[cw, angst, whump, torture]
ok so imagine jjk characters being forced to hurt the reader as a form of torture for them
Megumi having to waterboard senpai!reader with his shadows. Satoru crushing bestfriend!reader’s ribs with his Infinity. Kashimo being told they’ll let student!reader live if he shocks her heart. Choso having to feed curse!reader his blood, thus poisoning her.
The aftermath and hurt/comfort could be so good here, they’d probably have to take care of reader and they’d be facing the damage they’ve done. They’d all feel guilty in their own ways and they’d try to help but maybe reader becomes scared of them? Or, worse, she tells them it’s okay and apologizes to them for causing trouble.
Summary: In college, she tries everything to get the attention of the quiet, beautiful boy everyone mocks but no one really knows. Her devotion borders on obsession—but he never looks back. As her hope fades, her best friend Kashimo offers something steadier. Kinder. But love doesn't always go where it's safe. And some truths come too late.
Warning: Emotional dependency, bullying, slow mental deterioration, unrequited love, implied disability, reader is emotionally obsessive, Gojo is emotionally withdrawn, and Kashimo is heartbreak material. WC: 1.3k.
A/N: Kashimo talks like Gomez Adams because I said so.
Header images are from Pinterest; Saturn dividers are from @asiatic-apple, & the rest of the dividers are by @sisterlucifergraphics.
It started with a coffee cup.
Medium roast, extra oat milk, no sugar. She set it next to his elbow like an offering. Like a prayer.
Gojo didn’t look up.
He was always alone at that corner table in the architecture building—headphones half on, sketchbook open but untouched.
Tall like a model, platinum hair slightly overgrown, glasses too dark for a cloudy hallway.
They called him "Photoshop" and said he was a trust-fund freak who edited his own face.
But his bones were real. She’d looked.
Studied them in class when he wasn’t looking. Sculpted cheekbones, soft under-eyes, and a mouth that never knew what it meant to ask for anything.
She wondered if anyone ever taught him how.
Weeks passed.
She made excuses to sit next to him.
Asked for his notes even when she didn’t need them.
Gave him hers anyway.
“You should eat something,” she murmured once, placing a sandwich on his notebook.
His fingers twitched. That was all.
He never looked directly at her.
Always past her, like she was fog on a lens he hadn’t wiped clean.
Still, she learned his schedule.
He liked room 213 for its quiet.
Never ate lunch.
Sketched with mechanical pencils, not charcoal.
His phone had accessibility mode on, but he never asked for help.
Once, she caught him staring at a wall, unmoving, for six full minutes.
That night, she wrote his name in the margins of her notes eleven times. All caps. GOJO SATORU.
---
“He doesn’t even know your name,” Kashimo said flatly, legs crossed on the dorm rooftop, a Red Bull between his knees.
“I don’t care,” she lied.
Kashimo laughed, mean but not at her. Never at her.
His voice was rough, like he’d swallowed a hundred thunderstorms and only learned to whisper after.
Cyan hair, broad muscles showing, a tattoo above his collarbone that no one knew the meaning of. He wore nail polish and bruises and sat with her when she cried. Always.
“Is this like a Florence Nightingale thing?” he asked, eyes on the sky. “You want to fix him, so he’ll love you?”
“I just want him to see me.”
“He won't.”
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
---
The bullying got worse when finals started.
Someone poured ink on Gojo’s blueprints.
Another smeared ketchup over his chair.
A guy in their cohort called him something she couldn't bare to hear anymore.
She had heard the snickers in the library.
Gojo said nothing.
Just picked up his bag and left, as if disappearing was easier than retaliating.
That night, she waited by the vending machines near the back stairs.
When he appeared—taller in the dark, too-thin hoodie swallowing his sharp edges—she stepped forward.
“I saw what they did. I’m sorry.”
He paused.
“I brought you notes. On Professor Ryomen’s lecture. And… some snacks.”
Still nothing.
“I care about you,” she blurted. “You don’t have to be alone all the time.”
His head tilted slightly.
“You're not alone anymore.”
Then came the silence.
A silence so loud it cracked something in her ribcage.
“…Who are you?” he asked.
---
She didn’t cry in front of him.
But she sobbed later, facedown in Kashimo’s white hoodie, curled on his lap like a child.
“He forgot me,” she choked. “I sat next to him for three months. I—I brought him food. I waited for him after class. I tried.”
Kashimo didn’t say “I told you so.”
He just ran his hands through her hair, soft and slow, like he was afraid she’d break more than she already had.
“I think he’s sick,” she whispered. “Something’s wrong.”
