𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 948

You were never supposed to last this long.

Not in his world, not in his hands.

He was supposed to break you the first time he cornered you, voice sweet and velvet-slick while his fingers curled around your jaw like a chokechain. You had that look in your eyes even then—the kind of quiet someone only gets after being left in a cage too long. All ghostlight and defiance.

He should’ve hated you.

Should’ve split you open with his smile alone, carved your dignity out with a few well-placed insults and that wandering, lazy touch. He tried. He always tries. You just didn’t bleed the right way. Not like the others.

“You don’t even scream properly,” he had told you once, mouth against your ear as he pressed your spine to the wall, voice light as confetti, hands anything but.

You hadn’t answered. Not really. Just stared. Like he was nothing. Like you could see past the mask.

He hated that. He hated that.

And he kept coming back.

✦✧✦✧

It wasn’t love. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Love is for fools. For the weak. For all those soft little things that get devoured first.

He doesn’t feel things like normal people do. He consumes. And you’re just one more thing he meant to crush and discard, like every other whimpering toy before you.

Only you don’t whimper.

You bite. Even now, with your arms bound above your head in thick black straps and your thighs forced wide apart with a cruel spreader bar, you still glare at him with that same contempt. That same silence. No begging. No crying.

Just that fucking look.

It makes him feel… something.

Not quite rage.

Not quite want.

Whatever it is, it’s ugly. Addictive. He hates it almost as much as he hates you.

“You really are a stupid little bitch,” he murmurs, crouching between your legs like he’s praying to something he plans to defile. His fingers trail up the inner curve of your thigh, sticky with spit and something more humiliating.

Your body betrays you. It always does.

“Still wet? After all that? You’re such a goddamn whore.”

He says it like a kiss, gentle and smiling. Not because he means it. Because it makes you twitch. Because it makes your lips tremble, not with fear—no, that would be too easy—but with fury.

You hate him.

He feeds on it.

✦✧✦✧

He likes it best when you go quiet. When the violence drains from your limbs and you turn your face away like he doesn’t exist. Like none of this does. That’s when he hurts you most. That’s when he presses your hips into the mattress and shoves himself into you slow and deep, dragging it out until you’re arching without meaning to, until you’re panting and shamed and ruined, until the room fills with the sound of wet flesh and your broken little gasps.

And he watches. God, he watches.

Every twitch. Every twitch of your jaw, every flutter of your lashes as you fight back the noise he wants to hear. He never gives you the mercy of rhythm. Just keeps you trembling, legs shaking from strain, head back against the pillows as if distance could dull it.

“You’re so easy to ruin,” he whispers, and it’s not affection. It’s gospel. Like he’s telling you the truth about the nature of the world. “You act like you’re so above it all. Like I don’t already own every inch of you.”

You don’t answer. Your mouth is swollen from where he kissed you too hard. Bit you too deep.

He drags a hand up your throat. Not to squeeze. Not yet. Just enough to remind you it’s his. That you’re his. That there is no version of this where you leave with your soul intact.

“Say it.”

You don’t.

His hand tightens.

“Say it.“

Your voice cracks when it comes, hoarse and trembling. Not obedience. Not submission. Just oxygen. Just survival.

He leans closer, tongue teasing the shell of your ear.

“I didn’t catch that, sweetheart.”

“Yours.”

His smile is slow. Wolfish.

He slams into you again, rough enough that the bedframe groans, rough enough to punch the air from your lungs, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip just to keep from screaming.

He watches that too.

“You always break so pretty,” he says.

✦✧✦✧

He likes when you cry after. Not during. Never during. But when it’s over, when he’s left you shaking and silent and sore, when the ropes are finally gone and the bruises bloom properly under your skin—he likes to watch the tears slip down your cheeks like you didn’t mean to let them fall.

Like you still think you can come back from this.

He tucks your hair behind your ear. Soft. Almost sweet.

“Still think I don’t own you?”

You turn away.

He lets you.

✦✧✦✧

It’s not love.

He doesn’t love you.

He watches you sleep like a dragon coiled around a stolen treasure, greedy and vile. There is no poetry to it. No longing. Just need. Just hunger. Just the raw, feral satisfaction of having destroyed something rare.

Your body bears his fingerprints like it was always meant to. Your mind twists under his grip like wet silk.

You were never supposed to last this long.

But now you’ll never leave.

And if that means he has to break you a thousand more times—if that means he has to ruin you until your name means nothing and your memories are just pain and silk and the sound of his voice in your ear—so be it.

He is Satoru Gojo.

And you are his favorite thing to hurt.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

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.