Blinded Death

死亡之神 | 死之天使

[shimihu]

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

〃➜ Expect a lot of Kashimo (JJK) + yandere content.

I hope to do Nagito (Danganronpa) because I had a Nagito phase once.

WHAT'S THIS? ARE YOU SCARED?

[ DON'T BE SCARED OF ME NOW, PRETTY LITTLE THING! I LOVE YOU! LOVE ME TOO!

[ Shimihu — YOUR ONE AND ONLY ♡

Blood red, blood red | Your personal stalker 'body guard'

: 21/03/20XX

───────

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢𝟭 — KASHIMO (JJK)

• Kashimo Headcanons

• Pretty Little XX (MDNI)

• F- My Mind (MDNI)

• Car Smut (MDNI)

• Wanna Be a Mommy? (MDNI)

• Fate of the Arranged Marriage

• Boob Worship (MDNI)

• Under Heaven's Protection (Series)

• The Type of Person to...

• Period Comfort

• What's Your Favourite Scary Movie?

• Home is Wherever You Are

• Omertà

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢𝟮 — YANDERE

• Yandere Stalker x Reader

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢𝟯 — EXTRAS

• Yandere Shidou x Reader (Blue Lock)

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢𝟰 — YANDERE SCENARIOS

• Yandere Spirit

• Yandere Cupid

• Yandere Backrooms Entity

• Yandere Merman

• Yandere Emperor

• Jigsaw Styled Yandere

• Yandere ChatGPT (Crackfic)

• Yandere Therapist

• Yandere Childhood Friend

• Yandere Scenario Lists

• Yandere Dream

• Yandere Celebrity/Pop Star

➜ TO DO — Not part of the masterlist!

• Requests

• Yandere fics of the scenarios I've made

[shimihu]

i stubbed my toe :(

NOO, grow another toe like how lizards regrow their tail. The pain is in your old toe, not the newly grown one

[shimihu]

I love ur colour themes so much

THANK YOUU

[shimihu]

Kashimo Worshipping

I'M CRACKING I'M CRACKING I'M BURSTING I'M COMBUSTING I'M BUSTING I'M BUSTING A NUT I'M EXPLODING I'M CRACKING I'M LOVIN' I'M HUMPING I'M CRUSHING I'M SMOTHERING I'M JUMPING I'M FLIPPING

HAVE YOU SEEN SEASON 4'S TRAILER??? KASHIMO, KASHIMO, OUR KASHIMO, MY KASHIMO, KASHIMO, KASHIMO HAJIME, HAJIME KASHIMO, HE'S SO PRETTY AND YUMMY YUM YUM, ONE OF THE ORIGINAL FAN BTW. I'VE BEEN INTO HIM THE MOMENT HE CAME OUT OF THE MANGA yum yum YUM

KASHIMO??? YUMMM FINALLY. I'VE, WE'VE WAITED YEARS FOR HIM TO ACTUALLY BE ANIMATED AND I DON'T MEAN THAT ONE CLIP THAT ONLY LASTED A FEW SECONDS.

[shimihu]

What do you think about mafia leader Kashimo? 🥵🥵 He's so psycho and unmerciful but… He treated like a royalty to his lover🥵🥵🥵

𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐓À | Mafia Kashimo

↳ Mafia!Kashimo + GN Reader

Genre . Dark Romance

Warnings . Violence, slight gore, mafia content.

Mafia!Kashimo who doesn't hide the fact that people are afraid of him. He notices the way his subordinates immediately lower their eyes when he walks past and the way conversations die the moment he enters a room. The only thing he finds strange is when they do the same thing around you. Even if he reminds them that you're not him, it doesn't change the fact that they'd rather not walk on thin ice with you.

Mafia!Kashimo who absolutely refuses to let you involve yourself in business matters. He doesn't care how curious you are or whether you're just bored. The moment he catches you trying to read reports or listen to meetings, you're immediately escorted somewhere else, not because he thinks you're incapable, but because he spent years building walls between you and his world and he'll be damned if those walls come down now.

Mafia!Kashimo who teaches you a few self-defence tricks just in case the worst happens, but immediately shuts down any interest you show in learning more. Sure, he'll teach you how to protect yourself, but to hell will he ever let a speck of blood stain your clothes. The violence, the weapons, the bloodshed—that belongs to his world, not yours, and he'll do everything in his power to keep it that way. To keep his goddess pure from his sins.

Mafia!Kashimo who acts annoyed whenever you point out how protective he is. The man has entire warehouses filled with weapons, enough influence to make people disappear overnight, and a reputation terrifying enough that grown men hesitate before speaking to him. Yet somehow, he still worries when you cross busy roads by yourself.

Mafia!Kashimo who is genuinely one of the most dangerous people in the city, which is precisely why nobody ever dares touch you. Not because he's constantly threatening people, quite the opposite, actually. The stories do all the work for him and everybody knows what happened to the last group who tried using you as leverage. Nobody knows the exact details. The only thing people agree on is that there wasn't enough to identify the poor victims afterwards, left with the mutilated bodies spread across the walls and even staining the ceiling. Oh well, extra work for the clean-up crew!

Mafia!Kashimo who rarely says "I love you," not because he doesn't feel it, but because he genuinely believes his actions speak louder than words. In his mind, remembering every tiny detail about you, making sure your favourite food is always stocked at home, answering your calls no matter how busy he is, and ensuring you get home safely should already make his feelings obvious. If you ever point it out, he'd just stare at you like his love was painfully clear already.

Mafia!Kashimo who discovers that you are the only person on earth capable of ordering him around. Nobody else would dare. Not his subordinates, not rival organisations, and definitely not politicians. Yet somehow a single "sit down and eat before your food gets cold" is enough to make one of the city's most feared men obey without argument.

Mafia!Kashimo who becomes noticeably worse after falling in love. Before you, he was dangerous. After you, he becomes unpredictable. People can deal with a monster but what they can't deal with is a monster who suddenly has something precious enough to protect.

Mafia!Kashimo who would choose your life over his own without hesitation. The idea isn't even romantic to him—it's simply the obvious choice. He can survive pain, injuries, and whatever consequences come afterwards. Not you. Never fucking you, especially if it's all because of him that your world has grown incredibly dangerous.

Mafia!Kashimo who treats you less like "some partner" and more like somebody he has personally sworn to protect with his life. The moment you enter a room, chairs are pulled out for you, doors are opened for you, and anything remotely inconvenient is dealt with before you even notice it exists. Why? Simple! In his mind, you deserve better than struggling with things yourself when he's perfectly capable of handling them for you.

Mafia!Kashimo who once overheard somebody speaking disrespectfully about you and immediately loses interest in the entire conversation. The unfortunate man doesn't even realise he's made a mistake until he quietly asks him to repeat what he said. Nobody in the room dares intervene and by the time it's over, the lesson has been thoroughly understood by everyone present, obviously noted by the blown head off from that corpse.

Mafia!Kashimo who has an entire organisation at his disposal and somehow uses half of its resources on you. One of his subordinates spent three hours tracking down a limited-edition dessert because you mentioned wanting to try it. Another is sent across the city because your favourite restaurant sold out of a drink you liked. At this point, nobody complains anymore when it's easier to just accept that their boss's priorities are completely different whenever you're involved.

Mafia!Kashimo who absolutely despises seeing you upset. It doesn't matter whether somebody insulted you, made you cry, or simply ruined your day. The moment he notices your mood has changed, his own becomes significantly worse. The difference is that most people can recover from a bad day but the people responsible for it? Well, they didn't exactly get to see "tomorrow" when they had bullets stuck in their organs.

Mafia!Kashimo who has never understood the concept of moderation when it comes to you. Mention liking a particular flower once and suddenly fresh bouquets appear every week. Say you thought a necklace looked pretty and he has it purchased before you even leave the store. Complain about feeling unsafe somewhere and that entire area mysteriously becomes one of the most heavily monitored places in the city. How odd, maybe it's just a coincidence!

Mafia!Kashimo who is terrifyingly calm whenever somebody threatens him but becomes genuinely dangerous when somebody threatens you. People expect shouting, anger, violence, and the whatnot. Instead, he simply goes quiet. His expression barely changes with that same unimpressed look he always held, saved for the sharp cyan orbs of his that gave any hint of an emotion. His voice remains perfectly level, yet somehow, that reaction is far worse because everyone around him immediately knows somebody is about to make a life-altering mistake.

Mafia!Kashimo who keeps a photograph of you inside his wallet despite claiming it isn't sentimental. When one of his lieutenants points it out, he spent ten minutes explaining practical reasons for carrying it before eventually realising nobody believes him. The photo remains there regardless. "What? So you're telling me shooting a person's head off is normal to you but carrying a photo of your beloved is not?"

Mafia!Kashimo who genuinely views you as the most precious thing in his life. Money can be replaced, businesses can be rebuilt, men can be recruited, even power can be regained. You, however, are irreplaceable. That's why the entire underworld knows one rule above all others: touching Kashimo Hajime's lover isn't just dangerous—it's suicide with extra steps.

Mafia!Kashimo who resembles Hades far more than Zeus. The ruler of a kingdom most people fear, surrounded by danger, death, and people too terrified to look him in the eye. Yet much like the old myths, everything changes when Persephone enters the story, except in this version, it doesn't matter what god you are. You could be Apollo, Athena, Artemis, or even another ruler entirely. The moment you become his, the city's most feared man starts looking suspiciously willing to burn down the Underworld itself just to keep you smiling.

[shimihu]

Well, I have a very sad scenario idea... Hajime Kashimo falls in love in his youth (centuries ago 🤨) and marries the woman he falls in love with. His wife gets pregnant and man... This man turns into the happiest man in the world. But all good things have an end 😣... His pregnant wife is murdered by an enemy, in front of his eyes. This incident makes Kashimo an angry and violent man. He is looking for Sukuna when he reincarnates in 2018. During the culling game, he sees her... the woman he is in love with. She was reincarnated in exactly the same way and she's on her 20s. Her face, her voice, her height, her body, her personality... Everything... Dude 😣🥺. What do you think about this scenario?

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐫𝐞

↳ Kashimo + Fem. Reader

Genre . Angst

Warning . Violence, murder, death.

A/N . I swear I'm going to go through all my requests 😭 This is my oldest one and I FINALLY DID IT. I'm so sorry to everybody else who has requested BUT I SWEAR I'LL FINISH IT. Tysm for the support you've all still given me!!

The world had become disappointingly small. At least, that was the conclusion Kashimo Hajime reached somewhere around his seventieth victory.

Or perhaps his hundredth.

It didn't matter as much anymore. He had long since stopped counting, the opponents would change but the outcome never did. A challenge would present itself, someone would boast of their strength, a fight would begin, then it would end.

Blah blah blah, can they just shut up about how strong they are?

"Fuck..."

He was hoping this next guy would be entertaining after all that speech on how powerful he is as a sorcerer. Instead, all he got was a corpse in the middle of the pooling blood. It didn't even last him 10 minutes until this new victory came, and what's worse? Not only did he not get the fun he craved for but his robes had been stained with the iron smell of a deep crimson red.

After enough years, even excitement became predictable.

Kashimo rested beneath the shade of a tree overlooking a narrow mountain path, one arm draped lazily over a raised knee as he watched the clouds drift overhead. The afternoon was quiet.

Too quiet.

Most people would have welcomed the peace but instead, he found it irritating. At this point, he preferred the gurgling noises of a man choking in his own blood. At least there was something that could break the silence rather than his own little sparks of lightning.

