My name is Soup(i love soup). I'm a polyglot (learning to be a translator) so if you ask German, French, Russian(im only learning it) or Scottish person to write about, I'll try my best. And yes, English is not my first language.
Requests/rules information:
Im not exactly new to writing stuff, but it's been a while and such, so if it takes time or i don't write the request, meaning i don't understand how to write it, if that makes sense.
The reader is gender neutral by default. Will write fem and male if you mention the gender though.
I'm not the best on oneshots(my fantasy isn't that good), so try not to ask that. But er, i write headcanons! please, specify the relationship - platonic, romantic, strangers, or whatever, you get what i mean, if not then I'll think what i can do about it.
If I don't post for a while, means I'm working or just too tired to do it.
You can ask questions about me or my work, i don't mind.
Fandoms/chars ill mostly write about:
TF2: anyone, but with mercs it's easier than Ms Pauling or anyone else.
Freak Fortress: any char, I'll look up the information if i don't know them.
I will write about, but it's harder for me:
Harry Potter..?: well, i can try. Im not the best in it, but I'll try. Any characters, mostly from Maradeur era though.
Call of Duty: mostly Krueger and Nikto, but feel free to ask anyone else! (Please lord have mercy if you ask about Ramirez, i love that silly man)
Creepypasta: anyone.
Slenderverse: any?
DC: anyone, but Robins preferred(or supervillians)
Marvel: anyone I think.
What I'll write:
Platonic and romantic
x Reader, x S/O
Headcanons, AUs
NSFW(if you'll say pretty please, 'm lazy)
What I won't write:
Well, I'll write whatever your mind pleases, as long as it won't make me problematic because i write it.
perfect failure | yandere! dottore x experiment! reader
summary: you were a failed experiment... so why didn't dottore just kill you and move on?
content warning: mentions of blood.
you were a failure.
you were a failed experiment of dottore's - you were too quiet, too weak. what use did he have for something like you?
dottore had yet to 'recycle' you and start on his new experiment. as much as he spoke about ending you, he hadn't done it yet.
he wouldn't let you stray very far away from him, not that you ever tried to. it was like you were a statue that only moved when asked to.
sometimes, you'd even forget to breathe without dottore reminding you to do so.
being alive was dull - everything was blurry and all the colors were dull. you had heard people in passing talking about 'beautiful snow', what was that?
you wanted to see the beautiful snow.
but you had yet to even leave dottore's manor. this was your home and soon enough, your resting place.
he had attempted to kill you last night but hesitated - he sat the knife down and shook his head. he realized he was acting irrationally.
"(y/n), look at the page in my hand. can you not read the first row of letters?" dottore snapped a finger, tugging your attention away from a vial you had zoned in on, "read it out for me."
dottore was persistent about finding out all of your flaws; thus far, you had bad eyesight, you couldn't properly walk and you couldn't withstand the cold for very long.
you were deeply flawed.
"(y/n)," that was the name he had given you, though, it hadn't clicked for you - he would call your name multiple times and you wouldn't reply, because you didn't understand, "(y/n)," the sound of a snapping finger always caught your attention though, "read the first letter then. would that be simpler for you? read anything you can see on the paper, just do it."
you stared at the paper, quiet. your hands were cold and tucked in your lap, you were wearing a thin hospital sort of gown - you were very cold. your lips parted and dottore's eyebrow twitched but, you said nothing.
sighing, dottore sat the paper down and went to his notes, where he would write that your eyesight was a lost cause.
he needed to find the root of the problem so he wouldn't repeat it once more.
he could not have another failure like you.
...
inside of a dark room, dottore had told you to sit down. he walked away from you and towards the door and said, "After I shut this door, come and knock on it."
so, he shut the door and waited.
he heard you tumbling around, or, perhaps you were crawling around. dottore wrote in his notes that you couldn't navigate in the dark.
"doctor," you called out in that weak voice of yours - it seemed you were in a bit of a dilemma. so, he opened the door to see you mere inches away from the door, facing the opposite direction.
dottore blinked, before holding out his hand to help you up. you placed your warm hand into his and he helped you up.
the fact that he had created you brought much shame to him.
...
"doctor?"
dottore had gotten sick of hearing you call for him; perhaps that was one of the only words you were sure of, or maybe you simply liked saying it.
he wasn't sure.
he wasn't sure of much at this point.
why hadn't he gotten rid of you yet? you were a waste of space and good resources. "what is it?" nonetheless, dottore replied to your call, each and every time.
"what is this?" in reference to what you were asking about, you tugged at the cord on your chest, and dottore hissed, "do not tug at it. put your hand to your side, now."
you obeyed.
unlike his experiment before you - one thing you were good at was listening. "it's a heart monitor," he replied after a moment, looking at the patient monitor - your heart rate had elevated moments before after he had told you not to tug at the heart monitor.
could you feel emotions? or was it simply because he had raised his voice?
...
it was a passing thought and probably pointless but dottore had gotten you glasses.
perhaps it was a waste of time and money, but he was now intrigued by the potential of you feeling human emotions.
"(y/n), can you see the letters now?" holding up the sheet of paper once more, dottore looked at you, awaiting a reply.
dottore snapped his finger when you didn't look.
"yes," you replied, swallowing as you looked at the letters on the sheet of paper - you knew they were letters because dottore said so but you could not read them.
"alright - good job," dottore nodded, setting the paper down and casting a glance at the patient monitor once more.
nothing- it seemed positive words did little for you.
perhaps acts of affection would gain more of a reaction than him raising his voice at you.
...
dottore was sitting by your side at the dinner table - could you taste food, he was unsure. "go ahead, (y/n), eat it."
it was a slice of cake.
though he assumed you would like it, you did not pick up the fork and you did not attempt to eat it.
dottore couldn't get angry, so, he sighed slowly, calming himself. he took a piece of the cake with the fork and held it in front of your mouth, "will this make it easier for you, (y/n). open your mouth," he asked and fed you the cake.
you chewed the cake and then dottore asked, "how does it taste? salty, tangy, is it sweet, (y/n)?"
"i... like it," you replied, watching as he scooped another piece of cake up for you and fed it to you - it was good, very good. you liked it.
dottore watched you - he was observing you, the little smile on your face, the way your eyes squinted as you ate the cake.
and, dottore smiled. you were more human than anything.
you weren't an intelligent being - not by any means. dottore reached out to wipe smeared icing off of your cheek.
and your heart rate elevated.
