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chrissssssmut · 2 months ago

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PROFESSOR, YOU'RE MINE.

An Yujin x Male Reader feat. Gaeul

(Yandere w/ Smut)

(Note: MY FIRST EVER YANDERE FIC WITH SMUT! Hope y'all enjoy this one! I literally grinded writing this😆)

The halls of Daehwa Girls’ Academy buzzed with hushed whispers and stolen glances whenever Professor (Y/N) passed by. He was an anomaly—young, intelligent, and devastatingly handsome. Unlike the older faculty, he carried himself with effortless confidence, drawing admiration from students who saw him as something more than just a teacher.

And An Yujin hated that.

From the moment she stepped into his class, she knew she had to be the best—the only one worthy of his praise. But there was one obstacle in her way: Gaeul. No matter how much Yujin tried, no matter how much she studied, Professor (Y/N) always seemed to favor Gaeul’s work. A quiet nod, a subtle smile—recognition that belonged to Yujin and Yujin alone.

She clenched her fists. If he wouldn’t acknowledge her through talent, she would make sure she was the only one left to notice.

A Week Later – Empty Classroom 4-B

Gaeul stepped inside cautiously, her phone buzzing with the last message she received from Yujin.

"Meet me in 4-B. I need your help with something."

She barely had time to react before a sharp, searing pain bloomed in her stomach. Her breath hitched, a choked gasp escaping her lips as she staggered back. Yujin stood before her, gripping the handle of a small knife, eyes gleaming with something twisted.

Gaeul tried to scream, but her strength faded fast.

“Shh,” Yujin cooed, catching her before she could collapse. “You’re not dying. I was careful.”

Careful.

Yujin’s touch was deceptively gentle as she dragged Gaeul’s limp body to a chair, tying her up securely. By the time she was done, Gaeul could barely lift her head. Blood soaked her uniform, the pain sharp but numbed by weakness.

Yujin hummed, grabbing Gaeul’s phone.

"Professor, can you meet me in 4-B? I need help with a lesson."

Send.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

Professor (Y/N)’s Perspective:

He entered Classroom 4-B expecting to see Gaeul waiting with a notebook in hand. Instead, he was met with a horrifying sight.

Gaeul sat in the middle of the room, tied to a chair, blood staining her uniform. A note was pinned to her chest.

"This is what happens if other students try to be better than me."

His blood ran cold. He recognized that handwriting instantly.

“Yujin…”

Before he could move, a sharp pain exploded in the back of his head. His vision blurred, the world tilting before everything went black.

Unknown Room

(Y/N) groaned, his head throbbing as he came to. The air was thick, suffocating. He was seated against a chair, his wrists bound. In front of him, Gaeul remained tied up, barely conscious.

He struggled, looking around.

“Gaeul! Can you hear me?”

She barely stirred.

Panic set in. He had to get them out. He had to—

Click.

The door creaked open, and there she was.

An Yujin.

A knife glinted in her hand as she walked toward them, a smile stretching across her face.

“Professor,” she sighed, eyes shining with adoration. “I was worried you’d sleep forever.”

(Y/N) gritted his teeth. “Let Gaeul go.”

Yujin pouted. “I can’t do that. She’s the problem, isn’t she? Always stealing your attention. Always taking what's supposed to be mine.”

She trailed the knife along Gaeul’s collarbone, pressing just hard enough to break skin. A thin line of crimson dripped down her chest.

Gaeul whimpered weakly.

“Stop it!” (Y/N) shouted, struggling against his restraints.

Yujin ignored him, her eyes soft yet chilling. “Tell me, Professor. Who’s your favorite student?”

(Y/N) froze.

“This is insane—”

Yujin slashed Gaeul’s chest again, the cut shallow but cruel. A strangled cry left Gaeul’s lips before Yujin struck her across the face, silencing her.

“Try again,” Yujin said, her voice eerily sweet. “Who do you love more?”

(Y/N) swallowed hard.

If he didn’t answer, Gaeul wouldn’t survive.

"...You."

Yujin’s breath hitched. She stilled, as if replaying his words in her mind.

“Say it again.”

(Y/N) clenched his jaw, feeling sick.

“You’re my favorite student.”

Silence. Then—Yujin exhaled shakily, her grip on the knife loosening.

“I knew it,” she whispered, a giggle slipping past her lips. “I knew you felt the same way.”

She turned to Gaeul, patting her cheek mockingly. “You heard him, didn’t you? He chose me.”