“Something’s wrong with you,” Kashimo murmured, voice low. “You’re trying to drown in someone who won’t even notice the splash.”
She hiccuped.
“You deserve someone who sees you. Really sees you.”
Her breath hitched. “I don’t want anyone else.”
Kashimo’s silence was a knife. Then—
“Then you’ll die waiting.”
---
She tried again. Of course she did.
Brought him a small cake on his birthday. He didn’t eat it. She found it two days later in the trash, untouched, box unopened.
She told herself maybe he just didn’t like chocolate.
---
Winter turned the quad into ash.
Bare branches clawed at gray sky.
Her GPA slipped. She lost weight.
She stopped laughing.
Kashimo noticed. He always noticed.
“You’re not sleeping,” he said one night, brushing snow off her shoulders as they walked back from the studio.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re fading.”
She smiled, brittle. “I’m just tired.”
Kashimo grabbed her wrist, sudden and cold.
“No, you’re bleeding out, and he’s the wound.”
She didn’t answer. Just looked away.
“Stay with me tonight.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Does it have to be?”
She blinked.
He let go.
“Forget it.”
---
Weeks later, Gojo sat beside her on the bench near the east fountain.
He didn’t say hello.
She didn’t say anything either.
Then—
“I know you.”
Her breath caught.
“I didn’t before,” he added. “But I… do now.”
He turned his face toward her. Too directly.
His glasses were gone.
His eyes were pale. Too pale.
“Were you the one with the coffee?”
Her throat burned.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He nodded, slow.
“I remember your voice.”
Her heart cracked open.
“I didn’t know how to talk to you,” he said.
“I still don’t.”
He reached for her hand but missed. Grabbed air.
That’s when she knew.
He wasn’t ignoring her.
He was blind.
---
She cried in Kashimo’s arms again that night.
But this time it was different.
“I thought he hated me,” she whispered. “I thought I wasn’t enough.”
“You’re too much,” Kashimo said bitterly. “Too much for someone who can’t even see the light you drag into rooms.”
“I just wanted him to love me.”
“And what about me?”
Her breath caught.
His jaw was clenched.
“I sat with you through every breakdown. Every night you cry for a ghost. I fucking see you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She didn’t answer.
Kashimo stood up.
“I would’ve kissed the bruises he left on your heart if you let me.”
His voice cracked.
“I would’ve loved you gently.”
She couldn’t look at him.
He walked away.
---
Gojo apologized the next day.
His hands trembled when he passed her a note written in blocky, slanted letters.
I’m sorry I made you feel invisible. I didn’t mean to. I don’t… see well. Or understand people. But I remember your voice. I liked it. I still do.
She didn’t know what to say.
So she hugged him.
He flinched like it hurt.
---
Things got better.
In class, Gojo started sitting beside her. He laughed once. Awkward, too loud. But real.
People stopped bullying him. She made sure of it.
But Kashimo stopped texting back.
She missed him more than she could admit.
---
Graduation came.
Gojo held her hand when they walked across the stage.
She smiled in photos. But her eyes were elsewhere.
---
Months later, she found Kashimo at an art gallery downtown.
He was thinner. New piercings. His smile wasn't the same.
“You look good,” she said.
“You look lost.”
She laughed.
He didn’t.
“You still love him?”
She nodded.
“He still doesn’t know how to love back?”
Another nod.
Kashimo looked at her for a long time.
“I would’ve let you ruin me,” he said quietly. “But you wanted someone who couldn’t even hold a mirror.”
She reached for him.
He stepped back.
“I’m done being your second choice.”
She didn’t cry this time.
But she wanted to.
---
That night, Gojo asked her why she felt sad.
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
“I miss someone,” she said.
Gojo held her hand.
“I’ll try harder,” he whispered.
She nodded.
But inside, she knew:
He couldn’t try what he’d never learned.
And she couldn’t fix what wasn’t broken.
It just… was.
Unlovable in its shape.
Like rain in a paper cup. Beautiful. Temporary. Inevitable.
A/N: Let me know if you guys would like another part to this. 💜❤️💙
Be honest, besties: are you choosing Kashimo or Nerdjo?
A/N: Not my usual smaus, but I do hope y'all like this!
Gojo Satoru
In the midst of the ruins of Shinjuku stood, bloodied, Gojo Satoru. He won the fight against Ryōmen Sukuna, but why does it seem so surreal?
