Hey there! Just a friendly reminder/PSA from your friendly neighborhood Pixiemage!
“Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” is too often (incorrectly) used as a cover-all tag, on fics ranging from Vaguely Uncomfortable to Serious Shit, as a replacement for any intense tags relating to the story. People will use it to say “Holy shit guys some INTENSE SHIT happens in this story” without actually saying what that Intense Shit™ is.
In actuality, the “Dead Dove” tag is meant to be used in addition to other warning tags. Pulled from a scene from the show Arrested Development (look it up on YouTube!), it means “Hi! Hey! I labeled this fic to warn you of what’s in it, so you might REALLY want to read those labels! This fic is exactly what it says on the tin! The tags are accurate! Don’t say I didn’t warn you, because this is me warning you! Read the tags!”
So before you accidentally use the “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” tag without context, here’s your preemptive lesson for next time. Please tag your fics accordingly! Ta!
playfully fighting with bsf!konig before he swipes his foot under yours, pinning you with ease. see, before, you screamed and squealed with excitement as he'd hold you above his head with no issue. "wanna get down, maus? be nice," he held your thigh and planted his hand on your chest and threatened to drop you if you didn't stop! he's playful, you've come to like that about him. it's only now, when you're underneath him in his dim bedroom, that you realize he's much stronger than you--too much stronger. his nose digs into your neck, snuggling in before pressing his bulge against your thigh.
you whine out his name, only for your voice to be muffled by his hand. it's clamped around your mouth, smudging your saliva across your plush lips. "mäuschen, quiet, please." his voice was shaky; his thick cock hadn't had relief in ages. can't you help him? your body's all warm, and those short whimpers coming from your throat tell him you want it, right?
he's just so big, and he easily holds you down and frots his poor cock against you faster and faster until his warm load oozes down his pant leg. "scheiße, maus. look what you've done to me. feel it." he yanks your hand down to your thigh, only to be met with his pulsing tent. "ngh—yes, maus, feel it." the warmth of his body on top of yours, the feeling of his cock all sticky on your thigh, his gruff, low voice in your ear. he's perverted.
“Dead Dove” comes from this scene in Arrested Development wherein the character Michel Bluth opens a brown paper bag that reads: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. He looks inside and sees what is in fact, a dead dove. The then says: “Well, I don’t know what I expected.”
In fandom, the tag has come to mean: “pay extra attention to the tags!” And/or “this fic is what it says on the tin!”.
So if, for example, a fic includes the tags: Body Horror, Gore, and Violence along with the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat tag, the author is saying “Hey I’m not joking about these tags! Read at your own discretion!”
The tag acts as an honest intensifier to whatever tags are already in the work, as the author using it wants to give a double warning for their content, that it may be triggering and that the reader should proceed with caution.
One fic tagged with Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, also includes the tags: Seriously, this fic deals with some serious and disturbing content matter, mind the tags
UNCLE!TORU AND UNCLE!SUGU having their favorite niece over!!
A/N: lil' repost from my prev accs. </3 i suddenly thought of stsg dp and i was like wait...i've written that before lmfao. not my fav but!! it's okaysies. ── .✦ BLOSSOM™
CW: (INC3ST!! stsg! moments, use of 'princess' and 'baby' and 'good girl', satoru calls reader 'kid' once, is this dub/c0n cuz reader is not into it at first?, praise k1nk, suguru being manipulative ofc, or4l (f and m receiving), t1t play, sugu calls reader a slut once, d0uble p3netr.ation, slight spit klnk, creampie)
UNCLE!TORU who doesn't even realize you're there at first; he's too busy sucking marks and nibbling down suguru's neck, whining at the taste of his skin in his tongue and under his teeth.
UNCLE!SUGU who does notice you arrived. he'd tilt his head back to look at you, adam's apple bobbing with a swallow and a breathless chuckle. “ah, princess, you're here. did daddy drop you off early?”
UNCLE!TORU who pulls away reluctantly from fondling suguru's squishy pecs when the other man lightly smacks his arm. finally lifting his head to look up at you, satoru immediately lit up, like you hadn't just witnessed them making out a second prior.