(Y/N) looked away, unable to bear the way Gaeul’s body trembled.

Yujin stepped forward, pressing a hand against his cheek.

"Now, Professor," she murmured, brushing his hair back tenderly. "Let’s take you somewhere special."

She tugged him up, leading him away from Gaeul’s barely conscious form.

“Yujin—please—”

“Hush,” she whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. “We’ll be so happy together.”

The last thing he saw before the door shut was Gaeul slumped in the chair, her eyes dull and unfocused.

Then, darkness swallowed him whole.

And An Yujin had him all to herself.

(Y/N) stirred, his body aching as he slowly regained consciousness. The air was different—warmer, suffocatingly intimate. He wasn’t in the cold, empty classroom anymore. This place felt… personal.

His wrists were no longer bound to a chair, but to something softer. A bed.

His heart pounded.

The dim glow of a lamp bathed the room in soft light. The walls were decorated with photographs—him, taken in secret. Candid shots from class, stolen moments in the library, even a picture from when he first joined **Daehwa Girls’ Academy.**

Everywhere he looked, he saw himself.

And sitting beside him, watching with unsettling devotion, was **An Yujin.**

She was no longer in her school uniform. Instead, she wore a loose white blouse, slightly unbuttoned, revealing the curve of her collarbone. Her legs were bare, crossed elegantly as she twirled a knife between her fingers.

"You’re awake," she murmured, setting the knife aside. "I was starting to think I hit you too hard."

(Y/N) tensed, pulling at his restraints. His wrists were tied to the headboard, his ankles bound just enough to restrict movement.

"Yujin," he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. "Let me go."

She tilted her head, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

"But why would I do that?" She leaned closer, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. "You finally belong to me, Professor."

(Y/N) flinched at her touch, and Yujin giggled. "Still resisting? You’re so stubborn…"

Her hands drifted lower, ghosting over his shirt, which was now unbuttoned halfway. He didn’t even remember when she had done that.

His breathing grew uneven. "Yujin—"

She hushed him, pressing a finger to his lips. "I know you’re confused, maybe even scared. But I promise, I’ll take care of you."

Her fingers danced down his chest, her nails raking lightly against his skin. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine—whether from fear or something else, he didn’t know.

"You don’t need to think about anything else," she whispered, her lips dangerously close to his ear. "Just focus on me."

(Y/N) clenched his fists, trying to steady himself.

This wasn’t just obsession.

This was possession.

And there was no escaping it.

(Y/N) swallowed hard, his pulse hammering as Yujin’s fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns against his skin.

"You’re trembling," she whispered, her breath warm against his neck. "Are you scared, Professor?"

(Y/N) turned his head away, trying to suppress the shiver running down his spine. "Yujin… this isn’t right."

She only smiled, sliding onto his lap, her weight pressing down just enough to remind him how powerless he was. "No," she murmured, tilting his chin back to meet her gaze. "This is perfect."

The soft fabric of her blouse brushed against his exposed skin, her fingers teasing the buttons of his already loosened shirt. Yujin moved with a slow, dangerous confidence, her touch hovering just above where he was most vulnerable.

"You’ve always belonged to me," she continued, her voice sweet yet laced with something darker. "You just didn’t realize it."

(Y/N) gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the way his body reacted to her warmth, her scent—something intoxicating and inescapable.

Yujin noticed.

She giggled, pressing closer, her lips brushing against his ear. "You can lie with your words, but your body tells the truth."

Her fingers trailed lower, dangerously close, testing his restraint.

(Y/N) exhaled sharply, his wrists tugging against the restraints. "Yujin—"

She silenced him with a kiss.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant—it was possessive, demanding, her lips molding against his with desperate hunger. She bit down lightly on his lower lip, drawing a gasp from him before pulling back, her eyes dark with satisfaction.

"You taste even better than I imagined," she purred, running her thumb over his lips.

(Y/N) breathed heavily, his mind clouded with frustration, shame, and something he refused to name.

Yujin leaned in again, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down his jaw, his neck, savoring every reaction.

"You’re mine now, Professor," she whispered against his skin. "And I’ll make sure you never forget it."

Yujin traces her fingers down on his body, eventually reaching his cock. Yujin pulls it out of his boxers and lubricates it with her own spit, covering the entire cock with nothing but her own saliva and (Y/N)’s pre-cum.

“God, I never knew you were this big, Professor..” she whispered.

“So eager for me…” she added.

(Y/N) tries to pull away from her but his own body betrays him.

