#kashimo request

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.”

forced separation - Kashimo ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა p2 | p3 here | p1 here cw: mention of injury note: yes sir right away sir! 🫡

forced separation - Kashimo ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა p4 | p3 here | p5 here cw: implied violence, implied menstruation, gambling, mention of injury note: thank you <3 here you gooo

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

Kashimo trying (and failing) to comfort you    ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა cw: fluff? note: haii….honestly, this is so fitting for Kashimo, thanks for the request!!

Sooo… we all know our dear Kashimo isn’t the most… sensible man. He’s blunt and a little harsh. He is the God of Lightning, okay? Feelings and tears and sadness and fear are not things he wants to comprehend. Besides, anything that even points toward weakness is foreign to him. His whole deal is being unable to understand people because of his overwhelming strength and the resulting power imbalance.

What happens when he’s assigned to someone who is capable but has a low stress and pain tolerance?

Initially, he’s completely indifferent. Your knees are scraped up, you only cry because it hurts, not because you’re genuinely distressed. Kashimo doesn’t acknowledge it. He keeps talking to you like normal while you wipe at your tears and nod along, trying to keep it together. It’s not even awkward.

At some point, it gets annoying. Kashimo is forced to spend a lot of time with you, which means he witnesses all your weak moments. Your curled-up body on the worn-out couch. Your quiet sniffles. “Can you cry quietly?” “Are you done?” “Get yourself together.” “You wouldn’t make it through the week if we were still in my era.” Not very helpful, quite the opposite. You start retreating to the bathroom whenever you feel down, just to avoid his comments.

He feels a bit of guilt when he wakes up at night and sees you alone on the balcony, trying to fix his torn-up robe. Of course, his first instinct is to snatch the fabric away from you, grumbling about “not remembering when he allowed you to touch his things,” but something about your silent effort makes him… not do that. He watches for a while, then decides to go back to sleep without making himself known.

When Kashimo starts warming up to you, that’s when things get interesting. His first attempt at being nice is surreal, just odd and uncomfortable for everyone involved. He pokes (more like prods) your shoulder a few times. “There, there.” He says it in the most monotone, unnatural lilt imaginable. The surprised, slightly confused look you give him—those teary eyes and swollen lips—makes him snap his hand back like he’s been burned. “Never fucking mind, then.”

It becomes clear that the traditional way of comforting you doesn’t work for him. He sucks. So bad. Everything he says comes out a little condescending, and sometimes he just makes you even sadder. “No need to be so sensitive.” “Come on, you’re pretty strong for a second grade.” “Are you on your period?” Eugh. Obviously, he doesn’t do hugs either.

Kashimo turns to the internet for help. how to shut up crying friend friend sad what to do how much crying is normal how to be less threatening apologizing tips comforting tips comforting tips for women comforting tips for women BUT I’M NOT ONE OF HER GIRLFRIENDS relaxing activities for weak people

What he settles on are subtle actions. You might not even notice at first. He gives you the last bite of his onigiri. Gets himself your favorite soda, just in case you want some. Sits down with you when you cry. He doesn’t say anything, he just waits, and somehow manages not to speak the entire time.

His clothes start getting torn up more often. Kashimo acts like it’s an accident, but really, he just wants an excuse to let you work on his robes, so you can feel useful to him. You already are, even without the sewing, but he has a hunch you don’t feel that way. So yes, Kashimo pretends to need your help to make you feel better.

“You’re kind of nice to look at when you cry.” That does not come off the way Kashimo intends. It sounds like he enjoys your suffering, when all he means is that you’re pretty like that. It’s supposed to be a compliment. He never says anything like it again. It was stupid of him.

And finally, the most embarrassing little thing he does for you. He makes sure neither you nor anyone else ever sees him doing it, because it’s so wildly out of character. He puts his hands on the edges and corners of furniture when your head or hips are nearby. Kashimo has seen how goddamn clumsy spatially challenged you can be. Every time there’s a cupboard, a drawer, anything sharp in the way, he wordlessly reaches out and places his palm against the hard surface. He tells himself it’s just to prevent one of those crying fits of yours. If you ever catch him doing it, he will probably commit seppuku.

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.”

stolen from Kashimo-sensei ૮꒰ ˶> ༝ < ྀི˶꒱ა cw: mention of kidnapping (no violence), teacher!Sukuna, teacher!Kashimo, babysorcerer!reader (as in, she’s new, not a literal infant), belittling, manipulation note: (referenced post here) well well what if we have both…

“You’ve let it rot. How long have you been neglecting it?”

