#kashimo fic

period comfort with Kashimo ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა cw: nudity (no smut), blood, reader is briefly pinned down, praise, mention of stabbing, mention of infertility, fluff note: helloooo, thank you <3 i actually put everything aside when i saw this ask and immediately got to work because it’s time sensitive and as someone w endometriosis, i think pain or women’s health related fics will have a priority for me

“You’ve been in there for twenty minutes.”

Kashimo’s voice is a tiny bit impatient but still pretty calm. It’s more like he’s just stating a fact that makes no sense to him.

“Isn’t today’s generation all about saving water?”

Fair question. It’s not very eco-friendly of you to shower for so long, especially with how hot the water is. But it’s just too good, too relieving. You sit in the narrow space, knees drawn up to your chest, your hair sticks to the wet tiles behind you, while hot water from above rains on you in a strong beam. Your little sniffles have stopped by now.

“I want to brush my teeth so I can go to bed. Can I come in?”

The reason you can hear the man’s voice so clearly, despite the shower being right above you, is that the stall’s sliding doors are open, just like the bathroom’s door.

The bathroom stall is open on purpose, so it doesn’t get too steamy inside, the bathroom door, well, that just won’t close. Shitty motel things.

Kashimo hasn’t shown any signs of being a creep, which is why you’re okay with the doors being open, with him in the same apartment.

“Sure,” you reply unenthusiastically and pull the stall’s opaque glass doors closed. This way, the only thing Kashimo will see is your faint silhouette.

Kashimo waits another moment, then you can see his shadow as he steps into the room. There’s some vivid blue at the top, and some grey where his body is. He mumbles something along the lines of “it’s like a stone sauna in here,” but not loud enough for you to hear. It’s more of a grumble anyway. Water runs, followed by the characteristic sound of the toothbrush’ bristles rubbing against teeth and gums.

Your gaze falls back to your toes as you continue to soak, not wanting to give up this comfort just yet. Your tummy hurts too much, and the pain has spread into your thighs. Medicine or a heating pad would be great but not something you’ll find now.

Not to talk about how you’ve only brought tampons, thinking you wouldn’t get your period yet anyway. Tampons always seem to make the pain worse but are also less messy.

The sound of Kashimo spitting toothpaste into the sink signals that he’s done with the routine. You must have zoned out. Foggy, light red fluid spreads out around your feet, then swims down the drain.

“Why are you sitting there like that?” Kashimo asks, loud enough for you to hear his voice, albeit a bit muffled with the sliding doors closed and water pouring down on you.

Great. Not the best time to be curious.

“It’s comfortable,” you reply. The tone and even the length of the sentence is more clipped than usual, and Kashimo notices. His body stiffens and he turns towards the stall.

“Oi.”

“Are you done here?” you ask before the conversation escalates. You don’t need his judgment or scolding right now.

“If you’re hiding an injury and it gets worse because of your inability to ask for help, I will leave you behind. I don’t need dead weight.”

You almost laugh at that, but it comes out more like a breath that gets caught halfway.

“Relax,” you mutter, resting your forehead against your knees. “I’m not dying.”

There’s a pause. Long enough that you can feel him thinking about whether to drop it or push. “You sound like shit.”

“I’ll come out soon, okay?”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Kashimo doesn’t say anything for many seconds, but as you lift your head again, you can tell he’s moving around a bit in the already limited space from the way his silhouette shifts.

“Open the door.”

“Why?”

“So I know you’re not hurt.” Kashimo’s voice is firmer now, determined. With his personality, it is very much possible that he really is only worried about an ally becoming a burden.

“Open it yourself.”

And Kashimo does. An uncomfortable breeze passes through the gap, and it stirs the accumulated steam inside. Luckily, in the curled-up position you’re in, your chest and other important areas aren’t visible, although it must be quite the pathetic sight because Kashimo’s lips press into a thin line and his brows furrow. He’s dressed in his sleeping shirt and sweatpants. The oversized style is not his, in your opinion, probably his vessel’s, or he borrowed the clothes from someone.

His hair was also taken out, and he looks way more… chill like that.

“That’s blood.”

“From the inside,” you reply.

“Well, thank god, because I’ve never heard of outside blood.”

That’s not what you meant, but you don’t have the strength to argue about technicalities.

“Blood from my uterus.”

Again, Kashimo falls silent, but only because he’s debating whether you mean menstruation or an actual wound in your organ. He’s always thinking about battle, the old man.

Menstruation is more likely though.

“You have to get out at some point,” he states. “I can help you later.”

Now that catches your interest. First of all, Kashimo, willingly helping you? And also he’s being so normal at the sight of period blood. Others would find it disgusting for sure. But he keeps towering over you, without batting an eye, as a blood clot runs down the drain next. You’d find it embarrassing if you weren’t cramping so much. Third, how the hell does Kashimo even plan to help you?

“Really?”

Kashimo shrugs, then turns away to reach for a towel. He holds it out towards you, but his body and head stay angled towards the opposite wall.

“I’ll do my best.”

Ugh. This is such a hard part. Turning the nice and hot water off, getting out, putting in the tampon. Whatever Kashimo has planned, it better be good.

Somehow, with great effort, you push yourself up, turn the water off, and immediately snatch the beige towel from Kashimo. It’s not the softest fabric, fitting for the cheap shelter, but at least it’s big enough for you to completely wrap your body.

The cold air hits your skin when you step out, sharp in contrast to the heat you just left behind. You shiver, shoulders tensing as you press the towel tighter around yourself.

Kashimo is already retreating since there’s not much space, and you need privacy to get dressed anyway.

“I hate this,” you mumble to yourself as you insert the tampon in a rather ungraceful position. The cotton is too dry and hard. Yuck. “Wanna sleep in the shower…”

Kashimo scoffs in the bedroom. “Not happening.”

Why does he care? That will be left between him and the gods.

After putting your pajamas on and brushing your teeth, you finally exit the bathroom with a slumped posture and damp hair. You can already feel the cramps getting worse without the soothing warmth splashing against your stomach. You look like shit, you feel like shit. There’s no way you can enter a colony like this tomorrow. But that’s a problem for future you.

Kashimo shuffles closer to you on the futon when you lie down and actually leans over you from a sitting position. His hair falls into his face and the collar of his baggy t-shirt dips as gravity pulls on it. This is the closest he’s ever been to you, not counting fights.

“I’m going to do something weird,” he warns, but you don’t think much of it, he’s always doing weird shit. Well.

You should’ve prepared mentally because, in the next moment, his hand slides under your shirt and his fingers splay out over your abdomen. You gasp. Something stinging spreads in your muscles, it worms its way into the tissue insistently, making you jerk and twitch.

“Hey—“

“Stay still,” Kashimo commands, and even holds your shoulder down with his free hand. His weight presses against you, keeping you in one place as you struggle to process what’s happening.

“Don’t fight it. Relax.”

“Kashimo—“

“I know, I know.” He’s trying to soften his voice, it still comes out a bit unnatural from the mouth of such a violent man. He takes in your wide eyes, your confused expression, and shallow breathing. “Don’t look so scared…”

He seems to frown at the thought. No, that can’t be. You’re hallucinating from the pain, yes, that is what’s happening.

