content warnings: 18+, non-con undertones / coercion, emotional and physical abuse dynamics, sexual hitting / slapping, intense degradation and humiliation, sadism (sadistic!Layne), masochism (masochistic!Mike), manipulative!Layne, obsessive / possessive / stalker / yandere!Layne, controlling behavior, no aftercare, voyeurism / eavesdropping (reader POV), crying, emotional distress, depictions of pain during sex, power imbalance, psychological manipulation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, gender neutral reader, referred to as she/her in dialogue
⚠️ DISCLAIMER / AUTHOR'S NOTE ⚠️Please read before proceeding.
This work contains non-consensual undertones, emotional and physical abuse dynamics, sadomasochism, and intense psychological manipulation. It is a piece of dark fiction that explores disturbing and taboo themes in a controlled, fictional context.
It is not intended to romanticize or condone abusive behavior in real life. The dynamics depicted here are unhealthy and intentionally toxic. They are written for emotional and psychological exploration—not as a model for acceptable intimacy or relationships.
If you or someone you know is experiencing abuse, please know that you are not alone. There are people and resources who can help.
💜 You deserve support, safety, and care.
Please consider reaching out to trusted individuals or organizations in your country, who are readily dedicated and disposed to help.
This is a “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” fic.
Please engage responsibly and skip this if the content is not for you.
Your mental health matters. 🖤
The afterparty was nothing special—some person's house, music low, drinks warm, people laughing too loudly in too-small corners.
But Reader couldn’t hear any of it.
He was across the room, drink in hand, back slouched against the wall like always. His hair was a wild mess, his shirt half-buttoned, and his eyes…
Reader couldn’t unsee what they’d seen in them earlier. Couldn’t unhear the gasping, breathless, trembling way he’d whispered Layne’s name. Couldn’t unfeel the way his body had arched and begged and broken.
He looked normal now. Confident. Calm. Joking with someone. But it was unsettling. How much was he really suffering inside? He gave off such a convincing act, that they almost thought they'd imagined it all. But they’d watched him rebuild the mask.
That only made them want him more...
He moved slow, lazy, like he had all the time in the world. Like he was the one in control.
“Hey,” he said, voice low and scratchy, like he hadn’t had enough water all night. “You been lookin’ at me.”
Reader’s mouth opened. No sound came out.
He grinned. One dimple. Crooked. Teasing. “What, you shy now?”
Reader stammered out something half-human. A laugh. A “just zoned out.” Trying to shake it off.
Mike stepped closer. “Yeah?” He looked down at them, eyes hooded. “You zoned out thinking about me?”
Their knees nearly buckled.
His tone was playful. Innocent, even. But his body—the way he leaned in, the confidence in his stare, the heat in his voice—was something else. Something dominant.
Reader was melting. They felt a strange hot sensation pervade them. Not at just the attention from their newfound obsession... but because of the act, because of the strange two-faced behavior.
They knew how he sounded when he broke.
They knew the way he moaned when slapped.
They knew he would whimper if Layne told him to.
And here he was. Smirking. Taking the lead.
And they couldn’t get the images out of their head.
They felt a certain level of alarm, like this situation was dangerous, and they should get uninvolved as soon as possible. But it was like their brain stopped functioning properly.
Mike said something else—something flirtier—but Reader barely registered it. Kept making flustered noises and responses, which only seemed to exacerbate Mike's advances.
They were dizzy. Drenched. Reeling.
They glanced over his shoulder.
Leaning against the doorframe.
He took a swig, tipping back the bottle with a dark look in his eyes.
Mike was saying something again, running his hand through his hair, eyes flicking to Reader’s mouth—
But Reader couldn’t think.
Their eyes darted from Layne—still unmoving, still watching—back to Mike.
And then… they blushed even harder. Their whole body felt like jelly. They felt like they should definitely walk away now, the dangerous glare in Layne's eyes was saying so. But they were in too deep now. They liked having Mike here, and they didn't want to hurt him by pushing him away.
Mike was right there—smirking down at them with that cocky, easy air like he had no idea how fucked up everything was.
A small part of reader wished they could somehow protect him.
“You okay?” he asked. His voice was soft now. Still teasing, but lower. A little closer.
Reader nodded too quickly.
