Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been three weeks since the Idol Awards.

Three weeks since Mira and Zoey found out who Rumi truly was.

Three weeks since Rumi realized just how fucking touch-starved she’d been her entire life.

It had started small, Rumi melting into her bandmates’ touch when they held her for hours after she’d shown herself, raw and real. She slept better sandwiched between two warm bodies, soft circles drawn on her back and arms, whispered reminders that she was safe now.

One evening, feeling braver than usual, she ditched her signature hoodie and long sleeves. Instead, she slipped on a thin-strapped top Zoey had once handed her with a casual “Just in case.”

And she had needed it. God, she needed this - this freedom, this quiet defiance.

Even though she was still adjusting to the way her patterns shimmered over her skin, still startled by her own reflection, Mira and Zoey made her feel wanted. Loved. Beautiful. Scars and all.

So that night, when she stepped into the kitchen with her full patterns on display, soft amethyst flowing down her arms and across her chest, they sure as hell noticed.

Rumi yawned as she padded into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She hadn’t been getting much rest lately, nightmares of Gwi-Ma still wormed their way in, but she couldn’t ignore that the nights spent curled up on Mira’s chest or Zoey’s lap always ended with a gentler kind of sleep.

The scent of fried eggs and warm rice curled through the air, tugging at her empty stomach. She hadn’t been eating much, either.

Mira was plating three meals at the stove while Zoey perched on the counter beside her, stealing crispy bits off the eggs and swatting at Mira’s hand whenever she was caught.

“Morning,” Rumi mumbled, offering a sleepy smile as she reached for her favorite mug and filled the kettle.

Zoey was the first to notice.

She looked over... and promptly choked on her own spit.

“Mornin- holy shit.”

Her jaw dropped. Her eyes scanned slowly down Rumi’s frame, taking in every flicker of color, every mark, every shift of hue in the glowing patterns.

A warm pink shimmer replaced the purple on Rumi’s chest and arms, crawling down to her fingertips. Zoey wondered vaguely if all of Rumi’s body was covered in patterns and made a mental note to find out.

“W-what?” Rumi asked, blinking. “What’s wrong?”

Mira finally turned from the stove and froze. Her breath hitched. Her eyes locked on Rumi, wide, stunned, like she was trying to memorize the image of her. Open. Radiant.

And then the plate slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor.

Rumi flinched at the sound.

“Shit!” Mira yelped, immediately crouching to gather the broken ceramic and splattered egg. She felt her cheeks burning and was honestly grateful to be crouched down, hidden from view.

Rumi’s voice came, small and unsure.

“I-I’m sorry. I was just… really hot this morning. I can change. I didn’t mean to-if they’re too hard to look at-”

She crossed her arms, gripping her own biceps like she could hold herself together, shoulders folding in. She turned, starting to walk back toward her room.

“No!” Mira and Zoey said at once.

Mira stepped forward, carefully reaching out to touch Rumi’s arm. She left space, always, an escape route if Rumi needed it.

But Rumi didn’t pull away.

She turned, gaze still glued to the floor. Tears gathered in her eyes. Zoey’s chest cracked open at the sight.

Mira cupped her cheek gently, brushing away a tear and tilting her head up until Rumi met her eyes. She swore she felt Rumi lean into the touch and heard the tiniest whimper slip from her lips.

“Rumi,” Mira whispered, “you’re beautiful. Please don’t hide from us.”

Zoey stepped in too, rubbing soft, grounding circles into Rumi’s shoulder.

“I mean, I turned around and there was a goddess behind me! You’re lucky I didn’t just pounce on you then and there.”

Mira smirked, but Rumi’s wide eyes flicked to Zoey, uncertain.

Mira softened. “We’re sorry if we scared you. You just… you literally took our breath away. It’s the first time we’ve seen all your patterns since that night and well, we haven’t exactly had time to…”

She trailed off and nudged Zoey’s leg, noticing her eyes lingering low on the exposed part of Rumi’s waist. Zoey snapped her gaze upward, cheeks flushing.

