Again and again | Part Eight | The shrine Hajime Kashimo x Reader. lovers to strangers. incarnation. amnesia. yearning. cw: emotional distress, references to sickness, suggestive themes, curse exorcism, reader is attacked and manhandled, protective!Kashimo 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. note: hehe who might the guest star be >.< Part Seven Part Nine
Hajime has been scolding himself for bringing you along on his little journey the whole time, whenever he had the time to actually think, that is.
Because so far, your mere existence has made his thoughts crash and reboot more often than Hajime would’ve anticipated. He hadn’t actually planned on asking you to come when he had entered the room, but then he saw your dumb face, with cake frosting all over it, and just blurted it out. From there, there was no going back.
It was a mistake. You’re not a bad travelling companion, and he doesn’t doubt you’re a good mission partner too, but now you’re going to be sick because of him. The stupid rain. His own back is drenched from shielding you, but he can ignore the constant sensory nightmare of cold, wet fabric glued to his skin pretty well.
Hajime was having all kinds of flashbacks. The ones that make him think of his wife’s raspy voice when she was coughing a little, of her flushed cheeks and soft mewls, and her weak attempts at pawing at him to get his attention. Enough time has passed for Hajime to make peace with the fact that he was ready to confess his love to her that day and that he wanted to fuck her so, so bad.
However, he is also reminded of what that illness ultimately did to her. It weakened her and offered the perfect opportunity for the scumbags to attack. While one side of Hajime wants to fantasize and yearn for what the sickness did to her body, the other is anxious just thinking about it. Feelings swirl in Hajime like nasty ingredients in a witch’s cauldron, creating a nauseating mix.
It doesn’t matter how dramatic his actions might be now, he can’t let you be sick. One, that would make it very hard for him to hold back. Two, if you’re sick, you’re weak, and there is no way he’s making the same mistake twice.
The harsh rain had stopped after about half an hour, thankfully. That half an hour had tested Hajime’s restraint. The urge to roll his hips against you had returned, but he suppressed it. Especially when you started yapping about him wanting to sacrifice you, Hajime had to pull himself together.
It doesn’t really rain anymore, but a raindrop does land on Hajime’s face every now and then. The leaves on the ground, now wet, don’t crunch anymore, softened by the rainwater. It’s just a mess of mud and sticky plants and recovering bugs.
“Sooo, will you tell me what we’re doing here?”
Hajime glances at you over his shoulder. You’re standing there with damp hair sticking to your face, cheeks slightly red. He tries to convince himself it’s just from the exertion of the hike, not a fever.
He can see how you take in the less-than-graceful cursed shrine, with your brows knit together and your lips pulled to the side into a confused pout. Your reaction is understandable. The red paint has long faded, the intricate designs stretching across the pillars chipped off, and some pieces of the framing are broken or the mold has eaten them away.
Torii gates are missing completely, and the statues in the area are unrecognizable from the dark green moss coating them. A single shimenawa rope hangs from the entrance; one end has fallen from where it was suspended, and it grazes the dirty ground. Due to its weight, it doesn’t even sway when the wind blows.
It’s hard to tell when exactly the shrine got abandoned, but judging by the looks of it, at least a century ago.
“Cleaning up,” Hajime replies gruffly. He takes the first steps toward the entrance, ignoring how something small and wooden creaks under his feet. Probably a heart-shaped ema.
“We came here to revamp a shrine?” Your voice comes out slightly appalled.
“I suppose you can think of it like that.”
Hajime stops abruptly when he notices you’re not coming along. You’re still standing there, gawking at the building that towers in front of you. Following your gaze, he can see that you’re looking at the pillars, the statues, all the places where the shrine’s purpose could be given away. But it’s useless, the place is way too neglected for any specific symbols to be visible.
“Oi,” he calls out and nods toward the entrance, gesturing for you to follow along. The sound snaps you out of your haze, and you quickly make your way to the older sorcerer.
“Heh, sorry.”
Inside, most of the interior is missing. Valuables were stolen, offerings long rotted away or taken, leaving behind only warped floorboards and the skeletal remains of what might’ve once been an altar. The air is stale, thick with damp wood.