Maybe it's the morbid scenery surrounding him. All of the damage he caused, wether it be material, physical, or mental. He can't think straight—no, he can't think at all. The only thing he sees is you, standing in front of him, wearing that heartwarming smile he fell in love with, but you're barely recognisable. Cuts, blood, dirt... everything that should've been on him is instead painting your body.
"I'll make sure you win."
You told him that before the fight, and he just laughed, playing it off as a personal offence to his whole existence.
"I'll win on my own, you don't have to worry your pretty head about a thing. I'm the strongest after all."
He said that knowing he will lose.
And somehow, you knew that, too.
Everyone was watching the fight from a safe place— everyone but you. Running all around Shinjuku, following his steps from a far enough distance to not get detected by either of them, but close enough to jump in if something were to happen. You were stronger than most special grades, strong enough to do something so reckless and supposedly strong enough for Sukuna to personally request a duel to death after he inevitably wins his fight with Gojo. That wasn't on your bucket list, though. You were there to make sure Satoru lives.
And you did just that.
That warm smile you flashed has long grown cold, your lifeless body hurriedly taken from Satorus grasp. "Is there any chance...?" were the only words he could muster up the strength to ask, his voice sounding uncharacteristically weak. "Only time can tell, Gojo." Shoko sighed "Go ahead and get patched up... It's been a rough day for you."
The 24th of December has now become a shared anniversary between the two people Gojo Satoru cared for the most.
Ryōmen Sukuna
Grueling hours of fighting passed, sorcerers upon sorcerers attempted to fend against Sukuna's relentless attacks, but to no avail— they lost. Yet, the monster does not feel complete. He doesn't know what is happening to him. Humane feelings have been a taboo subject regarding his person, truly believing he is unable of experiencing such things.
"Master Sukuna–" His servant Uraume began, but shut it down just as quickly as they followed Sukuna's eyes to the bloodied ground.
You were laying there, breathless, unmoving.
He tried to tend to your wounds, tried to somehow figure out how to use a reverse-cursed technique on someone other than himself, but it was all for naught— you never woke up. Yet he was not mad, no, he was distraught. Your power piqued his interest just enough for you to not only be considered by such monster as an equal, but even more, as his half.
Sukuna cursed the universe for playing this sick joke on him and for making him feel these weak emotions. Love, sadness, worry...you cursed him to care, so he'll curse you as well. And maybe he does so with a foolish hope that fate might just give him another chance at a life with you standing next to him.
Kashimo Hajime
Another day passed alongside tens of sorcerers who were naïve enough to consider this to be the day Kashimo fell to their attacks, but it was all a waste of time in both sides. As he walked back towards your shared house, something strange hung in the air, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"I'm back." Hajime announced, closing the traditional sliding door behind him, though no answer could be heard by the only other person living there, you. Such deafening silence was truly uncharacteristic, and so he bolted through every room in the house, frantically searching for you, until he barged into his bedroom, where your body laid underneath the sheets. "There you are..." He whispered to himself "You scared me." His body relaxed as he walked inside of the darkened room, not bothering to light up a candle.
Splat!
His movements faltered. 'What?' thought that led to him crouching, using his technique as a makeshift lantern to investigate whatever could've made that noise, and upon seeing the pool of blood at his feet, Kashimo stiffened. He was unable to do anything but stare for a few seconds, which afterwards brought a wave of panic over him. He ran to your side, shaking your body in dying hope, chanting your name over and over again as if it was a mantra— then he stopped, clutching so tightly at your sleeve it started ripping at the seams.
Kashimo didn't sleep that night, not as if he could whatsoever. He stood by your side, holding your rigid hands in his, ignoring the intoxicating smell of blood— your blood— that filled his room. You've rid him of his boredom, lit up a firework show into his heart, unknowing of the cruel plans this life had planned out for you... and now he just has another death anniversary to dread the nearing of.
i rlly love the concept of Gojo’s wife!reader being in danger after Gojo is sealed bc his allies are all enemies now and first, the higher-ups want to harm her in general and second, the higher-ups don’t want her to give Gojo an heir. That would be a catastrophe.
The possibilities for angst are endless here:
Megumi taking a beating and being interrogated for info about wife!reader’s whereabouts and him refusing to give them anything bc wife!reader has always been the only normal person who gave the students some kind of affection. There’s no way he’s letting them touch her. He somehow ends up in Gojo’s bed and wife!reader tends his wounds with tears in her eyes but he just keeps apologizing for bleeding all over the expensive silks.