Yujin, without hesitation, strips off her own clothes, revealing her gorgeous body and her wet, glistening entrance.

Yujin lowers herself on to (Y/N), taking him inch by inch, stretching out her aching pussy. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, a teasing glint in her eyes as she let it slip free, swollen and tempting.

“Fuck… you're so big Professor… I can't believe I almost let Gaeul have this all for herself.” she mouthed.

Yujin, with an all-consuming need, she moved in a rhythm both possessive and unrelenting.

“Yujin… this is wro-.... Ah fuck…” (Y/N) groaned.

“No professor, this is perfect. This is how we are supposed to be. I want every fucking drop of your cum Professor.” She muttered, her words sending (Y/N) closer to climax.

“Breed me Professor… I want all of your fucking cum in me!” she exclaimed, her eyes filled with determination and malicious intent.

She took charge, her touch both commanding and intoxicating, leaving no room for hesitation.

(Y/N) own body betrayed him. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to be fucking the person who almost tried to end his life, let alone his own dear student.

Each movement of Yujin’s child bearing hips made him closer to the edge.

“Yujin, I'm close.” (Y/N) mouthed, slowly trying to pull out of Yujin's entrance.

“NO! FUCKING CUM INSIDE!” Yujin exclaimed, her grip tight on (Y/N) and her weight pressing down on him. She dominated the moment, each fast, deliberate movement a reminder of who was in control.

She silenced (Y/N) with a kiss. A kiss that wasn't filled with love and care, but of lust and possessiveness.

And with a final thrust in Yujin, (Y/N) pumped his warm cum inside of Yujin’s needing pussy, both of them groaning.

(Y/N) lay still, his body exhausted, his wrists sore from where the restraints had dug into his skin. The air was thick, heavy with the aftermath of what had just happened. His mind raced, trying to process everything, but the warmth beside him was inescapable.

Yujin curled against his side, her bare skin pressed intimately against his. Her fingers lazily traced patterns over his chest, a satisfied hum escaping her lips as she nestled closer.

“You’re quiet, Professor,” she murmured, her voice dripping with amusement. “Are you still trying to convince yourself this didn’t happen?”

(Y/N) turned his head away, his jaw clenched.

Yujin giggled, pressing a lingering kiss to his shoulder. “You can try to deny it, but your body already belongs to me.”

(Y/N) remained silent. Fighting her felt pointless now. She had taken everything—his control, his resistance, his dignity. And worst of all… part of him had given in.

Yujin propped herself up on one elbow, studying his face with a look of pure satisfaction. “You look so defeated,” she cooed, brushing his damp hair back. “But don’t worry… this is just the beginning.”

His stomach twisted.

She smiled sweetly, but there was something sinister beneath it—something final. “I won’t let you go, Professor. Ever.”

(Y/N) exhaled shakily, realizing the truth.

He wasn’t leaving this place.

Not today.

Not ever.

And Yujin? She would make sure of that.

Forever.

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chrissssssmut · 5 days ago

Note

yandere liz x male reader where reader gets punished by liz for breaking her rules but gets taken care of afterwards

(btw thank u for ur hard work. the consistency in quantity and quality is crazy)

OBEDIENCE IS DEVOTION (Yandere w/ Smut)

Yandere Liz x Male Reader

AN: Im slowly losing my juice but i am determined to keep writing RAHHHH🫡

Liz never raised her voice. She never needed to. Her rules weren’t barked or shouted—they were whispered into your skin, in the quiet moments when her arms were around you and her lips grazed the shell of your ear. “No phones. No guests. And never open the basement door.” She said it with a kiss to your temple, like a bedtime promise. You didn’t question it. You didn’t want to. Liz made life too easy. She cooked for you. She folded your laundry. She laughed at your jokes like they were the only things that had ever made her smile. The apartment was warm, bright, filled with the scent of eucalyptus and her shampoo. You told yourself that was love. You told yourself the rules were just her way of keeping things simple. But the door—the one at the end of the hallway, behind the laundry room—it blinked. Just a little red light above the keypad, faint but always there, always watching. You’d catch yourself looking at it without even realizing. And she’d always catch you.

“You’re thinking too much again,” she’d say sweetly, brushing your hair back, her nails barely grazing your scalp. “That little brain of yours is so noisy sometimes. I like it better when you’re calm.”

