♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,108
Weeks blur.
Time doesn’t pass normally here. Not with the lights flickering on and off at random intervals, not with the way he watches you like he’s the devil himself playing with his food.
You stopped trying to count the days. Somewhere between the first blackout and the third time he dragged you by your hair into the darkened bathroom just to hold your head under the icy water until your lungs screamed—time lost all meaning. All you know is the pattern: touch, hurt, break, repeat. You’ve memorized his footsteps, the creak of the floorboards, the mechanical click of the lock turning. You’ve memorized the cadence of his breathing when he’s about to do something awful.
And God, he always does something awful.
He’s done everything to strip you bare, to grind you into something soft and whimpering. Something grateful to lick his boots, to crawl after him with tears running down your face, begging for mercy he doesn’t have. He’s used his belt, his fists, his voice, his cock. He’s left you raw, bloodied, strung out across sweat-soaked sheets and filthy tile floors, shaking with exhaustion and bruised all over.
But he hasn’t won.
You haven’t broken.
Every time he pulls you against him, fists tangled in your hair or collar, you go limp in his grasp. Passive. Vacant. Not resisting, but not yielding either. A dead stare, half-lidded eyes with that same infuriating hollowness—like he doesn’t exist to you. Like he’s just another part of the nightmare you endure.
He fucks you, hurts you, forces you into submission that never quite settles. It always slips through his fingers. You don’t fight, but you don’t beg. And that—that drives him mad.
He snarls when you won’t cry. Growls when your body reacts but your mind is somewhere else, unreachable, indifferent. You won’t give him the pleasure of seeing you crumble.
Not yet.
Tonight, the silence is different. He’s quieter. Slower. Measured, in a way that sets every nerve in your body on fire. You’re kneeling, wrists bound behind you, neck sore from the leather collar digging into your skin. Your legs tremble, but you don’t fall.
You feel him approach before you hear him.
The press of metal against your lips is a cold shock that makes your stomach twist. Not his cock this time.
A gun.
You blink up at him. No panic, no fear. Your lashes flutter against a crusted bruise on your cheek, your split lip aching from the last time he backhanded you. The barrel nudges deeper, presses against your teeth.
You open your mouth.
And you don’t gag.
That’s what breaks him.
His fingers tighten around the grip. He leans in, breathing heavy, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might shatter.
“Still holding out, huh?” he spits, voice rough with something unhinged. “Still thinking you’re some kind of untouchable little bitch?”
You don’t answer.
His thumb grazes the trigger. Just enough to make your breath catch—an involuntary flinch, more instinct than fear. But to him? It’s a crack. A hairline fracture in the wall you’ve built between yourself and the pain.
“Thought I fucked the fight out of you weeks ago,” he snarls. “You should be crawling by now. Crying. Begging.”
Nothing.
He rips the gun out of your mouth and tosses it aside, slamming you back against the wall so hard your vision blurs. His hands are on your throat before you can steady yourself, calloused fingers digging into bruises he already made. You wheeze. Not from fear—never fear—but from sheer oxygen deprivation.
“You like this, don’t you?” he growls, pressing his hips between your legs, grinding against you cruelly. “Stupid little masochist slut. Getting off on pretending you’re too good for me while dripping down your thighs.”
You stay silent. Your stare doesn’t waver.
It kills him.
“You want me to make you feel something?” he sneers. “Fine. I’ll give you something to feel.”
He flips you onto the bed with all the tenderness of a thrown corpse. Rope tightens around your wrists, ankles spread wide and secured to the bedposts. The scent of sweat, sex, and blood hangs heavy in the room like rot.
He strips slowly, deliberately, every motion laced with venom. His cock is already hard. Of course it is. He’s been obsessed with you from the start—your coldness, your resistance, your refusal to scream like all the others did.
“You think you’re so smart. So composed. So untouchable,” he hisses, climbing over you. “But you’re mine. Mine. Every inch of you belongs to me. Your body, your mind, your fucking soul.”
His hand wraps around your throat again, the other sliding between your thighs.
“Say it. Say you’re mine.”
You spit in his face.
He laughs. A low, broken sound—half humor, half hysteria. He wipes the spit off with the back of his hand, then backhands you so hard your ears ring.
“You’ll say it,” he whispers. “When I’m done with you, you’ll be begging to say it.”
The pain starts slow. Blunt. Then sharp. Then a mind-breaking cocktail of the two. It’s not just sex. It’s punishment. A cruel, deliberate invasion meant to tear you apart. He uses you like a toy, no concern for comfort, no pretense of love. Just need. Violence. Obsession.
“You’re just a fleshlight with a heartbeat,” he murmurs against your ear, breath hot and ragged. “A pretty little cumdump with a God complex. Think you’re better than me?”
Your back arches involuntarily. The rope bites into your wrists. Still, you say nothing.
“I’ll carve it into your skin if I have to,” he groans. “Mine. You’re nothing without me. Just a shell. Just an empty, broken bitch begging to be filled.”
He bites your shoulder hard enough to draw blood, hips slamming into you like a death sentence. Your head spins.
But you don’t break.
Your silence, your emptiness—it’s a curse. A challenge. A fucking mockery.
He finishes with a shuddering growl, holding you down as he pulses inside you, panting like an animal. Then silence again. The kind that stretches too long.
You open your eyes.
The gun is back.
He doesn’t say anything this time. Just levels it at your face, face shadowed by fury and madness. His finger curls over the trigger.
“You’re gonna feel this,” he whispers.
But you smile.
Just a twitch of your lips.
That’s all it takes.
The shot rings out like a funeral bell.
And when your body goes limp beneath him, he doesn’t move.
Not right away.
Then—he starts laughing.
A deep, fractured sound that echoes off the blood-streaked walls.
Because if he couldn’t have you—
No one could.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
♡ List of Fandoms and Characters.
♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.
Ace Attorney: N/A
Arcane: N/A
Blue Lock: Michael Kaiser, Shidou Ryusei, Yoichi Isagi
Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi, Katsuki Bakugo
Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: N/A
Death Note: N/A
Demon Slayer: Sanemi Shinazugawa
DC: Damian Wayne
Dishonored Series: N/A
Genshin Impact: Childe, Scaramouche
Haikyuu!!: Hajime Iwaizumi, Yūji Terushima
Honkai Star Rail: Blade, Boothill
How to Live as an Illegal Healer: N/A
Hunter x Hunter: Uvogin
I’m Not That Kind of Talent: N/A
Jujutsu Kaisen: Naoya Zen’in, Ryōmen Sukuna
Kill The Hero: Park Yong-Wan
Love and Deepspace: N/A
Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: N/A
MONSTER: N/A
Naruto Shippuden: Hidan, Zabuza Momochi
One Punch Man: Suiryu
Reverend Insanity: N/A
TOUCHSTARVED: Vere
Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Bill! Sans, Dust! Sans, Fresh! Sans, Ink! Sans, Killer! Sans, Nightmare! Sans, Shattered Dream! Sans, Underfell! Papyrus, Underfell! Sans, Undertale! Chara
Wuthering Waves: Scar
Your Throne: N/A
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
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Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles , @xileonaaaa , @neuvilletteswife4ever
Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @imnotabot28 , @han11dh , @loserworld , @esthelily
❤︎ Fang Dokja’s Books.
♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:
♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology
♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.
♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I’d Burn the World.
♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.
♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.
♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.
♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you’re searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution
♡ Book 6 [you are here]. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.
♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.
♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.
♡ Book 8. Malum Consilium (MC): Primordial Hunger.
𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭 