#kusakabe angst

[kashimopilled]

caregiver!Kusakabe x reader headcanons (╥﹏╥) p2 cw: mention of char. death(Yaga), post Shibuya Incident, clueless!Kusakabe, angst, grief, mention of panic attack, mention of depression, fluff note: missing Yaga hours. just trying to strengthen my alliance with kusakabe girlies. SMAU at the end, as per usual by now. This time, it’s from the character’s pov though!

After the Shibuya Incident, Yaga was among those blamed for the tragedy, or his alleged participation was rather an excuse the higher-ups could use. While you were trying to regroup with the other students and make plans, the principal’s execution was carried out quietly, without causing panic.

Yaga didn’t try to warn you. He knew you’d be reckless enough to actually try to save him. You might even have managed to sneak into where he was held and press your hands against the glass, promising you’d break him out.

He didn’t want to watch you get caught and dragged away while yelling, thrashing, and insulting the higher-ups.

Yaga cared for you like an unofficial parental figure, and he didn’t want to risk your safety. Now, he probably misses his girl so, so much but hopes you won’t meet anytime soon.

Caregiver!Kusakabe is making sure of that.

• Caregiver!Kusakabe, who doesn’t give a shit about jujutsu politics if he’s honest but Yaga was really close to him, and he owes him anyway.

• Caregiver!Kusakabe, who thinks Jujutsu High is unsafe for you, not to mention wandering around with all the active colonies nearby. He even sees you wrestling with a non-sorcerer who recently got their technique and foolishly decided to use it outside the colonies.

• Caregiver!Kusakabe, who just takes you in. Pack your bags, kiddo, you’re coming with me Why? Well… about that…

• Caregiver!Kusakabe, who is completely clueless about what people your age need or like. Sure, he’s seen you before, tagging along with Yaga to meetings and missions, forcing everyone in the car to listen to your favorite songs. But witnessing you up close is different. Every action will have a consequences and Caregiver!Kusakabe can’t just say anything anymore. It doesn’t help that you completely fall apart upon hearing the news.

• Caregiver!Kusakabe, who speaks gruffly but tries to create a welcoming atmosphere. He makes you warm soup and piles pillows in the guest room so you can hide there as long as you want.

• Caregiver!Kusakabe, who doesn’t sleep during the first week. You’re calm and collected during the day, but when night falls, it’s like your brain switches to dark mode and you spiral. You cry about not knowing what to do, about wanting Yaga back, and Caregiver!Kusakabe suspects you’re having panic attacks. It’s messy and ungraceful. Used tissues all around you, your face is all puffy and your head hurts from crying so much. At first, he just lies in his bed, listening to your muffled voice from the other room. Even though there’s guilt in him for not doing anything, Caregiver!Kusakabe can’t bring himself to face you like that yet. Caregiver!Kusakabe’s main concern is you slipping into depression. That’s never a good thing but in the middle of the chaos, it’s even less ideal and could be dangerous. You need to be on top of your game.

“You’re following a routine, right?” “Do you experience a loss in your interests?” “We can… talk… or whatever.” All sentences spoken with discomfort. He tried looking things up on the internet to monitor your mental well-being. Unfortunately, it’s a touchy subject and you tend to push him away.

He has no idea where the line is or exactly what to do, meanwhile, he’s mourning too. An unlucky combo, so he remains careful with what he does.

Caregiver!Kusakabe then finally sits on the edge of your bed at 3 a.m., telling you that you’re unharmed as you curl up and sob. At this point, you’re pretty shameless about it. The uneven breaths, the occasional urge to pull at your hair, the unladylike swearing, you let it all out. The poor man has no idea what else to say, he’s just trying to reassure both of you. You’re unharmed, you’re unharmed, you’re unharmed…

In a way, he’s made himself responsible for you, so he actually worries about what happens to you. Plus, Yaga would punch him in the afterlife if you got hurt.

• Caregiver!Kusakabe, who sometimes cannot bear to look at you. For sentimental reasons, you have some of the principal’s belongings. He feels sad and empty seeing you wear a t-shirt that clearly isn’t your size, emblazoned with Yaga’s favourite band logos.

Sometimes your mannerisms reflect his, likely picked up unconsciously. It’s amusing to see a girl your age raise a fist in anger and even more so when she actually punches something.