You always nodded. You always agreed. Because Liz’s voice made it so hard to say no. Because she smiled like everything she said made perfect sense, like she wasn’t asking for anything unreasonable. And maybe it wasn’t, not really. Until she left one afternoon, her purse forgotten on the counter, and that red light blinked at you again. You didn’t even realize you were moving until you were in front of the keypad. Her birthday. That was the code. Of course it was. The door clicked open like it had been waiting for you all along.

The air inside was still, unnaturally cold. You stepped down slowly, each wooden stair creaking under your weight. And then—photos. Hundreds. Pinned to corkboards, stuck to walls, framed on shelves. All of you. Sleeping. Eating. Showering. Crying. Pictures you couldn’t remember anyone taking. Notes in her handwriting. A piece of your hair, taped beside a list of your habits. Your old phone. Your letters. Your discarded things. It was a shrine. A museum of you.

“You really couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Her voice didn’t make you jump. It was too soft, too calm for that. You turned and saw her standing at the top of the stairs, lit from behind like an angel. One hand resting on the rail. Her face unreadable. She began descending slowly, not a single step rushed.

“You always do this,” she murmured. “You push. You test me. And I forgive you every time, don’t I?”

You opened your mouth but no words came out.

“Because I love you.”

She reached the bottom and stopped in front of you, eyes tracing your face with quiet intensity. Then her hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye.

“You make it so hard to keep you safe.”

The kiss she gave you was feather-light. So gentle it didn’t feel like punishment at all. “Upstairs,” she whispered against your lips.

You followed her, silent and dazed. She took your hand like nothing had happened, like you were walking home from a date and not returning from the discovery of your own surveillance. In the bedroom, she turned and looked at you.

“Take your shirt off.”

You hesitated.

Her voice didn’t change. “Now.”

You peeled it off. She smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling a ribbon from her hair and sliding it slowly between her fingers.

“Kneel.”

You did. And she leaned forward, wrapping the ribbon tightly around your wrists. It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t even tight. But it held. Her hands lingered on you, fingertips brushing your veins.

“There,” she whispered. “That’s better.”

She kissed your chest, your ribs, the hollow of your throat—worshipful, almost reverent. “I’m not angry,” she murmured. “You just scared me. You made me think I wasn’t enough.”

You tried to speak, but she climbed into your lap, hoodie still on, her bare thighs warm around your waist. Her lips hovered just above yours. “Don’t talk. Just listen.”

Her fingers brushed your cock, barely touching. Teasing. Cruel.

“You don’t get to cum,” she whispered, voice syrup-sweet. “Not yet. Not until you understand.”

Her hand wrapped around your aching cock slowly, deliberately, stroking with just enough pressure to keep you trembling. Her lips pressed to your jaw.

“Tell me what you did wrong.”

“I… opened the door.”

“Why?”

“Because I was curious. Because—”

“No. Say it right.”

“Because you told me not to.”

Her mouth curved into a smile. “Because I love you,” she corrected again. “Say it.”

“Because you love me.”

Her strokes grew just a little firmer, just enough to make your legs shake.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Liz. I’m yours.”

“Good boy.”

She kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue brushing yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. She pulled her shorts aside, and in one smooth motion, she sank down onto you, wet and warm and slow. You gasped, but she covered your mouth with her hand, eyes wide and gentle.

“Shh. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

She rode you like she had all the time in the world, slow and steady, keeping you right on the edge while her nails left faint trails on your chest. She leaned forward and kissed your temple, your lips, your nose. “You feel that?” she breathed. “That’s love. That’s how deep I want to be. Always.”

You couldn’t last. Not like that. When you came, it was raw and shaky and overwhelming, and she moaned as if your surrender meant more than anything. She clung to you, her forehead pressed to yours.

“See?” she whispered. “You don’t need anything else.”

She untied you gently, like she was worried she might hurt your skin. Then she cleaned you off with a warm towel, humming quietly under her breath. You didn’t know what to say. She tucked you under the blanket and curled around you like you might vanish if she didn’t hold you close enough.

In the morning, you woke to sunlight spilling across the bed and the smell of strawberries and toast. A tray waited beside you. Liz was in the kitchen, wearing your shirt, hair still messy, humming a tune you vaguely recognized.

“You were out cold,” she said with a smile. “I made breakfast.”

You stared at her. “Liz… last night…”

She tilted her head. “Hmm?”

“You tied me up.”

“No, baby,” she said sweetly. “You must’ve dreamed that.”

You sat up. Your wrists still bore the faintest marks. She saw you looking and leaned in to kiss them.