A single wooden fox statue lies sideways in a corner.
“Not to be annoying, but there’s not much to clean up here,” you chime in as Hajime walks with measured steps toward the little fox.
“No, there isn’t.”
He’s agreeing but also not elaborating. Crouching down, he picks it up and places it on the altar built into the wall at the center. Then, he wipes the dust off the surface there, using the baggy sleeve of his robe. It’s already gotten dirty anyway. White is not the best choice for a walk in the woods, nor for a sorcerer in general.
“Oh,” you perk up at the sight of him dusting off the object, “That’s a fox!”
“So?”
“Foxes are used in love shrines.”
“So they are,” Hajime replies flatly.
“This is a love shrine.”
“You just love pointing out the obvious, don’t you?”
A soft exhale escapes your lips from behind Hajime’s crouching form. Right. He can’t stay too long because you’re both still wet, and he’d prefer to have you back at Jujutsu High. Still, he came here for unfinished business.
“I have several questions,” you state, and based on the way the wooden floor creaks, you must be shifting your weight from one leg to the other.
“Are they stupid questions?”
Hajime rises to his feet, then starts walking around in the room, visibly searching for something.
“I don’t think so. Did we come here so you could put that thing back into place and dust it off?”
“That’s a very stupid question.”
His loud footsteps are followed by yours as you look around curiously, trying to notice any details that could give something away. The interior isn’t unusual, though. Just plain walls, windows, dust bunnies, and spiderwebs, dim smaller rooms.
Then the subtle tension of cursed residuals hits the man’s skin, the scent of something metallic and burnt climbs up his nose. Instinctively, Hajime steps a bit closer to you.
His eyes zero in on the residuals that slowly start to appear on the ground once he focuses on them.
“There you are,” he mumbles to no one in particular, and grabbing your wrist, he starts following the trail.
It’s faint but enough to see how it snakes past the warped planks and into one of the side rooms, barely visible, like heat shimmering above asphalt.
The doorway ahead sags slightly to one side, its frame split from years of neglect. The residuals gather there, pooling like spilled molasses.
Hajime pauses just before stepping through. You bump into his back with a little huff, your nose pressing against the heavy, cold fabric.
“What? Did the curse put up a ‘do not enter’ sign?”
Hajime tuts, not appreciating your little comment, but doesn’t reply. A low table is placed against one of the walls, and he crouches down again. The cursed energy pulses from there weakly.
“Found you,” he addresses the curse in a surprisingly neutral manner. Not only because he isn’t worried about the curse harming you, it’s not that strong but also because he really doesn’t see curses as enemies, just mindless pests.
“You know that one?” you ask, tilting your head curiously.
“No. I just expected this one to form.”
“Right.”
Slowly, the curse, one of those disfigured ones with random limbs that usually can only repeat one specific sentence, climbs out from under the bed. It doesn’t look scared, nor hostile. Just a stupid amalgation of legs, a torso, fingers all over. It makes that familiar, creepy noise all curses make. At the same time, the crouching sorcerer rises to his feet.
Hajime wastes no time exorcising it. He reaches for his nyoi bo, strapped to his waist, and with a quick lightning bolt shooting out, the curse is hit. The small space lights up for that brief moment when the electricity appears, and soon the curse is evaporating, leaving behind more of the burnt smell. It happens fast, even that little spark used has an overwhelming presence. It’s enough to do the job under a second.
The curse might have been a more powerful one once, but the abandoned place means there had been nothing to nurture it. Just an underfed little thing, barely surviving.
“You know…” Hajime trails off, unsure how much he should reveal. Talking about things in a place you both will eventually leave is easier, like the topic discussed inside will be left behind too. Besides, having you at his side on a mission makes Hajime feel oddly nostalgic. Damn it, he’s lonely, starved for your voice, for her voice, for conversation. “This one was probably my fault. Back in my day, I did something. And it caused a lot of pain for a whole bunch of people.”
Hajime mentally scolds himself for how his voice softens. It’s not like he regrets it. He doesn’t think about burning up the village at all. He feels no remorse. However, he wanted to put the curse to rest, in a way. To try to finish the story, to have a clear head. Bringing you along makes even less sense now.
