Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was probably just nerves.

At least, that’s what she tells herself when Mira’s shoulder brushes against her bare arm and the sensation nearly makes her knees buckle. A flare of heat and a pleasant, if overwhelming tingling sensation ripple through her from the point of contact, and she thanks her lucky stars for all that media training. Keeping a straight face was a tall order, but she manages.

It was nerves, she’s nervous. This is their first appearance since the Honmoon incident, and the first major show with her patterns on display, of course she’s nervous. Rumi let out a shaky breath and resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself. She didn’t need to do that anymore, she promised herself and her bandmates she wouldn’t.

“You’re gonna do great, don’t worry,” Zoey's voice comes from her right, low enough only the three of them can hear.

Mira hums in agreement. “You look badass.”

The platform shakes, groans, and begins to ascend. Zoey and Mira were right. It’s business as usual, and she’s still a consummate performer. The fans paid for a show and come hell or high water they were going to get one.

“Thank you both.” Rumi whispers as the false floor above their heads slides open, preparing for their grand reveal. The deafening roar of the audience pours into the elevator shaft as they assume the triangle formation Mira taught them, slipping into the choreography like an old pair of jeans. She shoves the moment with Mira in a box deep, deep down in her mind. She can unpack it later. Or never, Rumi’s not picky.

The show goes well, and by the time the lights go dark, she’s mostly forgotten the incident. They go home and find the entire coffee table covered in brightly colored snacks. They rip the display to shreds, gorging themselves on a post-show banquet of convenience store ramen and individually wrapped candies before collapsing in a pile on the couch to watch some movie they can all half-pay attention to while basking in each other’s company and the leftover euphoria of performing for tens of thousands of people.

It happens again when Rumi is less prepared, and her reaction is far from composed.

She’s in the middle of the cuddle train. Mira sits with her back against the arm of the couch behind her, and Zoey is curled in her lap, dozing off. The movie is in its final act when Mira reaches past her to grab a drink from the coffee table and brushes her left shoulder.

Rumi goes ramrod straight and sucks in an involuntary, whispered breath as the tingling feeling once again reverberates through her. 

This time, Mira notices.

“My bad, you okay?” She asks, and how exactly is Rumi supposed to answer that question? She can’t even identify what the sensation is, let alone what it means.

She lets out a soft breath that shakes entirely too much for her liking, and she’s sure Mira notices that too.

“Y-yeah, I’m good.” Rumi fidgets with the end of her braid, hoping to god Mira just drops the issue.

She doesn’t.

“You sure? You sound like you’re about to cry or something.” Mira keeps her voice low to avoid waking their sleeping bandmate, and Rumi would be lying if she said she didn’t like the way it wafted past her ear like a warm breeze.

Rumi opens her mouth to respond but no words come out. Mira leans forward with an inquisitive hum and Rumi’s breath hitches yet again as their bodies press flush to each other. Mira reaches out and delicately drags her index and middle fingers up Rumi’s right arm that she stupidly draped over the back of the couch and forgot about. Rumi lets out a high-pitched squeak as the sparks of contact bounce through her before coiling just below her belly button.

“Oh.” Mira’s voice comes from behind her again, tinged with embarrassment. She withdraws her hand just as she passes Rumi’s elbow and Rumi clenches her jaw hard enough to crush steel to keep herself quiet

“Sorry I didn’t know they were uh, sensitive.” Mira says, leaning back to her spot and leaving Rumi cold enough that it overrides her normally ironclad restraint. Her heart drums a breakneck pace in her chest as she slowly leans back into Mira, only able to think clearly when the warmth returns.

This is a bad idea. 

Rumi waits with bated breath. She’s pretty sure she knows how this will go. Mira will make a comment about her being too warm or something to maintain plausible deniability and gently extricate herself from their pile in favor of the overstuffed chair next to them. They’d finish the movie, gently wake up Zoey, and all head to their own bedrooms, never to speak of this again.

Only Mira doesn’t move.

Mira’s hand reappears in the corner of Rumi’s vision, starting again at her wrist, where the patterns begin, and tracing the lines up and up and up as Rumi’s entire body begins to vibrate. By the time Mira’s fingers are at her elbow again, Rumi is nearly hyperventilating. She’s unbearably hot, and there’s a thing inside her screaming and trying to claw its way out. Mira’s hand is halfway up her bicep, and Rumi presses her legs together and squirms. Mira lets out a trembling breath and presses closer to Rumi’s back. She can’t take this anymore, Rumi needs this to end or she’ll surely explode, but the thought of it stopping isn’t one she’s willing to entertain.

No good things can last. Mira’s hand reaches the cap of her shoulder, and the touch vanishes. Rumi lets out a petulant whine in the brief, hazy moments before reality sets in. Mira lets out a breathy laugh and they lay there for a long, loaded moment until their heartbeats start to return to normal.

After several more minutes of silence and building tension, Mira finally speaks.

“What just happened?”

 “I… I don’t know.” Rumi replies, unable to pull anything but raw honesty out of the murk of her thoughts. “I’m sorry.”

Mira flexed her hands, a habit when she was struggling to put her thoughts into words. Rumi waited, barely daring to breathe, for Mira to process her hazy confession. Finally, she leaned her head forward and buried her face in Rumi’s neck. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper.

“Don’t be. I liked it too.”

The next three weeks are hell. Six performances a week, either taped or in stadiums across Korea, on top of choreography rehearsals at random local dance studios, morning radio interviews, vlogs, and an on-the-go livestream where Zoey shows off the inside of their jet to sixty thousand people and Rumi fights tooth and nail to avoid falling asleep on Mira’s shoulder.

The best they can hope for in times like these are small gestures. A hand on Rumi’s shoulder before a show, a glancing touch when Mira adjusts her choreography, a playful bump during an interview. It’s barely enough, but it's what they have, and by the end of the first week Rumi’s body is screaming for more.

Things get worse during the second week when Zoey’s previously harmless touch begins to elicit a similar response and that is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. By Wednesday, she’s back to wearing long sleeves just so she can get through the day without her bandmates accidentally rebooting her brain.

Just when she thinks she can’t take it anymore, they finally get a break. It’s only a day, but it’s better than nothing. The trio immediately make plans to visit the bathhouse to, in Zoey’s words, “extract the most relaxation per minute from their one day off.”

Mira sees the logic, and Rumi is far too tired to argue, so they get up bright and early for a long day of being pampered. 

“Okay I admit it, this was worth getting up early for.” Mira says as she enters their private room.

“Right?” Rumi replies, without looking back, “Three weeks of sleeping in the plane and in green rooms, I think I messed my neck up.”

A feather light touch lands on her left shoulder and traces a line across her neck and down her right arm. Mira appears in her peripheral vision, and Rumi’s heart pounds in her chest as she realizes It’s just the two of them. They always wear swimsuits at the bathhouse, and Rumi is more thankful for that than usual, because trying to have a conversation with a naked Mira sounds like an insurmountable task.

“Zoey’s not with you?” Rumi says, trying to keep the nervous quiver out of her voice as Mira drops into the water and floats to a spot next to her.

“She’s getting a massage.” Mira replies, leaning against the wall of the bath.

They’re quiet for a moment, enjoying the stillness and the warmth of the water.

“You started wearing sleeves again,” Mira says softly, not outright asking why but leaving the invitation open. She’s staring down at the water with something like hurt in her eyes.

“Yeah, I…” Rumi trails off, how honest was she ready to be? They hadn’t exactly had the time to talk about much of anything that wasn’t HUNTR/X related for almost a month. Did Mira even remember what she said? Is Rumi getting worked up over nothing? Were all those surreptitious moments of contact intentional or was she reading too much into it?

“I can hear you spiraling all the way over here, just spit it out already.” Mira says, still not looking at her

“Ever since that night on the couch. I’ve been getting more… sensitive.” Rumi forces the words out past the fearful lump in her throat. Whatever she says, Mira will understand, they’ve been so close for so long, she might understand what Rumi is saying better than Rumi herself.

But Rumi wants more than understanding.

“It started happening with Zoey too, that’s when I changed outfits. I couldn’t focus on anything else.” Rumi leans her head back and closes her eyes as a wave of guilt washes over her.

There’s movement to her right, and Mira’s soft, gentle hands come to rest on Rumi’s shoulders, her normally hard stare relaxed into something vulnerable. Rumi and Zoey know she has a soft heart, but she doesn't often show it, even with them.

“So it wasn’t… Because you changed your mind?” Mira asked, her eyes full of cautious optimism and Rumi’s eyes widened as the implication dawned on her.

“Oh. Oh god Mira I’m sorry. No, it's the exact opposite.” Rumi stumbles loudly through the truth and Mira’s eyes flicker to the tinted windows and the locked door before returning to meet Rumi’s gaze again. A small smile tugs at her lips as her hands slide up Rumi’s shoulders.

“I’m glad. Now let me see if I can loosen some of that tension in your neck.” 

Heat rises in Rumi’s face and she begins to nervously babble as Mira’s hands creep onto her neck and send a shockwave of pleasure coursing through her body

“Oh don’t worry I’m sure it’ll pass sooOhhhh god.” 

Mira’s fingers find two balled up fists of tense muscle on either side of her neck and she buries her thumbs in them.

Rumi’s eyes roll back in her head as her patterns go from an almost opaque purple to a sharp lilac color that stands out starkly against her pale skin. New designs begin to surface, curling and twisting to cover more and more of her exposed flesh.

When Mira lets up, she drags her short nails up and down Rumi’s neck for a moment, and Rumi hums in contentment as she returns to herself. Mira has drifted closer to her and she’s tracing the new patterns on Rumi’s neck and shoulders with a fond look in her eye. 

“My neck feels a lot better. Thank you,” she murmurs, and Mira’s smile gets a little wider as she threads her fingers together on the back of Rumi’s neck

Rumi takes a lot of pride in being the levelheaded leader. Being in control comes naturally to her, and she likes it. She likes being in control. Needs it, especially when she’s scared, overwhelmed, or stressed.

Mira gives her neck the softest, gentlest pull and that need evaporates. She lets Mira pull her closer because really what’s the harm in letting someone she trusts with her life take the reins for a bit?

Rumi’s back leaves the tub wall. Her knees part when she feels Mira’s legs brush against them. 

Her hands guide themselves to the small of Mira’s back.

Rumi tilts her head.

Mira tilts hers.

The door opens, and Zoey’s singsong voice wafts over the rattan privacy screen.

“God I needed that. Three weeks of tension, just poofed away!”

Mira practically teleports to a plausibly deniable distance away.

Rumi bites her tongue to keep herself from screaming.

Zoey slips into the tub. “You guys okay? You look somehow more tense than when we got here.”

Rumi is reasonably sure that what she felt for Jinu was a crush. That made some sense to her. He was handsome, charming, and he seemed like a good-hearted person, at least right up until he stabbed her in the back.

Rumi remembered wanting to hold Jinu’s hand, hug him, maybe even share a kiss eventually. 

At no point did she find herself nearly overcome with a feral urge to dive across the table at him like she did when Mira sat across from her at breakfast. She never wanted his hands exploring her body. She never wondered what he tasted like, or how their naked bodies would feel pressed together.

Calling what she’s feeling now a simple crush didn’t really do it justice. This was primal, animalistic.

She wants Mira to devour her. 

Their day at the bathhouse is only a brief respite from the whirlwind media blitz. They need to be everywhere all at once to promote “What It Sounds Like,” and they were, but Rumi’s mind is nowhere near fully present. She trips on words in press conferences, her choreography is off for one of their TV appearances, and she has to rely on the overdub track to cover a hideous missed note during the same performance, something she hasn’t done since the release of Golden.

Luckily, all the appearances are local, so no more plane rides. When she’s not in front of the cameras, Rumi spends most of her time in her room or in the gym trying to sweat out the stubborn ball of tension that’s built a permanent home in her lower abdomen. Sometimes Zoey joins her and they swap sets and chat about nothing. Once, she walks in on Mira at the apex of a pull-up and by the time Rumi is done tracing the musculature of her back, she’s drooling.

She can’t go on like this, it’s going to kill her.

After recording their interview on a popular weekend radio show, Bobby announces they have the weekend off, an eternity in their ridiculous schedules. Rumi isn’t sure how to feel. she’s exhausted, they all are. It’s been a long and difficult week, needing to be “on” nearly 24/7.

But that also means two days in close proximity to Mira with no reason to do anything, and if she thought the previous few weeks were bad, their near-kiss at the bathhouse cranked the tension further than she thought possible.

There’s talk of another movie night in the car ride home, but by the time they get to the penthouse, shuck off the day's makeup, and change into comfortable clothes, the group chat dings with a message from Zoey. She’s too exhausted to do anything, and her favorite fanfiction just updated, so she’s turning in. Mira echoes the sentiment, and Rumi wishes them goodnight. She can’t sleep right now. There’s something buzzing under her skin and it’s all she can do to not scratch herself red.

A small voice in the back of her head tells her what she already knew. There’s only one way to rid herself of this feeling.

Rumi crossed her room and reached for the doorknob before freezing.

She can’t. They can’t do this. It's too important for the three of them to stay together, at least until they find and train a successor group. That they didn’t kiss was a blessing in disguise, even if neither of them like it.

Stomping back to her bed she throws herself into her pillow and screams. Why did this have to get complicated so soon after they fixed everything? Hell, it’s only been three months since Gwi-Ma, why can’t things be normal for a little while? Rumi grips handfuls of the pillow, trying to get a handle on her breathing.

They’d already rebuilt the Honmoon, they could start looking for a new group as soon as the promotion for “What It Sounds Like” wrapped. A few years of training, and they’d be in the clear. She can handle that. She’d kept bigger secrets for a lot longer. It’s just like what Celine taught her about her patterns. Put the feelings away, don’t look at them, cover them up until the moment is right. In a few months the intensity would fade into the background and she and Mira could go back to being best friends for now.

She can do this.

Three soft raps sound on her bedroom door, and after a beat it creeps open.

“Hey, you awake?” Mira’s soft, husky tenor drifts through the silence, and Rumi’s resolve crumbles into dust. 

She can’t do this.

“Yeah, what’s up?” She whispers back. Mira doesn't say anything as she crosses the room, but Rumi catches every little detail, even in the dim light.

Mira is a spectacular sight to behold. The baggy HUNTR/X shirt drapes over well-built shoulders and hangs just low enough to preserve her modesty, but her legs are still on full display, lithe and deceptively strong. Her hair falls in a sheet down to her mid-back and catches the moonlight that filters in from the window. Rumi swallows thickly, her mouth is arid and her heart threatens to pound its way through her ribcage.

As Mira slides into bed next to her, the sleep shirt rides up just enough for Rumi to glimpse the perfect crescent shape of her ass before it disappears into the blanket. She sears the memory into her mind before furrowing her brow. When did she become such a pervert?

“We uh, haven’t really talked much since…” Mira starts, then trails off.

Rumi does her best to ignore that her body is launching a full-scale rebellion against her brain.

“I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t really know what to say” Rumi whispers back. “Plus, it’s not like we’ve had a lot of free time this week.”

Mira flashes a wry grin, “Yeah true. Too busy answering the same seven questions over and over again.”

They both chuckled before falling back into silence. Rumi works up the courage to look Mira in the eyes. They’re ravenous.

“I think this is a bad idea.” Rumi whispers, but even as she says it, she’s leaning closer. There’s nothing left to stop them. No demons, no Zoey, no stupid interviews. The entire world took three steps back to give them room to make the decision.

As if this was anything but a foregone conclusion.

Mira reaches out, cups Rumi’s cheek and oh she is so fucked. 

“Yeah, it probably is.” They’re on a collision course, Mira’s face is slowly eclipsing the rest of her vision. Nothing else exists anymore. Rumi isn’t sure if anything else ever existed.

“I’ve never done this before.” Rumi says in a fit of breathless honesty.

Mira smiles so softly at her it nearly drives Rumi to tears. Her friends are so good, to this day she’s not sure what she did to deserve this.

“If you want to stop, we can stop, it’s okay.” She whispers back. Rumi fumbles over her response, their lips are a fraction of an inch apart and she needs the remaining distance gone now.

“I need you.” The words tumble out of her mouth with no filter and no revisions. Mira’s hand slides from her cheek to the back of her neck, her heart pounds in her ears. She wraps her arms around Mira’s waist, sliding her hands up the taller woman’s bare back. They fit together so perfectly, and Mira says the exact three words Rumi needs to hear more than anything else in the world.

“You have me.”

Mira’s lips crash into hers, soft and hungry, and Rumi’s mind goes ballistic. Desire, affection and relief crash through her like a tidal wave. Finally. Finally.

It’s everything she hoped it would be and more. Mira tastes like cinnamon and cloves and a warm fire in the winter. She tastes like the home Rumi never had but always wanted.

They bask in each other for a while, getting familiar with the other’s movements. Mira lets her get comfortable before they separate and take simultaneous gulps of air. Rumi finds herself tugging desperately at Mira’s shirt as she is doing the same to Rumi’s own cropped tank top. They exchange breathless giggles and Rumi lets Mira go first, lifting herself to let the taller woman pull her clothes off.

“God you’re beautiful.” She whispers reverently as she takes in Rumi’s mostly naked body. For all of Mira’s gruff posturing, she’s remarkably gentle with Rumi, dragging a finger along the swirling line that hugs the curve of her hip, and terminates in a curl beneath her breast.

A pulse of reddish pink light the color of Mira’s hair flickers up and down the patterns and a deep purring sound rumbles in her chest. Rumi’s eyes snap open, but Mira just quirks an eyebrow and grins mischievously.

“Ooh, that’s different.”

Rumi flushes red, “I do that sometimes?” She offers with a shrug and a weak laugh.

She’s never done that before in her life and has no idea what to make of it other than she feels incredible.

Rumi squeaks in surprise as Mira jumps on her, pins her to the mattress and throws her shirt off, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lacy black panties. Rumi reaches out and runs her fingers along Mira’s abs. The moonlight kissing her pale skin gave her the appearance of a chiseled marble statue, and Rumi wondered if it would be too much to sit up and run her tongue over them.

Mira shivers at her touch and leans forward into another fervent kiss, her pink hair falling in a curtain around their faces. Rumi slips her hands around Mira’s back again and pulls them together, whimpering into her mouth as she does. Mira breaks the kiss and moves to pull her head back but Rumi keeps her grip locked in tight. Mira was strong, but she was only strong for a human. 

“Are you okay? Do you want to slow down?” Mira murmurs, as Rumi begins shaking her head. She’s trying to form words but she can’t get her brain to put them in order properly so she tries to land in the general vicinity of what she wants.

“M’fine, just… want you… close.” Rumi forces out through short, percussive breaths. Mira looks at her and confusion flickers across her face for a moment before the realization dawns on her and her eyes soften.

“Oh, Rumi,” Mira coos, gently stroking her cheek, “You just want to be touched, don’t you?”

Tears sting at the corners of Rumi’s eyes and she nods. From the moment Mira brushed her shoulder, all she wanted was to be touched. It’s something she never realized she was missing, but now needs more than food, more than air. Rumi has never felt as grounded as she does right now, pressed against Mira, and part of her still wants more.