Or maybe they do manage to harm her and poor Yuji has to listen to her screams as she’s put back together by Ieri but he’s not allowed in the room, completely helpless. He falls asleep sobbing by the door cuz that’s his sensei’s pretty wife and he has to protect while sensei is sealed ! :(
The sorcerers collectively assigning Kashimo to be her bodyguard to make him useful. And he’s so awkward about it but she’s the beloved of the supposed Strongest, which intrigues him bc he had no idea strong people could have love like that. He asks her all kinds of questions and she answers so patiently, even though Kashimo is quite blunt.
Maybe she’s already pregnant but no one can find out bc that would put her + anyone who knows into so much danger without Gojo around. Unfortunately, Yuta is way too perceptive and thoughtful. He notices. Goes down a whole spiral about it. Is pretending not to see anything better?
Gojo being freed and absolutely livid if his wife was hurt. Like the news of his unsealing has some higher-ups taking cyanide pills to avoid whatever Gojo has planned as revenge. Him being super cold and tense on the outside but the moment wife!reader and him are alone, he’s dropping to his knees to apologize for getting himself locked up.
Kashimo overhears a conversation (feat. Gojo) ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა part 1, based on this
part 2
cw: fluff, angst, using of ‘good girl’, Kashimo is lonely :(
note: due to popular demand…
“Maa, Satoru…”
Kashimo’s ears perk up when he hears that name. It’s unusual for someone to refer to that man like that. Your voice is muffled by the thin shoji between you and him, the semi-darkness hiding Kashimo and his shadow. You don’t know he’s there. Gojo does, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Mh.”
“What’s this plan of yours I hear from Okkotsu? The one in case things go south…?”
Floorboards creak, indicating your slight movement on the other side of the wall. Kashimo doesn’t bother getting up. He’s not eavesdropping per se, just… listening. It’s not like he’s making an effort to hear better or to avoid being discovered.
His limbs are sprawled out on the tatami mat, his chest still heaving a little after training.
“Aaah, don’t worry about it, sweetcheeks,” Gojo drawls playfully, probably even tilting his head or tugging at that dumb blindfold.
“Don’t try flirting your way out of this.”
Kashimo scowls at the ceiling. If this is the kind of direction the conversation is headed in, he should probably make his presence known before he witnesses something very disturbing.
“Worth a shot,” Gojo replies. There’s more movement, some rustling of fabric. Kashimo lifts his head from the ground just enough to see your shadow lower itself to sit beside a bigger one.
Someone sighs, it’s unclear from the other room who.
“You know we have to use all means necessary.”
“So defeat him,” you grumble. “You said you’d win.”
Gojo’s obnoxious giggle suddenly rings through the air. Kashimo’s head falls back onto the tatami, his hair spreading out around him.
Tch. Did Gojo really say that? What an arrogant bastard. He can’t defeat Sukuna. Kashimo almost hopes he can’t, because what the hell is he supposed to do with himself if the one guy he wanted to connect with just fucking dies before Kashimo can even talk to him?
Then again, he has respect for Gojo’s plans. Besides, he’s supposed to be the strongest right now.
“I also say things like… mh… dunno, that you’re a very fine woman, but we all know you— ah!” A loud slap echoes off the walls and Gojo yelps. You probably did something to him. “See? So unladylike.”
“Be so serious for one minute,” you scold, your voice definitely an octave lower now.
Your tone makes Kashimo bristle. Obviously not because you’re scary or anything, he could never take you seriously like that. It’s more the realization that you’re talking about this because you care.
Judging by the awkward pause that follows, it seems that Gojo cares too. Which only makes Kashimo more uncomfortable.
“Haven’t you had enough of Satoru Gojo already?” Gojo speaks, indeed with a less lively voice. It could almost be described as a sulky grunt.
“Hah?”
“What do you care what happens to my corpse?”
Kashimo’s body tenses at Gojo’s question and, slowly, quietly, he sits up. So now he is definitely eavesdropping because, one, he’s making an effort to stay undiscovered, and two, he’s making an effort to hear better. Locking in, as the brats would put it.
Your reply comes out a little petulant too. “I really hate that you act like you’re all alone.”
From his position, Kashimo can clearly see shadows move as you shove Gojo’s shoulder. It’s getting interesting.
Kashimo is alone too, and if there’s anyone he could have something in common with, besides Sukuna, it’s Gojo. He’s insanely strong, and in Kashimo’s experience, that can be very isolating. They could have similar approaches to life.
“I’ve been here the whole time, haven’t I? And Shoko. We’re still here.”
“So?”
Kashimo’s lips curl into a small smirk, he already knows what your reaction is going to be. He’s right. Another shove.
Gojo chuckles, not even trying to lean away. And you’ve actually been landing all the hits on him, which means he’s allowing you to hit him.
