𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 967

He watches you from across the room, the light of the chandelier fracturing in his eyes like glass about to break. The presents—wrapped in decadent black silk, ribbons curled like claws—are stacked on your bed like offerings. Too many. Too expensive. Every box a reminder of a debt you never agreed to.

You haven’t touched them. Not one.

He notices.

He always notices.

His smile, when it forms, is a sharp thing—no amusement behind it. Only patience. Or the mockery of it.

“I went through all the trouble,” he says, his tone light, lazy. “And you don’t even open them? That’s rude, y’know.”

Your silence is met with a quiet laugh.

He crosses the floor with the slow, confident steps of a man who owns every inch of space between you. His coat still drips faint rainwater on the marble. He never wiped his boots. He never needs to.

You try not to move. Try not to breathe. As if stillness could save you from what you already invited in by surviving this long under his gaze.

He stops in front of you, just close enough to tower.

“Open it.”

You don’t.

He kneels. You flinch anyway.

The box he lifts is small—black velvet, thinner than your palm. When he opens it, he does it slowly, reverently, like unveiling some sacred ritual. Inside rests a collar. Silver buckle. Black leather. Your throat itches before it even touches you.

“Pretty, right?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. His fingers—cold and ringed—brush your neck. You twitch. He hums.

“You know what’s funny?” he murmurs, fasteners already clicking into place, choking off your air slightly. “You really do look better like this. Owned.”

You can’t swallow. Not just because of the collar.

He rises, satisfied. Drags his thumb down your lip, slow, testing the tremble in your mouth. The grin never reaches his eyes.

“Don’t make that face. I’m being good to you.”

He turns, motioning to the sea of boxes.

“These are just the start. Dresses. Perfume. New bedding. Anything you want. You don’t even have to ask. Just be mine.”

Mine.

The word cracks something behind your ribs.

You want to scream. But you’ve tried that before.

He remembers.

He likes it.

✦✧✦✧

Later, he drags the ribbon off one of the boxes, fingers wrapping it loosely around your wrists like it’s a game. His voice is low, saccharine.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tie it tight. You can still run…”

The pause stretches.

“…if you really want to disappoint me.”

He doesn’t wait for your consent. Never has. Never needs to.

When he pushes you back on the bed, the silk wrapping rustles under you like leaves before a funeral. His weight settles between your legs with ease—unceremonious, practiced. You jerk your face away from his breath. He laughs again.

“Still pretending you don’t like this? After everything?”

His hands are on you now. Cold from the rain, hungry from restraint.

He touches like he owns. He takes like he’s owed.

You know better than to fight. Fighting makes him worse.

But your stillness makes him cruel.

He bites your throat where the collar sits. Hard. Too hard. A bruise blossoms there, aching. His hips grind down against you—through clothes, at first, almost bored. Just to feel your breath hitch. Just to hear that little choke of sound you try to smother.

“There she is,” he whispers, unfastening your shirt like he’s unwrapping another gift. “My good girl.”

You shake your head. He likes that, too.

His mouth moves lower. Teeth. Tongue. Every part of him branding you with a violence that pretends to be affection. Every sigh you make is thrown back at you with venomous sweetness.

“Didn’t know a stuck-up little thing like you could make sounds like that.”

You’re exposed now. Vulnerable. And he drinks in your shame like it’s wine.

Then his hand wraps around your throat.

No pressure. Not yet.

“You trust me, right?”

You don’t answer.

He squeezes. Gentle first. Then not.

The room blurs.

“You will.”

When he finally takes you, it’s with the kind of aggression that pretends to be tenderness—mouth dragging across your skin like it has the right. The burn of him stretches you, forces your body to obey even as your mind rejects, resists, breaks.

He talks through all of it.

“Tight little thing, aren’t you? Still acting shy. Like we haven’t done this before. Like you didn’t cry last time and still came twice.”

He fucks you through humiliation.

Each thrust measured, punishing, more about your expression than your pleasure. He doesn’t care if you like it.

That’s the point.

“Can’t even look at me. Poor baby. Too ashamed? Or too wet?”

You don’t know which answer would make him stop.

You don’t know if you want him to.

The sound of skin slapping skin echoes obscenely off the walls. Your wrists twist under the ribbon, useless, decorative—like you.

Your legs shake. Your eyes water.

He watches all of it.

“I’ll buy you something nicer after this,” he promises in a low rasp, sweat dripping from his throat onto yours. “A new leash. Maybe matching cuffs. You like pink, right?”

He knows you don’t.

But he says it anyway.

When you finally break—when the sobs claw their way out and your body gives up—you feel his mouth at your ear again, whispering things only monsters say.

“That’s it. That’s my girl.”

He finishes inside you.

On purpose.

When he pulls back, he leaves you open, leaking, shaking.

And smiling.

“We’ll do better next time. You’ll learn.”

Your eyes are glassy. Your mouth is parted. Your voice is gone.

“But don’t worry, sweetheart.”

He tugs the collar gently.

“I’ve got forever to teach you.”

✦✧✦✧

The gifts keep coming.

Every one of them worse than the last.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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.