taedium vitae

Here is Valko's version ladies 🤭 (I tagged everyone that enjoyed the last one)

Warnings/Tropes: Explicit, MDNI, Breeding Kink, cumflation, knotting, size difference, overstimulation, DubCon.

Rest of the Li’s here

You had just entered Valko’s research lab, hoping to possibly catch him for a little lunch break together. 

As the door slid shut behind you, you paused to look around. Your eyes were pulled by the various beeping and blinking of the advanced tech surrounding you, but there was no sign of the redhead anywhere. 

“Valko?!” You called out, to no response. Stepping deeper into the facility, you reminded yourself that he had granted you unrestricted access to his equipment, space, and personnel; You figured he certainly wouldn't mind you making yourself at home while you waited. 

Then, a gleam in the corner of your eye drew your attention. You turned to look at it, only to find Valko’s nightprowl suit, all pristine and shiny, displayed in a sleek glass case. A devious idea popped into your head. I meannn, he did say you could use anything you wanted. 

So there you were, drowning in the enormous jacket. You had initially intended to try on the whole suit, but the boots alone proved to be absurdly heavy, tiring your feet after just a few steps. Realizing the rest of the gear would be just as exhausting, you settled for just the overcoat, the one that spanned Valko's entire length, complete with the hood and ear slots. 

You had to admit, though, that it was insanely comfy. The hem of it, which almost hit Valko's feet when he wore it, was now pooling at the floor, acting as a makeshift mop as you walked around the lab. The hood, meanwhile, completely covered your head, and in fact half your face too, the ear pockets flopping around without the usual support Valko’s ears provided. 

You told yourself you'd put it back before he came, but the plush warmth draping over your shoulders made it too easy to delay, until the man himself finally came back into his office. 

Uh oh. You sheepishly turned around to the sound of a door clicking shut, finding Valko standing there with his head tilted and a brow cocked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in amusement. Yet, when he caught the full view of you when you turned around, his breath hitched and his eyes darkened imperceptibly. He noticed how small and vulnerable you looked enveloped in his gear, your face caught in a guilty expression with those droopy, puppy-like ears adorning your head.

Obviously, Valko was a werewolf. And he was well aware that this came with certain... wolfish instincts. Yet right now, how intensely territorial he felt towards you surprised even himself, and it took him all his will to not immediately pin your small body up against a wall and shove his dick in you all the way till you were filled with him. 

“Valko– I need a break- hic,” you whimpered breathily, your voice utterly tired from the hours he’d spent dutifully worshipping you and your practically abused hole.

“I know love, just a little bit longer. You’ll hold out for me, won't you?” he cooed. But contrasting with his gentle voice, his pace didn't seem to falter in the slightest. His pupils were blown out to the point where no iris was shown, looking at you draped over one of his desks, entirely naked, the heavy jacket long since discarded on the floor. 

You twitched under his tight grip, stupidly big hands enough to wrap around your waist entirely. You initially already had a hard time adjusting to his cock, taking a long time of him just eating you out before you could even begin to handle it. But what made it worse later on was his goddamn knot.

Every ounce of restraint vanished from him, making you endure round after round of him filling you with his seed, his knot keeping everything inside you. Yet, after a point, even that didn't stop his cum from leaking out. The deranged man almost lost his mind when he saw that, shoving everything back with his dick and fingers, hellbent on breeding you till your womb practically inflated from all that was pumped into you. 

And oh did he love to see it, “ngh- Just so adorable for me aren't you pup,” he said, more to himself than you, shoving his thumb in your mouth, moaning as you immediately sucked on it. “Such a good girl. You’ll let me cum in you again yeah?” 

“W-wait, no more,” you barely managed out. All the pressure inside your cunt was making you dizzy, and you would be kidding yourself if you said you could take any more, but Valko obviously had other plans. 

He moved his hands to let one rub on your clit, while the other, cruelly nonetheless, pushed onto where your belly bulged out. The pressure of it all made you explode yet again, an orgasm crashing through you intensely, your mind blanking out till all you could think of was him and his massive fucking cock. 

Valko smirked, his canines showing through as he took a little advantage of your clouded state. “Please? You want my babies dont you, want me to breed you full till we have a damn litter.” 

He leaned forward to kiss your fucked-out self, the two of you moaning into each other's mouths as you completely lost yourself to the pleasure.  

“Yesyesyesyes I want you val”

taglist: @lanalemonn @hilliserose  @mermaidsmutclub @imsearchingforwords @strawberryphoenix @ultimate-trashy-blog @weirdfreakwency @veras-fanfic-reblogs @myspi2010 @zayneswfie@pearlescenthoney @aliceonice @vaguenebulaee @datfangirl @maaic @litsatl @paint-chips

A/N: Obligatory “fuck you” to infraud. I miss my dog so bad 😭. NSFW is under the cut.

SFW

Valko is but a himbo at heart. No matter how smart people think he is as a genius scientist and brilliant chairman of his own company he turns into a complete idiot for his mate. When in a relationship with him, you will have to stop him from fucking up your entire apartment because he was “curious about the wiring” or accidentally breaking your swing because he had the bright idea to stand up on it. (He is not house trained at all, please do something about it.)

He has a one-sided rivalry with squirrels that the squirrels do not seem to understand. It seems like no matter where he is in the world, squirrels show up out of nowhere to fuck with him (they’re just squirrels 😭). Sure, it might be cute at first but it does start to feel weird after Valko growls at the tenth squirrel to jump out in front of him at the park. If you were to ask him about it, he’d say that the dastardly squirrel race knows that he often makes a fool of himself chasing or growling at them purely on instinctual reflexes during the worst possible times so they show up on purpose. Please believe him.

Do not, under any circumstances, ask this man about any of his interests unless you are ready to lose an hour of your day. When he gets into it he is a YAPPER. You want to know about some obscure video game he plays? He will pull up a timeline of the lore and a spreadsheet of the characters. His favorite food? You will receive an in-depth analysis of what his favorite food is, why he likes it, and which version is the best. At best, it’s cute and endearing, and so hot, to see a guy like him go full nerd mode and tell you everything there is to know about the subject but at worst he will infodump with the worst timing known to man. Like when you tried to initiate some roleplay by sitting in his lap and telling him that you’re in heat and needed him to help you through it only for him to go 🤓☝️ “Um, actually, mating season isn’t for another two weeks.”. You need to invest in a gag for him.