...
you were sat on the exam table, your kegs hanging over the edge, kicking back and forth slowly.
dottore glanced at the patient monitor before looking at you. he couldn't explain this lack of disgust he felt when looking at you - you were no use to him, you weren't the intelligent being he strived to create.
dottore feelings were conflicted.
turning away from you, he grabbed a scalpel and waved it in front of you, "do you see this, (y/n)? I'm going to make a small incision on your thigh. I'd like to see if you can quickly recover from bodily injuries."
he had warned you - he gave you time to think about what he said as he placed his notepad on the table behind him.
he lifted your hospital gown, exposing your upper thigh, and made the incision, he watched as blood beaded at the cut before running down your thigh.
you were bleeding... and the cut wasn't healing itself.
he turned and wrote in his notes - (y/n) is an enigma.
...
you were completely different from the other experiments of his.
dottore placed a coat over your shoulders and slid your arms through the holes, he then slid gloves onto your hands, "there you go."
you had asked dottore to see the 'beautiful snow'. he only assumed you were asking to go outside.
this would be your first time leaving the comfort of dottore's manor. he held your hand as he opened the front door, and walked your outside.
you had dreamt of this - at least you thought you had. in your head, you imagined the beautiful snow and smiled to yourself.
this was your life goal, to see the beautiful snow.
and when you made it outside, it was actively snowing.
you tugged at his hand, trying to free yourself but he wouldn't let you go, not so easily - he couldn't have you running off and getting mauled by a hilichurl, that was a joke dottore had made. he walked you outside and let you kneel and touch the snow.
but... you looked disappointed.
this wasn't exciting at all. you thought snow would be different. this was a letdown.
you formed a ball of snow in your hands, and looked down at it before bringing it to your mouth and taking a bite of it.
also, very disappointing.
"doctor, i want to go back in."
so, dottore took you back inside and sat you in front of the fireplace. he removed your gloves and coat and sat a blanket over your shoulders.
he sat behind you, on the couch and watched you.
he was growing fond of you. having you near was akin to having a human companion near. dottore wasn't so disappointed in you anymore, he felt different.
dottore did not hate you, it was different now.
...
you had gotten sick from eating the snow.
dottore was having a field day with you - you were sickly and pale. he ran tests and whatnot, taking blood and giving you medication.
he couldn't let you die now, he had come so far with you.
dottore placed a warm towel on your forehead, and said, "I brought you soup. would you sit up so I could feed you?"
but, you didn't sit up. dottore reasoned that you were too tired to do so.
so, he left and came back later.
you had perked up since earlier and dottore had reheated the soup for you. he spoon fed it to you and you ate it, almost desperately.
some of the soup dripped down your chin. dottore sat the bowl down, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped it from your chin, "there you go."
he picked up the bowl once more and continued to feed you.
he wouldn't be able to imagine himself in such a situation a few months back, before you.
it seemed you had changed something in him - was he kinder now? more patient, perhaps? you had changed.
after you had finished, dottore had you lay back down in the bed and placed a cover over you.
but, you never went to sleep.
...
you watched dottore mix colorful liquids a lot.
you didn't understand why, or what the point was. but, you were content with watching his back.
you shifted in the seat you sat on, holding your hands together.
as dottore was mixing two liquids, he made an abrupt movement upon hearing you shift and the liquid splashed onto his mask.
the liquid dripped from his mask and onto his shirt- it wouldn't kill him, at least. dottore grumbled something about not startling him before removing his mask.
this was the first time you had seen his face - the first time you'd seen your creator's face and your heart rate elevated beyond what it had before.
and you stared with wide eyes at him; at his red eyes, and felt amazed - you loved your creator far more than you could verbalize.
and to see his face solidified that love you felt.
dottore took note of this and wrote down in his note - (y/n) feels love towards their creator. what makes (y/n) not a human?
he would need to figure that out next.
...
you could feel emotions, happiness, and sadness, and even love. that's what dottore found out in the past week.
physically, you were very weak and could not even carry a ten-pound weight without struggling.
your eyesight was getting better, oddly enough.
you did not need sleep. he had made you lay in bed with your eyes closed for more than thirty minutes and you never fell asleep.
he had attempted it six times now.
but, you did fall asleep in his bed today.
it was odd.
dottore stood at your side, watching as you slept in his bed, watching as you slept exactly where he did.
you were sleeping.
though, he had proven that you could not. he seemed to learn something new about you each and every day.
why did you take his heart by surprise, (y/n)?
dottore sat down by your side and watched you as you slept. he did this for two hours.
when you woke up, dottore stood and helped you out of bed. you were completely unpredictable, you were different- perhaps the most intriguing experiment of his thus far.
and he was grateful that he hadn't killed you.
so, for that, dottore hugged you.
he held you in his arms for an extended amount of time, nearly smothering you in his chest. "you are absolutely perfect, (y/n). remain the same for me, will you?"
and he was so very grateful that he did not kill you that day.
*pulls the 45 cents I have to my name out of my pocket and drops them on your table*
I can't believe my name will be forever attached to this but one (1) Kenjaku solo session with Heianera!YN portrait, please
❝ life and death will always lead to love and regret (but you have the answers, and I have the key) ❞
Kenjaku x Heain Era!ftm!reader [one-sided] | Heian Era!ftm!reader x Sukuna Ryomen | r! is a curse-user & sukuna ryomen's concubine, NSFW | sub. bottom. reader (AFAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 4.1K
warnings: creepy/stalker behaviour, Kenjaku is a 'passive'-yandere (in the sense that Sukuna would and will kill him if he tried anything), manipulative behaviour, gore (detailed), Kenjaku jerking off in front of a portrait of r!, very unrequited
authors note: don't be ashamed, Gabriel. I got way too excited writing this and I think that speaks volumes on how I need to get checked, LMAO. On another note - yes, my YN's will always have a harem of men in the JJK-verse because that's what YN (and you, my dear reader) deserve!
I wrote this partially on my phone so bear with me guys...
*song on repeat: Bernadette by IAMX & Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage.
* YN is described as having long hair because of the heian beauty standard (hair colour and texture not mentioned).
People often compared the years they lived as sand. The hourglass holding it is comparable to the human body. He often thought that metaphor was weak. People — humans — were not hourglasses and their years were not sand. No, no. That’s far too neat for humans.