“You’re pissing me off.” There’s no bite in your words now. “Oh, I’m Satoru Gojo, I alone am the Honored One, no one gets close, woe is me, oh, oh…”
It’s strange, seeing the usually cheerful guy this quiet, guards down, just sitting with you.
“Very humbling,” Gojo mutters. “Do you have a point to make, or are you just going to insult me while I wallow in self-pity?”
Self-pity? That’s an unsettling thought for Kashimo. He’s pretty much the same, like you described Gojo just now. To think of his suffering as merely self-pity is an odd feeling.
“Being on the same level in terms of strength isn’t the only way to relate to someone. Or have you forgotten…?” you ask quietly. Kashimo isn’t sure what your question is referring to, but the other part makes him frown. Not the only way to connect, huh. What if strength is such an integral part of someone that it’s the only way to connect with them?
It would be an amusing picture, Kashimo like this, pouting in the dark, arms crossed, all alone. Like he’s rejecting your idea even though he isn’t part of the conversation.
“Remind me again.”
Silence. The two people on the other side of the paper screen shift again. Your shadow gets pulled closer to Gojo. Is he hugging you…?
“When he… he suggested cutting his hair.”
“Oh, God.”
“I felt like we were finally on the same side about something.”
“I know. It felt good to team up against him like that,” Gojo laughs, more genuinely now. “I’ve never seen him so offended and confused.”
This part, Kashimo doesn’t understand that well. You start talking about shared experiences, things that don’t seem relevant to someone like him, but somehow, his chest starts hurting a little. He slumps slightly as he listens to your voices.
Gojo’s is indeed more serious now, but also softer, calmer.
“I… sorry. I know you’re here. Can you say that? It feels like a compliment when you assume we’re friends. I mean—fuck, that came out wrong—”
“I’m here, and I think of you as my friend.”
Kashimo’s eyes close. He’d never admit it, but he’s imagining you speaking to him. It’s a taste of something so close, yet so out of reach.
“But never fucking use those words against me. If you ever do that, Satoru, I will be so mad.”
“I won’t.”
Fuck, this hurts. Kashimo shouldn’t indulge himself. Every word just makes him feel even more alone.
What does it say about him if even the supposedly strongest sorcerer of today manages to have some kind of bond while he struggles?
What if Kashimo wasn’t so strong? Maybe he’d still be alone because something is fundamentally wrong with him.
What a stupid moment of weakness.
He pulls his knees up to his chest and drops his head, pressing his knees into his eye sockets until little stars start appearing in the darkness.
“I don’t want to see that kid use your body. I don’t want to see your dead body at all. And know this”, you pause, sucking in a sharp breath, “there’s no guarantee I won’t try to actively stop them from doing the procedure.”
Gojo hums.
“It would be the wrong moment to be selfish, sweetcheeks.”
Kashimo doesn’t really pay attention to the conversation’s content anymore. All technicalities, all just words, a complicated dance that only shows how much the two people on the other side of the wall care for each other. To the ancient sorcerer, it’s just one big billboard sign flashing: I UNDERSTAND YOU ENOUGH TO LOVE YOU in blinking neon letters.
His arms sling over the back of his head, as if to block out the words, nails digging into his scalp.
“And you care about the others too much to do that,” Gojo adds. There’s a soft thump that pulls Kashimo out of his spiral. He looks up, just to see how your silhouette is now completely molded against Gojo’s.
Yeah, no. Gojo definitely isn’t the strongest. He can’t be. Otherwise, how would he be able to feel comfortable with you like that?
For one pathetic moment, Kashimo imagines being in his place.
Ew. Fuck.
“You don’t know how desperate I can get,” you mumble. It’s odd to hear your voice soften.
“Unfortunately, I do know.”
Kashimo really regrets listening. It’s like the universe is trying to rub something in his face. He grits his teeth, torn between wanting to be annoyed at the sentimentality and fighting the numb sadness slowly overtaking him.
“But you won’t get in their way. You hear me? Look at me. Say it.”
“I won’t get that desperate.”
“Good girl.”
Jesus Christ. Time for Kashimo to dip.
૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა all rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.
Again and again | Part Nine | Family Affairs
Hajime Kashimo x Reader. lovers to strangers. incarnation. amnesia. yearning.
cw: canon-typical violence, body horror, leg injury, attempted abduction, fever/delirium, physical restraint, could trigger claustrophobia, Naoya has his kansai accent, Naoya-typical violence
summary: [manga spoilers] During the Edo period, Hajime’s beloved was executed for using cursed energy as a woman, leaving Hajime to be on his own. Centuries later, Hajime is incarnated into the Culling Game to find answers to his loneliness. One of the Jujutsu High sorcerers happens to have the same face as his lover though she is oblivious to who Hajime is.
