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seravphs · 11 months

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beating hearts promised to bared teeth — part one: “The God Finds A Familiar”

KITSUNE! GOJO x GOD! FEM READER; KAMISAMA HAJIMEMASHITA AU

When a kind stranger offers you his home because your gambling addict of a father can’t pay rent, you’re left in charge of a shrine - with a catch. Once you arrive at your new home, you learn a crucial fact that he conveniently left out. You’re the new god in charge, and his familiar, who now belongs to you, does not like you. What’s a new god to do, especially when she finds herself slowly falling for the fox spirit?

wc — 10k

tags — enemies to lovers, shoujo manga heroine type reader, Japanese mythology/yokai, age gap (1000 year old fox and high school girl), slowburn, cameo from Sukuna, Toji, and Nanami, cameo from original Kamisama Hajimemashita cast

part two — “The God Finds A Husband” (coming soon)

shoujo series masterlist

If your stomach growls any louder, you’ll scare off the squirrels fighting over the end of a baguette loaf by the park bench you’re sitting on.

You’re currently in the middle of what others might describe as very hard times. To be honest, your very hard times have been going on for a while now - they just culminated at this specific moment. Regardless, these days are only temporary. You’ve promised yourself that one day, you’ll be able to smile from the bottom of your heart.

It’s just that it was easier said than done when you weren’t homeless. Your father has never been the most reliable of men. You had to take over the household finances by the time you were eight, so you’ve always been accustomed to his lack of responsibility, but today really solidified his status in your mind as an absolutely useless, no good man. It’s unfathomable cruelty to have left his only daughter with no money, no relatives, and no home.

You don’t want to call it cruel. For all of his faults, you still love your father. And it’s because you love him that you know this wasn’t a cruel act. Cruelty is intentional. It’s malicious. It comes from a desire to hurt. Your father has never wanted to hurt you. It’s just a byproduct of his gambling addiction. You’re collateral damage in his quest for the jackpot that would solve all his problems.

You double over in agony at the renewed complaints from your stomach. At least you’ve gone from scaring mere squirrels to scaring passersby. That’s an upgrade, right?

One woman clutches her purse closer as she walks past you as briskly as possible. You get it, you look bad.

But there’s no use being resentful. Your father has been barely one step above a deadbeat all your life. At the very least, you’re used to fending for yourself. Your stomach growls again, but you’re determined to ignore it. You need a plan of action. One step after another, you’ll make it out of these troublesome times.

Before you can start to plot, a loud cry for help catches your attention. It sounds like someone else is in even more dire straits than you are, which is saying a lot.

The squirrels have long since scattered, run off not by the scary noises coming from your famished stomach, but a pack of dogs. Somehow, a man has climbed several feet into the tree next to the trash can, and now perched precariously in its branches. Below him, curious dogs tilt their heads and give cautious barks.

“Aw, hello there, cuties,” you coo, rubbing behind their ears. They yip at you enthusiastically. One sets to chasing his own tail around the tree. They seem friendly enough, but you suppose one can’t help their phobias. A little regretfully, you chase them off.

“Go on now,” you tell the last one, leading him away. He whines, but does as you say. What a good boy.

“Thank you,” says the stranger stranded in the tree. He slides down the trunk, face slowly regaining color. “I owe you my life.”

“It was nothing!” You smile, but he won’t let you brush off your good deed.

“You’re a good kid,” he nods approvingly. “Gotta reward that. Is there anything you want?”

A home.

Not just the house you shared with your father, but somewhere warm to return to. A person who waits to see you safely inside the threshold.

But you know a stranger can’t give you that, so you shake your head and smile. “Really, it was nothing. You don’t owe me anything.”

As if he had heard your inner monologue, the stranger raises an eyebrow. “A home, hm? I might be able to help with that.”

Before you can react, he leans in and kisses your forehead. Where his lips touched your skin feels faintly warm and tingly, almost like the sensation of your leg going numb, before you recoil from him in shock.

He presses a map into your hand and tells you, “Go to this address. Tell them Yaga sent you, and you’ll be welcomed with open arms.”

With that, he runs off.

What a strange man.

Well, you’ve had a strange life, taking care of your hopeless father and all. Perhaps these things really did happen. It wasn’t so impossible for strangers to appear out of nowhere and reward you for good deeds. Maybe all the fairytales your father had read to you back when he hadn’t been so terrible were true.

Or maybe that was the wishful thinking of an optimistically delusional girl who needed somewhere to stay desperately.

The address is located on the outskirts of town. Pushing deeper into foliage and closer to forest than civilization, you find the location you had been sent to.

It’s a shrine.

A run-down shrine, of all places.

Are you on a comedy show? Should you start checking for cameras?

Against your will, you feel your eyes grow hot. That was a cruel trick to play. He had gotten your hopes up for nothing.

It’s not just your eyes. Your entire body starts to feel warm. The world around you erupts into blue flame. Heat licks at your shins as you scramble towards safety, closer to the center of the circle that has formed around you.

When the flames suddenly leap, as if they’ll consume the entire sky, you scream and drop to your knees, covering your head like it’s a bomb threat. Two childish voices ring in your head, as clear and crisp as bells.

Welcome home, Yaga-sama.

It’s a shrine. There’s only one logical conclusion.

This is a haunting.

There’s only one safe path out of the ring of fire, and it’s towards the building you’ve now concluded is the site of paranormal activity. Between being actively burned alive or facing spirits though, you know which one you’ll choose.

Your frantic fingers fumble over the latch on the shrine’s red doors as the fire inches closer and closer until you can feel its heat on your back. Finally, you throw open the doors and all but launch yourself inside. The heat recedes, but the voices do not.

“Back already, Yaga?” A male voice drawls. “I thought your pilgrimage would’ve taken longer. After leaving me to maintain the shrine by myself for sixty years -“

You shriek as an enormous, clawed hand comes down towards your face. Your eyes squeeze shut, waiting for the end.

“I’m not Yaga,” you wail, hoping it will save you.

“You have a lot of nerve?” The voice finishes, more uncertainly than before. When you deem it safe to open your eyes once more, what stands before is a young man dressed in all white. White hair and blue eyes make for a staring constraint, but his coloring isn’t what’s strange about him.

It’s his clawed hands and the equally white fox tail behind him.

“Megumi, Tsumiki,” he says authoritatively. “This isn’t Yaga.”

A shining ball of fire comes forward, speaking in the little girl’s voice you heard earlier. “That can’t be right! Look, she has the mark of the god on her forehead.”

You touch your forehead, remembering the warm tingly sensation you had felt when that man kissed you. Feeling slightly delirious, you start to laugh, only to grow alarmed when you find you can’t stop. You’re growing out of breath from your near hysterical laughing, tears streaming out of the corners of your eyes.

“Oh, great,” says the fox spirit. “She’s crazy.”

“She’s the one with the mark,” the other ball of fire, Megumi, says. “That means she’s the god whether you like it or not, Gojo.”

Tsumiki darts over to you, but halfway through her journey, she goes from fire to a little child just under 2 feet tall. She’s wearing a mask and plain blue yukata.

“We have to celebrate!” She claps her hands together in excitement. “Our god has finally returned!”

Gojo looks dismissively down on you. Your laughing fit is finally starting to die down, but he doesn’t seem impressed regardless. “What god? I won’t accept a little human girl as my master. She couldn’t handle the strength of a familiar like me.”

His condescension only makes you giggle harder. You can’t help it. Something about the fluffy fox ears protruding out of his head makes it hard to take him seriously.

“What strength?” You laugh in his face. “This shrine is so dilapidated, I doubt you’re anything special.”

Gojo looks away. “If she stays, I’m leaving. I won’t serve this kind of pathetic god.”

He disappears in a cloud of white smoke before Tsumiki can finish saying, “Don’t be like that!”

The will-o-wisp children introduce themselves to you as shrine spirits who look after the building. It takes a while, but by the time they kindly show you to the room where you’ll be staying, you can distinguish Tsumiki from Megumi by the differences in the masks they never take off.

Your room is simple and threadbare. The walls are paneled bamboo and the only furnishing is an old futon. Still, you’re grateful. It’s leagues better than sleeping in the woods, which is what you started this day fearing you would have to resort to. You’ve never been the type to complain, and you won’t start now, no matter how strange your life has gotten.

Fox spirits and will-o-wisp children don’t exist. They’re the stuff of myths. Maybe you’re just seeing things because you’re tired, you muse as you drift off to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning after a nice, long rest. The events of today will feel so far away, and you’ll be able to start over.

Or maybe you’re dead already, and you’re wandering in the Netherworld. Perhaps the reason you can see spirits is because you’re currently residing in their land. Your entire body seizes up as you jolt yourself back to wakefulness.

“Kamisama,” Tsumiki has crept back into your room. “Are you alright?”

You tell her to call you by her name. Calling you god just doesn’t feel right.

Gently, she nestles down by your pillow and puts her cold little hands on your forehead. Rather than shocking to your senses, it feels pleasant. When you were a little girl and got sick, your father used to let you stay home from school. He’d pack a towel with ice cubes and place it on your overheated forehead, staying up with you all night just to chat. It’s a good memory.

“It’ll be alright,” Tsumiki tells you in her gentle voice. “You’ll see.”

For spirits that supposedly take care of the shrine, you have a suspicion that Tsumiki and Megumi are pushing their work onto you when they brief you on your chores the next morning. It turns out godhood is a lot less summoning storms and a lot more doing yard work.

Tsumiki insists that keeping the shrine pure is important for keeping evil spirits away. For some reason, that means cleaning. When you ask about calling lightning or summoning lions, Megumi laughs at you.

“That’s Getou-sama’s job,” he says. “Your specialty is marriage. Yaga was very good at tying peoples’ fates together. You will be, too.”

He has more faith than you do in that regard. When it comes to chores, however, you’re more certain of your abilities. Busy work keeps the absurdity of your situation from sinking in, and you’re good at running the household from years of dealing with your father. You’re grateful for something to do. If you think about the past day too hard, you might break down into shocked laughter and never get back up.

Besides, even if you don’t feel particularly ready to be a god, Tsumiki and Megumi are letting you stay in the shrine. You have to earn your keep. Soon, you settle into the process of cleaning, letting the methodical, rhythmic nature of your movements erase any doubts in your mind. You think of nothing but the cooling sensation of the water when you dip your rag into the bucket and the clean, woody scent of the shrine as you scrub the wood.

“Ooh,” Tsumiki says approvingly when she appears. “It looks better already! Can you do the lawn next?”

Plucking weeds is notably less soothing than cleaning. With no gloves, you’re careful to avoid hurting yourself as you tug on spiky vines and knotted twigs, but it’s no use. Eventually, you lose focus and a sharp sting graces your finger. Blood drips down your hand. You hiss in pain.

A hand with white claws instead of nails grabs your wrist. You yelp in shock as Gojo brings your finger to his mouth and laps at the blood. It stains his lips slightly red. He worries at the cut with his tongue, making your wound ache. You try to pull back, but he holds on.

To your amazement, the cut closes before your eyes. You’re just about to thank him when he ruins the moment.

“You really are useless,” he says. “You can’t even pluck grass?”

You yank your hand out of his grip as hard as you can, sending yourself tumbling back against the grass. You hate how it must make yourself seem even more human in his eyes, a weak, fragile thing.

“Give up,” he says, and it’s almost gentle, the way his claws graze your chin as he holds your face in one hand. “You’re not suited to be a god.”

You turn away, unwilling to let him see any more of your vulnerability. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Suit yourself,” he says with a noise of annoyance. “Brats who run away from home aren’t my problem.”

“I didn’t run away!” You snap, whirling on him. “My dad was the one who ran! I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

But he’s gone.

At least Megumi and Tsumiki are nice to you. Megumi takes the bucket of weeds you deposit at the front door and whisks it somewhere out of your sight, while Tsumiki prepares a nice, hot bath for you. Exhausted, you collapse onto the bamboo floor spread eagle.

God, a voice murmurs in your head.

Not again. You don’t want any more spirits to deal with. When you raise your head, instead of another yokai, there’s an old woman standing in front of the shrine. Her head is bowed and her hands are clasped in prayer.

Please bless my daughter’s marriage so that she will enjoy a long and fruitful life with her partner.

Her voice is coming from some place inside your head. It resonates like a bell, ringing crisp and clear. You stretch out your hands wonderingly. You don’t look any different.

“You see?” Tsumiki says approvingly. “You’re a god.”’

But you don’t feel like one. You feel just like a normal person.

“A god needs a familiar.” You can’t see Megumi’s face behind his mask as he speaks, but you can imagine the solemn little boy he must be. “You need to bind Gojo to you.”

“How do I do that?”

“You have to kiss him.”

You wait for them to tell you they’re joking.

“What? I can’t kiss him! Is there-”

Megumi cuts in. “It’s just the traditional way to seal the contract. Don’t think too much of it.”

The fact that neither of them are bothered makes you feel like the ridiculous one for being off put by this, but you’re sure you’re not. Still, if you’re a god now, you have to put all of your mortal sensibilities aside. It’s like another culture, you tell yourself. Like how Europeans kiss each other on the cheek to say hello. Even if you can’t convince yourself, Megumi and Tsumiki are insistent.

You were so fired up just a second ago, but now your head is filled with doubts. If such a simple matter can sway you, are you really meant to be a god after all? Maybe Gojo is right. Maybe you should just leave.

“Please,” Tsumiki says. She looks distraught. “Don’t abandon us. Please don’t leave.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything, but his silence is enough.

“Okay,” you say, feeling defeated. “I’ll give it a shot.”

You’ve always been good at chores. If taming Gojo is just another part of your new job, it sounds like it's time to get serious.

“Take me to him.”

Megumi and Tsumiki balk.

“Right now?”

“Why not? The sooner I get it over with, the better, right?”

“He’s...indisposed at the moment,” Tsumiki says carefully.

“Indisposed? Is he sick?”

“Not quite,” Megumi says. He’s very expressive for a spirit. You can practically imagine him grimacing.

“Then it’s fine!”

You would soon come to regret your words.

Megumi and Tsumiki lead you out of the shrine. They show you where to find the path that can lead you to the land of spirits and demons. Your entire body rebels at the feeling of being in this other world, but at the same time, you feel at home here. The god and the girl that coexist inside of you are mutually repelled by and attracted to this place.

Even though you know Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t really children, or at least children in the way mortals think of them, you’re still concerned about letting them traipse around this dangerous place. However, they seem more used to this world than you are. That energy is better devoted to fending for yourself.

They lead you under bridges where the running water smells like flowers and women’s voices hiss in the babble of the current. Tree leaves rustle with hands that disappear into darkness. You follow them through dark alleyways lined with red paper blessings, and doorsteps encircled with salt. Eyes follow you, leaving your skin crawling.

You’re so focused on keeping your head down and staying out of danger that you almost don’t notice when they stop. You nearly run Megumi over.

“He’s inside here,” Tsumiki says.

Is it just you, or does she seem nervous?

The lanterns inside this establishment are turned down to a dimness that barely illuminates the corridors. Sweet smelling smoke writhes around your feet from some unknown source as you head deeper and deeper into the maze of hallways, following the pair of shrine spirits. You pass women wearing fox masks, dressed in luxurious kimonos. Their hair towers over their head in elaborate updos, held in place with beautiful pins inlaid with chartreuse and gold.

Megumi stops before a folding screen door. Like all things within this building, it’s beautiful. The silk screen is painted with images of flowers and more gruesome scenes as well, but somehow, it’s still breath-taking. A little like Gojo, in that regard.

You hear the voices of women behind the screen, flattering Gojo. The light of a single candle illuminates the dim room, imprinting his silhouette against it, as well as that of the two women with him. They’re draped over him, hands roaming his body as they purr their compliments. Your face burns with embarrassment.

“What are you doing?” Megumi demands of Gojo. “How can you parade around the red-light district like this? You’re the familiar of a god, not some common demon! If Yaga knew, it’d break his poor heart.”

Behind the screen, Gojo merely brushes him off. “Yaga’s been replaced by some little human worm. Why should I care what he thinks now?”

“What about the shrine? Don’t you care about that, at least?” Tsumiki's voice is thick with reproach.

“Now that you mention it, I don’t think I do,” he says. “Ha! You know what? Maybe I should thank that girl. Now that I’m free, I can do whatever I want.”

“Gojo-“

“I’ll can indulge in every little vice Yaga never allowed me to touch before. Who would want to be a familiar when I can have all of this?”

“Gojo, our god is here.”

“What?”

He leaps up and pushes the screen aside, coming face to face with you. He looks startled to see you, though you don’t see why he should care, since he so desires to lead a life of sin.

You look upon him with disgust. You might want a familiar, but you’re not so desperate you’d stoop as low as this. Gojo cares so little for anyone but himself. If you’re going to be a god, you’re going to do it right. You’ll pick a good familiar, one who will genuinely love the shrine as much as it deserves.

You turn and leave as he, half-clothed, frantically starts pulling on the outer layers of his kimono.

“Wait,” he calls after you. “Tsumiki! Megumi! Why would you bring her here?”

“She wanted to see you,” Megumi retorts.

“This isn’t the place for a human,” he says. “She’s going to get eaten!”

The faster Gojo follows you, the faster you run from him. By the time you’re out of what you’ve come to realize is a brothel, you’re sprinting. Your legs carry you right into someone else as your face slams against a broad, muscled chest.

“Oh,” says a voice above your head. “How pretty.”

A hand caresses your face. This spirit has tattoo marks across his face and body. More interestingly, he has multiple arms.

You’re frozen in place by fear as he brings his mouth closer and closer to your face. He’s close enough to kiss, but this is a spirit, which means he’s more likely to eat you.

“Be good for me now,” he purrs in your ear. “Fear makes flesh all the sweeter.”

Three of his six arms are consumed by fire. He pushes you away from him in favor of batting out the flame.

Gojo pulls you towards him, hiding you in the folds of his billowing kimono. You press your face against his shoulder, swallowing back the tears of fear from nearly being eaten. Somehow, he feels safe, even though he’s been nothing but antagonistic towards you. He feels almost protective as he shields your body with his, securing you under one arm.

“Scram,” he tells the other demon. “She’s mine, Sukuna.”

Sukuna rolls his pairs of eyes. “You weren’t with her when I caught her. She’s fair game.”

Fox fire flickers in Gojo’s hand. His white talons seem to elongate before your eyes.

“If you want to fight over her, then by all means,” he says with a dangerous smile. “But we both know I’d win.”

“Maybe later then,” Sukuna says, lazily as if Gojo isn’t threatening him. “Once I’ve eaten my fill.”

He stalks off into the night in search of more prey.

“This is why I told you to wait,” Gojo says, running his hand over his face. “You’re practically bait in this world. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

You nod, not trusting your voice, but he catches on anyways.

“Don’t cry,” he says, his face twisted in a grimace. “I won’t know what to do if you cry. Look, this is just your life now, okay? You’ll have to get used to it.”

On impulse, you press your face into his shoulder again, still sniffling. You want to be comforted, even though you know he won’t give it to you.

“Ugh,” he says, true to form. “Quit that.”

By the time you’ve calmed down, Gojo has already escorted you back to the shrine.

“Don’t come back,” he tells you.

Of course, you can’t listen to him. On your second night in the land of the dead and monsters, not only do you have to hide from beasts who would devour you the moment they found out what you were, you also have to hide from Gojo. You’re wearing a disguise, courtesy of Tsumiki and Megumi.

In your defense, it’s not like you want to be here. You need a familiar, and it’s clearly not going to be Gojo.

According to Tsumiki, Gojo’s the strongest, but there are other familiars who would be willing to serve you. They’re all in the Netherworld, however, and you have to find them before you can contract them.

You pull the curtain of the hat shielding your face a little closer around you as you peer at the faces surrounding you, trying to gauge who looks friendly. None of them do. You’ve been wandering around for hours, but not a single spirit has stood out to you.

In the end, you don’t find him. He finds you.

“A human god?” A hand grasps your wrist loosely. “That’s rare. Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be here?”

The man in front of you looks normal by any standards - but you know better than to trust your gut in the netherworld. Still, he’s the closest thing to a human you’ve seen in a while. Surrounded by a maelstrom of monsters, he feels like the eye of the storm. There’s a quiet and a calm surrounding him, even as you walk among noderabo with withered, leathery skin and scaly yajo.

It’s not like he’s in his own little pocket of the world, you realize. He is. Everyone is purposefully giving him a wide berth.

“Who are you?”

“I asked first,” he says.

“You know who I am! You just said so - I’m the human god.”