Humans are messy. They are loud, and chaotic, they defy nature's rules and destroy her for the sake of progress. They had no balance, their compass broke when the synapses in their brains sparked conscious thought.
In that chaos, humans made curses. Or, well, you could argue it who came first but without humans and their silly consciousness — cursed spirits wouldn’t thrive.
People are flesh left under the sun. With their blood drying out, flies and maggots eagerly feast on what they can while the meat greys and rots. That’s a much more appropriate metaphor for a human life. If anything, the hourglass comparison should be used for himself. Constantly turning it over to keep going; uncaring of what kept the sands in confinement so long as it could continue its path.
Down, almost empty, flip, repeat.
Kenjaku had perfected his cursed techniques. He had earned this, he had earned his right to let his curiosities run rampant. He had earned the right to be in the presence of Sukuna Ryomen and you.
“Yuuji, you still owe me for eating my yoghurt from the fridge. It was expensive and it took so long for me to find it!” Nobara huffed. “You might as well just buy some for yourself. I’m labelling my food now.”
Megumi glanced over his shoulder at the lack of reply from the pink-haired boy. Nobara stopping next to him with her brows furrowed, sighing as she looks around for him.
“...I was just talking to myself? Seriously?” she grumbled. Megumi adjusts his grip on the bags. The grocery trips were a good team-building exercise according to Yuuji, a way to get to know each other better. Megumi and Nobara agreed after a particularly harsh mission that aimed directly at their novice team fighting experience.
So far, the results that were yielded from it were found that Nobara had an aversion to pineapples, Megumi had expensive tastes, and Yuuji was very good at budgeting money.
“No, he was right beside you a few minutes ago,” Megumi reached for his phone. Nobara placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she continued to scan the crowd.
A gaggle of businessmen came out from the underground train station and between the crowd of slicked-back hair, desperate combovers, and sweaty bald heads, she spotted him.
Tugging on Megumi’s sleeve, she pointed to him. Yuuji was standing and staring up at some sort of vertical banner. As they both approached, they shared a glance.
“Oi, Itadori,” Nobara placed a hand on his shoulder. Smacked it really. He didn’t budge. There was a dullness to his eyes that unnerved her enough to remove her hand. Megumi tightened his grip on his phone as he called out to him again. She took a look at the banner and her brows furrowed.
It was promoting an opening of someone’s private gallery. Some rich kid’s great-great-grandfather’s collection. The painting they used was of a true beauty. A man with long hair, dressed in the finest robes with a serene barely-there smile. It looked to be more European in nature, the art reminding her of the portraits of giant frilly dresses and puffy shoulder sleeves despite the obviously Japanese clothing, accessory, and manner in which the subject was regaled in the painting.
The banner must have costed a pretty penny considering how much detail they could see. Megumi could practically feel the raised textures the artist had used to mimic the pattern of the traditional robe the man wore. The flow of his hair, the texture and pattern it had; and his lashes were surely not that long in reality.
Megumi tore his gaze to Yuuji.
It was like he was in a trance. His mouth was slightly ajar, his brows furrowed and his hands shaking as his knuckles turned white.
“Itadori?”
Yuuji had long forgotten this. This ache in his chest that he sometimes woke up with. When he reaches for the empty space next to him and finds no one. Those moments in the basement when he watches a historical movie and his chest tightens as the nobles courted one another.
“Do you know the painter or something?” Nobara asks.
No, he wants to say. Not the painter. If he knew who it was that did this portrait, he’d tear their heads off their body. But the man? He knew him.
That hellish grin, that perfect face and most importantly those nightmarish eyes.
You’ve seen dolls, right? Those porcelain ones specifically. The craftsmen who make them, the expensive ones with real human hair. To be left on shelves instead of being played with. They would draw these white dots on the eyes, varnish them even, so their eyes would reflect back. A mimicry of humans, that’s what dolls are. But even then, their eyes still twinkled. Not this man. No. It was devoid of light. Pools of (eye colour) and nothing more. These eyes would swallow up any trace of light and diminish the stars from the sky with just a glance.
Yuuji knew him. His soul knew him. His hand clutches over his heart and his friends watch this with trepidation.
It’s been 2,000 years. Sukuna was no longer human and therefore his memory was not as fickle. He still remembers those moments before dawn; the sight of your bare torso breathing softly as you rested next to him. The sun filtering through the windows and making you appear even more ethereal and deadly. How your brows would pinch seconds before you woke. Those soulless eyes that shot through his very soul.
Sukuna could recognize you even if he was blind. He’d be able to hear you just by feeling your chest rumble. If he had to eat one thing for the rest of his life, your body and flesh would sustain him.
In his Malovent Shrine, whilst he sat on his throne, he’d summon his flames in his palm. There he’d watch as your figure danced across his hand. You’d twirl between his digits, a smile across your face as he watches the imitation of you.
It used to be enough. Lately, the action brings him more contempt then fondness. The flames never quite catch your shape anymore. Constantly shifting. That coyness is gone, mini-you petulantly staying hidden behind his fingers. So he snuffs you out in his fists.
He hates you for making him miss you. A King should not be missing anyone or anything. Yet, as his vessel stands here, Sukuna teeters on the edge of breaking the Unbreakable Vow he’d made with the brat just to gaze upon you.
The painter got your resemblance and it was agony for him.
How could he continue to be without you when he’s seen you again? Days ago, he wanted to kill you for making him delirious and now he wants you back in his arms.
“Itadori.” Megumi’s tone is firmer. Nobara smacks his shoulder again and Yuuji jolts forward, nearly falling until his rigid legs quickly come back to life.
“Huh?”
“Are you alright?” Megumi asks, his thumb hovering over the DIAL button of Gojo Satoru’s number. Yuuji glances at his wrinkled shirt and releases it, confusion painted across his face at the fading pain across his chest.
“I...yeah, yeah. I'm okay. I have no idea what that was....”
Rich bodies made life significantly easier.
What was that saying humans used?
Money can’t buy happiness?
Kenjaku chuckles at the thought. Foolish and vain — typical of humans. Clinging onto whatever they can to convince their egos they’re better than most when they’ll all meet the same fate. Kenjaku forgets the exact point where he stopped seeing himself as one of them, but he’s sure anyone would if you’ve lived as long as him. Apathy. Most call it a disease of selfishness. Kenjaku simply thinks they’re lying to themselves.