What wipes the subtle smile off Kusakabe’s face is when you talk like him, too. Excessive cursing, yelling with a rough edge, chewing off the ends of sentences, it’s like talking to a mini-Yaga. Spending time with you breaks and rebuilds him in cycles. One time, when you watch a sports channel with him and argue with the commentator in such a familiar way, it gets too much, and he has to dash to the bathroom.

That shit came out of nowhere. He doesn’t cry but it was a close call. • Caregiver!Kusakabe, who sometimes catches you looking at pictures and videos of Yaga on your phone and slowly, awkwardly closes the door to let you be.

• Caregiver!Kusakabe, who used to prefer being at his sister’s because his apartment was too lonely. But now, with you there, it’s lively.

He takes pictures of your shoes next to his, the books you leave on the kitchen counter, the almost-empty spice jars he barely used before, the finally worn-down pencils. All evidence of your presence. Proof that he’s able to provide safety for you. The picture are sent to Yaga’s phone later, even if no one will look at them anymore. • Caregiver!Kusakabe, who starts taking the jujutsu bullshit more seriously. Meaning, he doesn’t just stop at taking measurements for himself and his sister, he begins taking more initiative at Jujutsu High and training the students as well.

He’d always had a feeling you wouldn’t be very elegant in your fighting style, likely due to a certain influence. But when he actually sees you spar, throwing punches with no regard for your bones or flesh, he’s more than a little surprised.

Fuck him up, brat. (╥﹏╥)

(╥﹏╥)all rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.

[kashimopilled]

hiii could I request a second part of the caregiver!kusakabe if u have a moment ofc :3

caregiver!Kusakabe grief comfort (╥﹏╥) cw: post Shibuya setting, mention of char. death(Yaga), grief, discussion of death-related themes and afterlife, fluff(?), Kusakabe-style comfort, crying note: (referenced post here) hi! This is an old request but you see, my inspiration hits very randomly. Dunno if you wanted more headcanons or a drabble but I went for a drabble, I hope that’s okay. I originally wanted to post nsfw kashimo content today but I’m mentally so unwell these days, I am incapable of finishing those kinds of fics and am more drawn to angsty stuff. Maybe tomorrow? Anyways uhm,,, my parental issues are showing, aren’t they?

Kusakabe enjoys his privacy. He has always prioritized his own comfort and while that may make him a shitty human being, it also means he’s honest. Plus, he has to stay alive for his sister.

That privacy he enjoys so much is now partially gone. He knew taking a kid in comes with sacrifices but based on your attitude and personality, Kusakabe never expected you to seek him out, ever. You were supposed to be one of those emotionally constipated ones, like the Fushiguro brat.

Worming your way up to Kusakabe’s chest between tangling limbs and the covers, you sniffle quietly. It’s annoying how your body seems to move stubbornly like water, prying fingers from the mattress to make space for yourself. He fights it at first. His body stiffens and his instincts tell him to roll onto his other side.

“Nh…sensei,” you mumble, already tugging on the hem of Kusakabe’s sleeping shirt like you know that will prevent him from turning over. He grunts, forcing himself to stay still. You tug again as the pillow’s dent gets bigger under your shared weight. What even is personal space? “I have questions.”

One of Kusakabe’s eyes creaks open, a slightly annoyed expression now on his face. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“What’s dying like?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Your voice is all meek and quiet, somehow damp, like you’ve been crying. Kusakabe Atsuya is definitely not equipped to be having this conversation. He can’t resist scooting away from you, only for you to crawl after him instinctively. Your sudden change in behaviour is disconcerting.

“How am I supposed to know? I’ve never died before,” he grunts but then your next sniffles make him rephrase his words. “I guess it depends on the cause of death.”

“So…what if the person dies because of blood loss? Because of wounds. And the wounds,” you trail off, getting more and more specific and Kusakabe already has an idea where you’re going with this. “They’re shaped like an X on the chest. Like this.”

To demonstrate, you draw the shape on the man’s chest with your index finger. The fabric under your fingertip folds here and there as you connect invisible dots from shoulders to ribs. It’s like you’re reenacting what had happened to Yaga, trying to make sense of it. What an uncomfortable feeling. It’s just your finger, not a blade. Just a warm, defined pressure dragging along his upper body. Kusakabe catches your wrist before you can finish the second line, holding your hand away from his upper body.

