Chapter Text
Chapter Forty-Eight: The Texts of Doom
It took exactly three days.
Three days of dodging fan mail, shrine aunties showing up with “congrats” cookies, and Sesshōmaru tweeting cryptic nonsense like:
“Legacy is not planned—it is inevitable. #TrueMateConfirmed.”
Three days of pretending the ring didn’t weigh five metric tons on her finger.
And then it happened.
Her phone buzzed. She froze. Because it was that text.
From her mother.
Mom:
Anything you want to tell me? 💕
Kagome groaned so loudly the neighborhood cat bolted off the steps.
Yep. She knew.
Of course she knew. The internet knew. The council knew. Random demon aunties in Osaka probably knew. And her mom, her sweet, terrifying, shrine-gossip-harboring mom, definitely knew.
Kagome typed. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted. Threw her phone across the couch. Picked it back up.
Another buzz.
Mom:
Is there a date set?
Probably knowing him.
“Oh my god,” Kagome whispered to the ceiling, like maybe the gods would suddenly remember they were HER gods and not Sesshōmaru’s infernal hype team.
Her mother was already asking about a DATE.
Of course she was. She probably had the registry bookmarked. Kagome buried her face in a cushion. Contemplated suffocating herself. Decided against it because she had shrine duties at 3 p.m.
Her phone buzzed again. She peeked. Not her mother this time.
Nope. Worse.
Kohaku:
Moving kinda fast, huh?
Kagome’s soul left her body.
She sat straight up, hair sticking out like she’d just wrestled a thunder god.
“Oh no. Oh no no no no.”
Because that was not a “casual check-in” text.
That was an ex-with-abs-and-nostalgia-receipts text.
That was a “so I see you soul-bound yourself while I was still unpacking my Henleys” text.
Her phone buzzed again.
Kohaku:
I mean…three months ago you were shrine single.
Now you’re shrine…married? Engaged? Moon-tied?
She screamed into the pillow. Loud. Long. The kind of scream that shook the ancestral dust from the beams.
Because of course.
Of course the ex she all but ghosted was now watching her engagement unfold on Twitter like it was a K-drama live premiere. And she could already imagine Sesshōmaru’s response if he saw this text.
Cold. Dry. Murderous.
Something like: “Exes are invalid once the gods intervene. Delete your number.”
Kagome flopped back on the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might swallow her whole.
Her mom was planning a wedding. Her ex was texting like he’d been ghosted by destiny. Her fiancé was tweeting inspirational murder quotes. And her? She was praying for a meteor.
Kagome sat there, phone clutched in both hands, debating whether she should:
1. Respond to Kohaku and risk her entire sanity.
2. Respond to her mother and risk accidentally agreeing to something insane like a Taishō-funded shrine wedding with a guest list of three hundred demons and a kagura troupe.
3. Throw the phone in the koi pond and fake her death.
Option three was looking really good.
She decided, begrudgingly, to start with her mother. Her thumbs hovered. But before she could type a single carefully neutral “Haha, very funny, nothing’s official yet lol,” another bubble popped up.
Mom:
What about a shrine wedding? 🕊️✨
It would be so beautiful! Very traditional. Very us.
Kagome’s soul short-circuited.
A shrine wedding. At her shrine. The one Sesshōmaru had essentially co-signed into existence with zoning clauses and moonstone blood money.
“Oh no,” she muttered. “Oh no no no.”
Because her mom wasn’t just spitballing. Her mom was already probably Pinterest-boarding. Before Kagome could even type “Please stop,” another buzz.
Not from Mom.
From Kohaku.
Kohaku:
Would it be inappropriate for us to talk about this?
Kagome dropped the phone like it burned.
Talk about this? What even was “this” in Kohaku-speak? The five years of history? The smoothies? The shrine steps hug that Twitter turned into a meme?
Or—oh gods—did he mean “this” as in her engagement ring currently locked to her soul by divine binding magic?
She picked the phone back up, palms sweaty, regretting every single life decision that led her here.
Three dots blinked. Kohaku was still typing. She wanted to scream.
Because in the span of thirty seconds, she was now juggling:
• A mother planning her shrine wedding without consent.
• An ex-boyfriend gently probing for “closure” like they were in a therapy drama.
• A daiyōkai fiancé who would absolutely nuke Japan off the map if he saw either of these text threads.
Her eye twitched.
“I need a nap,” she whispered. “Or a time machine.”
Her phone buzzed again.
Mom:
White kimono? Yes? I’ll call your grandfather.
Kagome did the only thing she could think of.
She threw the phone under the couch cushions, rolled onto the floor, and screamed into the tatami like a woman possessed.
Because she knew, she knew, it was only a matter of time before Sesshōmaru came home, poured himself a cup of tea, and asked calmly why her spiritual aura smelled like guilt.
And that? That would be the end of her.