“Mr Geto?” the gallery was a lucrative endeavour. A piece in his grand scheme that required little effort but great rewards. More personal gain on his end.
“Mr Hajimoto mentioned you specifically in his will. The private room is all yours. Thank you so much for your donation to this fine institution of arts.” Kenjaku offers the man a polite smile and nod. The awkward silence prompts them to open the large doors and Kenjaku is greeted by you.
(Y/N) (L/N). In all your glory. In his favourite colours and his favourite kanza. The bespoke lighting on your portrait makes his hands fall limply to his side. You were a brushstroke away from taking a breath. The colours used to recreate that undertone your skin had, the delicate curves of your lashes and the plumpness of your lip.
The two guards in the corner of the room are a nuisance. But with a simple twirl of his right hand, the Slit-Mouthed Woman makes quick work of them. This curse technique was truly convenient, the mess she made cleaned up by a different curse who laps at the blood with vigor. The noises are all muffled as he admires those vicious eyes.
Just saying your name makes warmth travel down between his legs.
“I’ve almost forgotten how you look like.”
Silence ticks by for a minute.
Then Kenjaku bursts into laughter. Clutching his stomach and covering his mouth as he does. He can still smell your blood. Even if Suguru’s body had never had the pleasure of touching you — Kenjaku remembers it.
The way it flowed out of you like silk ribbons. Warm and wet and virile.
“You are an unusual sorcerer,” those were the first words you said to him. He knows you meant that in a derisive fashion — the curl of your nose was a clear indicator. But that was the day a feverish need was planted inside of his very soul.
You. You. You.
The shape of your face.
The cadence of your voice.
The way the wind carried your scent to his nose.
The sound of your cat-like foot-steps.
The effortless way you carried yourself despite the heavy robes that a revered concubine of your rank would wear, along with the golden hair accessories that would probably break a lesser man's neck.
It didn't stop there either.
Your brain, the wickedness that ran through your very veins and that fire that burns within you. Kenjaku wanted to be inside of you in every he could fathom. To sit within that perfectly shaped skull, to thread his fingers between the locks of your hair and take a scalpel to that skin he so craves to taste. Or perhaps inside in the traditional sense, between your legs, embraced by your warm insides and your deadly arms.
Kenjaku ponders on the time he has. He decides that he should indulge in you. He undoes the robes this body wore and sighs as it reveals the torso. Bodies were all the same but he does appreciate the care Geto Suguru took into his temple — there was no need for shame when he's already desecrated this corpse so viscerally already. His hands travel down his torso and that pronounce v-line and past the patch of wiry pubic hair.
You make him feel young again. Reckless and stubborn. Your eyes watch him as he leisurely spits into his palm and strokes it over the tip.
Evil is such a lame word. So primitive in its nature, another one of human's attempts at letting go of responsibility. If something or someone were evil, they were inherently irredeemable. Humans used to call snakes evil simply for doing what a snake would do when hungry, instead of realising they shouldn't have left the door to their huts opened and their sleeping brat asleep.
Was something evil when it simply did what it was meant to do?
They were simply following natures course.
This act Kenjaku is doing now, is not perverted or evil, he is simply being. Simply living, existing, relishing.
If anything, you were the undoing. The evil. You've made, and continue to make, him lose crave and hunger. You were so cruel, so ethereal — so evil.
Kenjaku groaned your name, walking backwards and dropping onto the low seat the gallery provided. His legs spread and he hung his head down but his eyes remained affixed to your painting.
"He sounds beautiful, Mr Hajimoto," the blonde painter had told him once or twice or thrice. Young but talented, the way he used his brushes on canvas was so impressive and Kenjaku missed you so much (Y/N). He simply had to spread the wickedness of your beauty, immortalize it forever within canvases and lesser non-sorcerers minds.
"Did you know him?" his accent was clunky, the Japanese language tumbling on its delicate legs following the rhythm of the painters voice. Still, he — Mr Hajimoto, Kenjaku — gave him a gentle grin.
"Very well. He was my lover."
The small notebook the painter had written your features down in, it was displayed in this very room as well. In a glass casing, handled with gloves to ensure pesky skin oils wouldn't deteriorate his inked strokes.
Speaking of strokes, Kenjaku's was beginning to pick up it's pace. His smile now looser, like an animal that caught the scent of blood, his tongue curled over his teeth as he imagined the disgust on your face. You'd probably cover your nose with the sleeve of your robe and the thought makes his cock jump; you were wearing his favourite colours and it made him moan.
The notebook was filled with sketches of you. Kenjaku recalls correcting the human, correcting him when he disrupted the harmony of your anatomy. You were the humans muse for years, (Y/N). Even as he neared his death bed, the blonde artist kept drawing you. Sketches lose, your shape less tangible, but hauntingly beautiful. Like your dark flames flowing in the wind. Even as his memories of his life escapes him, the artist remembered you. What a blessing. Kenjaku had visited him before he died and whispered your name into the old man's ear.
Sorcerer Society keeps your name hidden. It's their way of control. Making Sukuna Ryomen more monstrous by telling others he ruled coldly and cruelly alone; death was not as harsh as being erased. They say Sukuna needed 20 of his fingers and his mummified heart to be revived. That's what those poems talked about after all.
A misunderstanding.
The heart was Sukuna's, yes.
But it wouldn't revive him.
"You were so angry," he chuckled out, "so defiant even when I was inside of you."
The sky was blood red, the black smoke making the colour more saturated as it seemed intent on blotting out the sun. Uraume had felt a sudden chill, you did too, and they swiftly rose as the scent of deceit was so thick in the air.
“Uraume,” your voice remained nonchalant. But there was a tenseness in your throat that even they could decipher through the layers of regality. They turned, mouth pressed into a thin line as they went on their knees.
You continued to stare, impassively looking down at the patterned swirl of their snow-white hair. The red and black sky turning the colour of your eyes a pleasantly mournful shade; the golden kanza in your hair that your Lord Sukuna himself had commissioned for you glimmered righteously. The teeth of a beast, the curling of centipede legs, and the melded wings of a raven. It was beautiful just as much as it was unusual.
“You leave your Lord’s prized possession to fend for himself?”
Uraume lips reveal a modest amount of teeth. Their face like a porcelain doll as they raise their head. It makes your heart flutter and squeeze.
