emotional support bunny at Jujutsu High Culling Game version | Hidden Inventory version | Curse version | Tokyo version | Coworker version
૮․ ․ ྀིა 18+, minors dni
cw: free use vibes, oral/deepthroat, piv, praise, toxic yuri(Kirara), nipple play, object insertion, forced orgasms, fingering
note: i’ve never written anything for hiromi before, i apologize if he’s ooc :(
includes: Hakari, Hoshi, Kashimo, Higuruma
being the emotional support bunny at Jujutsu High means you’re there for your friends whenever they need you. you get lots of attention, lots of cuddles and lots of orgasms :3
Kinji Hakari🎰
he thinks it’s funny. how you yelp when he pulls on your fluffy tail. how needy you get sometimes, how easy. let’s be honest, kinji is a bit arrogant and not the type to stress. ever. besides, sappy dates and heartfelt conversations are not his thing.
so yes, his idea of comfort and support is a shameless, nearly public blowjob. he’s not rough per se, just a little. his favourite thing to do is to push his throbbing cock down your throat and to hold it there for many agonizing seconds without moving. in a way, it’s difficult for him too. the idea of fucking your throat is so tempting.
he likes how your chest rises and falls, how your nostrils flare and drool climbs down your chin, how your eyes get beady as you struggle to focus on breathing. “fuck, hold it baby, jus’ like that,” he grunts quietly.
but even then, your cute pout makes him have mercy. your lips get so swollen after he pulls out, his coarse pubes have been rubbing against the glossy skin.
“you took me so well, bunny, fuck, fuck…”
he gives you some time to recover, lets you gasp for air between his legs. the way his cock hangs heavy and proud in front of your face makes you wet, no matter how shy you are. his tip is a pretty shade pf pale brown, it stands out nicely against his darker coloured shaft… you wish he’d rub it against your pussy more often.
kinji only notices your heightened arousal when your mouth is around him again, tongue working on him desperately. “easy there, eeeasy, girl…”
fingers card through your hair, collecting locks and your two drooping bunny ears to pull them back.
from time to time, he fucks into your mouth to make you gag a little, only to coo and apologize when you mewl in protest. “i know, baby, i know, ‘m bein’ mean…can’t help it, i love it when you struggle a bit.”
of course he does, it’s good for his ego.
but you don’t mind, do you? you’re a rather durable bunny girl, used to rough handling.
direct penetration with kinji’s cock is rare. only happens when he really needs to let off some steam, then he’s all serious and focused. eyes zeroed in on how your tired folds part for the nth time as he sinks into you.
his thrust get frantic, desperate and he begs orders you to cum on his cock. he needs your pussy to strangle him.
it’s like a whole work out, really, both of you breathless and exhausted at the end. worth it? absolutely. by the time he’s kissing you gently again, he’s already figured out what to do about the thing that upset him in the first place.
nothing gets his brains working like a good fuck <3
Kirara Hoshi💫
messy, messy girl, messy friendship.
on one hand, she likes having you at her side, on the other, she gets jealous if kinji seeks you out. but hey hey! kirara does that too so it’s really unfair !
let’s just focus on when she’s being nice, okay? because when kirara’s jealous, you better run to someone before she catches you and gives your little pussy and bum some spanks:(
or she puts all kinds of uncomfy things on your nipples, like ice blocks and clamps :( and she makes all sorts of silly threats, like how she wants to give you nipple piercings :(( and you tell her those hurt and she laughs :(
her main sources of frustration are small inconveniences and you always know just the thing to cheer her up. anything that ranges from dressing up to shopping to smoking a little weed while listening to music can do the trick.
kirara likes to put blush on your tail, she taps the brush to your pretty butt until a pale pink hue appears. and gossip! lots of gossip. and then you both get tired and drowsy, like when kids eat too much sugar and come down from the high.
that’s when the sleepy giggling and the lingering touches come. at this point, you’re too wet, too needy and your mouth falls open obediently, letting kirara’s tongue press against yours. it becomes a slow, sloppy make out session. soft ah-ahs fill the air, she pulls your hair, you squeal and part your legs.
“bun-bun, so eager, so pretty, wanna play with you a little…”
she likes to experiment on your little cunt, see what makes you wet, what makes your hole pulse nervously, what make you cry, what makes you spread your legs wider.
at first, kirara stares at the sight with excitement in her eyes, her star shaped pupils shine brighter as she inserts the end of of her makeup brush into you. a hand goes below the waistline of her skirt, she can’t resist stroking herself.
“this is the fourth one, right?” she asks you and you confirm with a pathetic moan that indeed, this is your fourth orgasm. so many objects have been inside you at this point.
“you’re gonna have a few more, hah… this makes me feel so good.”
you don’t say no to that, knowing she’s enjoying herself. you look down to see kirara’s sleepy expression, cheeks mushed against your thigh, half-liddes eyes fixed on your messy pussy, her fingers curl weakly around orange lipgloss she’s lazily pumping into you.
“give me another, i need to see you clench like that again.”
you cry out as you cum around the lipgloss, an embarassing little trickle of squirt runs down your folds and kirara smiles, fucking you through the climax.
Hajime Kashimo🌩️
hajime is confused. he’s never heard of bunny girls before, sure he’s seen some things during his life time but not… whatever you are…whatever your purpose is.
at first, he does not care. he came to fight and defeat and whatever his stupid sorcerer allies do is none of his business. and he’s a difficult person too so you have half a mind to steer clear of him.
your first interaction is just him wordlessly poking at your bunny parts with a frown, acting like the concept of your existence bothers him. he gets used to it. not just your whole being but how you support some team members, how you always know what they need, how you’re so happy to make others happy.
the ice breaks when one of the kids gets on his nerves. yuta makes a comment, he means well but he’s too perceptive for his own good. something about his reasons to join the culling game. hajime becomes sulky, agitated and instead of grilling everyone to ashes, he opts to brood in an onsen.
he doesn’t push you away when you climb into his lap but doesn’t really register you either.
you’ve heard him talk about sukuna before, that’s all he seems to care about so you start rambling quietly. not even a curse like him sounds threatening when you talk about him in that sweet tone. you recount the time sukuna got control of his vessel in shibuya, how scared you got and hajime hums non-commitally, his hands encircling your waist.
your tail twitches nervously against his inner thigh when you get to the part where sukuna looked at you briefly before continuing the massacre.
hajime smiles to himself a tiny bit. he loves hearing about how powerful sukuna is. it’s comforting…wait…it’s actually working. your methods are actually helping him. his hands part your thighs a little, encouraging you to keep talking, even if you have to take shallow breaths between the sentences now.
by the time you get to the part when sukuna switched vessels, two of his fingers are fully inside you, lazily stretching you open in the water. it stings a little, water isn’t the best lubricant but hajime’s other hand quickly finds your little clit and rubs it too. something hard pokes the underside of your thigh.
you try moving to make hajime feel good too but he stops you with a displeased grunt.
“nah, just keep talkin’, sweet thing…” the words are slurred, his movements still slow, like he isn’t even fingering you, just playing with something, using your pussy like a stim toy.
you obey, eventually start asking him questions too. he answers patiently. it’s a nice conversation, hajime doesn’t really open up but compared to how little he talks to others, he could be considered chatty. you learn a lot about an older era and he learns a lot about your body.
each time you cum, you apologize for interrupting.
“s’okay, let it all out,” he mumbles and waits for your orgasm to pass, lets you arch into his front before he continues the conversation and his previous ministrations.
hajime has to admit, you really are a helpful little bunny, the evenings he spends with you become his favourite.
