♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,206
He didn’t ask for this.
He tells himself that every time his hips slam into yours, brutal and merciless, as if he’s trying to erase the shape of anyone else who’s ever looked at you. Not that there was anyone before him. There couldn’t have been. Not with how fucking innocent you are.
You whimper beneath him, wrists bound tight with torn cloth, your body writhing beneath his weight, and he hates the way your breath catches when he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. He can feel you trying not to cry. Trying to keep your dignity.
Good.
You should know better by now. He’s the Hero, isn’t he? The strongest. The last man standing at the end of every war. And you’re just the Saintess—a healer in white robes, with trembling fingers and too-soft eyes that don’t belong in this world. A world like this eats girls like you alive. He’s just getting ahead of the inevitable.
You don’t belong here. You never did.
But he does.
“What’s the matter, princess? Can’t take it?” he growls, dragging his teeth along your throat, the scruff of his beard scraping your skin raw. He’s not kind. He’s never been kind. Not in the way he uses you, not in the way he chains you to his camp at night like you’re just another item in his inventory. You were loot, once.
He found you crying over a dead priest, hands slick with blood that wasn’t yours. He almost killed you on instinct. But then you looked up at him, tear-stained and defiant, and something in him stalled.
He should’ve walked away.
Should’ve left you there, like all the other ghosts.
Instead, he buried the priest with one hand and threw you over his shoulder with the other.
Now, you’re his.
He slams into you harder, watching your back arch against the tree bark he pinned you against. Your robe’s in shreds—he did that. The symbol of the divine half-torn from your chest, so no one could mistake what you are anymore. You’re not a Saintess. Not really. Not when you look like this: broken open, shaking, dripping wet where his cock spears you in cruel, repetitive thrusts.
You were wet the first time, too.
He hasn’t forgotten.
“You act like you don’t want it,” he spits into your mouth, forcing your lips open with a bruising grip. “But your body knows better.”
He’s lying to himself, of course.
He sees the fear in your eyes, the horror behind every ragged breath. You don’t want this. You never did. You look at him like he’s the end of the world.
But he already is. He’s been that since the first time he slaughtered an entire village for experience points, stepping over mothers clutching their babies like they were just meat and numbers.
You weren’t supposed to change anything.
Yet here he is—fucking into you like a man possessed, unable to think straight when someone so much as smiles at you. Rage gnaws at his chest. He remembers that merchant boy who tried to offer you sweets at the last town. You smiled. Sweet and soft and stupid.
He made sure the kid’s hands would never work again.
“You’re mine,” he growls, fingers twisting into your hair, yanking your head back so he can watch your lips part around a sob. “Say it. Say you’re mine, or I’ll leave you here for the wolves.”
You don’t say it.
You just cry.
He laughs.
It sounds too close to something real, something cracked and bleeding.
Because the truth is, he hates you. Hates the way you still pray when you think he’s asleep. Hates that you won’t curse him, even now. Hates that he knows what you smell like when you’re happy.
He doesn’t want to know you.
He just wanted to level up.
But your purity stains his fingers no matter how much he breaks you. No matter how many times he makes you scream, makes you bleed, makes you beg. It never washes off.
Your eyes haunt him. Too bright. Too good.
“Look at you,” he grits, burying himself so deep inside you that your legs tremble. You try to close them. He shoves them apart. “Fucked full of me like a common whore, and you still look like you think you’re better than this.”
You are.
And that makes him sick.
Because he knows you’re better. He knows it when your hands touch wounds that should’ve killed him and bring him back anyway. He knows it when you sleep with your back to him, curled around a frayed book like it’s holy. He knows it when your blood spills red, just like anyone else’s, but it feels wrong—as if hurting you has consequences even this world won’t forgive.
He fucks you harder.
Not because he wants to punish you. Not even because he enjoys it.
But because it’s the only thing that makes the feelings shut up.
He’s dying in here. Every time he sees you smile at the wind, or hum to yourself while tending the fire, something inside him cracks.
He wants to rip your throat out when you’re kind to him. Wants to drown you when you heal his wounds. Wants to burn your name off his tongue because how dare you make him feel like a man instead of a monster.
He can’t stand it.
“Whimper for me,” he snarls. “C’mon, little saint. You like being ruined, don’t you?”
You flinch.
But you don’t resist. You haven’t in a long time.
That’s what scares him the most.
He’s made you like this.
No one else will ever believe you were holy. Not with the way you look now—covered in bruises and his seed, your thighs sticky and red where he didn’t bother to be gentle. You’re unclean. Tainted.
His.
He shudders when he spills inside you, his body convulsing against yours. A hand slams against the tree trunk beside your head, and he pants like an animal, still buried to the hilt in your trembling form.
He doesn’t move.
You don’t speak.
For a second, he feels something real.
The silence stretches. The forest doesn’t make a sound. It’s just you and him, knotted together in something filthy and unspeakable. He should say something. Should insult you again, drive the knife in deeper.
Instead, he watches the way your chest rises and falls, slow and soft.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he mutters. Almost to himself.
You don’t answer. He wouldn’t let you even if you tried.
Because if you did—if you begged him to let you go, or asked why—he knows he’d crack. Knows he’d unravel like a goddamn threadbare map, all blood and guts and teeth.
So instead, he pulls out, watches you slump forward, limbs too weak to hold you. He adjusts his belt, looks at the mess he made.
His voice is quiet when he says:
“Don’t make me kill you.”
He means it.
But he means please don’t make me love you just as much.
And he hates himself for both.
Because he knows, in some fucked up way, he already does.
And nothing in the world terrifies him more than that.
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♡ 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 , @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 