Bonus

And then there's a bit right at the end of the story as the wife and the husband are walking out of court:

Jill turned abruptly. "What is your name? Your real name."

The man's gray eyes flickered. He smiled a little, kind, gentle smile. "I'm afraid you would not be able to pronounce it. The sounds cannot be formed..."

Jill was silent as they walked along, deep in thought. The city lights were coming on all around them. Bright yellow spots in the gloom. "What are you thinking?" the man asked.

"I was thinking perhaps I will still call you Lester," Jill said. "If you don't mind."

"I don't mind," the man said. He put his arm around her, drawing her close to him. He gazed down tenderly as they walked through the thickening darkness, between the yellow candles of light that marked the way. "Anything you wish. Whatever will make you happy."

And I. God. There's something there. A soupcon of monsterfuckery. To tell your partner in a moment of intimacy that yes, you're something so inhuman that the lips you're stealing can't speak your actual name. You're a parasite that not only had the ability to burrow under this man's skin and take over his life, but you were so desperate to escape a dead, dry, blasted planet that you did.

So some fanartist drew a “sexy” (read: booby) version of a (cartoon) character who is traditionally very non-sexualised. Fans of the character got mad about it because it’s kind of groundbreaking how that character is written and portrayed and this art totally ignores the entire point of the character. They demanded the art be deleted. In response to that other people said, well what the fanartist did may be distateful but they have every right to draw what they’re into. The two sides fight for days and each starts a harassment campaign and even report their “opponents’” accounts.

So far so typical. But things eventually come to a head and they decide that this will be settled by votes - not through a poll. Through donations to a children’s education charity via each side’s portal. Whoever can get the highest amount of donation wins.

He’ll flash you a charming, confident grin as he slides down your body, kissing along your stomach like he’s in total control. “Missed you, sweetheart,” he murmurs all smooth, like he’s doing you a casual favor. He’s getting pretty good at this boyfriend thing. He’s cool, collected even

But his tail is a fucking snitch.

The second he starts kissing down your thighs, that fluffy tail starts swishing behind him, slow at first, then faster, betraying just how excited he actually is. The closer his mouth gets to your pussy, the twitchier his ears become, flicking and turning toward every little sound you make. By the time he’s eyelevel with your core, breathing hot against your slick folds, his tail is going absolutely crazy.

He buries his face between your thighs with a deep, satisfied groan, tongue dragging up through your wetness like he’s starving. And that’s when his tail really loses it.

Thump. Thump. Thump-thump-thump.

It’s smacking loudly against the floor, then slapping the back of your calves where your legs are draped over his broad shoulders. The more he eats you out, licking, sucking, moaning into your pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, the wilder it gets. His tail is just going for it, thwacking against your legs, the bed, whatever it can reach, completely out of rhythm with how hard he’s trying to look composed.

You can’t help but giggle breathlessly, threading your fingers through his hair (right at that stupidly hot undercut).

“Val… your tail is going crazy back there.”

He only growls against your clit, refusing to pull back even an inch. His ears are pinned flat with embarrassment but his tongue never stops, licking deeper, messier, more desperate. The tail just wags even harder, like it’s got a mind of its own and it’s thrilled to expose Valko for how he’s exactly where he wants to be, face buried in your sweet pussy, arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you down while he devours you.

He might not admit with words how fucking desperate he is to taste you…

Part 1 with the other 5 and the art that inspired this.

🔞CW: Dry humping. Dirty talk. Self love. Smut.🔞

Infold, give us our wolf back! Please!

A special thanks to @stardustsirens, I love your beautiful brain 😚

Twenty minutes. You'd been gone twenty minutes before you turned around, halfway to work, because your work folder was still sitting on the kitchen counter.

Valko had stayed the night, though not the way anyone would assume. You'd cooked too late, ended up on the couch watching movies until midnight and the idea of him driving home just to come back in a few hours was ridiculous. So he'd stayed. Folded that huge body of his onto your couch—which was built for exactly one normal sized human—insisting he was fine even though you both knew his neck would hate him for it in the morning. He hadn't so much as brought up sharing your bed. That line was still there between you, respected without either of you having to say so out loud.

Valko here

Click here for a visual of what inspired this and don't forget to follow Ekay!

CW: Dry humping. Dirty talk. Self love. Smut.

🔞MDNI🔞

Wc: 3,562

Repost from my old account (Applecaviar)

When they find you humping a pillow (Part 2)

"What the hell?" That definitely sounded like Caleb, but the way he called your name was different. Not playful or teasing like usual. It was raw, desperate, almost pained. For a moment you think Caleb must have heard you come home and is calling for you from the kitchen. But the sound comes again, louder and it's clear something is very wrong.

You freeze on the stairs, hand tightening on the railing when you realize the noise is coming from upstairs.

Yandere! Holy Knight x Reader

⤷ TW: dark themes, yandere tendencies, violence, implied coercion & threats.

The people of the kingdom always said the holy knight was not born from a woman, but carved directly from the light of the sun. He was their ultimate savior, a perfect hero built of silver and gold who never tired, never bled, and never made a mistake. When he rode his great white horse through the capital city, the busy streets would instantly go dead silent. Regular citizens, wealthy merchants, and even noble lords would drop to their knees in the dirt just to touch the hem of his long white cape, begging for a scrap of his divine attention. They did not speak to him like a human being. They spoke to him like a god who belonged to everyone and belonged to no one.

But you were just a regular, low-ranking scribe working in the deepest, darkest corner of the Church’s royal archives. To you, he wasn't a god at all. He was just a severely tired man who desperately needed a glass of water and a warm bed.

The first time he ever stumbled into your library wing, he looked like he was about to collapse. The high priests had spent the entire morning parading him through the upper cathedral, demanding miracles and blessings from him while completely ignoring the fact that his knees were shaking under the weight of his armor. When he finally escaped the crowds, he wandered aimlessly down the stairs, ending up in your quiet room. His silver armor was covered in dust, his golden hair was messy and damp with sweat, and his shoulders were drooping.

