Dead Dove - Blog Posts

yan!butcher! ( ˘ ³˘)♥

a/n: yawnn gojo series coming sooonnnn :3

cw: gaslighting, gore (butchered body parts), dead dove, reader is a stereotypical horror movie character, gn!reader, paranoia

credits for dividers: @lavendergalactic ! please check out their work

yan!butcher who noticed the new person in town, hauling things out of a truck and moving in to a cottage nearby. he didn't pay attention much, he had a whole business to run! that is, until you showed up at his butchery.

you looked all confused, probably never having to talk to the butcher before and instead grabbing the meat from the shelves. you kept asking him questions about which part was the brisket and which one was the tenderloin. and he'll admit, his heart melted. he gave you a pound of beef and told you the best ways to keep it fresh, he even offered you a discount!

yan!butcher who remembers his mom telling him a way to a person's heart is through the stomach. which makes sense anatomy wise, so it must work with you too! so now he always asks if you're eating well and whatever your answer is you're still getting a pound of meat.

yan!butcher who notices you haven't been visiting lately, did he give so much meat you're stocked for the month that you don't even need to visit him anymore??? he asks some of the locals, and he comes back with the fact you went shopping in the far away mall...with your friends.

why do you even HAVE friends anyways...he's much more fun to be around...even his neighbors have been asking him why he's so gloomy! he has to do something about this! he can't let these..these friends steal you from him!

....looking at one of your friend's corpse, he can't help but think it was too easy. he propped them up at his butcher block, kind of just staring at them as if he didn't know he did it. oh well, he's one step closer to you! maybe he could give you a message, something to show he means business!

...you're terrified when you open the random box left at your doorstep to see your friends' hands and head. what do you do with this?! do you turn it in to the police? the police doesn't seem very capable around these areas...maybe if you ignore it and throw it out it won't be a problem.

then another one, and another one, and you're left with one. you beg them to leave early, not saying why, but you know they're scared too. so now you have no one but yan!butcher. a win for him!

you vent to him about how your friends 'disappeared', and how you're scared you're gonna be next. he only keeps reassuring you that no one would kill you because it'd be a war crime to kill someone so pretty like you. you don't seem comforted.

so...instead...yan!butcher invites you to stay over at his house! just to make sure! you very much reluctantly agree, figuring you have nothing to lose since he seems nice, and he's basically your only friend in town.

he sets up his spare bedroom just for you, remembering that he actually has to wash blankets he doesn't use because it'd be weird. he's very formal about the whole thing, so formal it's kind of endearing and a bit funny in some way?

you settle down, pulling your blankets over, still a bit paranoid, but eventually falling asleep.

if only you paid a little more attention to those cuts.

`· . ❛ content warnings. ❜ perverted choso kamo. voodoo. non-consensual. raw penetration. coercion. 18+ content.

choso always takes a seat behind you during art class, secretly admiring you with pragmatic, heart shaped eyes while his assignment lies forgotten. his attention is completely enthralled by you, and if anyone else saw him staring at you like that, they’d most definitely think he was a freak. he eyes your back profile, cherishing the fall of your pretty hair cascading over your shoulders and how it flows down your back, studying the way your arms extend, propped on the table to support your lean as you immerse yourself in your work.

“choso, stop staring at her and get back to work,” the professor sighs, and choso jolts out of his daze at the sudden reprimand, his focus on you breaking abruptly. you curiously turn around by the professor’s scolding, and your gaze meets a pair of flustered brown eyes. the male’s ears turn mildly red, immediately diverting his stare elsewhere. your arm jerks awkwardly at the distraction, and it causes the sharp blade of the scissors to slip, accidentally nicking your finger.

with a wince, you quickly bring your finger to your mouth and stand up from your chair to get a band-aid. choso's eyes dart to the scissors—glancing around the room before he leans over and snatches the bloodied pair.

the perfect touch to his project he was working on, and without another thought, he snugly tucks it into his bag.

. . .

you return a few minutes later, searching questioningly for the pair of scissors you were using earlier, and you even look underneath your table, but they are nowhere to be found.

how odd.

you turn to the last resource you could think of—the boy with dark hair styled into two messy buns, a few strands of hair falling loosely and framing his undeniably gorgeous features.

choso kamo, the quiet, reserved, and stereotypical hot emo guy everyone rants about.

you’ve never really talked to him, mainly because you think he’s a little weird with the constant times you’ve caught him staring at you. so, you hesitate for a moment, clearing your throat, mustering up the courage to ask him about your mysteriously missing scissors.