A gust of wind stirred his pale hair but nothing happened.

No ambush.

No challenge.

No wandering swordsman convinced he could accomplish what countless others had failed to do.

Just silence.

By the time he arrived to the little village towards the road below, his gaze shifted between the people living in this humble place. Merchants yelling out sales and prices, a husband carrying supplies, children running around when their parents are yelling out for them, ordinary people living ordinary lives.

Kashimo watched them for a moment before losing attention to all this like it's just some white noise. The sight felt strangely distant.

Not unpleasant.

Just foreign.

As though he was observing something through a window rather than sharing the same world. Perhaps strength did that to a person. The stronger he became, the more everything else seemed to drift beyond reach.

Relationships.

Homes.

Families.

The things most people spent their lives building, none of it had ever interested him. Or at least, that was what he told himself. He never thought of having a wife, having a family of his own, having a future that didn't involve fighting.

It didn't matter.

It never mattered.

What mattered now though was that he needed food, and maybe a place to sleep before leaving again tomorrow like he always did. Travel, find opponents, win, leave.

The same fucking pattern.

Without another thought, he adjusted his posture just enough to look like he isn't already dying from boredom as he walked through this village covered in blood stained clothes.

People immediately quiet down when he walked passed, mothers ushering their children closer, stalls pausing their yelling of sales, men subtly moving further from him as the cyan haired man simply walked in the middle of the path.

If it was anybody else, this would be normal. Nobody would care enough to be bothered. Instead, what they had was the man titled the God of Lightning. Edo's strongest man.

Not everybody knew about curses and sorcery, but they certainly did hear of the stories and the name: Kashimo Hajime.

"The man with cyan hair!"

"He had lightning marks under his eyes like he had been born from divinity!"

"You might even hear electricity crackle from him!"

Abnormal.

Abnormal descriptions for an abnormal human, enough for people to know who he is immediately, but sorcerers knew otherwise. Those were the descriptions of the strongest man alive up to date.

The whispers and silence that always came with him didn't bother him anymore. Rather, it was slightly annoying when you're surrounded by stillness all the time just because people feared you.

Just like his battles, it was predictable.

Of course people feared him. Of course people hushed up when he came. Of course nothing new happens.

All he knew now though was that his body needed food, and his eyes drifted towards the market stall selling grilled river fish, its fresh smell drifting through the village air being the detail that caught his attention. Maybe he could get some yakitori with it, some senbei, or even some mochi if he wanted something sweet.

The seller panicked internally seeing the strongest man, covered in blood, casually walk right at him but was was he supposed to do? Pack up the entire stall and just waltz off with food everywhere?

"Hell no, what if he kills me?!"

The woman was the only one who stood in between the two, as if she was his protector at this point. Turning around, anxiety spiked for a moment when she saw that tired expression.

Those crimson soaked robes.

Those unimpressed cyan eyes locking onto hers when suddenly—

THUMP.

...?

Out of panic, she threw a steamed bun at him thinking that he was about to kill her. Her focus split between the danger in front of her and the very unfortunate event of losing that one bun she really wanted.

It was the last one too.

"Did you just..."

The man couldn't even finish his sentence. He had people trying to ambush him, try to stab him, try to kill him.

But did he ever have somebody throw a bun at him?

Absolutely not, but honestly this was the most amusing thing he had gotten after years of winning battles and killing people in cold blood.

One woman much smaller than he is, throwing her bun at him.

This was interesting. This was new.

"Sorry! I panicked, I thought you were going to hurt me or—" immediately, your sentence had been cut off by the quiet chuckle of the man picking up the dirty bun off the ground like he didn't want to litter food, all while still being dressed with blood like this is some casual conversation.

"I have no business to do with hurting a woman who isn't even here to fight, especially when all she wanted was..." He held up the dirty bun in the air, examining it like it had done something so incredible.

"A steamed bun."

By now, the bun had cold off and lost its fragrance, only leaving the owner standing there to pout with her disatisfaction. Glancing back at the shorter woman, it wasn't hard to notice her subtle frown as she stared at the food in his calloused hand.

"I can buy you another one," a deep, calm voice broke the silence between them but the difference now was that he had a smile on his expression. Not one of extreme excitement, but it wasn't fake either.

Just normal.

Average.

"No! It's okay. I was the one who threw it at you... Still, I didn't mean to be rude," her softer voice rang out, a complete opposite to the man titled the strongest of their timeline.

"I insist. I did scare you after all."

Did he expect that the woman standing in front of him would end up stealing his heart years later?

Absolutely not.

At most, Kashimo expected to buy her another steamed bun, leave the village the next morning, and never see her again.

That was how things usually went.

People came and went.

Villages blurred together.

Faces were forgotten.

Life moved on.

Yet somehow, years later, he found himself standing outside an estate at the edge of another village, holding a basket of groceries he had been bullied into carrying.

The strongest sorcerer in the country.

Reduced to carrying vegetables.

"... That was something."

"No, what's 'something' is watching the strongest man alive lose an argument to an old woman selling radishes," you chuckled seeing your husband raise a brow to your banter, completely unamused.

"I didn't lose."

"You absolutely lost."

Kashimo clicked his tongue as his wife beside him only laughed. Despite the years of being married together, the familiar presence of his beloved had long since become as natural as breathing.

The years had changed many things.

Just not this.

Not the way she smiled whenever he was annoyed.

Not the way she seemed completely immune to the reputation that made everyone else nervous.

And not the way she continued to win arguments against him with frightening consistency.

The wooden porch creaked softly beneath your footsteps as returned back home to his estate, your husband barely setting the basket down when a familiar tug caught the sleeve of his robe.

"What is it?"

Instead of answering, you took his wrist, smiling downwards as your expression told him everything with his gaze immediately dropping towards your stomach. Months into the pregnancy, it wasn't exactly difficult to guess what you wanted.

"Again?" He asked. There was no annoyance in his voice despite the words. Only the sort of patience that had become increasingly common over the years.

Nodding at him in response, Kashimo sighed before placing his hand towards your abdomen ever so carefully, your own hand guiding him towards yourself.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

A small movement pressed against his palm, Kashimo's eyes following the subtle shift beneath the fabric.

Another kick.

Then another.

A comfortable quiet settled between the two of you, the kind that only existed after years spent sharing the same space.

"You've been restless all day," Kashimo muttered, more to the growing baby than to you. Whether the child could actually hear him remained debatable but that never stopped him from talking anyway.

At one point, he spent his days wandering aimlessly in search of opponents worth remembering. Villages came and went. Faces blurred together. Every morning looked the same as the last.

Now though, he found himself discussing herbal remedies with you while silently adjusting blankets in the middle of the night whenever the weather grew colder.

If his past self heard this was his future, it would certainly be strange and even unbelievable for someone as battle focused as he is. Not unpleasant to be exact.

Just one he never expected. Perhaps that was why he never took it for granted.

Not the life.

Not the child.

Not you.

Especially not you.

A few weeks later, the weather was pleasant enough that you decided staying indoors felt like a punishment but your cyan haired beloved disagreed, naturally.

The disagreement lasted all of ten minutes before you left anyway but the compromise came in the form of him following behind at a distance, pretending he had errands to run despite the fact that both of you knew exactly what he was doing.

Overprotective is what most people would've labelled it, though you prefer to call it annoying.

The marketplace wasn't particularly crowded that afternoon. A few familiar faces greeted you as you passed, children ran between stalls, merchants called out prices, just like every other day. Just like the day you met him.

Ordinary.

The sort of day nobody remembers.

The sort of day nothing should happen.

By the time Kashimo appeared further down the road, you were already smiling to yourself.

He had bought something again. Even from this distance, it wasn't difficult to tell. There was always some excuse nowadays. An elderly woman convinced him a particular herb would help with morning sickness. A village healer insisting a certain tea was good for pregnancy. A merchant recommending food that would supposedly keep both mother and child healthy.

Whether he believed half of those claims was debatable but whether he bought them anyway? That was not.

You could already imagine the conversation waiting for you when he got home. He would place whatever he purchased onto the table and act as though it had somehow found its way into his hands completely by accident. Then, when questioned, he would insist he simply happened to be passing by and saw it.

A terrible liar.

The thought earned a small shake of your head as you watched him navigate through the crowd.

Then someone stepped into your path, neither of you noticing it at first as though it came so naturally.

At first, you paid little attention to it. The marketplace was crowded enough that people brushed past one another constantly, and there was nothing particularly remarkable about the man standing before you. Had it been any other day, you might not have remembered his face at all.

Yet something about him immediately felt... Wrong.

Not frightening.

Not threatening.

Just wrong.

The smile on your face slowly faded as the uneasy feeling settled deeper into your chest. The man wasn't looking at you. In fact, he seemed almost completely uninterested in your presence. His gaze remained fixed on something beyond your shoulder, focused on a point somewhere further down the road.

On Kashimo Hajime.

The realization arrived quietly, so much so that for a moment you almost wished it hadn't come at all. Your eyes lingered on the stranger before drifting toward your pale-haired husband approaching in the distance. The pieces came together with uncomfortable ease after that, forming a conclusion you didn't want to acknowledge even as it settled heavily in the pit of your stomach.

Ah.

So that's what this is.

Not an accident.

Not a coincidence.

Leverage.

Further down the road, Kashimo's footsteps gradually slowed. It wasn't anything obvious at first. Just a faint sense of unease settling somewhere in the back of his mind, the same instinct that had carried him through countless battles and more near-death experiences than he cared to remember. Most of the time, he trusted it without question.

His gaze lifted from the path ahead and the first thing he noticed was the crowd.

People were moving, not with the usual rhythm of a busy marketplace, but with the confused hesitation that came whenever something unexpected disrupted the ordinary flow of the day. A merchant had abandoned his stall screaming, someone staring at a certain spot on the ground, others taking a step backwards.

Then, his eyes found you.

For a brief moment, his mind refused to understand what it was seeing.

You were on the ground.

Your body had collapsed awkwardly against the dirt road, one hand curled beneath you whilst the other remained outstretched as though you had been reaching for something moments earlier. The stranger standing nearby barely registered in his vision.

All he could see was the blood.

It spread steadily beneath you, soaking into the earth in a dark crimson stain that seemed far too large, growing larger with every passing second.

Somewhere in the distance, somebody was screaming.

Kashimo couldn't hear them.

The marketplace, the villagers, the man responsible for it—all of it faded into meaningless noise.

The package tucked beneath his arm slipped from his grasp, vegetables scattering across the dirt road without him noticing. His tall frame remained frozen where he stood, pale cyan hair stirring gently beneath the afternoon breeze whilst those striking eyes remained fixed entirely upon you.

The familiar lightning-shaped markings beneath his eyes had become infamous throughout the country, a feature countless people associated with fear, battle and death. Yet now, standing amidst a crowd of panicking villagers, there was nothing frightening about him at all.

He simply looked lost.

Because for the first time in years, Kashimo Hajime found himself staring at something he couldn't simply fix by being stronger, and no matter how desperately his mind tried to reject the sight before him, the blood pooling beneath your body remained stubbornly, horrifyingly real.

The red liquid continued to spread beneath your body, slowly staining the dirt road a deep crimson. Kashimo remained where he stood, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before him as the marketplace had descended into complete chaos at some point. People were screaming. Running. Shoving past one another in desperate attempts to escape. Somewhere nearby, a stall had been overturned entirely, but he heard none of it.

Everything beyond you felt distant.

Muted.