Your cursed energy throbs uselessly against Sukuna’s skin, not even able to penetrate it. Long, zigzag lines of electricity dance all around the room, lighting up the inside in a flickering white glow.

It’s not very humble of you to think you can actually attack the King of Curses, Sukuna would say, but your stupidity amuses him. Kidnapping you was so easy. Slowly, he rises from the low sofa, completely ignoring your efforts to defend yourself. Although, it doesn’t even qualify as defense because Sukuna is making no move to attack you.

His feet drag his heavy body toward the kitchen counters.

The minka in which Sukuna and the other associates now reside used to belong to a prestigious clan, but due to recent events, all of their buildings stand empty. Perfect for a group of villains to take over. The living room is spacious, uselessly so, and it’s connected to a kitchen with all kinds of traditional furniture and tools.

You were still so scared a moment ago, arms raised high, heart beating out of your chest. It seems Sukuna does not want to harm you.

“I…” You trail off, shoulders drooping, and the volume of your cursed energy decreases, falling back into you. Kashimo would be disappointed. Many seconds of silence pass.

“That long, then,” Sukuna concludes. He takes his time with each movement, enjoying the act of preparing a meal like it’s some kind of foreplay for him. “What? Afraid the little non-sorcerers would panic?”

The fact that Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses, in his true form, is asking you genuine questions while moving around in a kitchen is a bit absurd. And scary. You have to choose your words carefully; a mistake could be your end.

“…That too, but… I also heard bad things about what sorcerers do.” Your voice doesn’t come out as meek as expected, but the hesitation speaks of fear nevertheless, and you limit yourself to one sentence per turn so as not to offend him.

The sound of wood scratching against wood disturbs the quiet. Sukuna leans over the cutting board and waves his hand in the air a few times. It’s his cleaving technique on a much smaller scale, and the little wind from the slashes manages to reach you too. You stiffen when the faint cursed energy of his tickles the tip of your nose.

“So you belong nowhere. Too strange for non-sorcerers, too soft for sorcerers,” Sukuna continues, his four eyes solely on the cutting board and on the unknown food he’s currently working on. You’re starting to tire from still having your otherwise never-activated cursed energy on, and the flames of electricity grow smaller and smaller around you. “And now here you are. Somewhere much worse than the other two options.”

He looks up at you briefly, his face strangely calm and neutral.

A cold but satisfying shiver runs down your spine as you feel his full attention on you for that brief moment. Being observed by so many eyes on one person is like being put under a microscope.

Then, he looks down again with disinterest.

You take a gamble. If he wanted you dead, you would be dead already. If he wanted to play with your fear, he would use harsher methods.

“Why am I here?” you ask and hope the question doesn’t come out too demanding.

To your surprise, Sukuna just shrugs. “You don’t need to think about that.” With a mocking grin, he adds, “You wouldn’t be doing anything important anyway. Not with the non-sorcerers, not with the sorcerers. You were fair game.”

Fair game?

“I was with the sorcerers, though. Just very recently.”

That makes Sukuna pause, and his hunched-over form straightens until his massive frame looms over the kitchen counter, arms spreading to take up more space. That gesture alone makes you feel smaller, and your half-lidded eyes open in alertness once again.

“Hah?”

Sukuna gestures for you to come closer with a jerky nod of his head, and you find yourself obeying. Traitorous feet.

From the new angle, you can see a piece of meat laid out on the board, cut smoothly into even slices. Based on the tint, it’s probably just chicken. You hope it is chicken.

With a soft gulp, you look back up at Sukuna to explain yourself.

“There’s a Culling Game player. He wanted to kill me for points… I had to use my powers and he… he realized we have the same cursed energy, so he decided to teach me instead.”

Sukuna scoffs with annoyance.

“You’re only alive because of a coincidence, then. Pathetic.”

His fingers massage salt and spices into the meat roughly. As he moves to the side, you can see three plates lined up on the counter behind the man. Flour, eggs, breadcrumbs.

Is he…?

You don’t get to finish the thought.

“Clearly, that man has done a shit job.”

Your nose scrunches up a little. Thankfully, Sukuna is not watching you anymore. Kashimo is a complicated man, but at the same time, his personality is very simple. You almost slipped up and defended him. “He doesn’t mind, right?” Sukuna then asks but the lazy way the words roll of Sukuna’s tongue suggests it’s a rhetorical question. Now that you think about it... Does Kashimo care that you’re gone?

