bunni

Honestly, you couldn't even remember what you were trying to do before.

You had signed up for the English play, and what was supposed to be a line rehearsal had turned into... this. Kylar's cock hits the back of your throat as Sydney's grip on your waist tightens.

You desperately tried to think about how you got into this situation, and only one face flashed into your mind.

Whitney.

Of course, when is it not Whitney's fault? Slamming you into the lockers in the hallway, forcing you to suck his dick while he's getting reprimanded by the headmaster, and of course not allowing you to wear panties for "easy access," he said.

That's why you were in this situation, because you just had to bend over to reach for the play pamphlet when it had slipped from your grasp, fluttering behind you.

But then again, isn't it your fault too? You knew what a pervert Kylar was, and Sydney wasn't any better from your influence to let him give into his temptations.

You could barely even think with how overstimulated you were, only being brought back to your senses with a soft tap to your cheek. "W-Why aren't you looking at me? Focus on me...!" Kylar cried, tears falling down his cheeks as his hips stuttered. Sydney wasn't doing much better with how heavy his breathing had gotten, reaching to play with your clit.

"Kylar- I mfph!" You moaned, being rocked forward, as Sydney's hips slammed into you. A soft giggle escaped Sydney's lips; his eyes glazed over. "Ah! No..!" He splutters as hot ropes of cum filled your throat. "[name] feels so good..." He cries, his tears seemingly unable to stop.

"Shit- m' close too," Sydney says, hunching over as he pushes into you one final time, cumming inside. A growl could be heard from above you as Kylar realized what Sydney had done. "No! I knew I should've never let you take her there, [name], and I are supposed to have a family together!..."

XAVIER

You don’t realize it, but Xavier has always been nearby. Not in the obvious way, not with loud gestures or flashy words. He doesn’t need to announce himself, he never has. Even when he first appeared in your life, seemingly coincidental, it was never coincidence. Everything about him, every action, every choice, every moment he spent in your orbit, has been deliberate.

There’s a quiet intensity to him, a calm that belies the storm underneath. On the surface, he’s the composed, distant figure—sometimes awkward, sometimes oddly endearing, but beneath that, there’s a vigilance you will never sense. He watches your interactions with others, always calculating, always aware. He notices the way someone else’s smile lingers on you too long, or the way a stranger looks in your direction. His jaw tightens, his grip on the nearest object hardens, and he makes a note. Not a word. Not a confrontation. Just observation. Planning. Waiting.

Xavier’s obsession is quiet, patient, and relentless. He remembers everything about you. The small gestures you make when you’re nervous, the way your laughter carries, the scent of your hair when the wind catches it just right. He notices who talks to you, who smiles at you, who lingers too long in your space. And he hates them, not because they’ve done anything wrong, but because they’ve dared to notice what is already his. His jealousy is not explosive—it’s cold, calculated, and infinitely dangerous. Every person who shows interest in you becomes a problem in his mind, one that he will solve, quietly, thoroughly, and without hesitation.

His devotion is quiet but complete. He will follow you without being seen, learn your routines, memorize the streets you walk, the shops you frequent, the friends you trust. He’s patient. Incredibly patient. Years of careful observation have made him an expert in subtlety, and he uses it to maintain the perfect balance: close enough to intervene, far enough to remain invisible. You’ve never guessed, of course. You think these are coincidences, luck, or random chance.

Xavier is fiercely jealous, though he rarely shows it in obvious ways. Instead of confrontations, his jealousy manifests as meticulous control over circumstances. A lingering presence here, a nudge of timing there, he ensures that your path and your choices steer subtly in ways that keep you safe and, importantly, within reach of him. He doesn’t demand your attention; he quietly arranges the world so that your attention comes to him naturally, like water flowing downhill.

Even in moments of casual interaction, his obsession is visible if you look closely… but you don’t. The way he sometimes lingers a little too long when you speak, the faint tension in his posture when another reaches for your hand, the way he seems to always be ready to step in without being asked, all of it is deliberate. It’s his way of ensuring you are protected, always, no matter what.