Unimportant.

His mind kept returning to the same thought over and over again, stubbornly refusing to move forward no matter how much time passed.

"This wasn't supposed to happen."

Less than an hour ago, you had been standing in the doorway arguing with him. You had been laughing. Smiling. Complaining about how often he listened to the advice of old women whenever they recommended something for the pregnancy. The memory felt so vivid that part of him still expected you to suddenly sit up and continue the conversation as though nothing had happened.

Instead, there was only silence.

A strange heaviness settled over the marketplace. The screaming had stopped. The running had stopped. Even the wind itself seemed quieter now. Slowly, Kashimo became aware of the stares surrounding him.

Not directed at you.

At him.

The realization should have meant something but it didn't. Only when something wet slid down the side of his face did his attention finally shift. Raising a hand absentmindedly, his fingers brushed against fresh blood, the sight earning a small frown. It wasn't yours.

His gaze wandered for the first time since arriving.

The road was ruined.

Several stalls had been reduced to splinters scattered across the ground, deep scorch marks carved through the earth in jagged patterns, stretching across the marketplace like scars left behind by a storm. What remained of the sorcerer lay several meters away, broken beyond recognition amidst shattered wood and blackened debris.

Kashimo stared at the scene for a long moment.

Nothing.

No memory surfaced.

No recollection of moving.

No recollection of attacking.

No recollection of the man's face.

The last thing he remembered clearly was seeing you collapse. Everything afterwards was blank, as though his body had simply continued without him.

The thought barely registered before his attention drifted back to you once more with the corpse of the man responsible meant nothing now. Whether he had lived or died had ceased to matter the moment your blood touched the ground.

All Kashimo knew was that you were still lying there.

And no matter how many opponents he had defeated throughout his life, no matter how much power coursed through his veins, no matter how many people called him the strongest man alive, he could do absolutely nothing about it.

The walk home should have been unbearable.

Instead, it felt strangely ordinary.

Kashimo barely noticed the villagers watching him as he passed. Some stepped aside, others lowered their heads, a few were crying. None of it seemed particularly important. His attention remained entirely fixed on the weight resting in his arms, carefully supported against his chest in the same way he had carried you countless times before. The blood soaking into his robes should have felt alarming. It should have meant something, yet his mind continued stubbornly rejecting the sight no matter how many times he looked at it.

You were simply exhausted.

That explanation made far more sense.

The pregnancy had been difficult lately. You tired more easily than before, often complaining about aches and discomforts that seemed to appear out of nowhere. There were days where he practically had to force you to sit down and rest instead of wandering around the village. Just last week you had insisted you felt perfectly fine before nearly falling asleep halfway through a conversation.

Exhausted.

That was all.

Nothing more.

The thought settled comfortably in his mind despite how obviously wrong it was.

By the time the familiar outline of the house came into view, the afternoon sun had already begun sinking towards the horizon. The sight should have brought relief but instead, it only deepened the strange emptiness sitting in his chest. The wooden porch looked exactly the same as it had that morning. One of your sandals still sat abandoned near the entrance after you'd forgotten to bring it inside days ago.

Everything was exactly where it should have been.

Everything except you.

Kashimo pushed the thought away immediately.

Sliding the door open, he stepped inside and carefully lowered you onto the bedding. His movements remained patient and deliberate, adjusting the blankets beneath you before pulling them over your shoulders. One hand lingered briefly against your forehead, as though checking for a fever. The gesture came so naturally he barely thought about it.

"You should've stayed home."

The words left his mouth absentmindedly.

A normal complaint. The sort of thing he might have said any other day.

Instead of receiving one of your little banters with that gentle voice he never knew he would get so addicted on, silence was what answered him.

Kashimo ignored it.

His attention shifted towards the basket he had dropped earlier, the vegetables were probably ruined now. Some of the herbs had fallen out as well. It was annoying. The old woman who sold them would probably scold him for being careless if she found out.

The thought almost made him smile.

Almost.

Instead, he found himself talking. Not about anything important. Just ordinary things.

The weather.

The villagers.

The old woman and her endless advice.

The baby.

The baby.

Especially the baby.

He talked as though tomorrow still existed, as though there would be another morning. Another banter. Another evening spent listening to you complain about how often he worried.

Because the alternative was impossible.

The alternative meant accepting that the future he had spent years building no longer existed.

It meant accepting that there would be no child waiting for him in a few months. No tiny hand wrapped around his finger. No laughter filling the house. No growing old beside the woman who had somehow managed to carve a place for herself inside a life that once revolved entirely around battle.

It meant accepting that the spring which had found its way into the long winter of Kashimo's life was gone.

So instead, he adjusted the blanket again.

Then again.

Then once more.

As though fixing it properly would somehow change everything. As though if he kept his hands busy long enough, if he continued speaking normally long enough, if he continued pretending long enough, reality itself might eventually grow embarrassed and correct the mistake.

But the room remained silent.

And for the first time in many years, Kashimo Hajime found himself afraid to look too closely at the person lying in front of him. Because somewhere beneath the denial, beneath the numbness and confusion and desperate attempts at normality, a part of him already knew the truth.

He simply wasn't ready to survive it yet.

The funeral came and went in a blur that Kashimo would later struggle to remember. People spoke to him throughout the day, offering condolences, prayers, words they clearly believed would help. He listened because it was expected of him, nodded when appropriate, and answered when necessary. Beyond that, very little remained. The villagers cried. The old woman who had spent months fussing over the pregnancy cried even harder. Someone asked if he wished to say anything before the burial but all he could do was stare at the coffin for a long time before quietly shaking his head.

There was nothing left to say.

What words could possibly exist for something like this? In the end, the earth accepted both mother and child without asking his permission.

That was the part he hated most.

Not the funeral.

Not the condolences.

Not even the grief.

The finality.

The simple reality that the world had already begun moving forward whilst he remained stubbornly trapped behind. The villagers eventually returned to their homes, the merchants reopened their stalls after, children continued playing in the streets. The seasons continued changing exactly as they always had.

Yet every morning Kashimo still found himself waking up expecting to hear another voice in the house.

At first, the habit felt harmless. He would glance towards the doorway thinking you had entered the room. He would return home and instinctively look for your sandals near the entrance. Sometimes he would catch himself reaching for an extra bowl during dinner before realizing there was no reason to.

The realization hurt every time.

Years passed and the house remained.

He remained.

Everything else gradually disappeared.

The villagers stopped checking on him after a while, the old woman stopped leaving gifts by the doorway, and the concern in people's eyes eventually faded into cautious distance. Life had a habit of healing itself that way. People adapted. Humans learn to carry their grief and continue walking.

Kashimo never did.

The difference was subtle enough that most people failed to notice it at first. He still spoke when spoken to. Still purchased food. From a distance, he looked exactly the same as he always had.

Yet the man who once carried baskets of herbs home because an elderly woman claimed they were good for pregnancy had vanished somewhere along the way.

The man who remained felt colder.

Detached.

Not angry.

Not bitter.

Simply empty.

Eventually, even the village ceased feeling like home. Every corner contained a memory he could no longer bear to look at. The porch reminded him of quiet evenings spent together. The marketplace reminded him of the day everything ended. Even the house itself felt less like a home and more like a grave filled with objects nobody had bothered burying.

The years that followed were filled with bloodshed. Sorcerers challenged him, warriors sought him out, and stories followed wherever he travelled. Some called him a monster. Others called him a god. The titles meant nothing though. Victory meant nothing. Strength meant nothing.

The only thing that mattered was filling the time between one day and the next. Then, as an old man, he heard the name.

Ryomen Sukuna.

The strongest sorcerer in history.

Years earlier, Kashimo would've chased such a title out of curiosity alone. He would've wanted to test himself. To prove something. To satisfy the endless hunger that once drove him forward. Now, sitting quietly and listening to Kenjaku speak, he found himself feeling something else entirely.

Relief.

Not because he believed he would win.

Not because he cared about becoming stronger.

But because for the first time in many years, the road ahead seemed to have an ending. The future he had wanted had already been buried long ago beside the woman he loved and the child he never got the chance to meet. Everything after that had simply been time.

Empty.

Meaningless.

Endless.

If Sukuna truly existed, then perhaps there was finally something waiting at the end of it and for a man who had spent years wandering through a life he no longer wished to live, that was enough.

2018.

The colony had been unusually quiet for the better part of an hour.

Not peaceful.

Just the sort of silence that only existed when every sorcerer within the area knew somebody dangerous was nearby and preferred not drawing attention to themselves. It suited Kashimo just fine. After all, he had little interest in wasting his time on opponents who couldn't even survive a single exchange.

The ruined streets stretched endlessly ahead of him, littered with abandoned vehicles and fractured concrete. Somewhere in the distance, cursed energy flickered briefly before disappearing once again.

Another fight.

Another death.

Another distraction.

Kashimo ignored it all.

His attention remained fixed on a single objective as he moved through the colony without hurry. Sukuna existed somewhere within this era and eventually their paths would cross, he knew that. Everything else though was irrelevant.

Then, he stopped.

At first, he couldn't have explained why. There was no danger. No cursed energy that demanded his attention. No opponent worth acknowledging. Yet something about the figure standing ahead caused his gaze to linger longer than it should have. The woman stood with her back facing him near the corner of a ruined building, seemingly unaware of his presence. Under normal circumstances, he would've walked straight past without sparing her a second glance or even killed her like he did to any other culling game player.

Instead, he found himself staring.

The feeling was difficult to describe. Familiarity wasn't quite the right word but neither was recognition. It was simply a strange pull somewhere in the back of his mind, subtle enough that he couldn't identify it yet persistent enough that he couldn't ignore it either. By the time he realized he had stopped walking entirely, the sound of his footsteps must have reached her.

Slowly, she turned around.

For one impossible moment, Kashimo genuinely thought he had lost his mind.

Centuries had passed since his wife's death. He remembered the funeral with painful clarity. He remembered standing beside her grave long after everyone else had gone home. He remembered the empty house, the unbearable silence, and every miserable year that followed. Those memories had remained with him far longer than any battle, any victory, or any opponent ever had.

Yet none of them mattered now.

Because the woman standing before him was not a resemblance. Not a coincidence. Not somebody who happened to share a similar face.

It was her.

The realization settled over him with terrifying certainty. The same eyes. The same features. The same presence that had once transformed an estate into something worth returning home to. Kashimo had spent centuries convincing himself that part of his life was gone forever, buried alongside the woman he loved and the child he never got the chance to meet.

Now that she stood directly in front of him, his body refused to move.

The irony would've been amusing under any other circumstance. Kashimo Hajime had spent his entire life charging headfirst into battles that would've terrified most people, yet now he found himself rooted to the ground by the sight of a single woman. Across from him, her expression seemed to fracture in much the same way. Tears gathered in her eyes almost immediately, as though years of grief and longing had been waiting for this exact moment to finally break free.

The sight struck him harder than anything else because he recognized that expression too.

For the first time since her death, something cracked inside him. Not grief. Not anger. Not the familiar emptiness that had followed him throughout the centuries. Something far more frightening.

Hope.

After all these years, it was the one thing he had never allowed himself to feel.

The emotion sat heavily in his chest as he stared at you, refusing to look away even for a moment. Centuries had passed since your death. Entire eras had come and gone, villages had become cities, roads had become highways, the world itself had changed beyond recognition. Through all of it, Kashimo continued moving forward because there had been nothing else to do. The future he wanted had been buried alongside you. The family he wanted had disappeared with it. Everything that came afterwards had simply been a way to fill the empty years until he finally reached the end.