Mike’s head tilted, studying them. His hand flexed around his cup. “You’re actin’ like you’ve never had a guy flirt with you before.”
It wasn’t that. It wasn’t even about flirting.
It was about the fact that less than a few hours ago, they’d watched him get wrecked—stripped bare and crying out for someone else.
It was about the fact that he was making them feel weak now.
It was about how that same person, who had brutally wrecked him, was staring them down from across the room and Mike simply had no idea... Or did he?
Reader raised their eyes back to Mike's face. Noted the easy curve of his smile, the sharp angle of his jaw. The way his hair danced in a wild halo all around him, framing the seductive look in his eyes and lean of his body.
Was he really trying to get a rise out of Layne?
Were they just a means to an end for him?
The thought sent a shiver down their spine, and they couldn't decide if it excited them or scared them. Being caught in the middle of this, in any way, was scary. But Reader's heart raced imagining Mike was doing this to Layne— to himself... on purpose...
But then... maybe he using them to bury what he'd lost? What he'd given away?
Or was he just in search for some sort of comfort, intimacy, sense of normalcy?
Mike cracked a witty remark that made Reader huff absent-mindedly. And he leaned closer and smirked, looking Reader up and down suggestively. Reader instinctively reacted bashful to such an intense look. But beneath their lashes, they studied him, trying to figure him out. He was hard to decipher.
They didn’t just want Mike to look at them.
Did Mike really want them?
Or was he using them to bury what he’d lost? What he’d given away?
Was this about attraction?
Mike leaned a little closer, elbow brushing theirs. His voice was low, amused. “What’s with the look?”
Reader blinked up at him, startled.
He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.
And suddenly, something cracked inside Reader.
How can he do this? they thought, throat tight. How is he not scared?
Not just from the way Layne had looked at them—but because now, when they glanced back across the room…
The air around them shifted. Heavier now. Thicker.
Reader’s chest seized with panic.
Because if Layne was gone, it meant he was somewhere.
And that made him a hundred times more dangerous than when he’d just been watching.
“Hey,” Mike said suddenly, shifting his weight. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom—want me to grab you a drink on the way back?”
Reader looked up, breath catching.
He smiled again—crooked and charming. So normal. Like he hadn’t just been teasing them into a nervous wreck. Like there wasn’t a unspeakable tension hovering between them.
“Yeah,” Reader managed, throat tight. “That’d be… cool.”
Mike gave them a little nod, ruffling his hair as he pulled away. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
Reader watched him walk away. Shoulders loose. Body confident.
And for a moment, they let themselves breathe. Just a little.
Leaning in the corner just behind them.
Like he’d been there the whole time.
Reader trembled slightly.
“See something you like, sweetheart?” he said, low and smooth, voice soaked in something dangerous.
He was already too close.
Reader stepped back without meaning to, shoulder hitting the wall behind them.
Layne followed, slow, measured, cornering them with barely any movement at all. His arm slid up beside their head, palm against the wall, caging them in.
His eyes were still smiling. But his mouth?
Reader’s pulse thundered.
They tried to speak. Say something. Anything.
But Layne leaned in, breath brushing their ear. “You think I didn’t notice the way you looked at him?”
His smile sharpened. “Or the way you looked at me?”
Layne’s hand dropped to their throat—not choking, not hurting. Just… resting. Warm. Controlling. He tilted their chin up.
“I saw you earlier,” he whispered.
Reader’s whole body went cold.
“You thought you were slick, huh? Thought you were clever, hiding back there?”
His thumb stroked the side of their jaw, mock-affectionate.
The breath left Reader’s lungs.
“I wanted you to see what he really is.”
Layne turned his head, not moving away, not breaking the position. Just flicking his gaze to the side, lazy and smug.
Frozen in the hallway. Holding two drinks. His brows furrowed. His face twisted in a strange mix of jealousy and protectiveness.
Reader tried to move. Tried to step away from Layne. But he didn’t let them.
“Relax, man,” Layne said, voice silk. “We were just getting to know each other.”
Layne looked back at Reader, eyes gleaming. “Did you know your girl here’s got a filthy little imagination?”
“Layne—” Mike started, tone warning.