Part Eight
His flesh is weirdly bitter. The texture is elastic and smells like an old rubber band. Not that you’ve ever tasted Naoya’s skin before. But you just know that humans are not supposed to feel so gross. It can’t be his lack of hygiene; that man values self-care. Something is off.
At least biting him made him jerk his hand away with an annoyed hiss. “You little—!”
“Put me down!”
Naoya forces out a strong huff of air through his nose, the way horses do when they’re irritated. He doesn’t dare stop being fast. The other man’s speed took him by surprise, and Naoya finds himself a bit overwhelmed. Nevertheless, he stays his confident self.
“Nah, I need ya for something,” he replies and hauls you into the air. Your upper body hangs down from his shoulder as you thrash around with your legs, your face collides with his back. The impact flattens the tip of your nose, and a dull throb of pain shoots through the area. There was no audible cracking of bone, but you can’t help squealing once. The familiar scent of rough linen climbs up your nose. You can’t even summon a shikigami in that position. Even if you could, the weird body structure under Naoya’s kimono distracts you. It feels like his bones are in the wrong place, bumps and dents appearing in spots where you know they’re not really supposed to appear.
Instead of trying to do the hand signs of your cursed technique, you tap around on his back, feeling out the irregularities. Kashimo’s efforts to get you back go unnoticed. “Huh…? What happened here?”
“Did you know you’re special?” Naoya doesn’t bother replying to your question. “Father told me. Don’t think I was s’posed to know, but he was so out of it on his deathbed.”
“You feel weird.”
“Are you listening?”
“Are you?”
This is how it always was between you and him. Talking but never hearing each other. You’ve always been a bit blind to Naoya’s true nature, mostly because he toned down the predatory streaks around you. He did so out of fear. Naobito unfortunately had some morals and paid attention to how Naoya treated you. Making you cry would have been a death sentence.
Father is gone now.
The news doesn’t come as a surprise, and you just don’t have the time or urge to feel sad, the Zenin are still big assholes. There is a reason why you’re with Tokyo’s Jujutsu High.
You should be more worried about Naoya being free to do as he pleases now. And his body, his whole presence, just feels weird.
The speed with which both Naoya and Kashimo move is making you dizzy; a stinging scent of burnt wood drifts through the air, intensifying the assault on your senses.
“This is becoming tedious,” Naoya mutters. He decides to go for the trick he originally wanted to use on Sukuna’s vessel.
You should’ve been more hostile toward him, should’ve fought more. You just assumed this was one of his annoying games. It was all just pestering, and deep down, you selfishly hoped that this was Naoya’s way of wanting to reach out to you.
You were never there when he bullied Maki, and no one told you about him wanting to kill Fushiguro. Once you realize how awful Naoya actually is, you’re going to feel a lot of guilt for being ignorant, but right now, you have bigger problems.
Carrying you around while being chased by a high-speed ball of electricity isn’t efficient. How does Naoya disable you from moving?
At first, the pain doesn’t register as much as it should, simply because your brain refuses to believe that Naoya would actually break your leg. Really, it’s the loud crack, followed by crepitations, that send a sharp shiver down your spine, and immediately, bile rises in your throat.
Naoya only stops for a second to kneel into your tibia and then yanks you into the air, far away from him. Out of his way.
Mid-air, you realize what happened, all the pain shoots into your leg, like your body just remembered what it is to be hurt. You inhale way too much air with a silent scream and finally summon your shikigami just in time to catch you before landing on the cold, hard ground.
White, soft fur surrounds you, and instantly the huge fox presses all its weight on you, keeping you safe under its belly. It’s an automatic, defensive response you’d have to override manually with extra hand signs.
You can’t.
Now the pain is just too much. The ground is still a bit muddy from the rain, and the yucky dirt seeps into your clothes, further lowering the temperature around you. Kashimo’s labour to keep you from being sick is nullified by now. You whine softly, tears welling up in your eyes.
Your leg throbs, and for a moment, all sound and feeling disappear. The white-hot pain blurs your vision.
“Be my wife and stay inside today. Just this once.”
“Then be my husband and buy me something I don’t need. I’d like the new silks other ladies wear now. The ones with the embroidery.”
What?
“Kashimo-san…”
Your words come out too weak for anyone to hear you. The noise starts fading back in, and you can tell there’s a fight going on, but from under the fox’s belly, you can’t see anything. Half of your face is pressed into the ground, and the taste of sandy dirt invades your tongue.