His eyes rake over you. “So you are. But what are you doing here, girl?”

You throw his words back in his face obstinately. “You first.”

“I’m Toji.” That doesn’t tell you anything, but he’s clearly unwilling to divulge more. “Your turn.”

“I’m looking for a familiar.”

“What about your familiar? I heard that Gojo-sama isn’t keen on sharing.”

Somehow, the way he says Gojo-sama sounds derisive, even with the respectful honorific.

“He doesn’t want to be my familiar.”

The rejection stings coming out of your own mouth.

“Sounds like him. Haughty bastard, he couldn’t stand to serve a human girl, could he?”

“Yeah! He’s an asshole,” you say, feeling validated.

When Toji laughs, the scar over his lip tugs one side of his mouth down. You kind of like it. And he must be strong, just looking at him. He’s well muscled and covered in scars. Of course, there’s the little matter of the reverence everyone around you is offering him. Tsumiki and Megumi had told you to just go out and find one. Could it be that easy?

“Are you interested?”

He gives you a look of barely concealed amusement. “You’re funny, girl. I don’t think Gojo would like that very much, though.”

“I don’t care what Gojo thinks.”

“Oh, here he comes now. Don’t go running too far - you’ll worry him,” he says, slow and easy. His confidence is absurd - it reminds you of Gojo, actually. He must be strong. “If you’re really serious about wanting me as a familiar, why don’t you meet me here again in three days?”

“What are you doing?” Gojo snarls at you. His teeth match the rest of his fox physique. With wonder, you realize that his pearly canines are pointed beyond what’s normal. “I told you not to come back!”

“But- He-” You turn around to point Toji out, but he’s gone.

“Who?” Gojo says.

“He was right there!”

“You’re so annoying,” Gojo bites out. “I don’t care what happens to you, but if you die, Megumi and Tsumiki will cry, so stop wandering off on your own. You’re lucky you didn’t get devoured on the spot.”

He’s starting to get really irritating. You shove his hands off.

“You know it’s actually your fault I’m here, right? If you didn’t reject me, I wouldn’t have to scour the Netherworld for a familiar.”

Gojo scoffs. “My fault? Maybe you should take a look at yourself. If you were less weak, I wouldn’t have a problem serving you!”

“That’s- You’re impossible!” You splutter. “I can’t help being weak! I was born this way! Not everyone is so lucky to be born a kitsune, oh-so-great-Gojo-sama.”

“Enough,” he sighs. Taking you by your wrist, he forcibly drags you through the streets back in the direction you came.

“Ow! You’re hurting me!”

“Gojo!” Megumi’s reproving voice breaks the argument up before it can begin again.

He lets go of you almost guiltily, if you thought he could feel guilt.

“I’ll take her home,” Megumi says.

Gojo’s tail lashes behind him angrily, but Megumi doesn’t spare him a second glance as he ushers you away.

“Thank you,” you tell him in relief. “What are you doing here?”

“You were taking a long time,” he says. “Tsumiki and I were getting worried. Did you find anyone?”

You think of Toji. “No,” you say. “No one.”

The next day, while Megumi and Tsumiki dress you for your trip through the Netherworld again, Megumi presses three slips of white paper into your hands.

“We should’ve taught you this sooner,” he says. “One of the powers of a god is to transform objects. Whatever you write on this charm will become true - within the scope of your power. Be safe.”

Armed with your paper slips, you feel like a real god. Tsumiki pushes you out the door with a prayer for good luck, though you’re not sure you can grant prayers to yourself for yourself.

Outside the door, something whines by your feet.

“Gojo?”

Or is that a regular white fox?

It snaps its teeth at you.

Definitely Gojo.

“I don’t need an escort,” you tell him, making shooing motions at him with your hands. “Go away!”

He rolls over and yips at you, his tail wagging.

“I can’t understand you like this!”

“I said,” a cloud of smoke reveals him, mostly humanoid once again, except for his ears and tail. “I don’t want to do this either. It’s for Megumi and Tsumiki.”

Toji doesn’t seem to like him, so you don’t want to risk bringing him with you. Despite your best attempts to shake him, Gojo follows you as you retrace your steps back into the spirit world. You’re just starting to despair when you spot a bigger reason to be upset.

“Hello, delicious,” Sukuna says. “Ready for round two?”

Why does he look even more terrifying? Did he get bigger?

“Leave her alone,” Gojo says, almost bored. “It’s pathetic. You can only bully things weaker than you, huh?”

“I’m not afraid to fight you,” Sukuna tells him.

You’re panicking. They both look serious. You don’t want to be caught between these two forces of nature.

“You should be,” Gojo says, and steps in front of you. Over his shoulder, he tells you, “Run. You’re in my way.”

This is the chance you were waiting for.

Toji’s dressed differently when you find him again. Last night, he was wearing a casual black kimono. Tonight, he’s dressed in a tight fitting black shirt and loose white pants.

“You look nice,” you tell him, feeling anxious. Your mind keeps going back to Gojo. You’re sure he can hold his own, but you’re still worried for him. As you are, however, you’re of no help to him. The only way you’d be able to rescue him if he actually was in danger is by making a contract with a powerful familiar.

“It’s for work,” he says. “Follow me.”

“We can’t do it here?”

“Do you want to kiss me in front of everyone?” He shrugs and reaches for you. “I mean, I’m down if you are, but I figured-”

“No,” you squeak and dart away. “Privacy is good!”

He laughs. “You’re as funny as ever, huh? C’mere.”

Toji leads you off the beaten path and further into the woods. The only thing that keeps you from feeling more nervous is the moon shining overhead, illuminating your path. It feels almost like a friend is with you.

“Here is good,” Toji says, stopping at a clearing.

“It’s so pretty,” you breathe out, dazzled. This deep into the woods, fireflies are lighting your way. Beneath your feet, a springy bed of flowers and moss covers the floor.

“What can I say? I’m a romantic.”

“Yeah, right,” you laugh at him, but you draw closer. You think you could trust him. You think you could be partners with him.

Then Toji grabs you by the shoulders and dangles you off the edge of the clearing, over a steep drop you hadn’t noticed. The sharp cut off had been hidden by flowers, danger painted over with beauty.

“Sorry, kid,” Toji says. “No hard feelings, right?”

“Why?” You whisper. Gojo had been right.

“There’s a bounty on your head,” he says. “Getou has offered to grant the wish of anyone who kills you.”

His eyes turn wistful. “I have a kid. Haven’t seen him in years. You understand, right? It’s not personal.”

The fall is brutal. The wind whips tears into your eyes, if you weren’t already crying from the fear of falling to your death. You have to do something, anything. Above your head, something white flutters.

A dove?

Then another.

It’s one of the paper ofuda Megumi had given you before you left, caught in the updraft of you rushing down to earth. You snatch it out of the air. You can’t reach the pen in your pocket. With increasing desperation, you bite down on your finger hard enough to draw blood and trace the characters for a tree branch onto it. Holding it aloft, you pray.

Between your hands, wood solidifies. You’re clinging to a scrap of a twig sprouting from the rocky cliffside. Megumi’s words echo in your head - only within the scope of your power.

So this is it, huh?

That’s all there is of your godly strength.

“Looks like you’re in trouble,” Gojo says. He has no problem balancing on the sheer cliff. His appearance is impeccable, completely unscathed from his fight with Sukuna. He perches like a bird, as comfortable as if he were standing on solid ground. “Do you need help?”

Thank god. He’s here to save you! You nod, turning teary eyes on him. You were wrong about him. Gojo really is a good guy, deep down.

“If you say, ‘Please save me, Gojo-sama, I was stupid.’ I’ll help you. Throw in some crying and begging, too.”

Your eyes dry up instantly. He’s a total bastard. You clutch onto the branch tighter. There’s no way you’ll give him the satisfaction of groveling for help.

Your resolve weakens when you hear the first snap.

“Time’s ticking,” Gojo calls in a sing-song voice. “What will it be?”

The harder you hold on, the more your flimsy branch breaks.

“Come on,” Gojo says. “It’s not that hard. It’s just seven little words. Isn’t that worth your life?”

“Go fuck yourself,” you tell him, and the branch finally snaps.

Falling for the second time is just as bad as the first time. The icy wind snatches at you like claws, tearing at your clothes.

To your surprise, Gojo leaps after you. He makes free-fall look elegant - surely a far cry from whatever you’re doing.

“Just say it,” he yells, within arm’s reach. He’s so close he could snag you by the shirt and haul you to safety, but you know he won’t. Not without getting what he wants. “Would you rather die than just apologize?”

You have an answer prepared.

His eyes widen in shock when you press your palms to his cheek, pull him closer, and kiss him.

You barely have time to register the taste of him, sake and something sweet, before the reality of falling to your death rushes in again.

“Gojo, save me!”

As if his body is piloted by someone else, Gojo catches you. For him, it’s a short leap back up to the top of the clearing, where Toji has disappeared.

You climb down from his hold once you’re certain you’re safe. You never thought you’d miss the feeling of solid ground beneath your feet this much, but at the moment, you’re willing to kiss the earth.

Gojo seems much worse off. He’s frozen in shock, muttering the same refrain to himself under his breath. “Me? Bound to her? Impossible.”

“Let’s go home,” you tell him. He doesn’t seem to get it until you tug him towards the path, and then he leads the way wordlessly. .

You wake to Megumi and Tsumiki weeping over you.

“I’m alright!”

They freeze, then burst into fresh tears.

“We thought you would never wake up! Your first time using ofuda must have been too much for you,” Megumi gets out through his sobs.

You feel sore all over. You can barely recall the events of the previous night, only that you kissed-

“Finally up?”

Gojo’s tapping his foot as he waits for you to get up. He looks furious. There’s an unmistakeable tick in his jaw that spells trouble for you.

It’s too early to deal with him. You duck back under the covers.

“Oh no you don’t,” he growls out as he seizes your wrist and bodily hauls you out of your warm cocoon of blankets. “You wanted to be a god, you’re going to be a god. It’s time for some training.”

You shiver pathetically in the cold morning air. If you had known helping a stranger would lead to be harassed by a fox spirit, you would’ve never done it in the first place.

“Try harder,” Gojo says at your sixth failed attempt to turn water into wine.

“It smells alcoholic,” Megumi offers loyally.

“I am trying!” You insist.

“Harder,” Gojo snarls.

The seventh attempt doesn’t change. Gojo throws up his arms and stalks out of the shrine, declaring the need to cool his head. Tsumiki frantically trails him, not trusting him to not attempt to run away again.

Megumi tries to assure you that you’re doing well, but honestly, you need to leave too. The shrine feels too stuffy. A change of scenery will do you good. Sitting alone in the woods just behind the shrine, you try to focus. Slowly, stacks of ofuda disappear from your hands as you paste them to trees, willing them to blossom. Wilt. Do anything, anything at all.

You’re out cold when Gojo finds you.

“Divine power takes time,” he says as he prepares dinner. “Use too many talismans at once and you’ll pass out.”

You drink a spoonful of soup morosely. “How do I get stronger?”

“You’ll get stronger if you grant prayers.”

Tsumiki perks up. “One just came in!”

“I already looked at it,” Gojo says dismissively. “Not that one.”

“Everyone’s wishes deserve to be looked at,” you argue.

Gojo scoffs, “Not this one.”

“Don’t be rude! A god can’t pick and choose.”

He tosses the prayer at you.

Morimoto Rika’s request touches your heart. She’s the spirit of a nearby lake - not just any spirit, as Megumi helpfully clarifies, but another owner of a shrine. A human boy visits her waters nightly. By the light of the moonlight, she fell in love with him, but she can’t meet him because they live in two separate worlds.

And to think that you would’ve never known to help her if Gojo had continued keeping this from you.

“This sounds like the perfect job for me,” you argue.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Yokai can’t fall in love with humans.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Aren’t you bound to do as I say? Take me to her.”

Against his will, Gojo summons what’s called a ‘night fog coach’. Only operable at night, as the name suggests, it’s a tall black carriage truly made for a god. You’re just wondering how Gojo expects you to climb aboard when he effortlessly lifts you by the waist.

“You’re the one who wanted to go meet her,” he sneers. “Chop-chop.”

Your supplicant looks like a fish if it were a girl. She has pale green skin and large, black eyes, with overly large teeth for her mouth. Black hair frames a heart shaped face. She’s cute, in her own monstrous way. And she’s desperately in love with a human boy.

Gojo helps you transform her into a human body and make her over into a normal teenage girl. For a prayer granted, it feels like nothing more than dressing your friend up for a date.

You’re even as nosy as you would be in that situation. It’s the first prayer you’ve ever granted. You know you shouldn’t, but you and Gojo watch the burgeoning romance from a distance. Of course, he’s completely disapproving, but you have high hopes for them - until Rika pulls out a ring.

Aren’t they moving a little too fast?

It only gets worse when Rika confesses that she’s been stalking him - sort of. Keeping tabs on him for his safety by following him around town is a little too close to the other, for your liking. Your head drops into your hands.

But Yuta takes it surprisingly well. A little too well, in fact. It only seems to infatuate him even more. You knew there were certain types of men out there who loved crazy, but you had never seen it in real life - until now.

Could this even be counted as a success?

You’re happy for Rika and Yuta, as happy as you can be for their twisted little union, but you’re just waiting for Gojo to bite your head off for bringing a (real) monster and a human together as soon as you get back home. At least they’re happy, you think ruefully. Worse things could happen. Your first union as a marriage god didn’t fail. In fact, of all people, Yuta seemed the most likely in the world to accept Rika as she was, human or not.

To your surprise, returning to the shrine, Gojo begrudgingly says, “You did well.”

Any warm feelings you have for him the next day are replaced when he barges into your room and demands you strip.

“You have guests,” he says. “Messengers from Toji-sama, the god of the wind.”

Your eyes grow wide. You hadn’t known Toji was a god. Come to think of it, did Gojo even know the reason why you had been falling from that cliff? You weren’t sure if he had come in time to see who had pushed you.

“What are you worried about? I’ll be at your side the whole time.”

You’ll tell him later. Right now, you have a serious matter to prepare for.

You tried not to discriminate on the basis of his master, but it’s not that at all. Toji’s familiar, Naoya, is simply annoying on his own terms.

“So you’re the new god of this ramshackle little shrine,” he sniffs. “God, it’s disgusting. How poor are you?”

“You must be the thirteenth familiar Toji’s owned. He goes through you like toys, doesn’t he? Of course you wouldn’t know that he used to live in worse conditions before. Deplorable.” Gojo laughs in his face.

Naoya grits his teeth. “I’m surprised your little human dared to show her face. I thought she’d be terrified after what Toji did to her. They’re such weak little things.”

Gojo looks at the other demon with a calm that worries you. As human as he is, there are moments when you can catch the monster lurking within. He’s like the sea, deceptively calm until you remember the threat of an unseen riptide.

“If you insult my master again,” he says carefully, enunciating every word like he’s stabbing at them with a knife, “I will take your head and deliver it to your master as a present.”

“Don’t tell me you’re happy to be serving a mortal girl,” Naoya laughs. “Not someone like you, Satoru. How the mighty have fallen.”

Gojo looks at him for a long moment, then he ignores him completely and walks to your side. The most painful part of Naoya’s digs at you is knowing he’s right. Gojo doesn’t like this. How could he? He went from being the strongest to being commanded by some powerless girl. Still, Gojo gazes at you with his inscrutable eyes. You can’t read him at all.

Slowly, he sinks to his knees next to you.

With a gentleness you can hardly bear, he lays his head in your lap, as gentle and docile as a puppy. His neck is bared as if for an executioner’s axe, the delicate pulse of his heart open to you. He closes his eyes. His breath is shallow. He stays there, and says no more.

“Oh, Satoru,” Naoya says in delight. “You really have become a tamed thing.”

With an uncertainty you’re trying to hide, you lift your hands to Gojo’s head. His hair is sinfully soft. You’re almost scared he’ll try to take your hands off for it, but when you start to gently pet his hair, he almost purrs. His eyes close, half-lidded in pleasure.

“I serve who I want to serve,” Gojo says. His tail lashes behind him. “Who are you to tell me my master is unworthy?”

Naoya shrugs, clearly disbelieving. “Sure, Satoru. Keep telling yourself that. I’m just here to deliver a gift.”

He tosses you a package wrapped carefully in beautiful, ornate wrapping paper. You’re sure it’s not Toji’s doing. He’s not the type.

As soon as he leaves, Gojo pushes himself away from you. It leaves you a little sorrowful, the speed with which he tries to get away. He only did it for your sake, you know. He wanted to protect your honor in front of Naoya because you’re his master. But it must have disgusted him, to get on his knees for a human, if he recoiled so fast.

“What did he mean, what Toji did to you?” Gojo asks over dinner.

You know instantly that you’ll only draw his ire if you try to play dumb.

“Toji pushed me off that cliff the day you found me.”

Gojo’s eyes darken. The next time Naoya returns, he promises you, he’d set his tail on fire. No one besmirches his master’s honor like that.

It’s about honor, of course. You’d be a fool to think otherwise.

Alone in your chambers, you unwrap the package Naoya gave you. It’s an incense burner, beautiful and silver. As apology presents go, it’s a decent one. You set it aside for use at a later time.

Naoya’s visit only makes Gojo’s training worse, but these days, you’ve grown used to him and his harsh words. The more that he yells at you for being weak, the more you can brush it off as Gojo just being Gojo. That only irritates him more, of course.

But nothing pisses him off as much as you claiming that you’re returning to school. Gojo thinks that you have no need for school as a god. There’s nothing the humans can teach you that he can’t.

In your eyes, Gojo is a kitsune. That means he’ll never understand a teenage girl’s heart. School isn’t about learning, it’s about the experience! You’ll never be in high school again - there are so many things you still haven’t experienced, like school trips. You only have one youth - you have to seize it in the moment!

Gojo isn’t convinced.

Like an overbearing parent, he nags you all day and night until finally, you strike a deal. He’ll let you go to school, but only as long as you cover up the god-mark on your head. Gojo is never one to make things easy for you. The hat he bestows you with is an ugly grandma print with faux fox ears. You’ll be the laughingstock of the school!

“It’s dangerous,” he says. “Who knows what wild beasts will be lurking about?”

“You’re the wild beast,” you say. “I can’t wear that!”

“I guess you can’t go to school then,” he sighs. “What a pity.”

It’s all for show, of course. You know what he’s really like. There’s no use in arguing - either you agree to his compromise or you stay here, stuck in the temple for the rest of your life. You’ll miss out on all the joys of youth, never growing old in your cloistered shrine. The thought is unbearable.

You snatch the hat from him in indignation. Putting it on before you leave the next day makes you cringe, but as long as you avoid mirrors, you can almost forget that it’s there - if not for your classmates staring at you. You can feel their judging eyes everywhere you go, and the whispers.

You can’t even say you don’t care - you do care. You only have one high school life, and Gojo is ruining it. During lunch, you escape into the bathroom to mope and avoid all of your classmates.

“Are you getting bullied?” Gojo’s voice is too bright and cheery for your dark mood right now. You can’t promise to remain calm if he stays here.

“This is the girl’s bathroom, Gojo.”

“Don’t be like that. I’m just worried about my master,” he says. “Well? How is it? Do you want to go home now?”

He’s lying. You know he’s not worried about you at all, but you should be used to it. You don’t know why it stings as much as it does.

You’re hurt even though you know this is just how Gojo is. Of course he’d be happy to see you miserable - he hadn’t even wanted you for a god in the first place. He’s bound to you by obligation, and nothing more. You had known from the start that he didn’t care about you, so why does it hurt that he won’t comfort you? It’s just like those nights in the demon world that seem so long ago now. He hasn’t changed at all.

Gojo isn’t as shocked by your outburst as he is by the tears slowly welling up in your eyes. He stands stunned as you rush out of him and back into the hallway.

Tsumiki appears next to him out of thin air, completely unimpressed.

“You did a terrible job on that one, Gojo.”

As if in a daze, he lifts his hand, where the crystal of one teardrop shines. He’d tried to reach for you at the last moment, but you were already gone. “I made her cry...”

Megumi appears next to Tsumiki, his face red. “What’s taking so long? Hurry up and leave! We’re in the girl’s bathroom!”

“Gojo was bullying our master,” Tsumiki announces.

“I wasn’t bullying her!”

“He made her cry.”

Gojo winces. “Okay, yeah. I did do that.”

Megumi kicks him in the leg, which amounts to almost nothing. “Take responsibility, then!”

When you return home, Gojo is waiting by the shrine door with an almost offensively polite smile on his face. “Let me take your coat, master.”