Hiromi Higuruma ⚖️
what makes the life of an attorney, a sorcerer attorney no less, hard? the better question is, what doesn’t?
working sucks, injustice sucks, curses suck…
a while ago, he told himself to try new things. that includes you. the cute emotional support bunny. the few times he’s visited Jujutsu High, you were always so nice, albeit a little shy.
since hiromi mainly talks to yuji, he doesn’t see you that often, you’re always just passing by. how you manage to tolerate certain people (that blue haired threat for instance) around you is beyond him but maybe it just means you’re patient and non-judgemental. how…relieving.
it’s hard to guess what would help a man like hiromi feel better. you can’t magically fix japan’s jurisdiction system, can’t take away his guilt. so, you do small things to lighten his day.
your bring him coffee. he drinks a lot of that. double shot espressos, bitter and dark. the time you try them, your nose scrunches up, pulling your expression into a silly grimace. it almost makes hiromi laugh.
whenever a meeting causes him to have a headache, you massage the back of his neck, his temples and shoulders. he doesn’t even notice the satisfied groans that slip out between his gritted teeth.
sitting in his lap while he reads reports is the best. you’re like a weighted blanket for him, your soft fur brushing against his skin is a nice feeling too.
your breasts are his favourite. he sticks a hand under your blouse, slides it under your bra and fondles the warm flesh like a stress ball. the paper in his hand shakes ever so slightly as you start pressing your butt against his crotch.
“no, bunnny, i have to work, be good for me.”
you nod and let out an accidental yelp when he pinches your nipple as a warning.
“yes, sir, i’ll be so good,” you promise. and you do keep your word, you let hiromi play with your now swollen nipples without a complaint, even as the wetness coating your underwear start seeping into his clothes too.
despite hiromi’s attempted discipline, his breathing always get ragged, his hips buck up sometimes, his cock hardens as if just to spite him.
“are you okay, sir?”
oh god, how sweet and innocent you sound.
“please don’t let me fuck you, please—“
“yes, sir.”
that just makes it worse. he’s leaking from the tip of his cock against his thigh. your pussy must be so cute, covered in a patch of your fluffy fur, your juices stuck in the curls. it would be even prettier with his cum on it, he’d fill you up and pinch your folds together to make your entrance overflow.
luckily, or unluckily, you’re a good bunny. you help him calm down. he asked you not to let him fuck you, so that’s what you do.
you point at something on his report, read it out loud to redirect his thoughts. it works, it hurts but it works.
૮․ ․ ྀིაall rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.
After reincarnating in the modern era as a Culling Game player, you never expected to encounter someone with such strikingly familiar traits.
The hair.
The combat style.
The cursed technique.
It all feels hauntingly familiar. Well because deep down, you know you’ve seen it all before.
You know him too well.
Kashimo Hajime.
Bound by love and fate 400 years ago, your paths were destined to cross again.
Could it really be him? Or is this just a cruel twist of fate?
In a world where past and present collide, can you unravel the threads of your shared history and survive the deadly game that binds you both?
⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ Contents:
MDNI! 18+, 400 Year Old! Reader, Reincarnated! Culling Game Player! Reader, Kashimo Hajime's Wife! Reader, Angst, Emotional Vulnerability, Canon Typical Violence, Mention of Violence, Mention of Death, Semi-public/Voyeurism Elements, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex (F! Receiving), Delayed Orgasm, Pet Names, Marking, Possessive Behavior
TOKYO COLONY NO. 2 - PRESENT DAY
The air still hummed where your last opponent had fallen, the scent of blood curling through your surroundings like the ghost of a storm. Blood steamed on the pavement in the cooling air, the body sprawled at your feet twitching faintly from the lingering discharge. You inhaled deep, the way some people might savor a good drink.
They’d called it the Culling Game, as if the name itself wasn’t invitation enough. For someone like you, someone who had been reborn with every memory of bloodshed from a lifetime of past, this was less of a game and more of a return.
The rules were simple: the prey abundant and the points came faster than you could count them.
These modern sorcerers… gods, they were dense. Too reliant on flashy tricks and not enough on reading the rhythm of a fight. Most never lasted more than a few minutes before you carved through them.
You twirled the still humming blade in your hand. A spear of pure cursed energy, its length alive with sparking arcs before letting it dissipate into the air. The weapon dissolved with a whisper, leaving your palm bare.
“Ha… I could use a bath,” you muttered, wiping a warm streak of blood from your cheek with the back of your hand. The metallic scent clung stubbornly to your skin, mixing with the ozone that still crackled faintly in the air.
You turned to move on, intent on hunting your next target and froze.
The air shifted, humming differently now, carrying a pressure you couldn’t ignore. That cursed energy… sharp, electric and layered with something almost primal. It felt familiar in a way that made your skin prickle.
Which was odd.
You didn’t forget energy like that.
Not in this life.
Not in the last.
Someone was walking by, cutting a lazy path through the bodies and debris as though the carnage didn’t matter, like a man on his way home after a long day’s work. His clothes bore the faint scorch marks of recent fighting, and the faint metallic tang in the air told you he’d left more than a few corpses in his wake. He looked like he’d been ready to call it a day, maybe find somewhere quiet to rest.. until he saw you.
One look.
One smirk.
One shared, wordless recognition.
Your lips curved, not in greeting but in challenge. He matched it, his steps slowing until he stopped a few meters away.
“That stain's gonna be hard to clean,” you said, your gaze sliding deliberately over the bloodstains splattered across his white clothing.
“Good thing I look better in red,” he said, rolling his shoulders as the nyoi staff slid into his grip with practiced ease.
── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──
HAJIME'S POV
The colony had been boring him. Forty kills in, and not a single one had managed to make him work for it.
Weak, slow, and painfully predictable.
He’d barely had to push past a lazy jog to keep up with them, no thrill, no rush and nothing worth remembering. The fights were over before they even began, their faces blurring into the same dull expression of panic as his staff caved them in.
Then he saw you.
You didn’t look like much at first glance, just another sorcerer drifting into his hunting ground. But there was a steadiness in your gaze that snagged his attention, slowing the idle spin of his nyoi staff. When the first crackling lance of lightning ripped through the air between you, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t even take a step back.
Instead, you slipped past it, not with the frantic scramble of prey, but with the smooth, instinctive precision of someone who knew exactly where the danger would land. Cursed energy clung to you like a second skin, familiar in a way that tugged at something in his memory.
And for the first time since the Culling Game began, Hajime felt his blood stir.
Interesting.
A sorcerer with technique quite similar to his, judging by the energy you were giving off. The way you read his movements, anticipating and not reacting spoke of training that didn’t belong to this soft, diluted modern era. Maybe a reincarnated player. Maybe someone worth remembering.
There was something in the way your cursed energy moved, coiled tight then striking with sharp and deliberate precision that felt almost like an echo of his own. Not identical, but close enough to stir an odd sense of familiarity. A rhythm he understood. A language of battle he didn’t need translated.
He moved fast, closing the distance with a burst of speed that shattered the ground underfoot. You met him halfway, your palm flicking outward and a weapon took shape in your hand.
It wasn’t steel. Wasn’t anything man made. The spear that burst to life was pure cursed energy, humming with power, every inch of it alive with electricity that danced in time with your heartbeat.
Hajime’s grin sharpened.
Because well, he'd seen this before.
── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──
YOUR POV
He came at you like a thunderclap, faster than anyone you’d fought since the Culling Game began. Your own speed surged to match, sparks scattering in your wake as you closed the gap.
Your spear met his lightning wrapped staff with a crack that split the air, the collision exploding in a flash of white and blue light. The shockwave rattled the glass of the ruined buildings nearby.
“Familiar,” he drawled, his voice almost amused over the low hum of energy between you. His gaze swept over you, sharp and assessing, as if he could trace the shape of your cursed energy just by watching you move.
You began to circle each other, steps slow and measured, each movement deliberate as you tested the space, timing the next strike.
