𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,071

You’re trembling. Not because of the temperature, not because of modesty or shame. It’s something far worse: anticipation soaked in dread. The moment he locked the door, your stomach dropped, your body already reacting before your mind could follow. He walks like he owns the room. Because he does. And unfortunately, he owns you too.

Gojo Satoru doesn’t smile. He bares his teeth like a predator grinning before the hunt.

He makes a show of it. Slowly pulling off his gloves. Tossing them onto the marble counter beside the tray of sweets he brought in. The scent of strawberries and chocolate fills the air, warm and sickly sweet. You hate how your body clenches at the sight of it. He knows. God, of course he knows.

“Look at you,” he croons, voice dipped in syrup and venom. “All shaky and breathless already. You know what I brought, didn’t you? You know what that means, right?”

You don’t answer. Your silence is punished immediately.

He grabs your chin, squeezes. Hard. “Answer me, freak. You know what that means, don’t you?”

You nod. Barely. He lets you go with a look of contempt that burns hotter than fire.

He never needs to raise his voice. That sadistic calmness makes everything worse. You’re stripped bare and spread across satin sheets like a sacrificial offering, arms bound, legs forced wide. Your eyes flick to the tray again. Strawberries. Honey. Melted chocolate. A single scoop of ice cream beginning to sweat in the bowl.

“You’re disgusting, y’know?” he murmurs, rolling up his sleeves as he approaches. “Getting off to this. It’s fucking pathetic. You should see yourself. All wet already. You were dripping before I even touched you.”

There’s no affection in his voice. Just mockery. Cruel delight. He dips his fingers in the honey and drizzles it in thick, lazy loops over your chest, your stomach, trailing down between your legs.

“You know,” he says conversationally, as if you were at brunch and not trembling on display beneath him, “I used to think you were smart. Quiet little genius. But you let me do this. Again and again. So tell me, sweetheart: what does that make you?”

He slathers a slice of strawberry in cream and presses it against your inner thigh. It sticks, warm and cold all at once. He places another one. Then another. Lining them down your thighs like garnish.

You flinch when the chocolate touches you. Hot. Sticky. It oozes along the honey trail down your mound, pooling just above your clit.

He moans.

“Fuck. You make desserts look good,” he laughs, licking a line up your leg, slow and purposeful. You jerk, but there’s nowhere to go. He watches your reaction with hunger and triumph.

Then he dives in.

Mouth wet, tongue swirling, teeth grazing. He doesn’t start gentle. He devours you like a starving animal at the end of a fast, as if he needs you to survive. It’s noisy. Obscene. Slurps and sucking noises fill the air, louder than your hitched breathing.

Your body convulses under him. You want to disappear, to vanish into the sheets. But he won’t let you. He lifts his head for just a moment, mouth glistening, eyes lit with sadism.

“Nah uh. Eyes open. I want you watching. Watch me eat your filthy little cunt like the dessert you are.”

He pushes two fingers inside you. It burns. You clench, but he just keeps thrusting them in and out, spreading the honey and chocolate deeper inside.

Then his tongue joins the mix again.

You sob.

Not out of pain. Not just from pleasure. It’s too much. The overstimulation. The humiliation. His mocking words and ravenous hunger. He doesn’t care. In fact, he leans into your cries with a growl of satisfaction.

“You like being used like this, huh? Like a dish at a fucking buffet.”

Another strawberry. This one, he shoves between your lips. Not the ones on your face.

You choke. Body arching.

“Hold it,” he commands, sharp and cruel. “Keep it in or I swear I’ll make you choke on something worse.”

His hand wraps around your throat as his mouth works lower. He hums while he sucks, tongue darting in and out of you. The food only adds to the sensory overload. The smell. The stickiness. The heat.

Then he bites.

You scream. A high, strangled noise. He laughs against your pussy.

“Delicate little bitch. Can’t take anything, can you?”

He pulls away just long enough to grab the melting scoop of ice cream. Without warning, he presses it directly against your clit.

You thrash.

He laughs louder, pinning you down harder.

“Fucking melt for me,” he growls, mouth returning to lap at the icy mess as it drips into your folds. “You’re nothing but a sweet hole, aren’t you?”

Your hips buck without permission. He punishes you for it with a slap to your thigh.

“Stay still. Or I tie you tighter.”

There’s syrup on your ribs now. Chocolate in your bellybutton. Your whole body feels like a ruined cake. He made you like this. He likes you like this.

And you can’t stop shaking.

He reaches for the final topping: crushed nuts. Sprinkles them over your thighs and cunt like he’s plating a masterpiece.

“You should be embarrassed. Fucking freak. Getting ruined like this.”

His voice lowers. Meaner. Hungrier. “No wonder no one talks to you. They can smell how filthy you are. I’m the only one who’d touch you like this. Don’t you get it? You belong to me because no one else would ever want you.”

You sob again, the tears mixing with the chocolate streaked across your chest. But your body still shudders toward orgasm, still clenches around his tongue, his fingers, his cruel words.

He sees it. Feels it. Smirks.

“That’s it. Cum like a good little dessert. Go on. Make a mess.”

You do. It hits like a shockwave. Every nerve misfiring. Your legs quake, hands straining at the bonds. You scream his name, barely conscious, and he drinks every drop of you like holy water.

He doesn’t stop.

Even as you beg, incoherent and ruined, he just grins and keeps licking, dragging out every twitch and tremble.

“I’m not done,” he mutters, voice thick with desire and disdain. “I’ll stop when I want to stop. You don’t get to choose that.”

And somehow, you already know this is just the first course.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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.