“You are stronger than these worms, they wouldn’t dare attack you.”
This is true. A fact. You were strong. 100 sorcerers or 1, 000 sorcerers — it made no difference to you. They’d turn into dust and wither right before you. But it shocks Uraume when you place your palm against their jaw, thumb stroking over their cheekbone as you gaze down at them.
“How horrid it is, making me defend myself.”
They see your eyes soften. It was no wonder you were Lord Sukuna’s concubine. Just being touched by you, looked down upon by you; it makes their spine melt.
“I should have your head for your insolence.”
Uraume apologizes, lips stilling when your thumb presses down on them.
“Return to me. Whole. My Lord Husband and I will not be pleased if you do not. We don’t want weaklings to stand behind us.”
Uraume bows, their lips kissing your knuckles as they do before they raise and disappear from your sight. The screams of terror that are heard outside at the sight of them make you slip your eyes close.
Kenjaku appeared before you what felt like hours later. He looks at the scene with a raise of his brow. Your feet were soaked in blood as bodies were strewn across the wide room. The floor was shimmering, looking as though it was breathing as it creaked from his weight. The clothes the bodies wore painted a clear enough picture — they were your servants. Loyalties were swayed as the fight prolonged. These little ants thought they could save themselves from punishment if they showed these righteous sorcerers your head.
He couldn’t smell smoke and there were no signs of charring. The bodies were mangled beyond belief, guts spilling out, eyes gouged, arms bent unnaturally.
Yet, in the gore and horror, you stood across from him with only your feet stained by traitorous blood.
You were a vision. Delicately wiping away blood from the tiger claw kanza with the sleeve of a dead servant. Then, he watches as you carefully put it back in place atop your hair.
“Kenjaku.”
He bows his head, bending at his waist, then lifts himself up again.
“The Kamo clan, your clan, joined this rebellion. I feel that should be a good enough reason to kill you.” The fire in your eyes makes his heart race. He moves forward, casually stepping over a torn torso.
“That would be unwise,” he gives you a grin. This body of his is new. The stitches are still fresh and red. Most likely a desperate attempt of his to hide away while they destroyed his old body. The corpse is younger, and more plain-looking. Despite it’s Curse Technique being a mystery, you’ll take your chances at strangling him.
“I’ve come at the behest of your Lord Husband. To ensure your longevity.”
Your brows pinch. Kenjaku delights at the creases it creates, tucking away this sight into his memories for lonely nights. Then, you scowl.
“You lie.”
His giddiness is palpable. The wide grin on the corpse’s face is clearly not his own; cheeks lifted too high and smile too large and unnatural. Kenjaku must’ve been a truly ugly man with a truly ugly grin. The body struggles to adjust to this display of amusement.
“I’m not.”
He takes a step forward and you lift your hand. The standstill would’ve lasted longer if it weren’t for the yells and thunderous footsteps clambering up to your room.
“You lie!”
Dark flames roared out from the windows. The heat so smoldering it causes a burst of hot air to knock back the men on the stairs, burning their skin and face. The blood on the floor boils, the iron scent now more acidic as the once fleshy bodies now crumble into dust.
You feel his breathe against the nape of your neck. As you turn, he wrings his arms around you like a snake. One across your stomach, the other around your shoulder. That horrible smile is pressed against your skin.
“Kenjaku,” you growl through gritted teeth.
“That’s right. Say my name.”
Fighting feels a lot like sex.
Kenjaku can feel your passion behind every strike, the bruises you leave behind on his skin are akin to hickeys. When you yell out and scream, cheeks so hot he can feel the rush of blood to your face just from looking — the rapid pulse you have and the way your face is contorted.
Kenjaku pins you down. Your legs are thrown over his own while you gnash your teeth at him and spit insults his way. Your hair was so beautiful, thrown back around your head like a lion’s mane. He slides your wrists above your head and holds them with one hand while the other undoes the meticulous array of folds your kimono had.
Sweat drips down his nose. It’s all your fault. Using your Curse Technique in this room, charring the wood and setting it all aflame. Still, he could work in this conditions.
“Ah,” he moans at the sight of your bare skin. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, licking his lips as he places a hand over your heart.
When you kick at his stomach, he acts like he cannot feel it. When you kick again, this time hard enough for a loud crack to be heard, he looks at you.
“If you kill me, you will break the Binding Vow you and Ryomen had made with me.”
He feels your feet dig into his rib, the spiderwebs of cracks spreading further. He allows this with a pleased hum. Your ragged breathing all at once calms and with a blink, your eyes lose that unbridled fury.
“You dare say my Lord’s name so casually?”
Kenjaku laughs. As he leans down, he presses his forehead to yours. Your nose curls in disgust but you keep your lips pursed. The feeling of his sweat sliding down the sides of your forehead and dipping to travel the side of your nose; threatening to get into your eyes as it slips just beneath it.
“Forgive me, venerable concubine.” Kenjaku does not mean this. When he presses his fingers together and imbues his hand with Curse Energy. He enjoys it.
Slicing through your skin at a pace that made the cut more ghastly then it would be if it was done quickly. You remained stone-faced while Kenjaku chewed on his lower lip, every twitch or squint just fueling his hunger.
He is past your skin and now he sees the yellow, when he twists his wrist you grunt as he slices through the threads of muscles. He spreads his fingers and your teeth part as you let out a strained yell.
"You can be louder if you want," his lips brush against your cheek every time he speaks.
"When I return, I'll take pleasure in ripping your head off your body."
"Threatening me?"
He reaches bone. His finger scratching against it before he peels away and settles between your legs. Your hands aren't pinned but you do nothing but curl your fingers into fists as he shoves another hand into your chest. The squelching and pulsing of your flesh, the bursts of blood from your throbbing veins and pumping heart. The wetness and warmth of your insides. He can feel your body clenching around him, and he convinces himself its because you truly enjoy this depravity just as he does.
The size of his hands in your chest is unbearably uncomfortable. Invading you, filling you when you want nothing more than to burn him, as he moves his digits and wrists within you.
He grasps onto your bones and breaks it under the pressure of his wrist. Your blood is spraying him, staining his clothes.
"Your blood looks like ribbons," he whispers to you, "even your insides are like works of art."
You want this to be over with already.
Your arms move down, eyes still set in a glare. You slip your fingers under the soaked clothing and spread it apart further to reveal more of your skin. Shimmying your shoulders so your torso is now bare of any clothing.