“Okay, God of Lightning,” you said, your voice laced with a mocking lilt that danced dangerously close to ridicule. Cursed energy surged through your arm, crackling and hot before solidifying into a gleaming nyoi staff. Arcs snapped along its length in sharp defiance as you matched his weapon blow for blow.
“Charged Weapon Manifestation Technique, right?” he said at last, the corner of his mouth curling, not in surprise but in recognition. “Haven’t seen that in a long time.”
The smirk sat on him easily, eyes narrowing in something that looked dangerously like admiration. You caught the flicker of it, and for a heartbeat, it almost disarmed you. He was impressed. And you… you were equally impressed that he could name your technique at all.
After all, you’d seen his technique before.
And he’d seen yours.
“Is that so? For how long exactly?” you asked, voice steady as you slammed the end of your staff into the ground, sending an electric wave crackling outward in jagged arcs. The current tore through the debris between you, racing straight for him.
Before it could land, he countered with a sharp twist of his wrist, his own lightning surging forward, colliding with your attack and ricocheting it back toward you in a blinding flash.
You didn’t flinch. The staff spun in your hands, drawing the electricity inward until it wrapped around you in a protective shield. Every ricocheting wave bent to your will, compressing until, with a sharp crack, it burst outward in a controlled explosion right in his direction.
“Four centuries ago,” he said through the haze, one arm raised to shield his eyes from the flare, the other steadying his stance against the shockwave.
A hunch began to curl at the back of your mind.
Could it possibly be?
You let the current fade, your grip loosening until the nyoi staff dissolved into crackling motes and vanished into the air. The tension in your shoulders eased, but your eyes never left his.
Across from you, Hajime’s stance shifted, staff lowering, posture relaxing into something far less guarded but no less dangerous. The hum of electricity between you didn’t fade. It only changed into slower now.
“…Hajime?” The name slipped out before you could stop it, your voice quieter than you’d meant, almost drowned by the lingering static in the air. “Are my eyes deceiving me?”
His gaze sharpened, the smirk fading into something unreadable. “I should be asking you that,” he said at last, voice low, as if testing the weight of your presence.
After all, he’d seen you die.
For a long moment, the world seemed to still. The crackle of electricity between you the only sound until the pull of memory became impossible to ignore.
── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──
400 YEARS AGO
It was a perfect union, not just of hearts but of power. Your cursed techniques blended seamlessly, his raw lightning merging with your charged manifestations of electricity, creating a storm that few could stand against.
You and Hajime were married, two souls intertwined beyond the physical, bound by love and a shared destiny.
Together, you ruled in perfect harmony like two halves of a single tempest. Your weapons danced and crackled, a dazzling display of lethal energy as you fought side by side, every strike and parry a testament to the years of trust forged in endless battles.
But with great power came great threat. The enemy was relentless, always lurking and ready to exploit even the slightest weakness.
⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆
The battlefield roared with chaos as you and Hajime moved as one, your techniques perfectly synchronized in a deadly symphony. His lightning arced through the air, crackling with fierce energy, while you summoned surging electric waves that collided with his strikes in bursts of blinding light and thunderous explosions.
Your charged weapon manifestation flared to life repeatedly, creating weapons that hummed with raw electricity, slicing through enemies with lethal precision. Each combined assault pushed the enemy back, turning their ranks to shambles beneath your storm of power.
It was a battle of the strongest, two souls fighting not only for survival but to protect the future you’d built together.
One by one, your foes fell, their techniques shattered by the relentless onslaught. You could feel the momentum shifting, victory within reach.
But war is never so simple.
As your cursed energy waned, your weapons flickered, the sharp edges of your manifestations blunting. Hajime’s lightning grew weaker, the brilliant arcs thinning to flickers.
The enemy seized the moment.
With a cruel smile, they twisted their cursed energy to merge with the water surrounding the battlefield. The surface rippled unnaturally as tendrils of water snaked toward you both, cold and unyielding.
Before you could react, the water surged, dragging you and Hajime down into its depths.
The battle shifted from the skies of thunder and lightning to the suffocating grasp of the water, a deadly trap designed to sap your strength and choke your cursed energy.
The water’s cold embrace was unforgiving, dragging your cursed energy down and muffling the electric hum that had once crackled so fiercely around you. Your weapons sputtered and died, leaving you vulnerable, muscles trembling with exhaustion.
Beside you, Hajime’s own lightning flickered weakly, shadows of its former brilliance. But even drained and gasping, his mind raced.
With a fierce glare, he wrenched a handful of water from the murky depths, concentrating his cursed energy to alter its nature. The liquid shimmered, twisting into a noxious green cloud.
Chlorine gas, thick and suffocating.
A guttural groan escaped him as he released the gas in a sweeping arc, the toxic cloud billowing through the battlefield’s stagnant water.
The enemy coughed and spluttered, their connection to the water severed as they fought desperately for breath. Hajime’s gamble paid off, his victory for now had saved both your lives.
Hajime’s breath was heavy, but his eyes flicked immediately to you. “Hey, you alr-”
You cut him off with a sharp shake of your head, voice steady despite the exhaustion clawing at your limbs. “I’ll take this asshole. You take that guy out.”
He regarded you for a moment then nodded once, simple.
Agreed.
Two enemies left.
You each turned toward your targets, fighting with grim determination.
Hajime’s hand to hand combat was a brutal dance, lightning fueled strikes and precise counters. His movements were fluid, overwhelming his opponent with sheer speed and power. After the tense and relentless exchange, Hajime landed the final blow, sending the enemy crashing to the ground, defeated.
He spun around, breath ragged, eyes immediately seeking yours.
But the sight that greeted him stole the breath from his lungs.
You were slumped against a shattered wall, blood seeping from a deep wound in your chest. Your cursed energy was all but spent fading fast.
His voice cracked as he reached for you, disbelief and panic flooding his expression.
Hajime’s breath hitched. “No… no no no-”
He dropped to his knees beside you, gathering you into his arms with a swiftness that was almost violent. He curled over you protectively, as if his body alone could shield you from the pain, one arm wrapped tight around your back while the other pressed desperately over your wound.
“No, no, no!” he rasped, voice cracking under the weight of panic. “Stay with me.”
You coughed, the sound thin and wet, a faint smile ghosting over your lips. “It’s… okay.”
“Don’t say that,” he bit out, the edge of fear sharp in his tone. “You don’t get to say that. I can fix this, I will fix this-" With every ounce of willpower, he poured all his cursed energy into the wound, forcing the reverse cursed technique to take hold, only for it to fail.
“Hajime…” Your trembling hand found his cheek, brushing along his jaw. “You did everything you could.”
His eyes burned, jaw clenching. “No. No, don’t you dare say that. I’m not losing you.”
You tried to laugh, but it came out weak and broken. “I’m glad… it’s you I see last.”
“Don’t.” he growled, pressing his forehead to yours, holding you tighter as if you might slip away if he loosened his grip. “You’re not yet done- we’re not yet done.”
“You’ll be fine without me, I just know it.” you whispered.
He shook his head fiercely. “No, I won’t. Not without you.”
“Hajime…” you breathed, “I love you.”
His voice cracked completely. “Then stay. Please… stay.”
But the warmth was already leaving your body, seeping through his bloodstained hands no matter how tightly he held you. His voice cracked as he whispered your name again and again, a desperate litany meant to tether you here. Tears blurred his vision until the battle worn world around him faded, leaving only you in his arms.
It didn’t hit him all at once. For a while, Hajime just sat there frozen, his hands still cupping your face as if keeping them there could stop what had already happened.
His mind refused to process it, refused to make sense of the way your cursed energy had gone utterly still.
It took him the entire day to move.
By the time the last light bled from the sky, he had carried you step after heavy step to the inner part of the estate. Somewhere untouched by the chaos of the battlefield. Somewhere private.