Mira captures her lips again for a moment, stopping any thoughts dead in their tracks. Once she’s sure she has Rumi’s undivided attention, as if she could focus on anything else right now, she leans in and trails kisses down her jaw until her lips hover below her ear.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

Rumi shudders at the desire that drips from every honeyed word. 

“God, yes.” She whines, rolling her hips in search of whatever sensation can relieve the growing ache in her core. 

Rumi is past trying to hide the desperation. She knows what she wants, and she knows Mira wants to give it to her, no need to beat around the bush. 

Mira nips at her earlobe, “Good girls get what they want if they ask politely, are you going to be a good girl for me?”

Rumi squeezes Mira closer, nodding fervently. When she finally assembles a response it comes out in a voice she’s never heard before. Still hers, but strained, aching. The sound of someone dying of thirst while a bucket of water sits just out of reach.

 “Yes, I’ll be good, please, Mira. Touch me”

Mira slips her knee between Rumi’s legs and leans forward. Rumi doesn’t waste any time, wrapping her legs around Mira’s thigh and she lets out a shuddering groan. Mira chuckles deep in her chest and slides one hand up to cup Rumi’s breast, teasing her nipple with her thumb and forefinger. 

Stars danced across the back of Rumi’s eyelids. She’s never felt anything like this before. Every time she rolls her hips it sends a waves of shimmering ecstasy crashing through her body and she never ever wants it to stop. She can feel something building underneath it all, a coiling ribbon of tension acting as the bass notes in the symphony she’s crafting with Mira, but it’s fuzzy and hard to center her focus on through the haze of want and her friend’s lips on her neck, so she doesn’t bother.

Instead she focuses on Mira’s body, running her fingers over her back muscles, marveling as they flexed and tightened under her touch, then sliding to her breasts and the pierced nipples Rumi didn’t know she had until tonight. 

Eventually Rumi begins to slow her pace, her abs are burning, and she’s breathing heavily from the mix of pleasure and exertion. She can’t tell who’s sweat is on Mira’s stomach, only that it gives her skin a spectacular shine. Mira picks up on her faltering, pulls Rumi’s sleep shorts off, and flings them across the room. She pauses for a moment, running her eyes over Rumi’s body as she lays next to her, propping her head up on her fist to get a better view.

“So the marks do go all the way down.” Mira murmurs, placing her index and middle finger on two thin lines that start just above her solar plexus and plunge down to join the jagged wreath that envelops her hips.

“Mhm.” Rumi manages a small nod before her breath is stolen again by Mira’s fingers sliding tracing her patterns down her stomach. 

“You’re doing such a good job for me, pretty girl. Let me take care of you.” Mira slips her right arm under Rumi’s neck and grips her hip with the left, pulling Rumi over to face her before bringing her left hand lower. She squeezes Rumi’s ass once, then meets her eyes.

“Is this okay?” Mira asks as she slides her hand to Rumi’s upper thigh. She runs her thumb along the crease between her hip and thigh while she says it. 

It’s truly sweet of her to ask, but there’s no universe where Rumi is stopping now. She nods and shifts her hips to give Mira the room she needs. They move together, Mira following her lead as her hand slides to Rumi’s inner thigh and her smile widens as wide as Rumi’s ever seen when she runs her fingers through the slick evidence of just how worked up she is.

Just when Rumi thinks she can’t take it anymore, Mira’s fingers find her clit, and her patterns flash bright enough to banish the shadows from the corners of the room, and what begins as a moan morphs into a guttural growl. Once again, Rumi turns to Mira, already bracing for the fear she saw backstage at the Idol Awards.

Instead, Mira giggles and nips at her neck while tracing lazy circles around her clit. “I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

It’s hard to be baffled in a situation like this, but Rumi did her best.

“Don’t wanna… Hurt you…” Rumi turns and meets Mira’s eyes, but they’re full of tantalizing excitement.

“Then don’t.” Mira replies, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek before running a finger over her clit again, letting it linger a split second longer. Rumi whines, and pulls Mira in for another deep, ravenous kiss. This time her patterns stay quiet, and the moans that escape are wonderfully human. She turns to fully face Mira, throwing a leg over the other woman’s hip and threading her fingers through the long, magenta locks to bring their foreheads together. 

It’s perfect, everything is perfect.

Mira pulls her closer, “You’re so good, Rumi, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Rumi truly is the luckiest girl in the world to be here, now. Her patterns begin to glow with the reddish purple light once again, and her pants and whimpers are undercut by the thrumming purr from earlier.

“That’s it, kitten. Purr for me.” Mira whispers. The coiling tension is back with a vengeance, and it’s just beginning to eclipse the rhythmic bursts of euphoria when Mira meets Rumi’s gaze again and slides a finger inside her.

Rumi stifles a yelp that would surely wake Zoey and buries her face in Mira’s neck. The tension is almost overwhelming, but she doesn’t want it to stop. Rumi never wants it to stop. On instinct she fucks back into Mira’s hand and what a wonderful choice that turns out to be, as Mira adds another finger and they pull each other as close as their position will allow. Her patterns flicker violently, casting Mira’s face in a flashing pink glow as Rumi surges forward into a kiss.

There’s nothing left in Rumi’s mind except Mira, Mira, Mira. She says the name to herself like a mantra, and at some point starts saying it aloud as she draws ever closer to the peak. Mira tells her how good she is, how beautiful she is, and touches her in every place she can reach.

Just when Rumi is sure she’s reached the apex, Mira presses the pad of her thumb to her clit, and Rumi shatters. She lights up like a beacon, and buries a long, keening moan in Mira’s neck, holding onto her friend for fear of being swept away. Every nerve in her body redlines, and every emotion she’s ever felt comes surging out all at once. More than anything though, she’s overwhelmed with gratitude. She’s learned about Mira from a whole new angle, a dimension of one of her two closest friends and confidants Rumi has never seen. It seems to her a great shame to be so close to someone for so long and never know the way their body feels against your own, to never hear the small noises they make when you kiss a special part of their body, how your scent mingles with theirs. Soon, the room returns to darkness, and Rumi is reduced to a tiny, quivering thing in Mira’s arms. She’s never felt so vulnerable, and at the same time felt so safe.

She doesn’t even know anything is wrong until she’s rubbing Mira’s back and runs her hand over something wet.

“Mira, are you bleeding?” Rumi asked. The euphoria fled from her veins in an instant as she pulled her hand away and found it slick with blood from a set of deep gashes on her shoulder blade.

Flashes of something begin to return to her. Her teeth elongating into fangs, her fingernails curving into wicked claws.

Her desperate grip on Mira’s back as the orgasm rocked her.

“Oh god,” she whispers, as cold, heavy tears blur her vision.

“Rumi. Hey, take a breath, nice and slow.” Mira’s voice is distant and fading fast.

She feels strong arms wrap around her, but they don’t belong to Mira. 

They’re made of a horribly familiar purple flame that licks at her bare flesh, burrowing into her patterns and flowing through her veins.

Mira is gone now, a new voice speaks in her ear.

“Look what you’ve done. Celine was right, you’re too dangerous to be loved.”

Chapter Text

Purple fire flickers in an inky black void. It finds Rumi curled in the tightest, smallest ball she can manage.

The fire buries itself into her markings and they flare bright purple. Searing pain rips through her as the fire spreads across her body, painting the void with light as tears well up in her eyes. A whimper escapes her lips and she wraps her arms tighter around her pulsing stomach.

“Rumi?” A voice echoes through the dark.

Mira’s voice. She sounds concerned. That’s sweet of her, but she’s not worth it. She’s too dangerous.

Being a hunter was the best thing for her, at least killing demons meant she wasn’t hurting people.

Except the demons are gone now, and what do you do with a weapon when the war is over? 

“Rumi, if you can hear me, I need you to come back, okay?” Mira keeps trying to reach her.

Maybe she should go back, if for no other reason than to tell Mira she’s sorry and that she needs to stay away.

“Please come back to me.” Mira’s voice cracks, and a soft glow pierces the darkness. It’s the color of sunlight filtered through sheer white curtains, and just as warm. Rumi unfolds herself, every bone and muscle screams in protest as she walks toward it.

“That’s it baby, you’re doing so well. Keep going.” 

The light grows brighter, and the pain in Rumi’s body dulls a little. Mira is so good to her. Zoey too. Rumi wants to be good for them in return.

She’s not sure she can.

“You’re so close, just a little farther.” Mira says, and she’s… Excited? That doesn’t seem right. The demon hurt her. Rumi hurt her.

“I’m scared.” Rumi’s voice cracks. She’s shivering. When did she get so cold? “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“I know you don’t. You’re so good Rumi, and you’re not gonna hurt me. I promise. Just come back. I want you here with me.”

Mira wants her? 

Mira wants her. 

Rumi finds the source of the light. It’s her bedroom. The bedside table lamp is on, and there’s two tight bands of warm pressure wrapped around her, one at her waist and one crossing her body from under her left arm up to her right shoulder. There’s pressure on her back too, heavy and soft like a weighted blanket.

She pauses at the threshold as a different, darker voice calls out from behind her, a dissonant mix of overlapping whispers.

“It’ll be worse next time. You’ll kill them.”

Rumi’s lips flatten into a thin line, and she furrows her brow in determination. 

Call her selfish, call it stupid, it’s probably both.

But she trusts Mira.

Rumi steps through the circular tear in the blackness, and she’s curled up in bed. Mira’s arms are wrapped around her. The taller woman presses herself into the curve of Rumi’s back and places soft, fluttering kisses on her neck and shoulder.

“Mira?” Rumi’s voice is fuzzy and full of static, and Mira squeezes her hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs.

“Oh thank god. Are you here? Are you okay?” She’s nearly frantic, holding onto Rumi like she might float away if released.

“Yeah, what hap—” Rumi pauses as she takes in the sensations. They’re both naked, lying on top of a tousled pile of blankets. Despite what she just walked out of, Rumi’s body is loose and free of knots. She hasn’t felt this good in years, like she’s floating.

Oh, right.

The memories trickle back in. The kiss, the sight of the moon on Mira’s chiseled body, the feeling of Mira’s fingers inside her.

Rumi shudders, and her core aches with muted desire.

That would have to wait as want gives way to fear. 

“Mira, your back—”

“Rumi if you fret about my back one more time I swear to god.” Mira growls in her ear. She’s trying to put on a gruff front, but her tight grip and trembling hands revealed the fear swimming like a shark beneath the surface.

“I. Am. Fine. We’ve been fighting demons together since we were thirteen, you know damn well a scratch like that isn’t gonna bother me.”

That’s fair, she’d seen Mira recover from a lot worse.

But this is different, isn’t it?

The other times weren’t wounds from someone close to her. Those hurt more.

“I need to know if you’re okay. Please.” Mira whispers and buries her face in Rumi’s neck. How much time did she spend in the void?

With some difficulty, she rotates in Mira’s iron grip until they’re facing each other. Mira is looking at her like she’s the only thing that matters, and Rumi furiously traces the lines of her face, comitting them to memory because it’s the most incredible thing she’s ever seen.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry I scared you.” She murmurs, and Mira hooks a hand around her neck and pulls her into a desperate, shuddering kiss. Rumi lets Mira get all the reassurance she needs before they separate just enough to speak. 

Mira’s voice is a jagged, fragile whisper.

“You went somewhere,” Rumi shivers at the delicate touch of Mira’s breath on her lips, “You just curled up and cried, and your patterns were like, pulsing. What happened?”

Rumi’s stomach twists, and she holds Mira a little tighter, grounding herself in the warmth of the taller woman’s body.

“I’m not sure,” said Rumi. Her stomach twisted just thinking about it again. “I could hear you though, you helped me find my way back.”

She paused for a beat, letting the specter of the nightmare fade. She wasn’t going to slip back into the dark, not while Mira is pressed against her.

Mira lets out a deep, relieved sigh, and Rumi’s patterns begin to fade.

There’s a light knock on the door.

Both women freeze and stare at each other.

“Uh—”

“Um—”

“Rumi, is everything okay?”

It’s Rumi who moves first, pointing to her closet door and rolling out of bed to find her clothes. Mira scrambles across the room and silently closes herself in.

“Rumi?”

“Shit shit shit shit shit —uh, one sec—” Rumi finally finds her sleep shorts hanging off the corner of a floor mirror, throws them on along with her shirt, and opens the door to Zoey standing with her arms crossed over an inside out, zipped-up hoodie and yesterday’s pants.

“Uh, hey, Zoey. Sorry about that, what’s up?

Zoey raises an eyebrow and steps past her, looking around the high-ceilinged space.

“Can’t sleep?” She asks, hooking a finger through the handle of a tall armoire and peeking inside. 

Rumi furrows her brow. 

“No —I mean, yeah— What are you doing?”

Zoey bends down and turns her phone flashlight on, scanning under the bed. When she pops back up, there’s a peculiar expression on her face, like she knows something Rumi doesn’t.

Rumi’s pulse quickens. There’s no way she knows, right?

But then she thought back over the last few weeks.

Zoey is a more physically affectionate person than Mira on most days, but the last three weeks felt different, even for her. 

Was she somehow in on it? Was this some game they were playing with her? 

While Rumi spirals, Zoey is poking her head over the top of the overstuffed reading chair opposite the bed.

“Well, I was asleep, ya know, it’s late, I’m exhausted. When a blinding pink light shoots halfway across the city from the window of our penthouse.”

Rumi maneuvers behind her to hide the rapidly rising blush.

“Woke me right up, as you might imagine. I go out in the hallway and see Mira’s door is open, but the house is still dark. No light from the fridge or the living room.”

Without warning Zoey whips around and points at her. Rumi freezes like a deer in headlights, with eyes just as huge.

“But there’s light in your room.”

A scheming, cheshire grin spreads across her face as she eyes the closet door.

“So like any great detective,” Rumi groans and rolls her eyes, but Zoey keeps going, “I examined the evidence.”

Rumi debates trying to distract her from the closet, but that would give it away just the same. Instead, she resigns herself to her fate, praying that this doesn’t blow up in her face.

“My two best friends, one of whom has glowing marks all over her body, and both of whom have been acting strange for the last month, are holed up in a bedroom in the middle of the night, when suddenly there’s a flash of light coming from the windows of said room. I wonder what could possibly be going on?”

Rumi opens her mouth to say something, anything, but she’s too late, Zoey pulls the closet door open and makes a grand, sweeping gesture, inviting Mira to step out.

“Also Mira’s shirt is like, right in the middle of your floor.” 

With a resigned sigh, Mira emerges from the closet and half-closes the door behind her. “Okay Sherlock, you figured it out. Please don’t be weird about it.”

Mira puts a hand on her hip and flashes a nervous little smile at Rumi. 

Rumi gives her an awkward little wave before returning to what she was doing before.

Staring.

It’s not like she hadn’t seen any of it before. It hadn’t even been that long since they were tangled up in each other’s arms. But seeing Mira in all her glory was no less breathtaking the second time. The soft lamplight hugged the lines of her legs in a way that made Rumi’s mouth water, and she found herself taking an involuntary half step forward.

That’s when she noticed the scars.

Rumi had her patterns, but she healed much faster than Mira or Zoey. It took a lot to leave a real scar on her.

Only the demon was allowed to leave scars.

Mira’s body was a patchwork of raised lines and splotches of discoloration. A lifetime’s worth of close calls and near misses, all before the age of thirty. How many of them would have been fatal if the were a little more on target? 

How much luck has Mira used up?

More importantly, how did she not notice them before? She was so wrapped up in her own burdens, she never once stopped to consider how much of an advantage she had simply by dint of her birth.

Rumi was born to hunt demons, but Mira and Zoey are, but for the calling of the Honmoon, just regular people. Beautiful, deadly, and wonderfully kind people, but people nonetheless.

For her part, Zoey doesn’t seem shocked by the scars. In fact, she seems to be trying her damndest to avoid looking at Mira at all

“O-oh, you’re… Not wearing anything. Cool. Uh, I mean, not cool. Or, like, not ‘cool’ cool—”

Rumi and Mira’s gazes flick to Zoey, then back to each other. Mira cocks an eyebrow, and Rumi stifles a giggle.

“Yeah Zo, you said it yourself, my shirt’s like, right in the middle of the floor.” 

She saunters over to the crumpled sleep shirt and slowly bends to pick it up, giving both Rumi and Zoey a long, sustained look at her ass.

If it were anyone other than Zoey, she might feel a pang of jealousy, or posessiveness. But she doesn’t have it in her. Zoey is a part of her, just like Mira. The Honmoon they wove together is a backing choir, filling the gaps in their bond with golden harmonies that make it harder and harder to tell where one of them ended and the other began.

In hindsight, that might explain why the last month had been so hard on her and Mira. They were understandably nervous about what it might mean for the group before, but now they were on the other side it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

When she looks at Zoey, she sees the same anxiety she felt after that night on the couch, and realizes she wants whatever she has with Mira to include Zoey, to whatever extent Zoey wants.

Rumi wants it, but she isn’t sure she can have it, not with her lack of control. Watching Mira as the taller woman stands and faces the two of them, the beast under her skin stirs. She didn’t need to look to see that her patterns are getting sharper.

She looks over at Zoey, who is staring at Mira like the last thing she’ll ever see, and the beast grunts again.

That’s something she is going to need to find a solution for, and fast.

Before she really hurts someone.

Mira starts to throw her shirt on, but pauses partway as Zoey lets out an involuntary squeak.

“A-are your um… well do you have… Are those piercings?”

Mira chuckles, looks down at her chest, then back up through her eyelashes at Zoey. “What do you think, since you got such a good look.”

Zoey’s hand shoots out and grips the door for support as her knees start to quake. Despite not being in the line of fire, Mira’s words reverberate through her too, causing her patterns to flicker brightly enough that both women’s attention snapped to her.

Rumi shrinks under the attention, turns to Zoey, and says,

“Yeah, so the light was me. Turns out I light up like a beacon when I uh… Well you know…”

“Finish.” Mira says with a smug grin that makes Rumi wish she could still teleport. Mira pulls the shirt back off and looks over to a still flustered Zoey.

“Actually, before I put this on, Zo can you take a look at my back quick? I—”

“Yes!” Zoey blurts out, earning a snort from Mira.

“Uh —I mean— yeah, what happened?”

Tears sting at Rumi’s eyes, and she falls back onto the bed and tucks her knees to her chest.

“I lost control.” She said in a fractured, trembling voice. “I lost control and I hurt her.”

Zoey gasps softly and looks at Mira, who huffs, pulling her hair to once side to reveal the evidence of Rumi’s failure.

“Rumi’s being dramatic. I’d patch it myself except I can’t reach, I just need you to put something over it. Oh and probably the bite mark too.”

Rumi’s head snapped up. “The WHAT?”

Mira sighs and crosses the room, dropping down next to Rumi on the bed followed closely by a concerned Zoey. Mira pulls her hair back into a high and messy bun to expose her neck and shoulders while Zoey examines the cuts.

A pair of concentric circles stand out in stark red on Mira’s pale skin. They only barely break the skin. The shape is unmistakable though, it’s her jaw. Her teeth.

“Apparently you get a second set of teeth when you go demon, who knew?” Mira said lightly as Rumi’s lip quivered. 

Before she can open her mouth to apologize, Mira reaches out and flicks her forehead. 

Rumi flinches, “What the hell was that for?”

“You were about to start beating yourself up again. Stop it.” Mira said sternly, “Zoey’s gonna put a bandage on my back and I’ll be fine, right Zoey?”

The shorter woman nods and darts off to the bathroom, sparing Rumi a glance that said she agrees with Mira.

Traitor.

How is she suppsed to wallow in self-pity under these conditions?

When Zoey is out of earshot, Mira looks around bashfully before mumbling,

“I like the bite mark.”

Rumi blinks and leans forward, Mira’s voice is barely audible. “What?”

Mira fiddles nervously with her shirt. “I like the bite mark, okay? I think it’s hot...”

The demon purrs contentedly, which rumbles out through Rumi’s own ribcage, and Mira sucks in a breath.

“Oh god I need to get a handle on that.” Rumi mutters.

“Please don’t.” Mira replies breathlessly.

Zoey emerges from the bathroom with a roll of gauze and medical tape. Her bangs are damp, and Rumi suspects she took a moment to splash herself with cold water. It only takes a moment to cover the scratches. Mira puts her sleep shirt back on and Rumi’s only a little disappointed.

Mostly she’s tired. It’s been an emotionally turbulent evening capping off an exhausting month and it’s catching up to her all at once. There’s more they’ll need to talk about, but nothing that can’t wait.

Zoey and Mira are clearly in the same boat. Mira’s shoulders sag the moment her shirt is back on, and Zoey stifles a yawn. 

“You guys should probably get to bed” Rumi says to hums of agreement from the other two.

Mira looks at her, concern and suspicion flickering across her face, “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Go get some sleep, it’s late. I’ll be fine.” Rumi says, and she believes it.

Right up until Mira and Zoey both get up and start walking towards the door, slowly enough that Rumi catches the rising panic before they’re halfway gone. Staring down the reality of being alone in this huge room, floating unmoored in this giant bed, makes her want to crawl out of her skin.

Rumi takes a deep breath. It’s okay, she’s okay. Even if all she wants to do is cry and beg them to come back and hold her and never ever ever ever ever let her go because she’s starving.

Mira looks back when they reach the door and frowns, tapping Zoey on the shoulder. They both look at her, and Rumi swears she can feel their hearts aching through the Honmoon itself.

Rumi tries to hold it together. But Mira and Zoey are looking at her with such care. They really want her to feel better, and Rumi’s not sure what to do with that. 

Zoey takes a step back towards the bed, and she just can’t anymore. The muscles in her face contort against her will, her lip quivers, and a single, choked noise escapes her lips.

Like the first raindrop hitting the roof before the sky opens up.

“Oh, honey...” Zoey is across the room before the first tears hit the mattress, Mira’s right behind her. 

Soft hands wrap around Rumi’s shoulders and lay her gently onto the pillows. She’s shaking like a leaf, and she can’t take a full breath in without horrible sobs wracking her body. Mira curls herself around her back, and with some effort, Zoey unrolls her enough to nuzzle up to her other side. 

“I—” Rumi tries to speak but it’s pointless. She’s not even sure what she’s trying to say. 

“I love you.” Maybe? 

“I’m sorry.” More likely.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.” Definitely.

This goes against her whole plan of slowly releasing this pressure valve of need until it was at a socially acceptable level. 

Feelings, apparently, don’t work like that.

Stupid.

They lay like that for what feels like hours, but is probably closer to twenty minutes. Zoey strokes her hair and tells her she’s wonderful, Mira holds her tight like before, keeping her from drifting to where they can’t find her, and Rumi cries. 

Rumi’s never cried this hard before, certainly not in front of anyone. It hurts more than she expected. By the time her breathing finally levels out, her abs are burning, and her limbs feel like they’re full of sand.

“Thank you.” She whispers, shifting so she can wrap one arm around each of her bandmates.

Mira grunts, already half-asleep. Zoey curls into her shoulder, and Rumi falls into the deepest, most comfortable sleep she’s had in years.

When Mira stirs, she’s still in roughly the same spot as she was when she fell asleep, but at some point, Rumi turned and is clinging to her like an anxious tree sloth. Despite the iron grip, she’s more peaceful than Mira’s ever seen her. The tiny crease in her brow is gone, her jaw is loose, and her shoulders don’t sag like she’s carrying the weight of the world.

Good. She deserves that.

If there’s one thing she’s taking away from last night, it’s that Rumi is still hurting in ways they didn’t know about. She’d talked with Zoey about it in the immediate aftermath of the Honmoon, when it became clear that some old wounds still lingered in their singer.

Her heart aches for the poor girl, it didn’t have to be this way. She shouldn’t have had to hide from them. Celine could have explained when they started training. Why didn’t she?

Mira doesn’t know, but every answer she comes up with makes her want to set Celine’s house on fire, so she tries to push it aside for now. Better to hear it from Rumi before she makes any assumptions.

It’s not like the gas station is going anywhere.

Rumi stirs in her arms, and Mira wraps herself around her, throwing a leg over her hip and pulling the singer as close as possible. It’s her bad leg, and she grits her teeth at the stabbing pain that radiates out from her hip. She must have slept on it weird, which meant extra stretches and rolling. Hopefully she could still walk without a limp.

Being a pop star and coreographer is hard enough on her body, to say nothing of the years having literal buses thrown at her by demons.

She probably needs to slow down, especially if she wants to be able to walk past age fifty.

Problems for later though, Rumi is waking up.

“Morning sleepyhead.” She murmurs, kissing Rumi’s forehead as the singer lets out a scratchy hum and burrows into Mira’s chest. Her patterns have faded to a pale, translucent silver. Every so often, tiny motes of light run down them like a dewdrop sliding off a flower petal. Mira’s heart sings. Why did they try and fight this for an entire month?

“Where’s Zoey?” Rumi asks, her voice honeyed and thick with sleep. 

Mira shrugs, “I just woke up a minute ago.”

Rumi seems to deflate a little.

“Oh, okay.”

She’s silent for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration. Rumi has never been good at thinking in the mornings.

Finally, she says, “D’you think it’s because of…”

Mira’s stomach drops. “Oh.”

That would be the worst possible consequence of whatever is going on between the two of them. Both her and Rumi would rather saw off their own leg than lose Zoey. Mira is already imagining what is going through Zoey’s head. In a lot of ways, their brief breakup hit her the hardest, and while Zoey no doubt be happy for them, she also knows what this might look like to her.

Mira grimaces. They had weeks to talk to Zoey about it before tonight, but how would that have worked when they couldn’t even talk about it to each other?

Rumi grips the oversized sleeves of her shirt. “Mira we can’t lose her.”

“I know. I’ll just.. I’ll go talk to her.”

The singer furrows her brow, “We’ll both do it. But what are we gonna tell her?”

Mira opens her mouth, and closes it. What are they going to tell her? What are her and Rumi even doing right now? It’s hard for her to imagine this as a one-time thing, so are they all going to be a part of this?

She turns the idea over in her head. It’s strange to consider, but not necessarily because it feels wrong, more that it feels self-evident. Like it was always implied, but never said. Whatever the nature of her relationship with Rumi, it would be mirrored with Zoey.

“It… It feels weird to have her, like, separate from whatever this is.”

Rumi looks down toward Mira’s hip, and she sees the tinge of pink settle in Rumi’s cheeks. “Yeah, I agree.”

“So, I guess we tell her that? Let her decide?”

Rumi thinks about it for a moment, and nods.

They clamber out of bed. Mira grabs a pair of sweatpants that she’s pretty sure are hers anyway, and begins to pull them on. Luckily her leg holds, but her shoulder definitely doesn’t love that she was in the same position all night.

“Hey, um, about last night…” Mira turns to Rumi as she approaches. The claw marks on her back prickle.

“I think I should get control of myself before we um… go all the way again. I can’t help but feel like we got lucky last night.”

Mira snorts, “yeah we did.”

It takes Rumi a second before she lets out a frustrated groan and she crosses her arms.

Mira tries not to think about how unbearably cute Rumi is when she’s pouting. She fails. She wants to pinch her cheeks, but that probably isn’t the right response here. Instead she nods and pulls her in for a soft, reassuring kiss that Rumi leans into with a fervor that suggests the wait will be hard for both of them.

But Mira will wait. She’ll wait as long as she needs to for Rumi to feel safe.

When they finally part they’re all giggles and rosy cheeks and Rumi’s patterns glow a soft, sunny gold when she smiles.

“Okay, we’ll wait. Whatever you need from me, I’m yours.”

She said it so casually it caught her off guard for a second, but she’d rather die than take it back. They belong to each other, all three of them. It’s always been that way, even if they didn’t say it aloud.

Rumi’s eyes grow wide as she takes in Mira’s vow. Mira holds her gaze, and for a second, she thinks Rumi might break down again, but then she breaks into a teary smile, and her patterns flash the color of Mira’s hair.

Mira doesn’t think she’ll ever come to terms with how absurdly lucky she is to have found Rumi and Zoey. That out of all the lives she could have lived, she has the privilege of living the one with the two most amazing people on the face of the earth. 

One day, she may even believe she deserves it. What a concept. 

Eat shit, Gwi-Ma.

Mira cracks the door open and starts to levitate at the smell wafting in from the kitchen. Rumi smells it too, and lets out a moan that almost makes Mira jealous.

“Oh my god, Zoey’s cooking.” An awestruck Rumi whispers behind her.

“We’re blessed today.” Mira replies.

The sun is streaming into the apartment, bathing the main living space in gold, and there at the stove like a tiny, culinary angel, is Zoey.

She’s dressed in a sports bra and baggy pants, covered by an apron Mira didn’t even know they had, and she’s frying a pair of eggs and pulling seasoning from a small plastic bag labeled “Zoey’s special seasoning. DO NOT TOUCH” to sprinkle on top.

The kitchen looks like a bomb went off. Half the dishes are on the island or next to the stove, there’s bits of chopped tomato and onion splayed across the granite, and everything is coated in a fine layer of flour.

But that doesn’t matter, Mira’s already salivating, she’ll do all the dishes she needs if it means eating whatever is in that pan.

A surge of affection ripples through the Honmoon, and Zoey’s head snaps up. No way she didn’t feel that.

She glances up and beams at them. “Morning! I’m making huevos rancheros. Go sit!”

There’s a tightness in her voice that’s definitely a cause for concern, but they have a big talk ahead of them, so Mira chalks it up to all of them being nervous and sits down at the kitchen table. Rumi follows suit, and a moment later they’re each handed the most beautiful plate of food they’ve ever laid eyes on. Perfectly fried eggs, beans, and some kind of rough chopped salsa atop freshly made tortillas.

“Zoey I’m gonna cry, this looks so good.” Mira murmurs.

Rumi beats her to the punch, trying to stifle a sniffle as part of an obviously fake cough. They eat in silence because a meal like this shouldnt be spoiled by something so mundane as words. There’s no sound but the clink of silverware on plates and the occasional soft grunt as they devour their breakfast.

Rumi’s the first one to speak, already slipping back into fearless leader mode.

“Zoey, about last night…”

Zoey blushes, “Oh, yeah sorry for barging in on you like that. I uh, don’t really know what came over me.”

“Eh, your timing was pretty good, all things considered.” Mira shrugs before shoveling down another oversized fork full of eggs. She can feel Zoey’s gaze on her, as if the lyricist is trying to evaporate her shirt with a thought. 

Mira finds herself hoping it works.

“And well, that’s what we wanted to talk about.” Rumi says.

Zoey waves her fork casually, “Really I’m just glad to see you guys have figured your stuff out. Watching the two of you pretend like something wasn’t going on for a month straight was painful. Honestly I thought I’d wrecked the whole thing when I accidentally interrupted you at the bathhouse. Sorry about that by the way.”

Rumi’s mouth falls open in shock, and Mira slowly looks up from her food at Zoey, who stares back at them with a mix of confusion and exhasperation.

“What? You weren’t exactly subtle about it.” 

“I thought we were subtle.” Mira grumbled.

Zoey’s expression softened into something a little more vulnerable. “At any rate, I’m really happy for you guys. I love you both so much, and what you have is really special.”

Rumi chewed her bottom lip. “Thank you Zoey, that means a lot, but um… We didn’t want it to be just us.”

Mira jumps as Zoey’s fork clatters to the table. She’s frozen in place, eyes wide with something like… Fear? Apprehension? Mira can’t be sure. Nobody says a word for a full thirty seconds, before Zoey squeaks out a tiny “oh.”

Rumi seems about ready to slip into another panic attack, and Mira really can’t deal with both of them breaking down right now, so she attempts to salvage the situation. She’s never been great with stuff like this, it’s so much easier to skip all the words and just do something. However, this is one of those situations that is too delicate to just bulldoze through.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Mira immediately winces at the choice of words. That didn’t come out right, and Rumi shoots her a glance. Zoey’s still staring straight ahead, at something behind Rumi’s head that only she can see.

Rumi sighs and reaches across the table to take Zoey’s hand in hers.

“You mean so much to me. To both of us. And well, if you uh, want a relationship like Mira and I have, it’s there for you. If you don’t that’s okay too, we still love you just as much.”

This is why Rumi’s the leader. She’s good at coming up with little pep talks and mini speeches on the fly like that. 

Finally, Zoey blinked, looked at both of them, and said:

“That’s really sweet but… I think it should be you two.”

Zoey smiles at them, and squeezes Rumi’s hand. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Mira’s brows knit together. 

Something’s off. Zoey’s not saying what she means. 

“As long as we’re still there for each other, no matter what, that’s enough for me.”

Her smile widens enough that her eyes close, but there’s still a tension behind it that’s even more obvious in the way she stands and pushes her chair in. It’s stiff, almost robotic. 

Mira grabs her wrist before she can walk away. “Hey. Just… Think about it okay?”

She hopes to god that Zoey can read between the lines of what she’s saying, because she does not want to go through another month of the three of them pretending something isn’t happening when it very clearly is.

Zoey doesn’t say anything, but she does nod, and Mira lets her go. She puts her plate in the sink and ascends the stairs to her bedroom before calling down to them,

“Don’t worry about cleaning up, I’ll take care of it later!” 

Her door shuts, leaving Rumi and Mira sitting at the table, alternating glances between the hallway and each other. Nothing about that felt right, and the weight of something unsaid hangs like a chandelier above the dining table.

They linger for a moment, before Rumi stands and gathers the dishes. Mira follows suit and they spend the next hour and a half cleaning the kitchen until it’s spotless.

Both of them want to talk. Neither of them say a word.

Chapter Text

The floors are made of egshells.

Mira knows how to walk them. How to roll her feet from heel to toe and balance her weight to minimize the noise. She’s been doing it since she was a teenager. Her parents didn’t want to see her, so she learned not to be seen. She was the ghost that walked the halls of her familiy’s palatial estate, trapped forever between acceptance and rejection. 

The “difficult” child. The one that broke the family

“Difficult” was in some ways worse than “delinquent.” If she was a delinquent, they could cut her out. Excise the tumor from the family tree. But she never quite crossed that line, and her parents aren’t cruel.

They didn’t want to get rid of her, but they did want to be rid of her.

So she learned how to roll her feet from heel to toe and balance her weight to minimize the noise.

She’s never had to do it in the penthouse, not even when the Honmoon was at its weakest. Rumi and Zoey want to see her. They want to know where she is. Because they care about her, and want to be around her. They take her gruff demeanor and penchant for rebellion and make it into something good, something beautiful.

Mira’s never had to be the ghost in the halls in their penthouse. But she is now.

Because she broke the family, and she doesn’t know what else to do when the floors are made of eggshells.

They don’t see Zoey for the rest of the day, or the next. They sleep through most of the weekend, the exhaustion of the last month finally catching up. They’ll be back on the grind tomorrow, but for now, Mira is laying on the couch with Rumi. They don’t talk much. Mira holds Rumi in her lap while they half watch a show, and realizes this is nearly the same position they were in a month ago when this all started.

This time there’s a piece missing, and Mira’s chest burns at the Zoey-shaped void next to them.

Even the Honmoon ripples with something like discomfort. It doesn’t like to see them like this.

“Do you think one of us should go talk to her?”Rumi asks, leaning back into Mira’s chest.

She shakes her head. “I think we need to give her some time. She seemed kinda overwhelmed.”

Mira desperately hopes she’s right, and doesn’t want to think about what happens if she isn’t.

After their show ends, Rumi announces she’s going to take a shower. Mira hums and frees the singer to get off the couch but she doesn’t move right away.

“Do… do you need to take one? I can help you change your bandage after.”

Mira smirks at her. “You trying to tell me I stink?”

She swears she can feel Rumi blushing, “N-no I was just asking—”

Mira leans forward, letting her nails graze against Rumi’s hips.

“What do you really want?” 

Rumi shivers at the words and reaches back to card her fingers through Mira’s hair. The likelihood of Rumi remaining this sensitive forever seems low, but Mira hopes it doesn’t stop any time soon because she loves it. She loves that she can make Rumi feel good. God knows she deserves it after what she’s been through.

“Come join me?” Rumi asks in a small, bashful whisper.

“Such a good girl for using your words. I’d love to.” Mira presses her lips to Rumi’s shoulder, trailing kisses up her neck.

Rumi sighs contentedly and tilted her head, inviting her in, offering herself. 

Mira barely holds it together. She promised Rumi they would reign it in until the singer got a better handle on her more bestial tendencies.

Even though Mira hasn’t stopped thinking about Rumi’s teeth burying into her shoulder all day.

“Your bathroom?”

Rumi nods. Without another word, they both stand and pretend not to run into Rumi’s bedroom. Rumi has her shirt off by the time the door clicks shut. Mira stops dead and just looks.

Her patterns are barely visible when she’s at rest, but they’re starting to sharpen in anticipation. Flowing purple lines that hug gentle curves and deceptive muscle. Rumi reaches behind her and grabs the end of her braid, unwrapping the hair tie and slipping it on her wrist. She catches Mira looking and her patterns flicker as she blushes.

“Don’t stop on my account.” Mira says, stepping up to Rumi and beginning to delicately unravel the braid, losing herself in the repetitive motion and the feel of purple silk slipping through her calloused hands.

She tries not to focus on how the eggshells make every footstep crackle. Tries to tell herself this isn’t forever.

She doesn’t believe it, but she tries anyway.

When she reaches the base of Rumi’s skull, the singer takes over and Mira sheds her own clothes and slips into the bathroom. 

Rumi’s attached bathroom is larger than hers, with a standing shower big enough for at least three people to fit comfortably, a separate bathtub, and a long vanity with two sinks and Rumi’s modest collection of skin and haircare products arranged in neat little rows. Mira turns the water on and slips out of her sweatpants as it warms. A moment later, Rumi steps into the bathroom in all her glory and Mira blurts out a whispered “fuck.”