“My cursed energy seems to be important to you,” you say with a firmer tone now.

Sukuna hums, though it could be mistaken for a deep growl. He’s not denying it, which allows you to deduce two things: one, he really won’t kill you as long as you’re useful. Two, being useful could still mean a lot of things.

You try not to be distracted by the sight of Sukuna’s abdominal mouth opening when his hips get closer to the laid-out fillets.

“In a way.”

That’s all the answer you get.

“Eyes are up here.”

Shit. You tear your gaze from his stomach, only to find that his lower set of eyes are on you. The creepiness makes you shiver for a second time.

“Apologies… Sukuna.” What else should you call him? Your Grace? That’s stupid and could come off a little mocking.

“That’s sensei to you.”

Now, it’s your turn to be confused.

“Sorry?”

Sukuna doesn’t bother explaining. Instead, he does something even more unexpected.

“What disgusting side dish do you like with fried chicken?” He turns around and places a pan on the stove. The scene is too domestic. You don’t know much about Sukuna. Even though your self-designated teacher always manages to bring him up in conversation, it’s mostly about his strength. Not whatever this is. It could be a game. A test? No, that’s stupid.

“R-rice?”

Sukuna glances over his shoulder and rolls all four of his eyes with an annoyed sigh.

“Turn it off,” he commands gruffly.

Your cursed energy was still on. You hadn’t even noticed how it was beginning to tire you out again.

The flickering lights extinguish gradually until darkness settles over the room, with the exception of the kitchen, where the small lights remain lit.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other nervously as you stand near the counters and watch the King of Curses prepare to fry chicken. And cook rice?

The wooden floor creaks under his weight in protest. His posture doesn’t seem threatening now, but there’s a certain defiance in the way his shoulders are drawn up, like he doesn’t really want to be there. That doesn’t make sense. He’s Sukuna. He can do whatever he wants, so why force himself?

After a while, he speaks up again.

“Know this, little sorcerer. You don’t qualify as a hostage.” There’s a pause when the oil starts sizzling. A few fillets, now coated with spices, flour, egg, and breadcrumbs, slide into the pan.

“It would imply you give me leverage over my enemies. But you don’t, because they don’t give a fuck about you.”

You can’t suppress a sleepy frown. Although the logic makes sense, however harsh the truth is. You’re too new. Kashimo has his reasons for why he decided to train you, but you were never part of his plans, whatever those are. The other sorcerers you got to know in the process have big things to worry about, and you haven’t made a connection strong enough to make a rescue mission worth it.

You’re on your own. You’re not strong at all. Useless, in a way.

Still, you’re at the Zenin estate with Sukuna and other evil people you don’t know for a reason.

“You said I should call you sensei. Does that mean—”

“Yes.”

The reply comes fast but with a hint of discomfort.

“Why?”

“Is the little sorcerer stupid? I told you not to think about that. You have no choice but to accept it.”

Oil pops loudly, punctuating the finality in the words.

You stay quiet, and the man turns around with a wrinkled forehead and a subtle sneer.

“I said, you have no choice but to accept it.”

His gaze is too intense again, and you automatically take a step back.

“Y-yes, sensei.” It feels odd. Kashimo was never that scary. Mean, yes but after making some kind of deal with others, he put the whole killing spree on a hold. He was fun, sometimes. You have to have some kind of importance, if the King of Curses is forcing you to learn from him.

The oil finally stills.

Sukuna moves with unhurried precision, lifting the golden fillets from the pan and placing them onto a wooden plate lined with paper. The rice steams in a simple bowl, white and unassuming beside the crisp, seasoned meat. He does not look at you as he portions the food, but you feel the awareness in him all the same.

Two plates, one huge portion, one small portion.

He carries them to the low table in the living room and sits first, folding his legs beneath his massive frame with surprising ease. His markings stretch with his skin where his joints bend.

You hesitate before joining him. The electricity in your veins is gone now, leaving you feeling hollowed out. The house feels too quiet without it.

“Sit,” he says, not raising his voice.

You obey.

Up close, the food smells good, similar to a modern Kentucky Fried Chicken. Your stomach betrays you with a quiet sound, and you immediately wish the floor would swallow you whole.

All four of Sukuna’s eyes lift to you.

“How human,” he murmurs.

You swallow. “I am human.”

A corner of his upper mouth tilts upward. The lower one does not move.

“For now.”