Layne grinned wider. “No, no—hear me out. She was just telling me all about this fantasy she has.” He licked his teeth. “About getting fucked by both of us.”
Reader’s eyes went wide. “I didn’t—!”
Layne cut them off. “Shh.”
He pressed a finger to their lips, soft but threatening. He gave Reader a terrifying threatening look where Mike couldn't see.
“I know you didn’t want to tell Mike yet,” he said sweetly, gaze flicking to Mike with faux sympathy. His hand moved and started to trail up Reader's jaw. “He’s so shy about this stuff. Better to just rip the bandaid off, right?”
Mike stared, shocked. A flicker of something ugly in his eyes—hurt, maybe. Or anger.
“Layne, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Doing you a favor,” Layne said, tone chipper.
Mike hesitated. Eyes darting between the two of them. Still holding both drinks like he didn’t know whether to throw them or slam them down.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Layne let go of Reader’s wrist and tossed his jacket onto the chair like they were just settling in for a casual chat. It was a practiced move, designed to lull them into a false sense of security, before he tightened his grip and steered the conversation exactly where he wanted it to go, regardless of the wreckage it might leave behind. He was playing a game, and they were his unwitting pieces.
The room was dim. Warm. Quiet.
Mike stood just inside the doorway, staring. Unmoving.
“Why did you bring us here?” he asked Layne beneath his breath, jaw tight. Like the question held more weight than Reader could understand.
Layne didn’t answer. Not with words.
He just walked up to Mike, slow and smooth, and leaned in close. His voice was low—too low for Reader to catch all of it. Just a soft growl of sound and a hissed name: “Mikey…”
Then he turned toward Reader and said, “Go on.”
Layne gestured loosely between them. “She’s yours, isn’t she?” A taunt. A trap. “Go ahead. Show her what you do.”
And that was what made Mike step forward.
He walked toward Reader like someone under orders. Not like someone who wanted.
Reader’s heart thundered. Their breath caught.
Mike reached them. Stared down. His hands rose—touched their waist, their hips, their cheek.
“Hey,” he said softly, catching their gaze. “You okay?”
He leaned in. Kissed them. Gentle. Searching.
And Reader kissed back—desperate and aching— and he tasted perfect. Felt perfect. But they could feel it: Mike’s hesitation. The tightness in his shoulders. The wariness in his movements.
Like he knew he was being watched.
Layne was quiet. But the tension in the room was thick as blood.
Mike kissed them again. Harder this time. His hands firmer. Like he was trying to feel normal again—to force it.
Reader moaned. They couldn’t help it. It was Mike. His mouth. His hands.
But then Mike pulled back.
“You really think she wants you like this?”
Mike turned, slowly. His face flushed. Eyes wide.
Layne stepped forward, circling.
“No,” Layne said. “She wants you like I want you.”
His hand came down, sharp and fast, and smacked Mike’s ass. Smiling crazily like he doesn't even feel the tension in the air.
Mike gasped—more from the shock than the pain—and Layne was already behind him, grabbing his wrists, spinning him around, pressing him against the wall.
“Don’t fight it,” Layne whispered.
Mike barely flinched when Layne grabbed him.
But when he was turned around—his chest pressed flat to the wall, Layne’s body close behind—something in him tightened.
The way Mike’s fingers curled into fists.
The way his head tilted slightly down—hair shadowing his face like he was trying to hide behind it.
The way his hips twitched, tense and unsure, caught between reaction and restraint.
Layne’s voice was low, breath hot against Mike’s neck.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he murmured. “You weren’t this shy earlier.”
His breath was coming faster now.
“You didn’t mind it then,” Layne continued. His voice had turned darker. Softer. More invasive. “You were loud. So fucking loud for me.”
Mike winced, curling away from Reader's eyes evermore.
Layne leaned in closer, his chest flush against Mike’s back now. His lips brushed the shell of Mike’s ear.
“Maybe you would’ve shut up if you knew we had an audience.”
The shift in his body. The sudden rigidity. Like every muscle in him locked up at once.
Layne chuckled, cruel and quiet. “You didn’t see her, did you?”
Mike shook his head slowly. “Who—”
“I told you Mike, we had a freak on our hands."
