♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,123
The lights of the rooftop pool flicker like candles on the verge of dying. Beneath them, laughter splashes across chlorinated water, shallow and echoing in a way that makes it sound wrong. Artificial. Every movement distorted under blue light.
And you, half-floating, half-hiding near the edge, arms clutched around your ribs, legs wrapped in the dark water like seaweed. You don’t know when you started shaking. Just that the sound of his laughter cuts through everything. That smug, off-key chuckle. You don’t need to look. You can feel him. The air folds differently around him, suffocating.
He hasn’t touched you yet. Not tonight.
Not since you begged him not to come.
But he’s here anyway. Of course he is.
Gojo Satoru has never been told no in any way that stuck.
You told him, didn’t you?
You told him you wanted space.
He heard: you want me to come find you.
And so here he is.
Sunglasses glinting despite the night. Shirt loose, open, collarbones shining with a sheen of humidity. Every girl at the party looks at him like he’s god. They laugh louder when he passes. He walks like he owns the place. Because he does. Because he’s made sure there’s no one left in the city you could go to that doesn’t belong to him.
You sink a little deeper into the water.
He steps into the pool without removing anything. Just walks straight in with his shirt and pants still clinging. Hair silver and wet against his skin like blood on a blade. He’s smiling. It’s not kind. It’s never kind.
You freeze.
You should’ve run.
But where?
“Hiding in plain sight?” he murmurs, water parting like it’s afraid of him. “Cute. That brain of yours always did impress me.”
You don’t speak. He likes that. Likes your silence more than your screams. Likes dragging reactions from you, slow and brutal, like pulling wings from something delicate.
He reaches you in a few steps. His hand grips your jaw. Not hard. Just enough.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
You don’t answer. His thumb presses harder into your cheek.
“Why do you keep pretending anyone here could protect you?”
He kisses you.
It’s not romantic. It’s a claim. His tongue shoves past your lips like it owns the right. You try to pull back but his hand threads through your hair and keeps you still. His kiss tastes like chlorine, like sugar and violence, like punishment.
When he pulls back, it’s only to murmur against your mouth:
“Let me guess. You thought if you were good, I’d let you go.”
His hands push you backward into the deeper end. Not hard, not violent. Just guiding. Like he’s helping you drown. His body pins you under the surface tension. You try to tread water, but he keeps you beneath his weight. His fingers drift down your sides, past the fabric clinging to your chest, past where your thighs tighten together.
“Still pretending, sweetheart?”
You can’t breathe.
Not just from the pool.
From the heat curling low, sick and familiar, from the humiliation of people around, laughing and blind. No one notices. They never do.
Or maybe they know and they just won’t help you.
Because it’s Gojo.
And he smiles like nothing can touch him.
“I told you,” he whispers. His voice is right in your ear now, dragging up goosebumps. “You don’t get to leave me. You get to play my little toy until I’m bored.”
His hand slips into your swimsuit.
You choke on your breath.
There are people here. Right here.
“Shhh,” he croons. “Let me ruin you. Right here. In front of them. Let them see what a dirty little thing you really are.”
You try to twist away.
His grip tightens.
“You like this,” he says. “Even if you pretend you don’t.”
Your swimsuit rips. Just a little. But enough. Enough for the cold to bite and the shame to sear. His fingers push in with slow, cruel intent. Two. Just enough to stretch. To burn.
You claw at his shoulder. He only laughs.
“Poor little genius,” he hisses. “So smart, but look at you now. Soaked and shaking and dripping on my fingers like a bitch in heat.”
You whimper. Not from pain.
That makes it worse.
He feels it. He knows.
“Knew you’d break. Just a matter of pressure.”
His thumb circles.
Your back arches.
You want to scream but the water would swallow it whole.
You come undone on his hand while the party rages around you. Silent. Shamed. Submerged in fear.
He kisses your cheek after, soft and mocking.
“There she is.”
You think it’s over.
It isn’t.
He spins you, pulls you to straddle his lap, keeps your legs hooked around him beneath the water. His cock presses hard between you. Already out. When? How?
Doesn’t matter.
He thrusts in.
You gasp.
No warning. No prep. Just the thick, brutal stretch of him spearing in, splitting you open while your arms cling around his shoulders and your legs float helpless behind.
“That’s it,” he moans against your ear, “take it. You were made for this. For me.”
You want to bite him. Want to cry. Want to beg.
You do none of it.
You endure.
Because if you cry, he wins.
Because if you scream, he makes it worse.
His hands grip your ass, bouncing you on him beneath the waterline. The slap of flesh against flesh muffled by chlorinated waves. No one sees. No one stops him.
You don’t even know if you want them to anymore.
“Look at me,” he commands.
You can’t. He grabs your chin. Forces it.
“I said look.”
You meet his eyes. And you wish you hadn’t.
They’re bright. Unblinking. A shade of madness you’ll never claw out of.
“I could fuck you right here until you pass out,” he snarls. “Until your voice is gone. Until you can’t walk. And you’d let me. Wouldn’t you?”
You shake your head.
He grins. “Liar.”
He fucks you harder.
Not fast. Cruel. Methodical. Like he’s dissecting you. Like you’re some specimen on his slab. He knows every spot. Every nerve. He’s studied you. Memorized you.
He made you his without you even knowing it.
“When I’m inside you,” he whispers, “nothing else exists.”
Your nails dig into his back. You’re close. Again.
You hate it.
You hate him.
You want more.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Come on. Be good. Come for me again.”
You do.
He kisses your temple.
“My perfect little fuckdoll.”
You collapse against him.
He carries you out like nothing happened.
The others cheer. Think he saved you.
No one knows you just got ruined in the deep end.
Except him.
And he never forgets.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
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♡ 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.
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