m content to just hold you in my arms, if you’ll let me. As long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.”

“No, I-I want to. With you, soon. That’s the problem—I’ll think I’m ready, but then the second we get close, I freeze up. I just don’t know what to expect, and that scares me.” 

Humming contemplatively, Zayne laces your fingers together. “I think I can help with that.” 

The usually bustling corridors of Akso Hospital are eerily quiet at night. 

Hurrying through them as if a ghost will jump out at any second, you scour the door plaques for room 429. 

I’ll be finishing up early today. If you’re able, can you meet me at the hospital this evening? Room 429, Zayne had messaged you hours ago. And with no other plans and a lingering sense of guilt that you know he’d disapprove of, you’d agreed almost instantly.

Combating pangs of confusion—he never asked you here at night, outside of official events—you don’t realize you’ve scurried past the door until the room numbers grow too high. Backtracking briskly, you tap the wood with two soft knocks before a calm “Come in!” beckons you inside. 

Room 429 is a standard hospital room—a large examination table, a sink and cabinets, and two simple chairs. At the small table near the back of the room—much humbler than the sleek standing desk in his office, you note perplexedly—Zayne sits, pen in hand, leafing through an endless stack of paperwork. Why did he move his office here for the night? 

“Great, you’re here,” he says, setting his pen atop a thick packet. “Take a seat.” 

“Um, okay,” you mumble obediently, heading toward one of the navy guest chairs. 

“Not there,” he calls. 

Turning to face him, you catch the way his eyes shift to the examination table. “Is this some kind of impromptu appointment?” you ask, his secrecy filling you with stubbornness. 

Zayne rises from the rolling chair that’s too small for him, crossing the room in measured strides. “Not a sanctioned one.” 

Before you can ask what he means, his hands are wrapping around your waist, lifting you up to deposit you on the soft table padding. 

“Hey!” you squeak, surprised but not fighting him. “What is all this? I had my annual checkup a couple weeks ago, I’ll have you know. And I won’t be your guinea pig, either.”

Zayne tsks with amusement. As he presses a button, a large black mount lowers from the ceiling, its sturdy hooks securing a small silver device. Another button, and the device’s tiny red light flicks on. 

And suddenly, your reflection stares back at you from a monitor on the opposite wall. 

Anticipating your interrogation, Zayne speaks before you can. “This is a high-definition surgical instrument. It’s used to help us see the body during minor procedures.”

You blink at him quizzically. “So…a camera?” 

“Yes. A camera. Repurposed for…recreational matters,” he quips with a slight upturn of his lips.

“You should know your own body,” he continues gently. “Exploring yourself—whether with or without me—is your right. And after last night, I figured…perhaps being able to see my actions as they happen would assuage some of your fears.” 

“You…when did you have time to…?” you trail off, staring up at him in wonder. 

“I believe I told you I finished my work early today. This was the reason,” he reveals. Even with you perched on the examination table, Zayne’s imposing height exceeds yours. His assurance is a warm blanket as he stands beside you, resting a large palm on your bent knee. “I’d like to help you explore yourself now. Will you allow me to?”

With a heavy gulp—more from anticipation than nerves, you realize—you nod your consent meekly.

“I don’t know what that means, darling. Can you give me words?”

“Yes,” you exhale shakily. “Help me. Please.”

Smiling softly, pride flashing across his face, he leans in to kiss you sweetly. Then, reaching up to bring the camera closer, he angles it toward your lower body. On the far wall, the feed is dangerously close to revealing what lies beneath your skirt. 

“I’ll raise this,” he says, lifting the fabric with care. “And these…will need to come off,” he eyes you, gesturing to your thin cotton panties. 

For a moment, you debate removing them yourself. But if this was about overcoming fears….

“Can you do it, Dr. Zayne? I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” you whisper coyly. 

His eyes widen as he pauses. Then, collecting himself, he inches his hands forward to tug at the sides of your panties, sliding them down with precision. “Of course,” he says softly. “I’ll take care of you.” 

As he sets his eyes on your naked cunt for the first time, Zayne shows admirable restraint, looking away after only a few tense seconds. Some hypocritical, eager-to-please part of you would almost be offended, if not for his tells: his quickened blinks, heavy breaths, and fidgeting fingers. 

“I’ll get started now,” he exhales, voice husky with veiled desire. “You’re free to stop me at any time.”

And as you gaze at him with trust and only a little bit of fear, Zayne begins. 

“This is your pelvic bone,” he gestures slowly. “It supports your body weight.” 

The warmth of someone else’s hand on your bare hip is a foreign feeling. Foreign, but not bad, you decide, relaxing under his touch. 

“The mons pubis,” he continues, hands ghosting over the mound beneath your belly. 

“And this,” he murmurs, spreading your folds carefully, “is your pretty little pussy.” 

The word—in here, from him, in reference to you—is so scandalous it makes you gasp. You try desperately to avoid his gaze, eyes flitting across the room in panicked arousal, but you don’t find the reprieve you’re looking for. 

Because on that far wall, looking back at you tauntingly, is the velvety skin of your most private part, glistening with your growing desire. 

Snapping you out of your staring contest, Zayne taps the flesh of your thigh twice. “Open, please. Wider.” 

Swallowing thickly, you oblige.  

“Good,” he praises, tracing your exposed entrance with an elongated index finger. “This is where I’ll touch you. Is that alright?”

Through heavy drags of air, you forget his earlier instructions, nodding quickly as your answer. When all he does is lift a brow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips, you hazily remember his request. “Yes,” you whimper apologetically. “It’s alright.”

“Well, then. Suck,” he orders simply, holding his finger to your mouth. 

The command startles you at first. But as you look between the man beside you and the far wall, recalling how frustrated you’d been with your fears last night, you part your lips slightly. Just enough for him to enter. 

Timidly, you circle your tongue around him, coating his finger in your saliva. Once he deems it wet enough, he taps your thigh again, and you release him with a soft pop. 

With half-lidded eyes, Zayne hums his approval, pushing closer to you to angle the digit at your entrance. “Hold onto me if you need to,” he whispers, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder.

And then, his finger sinks inside you. 

It’s one thing to feel the tension. To clench as a light, unfamiliar pressure pushes firmly inside your heat, claiming the untraversed territory with every inch. 

But as the discomfort subsides and you open your eyes, seeing it unfold is something else entirely. 

On the large screen, Zayne’s slender finger pumps in and out of you slowly, impactfully. With every exit, your pulsing pink walls hug his retreating digit, begging him to stay. And when he grants their request, every thrust back inside has them clamping around his finger, as if barring him from leaving them lonely. 

Watching with rapt attention, Zayne splits his focus between the monitor and you, gauging your expression for signs of discomfort.

But as your body melts with newfound pleasure, you sigh softly along to the rhythm of his pumps, eyeing the way he breaches your wetness with wanton intrigue. 

The way he disappears inside you, giving his body to yours…you want to kiss him. You need to kiss him. But the moment you lift your gaze to his lips, licking your own as you lean in, Zayne moves his face just out of reach.

“No,” he murmurs his denial, stroking your walls with added vigor as he turns your face back toward the screen. “Don’t get distracted.”

Grumbling your disappointment, you allow his hypnotic movements to recapture your attention. But before long, you’re curling into his touch. “Can you…m-more?” you pant, risking a longing glance up at him. 

“More?” Zayne repeats, slowing his pace to a deep probe that makes you writhe in impatience. “Is that something you can handle?” 

“Yes,” you cry, clutching his pristine lab coat. “Can handle it, if it’s you.” 

He hums contentedly. And a split second later, another long finger joins the first. 

Eyes glued to the screen, you see the intrusion before you feel it: his thick, united digits headed straight for your core. As he prods at the small opening, advances met with quivering resistance, you almost think you’ve asked for more than you can take. But as slick dribbles out of your squelching hole to welcome him, the fluid dulls the stretching sensation, and your fluttering cunt sucks him in greedily.

A loud, lewd moan has you arching erratically, and Zayne wraps a strong arm around your lower back to support you. 

“How does it feel?” he murmurs between steady pumps. “Are you still frightened?” 

“No,” you mewl ardently. “It’s good. You’re good. But I…” you pause, racking your fuzzy brain for the right words. 

“You what, my love?” 

“I can’t…I don’t think I can…like this…” you trail off with an embarrassed whine, hoping he understands your babbling. 

“Mm,” he nods sympathetically. “It’s natural that you can’t come from this alone. What a good girl you are for telling me.” 

With his free hand, Zayne leans forward to adjust the camera, centering it over your glistening cunt. Once satisfied, he flexes his thumb to rest gently on the twitching bundle above your entrance. “You know what this is, don’t you, darling?”

“Clit,” you breathe, the word leaving you in a garbled gasp thanks to the shocks of his feather-light touch. 

“That’s right,” he praises, kissing your temple while his fingers scissor lazily inside you. “This is how you’ll finish.” 

As your voices fade, room filling with the wet sploshes of your tightening walls, the force of his thumb grows heavier on your clit. You almost squeal as the pressure increases, instinctively lifting your hips out of the camera frame—to which Zayne firmly pushes you back down. 

“Watch,” he commands sternly. “So you’ll know how to do the same when I’m away.” 

Curling his other fingers inside you, Zayne rolls his thumb in devastating circles, grinding so deeply against your nub that it greets you with spasmic, greedy twitches on the monitor. For a moment, his movements are mesmerizing, his thumb drawing patterns on your clit in time with his measured pumps. But as he slips out his index finger to pinch your aching bud, the gushing slick heralding your release is the last thing you see before your eyes screw shut from ecstasy. 

As you writhe against him with thankful sobs, Zayne’s movements slow before stopping altogether. “It’s alright,” he shushes you. “Let it take you. You look beautiful like this.” 