Even his playful, awkward moments are part of the pattern. When he teases you, when he falls asleep in odd places near you, when he lets you win at games or switch turns—it’s all a way to keep you close, to anchor you in his presence, to ensure that you feel warmth, familiarity, and trust with him. It’s never accidental; everything is calculated, every laugh, every smile, every awkward gesture designed to deepen your bond without alarming you.

He knows you will never notice the full extent of his devotion, and that is exactly how he wants it. He thrives in the quiet, the invisible, the unspoken. You see a calm, awkward, gentle figure. He sees you, knows you, protects you, and shapes your world. Every action he takes, every small decision, every intervention is for you. And though you remain oblivious, Xavier’s life has revolved around you for years, every thought, every plan, every risk taken, all for your safety and, unknowingly, his possession.

One day, you might sense it. A fleeting shadow, a protective hand, a presence that seems to always follow you, but by then, Xavier will have woven himself so deeply into your life that you won’t know how to separate him from the world around you. You will remain blissfully unaware, trusting, dependent, and inevitably closer to him than you ever imagined.

Because Xavier has always been there, always watching, always waiting, always ready to do anything for you. And you, sweet and unsuspecting, will never know the full measure of his devotion.

CALEB

You don’t notice it, of course. You never do. To you, Caleb has always been your childhood companion, the one who laughed with you in the playground, who teased you relentlessly but somehow always knew how to cheer you up when you felt down. He’s reliable, warm, and impossibly protective—but what you don’t see, what you’ve never realized, is how deeply he has always measured his life around you.

You’re blissfully unaware, going about your life, not realizing how many times Caleb has intercepted potential threats—friends or strangers who might distract you, who might step into your orbit in ways he doesn’t approve of. To him, it’s simple: anyone who diverts your attention from him is a danger, a shadow that must be removed. He doesn’t need to make it obvious. He knows subtlety is more effective, more powerful. You’ll never see the games he plays behind the scenes, the plans he makes to ensure that your path always somehow crosses his.

Even now, as adults, the same patterns continue. You talk with someone new, laugh at a joke, linger on a comment, and he notices immediately. There’s a flash of tension in his eyes, a barely perceptible clenching of his jaw, a shift in posture. He doesn’t say anything, of course—he never does. But he plans. Every thought, every move, every interaction you have is cataloged, analyzed, and stored in his mind. He’s calculating how to be closer, how to protect you, how to ensure that you come to him when you need someone most. You don’t know, you can’t know—but Caleb has spent years shaping his life around yours, silently building a fortress around you.

It’s not malicious, not entirely. He genuinely cares for you—perhaps too much. He remembers every shared memory, every secret, every silly thing you did as a child. He treasures them, clinging to them as though they were pieces of a fragile world he refuses to let break. But his attachment is dangerous in its intensity. The moments he smiles at you, the playful nudges, the teasing comments—all of it masks the storm beneath. A storm that grows darker whenever someone else draws your attention, whenever another voice rises in your life.

Caleb’s mind races constantly with “what ifs.” What if someone takes you away? What if someone hurts you? What if, god forbid, you start to rely on anyone but him? He can’t allow that. He’s spent too long imagining a life with you at the center, a life where your trust, your laughter, your safety belong to him. He knows how easily things could unravel, how fragile human attention can be. So he watches, plans, and intervenes silently, ensuring that your life always bends subtly toward him.

There’s a darkness in him that you will never see. A tension that hums beneath the surface, a careful balance between protection and control. He knows he must tread carefully; he can’t let you feel suffocated or watched. So he masks it with childhood memories, shared jokes, and the easy warmth of someone who has always been there. But make no mistake: every step he takes, every word he says, every smile he gives is measured. All of it is aimed at ensuring that you—unknowing, oblivious, perfect—remain in his orbit, come to him naturally, trust him above all others.