“…Appreciatethem. Because they’re really fucking hot. So please don’t put on more clothes.”

Rumi flushed. Her markings shifted, glowing pinks now pooling down her stomach and along her inner thighs.

Mira barked a laugh and pinched the bridge of her nose. Zoey really never could filter her thoughts.

But Rumi? Rumi wanted to melt through the floor. They liked them. They liked them?

But how could they?

She was raw. Angry. Half-demon. Her patterns weren’t art, they were a reminder. Of pain. Of darkness.

But the looks in their eyes said something else entirely-love, awe, hunger.

They weren’t disgusted. They weren’t scared. They were soft, and they were looking.

They had called her beautiful. A goddess. Hot.

Rumi didn’t know how to believe it. But god, she wanted to. She wanted to so badly it hurt.

She was tired of crying. Exhausted from hiding. And maybe… maybe she was ready to stop.

So she did the one thing she still felt sure of.

She trusted them.

She trusted that their love was real. That they’d stay. That maybe, just maybe, they could teach her how to love herself again.

She inhaled deeply, something inside her loosening.

Then she looked up at them both, eyes wet, cheeks glowing and gave a small, trembling smile.

“O-okay. Anything you want.”

Mira saw it then. The flicker of mischief behind her shy gaze.

And she knew, Rumi was going to be the end of them both.

That was three weeks ago.

Since then, Rumi had been wearing less clothing by the day and it was absolutely killing Zoey.

It took every ounce of self-control not to run her fingers over every inch of exposed skin, to trace those glowing patterns with her tongue, to coax every whimper, moan, and growl out of the half-demon’s throat. It was a blessing and a curse that the group was on hiatus.

The good news: they finally had time to rest. To be together. To process everything that had happened.

The bad news? She had to spend quality time with Rumi.

Which meant Rumi looking hot in pajamas. Rumi looking hot in loungewear. Rumi looking hot in everything. Zoey couldn’t think straight.

Last week, Rumi showed up to the gym in a muscle tee, and Zoey had to drop a weight on her own foot just so she could limp out of there before she full-on melted into a puddle of drool.

Zoey was struggling.

She’d already earned more than a few pinches from Mira for staring too long, or blurting out something wildly inappropriate before her brain could intervene. Because that’s how Zoey loved, through words, through touch, through desire, and right now, she was holding it all in.

They had talked about it. Mira and Zoey, anyway. Rumi was probably still completely clueless.

They were curled up on Mira’s bed one night, Zoey’s chin resting on Mira’s chest as she stared up at her. They’d been close like this for years, not quite dating, not quite just friends. Something in between. Something warm and constant.

They’d kissed. Touched. Taken each other’s bodies greedily.

But it had always felt like something was missing. Like there was an invisible gap where Rumi should have been.

Now, everything made sense. The looks. The hesitation. The way Rumi had always seemed like she was waiting to be asked in.

And lately? Things had shifted.

Rumi no longer hesitated to join in during movie night cuddles. She reached for Mira’s hand on walks like it was the most natural thing in the world. She kissed Zoey’s cheek when she said something sweet, and it made Zoey’s entire body vibrate.

“We don’t want to push her,” Mira said softly, running her fingers through Zoey’s hair. “Yeah, there’s been a shift. But she needs to come to us. In her own time. Have you heard the little noise she makes when you trace her patterns?”

Zoey groaned, pressing her face against Mira’s chest like she could physically smother the memory.

“Spirits, yes. And have you noticed how they change to gold when we touch her?”

She propped herself up between Mira’s thighs, folding her arms under her chin and summoning her best pout. Mira raised a single brow at the look.

“Can’t we just tell her how we feel?” Zoey whined. “Mira, I want to kiss her so bad. I want to touch her, make her feel good, make you feel good-with her.”