“hey, by any chance, have you seen my scissors?”

choso blinks, completely caught off guard as his dark eyes skim around the classroom, and for a second, he’s just dumbfounded, idiotically staring at you as if he’s fucking stupid.

“uh—i, um… no, haven’t seen them,” he straightforwardly lies, as if he hadn’t just stole them—yet, he initially trips over his words and he mentally cursed himself for sounding so slow.

you hum, not pushing it upon hearing his response, so you decide to just let it go. “okay, mind if i borrow your scissors, then?” you ask, gesturing to the untouched pair of black scissors laying on his desk as his ears start to turn red again. you smile, and you notice how, for some reason, he always gets so jittery whenever you stare back at him or, on rare occasions, talk to him.

. . .

a cloud of unease rolls into the pit of your stomach, and your fingers clench around your pen. you shift uncomfortably in your seat, and that’s when your body stiffens in your chair, thighs instinctively clenching together as you feel a large, unidentifiable object splitting your velvety walls open.

holy shit.

you instantly clasp a hand around your mouth to stifle the moan threatening to escape your ruby glossed lips. your body tenses, goosebumps prickling up your skin while the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

what the hell?

. . .

choso leans against the cool tile wall of one of the bathroom stalls, his breath coming out in choppy, short circuted breaths as his mind whirls lewd thoughts of you—you looked too damn edible for your own good. the way you spoke to him, the way you bent over as your skirt hitched up exposing the curve of your ass as the fabric hardly made efforts to cover you brought him to his knees.

his thick digits wrap around his hard-on, stroking his bulge that had been painfully aching since he'd been eye fucking you earlier in class. shit. a groan tumbles from his slightly ajar lips, his hand gripping his throbbing cock as he aligns himself with the opening between the special replica of you. he slowly pushes in, imagining your flustered expression, and the confusion evident through your knitted brows as the helplessness etches on your face when you grow aware of the sudden feeling of your walls being stretched wide open.

situated in the farthest row of desks in your psychology class, you bite back a moan as you feel a slippery stir between your legs, a fleeting sting that dispersed into bliss. choso's hands tremble, and without wasting another second he pulls back, just until his pudgy tip teased the dolls socket, lightly thrusting into the soft cotton-lined hole inside that clung onto his gooey shaft, and you feel it again—your walls contracting against something as his mushroom tip nudges your cervix.

you lean back, your spine hitting the cold surface of the backseat as your fingers grip the edge of the desk for dear life, knuckles blanching as choso works himself deeper into the doll and it syncs to you, the nirvana pulsing through your veins as the color drains from your face. a quiet gasp slips past your lips which you swiftly disguise as a cough. your eyes flicker around the room nervously, and you can palpably feel the ridges of the veins on the underside of his cock as your plush walls squeeze him, accustoming to the stretch.

his hand tightens around the doll, mimicking the tightness he craved as his shaft disappears into the fluffy fiber. your thighs clamp shut and the sudden pace fastens. subconsciously, you begin to dig your nails into the wooden planes of the table, shifting your hips and trying to ground yourself as choso pumps the doll on his rock solid length—a cry evoking his lips. he’s pathetically whimpering your name, and choso’s weak at the thought of ravishing you without even having to lay a single digit on you—the idea alone was just enough to have his knees buckling. he jerks his hips up to meet the thrust of his hand, and you can’t help the low grunts slipping past your own lips as his length drags against the ridges of your cloying, gummy walls, making it practically impossible for you to sit still.

your heart is well ahead of you, the muscles beating inside your chest rapidly, and the euphoria of his pudgy tip hitting against your hymen has your irises rolling back, tears prickling the inner corners of your vision as your windpipes expel shallow breaths. his lashes bat against the apples of his cheeks, and his raven colored orbs flutter shut. his hand pumps more aggressively on his cock—and his orgasm approaches sooner than he anticipated.

you sense it, his dick twitching inside your spongy, spasming walls before shaky hips buck forward, triggering your stomach to churn in turmoils. choso’s engorged tip kisses your hymen and his warm, creamy seed gushes into the doll, stimulating your own orgasm. your back arches forward and you struggle to remain composed with the heat pooling in the innards of your gut as your teeth gnaw at your tender-vermilion lip, another soft moan slipping from you when you feel your mixed juices dribble down your slick folds.