Him being kind gives you the creeps. You can’t help but feel like he’s planning something, especially when he shows you the lavish dinner he prepared for you with all of your favorites.

“What’s with the look?” He says, annoyed at your accusing eyes peering at him over your bowl. “I do something nice for you and this is how you treat me?”

“This is really just for me? No ulterior motives?”

“None,” he promises.

The smile that breaks over your face is like the sun through rain clouds - sudden, dramatic, and almost painfully bright after a period of gray skies.

“Thanks, Gojo!”

The look in his eyes is unreadable as he reaches to spoon more food onto your plate.

You don’t have anyone else in this world. Besides the shrine spirits, Gojo might be the only person in the world who will take care of you. For some reason, the thought doesn’t sting as much as it did this morning.

The second day of school starts with pouring rain, as if it’s a direct reaction to your foul mood earlier. Gojo pulls you back when you try to leave.

“It’s a bad omen,” he says. “Stay home with me today. I’ll worry about you if you go.”

Normally, such sweet words might bring a blush to your face, but you can read between the lines.

Stay home with me today so I can keep you out of trouble, you brat.

I’ll worry about you if you go because you’re weaker than a worm.

“Stop trying to keep me from going to school! I thought we got over this yesterday,” you huff. “I’m going to be late for the bus!”

You leave Gojo with a handful of air as you dart under his outstretched arm and out the door.

In school, all your classmates are listless.

You’ve never been so unhappy to not be the subject of attention. What is wrong with everyone? Even the teacher doesn’t reprimand anyone for sleeping in class, half-asleep herself. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to be caught in this spell of drowsiness, which insinuates paranormal origins.

As you’re sweeping the classroom after class, one of your classmates lets out a disgruntled noise.

“It’s a snake,” she says, not at all with the intonation of someone who’s just discovered a snake. Ami’s the type to go apoplectic at the sight of a fly, much less an actual snake, so you don’t pay much mind until you hear Kurama go, “Huh, she wasn’t kidding.”

There’s a little yellow snake in the classroom. In their stupor, none of your classmates seem to care all that much about it. They just continue going about their chores. You feel bad for it. It’s such a small, fragile little creature. In their state, they might accidentally end up crushing it.

With gentle murmurs of encouragement, you coax it into your hand. It’s surprisingly docile and twines itself readily around your wrist before you set it outside the window to be set free.

Gojo doesn’t praise you for your act of heroism on the behalf of his fellow yokai, as you remind him. You saved his compatriots! Where’s the gratitude?

He calls you a stupid little girl. “I don’t care about them, I care about you!”

Your face warms with embarrassment against your will even though you know he doesn’t mean it like that. Time and time again, Gojo has stressed that he will never see yokai and humans as even remotely on the same playing field, much less capable of being romantic partners.

“You’re my master,” he says. There’s your call back to reality. “Look at this mark on your wrist.”

It appears like a normal bruise to you, though you’re not sure how it could’ve happened. Your new snake friend was very gentle when he was coiled around your wrist. He must have been someone’s escaped pet. You hope he found his way back home.

Gojo’s mad. He’s enunciating every word.

“This is exactly why I have to keep such a close eye on you. That’s no ordinary bruise. That is an engagement mark. Care to explain to me how I left you alone for one second and you got yourself engaged to a divine beast?”

Your face pales. “Excuse me?”

“That snake is going to come and claim you as his bride.”

“As a bride?” Your head spins and you have to sit down. You’re too young to get married. You look up at Gojo, teary-eyed. You don’t want this.

“Stop making that face,” he snaps, pushing a hand over your face to hide it. “As if I would let that happen. The master of the Yaga shrine, my master, could never be wed to a mere snake.”

If Gojo says he won’t let it happen, you can put your faith in him. You breathe a little easier. As mean as he can be, Megumi and Tsumiki weren’t lying when they called him the best familiar. He’s the strongest and most capable person or rather, yokai, that you know. There’s not a single task you set for him that he hasn’t been able to complete.

It’s still raining when you go outside to practice your talisman making.

You find the weather quite pleasant, even though it’s a little damp. The chill in the air cuts through the muggy feeling of summer, and the raindrops cool your cheeks. When you turn your face up to the sky, you can taste ozone in the little drops that pelt your face.

“You’re very beautiful, kamisama,” says a voice.

There's a man waiting just outside the red gates. A supplicant? In this weather? You better get him inside in a hurry. You dash over to him.

“What are you doing? Come inside, you’ll get wet!”

Just as you reach him, he lifts his face. He looks like a statue, with high cheekbones, and solemn eyes. His hair is the same pale yellow as the snake you saw earlier that day-

“Gojo!”

But it’s too late.

The snake has a hold on your wrist, right above the engagement mark. He takes you away.

One moment, you’re standing in your own backyard, the next, you’re surrounded by almost-familiar bamboo walls. It looks like your shrine but for little distinguishing touches. That makes you uncomfortable.

“This is Haibara shrine,” the snake says. “I’m Nanami, the familiar of Haibara-sama. I’ve taken you away to marry you.”

There’s a curtain over the center of the room. Haibara presumably rests behind it, but something strikes you as off about the whole scenario. That’s not what’s foremost on your mind, however.

“I don’t want to marry you! You kidnapped me!”

He tilts his head at you. “I couldn’t have kidnapped you. We’re engaged, you see?” He traces the mark on your wrist with one slim finger. “We’re going to be very happy together.”

“You’re being creepy,” you push him away.

At your rejection, something dark crosses over his features - not danger, but pain. He has some nerve feeling upset when you’re the one who should be upset here!

“That’s alright,” he says, trying to stroke your hair. You won’t let him touch you. “I know it can take some getting used to. Here, let me show you to your room.”

Nanami has clearly put a lot of thought into decorating for you. It’s beautifully furnished, with rich silk sheets and the fragrant smell of plum blossoms permeating the air. Here, there’s not a single thing you could want but-

Gojo.

You miss Gojo and you miss your shrine.

When Nanami leaves you in your room, it feels like a tomb in the silence. You bury your face in your expensive, hateful sheets and try to resist the urge to sob. You want Gojo to come get you. You want to go home.

Hours pass, but Gojo doesn’t come.

Nothing but the sound of your breathing changes, passing from frantic to deeper, slower, steadier. As your head clears, you notice the window. It’s a beautifully ornate design, a red knot of luck. The center is just big enough for a girl to squeeze through, if you try hard.

Resolve grips you.

You’re not going to wait for Gojo to rescue you. You’re going to get out of here yourself, find him, and scold him for not coming to get you earlier. Aren’t you his most beloved master, as he so professes? You’re going to make him kneel for at least three hours practicing his apologies!

Filled with renewed conviction, you hoist yourself onto the window sill and begin the tedious task of shimmying yourself out. Just when you’re nearly there, the sharp edge of the metal scrapes your shin, leaving a long, thin cut.

The smell of salt replaces the plums immediately.

“God?” Comes Nanami’s voice. “I smell blood. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” You panic. If he discovers your escape attempt now, he might try to put you in a more secure room, and then you’ll really never see Gojo again.

The adjacent wall caves in.

Gojo stands in the rubble, seething, each hand wreathed in blue flame. He doesn’t even notice you, his attention wholly focused on Nanami. “You drew her blood? Are you prepared to face the consequences of hurting my master, snake?”

You grab his arm just before he attacks. “He didn’t! I hurt myself on the window- oof!”

Gojo’s so much bigger than you are. When he folds you into his arms, his entire body surrounds you. His chin tucks itself over your head, his large arms wrap around your body. You’ve never felt more secure than you are here, now. “I thought you’d be crying.”

His voice is hoarse.

You’ve never heard that before.

“You came,” you whimper, burying your face into his shoulder.

Nanami’s face is crestfallen. “Are you going to leave me?”

You grab Gojo’s arm and duck into the other room, where Haibara’s curtain is.

“Don’t!” Nanami cries.

When you pull it back, there’s nothing but an old, dusty kimono.

You were right.

This place is godless.

“You’re no familiar,” Gojo snarls, turning on Nanami. “Don’t even think to call yourself that. The difference between you and me is as clear as day, you vile beast. You’ll pay for your insolence with the loss of your shrine.”

Nanami’s misery is written all over his face. You’ve realized what’s wrong with this shrine. It’s too quiet, as if no one has prayed here for generations. Haibara has been dead for a long, long time.

Nanami must have been lonely.

“Don’t,” you tell Gojo.

He stares at you, incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?”

You tug yourself out of Gojo’s arms. Nanami’s crouched on the ground, trying to shield Haibara’s old kimono from Gojo’s foxfire. You kneel to his level.

“I’m sorry you’ve been lonely for all this time, Nanami. I can’t stay with you, but if you come to my shrine, we can play again.”

Nanami weeps and reaches for your hand. The mark of the snake dissolves.

Gojo doesn’t talk to you on the way back to the shrine.

“Don’t be mad,” you say, tugging on the sleeves of his kimono. He gives you a deadpan stare. “Come on! I only did it because-”

You can’t finish your sentence.

Of course, that piques Gojo’s interest. He can never resist bullying you.

“Because? Go on,” he goads you.

You say it so quietly he can’t hear you, even with his fox ears. He spins around, grabs you by the waist, and hoists you up so you’re face to face. You yelp and scramble to grab onto his shoulders for balance.

“Louder,” he demands. “I can’t hear you.”

“I was thinking about what would happen if I died and you were all alone again. I couldn’t leave him alone because I was thinking of you,” you tell him. Thinking of Gojo watching after an empty shrine all alone like Mizuki makes your heart ache for reasons you can’t explain.

He stiffens. “What a strange thing to worry about. I wouldn’t care.”

“Ugh,” you smack him in the shoulder. You shouldn't have tried to be kind to him.

He doesn’t put you down, shifting you into an easier hold. “You’re hurt,” he admonishes when you try to squirm.

Just before you enter the shrine gates, he has a confession of his own to make. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You got hurt because I wasn’t protecting you.”

You rub his ears, an indulgence you’re not sure he would’ve allowed if he wasn’t in such a mood. “It’s not your fault!”

“I’ve never had a human master,” he says. “I have to be careful not to break you. You’re so easily hurt.”

“You don’t have to say it like that,” you say, and then the shrine spirits are there to welcome you home.

You hadn’t realized you thought of the shrine as home until today.

Even though Nanami’s mood isn’t affecting the weather anymore, it’s still raining. Gojo tells you not to mind the weather, even though you’re certain that it’s not from natural causes, which means it is your job. Ever since you came back from Haibara’s shrine, Gojo has been extra protective of you.

You hadn’t thought Gojo had needed to be protected too, not until the thunder god came.

The god of storms and lightning is called Getou Suguru. He carries a mallet in one hand that can transform whoever it touches into their younger forms, and he used to be Gojo’s best and only friend. He’s also the one who called a bounty on your head.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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staytinyville · 4 months

Text

Stay Alive (35)

BTS poly!ot7 x Reader

Magical Creatures AU

Series Masterlist

Warnings: none

A/N NOT BETA. Honestly, maybe you guys can figure out what some of them are for the cameos but yeah. There are still a couple of more people I will be mentioning in the next coming chapters.

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“Do you think Bang Nim will know what to do?” Teahyung asked as the entire group followed Sejin.

He was leading all of them towards a ward in the building, coming up on separate rooms that looked like hospitals. The sliding doors were glass, a good amount in total, some of which were occupied with a couple of people getting injuries treated.

“Whatever it is, I know we'll be on the front lines.” Namjoon answered the boy.

“You guys can't go!” You gasped, stopping in the middle of the hallway causing the others to turn to you. “You just got out.” You told Namjoon.

“(Y/N).” Namjoon sighed.

“We have been there the longest. Because of that we feel responsible for all of them. It's what we want to do.” Hoseok explained.

You had just gotten them home and who knows what Hanseol is currently doing. You knew that the moment you took the boys out of there they would double their efforts to keep those they have. It was something you knew was going to happen. You had to go back and take out the others. However you were worried about the boys being caught again.

“Let's get you boys checked out.” Sejin tried to defuse the tension. “If that is fine with you all.”

“Of course.” Jin answered Sejin, making sure to pull the younger boys along to get into one of the rooms.

A couple of nurses began to check on the boys one by one. Yoongi, Jin, and Jungkook went first, the others waiting for their turns.

“Namjoon, why didn't you boys just break yourselves out?” Sejin asked softly, asking the question that was on everyone’s mind. “Why did it take so long?”

“We tried in the beginning but we weren't strong enough.” Hoseok sighed. “And after they started being in more people Hanseol would threaten us with harming the other patients. He even had some of our nurses killed.”

“It was our duty as the elders to protect them.” Namjoon finished.

“Alright, so why her?” Sejin asked. “Why do it now?”

You pursed your lips, trying not to make a comment about how he sounded. He must have taken notice of your look because he quickly tried to apologize as he sputtered out that he didn’t mean it in any harsh way. You let out a little laugh, trying to tell him it was okay and that you understood what he meant.

“Aside from the fact that she had something to do with our world, we chose her as our mate.” Jimin told Sejin.

You blushed at his comment, looking down at your lips pulled over your teeth.

“Well, thank you.” Sejin smiled, looking at you. “For bringing our boys back.”

“Of course.” You bowed your head.

A loud ruckus was heard out in the hallway, footsteps rushing towards the door. A younger boy stopped at the door but was pushed into the room as two more came up behind him. He let out a yelp, falling to the floor in a heap, his spade tail swishing behind him.

“Is it true?” A tall boy with fox-like ears on his head asked.

“What?” Sejin asked, moving to help the boy on the floor up.

“Is Bangtan really back!?” A beautiful boy asked, lips full like Jimin’s.

“They'll greet you outside.” Sejin sighed, shoving all of the boys out the door and back into the hallway.

He gave the boys a bow as they went back to their check ups, wanting to keep distractions away. You followed behind him, curious over the entire place. You knew the boys would be okay, they would find you when they were done.

Sejin took you all to the lobby of the building, meeting up with five boys who were anxiously bouncing on their feet.

“They're really popular here aren't they?” You spoke up, walking behind Sejin.

“They were the first group Bang Nim coached.” Sejin began to explain. “The first to create a legacy for a lot of others. When they went missing a lot of people cried and hoped for their safe return. I'm sure they'll be more than happy to see them.”

You turned to the five boys, taking note of their visible attributes that called to your attention. Three looked like regular humans, you couldn’t really come up with a valuable answer as to what they were. There was the blonde haired boy who had asked for Bangtan, the one with the full lips. Next was a boy with red hair and a cute face that made him look younger. The last one had regular brown hair but he had beautiful eyes.

The last two had features that made it easy to tell they were creatures. While you could guess what one might have been, the other left you a bit stumped. One had a fox tail and ears on top of his head, the one who had started the conversation back in the clinic. The last one had a spade tail and small horns pulling from his head–he was the one that had fallen over.

“Those boys? Were they trainees?” You asked.

“They call themselves Tomorrow by Together. They are some of the newer covens who trained under Bang.” Sejin told you.

“Come, I'll introduce you to them. I'm sure they'll be too excited to meet you once the boys come out.” He walked over to them, catching their attention which made them stand in a line at attention.

“Guys, this is (Y/N).” Sejin introduced.

You smiled at them bowing your head. The fox hybrid quietly counted down before all five of them bowed their heads in greeting and spoke at the same time. “Hello, we are Tomorrow by Together.”

You giggled as they all stood back up, making you tilt your head back just a bit to look at them. “You guys are really tall.”

“The tallest of all the covens.” The blonde haired boy grinned.

“Please give her a warm greeting. If it wasn't for her none of the boys would be back.” Sejin explained, making you blush.

“You rescued them?” The spade tailed boy’s eyes went wide.

“Was it hard?” The brown haired boy asked.

“Was it scary?” The red haired one followed.

“You're human.” The fox boy quietly stated.

You turned to him watching as he blushed a bit from the attention. “Yeah, I am.” You smiled softly.

“You smell like them.” He told you, giving you a knowing look.

“Ah!” The tailed boy exclaimed. “She's their mate!” He pointed at you.

They all began to gasp, gushing like excited school girls about you. You began to laugh at their attitudes, enjoying that they seemed to be so childish. You wanted to keep them protected even if they were already adults in a coven of their own.

“Don't crowd her.” A woman’s voice came from behind the group, pushing the tall boys to the side. “You'll scare the poor thing.”

She was much shorter than the boys, but then again you were sure a lot of people were when it came to standing next to TXT. The lady who had walked in between them was dressed in white, the bottom of her skirt was covered in feathers. In fact the whole thing was poofed out in nothing but feathers. They reminded you of a swan.

“Sorry, Noona.” They all bowed at the smaller woman, giving her space to come up next to you.

“Hello, I am Ji-Eun. It's nice to meet you.” The lady turned to you, giving you a bow.

“You're very pretty, unnie.” You answered, returning the bow.

“You as well, dear.” Ji Eun gushed, patting her blushing cheeks. She then reached out, taking a hold of your hands in hers. “Thank you so much for bringing our boys back. It means a lot to all of us.” She softly told you.

“Of course.” You smiled.

“(Y/N)?” Someone called out to you.

You turned around to find the palest of the boys, catching his eye sparkle as he looked around at the people. “I'm here, Yoongi.” You called, catching his attention.

“Min Yoongi!” Ji Eun gushed, tears pooling in her eyes as she brought the boy into a tight hug.

“Hi, IU.” Yoongi murmured. “It's so good to see you again.”

“Me!? What about you?!” IU gushed, watching as some of the other boys all walked out into the lobby. “All of you! You have no idea what it felt like to know you're all home safely. I'm sure your families are being told as we speak.” Ji Eun spoke, nodding her head at the younger boys who had come to see you.

“Come on.” Jimin pulled your hand along. “Come see our world.”

And so he took you outside of the skyscraper, coming out into the busy street that looked as though it was part of a utopia movie. Everything looked the same as it did in your own world, however there were so many things that set it apart.

For starters all the creatures and people flying about. There weren't that many cars on the road from what you could see. Some of the people were even seen on unicorns or pegasus. Another was the way each building was structured. You would assume it had to do with the fact that everyone was much different than back home and they would need to accommodate for size.

“It's much more advanced than mine.” You spoke up, seeing certain technologies that didn’t exist.

“Because we have abilities to do that.” You turned around, giving Hoseok a smile.

“It's still modern.”

“What? You didn't think we lived in stone houses or cottages, did you?” Yoongi snorted.

“Welcome to Seoul.” Namjoon rubbed at your waist, catching your attention. “Our Seoul.”

“Jeon Jungkook!” You were startled at the loud shout from a boy that had come out of the building. “I knew it was your smell!”

You turned around to catch sight of a large boy that reminded you of Jungkook. They didn’t look the same but he gave off the same energy.

“Mingyu!” Jungkook gasped, grunting just as the man's body slammed into him.

“Jungkook–” You began to worry, about to head toward the two wrestling men but were held back.

“He's fine. They used to be packmates.” Taehyung explained, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Like in another coven?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“No.” Jin answered. “Werewolves live in packs. They can leave or stay. Jungkook came here and found us.” He smiled.

Yoongi led all of you across the road and to a park that had large trees on either side of the sidewalk. You watched as creatures of all kinds rode on bikes or walked along the path. Even four legged creatures walked around–some taller than you and some the size of fleas.

“It looks just like home.” You spoke up, looking up at the flowers the grew on the trees.

“Essentially we are a mirror world to yours. We have all the same countries and the likes but with magic.” Hoseok explained.

“We better go home for the time being. At least until Bang calls us back. Let's go see our families before all else.” Namjoon stated after a moment.

“But what about (Y/N)?” Taehyung asked, hugging you from behind.

“We can take turns.” Namjoon answered. “I'm sure our families will want to meet her.”

“Let's make the arrangements then.” Jimin explained.

“My family lives here in Seoul.” Jin smiled beautifully. “See those mountains?” He pointed to the mountain range that you knew back in your own world. “I'll be taking you there.” He told you.

You thought about how much things didn’t seem all that different. However you didn’t know what life was like for their families. You did begin to worry just a bit about meeting their families, but seeing the grateful smiles and teary eyes made you glad you are getting the chance to be here with them.

“Sounds perfect.”

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neonun-au · 2 years

Text

other people’s weddings | choi seungcheol

pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader, some mingyu x fem!reader other cast: soonyoung, jeonghan, seulgi, johnny (sorry to johnny for this), saerom cameo, jihoon mention genre: rom com, fake dating au, slight love triangle au, friends to lovers, idiots to idiots in love warnings: language, mature themes, some suggestive content sprinkled throughout and allusions to sex (nothing explicit at all), reader uses she/her pronouns throughout word count: 15.6k

“Remind me again: which wedding is this one?” you ask, head resting in your palm as you sit at your best friend’s kitchen table at 10:30am in your emerald green (and slightly stained) cocktail dress.

