𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,122

He’s never handled you this gently before.

It unsettles you in a way that carves jagged lines of distrust across your mind, splintering the surface of whatever fragile peace you’ve been clinging to. His hands, usually rough and calloused—hands that have bruised, struck, and pinned you with brutal precision—are now brushing over your skin with the delicacy of someone tracing over glass. His touch is featherlight, an imitation of tenderness that sends a chill down your spine far colder than any display of violence ever could.

You’re perched across from him in a dimly lit restaurant, the air heavy with the scent of wine and simmering spices. A candle flickers between you, casting erratic shadows across his features. He smiles—something sharp and unfamiliar. Not his usual grin of domination or arrogance, but something softer, more human. A performance, you think. It has to be. He’s never looked at you like this. Never with his eyes unclouded by sadistic hunger, never with his hand resting atop yours in a gesture almost…affectionate.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says, voice low and deliberate. The words scrape against your psyche like nails on glass. Beautiful. You. The very notion of him complimenting you is like a glitch in reality, something fundamentally wrong.

You want to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. But you do none of those things. Instead, you swallow, the taste of bile and suspicion heavy on your tongue. His hand tightens ever so slightly over yours, and his eyes flicker with something darker, something you recognize far too well. “Is something wrong?” he asks, voice edged with mock concern.

You shake your head, murmuring a soft, “No.” Because what else is there to say? He’s not stupid. He knows you don’t believe this charade. But he’s playing the part with the dedication of a seasoned actor, every movement calculated, every smile rehearsed.

The food arrives—immaculately plated, steaming, aromatic. He serves you first, sliding the plate in front of you with a tenderness that feels like a cruel joke. You don’t touch it. Your fingers curl into your lap, nails digging into your palms hard enough to draw half-moons of pain. You don’t trust anything he hands you, not even a damn plate of food. He watches you with that same smile, eyes tracing the outline of your hesitation like it’s a riddle he’s already solved.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asks, voice smooth and laced with expectation. His gaze is unyielding, pinning you to your seat. You force your hand to move, picking up the fork with fingers that tremble just enough for him to notice. His smile widens, a crack in the facade that lets something monstrous peek through.

The first bite is ash on your tongue. The second, sawdust. You chew and swallow, the motions mechanical, your eyes never leaving his. He watches you eat like he’s studying you, cataloging every flicker of discomfort, every twitch of distrust. His hands are folded neatly on the table, posture relaxed, but there’s a tautness to his shoulders, a tension coiled just beneath the surface. Like he’s waiting for something.

When you finish, he leans back, fingers lacing together as he regards you with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “See? Not so bad,” he murmurs. “I can be nice.”

The words hang between you, suspended in the dim light. Nice. He can be nice. It’s the most terrifying thing he’s ever said.

He leans forward then, elbows resting on the table, eyes bright with a softness that almost makes you forget who he is. Almost. His fingers trace lazy patterns across the rim of his glass as he speaks, voice uncharacteristically gentle. He asks you questions—soft, innocuous things that seem designed to disarm you. About your favorite foods. Your childhood. The places you’d always wanted to visit. He listens like he actually cares, nodding along with each hesitant answer you give. It’s the kind of date you’d dreamt of having, once. Back before him.

You don’t know how to respond. His kindness is a razor blade, edges gleaming under the flicker of candlelight. He watches you flounder, the faintest hint of amusement curling at the corners of his lips. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” he asks softly. “Being able to just…talk.”

He reaches across the table, brushing his thumb over your lower lip with a gentleness that makes your breath stutter. You don’t flinch, though every muscle in your body screams to recoil. His eyes are on you, dark and unblinking, searching for cracks in your composure. His hand drops back to his side, and he gestures for the waiter, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Dessert?” he asks, voice light, almost cheerful.

You don’t answer, and he doesn’t press. He orders for both of you, something decadent and sweet, and when it arrives, he feeds you the first bite himself, the spoon pressing to your lips with a care that borders on reverent. You take it because refusal isn’t an option, not when his eyes are fixed on you like a wolf waiting for the twitch of a dying rabbit.

He wipes a stray crumb from the corner of your mouth, thumb grazing your skin with a touch so tender it feels like mockery. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and the words sink like lead in your stomach.

You want to ask him why. Why now? Why this? Why the charade of kindness, the fragile illusion of care? But you don’t. You know better. You swallow the questions along with the food, keeping your eyes trained on the tablecloth, tracing the patterns in the fabric as if they hold some kind of answer.

When he pays, his hand rests on your lower back, gentle and guiding as he leads you outside. The air is crisp and cool, stars scattered across the sky like fragments of glass. He’s still holding your hand, fingers intertwined, thumb grazing over your knuckles. “Walk with me,” he whispers, and you nod because you must.

The path he takes is quiet, secluded. His hand remains on yours, squeezing gently with each step. His gaze softens, and when he pulls you closer, his lips meet yours in a kiss that is unbearably tender. It feels like a mockery of everything he’s done—soft, gentle, almost loving. You shiver against him, his hands roaming your back with a touch so delicate you almost believe it.

But you know better.

He smiles against your mouth, whispering your name with a softness that sends ice through your veins. “I want to show you something,” he breathes, voice thick with something deeper. His hands slip to your waist, pulling you closer still.

The night isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

And you both know it.

───────── ♛ ─────────

♡ List of Fandoms and Characters.

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

Ace Attorney: Miles Edgeworth, Godot

Arcane: Silco, Viktor

Blue Lock: Rin Itoshi, Shidou Ryusei

Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi

Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: N/A

Death Note: Light Yagami, Teru Mikami

Demon Slayer: Sanemi Shinazugawa

DC: Damian Wayne

Dishonored Series: Corvo Attano, Daud

Genshin Impact: Kaeya, Dainsleif, Scaramouche/Wanderer

Haikyuu!!: Ushijima Wakatoshi

Honkai Star Rail: Blade

How to Live as an Illegal Healer: N/A

Hunter x Hunter: Kurapika, Chrollo Lucilfer

I’m Not That Kind of Talent: N/A

Jujutsu Kaisen: Suguru Geto, Ryomen Sukuna, Megumi Fushiguro

Kill The Hero: Woojin Kim

Love and Deepspace: Caleb

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: Alucard, Dyrroth

MONSTER: Johan Liebert, Roberto

Naruto Shippuden: Sasuke Uchiha

One Punch Man: Garou

Reverend Insanity: Fang Yuan

TOUCHSTARVED: Mhin

Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Dust! Sans, Horror! Sans, Killer! Sans, Nightmare! Sans, Ink! Sans

Wuthering Waves: Calcharo

Your Throne: Eros Orna Vasilios

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles , @xileonaaaa , @neuvilletteswife4ever , @poopooindamouf , @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.