Rumi seems to be similarly awestruck, and they stand there as the water runs, drinking each other in for a long, intense moment before Mira finally snaps out of it and turns her gaze to the shower. Rumi blinks, as if coming out of a trance, and checks the water before stepping inside, giving Mira a spectacular view of the rest of her. She sighs softly as the water hits her skin, and Mira follows in after her, both her mind and her heart are racing, and they are technically in here to get clean but she slides her arms around Rumi and lets the water pour over both of them. 

Rumi responds immediately, spinning around and pulling Mira into a kiss that nearly bowls her over with the intensity. She catches up quickly though, sliding her hand down to Rumi’s ass and squeezing. She digs in with her nails just slightly and drinks down the moan Rumi gives her. The singer’s hand slides up to her breast and Mira breaks the kiss, suddenly dizzy from want and the hot water beating down on them. 

“Not that I’m complaining, but I thought we were supposed to be holding back?” She murmurs.

Rumi lets out a breathless laugh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Mira replies, as she moves them towards the bench built into the wall.

“Besides, we still have options, if you want to… explore a little.” She gently deposits Rumi on it before straddling her thighs. Rumi bites her lip and slides her hands over Mira’s hips. 

“What did you have in mind?”

Her patterns glow the color of Mira’s hair again and Rumi isn’t the only one who has a feral side because seeing her color covering Rumi’s body makes her want to sink her teeth into the singer.

She wishes the color would stay longer. So they could get dressed up and walk the streets of Seoul, just to remind everyone of what they can’t have.

Mira’s never been one to flaunt her posessions, but well.

She can make an exception.

“Well, I was thinking,” Mira says, cupping Rumi’s cheek,“Some extra practice might help you learn to control yourself. What do you think?”

Rumi matched her sly grin, “It’s definitely worth a shot.” 

Mira brushed the pad her thumb over Rumi’s perfect lips, and Rumi took it without provocation, opening her mouth and sucking hard enough that Mira’s cunt throbbed. 

She’d be the death of her, but what a way to go.

“You’re so perfect, my beautiful girl.” Mira cooed, and Rumi let out a deep, rattling purr. 

She hums back, and Rumi’s eye flickers gold. The demon likes that.

“Would you like to help me cum?”

Rumi’s lips part around her thumb, and her eyes widen.

“Yes.” She says, almost too quickly.

“Okay, but you have to promise me something.” 

Rumi nods, soaking up every honeyed word.

“You can’t touch yourself. No matter how much you want to. You have to stay in control okay? Can you do that for me, pretty girl?”

Rumi swallows thickly. She’s excited, Mira can practically feel her vibrating in anticipation, but there’s a tight ball of nerves floating just beneath the surface.

“I- I think so. I’ll try.”

Mira smiles. This isn’t the first time she’s had a woman pliant beneath her, but it is the first time where she doesn’t feel like she’s playing a role. There’s a raw energy to her connection with Rumi, a sincerity she would normally run away from.

“I know you will. If it’s too much, you can say ‘red light’ and we can stop, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Say it for me please?”

“Red light.”

Without warning, Mira dives in on her, kissing her so fiercely their teeth clack together. She rakes her nails up Rumi’s stomach to her breast and teases her nipple.

The change is instant. Rumi lets out an honest to god growl and pulls Mira to her with strength that’s definitely not her own.

“Say it.” Mira whispers between frantic sweeps of their tongues.

Rumi grunts.

“Say. It.” Mira says, sharper this time.

There’s a pause, and for a moment Mira worries she’s not going to listen. 

“Red light.”

The strength fades and their lips part. Mira strokes her cheek, and finds herself having to speak past a small lump in her throat.

“That was incredible, Rumi. You did so good.”

It worked better than she expected, and the confidence it gives Rumi is visible on her face.

Rumi’s eyes light up. “Having a thing to say helped a lot.”

 “Good, let’s keep that then. Do you feel a little more ready?”

The singer nods, and Mira smirks and wags a finger at her.

“Good girls use their words, remember? Tell me what you want.”

Oh, Mira loves this part. Something about needing to say it out loud short-circuits Rumi’s brain in the best possible way.

“I want to help you. Please.”

Rumi’s cheeks flushed a wonderful shade of pink, and normally Mira might not let her off the hook so easily.

But she’s only human, and she’s just as desperate for Rumi as Rumi is for her.

She takes one of the singer’s hands, and places it on her own breast, lingering there for a moment before sliding it down her stomach and between her legs. Rumi’s eyes blow open as her middle and ring finger make contact with Mira’s core and she nearly collapses on the spot.

Mira leans forward, lips a hairs breadth away from Rumi’s ear. “Do you feel that?”

Rumi nods and tentatively curls her fingers, brushing against Mira’s entrance and carving a moan out of her soul. 

“T-that’s what you do to me. What you’ve always done to me. I’ve had dreams about this, Rumi.” 

As a rule, Mira isn’t great at sharing how she feels. She much prefers action, and when she does need to talk she keeps it short and sweet. 

It was just how she operated. Never give more information than necessary, never give too much away.

Never let them see.

Nobody wanted to see her, so she learned not to be seen.

Rumi’s patterns are pulsing with her heartbeat, bathing the room in magenta light as Mira rolls her hips into Rumi’s hand. The singer whimpers and squirms against her, trying to find some kind of friction, but Mira grabs her hip and pins her to the tile, bracing her other hand against the wall.

Rumi growls and slips a finger inside her. Mira sees stars, crumpling into the singer’s shoulder and whispering another wave of raw truths from her lips to god’s ears.

“You —ah— deserve so much… Wanna give you everything… My pretty girl…”

Mira’s barely able to string a pair of words together anymore. Hell, she’s starting to worry that she won’t be able to hold herself upright for much longer. Rumi starts a little clumsy but she’s a fast learner, and she intuits the perfect time to slip another finger in without prompting. She’s barely keeping her demon under control, Mira can practically see it straining at Rumi’s mind.

It wants her. Rumi wants her.

Twice Rumi tries to slip her hand between her legs, but Mira stops her. The second time earns her another growl and a flash of bright yellow eyes, but nothing more. Rumi’s in control, though the demon isn’t making it easy for her.

In fairness, Mira isn’t either.

“G-good… Good girl… So well-behaved.” Mira’s close, she’s so close, “Gonna make me—”

“Please,” Rumi cuts her off, “I want to make you feel good, please.”

It’s the tenderness that does it, which is odd because Mira doesn’t usually do tender. She doesn’t know what to do with it.

Ususally she just ends up questioning the motives of the person offering.

She never questions it coming from Rumi. Not once. Rumi is perfect, she always has been.

Rumi is perfect, Rumi is hers.

Mira holds her tight as her mind goes blank. She doesn’t moan, or scream, her instincts won’t let her. The only signs that she’s coming apart are the twitching of her hips, and the small, trembling whimper that only Rumi could hear.

Only Rumi.

Mira stands on trembling legs, and they finish their actual shower. Rumi changes the bandage on her back and kisses the bite mark which gets Mira going all over again.

They don’t talk about the missing piece, but when they walk out of the bathroom, the eggshells aren’t quite as noisy under their feet

Baby really hurt me, cryin in the taxi

She don’t wanna know me

Says she made the big mistake of dancing in my storm

Says it was poison

Zoey taps the end of her pen against her temple. She’s curled up like a shrimp on her bed surrounded by crumpled up wrappers and empty energy drink cans.

She probably won’t sleep much tonight, but that wasn’t a problem. Seoul never slept. A few months ago she got up in the middle of the night and accidentally dropped her phone in the bathroom sink in a half-asleep stupor. She had a new one in hand in an hour. For someone like her who was frequently awake at odd hours, it was a blessing.

Staying up late also meant she could use the rest of the apartment without having to face Rumi and Mira. She couldn’t do that right now. Not with all the scribbles in her mind. 

What were they thinking?

It was clear fom minute one of their little moment on the couch (that she was definitely not supposed to be awake for) they’re made for each other. They compliment each other perfectly. Mira’s so attuned to caring for her she could head off Rumi’s tendency to overwork herself or engage in self-sacrifice. Rumi’s earnestnes and natural leadership qualities would give Mira the security she needs to open up and be herself.

They compliment each other so perfectly, what room is there for anything else?

Inspiration sparks and she puts pen to paper again, following the pale blue lines across the page.

Writing is her therapy. A way for her to say things she doesn’t know how to put into words. Her feelings are sticky globs of glue that will gum up the gears in her brain if she lets them. Writing gets them out without causing any problems.

So I guess I’ll go home

Into the arms of the girl that I love

The only love I haven’t screwed up

She’s so hard to please, but she’s a forest fire

I do my best to meet her demands, play at romance, we slow dance in the living room but all that a stranger would see

Is one girl swaying alone, stroking her cheek

She nods and reaches for the small keyboard plugged into her laptop, puts her headphones in, and experiments with a few chords, eventually settling on D flat major as a sufficiently sad key for these lyrics.

D flat, F minor over C, B flat minor, A flat, G flat, B flat minor over F, E flat minor, A flat again. Her left hand crafts the baseline while her right plays each chord twice.

Zoey sings what she’s written to see if it matches up. The lump in her throat will stop her from speaking but it won’t stop the songs.

They say, “You’re a little much for me

You’re a liability

You’re a little much for me”

So they pull back, make other plans

I understand, I’m a liability

Get you wild, make you leave

Zoey stops, satisfied she’s on the right track, and picks up her pen.

Her chest hurts, like someone has a death grip on her heart.

And she’s crying, why is she crying?

She wipes the errant tears from her face and starts to write again, but as the words come out the hand grips harder and the tears flow easier.

The truth is, I am a toy that people enjoy

‘Till all of the tricks don’t work anymore

And then they are bored of me

She can’t see what she’s writing anymore, her vision is too blurry. Fat tears roll down her cheeks and land on the page, large enough to make an audible smack. She grits her teeth. 

Happy.

She’s supposed to be happy. 

Happy for her best friends. 

She is happy for them.

And they’ll still be her best friends.

They promised.

Then why. Is. She. CRYING?

She grips handfuls of hair as a sob rattles her chest. 

She’s overreacting. They’re still her friends. They’re her best friends. Her best friends who are now a couple. With each other. They picked each other.

Not her.

Because she’s too much.

And not enough.

Zoey’s tearing herself in two. 

She sleeps as much as she can during the day because she’s not sleeping at night. When the breaks are too short she sits off to the side, scrolling on her phone or trying to write new lyrics but everything comes out too sad so she gives up on it after the fourth day.

Mira and Rumi are worried, but she tries to put it all aside and just be friends with them again. At first it only makes it worse. It feels like they’re taking pity on her, and that’s the absolute last thing she wants from them.

Zoey is fine, or at least, she will be fine. She just needs to adjust to the new dynamic.

To being the odd one out. 

By the end of the week, things could almost be mistaken for normal. Rumi takes her hand as they rise from the elevator at a show, squeezing it and letting it go before they reach the top. She cracks jokes like she always does, and the girls laugh and join in.

They’re sitting in the green room before their last show of the week, and Mira flops down on the couch next to her to watch watever cute animal videos she’s swiping through. They watch for a few mintues before Rumi joins them. Both girls have an arm around her, and Mira is leaning her head on Zoey’s shoulder.

For the first time since their brunch, she feels whole again.

She revels in it for as long as she can bear before abruptly standing and darting off to the bathroom. When she comes back they get their call and nobody brings it up again.

The second week is more of the same, but they start doing more things as a trio. They go to the bathhouse and Zoey tries not to think about Mira’s piercings (she fails miserably). They do their normal Friday night cuddle pile after skipping the week before.

It almost feels like nothing’s changed.

Except Mira comes out of Rumi’s room most mornings, and they need a little extra time to put on concealer before shows.

Zoey’s happy for them. She really is. She just has to adjust.

At the end of the week, Bobby bursts into the penthouse during breakfast to tell them they got nominated for three Grammys: Song of the year and best pop group performance for Golden,

“And the big one, Zoey got nominated for songwriter of the year!” Bobby exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air.

Rumi and Mira launch themselves at her, scooping her up into a crushing two-person hug and peppering her with small kisses.

“We’re so proud of you Zoey.” Mira whispers..

“You’re so talented, and you work so hard, you deserve this.” Rumi says, tears shimmering in her eyes.

There’s a lump in her throat, it has nothing to do with the nomination.

“Thanks guys.” She forces out.

Bobby takes the hint because he’s a saint and begins talking about the logistics of the trip. Zoey bought a house in the hills so they could have a place to stay when she visits home or if any of them just need to get away from Seoul for a while. They don’t get recognized in America like they do in Korea, so it feels like more of a vacation. 

Not that they’ve had the time to do that, but for the Grammys, they’ll make time. Bobby starts making calls, rearranging media appearances and cancelling meetings to carve out a week long trip with the awards plastered right in the middle. 

Mira and Rumi beg her to make brunch again so they can celebrate, and because Bobby has somehow never eaten her cooking.

At first she’s reticent, but she relents when her bandmates end up literally on their knees in front of her, Rumi deploying a pair of puppy-dog eyes capable of leveling a city block. She makes a simple French toast and eggs with roasted vegetables and tries not to think about Mira and Rumi staring up at her from the floor and how much her pulse quickens every time she does.

She fails. A lot.

In the middle of the night after four days of the image bouncing around in her mind, she whispers “fuck it,” and reaches for the drawer of her nightstand.

She has the best orgasm of her life, and it makes all the problems worse.

The following morning they have a photoshoot for some streetwear magazine. Zoey loves the designer, she’s a friend of theirs who’s done some costume work for them in the past, but when she puts Mira in a fishnet bodysuit and miniscule leather shorts, Zoey starts weighing the pros and cons of throwing the poor woman out the window.

She can’t look Mira in the eye. She can’t look either of them in the eye because she’s having a harder and harder time convincing herself that she doesn’t want this. 

That she doesn’t want both of them more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life.

But wanting is dangerous for someone like her.

Someone who’s too much, and not enough.

Rumi touches the small of her bare back and snaps her out of the impending spiral.

“You okay?” she murmurs, concern evident even in her low voice.

“Yeah, sorry.” Zoey keeps her eyes locked on the camera lens as she kneels down behind Mira and wraps a hand around her thigh at the photographer’s request. The contact stirs a fire in her core and she bites the inside of her cheek to try and ground herself.

She tells herself she can’t have it. Tells herself until the words stop sounding like words. She bolts the minute the shoot ends and doesn’t leave her room for the rest of the day.

That night she reaches for the drawer again, fully aware it will make the problem worse, but it’s the only way she’ll be able to dispel the aching want long enough to get a few hours of sleep.

She’s approaching her peak, one hand pressing a small oval-shaped vibrator hard into her clit, the other clapped over her mouth as a reminder to keep the noises to herself. She’s rotating through a slideshow of images in her mind, half real half imagined.

Her hand on Mira’s thigh. The sound of ripping fishnets. Rumi’s perfume, and the sharp lines of her patterns. Mira’s flushed face and lithe, naked body.

The piercings.

Just as she’s about to lose herself, there’s a knock at the door.

It’s Mira. The universe hates her. 

“Zo, you wanna join us for cuddle pile?”

Zoey doesn’t respond right away. She eases off the pressure but doesn’t fully remove the vibrator before taking her hand off her mouth just long enough to speak.

This is probably as close as she’s ever going to get to what she wants.

“I-I was gonna shower and…stuff.” 

There was no way Mira didn’t hear at least some of the whine that slipped through her fingers. She doesn’t address it directly, but Zoey swears she can hear a smirk in Mira’s voice and it’s all but confirmed by her response.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t make me beg.”

That’s enough to push Zoey over the edge. Her entire body twitches as her orgasm soaks her hand and the sheets beneath her. By some miracle she avoids making any noise but she’s pretty sure the effort is what leads her to nearly pass out.

“Hey, you okay?” Mira’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Y-yeah just… gimme a few minutes.” Zoey replies breathlessly, and there’s a long, heavy pause before Mira says,

“Alright, get yourself cleaned up, we’ll be getting cozy.”

Oh, Zoey was going to kill her.

Wait, Zoey can’t kill her without telling her what happened, and she’d rather swan dive into the demon realm.

Fuck.

Instead, she takes the most sobering cold shower of her life, then goes to join her friends. They’ve stripped all the cushions off the couch and piled them in the center of the room, along with several blankets from Rumi’s bed. Mira and Rumi are side by side, bundled up in the duvet, and they both beam at her as she descends the stairs.

Zoey doesn’t even attempt to sort out her conflicted feelings. Her legs still wobble like jelly from the face-melting orgasm her friend unintentionally gave her, her stomach twisted with guilt because really she should have just stopped when Mira knocked, and floating above it all is the same storm cloud that’s been following her for weeks.

No matter how much you want it. You can’t have it, because you’ll break it.

Mira pats a spot between her and Rumi, because of course she does, and Zoey considers sitting somewhere else anyway. It’s not like she has to listen to either of them.

But the weakness wins out, and she curls up between Mira and Rumi, who both scoot closer to her. She throws an arm around both of them and they lean in like it’s all they’ve ever wanted.

She can’t keep doing this to herself, sooner or later something’s got to give.

News of HUNTR/X’s nominations spread like wildfire, and the outpouring of support is so huge it breaks their social media apps. It’s no problem for them to duck some of their commitments to travel to America once the news gets out, nobody wants to see them miss this.

They touch down at LAX two days before the ceremony, and although they’re jet lagged to hell, there’s no time to sit still. They have their final fittings for their outfits, which they go to individually as a little surprise for each other. Each of them is working with a different designer to keep things interesting for themselves and the fans.

Somehow Bobby manages to schedule them on three different podcasts in one day, but the hosts are fun and welcoming. It’s kind of adorable watching Mira and Zoey adjust to the more formal tone of media appearanes stateside, but they’re excited to talk more seriously about what they love.

Zoey gets the brunt of the questioning since she’s nominated for something on her own. The interviewers really did their research too, asking about songs she sold to at least half a dozen other bands, including some she hadn’t told Mira and Rumi about. 

The house in the hills turns out to be the best idea Zoey’s had in ages. It’s huge, airy, and most of all, quiet. The dull roar of Seoul is an ocean away, and even LA traffic doesn’t reach this far. Zoey finally manages to get some decent sleep the night before the awards.

Good thing too, becaue Bobby, their preferred coffee orders, and a trio of stylists are at their door much too early. Per their agreement, none of them leave their rooms until they are in full makeup and in their outfits, to make sure it’s a surprise. 

Zoey’s wearing a suit. Normally that’s Mira’s thing, but she mentioned a while back that she wanted to branch out for their next awards show, and she’s pretty certain she’ll stick to that. It’s a white Armani number, and rather than a shirt underneath there’s a glittering spiderweb of jewels that hang in fine threads across her bare chest and stomach.

Mira steps into the hall at almost exactly the same time as her, and Zoey nearly falls over.

“Oh my god.” They say in unison. Zoey’s mouth is dry as a bone. This is going to be an exceptionally long and frustrating night.

Mira’s wearing a tight leather dress, slit up to her hip on one side. There’s a center cutout that plunges all the way down past her belly button, splitting the dress nearly in half save for a strip of studded fabric that wraps around the middle of her ribcage. A similarly studded choker around her neck connects the disparate pieces together.

The inside is a bold tiger print, and Zoey imagines what it might look like crumpled up on her floor before she can stop herself.