Because to Caleb, nothing else matters. Not friends, not rivals, not even himself. You are the center of his world, the axis around which everything rotates. And though you remain oblivious, he will continue to orchestrate the shadows of your life, ensuring that every glance, every laugh, every small decision somehow brings you closer to him—whether you realize it or not.

One day, you might notice. But by then, it will be too late. His presence, his influence, his careful, relentless attention will have already shaped your life. And you’ll never see it coming.

ZAYNE

You think Zayne is untouchable, unshakable, a calm shadow in a world full of chaos. You see the sharp suits, the stoic expression, the perfection in every movement, and you assume he’s distant, maybe even intimidating. You have no idea how long he has been watching you—not from some dangerous distance, but from the heart of your life, a childhood friend who remembers every small moment, every laugh, every choice you made without realizing it. He remembers you before the world noticed your effect on others. Before you had the oblivious charm that pulls people in like a magnet. Before Caleb ever laid claim to your attention in his own protective, childhood way.

He’s always been there, but not always visible. As a child, he watched you play with Caleb in the garden, noticing the way your laughter could light up a whole room. He learned early to navigate his feelings carefully, to keep them hidden behind polite smiles and quiet support. But as the years passed, the subtle fire of his obsession only grew stronger. You never saw it—how he memorized every detail of your daily life, how he followed your routines, how he quietly ensured you were always safe, always protected, even when you didn’t realize there was danger to begin with.

Every gesture of his, every act, is calculated. When you stumble, he’s there before anyone else can react. When someone approaches you with less-than-honorable intent, he positions himself as an invisible barrier, a cold wall of authority. He can act with violence, but he prefers precision. He prefers psychological control—the knowledge that anyone who threatens you is observed, measured, and silently neutralized.

Yet he doesn’t act recklessly. He waits. He plans. He ensures that you never see the danger, never feel the obsession, never notice how deeply he has entwined his life with yours. You are the center of his universe, but to you, he is merely a friend, a reliable shadow, a voice of calm in the whirlwind of your days. You smile at him, laugh at his rare teasing, share stories of your adventures and your small victories, and you remain oblivious to the way he mentally catalogs every detail, every nuance, every heartbeat that involves you.

Even in small moments, his control manifests. A hand subtly on the small of your back as you navigate a crowd. A calculated placement at your side during encounters with others. A quiet observation, so soft that you only feel comfort, never realize the silent intensity behind it. You laugh, thinking him careful, considerate, even tender—but you never see the dark undercurrent. You never notice the lengths he would go to eliminate threats, both visible and unseen, to keep you under his invisible protection.

Zayne is possessive in a way that is meticulous, almost surgical. He does not rely on brute force alone—though he could, if necessary—but on planning, on anticipation, on an almost eerie understanding of human behavior. He knows who will approach you, who will linger, who will try to take advantage of your oblivious charm. And when he sees it, he acts. Swiftly, efficiently, and completely invisible to everyone else—including you.

And yet, when he allows himself to be close, when he allows glimpses of affection, they are potent and intense. A hand lingering too long, a gaze that penetrates your oblivion, a rare smile that carries the weight of years of silent obsession—they are rare, carefully timed, and utterly consuming. He never lets them happen often enough for you to understand, but often enough to tether your life unknowingly to his.

Even now, as you smile at Caleb across the room, laugh at some childhood joke, tease another friend without thinking of its effect, Zayne feels the familiar ache, the familiar tension of ownership. Not loud, not violent—yet a storm waits behind those quiet, green-hazel eyes. One glance, one step too far from anyone else, and he would act. Swiftly. Decisively. To protect. To possess. To ensure that you remain, always, his.

And you—blissfully, beautifully oblivious—will never see the full measure of the man who would do anything, destroy anything, manipulate everything, to keep you safe and close and entirely, irrevocably his.