Seungcheol glances at you in the reflection of the mirror in front of him, hands halting briefly in the process of tying his bright blue tie. “You didn't bother to look at the invitation this morning?” His expression straddles the line between bemusement and annoyance. An expression you’ve come to know quite well over your many years of friendship.

“No,” you shrug, taking a small sip from your iced caramel macchiato. He audibly sighs. A performance of his annoyance with you–another thing you’ve gotten used to. “You know where we’re going, and since I’m going with you, I just have to show up and look pretty.” you wink at him as he levels you with a slight glare and furrowed brows. “Don’t look at me like that, we have like…six weddings to go to this summer.” Seungcheol rolls his eyes at the exaggeration before turning his attention back to the strip of fabric hanging around his neck.

You watch as his hands weave the tie together, his brows knit together in concentration. It was a scene you were destined to repeat time and time again this summer. For years weddings and marriages had been a distant thought on the horizon of your lives but as with all things in time, you grew to an age where friends, coworkers, relatives, and distant acquaintances had finally begun sending out those delicately calligraphed save the dates and floral adorned invitations.

The blessing and curse of having such a tight knit friend group meant you had all been invited to nearly every single one of these events; simultaneously giving you people to attend with as well as no easy way out of any of them.

So here you find yourself, on a balmy late June morning, in Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s shared kitchen, watching your friend fuss over his appearance and praying that the reception doesn't last past midnight so you can have time to watch at least one episode of Law & Order before you pass out on your couch.

As if on cue, the aforementioned housemate strolls into the kitchen. Beelining for the pot of coffee on the counter.

“Morning,” you greet him over your own drink and he turns around to face you with his eyebrows raised.

“You can leave the house before 7:00pm? Amazing, I thought you melted in the sunlight,” Jeonghan teases, a sly grin spread over his fox face and you bristle at the comment.

“Shut the fuck up Jeonghan, I’m not a vampire.”

“Could have fooled me,” he replies, dropping a single sugar cube into the dark black of his coffee, “this is the first time I’ve seen you in daylight in years.”

“We literally went out for brunch two months ago.”

“My point exactly.” You heave an exasperated sigh and glance over at Seungcheol, eyes narrowed, as if to ask ‘can you help me with this bitch?’ He just shrugs and shakes his head with a grin.

Instead of sparking an unwinnable argument with a friend who never learned how to quit, you shift topics, “Seulgi is meeting us there, right? Where’s Soonyoung?”

“Late,” Jeonghan answers, gratefully taking the bait and dropping the banter, “as usual.”

“What time does the ceremony start?”

“12:30, I think,” Seungcheol replies, glancing at his watch as he does so.

And at that–as if dialled into peak comedic timing–Soonyoung barrels through the front door; loudly tripping over the pile of shoes strewn haphazardly in the entrance, and careens into the kitchen entirely out of breath.

“Hey, sorry my alarm didn’t go off and I think my dishwasher might be on the fritz again cause there was water all over my kitchen floor and–” He’s stopped in his tracks–both literally and verbally–by Jeonghan thrusting a mug of coffee into his hands, “thanks.”

Soonyoung’s current hair–bright yellow, apparently–stands up on end, mussed still from sleep and what was no doubt a frantic four-block sprint here. His suit is mostly intact, though the tie is nowhere to be seen, and his black loafers are slightly scuffed at the tip. It would be a tragic sight if he weren’t so absolutely endearing about it all.

“So–” After a brief pause to take a breath and a sip from the mug while settling into the chair next to you, he picks up his monologue as if it had never been interrupted in the first place. “I had to mop up all of this old dishwater with like…my best t-shirt because it was the only thing I could find and thankfully it did get most of it up but I think Jihoon is going to murder me when he gets back to the apartment later,” he continues rambling as the rest of you share one long, knowing look. Seungcheol rolls his eyes–affectionately exhausted–and smoothes his finally tied tie down before heading down the hallway towards his bedroom.

“Soonyoung,” you turn towards your bedraggled friend, interrupting his raving. He glances at you curiously and you have to resist a laugh at the sheer innocence of the expression, “when did you dye your hair yellow?”

“Oh,” he giggles, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head. “Yesterday actually…do you like it?” there is a hopeful glint shining in his wide eyes and it prevents any potential criticism from leaving your lips.

Unfortunately, it does nothing to deter Jeonghan. “You look like a tennis ball,” he says, striding over to run a hand through Soonyoung’s mop of hair, “and it’s a mess. What did you do, trim it with a weedwacker?”

“No,” he laughs again–more nervously this time. Like a frightened hedgehog. “I just didn’t have time to style it this morning. You know, I think my dishwasher is really busted…”

“We can fix it, it’s fine,” you sigh, glancing up at Jeonghan who just stares down at you like the entire situation is beyond hope before setting down his coffee and disappearing into the bathroom. “Nothing to be done about the colour, though.”

“I thought it was sort of cool,” he says, dragging out the words like a kid dragging their feet at a playground. “Sort of punk, you know? Like Sid Vicious.”

“I mean…it’s not the worst I've ever seen on you,” you offer, an image of him with a blue and green polka dot buzzcut springing to mind, and he beams at the backhanded compliment. Jeonghan returns, handing you a tube of styling gel, and you get to work trying to tame Soonyoung’s mane.

It was how most mornings–afternoons, evenings, nights–were spent between the four of you (five, when Seulgi was around). Helping each other as much as you hindered and teased. Being in the same ameobus friend group since the early days of college will do that. The familiarity is almost too potent at times. You knew the ins and outs of each other. Every weakness, every strength, and every potential.

You know Soonyoung’s impulsive nature is born out of a nervous energy he could never seem to shake. A desire to change something about himself but never being able to fully realise what that thing is; so it just results in making an absolute disaster of his once healthy hair (not to mention many, many apartment bathrooms).

You know that despite Jeonghan’s constant teasing and poking, he cares deeply. That all of that mirth and humour was there simply to mask just how deeply those feelings of affection run. A river of love barely contained by a dam of wit and humour.

You know that Seulgi’s constant desire to keep herself busy and occupied comes from a similar sort of restlessness that resides in Soonyoung. She had to stay busy to stay sane. Thankfully for all of you, her business was more productive and lucrative and slightly less…colourful. Even if it did pull her away from the group more often than you would like.

And you know Seungcheol, you think, as he enters the room once more–spare tie clutched in his hand. You know the slope of his cheek, the curve of his lips, the absolute glee that lights up his face any time there is a karaoke machine present. You know good time party Cheol, and you know serious, responsible Cheol. So many facets of one man unfolded before you over your time as friends, and still you feel like there is something more hiding just beyond your reach. Something you hadn’t been able to put your finger on since the inception of your friendship.

The thought, one that comes to you more often than you would like to admit, slips free as Soonyoung squirms beneath your fingers and you remember where you are. “I think it’s good,” he says, and you glance down to see your unconscious handy work.

“Well,” you take a half-step back, cocking your head to the side and evaluating his appearance–slightly less like a dishevelled hedgehog, “it’s better.”

“Think it’ll attract some romantic interest?” he asks, turning around to face you and wiggling his eyes in that lurid way that you affectionately despise.

“We can only hope and pray that it doesn’t.” Soonyoung purses his lips together in a mock pout as you take your seat next to him again, shaking your head in horror at the thought of who might possibly see him illuminating the dancefloor like a neon tennis ball and go ‘yeah, that’s the guy’.

“Well, what about you?” he asks after a pause, shaking off the previous insult with his usual gusto.

“What about me?”

“Looking to meet anyone at the wedding?”

You scoff, shaking your head with derision, “absolutely not. The only people you ever meet at weddings are creeps or someone’s uncle.”

“I heard Johnny’s going to be there,” Jeonghan winks at you from the other side of the kitchen and you have to suppress a groan at the mention of the name. A groan suppressed by you, but immediately and very loudly vocalised by Seungcheol.

“Not that fucking guy.” His brows furrow together and you remember just how much barely contained disdain he has held for Johnny since you were seeing him for a brief (very, very brief) spell during the early days of university. “Who even invited him?”

Jeonghan slips into the seat opposite you, face lit up by the prospect of gossip, “he’s the groom’s third cousin. I heard there was some drama between him and several of the bridesmaids, though…”

“Unsurprising,” you state, tone dry.

“I also heard he was asking around about whether or not you were invited,” Jeonghan adds and you stiffen.

Johnny’s smug face swims up in your mind’s eye–twisted and warped by years of negative emotions surrounding your entire history together and you drop your head to the table with a dramatic groan. “Is it too late to RSVP with a no?”

“I’m afraid so,” Jeonghan sighs sympathetically.

“Just tell him you’re not interested,” Soonyoung offers and you snort at the suggestion. Almost amusing if it weren’t so frustrating.

“If only it were that simple. He’s not one of those guys that really takes no for an answer, he’s–”

“He’s a fucking dick,” Cheol grumbles, features pulled taut and firm. An unwavering, piercing gaze fixed on a spot on the wall above your head. The disdain, it seems, has not wavered one iota over the past five years.

“Basically,” you nod.

“So then…what can we do?” Soonyoung asks, clearly at a loss.

You shrug, all sense of hope you had for the evening to be peaceful–perhaps even fun–sinking further down the drain pipes of your own misery. The problem of ‘Johnny’ has been one that haunted you ever since you managed to finally unentangle yourself from his tornado of frat boy rampages. An entanglement that would probably have been impossible if Seungcheol didn’t threaten him with his life if he didn’t leave you alone.

Seungcheol.

A flash in the dark, a light in the cave. The idea sparks in your mind like a lightbulb flaring to life and you sit bolt upright, turning fully towards the man himself as he stands pensive with his arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“I have an idea,” you exclaim, almost manic with the glee that fills your chest. The other three stare at you, eyes questioning, as you grin to yourself. Drunk on conspiracy.

“Cheol, be my boyfriend.”

“What?” If he hadn’t already been leaning against the counter you’re sure he would have fallen over. His eyes go wide, skin reddening at the edges.

“Not for real,” you explain and his body tenses. “Just for tonight.”

“How is that a solution?”

“Because,” you begin, stretching the word out like a deck of tarot cards–trying to make him see the vision. “Johnny is terrified of you and while he refuses to take a no from me, he’ll leave me alone when he sees us together as more than just friends.”

At the word ‘together’ Seungcheol’s shoulders stiffen even further–like the word is a rod in his back. He crosses his arms over his chest, stretching the fabric of his suit to its limits. When did he get so…broad? The thought comes unbidden and you brush it aside like a gnat.

“Why not Jeonghan?” he asks, grasping at straws.

You twist your head slightly to give your friend a once over, grimacing as he shoots you a sly wink in return, “no one would ever believe we’re dating.”

“You’re right,” Jeonghan nods solemnly as he takes a long sip from his coffee, “I’m way out of your league.”

“I’ll do it,” Soonyoung pipes in, offering his services as he sits spinning a ring around his index finger.

“Absolutely not,” you reply without a single thought, watching his expression fall into dismay at the immediacy of the response.

“What? Why not?”

“Because you're a human disaster,” you reply, gesturing to the slowly blooming coffee stain now marring the front of his recently dry-cleaned suit. “Besides,” you continue, “didn't you just announce your ‘hot girl summer’ on Twitter?”

“Hot grrr summer,” he corrects, “grrr, like a tiger.”

“Regardless, wasn’t hooking up with people at weddings on your to-do list? How can you do that if you’re fake dating me?”

“Good point,” he concedes with a resigned head tilt and you turn your attention back to Seungcheol.

His eyes are focused on you, expression intense but unreadable. You find yourself wavering ever so slightly under the pressure of it, heart fluttering in light wings of anxiety in your chest. “I would ask Seulgi,” you speak, voice low and slow. Aware that you’re treading on thin ice now. “But I think the threesome propositions would be worse than just fending off the flirting by myself,” you sigh for emphasis, hoping it might crack his facade.

The entire room takes a silent breath. You can feel Jeonghan waiting on tenterhooks beside you, eager as always to see what unfolds–a voyeur of disaster. Soonyoung continues playing with the rings adorning his fingers, but his eyes are cast in a curious gaze over the proceedings. You avoid glancing at either of them–afraid that doing so might lose you whatever ground you’ve managed to make with Seungcheol in this standoff. You hold his gaze as steadily as you can manage.

“It has to be you, Cheol. Please,” you pout–dropping all pretence and finally resorting to just begging, “you’re my only hope.”

His frown deepens, creasing the corners of his mouth. He looks at you, attention fixed on your face as he considers the situation. You know he’s going to cave, from across the room you can see his deep brown eyes softening as a result of your pleading. He has never been able to say no to you and you were sure this time wasn’t going to be any different–despite the butterflies raving in your stomach. Sometimes you worried you were taking advantage of him, but usually he seems so happy to help out.

He sighs–chest rising and falling with the strength of it–all his worries settling into the air between you and you hold your breath for the verdict.

“Fine,” he finally breaks, and you let out a small triumphant yell as he sits down in the seat across from you. “But I want to establish some ground rules.”

“Okay fair,” you nod, holding back the grin threatening to break across your face.

“No touching anymore than we already do,” he points a firm finger at the tabletop, emphasising the point and you stifle a small laugh at the seriousness of the gesture. “I don't want to make anything awkward once this is over.”

“I can't imagine that happening anyway, but fine,” you dismiss the concern with a wave of your hand in spite of his ever–deepening frown. “We need a backstory though.”

“We have one,” he raises an eyebrow and stares at you in slight irritation like a grumpy dog. “We’ve been friends for a decade.”

“Yes, but how did we get from friends to lovers,” you draw out the words, losing yourself in the fantasy and missing the slight tinge of pink that begins to colour the tips of his ears, “everyone is going to want to know.”

“Will they?”

“Of course, people love a friends to lovers cliché,” you nod, crafting the narrative in your mind as you speak it aloud. Jeonghan watches from over the top of his coffee mug, openly amused, as you spin the tale of your whirlwind romance. “It was freshman year of college when you first realised you were hopelessly in love with me and had been for years–”

“Wait, why am I the one in love with you?”

“It has to be you, Cheol, we need an unrequited love. It’s what builds the drama, keep up,” you explain, exasperated at his unwillingness to play along.

“Well, why couldn't your love be the unrequited one?” He asks, bottom lip jutting out in a slight pout.

“It’s just not realistic,” you shake your head, ignoring the way his brows knit together in response to the statement. “No, you’ve been in love with me for years, but because of some twisted sense of responsibility towards the friend group, and a hesitancy to disrupt the status quo, you've never said anything before. Not until last summer after a party when you were going to go home and sadly jack off to some old porn and I was gonna go hook up with some hot stud for a wild night–”

“Okay, we get it,” Seungcheol scolds from across the table but you continue without hesitation. Bulldozing through his pouting and continuing on with your monologue as if your audience were rapt attendees at the opening night of your play instead of your three best friends ranging in mood from pointed irritation to casual amusement.

“–and you watch as I’m walking away with him but you can’t stand it, so finally you throw away all thoughts of friendship and history and propriety and you run after me and confess.” You pause a moment, fixing your gaze back on Seungcheol–meeting his tired eyes with your own wide ones and pausing a moment for dramatic effect before capping off the backstory with a flourish, “it was all very dramatic and now we are truly, madly, deeply in love.”

“I see,” he nods, expression carefully curated to display only slightly restrained irritation–a dam holding back a flood as it threatens through the concrete of his resolve.

“So,” you conclude, leaning back in your seat, “what do you think? Sound like a solid backstory?”

“I think it’s over the top and it’s a stupid idea,” he levels.

“Cheol,” you begin to plead, but he shakes his head. A firm no. Seungcheol has been many things, in all the years you have known him, and firm was one of the more consistent ones. A trait he has leaned into as he grew older and had to shoulder more and more responsibility as his friends remained just as lackadaisical and carefree as they had been in college. A contrast to the plush, teddy bear softness you knew also dwelled within him.

“It’s a stupid idea and its going to do nothing except cause all of us,” he waves a hand around the room to indicate who he means by ‘us’, “especially me a massive fucking headache.” You implore him silently, eyes wide and brimming with emotion, praying he chooses to follow through on the (admittedly loose) agreement made moments before and not back out. The thought of having to face your past demons (er, demon) alone was a stone in the pit of your stomach. He heaves a final, heavy sigh, running a hand through his ink black hair, and leans over the table towards you.

“But,” he begins again, and you can hardly breathe against the force of hope in your lungs, “for you, just this once, I will do it.”

A triumphant grin breaks out over your face and you scramble out of your chair to wrap him in a tight hug–arms encircling his head and pulling it tight to your chest in the world's most awkward embrace. He struggles for a minute before finally accepting it and letting you rock his head side to side.

“You’re the best,” you exclaim, planting a loud kiss to the top of his head before releasing him as he swats you away.

Jeonghan sits cackling to himself in his seat, watching with blatant morbid delight at the entire scene. Seungcheol levels him with a glare after fixing the mess of his hair, “what?”

“I’m just excited to see how badly this ends.”

“You’re such a pessimist,” you scold, sitting back down in your seat and finishing off the last remnants of your coffee. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Wedding #1.

A venue of soft lighting and softer fabrics. Light pink chiffon draped over cheap plastic chairs to convey a dream-like scene on a budget. Your skirt keeps getting caught on the twigs and brambles poking out of the large floral arrangements dotting the aisles of the church. The ceremony is long and tedious, as they usually are, but the bride glows in her champagne coloured gown, and you feel a twinge of jealousy spark in your chest as the happy couple makes their way back down the aisle to the sounds of applause and congratulations.

“Wow, I didn’t know you guys were together,” the bride–Saerom, a closer friend of Seungcheol than yours–exclaims as you offer your congratulations to the couple in the greeting line after the ceremony.

“Yeah, surprise,” Seungcheol says as he stands next to you, arm linked around yours, and you have to resist the urge to jab him in the side with your elbow.

Instead you fix a saccharine smile to your face and meet her eye-to-eye, “yes, we’re coming up on a year now!”

She smiles back–room for nothing but love in her eyes, not now that she’s a newlywed–and congratulates you both with a quick hug. “Well you’ve kept it incredibly secret! But I guess privacy can be exciting sometimes,” she laughs, “honestly, we were all sort of wondering when you two might get together. Seungcheol has definitely talked about you enough.”

You feel him tense but you remain steadfast and beaming–happy that the ruse is working so well and incredibly grateful you did not end up choosing Soonyoung for the role as he loudly stumbles his way through the greeting line behind you. “We are very happy,” you grin, leaning up to press a quick kiss to Seungcheol’s cheek to seal the deal. “Congratulations again,” you beam as Seungcheol’s face takes on a hue similar to a fresh roma tomato, “it was a beautiful ceremony.”

As soon as the platitude is delivered and you’re safely out of earshot, Seungcheol makes a firm beeline towards the reception hall across the street–tugging you along beside him as your arm remains looped through his.

“What’s the big rush,” you ask as you stumble to a stop in front of the hall entrance, tearing away from his grip and readjusting the hem of your dress. “Trying to beat the line for the cash bar or something?”

“What did we agree on earlier?” he grills, staring down at you with darkened eyes–his face still holds onto a bit of the earlier redness although you can’t tell if it’s due to embarrassment, anger, or effort.

“What do you mean?” you furrow your brows, trying to remember what exactly it was you did agree on earlier before it hits you. “Oh, the kiss?” He nods once, firm and decisive, and you laugh, slapping him lightly on the shoulder as you do so, “Cheol, I literally gave you a kiss this morning, too. It is not out of the ordinary.”

He crosses his arms, displeasure evident on his face as you turn to lead him inside the hall to escape the midday sun and continue the argument in an air conditioned building. “I would call that more of an attack than a kiss, personally.”

“Okay, well I promise not to attack you again. Now what do you want to drink, I’m going to go talk to the bartender for a minute.”

“Just get me a whiskey on the rocks.”

“Okay, grumpy, as you wish.” You smile as he frowns at you–a common theme of the day–before heading towards the mostly empty bar. Eager to grab your first drink of the night before the entire congregation shuffles into the hall and makes it nearly impossible to get the bartender's attention.

You manage a few feet towards your goal before a pair of hands settle on your shoulders. “Wait,” Seungcheol mumbles behind you, fingers dragging lightly against you as his hands graze over your exposed skin. A wave of chills rolls down your spine at the nearness of him and you have to resist shivering under his touch.