“Are you even wearing a shirt?” Mira asks, before licking her lips in a way that made Zoey’s stomach flip. She shakes her head and puts on a confident smirk.

“Nope, just boob tape and a dream, baby.” She winks and makes finger guns at Mira for some fucking reason.

God she’s so lame.

Mira laughs though, so she takes it as a win.

There's a brief pause as they hear Rumi struggle with her shoes for a moment before someone helps her.

"Hope you had time to shower and... Stuff. That was a long hair and makeup day." Mira says, flashing an absolutely devilish grin at Zoey.

Just as Zoey is about to return fire, Rumi joins them. The singer opted for a more playful dress with clouds of feathers wrapping around at the waist and at the bottom of the gown. The top is cut in a wide diamond shape across her front and only her front. Her sides and back are fully exposed, letting the light flicker off her patterns.

“Zoey where’s your shirt?” Rumi asks, raising an eyebrow.

Mira snorts, and Zoey rolls her eyes. “God is everyone gonna be asking me that?”

Silence descends, and they stand there like awkward prom dates, just staring at each other. Zoey doesn’t miss how hungrily they both look at her, tracing the gossamer strands of jewels between her lapels.

She’s sure she’s no better. They haven’t even left yet and she’s already sure things won’t be the same when they come home.

Call it a hunch, or the crumbling of her last bastion of defense, but she’s going to make a mistake tonight.

A limousine is waiting out front to take them to the venue. They need to walk a little slower to let Rumi, who can’t walk nearly as fast with the restrictive cut of her dress, kepe up with them.

Zoey helps them both into the car, and learns to her great enjoyment and frustration, that both of their dresses are fully backless. The ride is silent, but there’s a storm of feelings flickering between the three of them. Zoey’s never felt electricity like this before, it’s like they’re all waiting for a bomb to detonate.

Waiting for Zoey to blow it all up.

Zoey wins songwriter of the year.

Holy shit. She just won a fucking Grammy.

They don’t win song of the year, or pop group performance, but that’s okay.

The room erupts into applause as she weaves through the tables. She goes up on stage and gives the same floundering speech that everyone says they’re not going to give until they’re at the podium. She’s used to being on stage, but being up there after winning has a way of blanking your mind.

“I wanna thank my mom, my dad, our manager Bobby, all the wonderful artists who brought my words to life, and most importantly...”

She stares off to where she knows her bandmates are sitting.

“Rumi and Mira. Without you, none of this would have been possible. Thank you for giving me the space to be my best, most authentic self, because I couldn’t have done any of this on my own. I can’t wait to make more music with you.”

She walks off the stage and suddenly she can’t breathe. Her mind is tearing itself apart, screaming at her to just let herself be happy.

But she is, she’s so happy. She just won a Grammy, and her friends are waiting at the table for her.

Her friends. That’s all they can be.

Zoey’s chest is collapsing in on itself like a black hole, her vision narrows. She blasts past her table, dropping the golden record player at her seat and weaves her way into an alley where she can finally get a lungful of fresh air.

She puts her hands on her knees, panting and fighting back tears. A few moments later, the door opens, and she hears the only voice she wants to hear, and the last person she wants to talk to.

“Did you mean it?” Rumi says. 

Her voice is choked and strained, she’s pushing the words out and they’re barely making it.

Zoey nods, “Yeah, every word.”

Rumi’s face hardens, “Then what the hell have you been doing for the past month?” she hisses.

The words hit her like a truck, and Zoey takes a half step back before her face twists in a scowl. “What are you talking about?”

Rumi rolls her eyes, “You’re not eating. You’re barely sleeping. You won’t look me or Mira in the eye for more than a few seconds, you just won a Grammy and your first instinct is to run away?”

Zoey shrivels, wrapping her arms around herself and staring at the cracked asphalt. How dare Rumi say those things that are all entirely true and sound way worse when you list them all out.

“Please just talk to me, Zoey.”

“I’m fine.” Zoey says through clenched teeth. “I just… need some time to adjust.”

Rumi tilts to try and get between Zoey’s eyes and the ground, and she turns her head to avoid the singer’s gaze.

Zoey can’t look at her right now.

“Adjust to what?” Rumi asks.

She heaves a sigh. This shouldn’t be that complicated. It all makes sense in her head. Why is she having so much trouble explaining herself?

“To being the third wheel. I guess I just, had some feelings I needed to work through. But I’m getting better, I promise.”

Rumi’s confusion morphs into something bordering on anger and Zoey’s heart begins to pound.

“We never asked you to do that.”

Zoey pinches the bridge of her nose and tries to keep her voice steady. Talking about this is just as painful as she imagined it would be, maybe even worse. This all makes sense in her head, but for some reason she just can’t get the words to come out in a way that Rumi understands.

“Look, you and Mira have something really special. I see that, and I want to support you guys. It just took me a minute to figure out how, but I did, so it’s all good.”

She paints on an unconvincing smile, which immediately falters at the hurt in Rumi’s eyes.

“No, Zoey. You didn’t.”

Shit

She already broke it.

They’ve spent the last month worrying about her instead of focusing on loving each other.

Shit. Shit. Shit. This is exactly what she was trying to avoid but she can’t keep a handle on herself. She should have been able to shoulder the pain without letting it show. 

“Wait, what? No, I— You two can be together without worrying about me wrecking it, that was the whole point. I can just be your friend, I promise I can!” 

Zoey’s heart is thundering in her ribs, this is all spiraling out of control. Everything she’s saying is deepening the lines of pain in Rumi’s face.

“I’m sorry if you’ve been worried about me, I should have been better, I can be better.”

I can be what you want just PLEASE don’t leave me.

Rumi knows her well enough that she doesn’t need to say it out loud, and Zoey’s soul shatters as tears form in the singer’s eyes.

“Zoey… What do you want?”

Something surges up from her chest and for a moment, Zoey worries she might throw up.

“I already—”

“No,” Rumi cuts her off, voice sharper than her sword, “I don’t care what you think we want, tell me what you want.”

Zoey grunts and turns away from her. Rumi’s really going to make her say it.

“You know what I’m gonna say.” She murmurs. What a cruel thing to do, forcing her to put her heart in her hands for something she knows she can’t have.

A patterned hand lands on her shoulder. “Then say it. What do you want, Zoey?”

Zoey whips around, tears already blurring her vision. Fine then. She can have it, for all the good it’ll do either of them.

“You!” Zoey shouts, throwing her arms in the air, “I want— Fuck it’s always been you. You and Mira, I want you both so fucking much it feels like it’s gonna tear its way out of my chest most days but I can’t want that because you have each other and I’m too much, Rumi! I’m too much and I’ll ruin it, but god at this point I don’t know what to do.”

“Zoey—”

“Because the only thing that hurts more than only having part of you is the thought of having none of you!”

The words echo off the asphalt, sailing into the wind like ashes. Zoey’s chest is heaving again. She can’t stop shaking. Rumi’s eyes are wide, her perfect lips parted in shock.”

She takes a hesitant step towards Zoey, then another, and Zoey should be backing away but she just can’t. She wants so badly to have Rumi close to her.

“Zoey. Look at me.” Rumi whispers, as soft, patterned hands wrap around her waist. Zoey does. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts, like staring into the sun.

“You can have us. Both of us. Nothing would make me happier.”

Zoey can’t maintain eye contact. Her gaze drops to the asphalt again.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispers. Rumi can’t mean that. If she does, it means she’s been making this whole situation worse instead of better for no reason. 

Rumi takes her chin between her thumb and forefinger and tilts her head up.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Zoey stares deep, deep into Rumi’s eyes. She can’t find anything but sincerity and want.

She gets a little closer, just to make sure. 

Rumi’s left eye is still a slightly lighter shade of gold, even when at rest.

She gets a little closer, because she can’t be that sure about it. 

Zoey’s close enough that she hears Rumi suck in a sharp breath. Close enough to smell the florals of her perfume.

Close enough to hear Rumi whisper words for only her ears.

“Take what you want.”

Zoey grabs Rumi’s face and collapses into the most wonderful, sloppy kiss of her life. Rumi groans into her mouth, her hands sliding up Zoey’s back. 

Her body rejoices as it zips back together. The choir of the Honmoon wafts through the air like spring flowers. The relief is palpable, like finding something lost in the place where it was always supposed to be after convincing yourself it’s not there.

Zoey pushes Rumi into the wall, unable to let her go, trying to soothe the wounds she made trying to pretend this was something it wasn’t.

And Rumi takes it all with a frantic energy that borders on desperate. 

The need for air finally separates them, and Rumi wraps her in a bone-crushing hug.

“That’s all I’ve wanted this whole time. We missed you so much.”

Zoey buries her face in Rumi’s neck. “I missed you too.”

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. A text from Bobby.

You okay? We want to celebrate with our grammy-winning songwriter!

Zoey lets out an amused huff. "Oh right, I won a Grammy."

After kissing Rumi, the Grammy feels like the least important thing in the world. 

Rumi snorts, "Yeah, you did."

Reality slowly creeps back in, and as much as she wanted to keep making out in the alley, that seems needlessly risky.

Zoey smiles up at her. "I think I need a drink."

They separate, and Rumi holds the door for her. Their hands interlock without either of them having to think about it.

"Me too. Mira's probably worried about us."

Right. Mira. 

Mira and her shit-eating grin. Mira and her "don't make me beg."

A plan begins to coalesce in Zoey's mind.

"Yeah, I should probably talk to her. Clear the air, ya know?"

Rumi raises an eyebrow at her, but Zoey plays it cool.

"Drinks first though."

Chapter Text

Zoey is having a fantastic evening. 

Their walk back to the table is brief, but they pack a lot into it. She recruits Rumi in her plan to fluster Mira, and when the singer alludes to her trepidations about her demon, the gears in Zoey’s mind immediately begin to turn, turning over solutions in her head. 

All the while, the Honmoon ripples in the background with something that sounded suspiciously like “I told you so,” which Zoey studiously ignores.

From the moment they sit back down they have to keep their on-camera personalities locked on. Zoey winning means at least one photojournalist and at least one camera operator are hovering around their table like buzzards. 

The after party is a different story, though. No press, no photos. They can finally loosen up.

The three of them are clustered around a tiny steel table full of drinks and plates of appetizers. Loud, thumping bass rattles throughout the huge room, blending with a thousand overlapping conversations to create a wall of sound so dense it’s simultaneously impossible to ignore and effortless to tune out. 

Bobby returns with a third round of drinks, while Zoey is chatting with the fifth or sixth congratulatory conversation in the last half hour from an artist she’s only vaguely familiar with. She’s nearly on the verge of tears by the end, the woman is so earnest and thankful and Zoey loves that she was able to help. 

Zoey loves helping, more than anything.

After they depart, Mira leans in with an incredulously raised eyebrow, “When were you gonna tell us that you wrote half of the U.S. Pop charts?”

Zoey chuckles, picking up the Grammy and running her thumb over the nameplate, still in disbelief that she’s holding it.

“I didn’t really think about it. I was just excited that I had something to do with the songs HUNTR/X can’t use.”

Mira scoffs, but she’s smiling and her eyes glimmer with pride. “You’re gonna be insufferable about this aren’t you?”

“Oh, Mira,” Zoey says, setting the award down and leaning close enough to make Mira’s eyes widen, “I’m gonna be insufferable about so many things.”

She lingers there, letting the moment get heavier and heavier, and then pulls back to take a sip of her drink. Mira doesn’t move, she just watches her with narrowed eyes and flushed cheeks. Zoey catches Rumi’s barely disguised giggle behind her and it makes her heart flutter.

Zoey plays with her bandmates for the next hour. Her comments are dripping with innuendo, her frequent touches linger just long enough to draw attention, but not so long as to invite questions.

And Mira is so responsive. She isn’t usually the type to be easily flustered, especially compared to Rumi, but that was before. Now everything Zoey does seems to send a jolt of electricity shooting through the dancer, and Zoey takes immense satisfaction in watching her perfect jawline grow tighter and tighter.

Rumi is delightful for other reasons. Zoey has her hand firmly on the dial that controls Rumi’s patterns, and while she doesn’t push so much to cause a scene, she loves being able to get the singer’s markings to pulse with a simple smile. 

All the while Zoey’s chatting with Bobby, and other guests. For once, she’s in her element, her surroundings finally keeping up with the frenetic pace of her mind. 

If only there were always this many outlets for her buzzing energy.

Cheers begin to break out and they all look to the left as one of the artists who congratulated Zoey earlier in the night takes the stage. They’re about Rumi’s age, with short, messy brown hair parted down the center, a mesh top, and black leather pants.

Without preamble, the band behind her starts to play and Zoey recognizes the opening chords immediately.

She flicks her eyes over to Bobby to ensure he’s not watching before leaning close to Mira and sliding a hand onto her exposed leg.

“I wrote this one for you,” She whispers.

Mira’s back snaps straight. Zoey leaves her hand planted halfway up Mira’s thigh, running a finger over the hastily formed goosebumps. She glances back at Rumi and winks at her. It makes the singer’s patterns flare and Zoey can’t believe she ever thought this was a bad idea.

I ain’t got no time, no

‘Cause when this day is done

I still got shit to run

I could make it for you

‘Cause you’re so beautiful, I’d rather drink you up

Bobby glances over to her, “I can see why you sold this one. We’d never get away with this.”

Zoey nods, “Yeah, it’s a bummer, I really liked it. Glad it went to someone at least.”

Honey on your knees, when you look at me

I’m dressed like a fuckin’ queen

And you’re beggin’ “please”

Mira turns slowly back to her, eyebrows rising towards her hairline and her jaw hanging slack. Zoey twitches slightly, barely restraining herself from sticking her tongue down Mira’s throat. There would be time for that later, for now she just smiles and lets Mira squirm.

And oh does she squirm. Her thighs squeeze together unconciously, and her hand trembles ever so slightly as she raises her glass to her perfect lips. There’s a stain on the rim when Mira moves to set the glass back down, and Zoey intercepts it halfway, placing her mouth over the lipstick mark and taking a small sip, replacing Mira’s lip color with her own.

I rule with a velvet tongue

And my dress undone

And I’ll get you lost

But I’m havin’ fun

Zoey leans back in her chair and watches with rapt attention as a single bead of sweat slides down Mira’s neck.

When the song ends, the dancer stands just a little too fast to not arouse suspicion.

“Be right back, bathroom.”

Zoey sees her opportunity, “Oh, I’ll go with you.”

Mira nods woodenly, and the moment they’re out of view of the table, Zoey feels an iron grip around her wrist and suddenly Mira’s veering off course towards a side hallway marked “employees only.”

Zoey giggles as Mira shoulders the door open, locks onto a door, and slips them inside, flicking the light switch and locking the door of what turns out to be a supply closet.

Mira whirls around, breath ragged, eyes smoldering. Zoey’s fingers twitch, imagining what it will feel like when she can finally put them everywhere she wants.

Mira can’t take it anymore. Her heart thuds painfully in her chest, protesting at the frequent spikes in her pulse. She’s covered in a thin film of sweat, both from the cramped venue and the fact that Zoey kept touching her fucking leg. 

She’s not sure what Zoey and Rumi talked about, but something shifted. Zoey came back looking more like herself than she had in weeks, and Rumi’s smile as she reapplied her lipstick could only be described as smug.

Then the teasing started.

Zoey spent the rest of the night trying to make Mira crack, and she’d almost succeeded once or twice.

The song and the hand on her thigh are the last straw. She needs to get to the bottom of whatever the hell is going on here before she does something stupid in full view of the public.

The moment the closet door is locked, she whips around to face the source of her torment. The diminutive rapper flashes the most innocent doe eyes she can muster, but Mira isn’t falling for it. 

After weeks and weeks of mixed signals, Mira really should be more upset at her behavior this evening. Zoey’s been trapped in a miserable cycle of self-denial ever since their disastrous brunch, and its been hard on all of them to varying degrees. 

“What are you doing, Zoey?” Mira growls through gritted teeth. There’s a roiling mixture of desire, frustration, and hurt brewing inside her, and its taking a surpeme effort to keep herself civil. Mira’s not sure whether she wants to scream at her or kiss her.

Zoey smirks, “Isn’t it obvious?”

Mira’s eyes flicker to Zoey’s lips as they curl. She really, really wants to kiss her. 

Mira takes a deep breath. They’re supposed to be talking about their feelings now. She can do that. Probably. It’ll be like pulling teeth, but considering how miserable the initial stages of her and Rumi’s relationship were, it’s probably better to be blunt.

She could be blunt. Truthfully it was the only thing she was really good at.

Mira peels back a layer of protective anger, making the window to herself a little less opaque.

“You can’t keep doing this to me, Zoey. I can’t… I can’t handle it.” Her voice comes out more like a plea than a demand, and Zoey doesn’t let her forget it. The rapper’s face contorts into a theatrical pout as she takes a step towards Mira, who instinctively shuffles away until her back is against the door. 

Zoey slings her arms over Mira’s neck and presses their bodies together. The heat from Zoey’s bare torso and the crisp, sweet smell of her perfume mingling with her natural scent makes Mira’s head spin. It takes everything in her not to stick her face in the shorter woman’s neck and—

“You’re not used to being teased, are you?” Zoey’s voice is barely above a whisper, dripping with honey and crackling slightly with overuse. Mira’s hips twitch without her approval. She can’t be anything but honest as Zoey’s smoldering gaze hammers her into a ring to be wrapped around the younger woman’s finger.

“No.”

She doesn’t meet Zoey’s gaze. Instead shaking her head as her cheeks grow redder and redder by the second, barely concealed by a full face of makeup.

Mira’s used to being on the giving end of things like this. She’s tall, blunt, assertive, and very good at reading the needs of her partner. 

Premium top material, really.

And nobody she’d ever been with really questioned it. She didn’t either. 

Considering how worked up she is, that might have been a missed opportunity.

Zoey pulls away and meets Mira’s gaze, her expression suddenly serious.

“If its too much I can stop, I don’t want to—”

“No it’s okay.” Mira blurts out far too quickly, “I just… Didn’t think that’s what you wanted.”

Zoey blinks, and a soft smile spreads across her face. “Yeah, I was definitely lying to myself. It just took me a minute to realize that.”

Mira scoffs, “Yeah, no shit. We were worried sick—”

She doesn’t get to finish the sentence as Zoey crashes back into her. A hand slids up her chest and hooks around her neck, pulling her down until her lips are a hairsbreadth away from Zoey’s. Mira shudders at the sudden pressure between her legs and rolls against it. She leans forward, desperate to capture Zoey’s soft, red-tinted lips, but the rapper keeps them separated, leaving only warm, daquiri-infused breath for Mira’s tongue to curl around.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you, or Rumi.” Zoey whispers, before diving into Mira’s neck and nipping at a spot just below her ear. The rapper’s hands slide to her waist and pull her forward, pulling a delicate shudder from Mira’s lips.

“I promise, I’m gonna make it up to you when we get home.”

She lets Mira grind on her thigh for a few seconds, then pulls away.  Zoey giggles softly in her ear at Mira’s  disappointed whimper.

“As much as I love the noises you’re making, people will start asking questions.”