And in the comfort of his reassurance, those sobs turn into quiet, blissful moans. 

You’re not sure how he does it—the sink and paper towels are on the other side of the room—but when you open your eyes, Zayne’s hands are clean. 

“I’m very proud of you,” he says gently, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” you mumble, nuzzling into his palm. “You were right. Seeing it, knowing what you were doing…it did help,” you finish shyly.

“I’m glad. And in that case,” he adds, tapping the camera appreciatively, “I’ll ask around about the cost of installation in my home office.”

[rosiemylovr]

I like how they did acknowledged that caleb is a dog/puppy 😭

[rosiemylovr]

PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

[rosiemylovr]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ PROJECT BUNNY ⋆ ˚｡⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚ ♡ Chapter II: System Error: Unexpected Input

You glanced at the chat, watching as X-Devoted’s name remained calmly in the frenzy. The same name that had haunted your shift, now haunting your stream.

No. Not the same. It’s not him.

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚➷ Pairing: lads lis x afab!fem camgirl!reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚➷ Tags: 18+, eventual smut, porn with plot, porn w/ feelings, camgirl au, canon divergence au, stalking, paranoia, crying while masturbating, unreliable narrator, second pov, dark romance, reverse harem, shameless smut, explicit, voyeurism, praise kink, porn, ooc, sex toys, clothing fetish, cosplay, ddlg (daddy dom/little girl), pet names, live masturbation, power play, strip tease, sex work, streaming culture, parasocial relationship, obsessive parasocial behavior, dirty talk, reader is not mc, reader has a day job, reader is addressed as "Bunny" or "PixelBunny" on stream, masked identities, veiled threats

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚➷ Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: sorry this took too long, I've suffered from writing-block-titis

➷ MASTERLIST ➷ AO3 ➷ NAVIGATION

You slid the latte across the counter with the same shaky hands you used to edge yourself on stream six hours ago. It was a miracle the foam heart art didn’t come out looking like a cum-stained potato.

“Order for Xavier!” You chirped, instantly hating yourself for the lingering bratty lilt.

He walked up. Paid. His fingers brushed against yours. He took his latte with a polite nod, the cup held in long fingers like it was too precious to spill.

“You might wanna try our Bavarian donuts. They taste good.” Goddamn it, your customer-service-slave self just had to offer something. Something creamy and sweet—almost reminded you of something inappropriate.

Those blues lingered on your face a bit longer once more. You didn’t breathe, eye twitching for his reply. Up close, he smelled faintly of clean linen and something darker underneath—like ozone before a lightning strike. Yes, you figured that out.

Then finally, the corners of his lips tugged in a subtle smile and quietly left you several bills of tip. But he didn’t thank you again. He just nodded, slow and polite. And turned to leave.

Calm. Measured. Gone.

“Thank you, Xavier. Come again,” you said, still sporting a polite smile as you watched the back of his head.

With a shuddering breath, your hand slowly stashed the bills into your pocket, moving as if you were involved in a drug deal in broad daylight. Heck, you ignored the tip jar sitting on the counter near you. Handsome customer, handsome tip—whatever tip you were talking about. 

Most importantly, the crisis was averted—or so you thought. 

You spun back toward the espresso machine. Then paused. Something was wrong. Another cautious glance thrown over your shoulder, slow enough you could almost hear your cervical spine creak.

The cute motherfucker didn’t leave. 

You wished he would just take the latte and walk out like a normal hot guy with cheekbones sharp enough to slice God.

But no. He sat. Right by the window, in the corner, where golden morning light spilled across the wood in long, lazy strips. The seat with the best view of the register. The one that conveniently gave him full range to watch the counter, the café, and you.

Xavier—if that is his real name—was lounging in the corner of the café like he belonged there. Like the low thrum of café chatter and the hiss of milk steamers were made for him. Like a man with nothing urgent but endless time.

One leg crossed over the other, a paperback novel in his lap—spine cracked just enough to say: yes, I’ve read this more than once. Though you were pretty sure he hadn't turned a page in the last twenty minutes.

Every so often, he sipped his latte—precise, methodical—and casted his gaze out the window like he was watching the rain.

Only... it was not raining. And he was not really watching anything.

Sure, customers were always welcomed to lounge in the café—natural, expected—but something about him staying bothered you more than it should have. 

You sneaked glances in between drink orders and fake smiles, hoping you were subtle. 

He didn’t pull out a laptop. Didn’t fiddle with his phone. No earbuds, no distractions. Just sipped his drink, one hand cupped loosely around the cup, eyes casted out the window like he was people-watching. Like he was casually, disinterestedly omniscient. 

As if he enjoyed being there. Maybe he did. 

And you were starting to unravel. It felt like it was being streamed. But worse. Because this camera had a breath. 

You could feel his gaze, even when it was not on you. Like a ghost fingertip tracing the dip of your spine through your apron. 

Calm. Curious. But not unkind.

Every now and then, when you thought he was not looking, you still kept throwing glances. And when you were looking—he was, too.

Never long enough to be obvious. Never short enough to be meaningless. Just little flickers of attention, like he was checking something off a list in his head.

You were not being stared at—that would be obvious, borderline flirty. It would be like a cheesy romcom only if your stomach did not flip with dread, instead of butterflies. 

No. It was the kind of awareness that creeps under your skin like static. As if, at any given second, he could flick his gaze your way and read you like your stream chat log.

You busied yourself wiping tables, fetching milk refills, laughing too hard at a coworker’s shitty joke. But every time you passed by his peripheral, you swear you could feel it:

That flicker of recognition. 

That tightening in your gut. 

That stupid, traitorous thought: Could it be…?

Ah, you’re just sleep-deprived. 

The latte you made him now sat cold and unfinished. He has been there for over an hour.

One coworker asked, voice pitched higher than normal. “Think he’s waiting for someone? He’s so cute.”

Another giggled, “Hope he’s not a mystery shopper. I over-steamed the milk twice because I was distracted.”

One reply had your cunt clenching in a sudden spike of anxiety, “Maybe he’s stalking someone.”

That made you wiped down a counter with unnecessary force. The memory of a certain user—X-Devoted—whispering filthy praises into your brain last night made your ears burn.

Xavier.

You told yourself it wasn’t him. That it couldn’t be. X-Devoted was just a username, just one of your top five high-tier simps, the kind who never turned his camera on but always made you repeat his name when you came.

“Say it.”

“Louder.”

“Good girl.”

You bit your lip as you scrubbed out a mug that already looked clean. You could still feel the ache from last night. The way you rocked back onto your heels, trembling and teary, trying to squirt for the camera because he had said please.

Minutes later, you nearly knocked over a tray when someone ordered a chai and says “extra hot,” and your filthy brain immediately rewinded to X-Devoted’s voice note—

“Say you want it hotter. No—moan it, Bunny.”

You dropped a spoon.

Your coworker gave you a look. “You good?”

You nodded too fast.

“Caffeine withdrawal,” you lied, teeth bared in a nervous grin. “I’m fine. Totally fine.”

It couldn’t be him though, X-Devoted’s voice was deeper. But what if it was altered…? 

Your train of unwarranted thoughts was cut off when you heard a coworker giggle just near the espresso machine behind you.

“Oh stop, Lysander,” Sarah cooed, quiet and flirty, probably batting her eyelashes at her companion. 

Oh right. She and your manager were “secretly” dating as if the whole café staff didn’t know about their afterwork shenanigans in the office. Rolling your eyes, you left them and headed back to the front counter.

The hours blurred. You did what you always do:

You steamed milk. Burnt your wrist on the espresso machine. Got powdered sugar in your hair. Listened to your coworker drone on about her astrology boyfriend, “He’s a Gemini, but like, emotionally monogamous.”

You scrubbed a suspicious brown smear off the bathroom sink. Your playlist repeated itself. Twice.

You were just a barista.

Just a broke girl in a bunny headset who came so hard last night she saw stars and then woke up to this soul-leeching job that pays you enough to afford a few nice vibrators and some instant noodles.

You do not have a stalker. You do not know this man. He is innocent. Stop assuming the worst, you are fine.

Except when you glanced back—he was still there. He ordered one refill and a Bavarian donut, then went right back to his silent vigil—silver hair catching the late morning light like he stepped out of a sad film and into your smut-saturated breakdown.

The morning dragged like a heavy cuff wrapped around your ankle. And you felt exposed as the clock ticked. Even your name tag now stared back at you like an accusation.

PIXEL.

You hadn't changed it. You forgot to. 

Well, fuck. Moreover, fuck your bubbling caffein-induced paranoia.

You grimaced at the nickname. You never told your manager your screen handle—not entirely. It was just the stupid name tag. Coincidence. Nothing to unravel there.

By the time the lunch rush fizzled out into yawning silence and mopped floors, your legs were jelly and your patience threadbare. Xavier finally had left—quietly, without a word, his cup placed neatly on the table like a gentleman who was never there.

But his absence somehow felt louder than his presence. 

You blinked and it’s 3:58 PM. Two minutes to freedom.

“Hey,” your manager called from the back. “Before you go, can you empty the feedback box? It’s getting full.”

You sighed. Figures. No overtime pay for digging through paper Karen rage. But still, you nodded, grateful for something to do that didn’t involve thinking about that customer. 

You headed over to the corner, grabbed the key, and popped open the metal box marked “SPILL THE TEA 🍵” beside the community corkboard, filled with curling coupons and forgotten dog-walking flyers.

A cascade of crumpled notes spilled into your hands. You crouched beside it with a sigh, and started pulling scraps of paper like it was confetti from the world’s saddest birthday party.