A wave of shame hit Reader as they watched Mike's expression twist in confusion, and the way Layne licked his way up his ear before whispering. "She was in the corner."
“Sweet little thing,” Layne purred. “Thought she was being sneaky. She stayed quiet… real quiet…”
His hand slid around to Mike’s stomach. Held him in place.
“…but she was there the whole time.”
Mike’s breath stuttered out of him in a sharp, trembling gasp.
“She saw how you begged,” Layne whispered. “How you cried. How you came apart for me.”
Mike’s eyes screwed shut.
Reader felt like they were burning alive.
Watching him—knowing that he hadn’t known.
Watching his body react to the knowledge.
The humiliation blooming in him like a bruise.
And still—still—he didn’t pull away.
Layne pressed closer, grinding slow against him.
“She knows now,” he said, louder. His voice was sharp enough for Reader to hear every word. “What kind of filthy little thing you really are.”
Mike trembled. Face flushed. Entire body locked up in some awful combination of resistance and surrender.
And Reader couldn’t stop staring.
Because now they weren’t just watching Mike fall apart.
Layne’s words echoed—she saw you—and Reader watched, helpless and throbbing, as Mike’s whole body seemed to lock up from the inside out.
Still pressed against the wall. Still under Layne’s hand.
But the shame… it hit like a sledgehammer.
Watching the storm roll in behind Mike’s eyes.
Mike’s breath stuttered. His lashes fluttered.
Layne leaned in, whispering it again. “Oh yeah. She watched the whole thing. Thought she was being clever. Thought she could hide.” A grin. “She liked what she saw.”
Just once. A tight little twitch of denial.
But his body betrayed him.
His hips shifted. His knees softened. His breath came shallower.
“Don’t what?” Layne murmured. “Don’t tell you? Don’t show her again?”
Mike turned his face to the wall. His forehead thudding gently against it, like it was the only thing keeping him standing.
Layne’s fingers crept up to his throat. A light, possessive touch, resting just under his jaw.
“You think she didn’t feel it, Mikey? That heat. That hunger. You think it didn’t fuck her up?”
A soft, sharp laugh. “You should’ve seen her face.”
“You showed her everything. Every sound. Every sob. Every filthy moan.”
“She knows you now. And you can’t take it back.”
Mike made a sound in his throat—small, choked, almost a whimper.
And then—finally—he cracked.
“Fuck you,” he spat, but it came out too soft. Shaky. Like it hurt to say.
“Still pretending, huh?” he cooed. “Still putting on the tough guy mask when you’re one thread away from crying for it?”
Layne stepped back slightly, just enough to turn Mike around by the shoulders and force him to face Reader.
Mike wouldn’t meet their gaze.
His eyes dropped to the floor. His hair fell in front of his face. His hands twitched at his sides—like he didn’t know whether to cover himself, shield himself, or reach out.
Layne stepped in behind him again, one hand resting on Mike’s bare hip. He leaned back casually against the wall and brought Mike down against him.
Reader was breathless. Flushed. Frozen.
And Layne looked so pleased.
“Say thank you for watching, Mikey.”
Reader's eyed widened, and they felt the wave of second-hand humiliation intensely.
Mike’s eyes squeezed shut.
“Go on,” Layne said, tone playful now. “She earned it, didn’t she?”
Layne’s hand crept back around his throat. “Say it.”
Layne tightened slightly. Not choking. Just applying pressure.
Mike whimpered. Soft. Humiliated.
“Say it,” Layne repeated. “Say thank you for watching me be a slut.”
And that was what did it.
Mike’s knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself with a hand on the Layne behind him.
Layne let go. Started to trail teasing patterns across him, almost purring.
Mike stood there, flushed and shaking.
“…Thank you,” he said, voice barely audible. “For watching.”
They hadn’t realized they were holding their breath until it trembled out of them.
Mike stood there, shaking. Red-faced. Staring at the ground like it might swallow him if he stared hard enough.
His voice still echoed in their ears:
“Thank you. For watching.”
It was horrible. How did Layne manage to strip him bare with just his words like that, leaving him utterly exposed? Layne’s hand was caresses him rewardingly. Lazily now. Satisfied. Possessive. Like petting something he’d already broken.
And Reader just—stood there.