You didn't fall to your knees when he entered. Instead, you stood up from your desk, bowing your head slightly in a gesture of quiet respect, and pointed to a sturdy wooden chair nearby.

"Welcome to the archives, sir," you said softly, keeping your voice gentle so as not to startle him. "You look incredibly faint. If it pleases you, would you care to sit down and rest for a moment?"

He froze, his wide golden eyes completely shocked. For his entire life, everyone had either looked away from him in fear or ordered him to perform tasks. No one had ever asked for his permission just to offer him comfort. No one had ever treated his comfort as something that required consent. Slowly, with a quiet hesitation, he walked over and sat down. The heavy metal of his armor groaned as he sank into the wood.

You didn't say much else. You walked over to your small stove in the corner, brewed a cup of cheap chamomile tea, and brought it back to him along with a small plate of sweet crackers you had been saving for your lunch. As you set the tray down, you noticed how raw and red his skin was beneath the edges of his metal gloves.

Instead of just grabbing his hands, you knelt right beside his chair, keeping a respectful distance, and looked up at him.

"Your wrists look terribly chafed from the gauntlets, sir," you murmured gently. "May I have your permission to unbuckle the straps and clean the skin for you? I have some soothing ointments here."

He stared down at you, his chest moving up and down with shaky, shallow breaths. His hands trembled slightly on his lap. He had faced monsters and armies without blinking, but your quiet request for consent made his breath catch in his throat. Slowly, he nodded, offering his heavy wrists to you.

You worked with absolute care. You gently unbuckled the leather straps of his massive silver gauntlets and used a wet cloth to clean the chafed, bleeding skin on his wrists. You wrapped them in soft, clean bandages, your fingers brushing against his skin with the utmost tenderness.

"They treat you like a weapon," you muttered softly, frowning as you tied a neat knot on his left wrist, ensuring it wasn't too tight. "But weapons don't get tired. People do. You carry the weight of the whole kingdom, sir, but you are allowed to rest."

He didn't answer you. When he finally looked up at your face, his eyes were incredibly bright, almost glowing in the dim candlelight of the archive. He looked like a traveler who had spent years walking through a freezing, lonely wasteland and had suddenly stumbled into a warm, roaring fire.

From that day on, your quiet archive became his secret sanctuary.

Every single time he had a free hour between his training and his prayers, he would slip away from the grand halls and hide in your room. The moment the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind him, his perfect hero persona completely fell apart. He would take off his heavy helmet, let his massive sword clatter uselessly to the floor, and sink down onto the rug right next to your desk.

He didn't want to talk about his battles, the monsters he killed, or his divine duties. He just wanted to watch you work. He would rest his chin on the edge of your desk, his large golden eyes following every single movement of your feather pen as you copied old history books.

Sometimes, if you worked too late into the evening, he would get restless. "Are you tired?" he would whisper softly, reaching out a hesitant, trembling hand. He would gently take the pen from your fingers, placing it safely on the table so he could rub your sore wrist. His hands were always incredibly warm, radiating a soft, comforting heat that instantly made your fatigue melt away. "Let me do it. Let me carry your heavy books. Let me copy the pages for you. You shouldn't have to strain yourself like this."

"I'm fine," you would laugh softly, reaching over to pat his soft golden hair. Every single time your fingers touched his head, his face would turn completely red, and he would let out a small, happy sigh, leaning his head deeply into your palm like a pet begging for affection. "This is my job. Unlike you, I actually get to rest when the sun goes down."

"Then let me stay here until it does," he pleaded, his voice small, desperate, and entirely pathetic for someone who could slay monsters. He gripped the edge of your shirt sleeve with two fingers, holding on tightly as if he was terrified you would disappear into thin air if he let go. "Just a little longer. It's so loud outside. Everyone wants something from me. But here, with you, it's the only place where my head stops hurting."

You smiled and let him stay every time, thinking he was just a sweet, lonely man who desperately needed a real friend. You had no idea that to him, you weren't just a friend. You were his entire world, his only source of sanity, and his new religion.

While the holy knight fought dangerous monsters at the kingdom's borders, you were fighting your own quiet battle inside the castle walls. For months, you had been secretly digging through the Church’s old financial records. You had uncovered something terrible: the High Priests were stealing massive amounts of money meant for the poor villages and using it to buy luxury goods, gold jewelry, and expensive wines for themselves. It was an incredibly dangerous secret to hold, and you knew that if they caught you, they would lock you away in the darkest dungeon forever.

But lately, strange things had been happening around you.

Every time a corrupt official started getting suspicious of your research or asked too many questions about why you were looking through old vault ledgers, they would suddenly vanish from the castle. There was a cruel bishop who had caught you in the hallway and threatened to have you fired and thrown into prison because you asked for his department's budget sheets. You had spent a whole night panicking in your room, unable to sleep, terrified of what the morning would bring.

But the very next morning, the bishop was gone. The Head Priest announced to the castle that the man had suddenly decided to retire to a silent, lonely monastery deep in the freezing mountains, vowing never to look at or speak to another human being again.

A few weeks later, a rude royal guard shoved you hard in the stone courtyard because you were walking too slow, making you drop all your heavy library files into the dirt. He had laughed at you, calling you a useless library rat. You hadn't told anyone about it, not wanting to cause trouble.

But the next day, that guard went missing. He had been stripped of his rank and forced into a lifetime of hard labor in the deep, pitch-black salt mines, never allowed to see the light of day again.

Then there was the corrupt merchant who had tried to corner you in the lower halls, threatening to tell the priests about your suspicious archive research if you didn't give him your files. Within twenty-four hours, his entire business empire collapsed due to a sudden, unexplainable audit by the crown, leaving him completely bankrupt and thrown into the city's worst common debtor's prison.

You thought the system was somehow fixing itself. You thought your anonymous letters to the king were finally working. You had absolutely no idea what the holy knight was actually doing during the dead of night.

He never used a physical weapon on those men, nor did he let them stay in those prisons or mines for long. Before their official sentences or relocations were carried out by the kingdom, the holy knight would step into their locked quarters or holding cells while they slept, his silver armor casting a bright, beautiful glow against the dark walls.

When the corrupt men woke up in terror, trying to scream for help, they would find that they couldn't move a single muscle. The air in the room would become incredibly thick and heavy, filled with the faint, sweet smell of church incense. The holy knight would stand over them, his face completely calm and peaceful, looking down at them with soft, genuine pity.