There, he laid you to rest. No grand rites. No priests. Just him and the earth, his trembling hands arranging you as if you were merely sleeping. The grave was deep enough to protect you, but still close enough for him to feel like you weren’t far.
Now, he sat there, knees bent and elbows resting on them, staring at the freshly packed soil as the night stretched endlessly around him. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. The only sound was the faint rustle of wind through the grass.
That was when he felt it, another presence.
Footsteps approached. Hajime didn’t look up right away. Whoever it was stopped just behind the grave, the air between them charged with an unspoken weight.
After a moment, he finally turned his head.
A tall man stood there, stitches running neatly across his forehead. The moonlight caught on the faint curve of a smile that didn’t belong to someone offering condolences.
They regarded each other in silence of understanding. No proper introductions, bits of small talk and just the faint hum of intent in the air like lightning before a storm.
"Are you willing to take this offer?"
He simply let the words sink in, gaze flicking back to your grave. When he looked up again, his answer was certain. "I’m willing to accept your offer."
── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──
TOKYO COLONY NO. 2 - PRESENT DAY
“…Hajime?” The name slipped out before you could stop it, your voice quieter than you’d meant, almost drowned by the lingering static in the air. “Are my eyes deceiving me?”
His gaze sharpened, the smirk fading into something unreadable. “I should be asking you that,” he said at last, voice low, as if testing the weight of your presence.
Neither of you moved at first. The space between you felt taut, humming with more than just cursed energy, it was four centuries of memories, of loss, of battles fought and never finished.
Then, one careful step.
Another.
Each move forward was mirrored by the other, your feet crunching over debris, eyes locked. The air between you crackled, not hostile but not entirely safe either.
You wanted to close the distance, to bridge the centuries and put your hands on him just to prove he was real. But instinct kept your cursed energy alive in your core, coiled and ready. His posture mirrored yours, relaxed on the surface but you could feel the way his energy swirled just beneath his skin, ready to strike if needed.
By the time you stopped, you were close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. His eyes swept over your face like he was searching for traces of the person he once knew.
“I don’t know if I should hold you… or fight you,” you said, the words a half smile on your lips but edged with truth.
“Crazy,” he replied, gaze locked on yours, “because the last time I held you, you were bleeding out in my arms.”
That earned a small breathy chuckle from you, unexpected and almost disbelieving. One hand lifted on instinct, fingers brushing over the strands of hair framing his face. “Your hair…” you murmured, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “It’s still the same.”
“I really am me,” he said quietly, the certainty in his voice almost grounding. His eyes softened, and when your hand drifted to cup his face, he leaned into the touch without hesitation as if the gesture alone bridged four centuries of distance.
Little did he know, while one hand cupped his face, the other was quietly pulling cursed energy into shape, condensing it into a small gleaming blade.
You moved fast aiming for a clean strike, but before the tip could reach him, his reflexes caught up. His fingers clamped around your wrist, stopping the blade mid motion. His smirk returned, this time sharper, tinged with amusement.
“This is how you welcome your husband? Okay, rude.” His voice dripped with mock offense, though his grip on your hand was unyielding.
The faint lean of his face against your other hand was gone now, replaced by a watchful edge. You drew that hand back slowly, letting it fall to your side, the warmth of that fleeting intimacy dissipating as the air between you crackled with new tension.
“You’ve had four centuries to get over it. Guess you haven’t,” you replied, your tone laced with mocking calm as the tiny blade in your grasp began to flicker, on the verge of vanishing.
Before you could will it away, Hajime moved. In a blur of force and precision, your back slammed against a cold wall, the impact reverberating through your bones. In a single, fluid motion, both of your wrists were pinned above you in one of his hands, his grip unyielding.
His free hand plucked the blade from your grasp, his eyes locked on yours with a predatory gleam.
“Not so fast, love,” he murmured, the words low and threaded with amusement. “Our marriage happens to be something I do not plan to outlive.”
You tilted your head, a faint smirk curling your lips. “Just in case.”
With the stolen blade, he hooked the tip under your chin, tilting your face up toward him. His eyes searched yours, sharp and unyielding.
“Just in case what?” he asked, voice low like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it.
“Just in case you’re an illusion sent to mess with my head,” you replied, voice dipping into a warning. Then, with a slow, deliberate smile, “Now come and greet your wife.”
He didn’t give you time to flinch.
Hajime closed the distance in a single unyielding move, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that burned with four centuries of absence. It was deep, unhurried in its greed, tasting of everything you’d both lost and everything neither of you had let go of. His grip on you tightened, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, as if afraid you might vanish the second he let go.
The blade’s edge hovered against your throat, a cold kiss of steel threatening with every breath. You groaned into it, the dangerous pressure at your neck forcing you still especially when his teeth caught your lower lip in a sharp, deliberate bite, dragging it just enough to sting.
He lingered there for a beat, tasting the moment like he’d been starved for centuries, before finally pulling back. His eyes burned with something unreadable.
“Just in case,” he murmured, the blade still resting at your skin.
Your lips curled. “Just in case what?” you asked, the mockery in your tone deliberate.
His smirk sharpened. “Just in case I have to be the one to kill you this time.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Wow. Okay, rude.”
“Now we’re even.” His smirk lingered, but the blade didn’t leave your skin. Instead, Hajime tilted it, the cold edge sliding slowly from the hollow of your throat downward.
You felt the steel’s unyielding kiss trace over your chest, then lower still, the faintest pressure parting fabric as he dragged it along.
Your breath caught, the sound of cloth giving way was sharp in the charged silence, every slow inch a deliberate tease.
When the blade reached just above your sternum, his eyes flicked up to meet yours, daring you to move, to speak, to do anything but burn under his gaze.
“Four hundred years,” you murmured, the blade’s trail still tingling against your skin, “and you still can’t keep your hands or weapons off me. Planning to kill me or undress me?”
Hajime’s mouth curved into a slow, wolfish grin. “Why not both?” His gaze dragged down over the strip of exposed skin his blade had revealed. “Though… I think I’ll enjoy the second one a hell of a lot more.”
You were about to quip back when the faint crunch of debris underfoot cut through the moment. Both your heads snapped toward the sound just as another sorcerer stepped into view, posture loose but eyes sharp.
“Am I interrupting something?” the newcomer asked, voice dripping with false innocence.
Hajime didn’t even blink, just smirked wider as if delighted by the audacity. “It’s rude to interrupt a husband catching up with his wife,” he drawled, and without looking, flicked the tiny blade towards the person.
The weapon spun through the air, and before it could reach its target, you sent a surge of electric current along its path as Hajime let your wrists go at last. The steel lit up like a lightning rod mid flight, and when it buried itself in the intruder’s chest, the force jolted them once before their body went still.
You and Hajime stepped over the debris toward the crumpled body. He crouched low, fingers brushing the weapon’s hilt before giving the corpse a light, almost casual kick with the toe of his shoe.
“Dead,” he confirmed, straightening.
You glanced down yourself, lips quirking. “Dead.”
For a moment, the danger of the Culling Game faded into the background as your eyes met. Without a word, you both lifted a hand and smacked a perfectly in-sync high five.
⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆
You found yourselves hand in hand, laughter spilling out between breaths as you took off down the street. The absurdity of it all, the clash between you two, a sorcerer interrupting, and the effortless kill still buzzed in your veins like leftover static.
Hajime’s grip was warm and unyielding, pulling you along with the same reckless ease you remembered from centuries ago. Every so often he’d glance at you, grin sharp in a way that made the years between you blur.
You were running toward the place he’d been calling home during the Culling Game, feet pounding against cracked pavement, hearts still racing from the fight.
For a fleeting moment, you felt like two teenagers again, wild, breathless, and utterly in love. The world around you was irrelevant except for the path you carved together. It reminded you of the time you got married, of all those days and nights spent tangled up in each other, when the only thing that mattered was him.
