♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,126
His first memory of you is so boring it almost makes him laugh.
You weren’t even trying.
No painted lips, no little skirt. You weren’t hanging off someone’s arm, weren’t even glancing his way. Not a glance, not a stutter, not a heartbeat spiked when he passed you by.
That was the first offense.
Gojo Satoru—tall, gorgeous, untouchable Gojo—was used to people folding for him. Boys wanted to be him. Girls? They wanted to die for him. But you… you were ice. That quiet, aloof little thing buried under three layers of sweaters and a fortress of indifference.
He saw you on campus, always alone, headphones in, nose buried in something that wasn’t him. You didn’t smile. You didn’t play. And most of all, you didn’t look at him.
So he made you look.
It started petty. He would knock your books off the desk just before lecture. Box you into corners with a wide grin and a meaningless flirt. He learned your schedule. Blocked your way. Talked over you. You weren’t interesting, not really. But the game was.
Because the second time your eyes met his, he saw it.
Fear.
Real, visceral fear like something feral trapped in a thin porcelain frame. Oh, it made him grin. That cold, cutting curiosity in him flared to life. He didn’t want your affection. He wanted to ruin you.
The others were too easy. He’d seduce, destroy, and move on. But you—you made him feel something, and he hated it. Hated the way his thoughts spiraled when he hadn’t seen you for a day. Hated that you never responded, never reacted the way he wanted.
So he escalated.
You never should’ve stayed after class that day. Never should’ve opened that locker, the one he tampered with to make sure you would.
The moment the door clicked shut behind you in that empty lecture hall, it was over.
“Why don’t you ever smile at me?” he had said, head cocked. He moved with lazy confidence, fingers tucked into his pockets, like a lion stretching just before the hunt. “It’s rude, y’know. I’m sensitive.”
Your silence, of course, was divine.
So he took your phone.
He took your secrets.
And now, he takes you.
✦✧✦✧
He likes the way you freeze when the door locks. Your body is so stiff under his hand, skin hot with shame and eyes wet already. Pathetic. And yet, beautiful in the way something so fragile always is when it’s about to break.
His voice stays low, playful. Cold.
“You could beg me to stop. You won’t, though. You never do. You don’t even scream.”
He drags you into his lap like a doll. Your thighs are trembling, mouth parted in horror when he presses up against you. The friction alone has his teeth grit.
You always act so chaste, so righteous. He’s going to ruin that face. That sweet little mouth. Those pretty hands that tremble when you touch him, only when he makes you.
“Still too proud to beg?” he whispers, voice venom-laced sugar. His palm snakes into your shirt. Cold fingers. Rough. Familiar.
You flinch. He likes that.
“I could show everyone what you look like when you cry.”
Your lips part, maybe to plead, maybe to curse him. He shuts it with a bruising kiss, tasting the resistance. Crushing it. His tongue pushes in when yours refuses to move.
He grinds into you slowly, rocking you against him like a toy. The wet heat between your thighs betrays you.
“Slut,” he growls. “All this from a little bullying?”
He lifts your shirt. Exposes your chest to the chill of the room and the heat of his stare. Marks scatter there already, remnants of the last time you said no with your mouth but yes with your body.
His mouth descends. Bites, sucks, until you’re whining. Until you’re trying to pull away and he clamps down harder.
“You like being my toy,” he hisses against your skin. “You’re not special. Don’t think I care. I could do this to anyone.”
Lie. It’s all a lie.
No one makes him like this. No one claws at the base of his skull the way you do when you look at him like you want to run but can’t.
He shoves you down against the desk. Your cheek pressed to the cold surface, your arms useless under the weight of his grip. He strips you bare like he’s done this a thousand times.
Because he has.
He’s memorized every inch of your body. Every twitch. Every weakness.
The stretch burns. You cry out.
He slaps your ass, hard. “Shut up. You’re so loud. Like you want someone to hear.”
He pushes in deeper.
You sob. You bite your lip so hard it bleeds. His hand wraps around your throat from behind, pinning you there, keeping you still as he grinds into your soaked cunt with brutal, punishing force.
“You’re nothing but a hole now,” he breathes. “My little fucktoy. The university princess, ruined by the guy she hates. Isn’t that poetic?”
Your tears smear across the desk.
He doesn’t stop.
He drags it out, fucks you deep, slow, until you’re whimpering. Until your body rocks back into him. Until the hate in your eyes turns to something more dangerous.
Need.
“Oh,” he laughs, manic. “Look at you. Filthy little thing. You like this.”
He flips you over, lets you see him. Lets you see what he looks like when he’s fucking the only girl who never wanted him.
He spreads your legs and watches you try to close them. Watches your shame bloom as he pistons into you, snapping his hips forward with cruel efficiency. Each thrust slams into your soul, breaks you a little more.
You’re crying harder now.
He drinks it in.
“Cry for me, sweetheart,” he purrs, licking your tears off your cheek. “That’s all you’re good for. Looking pretty and crying on my cock.”
Your nails claw at his back. Feeble. Worthless.
He grabs your face. Forces you to look at him.
“You’re mine now. No more games. I own this body. This cunt. This mouth.”
His thrusts get sharper. The desk creaks beneath you.
You break.
He watches the moment it happens. The way your eyes roll back, your mouth falls open. How your thighs tremble when you come around him like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.
He groans, burying himself to the hilt.
His release is violent. Possessive. Final.
He stays like that for a moment. Inside you. Above you.
Then, he leans in close. His voice is soft now. Too soft.
“Don’t think this means anything,” he whispers. “You’re still just a game.”
But he lies.
Because he won’t be able to stop.
He already can’t.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
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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.
𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭 