Chapter Text
♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 1,130
He calls it a date.
You should’ve known better.
From the moment he wrapped his fingers around your wrist this morning, all lightness in your limbs shriveled and died. He didn’t smile—just looked down at you through his shades, unreadable, his grip iron, possessive. There was no plan. There never is. Only his idea of fun. And today, he wanted you broken in public.
"Let’s make some memories," he said, voice low, like he wasn’t dragging you out against your will.
You flinched at the brightness of the restaurant. Upscale. White linen. Full glass walls facing a busy Tokyo street. Your skin crawled as he pushed the door open with a hand splayed against the small of your back, fingers just barely dipping beneath your blouse.
The maître d’ faltered when she saw him. She knew him. Everyone knew him.
“Private booth?” she asked, trying not to look at you. He laughed.
“No need. Something open. Exposed. I want her to feel the air.”
You were seated under a spotlight. Literally. The fixture overhead cast you in white gold while the surrounding diners flickered only in candlelight. Eyes turned. He made sure of it. He made sure they all looked.
You shifted in your seat, knees closed, arms folded. His hand struck the table. Your shoulders flinched, breath caught.
"Back straight. Legs apart."
Your stomach turned. You obeyed.
He smiled then. A slow, wolfish thing. Leaned back in his chair and propped an ankle over his knee like a man relaxing at home.
"Good girl."
He didn’t look at the menu. He didn’t order for himself. Just for you.
"She’ll have the oysters. And the house red. A full bottle."
You hated oysters. He knew.
When the waiter left, he leaned in, elbow on the table, chin in his palm. His sunglasses were off. You hated when he looked at you like that. Not like a person. Like a toy. A pet. A broken, trembling little puppet whose strings he had eaten long ago.
"Tell me," he said. "What’s the worst part right now?"
You said nothing.
He clicked his tongue. “C’mon. Use your words. Don’t want me to punish you for being shy, do you?”
You still said nothing.
He reached under the table.
Your eyes widened.
He didn’t care who watched.
You gripped the edge of your seat as he slid a hand up your thigh beneath the tablecloth. Cold rings brushed your skin. You clenched instinctively.
"That’s the one thing I told you not to do."
His fingers parted your thighs with practiced cruelty, each inch a humiliation.
"Let them watch. That’s the whole point."
He kept his hand there as the oysters arrived. The server didn’t blink. He must’ve paid them off. Threatened them. Or maybe they were too afraid to acknowledge the obscene control he had over you.
He pressed in, slow and firm.
You choked on a breath.
The server poured the wine. Your hands shook as you brought the glass to your lips.
Satoru, to his credit, never looked away. He watched every twitch, every suppressed sound, every ripple of shame as your body reacted to his touch.
"Drink."
You drank.
"Swallow."
You swallowed.
He moved his fingers again. It was a rhythm—mocking, slow, barely enough to push you anywhere but humiliation.
"You’re wet. You know that? Disgusting."
Heat flared across your face. You wanted to vanish.
You looked away. A mistake.
His voice sharpened. “Eyes on me.”
You obeyed.
Your thighs trembled beneath the tablecloth. He was relentless. He leaned forward, now elbows on the table, and murmured things only you could hear.
"You think they’d care if you screamed? Hm? You think anyone here would save you? They’d thank me for shutting you up."
You hated how your pulse jumped. Hated how he always knew how to make your body betray you. He always pushed you past what you could take.
The waiter returned to clear the plate. You kept your head down, humiliated. The moment they walked away, he stood.
"Let’s go. You’re too loud already."
He grabbed your hand and pulled you up. You stumbled. The wine made your head spin. Or maybe it was him.
He walked you down the hallway of the high-rise restaurant, past mirrored walls and pristine bathrooms, and pushed you into a maintenance closet.
The door clicked shut.
Dark.
Stale.
You couldn’t breathe.
You turned, only to feel his palm slam against the wall by your head. His body crowded yours, breath hot on your face.
"I said don’t embarrass me. And what did you do?"
You tried to apologize.
He didn’t want apologies.
He grabbed your throat and forced your back to the wall.
"You like this. You love when I do this to you. Say it."
You couldn’t speak. Your vision blurred.
His other hand yanked your blouse down. Buttons flew.
"That’s right. Cry. Make it pretty."
He shoved your skirt up. No time. No care. Just rage and lust and sadistic pleasure. Your underwear was ripped aside with a loud snap of elastic. You bit your lip.
He grabbed your face.
"No hiding. I want to hear you beg. I want to watch you fall apart."
The first thrust stole the air from your lungs.
He was rough.
Relentless.
You hit the wall with every movement. Pain bloomed. But it didn’t stop him.
His teeth grazed your ear.
"So fucking tight. You really are a little toy, aren’t you? My favorite one."
He drove into you with bruising rhythm. Every thrust louder than the last. The mop handle rattled against the wall. Something clattered to the floor.
"Everyone out there knows. They know. You’re nothing but a whore on a leash."
You whimpered. Cried. Nails scraping tile.
He kept going.
"You’ll never escape me. Never. I’ll break your mind, your body, your soul—until there’s nothing left but me."
You tried to focus. On anything. The scent of bleach. The cold tile. But he was everywhere. Around you. In you. Claiming every inch, every breath.
Your body betrayed you again.
He felt it.
"There it is. Don’t you dare cum before I say."
You couldn’t stop.
His laugh was cruel. Guttural.
"You really are broken."
He finally spilled inside you with a grunt, fingers tight on your hips, bruising. You sagged, wrecked, tears dripping down your cheeks.
He didn’t let you go.
Not for a long, long time.
When he finally pulled away, you collapsed. He tucked himself in calmly, adjusted his shirt, and stared down at you like you were a ruined thing.
"Clean yourself up. We’re not done yet."
He left the door open.
Let the light spill in.
Let the noise of laughter and clinking silverware mock you as you sat there, shaking, trying to remember how to breathe.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
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♡ 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.
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♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.
♡ Book 8. Malum Consilium (MC): Primordial Hunger.