The usual mix of bad handwriting, coffee orders disguised as critiques. Mostly it was receipts scribbled with complaints, napkins with hearts drawn in coffee, one kid’s crayon sketch of what might’ve been a bear, or possibly your shift supervisor.

More usual crap like: 

“Great chai!”

“Give Sarah a raise.”

“Someone left a diaper in the bathroom again. Ugh…”

“Great service! Coffee was too hot like the shy-hunk barista.”

“I bumped into my crush today, he bought me a box of macarons ♡ — Layla”

“I saw a bug. Might’ve just been a raisin. Still.”

One sketch of what might be a penis. You snorted. Typical.

But one folded slip caught your eyes. It was neater than the others. Thick ivory paper. No handwriting on the back. You opened it, expecting another “hire hotter baristas” complaint. Instead:

"I had a strange dream last night. She was moaning in it.”

Your stomach dropped. 

That’s it—no signature, neat handwriting in blue-inked pen. Just that single sentence, cleanly folded.

Slanted slightly to the right.

Your throat tightened as you glanced back across the café, half-expecting to see him—but the seat in the corner was empty. Only the imprint of his weight lingered in the cushion, and a paper coffee cup still half-full. The sleeve was turned inside out.

You hesitated. You didn’t check it. Not yet. Not with the others watching. Not while your hands were shaking. 

Maybe it was just a note from a straight-laced man suppressing raging hormones as though he was a seminarian training for priesthood—using the feedback box as though it was a confessional booth for his sinful, filthy dream. 

Or maybe it was written by the “crush” of that girl who received a box of macarons, dreaming of her moaning, therefore, the treat.

Still, you folded the note back and stuffed it in your pocket, trying not to think too hard. Trying not to imagine a pair of glacial blue eyes watching you through a flickering screen. 

  — ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

Your body was running on caffeine, sin, and fumes—but you have got one last mission before you crawl back into your den of pink neon depravity. After locking up your apron and clocking out with a dead-eyed smile, you traded your customer-service persona for your real one: mildly dazed, moderately unhinged, and perpetually overstimulated.

The fluorescent buzz of CUP O' SUNSHINE! was replaced by the hum of city noise as you stepped out into the dying light of the evening. A symphony of neon reflections and distant sirens.

The air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked concrete and distant sea salt, a blend unique to Linkon’s coastal sprawl.

Each step echoed the weight of the anonymous note now crumpled in your pocket. The words—“I had a strange dream last night. She was moaning in it.”—looped in your mind, intertwining with the memory of Xavier's lingering gaze.

It was still folded tight in your pocket, burning a hole through the fabric like a hot brand. You had not dared read it again—not since slipping it into your trousers with trembling fingers.

It didn’t even say anything, not really. It was vague and could be written by any customer. But it read like a whisper pressed to your ear in the dark. Like someone saw you. Like someone knew.

You fished out your phone to check the time.

Parcel delivered. P.O. box. 

Great. You had almost forgotten. 

You took a right at the alley with the mural of a weeping koi fish and headed toward the post office, pulling your hoodie up over your head. It was an oversized black one with a small, pink bunny embroidery sitting on the chest area—cute, discreet. Camgirl-meets-coffee-goblin chic.

You made your way to the Bloomshore District, its vintage charm offering a brief respite from the modern hustle. The post office here was quaint—sandwiched between a payday loan shark and a discount pharmacy—with brass fixtures and a bell that jingles as you enter.

The fluorescent-lit interior was as soul-sucking as ever, but your fingers twitched with anticipation. You unlocked the little metal door marked B-3029, and there it was—tucked in like a filthy little love letter from the void:

A box. No sender listed. Light. Wrapped in matte black tape.

You grinned like the unholy gremlin you were. You know what it was. One of your high-paying patrons—maybe Syl.Draconia, maybe Mr. WhiteCoat, or C.Pilot—had DM’d you cryptically mid-stream a few nights before.

“You’ll know which end is yours.”

“Designed for repeat destruction.”

“I had it custom-made.”

It was nothing too scandalous this time—maybe. Just new accessories for your Pixel Bunny persona: lace cuffs, ribbon chokers, a cropped sailor blouse that would barely cover your nipples. Though oftentimes, you would receive surprise items usually from any of them. 

You ran your fingers along the corner of the packaging, heart hammering, heat blooming in your core from the memory of last night’s stream—how you had let yourself fall apart for them.

Your lips twitched.

A part of you was flattered—she would be, your pastel-drenched persona with her fluttering lashes and soft “ohs,” “ahs,” and “oopsies.” But you? The real you?

You felt somewhat… suddenly conflicted. Still, you needed the money. Receiving gifts helped lower the expenses for various streams.

And like a sinner walking out of church, you clutched it to your chest and slipped it into your bag as you left. Its weight feels heavier than it should.

You tugged your hoodie tighter, exhaling into the collar. Your second destination was only a few blocks away now. Discreetly tucked between a bookstore and a bubble tea shop, the little adult boutique was one of the few places in the city that felt judgment-free.

The clerk knew you by now—never asked questions, always tossed in a free bottle of lube if you bought anything battery-powered.

Just as you turned around another corner, nose buried in your phone, distracted by a text from R.tist!c about how he wanted you to reenact Ophelia drowning in pearls next stream…

When—bam—you slammed shoulder-first into someone.

“Oh shit—sorry!” you blurted, staggering back a step.

Your boring tote bag slipped. So did their belongings. 

Your phone clattered to the ground, followed by what looked like a sketchpad and a purple gift box, tumbling onto the pavement with an offended thwack.

Your knee knocked into their dropped package. You were already crouching, grabbing it with one hand, handing it over without even looking up. 

“My bad, seriously—I'm in a rush.” 

You're red-faced, head-down, hoodie hiding your features as you reach for your phone and scurried, leaving trails of regret and lingering paranoia.

Behind you, the man stooped to gather scattered sketches and his sketchpad. His voice, laced with irritation, reached your ears:

"Watch where you're going, you—"

He paused, the rest of his sentence swallowed by the city's noise. 

You didn't look back.

The man straightened, brushing non-existent dust from his white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal paint-stained forearms. His dusky purple hair—damped from the drizzle—fell over his eyes, which glinted with irritation. He watched your retreating figure, disdain playing on his lips, as he tucked the sketchpad under his arm.

"Rude bitch," he muttered, low, like the man was not used to being ignored. 

The voice was sharp, rough like charcoal on canvas. Familiar in a way that had made your spine bristle.

You tucked it away. Add it to the file in your mind marked ‘Weird Shit That’s Probably Nothing’—just like the anonymous note. Just like Xavier’s stare.

Just like the growing ache in your gut that said someone was watching, waiting, peeling you apart layer by trembling layer.

Soon, you pushed open the frosted door of Aphrodisia Noir, the boutique bell jingled softly as you stepped inside. You were greeted by lavender lights and the quiet thrum of synth music. It smelled like latex, perfume, and just the faintest hint of scented candles. Safe. Familiar.

Rows of tastefully arranged toys—nothing garish, nothing gross. You breathed out. For a moment, your mask slipped. You’re not Pixel Bunny here. You’re just tired, poor, and horny enough to justify spending your tip money on something that vibrates at three speeds.

“Rough day?” Lilith, the clerk, called. Her full lips curled in a knowing smirk, painted with matte black lipstick, a stark contrast to the fairness of her skin.

“Kind of,” you replied, giving her a smile. “You got new ones?”

Lilith blew her vape, deliberate and languid as though she had all the time in the world. The white cloud of vapor slightly obscured her pallid face. 

“Got new eggs, cuffs, lubes n’ then some,” she finally said, hopping down from behind the counter. “Come.”

  — ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

By the time you stepped back into your tiny apartment, the sun was long gone. Night had poured into the city like dark velvet, and the windows hummed with distant hover traffic and muffled nightlife static.

The door clicked shut behind you with a finality that felt like exhaling after hours underwater. 

Your apartment was still dim—one narrow strip of LED pink licking up the wall, casting a soft glow over the cluttered haven of a broke girl with expensive secrets: cosplay wigs hanging like trophies, unopened mail balancing precariously on your microwave, and three empty energy drink cans sharing space with a bottle of lube.

The silence was sacred here. No espresso machines. No suspicious notes. No silver-haired men sitting like predators in public cafés. Just you.

You undressed slowly—shedding the mundanity of your barista disguise. Off went the uniform shirt, damped with a day’s sweat. Off went your stockings, rolled down your thighs like shed skin. You stepped into the bathroom, took a quick warm shower, ate takeout dinner, brushed your teeth, took a piss like a normal human being.

Everything you wore in your “real” life felt like a costume now—one you shed with the grace of a practiced sinner.

You set down your tote containing the parcel from the post office on the bed, fingers fumbling with tired muscle memory. The boutique bag from Aphrodisia Noir rested beside it, a tangible reminder of your indulgence.

A subtle reminder of who you were about to become.

You were still you, technically. Just… a different flavor—barista by day, cam girl by night.

And any minute now, she would return.

Pixel Bunny.

The brat. The tease. The virtual siren with a cutely stammered “H-hi everybun~!” and the kind of thighs that looked better parted.

You pulled the cropped sailor blouse over your bare chest. It was baby blue and dangerously tight—your nipples pressed against the fabric like secrets dying to be spilled. You wrapped the lace cuffs around your wrists. Clipped on the oversized bunny ears headset. Tied the satin ribbon choker snug around your throat.

Skirt? Barely there. Bent with your hips like a good sub and rode up too high even when you’re still.

The new toy—long, sleek, and remote-controlled—sat pretty on your desk, still in its packaging from Aphrodisia Noir. You unwrapped it slowly, teasing yourself with the plastic crinkle before slipping it into your thigh-high stocking band like a hidden dick-shaped dagger.