“You’ll make me infertile,” you reply, almost panicked. From the feel of it, Kashimo is using his cursed energy, a very small amount, to do something to your muscles and nerves inside you, to warm things or massage things, or to recreate what acupuncture does with his electricity; it’s anyone’s guess. Considering how powerful he is, you don’t want him being inside you like that.

“I promise I won’t.” For once, Kashimo looks completely serious and focused. “Don’t fight it.” He’s definitely frowning now. He must mean it.

Your lips part to inhale deeply, your cramping worsens before you take a big gamble and stop resisting. Your stomach relaxes, your body slackens, and a soft breath escapes you.

“Good. Good job.”

Warmth spreads inside you, soothing your pain surprisingly well. It’s similar to the hot shower but more effective. And now there’s a guy hovering over you. That too. The relief is immense, so much that you give yourself over to Kashimo’s ministrations like he just hypnotized you into submission.

“How is that?” His thumb rubs little circles against your skin subconsciously. Comforting you? Or himself?

“Mh… feels nice…”

The cramps have softened, the radiating pain retreated from your thighs.

Kashimo nods.

“I’ll do something weird again. But only because it’s convenient, okay?”

You’re not questioning him at this point. With half-lidded eyes, you nod back at him. “Okay.”

The mattress dips under Kashimo’s weight as he lies down too and pulls you back against his chest. His hand snakes around your waist and stays under your shirt, while his chin rests on the top of your head.

“Heh… so warm…”

“Take a deep breath for me.”

You inhale, and his palm swipes over your skin as if feeling for something specific, then settles back into its original place.

“There we go, that’s good,” he murmurs. His eyes stay fixed on a random point in the room as he speaks. Looking down at you would confirm that he really is cuddling you. Proof of something Kashimo doesn’t want to acknowledge yet. It’s off-putting how different he is now, though he tells himself it’s just so he can sleep without being disturbed later. If he can get you to sleep peacefully, that will pay off.

“Hurts…” you slur out. It doesn’t hurt as much now, but today has been horrible, it was hard to function. And it’s only the first day of your cycle.

“Mhm.” Kashimo can only hum in response. He wonders if the pain he felt from that one time, when he got stabbed as a teenager, would be similar to yours. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Women’s bodies are probably too different for such a comparison. “You’re doing well.”

Oh, praise from Kashimo… so good… so nice and fuzzy… Your body melts against his as you drift further toward sleep.

“Not so sure about that,” you reply quietly.

Kashimo continues rubbing your tummy with his thumb, sometimes his knuckles. He doesn’t go above your bellybutton or under the subtle bulge of your stomach.

“You’re way too soft here for a sorcerer,” he comments when his hand prods against your flesh, though it isn’t phrased like an insult, more like a carefully worded question. Like he isn’t used to warriors lacking hard, sculpted muscles.

“I’m all about flexibility.”

“Still…”

You snicker weakly, tummy fluttering. “Some of us are softer than they should be.”

“Right. Yes.”

Not Kashimo though. This is all convenience and efficiency. For a while, neither of you speaks, you both just lie in the dimly lit room, too aware of each other’s presence. The pillow under your ear rustles as Kashimo shifts, moving just a bit closer until his lips brush the top of your head.

You don’t dare say anything, not when his cursed energy treats you so well. It comes in little waves, easing the knots in you open. Your breathing evens out, and you can tell you’ll fall asleep soon. The clock ticks, a car drives with screeching tires. There must be trash outside on the street because the sound of something rolling on the ground disturbs the quiet occasionally. Shitty motel, shitty neighbourhood.

“It’s quite easy to be close,” Kashimo mutters to himself. For everyone’s sake, you pretend to be asleep by now. “Wanna be close more, okay?”

You don’t reply, to preserve his pride. His nose grazes briefly your temple and retreats quickly.

“Gonna keep you really close.”

✶ SYNOPSIS. ‧࿔˖˚ She said yes. She cried, with her pretty eyes glistening with tears and she said yes. She stuttered on her sobs, with her cherry mouth wobbling and she said yes. Hajime would remember for his remaining days how his wife said yes when he proposed to her.

✶ PROMPT. ‧࿔˖˚ Smudged yellow eyeshadow from @scealaiscoite's prompt list.

✶ RELATIONSHIP. ‧࿔˖˚ Hajime Kashimo/Assigned!Female!At!Birth!Reader.

✶ GENRE & THEMES. ‧࿔˖˚ Alternate Universe ⦚ No Curses, Alternate Universe ⦚ No Jujutsu Sorcerers, Smūt, Established Relationship, Mirror Sēx, Vāgināl Sēx, Unprotected Sēx, Semi-Clothed Sēx, Nīpple Plāy, Breāst Plāy, Prāises, Creāmpīe, Possessiveness, Reader is On The Curvy Side, Maybe Slightly Obsessive Hajime Kashimo, Hajime Kashimo is Cocky (And We Love It), POV Hajime Kashimo. Ageless and blank blogs don't interact with my work or you'll be blocked.

✶ WORDS. ‧࿔˖˚ 2,305k.

༄ THE SOJUS MENU. ₊‧+ THE MENU. ₊‧+ Archive Of Our Own. ₊˚⊹

              There were some things that were engraved into Hajime’s mind. Some memories that were carved into the deepest corners of his brain, embedded into the farthest of his neurons. Things he would never forget, things that were notched into his very being. 

              Memories he would rewind and would replay again, and again in his head for the remaining of his days. He only had to pick and click any of those, and then to revel into the delicious emotions that flooded into him, stirring through his soul, as he relived the many feelings she had evoked in his body. 

              Like that evening when she had confessed her love for him upon his lips, cherry mouth only breadths away from his. There was no forgetting the way his heart had almost burst onto his tongue. Like that day when, as the dawn emerged from beyond the clouds, he had woken with her warm body curled around his, smooth skin embracing silky skin. There was only remembering how soothed he had been feeling that morning.  

              Hajime would surely never, ever forget, nor tire for that matter, the way his girl always etched her lingering presence into every single nooks and crevices of his being. But he undoubtedly would bask in knowing he was the only one she imbued so wholly with everything that was making her the person she was. 

              And there certainly was no vanishing from his brain of how this night looked. How she looked. 

              If, for only an instant, Hajime lost his way and wandered too far into the sloshing mush that had become his mind, he simply had to glimpse into the reflection of his pretty girl’s face in front of him in the mirror. Well, if anything, he was becoming more and more enamoured with her by the second. 

              She was way too gorgeous like this, with her lovely mouth mewling and whimpering her undying love for him. With her shaky hands holding the vanity, as though she was crumbling away bit by bit. His girl, with her delicious body snuggling his cock into the velvety crevices of her cunt.

Kashimo being supplied with a very special Kogane, for an unexplained reason. He doesn’t touch real women, he can’t be vulnerable like that but luckily, his cute sidekick isn’t exactly real, or so he assumes.

Sooo I wanted to ask, could you write a fix with Kashimo and a reader that's his wife also reincarnated???