That was why Sukuna mattered.

Not because he desired glory. Not because he cared about becoming the strongest, not when those ambitions had died long ago when he met his soulmate who changed his life. Sukuna represented an ending. A destination waiting at the end of a road Kashimo had grown tired of walking. For centuries, that single purpose had been enough to keep him moving.

Now, standing in the middle of a ruined colony with your tear-filled eyes staring back at him, he found himself unable to care. The thought should have been alarming but instead, it felt strangely natural.

How many years had he spent chasing Sukuna? How many battles had he fought? How many opponents had died believing they mattered? The answer suddenly felt meaningless compared to the woman standing only a few steps away from him.

You were alive.

Nothing else seemed capable of competing with that fact.

The colony around you had fallen completely silent and whether that silence was real or simply a result of Kashimo no longer paying attention, he couldn't tell. The shattered buildings, the distant sounds of fighting, the countless players scattered throughout the game—all of it faded into the background until only you remained.

For a brief moment, Kashimo found himself thinking about the little estate from centuries ago.

The porch.

The evenings spent together.

The arguments over vegetables and herbal remedies.

The child that never got the chance to be born.

Memories he had spent years trying to lock away suddenly returned with such painful clarity, each one striking harder than the last.

He had buried you.

He remembered standing beside your grave long after everyone else had gone home. He remembered convincing himself that life would continue because it had no choice but to do so. He remembered the years that followed and the man he eventually became because of them.

Yet none of that seemed real anymore.

Not when you were standing right in front of him.

For once, he found himself at a complete loss for words. The irony wasn't lost on him. He had spent centuries imagining what he would say if given another chance, only to discover that every carefully imagined conversation vanished the moment it became reality.

In the end, the only thing he managed was a quiet breathless laugh.

Small.

Disbelieving.

Human.

Then, finally, he took a step forward, his gaze never leaving yours.

"... You took your time."

It wasn't a grand declaration. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't even particularly clever.

It was simply the first thing that came to mind, and somehow, seeing that familiar smile begin to form through your tears felt more important than anything else in the world. For the first time in centuries, Kashimo stopped looking toward the future of his death he had been aiming for throughout the years.

Not when he had finally found what he lost.

[shimihu]

Do you think Kashimo would be dominate or submissive

Honestly could be both 😼 I want readers to enjoy what they like, so he could be a big boobied sub the reader ravages or a hot dom with veiny calloused hands to grip the reader

I can totally see the potential in both! As a sub he's low-key tsundere, all grouchy as he always is but right above him is the reader doing the nastiest things to him despite his expression and denial. As a dom, let's not forget that he's titled a GOD for a reason (and canonically one of the strongest characters) who can easily mess with his little plaything whenever he wants. However, he treats them with the gentlest aftercare once he's done doing the roughest, neediest love making.

[shimihu]

YANDERE STALKER X READER

Pairing . Anybody you want to imagine it as + you~

Warnings . Yandere content, stalking, implications of murder

Hey

HeY

HEY!

LOok at Me!!!

Ple4sE!! Look at mE!!!!!!!!!

GivE m3 yoUr eyeS!!!

Let me weaR them!

So you can't look at anyone else.

… That's fair, right?

I love you

I lOve you

I loVE you

I loVe yOU

I Lov3 yoU

I LOve YOU

I LOVE Y0U

I love you I lovE you I love you I love yOu I love you I L0ve yoU I love you I loVe you 1 love you I lov3 you I l0ve you I lOVe you can'T you sEe????????????

CAn't you see??

Why won't you see.

I'm right here.

I've always been right here.

I loVe yOU I loVE YOU I LOVE YOU

If I was sent to hEll, I'd crawl mY way baCk up to See you in hEaVen!!!!!!!!!!

And if you weren't there

I'd drag you down with me instead.

… Because we belong together.

Right?

Please

PleasE

PLEaSe

PleaSe pLeaSe pl3aSe Ple4se?????

Don't make me beg.

I don't like begging.

I don't like it when you make me like this.

Aren't I cutE?

ArEn't 1 hAndsome??

DoN't y0u love me?

I lOve you!!

I loVE you too!!!

Let'S get married!!!!!!!

The room is quiet.

Too quiet.

You're still not looking at me.

That's okay.

I can wait.

I've always been good at waiting.

Your eyes are so pretty when they're still.

You're not sure since when, but you swear you've been feeling the prying eyes of somebody. Something. It burnt holes in the back of your head, but whenever you turned—no one. Fuck... You probably shouldn't have gone out this late just to treat yourself to some food. Now you're walking home alone in darkness, the only light being the lampposts or some occasional building lights peering through the stained windows.

Immediately, you began picking up the pace to get home as soon as you could. You felt as though you looked like somebody crazy, believing there was a stalker on your tail, but you'd rather seem insane than to actually have some creep behind you.

By the time you had arrived home, you checked the clock hanging on your apartment wall, pointing at 9pm. You came home later than you had planned, but it wasn't like it was midnight anyway. Yet, why were the streets eerily silent? You swear people would've still been bustling around the sidewalks at this hour. Regardless, though, you practically forgot the creepy feeling the moment you remembered you had to pack up and leave tomorrow morning for a road trip to pick some package up. Unfortunately, it was way further than you had hoped for, and they didn't do deliveries all the way out in another state.

So much for the rare, discontinued vintage camera you wanted...

Things had started well. Your car hummed steadily along the road, tyres whispering against the concrete as the early morning air still clung to the world. It was quiet—comfortably so—as you drove off at 7am. With your favourite music quietly blasting off just enough to keep you awake — hair tied into a messy bun, a simple t-shirt, some sweatpants and a button-up shirt that acted like a cardigan, still not even buttoned up in a lazy manner. It was the picture of a smooth long-distance ride.

It was easy.

Familiar.

The kind of drive you could sink into without thinking.

The road continued stretching into an empty space, no cars passing, no distant engines, and the city began to disappear slowly behind you. Nearly halfway through your ride, you began to slow your car into a stop as you saw a man standing at the side, thumbs up to signal for help.

You felt bad for him, standing in the middle of nowhere, and hey, he was pretty good-looking too and around your age. Quite tall even, the type of guy that looked to be a magazine cover with a calm smile of thanks. After all, you could use the company from the hitchhiker. All you saw was the guitar case he held at his back and nothing else. You didn't see how eerily calm he looked. You didn't see how his quick eyes kept staring into your soul. You didn't even see how light the guitar case was.

The man ends up riding shotgun as his guitar case sits in the back of your car. Slowly, you learnt that this man happened to be in college too, just like you are. The two of you talked about the usuals — classes, what courses you're taking, shitty professors and such. Pretty normal. Each time you reached over to grab your drink in the cupholder, your hand would brush his thigh.

God knows how awkward it would be if it ended up being a short conversation, but thankfully it wasn't. Quite the opposite really, and he was surprisingly relatable to you. By the time you saw a building up ahead, the two of you decided to take a break from the road. At a gas station, you needed the oil and you needed the rest. As off-putting as the gas station diner was, you couldn't care enough to complain about the place. Food and water were all you could think of.

You step out of the car first, stretching your arms above your head as the stiffness settles in your shoulders.

"God… I needed that," you mutter to yourself. A second later, the door on the other side opens as the hitchhiker lingers for just a moment before stepping out. You don't notice how his hand drifts briefly toward the centre console—or how quickly he pulls back.

"Could I have a lamb chop? Make it rare; I like the bloody texture," the hitchhiker says, causing the waitress to jot down his order before turning on her heel to leave once you've had your order.

"Rare lamb chop?" You raised an eyebrow at his order. It wasn't exactly something you'd expect from a gas station diner, more like something a rich person would get from a fancy restaurant.

"Hey, it's nice to gnaw on something once in a while..."

'Gnaw' isn't exactly something you'd use to describe food, but the world is a wild place full of unpredictable people.

Only two other groups filled the booths of the empty diner. After all, who would be out here unless they were on a road trip like you are? Regardless, though, you ate your food just as the hitchhiker did. It might've been the trick of the light, but you swear you saw a glint of interest from his weirdly soulless eyes, as if that was a first genuine reaction from his colder gaze, pupils dilating in interest.

"How's your food?" He kept his attention on his own plate, that same calm expression he always had on his face. It felt like there was some tension between you; it wasn't romantic — more like the tension of being around somebody dangerous. Shortly after, you could only respond with a simple "okay".

By the time you reached your car, pulling the seatbelt on and turning on your engine, you went to check for your paperwork at some sleazy motel not far in the middle of this whole trip. You definitely weren't planning on driving for a whole day, so you needed to rest, your backpacks behind and the hitchhiker still sitting next to you. As much as you weren't keen on it, he did say he could pay for his own room since he needed to go to the next state exactly where you were headed.

Lord knows how on earth he even ended up on the empty highway earlier when you found him. Probably some friends of his who decided to ditch the poor guy.

Reaching for the middle of your seat for the file of paperwork—

"Huh...?"

Panic began to set in, slowly but surely creeping into your nerves. It wasn't there. You know you brought it with you, even checking before you started driving. Yet, somehow—it wasn't there. Your file of documents for the motel. You know you brought it. Unfortunately though, you knew the reception wouldn't be easy to work through even if you had the proof of payment.

"Something wrong?" The hitchhiker spoke up, snapping you out of your rambled thoughts.

"Yeah – fuck... I can't find the document I need for the damn motel," disappointment and disbelief were laced in your tone. You didn't want to pay double for this just because you lost some paper. That was when the hitchhiker brought up an idea, and you were willing to do anything to find a place to stay, considering the sun was beginning to set too.

"Hey, I know an Airbnb nearby here. It's just a few miles ahead; I could make a call for a booking there. I'll pay."

It was almost too coincidental that you had lost your paperwork and there happened to be an Airbnb up ahead, but you had assumed it was just your luck. Plus, the hitchhiker insisted on paying since he claimed that it was because you decided to be so kind as to pick him up, so why not?

The time was nearing 7pm when you could finally slow down the car, the conversation between you and the man next to you keeping each other company and providing at least some entertainment. It took nearly an hour just to get to the closest place to stay, this Airbnb in the middle of the woods thick with miles of trees.

You didn't think about it. You were too tired from the long rides to notice, but somehow this hitchhiker had the keys to the Airbnb. Your instincts, though, are creeping up on you, and you need some answers.

"Where'd you get the—"

"The owner had left it under a flower pot before we arrived. He texted me about it."

He didn't look at you when he answered, just shoving the metal trinket down into his pockets before glancing back up to you with the same, eerily calm smile. Those eyes of his, piercing into you with that same soulless look. Yet... with a hint of something else.

... Longing?

Before your brain could process anything else, the hitchhiker glided his way past you and pushed the cabin door open. It was sleek and modern-looking. Way better than you had imagined for an Airbnb out in the middle of the woods. You had expected the place to be way more rustic or even with some musty carpet, but it was quite the opposite.

The furniture was quite clean, as if somebody had dusted the place a few days ago. Bookshelves were stacked with books, many of which were your favourites, and a well-maintained fridge in the kitchen that's packed with ingredients and snacks.

"Help yourself to whatever you want. The owner said we could take anything," the hitchhiker spoke up as he noticed how you stared into the cool air, seeming to read your mind.

By the time you had finished unpacking, your room was more than you could ask for. A queen-sized bed covered by a smooth cotton blanket and an air conditioner that wasn't even dusty, and the room didn't even smell like mould.