“Wha–” you start to turn on your heel but he stops you–firm hands pressing against the back of your arms to keep you in place.

“Just wait a second,” he doesn’t elaborate, so you just focus on the feeling of his hands as they migrate to the base of your neck. A featherlight touch against the sensitive area. You can almost feel the expression of concentration as it settles on his face–one you’ve seen so many times before. His fingers grasp onto the neckline of your dress, adjusting something sight-unseen and as soon as it begins, it’s over and his hand falls away.

You feel him take a half-step back and a cool rush of air comes in to replace his warmth in the space behind you. You spin around to face him with an eyebrow raised in silent questioning. What was that all about?

“Your tag was showing,” he shrugs, eyes averted as if some sense of embarrassment is forcing his gaze away from you.

“Oh,” you reply, open-mouthed and staring, “thanks.”

“Anytime.”

You watch the bartender’s hands move as he pours liquid into shot glasses into shakers into rock glasses; watch as he dips in and out of ice and uncaps bottles. It’s like a dance, almost, how fluidly he moves and you feel somewhat mesmerised. So much so that you hardly notice as someone siddles up next to you at the bar, staring at your transfixed profile with open amusement on their face.

“Hey,” the person calls out and you startle, hand flying up to your chest to quell the thrum of surprise that jolts through your chest.

“Jesus!” you exclaim and he laughs. A familiar laugh, one you were simultaneously dreading and avoiding ever since Jeonghan mentioned he was going to be here. You curse yourself for letting your guard slip and wonder where Seungcheol is right now.

“Sorry,” Johnny laughs by way of apology, “didn’t realise you were so jumpy.”

“I didn’t realise you were in the habit of sneaking up on people,” you reply in kind, a scolding edge to the tone of your voice which he pointedly ignores. He waves the bartender over and orders an old fashioned before turning his attention back to you.

“I wasn’t sneaking anywhere,” he says, voice smooth as butter. Silk cloth draped over the cage of a snake, “you were just too lost in your thoughts to notice me.”

“Pity,” you mumble, plucking up Cheol’s whiskey and your own cocktail from the counter as the bartender sets them down in front of you.

You stand to leave, nodding out of courtesy, but he stops you before you can manage a step, “where are you going? I was hoping we could catch up a bit.” His smile is broad, a little lopsided and you are reminded of why you started seeing him in the first place. He was charming, in his own way. Even if it only extended to first impressions and shallow conversations.

“I have to get back to my friends,” you reply, nodding towards the table in the corner where they all sat. Seulgi made her appearance about 10 minutes before the ceremony began and is now sitting in her floral pantsuit arguing intensely with Jeonghan as Seungcheol watches you from his seat next to them, eyes trained on Johnny’s lithe figure. Soonyoung is nowhere to be seen, but you can hear his laugh from the opposite side of the room.

Johnny chuckles to himself, “the same old group, hey? Never let anyone say you’re not loyal.”

“They never have.”

“How are they all? How are you? It’s been a few years since we saw each other.”

‘Not long enough,’ you think and from the curious expression on his face you realise it was more of an outside thought. You clear your throat and cover it up with a smile, “they’re good. We’re all good. I’m dating Seungcheol now.”

His mouth drops a little in awe and you feel a small rush of victory at the shock in his eyes. It lasts a moment before he collects his expression back to an even neutral and smiles, “that’s nice. I was always sort of wondering when that would happen.”

It’s your turn to be shocked and he laughs a bit as you stand indignant before him, a drink clutched in each fist. “What do you mean ‘when’?”

“You guys were basically attached at the hip,” he explains and you scoff.

“Cause we’re friends, we just–” you pause before you can say anything further. The looming threat of destroying your own cover is present in the front of your mind. It had helped so far in diverting any unwanted attention from him, though the longer you stood there with him the more you were beginning to worry that maybe it wasn’t even that much of a concern in the first place.

“I’m just saying you guys make a good couple,” he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender.

It eases the knot of tension in your shoulders and you relax slightly, “thank you.”

“It’s too bad, though,” he stands up, swiping his drink from the bartop and angling towards you, “I was hoping we could maybe pick up where we left off. I remember how fun you were when you weren’t so uptight.” The knot of tension returns, raising your hackles in defense, as he winks at you before striding back off towards his own table.

You stand stock-still, open mouthed and seething, yes burning a hole into the space in front of you formerly occupied by Johnny. The annoyance overwhelms you for a moment, colouring your vision red, before you inhale–calming your rising heart rate–and spin around on your heels to head back to your table.

Or, you would have headed back if immediately upon turning around you didn’t smack full on into a firm torso–sending the liquid from the glasses in your hands flying out and splashing down to the parquet floor.

“I’m so sorry,” the man you crashed into apologises, hands on either side of your shoulders in an attempt to stabilise you and further prevent any disaster. You might be annoyed if you weren’t still frozen with surprise.

“Are you alright?” he asks, worry clear in his voice. The question pulls you out from your stasis and you finally manage to glance up from the pooling whiskey on the floor. All thoughts of Johnny and your previous sour mood vanish as you do.

‘Holy shit,’ you think–though when he colours slightly pink a second after you realise that you really do need to learn to stop vocalising every thought that crosses your mind. “Yes, fine. Sorry,” you laugh, taking a shaky step back so you’re not chest-to-chest with him any longer, “I should have watched where I was going.”

He’s cute. Tall, conventionally attractive, and smiling like a nervous preschooler on his first day in class. It’s endearing and you feel yourself losing any sense of reality as he stands blushing in front of you.

“No, no, it’s my bad,” he dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand and a soft giggle, “my friends say I’m the clumsiest person alive so you’re not the first person I’ve run into like this.”

“Oh? Well–”

“You might be one of the cutest ones, though,” he winks and you feel a pit open up in your stomach. Oh. “Can I buy you some replacement drinks?”

You glance down at your hands, each one still clutching an empty glass. You glance back up at him, still smiling in anticipation of a reply. You feel yourself on the precipice of something. One of those minor decisions that turns out to shake the foundations of your life. You’re standing there, on the edge of a cliff holding two empty glasses and you smile. Nodding. “Sure, that would be nice.”

Everything about him is easy. Easy to talk to, easy to flirt with, easy to look at. You marvel at how simple it is to slip into friendly conversation with him–to discuss the wedding, your lives, your plans for the next day. It’s not often you meet someone where an almost instant connection is established. The last time you can remember that happening was–

“Seungcheol?” Mingyu asks and you nod.

“Yeah, we’ve been friends since university. Do you know him?”

“No, the name doesn’t sound familiar,” he says, glancing down at the bartop. There’s a pause for a moment and you take a sip of your drink, waiting for him to vocalise whatever thought he’s forming. “Is he your…boyfriend?”

“Cheol?” you almost laugh, but remember the ruse you’re meant to be maintaining–the foundations already laid. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh? I don’t mind listening, if you want to talk about it,” he offers and you think you might really jump off the cliff at any moment now.

“There isn't much to tell, really,” you shrug, trying to play it off as casually as possible. “I don’t think we’re really going to last too long.”

“You seem strangely okay with that,” he laughs.

You join in, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the situation as you laugh along with him. “The writing has been on the wall for a while,” you say, “it’s time.”

“Well,” he exhales, puffing out his cheeks as he does. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was sort of hoping we might…” he trails off, shaking his head as if to clear the thought away entirely. Erase it from the air it was spoken into. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you nod, shooting him a sideways grin despite the rising disappointment at the turn of events.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” Mingyu takes a step back from the bar and you spin in your seat, watching him.

“I would bet on it,” you reply and he grins. One final, lopsided grin spreading over his face. A spark of hope lights up in the space between and you set your teeth in determination as you take both replacement drinks from the bar and stand up to head back to your own friends.

“Cheol,” you sing as you approach the table and he’s immediately on edge. You watch his mouth tighten into a line as he watches you sink into the seat next to him, eyes combing your expression for any hint as to what is coming.

“What?”

You smile, hoping it conveys a message of ‘everything is normal and fine’ and not ‘I’m here to ruin your night’. From the look in his eyes you don’t think it’s successful; nevertheless you press on. “Cheol, I need you to do me a favour.”

“Another one?”

“A final one,” you emphasise, hand on your chest in a mock-oath, “promise.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to break up with me.”

Jeonghan snorts across the table–exactly the sort of downfall he was anticipating, surely something he’s going to make fun of you for the next five years. You ignore him and keep your eyes fixed on Seungcheol as he narrows his gaze at you, clearly annoyed but there is a shimmer of concern underneath it all–as there usually is.

“Why?” he asks, “this was your idea, remember?”

“I know it was but…” you hesitate, briefly considering conjuring up some elaborate lie to get out of it with minimal embarrassment and pain but you meet Cheol’s earnestly confused eyes and you can’t bring yourself to tell him anything except the truth, “so there’s this guy…”

“Oh my god,” he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“He’s so hot, Cheol.”

“He better be hot for all of this,” he says, lifting his head back up and running a tense hand through his hair, “if you want to hook up with him just go and do it, why do I need to be dragged into this?”

You recoil in horror at the suggestion, staring at him like the answer is so obvious it pains you that he doesn’t see it. “Everyone thinks we’re dating–”

“Yes, because you asked me to do it,” he interrupts but you hold up a hand to stop the protests with a heavy sigh.

“Yes, I asked you to do this and I’m asking you now to help me end it so I can get laid without everyone thinking I’m two-timing you.”

He groans again, tossing his head back in a gesture so dramatic you would be concerned if you didn’t know him so well. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, “fine. Tell everyone we broke up, it’s fine. Just let me drink my whiskey in peace.”

“Oh no,” you shake your head, “we made a show of dating now we have to do the same for the break up or no one will believe it.”

Seungcheol stares at you–aghast–before turning to Jeonghan in an attempt to solicit some (any) help, but Jeonghan just sits sipping his wine with the widest grin possible stretched across his sly face. Exactly the outcome he was hoping for.

“Nothing to say?” he asks, still hoping for a lifeboat to climb onto to escape your plot, but Jeonghan just shakes his head–still smiling that same fox-like grin. Cheol sighs and glances around at the people gathered in the hall, one last ditch attempt at dissuading you. Soonyoung is absolutely useless as he lights up a corner of the dance floor–hair more of a mess than it had been when he showed up in the morning–feet flying as he engages someone’s kid in a dance battle.

With a final exasperated sigh Seungcheol pushes himself out of his chair. “Fine,” he grumbles, and you grin as he drains the last of his whiskey in one go before stalking towards the bridal table.

The entire thing is so easy, really, you don’t know why he protested so much. Some tense whispering to each other–just loud enough to be overheard and eavesdropped on, but not loud enough to really need to flesh out the reasons for the break up. You were lucky the entire wedding party consisted of gossip hounds, out of the corner of your eye while lowly hissing to Cheol about how you were planning on getting home later if all went well with Mingyu, you could see them craning their necks to try and hear.

One head shake and final strained sentence later, and Seungcheol stalks back towards the bar–eager for another drink–while you rush towards the bathrooms at the other side of the hall; making sure to pass by Mingyu’s table along the way.

Your heart races in a mixture of adrenaline and satisfaction as you round the corner out of the main hall, but you can’t help but take one last glance back towards Cheol. He’s leaning against the bar, tie loosened and hair tousled–his mouth is pulled taut and if you didn’t know he was acting you would be convinced that he was genuinely upset.

You blink him away as you turn down back the hallway, but the image of him standing forlornly at the bar lingers in the forefront of your mind until you hear your name called out from behind you.

“Everything okay?” Mingyu stands in the empty space between you and the main hall.

You inhale, mustering up the most melancholic tone possible and fixing your face into one veiled by a sort of seductive sadness. One that says ‘please make me feel better’, “looks like I’m available now.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” he offers with an apologetic smile. Not entirely sure how to react. You have to tread carefully here. Not appear too overbearing to drive him off; project a pathetic enough facade to entice him in.

“It’s fine,” you say, “I just don’t think I should be alone right now, maybe…” you let the statement hang in the air between you–silently praying he takes the bait as he shoots a brief glance behind him.

“I have time. Do you want to go somewhere to talk?”

You pretend to hesitate for a moment, crossing your arms tight over your chest just enough to emphasise your cleavage while still looking contemplative. Just a moment, letting the question hang in the air, before you smile and nod–turning back towards the coat check room at the end of the hallway.

Bingo.

Twenty minutes later you’re pressed up against a wall of jackets with Mingyu’s face in your neck.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he asks, his breath hot on the skin of your neck and you nod frantically, begging for him to shut up and keep going.

“Yes, yes. Fine, it’s good.”

Despite your assurances he pulls away, meeting your needy gaze with his own, “I don't want to be something you regret in the morning because you were drunk and upset.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m fine with it.” You try to connect your lips back to his, pulling his face close, but he resists and you sigh. Letting him air his hesitations while his thigh is still propped up between your legs–pinning you to the wall.

“No, I don't want to feel like I’m taking advantage of you while you're vulnerable.”

A sweet sentiment, but right now you’re well beyond sweetness. You want to be ravaged–something akin to a bodice-ripper that you would read bored in an airport. Heated kisses in a coat check room, a sloppy hook-up that’s both messy and satisfying.

You try once more. “I am asking you to please take advantage of me. I allow it. Permission granted.”

His leg slips out from below you, arms moving to your shoulders in more of a comforting gesture and less of a lustful one. “I like you,” he says, a small smile of apology on his face, “I don’t want to ruin it by being too eager when you’re in a bad place. I think you need to process.”

‘But it’s not real!’ you want to tell him. You want to scream it at him; to knock some sense into his stupidly handsome head. Instead you just let him talk (sweet, very sweet) and watch as your potential hook up drifts away from you into the ether.

“Maybe we’ll see each other again, soon,” he says, voice hopeful. You nod, unable to really muster anything else as you pull your dress back down over your thighs–adjusting the straps so they cover your shoulders once more.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you wish he would stop saying things as you and him slip out of the coat check room and head back towards the reception as it rages in full swing.

You wave goodbye to Mingyu, trying to keep the frown from etching too deeply into your face, before turning around to seek out your friends amongst the fray.

Jeonghan’s blonde head makes itself visible as you glance around the room; you weave your way over to the table and plop yourself down with a huff into the seat next to him.

“Back so soon?” he asks, surprised at the sudden return, “what happened to that himbo guy? Not a good lay?”

“No, nothing happened at all,” you sigh, reaching forward to grab Soonyoung’s cocktail and tipping it back, draining the glass despite his immediate protest at the blatant theft.

“Why not?”

“He said he didn’t want me to do anything I might regret,” you choke out a strangled laugh, “you know, because I was just broken up with.”

Jeonghan lets out a loud laugh, head thrown back in glee as you stew in bitterness next to him. It takes him a minute to collect himself before he can respond, wiping a tear away from the corner of his eye. “What a gentleman,” he laughs. “This is what you get for playing with feelings. At least that Mingyu guy is looking out for someone.”

“I wasn’t playing with anything,” you whine. You glance around the table to find Seungcheol to corroborate this, but the only sights that greets you is Soonyoung’s beet red face and Seulgi’s bored expression. “Where’s Cheol?”

“He went home,” Jeonghan answers simply.

“What? Why?” you ask, glancing around for a clock, “he never leaves before midnight.”

Jeonghan just shrugs, “he said he was tired.”

“When did he leave?” you twist around to get a view of the entrance, as if the man in question might spontaneously appear. A small bird of hope rises into your throat as someone stumbles through the doors, but it's quickly smothered when you realise it’s just Johnny.

“Pretty much right after you shuffled off to the coat check with tall, dark, and handsome.”

“Well…” you flounder, thwarted hookup almost entirely forgotten in the wake of your friend’s absence.

“Well what?”

“What do we do now?” you ask, floundering in the absence of the anchor of your friend group.

“Take an uber home whenever we’re done here, I guess,” he sighs, “why are you so worried?”

“It’s just so not like him.”

“Well, feel free to grill him about it tomorrow when we’re all hungover and miserable.” Jeonghan says with a shrug and you lean back in your chair, determined to do just that.

Wedding #2

You’re sweating through the fabric of the cocktail dress you bought on sale, traipsing across a field propped up on Seungcheol’s arm towards a massive canvas tent for the reception of the second wedding of the season. Apparently it was the vision of this bride to torture her guests with the combination of heat and isolation.

You had driven out at 9:00am to the small town venue, bouncing down the old highway in Soonyoung’s used Jeep and praying that the reception was going to end soon so you could head back to the motel and pass out in your pyjamas. The tent is decorated in what can only be described as ‘country chic’ and you baulk at the prospect of being forced to take photos on a pile of hay bales.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a familiar voice calls out over the din of the music. You glance up from your flute of champagne to find the source and come face to face with Mingyu. He’s wearing a similar blue suit to the last time you saw him, hair styled away from his forehead. A broad grin stretches over his handsome face.

“Mingyu?” you ask, barely concealing the surprise that flares up inside you at his appearance in front of you. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he laughs, “didn’t know you were attending every single wedding this summer.”

“Just about,” you echo his laugh and return the smile, “just a plus one at this one, though, I fear.”

“Ah, well that’s alright,” he nods, “plus one means I still got the opportunity to see you. So I should thank whoever brought you along, I suppose.” He raises an eyebrow, clearly wondering who the person in question was.

“Yeah, well I think the person in question is currently getting very tipsy at the open bar,” you nod to your side to indicate Seulgi, currently chatting up one of the bridesmaids in her usual fashion–all big laughs and small touches.

Mingyu chuckles at the sight, but the light laughter fades as he notices the rest of your group leaning up against the opposite side of the bar, currently bickering over who knows what. Jeonghan flashes you a quick grin and a wink when he notices you staring over towards them and you give him a half wave before turning back to Mingyu. “Your ex is here, too?”

“My ex?” you ask, confused. He stares at you blank faced and you glance back towards your friends, eyes falling on Seungcheol’s unusually stiff frame–lips pulled into a taut line as he looks back at you from across the dancefloor. “Oh, you mean Seungcheol.”

“Are you guys back together or…?” you hear the hesitancy in the question and bring your hands up to wave it away immediately.

“No, no,” you laugh, “it was just…we stayed friends. Very amicable parting.”

“Oh,” he nods, casting a hesitant glance over to the man in question, “that’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” He smiles in relief and then seems to catch himself, “I mean not…glad that you, like…went through a break-up, obviously, I just mean–”

“It’s fine,” you laugh, trying your best to brush it off without letting the whole lie spill out in explanation.

“I just mean,” he continues, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck–frayed nerves on full display. You step outside of yourself for a minute as he stumbles over his words. Marvelling at the sight of such a large, objectively attractive man being reduced to stutters–because of you. The novelty tugs at something in your mind–a desire to see it through. To follow where this thread leads, to whatever end. If before he was just a handsome convenience, now he is an intrigue.

You tune back in as he seems to finally find the words he had been tripping over, “I just sort of…regret…how it ended last time. Maybe not completely regretting it, because I think I maybe did the right thing…?” he trails off, searching your expression for any hint of disagreement. Finding none, he continues, “what I'm trying to say is that I was having fun…with you.”

“I was too,” you assure him and he smiles again, eyes crinkling up at the corners.

“Good,” he breathes, “I’m glad.”

Conversation drifts and you take a breath to glance around the room. Your friends have scattered themselves about the room, Soonyoung and Seulgi each individually pursuing the same bridesmaid–each attempting to woo her away from the other with competing humour and drinks. Jeonghan has found someone to regale with his most recent horror story from work, and Seungcheol sits brooding on his own, leaning back with a glass of whiskey in a chair and staring out over the dancefloor. You briefly consider abandoning Mingyu and walking over to him–make some attempt to put him in a better mood, but the thought is knocked aside as Mingyu clears his throat next to you.

“Do you want to try again?” he asks, and you can hear the hope lilting in his voice.

“I don't think there are any closets here,” you laugh and he mirrors you once more with his own laugh. A sound you were growing rather fond of.

“No, I mean after the reception. Where are you staying?”

“Oh, at some motel in town,” you search for the name in the recesses of your brain but come up woefully short. “The West something. I can’t remember. Jeonghan told me, but I only listen to maybe 50% of what he says.”

“The Westley?” he asks and it sounds close enough so you nod in the affirmative, “that’s where I’ve got a room as well.”

“Well isn’t that serendipitous,” you smile, thinking that maybe the night was looking up after all. He nods, and you can see that he’s waiting for you to continue the invitation. To leap at the suggestion he has laid out before you but you enjoy watching him stumble over his words a bit so you remain silent–staring up at him in askance as you wait for him to continue the thought.