Mike looked like he might cry. His lip trembled. His fists clenched. His whole body shook—not from rage, but from something deeper. Something like grief.
He looked so small. So exposed. Every inch of that untouchable cool he’d always worn like armor—gone.
“This isn’t right. Layne’s being so—”
And then Mike whimpered. A little, bitten sound. One that made Layne smile and pull him closer by the waist, knuckles dragging along bare skin like he was deciding where to bite next.
Reader’s thoughts twisted.
Because Mike wasn’t just being humiliated.
He leaned in, whispering close to Mike’s ear again—his voice like poison, sweetened just enough to burn.
“You gonna cry for me again, baby?”
Mike shook his head instantly. Eyes wide, lips parted.
He hooked a finger under Mike’s chin, tilted his face up—not to meet his eyes, but Reader’s.
“Don’t lie,” Layne said, louder now. “Not when she’s watching.”
Mike made a sound—fragile and hoarse.
Layne let go of his chin and ran a hand down Mike’s chest instead. Then lower. Until his palm flattened just above Mike’s waistband.
He leaned in close again, speaking low and slow, but Reader could still hear it.
Layne moved behind him again, voice soft and cruel.
“Take your cock out. Show her how pathetic you are.”
Layne pressed in closer, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Mikey,” he whispered. “It’s not like she hasn’t seen you before. Might as well give her the full show.”
Mike breathed out a shudder.
“I…” he mumbled, squirming.
Reader didn’t blink. Couldn’t. Their eyes stung from the heat and the horror and the spiraling obsession.
Because Mike’s hands—shaking, slow—rose to his jeans.
He didn’t look at them. Couldn’t.
He just unbuttoned them with trembling fingers.
And the whole time—Layne was smirking.
Mike’s hand trembled over the undone waistband of his jeans.
He hadn’t pulled them down yet.
His knuckles were white from the strain of holding back.
He was twitching with tension.
Chest rising and falling. Jaw clenched. His whole body resisting the humiliation.
Layne, behind him, was calm.
A slow smile curling in the corner of his mouth. Like a wolf watching a wounded thing struggle.
He leaned down again—his voice velvet soft but sharp as a blade.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he whispered. “Don’t you want to show her?”
Mike shook his head, wild, jerky. “No—fuck—this isn’t—”
Layne’s hand snapped up and grabbed his jaw, forcing his head up.
His eyes met Reader’s—and it was like his whole soul cracked.
The shame. The fear. The desire. It was all there.
And reader was sure it was also their fault— that the depraved interest in their own face was part of what broke Mike.
His lower lip trembled. His eyes shone. His body was quaking with the effort to keep standing.
Layne’s voice slid into his ear again, quiet enough it might have passed as loving—if the words weren’t so cruel.
“You wanted to be with someone else. You wanted to be with a girl.”
He kissed the corner of Mike’s jaw. Mike jerked.
“I’m just giving you what you wanted.”
Layne’s hand slid down his stomach, back over his waistband, and then lower—slowly stroking Mike through his jeans like a mockery of gentleness.
“She’s right there, Mikey. Look at her. She’s watching. She wants this.”
Layne licked a slow stripe along his neck.
“You need to be good,” he whispered. “Be thankful. Don’t you?”
And Mike—eyes still locked with Reader’s, flushed, shaking, utterly wrecked—finally broke.
He pulled himself out, trembling, and started to stroke.
Just leaned in behind him, whispering slow and poisonous:
"Good boy." kissing his cheek in reward. "That's it..."
“Let her see how desperate you are.”
Mike gasped. His hips bucked. His lips parted with a soft, involuntary moan.
“Let her see what a fucking mess you are for me.”
Reader couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
They were glued to the sight of him—shaking, red-faced, working himself in front of them. It was positively sinful. His eyes fluttering, his moans stuttering out as Layne’s hand returned to his throat, light and possessive.
“Go on, baby. Show her how you cry for me.”
Tears spilled down his cheeks.
And he kept stroking. Kept moaning.
Kept looking at Reader the whole time.
It was positively sinful.
His eyes fluttering, his moans stuttering out as Layne’s hand returned to his throat, light and possessive.
And Reader—ashamed, breathless, aching—felt their own thighs press together.