Mira growls, she knows Zoey’s right, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. With a sigh, she stands up straigher, adjusts her dress, and checks her hair in a small hand mirror.

“I actually do need to go to the bathroom, so I’ll meet you back at the table.”

Zoey nods, and stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Mira’s cheek. 

“I’ll see you in a minute then.” The rapper says as she slips past her and out the door.

When she’s gone, Mira pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a moment to compose herself.

Just a couple more hours, she can handle that, right?

Bobby calls it a night early, leaving the three of them to their own devices. 

Which apparently means it is open season on Mira the moment she returns from the overly long bathroom line. The moment she sits down, Rumi hands her a drink from their fourth round and sidles closer to her while Zoey’s hand once again appears on her thigh.

They take a few selfies for social media, and then a few more just for them. Rumi’s hand is around the small of her back for the last couple photos, and she’s convinced her smile makes her look like a demon is wearing her skin.

Mira says as much, and is immediately admonished by her bandmates. Rumi cups her cheek and stares right into her eyes before saying,

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

Her heart leaps into her throat. She doesn’t know how to respond to that, especially with Rumi delivering it like it was her last words. Her mouth open and closes a few times before Zoey rests her chin on Mira’s shoulder.

“I’d tell you to get a room, but I don’t wanna be left out.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band and the three of them break out into laughter that fades into a new type of exhilarating tension as they mull over Zoey’s words.

Zoey rolls with it, like she always does, and stands up. “Let’s go dance for a bit before we have to leave, I wanna get my groove on!”

Mira groans, “that’s the cheesiest way you could have said that, congrats.”

Zoey beams at her, “it’s a talent, really.”

Rumi stands next, offering a hand to Mira. “I’m with Zoey. The car’s gonna be here soon, let’s make the most of it.”

Mira swallows thickly, her eyes flicking back and forth between Zoey and Rumi’s charged expressions and broadening smiles. This was not going to help her situation, but her underwear isn’t getting any less ruined by sitting here.

The dance floor is packed, which gives them a measure of privacy when they finally push their way through the crowd. They lose themselves in flashing lights and pulsing beats, slowly and inexorably moving closer to each other. Mira falls in behind Rumi, their hips locked together in perfect time to the music. Rumi’s an absolute marvel, a living work of art between Mira’s hands. She’s laughing and raising her arms to wrap around Mira’s neck and the Honmoon purrs contentedly.

There’s still a piece missing though. Mira opens her eyes and meets Zoey’s tentative gaze. She’s no longer dancing, she’s just watching them, mesmerized. Mira jerks her head in a wordless invitation and Rumi, feeling the motion, untangles her arms from Mira and reaches out for the younger woman. 

Zoey pauses, and Mira’s gut twists as she worries Zoey might bolt again. But Rumi nods at her, and something unspoken passes between them. Zoey takes a step forward, slotting herself in to face their leader. It takes only a second for all of them to find the same rhythm, but once it all clicks, it nearly brings tears to her eyes. 

This is what it was always supposed to be. The three of them, together.

An hour later, they’re collapsing in a sweaty, giggling heap into the back of a black limousine. Zoey gives the address to the driver as they compose themselves.

“Ooh, one more champagne for the road?” Zoey says, eyeing the chilled bucket and set of three delicate flutes. She reaches out for one, but Rumi intercepts.

“I think we’re probably fine, don’t want to overdo it.”

Zoey starts to pout, but then seems to remember something and stares hungrily at Mira.

“You know, that’s a good point, It’d be a real bummer if I overdid it.”

Rumi pauses, then follows Zoey’s gaze and flushes a deep red. 

“Oh, um… Yeah, probably.”

Mira discreetly hits the button to roll up the partition, sealing them off from the driver. Her heart is thudding in her chest as she looks between her two bandmates.

“You little shits.”

Zoey tries the doe eyes again, it works about as well as last time. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

More teasing. 

Mira’s still not sure how to feel about it. There’s something undeniably tantalizing about the restraint, she knows that much from being on the other side of it. But she didn’t realize how truly frustrating it could be.

It’s all just words.

Mira’s sick of words. It’s time for action.

Before she can stop herself, she’s diving across the car at Zoey, who has just enough time to squeak in surprise before Mira’s on her with a crushing kiss that does the bare minimum at venting her frustrations.

A sharp intake of breath from her left has her breaking off prematurely as her stomach drops. They both turn to Rumi, who’s watching them with wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and flickering patterns.

“Uh…” Mira says dumbly as the rest of her brain catches up to her baser instincts.

Rumi lets out a soft, quivering breath. When she speaks her voice is a gentle caress, small and intimate.

“Do it again?”

Mira’s back slams against the seat as Zoey flips their positions and grips the sides of her face, pulling their lips together again. Zoey moves like a woman posessed, frenetic and hungry. Her tongue rattles the cage of Mira’s mouth and she quickly opens the doors, letting Zoey explore to her heart’s content. Intrepid fingers slide down Mira’s neck and over her shoulders, playing with the straps of her dress. 

A third hand brushes her forearm, slow and bashful. It trails down to her wrist, then threads between her fingers with another shuddering exhale from its owner. Mira squeezes Rumi’s hand and even through closed eyes, the brief glow of her patterns is visible.

Mira breaks the kiss, panting, and looks over at Rumi again. Her patterns have sharpened and spread across her entire body. She’s just as breathless as Mira and Zoey, and when she bites her bottom lip, Mira gets a glimpse of fangs beginning to push themselves out.

Zoey shivers in her grip, and Mira looks up to see the rapper reach out to cup Rumi’s cheek. She runs the pad of her thumb across the leader’s lips and Rumi dutifully opens her mouth, much to Zoey’s delight. 

“Pretty…” Zoey whispers, utterly captivated by the early signs of Rumi’s transformation. 

“Isn’t she?” Mira replies, squeezing Rumi’s hand and smiling at her. 

Rumi purrs and closes her lips around Zoey’s thumb, pulling a gentle moan out of the rapper.

“Do you… want to join? When we get home?”

Zoey retracts her hand and Rumi furrows her brow for a moment before responding.

“No, not yet… I’m not… I’m not in control enough.” Rumi says, and Mira can hear the telltale rasp in the back of her throat. Purple stains begin creeping up the fingers of one hand, before she takes a deep breath and pushes the encroaching demon back. Before Mira has to worry about hiding her disappointment, Rumi flushes harder and reaches down to play with the end of her braid again.

“But um, watching might be okay? I-If you don’t mind that is. It would be a good test I think. Probably not tonight, but sometime.”

The words send an almost painful jolt of arousal through her body and she presses her hips into Zoey without thinking. Her eyes flick to Mira before settling back on Rumi.

“Well I don’t mind, and from the way Mira moved her hips, I don’t think she does either.”

“Nope.” Mira’s response is so laden with want it makes both of the other girls chuckle.

Rumi runs her thumb over the back of Mira’s hand. “Thank you both. For helping me figure this out.”

Zoey throws her arms around Rumi’s neck, “Anything for my girl.”

Mira smiles, and envelops the pair, “You said it.”

The car slid to a halt and the voice of the driver crackled over the intercom informing them they have reached their destination. The trio quickly compose themselves so they could at least pretend they weren’t making out mere seconds ago. Zoey leaves a hefty tip for the driver, and they stumble into the enormous foyer of the house.

“What a fucking day.” Mira collapses on the couch, covers her eyes with her forearm, and kicks her heels into the dimly lit abyss of the living room and studiously ignoring the simmering, aching tension between her legs.

Not for any particular reason, it just feels rude to immediately pounce on Zoey without allowing a moment of decompression.

Zoey has no such reservations. She crosses the room with purposeful, confident strides and straddles Mira just below her belly button. Light floods her vision as Zoey pulls her arm above her head and pins it there.

“I hope you’re not too tired.” She says with a devious glint in her eye.

Mira chuckles, “I think you’ve got enough energy for all of us, but I think I can manage.”

Zoey strokes her face with a tenderness that takes Mira off-guard and sends a hard lump into her throat.

“You won’t have to work that hard, I promise.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to both of Mira’s cheeks.

Too many emotions are trying to push their way out of Mira at the same time. She wants to cry, she wants to grab Zoey by the hair and kiss her until they faint, she wants to curl up in a ball of blankets with her girls and fall asleep to tender touches and stifled giggles.

It’s a lot to handle, almost too much.

Zoey’s hand slips from her cheek to the back of her head, threading into her hair and grabbing with enough force to snap Mira back to the present. 

Her priorities get sorted for her when Zoey’s tongue comes knocking again. Insistent, just like in the car.

Action. Perfect. She’s good at that. The feelings stuff will be there later, but it’ll be easier to be open when she’s had an orgasm. Besides, she’s pretty sure if anything or anyone aside from Rumi tried to stop this she’d hurl them into the infinity pool.

She groans into Zoey’s mouth and tries to pull the blazer off, but Zoey doesn’t let her, breaking the kiss instead.

“Off.” Mira grunts. Zoey doesn’t move.

Before she can say it again, the smaller woman puts a finger to Mira’s lips.

“Shhhh babygirl, just let me drive, okay? I promise you’ll like where I’m taking you.”

Mira freezes, trying to process exactly what Zoey’s saying.

A process made that much harder by her lips feathering a couple of choice spots on Mira’s neck.

“Leave the armor at the door,” Zoey whispers as she nips at a spot just above Mira’s collarbone that makes her shiver, “You’re safe with me, and it seems so heavy.”

The words cave in her chest like a hammer blow, and her body is flooded with the euphoric, horrifying ordeal of being known. Zoey slipped past a lifetime’s worth of defenses, saw the shards of a person she’d kept hidden for a decade at least, and deemed it… Good.

Zoey pulled back and their eyes locked, “Can you do that for me?”

Mira nodded fiercely. She’d probably say yes to whatever came out of the younger woman’s mouth in that moment.

Kill God? Sure.

Zoey would do the job better anyway.

“Okay. Bedroom then.”

Zoey let out a squeak of alarm as Mira stood like the younger woman weighed nothing.

“Showoff.”

Mira smirks, “Maybe a little, but don’t tell me you don’t like it.”

Zoey rolls her eyes but doesn’t refute her. She glances over Mira’s shoulder.

“Will Rumi be okay?”

Mira pauses for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, she’s still really nervous about hurting someone, and we’ve talked about this before.”

They ascend the shallow stairs to the bedrooms, Zoey’s legs wrap around Mira’s waist and, much to her frustration, the white blazer still covers everything she wants to see. 

“Wait you’ve talked about this exact scenario?” Zoey asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Honestly, both of us figured this would happen eventually. It was clearly not what any of us wanted, we just weren’t sure when it would happen or how.”

Zoey scoffs, trying and failing to preserve some semblance of dignity, “What, so you just assumed I was so down bad for both of you that I’d cave eventually?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re not exactly subtle.”

Zoey sticks her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Well now I don’t wanna fuck you on principle.”

Mira stops dead in the hallway as her heart sinks to ankles. “W-wait, hang on—”

Zoey, being Zoey, can’t hold back the grin, she strokes Mira’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t do that to you. I think your head might explode.”

Mira wants to argue, but she can’t. They push their way into Zoey’s master suite and Mira’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Zoey why the hell is this room so huge?” she asks, scanning the space.

The headboard of the bed is pushed against a wall separating the bathroom and closet from the main room. On the far side is a full-sized sofa, coffee table, and a pair of overstuffed chairs facing a large outdoor terrace. Everything is done up in neutral tones that make the riotous art pieces and pile of stuffed animals on the bed feel that much more out of place. 

“Isn’t it great? It’s like a little house within a house.” She replies as her legs unclasp from Mira’s waist. She hooks a finger through the neckline of Mira’s dress and pulls her a few steps towards the bed. 

A part of her wants to resist, to not let herself be led around. But Zoey turns around and there’s nothing in her eyes but affection and excitement. 

Mira tries to say something, but Zoey silences her with a searing kiss that almost obscures the soft “click” and the release of pressure as the smaller woman slips the top of her dress off her shoulders. Mira shivers as slender fingers track down her shoulders and wrap around her waist. 

They separate with a gasp, keeping their faces close, and Mira tries to speak again.

“I—”

Zoey cuts her off with another short kiss.

“I think you can find something better to do with those pretty lips of yours, don’t you?”

Mira’s knees wobbled. Zoey was going to be the death of her.

She reaches behind her back and undoes the clasp around her ribs and Zoey pulls the fabric down like she’s unwrapping a priceless gift. The dress pools on the floor as Zoey finally sheds her blazer, leaving only the twinkling diamond threads crisscrossing her torso. They catch the soft light from the bedside lamp and from the city outside and Mira can’t help but trace one with her finger.

Zoey gives her a gentle shove and Mira collapses onto the bed, pulling her glasses off and throwing them… somewhere. She doesn’t care. 

The stars descend on her and Zoey lands perfectly on her collarbone for the third time (how the hell does she keep doing that?) while one hand moves to cup her breast, taking the barbell piercing and wiggling it back and forth.

“Been… Thinking about those for a while… Huh?” Mira gasps. 

Zoey hums an affirmative and kisses her way down her chest, curling her tongue around Mira’s other nipple. She sucks in a breath through her teeth and arches her back and Zoey takes the opportunity to slip a hand around her waist, pulling them closer. The bejeweled web of stars presses into Mira’s stomach and Zoey hisses along with her as she feels the same pressure. 

Not content to stay in one place for too long, Zoey continues her journey down Mira’s body, kissing over her stomach, her hips, on to her legs.

Mira runs her fingers through the other woman’s hair, pushing gently on the back of her head. Zoey giggles and doesn’t move. She lets out a petulant groan at the lack of contact. Mira needs Zoey’s mouth on her yesterday.

“This is normally the part where I scold you for being too needy,” Zoey says, kissing along the waistband of Mira’s ruined underwear, “But I’d rather just give you everything.”

Mira gasps as Zoey grabs her underwear and pulls it off with her teeth, tossing it over her shoulder with an animalistic fire.

“Zoey, I—” the words are violently ejected from Mira’s brain as Zoey presses her tongue flat against her and drags upward, curling at the last moment to feather her clit. She puts a hand over her mouth to muffle the noises Zoey pulls out of her as the other woman swirls her tongue through her arousal like she’s been starving for it. Without interrupting her pace, Zoey reaches up and grabs her wrist, pulling the hand from her mouth and sucking her clit hard. She hums contentedly at the full-volume moan that echoes around the room.

Mira’s eyes go wide and she claps her other hand over her mouth.

Zoey pauses just long enough to speak. She’s smiling ear-to-ear, like Mira just gave her the most wonderful gift.

“Ooh, I like that. Let’s see if you can do it again.” She murmurs before lowering her head and giving Mira more reasons to cry out.

It’s hard at first. Despite her career choice Mira’s a mostly quiet person, especially during sex, where she brings new meaning to the term “stone top.” Zoey threads their fingers together and gives her a reassuring squeeze. Mira relaxes the iron grip on her vocal cords just a little, and Zoey chooses that moment to tilt her chin up and slide a finger into Mira’s buzzing core.

It’s harder to put her guard back down once it’s up. All that escapes her lips is a tiny, pathetic wimper, but Zoey growls in approval and picks up her pace. Mira can feel her heartbeat in her entire body, her hips writhe and twitch, despite Zoey’s best efforts to hold her in place. Her brain is full of increasingly loud static, all she can do is repeat Zoey’s name between explitives as the supernova builds in her abdomen.

It doesn’t last much longer. Zoey adds another finger and Mira melts down in seconds. Her mouth opens wide in a silent scream and she locks her legs around Zoey’s head as her hips buck skyward, lifting off the bed entirely. Zoey eases her back down to earth, lapping up every drop of Mira with infectious glee. 

“F-f-f-fuuuuuuuck me.” Mira’s voice is already ragged, but the look in Zoey’s eyes as she releases her grip on her head is no less hungry than when they started.

“Well, if you insist.” Zoey coos playfully, setting Mira back down and waving for her to crawl up off the edge of the bed. She practially skips to the nightstand, jettisoning the rest of her clothes with such grace Mira wasn’t sure when it happens. She opens the bottom drawer and pulls out a bundle of supple leather straps, shaking them out and fastening them to her waist.

Mira slides up the bed and leans back on the massive pile of mismatched pillows, settling into her post-orgasm like a warm bath. Zoey still has the jewels on, and Mira smiles as the light catches them. Zoey turns around and meets her gaze, slipping a pink dildo into the ring of the harness.

She cocks an eyebrow, “What?”

“You’re so fucking pretty.” Mira says in a tone of voice she’s certain has never come out of her mouth before. It’s earnest and vulnerable and unexpectedly painful, like flexing a rarely used muscle. 

Zoey flushes beet red, but there’s a proud smile there too, as if she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life.

“Look who’s talking.” 

Mira snorts, “Simp.”

“Fuck you.” Zoey shoots back, sticking her tongue out.

“I mean sure but you’re gonna have to let me borrow that.” Mira nods at the harness as Zoey climbs onto the bed and pushes her down on her back.

“Nice try,’ Zoey replies, the burning intensity returning to her eyes, “but tonight’s still all about you.”

Mira frowns, “Why though?”

Obviously there’s practical limitations with Rumi not wanting to risk getting too hot and heavy lest she lose control of herself, but that doesn’t fully explain it. Not really.

Zoey nudges her legs apart and strokes her cheek. “Because I know what you’ve been thinking for the last month.”

Mira crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

She’s not sure why she’s being so defensive about this, Zoey’s been her best friend for years, it’s not like she has anything to hide.

Must be old habits dying hard.

Zoey stares at the ceiling and dramatically strokes her chin, “Hmm, probably something along the lines of ‘I made the first move on Rumi. So technically this whole mess with Zoey is actually my fault because I changed the nature of the relationship, and I deserve to feel bad about that.”

Mira gapes at her.

“O-oh. Uh. That’s…”

Zoey unwraps the stars from around her body and tosses them to the floor before capturing Mira’s lips in a tender, reassuring kiss. For a moment, it makes her forget the other woman just dismantled several weeks of spiraling in a single sentence.

“That’s what I figured.” Zoey whispers, and Mira shudders as the tip of the dildo rubs at her clit. She focuses in on Mira’s collarbone again, and she resolves to ask Zoey how the hell she finds that same spot every single time.

“Zoey,” Mira speaks the name reverently, like she’s trying to atone for something.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Mira. You don’t need to protect us. I wanna show you how much you mean to me. Let me make you feel good.” Zoey says into her neck, and tears sting at Mira’s eyes. She grabs Zoey’s face and pulls it back to hers, kissing her with a frantic, desperate energy. It’s all dancing tongues and clashing teeth and when Mira feels the head of the strap press against her entrance she wraps her legs around Zoey’s waist and pulls her inside with a raw, shuddering groan that the rapper enthusiastically accepts. 

They’re motionless for a moment as Zoey lets her adjust, and everything feels quiet and peaceful and right for once. 

Then Zoey’s picking up the pace, fucking the anxiety, the frustrations, and her ability to form a coherent thought right out of her. Mira’s hands slide up and down Zoey’s back, aimless and only concerned about getting as much contact as possible. Her legs remain wrapped around Zoey’s waist, pushing her deeper and egging her on.

