𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 947

You never heard the door open. Not really. The latch clicked a fraction too soft to register in the thick, breathless silence of the room. But he was there. Alhaitham. A shadow taller than yours, cast from the corner of your vision like a stain.

He was always like that. Quiet in a way that didn’t feel empty. Silent in a way that conquered a space, claimed it. There was no warmth to him. No fanfare, no pretense. Only that unreadable, impassive expression as he shut the door behind him, locking it with an unhurried turn of the key.

You flinched. He noticed.

Of course he did.

It would be embarrassing, if humiliation hadn’t already set into your bones like a sickness. You shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t still stay.

But he never gives you a choice, does he?

He stands across the room, hands in his pockets like he’s having a casual thought. Nothing on his face betrays emotion. Not the lust. Not the obsession. Not the jealousy that always comes in after you’ve spent even a moment too long outside his reach.

He doesn’t ask how your day was. He doesn’t ask anything. Instead, he just walks.

And with each step, it feels like your world shrinks a little more.

You don’t move. Not because you want him. Not because of some gentle pull of affection. You don’t move because you can’t. He has this way of speaking without sound, of dominating every breath in the room until your will becomes irrelevant. Until your logic frays. Until the only thing you know is his body closing in on yours.

The wall is cold at your back. He always likes to pin you there first.

His fingers brush your jaw, tilting your chin with clinical precision. You know what comes next. It doesn’t stop the shame from knotting deep in your stomach.

“You’re late.”

That’s all he says. Cold. Flat.

You open your mouth to explain—to lie. But the words scatter as he presses his body against you.

Your shirt is torn, not removed. His hands are not tender. They map over you like he’s conducting a study, cataloguing weakness. He memorized every one of yours long ago.

When he speaks, his voice is low and measured.

“You reek of something foreign.”

You want to argue. You didn’t see anyone. You didn’t speak to anyone. But you know better. You know better.

His fingers wrap around your wrists, holding them above your head. One-handed.

The other hand runs over your skin like it belongs to him. Like you don’t.

You gasp when his hand slips between your legs. He doesn’t care if you’re ready. Doesn’t check. He never does.

“Still tight. Still mine,” he mutters. Not praise. Observation.

Your back arches despite yourself, and he scoffs.

“So responsive to abuse. How fitting.”

You bite your lip, hard. Your head swims with shame, but the heat rising between your legs betrays you.

He sees it. He always sees it.

His mouth finds the column of your throat, biting—not kissing. Every nip blooms red. A silent brand.

You are made to feel small. Fragile. But not precious. There is no softness in him. Only need. Only fixation. And the quiet, terrifying calculation behind every movement.

He unbuckles his belt with one hand, still pinning your wrists.

You look away. He forces your chin back.

“Look.”

You obey.

Because you know what happens when you don’t.

He shoves himself inside without warning. Without care. You choke on your scream.

His pace is brutal.

Measured. Controlled.

Like everything else about him.

You want to fight back, claw his face, scream at him—but you can’t even breathe. Every thrust is deliberate. Every time he sinks into you it feels like punishment. Like retribution.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You shake your head.

He smirks, but there’s no amusement in it.

“Liar.”

He doesn’t stop.

“I watch you, you know. You walk around like you’re clean. Like no one’s ever touched you.”

His voice lowers further, mockingly tender.

“But I’ve ruined you, haven’t I?”

You sob once, choking on the shame.

His breath is steady. Controlled. Always controlled.

You hate that your body responds. That it tightens around him.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Disgusting little thing.”

His pace quickens.

“You like this, don’t you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He lets go of your wrists. You fall forward, catching yourself barely, as he flips you around. Your face slams into the wall. Hands scramble at the surface, but it’s slick with sweat. He presses into you again. Relentless. Merciless.

Flesh meeting flesh. Heat and sweat and filth. And him.

Always him.

You can feel him twitch, his pace faltering.

He’s close.

You pray he pulls out.

He doesn’t.

His teeth sink into your shoulder as he spills inside you. Deep. Claiming. Territorial.

You feel it. Every pulse of it.

You sag against the wall, trembling.

But he isn’t done.

He grips your jaw, yanks your head back. Forces you to look at him.

No sweat on his face. Not a single hair out of place.

“I don’t care what you want,” he murmurs. “You belong to me. Every inch. Every breath. Even your fear.”

You look away.

He lets you.

But before he leaves, he presses a kiss to your temple.

Soft.

Affectionate.

A lie.

He disappears as silently as he arrived, leaving you broken against the wall, leaking, shivering—and alone.

But never really alone.

He’s always watching.

Always waiting.

Because in his mind, you are his. Not a partner. Not a lover.

A possession.

And he will keep breaking you until even you believe 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.