𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,169

The first time he did it, you didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You didn’t fight.

He liked that.

It wasn’t compliance—it was something else. The stiff line of your back, the glassy distance in your eyes, like you were dissociating in real time. Like your mind had escaped while your body stayed behind to take the punishment.

That kind of vacancy turns him on. He doesn’t know why. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care to name it.

Now, tonight, you’re on your knees again.

You didn’t choose to be.

The bar is dim, not packed, but loud enough to drown your heartbeat. You’re stuffed into the corner booth like a secret, a kept thing, and he stretches out across from you, sprawled out with one leg brushing yours. His jacket’s been thrown over the booth beside him, sunglasses still on indoors like a bastard. His grin is lazy, playful, but it’s not real.

You know what his real face looks like.

He says your name like he’s spitting it out. Then he softens it with a mock-sweetness that makes your stomach turn.

“You’re being awful quiet tonight, sweetheart.”

He kicks your leg under the table—hard enough to hurt.

You look up from the table, eyes flicking briefly to the people around. No one’s watching. No one ever is. You’re a ghost to them, and he likes it that way.

“Say something,” he says, then leans forward with a grin that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Or are you already soaked just from this?”

You flinch as his hand disappears under the table. Your thighs squeeze shut automatically.

He laughs.

“Oh, come on. You think I dragged you out here just to eat dinner?”

You feel the pressure of his hand pushing your legs apart. His voice drops into a murmur, cold and close to your ear.

“I’m gonna taste you right here, and you’re not gonna make a fucking sound.”

You shake your head. It’s almost pathetic. He smiles wider, watching your lips part with the start of a protest.

“No?” he echoes, tilting his head. “You think I care what you want?”

You hate how wet you are. You hate it.

He’s on his knees before you even register it, sliding under the table with the casual arrogance of a man who believes the world belongs to him. And it does. It always does. No one looks. No one notices. And even if they did—they wouldn’t stop him.

He’s already pushing your skirt up. You try to shove his head away but he grabs your wrists and slams them onto the table with a thud loud enough to draw a few glances.

“Keep your fucking hands there,” he says cheerfully, from under the table.

You’re not wearing panties. He made sure of that.

You sit there, trembling, nails digging into the edge of the table, while the white-haired devil between your legs starts to ruin you with his mouth.

He’s methodical. Deliberate. Like he’s eating something rare and expensive and his.

His tongue is obscene. His fingers dig bruises into your thighs. Every motion is intentional. Every sound is a threat.

And he makes it last.

You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your tongue. Your thighs quiver, but he doesn’t care. Your breath stutters, and he just grins into you.

He murmurs into your cunt. Nasty things. Cruel things.

“Look at you. Fucking mess. I could spit on you and you’d thank me.”

You gasp. A harsh exhale. He sucks your clit hard enough to make your hips jerk—then slaps the inside of your thigh.

“Stay still.”

You do. Of course you do. You’re not allowed to come, not yet. And he hasn’t told you you can make a sound.

The table shakes faintly as he shifts his weight. The faintest drag of his teeth makes your spine arch. Your toes curl. Your eyes burn.

You can’t come here. Not here. Not in a public bar where strangers are eating their dinner six feet away.

But he’s so fucking good at this.

He groans into you, like he’s the one getting off.

Then he says it. A whisper, right against your clit.

“You come, I’ll make you crawl out of here naked.”

You whimper. You try to hold it in. You try so hard.

But you’re already falling.

Your body convulses, legs locking around his head, breath shattering in your chest—and the wave crests.

He bites down.

Not enough to bleed, but enough to hurt. A punishment. And then he pulls away, wipes his mouth on your inner thigh, and crawls out from under the table like nothing happened.

You’re shaking. Your vision blurs. You can barely breathe.

He sits down, looking bored. Drags his fingers through your hair.

“Disobedient little thing,” he murmurs, loud enough for only you to hear. “Didn’t I tell you not to come?”

You nod. Numbly.

He sighs and downs the rest of his drink. Then his voice drops to something cruel and soft.

“You’re gonna pay for that later.”

Later is a hotel room. One you don’t remember walking into.

He threw you over his shoulder on the way there like luggage.

Now you’re on your knees again. This time on the carpet. Lights off. Curtains drawn.

He stands in front of you, shirt unbuttoned, his belt already undone.

“You don’t get to speak,” he says. “You get to listen.”

You nod. Again.

He tilts your chin up with his boot.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, sir.”

He groans.

“God, I love hearing you say that like you mean it.”

Then he steps closer, pressing his cock against your lips.

You open obediently.

He doesn’t ease into it. He uses your mouth the way he uses everything. Rough. Greedy. Without care. Like you’re just another hole to fuck, and maybe you are. You don’t fight it. You can’t.

He fists your hair, ramming deeper until your eyes water, until spit drips from your chin.

And he laughs.

“Look at you. You think anyone would care if you disappeared? If I kept you like this forever? You’d be better off.”

He pulls back, lets you cough and gasp—but only briefly. Then he slaps your face.

“Did I say you could stop?”

You shake your head, tears mixing with drool.

“Good girl.”

He uses you until he’s finished. Then he makes you swallow it all. Makes you say thank you.

You say it.

He drags you to the bed. Throws you down. Doesn’t even look at you as he strips you, spreads you, chains your wrists to the headboard.

“You’re not a person,” he says calmly, like he’s explaining something to a child. “You’re my fucktoy. You exist to obey. You exist to be ruined.”

He doesn’t kiss you. He doesn’t prep you. He just takes.

Ruthless. Brutal. His thrusts are merciless. The bed creaks, slams against the wall. Your body hurts. But he doesn’t stop.

You’re nothing. You’re no one.

But you’re his.

You’re his.

And God help you—you like it.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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.