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.
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.