“hey, kid! long time no see!” UNCLE!TORU would say, getting up from the couch in a rush to smother you in a hug. a tight hug. tight enough to feel something hard poking at your stomach.
UNCLE!SUGU who steals you from satoru's arms as soon as the other man walks you to the couch, chuckling from your cute little squeak when he makes you sit on his lap. “how's uni, princess?” he'd ask, rubbing a hand up and down your thigh in a way that feels friendly, but not friendly enough.
UNCLE!TORU who stares as you shyly stutter through telling about your recent life. and i mean really stare. those blue eyes make you shiver, tho not as much as when he starts drinking you down like a prized possession.
UNCLE!TORU who even licks his lips, noting his favorite parts of your body, and how cute you look with a little tummy peaking out as suguru's other hand draws patterns on the skin.
UNCLE!SUGU who adding little “ oh, i see ”s, “ really? ”s and hums along to your story, relishing the way your voice wavers when he mumbled so close to your ear.
UNCLE!SUGU who stops to chuckle when your thighs finally give a twitch, nuzzling your cheek softly as he murmurs: “what's wrong, princess? ticklish?”
UNCLE!TORU who smirks at this, wiggling his fingers threateningly at you. “ohh! is our baby niece ticklish? lemme see, lemme see!” he'd say, before attacking your sides until you giggle.
UNCLE!TORU who makes your giggles into moans when he suddenly starts playing with your breasts.
UNCLE!SUGU who hugs you by the waist when you squirm, peppering kisses down your cheek and neck. his voice is so warm and soft, you feel yourself dumbed down from how smooth he sounds alone. “you're such a good girl... wanna please your uncles, right, princess? make us happy and get lots of praise and attention. yeah, right~?”
UNCLE!SUGU who kisses you until you melt in his arms. sloppy and slow and with lots of tongue, drool dribbling down your chin. UNCLE!TORU who kisses like you might disappear, holding your face with two hands, rough and loud until you're breathless and whimpering.
UNCLE!SUGU who peppers bites and kisses on your sides and tummy before eating out your sweet pussy. UNCLE!TORU who's obsessed with your tits and leaves your nipples sore and drenched in saliva.
UNCLE!TORU who takes his sweet time prepping your tight little ass to receive him; with lots of lube and his fingers, maybe even a toy from his collection. UNCLE!SUGU who relishes each moan satoru elicits from you and that vibrates around his cock.
UNCLE!SUGU who'd leave your face a sticky mess of precum and saliva, from gently coaching you how to deepthroat. he'd rub his cock all over your face every time you pull away with a gag. “you look s'pretty, princess, you know that? huh? how pretty my perfect girl looks, all slutty for some cock?”
UNCLE!TORU who almost loses his mind the moment he's inside you. who does most of the thrusting from behind while you sit and buck on suguru's thick cock. satoru's balls slap against you, suguru's pubes tickle your clit just the right way.
“sss'good, s'good, fuck, squeezin' so t'ght,” he'd say between gritted teeth. UNCLE!TORU who had this smile on his face: his eyes half-lidded, his eyebrows creased upwards, sometimes poking his tongue out as he worked his long perfect cock inside your puckered hole.
UNCLE!SUGU who looked straight up heavenly . biting his lower lip, grunting soft and deep, long pretty hair loose and draped over the armrest and a hand resting behind his head comfortably. the other is on your ass, caressing circles and patterns with the tips of his fingers and nails that made you squirmy.
UNCLE!TORU who wouldn't resist bending down, sandwiching you between their chests, to whimper and moan around suguru's tongue. you'd feel every vibration of their grunts and moans from how tight you're squeezed between their big bodies, their hips moving in synch to always keep you full of one or another.
UNCLE!SUGU who'd kiss you right after, sharing their mixed spit with you.
UNCLE!TORU and UNCLE!SUGU who'd fuck you harder and harder, more and more messy, then creampie you from both ends as you moaned loud and cried out. who'd hold you tight as you writhed and squirmed through your orgasm and their owns.
UNCLE!TORU who'd be so loud when he cums. fucking you through it in squirming, rutting fashion as he whimpers from the oversensitivity but fuck he can't stop .
UNCLE!SUGU who'd arch with a loud grunt and a gasp, panting and bucking his hips, holding your thighs for support and bite your shoulder as the afterglow washes through him.