So the plot basically is sunshine x sunshine protector, so kashimos wife is an angel, super kind, calm and never turns to violence, (she just got reincarnated because Kashimo said that without her he doesn't come back), whenever Kashimo is with her he changes completely, he can be acting all arrogant and all that but the moment his sweet wife appears he folds under zero pressure, so he's basically whipped, and kirara and Hakari never miss the opportunity to make fun of him ₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Kashimo and his sunshine!wife moments ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) p2 here cw: protective!Kashimo, sunshine!reader, mommy-coded reader note: this is such a cute concept. sorry it took/takes me so long to get back to the requests, uni is kicking my butt. if anyone is interested in the kashimo x wife!reader concept, you can check out my series :)

You’re strong, yeah? Otherwise, you’d never catch Kashimo’s eye. You could destroy small villages with your power. Not just that, you’re smart too, in a way that makes sparring with you like some kind of escape room.

Unfortunately, you’re also a stubborn, naive, pacifist. You refuse to use your power to your fullest capacities, unless you have to defend yourself. Which you never have to do because while Kashimo is all about battles, he can be stupid. A silly dummy. And he protects you. He cares for you enough to want to protect you. That’s what makes him stupid, in his mind.

Well, hey, he doesn’t want to lose the only person who can come close enough to him. Sometimes, it annoys him how you could be toying with his life or anyone’s life if you wanted to but you’re just too sweet, too nice. You assume good intentions in everyone and you have zero spatial awareness. It’s like hanging out with a golden retriever, while said golden retriever possesses the strength of about ten of Sukuna’s fingers.

The reason why you join the Culling Game is simple: you want to stop it.

Kashimo is fine with that, he just wants to find Sukuna before you manage to achieve that.

The precious wife’s arrival.

Kashimo is his usual self, if not worse, in terms of volatility and aggression. He snaps at opponents easily, electricity coiled tight in each strike.

He’s not much better with the allies he makes. Not very polite and every other sentence is either an eloquently worded threat or a, well, a straight-up “you’re next after Sukuna.”

At times, he thinks Kenjaku maybe tricked him because his beautiful angel wife is nowhere to be seen.

Kashimo learns that one of his allies, Itadori Yuji, is supposedly Sukuna’s vessel. He can’t stop poking at him, testing him.

Until—

“Hajime-chan?” Oh that sweet, sweet voice. Salvation and torture and ecstasy all in one. Of course, everyone around freezes because did someone really just call the God of Lightning Hajime-chan?

The even bigger surprise follows when Hajime simply stops yanking poor Yuji around and turns around with the softest “Yes, dear?” those present ever heard.

“Why are you being mean to that boy?”

Kashimo stammers, hands retreating and even fixing Yuji’s ruffled hair but only looking at you with concerningly dilated pupils. Like he’s getting high on the sight of you.

Walk him like a dog, Hoshi thinks to herself the moment she recognizes Kashimo’s reaction.

You don’t even look remotely intimidated.

You’re standing there in the middle of a battlefield-turned-meeting-spot, dust clinging to your clothes, hands clasped behind your back like you just walked into a tea party instead of the Culling Game.

“Hajime-chan,” you repeat, tilting your head. “You promised you’d try being nicer.”

“We were just talking.”

“You were lifting him by the collar.”

“That’s how men talk.”

You sigh, approach him slowly and stretch until you’re on your tiptoes. You pat the top of his head, barely able to reach it.

What a surreal experience for everyone else involved.

“Apologize.”

Kashimo pouts. With slumped shoulders, looking down at the ground, Kashimo turns to Yuji.

“…sorry for lifting you like a ragdoll…and throwing you around…and electrocuting you…”

Later, after you’ve introduced yourself and left (possibly to make love to your husband), Hakari and Hoshi look at each other, knowing that this is going to deliver so much delicious teasing material.

Kashimo does not play about his wife.

Everyone learns that very quickly. Wherever you are, he’s possibly somewhere near. Most often, squatting somewhere on higher ground with his nyoi staff, watching you do your thing occasionally, ready to make any threat’s heart stop from his position.

Talking to you, however, changes him.

“—And Kashimo keeps his eye on entry point A from this buildin’ here,” Hakari points to an old map on the table.

Kashimo scoffs.

“No way, I’m fighting, that’s what I’m here for.”

“But sweetheart, if you stay where Hakari-san suggests, we can be pretty close to each other in our positions and at night, stars will be so pretty too—“

“Yes, I agree, let’s do that.” The reply is immediate. It makes Hakari and Hoshi eye each other with a smirk.

“Yes, I agree, sweet, beautiful wife, light of my life, your wish is my command,” Hakari repeats Kashimo’s words in a mocking, high-pitched voice, exaggerating Kashimo comically.

The reason that mission gets delayed by twenty minutes is because Kashimo does not tolerate Hakari’s joke and gives him a piece of his mind.

Your friendly, oblivious approach drives him crazy.

Sometimes, Kashimo thinks you assume everyone just wants to be your friend.

Before battles, you try reasoning with your opponent but you just come off as condescending, upsetting your opponent. It makes them aggressive.

You apologize for hurting people in the process and have way too much patience.

That’s not how Kashimo’s mind works. It drives him up the wall buuut he has no problem playing the bad cop in the scenario.

“Look, buddy, we can do this the easy or the hard way. You talk to my wife with respect and she’ll be nice to you. Or I beat the shit out of you and degrade you as I go. Your choice.”

He eats out of your palm.

Kashimo is calm and vulnerable when it’s just the two of you. Strokes your cheek lovingly, presses gentle kisses to your lips, and brushes your hair.

“You’re too idealistic, sweetheart. Don’t want you to get hurt because of that.”

You blink up at him with those innocent eyes, eyelashes fluttering.

“Eh, Hajime-chan, you underestimate me,” you giggle and let your whole weight slump against him. Kashimo shakes his head; he thinks he doesn’t underestimate you but doesn’t protest verbally.

It’s a privilege to be as kind and happy as you are, and he’s not about to ruin that.

A small problem: private moments are rare. Which brings us to the next moment:

Bonus, the kids love you.

It’s probably because you’re the first adult who behaves slightly parentally with them. They’re all over you.

They cling to your hands, tug at your sleeves, and seek your attention (in sneaky ways, so they don’t look needy) and you don’t mind. You kneel to meet their eyes, ruffle their hair, and let them chatter endlessly while you listen like it’s the most important thing in the world, which, honestly, it is to them. Yuji is the one doing it the least discreetly. After the whole Sukuna swapping vessels thing, he is so worried about his friend and Kashimo often finds you sitting with the kid somewhere at night, comforting him. (Maki is doing it the most discreetly. Because of pride and dignity.)