"Why did you make her cry?" he would ask in a gentle, polite whisper, his golden eyes wide and completely empty of any human emotion. "She was so stressed today because of you. She couldn't even smile at me when I visited because she was worried about your threats. She didn't even touch my hair today."

The men would try to beg for their lives, crying and shaking under the weight of his presence. But the holy knight would only tilt his head, a soft, saintly smile appearing on his lips as a beautiful, blinding white light began to grow from his palms.

"Don't worry," he would murmur softly, his voice sounding like a sweet lullaby. "I am not an evil monster. I am a hero. I am just purifying the world so she can live in peace. Anyone who hurts my precious person doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as her."

With a silent flash of immaculate white light, the men would simply melt away. There was no blood, no pain, and no sound. A faint, beautiful sound of angels singing would echo in the empty room for a few seconds, leaving nothing behind but a neat pile of clean, white ash on the floor. To the rest of the kingdom, it looked like they had simply run away to escape their punishments, but the holy knight knew the truth.

The next afternoon, he would walk into your library wing, looking as innocent and sweet as can be. He would drop to his knees beside your chair, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and burying his face in your lap, breathing in your scent to calm his racing heart.

"I made sure your day would be peaceful today," he would whisper, his voice muffled by your clothes as he squeezed you closer, his fingers digging into your shirt. "No one will ever hurt you again. I promise. I will clear away anyone who stands in your path, so just stay here with me forever. Don't look at anyone else."

You would laugh softly, running your fingers through his golden hair to comfort him, completely blind to the terrifying, unhinged power of his love.

The High Priests were greedy, but they were not stupid. They quickly realized that their political allies were disappearing one by one. More importantly, they noticed that their perfect weapon was changing. The holy knight was no longer listening to their orders with blank, mindless obedience. He was skipping mandatory prayers, refusing to attend royal banquets, and spending every single night locked inside the dusty archive rooms with a low-ranking scribe.

They realized he had a weakness. They realized you were the one controlling his heart.

"The Vanguard is compromised," the Head Priest whispered to his council during a secret meeting in the dead of night. "He no longer belongs to the Church. He belongs to that pathetic scribe. If we do not cut this cord immediately, he will turn his divine light against us."

They didn't want to just kill you in secret. They knew that if the holy knight found out they had murdered you, his grief would cause him to lose his mind and destroy the entire kingdom. They needed to make him hate you. They needed to force him to destroy you himself, proving to the world that he was still nothing more than their loyal, brainwashed tool.

They waited until the holy knight was sent away on a three-day mission to clear monsters from a faraway valley. The moment his white horse left the city gates, the trap snapped shut.

A dozen heavily armed guards stormed into your quiet library wing. They smashed your wooden desk, tore your favorite books to pieces, and dragged you out of the room in heavy iron chains. They took all the evidence you had compiled against the priests and threw it into a roaring fire, burning your months of hard work into nothing but smoke.

They locked you in a cold, dark dungeon beneath the cathedral, leaving you without food or water. They beat you until your body was covered in bruises, demanding that you sign a fake confession stating that you were a dark witch who had used evil curses to brainwash and control the holy knight.

But you refused. Even when you were bleeding, cold, and terrified, you held onto your pride. You knew you had done nothing wrong, and your respect for the truth kept you silent.

By the third day, the grand cathedral doors were opened wide. The entire royal court, the wealthy nobles, and thousands of regular citizens filled the long rows of stone benches. They had been told a lie that a dangerous heretic had been caught trying to poison the kingdom’s savior.

You were dragged up the long center aisle, the heavy iron chains dragging loudly against the marble floor. They forced you onto your knees at the top of the sacred altar, right in front of the massive golden statues of the gods. Your clothes were torn, your face was bruised, and your hands were bound tightly in heavy iron cuffs that cut into your skin.

The High Priests stood behind you on the elevated platform, looking down at you with smug, evil satisfaction. They had won.

Suddenly, the heavy doors at the back of the cathedral burst open with a loud bang.

The holy knight had returned. He strode down the center aisle, his silver armor gleaming brilliantly under the colorful stained-glass windows. He carried his sacred sword in his right hand, the blade radiating a soft, comforting warmth. To the cheering crowd, he looked like the ultimate picture of divine justice.

He marched straight up the stone stairs of the altar, his face completely blank and emotionless. The Head Priest stepped forward, a cruel smile on his face as he raised his golden staff into the air.

"Vanguard of Light!" the Head Priest shouted, his voice echoing through the massive, high-ceilinged room. "This filthy heretic has confessed to using dark magic to corrupt your pure soul. In the name of the heavens, we command you to raise your sacred blade and purge this evil from our kingdom!"

The crowd cheered wildly, screaming for your blood and waving their fists in the air. You looked up at the holy knight through your messy, blood-matted hair, your heart breaking into pieces. You didn't care about dying, but the thought of him being the one to do it made you want to sob.

"I'm sorry," you whispered softly to him, your voice trembling as fresh tears finally spilled down your bruised cheeks, dripping onto the cold marble floor. "I tried to fix the church... I tried to help the people. I'm sorry I ruined everything for you."

The holy knight stopped a few inches away from you. He didn't look at the screaming crowd, and he didn't look at the proud priests. He only looked at you. He saw the dark bruises on your face, the blood dried on your split lip, and the heavy iron chains cutting into your small, delicate wrists. He saw the tears in your eyes, the very same eyes that used to look at him with so much gentle warmth.

The blank, empty look in his golden eyes suddenly cracked, shattering entirely.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his sword. The heavy silver blade dropped from his fingers, hitting the marble floor with a loud, ringing clink that instantly silenced the entire cathedral. The cheering stopped. The nobles blinked in confusion, murmuring frantically to each other.

"What are you doing?" the Head Priest hissed, his face twisting in sudden anger and confusion. "Pick up your weapon and strike the heretic down!"

The holy knight didn't listen to him. Instead, he stepped past you, turning his back to your shaking body. He placed his large, broad frame directly in front of you, completely shielding you from the view of the crowd and the priests. He became an unbreachable wall between you and the rest of the world. No one could see you anymore; they could only see him.

