𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 937

The first time he pressed record, you didn’t even realize the camera was on.

You thought the flicker of red light on the bookshelf above was some faulty emergency sensor. You thought the distant whir of machinery behind you was the library’s ancient heating system waking up in the dead of night. You thought the cold dread pooling in your stomach was your own mind being unreasonable again.

But he knew. He always knew when you were trying to rationalize your fear.

“Pretend it’s just study time,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, his breath too warm, too calm for how violently your body is shaking. “You like being smart, right? Be smart for me, then. Don’t scream.”

His hands spread across the tops of your thighs, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin through your skirt. You’re bent over the reading desk, palms flat against the splintered wood, the scent of old paper and antiseptic filling your nose as your breath comes fast, ragged. The section is silent—closed for renovations, technically. But he didn’t break in. He has keys. He always has keys. To places. To people. To you.

“You should see yourself,” he purrs, phone angled with expertise. “You’ve got that trembling, empty-brained look. The one that says, ‘Please use me like a cumrag, Gojo.’ That one. That’s my favorite.”

You whimper at the sound of your name on his lips—no, not your name. His. He made it yours.

He clicks his tongue when you try to turn your head. The pressure on your nape is immediate, his palm pressing your face down onto the desk like you’re nothing more than a tool left open and waiting for him to use. Your pulse is thunder in your ears, loud enough to drown out the sound of the zipper.

“Don’t be shy now. You wore that little thing today like a slut who knew I’d find her. What, thought you’d sneak one hour of peace from me?”

He grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back in one hand, wrist bones grinding together painfully. You squirm, legs shifting as you try to look around—but he shoves your hips forward, the sharp corner of the desk biting into your pelvis.

“You don’t need to see,” he breathes. “Just feel. That’s all dumb whores like you are good at, right?”

His voice never raises. It never needs to. It’s always this quiet venom, this bone-deep chill under layers of honey and rot. And you believe it. Every word. Because you know what happens when you don’t. You’ve tested it before.

He slides into you without warning. No prep. No kindness. Just a brutal, jarring thrust that knocks your head against the desk and has your eyes going wide, mouth open but no sound coming out. He lets out a satisfied hum at the heat and resistance, his free hand grabbing a fistful of your hair to yank your head back and whisper:

“Tight little bitch. Pretending she doesn’t want it, when she’s dripping onto my cock like a good girl in heat.”

The camera clicks again—he’s switching angles. Recording your tears, your spasms, the way your legs try to close and can’t. Your body’s betraying you. It always does.

“We’ll make a montage,” he says lightly. “All your best moments. You’ll watch it later. I’ll tie you up and make you thank me every time you moan.”

The pace is merciless. No buildup. No climax in mind. Just friction. Just punishment. Just noise—skin slapping, breath hitching, the soft choking whine in your throat as he fucks you into the desk like you’re not real. Just a thing. A doll.

“Remember the rules? Hmm?” he murmurs, biting the shell of your ear. “No begging. No speaking unless I ask. No hiding your face. Don’t want the world to miss how wrecked you look for me.”

Your skirt is bunched around your hips. Panties discarded. He brought everything he needed—the phone, the ropes, the plug he pushed into you earlier and never took out. You thought he’d forgotten about it. He hadn’t.

He twists it cruelly now, mid-thrust, watching your body seize up with a broken sob.

“God, I love when you cry. It’s like watching art decay.”

Your body’s going limp. Mind spiraling. You can’t hold on to thoughts. Can’t think. He knows that too.

“There she goes. Floaty little genius. Say hi to the camera, sweetheart.”

You don’t. Can’t. But he doesn’t need you to.

He keeps going. Minutes. Hours. Time dissolves. You’re raw. Ruined. There’s slick on your thighs, blood too, and something thick sliding down between your legs as he fucks every last ounce of resistance out of you.

You don’t know when you started moaning.

“Good little fucktoy,” he praises. “Knew you’d come around. Can’t stay mad forever.”

The phone is angled just right. He tilts your head to face it. Your mouth is open, eyes rolled back. It’s not even you anymore. It’s what he made. What he always makes.

He comes deep, muttering filth through his teeth—promises and threats, the way he’ll tie you to the library shelves next time, make you read your thesis while he takes you apart on camera. How you’ll cry when you hear yourself, how you’ll thank him when it’s over.

“You’re mine,” he breathes as he stays sheathed inside. “Even when you run, even when you lie and say you don’t want this. You’re mine.”

You don’t reply.

You can’t.

You’re too full. Of him. Of shame. Of the cold realization that it’s all true.

And the red light on the shelf is still blinking.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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.