♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,049
He watches you. Always from a distance. Always silent. As though he were merely observing an equation unfold.
You think you’re clever. You think he doesn’t see it. The way your hand lingers on someone else’s arm too long, the laugh that leaves your throat just a bit too freely. The twinkle in your eye when another man glances your way.
But he sees everything.
And worse, he understands.
Not just your little provocations. But the way you ache. The fracture that runs under your skin, the desperation in your soul that longs for something solid—something unmovable. Something like him.
“Minx.”
He says it without even looking at you. Cold, clinical. The word drops from his lips like a diagnosis.
You’d been smiling too much today. Smiling at other people. That sickening warmth in your voice, the crinkle at the edge of your eyes.
And now your back is pressed against the cold wall of his library. The silence is smothering. The click of the lock behind you might as well be a guillotine.
He doesn’t raise his voice. He never does.
But he steps close. Close enough that you can feel the chill of his intellect seeping through your bones. His hands stay in his pockets. His gaze is on a point somewhere above your shoulder, but the weight of his presence crushes you like gravity.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he murmurs.
You don’t respond. You never do.
Because that would be giving him something. And you like pretending you have power here. You like making him crack.
But you forget what it means when a man like Alhaitham cracks.
The back of his hand hits your cheek with such precision you barely register the pain before the shock settles in. Not violent. Not rash. Calculated.
“There. Now we can begin.”
He forces your chin up with two fingers, the touch devoid of affection. His thumb rests on your bottom lip, pressing hard enough to bruise.
“Speak.”
You say nothing.
His hand slips down, wrapping around your throat. Not to squeeze. Not yet. Just to hold. Just to remind you.
You belong to him.
He drags you into his study, like a cat dragging prey. The lights stay dim. He doesn’t need brightness to see every inch of you.
When he tears your clothes off, he does so without emotion. There’s no heat. No lust. Only intent. Like he’s dissecting you.
You try to cover yourself, but he grabs your wrists and binds them behind your back with silk—not out of mercy, but mockery.
“Pretty little liar,” he whispers against your throat. “You think you’re clever. But you’re just pathetic.”
Your breath hitches when he shoves you down onto his desk. The papers scatter. He doesn’t care. Not tonight.
His hands are everywhere. Cold. Methodical. Each touch more humiliating than the last. He touches you like you’re a specimen. Like he’s cataloguing your every weakness.
And yet you’re wet.
He notices.
He always notices.
“You enjoy being punished. That’s why you keep doing it. Isn’t it? You want to see me lose control. Because that’s the only time you feel real.”
You hate how right he is.
He shoves your thighs apart and spits down on you. The filth of it makes you squirm, but he pins you down easily. One hand on your neck. The other between your legs.
He doesn’t ask.
He never asks.
He enters you in one thrust, dry and brutal. You scream.
Good.
That means you’re listening now.
He fucks you like he hates you.
Every thrust is deep, merciless, a punishment calculated to split you open in every way that matters. He leans down, bites your shoulder hard enough to draw blood, and groans against your skin.
“You don’t deserve to be loved,” he whispers. “But you do deserve this.”
You can barely breathe. The angle he’s using bends you painfully over the desk, and your arms, bound behind you, strain with every slam of his hips.
Tears gather in your eyes. He notices those too.
“Go on. Cry. You wanted this, remember? You wanted me jealous. You wanted me to show you what you do to me.”
His fingers twist in your hair, yanking your head back. He kisses your cheek where he slapped you earlier. Gentle.
Too gentle.
“You make me sick,” he says softly. “But I can’t stop. You think this is control?”
He laughs, a low, dangerous sound.
“This is obsession.”
You whimper when he pulls out. For a moment, you think it’s over.
But then he flips you over.
Onto your back. Onto the cold desk.
And he takes you again.
This time, slower.
But no less cruel.
He spreads your legs wide, forces you to watch him slide in. One hand presses down on your chest, holding you in place like an insect under glass.
He makes you look at him.
Not at his face.
At his eyes.
Flat, emotionless. Except for that thin flicker of loathing. Desire. Need.
“You’ll never leave me. Not because you can’t. But because no one else would want you after this.”
You moan despite yourself. He smirks.
“Filthy little slut. You really do like being ruined.”
The shame crawls over your skin, prickling like fire. Your body betrays you again and again. He makes sure of it.
When he finally lets you come, it’s not for your pleasure. It’s to humiliate you. To remind you how thoroughly he owns you.
You sob as your body clenches around him, helpless. Your release is raw, agonizing. He doesn’t slow. Doesn’t stop. Not until he spills himself inside you, shuddering through gritted teeth.
He stays there for a moment, still buried in you. Breathing hard. Silent.
Then he pulls out. Watches it drip down your thighs. Watches your chest rise and fall.
He steps back.
Adjusts his coat.
As if nothing happened.
“Clean yourself up.”
He turns his back on you. Walks to his desk. Starts sorting the scattered papers again.
Like you don’t exist.
Like you’re just another mess he had to clean up.
You lie there, shaking, sore, legs spread. Your wrists still bound. Your body wrecked.
But your heart?
Your heart is worse.
Because even now—
Even now, you want him to do it again.
And he knows it.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
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❤︎ 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.
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