𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 999

You’re not supposed to be here. That’s the first thing you think every time you step into his apartment—immaculate, cold, and silent like the inside of a glass coffin. He never greets you. The door unlocks with a code you never remember setting, and you slip inside as if you’re breaking in.

He doesn’t look up from his reading. He never does.

You know what you are to him. Not a partner. Not a girlfriend. Certainly not an equal. Just a pet. A toy he keeps in a gilded cage, occasionally admired, often neglected, but always owned.

And you love it.

He lets you stay in his apartment. Buys you designer clothes you can’t pronounce. Leaves credit cards in your name with no limit. But he doesn’t touch you until you beg.

Tonight, you’re already on your knees before he even speaks.

“Desperate already?” he murmurs without lifting his gaze from the page. His voice is low and sharp, like the chill of a scalpel against your skin. “Pathetic.”

The word slices you open.

Your thighs clench.

“Did I permit you to speak?” he asks when you whimper, and finally, he looks down at you.

Alhaitham’s eyes are dead. Unblinking. Not indifferent—something worse. Calculating. As if he’s considering not whether he wants to touch you, but whether it’s worth the effort.

He stands. Silent. Strolling past you. You crawl behind him like a dog. He doesn’t wait.

The bedroom is freezing. Minimalist. The kind of room that erases whoever enters it. He strips with clinical efficiency. Not an ounce of lust in his movements. You’re the one breathing heavy, already trembling.

“Take your clothes off.”

You scramble to obey.

“Slowly.”

Your fingers fumble, but you comply. He watches, not with hunger, but with disdain. Like you’re something he needs to correct. A flaw in his system.

When you’re naked, you feel more exposed than usual. Not just physically. He stares at you like he can see straight into your core and doesn’t like what he finds.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he says. “Emotionally unstable. Intellectually inferior. And yet you cling to me like I’m your damn salvation.”

You don’t answer. You know better.

He grabs you by the throat, forces you to look up at him. His grip isn’t tight. It doesn’t need to be. It’s the threat. The unspoken promise that he could crush you and never feel a single thing about it.

“Why do you come back here?”

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off.

“No. I’ll answer for you. Because you need someone to break you. Isn’t that right?”

You nod. That’s allowed. Barely.

He pushes you back on the bed. Not rough. No theatrics. Just decisive. There’s nothing passionate about the way he spreads your legs, nothing romantic in the way his hands grip your thighs. It’s like dissecting a specimen.

He never smiles.

His fingers slide inside you with methodical detachment. Cold. Slow. Calculating.

“You’re dripping. Disgusting.”

The shame floods your body like a drug. Your hips buck against his hand, and he slaps your thigh hard enough to bruise.

“Be still.”

You obey.

He lowers his head between your legs. His mouth is cruel. Precise. Not loving. Not even hungry. It feels like punishment. Like he’s proving a point.

You scream anyway.

When you come, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t praise you. He doesn’t acknowledge it at all.

He stands, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and looks down at you like you’re something he might wash off later.

Then he takes his belt off.

The sound of leather sliding through loops is enough to make you shiver. He sees that. Files it away. He always remembers what works.

He binds your wrists without a word. Tight. Not enough to cut circulation—he’s too precise for that—but enough to remind you you’re not in control.

He flips you over.

“Don’t speak,” he says again.

He enters you in one hard, unforgiving thrust.

You cry out. He presses a hand against your mouth, stilling you like he’s silencing an animal.

“Quiet. No one needs to hear what you are.”

His pace is brutal. Rhythmic. Calculated.

You can’t think. He doesn’t let you. Every thrust is a lesson. Every snap of his hips is a lecture you’re too stupid to understand. You don’t know what he’s trying to teach you, only that you want to learn.

He leans in close to your ear.

“You’d be nothing without me. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod again, tears wetting your cheeks.

He pulls out without warning, flips you over again, and slaps your face just hard enough to shock you back into submission.

“Say it.”

“I—I’d be nothing without you.”

He smiles. Just a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Then he’s inside you again, slower now. Not kinder. Never that. Just prolonging it. Drawing it out so you’ll remember later when you’re lying in his empty bed without him.

Because he never stays.

“You think this means I care about you?” he whispers. “It doesn’t. I could replace you tomorrow.”

You whimper. He licks the tears off your cheek.

“But you won’t leave,” he adds.

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

You know the answer. So does he.

“Because you love me.”

He says it like a curse.

You’re sobbing now, but not from pain. Not even from pleasure. It’s the confusion. The need. The way he warps your sense of self until you don’t remember who you were before him.

“Say it,” he commands.

“I love you.”

He cums with a low grunt, buried deep inside you. Doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move.

Just breathes.

Then he wipes himself clean with a towel he throws at your face.

“Get out.”

You curl in on yourself, body aching, wrists red, thighs sore.

He’s already dressing. Already distant again.

The door closes behind you like a verdict.

But you’ll come back.

You always do.

And he always lets you in.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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.