But that was centuries ago. The memories were blurred at the edges now, hazy from time and all the things you’d both endured since. You could still recall the warmth of those vows, the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you back then. Yet somewhere along the way, things shifted.
You remembered making your own deal with Kenjaku, a choice Hajime never knew about. But him? When did he?
The question lodged itself in your mind, refusing to loosen its grip. You sifted through centuries old memories, searching for the moment, the reason and came up empty, like someone had carved that piece of your life out and left nothing but the faint ache of its absence.
You were still lost in that fog when a touch pulled you back, the brush of a knuckle along your jaw, grounding you in the here and now. You were sprawled out beneath him, much like you had been countless times before, the weight of his body caging you in, knees bent at either side of his hips. Hajime cupped your face, his thumb grazing your lower lip like he couldn’t decide between speaking or kissing you again.
“Hey,” he murmured, softer now, eyes flicking between yours. “What’s wrong?”
Your breath hitched. “I missed you.”
Your hands had already found their way around his neck, pulling him closer, fingers slipping into the familiar softness of his hair.
A faint smirk curved his lips before he kissed you once more, slower this time, his words rumbling against your mouth. “I missed you too.”
The trail of his kisses moved lower from your lips, to your jaw, to the rapid pulse in your throat until he reached your chest. His hands skimmed down your sides as his mouth followed, lingering at your stomach before descending further. When his lips brushed the inside of your thigh, your breath stuttered, the sensation both grounding and dizzying.
Hajime didn’t rush. He pressed soft, deliberate kisses along each thigh, down to your knees, then your calves, his fingertips tracing lazy patterns over your skin. When he reached your ankles, he lingered, placing a kiss there too, as if every inch of you deserved reverence.
“Let me show you how much I missed you,” Hajime said, voice low like a promise he fully intended to keep.
You were just about to respond some witty remark on the tip of your tongue when his mouth found your core, erasing every coherent thought in an instant. The first stroke of his tongue was slow and devastating like he wanted to savor every second of your reaction. Your back arched instinctively, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as pleasure bloomed hot and fast through your veins.
Your hands, already tangled in his hair, tightened, fingers curling into the strands as if to anchor yourself. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating where you were most sensitive and the shiver that ran down your spine made your grip tighten on his shoulders, nails dragging faintly over his skin. He didn’t relent, switching between languid strokes and quick, precise flicks that had your hips twitching under his hold.
The way he devoured you was nothing short of reverent and filthy all at once, like he was trying to relearn you, memorize every taste, every sound, every way you responded to him after all these years apart.
His tongue flicked against you, slow and deliberate. “Fuck, you taste even better than I remember.”
A sharp moan tore from your chest, “After all those years… you still exactly know how to unravel me.”
His tongue flicked expertly, teasing the most sensitive spots, but just when you thought you were about to tip over the edge, he slowed, pulling back just enough to deny your release.
Your breath hitched, frustration bubbling up. “Hajime-”
Before you could complain, his lips were on yours, soft and insistent, shutting you up with a trail of heated kisses. His hands pressed firmly on your sides, caging you in with possessive strength.
“Not yet,” he murmured against your mouth, voice low and commanding.
You whimpered, the ache in you building, but there was no resisting him, not now, not ever. He was in control, and all you could do was melt into the delicious torture he gifted you, craving every second more.
Lost in the heat of your kisses, you trembled beneath him, desperation bubbling up inside you. Instinctively, your hands reached down, yearning for him, aching to feel him deep inside you, to finally close the unbearable distance.
But just as you started to urge him closer, his grip tightened on your sides, caging you with firm control. “Impatient, are we?”
You giggled breathlessly, catching your breath just long enough to tease back, “Already did my waiting. Four hundred years of it.”
His eyes flickered with surprise, the faintest spark of amusement lighting them up as your words and soft laughter broke through the tension between you. That momentary distraction was all you needed.
With a surge of strength and determination, you shifted your weight, rolling him beneath you with fluid confidence. Now, you were the one in control, perched on top, your hands pressing firmly against the solid expanse of his chest. His hands found your hips instantly, gripping them possessively, grounding you as you took the lead.
You paused just for a breath, meeting his gaze before slowly sinking down onto him Every inch of him stretched inside you, and you savored the fullness, the delicious friction as you moved with a newfound rhythm.
His breath hitched deep in his throat, matching the steady, teasing pace you set.
“I’ll marry you in every lifetime.” He tightened his grip on your hips, steadying you in place, his words anchoring you amidst the storm of sensation.
As you rode him, you tossed your hair over one shoulder, giving him an unhindered view. A low moan escaped you as you teased, “Okay, Mr. Lover Boy.”
His hands slid to your sides, fingers tracing and kneading with possessive hunger. “Let’s get married,” he murmured, voice thick with want. "Again."
You let out a breathy moan, matching his rhythm, “We still are, aren’t we?” you teased back, a smirk in your voice. “I don’t remember divorcing you or something after I died.”
He groaned as his hands tightened on your hips. With a smooth and deliberate shift, he moved beneath you, guiding you to fully straddle him.
His mouth followed, capturing your skin with heated kisses along your neck. “Let’s get married. In this generation.”
Your arms slid up, wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling him closer as you looked down into his dark, hungry eyes. His hands stayed firmly pressed against your sides, caging you with a possessive strength that made your pulse race.
Your lips brushed his neck as you murmured, “I’d say yes in every lifetime.”
Your lips trailed down his neck, planting soft kisses that quickly deepened into hungry nips. Hickeys bloomed like dark roses along his skin, your teeth grazing just enough to mark him as yours.
Meanwhile, his hands slid down from your sides to cup your ass firmly, fingers digging in possessively as he began to lift and guide your movements. You bounced slowly at first, then with increasing rhythm on his length, the delicious friction driving you wild.
His breath hitched, low moans spilling past his lips as he whispered, “I love you… always have.”
You gasped, matching his intensity with your own moans, “I love you too… in every lifetime.”
Your movements grew faster, every bounce sending waves of pleasure spiraling through your body. His hands never left your ass, gripping and guiding you with a fierce possessiveness that made your heart race. The heat between you was almost unbearable.
He leaned up, lips brushing against your jaw as his voice dropped into a ragged whisper, “Come for me.. like it's the first time.”
A sharp moan tore from your throat as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you, every nerve ending screaming in delicious fire. Your hands clutched at his back, nails digging in as you felt the overwhelming rush building.
His hips stuttered beneath you, breath hitching as he groaned, “Fuck, you’re mine.”
And then, with a shuddering cry that mixed moans and your name, you tipped over the edge, your body trembling and glowing with the release only he could give.
He followed moments after, groaning deep and low as he pulled you close, holding you through the tremors.
Your breaths mingled, the world reduced to the heat of skin and the beat of two hearts finally reunited.
“Kogane, officiate our wedding right now,” Hajime said with a grin.
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.
【Summary】 He thought lightning would kill you. It didn’t. You came back immune, and now Kashimo doesn’t want you dead. He wants to see how much you can endure, how much of him you can handle in your "training" sessions.
【Word Count】 2.3k
【Tags】 · Smut · Electroplay/Electrostimulation · Dominance/Submissive · Power Play · Predatory Dom · Lap Sitting · Grinding · Clothed Sex · Nipple Play · Breast Play · Clitoral Stimulation · Sensory Play · Groping · Thigh Grinding · Predatory Play · Orgasm · Forced Positioning · Overstimulation
Kashimo was certain I was dead. He’d watched lightning tear through me, watched my body vanish beneath the crackling surge of cursed electricity.
So when the Culling Games ended, when the dust finally settled, and I stepped back into the open alive. His eyes narrowed, sharp as blades. “…You,” he said slowly, voice low, deliberate, like he was weighing every inch of me.