The tent between his legs pressed into your crotch. It's hard to ignore, but you push through and grasp onto his elbow and force him to go in deeper.
"Promising you."
Kenjaku's elbow straightens sharply and he moans as he feels your heart beating in his palm. He pulls it out of your body, panting as your eyes slip close and your heart slows. Beating slowly...slowly...slowly...
Kenjaku moans at the memory of your heart in his hands. Your warm blood coating his skin, drying under his nails and crackling in the creases of his joints.
"I wanted to keep you on me forever," he grunts out as his pace gets faster. "The smell of you, of your flesh."
"I didn't need your body, but it was too beautiful not to be admired."
Kenjaku throws his head back, placing his palm across his nose and lips as he sifts through his memories so he can conjure it all over again.
The painting watches on impassively. The croons and purrs of Geto Suguru's cursed spirits echo faintly in Kenjaku's ears while his hips thrusts into his own fist. It's desperate. He usually isn't like this. Even when he was creating the Death Womb Paintings — even when his plans are so close to coming into fruition.
You make him like this. Make him lose control, every thought poisoned with you even when you're nothing more than a mummified heart hidden so desperately away by Sorcerer Society.
"I've gotten a lead," Uraume had informed him just a few days ago. "They've hidden him in the ocean in an underwater research facility."
"Underwater, hah, they think it'll keep your flames contained. Keep your loyal servant away as if the depths of the ocean is enough to scare them, us — Oh, (Y/N)."
His fist stops and Kenjaku stands, removing his clothing fully as he places a hand against the wall of the gallery. The textured wall, the grooves, give way to his nails as he digs them in. He stares into your eyes, imagining the crease of your furrowed brow and Kenjaku groans out your name as he cums all over the wall.
"...Oh, I can't wait to see you again, venerable concubine."
×Youre a sweetheart, at least when it's useful or you trust the person.
×Youre always there for people, no matter who they are, you're willing to listen.
×Youre cautious enough, but you're willing to do whatever is needed for the job. Except you're actually good in it, like, really.
×Youre a chill guy, and love a good relaxing day, if you have one.
Your bad side/red flags:
×Youre two faces, yes, you're a sweet guy, but you'd take no time doing a bloody revenge with a little cute grin on your face
×You have god complex, but you hide it good enough.
×You can be very crude at times, though in a way that people don't realise you just mocked them.
×Youre workaholic and won't stop till the job is done, even if it takes no eating and sleeping at all.
Your love language: quality time, acts of service or physical touch
MEDIC
On your good side/green flags:
×Youre responsible, you'll whine about it, but you'll still get whatever needs to be done, because you don't trust it with others
×You get the job done no matter what, even if it involves stabbing someone, of course you'll do the last part only if you have plan B if something will go wrong.
×Youre an interesting person to talk to, but you don't have much friends because you're the strange one.
×You have a very morbid humour and curiousity, not bad but not good. Just don't carve people's organs out.
On your bad side/red flags:
×You have both, god complex and a shitty self worth. You think you deserve everything and nothing.
×You can rely on people too much and be too demanding.
×You had a trauma, and it changed you in a bad way.
×You have a very morbid humour and curiousity, not bad, but not good either.
×In conclusion, youre a hypocrite with little sadistic tendicies who can't normally read people and react accordingly the situation.
Your love language might be: quality time, acts of service or words of affirmation
SNIPER
On your good side/green flags:
×Youre a cool guy, you like adventures and stars.
×You don't have a lot of friends, but you're very loyal. It can take years for you to trust someone fully though.
×You aren't the person to get in conflicts, and if you do, you try your best to ignore it.
×Youre a strange one, and you don't care.
×You like physical touch, but you'll stiff when someone touches you.
×You probably have some hyperfixations which you keep to yourself.
On your bad side/red flags:
×You convinced yourself you're better off alone. You're used to it, and you have no idea how to react to kindness or new people without being paranoid.
×You hide your emotions till they bottle up and you break down.
×Youre a professional in whatever sphere you have chosen, until the situations falls from control.
×Youre getting very quiet when focused, to the point you might creep people out by silence.
×People always tell you to socialise more and you brush them off, 'im content with being by myself'
Your love language: basically anything, more likely quality time or acts or service
SPY
On your good side/green flags:
×Youre actually a nice guy when you warm up to people(if you can do that)
×Youre protective over the one's you love, but in a cat way. But once people make a comment on that you might stop.
×People might dislike you, but most of them go for you for an advice, especially if dating advice. And if you never had a relationship, you're good in pretending.
×Youre more on a quiet side, but if you're comfortable, and you actually trust the person, then you get extremely talkative, well, till you won't get bored.
×You can be stealthy when you want to. You can be helpful. But you'll do it only if you'll get something from it.
×You can easily adapt to new situations.
On your bad side/red flags:
×You run away from responsibility, but youre still number one to take it if no once will act on it.
×You are scared of commitment, and you don't like people. You'd do anything to push them away, even of it involves lying about your whole identity and actions. Involves acting like an absolute asshole.
×You can't let yourself get close to anyone, once you did and regretted it. You don't want it to happen again. Even if you knew the person for 10 years, you'll never trust them fully. What if they'll betray you? What if they'll suddenly realize you're actually not a good person? Hell, you don't even trust yourself.
×You think your past is forgotten, but it always comes back to you, be it a person from the past, or just something else. That involves no one knowing the real details about your past.
×You can easily get bored by people, even if you loved someone dearly, the unexpected disgust will come out and you'll be slightly anxious about it.
×You pretend you're alright with people disliking you, and you even make it into crudy jokes, but deep down you actually care for reassurance and affection, not like you'll ever admit it though. You still might slap a person if they'll touch you.
One of your love languages might be: quality time, words of affirmation or gift gifting.
Additional, in short:
Ms.Pauling
If you kin this woman, I'd say you're a hardworking person who always gets overworked no matter what. But if the jobs needs to be done? It'll be done.
You avoid any attachments and try to keep a quiet life, which doesn't always work.You tend to ignore people, give them a cold shoulder, but if people get to know you, you're an exciting person, just you dont show that often.
You'd enjoy quality time with people, and acts of service because you don't get a lot of time for yourself.
People did a similar thing, so why not? I'll try to write it as best as i can. Also, the person who sent me the latest request, it's in progress.