“You poor thing. You’ve been so stressed.”

She fed you a strawberry. It tasted like it was laced with guilt and comfort.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

She kissed your cheek and whispered, “Everything I do… is because I love you.”

That night, the keypad on the basement door had changed. She stood next to it, her hand resting casually on the panel.

“No more sneaking around,” she said softly. “You don’t want me to get upset again, do you?”

You shook your head.

She smiled like you’d said something beautiful, something perfect.

And in that moment, you realized—she never gets upset. She doesn’t need to. Because she knows, in the end, you always come back to her.

That night, the house was too quiet.

You lay on the couch, barely blinking, your thoughts looping in tight, suffocating circles. You could still hear her voice echoing in your head—You must’ve dreamed that. You stared at your wrists, where the faint marks remained, pink and fading, like they weren’t supposed to mean anything.

Liz appeared behind you without a sound.

"Bedroom," she said softly.

You looked up at her. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t angry, either. Her face was unreadable—like she already knew what would happen, and your part was just to follow along.

You obeyed. The hallway was long and dark, but you didn’t need to be guided. You sat on the edge of the bed, your body heavy with dread and something darker that you didn’t want to name.

Liz came in a moment later. She closed the door gently and crossed the room with slow, measured steps. She didn’t say anything at first—just stood in front of you and tilted your chin up with two fingers. Her nails were painted a pale, sheer pink.

“Take off your clothes.”

You hesitated.

“Now.”

You peeled your shirt over your head and kicked off your pants, trembling slightly as her eyes trailed over your exposed skin. Her expression didn’t change, but her breathing slowed as she looked at you—like you were something rare and fragile, something hers.

She sat down beside you, her thigh brushing yours, the bed dipping just slightly under her weight. Her lips hovered near your ear, and you could feel the warmth of her breath before you even heard her voice.

“Say the rules.”

Your throat tightened. You knew what she wanted.

“No phones,” you whispered.

Her hand slid onto your thigh, warm and soft.

“No guests.”

Her fingers moved slowly inward.

“And…”

You swallowed. “Never open the basement door.”

“Good,” she murmured. “Now tell me what you did.”

You closed your eyes. “I opened the door.”

She made a soft sound—almost a coo—and her hand reached your cock, fingers curling around it, lazy and light, like she had all the time in the world. She stroked you once, slow and deliberate.

“You broke my trust,” she whispered, her lips brushing the edge of your ear. “You disobeyed me.”

You nodded helplessly.

“Keep going.”

“I… I looked through your things.”

Her hand moved again, just enough to keep you on edge. She kissed your temple, her mouth open slightly, her breath warm and steady.

“And what did you see?”

“Pictures. Of me.”

“And did you like it?” Her voice was impossibly gentle.

You didn’t answer.

Her hand stilled. Her other hand touched your jaw, guiding your face to hers until you had no choice but to meet her eyes. There was no anger. Just calm, endless patience.

“Tell the truth,” she whispered. “Did it turn you on?”

You felt your face heat up. You wanted to lie. You didn’t.

“A little.”

Her smile returned—small, indulgent. Her grip tightened just slightly.

“That’s okay,” she said sweetly. “It’s normal to be excited when someone loves you this much. When someone would do anything to keep you.”

She leaned in, her nose brushing your cheek, her hand moving again—slower this time, more deliberate.

“You’re mine,” she whispered. “Even your shame. Even your fear. It all belongs to me.”

You moaned softly, your body tensing under her slow, rhythmic strokes. Her other hand slid across your chest, fingers splayed over your heart.

“You can cum,” she breathed into your ear, “but only when I say.”

Her hand didn’t stop. It was maddening. You were so close, held there by her voice and her scent and her soft, dangerous touch.

“Say it again,” she whispered.

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Liz.”

Her mouth found your neck, teeth grazing your skin—not biting, not yet—just enough to make you freeze.

“Good boy,” she purred.

And you came undone in her hand.

She held you through it, kissed your ear, cleaned you off with quiet precision. Not a word of cruelty. No scolding. Just the same eerie affection she always had, like you were her most precious thing in the world.

As she tucked you into bed, brushing the hair from your eyes, she kissed your lips gently and whispered, “You did so well tonight. I’m proud of you.”

You stared at the ceiling long after she curled into you, her arms wrapped tightly around your waist, her breath soft against your back.

Somewhere in your chest, your heart ached—and not because she hurt you. But because some part of you had started to believe she really was the only one who would love you this completely.

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