I looked different now. Stronger. Calmer. Like someone who’d already died once and decided it wasn’t enough to make it stick. “Missed me?” I asked lightly, daring.
Kashimo’s stare didn’t waver. He leaned just a fraction forward, jaw tight, fingers flexing as if he were ready to strike or test me. His grin split slowly across his face, sharp and feral, eyes glinting with that quiet hunger that came before a real fight. “That attack should’ve killed you,” he said, voice low, edged with something more interest. Excitement. I shrugged. “Yeah. It would’ve.” Then, softer, deliberate. “If electricity worked on me.”
That did it. I lifted a hand, cursed energy humming low and steady beneath my skin. Controlled. Unbroken. “My technique blocks.” Silence stretched.
Kashimo’s grin widened, teeth just showing, eyes flicking over me with that predatory, appraising heat that made my pulse quicken. “…No wonder you didn’t scream.”
The grin deepened, feral now, every movement radiating that sharp, calculating hunger. “So that’s it. You weren’t weak. You were just… immune.”
Our gazes locked. “Guess that makes us even,” I said, voice steady, teasing. Something shifted in the space between us. Not hostility.
Interest.
He didn’t agree to train with me immediately. Kashimo never acted without weighing the advantage, the benefit, the opportunity. But the thought lingered. A fighter who could withstand his electricity. Someone who didn’t crumble under his force.
Eventually, he clicked his tongue, slow and deliberate. “Fine.” He leaned in just enough for me to feel the static prickling against my skin. Low, subtle, teasing. “But don’t complain when it hurts.”
Training was… intense.
We stood opposite each other in the scorched clearing, cursed energy crackling between us like static on the air. Kashimo raised a hand, electricity flaring to life, arcs dancing along his skin.
“Tell me when it’s too much,” he said casually. I smirked. “Scared you’ll fry me?” His gaze swept over me, slow, deliberate, calculating. “…Scared you won’t feel it,” he murmured, and then he released the charge.
Lightning surged through me, hot, invasive, buzzing beneath my skin but my technique absorbed it, redirecting the energy outward in a shimmering pulse of cursed energy.
I exhaled, steady, letting him see my calm. He watched, closer than necessary, eyes narrowing with that predatory, appraising intensity. “…Interesting,” he muttered, a low growl threading his words.
This time, he stepped nearer. Close enough that the air between us hummed. His fingers hovered near my wrist, deliberate, teasing the line between contact and control.
“Again,” he said. “Higher output.” I didn’t move away. “Buy me dinner first,” I shot back. That grin snapped back onto his face, sharp and feral. “Tch. You’ve got a mouth on you.”
“And you like it,” I replied. For a split second, his fingers brushed my skin, testing, grounding with electricity flickering faintly beneath his palm.
The contact lingered. Too long for training. Too deliberate to be accidental. Neither of us pulled away.
“…You don’t flinch,” he murmured, low, eyes locking onto mine. I lifted my gaze. “Neither do you.” Something unspoken passed between us, recognition, challenge, heat, a silent dare neither of us needed to voice.
His hand didn’t go where it should. Instead of my wrist, his fingers drifted lower, deliberate, slow, brushing the inside of my thigh as if he were testing a live wire. I stiffened despite myself. Kashimo noticed immediately, his eyes darkening with that predatory, calculating gleam that made my pulse spike.
“…So you do feel that,” he murmured, eyes flicking to my face. There was something smug in his tone now, but quieter, focused, curious, like a predator savoring the first twitch of prey. Heat crept into my cheeks despite myself. I glared up at him. “...You’re getting distracted.”
“Am I?” His thumb pressed lightly against my inner thigh, just enough to remind me he could push harder if he wanted. Electricity hummed under his skin, faint but insistent, reacting to my cursed energy like it was trying to sync with me.
The air between us thickened, tight, charged. “You didn’t react to the lightning,” he continued, voice low, deliberate. “But this…” Another feather-light brush of his fingers against my skin. “…this makes you tense.”
I swallowed, refusing to step back. “You testing my technique,” I challenged, forcing steadiness, “…or hitting on me?”
Instead of answering, Kashimo pinned me against the wall. The impact was sharp, stealing my breath. Cursed electricity flared around him, responding to the hunger radiating from his body, sharp and insistent, like it recognized me as his challenge and his prey.
His hands slid up my sides, heat bloomed under my skin. His heat. A low electrical hum trailed the path of his palms, skimming my nerves, sparking tiny jolts of sensation one by one. My breath hitched despite myself.
A sudden jolt ripped through me. I flinched, subtle, just a hitch of breath, a twitch of muscle but Kashimo caught it instantly. His eyes sharpened, pupils blown wide, grin slow and predatory as the electricity dimmed, leaving only the lingering tension.
“…You felt that,” he murmured, voice low, pleased. I forced myself to steady, locking eyes with him even as my pulse raced. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I feel it.” His thumb pressed into my side, electricity flickering faintly beneath the touch, testing, teasing. “But it didn’t burn you.”
“No,” I breathed, still uneven. “It doesn’t damage me. It just… passes through. Lights everything up.” That grin widened, unrestrained now, feral, sharp. “…So you’re not numb,” he murmured. “You just don’t break.”
His cursed energy spiked, wild, erratic, alive, like he’d stumbled across a puzzle worth tearing apart. “Tch… that’s dangerous,” he muttered, low, voice laced with hunger and amusement.
“For who?” I ask, trying and failing not to react as another faint shock ripples through me, deliberate this time. His face leans closer, just enough for the static to prick at my skin. “That means I don’t have to hold back.”
The words aren’t a threat, they’re a challenge. His electricity thrums against me, alive and insistent, and I can feel his pulse of curiosity, hunger for someone who doesn’t break under him.
His hands drift along my sides, deliberate, testing, grounding, brushing over my ribs and the curve of my waist. “You’re not tense… not like I expected,” he murmurs, eyes sharp, tracking every subtle twitch of my muscles. “Maybe you’re just bad at reading me,” I reply, trying to sound steady, though my chest rises faster than I’d like.
A smirk tugs at his lips. “Or I just haven’t found the spot that makes you flinch.” His fingers trace higher, teasing along my ribs. “Still… nothing?”
“I told you,” I murmur, breath catching slightly. “I don’t break that easily.” His grin sharpens, feral. “No… you don’t. And yet…” His fingers brush against the curve of my waist, skimming the sides of my chest. “I can feel every reaction.” I inhale sharply, a shiver running through me. “Reaction?” I whisper, voice trembling despite myself. “What are you doing?”
“Testing,” he says low, deliberate. “Making sure you’re… as strong as you claim.” Another slow brush, and his hands cup my sides, firm, possessive. He murmurs, a dangerous edge to his voice, “I think I like what I feel.”
Heat blooms under my skin. I swallow, trying to hold steady. His hands drift higher, brushing along the swell of my breasts, teasing under my shirt. “But I’m curious… can you handle more?”
I meet his gaze, pulse racing. “I… can,” I whisper, teasing back now, “if you think you can handle me too.” His grin deepens, eyes dark with hunger. “Oh… I can. And I plan to find out.”
In one smooth, impatient motion, he yanks my shirt up and over my head, tossing it aside like it’s nothing. The sudden air hits my skin, cool and shocking against the rolling heat of his body.
He pauses just long enough to observe, not leer, not judge, just… catalog. Every rise of my chest, every flicker of cursed energy humming beneath my skin, memorized. His hands return to me, tracing with purpose, while another flicker of electricity crawls over my body, softer this time, exploratory, teasing, insistent.
“…Still steady,” he mutters, more to himself than me. His thumbs roll lazily over my nipples as sparks tingle through my sensitive flesh. “You really are built to take it,” he says, low and fascinated. “Every bit.” I try to speak, but another pulse of electricity flickers through his fingertips, sharper this time, and a broken moan escapes me.