“If you want,” he clears his throat, glancing to the side nervously, “you could meet me there. At the motel, I mean. In my room…” he trails off, ears turning pink–matching tone with the bouquet of peonies hanging from the chandelier behind him. You pretend to consider it, humming as if you’re giving it quite a serious amount of thought even though you’ve already decided to take him up on the offer. “Only if you want to,” he adds and you finally deliver him some relief.

“I do want to,” you smile and his own widens in response.

“Great. Cool. I’m staying in room 213.”

“213,” you affirm the number and he nods.

“I guess I’ll…see you later?” Despite the mutual agreement, he still poses it as a question. As if you might have changed your mind in the past 10 seconds. As if he might end up alone in his boxers, sad and eating stale snacks from the vending machine.

“See you later,” you confirm, abating his worries. You watch as his lips stretch into a bright smile before he waves a quick ‘later’ and heads back over to the bar where his friends are tossing back drinks.

“What’s got you smiling so big? You look like you just got laid,” Jeonghan comments as you waltz back over to your own group of friends–face hurting from the force of your grinning.

“Not yet~,” you sing.

“What?” Seulgi whips around from the bridesmaid she’s chatting up, eyebrows raised in curiosity; the allure of gossip too strong for her to ignore. “With who? What did I miss?”

“Some himbo,” Jeonghan starts filling her in but you stop him with a light smack to the back of the head.

“His name,” you emphasise the word in an attempt to erase Jeonghan’s comment, “is Mingyu. He’s tall and handsome and nice and I really want to sleep with him.”

“Mingyu?” Seulgi asks, fully turning around in her seat now. Attention removed entirely from the now visibly annoyed bridesmaid behind her. Leaving an opening for Soonyoung to sweep in and distract her attention away from Seulgi and back onto the dancefloor.

“You know him?” Seungcheol leans forward, eyebrows raised. He had been pointedly ignoring you since you strutted back over from your run-in with Mingyu, but the potential for new information from Seulgi piques his interest.

“Sort of, yeah,” she replies, “my team at work had a contract with his bakery to–”

“He’s a baker?” you interrupt, glancing over to where the man in question is standing against the bar. The new information slots into your brain and you can feel your pupils transforming into heart shapes as you stare agape at him.

“Yeah, he is, it’s a cute shop. He gave us some free eclairs.”

“Okay, so what’s wrong with him?” Seungcheol asks, arms crossed over his chest.

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” you sigh, exasperated by the inquisition. “He’s just a guy, and you’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Cheol scoffs. A quiver of fear flashes across his face before it’s smothered by the more prominent emotion of annoyance.

“Yeah, jealous that I’ve managed to bag a date and you haven’t,” you’re grasping at straws. Looking for anything to defend yourself and your choices with.

He shakes his head, pushing himself out of his chair, “whatever. I wasn’t even looking for one in the first place.”

“Where are you going?” you call out after him as he steps away from the table. Your tone matches his annoyance in spite of yourself as you demand some explanation for his sour mood.

“To get a drink.” he replies over his shoulder, not bothering to look back as he does so.

Jeonghan laughs, stretching back in his chair before following suit. He lays a hand on your shoulder before stepping away and you glance up at him, curious. “Believe when I tell you that I’m saying this with love but,” he says, smoothing down your hair with his other hand, “you’re an idiot.”

His hands fall away and you watch as he meets up with Cheol and Soonyoung–recently abandoned by the bridesmaid–at the bar.

“Ignore them,” Seulgi says and you’ve never appreciated her presence more than you do now. “If you want to have some fun, who are they to stop you? Did you get his phone number?”

“No…” Saying it out loud makes you wonder why you never asked for it. “But I did get his room number. He told me to meet him there later.”

“Did you write it down?” she asks, taking a slow sip from her drink. The bridesmaid she had been talking to returns, slinging an arm around her shoulder and whispering something into her ear.

“I’ll remember it,” you say, confident in the strength of your own memory. 213. The number rolls over itself in your mind.

“If you say so,” she nods, attention already slipping back towards the girl draped over her and you lose yourself in the clinking ice of your own drink while the reception dances around you in glitter and champagne.

“How am I lost? There are literally only 3 floors in this place…” you mumble to yourself, walking through the first floor hallway. “Was it 113 or 102? Maybe 203…”

The small labyrinth of doors seems to grow with every frustrating step. Mingyu had left the reception tent about an hour before you, taking with him any chance you had at reconfirming the numbers or actually doing what you should have done upon first meeting him and getting his phone number. You mentally curse the three tequila shots you slammed back at 11:30pm with Soonyoung and continue on your quest, heading up to the second floor in an attempt to jog your memory.

The second floor presents you with nothing but a thicker haze of confusion. Numbers float around your head, taunting you as they dance in and out of your consciousness. 210, 222, 213, 203…the possibilities were endless and you weren’t too keen on knocking on every random door until you were greeted with the right face.

You sigh and head up one more floor to the third, finally settling on a number and poise your fist to knock. 312. It felt as correct as any of them had so far–which is to say, not at all.

Silence for a moment before you hear shuffling footsteps behind the door, the lock unlatching. You hold your breath.

The door swings open after a second and you’re greeted with an all too familiar face. “Cheol?” you ask as if you needed to clarify. He brings a fist up to his face, rubbing away any remnants of the sleep he was trying to get until you interrupted him.

“What are you doing here?” The confusion on his face mirrors your own and he glances over your shoulder, eyes scanning the empty hallway around you. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I was trying to find someone…”

He turns his attention back to you, fully, expression caught somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. “Forget his room number, did you?”

“No,” you mutter with a frown, indignant. Cheol looks at you, the truth dangling in the air like a signpost. “Okay, fine. Yes, I forgot.”

“So…” he starts, taking a step back away from the door, “what are you going to do now?”

“I don't know,” you sigh, pushing past him into the room and flopping down on the nearest of the two queen beds. “It feels almost hopeless to try and keep looking. I’ll just end up waking up more people.”

The mattress dips as Seungcheol takes a seat next to you on the bed. “Won’t Romeo be disappointed that you stood him up?” you sense the slight edge of derision in his voice but ignore it.

“Heartbroken, I’m sure,” you sigh before sitting up and glancing around. “Where’s Jeonghan?”

“In Soonyoung’s room making sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit. He did a line of shots with the bridesmaids and Seulgi after we all left, apparently.”

“Naturally,” you snort. “That means Seulgi probably brought one of them back to our room too…”

“Do you want to go and check?” he asks and you shake your head without a second of further thought on the subject.

“Can I just stay here for the night? I’m tired of walking.”

He stares at you for a minute, brown eyes cast in shadows by the low lighting of the room. You slip your legs under the blanket, waiting for the confirmation, and snuggle into the warmth of the motel bed. “Fine,” he sighs, “but you get the other bed, this one is mine.”

“But I like this one,” you whine, wriggling deeper into the mattress, and he sighs again-like a weary father at the end of a long road trip. “Thank you, Cheol~” you sing your gratitude as he shuffles into the bathroom.

The frustration of the previous twenty minutes melts away as you settle into the room. Seungcheol’s luggage lays open on the floor and you slip out of bed to grab a spare t-shirt to sleep in while he’s still in the washroom. It’s an old one–one you remember buying for him in the early days of university after Soonyoung had managed to ruin the one he was wearing with a wayward bottle of ketchup.

You hadn’t realised he had held onto it for so long.

The washroom door opens just as you slip the shirt on over your head. You turn, facing Seungcheol in his own tee and he pauses a moment, lingering in front of you like a held breath before walking over to the other bed and pulling out his phone. “Hungry?”

“What?”

“Don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a while so I figured we could just order a pizza.”

“Oh, yeah sure. I could eat.”

The pizza arrives 30 minutes later, handed to you by a bored looking delivery guy, and you pile onto Seungcheol’s bed to share the late-night meal. You eat in companionable silence, only the soft sound of Friends reruns as they play on the TV in the background.

“Do you really think there’s something wrong with him?” You break the silence in between slices and Cheol glances up at you, curious.

“With who?”

“Mingyu.” You don’t meet his eyes. Some sense of embarrassment at even asking–at considering his opinion on your potential hookups–forcing your gaze to remain fixed on the white comforter.

He tosses his crust back into the box as he considers the question. “No, he seems like a decent guy,” he admits, and you finally force yourself to look up at him. Cheol stares into the TV, eyes reflecting the flashing images as they project out into the room. You wonder if the same feeling that made you avoid his gaze is also forcing his attention away from fully facing you. “Do you like him?”

“I don’t really know him, but he’s cute,” you shrug, “and interested. Which is more than I’m used to.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he scoffs, immediately dismissing the self-deprecation.

“It’s true, Cheol,” you laugh–resigned to the reality of your life. “I haven’t been with anyone in forever because I’m just tired of hoping. I don’t want to have to guess if someone likes me, I want to know.”

Silence creeps in again. You expected another dismissal of the thought, maybe a platitude in place of any actual helpful advice because this just was the reality of dating these days, but instead he just turns his attention back to the screen. Eyes swimming with unspoken thoughts.

“Anyway, I don't think it matters now after tonight.” You conclude the conversation, reaching into the box and taking another slice of pizza. A spot of grease drips down to your chin and you reach for a napkin.

“You’re so gross,” Seungcheol comments, leaning forward with a napkin before you even get a chance to grab one. The haze of melancholia dissolves from his expression and the corner of his lip quirks up in amusement. He dabs the spot of grease away with the corner of the napkin, the warmth of his hand sinking into your skin as he does so and you consider for a second what it might be like to lean forward and kiss him. The thought dissolves into mist as soon as he pulls away; like it has so many times in the past.

Wedding #3

Another Saturday in July, another distant acquaintance's wedding. You’re not sure at what point in your life you met so many people (presumably university) but you’re praying they all stop getting married during the same two month period.

The ceremony is beautiful, as they usually are, but long. The couple’s crusty white dog served as the ring-bearer and promptly peed all over the priests’ robes during the vows, which was the most exciting thing that could have possibly happened. Jeonghan managed somehow to get the entire incident on camera and you sit rewatching it before the dancing starts as the bride changes into her ‘reception gown’.

The third wedding of the season has taken a toll on the group. Seungcheol sits with his blazer unbuttoned, leaning back in his seat as he picks at the remnants of the slice of french vanilla chiffon cake they served after dinner. Jeonghan has lost the glint of mischief in his eyes, content mostly to settle back and watch the proceedings instead of actively engaging in any sabotage as he usually would. Seulgi leans casually against the bar while she chats with the hired bartender about the advantages of Chilean wine over French. Only Soonyoung remains, as ever, excited to be here. He readjusts the laces on his scuffed loafers, “to cut a rug,” he says with a wink, and prepares to launch himself onto the dancefloor at the earliest opportunity with one of the bridesmaids (or groomsmen, he’s not picky).

The evening begins as usual with the first dance between bride and groom–tastefully yet predictably set to ‘Your Song’ by Elton John–and devolves almost immediately into a rave as the already slightly tipsy guests take over the dance floor. Hours pass as nostalgia jam after nostalgia jam is blasted through the speakers and you collapse back into your chair after being spun around in circles by someone’s over eager uncle.

You glance over at Seungcheol. His tie is loosened, the knot pulled down an inch or two from the base of his throat, a slight grin pulls at the corners of his lips as he watches Soonyoung attempting to tango across the dancefloor with a poor, unsuspecting bridesmaid.

You watch as he tips back his bottle of beer, the Adam's apple curving the skin of his throat bobbing as he drinks. A thought occurs to you at this moment. Maybe less of a thought, and more of a feeling. One that has occurred to you many times before, in passing sometimes when your hands brush as you move around each other in the kitchen–the only two semi-responsible hands trying to get things together for a dinner party.

Sometimes it has occurred to you more concretely–more consciously. A feeling conjured up actively in your own imagination as you lay awake in bed, silently pondering how your life might shift if you ever acted on it.

That light tugging at the centre of your chest. A dull thudding as your eyes rake over the skin of his throat, as they travel down the length of his body. As you remember how many times you’ve been innocently pressed against him–camping, baking, beer pong.

Steady Seungcheol. A constant in your life since freshman year of college, during a class neither of you wanted to take but were both forced into due to missing multiple application deadlines and a need to fill credits.

Steady Seungcheol who was always there when you needed him. Who had held you while you cried, who had seen you through your messiest of days. Who had laughed with you throughout the years; celebrated milestones, cried with you when your family dog died, and who had unfailingly been himself throughout it all.

Steady Seungcheol who was so much more than that. Who was kind and brave–even when he would complain the entire time. Who was always around to help out anyone who needed his help in any form. Jeonghan, Soonyoung, Seulgi, friends, family, neighbours. You.

Looking at him now, that fleeting feeling that came and went throughout the years took on more shape. It began to solidify in your mind until you felt you could almost touch it, hold it. You wanted to peel back the layers of your skin and flesh and pluck it out for him to see. Hold it in front of him like a jewel to be appraised.

“Do you want to pretend to date again?” you ask, half dazed, and watch as Seungcheol leans forward–brows knit in concern.

“Has someone been bothering you tonight?”

“No, no,” you start to laugh, “no one has been hitting on me at all.”

“Oh, good,” he nods, expression still slightly tense. “Then…” concern bleeds into mild confusion, “why would we…?”

“I just,” you begin, inhaling. Preparing to pluck out the jewel and place it on the table in front of you.

I just want to try. To test out this feeling that has laid dormant in my chest for years, waiting for an opportunity.

I just want to feel close to you again. Closer than before.

I just want to see how good my hands might fit into yours.

I just want to see what this feeling actually means.

The song blasting out through the speakers fades out, allowing the noise of the wedding to filter into your small bubble. The feeling recedes once more, the jewel dissolving into the ether. Soonyoung’s laugh booms out through the canvas tent and you blink back to reality, meeting Seungcheol’s dark, questioning eyes as he waits for your response. “No reason,” you force out a laugh and take a quick sip of your own beer, “it was just a silly thought.”

The music shifts, the pace of the dancers slowing to an almost crawl as the playlist slips into a slow jam. A few couples linger, arms encircling each other as they sway to the hypnotic beat. Soonyoung collapses into the seat next to you, rousing your attention as he reaches for the remnants of your cocktail.

You swat his hand away with a soft ‘hey’ and he baulks at you, “I’m just thirsty,” he pouts.

“Then go get some water,” you pull the drink away from him and his pout deepens as he follows it, sprawling out over the table and whining like a wounded cat.

“But I want this, it looks good.”

“It is, that’s why–”

The bickering is cut short as a hand extends into view in front of you, outstretched towards your own in offering. “I’ll get you another one later,” Seungcheol offers and you glance up at him.

His tie has been re-tightened around his throat, hair straightened back up from its previously tousled state, and he stands next to you–smiling that soft-eyed smile of his and beckoning you to stand. “Come and dance with me.”

You stare up at him for a moment–a moment caught in time. Soonyoung and all thoughts of the drink fade from existence as Seungcheol comes into absolute clarity in front of you. How come you never noticed exactly how his mouth curls up higher on one side?

‘I’ve been staring at him for too long,’ you think in a panic shortly before slipping your hand into his. The sudden feeling of skin on skin shocks you to your senses and you find yourself following him out onto the dancefloor.

He picks a spot closer to the edge, further from the rest of the people still lingering about the tent. His hands come to settle on your waist, pulling you towards him, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing.

You’ve been friends for years.

You’ve slept in the same bed together, gone on long road trips crammed next to each other in the back seat of someone’s rickety old car, and seen each other naked on the rare occasion when your more impulsive friends decide to go skinny dipping in the middle of the night during a camping trip.

So why was this moment–here swaying in his arms to some nondescript, retro love song–so incredibly potent for you. Why did it feel like your heart was being inflated like a party balloon and twisted into the vague shape of a poodle?

Looking in his eyes feels intensely like danger, so you rest your head on his shoulder as he moves you slowly around the dancefloor. His arms wrap tighter around you and for a moment you let yourself fall into the fantasy. For a moment it’s just you and him–like it has been so many times before–but deeper. His hand comes to settle at the small of your back and you feel an electricity flow from his fingertips directly into your stomach–tightening the knot of possibility.

And then as soon as it began, the feeling slips away as the song comes to an end and the party resumes. A rogue bridesmaid–tipsy with wine and frivolity–bumps into you and you stumble, Seungcheol steadies you on his arm before leading you back towards the table where you abandoned Soonyoung (who, in the time you were gone, has since downed both the rest of your drink and Jeonghan’s glass of wine).

You slip back into your seat and Seungcheol does the same, loosening his tie once more and casting his gaze back out over the rest of the tent as the night drags on, but you let your eyes linger on him. Tracing the line of his jaw, down his neck. Committing his profile to this new memory–the new feeling–before locking it away tight in the back of your mind alongside the word ‘impossibility’.

Wedding #4

Another weekend, another countryside wedding. You assume that maybe some bridal magazine or another must have been extolling the virtues of getting hitched out amongst the sounds of the birds and the insects. Away from the business of the city–away from the cars, the people, the air conditioning. It’s the only thing that could possibly explain why you find yourself walking unsteadily down another gravel road in high heels heading away from the reception tent.

The setting sun bathes the field in a golden glow and you have to admit to yourself that it is a picturesque setting. That maybe you wouldn’t mind so much getting married somewhere like this–doing your photoshoot out in the warmth and expanse of the great outdoors.

A voice calls out, softly at first and then more insistently and you’re pulled out of your reverie–glancing around for the source of the sound.

He comes into view, smiling and waving, as he weaves his way towards you through the throng of wedding guests making their way down the road to their cars. “Mingyu?”

“I didn’t think I’d see you again after the last wedding,” he says, coming to a halt in front of you.

“Ah, yeah,” you laugh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I’m sorry about that by the way, I got lost in the motel.”

“It’s fine,” he shakes his head, smile unwavering. “I mean, I won’t say I wasn’t a little bit disappointed, but I understand. We should have probably just exchanged numbers in the first place.”

“That would have been the smart move,” you nod, laughing.

Jeonghan clears his throat next to you, reminding you that there are four other people bearing witness to your impromptu reunion. “Are you coming? Or should we leave you behind?”

“Gimme a second,” you hush him.

“I could give you a ride,” Mingyu offers, avoiding the gaze of your friends as they stare. “third times the charm?”

If it had been three weddings ago, you would have agreed immediately. No hesitation. But something has shifted. Something intangible but powerful stays your decision for a moment–hovering in the back of your mind as you consider your options. “Hang on one second,” you ask him, hands out as if to keep him in place. As if he might disappear the second you turn away from him. He nods and you turn back towards your friends.

“Are you going with him?” Seungcheol asks as you stand in front of him–paralyzed by your inability to make a choice. Silently begging him to tell you not to go so that you don’t have to choose.

“I don’t–” you start, but the words falter as soon as they begin to make their way out of your mouth.

“Do you want to go with him?” he asks and you just stare at him open-mouthed. “You have to make a choice,” he sighs, clearly annoyed by this predicament you’ve found yourself in.

“I don’t know,” you stutter. Seulgi, Soonyoung, and Jeonghan are already halfway back to the car. Seungcheol is your last chance.

“Just go,” he shakes his head, handing you the crossbody bag you had asked him to hang onto halfway through the day. “Call me in the morning.”

That was it, then. Decision made. You turn back around towards Mingyu–handsome as ever in his sleek black suit jacket and tie–and offer him a lopsided smile. “Let’s go,” you say, feigning a cheerful tone even as a small bird of disappointment takes flight in your heart.

Mingyu’s parked in the other lot, he says. You take his arm to better hobble across the gravel pathway towards it, moving further and further away from your friends as you go. You make small talk for a while–chatting easily about what you’ve been up to since you last saw each other, how his bakery is doing, how you found the wedding. Again you find yourself amazed at how simple it was to slip into a rapport with him–almost too simple. Superficial, in its simplicity. You lose yourself in the scenery as you step closer to where he’s parked, letting the conversation drift away.

“I can’t imagine it,” Mingyu comments after a moment of silence, glancing over towards the reception tent as it sits mostly empty in the field–aglow with the light of lanterns and the remnants of the setting sun as the night slips into dusk.

“Can’t imagine what?”

“Knowing that the person you’re with is the one you want to be with for the rest of your life. To the point where you commit yourself to it,” he shakes his head, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way about anyone.”

“There’s still time,” you laugh. The romance of the day settles into your mind and you let yourself float along the river of thought as it carries you away, “I think I get it.”