Zoey dips her forehead down to touch hers. Their eyes lock and the world burns away. 

It’s only them and their infinite abyss of pleasure.

Zoey gets her wish as any hope of volume control flies out the window.

“Oh my… god, FUCK!” Mira almost shouts between huge gulps of air. Zoey’s keeping up a relentless pace, and before long they’re both glisening in the flood of moonlight. 

Mira’s second orgasm sneaks up on her when Zoey hooks a hand under her ass and squeezes, locking her hips in place and pushing her over the edge once again. Mira arches into her, and for a moment Zoey does slow down, but only for a moment.

“Zo— Zoey, I—” Mira’s hips are spasming under the other woman’s steady hand, she can’t keep still even if she wanted to.

“Want me to stop?” The voice comes ragged and feral in her ear.

Mira finds herself shaking her head violently back and forth, despite the near painful overstimulation, the idea of not being so full of Zoey is so much worse. 

So Zoey resumes her frantic pace and Mira’s mind begins to unravel. Her nails dig into Zoey’s back and at one point she’s fully lifted off the bed just trying to get closer.

Every thrust has her seeing the face of god in the ceiling. She’s pretty sure Zoey’s going to go deaf in one ear but she doubts the other woman cares. 

“You’re… Fuck I’m gonna—” Zoey’s pace stutters and slows for a moment and Mira is treated to the absolute masterpiece that is her bandmate cumming on her own strap.

Mira lets out a breathless giggle at nothing in particular and shoves her tongue into Zoey’s mouth as she gradually returns to her original, relentless thrusting pace.

The bed is covered in a mixture of bobby pins and sweat, one corner of the fitted sheet has fully slipped off the mattress, and nobody cares.

Mira and Zoey only have eyes for each other.

Zoey sucks a hickey into Mira’s throat as she reaches yet another peak.

“Can you give me one more?”

Mira gives it to her

She gives Zoey everything she can, because Zoey is giving her just as much in return.

After almost an hour and a half and at least four more orgasms, they finally fall off each other in breathless puddles.

“We uh, fucked the sheets off the bed.” Mira mumbles as her brain comes back online.

“Yeah,” Zoey awkwardly begins shimmying out of the harness, “Wanna go ambush Rumi?”

Mira’s soul thrums, and a fond smile tugs at her face. 

“Yeah. She’s gonna be so pissed that we’re all sweaty.”

Zoey manages to stand, only to sway on boneless legs while she shakes the strap off her ankle. Mira follows suit, taking her time establishing balance again.

“You know, that was uh… that was the first time I ever did more than two in one sitting.” She says sheepishly, running her fingers through hopelessly tangled post-sex hair.

Zoey raises her eyebrows, then smiles, “I hope you enjoyed it.”

Mira can only groan and list to the left as her sense of balance wavers again.

Mira pilfers some fresh sleep clothes from the closet, while Zoey puts on an elegant silk robe, loosely tying it across her naked body.

“I sleep naked,” she says to Mira’s questioning look, although she doesn’t miss the mischevious glint in Zoey’s eyes.

“Oh good, that won’t keep us from falling asleep at all.” 

Zoey just giggles and teeters out into the hallway. Rumi’s door is already cracked, but they knock anyway, just to be polite.

Rumi’s voice drifts to them in response, soft and sleep-addled, but no less insistent.

“Come cuddle meeee.”

Mira snorts as they close the door and cross the dark room, 

“Anything for you, princess.”

Rumi rolls onto her back and spreads her arms out wide.

“Mmmyes. Good.”

Mira slides in on her right side and curls up.

Zoey does the same on Rumi’s left, and she goes rigid as she feels the expanse of bare skin touching her.

“Uh, Zoey are you..?” Rumi’s patterns are already glowing through the covers like a flashlight.

“Am I what? I always sleep like this.” Zoey replies in the least convincing innocent tone she can manage.

Rumi shudders under her breath, but both Mira and Zoey catch it. Zoey presses a kiss to Rumi’s neck. 

“I can go put something on if you want, it’s okay.” Zoey says, dropping the act for just a moment, long enough for Rumi to know she’s serious.

Rumi, for her part, trips over her words trying to respond as fast as possible.

“N-no, you’re fine I just uh, wasn’t expecting it.”

Zoey hums an affirmative and snuggles up closer to her. Rumi lets out a long, grounding sigh, and it’s all Mira can do to not burst out laughing.

Gradually, Rumi's patterns settle, the room darkens, and in the presence of the two loves of her life, Mira has no trouble drifting off to sleep.

Chapter Text

The demon won’t let Rumi sleep.

She lays on her back, her mind full of buzzing static made worse by the slow crescendo of a hangover, as the thing inside her roars and rattles the bar of the cage she keeps it in. 

She’s been getting better at controlling it, or at least, she thinks she has. Rumi is perpetually suspicious of it, and for good reason. More than once it’s lulled her into a false sense of security only to make a concerted push to take control of her body and do… Well she’s not exactly sure. Rumi’s not sure the demon knows what it wants either, but it’s probably nothing good.

It’s so angry, all the time. Angry at her for keeping it penned up, angry at her parents for cursing it into existence in the first place, angry at Celine for a whole host of reasons. Angry at Mira and Zoey for threatening it instead of helping her fix the Honmoon. 

That last one, Rumi is particularly upset about. Mira and Zoey didn’t know any better, they were doing what they’d been taught to do, if anyone is to blame for their behavior it’s Celine. But the demon didn’t see it that way. It wanted revenge. How dare they treat Rumi like that?

Rumi squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head back and forth. None of that. Those are not productive thoughts. Mira and Zoey love her, and she loves them, and she really couldn’t be happier having them both sprawled on top of her like this. Mira has her right arm across Rumi’s collarbone and her leg curled around Rumi’s right thigh. On the other side, Zoey’s upper body drapes over her like a weighted blanket, and Rumi revels in the skin-on-skin contact.

After years and years of modest dress and enforced distance, the sensation of someone else pressed against her hasn’t yet lost its potency.

It’s why the demon is throwing a fit, and why she’s having to fight tooth and nail to keep her patterns from lighting up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

Rumi sighs, and Zoey nuzzles into the crook of Rumi’s neck.

“Can’t sleep?” 

The vibration against her throat sends a shiver up her spine, and Rumi clenches her jaw to keep the patterns quiet.

“Not really, but I’m okay, you should rest.” Rumi whispers, but there’s no way Zoey can’t feel her pulse thumping.

Sure enough, Zoey starts pressing soft, quiet kisses on her neck and Rumi arches her head back to give her better access. Zoey shifts more of her body onto Rumi’s and takes a deep breath through her nose. She nips at Rumi’s earlobe and the rapper’s low voice courses through her like a lightning strike.

“Mmm, and what if I don’t want to?”

This is probably a bad idea. No, scratch that, this is definitely a bad idea. She’s barely keeping control of herself as it is, if Zoey starts touching her, the bars holding the demon at bay will turn  to glass before she has time to react.

“Zoey I can’t—” Rumi says hesitantly, before the other woman’s lips find hers.

Her one free hand wraps around Zoey’s bare waist while she tries to extricate her other arm from Mira. They separate and Zoey sits up a little to meet Rumi’s gaze.

“Is touching you too much?,” she asks as Rumi finally gets her other hand free and moves to grip Zoey’s hips. 

That’s a loaded question if Rumi’s ever heard one. All she wants is for Zoey and Mira to touch her in every way they can. She needs it more than food, more than air. It’s either a miracle or a testament to years of training that she’s able to do her job when all she can think about is her bandmates pounding her into the mattress.

But it would be too much. She isn’t sure what would happen if she let the demon have full control, but she did know that Mira needed almost seventy-five stitches to close up the claw marks on her shoulder, and that was only a momentarym, incomplete lapse.

“Probably yeah, sorry.” Rumi says, dejected.

Zoey thinks for a minute, then smiles, “What about if you do it?”

For some reason, that’s the idea that makes her face burn. Not that she hasn’t masturbated before. It’s been a near daily occurence since her first night with Mira. But she’s never had an audience.

“Um, I’m usually okay?” She says.

Zoey leans back in for another kiss just as Rumi is starting to miss it. Rumi lets her hands wander to Zoey’s thighs, hips, waist, breasts, neck, and the rapper soaks it up to return in kind, slipping under Rumi’s sleep shirt and coaxing light from the patterns on her ribs.

When they come up for air again, Rumi looks to her right at the sleeping Mira, “Won’t we wake her?”

Zoey stifles a laugh, “If she wakes up before noon tomorrow, I didn’t do my job right.”

Rumi chuckles, “I’ll still try and be quiet, it feels polite.”

“Good luck,” Zoey says with a wink that makes her heart flutter. She lifts Rumi’s sleep shirt over her head, and just like Mira, stops to drink in the curving lines of luminous ink that cover Rumi’s body. It isn’t often that Zoey is rendered speechless, but words seem to be failing her right now.

Rumi isn’t faring much better, getting a real look at Zoey’s naked body for the first time. All three of them are in good shape, even if their job as idols didn’t demand physical perfection, fighting the supernatural certainly did. But Zoey’s small frame highlightsher muscles in a way Rumi and Mira can’t replicate without living in the gym. The moon paints her skin a pale white, save for the constellations of freckles across her face, arms, and stomach.

“Want me to give you a little… Inspiration?” She murmurs. Rumi pauses, then nods, unsure what exactly Zoey means. 

The rapper sinks back down onto Rumi’s chest and spreads her legs slightly, hovering just over Rumi’s left hand. 

Close enough that Rumi could reach out and touch her, but Zoey doesn’t give her the chance. She snakes her left arm between them and brings it to rest in Rumi’s palm for a moment before moving it in slow, deliberate circles. Zoey’s breath hitches, and Rumi begins to play with the elastic of her sleep shorts. Nobody tells her she has to wait, she wants it to be more of a challenge to herself.

Zoey has other plans.

She takes Rumi’s wrist and drags the tips of her fingers past the waistband until Rumi’s hips twitch.

“There we go. Treat yourself. We don’t have anywhere to be.” 

Rumi almost jumps because Zoey is close enough to her ear there’s barely any breath beind her whisper. It’s whispy and ticklish and so, so warm. It sends an odd but pleasant tingle through her scalp into the back of her neck.

Zoey doesn’t stop either, and Rumi learns what she meant by inspiration.

“I’m gonna tell you what I want to do to you, does that sound good?” 

Rumi nods frantically. Zoey’s voice is the most potent drug in the world, barely a whisper and it’s already almost overwhelming but Rumi can’t help but listen because its the most important thing in the world to her right now. 

“I’d start by pushing you down on the bed,” Zoey begins, and fuck Rumi’s already close. 

“Kiss you until you can’t think. Everywhere I can reach. Then I’ll pull your shirt off with my teeth and leave marks on your neck. Like this.”

Rumi nearly cries out as Zoey latches onto a spot where her jaw meets her neck, sucking and biting until a reddish purple bruise forms. The demon charges at the walls of its cage, and it’s all Rumi can do to hang on for dear life as she unconciously presses into her clit while holding back the feral thing that lives in her mind. Her patterns flash.

When Zoey speaks again, there’s a quiver, and a little more breath in it, but the things that come out of her mouth send Rumi into a tailspin. She’s a gifted wordsmith, that much Rumi knows, but she never stopped to consider what it would look like if Zoey used those gifts for evil.

She can almost feel the touch as Zoey describes it in painful, wonderful detail, interspersed with kisses that grow more and more feverish as they climb together. 

The demon screams and howls in indiscriminate frustration. Rumi almost loses control once or twice, but manages to maintain control of the more animalistic and violent urges at the expense of a few smaller things. 

Her patterns glow a soft white and creep onto her face. Her right eye turns yellow and her vision gets sharper and more sensitve in the dim light, which gives her the distinct privilege of seeing Zoey slowly unravel in stunning detail despite the dark. Beads of sweat are forming in the valleys of her rippling back muscles and beneath her bangs. Her cheeks are flushed with splashes of red, highlighting her freckles even more. 

“You’re so pretty, Zoey..” Rumi tries to whisper, but it comes out as a posessive growl that lights a fire in the rapper’s eyes. She all but dives on Rumi, their lips slamming together hard enough that their teeth click together. 

Rumi’s teeth were the only other thing she paid little mind to while trying not to descend into demonic madness. Zoey finds this out almost immediately as her tongue skates over the sharklike double row protruding from the roof of her mouth.

Zoey spasms and whines into Rumi as she finds the longer fanged canines and presses the flat of her tongue against them. The rapper goes rigid in Rumi’s one-armed embrace, then careens into orgasm. Rumi slows and holds Zoey as she comes down, but when she realizes Rumi hasn’t come yet, Zoey pulls her hand back down her shorts and just like that Rumi’s flying closer and closer to her own bliss.

“Good, keep going.” Zoey says as she slides her hand up to cup Rumi’s breast.

Who was Rumi to say no to such a pretty face?

Her pretty face.

Her Zoey.

Hers.

Rumi bucks her hips, flipping Zoey onto her back with a ragged gasp. She swings a leg over Zoey and burrows into her neck. To Rumi’s surprise and Zoey’s apparent delight, something compels her to drag her tongue along Zoey’s jaw. The salty bite of her sweat sends the demon into a frenzy, slamming at the bars to the point they start to bend. She’s dancing on a knife’s edge, but she’s so close.

Plus Zoey doesn’t seem to mind at all, if anything, she seems… Excited?

“That’s it. You’re okay. Don’t stop.” 

Zoey’s looking up at her with those enormous brown eyes and suddenly Rumi’s shorts feel incredibly restrictive. She pauses just long enough to shred through them, because her other hand has talons now, and it just seemed faster than climbing out of them. 

Rumi didn’t think much of it until she saw Zoey’s delighted expression.

The door to the cage is groaning, trying to hold back the demon.

Or is it her groaning?

Rumi can’t tell, but Zoey pulls her into another kiss, which she very much enjoys, but it makes her realize there’s a barrier between her and her goal. Even though what she’s doing feels incredible, Rumi’s not sure it’ll be enough.

She breaks the kiss, grabs Zoey’s wrist, and yanks it between her legs. Zoey’s eyebrows shoot up, but she recovers quickly enough and begins to work in tandem with the two fingers Rumi has over her clit.

“My Zoey.” Rumi grunts, threading a clawed hand into her hair.

Zoey’s eyes go wide, but she doesn’t stop

“Mine.” 

Rumi barely sounds like herself anymore.

“Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” 

Rumi bucks into Zoey’s hand and just as the bars of the cage begin to break, so does the barrier.

Rumi once again lights up like a beacon, although it isn’t quite as bright as last time, and by some miracle she’s able to keep quiet as the orgasm runs roughshod over every nerve in her body. The demon seems to lose focus, lost in the deluge of sensory input alongside her.

By the time she collapses into Zoey’s waiting arms, drenched and panting, the cage is back in place.

“Are you okay?” Rumi asks.

Zoey runs her fingers reverently through Rumi’s unbraided hair. “I won a Grammy, partied with the biggest names in music, then went home and had mind-blowing sex with the two most beautiful women I’ve ever met. ‘Okay’ does not even begin to describe how awesome I feel.” 

Rumi chuckles breathlessly and collapses into the space between her bandmates. “I didn’t hurt you or anything though?”

“Nope,” Zoey says, letting what sounds like pride slip into her voice, “You were incredible.”

Rumi dodges her gaze, “Oh, uh. Great.”

Mira rolls over, half asleep, and wraps an arm around Rumi’s waist, pulling their bodies together.

“Go t’sleep.” She mumbles.

Rumi and Zoey pause, then break out into giggles as they cozy up to each other. Within minutes, exhaustion falls over them like a warm blanket, and all three of them drift off.

It’s almost noon when Rumi finally opens her eyes. Sunlight pours onto the bed like liquid gold, and contrary to her usual workaholic nature, she doesn’t feel the need to spring out of bed. Zoey and Mira are still sound asleep, tangled in front of and behind her respectively. They’re supposed to leave today, but it’s not like the jet with their name on it is going anywhere without them, and they have a few days of downtime coming up before the press gauntlet resumes.

Rumi lets herself have the time, tangled up with her two favorite people in the absurdly high thread count sheets. It’s much quieter here than their apartment in Seoul, which despite its height can never fully escape the noise of the massive city below. Birdsong drifts through the huge sliding glass doors, and a light breeze ruffles through the trees that line the property.

They should come here more often. 

Mira wakes first, her hands shift on Rumi’s bare stomach, pulling them closer together. She presses a sleepy kiss to the back of her shoulder before speaking.

“Warm.”

Rumi smiles, “You know you can roll over at any time, right.”

“No.”

Mira’s never been a morning person under the best of circumstances, and considering her impending headache and fuzzy, dry mouth, Rumi bets they’re all more than a little hung over.

“You didn’t slip last night huh?” Mira says. Rumi bites her lip and shakes her head.

“No, but it was close.”

Mira shrugs, “Still counts. Guess all our hard work paid off huh?”

Goosebumps spread across Rumi’s body as Mira’s hand glides over the curve of her hip. Rumi cranes her neck to capture Mira’s lips in a lazy kiss that tastes like last night’s dreams. The corners of Rumi’s mouth curl into a smile that turns into quiet laughter, Mira breaks the kiss off and raises an eyebrow. 

“I just… I never thought I’d get to have this. I didn’t even know I wanted it.”

She reaches up and squeezes Mira’s hand. The taller woman sighs and smiles at her. “Honestly me neither. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Like, the Honmoon brought us together for a reason.”

Rumi shifts on her back and stares up at the ceiling, “Yeah, I guess so. Still feels like I’m being greedy.”

“You did seem pretty posessive last night.” Zoey mumbles, placing her head on Rumi’s left shoulder and looking up through her lashes at her. Rumi rolls her eyes so hard they take the rest of her face along for the ride. Mira and Zoey share a look and break out into giggles.

“I’m never gonna live this down am I?” Rumy says, burying her face in her hand. “You know that was actually super dangerous, right? I almost lost control.”

Zoey reaches up and kisses her on the cheek, “We’re not scared of you Rumi.”

Rumi returns the kiss to her forehead, but the words sour in her mind. The last time the demon took over was at the idol awards, and they pulled weapons on her. 

They aren’t scared of her now, because Rumi’s been fighting tooth and nail to avoid giving them a reason. But she has no illusions about what would happen if she let the demon win.

What should happen.

Rumi tries to change the subject, she doesn’t want to dwell on this now, not when she’s still boneless and warm.

"We should get up."

Mira scoffs, “Why? We don’t have anywhere to be.”

“I’m hungry though,” Rumi replies as she looks at Zoey, “Will you make us breakfast?”

Zoey rolls her eyes dramatically and settles into the most adorable pout she’s ever seen. 

“Why do I always get stuck with cooking? I wanna lay lay in bed naked like a perfume commercial.”

Mira rests her chin on Rumi’s shoulder, “Because Rumi can barely boil water and I only know how to bake, plus you’re really, really good at it.”

Rumi furrows her brow and looks down at Mira, “I can do a lot more than boil water, thank you.”