-----------------
Im a person who only sees red flags, but
SCOUT
On your good side/green flags:
×you're probably a funny guy. You're talkative, you can have hyperfixations on stuff and yap about it till someone won't tell you to shut up
× It's easy for you to get new friends or you just easy to get along with.
×You probably have that middle school boy jokes, and people get annoyed at you, but you try to ignore that.
×You love your mother, or you just like the attention you get.(Even if you make stupid things to get it)
On the bad side/red flags:
×You're probably insecure and not show it at all, just put the other act out, in scout's situation, it's 'tough and cocky guy', what's yours?
×You can act like an asshole and you know it.
×You have very strong daddy issues or you're a mama's person. Or both.
×You need people to like you, you want to impress them no matter what.
×You might deal bad with people leaving you, but you'll try your best not to show it. You're probably also an easy getting jealous person.
×'Have they gotten bored of me already?'
×Also you're very loud, but that's not necessary a bad thing.
One of your love languages might be: physical touch, words of affirmation or gift gifting.
SOLDIER
On your good side/green flags:
×Youre a loyal and blunt person, if you don't like something you'll immediately tell it.
×Youre supportive of people no matter what, but it might come in a pretty aggressive way, sure it can contain exploding someone who hurt your friend/partner.
×you love making gifts, be it a simple bracelet or a cool rock you found outside.
×You are for sure an interesting person, I won't be surprised if you fake stories and then tell it to people.
×You love animals, you'd absolutely squish and pet wild animals. 'What? They have rabies? So do i!'
×You also get hyperfixations on things, and once people trigger a topic you absolutely love, it's impossible to shut you up.
On your bad side/red flags:
×You rarely take people advices. Your way is the best way, at least that's what you think.
×You barely know what boundaries mean, same goes with understanding hints at something or just context of (...)
×If you love someone, you can get to the point of being obsessed with the person, latch onto them and make them focus of your existence. Though doesn't necessary mean you get easily jealous.
×You blocked out people, things, everything just to protect yourself with trauma, not a good thing.
×You might get a little too commanding or dominant, which involves being loud by accident.
One of your love languages might be: physical touch, gift gifting or acts of service
PYRO
On your good side/red flags:
×Youre genuinely a sweet person, but unintentionally make things uncomfortable.
×Youre a talkative guy, but most of the times people have a trouble understanding you. You never held a grudge.
×You adore people, you love doing gifts. As in, you're a pretty creative guy, you might even gift a car to a person..handmade
×You can easily adapt to new situations, at least most of the times.
× You're a very loyal person, you don't get easily jealous and you don't cheat on your partners, well, unless you got drugged and unconscious.
×You might have a cat-like curiosity as well as you're passionate in what you do.
On your bad side/red flags:
×You didn't grow up, you might act childish and annoy people by that.
×You have a lack of awakening, you'll simply delete a person from existence and ignore him, mostly unintentionally
× You might get impulsive or act overly emotional, getting into reckless situations what leads to being hurt.
×You have the humour no one understands, involves a sadistic humour.
×You might like destroying things just because you can.
One of your love languages might be: physical touch, gift gifting or acts of service and quality time.
DEMOMAN
On your good side/green flags:
×Youre forgiving, maybe a little too much. You're a genuinely a good guy, and try to show that to people.
×Youre the life of the party, the main light of it. You know how to make things more fun.×You was/are pressured by your family to be the best, and you act on it.
×You have a strange way of friendship, but i don't blame you for that.
×You also like adventures, so you're the type of a person with which you'll never get bored.
On your bad side/red flags:
×You might have a drinking problem, you have it just to deal with your trauma.
×You grew up faster than you should've, you probably are a caretaker of people who should take care of you.
×You keep many things to yourself, and it's impossible to tell whenever you're serious or not.
Your love language: is basically anything.
HEAVY
On your good side/green flags:
×Youre a protective, sensible and a serious guy.
×You take care of others, even if they don't need it, it's just a natural trait you have.
×People might think you're creepy, but be surprised when they get to know you.
×youre probably the caretaker figure of most people, you're the one who'd sacrifice yourself for someone else.
×you enjoy reading and having a good time with your close people, though you prefer one real friend than 100 fake.
On your bad side/red flags:
×You refuse to talk to people first, and it might take a while for you to open up.
×probably, you can scare people away by intend.
×You'll ignore people if disturbed, and you probably have some self destructing friends.
Your love language: acts of service or quality time.
So, the main one. RED is socially awkward, BLU is antisocial. Both have in common that they don't talk to people and that they are introverts, but let's read about it more.
BLU Sniper usually spends time in his van, or going on mini adventures for food. He does not want to talk to people and avoides them like plague, would stare the person down if interrupted, would leave snarky comments.
RED Sniper also spends time in his van, and is usually reluctant to leave it, but if someone would try, after some time he would leave it. He's the person to stand in the corner and watch the party, wanting to talk to someone, but too awkward to and/or doesn't know how to start the conversation.
General headcanons:
Apart from that, like Pyro, he has a HUGE paranoia about Spies. Those guys always like to target him, so it'd be no surprise. Because of that paranoia he has SMG under his pillow, and the rifle/kukri next to his bed. Just in case, he put several more locks as well, and maybe made the glass in his van better.
Also, i think he keeps an owl pet. No one knows about it except the ones who's been in his van for a long time. Which is barely anyone.
He is touch starved, so if you're like Pyro, start it slowly, and if you know eachother for long enough, he might even hug you occasionally. No matter what, he'd still stiff if it's not him starting the contract.
As i said in Spy's post, he's hard to open up. Both RED and BLU have no experience in relationships, and both didn't have much real friends, so both would be awkward.
In friendship, he'd think you're friends with him out of pity, so please, give him some reassurance. And in dating, after many, many months he'd still be surprised you like, no, love him.
Also, if not Pyro, then he is the second loyal person in the team. He's scared to mess up, and thinks you'll get bored of him, and yes, he might be too cold at times (unintentionally), but he'd never betray your trust.
Outside of battle, he enjoys a good ol' stargazing or just riding to nowhere, not caring about anything, just having a good time. If his van if unavailable for some reason, or it's not night, he'd practice his shooting skills(likely), maybe spend time with the team(unlikely)
Well, first of all, it feels like BLU Spy is way sassier than his RED version, maybe a little more playful, while RED is on full on arrogant and cocky, much from that they don't show differences. Spy code, I'd say.