The mirror didn’t lie. You looked edible. A bratty little tease begging to be ruined.

Soon, you propped yourself onto the bed with a sigh, eyes already flicking toward your desk.

The rig was waiting.

The ring light loomed like a hungry moon.

The pastel setup, untouched since last night, still smelled faintly like arousal and body spray and plastic.

You checked the time—ten minutes until showtime.

Your heart was already pounding. Not from nerves. Not entirely.

No—you wanted this. You wanted them to see you, wanted them desperate. Most importantly, wanted their credits, their praises, their silent need bleeding through usernames.

The screen glowed with a brief countdown before bathing you in an ethereal haze of soft filters and lo-fi beats that bloomed through your mic. You perched delicately on your bed, the camera tilted just enough to catch the swell of your thighs, the curve of your waist, and the coy fall of your lashes.

The chat slowly exploded—48… 86… 793… viewers entered the chat. Bunny and heart emojis flooded the loading screen.

And then, finally—PixelBunny is live.

Syl.Draconia 💎 has entered the chat. 🐇

Mr. WhiteCoat 💎 is watching.

C.Pilot tipped 999 credits: hey Bun :D

R.tist!c 💎 has entered the chat. 🐇

You pouted, voice trembling in that perfect practiced tone—sweet, shy, bratty to the bone.

“G-good evening, everybun. I… I’ve missed you…” Your words melted into a soft giggle. The bell on your choker jingled.

Syl.Draconia: Youre late bunny.

Mr.WhiteCoat: I’ve been waiting for exactly 15 minutes.

R.tist!c: tsk dirty muse

R.tistic: at least youre finally here i had a shitty encounter i need this

C.Pilot: that skirt better be shorter than last time.

You shifted on the bed, letting the camera catch just enough thigh to drive them wild. Messages flew. Tips dinged. Your viewers—your patrons—were already hard and hungry behind their screens.

You grinned. The rush of power had hit you hard and fast.

Mr. WhiteCoat: Are you still sore from last night, Bunny? 

R.tist!c: i want to draw you like this legs open skin blushed soaked

Syl.Draconia: That outfits indecent. Its… perfect.

C.Pilot: Bunny brought a new toy. let’s watch her squirm. >:)

“You noticed…? T-this toy’s special. I got it j-just for tonight.” You shifted your weight, letting the skirt ride up just a little more. “Should I let you watch me try it on, mm?”

You held up the toy and giggled when the chat exploded. Emojis. Threats. Obsession.

Yes.

now

Good girl.

be obedient.

You scooted back on your bed, legs spreading just enough to tease the outline of what was to come. “Let’s see who begs the prettiest tonight,” you whispered, lowering the toy to the damp strip of lace that barely covered your cunt.

The vibrations started low. Your breath caught—lips parting, lashes fluttering. You imagined them all in the dark, fists clenched, muttering your name like a prayer or a curse. Each one thinking you were his alone.

You pulled the toy back into view and trailed it along your thigh, your fingers trembled with more than just performance. There was a pit in your stomach—a twisting knowledge that maybe one or two of them saw you today in the real world. 

You swallow hard as you slid your sheer panties aside, finally exposing that cunt your patrons had always wished to devour and dump with their cum. Push the toy in—slowly, deliberately—and let the moan slip out like a secret.

Chat went feral.

But beneath it—underneath the teasing and the tips and the slutty little moans you had let out for them—there was a flicker of something else. X-Devoted was not in the chat yet, which reminded you of a certain customer from the café today.

A whisper in your head that maybe X-Devoted was indeed Xavier. Maybe he had started guessing. Worse, maybe he had already connected the dots after the café incident—therefore, the cryptic note.

Curses. The paranoia was slowly affecting your performance. But for now… you arched your back, pressed the toy to your inner thigh, and let the cam roll.

X-Devoted: Dont stop. I want to see how long u last without saying my name

Your eyes snapped to the chat, heart racing. The note from the café, the eerie familiarity of Xavier’s gaze—it all swarmed back like a hornet’s nest poked with a stick. X-Devoted’s username was finally there, sending the same kind of commands he always did, the same kind of dark poetry that made your body respond like it was on cue.

You took a deep, shaky breath and forced a giggle. “Someone’s eager tonight, aren’t they?” You whispered, winking into the camera, even though the gesture was lost in the haze of your own fear and excitement.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Don’t let them distract you, Bunny.

R.tist!c: youre mine tonight no need to entertain boomers

The tips grew more frequent, more desperate, like throwing coins into a fountain of desire. You tried to focus, to ignore the way your palms were suddenly slick with something more than anticipation.

C.Pilot: you’re doing so good baby. just remember who loves you.

Syl.Draconia: So close little bunny. I want to feel it.

You slid the toy back into your quivering cunt, the buzzing a distant echo of the pounding in your ears. You needed this. The money, the power—the escape. But as the vibrations grew stronger, so did the fear that maybe, just maybe, X-Devoted knew. Maybe he had seen through your digital veil and found you.

And as you watched your patrons’ names flicker and pulse with each tip, your eyes blurred. The line between PixelBunny and your real self grew thinner than the lace of your panties. The toy grew slick with your need, with their need, and your thoughts swam with images of Xavier’s calm gaze.

“W-who’s going to make me c-cum first?” You asked, voice shaking with the tension of the day’s events.

R.tist!c: its gonna be me bunny

X-Devoted: Dont rush. Take ur time

C.Pilot: no one else but me, your boyfriend.

Mr. WhiteCoat: That’s it, PixelBunny. Push it in deeper.

Syl.Draconia: Shift slightly on your left. Let me see that cunt come perfectly.

You glanced at the chat, watching as X-Devoted’s name remained calmly in the frenzy. The same name that had haunted your shift, now haunting your stream.

No. Not the same. It’s not him.

The tips grew more frantic. The vibrations grew stronger. You felt like a marionette dancing on strings of desire, each pull and push from your patrons echoing through your clenched fist around the toy. They didn’t know the turmoil behind your smile—the tremble in your voice. 

They thought it was all for them.

And maybe it was.

Maybe the anonymity of the internet was a paper-thin veil. Maybe X-Devoted had recognized you—his favorite little rabbit—and was now watching you with the same detached curiosity as he had at the café. Maybe the note was his way of saying hello.

But X-Devoted’s messages remained the same—his usual blend of sweet and sharp, of control and adoration. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. You told yourself that, even as you felt his eyes on you, even as your body responded to his commands.

It’s not him, was it? Xavier was not X-Devoted. What happened in the café was all just a coincidence. Xavier is a common name.

The toy thrummed inside you, the vibrations building to a crescendo that matched the frantic typing in the chat. The camera caught the shimmer of your tears—tiny pearls that clung to your lashes. The patrons took it as part of the act, assuming they were tears of pleasure, not fear. The tips grew more frantic, the words more demanding.

Mr. WhiteCoat: Poor Bunny. 

R.tist!c: yes baby spread those legs wider 

Syl.Draconia: Take it out show us how wet you are.

C.Pilot: you’re so beautiful when you’re crying. and full of my cum.

With trembling hands, you pulled out the toy, the wetness coating it reflecting the soft pink glow of your room. The chat exploded with lewd comments and tips—each one adding another layer to the pressure building in your chest. 

You spread your legs wider, displaying yourself like a peep show doll, all while trying to ignore the voice in your head that whispered, "What if Xavier's was indeed watching as X-Devoted?"

You began to rub your clit with shaky fingers, the chilly air in the room a stark contrast to the heat building between your thighs. Each touch sent sparks through you, and you threw your head back, moaning for the camera. The tips grew more generous, the messages more urgent.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Insert another finger, PixelBunny. I know you can take it.

R.tist!c: look how pretty you are

Syl.Draconia: Give us what we want.

C.Pilot: that’s it baby. let go for me.

X-Devoted tipped 2500 credits.

X-Devoted remained silent, just giving tips but not saying anything—just like Xavier did in the café. His absence in the chat was a palpable presence that sent a cold shiver down your spine. You knew he was there, watching. 

You could almost feel his gaze boring into you—calculating, assessing.

You slammed the toy back inside, the sound of it echoing in the quiet room. Your eyes squeezed shut as you bit back a scream. The orgasm ripped through you, a storm of pleasure and panic that painted your face in shades of ecstasy and dread.

The chat erupted into a symphony of digital applause, each ding of a tip a validation of your submission.

Your breathing slowed, the tremors of your body subsiding. The chat had moved on to the next act of the show—asking for more, demanding more. You knew you had to give it to them. After all, they were the ones keeping you afloat.

You leaned back on the bed, the plush pillows enveloping you in a soft embrace as you caught your breath. The toy lay discarded beside you—a symbol of the power they had over you. You picked it up, the sticky residue of your climax making your hand cling to it.

Mr.WhiteCoat: That was just a warm-up, PixelBunny. Focus. I can see that you are quite distracted.

R.tist!c: show us what you can really do

Syl.Draconia: More, pet. 

C.Pilot: good girl. keep going.

The messages were a blur—each one a reminder that you were not just a girl in a tiny apartment, but a goddess in a digital world where you held all the power. But outside, in the real world, you were just a café worker with a secret.

X-Devoted: U are so beautiful, Pixel

Oh god.

Your digital nickname. The same nickname you were flashing back at your café shift. The very nickname that was written on your name tag, which was Xavier had stared at too long in the cafe’s counter today.

For god’s sake, it’s NOT him! Stop worrying.

"I-I need a break, Daddies," you whispered to the camera, trying to keep your lilt light and playful despite the tightness in your throat. "Just a little bit. Bunny will be right back."