Kashimo’s laugh is low, pleased, almost reverent. “Good. Let it take you.” I gasp, trying to catch my breath, fingers trembling from the sparks rolling across my skin. “I… I need a second,” I manage, chest rising and falling too fast.
Kashimo immediately eases up, his hands retreating slightly but still resting firmly on my waist. The electricity fades, leaving only the warmth of his palms pressing me against him. The solid heat of his body grounds me, and despite everything, it’s almost… comforting.
His sharp eyes soften just enough, watching me with something unreadable, something almost tender. “…What do you need?” His voice is low, careful, a contrast to the predatory growl from moments ago. “…Tell me. I can make it easier.”
Heat blooms in my chest at the quiet question, like I’m being noticed in a way that isn’t just about sparks or power or training. My fingers drift up, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, brushing along the curve of his cheek. He flinches slightly, caught off guard by the touch, but doesn’t pull away.
“I… just need to sit for a moment,” I murmur, soft and breathless. Kashimo tilts his head, eyes flicking toward the edge of the training area. Before I can even move, his hands are at my waist, and in one swift, fluid motion, he hoists me over his shoulder. My breath catches, half from the sudden movement, half from the undeniable weight of him beneath me.
He doesn’t just carry me; he carries me with a confidence that leaves no room for argument. With a precise, practiced motion, he lowers himself into the nearby chair, seating himself firmly while keeping me draped across his lap. My body settles against him, chest pressing to his, and I can feel the solid heat of him grounding me. His grip remains sure at my waist, not harsh, but impossible to escape, a perfect balance of dominance and possession.
The chair at the side of the training room is solid beneath us, but all I can feel is him. His arms wrap around my thighs, holding me close, steadying me, but not letting me go. My mind reels, he’s never been this… attentive, this insistent, this focused entirely on me.
Every small movement, every breath, every glance… it’s possessive, intimate, and far hotter than any training session could ever be. The electricity between us isn’t just cursed energy anymore, it’s desire, fascination, and a subtle, simmering hunger.
I meet his gaze, flushed, breath uneven, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing: this isn’t just about technique anymore.
His hands tighten slightly, pulling me impossibly closer. I lean into him instinctively, pressing my forehead to his chest, heart hammering. His hand drifts lower, resting on the small of my back, fingers splaying to anchor me. My lips part, almost as if we’re both holding our breath, waiting for the other to make the first move.
And then he acts. No hesitation, no testing. He tilts his head and presses his lips firmly against mine, claiming me with immediate intent. The contact is strong, deliberate, a clear statement. I part my lips instinctively, matching him, and the world narrows until nothing exists beyond his press, his heat, and the electricity sparking along my nerves.
A pulse of electricity surges through us. Not subtle this time, it crawls along our skin, alive, mapping me, staking its claim. My back arches instinctively into him, a startled moan slipping out, and he smiles against my mouth, low, predatory, pleased with the reaction.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice husky and commanding against my lips. “Every bit of it… everything.” I can only nod, breath hitching, lips moving against his. Another jolt hits, stronger now, pressing and pulling, forcing my fingers to dig into his shoulders.
Kashimo’s hands roam with precision, one sliding along my spine, the other framing my face. His thumb brushes my cheek, sending tiny sparks across my skin. He tilts my head, deepening the kiss, teeth grazing mine, tongue teasing with intent, syncing perfectly with the pulse of electricity.
“You’re… not like anyone else,” he breathes, breaking the kiss just enough to look at me, pupils blown wide. “You can take it. You like it… don’t you?” My chest rises and falls rapidly, breath uneven. “Yes…” I whisper, lips brushing his again. “Yes… I feel it. All of it.”
A low, pleased laugh rumbles through him, vibrating against my lips as he kisses me again. This time, the electricity hums stronger, entwining with the kiss, teasing every nerve, every inch of me. I shiver, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, trying to anchor myself, but every spark, his sparks, his touch is meant to unravel me.
Slowly, deliberately, he lifts one of my legs, swinging me over his thighs with ease. His grip is firm, grounding, leaving no room to question him. His gaze locks onto mine, sharp, predatory, unblinking, like he’s memorizing every twitch, every reaction.
Without breaking eye contact, his hands slide down my sides, deliberately tracing the curve of my hips. One swift, controlled motion, and he tugs at the waistband of my pants, then my underwear, sliding both down my legs. Leaving me completely exposed. Every movement is measured, purposeful, deliberate, marking his control.
He begins, voice low, measured, and impossibly calm, “Show me exactly how much you can take. I want to feel it all.” His thumb grazes along my side, pressing me down onto his thigh. “Move against me. Push yourself. Let me see how far you’ll go.”
I obey instinctively, grinding down against him, my bare heat pressing against the hard plane of his clothed thigh. His hands remain firm at my waist, thumbs tracing just below my chest, keeping me grounded. His smirk sharpens, predatory, calculating. He leans back slightly, eyes scanning me. He doesn’t offer comfort, praise, or encouragement. He observes. He measures. He pushes just enough, letting the electricity hum and spark between us like an extension of his will.
I whimper softly, moving faster, responding to the pressure. The friction of my pussy against his thighs and the electric hum thrumming beneath me sharpens every sensation, feeding off the heat rolling between us.
“Not bad,” he growls, voice low, precise, controlled. “Keep moving. Don’t slow.” No fluff, no softness, just command, calculation, ownership. Every motion I take is exactly where he wants m.
I rock forward, then back again, dragging myself along the muscle beneath him, and then- Zzzp. My whole body jerks. A tiny surge runs through his thigh, pressing right against my clit. Sharp, electric, impossible to ignore.
“Oh- Ka-” My voice cracks, and he growls, low and pleased. “Feel it. Let it hit you.” He lets a stronger spark pulse through his skin, teasing, testing. I moan, rutted against him harder, whining with each pass. His gaze is unblinking, calculating, like he’s memorizing exactly how I react to every surge.
“Good,” he mutters, thumb sliding into my mouth to catch my sounds, letting me bite down, taste it. The other hand sparks my nipple, electricity dancing over sensitive skin.
The charge beneath me intensifies, tingling, humming, buzzing with anticipation. My hands clutch his shoulders, knuckles white, as if holding myself together but every nerve, every inch of me, is alight, responding to him.
I gasp, biting my lip, grinding harder, trying to match the rhythm he’s silently setting with his hands and weight. “…I… I can’t-”
“You can,” he cuts in, voice low, deliberate, almost clinical, breath hot against my ear. “Tell me how it feels when it takes you.”
I cry out, words tangled with moans, riding him with abandon. Every motion sends sparks crawling across my skin, electricity snapping through every nerve. His lips brush against my ear, warm and deliberate, then he bites it lightly, enough to draw a sharp gasp, just to see how I react. “You’re close,” he murmurs, low, controlled, predatory. “Don’t hold back. Show me how much you can take.”
The coil inside me snaps. Heat floods through me, muscles clamping tightly, grinding over him as waves of pleasure crash over every nerve. My back arches, voice breaking into ragged, high-pitched moans, each one sharper than the last. My body trembles from the orgasm hitting me.
I collapse against him, breathless, trembling, every nerve alive with the hum of his cursed energy. “…Next training session,” he murmurs into my ear, his voice low, dangerous, the faint buzz of electricity crawling across us, “I want to see exactly how much you can take from my tongue."