29. Date

Kidd - 18 | Killer - 21

Tags specifically for this chapter:

discussions of minors and sex

Kidd confronts Killer on him leaving

Killer struggles with Kidd's age

discussions of teenagers and age gaps

would they actually talk about this irl/cannon - i dunno...

probably not... but then again, they are soft about the other

be ready for an awkward fight that they've been needing to have a for a few years now

but also needed to wait to have until Kidd matured a little bit

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

They were supposed to be going out on the town, the island they'd docked at having a wide selection of restaurants and concert halls and other amusements. They'd been loitering in the area past their departure as the days slowly ticked away in the second week of the new year, specifically for tonight. Instead, Kidd and Killer found themselves drinking in the quiet galley, sharing gossip and reminiscing about an island that never quite felt like home there at the end.

About the wild exploits of The Kid Boss of the Heaps - a teenager that had managed to unify the unmanageable, and how even Killer's Boss had sat up and took notice before their group had imploded.

Kidd had had a few times where the same had almost happen to him too, before he really came to understand the power he'd found himself responsible for - "People only fear you for so long before they hate you enough to do something about it." Which was terribly profound when you realize a 16 year old had come to understand this before the adults around him did.

"At least you had some charisma that got you a few people that had your back. Nobody followed me because they thought I was going to be a good Boss. I was just the poor bastard left standing with the dust cleared. As soon as they realized they had other options, it was an exodus. Most of them defected to you or Wire pretty fast."

"I did notice an uptick of sycophants after that one meeting we had."

"I believe I warned you about that."

Kidd nodded. "Yeah... yeah, you warned me about a few things. You were right - about using my fruit around people. It being a bad idea."

"... I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well. Live and learn."

"I hope you smeared the assholes to paste."

Kidd chuckled darkly, "I did indeed. They were worthless; be glad they ditched out on you."

"It was only a matter of time before they left. They all do." Killer conceded, sipping his beer though a straw Dive had found... somewhere. "Just sorry you had to deal with them."

"You left me." He hadn't meant it accusatorially, not really. Just a statement of fact. But once it was out, Kidd felt a little angry about the whole thing. Killer just going on about being left behind, oh woe is me, but he did the same damn thing.

Killer frozen in place, before slowly putting his mug on the table. Kidd could feel him looking to the galley exit, calculating how to leave.

Fuck that.

"Was I that awful to be around?"

Killer rubbed his palms on his jeans, and Kidd swallowed thickly around the lump forming there.

"Oh."

"Look.. It..." Killer got up then, and Kidd watched him start to pace, feeling more and more uneasy with each anxious step Killer took. "It wasn't you, it was me... Well, it was you but it wasn't your fault."

"I have no idea what that means."

Killer's head is tilted up like the ceiling holds the answers.

"Killer, what the fuck does that mean?"

Killer shook his head, and Kidd stood up abruptly, ready to block him from fleeing.

"Killer! What did I do?"

"It wasn't your fault." Killer reiterated, and that didn't make anything clearer, and they both knew it. "You were just... You were kind of a lot... at.... that age..."

"I was 14! What are you on about?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Kidd had a sickening feeling starting to form in his gut. It must have shown in his face, because Killer glanced at him once before quickly looking away.

"You... got a little.. handsy. At night."

"Handsy?"

"A lot handsy. And.. clingy?" His voice pitched like a question, like he was trying to find a way to word Kidd's apparent behavior while downplaying it at the same time.

Kidd slumped against the table they'd just been enjoying drinks at. "How bad was I?"

"Four Blues, Kidd - you were awful." Killer groaned, "Every fucking night, three times a night, minimum, you'd be all over me."

"I... I.."

"Every time I thought it safe to drift off, you start making these little noises and I was so sleep deprived, Kidd. So sleep deprived. I'd leave in the morning purely to go sleep in Ceannard's office for a couple hours."

"I was 14!"

"When I was 14, I would get up and fucking take care of it - you just.." Killer voice had a panicky edge he'd never heard, before pointing wildly at him, "Every fucking morning, I wake up and had to deal with you getting off dry humping me. And you didn't even have the decency to be awake!"

"So you should of woken me and told me to knock it the fuck off!" Kidd paused, head cocking to the side as he studied how Killer had tensed up, bad shoulder touched in - "You didn't want me to wake up. You didn't... you didn't want me to know. Why?"

The mask hides a lot - Killer was always too expressive - his face an open book. But the mask didn't hide everything. Not from Kidd at least.

"You were into it."

Killer shook his head. Not a denial of Kidd's words, a denial that they were being spoken in the first place. He was coiled up so tight Kidd wasn't sure he was even breathing anymore.

"You liked me all rubbing up on you." Kidd almost wanted to preen at that, anyone else he would be puffed out proud. Instead a knot formed in his gut. You got off on it He keeps himself from saying, the thought tangling in his throat, forcing him to swallow thickly. Or you wanted to at least...