Kashimo thinks you’re so strange. He’s so lucky to have such a strange wife <3

If not ignore this !

caretaker!Kashimo x chronically ill!reader headcanons 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 cw: fluff, 1 mean comment?(not by Kashimo) note: hoho I’ve been waiting for this one. thanks for trusting me with this request. The illness wasn’t specified, so i will keep it mostly vague. The descriptions will be based on my knowledge and experiences but remember that these things are different for everyone. I hope you like it. I have also created a SMAU for this (at the end) because it just felt right. They are just random texts between kashi and reader. It’s my first time making one and the app I used is shitty, sorry if it sucks :(

• Caretaker!Kashimo, who initially doesn’t really want to spend time with you. He has better things to do, and hanging out with a “weak” little sorcerer isn’t on his agenda. Unfortunately for him, it turns out the low-frequency electric impulses he can generate have a soothing effect on your nerves, muscles, and other tissues. He can alleviate your pain and control your flare-ups. Sooooo… all the others make him help you.

• Caretaker!Kashimo, who has a talent for making everyone feel like an inconvenience and doesn’t bother hiding his annoyance as he prepares your treatment.

Every evening, he peeks into your room and asks if you need his cursed energy, silently hoping you don’t. Though you feel guilty saying yes, you know it would be foolish to refuse. When you do need his help, it’s awkward. He performs such intimate tasks with the world’s coldest poker face. The closeness feels unorganic, almost artificial. Caretaker!Kashimo sees your body, your flaws, and weaknesses up close, all in the privacy of your room. An unnatural familiarity develops between the two of you. It looms over every encounter and conversation.

• Caretaker!Kashimo, who learns your body while remaining detached: the trembling of your fingers, the sound you make when something is about to hurt versus the soft mewl when it really does. He works better when he makes an effort to help you relax, though “help” usually just means saying, “You’re doing well,” with the tone of a bored receptionist. He notices your tendency to overestimate your energy, your “spoons,” as it were. Once, he even catches himself scoffing when someone calls people with your illness lazy. Having felt the reality of your condition through his own cursed energy, such remarks now ruffle his feathers, for some unexplainable reason… >.<

• He’s rough. You’re used to Ieri’s neutral, slightly disinterested approach, so adjusting to caretaker!Kashimo isn’t difficult. Still, when he commands you to lift your shirt, stay still, or stop whining, you stiffen, and your heart lurches unpleasantly.

• Caretaker!Kashimo, who reads a little about your sickness, not out of genuine interest, but to help you more effectively and get it over with faster. The books hidden in his drawer indicate nothing else! (He thinks it’s embarassing how a supposedly modern time mostly has research about male patients and that the resulting available treatments are tailored towards them, eight times out of ten.)

Slowly, he begins to notice patterns: certain foods, times of day, weather, even stress levels, your body responds predictably. He doesn’t comment, filing it away mentally like a meticulous scientist observing a specimen.

• For his amusement and absolutely nothing else, he sometimes takes you out to fight opponents, if he deems your body strong enough. He weakens the opponent first until they’re harmless for your rank, then lets you practice on them. It’s slightly humiliating for the opponent, with caretaker!Kashimo watching and giving advice as if they were merely a toy. Well, to him, they kind of are.

• Caretaker!Kashimo, who becomes a rabid guard dog during severe flare-ups. He insists that no one should mess with your stress levels, it just creates more work for him. Hostile sorcerers are better off staying away. Usually, it’s enough for him to tower behind you with arms crossed and a menacing glare and anyone wanting to talk to you will think twice.

• At some point, caretaker!Kashimo has to admit that he’s grown fond of you, triggering a small existential crisis. You challenge his beliefs about strength and bonds, making him uncomfortable. You may be as weak as the rest of the group, but he enjoys your company. He’s forced to realize that jujutsu skills aren’t the only way to connect with someone.

• Caretaker!Kashimo debates letting you be on a first-name basis but decides against it, thinking it’s better not to form attachments. Still, he gives you fake mean nicknames, such as “stupid” or “squeaky toy.” (Because you squeak too much when he touches you with cold hands :( ) • Caretaker!Kashimo, who once jokes about “kissing it better” but neither of you laughs and the sight of you blushing flusters him, so both of you end up looking really red and it becomes one of those embarassing moments caretaker!Kashimo thinks about before falling asleep.

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

Hajime has been scolding himself for bringing you along on his little journey the whole time, whenever he had the time to actually think, that is.

Because so far, your mere existence has made his thoughts crash and reboot more often than Hajime would’ve anticipated. He hadn’t actually planned on asking you to come when he had entered the room, but then he saw your dumb face, with cake frosting all over it, and just blurted it out. From there, there was no going back.

It was a mistake. You’re not a bad travelling companion, and he doesn’t doubt you’re a good mission partner too, but now you’re going to be sick because of him. The stupid rain. His own back is drenched from shielding you, but he can ignore the constant sensory nightmare of cold, wet fabric glued to his skin pretty well.

Hajime was having all kinds of flashbacks. The ones that make him think of his wife’s raspy voice when she was coughing a little, of her flushed cheeks and soft mewls, and her weak attempts at pawing at him to get his attention. Enough time has passed for Hajime to make peace with the fact that he was ready to confess his love to her that day and that he wanted to fuck her so, so bad.

However, he is also reminded of what that illness ultimately did to her. It weakened her and offered the perfect opportunity for the scumbags to attack. While one side of Hajime wants to fantasize and yearn for what the sickness did to her body, the other is anxious just thinking about it. Feelings swirl in Hajime like nasty ingredients in a witch’s cauldron, creating a nauseating mix.

It doesn’t matter how dramatic his actions might be now, he can’t let you be sick. One, that would make it very hard for him to hold back. Two, if you’re sick, you’re weak, and there is no way he’s making the same mistake twice.

The harsh rain had stopped after about half an hour, thankfully. That half an hour had tested Hajime’s restraint. The urge to roll his hips against you had returned, but he suppressed it. Especially when you started yapping about him wanting to sacrifice you, Hajime had to pull himself together.

It doesn’t really rain anymore, but a raindrop does land on Hajime’s face every now and then. The leaves on the ground, now wet, don’t crunch anymore, softened by the rainwater. It’s just a mess of mud and sticky plants and recovering bugs.

“Sooo, will you tell me what we’re doing here?”

Hajime glances at you over his shoulder. You’re standing there with damp hair sticking to your face, cheeks slightly red. He tries to convince himself it’s just from the exertion of the hike, not a fever.

He can see how you take in the less-than-graceful cursed shrine, with your brows knit together and your lips pulled to the side into a confused pout. Your reaction is understandable. The red paint has long faded, the intricate designs stretching across the pillars chipped off, and some pieces of the framing are broken or the mold has eaten them away.

Torii gates are missing completely, and the statues in the area are unrecognizable from the dark green moss coating them. A single shimenawa rope hangs from the entrance; one end has fallen from where it was suspended, and it grazes the dirty ground. Due to its weight, it doesn’t even sway when the wind blows.

It’s hard to tell when exactly the shrine got abandoned, but judging by the looks of it, at least a century ago.

“Cleaning up,” Hajime replies gruffly. He takes the first steps toward the entrance, ignoring how something small and wooden creaks under his feet. Probably a heart-shaped ema.

“We came here to revamp a shrine?” Your voice comes out slightly appalled.

“I suppose you can think of it like that.”

Hajime stops abruptly when he notices you’re not coming along. You’re still standing there, gawking at the building that towers in front of you. Following your gaze, he can see that you’re looking at the pillars, the statues, all the places where the shrine’s purpose could be given away. But it’s useless, the place is way too neglected for any specific symbols to be visible.