Her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “Fuck, I want her to bite me. Have you seen her fangs? I bet I could pull every sound out of her mout—”

Flick.

“OW!” Zoey yelped, rubbing her forehead. “What was that for?”

“To calm you down,” Mira said, smirking now as she sat up straighter. “We agreed, remember? We don’t want to overwhelm her. She’s been through a lot. We’ll know when she’s ready.”

Zoey flopped onto her back with a dramatic whimper.

“Then just kill me now, because I cannot survive another night of Rumi sitting on the couch in boxers and one of YOUR” —she jabbed a finger accusingly— “baggy shirts. It’s too much. Pronounce me dead.”

She threw her arm across her forehead and stuck her tongue out, playing corpse.

Mira snorted and poked her in the ribs. Zoey squeaked.

“Maybe we just need to up the flirting,” Mira said. “Rumi’s not the most… perceptive. It might take more than subtlety.”

Zoey shot upright, eyes gleaming. She grabbed Mira’s shoulders with an almost manic grin.

“Oh my god. Okay. Yes. I may have a few ideas.”

And Mira, watching that devilish smile bloom across Zoey’s face, suddenly, deeply, regretted the suggestion.

Rumi liked this new dynamic the three of them had, though she wasn’t exactly sure what it was. It made her chest flutter with a strange, warm giddiness, something safe and good. Over the past weeks, she’d realized how much she enjoyed being touched: Zoey’s fingers dancing lightly over her arms, Mira’s steady weight cradling her from behind. She wanted all of it. More. But she wasn’t sure what “more” even meant. Kissing? That felt normal for friends, didn’t it?

She watched Zoey and Mira, how they touched, kissed, pulled close. Friends did that. So the fluttering in her stomach whenever one of them looked her way? That had to be platonic. Right?

Which was why she found herself blushing whenever Zoey threw her a compliment or a casual touch. Her patterns would flare into a rosy blush, humming softly on her skin, every time Zoey’s gaze caught hers. Flustered, always flustered around them.

She noticed how Mira had taken care of her, too. Making sure she ate enough, dragging her out to exercise, including her in everything. Whenever Mira did these things, Rumi’s heart swelled, her marks glowing a soft blue. She’d exhale a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and sank deeper into Mira’s quiet love.

Platonic. Definitely platonic.

But then there were the looks. Zoey could barely meet her eyes when Rumi debuted a new outfit, staring with lips parted and eyes dark with something like hunger. That heat pulsed through Rumi’s core, and she might have flexed just a little, waiting. Waiting for Zoey to do something, anything. But Zoey always made up an excuse and slipped away. Maybe it was all in her head.

And then there was Mira. The friend who pulled her close whenever they worked side by side. The friend whose wandering hands left quiet moans trembling from her lips.

Right now, Zoey was asleep on a pile of pillows at the far end of the couch, curled into a tight ball like a house cat. Mira had carried her to bed, leaving Rumi alone with her.

It started slow. Mira half-sat up, leaned against the armrest, and invited Rumi to sit between her legs. Head resting on Mira’s stomach, a blanket draped loosely over both of them. Long fingers threaded through Rumi’s hair, nails scratching her scalp, coaxing a soft hum from her lips. This was fine. She could handle this.

But then Mira’s nails slid down from hair to skin, tracing over her cheek, neck, collarbone. Rumi bit the inside of her cheek. The patterns under Mira’s touch were sensitive, almost painfully so, each stroke winding a coil tight inside her. She squeezed her legs together, digging nails into her thighs to distract herself.

It didn’t work.

Mira’s hand drifted lower, fingers moving from shoulder blades to forearms, circling across her chest again. The patterns swam gold and coral over her skin. She tried to pull the blanket tighter, hiding herself, but Mira saw.

Mira always saw.

There were only twenty minutes left in the movie. Rumi could hold on until the end, excuse herself, and maybe try out that new vibrator Zoey had jokingly bought her. Platonic, remember?

But Mira wasn’t kind.