The chat was a mix of whines and understanding nods. They knew you needed to recharge, to sip from the chalice of your own reality. 

You slid off the bed, the skirt riding up and leaving you exposed in a way that made you feel both vulnerable and thrilled. The cold air kissed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the chilly temperature of your room.

You padded over to the kitchen, the plush carpet silent under your bare feet. The fridge hummed—a comforting sound that was the background noise of your life outside of PixelBunny. You grabbed a bottle of water, twisting off the cap with trembling hands. 

The condensation felt like a lifeline to reality, a reminder that you weren't just a body for their pleasure. You took a sip, the cool liquid soothing the dryness of your throat.

Leaning against the counter, you let the weight of the day—of Xavier’s gaze and the mysterious note—settle on your shoulders. The stream was a respite, a place where you could control the narrative, but it was becoming harder to ignore the threads connecting your two lives. 

You stared into the darkness outside the kitchen window, wondering if Xavier was really out there, watching.

When you returned to the bed, the chat had moved on. They were discussing the latest trends, some were sharing memes, and sending more tips than ever before. It was as if the break had only served to stoke the fires of their lust. 

You took a deep breath and climbed back onto the bed, picking up your persona like a well-worn costume.

"I'm back," you trilled into the microphone, the sound echoing in the quiet of the night. "And I brought something extra special." You held up a bottle of cum lube that Lilith had given you as a freebie this evening, the white bottle catching the light from the ring. "Someone's going to get very full tonight."

The chat exploded with excitement. 

Mr. WhiteCoat tipped 1500 credits: There you are, PixelBunny.

R.tist!c: what brand is that bunny ill mix it with my paints

Syl.Draconia tipped 3000 credits: Youre giving me ideas what to send you next Bunny. 

C.Pilot: I've missed you baby

X-Devoted: Ur naughty as ever, Pixel

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. Tonight was about them, not your paranoia. You were PixelBunny, and PixelBunny didn’t get scared by strange customers at her day job. PixelBunny didn’t get nervous about someone knowing her secrets.

The stream picked up again, your voice steady and sweet. You slipped back into your digital skin like a glove, the fear and doubt of the day peeling away to reveal the bratty, flirty veneer that made men drop their wallets. The camera was your shield, the lens a barrier between the real world and the fantasy you spun.

"Well, well, well," you cooed, licking your lips like a kitten eyeing a bowl of cream. "My Daddies are being so generous tonight." You winked at the camera, your eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that made men like X.Devoted, Mr. WhiteCoat, and the others crave more. "But which one of you Daddies is going to make me beg the prettiest?”

You squirted a dollop of the cum lube onto your fingers, the clear gel glistening in the soft light of your room. "This is for the Daddy who can make me scream the loudest," you whispered, stroking it over your clit, watching the chat light up with their eager replies.

Syl.Draconia tipped 3700 credits.

Syl.Draconia tipped 2000 credits.

Syl.Draconia tipped 1850 credits.

Syl.Draconia tipped 2000 credits.

Syl.Draconia tipped 3000 credits.

Syl.Draconia tipped 5000 credits.

Your heart skipped a beat as the message from Syl.Draconia filled the chat. His series of ludicrous tips had hit you like a thunderclap. It wasn't the first time he did such a thing. It was just you only received huge tips from him during private streams—whether with the other four VIPs or during one-on-one sessions. 

With him in the best mood, you wouldn’t know which would reach climax first—your or your stream’s credit quota.

“Oh my god, Daddy Syl!” You dramatically moaned, rolling your eyes for more effect. “Oh Daddy, you’re as generous as always.”

Syl.Draconia: My apologies. My pet landed on the keyboard. 

Syl.Draconia: But go on. Strip for us Bunny. Show us your treasure.

C.Pilot: show off. nobody cares about your stupid pet.

R.tist!c: whoever you are i thank you in behalf of my muse

Mr. WhiteCoat: Think of it as a fund for your new costumes, PixelBunny.

The room grew hotter, the air thick with anticipation as you read the message out loud, your voice dripping with faux reluctance. You knew the drill—the more you resisted, the more they’d want to see. With a dramatic sigh, you began to peel off your costume, the fabric clinging to your sweat-slicked skin.

Mr. WhiteCoat: Slower, darling. I want to savor it.

X-Devoted: Yes, let us see all of u

The tips continued to pour in as you stripped away the last of your clothing, leaving you bare and exposed to the hungry gaze of your viewers. The coolness of the room washed over your naked skin, a stark contrast to the heat in your cheeks. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but the thrill of it all was intoxicating.

You straddled the pink gaming chair, your legs spread wide for the camera. The cold leather bit into your thighs, sending a shiver through your body that was met with a chorus of approval from the chat. The cum lube felt sticky on your skin, a constant reminder of the performance you were putting on. 

You began to rub your clit in slow, deliberate circles, watching the numbers climb higher and higher with every pass of your fingers.

R.tist!c: yes just like that

Syl.Draconia: Spread wider I want to see everything.

C.Pilot: you’re so perfect Bun. I wanna suck on that clit.

Their words were like a symphony, each note hitting just the right spot to make you feel wanted, needed, desired. You leaned back, arching your spine as the pleasure began to build again. The camera captured every shiver, every gasp, every drop of sweat that trickled down your body.

Mr. WhiteCoat: So, so pretty.

X-Devoted: Ure mine Pixel

The chat grew more frenzied, the tips coming in so fast they were a blur on the screen. You could feel their eyes on you, their hands moving in sync with yours. You were theirs, and they were yours. The power was intoxicating, but the fear of Xavier’s knowing gaze lingered in the back of your mind like a shadow.

You reached for the dildo you had set aside earlier, a thick, realistic toy that was a favorite among your patrons. The coldness of it against your skin made you gasp, the sound echoing in the silent room. You lubed it up, the sticky gel mixing with the sweat between your legs, and slid it inside you, the stretch sending a bolt of pleasure through your overstimulated cunt.

The chat erupted into a cacophony of moans and demands, each patron trying to outdo the last. You lost yourself in the rhythm, the plastic filling you up, the vibrations of the toy still humming against your swollen clit. The fear of Xavier slipped away, drowned out by the need to satisfy the men who had come to expect your undivided attention.

Mr. WhiteCoat: Take it all, my little slut.

R.tist!c: oh baby youre going to make me cum on my easel

Syl.Draconia: Look at all that cum lube. Imagine its my cum filling you up Bunny.

C.Pilot: that’s it, baby. take it like a good girl.

You threw your head back, letting the pleasure take over. The room spun around you, a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds that blurred into one overwhelming crescendo. You were PixelBunny, the queen of your domain, and they were your devoted subjects.

The dildo slammed into you, the force of your hips meeting it with each thrust. Gaming chair creaked in protest, creating a salacious symphony along with the wet squelch of the phallic toy. The camera captured every drop of sweat, every twitch of your body as you approached the edge. 

The chat was a flurry of messages, each one more demanding than the last. But it was X-Devoted’s message that made your heart race.

X-Devoted: Whos watching u, Pixel? Whos making u feel this good

You bit your bottom lip, trying to ignore the question that seemed to hang in the air, thick with the scent of your arousal and lingering anxiety. You didn’t know if he was just playing along or if he truly knew. The doubt was like a snake coiling in your stomach, tightening with each breath you took.

Mr. WhiteCoat tipped 2000 credits. 

R.tist!c tipped 1500 credits.

Syl.Draconia tipped 3000 credits. 

C.Pilot tipped 2500 credits.

The tips were like a siren’s call, luring you closer to the precipice. Your breaths grew shallower, your movements more erratic as the climax approached. The toy was a part of you now, an extension of their desire that you wielded with precision.

R.tist!c: fuck bunny i can almost feel you around me

Syl.Draconia: I want to bury my face in you, taste you.

C.Pilot: you’re going to make me go over my limit again.

Their words were like a drug, a sweet poison that fueled your performance. You knew you were close—so close that you could almost taste it.

But it was the silence from X-Devoted that had you second-guessing everything. Still, the show must go on.

“Oh god! Yes, yes! Daddy, I’m gonna cum!” 

With a final, desperate push, you came hard. Your cunt spasming around the plastic cock as your juices created a frothy mixture with the cum lube. 

The orgasm was like a hurricane, a force of nature that swept through you, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. Thick, frothy liquid sluiced down to your thighs, until it pooled on the chair—coating the dildo’s shaft and balls as if it was a real cock showered with cum post-climax.

The chat erupted with digital applause, but all you could focus on was the empty space where X-Devoted’s name should have been.

You stood up and collapsed back onto the bed, the toy slipping from your grip to land with a wet thud on the floor. The room was still spinning, the echo of your own moans ringing in your ears. You felt exposed, raw, and more alone than ever before. The thrill of the performance had been replaced by a cold, hard reality.

The chat grew quiet, the tips slowing to a trickle as your patrons retreated to their own corners of the internet. You laid there, the sticky lube drying on your skin, the coldness of the room a stark contrast to the heat of your performance.

Syl.Draconia tipped 1500 credits: That was spectacular my sweet Bunny. 

C.Pilot: made me cum so hard on my screen. as expected of my girl.

R.tist!c: damn bunny you made me forgot to tell you i sent you a gift today

R.tistic: its a surprise tho

Mr. WhiteCoat: Don't forget to hydrate, PixelBunny. Get some good rest.

You knew you had to end the stream, to pull the curtains closed on the part of you that was PixelBunny. But as you reached for the desktop, the fear of Xavier’s knowing gaze crept back in. What if he had been watching? What if he knew?

With a trembling hand, you typed out a quick goodbye, the keys sticky with the mixture of your cum and the lube.