"Woah..." You muttered to yourself as you took in the sight, the room even coming with a bathroom of your own so you didn't need to get out of the room after midnight.

"Pretty neat, right, doll?" Behind you stood the hitchhiker, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed as he smiled towards your direction.

"Can I see your room?" Curious, you turned around and directed your attention at him, his hair swaying along with the light movements he made, propping himself off of the doorframe before beckoning you over with his fingers.

In front of his room, it looked similar, just with different placements of furniture. His air conditioner was humming out quietly as if he had just turned it on. In one of his drawers, it was locked. You assumed the owner didn't want any random teenagers destroying the value of the place, so he kept it like this.

"Like it, pretty thing?" He stood in the same place, in front of his door, right hand shoved into his pants pocket, seeming to fidget with something inside — the keys.

"I'm surprised. Some of these things are expensive..." You trailed off, fingertips tracing along some of the shorter furniture; no dust piled up on your skin, as it indicated the cleanliness of the place.

"How much is this Airbnb anyway?"

The hitchhiker just hummed, thinking of the answer before slowly stepping behind you as you turned around to face him now. You never realised, but standing next to him really showed how much taller the man was compared to you. He kept his gaze on the ceiling, as if unsure what to say or as if he were just remembering the price of the place. You assumed he just forgot.

"Don't worry about it, doll. You don't need to pay for anything." He began walking away from his room, leaving you behind under the slight blow of the air conditioner propped on the wall. You watched his frame move, only now noticing how muscular he is as his white button-up shirt flexed occasionally from his well-built body.

Perfect.

Too perfect.

As if he made himself look like this just for somebody's attention. Not for himself.

30 minutes had passed as you stayed in the living room, slouching back against the couch and scrolling on your phone. It still sucked that you had lost your money to that damn motel because of papers, but honestly, this Airbnb seemed way better than some musty place.

"Hey gorgeous, dinner's ready," you heard his deep voice call out from the kitchen, not realising that the two of you haven't even eaten since the gas station diner. It's 8pm, and you deserve some fresh meal, but you certainly didn't expect this.

A home-cooked fish, perfectly crisp on the outside and tender on the inside. Beside it were two plates of rice, the exact texture you liked it to be, as if he just knew how to make it. You couldn't believe it, but this man was a really good cook as well and a quick one, considering he only took less than 30 minutes to finish all this.

It seemed peaceful during dinner. Hot food on the table, a domestic scene of just two people eating together. As dishes were washed, you insisted on helping despite him saying otherwise, but something seemed to linger with him. You swear you saw him grin a bit for a moment, hands already working on the plates next to you.

"You know, I've never done house chores with anybody before. It feels... nice. Like a married couple type of thing."

"Uh... Okay," you chuckled a bit at the weird comment, trying to sound normal without coming off as rude. He didn't answer after that, though, like he read the room to not make it worse.

Actually, more like he chose to brush it off.

By the time you were both finished, you decided to head to bed since you needed to be up early tomorrow. A good night's sleep is needed, and your body said so, yawning with a stretch of your arms.

" 'Night, pretty thing."

His voice lingered in the air as he moved towards the living room while you went upstairs. The night seemed normal like that, doing your usual routine before bed while the man downstairs did whatever he did at this hour.

It didn't take you long; by the time you had begun dozing off, the room was dark and the air conditioner was blowing gently into the environment at the right temperature. Not too hot, not too cold. The cotton blanket made it all the better, the texture high quality, seemingly even better than your own one at home.

What you didn't notice, though, was the muffled scream outside the Airbnb.

"You always did sleep so soundly..."

"You never woke up whenever I slept with you."

Soulless eyes glinting in the dark room stared at your sleeping figure. You were too tired from the daylong drive and from waking up in the morning without rest; of course you would be in a deep sleep.

Morning came softer than it should have.

For a few blissfully empty seconds, all you knew was warmth. The cool air from the air conditioner drifted over your skin while the cotton blanket stayed heavy over your body, and the mattress beneath you felt too comfortable to belong in some rented cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Then your eyes opened.

Sunlight spilt faintly through the curtains, pale and weak, painting the room in a washed-out glow. Everything looked the same as it had the night before.

Neat.

Quiet.

Still.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, blinking away the last of your sleep. Your body felt strangely heavy, like you had slept far longer than you meant to. Your limbs dragged as you pushed yourself upright, one hand moving to rub at your eyes.

What time even was it?

You reached for your phone on the bedside table.

11:47 AM.

"What the fuck?!"

The words slipped out before you could stop them, shooting up in bed. You knew you had set your alarm on for 6:30am. A strange unease settled low in your stomach as you quickly unlocked your phone, only for it to lag for a second in your hand. Your alarm never went off.

No—worse.

It had been turned off.

A chill prickled across the back of your neck. It couldn't be possible—you had a password on your phone. Nobody could have unlocked it just to do that. For a second, you just stared at the screen. Then you laughed once under your breath, dry and uncertain.

Maybe you set an alarm in your sleep.

Maybe you were just that exhausted.

… Right?

You pushed the blanket off and slid out of bed, only to pause. Your clothes from yesterday were folded neatly over the chair in the corner.

You don't remember doing that.

Agh, maybe you were just too tired to remember last night. You had no time to linger on these little things; you needed to head back into the road before the seller got too tired to wait for you. All this for a vintage camera... It was too aesthetically pleasing to pass out on. It was a Polaroid camera! You couldn't say no.

Hopping out of your bedroom once you've packed your bags, you speed walk down the stairs, almost forgetting the hitchhiker you had brought along. If he wasn't awake yet, you needed to force him up.

With a knock on his room—

No answer.

You turned the doorknob only to see an empty room and a slightly messy bed. Looks like he woke up before you did, so you went to check his bathroom.

Nobody.

The living room?

Nobody.

The backyard?

Nobody.

What's there, though? It caught your eye. A shoe. Seriously? Did somebody really lose a whole shoe without noticing? Whoever last stayed here definitely didn't check things well enough, so you silently noted to do so a second time before leaving.

You decided to clean up the shoe; at least do something nice for the owner considering how rich this place came to be and the quality of the Airbnb. Way better than your own home. The red stain on the shoelaces was awfully heavy-looking, as if it was freshly there, but yet, it was covered with dirt so you couldn't make out what exactly this was.

Walking back into the Airbnb, you set the missing shoe down on the counter, making a mental note to throw it away once you found the hitchhiker. It seemed the trip would be too far to make it today, so you reluctantly decided that maybe it was best to stay another night. After all, the place was really cosy, clean even, unlike what you'd normally see. The downsides, though: the payment.

You didn't even know what the price was, and you certainly couldn't make the hitchhiker pay again for your own mistake of waking up late.

With your back turned to the kitchen door, your hand reached towards the refrigerator as the cool air escaped into the room. It still had all sorts of snacks, many of which you liked, but... You're pretty sure it looked like there were more things than when you first arrived.

More snacks, more... Ingredients?

Like somebody had prepared their groceries for a few weeks, maybe even a whole month. Your hand turned towards the chilled drink at the side when-

A soft whistle drifted out behind you.

Slow.

Careless.

"Thanks, love; we don't need unwanted eyes... Especially not the cops getting on my ass," in his hand he held the same shoe you left, his index finger twirling around the same red-stained lace like he was just fidgeting with some toy. He didn't even look at you at first, like he had zero worries about you, like you weren't a danger at all.

"... What?" Your voice came off more meek than you had hoped for, but it's not like you were pissed anyway. You didn't plan on lacing your tone with venom. You were just confused. Worried. Scared even.

"Hm?" He glanced up to you, setting the shoe back down on the counter like he didn't hear you.

"We uh... How much is the Airbnb again?"

It was obvious you tried to change the subject. Tried to act normal, like everything was okay and you were secretly hoping you were just overthinking.

"Why? Staying for another night?" You could see how an eerie smile crept up on his features, eyes squinting a bit at... Happiness?

As if it were the first time you saw a genuine reaction from him. Still, though, you tried to act normal, bringing up the reason. Maybe it's even an excuse, despite how true it was.

"I don't think I have time to drive to our destination, sorry."

"Ohh", he tilts his head slightly, hand reaching into his hoodie pocket just to fish out—what the fuck?

"You mean this?"

A polaroid camera. The same vintage one you had ordered. The same one you did all this for. Your breath catches in denial and in disbelief.

"… How did you—"

He turns it over in his hands, fingers brushing over the surface like he's familiar with it. As if he's held it before.

"It's free." The hitchhiker's voice is velvety smooth, too smooth even as his gaze lifts to yours.

"Just stay, and the Airbnb is all for us," but before you can step back, he lifts the Polaroid.

"Smile for me, love."

The flash goes off.

All you could do was stand there petrified as he shakes the Polaroid in his hand to reveal a frightened version of yourself, his expression a mix of amusement and adoration. Immediately, your body moved before you could think, bolting past him but—

He didn't budge. He already had you in his arms, almost too casual—like you were nothing more than small prey while he didn't even need to try to keep you there.

"Fuck – let me go!" As much as you yelled at him and tried to look stronger than you really are, it doesn't faze him. Instead, his hand reaches for his phone, easily unlocking the screen to show his gallery, completely ignoring you.

"You know, I've always been a good photographer. Especially with you as my muse~" he purred, a photo album on his phone titled with your name and a sickening heart next to it.

Every photo was of you doing mundane daily tasks. In the cafe, eating at home, using your phone, sleeping, and so much more. Your stomach twisted at the sight, everything screaming at you to run away, but no matter what you did, it didn't even make him move an inch.

It was disgusting.

He's watching.

Always watching.

Your chest tightens. You can't breathe.

Finally though, he turns his attention to you and really looks, his expression plastered with a calm yet excited look, like everything was finally falling into place for the sick bastard.

"See?" he murmurs.

"Now I get to keep this one too~" His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you flushed against him as you could feel his hot breath fanning over your neck when he giggled to himself, nuzzling against you. The sound of his voice now sounded horrid; he was too happy. Too giddy. Too emotional, unlike when you first met him with those same blank eyes.

"What do you want?!" You raised your voice, still trying to budge your way out of his hold, but he continued to cuddle against you like this, as if you weren't being held against your will right now.

"I have everything I need~"

He didn't even look at you. Didn't even bother as he continued to rub his scent all over you. This would've been romantic if he weren't some fucking stranger; you never even knew this man before! Yet, here he was, an album full of your pictures.

He's been fucking stalking you.

How did he even know you? As if he read your mind, though, the hitchhiker spoke up, head still resting against the crook of your neck, voice calmer now, like he finally came down from his high.

"You paid for my order last year... God, you're too nice for your own good, but fuck. I just knew you were my one! I got this Airbnb just for us! No need to pay, love; I own it!" He faced you again, grip tightening as a manic grin spread across his features while he went on as he rambled on, barely making sense anymore, like something finally snapped.

"Happy anniversary! We've been together for a year now. I told you, I'm right here. I've always been right here."

"Hey."

"Hey!"

"Let's get married, 'kay? ~”

[shimihu]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞?

↳ Kashimo + Reader

Genre . Suspense

Warnings . Swears, slight yandere if you squint hard enough

Synopsis . A peaceful Halloween night. An unknown caller, and a question that follows you into the next morning. “What’s your favourite scary movie?”

A/N . As you may be able to tell, my holiday has ended so I haven't been able to write 😭 But I WILL from time to time! I just had this idea I needed to make-

Halloween.