“not a word of this to your daddy,” UNCLE!SUGU would chuckle, slapping your asscheeks fondly with both hands, happy with the small jump you gave.
UNCLE!TORU who'd refuse to leave your tight hole, nuzzling your nape and purring like a content kitty as he said: “our baby, all for us... such a good girl...”
UNCLE!SUGU and UNCLE!TORU who'd ask to have you over a lot more often from now on. 🩷
Content Warning: 18+, Kidnapping, Captivity/Forced Confinement, Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Themes, Coercive Control, Psychological Abuse, Intimidation, Punishment, Forced Obedience, Possessive Behavior, Nonconsensual Touching, Sexual Coercion, Forced Nudity, Oral Sexual Assault, Dubious Consent/Nonconsent, Power Imbalance, Humiliation, Dehumanization, Pet Play Undertones, Choking/Throat Grabbing, Restraint, Fear-Based Arousal, Victim Blaming, Stockholm Syndrome Themes, Trauma Bonding, Gaslighting, Isolation, Surveillance, Loss Of Autonomy, Forced Dependency, Explicit Sexual Content, Dark Romance, Romanticized Abuse. DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT
A/N: Highly requested, here you go. Imagine Damian Wayne in his mid to late twenties.
WARNING: Some of the content moving forward may be unsuitable for specific audiences. Please read at your own discretion.
Enjoy, Reader
Compliance Pt. 1 Here
Damian did not drag you away from the door at first.
That was the first cruelty, you realized. Not the grip on your wrist, not the way his fingers closed around the fragile, frantic pulse beneath your skin, not even the fact that he had caught you with your hand hovering over the keypad like a guilty thought made flesh. The cruelty was that he made you stand there, inside the consequence of it. He let the moment breathe. He let your fear ripen. He let the room become aware of you both, the walls humming softly with filtered air, the ceiling lights bathing everything in a warm artificial dusk, the locked door at your back, and him before you, impossibly still, impossibly calm, his body placed between you and every version of the world where you still belonged to yourself.
“You were leaving,” he said.
His voice was quiet, almost gentle, but something raw edged beneath it, darker than anger, older than jealousy. Not the careful boy who once fed you soup and called it comfort. His thumb pressed against your pulse, feeling how your heart kicked against him.
“I was trying to,” you whispered.
His eyes lifted to yours.
That was a mistake.
You saw it the moment his face shifted. Not rage, no, rage would have been human, hot, noisy, something that burned out. What moved through Damian was colder, private, a terrible kind of wonder, as if you had tried to carve out one of his ribs and wear it around your neck.
“You admit it,” he murmured.
You swallowed. “You already knew.”
“I wanted to hear you say it.”
The safehouse shrank around the words. Soap lingered on his skin, metal from the door, clean cotton, something sharp and stormlike clinging to him from wherever he’d been. A dark curl fell across his forehead, making him look younger for a moment, until you met his eyes. Nothing young there. Nothing soft. Nothing uncertain.
He looked devoted.
That was worse than hatred.
“Damian,” you tried, because his name had worked before, because some instinct in you remembered the way he had gone still when you said it, the way the sound had dragged something almost vulnerable through his face. But this time, his fingers tightened around your wrist, and the look he gave you made your throat close.
“No,” he said gently. “You don’t get to say my name like that after this.”
A thin, cold panic slid through you. “Like what?”
“Like you’re asking me to forgive you before you understand what you did.”
“What I did?” Your voice broke higher, incredulous and frightened. “You kidnapped me.”
“I brought you home.”
“This isn’t my home.”
His face softened.
It should not have terrified you, but it did. The softness was wrong; no doubt, no shame, no flicker of recognition that he stood in front of you in an underground room, your phone gone, your shoes hidden, three locks between you and the city. He looked at you like you had misunderstood the weather.
“It will be,” he said. “That is the point.”
You shook your head once, too fast, the motion barely more than a tremor. “You can’t actually believe that.”
“I don’t need belief.” His free hand rose. You flinched, but he only touched your face with two fingers, so lightly the gentleness felt obscene. “I have patience.”
You turned your face away from his hand.
The air shifted.