When he looked up at the High Priests, his expression was completely serene. He didn't look angry or vengeful. He looked deeply, beautifully at peace, as if he had just figured out a flawless plan. But his golden eyes were wide, completely dilated, and glowing with an absolute, terrifyingly blinding white light.

The air pressure in the massive cathedral dropped so fast that everyone in the room suddenly gasped for breath, clutching desperately at their throats. The heavy stone pillars began to shake, and a faint, hauntingly beautiful sound of an angelic choir began to echo through the high ceilings. It wasn't a comforting sound; it was heavy, suffocating, and terrifyingly cold.

"You told me that heresy is the act of defying the divine," the holy knight whispered. His voice was soft and gentle, yet it carried flawlessly to every single corner of the silent, terrified room, vibrating in the bones of everyone who heard it. "You told me that anything which threatens the light must be completely purified. But you fools made a terrible mistake."

He slowly turned his body back around to face you. The stoic, unshakeable hero of the empire dropped to his knees right in front of you, his heavy silver armor clattering loudly against the stone altar.

He didn't care that thousands of people were watching him ruin his perfect reputation. He reached out his hands and gently cradled your bruised cheeks. His touch was incredibly soft, but his grip was unyielding. He wouldn't let you turn your face away.

Leaning in closer, his lips brushed against your ear as the choir outside reached a deafening, terrifying crescendo. His golden eyes locked onto yours, wide, unblinking, and swirling with a dizzying, manic light.

"Look only at me," he whispered, his voice dripping with a dark, suffocating possessiveness that made your blood run completely cold. "Don't look at them. Don't listen to their screams. They touched you, so they don't deserve to exist anymore. I am going to erase all of them. I will build a new world where there is no one else left to hurt you. A world where you will never have a reason to look at anyone but me."

He slid his hands down from your face, his fingers glowing with a soft, divine warmth. He gently touched the heavy iron cuffs on your wrists. With a bright, silent flash of heat, the iron simply turned to mist, freeing you completely. He didn't want you in chains. He wanted you to willingly stay by his side because there was simply no one else left in his universe.

"You don't need these filthy things," he murmured, his voice shaking with a manic, obsessive adoration as he took your newly freed hands and pressed them against his cheeks, leaning heavily into your touch. "I will be your shield. I will be your weapon. I will do absolutely anything you ask of me, slay anyone you point your finger at, and burn every kingdom that fails to bow to you. You are my only god now."

He leaned closer, his fingers tightening around your wrists with a desperate, crushing intensity that directly contradicted his sweet tone. The manic smile on his face widened, his dilated golden eyes fixing on yours with a dark, terrifying clarity.

"I want to give you everything," he whispered against your skin, his breath hitching. "I want to let you walk wherever you please in a world I cleared just for you. But if you ever try to walk away from me... if you ever try to leave my side, I will break your legs myself. I will forge new chains out of my own light and bind you to my chest so deeply that we will never be separated again. Please don't force me to do that to you. Just stay with me willingly."

You shivered against his touch, realizing that his warmth was no longer a sanctuary. It was an absolute, blinding force of nature, and the freedom he was offering you was contingent on your total submission to his presence.

"Vanguard! Stop this madness!" the Head Priest screamed, his voice cracking as he began to step backward in absolute terror, his golden staff shaking in his hands. "You are God's chosen weapon! You cannot do this!"

The holy knight stood back up, slowly turning his glowing golden eyes toward the council of priests.

"She is my light," he breathed into your skin, his voice cracking with an intense, desperate reverence that made your blood run cold. "Every single prayer I have uttered for the last three years has been whispered to her name, not your silent, useless gods. If you declare her a heretic, then you have declared the heavens themselves a sin.”

A blinding, immaculate white glare began to bleed from his armor, so incredibly bright that it looked like the sun itself had just forced its way into the room. The intense light began to slowly spread across the marble floor like water, and the moment it touched the edges of the wooden altar and the grand banners of the church, the material simply dissolved into silent, pristine white ash.

He gave the screaming, scrambling priests a gentle, beautiful, saintly smile.

"And as the Vanguard of Light…," he murmured softly, raising his hand into the air as the blinding white glow completely consumed the entire cathedral, erasing every single shadow and turning the world to pure, silent white. "I have no choice but to purge this temple."

i love stories about a popular guy leading on this dorky nerdy girl who has a massive crush on him. maybe for a bet or his own entertainment. but then slowly and surely he starts falling for her and become paranoid that she will find out the truth (and maybe she does). yandere of course!

i’d love to see how you do a story like this! thank you! 💕

Yandere! Playboy x Fem! Reader

⤷ TW: toxic yandere behavior, dark romance, severe obsession, manipulation, psychological games, and betrayal.

Asher was the kind of guy who could ruin your entire reputation with a single whisper, and somehow make you feel like you were the one who needed to apologize to him.

He was the varsity captain, the ultimate golden boy, and the son of a massive real estate developer. If you went to this school, you either spent your days trying to get into his elite social circle or you stayed completely out of his way. There was no middle ground. He controlled the hallways with nothing but a lazy smile and a casual nod, entirely used to everyone playing by his rules.

You spent the last three years making sure your paths never crossed. You were the quiet girl in the back row of AP Chemistry who wore oversized blazers and kept her head down. You didn't care about his money, his sports stats, or his loud friends. You just wanted to get your diploma and disappear.

But then came a rainy Friday afternoon in the library archives.

The archive room was a quiet, dimly lit space at the very back of the library, mostly filled with old yearbooks and broken printers. You were sitting on the floor in the furthest aisle, hidden completely from view by a massive row of metal shelves, trying to finish a lab report in peace.

The heavy wooden door pushed open, and the sound of loud, familiar laughter cut through the silence.

"Two grand is a lot of cash just to break a nobody, Asher," Marcus said, his voice dripping with casual arrogance as he leaned against the opposite side of your shelf. "You sure you can keep this act up until the spring gala? She looks like she’ll cry if you look at her too fast."

You froze, your pen hovering over your paper.

"It's an easy win," Asher replied. His voice was smooth and perfectly calm. You heard the sound of a plastic bottle being tossed onto a table. "She’s never had anyone like me look at her. I’ll spend a few months holding her hand, buying her those cheap pastries from the corner bakery, and make her the most envied girl in our track. By the time the gala rolls around, she’ll be so dependent on me that dropping her on the stage will completely ruin her. Pay up now or pay up later, Marcus, it’s all the same to me."