“Oi,” he calls out and nods toward the entrance, gesturing for you to follow along. The sound snaps you out of your haze, and you quickly make your way to the older sorcerer.

“Heh, sorry.”

Inside, most of the interior is missing. Valuables were stolen, offerings long rotted away or taken, leaving behind only warped floorboards and the skeletal remains of what might’ve once been an altar. The air is stale, thick with damp wood.

A single wooden fox statue lies sideways in a corner.

“Not to be annoying, but there’s not much to clean up here,” you chime in as Hajime walks with measured steps toward the little fox.

“No, there isn’t.”

He’s agreeing but also not elaborating. Crouching down, he picks it up and places it on the altar built into the wall at the center. Then, he wipes the dust off the surface there, using the baggy sleeve of his robe. It’s already gotten dirty anyway. White is not the best choice for a walk in the woods, nor for a sorcerer in general.

“Oh,” you perk up at the sight of him dusting off the object, “That’s a fox!”

“So?”

“Foxes are used in love shrines.”

“So they are,” Hajime replies flatly.

“This is a love shrine.”

“You just love pointing out the obvious, don’t you?”

A soft exhale escapes your lips from behind Hajime’s crouching form. Right. He can’t stay too long because you’re both still wet, and he’d prefer to have you back at Jujutsu High. Still, he came here for unfinished business.

“I have several questions,” you state, and based on the way the wooden floor creaks, you must be shifting your weight from one leg to the other.

“Are they stupid questions?”

Hajime rises to his feet, then starts walking around in the room, visibly searching for something.

“I don’t think so. Did we come here so you could put that thing back into place and dust it off?”

“That’s a very stupid question.”

His loud footsteps are followed by yours as you look around curiously, trying to notice any details that could give something away. The interior isn’t unusual, though. Just plain walls, windows, dust bunnies, and spiderwebs, dim smaller rooms.

Then the subtle tension of cursed residuals hits the man’s skin, the scent of something metallic and burnt climbs up his nose. Instinctively, Hajime steps a bit closer to you.

His eyes zero in on the residuals that slowly start to appear on the ground once he focuses on them.

“There you are,” he mumbles to no one in particular, and grabbing your wrist, he starts following the trail.

It’s faint but enough to see how it snakes past the warped planks and into one of the side rooms, barely visible, like heat shimmering above asphalt.

The doorway ahead sags slightly to one side, its frame split from years of neglect. The residuals gather there, pooling like spilled molasses.

Hajime pauses just before stepping through. You bump into his back with a little huff, your nose pressing against the heavy, cold fabric.

“What? Did the curse put up a ‘do not enter’ sign?”

Hajime tuts, not appreciating your little comment, but doesn’t reply. A low table is placed against one of the walls, and he crouches down again. The cursed energy pulses from there weakly.

“Found you,” he addresses the curse in a surprisingly neutral manner. Not only because he isn’t worried about the curse harming you, it’s not that strong but also because he really doesn’t see curses as enemies, just mindless pests.

“You know that one?” you ask, tilting your head curiously.

“No. I just expected this one to form.”

“Right.”

Slowly, the curse, one of those disfigured ones with random limbs that usually can only repeat one specific sentence, climbs out from under the bed. It doesn’t look scared, nor hostile. Just a stupid amalgation of legs, a torso, fingers all over. It makes that familiar, creepy noise all curses make. At the same time, the crouching sorcerer rises to his feet.

Hajime wastes no time exorcising it. He reaches for his nyoi bo, strapped to his waist, and with a quick lightning bolt shooting out, the curse is hit. The small space lights up for that brief moment when the electricity appears, and soon the curse is evaporating, leaving behind more of the burnt smell. It happens fast, even that little spark used has an overwhelming presence. It’s enough to do the job under a second.

The curse might have been a more powerful one once, but the abandoned place means there had been nothing to nurture it. Just an underfed little thing, barely surviving.

“You know…” Hajime trails off, unsure how much he should reveal. Talking about things in a place you both will eventually leave is easier, like the topic discussed inside will be left behind too. Besides, having you at his side on a mission makes Hajime feel oddly nostalgic. Damn it, he’s lonely, starved for your voice, for her voice, for conversation. “This one was probably my fault. Back in my day, I did something. And it caused a lot of pain for a whole bunch of people.”

Hajime mentally scolds himself for how his voice softens. It’s not like he regrets it. He doesn’t think about burning up the village at all. He feels no remorse. However, he wanted to put the curse to rest, in a way. To try to finish the story, to have a clear head. Bringing you along makes even less sense now.

“So I was sure the non-sorcerers would form a curse because of the incident.”

You’re quiet for a while, staring down at where the curse was moments ago, probably trying to piece the puzzle together.

“You don’t seem like the type to care, though. I mean, about exorcising, especially a spirit of this size,” you state finally, rightfully so.

Hajime’s shoulders rise and fall as he shrugs, almost as if in slow motion.

“I don’t.” Partly, that’s actually true.

Silence falls, Hajime’s back still turned to you. “Don’t worry about it,” he adds.

You don’t seem very satisfied with his explanations, but eventually, you just give him a nod. The statue thingy remains a mystery, and for now, you let it be. There’s not much to it anyway, Hajime would say if he was feeling generous. His wife just used to visit this shrine. No big deal.

Outside, the air hasn’t lost its humidity. Hajime’s hair is starting to become frizzy and messy. So is yours, and the pink tinting your cheeks hasn’t disappeared.

A poorly suppressed cough reminds Hajime that you’re both still wet and cold. It will be dark already once the two of you get home, so it’s about time to leave.

However, fate or something equally annoying seems to have other plans.

Hajime knows it before he makes his second step. The sharp sting of strong cursed energy, approaching from somewhere distant but definitely on its way toward the shrine.

He freezes, immediately reaching for the collar of your shirt to put you behind him. What he doesn’t expect is just how fast that thing is and that it goes straight for you.

One moment, you’re standing next to Hajime, the next, you’re yanked away. Mud, plants, and probably pieces of a nearby tree trunk fly in all directions as your body comes to a halt many meters away from your companion, legs almost slipping out from the impact.

Before that can happen, a man unknown to Hajime catches you, hoisting you up like you’re a clumsy stray kitten.

“Well, what do we have here,” the man drawls with a sneer as your legs dangle, brushing the mud below, and you thrash around, trying to escape his grip. “Been looking for you.”

“Put. Her. Down.”

Hajime speaks calmly, though with a subtle edge in his voice, weapon already at hand. In that moment, his brain cannot process any implications, he doesn’t think about possible explanations for what the hell is happening or who that man even thinks he is. The pole bending slightly in his grip from how hard he’s holding onto it doesn’t even register for him.