Damian’s expression went very, very still.
For a moment, there was only the blood in your ears and the low electrical purr of the walls. His hand hovered where your cheek had been, fingers curved, tenderness denied and left to rot. When he spoke, the words came slow, each one placed with surgical care.
“That was the second mistake.”
Your stomach dropped. “Second?”
“The first was trying to leave.” His eyes moved over you; bare feet, shaking legs, the shirt he’d given you because your own clothes were gone for washing, inspection, or whatever word he used for stealing pieces of your life and arranging them into obedience. “The second was pulling away when I was deciding to be kind.”
“You call this kind?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Something inside you curled around the horror of that certainty.
Damian stepped closer. You backed into the door, metal cold through thin fabric at your spine. The keypad beside your shoulder blinked its small red light, useless as a dead star. He didn’t touch you, but caged you anyway, one hand braced against the wall, the other still holding your wrist. He lowered his face until his breath stirred the hair near your temple.
“You are going to learn the difference,” he whispered.
“Between what?”
“Between me being patient and me correcting you.”
Your skin prickled. “You said correction wasn’t pain.”
“It isn’t.” His mouth was close enough to your ear that every syllable felt like a hand sliding under your skin. “Pain is crude. Pain teaches panic. You already know how to panic.”
You hated that. Hated the quiet assessment in his voice. Hated that he had studied you enough to say it like a fact. Hated that your body, stupid frightened animal, had gone rigid and awake beneath his nearness, reading him in heat and breath and proximity while your mind screamed danger.
Worse, beneath the terror, a confused heat flickered low in your belly, shameful and unwanted. Your skin tingled with a response you could not control. Something traitorous in you tightened deep inside, hunger threading through the fear. You despised the way your body answered him, how it ached against your will, leaving you torn between mortification and longing.
“What are you going to do?” you asked.
Damian pulled back only enough to look at you.
There was a strange brightness in his eyes now. Not happiness. Not pleasure in any simple sense. It was a purpose, black and shining.
“I am going to remove the fantasy,” he said.
“What fantasy?”
“That there is anywhere for you to go.”
The words went through you like winter water.
“You are going to learn the difference between kindness and cruelty. You are going to learn the difference between when I am gentle and when I am angry.” His voice was low, almost a purr, but there was an edge to it, a razor’s sharpness that made you freeze.
“And you are going to learn very quickly that right now, I am being very, very kind.”
He pressed closer, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, the hard planes of his chest and abdomen. His free hand came up to cup your chin, fingers wrapping gently around your jaw as he tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.
“Now, listen carefully. I’m only going to explain this once.” His thumb brushed over your lower lip, a soft caress that belied the sternness in his eyes.
"Every time you pull away," he murmured, his thumb still tracing your lip, "I will pull you back twice as hard. Every time you try to run, I will chain you to my bed. Every time you speak against me, I will find a more... creative way to teach you silence."
His voice dropped lower, almost intimate now, a whisper against your ear. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
He made a low sound, almost pleased, as he watched the fear flicker in your eyes. He leaned back just enough to let the moment settle, then his hand slid from your chin to your throat, fingers curling there, careful but unyielding.
"Good girl."
The praise landed cold, empty of warmth. His thumb lingered at your pulse, feeling the frantic beat beneath your skin.
"Now," he said softly, "let's make sure you understand compliance this time around."
His grip tightened, not enough to choke, just enough to remind you of his strength. His other hand found your wrist, steady and sure.
"When I tell you to do something, you do it immediately and without question. If I tell you to kneel, you kneel. If I tell you to strip, you strip. If I tell you to crawl, you crawl." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Have I made myself clear?"
“Damian,” You wheeze out, but his hand stays where it is for a few more seconds, his eyes dark and calculating, searching your face for resistance. Then he releases, his hand falling away from your neck.
The first breaths scraped your throat, sharp as glass.
“Come.”
There was nowhere left but him now.
You followed Damian back to the bed where you first woke, something cold twisting in your stomach.
Your gaze darted to where Damian waited, head tilted, watching.
He’s expecting something.
What?
“Your clothes.” Damian says.
“My what?” You repeat back, hoarsely? Maybe you heard him wrong.
You hope you heard him wrong.