“So I was sure the non-sorcerers would form a curse because of the incident.”
You’re quiet for a while, staring down at where the curse was moments ago, probably trying to piece the puzzle together.
“You don’t seem like the type to care, though. I mean, about exorcising, especially a spirit of this size,” you state finally, rightfully so.
Hajime’s shoulders rise and fall as he shrugs, almost as if in slow motion.
“I don’t.” Partly, that’s actually true.
Silence falls, Hajime’s back still turned to you. “Don’t worry about it,” he adds.
You don’t seem very satisfied with his explanations, but eventually, you just give him a nod. The statue thingy remains a mystery, and for now, you let it be. There’s not much to it anyway, Hajime would say if he was feeling generous. His wife just used to visit this shrine. No big deal.
Outside, the air hasn’t lost its humidity. Hajime’s hair is starting to become frizzy and messy. So is yours, and the pink tinting your cheeks hasn’t disappeared.
A poorly suppressed cough reminds Hajime that you’re both still wet and cold. It will be dark already once the two of you get home, so it’s about time to leave.
However, fate or something equally annoying seems to have other plans.
Hajime knows it before he makes his second step. The sharp sting of strong cursed energy, approaching from somewhere distant but definitely on its way toward the shrine.
He freezes, immediately reaching for the collar of your shirt to put you behind him. What he doesn’t expect is just how fast that thing is and that it goes straight for you.
One moment, you’re standing next to Hajime, the next, you’re yanked away. Mud, plants, and probably pieces of a nearby tree trunk fly in all directions as your body comes to a halt many meters away from your companion, legs almost slipping out from the impact.
Before that can happen, a man unknown to Hajime catches you, hoisting you up like you’re a clumsy stray kitten.
“Well, what do we have here,” the man drawls with a sneer as your legs dangle, brushing the mud below, and you thrash around, trying to escape his grip. “Been looking for you.”
“Put. Her. Down.”
Hajime speaks calmly, though with a subtle edge in his voice, weapon already at hand. In that moment, his brain cannot process any implications, he doesn’t think about possible explanations for what the hell is happening or who that man even thinks he is. The pole bending slightly in his grip from how hard he’s holding onto it doesn’t even register for him.
He just sees red, red, red. “Heh,” the man chuckles, tilting his head as he looks you over, eyes dragging from your face down to your legs and back up again. The Culling Game player is ignored by him completely. “You’ve gotten a little less pathetic since I last saw you.” You try kneeing him in the ribs, crotch, anywhere, but it’s useless. During those seconds, a little electricity sparkles in Hajime’s hair before he lunges. The man catches on just in time and pulls you closer before moving out of the way with surprising speed. Hajime is used to being fast, the fastest and the quick movements of the unknown man catch him off-guard once again. The distance to the shrine grows, Hajime ends up in the spot you and the man were in but the two of you are already somewhere else, standing between three bigger trees. Is this what Kinji meant when he mentioned you always getting into trouble? “And who the hell are you?” The man asks, nose scrunching up, as if he’s disgusted by the inconvenience. He probably noticed Hajime’s own speed. You twist in his hold again. “He’s—”
A hand clamps over your mouth before you can finish, shoving your head back against his shoulder.
“Don’t interrupt, the men are talking,” the man mutters, irritation slipping into his tone. “You’ve been a pain in the ass to track down, you know that?”
Hajime’s eye twitches.
That does it.
The ground cracks beneath his foot as he steps forward, fast enough to blur, electricity snapping in the air like a warning shot—
—and you and the man are already gone.
A sharp gust tears through the clearing, mud and leaves scattering violently. Hajime’s strike hits nothing but empty space, lightning carving a jagged line through the shrine’s outer wall.
“Tch.” So, that guy is fast. Fine. But he won’t be fast enough. “You’re annoying,” the man declares, his voice comes from the other side of the shrine now. Hajime’s head snaps towards the sound. You’re still in the guy’s grip, shifted slightly under his arm like he’s done it a thousand times before. “And not part of her usual group of losers. I’m guessing you haven’t known each other for long. So you shouldn’t mind if I take her.”
Part Seven Part Nine all rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.