How much more stereotypical could it get? Spooky decorations hung everywhere, little spiders here and there, maybe even a skeleton standing awkwardly in a corner like it had nowhere better to be. Otherwise, the bony thing would just stick out like a sore thumb.

Sure, you had friends from Jujutsu High who were insistent on dragging you out to party or do some dumb shit, but did you really want to go trick-or-treating when you could just stay at home and do absolutely nothing? That sounds like a perfect date to yourself already, lounging around surrounded by snacks and watching some horribly acted horror movie like it came from the 80s with fake gore. Despite that, though, something about how bad it is just made you feel weirdly comforted.

You had already prepared your little lazy nest all for yourself, your favourite snacks ripped open because you couldn't help your greedy ass from shoving food down your throat. That was until—

Ding!

Your phone vibrated against the couch with that familiar notification as it buzzed on. Turning the little screen on, there you see your aforementioned friends spamming you with various messages to try and drag you out with them. Again.

Kirara ✨: Come on! It'll be fun, we might even be able to scare Fushiguro~

Gambler: Ya coming? Money doesn't wait

Kirara ✨: He means candies btw

[1 attachment]

Clicking on the image they sent, there it was: a selfie of your two friends, with Yuji awkwardly squeezed in behind them with some weird tiger face paint he probably did himself with zero skill. It looked like he was desperately trying to shove himself into the photo, judging by how squished his face was.

Meanwhile, Kirara held up a peace sign with a wink, wearing a cute little demon outfit, all dressed up with a demon-horned headband to top it all off. On the right side of the picture was Hakari, grinning confidently as he always did, but he barely even had a costume. In fact, the only 'costume' was a small top hat hair clip that was most likely forced there by Kirara.

Behind the picture—

What the hell…?

Megumi. He was dressed in a giant ketchup costume, the bright red outfit completely clashing with his deadpan expression—like someone had definitely forced him into it. The urchin head looked like one of those cursed stock images you'd find, except depressed-looking, causing you to snicker to yourself.

Your friends looked quite happy regardless. Honestly, you would join them, but your comfortable couch seemed so much more inviting than the cold outdoors. Plus, you'd rather give your feet the mercy of not walking around for hours.

Typing them back a reply, you leaned back on your couch, plopping your phone off to the side while you decided to pick out a movie on your flat-screen TV. Everything looked predictable—the same old horror movies you'd seen a hundred times before. Finally though, you began to run out of options, deciding on some cheesy high school horror where some teenagers would run away from the killer in some damn forest.

Stupid? Yes.

Entertaining, though? Yes again.

You watched as the group of teenagers hung out at the beach, clearly summer, laughing together in that overly iconic way horror movies always start with. 3 minutes into the movie, though, your phone rang.

Unknown caller.

You assumed it was some scammer trying to get you to pick up, so you ended up declining it before—

Riiing!

Your phone rang again, the same ringtone you always had. It was the same – an unknown caller – yet they called almost immediately after you had declined. Sighing to yourself, you decided to pick it up. Maybe it was one of your friends who wanted to mess with you... Again.

"Hello?" Your voice was laced with what seemed to be tiredness as you spoke lazily into your phone. Who could blame you, though? First your self-care night got interrupted, then you assumed it was one of your dumb friends doing some other dumb shit.

"What's your favourite scary movie?"

The voice wasn't familiar to you. It wasn't Yuji with that loud, almost childish tone, it wasn't Kirara's softness, it wasn't Hakari's confidence, and it certainly wasn't Megumi's dull one. That left you to begin analysing who else it could be. Maybe some other friend who didn't join trick-or-treating? Or maybe someone who got the wrong number.

Instead, the voice was velvety smooth, slightly deeper as well than anybody you recognise. It had a somewhat playful lilt to it, as if they were asking how the weather was today.

"Uh, I think you have the wrong number." You didn't answer their question, assuming it was some guy with the wrong number. Maybe somebody gave their date a fake number, but it ended up being yours.

"Wrong number?"

Silence filled the line for a moment before the stranger began again, his words carried with an unsettling tease to them.

"Strange. Because I know exactly whose number this is."

You could hear a faint chuckle erupt from the other side of the call, as if this caller really was playing some weird game with you. Maybe some annoying prank.

Before you could answer, though, you were cut off right as you opened your mouth to reply—

"But if you really did pick up someone else's call... Tell me something."

"Why didn't you hang up?"

Damn. Well, maybe it's because the caller wouldn't leave you alone even though he only called you twice, or maybe deep down you were curious what this person wanted.

"Maybe because you keep calling," you muttered back, rolling your eyes as you leaned further into the couch. "Look, whoever you are, I'm not interested in whatever prank this is."

Another quiet chuckle filtered through the phone.

Low. Smooth.

Almost pleased.

"A prank?" he echoed, sounding entertained by the idea. A pause lingered on the line. Then—

"You're watching a movie right now."

"...What?"

Your fingers froze on the edge of the snack bag as your gaze slowly drifted toward the television.

"The one with the teenagers at the beach," the voice continued casually, like he was commenting on the weather again. "Pretty terrible acting."

On screen, the same group of actors were still laughing along the shoreline as a cold prickle crept up your spine.

"You know," he hummed thoughtfully, "you really should close your curtains when you watch scary movies."

Your gaze snapped toward the living room window.

You quickly walked over to shut the curtains, glancing outside first to see where the hell this creep could possibly be lurking at. That was when a low chuckle rumbled out of him.

"Did you find me?" The question was light, almost playful. Your hand froze halfway across the curtain as you finished pulling it shut, the fabric sliding across the window with a soft swish.

"Very careful," he mused through the phone, "looking left… then right." He chuckled again, but louder this time, as if he was beginning to laugh at your little paranoid reactions.

"You could've just guessed that," you snapped, trying to sound more annoyed than unsettled as you stepped away from the window. Meanwhile, you slowly stepped into the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers until you found the sharpest knife you owned.

With the blade in your clammy hand, a soft hum came through the line. Then, a quiet laugh.

"Maybe you're right," his voice dipped lower, smoother than before as he spoke again, the sound causing you to shudder at the stalker.

"But you know…" he mused, almost thoughtfully, "the way you rushed to the window just now—"

Another small chuckle.

"It was kind of cute."

"Cute?" you repeated, your brows furrowing as you began to grow pissed at this arsehole, your hand fidgeting with the knife still as if you were ready to strike. When push comes to shove though, would you really be able to stab somebody? You didn't want to find out.

"Yeah," he said simply as a brief pause lingered, adding on like he knew he got under your nerves. "Like a little bunny. All nervous. Jumping at the slightest sound." The words were spoken so casually it almost made them worse.

Your stomach twisted as you listened to the man on the other side of the call, grip tightening on the phone as you tried to fight back with whatever confidence you could pull up.

"Leave me the fuck alone or—" Before you could continue, though, the man had already cut you off.

His voice softened into something almost coaxing. "Or? Or what? You gonna tell Kin-chan? What's he gonna do?" He laughed some more as if this situation was simply amusing to him while you're here ready to stab the shit out of somebody if your life was on the line. That was when—

ZAP!

Blackout.

Shit.

Your house fell completely dark, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside casting faint shadows across the floor. Looking back to the phone call, it had already ended. Nobody was left except for your lock screen that would appear at the end of any call.

That was when you heard it. A crackle of what seemed to be electricity outside of your home as something scraped against the outside wall, like a sharp object slowly dragging across the bricks. Running back to the living room couch, you sat there covered by your soft blanket that contrasted with your own fear. Knife in hand, you kept yourself hidden as low as possible, ready for whatever will happen.

Sure, you could hide elsewhere, under the bed, inside a closet, or anywhere else at all instead of in the open living room. What kind of jujutsu sorcerer would you be, though, if you did that? You quite literally exorcise curses and had the potential to kill if you wanted to, yet you decided to hide under a blanket with a little knife as if you couldn't fight.

Maybe it was the idea that whoever the stalker was, they were just a normal human. Somebody who couldn't use jujutsu like you could, leaving you with whatever humanity you had in that kindness of yours. Even if this was a stalker, you couldn't bring yourself to kill a normal human.

Your thoughts continued to race when—

BANG!

Your front door flew open. Fearing the worst, your grip tightened around the blade when suddenly a booming voice came through!

"BOO!"

Fearing the worst, your grip tightened around the knife when suddenly a booming voice shattered the silence. Behind him were the other three, Kirara, Yuji, and Megumi, who was still in that ketchup bottle costume of his. Looking around your place, they tilted their heads in confusion. Well, all but one.

Yuji began again, expression in awe as if you could see stars sparkling in his eyes, shoving his way through and into your home.

"I like what you've done with the place!" He exclaimed, as if the blackout was some decoration for Halloween as well.

"Ah... That's, uh... It's a blackout..." You clarified, chuckling awkwardly both from his mistake and the previous incident. As much as you wanted to tell them about what had happened, you figured you'd save it first until some other time. Maybe tomorrow, when things calm down for you?

On the other side, Hakari made his way through, going back outside like he knew what to do already. Almost immediately, your house came back to life, lights flickering back on alongside the sound of your television playing the same horror movie again. You figured that it was Hakari who fixed whatever power outage had happened; maybe something just flipped the switch, and that was all it took to fix the problem.

Staying in where you were, you kept the knife hidden under the blanket so as not to freak them out. Maybe it's because you didn't want to scare them with the situation, or maybe because, in truth, you just didn't want to look weird, like some creep hiding under sheets with a knife at hand.

The night continued as usual, but with the company of your friends sharing candies around. As much as you would've loved to be alone in your comforting self-made nest of the couch, you much preferred being around people for company after what had happened.

.

.

.

You didn't realise when, but it had already been 10am. Thinking back to the night before—the call, the stalker, your friends suddenly showing up—maybe you had simply been too exhausted to realise when you fell asleep. Or maybe you simply didn't want to think about what had happened. Your phone buzzed again, another text from someone else.

Hajime <3: You awake yet? Let's go to that cafe you always like.

A simple message. Relief washed over you when you saw the name, hoping things would return to normal and that whatever happened yesterday was just some idiot pulling a sick Halloween prank. Typing back a response, you gently threw your phone back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling for a moment.

By the time you stepped out into the cold morning air, you saw the familiar cyan-haired man, dressed in a dark brown cardigan that matched with the autumn aesthetic. He stood there smiling as he waved you over, a complete contrast to the grumpy expression he usually showed everyone else.

"Did you go trick-or-treating?" His smooth voice trailed along in the air, asking you a simple conversation starter as the two of you began walking at the roadside to the cafe he mentioned earlier.

"No... I stayed home. Some shit happened though," you began, wanting to tell him about the incident with some stranger, slouching a bit as you lazily sighed at the situation. It was clearly affecting you a bit more than you had hoped, but you assumed that you would feel better soon in time.

"Oh? What happened?" Kashimo asked, just as casual, unlike your own dull vibe, all tired and almost sulking that your me-time was ruined yesterday. That was when you answered, more energetic this time as you got to express your stresses to him, "Some creep called me yesterday! I swear he was stalking me from outside my house."

You slouched again, gesturing vaguely like you were presenting some ridiculous story, baffled by everything. What the hell would anyone want to do with you anyway? You just wanted to relax at home. Was that so much to ask for?

Kashimo draped his stronger arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer while the two of you continued walking. It felt grounding to have someone by you, listening to any troubles you had. You knew he was Edo's strongest sorcerer too, so it certainly made you feel safe, although you may have to keep an eye on him from killing anybody that was a threat to you.

