𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 800

You don’t get to choose the outfit. You never do.

He lays it out on the bed with the same smirk he wears when cornering a curse that doesn’t yet know it’s already dead. Blood-red. Micro-short. Neckline plunging so deep the fabric barely holds over your nipples. It looks expensive, couture even, stitched tight to scream bought. Not loved. Not mine. Just purchased. A trophy dragged out to shine.

And he likes it that way.

He watches you undress with your back to him, always your back. He likes seeing how far your spine curves, how stiff you get when his gaze crawls down your body like heat. You know what he wants. You know how he likes you to look on his arm—like a prostitute he shelled out six figures for, just for a night, one he has no intention of letting go.

“Turn around.”

You do. Slowly. Shame burns your face but he beams like he’s proud of it. Proud of what he’s turned you into.

“Good girl. Now say it.”

You don’t want to. But you know what happens if you refuse.

“Say it.”

Your voice shakes. “I look like a whore, Gojo-sama.”

He chuckles. Low and pleased. “My whore.”

The collar tightens around your neck. Not metaphorically. He walks forward and snaps it closed himself, fingers brushing your throat in a slow, possessive caress. It’s leather. Silver tag. His initials engraved.

You never wear panties with these things. He makes sure of it. The heels are so high you can barely walk, but that’s part of it too. You stumbling, clutching at his sleeve. Forced to lean into him, to let him guide you.

He eats that up. Every inch of it.

Outside, you’re paraded like meat. People look. They always look. Some with pity. Some with lust. None of them dare approach. You’re clearly taken—kept.

He holds you close, arm around your waist, his hand pressing low against your stomach. Just high enough not to touch, but low enough to imply it. Constant contact. Territorial. Obsessive.

“You love when they look, don’t you?” he murmurs against your ear as you sit across from him at a pristine rooftop restaurant. “You love being shown off.”

You shake your head. He grips your chin, nails digging in.

“Try again.”

“Yes, Gojo-sama,” you whisper.

He smiles. That white-toothed, foxlike grin that never reaches his eyes.

You don’t eat. He feeds you with his fingers. One strawberry at a time. One chocolate-dipped delicacy dragged across your lips. Everyone can see. You’re the spectacle. He made sure of it.

“Don’t forget what you are,” he says as he pushes another cherry between your lips. “You’re mine. Not because I love you. But because you look good on your knees.”

That night, he doesn’t wait. As soon as the elevator doors close, his hand is already up your skirt. You gasp, but he muffles it with a kiss that bites.

“What are you?”

“Your…slut.”

He hums, shoving two fingers inside you like he’s testing how well he prepped you.

“Not just a slut,” he murmurs. “My personal little cum-dump.”

The elevator dings.

He doesn’t stop.

You’re shoved against the wall of the hallway before the door even opens. Your head hits the concrete and you cry out, but he’s already under your skirt, the sound of his belt loud and terrifying.

“Don’t even think about screaming. You want this. You beg for this. Remember that.”

And you do. Because he makes sure you always do.

He makes it hurt, just a little. Enough to remind you that he can. That he doesn’t need to be gentle. That he never has been.

“God, you’re tight,” he breathes against your neck, thrusting in without warning. “Still acting like it’s your first fucking time.”

He pins your wrists above your head, the collar biting into your throat as he moves harder. Deeper. His breath hot against your skin.

“Sluts don’t get aftercare,” he snarls. “You want comfort? Go cry into the money I spent dressing you.”

You don’t cry. You’re not allowed to. Not until he says so.

When he finishes, it’s not with a groan or a moan. It’s a snarl. Angry. Possessive. Violent. He leaves you leaking and shaking against the hallway wall.

And then he kisses your forehead.

“Such a good little thing,” he coos. “Next time, we’ll do it in front of a mirror so you can see how fucking pathetic you look.”

You don’t move. You can’t. He buttons his shirt like nothing happened, immaculate and cold.

He lights a cigarette.

“Crawl, sweetheart.”

You hesitate.

He exhales a cloud of smoke and looks down at you, gaze sharp behind his sunglasses.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You crawl.

Back into the penthouse.

Back into his arms.

Back into hell.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles , @xileonaaaa , @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.