Mira responds without even looking at her, “You tried to make scrambled eggs last week and set of the smoke alarm.”

“That was one time!”

“It was four times, but go off.”

Rumi growls and attempts to slip out of Mira’s arms, “Okay, you’ve lost cuddle privileges for insulting my honor.”

There’s no teeth behind the threat, only laughter. Mira tightens her arms, “I didn’t insult your honor, just your cooking, and besides, we should be focusing on the real goal here.”

They both turn their gaze to Zoey, putting on their best puppy dog eyes.

“Please Zoey, will you make us pancakes?” Mira says in the softest, most pathetic tone Rumi’s ever heard. 

Zoey sighs and rolls out of bed, “Okay but you owe me one, both of you.”

“Anything you want babe,” Mira replies.

Zoey turns back to the pair of them as a devilish smile creeps across her face.

“Good to know.”

Zoey did make them breakfast, and when Rumi gets the first bite of bananna pancakes, she realizes Zoey could, in fact, ask anything of her in return for them. The dining table seats twenty, but the three of them cluster on one side, unwilling to be more than a few feet from one another unless absolutely necessary.

Rumi craves the contact to a degree that borders on pathetic. When Zoey removes her hand from Rumi’s leg to cut her pancakes, she reaches out and takes Mira’s hand before she has time to think about it. Mira needs to do something with her hand, so she scoots closer to Zoey so their legs touch.

This goes back and forth for a while before Mira stops her.

“Is everything okay?”

She’s not sure how to answer that.

On the one hand, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to her. The physical and emotional closeness is nourishing in a way she wasn’t at all prepared for. 

But it’s also terrifying, because to be given such a wonderful gift also implies it could be taken away, and Rumi’s not strong enough to handle that.

Not even close.

She gives Mira a reassuring smile and nods, “I’m still tired I think.”

After breakfast, they pack their personal effects and call a car to take them to the airport. Leaving is a quiet affar, but it’s a more companionable silence compared to the live wire energy of their arrival. They leave most everything in the house, save for a backpack and small suitcase each.

Zoey locks the door and takes Rumi’s hand as the three of them slide into the car with her in the middle. It’s a little cramped, and Rumi very quickly becomes distracted by the intermittent contact of their legs knocking together. 

It gets worse as they board the plane and take off. Rumi tries to keep a handle on herself but she’s fighting a losing battle. When they reach cruising altitude, Mira folds up the arm rest of their shared seat and pulls Rumi’s head into her lap without even looking up from her book. Rumi’s eyes roll into the back of her head as Mira starts stroking her hair, and a crackling purr rattles her ribcage.

The demon inside her stirs, and begins to pace in its cage. Rumi’s heart rate quickens and she pushes into Mira’s hand. She glances down at Rumi and quirks an eyebrow before returning to her book and curling her fingers to scritch at Rumi’s scalp with her nails. It sends a shiver down Rumi’s spine and the purring grows louder. Rumi closes her eyes, soaking up every second of the touch, savoring it. But it doesn’t take long before its not enough. The demon starts to twitch and grunt in her mind, growing more and more agitated in its cell. Rumi’s veins fill with fire, the plane is silent aside from the drone of the engines and the ringing in her ears. 

She lets out a sharp, abbreviated breath and slowly turns her head towards Mira, slow enough that she barely notices. There’s a narrow strip of perfect skin where Mira’s cropped shirt separates from her jeans. Rumi stares at it, transfixed and beginning to salivate. Her mind plays back every minute she’s spent touching Mira, running her fingers, her tongue, her teeth, over that perfect canvas stretched taught over sculpted muscle. 

The flight attendants are in the front lounge, they’ll only come if someone hits the call button. The door beween the front and main lounges is shut. Zoey’s napping in the bedroom suite. Nobody will notice. Not that it would have stopped her, but it’s nice to not have to be sneaky.

Rumi shifts her head closer to Mira and presses a kiss on Mira’s exposed midriff. Mira jumps a little, but recovers and continues to pretend like nothing is happening except for the tiniest flicker of a smile that Rumi catches in the corner of her eye. A teasing invitation for more that Rumi isn’t about to take lying down. She kisses her way further onto Mira’s lap, trying to get more access to the other woman’s perfect abs. When she does, she gives in to the temptation that’s been there since that very first night and drags her tongue along the exposed flesh.

That finally gets a miniscule shudder out of Mira. Rumi has to admit, the other woman’s poker face is incredible, but she knows her bandmate too well to miss the little signs. Mira’s jaw is clenched tight, her nostrils are flared, and she hasn’t turned the page for at least five minutes.

So Rumi begins her journey upwards, leaving a trail of kisses in her wake as she reaches the hem of Mira’s crop top. She lets her lips drag over the fabric, stopping to kiss over Mira’s breasts, then pauses to rest her ear over Mira’s heart to listen to the rapid, staccato beating.

Mira doesn’t react, other than to tilt her head back and away from Rumi, along with the book she’s definitely not reading by now. The demon growls and pushes at its cage, and Rumi’s senses sharpen. Suddenly Mira’s heartbeat is like a thunderclap in her ear, her nose is overhwelmed by the scent of Mira’s perfume, sweat, and conditioner.

Her instincts are telling her what she needs to do, and she doesn’t feel like trying to be subtle anymore. Rumi sits up, swings a leg over Mira’s lap, and buries her face in the other woman’s neck.

“Mira, please.” She begs, her voice thin and strained. There’s a boiling tension in her belly that’s slowly spreading through her patterns and it’s taking a titanic effort to even keep her voice steady.

The demon is starting to bang on the door, but it’s nothing she can’t handle.

“Zoey’s napping, remember?” Mira says.

“I’ll be quiet, I promise,” Rumi says. If she’s being honest, Zoey is almost certainly going to get pulled into this if she has anything to say about it. But Mira doesn’t need to know that. 

Rumi sucks a mark into the base of Mira’s neck while Mira drags out her response, making a big show of weighing the options.

“I don’t know, this book is really good…” Mira says

Tears still sting the corners of Rumi’s eyes. Some part of her brain knows Mira isn’t serious, but her body doesn’t get the memo. Before she can stop herself she throws all sense of decency out the window and begins to beg.

“I’ll be good. I’ll be so good for you Mira. You know I will. I need this so bad, and you’re so good at it. I promise I won’t ask again if you don’t want me too just please—”

Mira wraps her hand around Rumi’s braid and tugs to pull them apart, then pulls her back into a kiss. Rumi doesn’t even bother trying to muffle the noise that comes out of her. 

“I’d never leave you hanging like that, but you’re cute when you beg.” Mira says as she sets down her book and grips Rumi’s waist before standing up like she weighs nothing. Rumi lets out a startled yelp and stares back at her, eyes wide, face flushed.

“Since when can you do that?”

Mira shrugs, “Since always. You two aren’t that heavy, and I work out a lot.”

Mira walks back to the bedroom door, both hands firmly on Rumi’s ass.

“Gonna need you to open the door, beautiful.”

Rumi blushes and reaches behind her, “Did you actually need me to do this or did you just not want to stop grabbing my butt?” 

“The second one,” Mira says with a sly grin before leaning forward for another kiss. They collapse on the bed in a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothes when they catch movement from under the blankets as Zoey stirs.

“You’re setting a really high bar for ways you can wake me up from a nap,” She says, pulling the blankets back for them. Rumi’s already pulled Mira’s shirt off and is working on unbuttoning her jeans with stumbling fingers. Zoey sneaks up behind her, sliding her arms down Rumi’s and undoing the button.

“Hi Rumi,” she says, running her hands back up Rumi’s arms and pulling her shirt off, “How did we end up here?”

“Head scritches,” Mira replies, shifting over so Zoey can take up a position on Rumi’s right side. Her bandmates stare down at her with desire and fondness written across their faces. Zoey strokes her cheek, and she sucks in a sharp breath at the warmth.

It really is sad, how easily she comes apart for them. Chalk it up to years of almost no physical contact outside of combat. But knowing the reason for it didn’t make her feel any less weak.

“Aw, she’s blushing,” Mira says. She skates her fingertips down to the straps of Rumi’s bra and sliding them off her shoulders. Rumi’s patterns flicker, the dancing lights following Mira’s hand along her upper arm. Mira’s eyes grow wide with awe.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Rumi,” Mira whispers, slipping her hand behind Rumi’s back to undo the clasp between her shoulder blades and fully uncovering her upper half. Zoey wastes no time and cups one of her breasts, leaning down to whisper in Rumi’s ear.

“Green means keep going, yellow means slow down, red means stop, okay? First time with all three of us, don’t want you to get overwhelmend.”

Rumi nodded, and tears sting the corners of her eyes. She wraps an arm around Zoey, then reaches greedily for Mira.

“I love you guys so much. You’re so good to me.” Rumi whispers, pulling them in close and reveling in the closeness.

“We love you too Rumi, no matter what.” Mira says into her neck. 

Rumi’s stomach tightens as memories of a Gok-do pointed at her chest flicker behind her eyes. The demon growls and smashes its fists on the cage before Rumi shoves it and the memories down, down, down into a part of her mind where she can safely quarantine them. She will not let this moment be ruined. She needs this. Needs them. 

She grounds herself in Mira’s neck kisses and Zoey’s hand on her chest. They move with a careful reverence, as if they’re handling something priceless, but rather than the touch being satisfying, it makes Rumi more desperate, more needy. She squeezes her thighs together involuntarily, and both of her bandmates take notice.

“I have a surprise for you, hang on.” Zoey says, barely able to contain her excitement as she rolls off the bed and bounds over to her suitcase, jettisoning the rest of her clothes on the way. Rumi all but rips Mira’s sports bra off, pulling their bodies together and purring at the influx of heat. Zoey returns with a dildo wrapped in a leather harness in one hand, and a small oval-shaped vibrator in the other. She tosses the harness aside and flops down on the bed next to Rumi with a giddy smile.

“Don’t stop on my account, just make a little room, yeah?” Zoey says, slipping her middle finger over a ring on the back of the vibrator. Mira straddles her left leg and gently nudges Rumi’s knees apart for Zoey.  The vibrator whirrs to life and rather than placing it directly between her legs, Zoey places her hand back on Rumi’s breast and runs the buzzing toy over her nipple. 

Rumi gasps and arches her back, then outright cries out as Mira takes her other nipple into her mouth and begins making slow circles with her tongue. 

There’s an almost painful clench in Rumi’s lower abdomen, Zoey’s mouth finds hers before she can make another noise. She still tastes just a little of bananas and pancake syrup from their late breakfast but mostly she just tastes like Zoey, electric and sweet and excited and hers.

Rumi groans into Zoey’s mouth and the vibrator begins to slide down her stomach towards the waistband of her leggings that are, for some baffling reason, still on. She scrabbles to fix that problem, assisted by Mira’s less shaky hands. Rumi’s inner thighs are already slick with anticipation. Zoey takes her time introducing the vibrator, letting it rest at points closer and closer to her clit in a move that is both achingly considerate and unreasonably cruel.

“F-fuck, Zoey just—” Rumi grabs Zoey’s wrist and pulls it down. Stars dance across her vision as it touches her, and Mira slaps a hand over her mouth to try and contain the shuddering, jerking moan that’s so loud it threatens to carry clear into the cockpit. 

“Gotta be quieter than that, beautiful. They’ll hear us,” Mira says when Rumi finally pulls her eyes open. She nods, then the three of them break into a fit of giggles when Rumi immediately fails to stifle another moan. This time Zoey doesn’t stop, and Rumi manages to settle into the rhythm. Zoey has the vibrator set to low, with intermittent bursts of intensity that make Rumi spasm when they hit. She reaches for Mira and begins rubbing small, frantic circles around her clit. Zoey’s pressed flush against her body just like she was the night before, sucking more marks into her neck and whispering awestruck affirmations into her ear. 

Rumi is getting better every time at controlling the demon, much to its frustrantion. The first orgasm washes over her in a matter of minutes, but she’s not only able to maintain full control of herself, she doesn’t even make that much noise. Zoey holds her through the aftershocks, turning off the vibrator and slipping it off her finger into Rumi’s palm. 

“Did… Did I stay quiet enough?” Rumi whispers, her voice brittle and needy.

Mira blinks and leans down to press a soft kiss to Rumi’s forehead. “You did such a good job.”

Rumi’s heart swells, and her patterns glow a soft gold, despite her best efforts. Part of her hates how quickly she fell into the addiction to praise and affection. It feels too raw, too vulnerable. Even if it feels nice in the moment, Rumi can’t seem to dodge the swell of shame that comes after. It’s probably the demon’s doing, even though she can’t  prove it.

Fortunately, Mira and Zoey don’t give her a lot of time to get in her own head about it. Zoey pulls Mira into a fierce, needy kiss right in front of her and it wipes everything else from her mind. She watches, flushed and mesmerized, as Zoey’s hands slide up to Mira’s breasts, grabbing hold of the metal bar and pulling a whimper out of Mira. Rumi turns the vibrator over in her hand absentmindedly. Mira throws her head back as Zoey’s mouth finds her nipple, and her other hand slides, fingers splayed, down Mira’s stomach to find her clit.

Mira hisses and bucks her hips forward. Rumi slips the vibrator over her own middle finger while she watches Mira’s abs flex into sharper focus, muscle pressing up against skin. 

“Zoey, can you... The strap…. Please...”

Rumi’s never heard Mira beg before, not like this. It sends a bolt of lightning straight to her core and without thinking she clicks the vibrator on and begins moving it in slow, teasing circles around her clit.

There’s a shift of weight on the bed as Zoey stands and grabs the harness. Mira keeps busy by pouncing on Rumi, grinding frantically on her tensed thigh and pulling their lips together. She settles on Rumi like a weighted blanket, their foreheads gently touch, and Mira smiles.

“Are we green right now pretty girl?” Mira asks.

Rumi nods and replies “God yes” through clenched teeth.

“Hope you’re ready for a show, Rumi.” Zoey says, climbing back onto the bed and lifting Mira’s hips so she’s on her knees. Mira nudges Rumi’s legs apart to nestle between them before bending over again. Zoey shuffles up behind Mira and teases the tip of a magenta dildo at Mira’s entrance, drawing out an impatient whine.

“Rumi, give Mira the vibrator.” Zoey says, her tone soft but leaving no room for argument. Rumi and Mira look at each other, shrug, and make the exchange.

Zoey chuckles. “Such good listeners.”

Both Rumi and Mira flush at the compliment and giggle at the other. Mira slips the still running vibrator on her finger and places it back on Rumi’s needy clit.

“Watch her, Rumi. Mira makes the best faces.” Zoey says playfully.

Mira rolls her eyes, “Oh my god shut uuuuup—” 

The last word drags out as Zoey pushes deeper into her, and Rumi understands what Zoey was talking about. Mira moves through the world like someone more than human. A tall, sharp-tongued warrior goddess that cares little for the opinions and squabbles of mere mortals. It’s in everything she does, from dancing, to fighting, to singing, even when she’s relaxing, there’s the hint of a honed edge to her demeanor.

All of that melts away into something new. Something rare and vulnerable. Her eyebrows tilt slightly upwards, the eyes below them hazy with pleasure. She bites her bottom lip as Zoey begins thrusting in an unhurried rhythm and Rumi’s hands travel up Mira’s body to cup the sides of her face.

“Oh my god, Mira. You’re so fucking beautiful.” Rumi says with a soft exhale. Mira gasps, sucking the words up like cigarette smoke, and tries to turn her head. Rumi doesn’t let it happen. She gazes into Mira’s eyes and reassures her, yes, this is okay, I want you to be this way.

“R-Rumi… ah!” Mira jerks forward at a particularly rough thrust from Zoey. Their eyes stay locked, and Mira starts to relax. Her face becomes more expressive, more responsive to every movement in and out, and Rumi drinks in every microadjustment. 

A private gallery of the most beautiful artwork in the world, all for her. 

“Want to… See you like this… Always…” Rumi’s barely able to form a sentence, Mira’s not doing much better. Their faces drift closer, fractions of an inch in time with the steady smack of Zoey’s hips on Mira’s ass. The red in Mira’s cheeks deepened. 

“Fuck,” Mira’s arms finally gave out and she pitched forward, giving Rumi a spectacular view down her back and up to Zoey, who winks at her without skipping a beat. 

Rumi yelps and her eyes roll back as Mira gets rougher with the vibrator. The demon tries again to break free but she grounds herself in the waves of ecstasy and the smell of Mira’s shampoo. Mira lifts herself back up to meet Rumi’s eyes again. 

She’s wrecked, pupils wide enough to swallow the sun, hair plastered to her forehead, Rumi’s sweat streaked down her cheek. It’s the most beautiful thing Rumi’s ever seen.

“Z-Zoey I’m gonna—” Mira forces out. Rumi doubts she could do any better. She grips a handful of Mira’s hair and pulls them close enough that she can almost taste her. Zoey leans forward to join them, looking like she might get off just by watching them.

“Let go Mira, please, I want to see you cum.” Rumi growls, fist tightening in her hair.

Rumi can practically see the wave crash over her. Mira’s eyebrows shoot up and her mouth flies open in shock, her muscles lock up, and before she can make a sound Rumi yanks her forward into a wet, feral kiss. Mira keens into her lips, putting every ounce of her formidable lung capacity to work. Rumi’s tongue envelopes hers, guiding its frantic movements into something more delicate. Zoey slows her pace as Mira starts to come down. Then, without warning, Rumi’s second orgasm hits her like a truck. Her patterns flash, and the hand not gripping the back of Mira’s head turns purple and clawed as she fights to keep herself quiet. She can feel her tongue elongating and splitting into a two-pronged fork in Mira’s mouth, and she briefly, but distinctly, feels the overhwelming desire to consume. Not a craving for the flesh either. She wants Mira and Zoey’s essence.

Their souls.

She wants them to be hers in every way possible. To have them as close as was possible in this world or the next.

Because they are hers.

Only hers.

She’s shaken from her thoughts by both women collapsing on top of her at once. As if they planned it, Zoey rolls one way, and Mira rolls the other. 

“Rumi, is your tongue… Forked?” Mira asks between gulps of air.

“I… I don’t know. Is it?” 

Rumi rolls her tongue out of her mouth and answers her own question when it extends a full three inches past where it should. She curls it back on itself, and after a few seconds, she learns she can control each side of the split individually.

Beside her, Zoey sniffles, drawing both hers and Mira’s attention. Their maknae is wiping an errant tear from her eye as she watches Rumi with a mixture of wonder and something else she can’t identify.

“You okay Zo?” Mira asks.

Zoey nods, “Yeah, its just… It’s really beautiful when you pray for something for so long only for it to finally come true, ya know?”

Rumi closes her mouth so fast her teeth clack together. Mira pinches the bridge of her nose and whispers “Oh my fucking god” under her breath. Zoey devolves into a fit of contagious laughter that eventually spreads to the other two.

“It’ll probably fade in a few minutes, sorry love.” Rumi says when the giggles die down. They bask in each other’s presence for a while longer, before Mira and Zoey get up to watch a movie in the lounge.

By the time they land in Seoul, Rumi’s tongue is still forked, her fingers are still claws, and she’s starting to panic.