“That’s a bizarre question and I won’t answer it.”

“Well, what if—“

“Nope. Nope. You sorcerer kids are all so weird in the head. It creeps me out.”

You huff out a breath but your hand stays slack in Kusakabe’s grip. It makes him feel a bit guilty. You’re just a kid, trying to process loss, grief and everything else. Moonlight catches on your cheek where your tears stain your skin. Mourning the dead is hard, he knows that.

“Just… ask something normal,” Kusakabe grumbles finally. He lets go of your hand before smoothing out his sleeping shirt by tugging it down and to the side, as if erasing that question that hit him harder than he’d admit.

Truthfully, he has thought about the Principal’s death. Neither of them were ever the sentimental types but dying alone, in that cruel way, must have been awful. He must’ve thought about you, maybe even worried about your safety until his last breath. Did he feel panic? In the man’s opinion, that’s the worst out of all the possible emotions.

“You know, sensei,” you begin, quieter now. Your fingers curl around the edge of Kusakabe’s sleeve. “I wonder if death is like when before someone is born.”

It’s way too late for this philosophical bullshit. Still, your caregiver forces himself to indulge you.

“What does that mean.” Yeah, literally what the fuck does that mean?

“Uhm… well what does it feel like when someone isn’t born yet? I think maybe death is like that. So it’s not even like sleeping. S’just all… gone.”

Kusakabe can tell you’re blinking up at him expectantly now, even in the dark, but he really isn’t equipped for ideological talks about the afterlife and he’s a bit surprised that someone so similar to Yaga would still get hung up on… nah. You’re just a kid, he thinks. It’s normal to be curious. It’s normal to want to explore these ideas after the death of a loved one. He sighs so deeply, his chest puffs out.

“Yeah. It’s probably all gone,” Kusakabe replies after a moment of silence. His own reply makes him think about what you just said, quieting every other thought.

All gone?

The personality traits, goals, the accumulation of memories, everything wiped out. Tilting his head to the side, Kusakabe watches you in silence, chewing on his lower lip, since he doesn’t have a cigarette or lollipop to occupy his mouth with.

“Not all gone,” he corrects himself with a softened voice now. With his index finger, he taps against the side of your windpipe. “Some of it is here.”

“I think you’re s’posed to say he’s in my heart or somethin’.”

“Sure, if you want to be all metaphorical. But to me, the most obvious thing is here,” the man replies, tapping your neck again.

“My throat?” Your voice slides an octave in confusion.

“Well, you talk like him.”

“Hah?” The sound comes rougher now, painfully familiar. It’s the same when Yaga got offended or upset by something.

“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

You don’t have anything smart to respond with to that and so you just accept the observation. It is nice to know that you carry a piece of Yaga but, maybe because you’re greedy, it’s not enough. A car drives by outside, underlining the strange peace that settles in the room. Now that Kusakabe pays attention to your face a bit more, he can see a dark spot forming on your cheekbone. Based on the last few days’ events, you were probably hit in the face with something when you were “launched into the air”, as you put it. You’re such a careless brute.

“Sensei.”

“What.”

“…sometimes, when somethin’ happens, I think about what he would say. Or just… I just think about how much I want the principal to still experience things.”

“Kid…”

“That’s allowed, right? If he had been really old, I would think that it’s okay and what is here now wasn’t his to experience anymore. But he wasn’t old, it wasn’t his time yet, so he really should get to—“ Your voice breaks and you sniffle once again, gripping the fabric between your strangely weak fingers as tightly as you can.

Kusakabe doesn’t pull you close when you start crying again. Partly because he’s not the affectionate type, partly because what you’re saying is having an uncomfortable effect on him. Without his consent, his mind does what you described, imagining what Yaga would say or do in particular moments. And yes, you’re right. It wasn’t his time yet. It was murder and no natural cause, which is something that your young mind likely struggles to understand even less than he does.

“Well, first of all, I know you were on first-name basis, so you don’t have to use the title for my sake. Second,” he pauses and places his hand close to yours. “It is allowed. You’d be allowed to want him back even if he had been one hundred years and a day old.”

That came out more sensible than either of you would expect from a man like Kusakabe. You wipe tears, possibly snot, with your lower arm from your face, much to the man’s chagrin. You’ll get your kid fluids all over his freshly washed sheets.