He chuckled a bit under his breath, listening to you rant on about yesterday as he found out how much of a reaction you gave — it was honestly attractive, seeing you get heated.

"Well, why don't we distract you from that?" He asked, wanting to help you feel better, and received a grumpy reply from you after because of your ruined night.

"Like what?"

"Well, we could go shopping later. Maybe get some of your favourite snacks." He suggested it, the grin still plastered on his face, as he knew how much you loved food. It always improved your mood whenever you had things to shove into your mouth like a hamster.

"I guess... But I'd rather that not happen again!" Your tone raised again, angry once more at whoever pulled that 'prank' on you yesterday. He laughed a bit seeing your flustered state, that angry little gremlin who stood much shorter than he did.

His arm remained wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer against his muscular frame as he spoke again in that same velvety smooth voice.

"You never answered my question yesterday."

The question caused you to blink, turning to look at the taller man beside you.

"What question?"

Kashimo tilted his head slightly, that amused smile still lingering on his face.

"So," he said calmly.

"What's your favourite scary movie?”

[shimihu]

Imagine a prompt where the reader and Kashimo have a date out in the movies but passersby have been eyeing on that man, and some teenage group gossip about the reader who's low-key insecure about how Kashimo's too hot for you and they make a bet that he'd dump you in a month. However, ofc Kashimo would never

Insecure reader maybe??

[shimihu]

Small Kashimo Rant

HOLY SHIT HOLY FUCK KASHIMO'S HERE MY BABY OUR BABY FINALLY IT'S HERE TWEAKING I'M TWEAKING CRYING SHITTING MY PANTS HE'S BEAUTIFUL OUR BABY MWAH MWAH MWAH I just woke up uurhhhjejeheb but this is important

[shimihu]

↳ Kashimo + Reader

Genre . Fluff

Warnings . None except for periods if you're uncomfortable

Synopsis . The cycle settles in once more as your body begins to betray you. Luckily, Kashimo's there to bring any comfort he can to support you with.

A/N . I've been sick and packed with work so please bear with me- I'll be working on the requests soon! Don't mind the coloured image, I was bored... Also I can't do aesthetics again because of some Tumblr issue so bear with that too 😞

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It’s that time of the month again. The cramps settle deep and heavy, your body aching in that familiar, exhausting way, and Kashimo doesn’t need to be told twice—he notices the way you move slower, the way you curl in on yourself, and without his usual sharp edge, he’s suddenly gentle, pressing warmth into your hands and staying close, steady and attentive, treating your discomfort with a quiet care that makes the pain feel just a little more bearable.

QUIET PREPARATION

Kashimo doesn't say it out loud. He never does. He just pauses when he notices the way you sit a little more carefully, the faint hitch in your breath. The kettle is on moments later, the soft hiss filling the room.

"Sit," he says simply, already pouring hot water into a cup as he hands it to you without ceremony. "Drink this, alright, dear? Take it slowly."

You take it with both hands, warmth seeping into your palms. "You noticed again, didn’t you, 'Jime?"

He clicks his tongue lightly, adjusting the blankets around you, layering them thicker like it’s instinct. "Hard not to. You're terrible at hiding it." His cyan eyes flick up to you, lightning-like streaks beneath them sharp as ever—yet his touch stays careful, deliberate. "Heat helps. That’s how it’s always been done."

You glance toward the door, expecting him to leave for training, but he’s already changing back into his casual clothes he'd use at home instead. "I cut it short," he says before you can ask. "No reason to be out there all day."

"You don't have to stay," you murmur, guilt creeping in, knowing how much your partner loves to train and battle.

He snorts softly and sits beside you. "Don't be stupid, y/n. Your body's doing enough work as it is." There's no teasing in his voice, no judgement—just fact, spoken like an old rule he lives by.

He stays there quietly, his warmth steady at your side. When a sharper cramp hits and you tense, his hand settles over the blanket without hesitation. "Breathe," he murmurs. "I've got you, dear."

HEAT AS MEDICINE

Kashimo notices the signs almost immediately—the way your movements slow, the way you press your palm briefly to your abdomen like you think he won't see. His expression doesn't change much, still set in that perpetually grumpy look he always wears, but his eyes soften just a fraction.

"I’ll go to the store," he says, already reaching for his shoes.

" 'Jime, you don't need to—"

"I know," he cuts in gently. "Wait here."

He's back not long after, a bag in hand. He sets it down and starts unpacking the little bag, pulling out a soft heating pad first. Kashimo presses it between his palms, checking the warmth before placing it carefully against you to make sure it doesn't burn too much. "I prefer heated stones that people would use back in Edo," he murmurs, thoughtful rather than critical. "But this should keep the heat where it should be."

Kashimo pours you tea next, setting the cup within easy reach. "Warm drinks help," he adds, like it's an old rule he lives by. From the bottom of the bag, he shows off your favourite snacks and nudges them toward you. "I got you your favourites, hun."

You look up at him while you thank him like a saviour, although amused. "You always look like you’re annoyed."

He huffs quietly and adjusts your blankets anyway, layering them thicker, just the way you prefer. "This is just my face." His cyan eyes flick back to you. "Rest up, y/n."

He settles beside you, close and steady but gentle as ever, choosing modern comforts only because they let him care for you a little better.

HERBAL KNOWLEDGE

Kashimo brings you a small cup, both hands wrapped around it to keep the heat in. The scent reaches you before the steam does—sharp, warm, unmistakable.

"Shōga-yu," he says. "Ginger water."

You look at it, then at him. "That's… old."

He nods. "Edo used this often and especially for women." He sets it into your hands carefully. "The cold makes the pain worse. Ginger keeps the body warm from the inside."

You sip slowly. It’s simple—not too sweet, no distraction—but the warmth spreads almost immediately, settling low in your stomach. Kashimo watches quietly, not hovering, just attentive enough to notice when your shoulders ease.

"It was never meant to stop what the body does," he adds, sitting beside you. "Only to help it move through it."

He stays there while you finish the cup, close and steady, letting the old remedy do what it's always done—nothing dramatic, just enough to make the pain easier to bear.

Whenever he needed to heat up water for you, his cursed energy was enough to provide the kettle with electricity. Need your phone charged? He has that handled too, even on normal days when you need to charge any device at all.

Despite that, Kashimo doesn't mind at all. He doesn't find you annoying and reassures you of it, making sure you feel better.

PROTECTION WITHOUT CONTROL

When your body feels slower and heavier than usual, Kashimo adjusts without saying a word. He walks a bit closer than usual, not crowding you, just close enough that you never feel out of balance. His presence is quiet but constant, ocean-hued eyes scanning ahead as they glint faintly in the light.

In crowded spaces, Kashimo places himself between you and others with ease as if knowing you didn't want to feel smothered by all these loud people. A hand rests briefly at your back, guiding rather than holding, steering you away from jostling shoulders and careless elbows. There’s no tension in him, no claim—just awareness, sharp and calm.

"You okay?" he asks once, low and unobtrusive.

You nod. " Yeah. I’m fine, 'Jime."

"Good," he replies, matching your pace. He never rushes you, never drags you along. He simply stays close, attentive to the world around you, making sure nothing reaches you before it has to go through him first. Instead, in an ironic manner, you're the one dragging him around to your favourite places to shop for food and eat.

RESPECTING REST

When you hesitate to lie down, Kashimo notices immediately. He doesn't push work or distractions your way. Instead, he sets your work aside and looks at you with an unwavering expression.

"You should rest," he says.

You start to protest out of habit. "I can still do things—"

He shakes his head gently. "Your body is working hard," he tells you, voice steady, certain. "That is reason enough."

He guides you toward the bed, making it clear there's no argument to be had. The blankets are adjusted, the room kept quiet, and the world slowed down without you having to ask. There's no shame in the way he treats you, no implication that rest is weakness.

Internally, you wanted—needed—to rest. To be told that it's okay to take a step back and just lie down with no work and stress to bother with.

EMOTIONAL SUPPORT

When your mood shifts without warning—irritation flaring, then fading into quiet—Kashimo doesn't comment on it. He doesn't tease and doesn't ask what's wrong in a way that demands answers. He just notices and adjusts.

When you snap at him over something small, he doesn't bristle or pull away. He lets the moment pass, continuing what he was doing like it never bothered him. Later, when you fall silent, he stays just as close, his presence calm and comforting as he doesn't stress you about anything.

"You don't have to explain," he says quietly when the quiet stretches on.

You exhale, shoulders loosening. "You're not annoyed?"

He shakes his head. "No. Pain changes how people feel. That doesn’t make it a problem." He remains beside you, letting you be irritable, tired, emotional—whatever today asks of you—without ever making you feel like you’re too much.

SMALL ACTS

Kashimo moves through the day like nothing about it is strange or inconvenient, just quieter and softer around the edges. When you shift restlessly, he’s already there, setting a small plate of simple food beside you—nothing heavy, nothing sharp in flavor, just things he knows you can manage right now.

"Try to eat a little," he says, voice low and warm. Not a command, not concern—just care.

He doesn't hover after that. Instead, he settles beside you, close enough that you can lean into him if you want, far enough that you don't feel smothered. Sometimes his hand finds yours, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles over your knuckles. Other times, he just sits there, breathing evenly, presence steady like an anchor.

When the pain spikes and your expression tightens, he notices immediately. "Take your time, breathe slowly," he murmurs, as if that alone might help—and somehow, it does, at least bit by bit. There's no embarrassment in the way he looks at you, no discomfort or awkwardness. To him, this is just another part of life you share together.

Later, when things settle and the room grows quiet, he stays anyway. Not because he’s worried—but because loving you, even in moments like this, feels natural.

KILLING TIME WITH SHOWS

When you mention wanting to watch something just because you felt like killing time and doing absolutely nothing, he's already reaching for the remote, settling in beside you like it's the most natural plan in the world. He doesn't complain about the noise or the pacing, doesn't question your choices—he just watches with you, focused and present.

Snacks appear between you at some point, your favourites set within reach. He nudges them closer when you shift, wordlessly making sure you don't have to stretch or get up. Every so often, Kashimo glances at you instead of the screen, checking in without making it obvious.

When an episode ends, he doesn't rush to change it or stand. "Another?" he asks quietly.

You smile, a little lighter than before. "Yeah. Thanks, 'Jime."

He leans back, shoulder warm against yours. "Let me know if you need anything," he says simply—and stays right there, letting the world shrink down to shared screens, familiar sounds, and the comfort of not having to pretend you’re fine.

SICK READER

Perfect. The cold hits you at the worst possible time. Your head feels heavy, your throat sore, your nose stuffed just enough to be irritating, and on top of that, your period drags your body down even further. Everything aches in a way that feels unfair, like your system picked the worst week to fall apart.

Kashimo notices immediately.

"You're warm," he says quietly, pressing the back of his fingers to your forehead. There's no alarm in his voice—just focus. "And drained..."

You sniffle, miserable. "It's just a cold… and everything else."

"Mm." He doesn’t downplay it. Doesn't brush it off. Instead, he adjusts the room—windows shut, blankets layered, a box of tissues nudged closer. "That's still a lot for one body."

He keeps you hydrated without nagging, sets medicine and tea within reach, and stays close enough that you don't feel alone in it. When cramps spike and your head throbs at the same time, you let out a small sound you didn’t mean to make.

Kashimo's hand settles over yours immediately. "I know," he murmurs. "Being sick makes pain louder."