Another wave of sharp pain.
“Be good and be safe.”
“Oh? Awfully sentimental today, Hajime.”
Maybe it’s some kind of shock reaction. Your mind makes up random scenarios, like you’re dreaming but awake.
The slow, dull kind of pain takes over your leg.
Your stepbrother really just turned on you. In a way, it’s your fault for being so naive. He is a Zenin.
He was saying alarming stuff. If he needs you for something and he’s not simply asking you, then he must assume you wouldn’t just say yes automatically.
So whatever he wants, it must be something bad.
Honestly, he could’ve lured you in. You would’ve fallen for something along the lines of “I need to apologize for my attitude toward women, let’s talk privately” because you’re so damn naive, and you want him to be good so badly, you would’ve believed him. Stupid girl.
That bait would’ve been more efficient, and it’s actually surprising how much Naoya underestimates your gullible self.
Too bad you can’t see Kashimo in action now.
You attempt moving your injured leg.
“F-fuuuuck—“ You groan into the shikigami’s stomach, its fur muffling your cursing almost completely.
Your fox immediately presses down harder in response, a low, warning whine vibrating through its chest and into your crushed body like it’s scolding you for even trying.
Right. Broken leg. Bad idea.
Your fingers claw weakly into wet fur instead, bunching handfuls of the thick white coat between trembling fists as another violent pulse of pain radiates from your shin straight into your skull.
The scent of burnt plants intensifies, and based on the vibrations spreading in the ground, you can tell that something exploded, somewhere left of you.
Old man Kashimo must be really upset.
Your common sense is telling you to get away. Wait, no, that’s Okkotsu’s voice in your head; you can practically see him shake his head in disbelief and concern.
No way you’re leaving Kashimo. Is he stronger than Naoya? It’s hard to tell. Hakari was in a tie with him, and just his martial arts skills are pretty impressive. Plus, he literally had 200 points in the Culling Game.
“He’s got a knife,” you slur out, but most of the sound doesn’t make it out from under the shikigami. Yeah, Naoya is a cheater. He’s always on about not using cursed tools, except when he thinks they’re warranted. It tricks his opponents into thinking they’re safer than they actually are.
“…ngh, knife—“
It’s useless. Kashimo will figure it out.
Another strong vibration shakes the ground under you, closer this time. The huge fox above you is forced to move. With you, of course.
Its mouth opens suddenly, and sharp fangs sink into your flesh, deep enough to drag you away by your waist but still careful. Not a comfortable feeling as you’re dragged through the mud, your clothes now soaked with the animal’s saliva too.
“Oh my god,” you moan in pain as sharp pebbles scrape against your skin. “That hurts so bad.”
Now you can see some of what’s going on. Tears run down your cheeks as you watch two figures move— Naoya in grey, Kashimo in white.
Kashimo is a storm given human form.
Even through the haze of pain, through the nauseating pulses wrecking your leg and the mud sticking to your skin, you can see it: electricity peeling off his body in violent arcs, illuminating rainwater and blood alike in brief flashes of blue-white. His expression is sharper than you’ve ever seen it. Usually, there’s amusement buried somewhere in his brutality. A kind of feral thrill.
Now, there is only a haunted kind of anger.
Your gaze lands on Naoya next. Oh. His hand was blown off.
You barely have time to process the sight before something weird happens.
You’ve seen cursed spirits do that. You’ve seen that from Mahito. The tumorous amalgamation of flesh and bone that regrows into a new body part.
Your vision swims again from the next wave of dull pain, and when it clears, Naoya’s hand is as good as new.
Kashimo has no context for the situation, so he doesn’t bat an eye. It looks like just another cursed spirit to him. He keeps fighting; electricity sparkles in his hair constantly.
You, however, have reached your wits’ end. You’re feverish, you have a broken leg, your stepbrother just betrayed you, and you’re so damn tired. For a moment, everything stills, and you watch Naoya’s face, focused, menacing, and without a doubt inhuman.
It’s just too much.
One last look at Kashimo. He’s doing okay. He’s not so bad.
“M’gonna take a nap,” you mumble to your fox spirit as it keeps pulling you further away from the fight. Your fingernails dig into the dirt, thinking that will make it stop, but your grip is too weak.
Darkness takes you gently.
Your consciousness slips through the cracks of pain, through the throbbing agony in your shattered leg, through the cold and mud and blood and static in the air.