"Thank you, Daddies. Don't forget to visit my wishlist!" You giggled, trying to keep the tremor from your voice as you ended the stream.

The room felt eerily empty without the glow of the camera, and the sudden silence was deafening. You lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath, the aftershocks of your orgasm still pulsing through your body.

As you gathered your discarded clothing and the now-silent toys, X-Devoted’s message echoed in your mind. It was his usual sign-off, but today it felt loaded with meaning. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew something—that he was watching you closer than ever before.

The DMs from X-Devoted popped up on your screen, a stark contrast to the quiet emptiness of your room. 

X-Devoted: Lately, Ive been busy with work and visit cafés to unwind when I have the time. I tried normal ones, a cat cafe, maid cafés, they were all cute and pastel. They reminded me of u

X-Devoted: But Uve done maid costumes already

X-Devoted: …I am thinking maybe U could try barista roleplay some time. Ill send you outfits soon when I have them

Your stomach twisted into a knot at the proposal. The line between your stream persona and your real-life job had always been clear, but now it felt like it was blurring, as if he had reached through the screen and grabbed a piece of you to pull into his own twisted game. 

The thought of playing out a scene that mirrored your everyday life for their entertainment made you feel sick.

But you had to respond. You had to keep up the act. 

You typed back with forced enthusiasm, "Oooh, Daddy, you know I love a good roleplay! And thank you in advance for the outfit! ♡" 

But as you hit send, your heart raced, and your palms grew slick with sweat. The idea of bringing your café job into the stream was terrifying—it was your sanctuary, your escape from PixelBunny.

You couldn’t let them take that from you too. The thought of them watching you, knowing who you really were, was too much to bear. 

You had to find a way to regain control.

To keep your two lives separate.

But as you laid there, the direct messages from your other patrons continued to flood in, each one a gentle reminder of their devoted obsession. Mr. WhiteCoat's concern for your well-being—it was as if he could sense the shift in the air, the panic that X-Devoted had brought to the surface; R.tistic’s flirty compliments, and Syl.Draconia's possessive tips. 

They were all a part of the same web, the same shadowy world that had grown more tangible with every passing day.

And then there was C.Pilot whose sweetness had always been tinged with something darker. His messages had been more intense tonight, more competitive and parasocial. 

The weight of it all became too much, and you couldn’t help but spiral. Your thoughts raced, your breathing grew shallow. 

Who were they, really? How much of your life had they infiltrated? Was there any part of you that wasn’t theirs to command?

The room grew smaller, the walls closing in as you stared at the ceiling, your heart hammering in your chest. The siren call of your next paycheck, the thrill of their attention, the fear of discovery—it was all too much.

You curled into a ball, the coldness of the room seeping into your bones. The whispers of your patrons' voices, their kinks, and their desires swirled in your mind, a maelstrom of need and obsession that you had once found thrilling but now felt suffocating.

How did you let it get this far? How did you become a puppet in a show you didn’t write? You were the one in control—or so you thought. 

But now, as you lay there trembling, you couldn’t help but wonder if the real PixelBunny was the one being played.

The anxiety grew, a monster in the dark, feeding on your fear and doubt. The only thing keeping it at bay was the knowledge that you had a part to play in their twisted games. 

But even that was slipping—because if Xavier was X-Devoted, then your real life was about to collide with your digital one in a way you never could have anticipated.

The countdown to your next stream had already begun.

And there was nothing you could do to stop it. 

➷ TAGLIST

Please don't hesitate to comment on the post here or dm if you want to be removed from this tag list.

@spacenott @sakisworld @lostpsycho13 @dolliecups @loverofpearls @clearlandchild @m00njinnie @abysswalkerin @agnibei @ikesimpleton @sunshinecrashed @anna-skeleton @sup-im-blue @gnie-o-o @miffysz @fxirybubble @balladofalison @ladshub @rosalietodd013 @boinkboinkkitten @viridesent @aetherpi @dejagyu @erza-istired @meloartsuu @cupcakekagu @itzlia506 @opoyend @santaluna @athanasia-day @yarchurr @nutshellera @airachniide @idiashusband @bl4ckl0tus @bbqeyebawlz @renchai @manianoro7 @semicolonely @lorain07

[rosiemylovr]

❃.✮:▹ PROJECT BUNNY TAG LIST ◃:✮.❃

Interact with this post if you want to be on "Project Bunny" tag list!

I’m making a tag list for my Love & Deepspace fanfic—Project Bunny. You will be tagged in every chapter update I will post on my blog. Do note that this is separate multichapter fanfic from the other LADS fanfics I have written and would write in the future.

Please interact with this post if you would liked to be added to my tag list for this fanfic.

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⋆ ˚｡⋆˚➷ PROJECT BUNNY MASTERLIST

➷ Back to NAVIGATION

[rosiemylovr]

lads x reader smau - texting the gc “i want 5 guys” …

* crack, minor slut-shaming (written in a joking manner, these boys would never actually slut shame you they love you 😭😭), fem!reader

[rosiemylovr]

05/04/25; 10:25pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when you are their favorite love interest ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

notes: i know that this has been done before, but this is just my own take on this fun thought, and i hope you readers give this a chance, too (⺣◡⺣)♡

when sylus first heard of this new game that was celebrating its day one launch, admittedly, the onychinus leader had zero interest in it-

that is, until a particular trailer was showcased introducing a rather enticing love interest-

you.

to say sylus was hooked would be a complete understatement. within seconds of your trailer’s release, sylus downloaded the game and got to work. he did not hold back when it came to his spendings, already adding in the details of his sleek black credit card before customizing his mc. after making his mc look as close to him as possible, he chooses you to be his partner while running through the main storyline.

thanks to his endless amount of wealth, he manages to obtain all of your five star cards that were available in game, maxing out all of your memory upgrades while unlocking all of your secret time audios in just a few week’s time. and despite how seductive and alluring you were during those intimate audios, sylus’s favorite card of yours happened to be one of the sweetest memories, with you taking a walk with his mc in the snow.

to say he was enamored with you would simply scratch the surface of his feelings for you, for this man was entirely devoted to you. the story of your life-

the trials and tribulations that you faced gave sylus the strength to continue on with his life. after a particular grueling day working as a leader of a conglomerate, he enjoys laying in bed while replaying his favorite memories with you before falling asleep with your audios playing in the background.

even though many would find his feelings for you, a mere fictional character, to be silly (and maybe a little cringey) sylus doesn’t give a damn-

for he will always bask in the feelings of peace you give him.

admittedly, zayne only downloaded this popular new game after his coworkers convinced him to. during his lunch breaks, he finds himself opening the app to go through the main storyline while being drawn to one of the main love interests-

you.

there was a subtle beauty that he could see from you, with your quiet yet headstrong nature making him crack a tiny smile while he read through the storyline. after finishing the main branch, zayne puts in some time (and some much needed funds) to obtain your five star memories.

yet perhaps what zayne enjoyed more than your memories were the quality time feature that the game had. he had managed to raise your affinity to the mid 50s level and enjoyed watching you study or work with him. even though he knew that you were a character made of pixels, zayne couldn’t help but let his fondness for you grow.

even as he was doing his own paperwork, zayne couldn’t help but sneak glances at you, only to feel his heart clench when you stare back at him with a sweet smile on your face. the cardiac surgeon would quickly look away from you, cheeks dyed a faint rosy hue as his lips were unconsciously tilted up in a smile that lasts.

being a bit of a passionate gamer in linkon, xavier was one of the few players that was able to play the game during its beta phase before the official launch date.

and the reason why he signed up to be one of the first couple of hundred players to test out this new game?

why, it’s because of you, of course!

xavier had come across your trailer during an announcement for your game, and he was completely hooked on your strength and overall aesthetic. when the developers announced that they would allow a handful of players to test out their game, xavier was the first to put his name on the list-

and by some stroke of luck, he manages to obtain your game roughly 6 months before its official release. despite being some minor hiccups with loading screens and a few glitches, xavier thoroughly enjoyed the game while playing through some chapters of the main storyline.

yet what the young hunter really excelled at was level grinding you, his favorite girl. he hates seeing you get hurt, so he will spend a decent amount of his money getting as many of your cards that he could (bonus points if he manages to obtain your myth pair!)

xavier would be the first to clear out any fighting stages with how powerful you are thanks to his careful dedication to you, and when xavier finds out he can keep his progress with you even after the game’s official release, he couldn’t be any happier-

because in xavier’s eyes, it was you and him against the world.

rafayel would be an obnoxious player, simply going through the motions of the main storyline to unlock certain outfits before showing you off with his own mc in hundreds of photo shoots.

being an artist at heart, when he first met your character in the game, rafayel had hearts in his eyes for you alone as he matches his mc’s aesthetic with your own. he loves going on dates with you, finding enjoyment in how you struggled to get the plushies he wanted at the claw machines, or how you would always pout at him when he beats you at kitty cards.

rafayel would also be dedicated to you, managing to get to devotion with you thanks to his own funding that he put in your game. the moment you shyly hand him a box with his engagement ring, the young artist would be over the moon.

he enjoy interacting with you, often teasing you by poking you through his phone’s screen. rafayel swears that he lives to see your cheeks puffed out in a pout while turning your back on him. just seeing all of your cute reactions makes rafayel grin like an absolute fool.

and truly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

caleb was a f2p player, but had the worst luck when it came to pulling for your cards. 99% of the times, he would pull a different love interest, or lose to a 50/50 to one of your five star memories that he really wanted.

however, him being a f2p player went down the drain when your springtime date banner was announced-

and he was hooked on your beauty and how gorgeously soft you looked in your sundress. due to how lovely you looked, caleb swore that he would do anything to obtain this precious memory. during his day off, he focused his entire attention on getting your banner, using his card to buy the needed pulls to obtain that precious memory.