Sitting on the dusty floor, you did not cry. Your chest did not tighten with heartbreak, because you had never cared about Asher to begin with. Instead, a cold, sharp anger flared up in your chest.

You looked down at your worn-out shoes, your fingers tightening around your notebook until the pages wrinkled. Asher thought he was setting a trap for a helpless little bird. He thought this final year was just a game to cure his boredom.

A sharp, merciless plan took root in your mind.

You wouldn't just play along. You would give him an absolute masterpiece of a performance. You would become the most compliant, stuttering, lovesick girl he had ever seen. You would make him believe he was completely in control, draw him into a cage of his own making, and then rip his pride away right when he felt the most secure. He wanted to play with someone's life, so you would force the golden boy to taste his own medicine.

The execution began the very next morning.

You stood by your locker, intentionally fumbling with your combination dial, your shoulders hunched to look as small and pathetic as possible. When the distinct scent of cedarwood and high-end laundry detergent filtered into your space, you kept your eyes glued to the metal.

"Stuck again?"

Asher was leaning against the locker beside yours, his tie perfectly knotted, his lips curved into that soft smile he used to charm faculty and college scouts alike. He reached out, his large, warm hand covering yours on the lock, his thumb deliberately brushing against your skin to initiate the first milestone of his little game.

You turned your head slowly, letting your eyes go wide behind your glasses. You let your hands shake just enough to drop your heavy chemistry binder, the papers scattering across the floor.

"O-Oh," you stammered, your voice thin and perfectly breathless. You dropped to your knees, scrambling for the pages. "I'm sorry. I'm just, I didn't see you there, Asher."

Asher knelt down with an easy grace, gathering the sheets and handing them back to you. As he did, he caught your gaze, holding it a few seconds too long. A brief flash of absolute satisfaction flickered in his eyes. He thought he had already won.

"Don't worry about it," he said, his voice dropping into a warm register. "I've actually been looking for you. I'm struggling with the latest thermodynamics chapter, and everyone says you're the smartest person in our track. Do you think, maybe you could help me study sometime? Just the two of us?"

You bit your lower lip, forcing a bright, nervous flush to creep up your neck. "Sure. I can help you, Asher."

The first few weeks were exactly what Asher expected. He would take you to the high-end cafes near the university campus, watching with internal amusement as you sat across from him with stiff, awkward posture, nervously tracing the edge of your teacup. He viewed you as a simple math equation he had already solved. You were the predictable, timid nerd who was supposed to worship the ground he walked on.

The turning point happened on a Tuesday evening in late October.

You were sitting in the empty chemistry lab after hours, helping him review formulas for an upcoming exam. Asher was barely paying attention, his fingers tapping lazily against the desk as he watched you sketch out a molecular structure on the whiteboard. He had his usual smirk plastered across his face, entirely comfortable in his belief that you were completely under his spell.

"You know," Asher said, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair, his voice dropping into that smooth, practiced tone. "It's kind of cute how much effort you put into this. Most girls are too busy trying to get my attention to actually teach me anything. You're different."

He expected you to blush. He expected you to stutter, drop your marker, and hide behind your hair.

Instead, you stopped writing. You didn't turn around immediately. You slowly capped the dry-erase marker, the sharp snap echoing in the quiet room. When you finally turned to face him, the nervous, wide-eyed look he was so used to was entirely gone. Your expression was deadpan, your eyes boring straight into his with a cold, piercing clarity.

"I put effort into this because you're genuinely failing, Asher," you said, your voice completely flat, stripped of any stutter or warmth. "And honestly, it's embarrassing. You have the best resources, the most expensive tutors your father can buy, and yet you can't even grasp basic thermodynamics because you're too busy wondering if the girls in the hallway are looking at your hair."

Asher's smirk froze. His hand paused in his hair, his amber eyes widening in absolute shock. Nobody spoke to him like that. Teachers coddled him, his friends enabled him, and girls praised his every move. The blunt, unapologetic venom in your voice hit him like a physical slap, leaving him completely paralyzed in disbelief.

"If you want to waste your own time being a superficial cliché, go ahead," you continued, stepping closer to the desk, leaning down slightly so you were looking directly into his stunned face. "But don't waste mine. I have a future to build, and right now, you're just an annoying obstacle on my schedule. Do the work or get out of my sight."

For a solid ten seconds, Asher couldn't breathe. His heart hammered violently against his ribs, not from anger, but from a sudden, dizzying rush of adrenaline. The absolute dismissiveness in your tone didn't repel him; it deeply intrigued him. He looked at your steady, unblinking gaze and realized that beneath the oversized blazers and the quiet facade, there was a sharp, dangerous mind that didn't care about his status at all.

You weren't a helpless little bird. You were something entirely different, and in that single moment of utter disbelief, the first seeds of his obsession were planted.

From that night on, the dynamic completely shifted, though he was too blind to realize he was the one being hunted.

Asher became consumed by you. He stopped looking around the room to see who was watching them on dates. He didn't care about the bet anymore; the two thousand dollars felt entirely meaningless compared to the desperate need to see that sharp, unbothered spark in your eyes again. He found himself intentionally getting answers wrong just to hear you scold him, craving your attention like a drowning man craving air.

He started tracking your schedule, memorizing the exact minute you left your house, the specific bench you sat on during lunch, and the exact volume of your laugh when you were actually amused. If another guy so much as looked in your direction in the hallway, Asher’s entire posture would turn predatory, his jaw clenching as he silently memorized the student's face, already planning how to ensure they never crossed your path again.

By late winter, the change in him was undeniable. The arrogance had entirely drained from his posture whenever they were alone. When you sat in the back corner of the library, surrounded by the heavy silence of the old bookshelves, he would spend hours simply watching your fingers fly across your graphing calculator, his amber eyes wide and completely consumed by a desperate, borderline frightening adoration.

The guilt of the bet began to eat at him, rotting his confidence from the inside out. He realized that if he executed the final phase of the wager, if he humiliated you at the spring gala, he would be destroying the only real, uncorrupted thing he had ever touched.