“You do?”

“I do,” you nod. “It’s not a stars-and-butterflies sort of love, you know? I think you have to be with someone long enough to feel like you know everything about them, but still want to be around them anyway. They annoy you, but it’s only because you care about them and really can’t imagine a life without them.”

“Have you been engaged before?” he asks and you laugh again.

“No, but,” a thought dances in front of your face. Just out of the realm of tangibility. You reach out to grab it but it slips through your fingers. “I think I’ve felt it, I think–”

It lands suddenly–the thought. Planting itself square in your head and you feel your heart leap into your throat. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Mingyu asks, turning to you as you stop dead in your tracks.

“Oh my god,” you bring your hands up to your face, burying yourself in them out of sheer embarrassment. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Is everything okay?” he asks again, not bothering to hide the worry that is evident on his face. You look up at him, mourning the loss of what could have been for a brief moment before turning your mind to face the reality of what is in this moment.

“No,” you shake your head, “I mean yes, fine. I just…holy shit.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, more than,” you laugh–feeling giddy and manic with this new discovery. “I just realised I'm in love.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry Mingyu,” you take his hands in yours, squeezing his palms twice before dropping them and taking a step back. “You’re a great guy, for what it’s worth. I really was looking forward to sleeping with you.

“Thank you…?”

“I have to go.” You spin around on your heels, leaving him standing dumbfounded behind you. You can apologise more thoroughly later, but for now you have a deadline to meet.

Your ankle gives out beneath you and you stumble, narrowly toppling over before managing to right yourself; you grab at the fabric of your skirt, hoisting it up a foot off the ground to avoid tripping further as you cut across the lawn back towards the people you came with. Back towards Seungcheol.

“I want to go home with you.”

He turns to you, confused, as you stumble into him. His arm naturally comes up to support you, giving you a steady place to lean your weight onto. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

The concern, ever present for him and often ignored on your part, really sinks in this time. A warm blanket of care that would almost bring you to tears if you weren’t already afloat on a cloud of anxiety and love. “Everything is fine, I just…” you trail off, unsure of how to word your most recent revelation. Sure only that you didn't want to do it in front of every other person you know. “I just changed my mind. I want to go with you.”

“Umm, yeah we can drop you off on the way if you want to go back to your place?”

“No, no,” you shake your head, adamant and firm in your unspoken conviction. “I want to go home with you.”

“With…me?” You nod, watching the dawning of realisation as it crosses his face. His brown eyes widening, mouth dropping agape. A moment’s breath hangs in the air between you before he can bring himself to accept this new reality. “Okay”

The ride back to the city is silent. Or, the front seat is silent, at least. You sit in the passenger seat, watching Seungcheol out of the corner of your eye as he drives–face dimming as the light leaves the sky and is replaced by the soft glow of the crescent moon. The backseat is populated by four people eager to prolong the festivities as long as possible and this make this known–loudly–as Soonyoung proclaims they were all invited to his place for drinks after and that Jihoon “wouldn’t mind too much” if they just crashed in his living room.

The bundle of nerves that had been making its home inside of your stomach eases its stranglehold as the city comes into view. You let your gaze wander over Cheol as he keeps his eyes fixed on the road. His hair falls in a slope over the nape of his neck–longer than he usually keeps it. Everything about him, at once so familiar and yet still so new. It was funny to you how different someone appeared once your perception of them changed. Once those feelings that you had always kept behind some brick wall inside of you were finally set loose and accepted.

The nerves dissolve into some sense of anticipation as he pulls to a stop in front of Soonyoung’s apartment building and everyone piles out of the backseat. Jeonghan stops at the driver’s side window to say something to Seungcheol but you don’t manage to catch any of it–only enough to see him nodding in your direction in place of a proper good night.

The silence returns and remains as he weaves the vehicle through the city streets back towards his place. It remains as you clamber out of the vehicle, taking his hand as he offers it without a word, and as you step inside the dark interior of his home.

You follow him in silence up the stairs towards his room, not daring to give voice to the thoughts humming in the air between you. They shimmer in the darkness and light up the silence around you with their own song. Seungcheol’s hand never leaves yours. Not until he tugs you behind him into his room and down onto the mattress to sit next to him.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such an idiot,” you say, breaking the silence with what feels like the most genuine apology you can muster. For all the years you wasted wallowing in your own obliviousness.

He frowns into the dark of his bedroom, hand tightening around yours as it sits on his lap, “you’re not an idiot.”

“I am,” you insist with a soft laugh, “how many years have I been in love with you without realising? I think that’s pretty stupid.”

“Maybe,” he concedes the point with a hum. “But if you’re an idiot, then I’m the town moron.” His tone is so serious and considerate it makes you want to cry when all you can do is laugh.

“So we’re both stupid, then,” you laugh and he finally lets a small smile break through–expression cast in a soft glow of the streetlights leaking in through his window. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

His hand flexes around yours again as he considers it. You never realised how soft they were before–his hands. Soft, yet firm. Gentle in their strength. A pure and genuine reflection of his character. “I did try, a few times,” he confesses and you do what you can to mask the shock of it.

“When?”

“In university, the first time. And then later when we were all drunk at some housewarming party–Seulgi’s, I think,” he laughs, more to himself than anything. A memory recalled that you aren’t privy to. “Maybe my timing was just bad or…maybe it just wasn’t clear, but I sort of gave up after that.”

“Why?” you whisper the question. It feels like glass as it hands in the air–fragile. Like it might shatter at any given moment. You’re almost afraid of the answer.

“I was more afraid of losing you than I was of just…living with my own feelings,” he admits and you think you really just might start crying.

“Cheol…” you shift on the bed, moving to face him in the darkness. He follows, dropping your hands for the first time this evening so he can meet you eye to eye.

“Can I try again?” he asks. You move to say that he doesn’t have to, that you reciprocate everything already, but something shining in his eyes–even in the darkness of the room–stops you. He takes your hands back in his, running his thumb in small circles over the back of them as he speaks.

“I love you,” he starts and you feel your heart leap back up into your throat–grateful for the dim lighting shielding your face from his full view. “I’ve loved you since we met and you drive me absolutely insane, but what’s worse,” he emphasises, “is that I can't imagine my life without that. Without you.”

“I love you, too,” you breathe, setting free the words that had been so long trapped inside of you longing to escape.

“There was something I wanted to do the first time I confessed.” He hesitates a beat before you nod for him to continue, “I’m afraid it might be sort of…corny now, but–” another pause, another breath. Gathering courage in the darkness. His thumb stills on the back of your hand. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Of course,” you laugh and he exhales a breath that you didn’t realise he had been holding.

“Thank god,” he giggles. It takes every ounce of will in your body not to fling yourself on top of him at the sound.

“So are we…official now? Are we going steady?”

“Stop,” he laughs, relief still clear in his voice despite the annoyance at the teasing. The laughter dies after a moment, settling back into a stretched silence as you sit hand in hand across from each other on his bed. It lasts for a second, a minute, a year before he finally breaks it, inhaling a short, shaky breath, “should we…kiss?”

“I think so, yeah,” you nod, leaning forward to meet his lips even as you say it. The anticipation from earlier rises back up in your throat as you are pulled closer together. The gravity between you sinking your bodies into each other until finally–finally–your lips meet.

It’s awkward at first, for a moment, as you figure each other out. Figure out how you fit together in this new world. A moment of adjusting–bodies and worldviews–and then…it all clicks. And it’s easy. And you can’t imagine a time when you weren’t kissing him.

His arms move to embrace you and you sink into it, moving onto his lap and letting him pull you closer, closer, closer. For a few minutes it's all bumping noses and soft giggles between kisses before the atmosphere in the room shifts.

His fingers sink deeper into the flesh of your hips, your hands in his hair tighten their grip and you press your chest firmer against his-feeling his heartbeat as it races in time with your own. His breathing becomes more laboured as he moves to slip a hand under your skirt, raising the hem up your thighs to your waist. You slip his tie off around his head, eager to get through the layers of his suit and lay him bare before you.

A rustle of fabric as your dress hits the floor of his room, a siren ringing out through the clear night air, and you find yourself slipping past the point of no return. Easing into this new relationship like you’ve been together for a century.

At the end of the night, in the dark of the room as you lay against his chest and succumb to the fog of exhaustion, you feel his lips press firm against the top of your head, a soft whisper of “I love you” and you feel your heart inflate with the feeling of a dream fulfilled.

Wedding #5

Another summer, another wedding. You thought you were running out of friends and family who would bother to invite you to these events, but you find yourself decked out in yet another discount cocktail dress, sipping champagne from a rose gold flute glass as Soonyoung and Jeonghan argue about food.

“Oysters aren’t a crudités, you idiot, they’re an aphrodisiac,” Jeonghan seethes, glaring at Soonyoung as he sits assured in his stance on the seafood.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive, crudités could be an aphrodisiac,” he pouts–an unnecessary gesture considering the topic at hand. Seulgi sits between them sipping a martini and glancing at each one like they’re the most intensely stupid people she has ever seen in her life.

“What is sexy about cut vegetables?” Jeonghan asks, crossing his arms over his chest. You fix Seulgi with an amused stare before pushing yourself out of your chair, she returns it before rolling her eyes at Soonyoung’s derisive groan.

“What does being sexy have to do with it?”

“Aphrodisiacs are foods used to increase sex drive!”

The argument fades into the background, joining the ambient conversations and music that fills the reception hall around you as you set off to find Seungcheol.

You spy him at the bar–as per usual–and slink up behind him. “There you are,” he says as you slip your arms around his waist, pressing your face into the space between his shoulder blades. He holds out an arm for you to nestle into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you do. “I was wondering where you were.”

“Just babysitting,” you sigh, sinking into his warmth–grateful for the sense of solidity and familiarity that he always offers you regardless of the setting.

“Can you make me a promise?” you ask, he hums in response indicating for you to continue. “When we have our wedding, can we avoid inviting those two?”

He laughs, head tossed back by the force of it. No need to ask for any clarification on who ‘those two’ referred to as Soonyoung’s voice rings out over the crowd with the word “APPETIZERS!”

Cheol presses another kiss to your head, still chuckling, “deal.”

if you enjoyed this, or any other of my stories, please consider reblogging or sending me an ask letting me know your thoughts! i would love to hear them~

#kwritersworldnet #seungcheol x reader #s.coups x reader #svthub #caratwritersclub #s.coups fluff #seungcheol fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #mads.yn #mingyu x reader

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wizardofrozz · 6 months

Note

I don't think I submitted an ask to you yet lol so: for the first kiss prompts,

the hands. on the waist. oh my god. with Fox!! ❤️

Above Coruscant

Commander Fox x reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: 18+ for suggestive actions, groping, and mention of war. Let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: Well this got away from me but I really shouldn't be surprised...its Fox after all 😂 pretty sure I'm going to write smut that follows this because I can't contain myself when it comes to Fox lmao. Also, if you're a Republic Commando fan, there's a tiny (just a mention) cameo for all of you 👀

The landing pad was empty, Coruscant’s faint breeze ruffling your hair as you leaned against the railing. You occasionally glanced down at the dots of people moving around below, only paying half a mind to the message you were typing. With a soft sigh, you send the message to Captain Obrim, tucking your datapad away and turning to lean back against the railing.

Your job with the Coruscant Security Force put you in some interesting situations over the years but the start of the Clone Wars had ramped up your workload, especially when Jaller had offered you a spot in his Anti-Terrorism unit. The job also came with some new coworkers in the form of the Coruscant Guard, specifically the four commanders. It took some time, but slowly you started to get to know each of the commanders despite coordinating with Commander Fox the most.

He could be...stiff at times. You didn’t like to use cold because after watching him interact with his men, he was anything but. However, the more time you spent around him seemed to have him warming up to you. Now, if only that didn’t make your stupid little crush on him worse.

You felt like a teenager again, getting giddy when you knew you’d see him but the worst part was that he seemed to return the feelings. His smile softened a bit when he looked at you, he stood just a little too close and brought you caf just the way you liked it when you spent hours debriefing the Guard. Sometimes, he’d even flirt with you, just enough to make your stomach somersault. But then it would stop abruptly.

Fox held back, pulling away when you tried to meet him halfway and it would’ve hurt if you didn’t see the emotion reflected in his expression every time.

The thump of footsteps forced your mind back to the present and Maker, did you wish you could’ve stayed oblivious. Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth as you scanned from his heavy boots upward. You’d never seen Fox in anything but crimson armor and you hated that this outfit was doing something for you.

It was a simple outfit, just plain brown pants, a black shirt, and a black jacket but there was something oddly alluring about seeing him look so...normal. You swallowed around the lump in your throat and stood straighter as he approached, absently brushing a stubborn curl off his forehead. Butterflies fluttered around your stomach when you noticed that his cheeks were a little rosey and it occurred to you that he probably caught you checking him out.

“Commander,” you greeted, praying your voice didn’t sound as breathless as you felt. A small, unconscious smile lifted the corner of his mouth and it made your face feel too hot.

“Startin’ to think I’m late,” he huffed, glancing at the speeder parked nearby.

“Nah, I wasn’t far,” you replied with a shrug, wandering closer to the speeder, prompting him to follow. You grabbed the spare helmet off the back and tossed it to Fox, smirking when he almost fumbled to catch it. Fox’s brows knitted together as he stared down at the modified Ubese helmet. When his eyes lifted again you shrugged, moving to take it from him.

“You don’t have to wear it immediately but when we get to the club you’ll have to put it on,” you explained, tucking the helmet into one of the bike’s saddle bags.

“Will I be able to breathe in it?” Fox eyed the helmet apprehensively, leaning over to look into the saddle bag.

“No, Fox, I’m gonna let you suffocate,” you huffed, arching a brow. “It’s modified so you’ll be able to breathe but it also acts as a good excuse for why you can’t take it off.” Fox hummed, resting his hands on his hips and looking at you through his lashes.

“Alright,” he mumbled, his eyes following the length of the speeder. There was a hint of color high on his cheeks when he glanced in your direction again. “We’re sharing, huh?”

“Sorry,” you said with a shrug. But there was a small part of you that hoped he really didn’t mind. His eyes lingered on your face for a moment before he bent down to grab one of the riding helmets you’d managed to find. Fox tossed the helmet so it twisted around before he caught it again, slipping it over his head with ease. The visor was still up when his gaze drifted back to you, allowing you to see the way his eyes wrinkled as he smirked.

Yeah, you had definitely been staring.

You quickly pulled your helmet on, trying not to watch as Fox climbed onto the bike, scooting forward to leave room for you. You almost wondered if Jaller purposefully didn’t find a second speeder. Fox tensed slightly when your hand gripped his shoulder, using it to steady yourself as you climbed on. His head turned, watching you from the corner of his eye as you settled in behind him.

Logically, you knew there was only one way to keep yourself safely on the bike but now that you were faced with the reality of it, your face burned. You moved slowly, wrapping your arms around his waist and your mouth felt too dry at the heat simmering in his dark eyes. You pulled in a slow, calming breath and shifted to get comfortable. Your exhale was cut off with a yelp when two large hands wrapped around your wrist, pulling you tighter against Fox’s back. His voice was muffled behind the helmet but the mischief twinkling in his eyes told you he knew what he was doing.

“Don’t wantcha fallin’ off.” You rolled your eyes, thankful he couldn’t see the small smile on your face, and tightened your arms around his torso. Fox glanced over his shoulder one last time with a wink before snapping the visor of his helmet down. The speeder’s engine roared as Fox twisted the throttle, the speeder shooting forward and you instinctively squeezed his torso. Shithead.

Skyscrapers whizzed by as Fox sped up, merging into the nearest skylane. It was going to be a long ride to the club you were supposed to infiltrate and usually, it wouldn’t bother you. However, Fox was never involved in any of the other long trips you’d been on. The slow, even movement of his chest under your hands was oddly distracting and you shifted your hands toward his waist. You tried to let your mind wander but every minute shift of the man in front of you made it nearly impossible.

You shifted back slightly, suddenly aware of how your legs framed his, your mind conjuring up a few of the dreams that had you waking up blushing. Fox settled into the seat, sitting up a bit straighter, and the movement forced your hands a bit lower. His stomach was warm and solid, your fingers itching to trace the lines of muscle you could feel under his clothes. Maybe it was his cheeky little wink or the fact that your crush was only getting worse the longer you knew him that had you sliding your hand under his coat. Fox’s fingers flexed, gripping the handlebars a little tighter and you smirked to yourself.

His stomach clenched, his hips shifting slightly when you pressed your palm under his ribs. The howl of the wind was muffled through your helmet and you turned your head, watching the beings in the vehicles around you. Fox’s chest expanded with a deep breath and you took the opportunity to shift your hand, dropping it lower, dragging it across his stomach. He didn’t react, switching lanes to avoid a speeder going under the speed limit.

You were toeing a line that you’d stayed far away from up to this point...and Fox was letting you. He could’ve pushed your hands away, making it clear he didn’t want this but instead, he leaned more of his weight against you. Taking a deep breath, you let your hands wander, sliding down enough to almost brush the waistband of his pants before moving to rest them against his hips.

You lingered there for a bit, not squeezing, just lightly holding onto his hips as he maneuvered through Coruscant’s busy skylanes. Fox stiffened when your hands finally moved, sliding down to his thighs and you couldn’t stop yourself from squeezing, licking your lips absently. Fox tilted his head, almost like he was trying to crack it, and your confidence only grew. Muscles flexed under your hands and you ached to feel him without layers of fabric in the way.

Fox’s thigh twitched when you trailed your fingers a little higher, brushing the inseam of his pants. But you didn’t stop there, lazily following the stitching upward, applying just enough pressure for him to feel it. You were almost at the bulge in his pants, ready to pull back when Fox’s hips shifted forward, and you froze, hand hovering inches away from his crotch. Fox turned his head and you could almost see the anxiety in the set of his shoulders. You had to make a choice.

Fox’s hip jerked again when you lightly cupped him through his pants.

You couldn’t hear him but you could feel a groan rumble through his chest and you shivered. His head tipped back when you squeezed lightly, his back straightening as he sat up. His cock twitched against your hand and you gasped into the privacy of your helmet. Then suddenly nerves buzzed under your skin, uncertainty threatening to eat you up. You wanted this more than anything but stepping over that line was big, to say the least.

Anxiety quickly got the better of you and you released him, ready to pull away only for a large hand to cover yours. You blinked at the back of his helmet, chewing on your bottom lip when his head turned to glance over his shoulder. Fox nodded, squeezing your hand once before reaching for the handlebar again. You clenched your teeth, letting out a shaky breath as you settled against Fox’s back. You wanted nothing more than to be anywhere but on a speeder hundreds of feet from solid ground.

You didn’t move your hand for a while, letting some of the tension melt off Fox’s shoulders first. His chin dipped down when you slowly started to rub him through his pants and your mouth watered when his breathing picked up. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if you could make him cum like this. Fox’s back arched, hips jerked when you tightened your grip and the arousal simmering under your skin continued to intensify.

Then Fox suddenly jerked into a more upright position, slowing the speeder enough to exit the skylane and you released him, moving your hand to his hip again.

Descending into the lower levels made your stomach turn and you kept your head on a swivel as Fox landed the speeder. He seemed to almost slump with a harsh exhale and you tried to hide your laughter as you climbed off the bike. Fox lingered on the seat for a moment, twisting to hide the way he readjusted his pants before standing. He kept his back to you, hands clenching and unclenching at his side as you lifted your helmet off.

There was commotion somewhere behind you, an argument or something, but you kept your attention on Fox. He eventually reached up to lift the nondescript helmet off, setting it on the speeder’s seat but he still didn’t turn around. Fear welled up in your stomach and you immediately regretted the fleeting touches on the speeder as you took a step closer.

“Fox?” His shoulders lifted in an exaggerated exhale and then he was moving. Your breath hitched when he grabbed the front of your jacket, yanking you closer. Your head was spinning, eyes widening when you registered Fox’s lips on yours. It took a moment for your fight or flight instinct to settle but once it did, your eyes fluttered shut and you melted into the kiss.

Your lips parted for his tongue and Fox tasted faintly of caf, a bitter yet welcome taste. You loosely wrapped your arms around his neck, shivering when his hands released your jacket, following the curve of your body before coming to rest on your hips. Breaking the kiss was harder than you anticipated but Fox stayed close, resting his forehead against yours.

“Where did that come from?” you whispered, still trying to catch your breath.

“Long overdue,” he huffed, slowly rubbing your sides.