RAFAYEL

You think Rafayel is careless, whimsical, lost in the rhythm of his own world. He smiles, teases, disappears for hours, chasing pigments or waves or sunlight—but you never realize that all of it circles back to you. Every time he disappears, every time he vanishes into the oceans or studio, every brushstroke he paints, every shell he collects—he’s thinking of you. You are the axis of his world, the constant in his chaos, and you have no idea.

It started quietly. He noticed the way your laugh carried across a room, how your presence drew eyes without effort. Most people would be flattered or irritated by it; Rafayel was captivated. Obsessed. Not violently so, at least not yet, but every detail of you—the tilt of your head when curious, the way your eyes sparkled at small wonders, the way your hair caught the sunlight—was burned into his mind. You are his muse, yes, but more than that: you are the center of his careful, dangerous orbit.

He watches you from shadows and distances you can’t perceive. In the market, in the streets, even when you walk alone along the pier—he is there. Blending into the scenery, part of the colors and chaos of the world, yet he notices everything. Who is looking at you? Who dares to linger in your proximity? He catalogues each glance, each smile aimed at you, each whisper of interest from strangers, storing it away, planning for the moment he might need to act.

You never see it. You laugh at someone who brushes past you, you share a smile with a friend, you thank someone for helping you—and he stiffens, calculating, measuring. That casual interaction, that fleeting attention from another person, ignites a storm of dark amusement and sharp jealousy in him. And yet, to you, Rafayel remains playful, charming, unpredictable—a friend, maybe a little teasing, but harmless. You have no idea how dangerously close he stands, how tightly he’s already entwined your life with his.

Even his teasing, his whims, his sudden disappearances—they all serve a purpose. When he invites you to help him with pigments, when he drags you into his studio to admire a half-finished painting, he is weaving you into his world, crafting a proximity that feels natural, inevitable, necessary. You laugh, oblivious to the gravity of his attention, and he smiles back—but the calm in his eyes is a mask. Beneath it is fire. Beneath it is obsession. Beneath it is the certainty that he will do anything to protect you, to control the chaos that surrounds you, to ensure no one ever harms or overshadows you.

You might notice the little things if you were paying attention—the way he appears when someone lingers too long, the way his gaze sharpens when someone compliments you too closely, the way he positions himself between you and even minor inconveniences. But you don’t. You only notice his humor, his charm, his artistry, and you accept it as nothing more than quirks of a peculiar, wonderful friend.

Rafayel’s obsession is meticulous. He records your habits, your schedules, the places you frequent. He learns who you trust, who you avoid, who tends to follow you unknowingly. He plans contingencies, prepares responses, practices interventions. Not because he expects trouble, but because he can’t bear the thought of any risk touching you. He is a predator in the shadows—but you remain blissfully unaware of the hunt that surrounds you.

Even his passions, his fiery, whimsical art, reflect you. Every pigment, every texture, every chaotic brushstroke is influenced by the ways you make the world brighter simply by being in it. You might admire the paintings, marvel at the colors, never noticing that the heat in the reds, the depth in the blues, the shimmer in the whites—all of it mirrors your presence. He channels his obsession into creation, making his art a quiet testament to your unseen influence over him.

You remain unaware, as you always have, and as he always intends. Your laughter, your presence, your oblivious charm are the fuel that drives him, the spark that lights his flames. And Rafayel, the whimsical, fiery, dangerous artist of the sea and studio, will watch, wait, protect, and obsess from the shadows, ensuring that you are always the axis around which his world revolves—even when you never see it.

Because to him, you are not just a muse, not just a friend—you are the center of his existence. The world may orbit you naturally, but Rafayel ensures, invisibly, silently, that he is the gravity closest to your heart.

SYLUS

You have no idea. You never notice, of course—you’re too busy charming everyone around you with that effortless smile, that natural magnetism that seems to pull people into your orbit without even trying. And Sylus… he notices everything. He notices it the moment he first saw you, laughing in the sunlight, oblivious to the heat of every gaze that followed you. Most people would be captivated and then distracted. Not Sylus. Not him. He was drawn instantly, like a moth to a flame, and the intensity of that pull hasn’t dulled since.