He just sees red, red, red. “Heh,” the man chuckles, tilting his head as he looks you over, eyes dragging from your face down to your legs and back up again. The Culling Game player is ignored by him completely. “You’ve gotten a little less pathetic since I last saw you.” You try kneeing him in the ribs, crotch, anywhere, but it’s useless. During those seconds, a little electricity sparkles in Hajime’s hair before he lunges. The man catches on just in time and pulls you closer before moving out of the way with surprising speed. Hajime is used to being fast, the fastest and the quick movements of the unknown man catch him off-guard once again. The distance to the shrine grows, Hajime ends up in the spot you and the man were in but the two of you are already somewhere else, standing between three bigger trees. Is this what Kinji meant when he mentioned you always getting into trouble? “And who the hell are you?” The man asks, nose scrunching up, as if he’s disgusted by the inconvenience. He probably noticed Hajime’s own speed. You twist in his hold again. “He’s—”

A hand clamps over your mouth before you can finish, shoving your head back against his shoulder.

“Don’t interrupt, the men are talking,” the man mutters, irritation slipping into his tone. “You’ve been a pain in the ass to track down, you know that?”

Hajime’s eye twitches.

That does it.

The ground cracks beneath his foot as he steps forward, fast enough to blur, electricity snapping in the air like a warning shot—

—and you and the man are already gone.

A sharp gust tears through the clearing, mud and leaves scattering violently. Hajime’s strike hits nothing but empty space, lightning carving a jagged line through the shrine’s outer wall.

“Tch.” So, that guy is fast. Fine. But he won’t be fast enough. “You’re annoying,” the man declares, his voice comes from the other side of the shrine now. Hajime’s head snaps towards the sound. You’re still in the guy’s grip, shifted slightly under his arm like he’s done it a thousand times before. “And not part of her usual group of losers. I’m guessing you haven’t known each other for long. So you shouldn’t mind if I take her.”

The couch dips under Kashimo’s weight and even lets out a little creak in protest as the man lowers himself down with a tired groan. The wind blows his cyan hair into his face, it’s even messier, spikier without the usual buns.

He really outdid himself this time against Hakari. His strands are still damp from the shower he took, and the scent of some fancy shower gel clings to his skin. Kashimo took the liberty of using whoever left the bottle in the men’s bathroom because he forgot his own and did not care enough to go back.

Big mistake.

Kashimo unknowingly smells like that person now, and someone curled up on the other end of the sofa seems to have heightened senses for that specific scent.

Instinctively, you move without even opening your eyes, arms travelling up to Kashimo’s shoulders, your knee wedges between his thighs, and you press your face into the crook of his neck. All of this happens as if in slow motion, with sluggish movements that indicate you’re either very, very out of it or drunk.

It would give enough time for Kashimo to speak up or rather push you away, but the sorcerer is just so baffled by your audacity, he forgets to react. A part of him hopes it’s some kind of cursed technique that would end up in a fight. It is not.

The softest sigh escapes through your nostrils, the same way dogs breathe out air as if they were responsible for paying for their vet appointment themselves.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d come back.”

Literally what the fuck are you talking about?

Kashimo’s body is still stiff, frozen in place, hands hovering awkwardly in the air. It would be most dishonourable if he initiated an attack towards an obviously off-guard woman on the balcony. So, Kashimo just huffs in annoyance.

“You always smell so good,” you mumble into Kashimo’s neck and let your nose brush his skin. Modern women must have something wrong with them.

When you mumble Gojo’s first name, however, the realization dawns on him. You think he’s him. Admittedly, you’re very out of it and the only thing your brain must be registering is the scent. Kashimo apparently used Gojo’s product, of all things.

“Been thinkin’ and I don’t think I want you to fight Sukuna…”

Kashimo would’ve said something. Made himself known. But after what he’s heard last time, after the conversation sunk into him and settled like toxic dust, he hesitates. And the more he hesitates, the harder it gets to put a stop to things, because the more you talk.

His eyes are pinned to the little ashtray on the small coffee table as his thoughts race to figure out what to do.

“Am allowed to dislike it…I mean…nh… I know you have to and you probably even want to but…heh, m’gonna be mean and fantasize about th…” The rest of the sentence is incomprehensible as you struggle to speak in your haze. Your body weight slumps against Kashimo fully, and you let out another little sigh. Like it’s safe there, like it’s normal for you to be there.

The parallels are painful. You might as well be talking to Kashimo. He does want to fight Sukuna.

At the same time, you’ve been on Kashimo’s mind since that conversation he overheard. It’s surprising, but he wanted to talk to you about what you had said. To argue about it. No, to make you convince him that you’re right about strength not being the only thing that connects people. Kashimo craves it at night and ignores it during the day.

“Missed you so m— hey, don’t make fun of me later…missed you, you won’t leave like that again, right?” You ask with an almost whiny voice.

Kashimo holds his breath. He has to decide now. He should stop this, before it turns into something irreversible. The wind blows your hair into his face, and he catches a whiff of something rich and fruity, blackberries, maybe. It’s what Gojo got to smell when he was sitting with you. And now it’s him.

Gazing down, Kashimo can see how your lip twitches silently as you wait. So close. His shoulders drop, his throat feels paralyzed and yet it works.

“…I won’t.”

The guilt isn’t even detectable as the words roll off his tongue. Effortlessly, it surprises Kashimo how easy it is to reply. He can feel your lips stretch against his skin as you smile.

Your arms snake around, fingers tangling in the strands at the nape of his neck. You don’t even register how it’s not Gojo’s undercut there.

“You’ll stay alive, yeah?” you ask softly. The wet air you breathe out warms Kashimo’s neck, reminding him of your proximity. “N’ come back to us.”

Kashimo finds himself humming in agreement, humouring both you and himself. His hands slowly settle on your waist, and for the first few seconds, the only thing he thinks about is not messing up the touches.

It’s all so new and strange. Your skin stretches and creases over your hip bones as he rubs an experimental circle there. He’s been missing out. Such a delicate body you have.

“Do you even want that…?”

Kashimo’s head snaps up again.

“I’ve never—“ He cuts himself off. It’s getting harder to talk about it with the way his chest is tightening.

“Oh, this bullsssh…nhh again,” you grumble. “You’re soooo strong, you don’t even allow yourself to think about what comes after, cause it—nhh—you smell so good—“

Well, almost. It’s true. For Gojo. For Kashimo. The time spent between a fight is meaningless and Sukuna would mark the final one. But Kashimo’s technique doesn’t permit “the after,” even if by some miracle, he got a reason to stay longer than intended. That would be too painful anyways.

A silent gasp climbs up Kashimo’s lungs when your fingers slide under the collar of his shirt and you drag your nails between his shoulder blades.

“What are you doing?” Kashimo asks, more roughly now. His back arches, trying to escape your touch. He’s letting this go too far, he’s sure.

“Heh, sorry…so sorry, you’re gonna use this against me later, aren’t you…?”

The man exhales slowly, trying to calm his nerves.

“No. I won’t.”

For a while, there’s silence and he wonders if you’ve fallen asleep.

“Just don’t want you to go,” you mumble finally. Feels so nice to be wanted like that. It’s odd because Kashimo doesn’t see you as particularly strong and yet, he wants you to want him? Like Gojo said, it really does feel good when you assume you’re friends. It’s a compliment. You’re not strong. However, you’re constantly around the Strongest and seem to have a deep bond with him, even if most of the time, you’re grumpy with him. But now you’re all soft and touchy…doesn’t make sense—

Fuck. He’s stealing rare and valuable moments from Gojo. Not very honourable. What a selfish person he is, letting you soothe his soul, when it’s all meant for another. Not to mention how that other person might desperately need this too. And yet, he doesn’t move away.