“And what does it mean?” Fox chuckled under his breath, bumping his nose against yours, a disarmingly tender show of affection.

“It means, I’m not done with you, honey.”

Ragu list:

@a-single-tulip @wings-and-beskar @anxiouspineapple99 @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @msmeredithrose @starrylothcat @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @cw80831 @wolffegirlsunite @clonemedickix @sev-on-kamino @dickarchivist

#commander fox x reader #commander fox #commander fox fic #coruscant guard #star wars #the clone wars #star wars fic

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acupofqueercoffee · 1 year

Text

“With her sweetened breath and her tongue so mean”

Andromache the Scythian x Witch Reader

gif ▸ queen-shuri ( i don’t know how to link a gif ㅠㅠ )

request ( found here ) by @nightly-polaris

i left her powers to your imagination though i did play around with the idea of them being soulmates. wow it did take me a while. this was harder to write than i thought. frankly, i’m not very pleased with it. i went too long without writing and i feel like i’m getting rusty. i just hope that i managed to do your idea justice 🥹

(=^･ω･^=) leonora the cat made a cameo appearance

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Myriads and myriads of millennia. That was how long the Scythian had been walking the earth. There was not a corner of this world where her soles had not touched. Many a time had the sky borne witness to her downfalls, and thereupon, her immediate beginnings. Throughout her journey as an immortal, she had seen it all, privation, plenty and everything in between. The wonders and weirdness of the world could no longer provoke in her a sensation that would otherwise have six thousand years ago.

Regardless of her very old age that could have her certified as a living fossil, and the boundless knowledge that she had collected throughout her very long life making her a walking encyclopaedia, there existed many mysteries that even Andromache had yet to see. Amongst them, magick was a concept that still remained foreign to her; therefore, a threat. Unfamiliar though it was, it was not entirely unheard of. After all, she herself had been caught in the crossfire while trying to free the accused from the witch trials. In the end, they were just that: accused. There ended the extent of her experience regarding witchery or anything supernatural for that matter.

The only occult phenomenon that she knew to be bona fide was their immortality. The rest was sham. That was, until her team notified her of the all too familiar dream. Until a family of four bar Quynh and Booker, became a family of four, plus a hazardous, peculiar individual.

━━━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━━━

The arcane parts of you that had remained concealed for the better part of your life had only recently come to light when you unfortunately faced your demise.

The cause of your death had been as good as silly, slipping on a wet tile and cracking your head open on the edge of your bathtub, but it had shed light on an important piece of information nonetheless.

One second, you were dead, and the next, you woke up in a pool of your own blood. To you, who had been revealed to the bombshell of an information about a week ago, that you were a witchling, you were just in assuming that it was part of your newfound identity.

However, on the following day, with the arrival of a mysterious woman on your doorstep, your life was turned upside down. Going with her had not been of your own free will, having been meticulously knocked unconscious and finding yourself on an unfamiliar bed upon awakening.

The root of your sudden perturbation stemmed from the absence of Leo, a majestic Somali cat with gorgeous red mane that resembled a smaller version of a fox. She had been your greatest companion long before you had been made aware that she was your familiar. It appeared that the bond between a witchling and her familiar became only stronger once a witch unlocked her true potential. Only when a fluffy ball of scarlet hopped onto your bed could you calm.

In addition to, quite frankly, the charismatic complexity of a woman that you eventually learned named Andromache, you met three other people; Nile, who looked the closest in age to you, Nicky who had the kindest face out of the four, and Joe who appeared the most laid-back. All five of whom, four who you had just met, and the remaining one who, as explained by them, was away to carry out his punishment, were not entirely unfamiliar to you. You had seen them in the dream that had sought you right after your very first’s death.

Regardless of your non-involvement in being here, the decision to remain here was done of your own free will, reached by not only your instinctual feelings but also the support of Leo. Growing up alone, you had no one to miss you, and no one to be missed by you. It seemed sound to stick with those as peculiar as you were, than to stick out like a sore thumb amongst the ordinaries, or so you had believed.

Oh, how terrible of a mistake you had made by assuming that being immortal would make you the same as them, or them the same as you.

Although the others welcomed you warmly, making you feel at home as best as they could, your confession about your true being was not received kindly by Andy as the others called her. In fact, even the nickname was a privilege that was beyond your reach.

“That’s Andromache to you.” so she had corrected, lips the very picture of a straight line, when you had made a slip of your tongue.

Being forced out of slumber one night by a curious dream, similar in kind to the one you had on your death’s day, led you to seek the group with a question in mind. No sooner had you set foot in the room than the Scythian made herself scarce without so much as acknowledging you.

“Andy, albeit not being the most open person, can be ridiculously protective of her team. You are now one of us which means that she cares.”

“Humans harbour fear of the unknown. Even Andy cannot be entirely immune to it. Give her time.”

“She’ll come around. Take me for example. I had been killed once, beaten to a pulp, and had my bones broken by that woman, all of which transpired within the same day.”

Despite the reassurances from Joe, Nicky, and Nile, you would rather she kill you than disregard your existence altogether. Her aloofness stung you all the more for you felt oddly, albeit rather profoundly, connected to her.

You wanted to believe that it was time she needed, and time, you gave her, but when you were being actively avoided by her like you were the very plague, it only made sense that your tolerance would eventually run thin.

Unlike the Scythian along with Joe and Nicky who had been protecting humanity for centuries, and Nile who used to be a marine, you lacked experiences when it came to being a warrior. Additionally, being a witchling meant that you were a complete novice in magick. During one of your first missions, due to an error on your part, you had hindered your team by causing their unnecessary deaths.

You were not oblivious to the fact that the Scythian’s immortality had reached its end. In fact, it was by dumping all your attention onto the woman that you had not a dot to contribute to your part of the task. Although the mistake was borne of your all consuming concern for the Scythian’s safety, appreciation was the farthest thing from which you ended up receiving.

“Andromache, I keep having this dream of a drowning woman. Is she someone like us?”

When you had brought the question to her with a flimsy hope of instigating communication, sapphire green eyes had coldly held your soft-eyed gaze.

“There is no us.”

Such had been her words, thickly laced with venom that it rendered you absolutely crestfallen.

Thereafter, you were left alone in the room along with your question neglected. The answer to which was being delivered to you presently in what you could only describe as the most unkind fashion.

“You wanna know who that woman in your recurring dream is? That’s Quynh and if I could, without question, I would trade you for her. You should be the one locked up, not her. Quynh isn’t a witch. You are!”

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-“

“Every day, I worry over whose immortality will be stripped away next now that you’re in existence. What use are your abilities when you can’t even make good use of them? A hazard to the team. That is what you are! Nothing but a liability.”

Razor-sharp and poison-bitter, her frankness certainly did a splendid job of maiming you.

Despite not only being shunned, but also having your sorry little heart wounded by the very kingpin of the team, withering was the last thing that befell you. If it did, you were doing a good job of putting up a front, fragility hidden behind a tough facade.

You trained more. You smiled more. Always so cheery, always so carefree until one day, a relatively trying mission brought about the shattering of the mask that you had painstakingly put in place.

“Have I done something wrong? Why does she loathe me so?”

Having been bursting at the seams with bottled up emotions, it was no wonder that your heart reached its breaking point.

“I can’t. I can bear it no more.”

An endless leakage of tears marred your features as you came apart at the seams, revealing to the team the depth of the wound the Scythian’s coldness had burned into your psyche.

━━━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━━━

You were different as they were but at the same time, you were different from them altogether. The Scythian had her suspicions to begin with when, after swiftly sketching the picture of the one who had visited their dream, Joe had handed her the book in which a familiar face stared eerily back at her.

Losing her immortality meant that she was no longer privy to these interconnected dreams. However, there was no mistaking the face that had been plaguing her dreams for years. Andromache did not know what it suggested for them, and it was disconcerting to say the least. Then, once the fact was made known that you harboured powers beyond immortality alone, with her suspicions solidified, you were deemed a threat.

As was with Nile, there, too, was a strong possibility of you coming to be at the cost of one of the veterans’ immortality. The staggering awareness that it could very well be Quynh was a bitter pill to swallow. It did not make it any more palatable that Quynh was unfairly accused of being a witch, and locked up in the bottom of the ocean for centuries upon centuries only for a real witch to take her place.

If her rationality had not been muddled by stress, and the deeply rooted guilt and resentment of having to lose Quynh, she would see that her judgement about you had been done with extreme unfairness. Cruelly subjective instead of reasonably objective.

In the end, Joe and Nicky had to play the role of an eye-opener.

“What’s wrong with you, Andy? You’re being unreasonably cruel to the kid.”

“She proved hazardous to the team.”

“She is a part of the team!”

“She’s not entirely like us.”

“That’s absurd!”

“I lost my immortality upon Nile’s arrival. Quynh is next in line. What if she-” Brushing her palms over her face, a sigh was heaved into the cocoon of her hands. “The innocent has to suffer while the guilty takes her place? Don’t you think it’s unfair?”

Joe levelled her with a glare that screamed incredulity while both of them sounded truly disappointed.

“My god, Andy, are you hearing yourself?

“Where is the Andy I know who’s endlessly caring to her people?”

“Your anger is dreadfully misplaced. It is those pea-brained bastards that should be rightfully crucified, not an innocent kid.”

Even amidst being chastised, Andromache could not help but be awed by the couple as they effortlessly supported each other.

“You’ve been nothing but, to be brutally honest, a heartless bitch towards her, and yet, she’s always been heedful of your safety. Despite her lack of experience, the kid’s been tirelessly pushing herself. Can you not really see? Or, did you blatantly choose not to?”

“The way you treat her is cruelly unfair. You know it to be true. You can’t tell me otherwise. Whether she is a witch, or- or say, a vampire, or whatever the hell she is, she’s irrevocably one of us.”

“Poor kid’s devastated by your actions. You would do well to own up to your mistakes and ask her for forgiveness.”

Slowly but surely, the Scythian was beginning to see the errors of her actions, but it was only after having been knocked some sense into her by her very family could she truly grasp the extent of her callousness.

And thus, she came seeking you, a mission that was accomplished rather swiftly.

The sight that she had walked in on forced her to a stop. Keeping herself hidden behind a wall, she was caught off guard by a pang of…perplexity, she decided to name for now, that started pounding against her ribcage.

You were locked snugly in Nile’s arms, face buried in her chest as you dissolved into tears. Seeing you so broken, and knowing that she was undeniably the culprit behind your suffering did something inexplicable to her, but when the pang only intensified, her mind was transported back to a period of time many many moons ago. She had found the amour who she was particularly fond of mingling with someone else, and needless to say, it had not sat well with her.

The green-eyed monster had taken possession of the Scythian then.

Now, the same monster was knocking on her door, bringing with it an unpalatable sensation.

Confused and overcame with labyrinths of emotions, Andromache who had never, in her immortal life, willingly backed down from a challenge experienced her first surrender. Incapable though she was to approach you, the Scythian’s night was spent fruitfully as she dissected her puzzling reaction.

By morning, the puzzle was solved, and her feelings, understood. The pang of perplexity, as it so happened, turned out to be a pang of jealousy, followed closely by guilt and something else entirely that she was not yet ready to admit out loud.

The question however was, had she been too late in realising her mistakes, and thereupon, her feelings?

She had every intention of talking things out with you, but the sudden emergence of a mission compelled her to put it on hold.

Joe and Nicky took care of driving, and as much as she disliked seeing you stick to Nile the entirety of the ride, she knew that she had no rights interfering. For that, she had but herself to blame.

━━━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━━━

Raining down around Andromache in a violent downpour were bullets. None of them were offered a chance to reach her, for as she fought with her foes, her team had taken it upon themselves to guard her. They were playing defence while she did the offence. Although at first, their strategy was working remarkably well, as the troops multiplied on the opposing side, their stance faltered.

Being a burden to her team was the last thing she wanted, and having had enough of her team suffering in her stead, she took off from the formation, aiming instead towards the enemy line with her beloved labrys in hand. At her lead, her team followed suit, coming to grips with the enemy team. They covered her, as one after another, the opponents were annihilated by the Scythian’s effortless execution.

Everything had been working in their favour until, all of a sudden, Andromache found you planted firmly in her way. Although, if only for a moment, she was confused, she learnt just as quickly that a bullet had found home in your flesh. A moment later, and her axe, too, found sweet purchase directly between the eyes of your aggressor. Together, you made light work of defeating your opponents. As you kept them restrained with the help of your powers, she delivered finishing blows.

Between using your powers to assist her in combat and taking damages for her should the assaults were to prove lethal, one too many times had you use yourself as a shield. As a result, your body was riddled with many an injury which the Scythian noticed were taking longer than necessary to heal. Through the wounds leaked blood, and it made Andromache nauseous with worry.

What she perceived next, she heard it first, before she saw it. A loud bang of a gun that sounded from behind you.

Almost instinctively, her hands found home on your hips, soft flesh yielding beneath her calloused fingers as she quickly did a swap of positions. If a bullet were to hit, it would be her instead of you. The inevitable pain, which she was bracing for, never came. She understood why by the time her eyes fell on you. Tendrils of glowing green were dancing to your fingers’s desire as a protection was conjured around the pair of you.

The mission, once again, accomplished, she took the time to admire the delicate blossom of a smile on your lips. A feeling that quickly dissolved into worry upon hearing the little whimper that escaped them. By the time your eyes slipped shut, and your legs gave out, with her heart in her throat, she caught you in her arms.

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The shock Leonora the familiar felt upon seeing you in the Scythian’s arms only continued to crescendo when you were carried not into your room, but, hers.

“She isn’t healing. Why isn’t she healing?”

The question was evidently for her, and so, she answered.

“Immortality doesn’t grant her immunity to damage done by her mate. A mate’s rejection to a witch is quite possibly the most harrowing form of torture. It leads to deterioration of the body.”

Her response took a while to come. “How can I find them?” Leonora eyed the Scythian curiously as plethora of emotions flashed across her face before the words were hissed through gritted teeth. “Her mate.”

“A witch’s familiar cannot be understood by just anyone. Only her true mate can.”

“What are you implying?”

“You’ve been seeing her in your sleep, have you not? Long, long before her immortality came.”

By the way she was looking at her, sage green eyes shimmering with shame, she almost felt bad, emphasis on almost, because in the end, she did not shy away from rubbing salt on her wounds.

“Given your time on this earth, I had surely believed that you would know better than to jump to conclusions. I’ve overestimated you, it seems.”

“My time on this god-forsaken place is precisely why I can’t trust people outside of my team. On more than one occasion have I been led to plight by pity and my sense of duty. Some of which have caused me my comrades.”

“And you thought it wise to reject one of your own?”

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“I fucked up, I know. But I don’t want to fuck up any more than I already have.” The Scythian’s voice was laced with genuine upset as she pleaded with your cat, eyes desperately beseeching. “So, tell me, please. How can I fix this?”

“There are quite a few things you can do. That said, physical contact with her mate is the easiest and the most effective way for a witch to replenish her energy. I would strongly advise cuddling.”

Thus landed the Scythian into her bed that was presently housing your unconscious frame.

Only now, as she was lying face to face with you, did she realise how little she had looked at, let alone appreciated, you.

Tentative fingers touched a cheek so soft to unveil your face curtained by a few strands. Battle-hardened though they were, they executed the task with tremendous tenderness.

The scars that her eyes discovered upon wandering down your neck had the effect of jogging her memory. With the long forgotten memory now dug up and on the forefront of her mind, she was transported back in time.

During one of her travels, she had chanced upon a house on fire. Even though, normally, she would avoid involvement in fear of exposing herself, and consequently, her secret, she felt compelled to enter the roaring flames. What, or rather, who she found was a little girl trapped inside a room. Instead of crying as any child in such predicament most likely would have, she was busy murmuring reassurances to the little kitten that was cradled protectively in her tiny little arms. There was no doubt that she was in intense pain if the wound that had been leaking blood on her neck was any indication.

Now that she thought about it, the familiar dreams began on the very same night. It had been so dark in the house that she did not get a chance to properly see your face. Nevertheless, your cat was right. Andromache should have known. If she had only taken the time to think carefully instead of rushing to conclusion, all the suffering would have been spared. After all, in all the dreams that she had of you, you had never so much as harmed a hair on an ant’s, let alone, a person’s head. How big of a nitwit had she had to be to harbour the thought that you would be capable of intentionally sabotaging them.

With your face as sweet as Baklava and your heart so golden, you had to be the quintessence of innocence, pure, unsullied white, sent into her life to remind the Scythian, who was tainted with darkness and death, that the world was not only teeming with war and wickedness. In contrast, she had to be the wickedest of them all to be able to trample a delicate little bud without giving her a chance to prove herself.

She had, Andromache admitted, oh so cruelly, snuffed out the little shimmering ray of light. Come hell or high water, it was now the Scythian’s duty to chase away the heavy, stormy clouds that were threatening to devour the little sunshine.

If you were to allow it, she would, in fact, declare you her sunshine.

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Meanwhile, feeling rightfully smug, Leonora the cat revelled in having her head scratched as the ginger fur-ball lounged in Nile’s lap.

She might have made a drama out of a crisis while playing cupid, but what she had said, in her defence, were not entirely incorrect. She would be a fool not to make the most of a stellar opportunity if it meant making her best pal happy. After all, unlike you who was annoyingly upright, she was a firm believer that if used wisely, trickery always bore the sweetest of fruits. Plus, if you finally found someone to cuddle with, then, she would hopefully, thankfully be spared the odds of being squeezed to death.

And viola! If love was on your side and luck on hers, you would win yourself a girlfriend, while she got to experience freedom. It might just be the best example of killing two birds with one stone, if Leonora did say so herself.

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Waking up to a muscled body pressed against yours, and strong arms cocooning you, you had half a mind to believe that it was a by product of your sleep-ridden mind.

Only when you heard Leo’s voice in your head did you realise it was in fact not a hallucination.

“You really don’t have to do this.” Unlike your utterance, your actions suggested otherwise. As if possessing a mind of its own, your face had sought solace in the warm dip of her throat. When you spoke again, it was but a murmur. “I’m aware that you love Quynh.”

Her reply came a moment later in the form of a merciless stab to your heart. “I won’t lie to you. I do love Quynh.” Your endeavour to escape from her embrace was doomed to failure. “But, it is no longer the kind of love that I felt once upon a time. Loving her doesn’t equal falling in love with her.”

“It was hard, losing Quynh, and I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive myself.”

You were wounded, and thereupon, healed by her words. The choice, essentially, lay in her hands.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive myself either if something were to happen to you.”

She coaxed your face out of its little haven in favour of her soft-eyed gaze roaming over the planes and hills of your face.

“You must have felt scared. Lost. I was supposed to be there for you.”

In addition to the collapsed eyebrows, her voice had a sad lilt to it as a thumb gingerly caressed your cheek.

“I know a simple sorry cannot fix all the pain I’ve caused you, but if you’ll let me, I truly wish to earn your trust.”

Since the mood had been too gloomy to your liking, you opted for a lighter, more benign route with your response.

“Now, now, Andro-“

“Andy, please. Call me Andy.”

“Andy.”

Her name tasted sweet on your tongue.

“You were saying?”

“-someone might think you’re trying to woo me.”

You came dangerously close to disclosing your desire, and if you were being honest, you had been entertaining the idea of confronting her after your facade fell in front of the team. It was an all-or-nothing decision.

After everything she had said and done, you would be lying if you said you were not hoping for her to ruthlessly reject you. At the same time, saying that you were not foolishly hoping for her to miraculously return your feelings, too, would be a downright falsehood.

“What if I am?”

In the end, it was neither foolish nor impossible, though, it did feel miraculous all the same.

You liked her. Tremendously. And although it was true that she had hurt you, you knew for a fact that her reason for doing so was not ill-intentioned. It was done out of worry for her team, and blaming her for it would be ludicrous. You did admit that she had been terribly unkind to you, but you knew that she was altruistically caring at heart. Not only could you feel it, you liked her too much to deem the errors of her way irreparable. Mistakes came to be in the first place as an opportunity for one to learn from them. You were all to willing to give her a chance.

“Well then, Andromache of Scythia, luckily for you, I’m not very hard to please.”

“Kiss me as much as you’re sorry, and I’m all yours.”

You watched, giddy and gleeful, as a smile bloomed on her handsome face.

“With pleasure.”

Fanning the flames of heart palpitations by bombarding one with kisses, as sweet, and soft as soufflé, should be included in the ever-growing list of ways she knew how to kill a man. Of course, she was allowed to use this delightfully tantalising technique on you and you alone.

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this is how i imagine leo would look like as a cat

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