"Your clothes," Damian repeats, his voice flat and unreadable. He takes a step closer, his eyes dark and unwavering. "Take. Them. Off." He makes a small motion with his hand, indicating the shirt you're wearing, the only thing on your body now. "I said I was going to be kind. I am being kind by asking rather than tearing them away from you. Do not mistake my patience for leniency." His gaze drops pointedly to the hem of the shirt. "Now. Undress."
Your fingers shook on the hem of the shirt.
Humiliation burned, hot and raw. His hand at your throat lingered in your mind. You hesitated, just long enough for impatience to flicker across his face.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched you with that stillness, more frightening than any threat. The air pressed in, thick and close.
"If I have to do it myself," Damian said softly, his voice almost gentle, "it won't be kind anymore." His hands flexed slightly at his sides, as if preparing to reach out and grab the shirt himself.
You knew what would happen if you didn’t move. He wouldn’t hesitate. Your heart hammered. Slowly, your shaking hands lifted the shirt, skin bared.
“Sit.” Damian says,
You know this part. The lessons have shaped you more than you’ll admit.
You sit at his feet, eyes lowered, shaking.
You have never felt more humiliated. Bare before a man who treats you like a pet. Like a thing.
A conquest.
Damian stood over you, calm and terrifying. Your nakedness meant nothing to him. You were something to be arranged, a possession finally in place. He reached out, fingers twisting in your hair, tilting your head back until your neck was bared and your eyes met his.
"Good," he murmured, the word devoid of affection, merely a marker of obedience achieved. "Humiliation is a teacher."
Damian's hand found the band of his sweatpants. Your eyes closed, bracing for what came next.
You heard the soft thud of clothes hitting the floor. When you opened your eyes, you saw him, hard beneath black boxers.
He stepped closer, filling your senses with his cologne: sandalwood, amber, oud. Heavy, almost nauseating.
Beneath it all, you caught something else.
Possessiveness.
Tears welled as the truth settled in. This was happening. This was your new reality.
His hand moved, slow and deliberate, and you whimpered. When you hesitated, his grip in your hair tightened, dragging your head back until you had to look up at him. The dominance, the satisfaction, the lack of remorse, something inside you cracked.
He pressed his thumb against your lips, forcing them apart. This was yours now.
Your lips parted, slow and mechanical, your body already learning its new role. Damian’s eyes flashed with approval. His hand left your hair for your jaw, guiding you, the other steady at your shoulder.
"Take me in," he commanded softly, his voice low and hypnotic. "Show me you're mine." His thumb pressed against your bottom lip again, pushing it down further. "All the way."
He watched your face twist, your cheeks hollow as you took him deep. He hit the back of your throat, made you gag, but you didn’t pull away. You took it, learning your place.
"That's it," He breathed out with a shudder, his hand in your hair tightening slightly.
"You're doing so well." He pulled out a little, allowing you to breathe before he pushed back in, hitting that spot that made your eyes water. "Who do you belong to?"
His hand twisted in your hair, forcing your head back. Tears streaked your cheeks, his length filling your mouth.
"Who. Do. You. Belong. To." The words were sharp, demanding an answer. His hips began to move, fucking your face slow and deep, claiming you completely. "Say it with your mouth full." He pushed in harder, holding you there until you choked slightly before pulling out again. "Come on, Hayati. Say it."
You tried to form the words, garbled and wet, muffled by him. "Mmm-yours... Damian..." Saliva dripped down your chin, dignity gone. Damian groaned, the sound vibrating against your lips.
"Good," he murmured, easing his hips forward again, burying himself deeper. "Remember that feeling." He held your head still, taking his time. "Now, swallow."
His release came suddenly and hot, pulsing down your throat. He held your head, making you swallow, not letting anything escape.
The taste was bitter, salty, a reminder you belonged to him now. He groaned above you, emptying himself. When he finally pulled out, your lips were swollen, your mouth messy, your body shaking. He looked down, satisfied.
"Good girl."
He wiped the mess from your mouth with his thumb, cleaning you with a tenderness that chilled.
"Swallow it all," he murmured, watching your throat move. "Every drop belongs inside you." He tucked himself away, the moment gone cold. He looked down at you, naked and trembling. "Stand up."