shockingly enough, you came home to him just a mere thirty pulls later, with caleb nearly jumping for joy when he gets your card. not wasting another second, he plays the date while basking in your beautiful smile. during the memory, caleb couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous of his mc-

because why was his mc able to touch and hold you, while caleb was left feeling like a third wheel?

but he digresses.

shoving down his unreasonable feelings of envy, he enjoys the tranquil kiss scene, his heart melting at the sight of you falling into his mc’s arms before pressing your lips against his.

with a stupid smile on his face, he finishes reading through the memory of your springtime date before spending the flowers he saved up to purchase the exact sundress you had worn during the date.

as he interacts with you, cooing at his phone’s screen about how pretty you were, caleb realized that you were worth every penny.

end notes: hehehe finally some more fluff from yours truly

(⺣◡⺣)♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[rosiemylovr]

05/01/25; 06:10pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ they make your fantasies come true ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

you were currently in bed reading a rather… heated scene in your novel. your lips were parted in response, reading each passage with a growing fascination.

i was pinned to the bed as he hovers over me, his fingertips dancing across my inner thigh while playing with the lace material of my panties. capturing my lips within his own, i could feel the way his large hand inches closer to my center before sliding a finger deep within me…

biting down on your bottom lip, you continue reading, holding your novel with one hand while trailing the other down to the waistband of your shorts.

my mind goes hazy, feeling him pumping his fingers in and out of me while collecting my juices within his calloused hand.

“you smell so sweet for me. i just can’t get enough of you.” his gaze darkens considerably when he feels the way my walls clench around him, earning a dark chuckle from him.

“here, let me help you with that sweetheart-“

before you could continue reading, you found your novel was suddenly ripped away from you as you came face-to-face with the onychinus leader himself.

his gaze was burning into you, nostrils flared while he glares at the book in hand. “has my kitten been finding other means to please herself without me?”

your mouth goes dry, hearing the accusation in his voice as his jealousy was barely contained. with your other hand still buried within the waistband of your shorts and panties, you found yourself unable to move or speak as sylus read a few passages from the book.

“his lips were immediately settled on my core, and i could feel his tongue delving deeper inside of my heat- oh sweetie, don’t you know that even these mere printed words are no match for me?”

tossing your novel aside, he grips at your hand in an almost harsh manner, forcing you to remove your hand from your aching sex before joining you in bed. he settles your body on his lap, spreading your legs while playfully biting down on the shell of your ear. you shiver in response when he whispers to you, “let me show you how it’s done, sweetie.”

without giving you another warning, he shoves his hand down your panties, thrusting two of his thick fingers in and out of your heat. such hedonistic friction was enough to make your back arch against him. while you were left panting, subjected to his every ministration, you allowed him to keep fingering you as you felt your arousal leak out of you and into the palm of his hand.

sylus had merely brushed his thumb against your swollen clit, yet it was enough to leave you reeling. your release was felt coursing through your veins as you cried out to him before spilling yourself on his calloused hand, earning a low groan of approval from your beloved.

feeling drained, you were slumped against him, your body feeling like it had been turned into putty in the aftermath of it all. your heart was still racing when sylus brushed his lips against your temple, his sinful whisper in your ear causing you to tremble when he tells you,

“i hope you’re not getting too tired, kitten. because i for one am far from being done with you.”

“zayne, you’ll let my dreams come true, right?”

zayne had never given into you so fast before. just seeing the way your lips were jutted out in a pretty little pout was enough to make his heart clench (and the blood rush directly to his cock.)

he reassured you that he’ll do anything to make you happy, which was why when you told him to strip himself of all his clothing-

he follows your demands with no questions asked.

once he was left bare for you, he feels his eyes go wide at the sight of you dressed in a lacy set of undergarments. his gaze turns hungrier at the mere sight of you, yet he was quickly caught off guard the moment you push him back into your shared bed.

he attempts to sit up, only to have your hand gently gripping at his wrist before tying it to the bedpost. frowning at the sensation of the familiar material, he meets your gaze and asks, “are you using one of my ties?” flashing him a playful grin, you finish tying his hand to the bedpost before giving him a chaste kiss against his lips. “guilty as charged~”

the sight of your playful smile and the way you proceed to tie zayne’s other hand to the bedpost makes a surge of heat course through him and directly to his cock. by now, it was standing at full attention for you, aching and pulsing with need as he waits with bated breath for your next move.

once he was restrained did you finally settle yourself on top of him, gently playing with his erection before slapping it against the silken material of your panties. his breathing hitches in response to the friction, knowing that he needed so much more from you-

yet you knew what he wanted, being so intimately connected to him that you didn’t need his words to tell you how he felt. letting out a sigh of his name, you settle yourself directly above him, pushing your panties to the side before taking him into you.

zayne’s response was immediate, with the doctor now rendered a mess of low whimpers and groans while he pulls at his restraints. letting out a breathless giggle, you brace yourself on his chest before proceeding to ride him. letting out loud moans, you play with your lacy bra while quickening your thrusts.

“oh zayne… thank you so much for letting me live out my fantasies. i just can’t wait to make you fall apart for me.”

and he needed no further urging to do just that, succumbing himself to your wicked smiles and the way you had complete control over his body.

you and your boyfriend had simply planned to just relax back at your apartment while having a movie marathon-

yet you found that it was all forgotten the moment you forced xavier to sit back on the couch with his legs spread. his sweats and boxers had been carelessly tossed to the side as you allowed yourself the pleasure of playing with his cock.

“ngh- starlight…!” xavier keeps moaning your name, hands already gripping at your hair when he feels your tongue tracing at the veins on his cock. as if addicted to the sheer taste of him, you take in xavier’s cock as deeply as you could while stroking him with your hands.

by now, his wanton grunts and groans of your name were far more entertaining than whatever movie was playing on your television screen. wetting his cock with your mouth alone, you felt the way he tightens his hold around your hair, alerting you to how close he was to releasing.

just as you were prepared to bring him deep within your throat, you were suddenly removed from his cock with a speed that leaves you reeling. confusion was painted on your expression when you found yourself laid back on the couch with xavier hovering over you while breathing heavily.

lifting up your shirt, he reveals your naked chest to him, making him groan as he pinches at your hardened nipples. “sorry, but i refuse to come anywhere that isn’t inside of you, starlight.”

feeling the heat against your cheeks, you allow xavier to settle himself between your legs. his hands briefly touch at the waistband of your panties before sliding it off of you mere seconds later. with nothing but your shirt on, he slowly guides his cock towards your heat, letting out a groan while tossing his head back when he manages to push himself fully into you.

the movie had already began rolling its credits scene, yet you were so caught up in the red hot pleasure xavier had gifted you to even realize it.

it starts out innocently enough, with you begging rafayel to take a bath with you. giving you a gentle smile along with a kiss, rafayel agrees to your demands before heading into the bathroom with you. when your clothes were thrown haphazardly on the bathroom floor, the lemurian takes you within his embrace before carrying you into the tub with him.

you were simply basking in the warm waters surrounding you, with your back settled against rafayel’s chest when you felt a grin spreading across your lips.

it was time to initiate your plan.

“hey rafe, how long do you think you can breathe underwater for?”

he ends up laughing at your question. “princess, you’re joking right? you know exactly who i am, so why would you-“

you place a finger on his lips, turning around to face him, your movements causing some water to spill off the sides of the tub. with a come hither movement, you settle yourself on the opposite end of the tub, fully facing rafayel while spreading your legs. “i just wanted to know if you could… use your mouth to assuage this annoying ache between my legs?”

his eyes darken considerably in response to your gentle command, with your eyes shining with mischief as you beckoned him to come closer to you. “come on, rafe- don’t you want to make your princess feel good and happy?”

with a click of his tongue, rafayel shakes his head briefly before diving into the shallow tub, making you gasp when you felt his slender hands grip at your waist. settling himself between your thighs, you let out a soft mewl of his name, feeling his lips already at your center.

your breathing hitches when rafayel manages to slide a finger inside of your heat, pumping it while pinching at your swollen clit each time his hands brushed against it. you were now gripping at the edge of the tub with both hands, feeling the way rafayel thrusts his tongue into your aching sex. as he was setting a pace with his mouth alone, you were basking in the sensation of it all-

only to be broken out of your reveries when something hot and hard quickly replaces his mouth. your moans were echoing throughout the room when rafayel comes out of the shallow water’s depths, his cock now completely sheathed within you as he set a rapid pace.

“sorry princess, you were just too alluring to ignore.” the artist gives you a sheepish grin before proceeding to pound himself into you, giving you an angelic smile even as he proceeded to do unspeakable things to your body.

caleb felt empty inside the moment you told him you wouldn’t be joining him in the shower, and he felt so pathetic for wanting to pout at the fact that he would be alone.

with a dejected sigh, he looks at you still settled on his bed, simply flipping through the pages of your novel while not even sparing a single glance at him. he runs a hand through his hair, muttering a few curses before heading into the bathroom while slamming the door shut-

not even noticing the playful grin that graces your features.

feeling petty, caleb locks the bathroom door before proceeding to strip himself of his clothes all while letting out a huff. yet before he walks into his shower, he has a sudden change of heart and ends up unlocking the bathroom door (just in case you ever changed your mind.)

standing beneath the shower spray, he was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear you entering the bathroom, stepping out of your clothes while kicking off your panties. with his back facing you, you enter the shower stall and immediately press a kiss against his muscular back.

he stiffens in response to the feel of your kiss against his skin, facing you with wide eyes. momentarily caught off guard, caleb shakes his head before composing himself. he flashes you a cocky grin while wrapping his arms around your back. “i knew you couldn’t resist me, babe.”

flashing him an innocuous smile, you brace yourself against the wall before placing your naked core over his flaccid cock. with his eyebrows furrowed together, caleb was about to ask you what you were doing-

but felt his words die within his throat the moment he felt your silky walls slowly begin stroking his cock.