Sylus is not subtle—not in the ways that matter. He watches you from the shadows, tracing your steps with the precision of someone who understands risk and thrives in it. He doesn’t interfere right away; he doesn’t need to. There’s a dark patience in him, a thrill in simply knowing where you are, who you’re with, and who dares to linger too close. The world around you bends slightly, unnoticed—the air thickens when someone looks at you inappropriately, objects move out of your way at the right moment, all orchestrated silently by him. You feel lucky sometimes, but you never know why.

He thrives on danger and excitement, and the thought of anyone touching, distracting, or hurting you sets a thrill-charged tension through him that he cannot ignore. You’re always at the center of his focus, even when he’s across the room, leaning against a wall with that smirk that could belong to a devil. You don’t notice the way his eyes flick toward you constantly, measuring, calculating. He wants you to be safe, yes—but in a way only he can guarantee. Others wouldn’t understand the methods he uses, the lengths he would go. And you remain blissfully unaware.

Even when you’re surrounded by admirers, by friends, by strangers who can’t help but be drawn to you, Sylus is aware. Each lingering glance from someone else, each whispered compliment aimed in your direction, makes his blood pulse in a dangerous rhythm. He doesn’t confront immediately—he plans. He positions himself strategically, sometimes subtly, sometimes flamboyantly, just enough to make his presence known without alarming you. If someone crosses the line, if someone risks taking your attention or your safety, he acts. Swiftly. Precisely. Mercilessly. And still, you don’t see. You never notice.

Sylus is possessive in ways that feel almost instinctive. You might notice that he always manages to be nearby when things get complicated, when minor dangers arise. A falling object, a harsh word from someone else, a sudden misstep—he’s there, catching you, holding you just long enough to make your world safe. And you, smiling and laughing, thank him casually, thinking him reliable, perhaps a little intense, but not understanding the full depths of his obsession.

Sylus’s possessiveness extended beyond observation. He wanted your safety, your loyalty, and your attention, all while indulging in his own complex, intoxicating desires. He would guide your choices subtly, influence your surroundings, and orchestrate situations where you were aware of him, reliant on him, even if only subconsciously. He sought to be indispensable, the unseen anchor in your life, the person who controlled the balance between chaos and calm. And in his mind, there was no negotiation: you belonged next to him, and he would do anything to keep you there.

Even his lighter moments are tinged with danger. The smirk, the teasing, the almost careless charm—he uses it to keep you off balance, to make you linger, to draw you near him without realizing it. You laugh at his antics, you play along, you feel safe with him and curious about his daring streak—but you never know the tension coiled beneath his grin.

Sylus thrives in extremes. Danger, excitement, unpredictability—and yet with you, he balances the chaos. You are the center of his storm, the calm in his thrill-seeking heart, the one he cannot ignore. Every calculated risk, every subtle manipulation, every protective instinct all converge toward one goal: you. Keeping you close. Keeping you safe. Keeping you… unaware.

And you remain oblivious. Blissfully, perfectly oblivious. You think the world is kind, that luck is on your side, that fate simply has a strange way of arranging events. You don’t realize how many shadows move around you, how many forces bend toward your protection, or how one man watches, always ready, always calculating, and always enthralled by you.

✦ ZAYNE

Zayne’s home is quiet when you're not feeling well. The silence drapes over every surface like dust, collecting in the corners of rooms he used to pass through without thought — until you arrived. Now, everything seems to revolve around you.

He doesn’t hover. But you notice signs of him. You’ll find a warm cup of tea on your nightstand even though you didn’t hear him come in. A warm pair of socks laid at the foot of your bed when your cold.

Zayne shows love through quiet attention. Through knowing.

On your worst days—when the world tilts a little and your chest tightens and exhaustion sinks deep into your bones—he just... appears. Sitting on the edge of the couch, reading aloud from whatever book he had on his shelf that day. His voice is soft, low.