Damian watched as you stood, his stare harsh and unrelenting.
“I hope this lesson has been enough for you to understand.” Damian says.
“This isn’t love, Damian,” you whisper out.
“You mistake me then,” Damian responds. You look up at him as your eyes meet.
“If not me, then someone else. If not here, then somewhere else. Gotham can’t have you. Gotham doesn’t deserve you.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Damian spoke again.
“I love you too much for this place to corrupt you.” Damian finishes, the words sitting heavy in your chest.
The words hung, heavy and close. Damian stepped in, eyes dark with something almost like pain.
"Don't confuse my methods with a lack of feeling," he said quietly, his voice dangerously soft. "This is protection. This is preservation. I am carving out a space for you where the city cannot touch what matters." His hand cupped your face, thumb brushing away fresh tears. "Gotham would eat you alive, turn your softness into something jagged and cruel."
“Perhaps I have been too harsh in my devotion.” Damian’s chest met your face, and you stumbled back, confused, but he kept walking you back until your knees hit the bed. You fell, landing hard on the mattress, the comforter soft beneath you. A stark contrast to the man who put it there.
“Open.” Damian says.
You open your mouth.
“No,” Damian corrects, pushing your thighs apart. Your heart drums in your ears, blood rushing everywhere, to your head, across your body, humiliatingly, down there.
Damian kneels, sinking to the floor as if he is about to begin prayer, kissing the inner parts of your upper thighs.
“I love you.” His voice is strained, as if the words were too much and not enough.
His lips trailed up your thigh, his hands pushing your legs wider. He was gentle now, nothing like he was a minute ago.
"I love you," he repeated, his voice muffled against your skin. His tongue flicked out, tasting you slowly, reverently, like he was worshipping something precious instead of taking it.
Each kiss felt like an apology, each lick a promise. Love twisted into obsession."
Damian's mouth found your center, his tongue parting your folds and delving inside.
He was slow, deliberate, arms wrapped around your legs to keep you open.
He licked you slowly, tongue curling against your clit with gentle pressure.
"Stay because I love you," he murmured between licks, "Not because I'm keeping you captive." His fingers joined his mouth, sliding into you with ease, proving just how ready he'd made you earlier.
He looked up at you from between your thighs, his eyes filled with a raw intensity that was almost vulnerable. "I want you to choose me," he whispered against your sensitive flesh, his fingers curling inside you gently. "Not out of fear or obligation, but because you know I would burn Gotham down for you." His tongue circled your clit slowly, deliberately building pleasure instead of demanding it. "Stay with me willingly," he pleaded softly, almost breaking character in his desperation for genuine affection.
For a moment, you were caught between the ache he drew from your body and the chaos in your chest. Confusion warred with longing, a stubborn part of you resisting the comfort of his touch even as something deeper wanted to give in. Was it real, this tenderness? Or just another shape his devotion took to bind you tighter? You tried to catch your breath, furious at the tremor of need that moved through you alongside fear.
Your back arched, a broken moan escaping as his tongue worked you. Damian watched your face, grip tightening on your thighs. "Your body knows," he murmured, mouth sliding lower. "Even when your mind resists, this," two fingers pushed deeper, curling, "remembers who it belongs to." He bit your inner thigh, leaving a mark, then returned to you, focused and intent.
"Say my name when you come."
The orgasm hit, sudden and overwhelming.
You cried out his name, hips bucking against his mouth as you broke apart. Damian drank you in, licking through your climax, not missing a drop.
When you finally stilled, trembling, he crawled up your body, kissing every inch of skin. He hovered above you, eyes dark. "See?" he whispered. "You chose me even now." His lips brushed yours.
"You came apart calling my name," he breathed against your lips, his chest pressed warm against yours. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, an anchor, not a restraint.
"That's what love sounds like." He kissed you softly, letting you taste yourself on his lips, and closed his eyes. "Stay with me, and I'll give you everything. Every cruel thing I've done in your name, every sin I carry, it will be worth it." His forehead rested against yours. "But leave me, and I'll follow.”
“Learn this if you learn nothing else, hayati: love is not freedom. Love is knowing when to obey the person who would burn the world before letting it touch you. ”