“I wish you were stronger—h-hey…” Kashimo’s breath stutters when you sink your teeth gently into his skin in protest. To his horror, he likes the sting a little too much.

“…Jerk…” you slur out, “…n’ so stubborn…”

Kashimo inhales sharply, trying to steer himself back to reality.

“I can understand…nh, just fine, without graspin’ all your strength…don’ need to be…”

In Kashimo’s opinion, that shouldn’t be possible. It shouldn’t, but he’s seen your dynamic with Gojo. Maybe that’s your thing. The support that keeps the strongest sorcerers from going insane. You’re too close to so many suns all the time and you’re still all… he doesn’t even know what.

His fingers splay out over your skin, holding you firmly by your waist. The sight of the fall and rise of your chest is hypnotizing, and it takes him time to respond.

“…I really hope that’s true.”

Your breathing evens out after that. Not quite asleep, not fully awake either, just suspended somewhere safe and warm, cheek pressed to his collarbone like you’ve decided that’s where you belong.

Kashimo doesn’t move yet. Just for a bit, he wants to pretend it’s all for him.

Your fingers twitch against the back of his neck.

“You better not laugh at me tomorrow,” you mumble weakly.

“I won’t,” he replies, and this time it’s quieter. He’s so selfish.

Ik that you make mostly girl characters.

But im a dude, so if u wanna do it, could you make male caracter x Hajime Kashimo plssss?

(No other request)

Kashimo x journalist!reader (˶˃𐃷˂˶) p1 | p2 cw: violence, blood, physical restraint, non-sorcerer!reader note: hi, yess, please note that i have no experience in journalism and might include silly hollywood-level stereotypes. hope you like it <3

“In the weeks following the Shibuya Incident, similar anomalies began appearing across Japan. These events, initially dismissed as unrelated disasters, share key characteristics: abrupt spatial containment or restricted zones. Unexplained—“

“Oh, so you plan on boring me to death.” Kashimo’s voice interrupts your monologue. He’s impatient and not someone who can stay still in one place for long. Too bad.

He is forced to stay still now. You’ve trapped him.

Never in his life has Kashimo ever been in such a situation, tied up and sealed to one spot, by a non-sorcerer no less.

The cursed bandages snake around his wrists, up to his elbows, pulled taut high into the air by seemingly nothing. It’s the cursed carpet under him that functions as a magnet to those fabrics, repelling the ones on his arms and attracting the ones around his feet. The weight around his ankles is greater, practically locking Kashimo to the ground. He pants from how hard he had struggled against the seals, and the more he did, the more it messed him up. Like running a marathon, with shoes and gloves spiky on the inside.

“Does the story sound familiar to you?” you ask. The text was written by you, a paragraph taken from the draft for an article that would cover everything. You’re a determined journalist, eager to uncover the truth. Weird things have been happening, and they need to be answered. Your methods are a bit questionable though.

“Shibuya Incident?” The man in front of you tilts his head, then furrows his brows. “No.”

You find that hard to believe. Everyone in Japan has heard of it. It was classified as a terrorist attack, and it was all over the news. You, however, knew something was off. No organization or country took claim of the attack, and the reports made it sound too strange.

“And if you let me go,” Kashimo adds, “I won’t kill you.” Bold words from a man currently at your mercy, more or less.

The sorcerer is harmless for now. You’ve learned a few things by sneaking into restricted areas and obtaining redacted material. A journalist with connections in the government is a dangerous thing.

The reports themselves don’t state anything about magic or supernatural things outright, they describe incidents in a neutral way while leaving certain things up to the imagination.

“I will, if you tell me more about whatever is going on,” you reply, pulling a chair close and sitting down on it as if you had all the time in the world. It’s almost insulting to Kashimo that a non-sorcerer would be that relaxed around him.

Then again, you’re just a naive boy grasping in the dark, he thinks. You have no idea what he could do, what you’re getting yourself into. Your ignorance will be your end.

Kashimo watches you for a long moment, eyes narrowed. Then, unexpectedly, he laughs. His eyes, mostly hidden behind his messy bangs, gleam with something akin to bewilderment, or maybe it’s just simple madness.

“You’ve done your research,” he says, rolling his shoulders against the invisible pull of the cursed bindings. The bandages tighten in response, humming faintly with restrained energy. “But you’re just a brat. You shouldn’t put your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

To be honest, Kashimo couldn’t care less about your little exposé or civilians learning about the existence of jujutsu. The reason he is refusing to tell you anything is pure spite. An annoying nuisance, trying to get his way? Not on his watch.

“That’s kind of my job,” you reply, leaning forward on the chair, elbows propped up on your knees. “Why are people killing each other?”

Kashimo scoffs. To describe the act of performing jujutsu, learning the opponent’s weaknesses, and measuring each other’s strength as mere mindless killing is bordering on blasphemy in his book. Each sorcerer has their own reason for joining the Culling Game, and each of them has their own understanding of jujutsu.

“It has to be more than just people going crazy, right?” you ask, prompting the man to disagree or agree with you.

“Your psychological tactics won’t work on me.”

You rub your temple thoughtfully. You’d have chosen someone easier to crack if you could, but given how dangerous these people could be, preparing the trap was your safest option. Seducing people is just beneath you.

Being bait was kind of exciting, though. You needed someone arrogant enough to just let themselves be lured into the apartment, where you’ve prepared the bigger seal under the carpet. Someone weaker might have been more cautious. You’ll make do.

“It’s not like I’m torturing information out of you,” you retort with a shrug and crumple up the printed copy of your article’s draft.

It lands against the sorcerer’s forehead and bounces back to your feet. Kashimo does not appreciate the gesture, and his eyes glint harsher now.

“Of course not. You don’t have it in you,” he replies and blows some hair out of his face with a huff of air. The cyan locks sway to the side and end up in a slightly different position than before, making his bangs uneven.

His limbs are getting tired and numb from being restrained for so long. It’s a mystery to him how you’ve managed to build such a strong trap with little knowledge. There have to be conditions you’re fulfilling.

Pain reflection? You don’t seem out of breath or to be struggling in any way. Time limit maybe? You don’t look impatient either. If Kashimo could actually see the symbols used, he’d know.

“So what’s your game here?” Kashimo decides to be straightforward. “You can’t make me talk with force you don’t have.”

The way your lips curl into a small smile next is not a good sign.

“Your name is Kashimo, right? You’re reincarnated, and you possess electric powers.”

So you have basic information about him. So what? Kashimo figures his identity was documented by lucky bastards who got away from him. He was the strongest of his time, after all, his abilities had to be written about.

The man manages to shrug, barely. His voice drops, now coming from deep in his lungs rather than his throat.

“You don’t know me, non-sorcerer,” he growls and leans a bit forward in his position while still being held up by his arms with an invisible force. His head hangs low in front of you and his shoulders twist. “You don’t know what I wa—“

“You want Sukuna.”