Killer made to widen the gap, but Kidd wouldn't let him, crowding him up against the wall.

"Then why would you leave?" he cried, not understanding at all, "I was horny, you were horny, what was the problem? We coulda fucked around a little, so what?"

"Because Killer might be good for a quick fuck, but nobody sticks around long after!"

Kidd started at him quietly, stunned, step back like Killer's words had been a physical blow. Killer hunched in himself, slouching back, surprised by his own confession.

"Killer..."

"I thought... I thought if I left first it would hurt so bad. You were getting along with the other Heaps' and you had a reputation for being an tough asshole so I thought... I thought you'd be okay."

Kidd pressed his fingers up on the bottom lip of Killer's mask, a request not a demand, his brows pinched unhappily.

Killer relented, and pulled the helmet off. But Kidd surprised him by taking it from him, holding it in his hands thoughtfully. He studied the interconnected plating, planning on how he'd make the next one different - better ventilation and more internal padding around the ears.

"I really liked Vicky." He started solemnly, "The three of us. Hanging out together. And sure, I wasn't thrilled about the two of you ditching me all the time. I thought maybe I was jealous of you for a long time, getting to hang out with her alone. And maybe I was... But I think I was also jealous of her. But then she was gone." Kidd spoke to the helmet, easier to say this to the empty drill marks than the man in front of him. "But that was okay because I still had you. And .. And I really liked being with you. I always felt safe, and waking up every morning with you right there... and then.. and then you weren't anymore. Even before you left, you started to be distant, and I hoped maybe you just got a new girlfriend and after the novelty wore off things would go back to how they were."

Killer was quiet, watching his hands fiddling with the metal, before he gently took the mask back.

"But it was me. You left because of me."

The worst part was Killer couldn't even disagree. He turned away from Kidd to put the helmet aside. "I left because I didn't know how to tell you no. I left because I rolled over and let anyone fuck me for a kind word, and I knew that I'd let you too, if you wanted. But you were 14 and you're my kid, and it got all weird and complicated and I didn't know how to see you as someone who wanted sex yet and .. And I was scared if I gave in, if let you take what you wanted, you'd toss me aside too once you were satisfied... so I ran away before you could."

"And if Vicky hadn't died... would you have ever talked to me again?"

He watched Killer's hand caress the line of white and blue. "No." He said finally. "No. You were doing so well; I was so fucking proud of you. You turned into this great man: You united the Heaps, made them believe they were people again. You had all them following you because they saw you were someone worth following. And I knew that I didn't have anything to do with that. That was all you. And I didn't deserve to talk to you anymore."

"Excuse me?" Kidd frowned, "What the fuck do you mean - you didn't have anything to do with that? You don't deserve to talk to me? What are you on about?"

When Killer didn't answer, Kidd grabbed his elbow and forced him to turn back, "Look me in the face and say that bullshit again!"

Killer stubbornly remain quiet.

"No!" Kidd growled, "I've gladly bashed the face in of anybody who talked shit about you. Don't think I'm gonna let you say it either."

Killer opened his mouth to start to say something but then stopped again.

"Killer!" frustrated, Kidd grabbed Killer's face in his hands, forcing him to look at him, "Say it to my face. If you're going to insult my friend, have the balls to say it to my face."

Killer met his eyes this time, blue to orange, complementary and contrasting in equal parts, and Kidd frowned at the pained pinch at the corners, the shame Killer wore in his features. He didn't understand, and no searching helped him find the reason. "Why would you ever say that you aren't the reason I got this far in life?"

Killer tried to escape his look by closing his eyes, but Kidd shook him softly; Killer's long lashes brushing his thumbs when he opened them again.

"Why did you leave me?" he tried again.

"You were 14...."

The light went on this time, Kidd breathing out a soft, "Oh" as Killer tried to look away again. Kidd rubbed his thumb against Killer's cheekbone, tipping his head back until their eyes met again. "I'm not anymore."

Killer was starting back at him, a fearful guarded look. But now, now Kidd thought he understood. He smiled back, tone soft, "Can I kiss you?"

The fear was still there, but Kidd would show him. He waited until Killer lowered his gaze, but nodded, a soft, "Okay" that was both defeated and begging.

Kidd smiled, hands sliding up Killer's cheeks to brush his bangs away and placed a soft kiss to Killer's forehead, smirking at the red painted lip marks left behind. Killer was looking up at him curiously though his lashes. Kidd rearranged Killer's bangs until the mark was hidden under wild hair.

"It's my birthday... come have dinner with me?"

"Okay."