So, to general headcanons :
He's absolutely terrified of commitment, he's paranoid to even just have friends. Reason to that? He thinks if he'll open up, people will use it against him, no matter what. And if it's a relationship? It might take years for him to actually open up. While in Snipers situation he's just a little awkward and untrusful to open up at first, Spy is outright paranoid, he might even tell you fake things at first.
Yes, my boy has a lot of red flags.
As for relationship, I'd not be surprised if he pulled no bitches except Scout's ma. Like, he acts all mighty and pro in romantic sphere, gives advices to people(mostly Scout), but that's only because he doesn't want to admit that he never had actual, good and healthy experience in relationships. And in addition, he's an energy matcher.
As for them, about dates? People might think he'd enjoy a luxury, expensive date, yeah? Well, you're right, but he'd also be happy even if you guys will spend some quiet time in his smoking room. And yes, he'll act annoyed at it and complain, but he doesn't mean it, at least most of the times.
He'd try to make the person he dates jealous to see how you'll act. No joke, as i once read, it's either he's too attached, either under attached, no in between. And it's easy to tell which one is truth.
My man does feel like a playboy and a guy who'd leave you for someone younger, but Spy is cautious with relationships, so if it'd come to break up, he'd train his speech in his head before telling you that he wants to break up. If you took if well, you swear you heard a small sigh of relief, if not, he'll ignore your presense till you wont calm down.
For language he speaks? Canonically, French, Spanish and Catalan. But I'd say he also knows either german, either Russian or even both, because he wants to blackmail his teammates, or the enemy team if he'd have something on them, which he does.
Outside the battle, maybe, just maybe he donates to charity or something like it, like come on, man is rich, yes, he's an asshole, but he's not heartless or something, just broken.
He also has a huge soft spot for classical music and art, not like he'll admit it though.
But what he'll admit that he has a photographic memory, maybe he'll brag about it sometimes. But he's a Spy, so that'd make sense.
He's also an absolute lover of chess, (he prefers it more that checkers, and would never turn it down). And he does enjoy playing boardgames with his teammates, he does complain though.
Plus yes guys, he does 'your mother' jokes, just to annoy people, no more.
I have a feeling that Blu Scout is slightly more mature than Red. While Red is a hyperball, Blu can surely just sit and stare at people if he gets disturbed while he 'reads' his comics.
Though, i believe they both are too uneducated to be able to read. So I wouldn't be surprised if they hold their books upside down at times, unless corrected.(especially if it involves Heavys books)
I have a feeling his first love was in school, but it was short lived(few months) and lead to a heartbreak. But he most likely forgot about it with his new crush on Miss Pauling.
He considers himself a ladies man, which Spy laughs at till Scout gives questionable dating advices to everyone else.
Surely, behind his cocky attitude and all, he's a soft boy with insecurities. He is a mama's boy and has daddy issues, not in a hot way though. Maybe Scout subtly(not really) tries to impress Spy while containing his prideful mask towards his dad. Though Spy can see through it, obviously, and doesn't show any emotion on it. But I'd say it happens that Scout gets too determined to outclass him that well, Medic gets visits a lot.
About his family, he loves his mother dearly and sends her gifts or/and money every time he gets . He has rivalry with his brothers, but I'd not say it's too bad. On family gatherings they van stare eachother down till one gives up.
Maybe he looks up to someone from the team as well? I can't decide. Maybe it's Soldier because he's so manly and confident in himself? Maybe it's engineer because he's like a father he never had?
He has a nickname for everyone, and gives zero shit about their opinion on it. (Spy, Miss Pailing and Medic get the most annoying nicknames)
Outside of the battles he rescues animals. And on multiple occasions he brought them on the base, it continued till Administrator didn't ban him from doing so.
Also he collects different souvenirs from his missions, be it a rock or a stick, he just does.
I bet he also spends hours on his hair routine, he has a badass hairstyle to contain.(let's forget he wears a baseball cap). Wouldn't be surprised if he uses too much of cologne as well.(unreal)
So, i feel like Red Heavy has a deeper connection with literature than Blu. Like, yes, they both love it, but i think reading reminds Red of his childhood, when he read books to his sisters. While for Blu it's more of a hobby.
Also Blu Heavy is more expressive with his teammates, maybe slightly smile at their antics and shaking his head, but that's it.
Blu and Red Heavys both spend a lot of time with their Medic, but I have a feeling Red spends more, because Red Medic is crazier with experiments. (They're good friends.)
I feel they both aren't good with rumours, since their country is well yes, they keep to themselves, but they both let medics ramble about whatever drama is happening in or outside the team..
And overall, how strange it sounds or not, people may think Blu is more kind than Red, but no. They both are protective and love their teammates with their whole hearts, since it's like second family to them, and as we know, they love their family. It's just that Red more on observant side than Blu.
Honestly, my main headcanon that Blu Pyro is actually insane, maybe not like Medic, but you get my point(probably). Maybe Blu is also colorblind? That would explain if he'd actually kill his teammates.
I think that they both do have provision, but Red only sees rainbows and hearts while Blu occasionally sees the gore of the battle, and doesn't seem to mind.
Outside of the battle they're both creative with what they do, as people say 'silly'. But actually they have an illness. Most likely - schizophrenia. I can see them both seeing Spies occasionally, or just weird stuff, well, cute to them, but when they tell their engineer about that he goes like 'welp, alright kid.'
About their gender? I don't know. Most likely male, their mumbles is more on a 'low' voice side(though anyone can make hudah mmh sounds). Like if we'll compare Classic Pyro and Blu/Red Pyro, we can see that Classic is a woman and it was told that Classic was the only ever woman hired, so that makes us think about our Pyro. But I'll still use they/them for them.
(Also please, if you'll ever draw fem!Pyro make 'em chubby, not skinny as hell like some do.)
Back to other headcanons. They're both very creative as i said and love their team! Though Blu creeps their team more because they sent their team to respawn quite a bit times (especially Spy).
I'd bet Pyro is one of, if not the most loyal in the team, while you can't exactly rely on them since their provision, they'll still try their best to listen to you and help, even if you won't understand them.
I feel like they do burn stuff, but by accident, and then get sad by it, especially if it's a present from someone. A curious mind can lead to homicide(real).