Your fox gives one final distressed whine as your body goes limp, and with that, the cursed technique is deactivated, letting the spirit dissolve.
When awareness returns, it does so in fragments.
You’re being carried, that much you can tell. It could be Naoya, it could be Kashimo, that depends on how the fight ended.
You see trees, then the open sky. It has turned beautiful shades of orange. You fall unconscious over and over again before you wake up to seeing the familiar white ceiling and Ieri’s unamused expression. There is no sound, like you’re watching everything on a TV from behind your eyes. There is movement around you before everything goes dark again.
And then—
“Hi.”
Kirara’s big doe eyes stare down at you in the dimly lit room. They blink multiple times in silence with a wide grin on their face and tilt their head slightly, dark hair falling with the motion. They’re used to you getting into trouble.
“So…” Kirara trails off, leaning into your personal space just a bit. “You don’t look so good, girl.”
“Where’s Kashimo-san…?”
Kirara snickers, scratching their head with their long nails. “That’s the first thing you think about?”
Their eyes drop to your leg. They should cut you some slack.
“Probably stewing somewhere. Okkotsu tried chewing him out, but he wasn’t having it.”
“…huh?”
Kirara is already moving on. They lean back in the chair, swinging one leg over the other. “You were out for a while. Ieri fixed you up. She said you were being weird. Anyways, what old Pikachu told us sounded wild.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to soak up all the information. The pain is mostly gone now.
“…Naoya…?”
“What about him?” Kirara frowns automatically.
“He was—he was there…” Obviously, Kashimo wouldn’t be able to identify him, so right now, no one knows Naoya was the one responsible for your injury and attempted kidnapping.
“Seriously? That was him?”
You nod weakly.
“So not cool.”
“Wanna see Kashimo-san…” Your fingers curl into loose, weak fists, and you squirm lightly under the blankets. Kirara sighs.
“I can get him for you, but he’s not in a very talkative mood.”
Turns out, he really isn’t.
The man slumps down in the same chair Kirara occupied with a quiet huff, arms crossed, brows furrowed. He doesn’t relax, not even after Kirara leaves.
Awkward silence settles.
Faint scratches decorate his cheeks, and his hair is let down. Kashimo looks like a mess, but you’re probably worse.
“So…” you start and immediately trail off when you don’t know what to continue with. There are many things you want to say and ask. You settle on a wonky understatement. “…that was weird, huh.”
Kashimo’s gaze stays on your hand that peeks out from under the covers. As usual, you can’t read his expression, though this time, he really has that hundred-yard stare that creeps you out sometimes.
“Sorry about my brother… he’s… worse than I thought.”
No reply comes. You keep going, to fill the uneasy silence.
“Is he… alive?”
Nothing.
You shift on the bed, sitting up slightly against the headboard.
“Thank you for saving me.”
Now, Kashimo reacts. Slowly, his head turns, and he looks into your eyes intently. Then, like a switch has been flipped, he falls out of the chair, onto his knees, and bends forward until his nose brushes the floorboards.
“Kashimo-san…?”
Light blue hair spills out around his head as he bows to the floor.
“I do not ask for forgiveness, for I should not have it. Grant me no pardon. I lament every choice I made that led to your suffering. I am so sorry.”
“Wh-what—“
“I allowed you to be harmed. I did not remove you from danger fast enough.”
“Okay, stop—no, hey—” You push yourself up a little more, immediately regretting it as your body reminds you that you are still recovering and your leg was broken a few hours ago. “Kashimo-san, what are you doing?”
He doesn’t look up.
“I thought I had it this time,” Kashimo mutters under his breath, and you’re not sure you’re hearing him correctly.
“This time?”
Things are getting too confusing. The man on the ground lifts his head. Too much hair hangs into his face for you to really see his eyes.
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“How are you feeling?” Kashimo’s mind seems to be catching up. He moves back into the chair and even pulls it closer to the edge of the bed.
“I’m okay, I’m just confused, why did you say—“
“Answer.”
“…it’s a little warm.”
To add to the list of unexpected events, Kashimo lifts his hand and places his palm against your forehead with gentleness you’ve never seen from him before. Well, technically, you’ve only known him for two days, but still.
His skin is cold, or maybe your own body temperature is just too high.
“You have a fever.”
He looks terrified saying that.
Part Eight
all rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.
reader and another jjk character having a deep, heartfelt conversation at night, speaking softly about something friendship-related and clearly bonding, guards completely down… unaware that somewhere kashimo is listening to them talk and he sits slumped against the wall, lips all pouty as he soaks up the words and feels so so lonely and just yearns for that kind of connection…