Kashimo’s pupils shrink down to the size of needle pins as he suddenly zeroes in on your face. You don’t flinch away. The eye contact is intense, and this close, you can notice the faint lightning marks on Kashimo’s lower eyelids. They make him look quite pretty. Then, the pupils dilate so wide, they make the sorcerer look like he’s high on something very stimulating. The sight causes your heart to stutter, just a bit.

You really did do your homework, Kashimo thinks.

“What if I told you I have information about him?”

“Tell me—“ Kashimo chokes out, now struggling against the hold of the seals with full force. It’s not a bluff; it can’t be, and how you even know the man’s desires is a mystery unaddressed. Kashimo’s limbs burn, he’s pretty sure they’re going to bleed from the friction, but he does not care. “Non-sorcerer, tell me!”

“Haaah…?” You drawl, “Is that a deal then?”

“Yes!” Kashimo yells out, blood spilling from his mouth from how much the trap is pulling and squeezing at his insides too now. It drips down in thick splatters to the beige fabric of the carpet. Kashimo shakes from tension, anticipation, and god knows what else, like those Chihuahuas you’ve seen on the internet. You should’ve led with Sukuna.

“I’m only here because of him,” Kashimo finally replies to your initial question with mad excitement in his voice. Like when an obsessed artist is gushing about their work. “He’s the strongest, and I need to fight him.”

In the next minutes, the sorcerer floods you with information, about the Culling Game mostly, with unnecessary details about Sukuna’s greatness, but general jujutsu knowledge too. He looks completely insane, bleeding through the bandages too now. The liquid smears the ink of the seals, weakening them gradually. Kashimo notices subconsciously, but he’s too busy giving you everything he has. He can still kill you if you were lying to him. He talks fast, out of breath and the blood from his mouth runs down his neck, to his collarbones.

And then, when the last kanji has let up, he lunges forward, throwing you and himself at the wall.

The momentum throws both of you across the room, the impact shuddering the walls and rattling the floor. Dust falls from the ceiling. His hands are around your throat now, and you suck in a sharp breath. A string of curses goes through your head when you notice what caused the trap to fail and hiss both in frustration and pain. Sharp nails sink into your flesh, and Kashimo’s face gets real close, too close for comfort. Being choked by a man who has proven himself to be a bloodlusting madman is not ideal.

“Tell me now, boy. Tell me what you know, or I swear—“

“Vessel,” you interrupt him before he finishes the sentence. “His vessel—ngh—became one prior to the game. A s-student,” you manage to say. Your chest rises and falls heavily as you struggle to breathe.

At the words ‘prior to the Culling Game,’ Kashimo tilts his head. It makes sense that despite not being involved with jujutsu, you know more about the current political situation. Kashimo thought Sukuna would come back when every other reincarnation did, not sooner. The events that led to this development must be significant. More importantly, that vessel might be conscious and could make things difficult for him. There would be no glory in fighting some schoolboy, who is potentially capable of suppressing the King of Curses.

Fuck.

“Alright, kid,” Kashimo speaks up, leaning away from you and finally allowing air to enter your lungs again. “I’m keeping you as my pet journaler.”

“Journalist.”

“Whatever. You will continue doing your little research, and you will help me find that boy. In return, I won’t kill you, and you’ll even have my protection,” he declares and steps away from you. You rub your throat where his hands were squeezing you moments ago. Adrenaline leaves your body, and the pain of being slammed into a wall registers slowly in your back.

Kashimo removes the bloodied textiles from his body one by one, using them to wipe his mouth.

“And you’ll get to experience what you’re writing about up close. That sounds like a hell of a deal, no?”

For a few moments, you hold on to think. Is this the worst idea you’ve ever heard in your life? Yes. Do you want to publish a story that will change your career? Also yes.

“Fine. But I have some ground rules.”

Kashimo groans, already regretting his own proposal a bit. Then he thinks about Sukuna again, and whatever conditions you have planned seem small in the grand scheme of things.

He rolls his shoulders and ankles with a gruff but agreeing sound.

“I’m all ears, brat.”

As it turns out, Kashimo isn’t that difficult to be around. He’s practical and actually quite smart. Smart enough to know you’re not some random guy who’ll follow him around like a helpless puppy.

Although, he does act like you’re an imbecile. He grabs you by your nearest body part to get you out of the way when there’s danger, he gives you very clear instructions on what to do while he fights and where to go, and, surprisingly, he takes his time to explain jujutsu things to you as he fights. As if it was a fun little teaching opportunity for him. He likes that your questions make sense and that they’re one step ahead of his explanations. Clearly, you’re keeping up. And you document diligently. That’s the only thing you seem to care about. Not even batting an eye upon entering a colony for the first time, with Kogane declaring you a player.

According to Kashimo, the game would be over sooner than your time to kill runs out, so you don’t need to worry.

Meanwhile, you also ask around, steal camera footage to find that one vessel, which is why you end up camping in one of the Tokyo colonies’ big building blocks.

Kashimo has told you everything at this point. Everything except… that one thing. A little missing puzzle piece that keeps nagging at you. Kashimo made a deal to incarnate into a modern body to fight Sukuna, the strongest sorcerer, apparently. But why?

With how much respect Kashimo has for the love of the game, you can assume he isn’t a shallow man.

The living room of the apartment is lit by a small lamp and the blue light of your laptop’s screen. There aren’t many areas in the colony where you can charge your device, however, your business partner luckily can use his cursed energy to charge it for you. Two shadows stretch up to the walls, yours and his.

“Eh, Kashimo-san,” you speak up after many minutes of weird silence. Your head lifts away from the screen that is already making your eyes hurt. “What does Sukuna’s strength mean to you?”

Kashimo meets your eyes with a slightly annoyed frown forming on his face. He clocked the nature of your question instantly. You’re not asking why he needs to meet Sukuna so badly; you’ve heard the short answer to that many times now. He’s so great and strong and blablabla.

The sorcerer was about to make himself comfortable on the improvised futon when your question interrupted him. It is a little annoying how you can catch him off guard in the most inconvenient situations.

“Will you put that in your dumb box?” he asks, gesturing towards your laptop with his chin.

You put your hands up defensively, chuckling quietly.

“Nah, I keep personal things off the record.”

Kashimo huffs and settles down, pulling the covers up to his chin as if he were putting a physical barrier between himself and the uncomfortable topic.

“When you fight someone, you really get to know them.” The reply comes out softer than intended, even with how hard Kashimo is scowling at the ceiling. “You learn how they think, their strengths and weaknesses. You can form a connection.”

For a while, there is silence. You mull over Kashimo’s words and draw a conclusion that is slightly off but maybe not so much… but maybe it is. Who knows?

“Are you… in love with Sukuna or something?”

Kashimo freezes mid-breath, one eyebrow twitching in a way that suggests he’s debating whether to laugh or throttle you on the spot. “…What kind of question is that?” His voice is low, tight, and laced with a sort of dangerous incredulity. Your ability to surprise him with your audacity drives him up the wall.

“I’ve told you, non-sorcerer. You don’t know me.”