Because they could feel it now, in their chest, in their stomach, in the heat between their legs:
They had helped break him.
Layne leaned down again, nuzzling the side of Mike’s cheek almost sweetly.
“See that?” he murmured to Reader. “He’s such a good boy when someone’s watching.”
Layne turned his mouth to Mike’s ear, breath hot and slow. “Say it again,” he whispered. “Say thank you for watching.”
Mike shook his head, gasping. His hand never stopped moving. His thighs trembled.
Layne’s hand at his throat tightened just slightly.
A soft, broken sob cracked from Mike’s lips.
“…Thank you for watching,” he whispered.
Layne clicked his tongue.
“No, no. That wasn’t good enough.”
He pulled Mike’s hair back. Not hard—just commanding.
“Look her in the eyes and say it.”
Mike moaned—helpless, exposed, his hand still sliding along his length with shameful rhythm—and finally raised his gaze again.
“Thank you…” he gasped, voice shaking. He sounded so small. “Thank you for watching me… be like this.”
And then—just as Mike’s breathing hitched, as his pace stuttered like he was about to fall over the edge—
Layne grabbed his wrist and stopped him cold.
Mike let out a guttural sound—something between a gasp and a sob.
“Not yet,” Layne added, voice colder. “Not until she says you can.”
Reader’s heart slammed in their chest.
Mike whimpered again. He was still staring at them—desperate, red-eyed, trembling all over. He was gasping for air, trying to get a hold of himself.
Layne leaned in, his mouth still ghosting Mike’s ear.
Layne grabbed his jaw again.
“You begged me last time, Mikey. Don’t you dare stop now.”
Mike’s mouth parted, words dying before they could form. He hiccupped, shame making him falter. But Reader saw the tears build again.
Layne hissed. “Please what?”
Mike blinked down at Reader like it would burn to speak the words.
The words dropped into the silence like blood in water.
A strange feeling ran through them. Something hot and shameful and dark. A hesitation.
Mike’s eyes stayed locked on theirs—desperate, raw. But the seconds stretched. Their silence became its own weapon.
“Please…” he said, quieter. “Please, I—I can’t—”
“See?” he purred, stroking Mike’s jaw like he was proud of him. “I told you she wanted you like this.”
Mike whimpered, eyes glossing again.
Layne kept going—his voice soft, coaxing, so gentle it hurt.
“She loves watching you like this, baby. Look at her—she loves it.”
Reader’s heart thundered.
They hated it, hated themselves for it, for what they were letting happen, for what they were enjoying... Their thighs squeezing in desire watching the scene unfold.
“You’re just so beautiful like this, Mikey…” Layne whispered, letting his fingers trace down Mike’s heaving chest. “This is the real you.”
His knees gave out, and Layne caught him—pulled him down slowly, carefully, letting him kneel in front of Reader, trembling and exposed, his ruined cock still in his hand.
Layne crouched behind him like a serpent coiling.
“Go on,” he whispered in Mike’s ear. “Say it again. Beg her one more time.”
Mike didn’t even hesitate now.
“Please—please let me come—please—” he gasped, tears streaking down his cheeks, hand around his painfully swollen member. “I’ll do anything—please, I need it—”
Reader felt something twist deep inside them.
They swallowed, lips trembling, and finally nodded, gazing down at Mike kneeling before them.
“…Yes,” they whispered. “Come.”
His mouth fell open with a sob, his hips jerking forward, moaning louder than he had all night as he spilled across his own stomach, his knees shaking, his body collapsing backward into Layne’s arms.
Layne held him like a ragdoll. Stroking his sweat-slick hair, whispering sweet venom against his cheek.
Mike’s body was completely limp in Layne’s arms, helpless, spent, trembling.
His breath hitched with little aftershocks and sobs, shoulders still shaking. His cheeks were wet. His mouth hung open, slack, gasping.
Reader stood frozen—heart pounding, lips parted, still clutching the edge of the wall for support.
Except for the soft, fractured sound of Mike trying to breathe through the aftermath.
Layne didn’t speak, either.
He just looked up at Reader.
Just slow. Knowing. Intimate.
“You watched him fall apart and loved every second.”
You're just as bad as me.
And Reader remained, a fly caught in amber, witnessing the truth reflected in his eyes.