Begging you to write something for Kashimo you're the only writer I've seen that actively writes for him please i will literally suck you off (pretend I just didn't type that, i'm just desperate for fine shyt)
I CAN DO A LOT WITH FIFTEEN MINUTES ❛ hajime kashimo won't ever admit defeat, even if there's a time constraint. he just has to make you finish ❜
"i kinda' ship them, wouldn't you agree?" you're snapping your glossy mouth, gently gnawing on your lower lip. straddled over a toned, muscular thigh, with your back pressed against a washboard, deliciously carved abdomen, "hakari and kirara, right?"
you hear a clever tongue click absent-mindedly behind the soft shell of your ear, "i do not understand this, i may find them . . insufferable, but are they not friends of yours?" you can hear the strained confusion colouring kashimo's voice, that, and the impatience as he's hissing and sucking a quick draw of breath between teeth as you lean back into him just a little bit more, "why would you send them off on a boat?"
ah, sometimes it's easy to forget that the sharp-tongued, bratty, teal-haired sorcerer ( who spends his days attempting to pick fights with anyone who looks at him 'funny' ) is yet to fully swap out his birth-tongue medieval vernacular for something a bit more up to date.
"it means that i think they'd look cute together, 'jime," you sigh, hearing kashimo sigh, loud and heavy, before opting to bury his face into the crook of your neck. if only to nip at the soft flesh there, awaiting the blooming petals of the pink and violet bruises he so loves to see there.
"that's nice, little dove," kashimo murmurs, and you can tell that he's doing his best to indulge your gossip and conversation, but the thick curve that's straining against the loose drape of his martial pants is making it quite difficult for him to focus, "but we do not have long before everyone is scheduled to meet here. and the last thing i wish for is that irritating, white-haired upstart to kick up a fuss."
"who?" you frown, a soft whine slipping from your lips as kashimo's strong hands find a firm grip on your waist, gently beginning to move you back and forth in a slow rocking motion, "gojo?"
"if i do not like someone, i will not indulge them by speaking their name."
sighhh, frankly what gojo thinks is the last thing on your mind right now. . . for all you can truly think about is the gentle, cloying strands of slick that must be pooling now in your underwear. stimulated by the soft brush of fabric creating an electrifying friction, dampening kashimo's pants with a translucent stain of your arousal.
you're so lost in the addictive sway of your cunt against the contours and muscle of kashimo's thighs, like the subtle pressure of a coiled spring just waiting to break loose, "feels s-so good, 'jime."
a rasp-rough chuckle from kashimo, his hands falling away from your hips and leaving you to rock yourself against his thigh in growing desperation. hands instead curling around your front to slide surreptitiously up your top, breezing past sensitive and pebbled skin to gently cup your breasts, tweaking and flicking, "yeah, yeah? thought so, heh, my fair lady."
but just as you're so, so close to seeing stars shoot across your vision, kashimo bounces his thigh, creating the most delicious jolt that suddenly breaks your rhythm and leaving you to kiss your climax a tearful goodbye, "what the f-fuck, i was gonna' –"
kashimo is so close to you, his face practically glued to the back of your neck that you can feel the flutter of his long, teal lashes as he rolls his eyes, "whaaat? you were gonna cum, was that it, little dove? is that why you're suddenly so –," a bandaged finger reaching around to wipe a stray, frustrated crystalline droplet from your teary eyes, "weak, mm? weak for my touch?"
"y-you're the one who said we didn't have long 'n –"
the same finger that was gently brushing over your weeping eye, gliding away the last remnants of your ruined orgasm, now presses over your lips, firm, "shh."
kashimo quickly spreads his thighs apart, and considering you had just been balancing on one, the action should have toppled your balance. but a veiny arm wraps your waist, keeping you in. . place pressed against his back.
instead, now your legs are spread wide, each ankle hooked around kashimo's calves so you balance precariously.
praying to god, to tengen, to every deity out there and throwing whoever you can quickly of in, that the training room door will remained closed for at least fifteen minutes. but it's hard to think rationally when kashimo is purring, still pressed to your back as he reaches around your waist to gently pull down your waistband.
"how filthy," he teases, "tsk', i've barely even touched you, and you're drippin' allll over my fingers." and while you'd like to keep your dignity intact, there's no denying that every prod of kashimo's padded fingertips against your pussy leaves the bandages soaked in your wetness.
"alright, little dove," kashimo murmurs, "here we go, keep ya' balance for me." and you wonder why he's bothering to give you a warning when your cunt is already spread by his hand, but in hindsight, it makes so much sense because like most things kashimo does, his pace is brutal and aiming to win.
in and out, in and out. the sloppy pshh and pop! of kashimo's fingers driving into your gummy walls has you keening, and it has the old sorcerer loudly moaning before he sucks in a breath, lips pressed together tightly like all he wants to hear right now is you, just you.
"ah, ah, 'jime," you writhe in his gasp, groaning as his fingers prod and curl in all the right places. sharp, pistoning motions that faintly crackle, you swear, heightening every sensation tenfold, "are you, f-fuck, are you seriously using –, oh my god!"
you can feel kashimo smile against your neck, and the soft press of his lips on your skin, "am i using what, love?" waiting for your answer that was never going to arrive, not with how kashimo's pumping his middle finger against that sweet spot, "ah, can't even speak now, 's a damn shame."
what a debauched sight the two of you must make. kashimo, flushed just from watching and hearing you fall apart on his lap, with his teal hair unbound. choppy, slick strands brushing his shoulders. you, with your legs pushed wide open, and wider still as kashimo jolts his own thighs apart further.
you're babbling now, riddled cries of the sorcerer's name, as he never lets up, not even once on the nasty pace. if you turn your head to fall back against kashimo's shoulder, you can taste the trail of salt-tears at the corner of your mouth, "baby, 'j-jime, so close now, baby."
"good, good," kashimo hisses, and you don't miss how he's furiously bucking his hips up, jolting you higher into his lap as he must chase some friction for his own release, "if you jus' hold onn, little dove."
a thumb messily gliding through your glossy mess to flick at your clit, all in conjunction with kashimo melding three fingers into your pussy, well, it's got you hurtling close and the sorcerer knows it, "three." he crooks his fingers inside and towards your groin, "two." sloppily running his thumb alongside the side of your clit, scooping, "one."
a devastating high that leaves you both panting, and your hips clenching and twitching, your arousal so plentiful that it's beginning to froth and pool at the edges of your pushed aside underwear. kashimo hisses, and then sighs, "made a mess, love." and you need not pointedly mention the dark stain on his loose, white pants.
"you look like a mess, 'jime." your legs feel utterly boneless but you make an effort to move, falling back into kashimo's surprisingly gentle, "i've got a hold of you." the sorcerer's laughing as you smooth your skirt down, grimacing at the slap of slick and sweat that's dampening your flesh.
kashimo's snapping his teeth around a loose tie that hangs off his wrist to scrape his cyan hair back up into his recognisable knots, "you know, if we had more time, little dove, i would have –" he makes a quick whistling sound, jerking his wrist over his groin and pointedly looking down to your shaking thighs, "but we had to make do."
it's a surprisingly crude gesture from the prudish sorcerer that makes you laugh, "and right on time, too. because i swear, if anyone had –"
"i swear to fucking god, you two pull that shit again, i'm going to fight sukuna early." yeah, right on time, because gojo's pushing open the training room door with one hand, the most disgusted look over his face that informs you that you didn't account for the sheer magnitude of six eyes.
gojo's bright-blue eyes swivel away from the turquoise-haired sorcerer now, to where you're shuffling sheepishly and avoiding kashimo's proud, fanged grin, "and you, control your boy toy. i don't have time for this shit."
you press your lips together in faint embarrassment in front of one of your oldest friends, all while kashimo is vaguely fiddling with his hands, making you wonder if he's about to pull out some new domain expansion that no one has heard of. but what you end up hearing is a satisfied 'aha!'.
"see, i'm getting the hang of these modern things." kashimo's fingers are curled into a tight fist, all save for the middle one, proudly flipping gojo off ( who just mutters some ominous portent about hoping that december 24 rolls around quicker )