“I think—ngh—about death a lot,” you mumble.

“Yeah, no shit.”

“I don’t want anyone else to d-die.”

There is nothing to add to that.

“You won’t die,” Kusakabe replies.

“No, I mean, I don’t want others to die. I really don’t.” Another vehicle passes by, something smaller but fast, tearing through the quiet with its roaring engine.

“Sorry but… I’m not a good person. I only care about keeping you alive.” It’s true. Kusakabe has always been in favour of Itadori Yuji’s execution, for example. It’s a miracle his horizon has been expanded enough for him to care about you. He won’t offer you empty words about helping everyone stay safe.

“You’re so mean, sensei.”

In contrast to people like Yaga or Nanami, hell, Gojo, he really is mean. But if he thinks about everyone else, higher-ups, Kyoto school, sorcerers not associated with Jujutsu High, curse users, his morals are pretty average. Apparently, average isn’t enough when it comes to kids.

Kusakabe exhales through his nose, long and tired, like he’s trying to push the whole conversation out of his lungs. It doesn’t work. You’re still there, curled into him, breathing uneven, clutching onto his sleeve.

“…Yeah,” he mutters after a while. “Guess I am.”

“Do you only want me here because of Masamichi?”

Kusakabe flicks the sore spot on your cheekbone, making you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Ow.”

“Don’t put words into my mouth.” He soothes the area immediately with his calloused thumb. The dull pressure alleviates the pain. “Obviously that’s part of it.”

“Is it because I remind you of him?”

The thumb on your cheekbone stills. Then starts drawing small circles again. It’s not like he has to think about his answer, he already knows it’s part of it too. He just takes a moment to actually compare those parts of you to his now deceased friend.

“Oi, sensei,” you scrunch up your nose and tug on his sleeve again, more insistently. Your question remains unanswered.

“You’re supposed to be asleep in your bed,” he grumbles.

“Can I be asleep here?”

The man stares at you for a while, nostrils flaring.

There are a lot of things he could say right now. A lot of reasonable, responsible, adult things. Things like simply no, or go back to your room, or you’re too big for this.

“Have you done that with him or something?” He scoffs.

“Well, not much but—“

“Then why would I let you stay?”

“…oh.”

Something about that quiet, disappointed sound makes Kusakabe feel an emotion akin to guilt again. “Because I’m stupid,” he replies to his own question reluctantly. He can feel the hopeful smile spread across your face by the way the skin under his hand creases.

“Don’t be so pleased.”

It’s useless. You’re already shuffling closer, like all the grief has made you lose inhibitions.

“Great,” Kusakabe grumbles but doesn’t stop you. He’s not sure what hand placement would be appropriate, so in the end, he doesn’t put his arms around you at all. It’s an awkward position and he prays you’ll both fall asleep soon. “Anything else?”

“I really wish he was here,” you mumble into the sleeve that’s now under your cheek like a big but solid pillow. “I like to imagine that he’s just elsewhere. Like in the convenience store or somethin’ and we just never happen to meet up. But he’s out there and really busy.”

You pause, chewing on the inside of your cheek, clearly debating whether you should say your next thoughts out loud.

“Maybe if I’m at the right place at the right time…”

That isn’t the healthiest approach to processing someone’s death but Kusakabe supposes it could be worse.

“For now, you are at the right place. Yeah?”

This time, you just nod obediently into his arm, muscles growing limp and heavy.

“Sensei.”

“What now?”

“Thanks for caring ‘n stuff.”

Kusakabe doesn’t respond. If he did respond, that would make what you just said way too real. He doesn’t want it to be real. “You’re heavy,” he mutters instead. His arm is going numb under you.

With a quiet sigh, he allows his chin to settle on the top of your head as he stares into the dark room. Yaga could be standing at the door right now. Secretly, he relates to your words. Yaga just needs to come back already. Yank you away from him and make everything go back to the way it was.

So, come on, old man. Take her.

Nothing happens. The shadows don’t shift, the floorboards don’t creak. And you stay at Kusakabe’s side, breaths evening out.

Slowly, hesitantly, with little pauses mid-way, he tugs you closer by the waistband of your thick pajama pants and then immediately lets his hand drop back to the mattress, that’s the most he’s willing to do. Fine, if Yaga’s not taking you back, he’s keeping you.

(╥﹏╥)all rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.