He became hyper-vigilant, pulling away from his world entirely. He stopped attending track parties, deleted his social media apps, and cornered Marcus behind the fieldhouse, slamming him against the concrete wall and threatening to ruin his life if a single word of the wager ever reached your ears. He was frantic, trying desperately to burn the evidence of his own crime so he could remain the perfect prince you thought he was.

But Marcus and the rest of the runners had grown entirely sick of Asher’s threats, his sudden behavior, and the way he had completely abandoned them for a girl who was supposed to be a joke. They realized Asher was never going to finish the game. He was actually going to take you to the gala as his real date.

They decided to orchestrate a public execution of his reputation, and they chose the most dramatic stage possible.

It happened during the mid-winter pep rally, right in the center of the packed gymnasium. The bleachers were overflowing with hundreds of students, the school band was playing, and the overhead banners were shaking with the noise. Asher was standing near the center circle with the rest of the varsity captains, receiving an award from the principal.

Suddenly, the music cut out, replaced by a loud, piercing screech of feedback from the main audio system.

The giant projection screen on the gym wall, which was supposed to show a highlight reel of the sports season, flickered and went dark. A second later, a massive image filled the wall. It was not a video. It was a high-definition recording of the track team's private group chat, scrolling through months of messages.

The entire gym went suffocatingly quiet as the text messages moved up the screen. Everyone read the words together. The checkboxes, the two-thousand-dollar pool, the cruel jokes about you, and finally, a voice memo pinned at the very top.

Marcus had hooked his phone directly into the media booth. He pressed play.

Asher’s own voice boomed through the giant gym speakers, echoing off the high ceiling. "It's an easy win, Marcus. I’ll spend a few months holding her hand, by the time the gala rolls around, she’ll be so dependent on me that dropping her on the stage will completely ruin her."

The audio cut off. The screen went black.

The silence in the gymnasium was heavy, thousands of eyes snapping instantly from the stage down to the bleachers where you were sitting. Asher stood in the center of the basketball court, the microphone slipping from his numb fingers and hitting the hardwood with a dull thud. Every single ounce of color had drained from his face. His eyes were wide, vacant, and filled with a raw panic that made him look completely hollow.

He didn't look at the principal, his teammates, or the crowd. His head snapped instantly toward the bleachers, his eyes frantically searching the rows of faces until he locked onto you.

You didn't cry. You didn't hide your face or run out of the gym. Instead, you slowly closed your textbook, stood up from your seat on the bleachers, and walked down the metal stairs in absolute composure.

Asher met you at the bottom of the steps, his breathing ragged, his uniform jacket completely stiff. He looked entirely ruined, stripped of every piece of his golden boy armor right in front of the entire school.

"It's not true," he choked out, his voice cracking violently as his hands reached for your shoulders, stopping just inches away, trembling so hard he could barely keep them level. "Please. Look at me, Y/N. It started like that, yes, I was a monster, I was stupid, but I swear to God it changed. I love you. I’ve loved you for months. Please tell me you don't believe them."

You looked up at him through your glasses. The timid, stuttering girl vanished from your expression in a single second. Your eyes became entirely steady and cold, carrying a detached amusement that made Asher’s breath catch in his throat.

"I know," you said, your voice smooth and clear, perfectly audible to the students watching from the lower rows.

Asher froze, his chest heaving. "What?"

"I was sitting right behind the textbook shelf in the library back in September, Asher," you said, your lips curving into a slow, sharp smile that had no warmth in it. "Every date we went to, every sweet thing you whispered in my ear, every single time you held my hand, I knew exactly what you were doing. I knew about the two thousand dollars. I knew about Marcus. I knew all of it."

Asher’s eyes widened, a horrific confusion washing over his features as he stared at you.

"I never liked you," you whispered, leaning in just close enough so only he could hear the words. "You were just an arrogant, silver-spooned player who needed to be put in his place. I wanted to see how long it would take to turn the school’s golden boy into a pathetic, weeping beggar. And look at you now. You're exactly where you belong."

You adjusted the strap of your backpack, turned on your heel, and walked straight out of the gym doors, leaving him standing alone on the hardwood while the entire campus witnessed his complete destruction.

The three weeks that followed were a grueling, agonizing descent for Asher.

The popular cliques completely alienated him, refusing to look at him after he had let an outsider entirely destroy their social circle. But Asher didn't care about his lost status. He didn't care about the track team, his college scouts, or his family's expectations. His entire universe had shrunk down to a single, unreachable girl.

He stopped attending practices. He stopped eating. He would spend his free periods sitting on the floor outside your classrooms, his back against the lockers, his head resting on his knees, simply waiting for the bell to ring just so he could watch you walk past him without a single glance. He didn't offer excuses or try to fight back against the bullying. His arrogance had been completely stripped away, leaving behind a bleeding devotion that bordered on a sickness.

The breakthrough happened on a Thursday evening, long after a severe torrential downpour had delayed the evening transit.

The campus was mostly deserted, the sky a bruised purple. You were sitting on the covered concrete steps behind the science building, your laptop open on your knees as you finished a lab report, waiting for your ride to arrive. The rain was drumming a heavy, hypnotic rhythm against the metal awning above.

You heard his footsteps before you saw him. They were slow, heavy, and completely lacking the confident stride he used to possess.

Asher walked out into the open courtyard, entirely ignoring the rain that was soaking through his uniform shirt and matting his dark hair to his forehead. He didn't try to stand over you. He didn't use his massive frame to corner you against the brick wall. Instead, he walked to the base of the concrete steps, stopped, and dropped straight to his knees on the wet, grit-covered asphalt right at your feet.

He didn't care if a teacher saw him from the windows above. He didn't care if his life was completely ruined. The golden boy was kneeling in the dirt, his head bowed so low his forehead almost touched the bottom step, looking up at you through the downpour with eyes that were bloodshot and entirely consumed by agony.

"I don't care if you hate me," Asher whispered, his voice raw, cracking against the sound of the rain. "I don't care if you only used me for revenge. But don't you dare think you can just walk away from me now. You wanted to turn me into a pathetic, weeping beggar? Congratulations, look at me. You did this to me. You spent four months training me to look only at you, to breathe only for you, and now you expect me to just let you go? I don't care if your feelings were fake. Mine weren't. You belong to me now, and I belong to you. Push me away all you want, scream at me, curse my name—I will still be right outside your door. You are stuck with me, Y/N. Forever."

