⥠TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ⥠WC. 1,108
You shouldnât have come.
The moment you step inside, the air shifts, thick with the scent of leather, wine, and something darker. Your stomach knots. The restaurant is dim, intimate, the kind of place where secrets linger in the corners, where the candlelight flickers just enough to make shadows dance. Itâs the kind of place where no one looks too closely at anything that isnât their own business.
You shouldnât have come.
And yet, you did. Like a fool. Like a dog answering its masterâs call.
Heâs already waiting.
Your bossâyour cruel, insufferable boss, the man you loathe more than anythingâis seated in the booth, one arm stretched over the backrest, the other lifting a glass of dark red wine to his lips. He looks up when you enter, eyes hooded, lips curling in a knowing smirk. As if he knew you wouldnât be able to resist. As if he knew youâd come crawling the moment he beckoned.
âSit.â
His voice is smooth, laced with something you canât name. Something dark, something dangerous.
You hesitate. For a second. Just a second.
A mistake.
His smirk widens, as if youâve amused him, as if he likes the way your body tenses, the way your throat bobs when you swallow. He gestures lazily to the seat across from him, but when you take a step toward it, he clicks his tongue.
âNot there.â A slow exhale. His eyes rake over you, slow, assessing. âHere.â
Your stomach lurches. You glance around, but no oneâs paying attention. No one is looking. No one will help you.
You step closer.
His legs spread, just enough to make space for you, just enough to force your body to press against his when you lower yourself onto his lap. His hands are on you instantly, gripping your hips, firm, unyielding. The heat of his body bleeds through your clothes, through your skin, until itâs inside you, suffocating, cloying. His breath is warm against your ear.
âGood girl.â
Your blood runs cold.
His fingers trace slow, lazy circles over your bare thighs, inching higher, higher, untilâ
You stiffen.
No. No. Thatâs impossible. You know you wore them. You remember sliding them up your legs before you left your apartment. And yetâ
Gone.
The realization slams into you, sick and dizzying. Your breath catches, horror lodging in your throat. When? How? A phantom sensation lingers on your skin, something you canât quite grasp, something that makes your stomach twist itself into knots.
âYou didnât wear panties for me?â he muses, voice dripping with mockery. âHow bold.â
Your hands shake.
He already knew. Of course he knew.
His hand slides under your skirt, fingers teasing your slit, spreading you open. You flinch, thighs trembling, but you donât dare move, not when his other hand tightens around your waist, anchoring you to him, holding you in place. Not when the restaurant hums around you, the quiet murmur of conversation a suffocating backdrop to the filth happening right under their noses.
âThatâs right,â he breathes, fingers slipping inside with humiliating ease. âStay still. Let me feel how wet you are.â
Your whole body burns.
You want to tell him to stop. You want to shove him away. But you canât. You canât.
Because you know what heâll do.
You know what kind of man he is.
His hand wraps around your throat, tilting your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes gleam with amusement, with something darker, something cruel. The smirk on his lips sends ice down your spine.
âDonât make a sound,â he warns, thumb pressing against the hollow of your throat, feeling the frantic pulse beneath your skin. âOr Iâll make sure everyone sees just what a little slut you are.â
Your lips part, but no sound comes out.
His fingers curl inside you, pressing against that spot that makes your body jolt, your thighs clenching around him. He chuckles, low and pleased, before pulling his fingers free, dragging them up to smear your arousal over your clit, circling slow, deliberate.
You donât want this.
You donât want this.
But your body betrays you, hips twitching, breath stuttering, shame coiling hot and tight in your gut.
Thenâ
A zipper.
Your breath catches.
No. No, no, no.
You shake your head, panic clawing up your throat, but his grip is firm, unyielding. His free hand slides down, gripping your hip, forcing you to feel itâthe thick, heavy press of him against your entrance.
âTake me inside,â he orders, voice a low growl.
You donât move. You canât.
His hand tightens around your throat.
âDo it.â
Your body jerks as he pushes up, forcing himself inside, stretching you, splitting you open around the thick intrusion. You choke, nails digging into his shoulders, the pain sharp, blinding. He groans, low and satisfied, burying himself to the hilt, filling you, stuffing you full.
âFuck,â he breathes against your neck. âLook at you. Taking me so fucking well.â
Your vision blurs.
Itâs too much. Too deep. The position makes it impossible to adjust, impossible to breathe. Your nails bite into his suit, desperate, grasping, but he doesnât care. He shifts, hips rolling just enough to make your body jolt, to make you whimper, a sharp, broken thing that dies in your throat before it can escape.
âMove.â
You shake your head. His grip in your hair is sudden, yanking your head back, exposing your throat. His hips snap up, sharp, punishing, and you slap a hand over your mouth, biting back a cry.
âThatâs right,â he murmurs, thrusting up again, making you jolt. âYouâre gonna sit here and take my cock like a good little slut, and youâre gonna smile like nothingâs wrong.â
His teeth scrape over your jaw, his voice a whisper of filth.
âUnless you want them to see.â
Your whole body tenses.
You know what heâs saying. You know heâll do it.
So you move.
Your thighs burn as you lift yourself up, only to sink back down, your walls clenching around him. His hands grip your waist, guiding your movements, forcing you to take every inch, over and over. Every shift, every grind, every slow roll of your hips only pushes you deeper into humiliation.
âFuck,â he groans, tilting his head back, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. âLook at you. Look how fucking desperate you are.â
You want to deny it. You want to scream. But you donât.
Because heâll make you regret it.
Because he always gets what he wants.
A flicker of movement catches your eye.
A phone screen.
Too late.
Your stomach drops.
Too late.
His lips brush your ear, smug, satisfied.
âSmile, sweetheart.â
⥠List of Fandoms and Characters.
⥠Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.
Ace Attorney: Barok van Zieks, Miles Edgeworth
Arcane: N/A
Blue Lock: Michael Kaiser, Rin Itoshi, Shidou Ryusei, Yoichi Isagi
Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi, Hawks, Katsuki Bakugo, Villain! Midoriya Izuku
If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood. Thank you.
Official TAG LIST of âThe Red Ledgerâ: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld
â€ïž 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 Librarianâs Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.
⥠Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblrâs 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 yourselfârepeated 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.
Test-Phase TAG LIST of âThe Red Ledgerâ: @yanderedrabbles
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I will never get over how brilliant this comic is. The artist could have just drawn a single image in response, but instead we have this masterpiece. The world doesnât deserve @iguanamouth.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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I saw the future. There were so few bees left that they cross-bred beekeepers with them so they could better connect with them.
I was taking a test to identify plants (I won because some dude thought pineapples were berries) and after that I met a beekeeper who worked inside of a giant glass beehive and had little antennas and a dope ass beard.
