𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,264

You’re already crying.

He hasn’t touched you yet. Not properly. Not the way he will. Your wrists are bound in front of you, red and raw. There are cameras. Too many cameras. You counted them—eight.

He made sure you counted. One by one, in a shaky whisper, while he smiled behind the lens.

“Say it again,” he murmured.

Your voice was barely audible. “…Eight.”

“Atta girl.”

He sounded proud. Not fond. No, there was no softness in him. It was the kind of pride one might have for a dog learning to beg. Trained obedience. Pathetic, trembling, pretty thing. He circled you like a predator, not even hiding it.

You’re naked.

The lights are too bright. Every inch of you is exposed. Every angle accounted for. One of the cameras is above you. Another behind. Two on either side. One zoom lens locked on your face.

He wants them to see everything.

The shame in your eyes. The panic. The humiliation.

He leans against the vanity table where your makeup—he did your makeup—is still scattered. Smudged eyeliner, too-red lips. Your cheeks glow under the heat of the stage lights, and it isn’t just from fear.

It’s from knowing he made you look like this. Like something for sale.

“You should smile more,” he says, cocking his head. “Aren’t you the star?”

You don’t respond. You haven’t since he locked the door.

He steps closer. His footsteps echo across the tiled floor. Then the soft, unmistakable click of the camera feed beginning to stream.

“Smile, sweetheart. Or I’ll make you.”

You smile.

It isn’t real. It looks like you’re baring your teeth.

He laughs, and the sound is awful. Loose and easy, like none of this matters. Like you’re not trembling in your own sweat and shame, eyes rimmed red, thighs clenching involuntarily as he watches you.

He steps behind the camera and says something. You hear it faintly—the smooth cadence of his voice rolling into a taunting announcement:

“Hey guys. Sorry for the delay. Had to get our little toy nice and ready. Say hi, sweetheart.”

You don’t speak.

He doesn’t care. It’s for them, not you.

His fingers find your jaw, tilting your face up toward the lens.

“She’s shy today. Let’s fix that.”

You flinch when his hand comes down. Not a slap. Just a firm, commanding grip on your throat. He squeezes—not hard, not yet. Just enough to make your breath stutter, just enough for you to feel your own heartbeat drumming against his fingers.

He leans in close.

“Look at you,” he says, voice low. “You were so cold when I met you. All brain, no heat. Thought you were above everyone else. Thought you didn’t need anyone.”

He chuckles. His breath fans over your cheek.

“But look at you now. Just another dumb little whore with her legs open for the world.”

Your vision blurs. Not from tears. From pressure. He hasn’t let go of your throat. Not until the panic in your eyes returns, wide and glassy.

Then he does. Slowly.

You cough. He watches with interest, hands already moving. Unbuckling his belt. Undoing his zipper.

He doesn’t ask if you’re ready. You don’t expect him to.

He grabs your hair and pulls. Hard.

“C’mon. Be good. Show them how much you love being used.”

You shake your head. Or try to. He doesn’t allow it. Your scalp screams under the pull, your eyes squeeze shut, your knees wobble.

“Open.”

You hesitate.

So he slaps you.

Once, clean, across the face. Your head jerks sideways. You don’t cry out. You’ve learned not to.

“Open.”

You obey.

What follows is not something you can retreat from. Not this time. Not when he keeps your hair twisted in his fist like a leash. Not when he fucks your mouth like it’s just another hole.

He moans. Loudly. On purpose.

He’s putting on a show. For them.

Your face is soaked. Saliva drips from your chin to your chest. You choke when he goes too deep, and he laughs again, breathless with amusement.

“There it is,” he whispers. “That’s the sound they want.”

You gag. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you breathe until your lungs are aching, your nose is running, your eyes wide and streaming.

Then he pulls back.

You collapse forward. Shaking. Still kneeling.

He grabs your chin, forcing your gaze up.

“Tell them what you are.”

You don’t speak.

He slaps you again. This time, the other cheek.

“Say it.”

Your voice breaks. “…a whore.”

“Louder.”

“I’m a whore.”

He smiles.

“Good girl.”

He drags you up by the wrists. You stumble. He doesn’t help you. The cuffs bite into your skin. You’re dizzy. He throws you onto the bed with casual cruelty, like you’re weightless, like you’re nothing but limbs and moans and spread legs for rent.

You land on your back. He spreads your legs apart without ceremony.

“Let’s show them what they came for.”

You want to close your eyes. But the camera is right above you now. And he’s watching it.

You hear the rip of a condom wrapper.

He doesn’t speak as he lines up. Just one hand gripping your thigh, the other fisting in your hair again. You brace yourself.

And then he’s inside.

It burns. You’re not ready. Not even close. He doesn’t care. The stretch is too much, too deep, too fast. You gasp. Your back arches. You try to twist away.

He pins you in place.

He groans, low and pleased.

“You feel that? That’s the sound of your cunt learning who it belongs to.”

You sob.

He sets a brutal pace. Every thrust makes your hips jolt, every stroke designed to bruise. He hits deep, grinding with each motion. You try to hold still, but your body moves without you.

It feels like betrayal.

Your cunt clenches involuntarily, and he notices.

“God, you’re disgusting,” he hisses. “You like this. Filthy little thing. Getting off to this. To being watched.”

You shake your head.

He thrusts harder.

“Liar.”

The camera light is blinking. Live. Streaming. Your body on display. Your shame on screen. And he’s relentless.

You can’t breathe. You can’t think.

He grabs your wrists and slams them into the mattress above your head.

“Say thank you.”

You whimper. “T-Thank you…”

“What for?”

“F-For fucking me.”

He moans. He likes that. His hips stutter, and he leans over you, breath ragged in your ear.

“Good girl. Say it again.”

“T-Thank you for f-fucking me.”

You want to vanish. Dissolve into the mattress. Instead, he fucks you deeper.

His voice is almost tender now.

“See? You’re learning.”

The rhythm builds again. Faster. He watches your face.

“Cum for them. Let them watch you fall apart.”

You bite your lip. You fight it. But he knows. He knows your body now. He knows what makes it twitch, what makes your thighs shake, what makes you choke on a scream.

And he wrings it out of you.

With fingers digging into your hips. With filthy praise. With venomous degradation.

You break.

You cum hard. Harder than you should.

You cry when it happens. Not from pleasure. From shame.

He laughs.

“Oh, sweetheart. They’re gonna love that replay.”

He pulls out, unbuckles the cuffs, then shoves you down again so your face is pressed to the sheets.

You can’t move.

You hear him speak, low and cruel, to the camera.

“Thanks for watching, boys. Tune in next time. She’s not done yet.”

Then the light goes off.

But he doesn’t stop.

You were never the one in control.

Not here.

Not ever.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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.