He reached out, his large, trembling hand resting flat on the freezing, wet concrete near the edge of your shoes, completely defenseless, offering himself up to be kicked away like dirt.

You sat on the step, your fingers freezing over your keyboard. You looked down at the boy kneeling in the rain.

For twenty-one days, you had watched him. You had expected him to get angry, to flip the narrative, or to return to his old life once his pride was wounded. But he hadn't. He had accepted every single bit of public humiliation, every cruel whisper, and every harsh glance without a word of complaint. He had systematically dismantled his own life, rejecting his old friends and turning down his father's connections, completely destroying the golden boy persona just to show you that he was willing to be nothing if he couldn't be yours.

As you stared at his soaking wet shoulders, his shaking hands, and the utter sincerity burning in his amber eyes, you felt the final, stubborn remnants of your own spite slowly dissolve in your chest.

The goal had been to give him a taste of his own medicine, to break a player at his own game. But somewhere in the dark cat-and-mouse game you had been playing, the lines had blurred. His absolute transparency, his total submission, and the depth of his devotion had done the impossible.

You actually liked him back. Not the arrogant prince from September, but the broken, desperate soul currently kneeling in the dirt just for the right to breathe the same air as you.

You let out a long, slow breath, closing your laptop and setting it aside. You didn't smile, but you reached down, your slender fingers gently gripping the cold, wet collar of his shirt, giving it a slight tug to force him to look up at you.

"Get up, Asher," you murmured softly, your voice steady, no longer carrying the freezing detachment of the last three weeks. "The ground is filthy. Let's go home."

Asher let out a shaky, breathless hitch in his chest, his amber eyes widening with a sudden, overwhelming ray of hope. He scrambled to his feet, his hands hovering near you, desperate to touch but too terrified to break the fragile peace.

As you walked out into the rain toward the gates, you didn't take his hand, but you didn't pull away when his shoulder pressed against yours. Asher kept himself impossibly close, his shadow practically swallowing yours, his amber eyes burning with a heavy, dangerous focus as he stared down at your profile.

He thought he had been saved. He thought he had earned his second chance through his suffering. He had absolutely no idea that while the game had changed, the rules were still entirely yours, and he was never, ever going to be allowed out of his cage.

But looking at the slight, terrifying curve of your lips, Asher didn't care. Even if it was a cage, even if you planned on keeping him on a tight, suffocating leash for the rest of his life, he never wanted you to take it away from him. Even like this—even if you were just using him, even if all he ever received from you was punishment—he was entirely hooked.

A sick, desperate vow settled deep in his chest as he kept pace with you through the downpour. He would do absolutely anything to tear down the walls you built around your heart. He would bleed for you, ruin himself entirely, and crawl through whatever hell you designed, just to force you to truly love him back one day.

ahhh this is such a great idea, i actually had a same ask before that i didn't have time to answer (the ask got lost unfortunately...), but I'm so sorry anon, i took a different route with this, i hope you don't mind-

Yan! Mean! Femboy X QueenBee! Gn! Reader : "This Town Isn't Big Enough For The Two Of Us" (Or Was It?)

cw : male yandere, reader has similar personality and style as yan!, terms like beautiful and gorgeous was referred to reader but it was gender neutral!, mention of ; stalking, underage sex with adults (not from reader or yan) suicide, bullying, and harassment (not from yan).

an : i've been thinking about names for our femboy, and my thoughts landed on lucy! his real goverment name is lucas, but he goes by lucy since kindergarten, to the point people thought lucy was his real name! (it was used to be a name that people gave him to mock his femininity but now he wore that name proudly).

yan! femboy masterlist.

i think it will be quite the opposite actually, if you have a similar style and personality as lucy, or even worse, you're another queen bee. he would absolutely not take it.

oh honey, there isn't enough room for two queen bees. after all, a hive only has one queen at a time- so they're called a "queen bee" for a reason. so it was only natural that the two of you become the biggest social rivalry the school has ever seen.

YANDERE!GARDEN FAIRY x GN!READER — suggestive content / pathetic yandere / emotional instability / stalking / emotional manipulation / social isolation / he’s such a small, weak thing / won’t you keep him safe by your side?

A/N: first post !! ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘 whom you saved one day whilst tending to your flowers. From your perspective, the only thing you saw was a weak little butterfly who must’ve strayed too far from the community garden across the street.

All you did was offer it some sugar water to drink before going about the rest of your day, entirely oblivious to the tiny fairy who now owed you his life.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘 who knows he shouldn’t be interacting with humans, but he’s just so, so grateful that he simply has to thank you in person.

cw : male yandere, mention of illegal breeding farm, violence, abuse, hybrids treated as a pet, usually yandere stuff.

an : this is probably not a very original idea but bear with me okay? i love this idea very much so i wanted to shoot my shot 😓

masterlist

yan! puppy boy was rescued from an illegal hybrid breeding farm, leaving him deeply aggressive and riddled with trust issues, even though the shelter staff treated him with nothing but kindness.

he would bite and growl at any vet or staff member who stood even a little too close to him. he was genuinely impossible to "tame," even after months of being cared for at the shelter.

then came you.

you asked and you shall receive... the first part are pretty sfw, the second part is not exactly a smut, just some freaky infos like you requested hehe.

Yandere! Office Siren Boy! x GN! Reader. : More SFW + NSFW Infos.

cw : male yandere, power play in a workplace, creepy old boss, mention of killing once, mild nsfw for the second part but nothing explicit.

an : you can just read this one alone but it's better to read the previous part first, the freaky info is a bit short bcs i don't really have anything in mind lolol (I can't write smut for shit).

previous .ᐟ masterlist

yan! office siren boy recently got promoted to become the CEO's personal secretary. i originally wanted darling to be the CEO (the CEO and secretary trope) but again, it's way funnier if you're just... some random office employee.

because if you're the CEO, of course people will treat you differently. you have power, money, authority so it only natural that special treatment comes with the title.

but you're literally just another worker in a sea of cubicles with average performance, average paycheck, basically an average life.

which only makes everyone wonder.. how the hell did you catch micah's attention?