Her fingers brushed against a hardened nipple. Rumi gasped, a whimper slipping out before she could stop it,louder and more desperate than intended.

Mira froze, then chuckled. “Rumi? Did you just fucking whimper?”

Rumi buried her face in Mira’s lap, cheeks flaming. Her muffled pout was answer enough.

Mira smiled, pulling back the blanket to find her face. Gripping Rumi’s chin gently, she coaxed her to look up.

“Rumi,” Her voice was low. “I need to know that you want this.” She was unsure, not wanting to spook Rumi away.

“I… don’t want to ruin anything,” Rumi whispered, voice trembling. “You and Zoey, you already have something. What if I mess it up?”

Mira cupped her cheek softly. “Then we’ll fix it. Together.”

Rumi’s heart jumped. “You’d… let me belong like that?”

That comment made Mira’s heart ache. Because Rumi always belonged to them. 

Mira spoke low and soft.

“You already do.”

The coil broke. 

In an instant, lips collided, fire igniting between them. It wasn’t enough. Their mouths parted, tongues tangled hungrily. When Rumi moaned, Mira lost herself completely.

Her hands found Rumi’s waist, pulling her down to straddle her lap, body pressed close without breaking the kiss. Zoey might be pissed, but Mira didn’t care.

Rumi was needy, desperate. Nips on her lip, fingers gripping her back, ghosting over nipples, every touch sent her spiraling.

Rumi clung to her, afraid to give any space. Mira broke the kiss, trailing her lips down Rumi’s neck, whispering lewd promises and biting sensitive skin.

“Mira… oh my god, fuck.”

The patterns shimmered, glowing golden and white, peaks of light flashing beneath her skin.

Mira forced herself to focus, ignoring the stabbing pain in her wrist and shoulder. She traced a particularly sensitive spot along Rumi’s collarbone, driving her wild.

Rumi writhed, moaning low and guttural, until Mira had to clamp a hand over her mouth just to shut her up. 

Rumi gripped Mira’s wrist tightly, one hand holding her still, the other digging bruises into her shoulder.

Teeth sank into the low dip of Rumi’s loose tank top. Grateful Rumi had already ditched her bra earlier in the evening. She glanced up silently asking permission and when Rumi frantically nodded, Mira pulled down on the fabric and captured a hardened nipple in her mouth.

Rumi let out a deep whine of pleasure her grip so tight on Mira it felt like she was being stabbed. 

Mira’s eyes flicked to her wrist.

Blood bloomed.

“Rumi…” she hissed, pain sharp and sudden.

Her eyes blinked open eyeing Mira’s wrist. Rumi froze, panic flooding her. Her grip released and she looked down to see blood staining her claws, purple lines crawling over her skin.

She had hurt Mira.

Her breath caught. The world spun.

“No no no- Mira… you’re bleeding.”

“Ts’fine.” She sucked in a pained hiss. 

But Mira’s attempt to reassure only deepened Rumi’s guilt. The weight of what she’d done pressed on her chest like a stone. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, the buzzing sensation from her patterns turning into a sharp, frantic pulse.

“Mira, I’m so sorry,” Rumi whispered, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to— I didn’t want to hurt you…”

Mira’s voice was soft but firm, grounding her. “Rumi, look at me. You didn’t do this on purpose. It’s okay.”

Rumi blinked through the haze of panic and pain, barely registering Mira’s words as she struggled to steady herself. Mira’s eyes held something fierce and tender all at once, and it made Rumi’s heart ache.

“Rumi, take a breath for me.” Mira said, pressing her injured wrist gently with the fabric of her shirt attempting to stop the heavy bleeding. She winced as she now felt the sharp sting of claw marks on her back too. 

Rumi froze, the room spinning around her. Blood smeared across Mira’s skin was a brutal, undeniable proof. Her breath caught in a strangled gasp, panic clawing at her throat like a wild animal.