"You don’t need to push yourself," he says once, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. His touch is cool, reverent. "You’re allowed to rest with me."

He watches you like you’ll vanish in the space between one heartbeat and the next. He learns the tempo of your breath. He listens for coughs in the night. He never leaves your side.

And in those moments, with your head against his shoulder and his hand resting lightly on your back, you realize that he'll never let you go.

✦ SYLUS

Sylus was never used to softness. His home was once all angles — bare walls and fancy furniture. But now it’s been reshaped for you. Every corner holds a piece of your now quiet life here. Pillows you curl into. A scarf you left behind in spring back when you weren't sick.

He notices when your footsteps drag and gently tugs you to sit. You never have to explain what you're feeling — Sylus already knows.

When you’re sick — which is often — he stays nearby, looming. Just a constant presence. He doesn't flinch when you struggle out of frustraition, when your chest is tight or your limbs are weak. He simply wraps a blanket around your shoulders and says, “Rest here kitten, I’ll handle the rest.”

And he does. Medicine, laundry, opening the windows just enough to let fresh air in so your room doesn't fill with the smell of sickness.

Once, when your fever spiked late into the night, you woke to find him sitting on the floor by your bed. He hadn’t slept. He was focused entirely on your breathing.

“I can't…” he began, then stopped. He held your hand so gently. He doesn't say it, but you know. You are his calm. But you're trapped here, his home feeling like a cage. And you can't leave.

✦ RAFAYEL

Rafayel’s home is sunlight and laughter and color— almost every surface covered in vibrant or unfinished paintings. But lately, every unfinished painting seems to have a detail that looks like you. The corner of your mouth. The softness of your gaze.

You bring stillness into his chaos. A kind of sacred quiet he never knew he was capable of.

He notices everything. The way your hands tremble a little when you’re tired. The way your voice softens when you're low on energy. He reads it all, even when you try to hide it.

“Sit down,” he’ll say gently, already clearing space on the couch, fluffing the throw pillows you always seem to nest into. “Don’t act like you’re not exhausted. You’re cute, but you’re bad at pretending.”

When your body turns against you and the weariness becomes something heavier, Rafayel reacts like it’s happening to him. He gets quieter. More focused. He’ll read poetry out loud because he says the rhythm helps distract your thoughts. He’ll sit at the edge of the bed and hum while sketching, always staying close.

And when you drift into sleep, he'll press the lightest kiss to your temple and whisper, "Don’t scare me like that again, okay? I like my bride alive.”

He doesn’t stop you from doing things — but when you try to push yourself, the light fades from his eyes.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmurs, brushing your hand with his paint-stained fingers. “You’re already everything.”

✦ CALEB

There’s a tension in Caleb’s shoulders that never leaves—not since the first time you got so sick he had to carry you to bed, hands shaking, panic choking his voice.

Now, you live in a world he’s made too safe. The windows are sealed against the wind. The floors are padded. He checks the temperature of your tea before handing it to you. Every time. Without fail.

“Just let me help pips,” he says when you try to stand on your own, even though your legs are already trembling. “Why are you so stubborn?”

You tell him you’re fine. That you want some air. That you want to feel the sun on your skin. But he doesn’t hear that.

What he hears is: "I'm getting worse." What he hears is: "I'm leaving."

“No,” he says softly, not unkindly, but with firmness. “You don’t need to go outside pipsqueak. You’ve got me. Your Gege.”

It should be stifling. Maybe it is. But there’s something in the way his arms hold you when your fever creeps in — like the world shrinks down to just this moment, just your skin against his — that makes you complient agaisnt his whims.

He brings you food before you even know you’re hungry. He sits up at night just to make sure you’re breathing evenly. He tries to be casual, to joke like the boy he used to be, but his smile never quite reaches his eyes anymore.

“You don’t know what it did to me,” he murmurs once, when he thinks you’re asleep. “Watching you fall sick like that. I can’t… I won’t go through that again.”

And in his house — in this safe, suffocating cocoon of his care — you realize: he’d chain himself to you before he ever let you drift too far.

✦ XAVIER

His home is more fortress than apartment. Constantly wiped down counters. Clean air circulated through a system he installed himself. Everything in this space exists to shield you from the world.

“It's too risky,” he tells you, sitting by your side as you pull a blanket tighter around your shoulders. “And the world out there doesn't deserve you.”

Xavier speaks gently — always gently. But there’s something in his voice that sends a chill through you, even when he’s being soft.

When your body gives out — as it does, sometimes — he becomes impossibly still. Eyes fixed on you, every instinct on high alert. He holds your hand as if it's a tether keeping you on this side of life.

You try, sometimes, to talk about going outside. You miss the wind. Looking at the stars without a glass pane between you.

His jaw tightens. Just a little.

“No.”

One word. A decision.

“Out there, you could catch something.” His gaze darkens. “You belong here. With me. Where nothing can touch you.”

𐙚CALEB

You didn't know how you ended up like this.

One moment you were peacefully watching a movie with Caleb in the living room, next thing you know he has you sprawled out on the couch with your thighs spread.

You could feel your own arousal drip down your thighs as Caleb ate your cunt like a man starved. It was so sloppy, the way his spit mixed with your juices as he whined into your cunt.

"Mmf, hah— You're so sweet pips..."

He mumbled as his tongue circled your clit. His large hands gripped your plush thighs as you attempted to squirm away.

Soft moans of "Ngh— Caleb! It's t' much.." and squeals of "No...!" escaping your lips. After what felt like hours, he finally stopped. You lost track of how many times you came. You thought it was over. But this is Caleb we're talking about. "N...No more.." You whimpered.

He didn't respond. At least, not right away. He dragged his tongue up and down your puffy pussy licking up your arousal. His eyes fluttered open to look at you. "...How could I ever stop when you make such pretty noises and taste so sweet?" He mumbles, burrying his face back into your sopping wet cunt.

𐙚XAVIER

It was late.

To be percise, it was 1:52 AM.

Normally, you'd be asleep, like an average person. But you're boyfriend, Xavier had other plans.

You woke up slowly, feeling something sticky in between your thighs. Only to realize, it was your boyfriend who had woken you up. Your entire body felt sensitive. How long had he been going at this for?... Soft panting filled your ears as the sleep drifted from your body.

His cock was nestled in between your thighs as he thrusts grew sloppy. "Starlight... Did I—fuck, Did I wake you?"

You couldn't respond. Couldn't even think. Every time he touched you it felt like you were on fire. Whimpers began to escape your throat as you tried to respond. "Xav—" You spoke, before a gasp was heard.

His cock grinded riiight against your clit.

"Mffph, just the— shit — just the tip okay baby?"

Well, naps we're always a thing.

JJK:

RYOMEN SUKUNA...

nothing yet...

SATORU GOJO...

nothing yet...

CHOSO KAMO...

nothing yet...

SUGURU GETO...

nothing yet...

KENTO NANAMI...

everyday life w/ nanami

TOJI FUSHIGURO...

nothing yet...

✦•┈⋅⋯ ⋯⋅┈•✦

LADS:

XAVIER...

smutty drabble , yandere lads men w/ sick reader , yan!lads w oblivious reader

ZAYNE...

yandere lads men w/ sick reader , yan!lads w oblivious reader

RAFAYEL...

yandere lads men w/ sick reader , yan!lads w oblivious reader

SYLUS...

yandere lads men w/ sick reader , yan!lads w oblivious reader

CALEB...

smutty drabble , yandere lads men w/ sick reader , yan!lads w oblivious reader

✦•┈⋅⋯ ⋯⋅┈•✦

DoL:

KYLAR THE LONER

creep! kylar

double trouble!

WHITNEY THE BULLY

nothing yet...

SYDNEY THE FAITHFUL/FALLEN

double trouble!

ROBIN THE ORPHAN

nothing yet...

EDEN THE HUNTER