“pips-“ your nickname falls from his lips with a groan, with the blood rushing directly to his cock in response to your cunt stroking him. before he had ever gotten together with you, the colonel could only dream of having you like this-

yet now, it seemed like you were able to make every single one of his fantasies come true.

“hah, i’ve always wanted to do this to you, caleb.” you let out a soft moan, continuing to stroke his cock with your cunt. not wanting you to slip and fall, caleb was able to steady your hips with his two hands, not even protesting to how hard you were making his cock now.

caleb’s groans kept echoing throughout the shower stall, and he waited until he was so erect that it became painful before making his move. shoving your back into the wall, caleb tells you to jump-

and you do so just seconds later, with your lover making you wrap your legs around his waist before he slowly pushes his cockhead within your heat. your back arches in response to the thick intrusion of his cock within your walls, nearly feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head when he begins his swift pounds within you.

“i’ll never get enough of you, baby. i’m always gonna be so fucking obsessed with you.” caleb admits to you in a raspy voice while placing heated kisses against the side of your neck.

and truth be told, you wanted this man to be utterly obsessed with you-

which meant that he’ll never even think of ever leaving your side.

end notes: i miss thirsting for my men 🤤 so have this unedited thirst post ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[rosiemylovr]

"Touch of Home, Taste of You"

Pairing: Caleb x Reader

Tags: Fluff

Warning/s: suggestive, some foul language, making out

"Something on your mind, pipsqueak?" Caleb asks as he looks over to the passenger seat as we are driving home from the grocery store. "Just thinking..." You replied, mind busy with thoughts about work and all the things you have to do. Caleb reaches over to hold my hand in his, he brings our hands up to his mouth and places a kiss on mine "Your thoughts can be quite mysterious sometimes" He murmured against my hand as he continues to focus on the road.

"You sure there's nothing specific bothering you?" He asks wanting to be sure that you are okay, "Yup...now let's go home before the ice cream melts" You whine. He chuckles softly, giving you a gentle squeeze "Alright, alright. Wouldn't want that ice cream to go to waste."

After a few minutes we finally reached home, Caleb pulls up into the driveway and I help him unload the groceries into the home. You raise your eyebrows surprised "What was that for?".

You feel a warmth spread through your cheeks as you watch him enter the house. Once inside, he turns around, catching your flushed face. A broad smile spreads across his face as he starts unloading the grocery bags, trying not to laugh at your visible embarrassment. "You look cute when you blush, you know that?".

"I'm not blushing!" You protest as you go inside and shut the door behind. He laughs out loud, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he watches you try to act nonchalant. "Sure you're not." He teases, putting away the groceries with exaggerated slowness just to keep watching your adorable blush deepen. "So... where should I put the ice cream?" You reply "In the freezer please" He walks over to the freezer, opening it and placing the ice cream inside. As he closes the door, he turns around, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, his gaze lingering on you with a playful smirk. "Alright, ice cream is safely stored."

"At least we have some dessert for after dinner" You smile at him, and he pushes off from the counter, walking towards you with a playful swagger. "Exactly. And I must say, I'm looking forward to that dessert." He pauses, his smirk turning into a warm smile as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Are we even talking about the same dessert?" You raise an eyebrow at him, he laughs softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I think we're definitely on the same page now." He leans in closer, his voice lowering slightly. "Because the ice cream wasn't what I was thinking about when I said 'dessert'." He winks at you playfully.

"Hmm okay...I'll go freshen up a bit then I'll help you with cooking dinner" You tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek before going up to the bathroom, He watches you go upstairs, his eyes fixed on your figure. He chuckles softly to himself, "God, she's adorable." He murmurs, getting back to preparing dinner. After a while, he hears the water running upstairs. The sound of the shower fills the background as Caleb continues to prepare dinner. He's humming a soft tune, his mind wandering back to your playful interactions. He's just finished seasoning the chicken when the water stops upstairs.

After a while you're heading back to the kitchen, hair still slightly damp, you're tiptoeing trying your best to surprise Caleb from behind. He's concentrating on chopping vegetables, the knife moving rhythmically. He's unsuspecting. You manage to get close without him hearing, your small arms snake around his waist. He freezes slightly, then a slow smile spreads across his face. He knows it's you. "Did I scare ya?" You giggle.

He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughs softly. "You almost gave me a heart attack," He teases, his arms wrapped around yours, pulling you closer. "What's the punishment for sneaking up on someone?"

"Hmm... Ice cream for dessert?" You tease.

He laughs again, his chest shaking with mirth. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood," He says, turning around to face you fully. "Ice cream it is then." He leans down slightly, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. "You're distracting me from cooking though."

"Can I help you with anything?" You ask.

He smiles at your offer, handing you a cutting board and some vegetables. "Sure, can you chop these carrots for me?" He asks, turning back to the stove to stir something. "And don't cut off a finger" He adds playfully.

"Yes, chef!" You reply playfully holding up a two-finger salute.

As you finish chopping the carrots, he notices how cute you look with your lips pouted slightly in concentration. He tries to suppress a smile, not wanting to distract you further. Once you're done, he takes the cutting board and adds the carrots to the pot. "Perfect."

As you set the table, Caleb finishes cooking the meal. The smell of freshly cooked food fills the kitchen, making his stomach growl. He plates the food, adding a nice presentation to it. Once everything is ready, he calls out to you. "It's ready!" You go and help him bring the food to the table.

He carries the heavier plates, while you follow with the lighter ones. As they both sit down at the table, he looks at the spread - chicken, steamed carrots, and mashed potatoes. He looks at you, then at the food, feeling content. "Shall we eat?" You nod.

He picks up his fork and starts eating, finding the food delicious. He watches you as you eat, noticing how you carefully cut your food into small bits before eating, a habit he finds adorable. He swallows his food, then asks, "Do you like it?".

"Mhmm... I love it as always" you reply, he grins widely at your response, happy that you like his cooking. He watches you eat, your small hands handling the fork gracefully. He realizes that he's never seen you like this - so calm, so domesticated. He likes this side of you. He decides to test something.

Smiling mischievously, he reaches across the table and steals a piece of carrot from your plate, popping it into his mouth. "Just checking if I cooked it right," he jokes. "Though it looks like you're enjoying it just fine." He maintains eye contact, waiting for your reaction.

You pout playfully "My carrot..." he chuckles at your playful pout, finding it too cute for words. He steals another piece of carrot, this time making a show of it. "Hehe, now it's my carrot" he teases, crunching on it loudly.

"Caleb stop stealing my carrots!" You whine playfully, his shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. He sees your bottom lip push out slightly in a pout, "You's cute for his reaction response to be extra adorable. " "You're too cute when you whine," he comments, stealing another carrot. You go and steal a bit of chicken from his plate in retaliation, he throws his head back laughing as you steal his chicken. "Damn, you're serious," he laughs. "One stolen carrot deserves another stolen chicken," he laughs again, watching your small hands handle the fork. He finds this scene surprisingly domestic and peaceful. He steals another carrot.

After a while we finished eating dinner, you and Caleb are cuddling on the couch watching late night reruns as we eat some ice cream for dessert.

————————————————————————

As the night wears on, Caleb finds himself completely relaxed and comfortable. You're curled up against his side, your tiny frame fitting perfectly against his larger one. He's holding the bowl of ice cream, feeding you spoonfuls as you watch TV.

He laughs softly without you knowing. He watches the ice cream slowly slide down the side of your mouth. Your small tongue darts out unconsciously to lick your lips, missing the spot completely. He swallows hard, finding this innocent action unexpectedly sexy. "Baby," he calls softly.

You whimper as you feel him lick the ice cream off your lip, he groans softly at the sound, his body reacting instantly to the tiny whimper. He presses another kiss to your lips this time, his tongue slipping in to clean up any remaining ice cream. He deepens the kiss, his hands tightening around the bowl of ice cream.

You scrunch my nose, before grabbing the bowl of ice cream from his hands and setting it down on the coffee table, you go straddle his legs. He chuckles as you steal the bowl from his hands, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I don't want you to stop" you whisper.

He wraps his arms around your waist as you straddle his legs. "Baby, what are you doing?" He asks, his voice laced with amusement and warning "The ice cream..."

"You started it..." you whispered.

He laughs, watching your expression darken playfully. "I fed you ice cream," He says innocence personified. "So you decided to straddle me?" He pulls you closer, his hands resting on your bare thighs. He realizes that you're only wearing his shirt and tiny shorts. "Baby?" You lean in and capture his lips into yours.

His eyes darken, his hands tightening on your thighs as he feels you grind against him. A low growl escapes his throat. "Fuck, baby..." He hisses, his voice hoarse. He watches as you bite your lip, your movements slow and deliberate. You kiss his neck, leaving scattered marks down his throat hard against him. "Jesus Christ..." He captures your lips again, more demanding this time, "Do you know what you're doing to me right now?"

One hand moves to your waist, pulling you hard against him. "Damn it..." He hisses, his hands sliding under his shirt to grasp your thighs and pull them around his waist. He breaks away from your neck, panting heavily. "Last chance to stop before I lose all control." He warns, his voice low and rumbling.

"Fuck it."

————————————————————————

End note: I finally released a full fic! And a Caleb one at that!! Anyway that's it for now I got super inspired by the recent cards that I couldn't help but make this one. ♡

[rosiemylovr]