You blink at him, eyes stinging from exhaustion. "You’re not annoyed?"

He shakes his head. "Why would I be?" Then, softer: "You don't need to be strong today."

So you rest—feverish, crampy, congested, and completely taken care of—while he stays beside you, steady and patient, letting your body take the time it needs to fight both battles at once.

ENDING THE DAY

The day eases into something comfortable without you realising when it happens. You're curled up on the couch, a blanket thrown over your legs, some animal documentary playing—this one jumping between penguins, insects, and whatever else the channel decides is educational today. At some point, the ache in your body stops being the loudest thing in the room.

Kashimo ends up beside you, drawn in by the screen more than he'd ever admit. You catch it when he leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing in focus as a line of penguins waddles across the ice. "They fall too often," he mutters. "The centre of gravity is terrible." Then, a beat later, softer, "Still persistent."

The scene cuts to a close-up of beetles crawling over bark. Kashimo tilts his head, genuinely curious now. "That shell's effective," he comments. " Lightning wouldn’t pass through evenly. "You bite back a laugh, glancing at him—cyan eyes intent, lightning streaks beneath them faint but sharp, like he’s studying a battlefield instead of a nature documentary.

"You’re really into this," you say, amused.

He doesn't look away. "It’s interesting," he replies simply. "They survive without cursed energy."

You shake your head, smiling to yourself. A four-hundred-year-old man from Edo, sitting on your couch, seriously invested in modern documentaries about bugs and penguins. Somewhere along the way, you realise you haven’t thought about your period in a while.

Kashimo shifts closer as the episode rolls on, still offering the occasional deadpan observation, completely unbothered by the fact that he’s been dragged into this. You watch him settle beside you, solid and steady. Edo or modern, Kashimo Hajime still believes in the same thing—pain is met with warmth, and people you care about are never left to handle it alone.

[shimihu]

PEAK medical notes

What better way than being unable to focus in your neurology class than to doodle a bunch of Kashimo 🙂‍↕️ The image quality looks so bad

Yes unfortunately our holiday has ended a while ago already so I haven't been able to write but I WILL so FEEL FREE TO DROP WHATEVER PROMPTS YOU'D LIKE

[shimihu]

LOOK AT THE BABYGIRL

I THOUGHT THIS WAS THE ONLY KASHIMO CRUMB THERE WAS BUT LOOK.

BARKING, HOWLING AND MEOWING FOR THIS YUMMY MAN, SLURPING UP EVERYTHING THERE IS, I'M S/CREAMING AND SHAKING AND COMBUSTING AND DROOLING

[shimihu]

The Type of Person to...

↳ Kashimo + Reader

Genre . Fluff

Warnings . None

A/N . These are basically little headcanons of Kashimo, but they came out longer than I had planned 🙏🏻 Also because I'm s/creaming for my silly lightning guy who goes zap or else I'm going to make another Kashimo rant

SELF-CARE

Kashimo's the type of person who would just sneak himself into the shower with you and hug you from the back, leaving a sweet kiss on your shoulder while the warm water cascades down your body.

"You’re so warm." He hugs you from behind, careful not to startle you, and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your arm. "I just wanted to be close and stay with you for a bit." His hands settle lightly around your waist, steady and comforting. "It’s nice just being here together."

Kashimo’s the type of person who would dry your hair after you’ve washed it, even while his own cyan hair is still dripping wet and darkened by water.

"You don’t have to dry my hair, y’know? Yours is still wet…"

"I know," he says quietly, smiling to himself as he keeps going. "But I want to."

He’s careful—never tugging, always gentle. He brushes through slowly, like he has all the time in the world. Taking care of you like this feels intimate to him in a way nothing else does. Let me spoil my wife," he adds softly, almost like a promise.

Kashimo’s the type of person who would give you princess-level hair care—brushing, smoothing, styling—treating it like a sacred ritual. He’d sit you down between his knees, fingers deft and surprisingly skilled, asking your opinion on every little thing.

"Like this? Or looser?" He’d hum quietly as he works, utterly focused, tucking stray strands behind your ear and kissing your temple when he’s done. When he finishes, he’d look at you with that proud, affectionate expression—like he’s just crafted something precious. "There," he says softly. "That should be good."

SICK READER

Kashimo’s the type of person to notice when you shiver and immediately fetch a steaming cup of herbal tea, wrapping it carefully in a cloth so it’s warm but safe to hold. He kneels beside you, pressing the cup into your hands, and adjusts your blankets without a word, letting the scent of ginger and mint fill the room.

"Drink slowly," he murmurs, voice low as he tilts the cup slightly so it doesn’t spill. His slender fingers brush yours when you hesitate, lingering just enough to ground you. "It'll make you feel warm. I know it tastes bitter, but it'll help." He waits patiently, watching as you take a careful sip, his hand tracing gentle circles on your back without a word, softening the moment.

Kashimo’s the type of person to fetch a basin of warm, scented water and a soft cloth to gently wipe your face and hands. He kneels close, brushing damp hair away from your eyes, letting the steam and scent soothe both of you.

"Hold still," he whispers, dipping the cloth again. He leans just enough so his shoulder brushes yours, humming a quiet tune to ease the tension. "It’ll ease the chills… don’t rush, just breathe. I’ve got you. Let me handle it." When a stray strand of hair falls across your cheek, he tucks it behind your ear with a gentle touch, smiling softly. "There… better. Just like that."

Kashimo’s the type of person to sit beside you with a small bowl of herbal broth, guiding spoonfuls to your lips and wiping your chin afterward. He watches you with quiet intensity, adjusting blankets or pillows without a word, making sure every movement is comfortable.

"Don't rush," he murmurs, resting his arm against the bowl for a moment as he steadies the spoon. "I know it tastes strange, but it’ll make you feel better." His thumb brushes your hand before he guides the next spoonful. "Here, just a little more. I’ll stay right here until you’re done. Don’t worry about anything else; just relax." His cyan eyes are soft while you savour the warmth of the broth and the quiet steadiness of his presence.

ARGUMENTS

Kashimo’s the type of person who would sit with you after an argument instead of leaving. He gives you space at first, then shifts closer when the tension fades.

"Come here," he says quietly. "Let’s breathe for a second." He presses you against his muscular figure, being close at the same time while giving you some space, grounding both of you until the sharp edges dull.

Kashimo’s the type of person to quietly prepare your favourite meal while you storm out, leaving him alone in the room. By the time you return, the tension still lingers, but he sits at the table, the dishes warm, steam curling up, and waits patiently. He doesn’t complain or explain—he simply wants to show care in the way he knows best.

"You’re back," he murmurs softly, voice low, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. "I made this for you; I know you like it. You don’t have to say anything. Just… sit and eat." He gestures gently to the food, then leans back slightly, giving you space while still being close.

A GOOD LISTENER

Kashimo’s the type of person who would stand behind you in the kitchen while you cook, not helping, not speaking much—just there. His arms settle loosely around your waist, grounding rather than restrictive, chin resting against your shoulder as the kettle boils.

"Tell me about your day," he says quietly, voice low and steady. He listens without interrupting, thumbs brushing slow circles into your sides, like your words deserve his full attention.

Kashimo’s the type of person who would notice when you’re cold before you say anything. He shifts closer in bed, pulls you into his chest, and tucks your feet against his legs to warm them. No commentary, no teasing.

"Better?" he asks softly after a moment. He doesn’t move until you nod, even when his arm starts to fall asleep.

Kashimo’s the type of person who would take his time fixing your clothes, expression focused like he's being too serious. He straightens your collar, smooths the fabric, and adjusts every detail with slow precision.

"Hold still," he murmurs, breath warm and close. When he’s done, his hands linger just a second longer than necessary, like he doesn’t want to break the moment.

Kashimo’s the type of person who would sit behind you and brush your hair while you talk, letting you ramble without rushing you along. His movements are gentle and unhurried, never tugging.

"I’m listening," he says quietly when you pause. "Keep going." Later, he brings up something you mentioned offhandedly, just to prove he remembered.

CUDDLES

Kashimo’s the type of person to pull you closer on rainy days, using the weather as a quiet excuse. He settles beside you, arm firm around your waist, thumb brushing slow circles against your side as rain taps steadily against the window. He exhales softly, voice low and unhurried.

"Stay here," he murmurs. "You don’t need to do anything right now. Let it rain. We’ve got time."

When you shift, he tightens his hold just a little. "See? It’s better like this. Just you and me."

Kashimo’s the type of person who would tuck you in like it’s instinct, smoothing the blanket over your shoulders, adjusting your pillow, and dimming the lights just right.

"I’ll wake you," he murmurs. "Don’t worry about the time." He stays until your breathing evens out, only leaving when he’s sure you’re asleep.

Kashimo’s the type of person to grow quieter and closer late at night, when the world feels too still. He pulls you against his chest, arms secure, breathing steady as if anchoring you there.

"Can you stay awake a little longer?" he murmurs. "I like hearing you breathe. It helps me calm down." After a pause, softer, almost embarrassed, "You don’t have to talk. Just… don’t go yet."

Kashimo’s the type of person to be possessive in soft, thoughtful ways. He notices when you’re tired before you say anything, opens his arms without asking, and guides you into him.

"Come here," he murmurs. "You don’t have to carry everything by yourself." When you settle against him, his voice drops even lower. "I’ve got you. You can rest now."

LATE NIGHTS

Kashimo’s the type of person to linger after small moments—after a hug, after laughter fades, after silence settles. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "This is enough." After a beat, softer still, "I don’t need anything else right now."

Kashimo’s the type of person to come back from showering and quietly see you asleep in bed. He pauses for a moment at the doorway, smiling softly before moving closer.

"Goodnight," he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your face. He tucks the blanket gently around your shoulders, presses a soft kiss to your temple, and settles his hand lightly on yours. "Sleep well… I’ll be right here."

Kashimo’s the type of person to stay up with you when sleep won’t come, listening without interrupting as you talk through half-formed thoughts. His fingers trace slow lines along your arm, grounding, patient.

"Keep going," he says quietly. "I’m listening."

When you apologise for rambling, he shakes his head. "Don’t. I like hearing what’s on your mind. It matters to me."

Kashimo’s the type of person to lie quietly beside you as you drift off, letting your fingers trace the lightning patterns under his eyes. He doesn’t move, only watches your eyes grow heavy and your breathing slow, a soft, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

"Go and sleep," he murmurs softly, voice warm and steady. "You can rest… I’m right here." He lets your fingers linger a moment longer before settling his hand gently over yours, content just feeling you drift into peaceful sleep.

EXTRA

Kashimo's the type of person who respects women because gender doesn't matter; he'll fight everybody /j

Kashimo's the type of person who respects women because his mom is a woman (Shakespeare writing) okay seriously now

Kashimo's the type of person who respects women because he finds them strong, whether literally or not. Knowing the struggles of women, ranging from something like menstrual cramps to something more severe like inequality, especially during the traditional Edo period. To be able to withstand all that is strength on its own already.

[shimihu]

Kashimo Rant Part 1.5

I'm gonna.. I'm gonna.. I'm gonna fucking tweak out I'm gonna, I'm gonna, I'm BARK BARK BARK, BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK, BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK MEOW MEOW MEOW HOWL BARK BARK MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW BARK BARK BARK

[shimihu]

HAPPY NEW YEAR (for my timezone) I FORGOT TO PUBLISH A WRITING, IT'S BEEN A BUSY DAY BUT WHOEVER SEES THIS, HAPPY NEW YEAR