You’re dangerous. A monster. Hide yourself or you’ll destroy everything.

Celine’s voice echoed sharp and cold inside her mind, louder than Mira’s soft reassurances. The truth she’d tried to bury was bleeding out, raw and screaming.

Her hands shook uncontrollably, claws twitching like they had a will of their own. The patterns on her skin flared violently, flickering violet and angry reds, a living map of her shame and fear.

“I’m… a monster,” she whispered, voice cracking like fragile glass. I’m dangerous. I’m broken. I ruin everything I touch.

The weight of those words pressed down, heavy and suffocating. She could feel the poison of her Celine's lies seeping into her bones, convincing her that this was who she was at her core.

Mira’s blood was on her hands- literally- and Rumi’s chest tightened until she thought she might stop breathing.

“Rumi, please…” Mira’s voice was soft but desperate. “You didn’t mean to-“

But Rumi couldn’t hear her. All she could see was the monster reflected back at her, every scar and scratch a proof of her danger.

“I have to leave,” Rumi whispered, panic breaking through her voice. “I can’t stay. I’m going to hurt you both… you’re not safe.”

Mira reached for her, but Rumi shrank back, trembling like a wounded animal. The room felt like it was closing in.

“Can you get Zoey for me? She can help…”

Rumi nodded, swallowing down the lump in her throat. She pushed herself up from Mira’s lap, legs shaky beneath her. She was barely able to move, her body felt too heavy, her skin crawling with guilt and fear.

Her legs moved on their own, but inside her mind, the storm raged harder: Run. Hide. You’re poison.

She stumbled to Zoey’s room, her breath ragged, tears blurring her vision.

“Rumi? What’s wrong? Where’s Mira?”

Her voice was barely a whisper, broken and haunted.

“She’s hurt. Because of me…”

Zoey’s concerned gaze met hers, but all Rumi could see was judgment, fear, disgust, the same look she’d worn in her Celine’s eyes all her life.

A choked sob ripped from her chest. She wanted to disappear, to vanish like smoke, to never hurt anyone again.

Before she could say more, the panic surged beyond her control. Her hands clenched tightly, the air around her thickened, dark smoke curling from her skin as her half-demon nature ignited.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, voice trembling.

In a sudden puff of dark smoke and ash, Rumi vanished, leaving behind the cold silence and a faint scent of brimstone.

Zoey stood frozen for a heartbeat, the faint smell of smoke still lingering in the air where Rumi had just disappeared. Panic bloomed in her chest as Mira winced, clutching her bleeding wrist.

“Mira! You’re okay, I’ve got you.” Zoey rushed to her side, grabbing a clean cloth to apply pressure.

Mira’s eyes stayed on the empty spot where Rumi had been, her breath shaky but voice steady.

“She’s scared. She thinks she’s a monster… It was an accident.”

Zoey swallowed hard, fighting down the surge of guilt and helplessness. “She needs us.” She grabbed the first aid kit from a cabinet and began patching Mira up. 

Mira nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. “We have to find her before she hurts herself…or worse.”

The room grew heavy with a mix of fear, determination, and aching love. Zoey helped Mira to her feet, urgency in her movements.

“We’ll find her. No matter what.”

Outside, the city’s shadows deepened, the night thick with secrets. Somewhere in the darkness, Rumi trembled-her heart a storm of guilt and self-loathing, her powers unpredictable, her safety unknown.

Chapter Text

The sky is heavy with clouds, moonlight casting a pale sheen over the concrete. Mira’s steps are purposeful, but there’s a tension in her shoulders, one Zoey hasn’t seen in a long time.

Zoey jogs to catch up, wind magic swirling lightly around her in anxious bursts. “Okay, wait, wait! Can we just stop for one second?”

Mira grunts but slows, her expression unreadable. Zoey steps in front of her, arms crossed. “I’ve been trying to give you space, because, you know, bleeding out on the couch and all, but can you please tell me what the fuck happened?”

Mira looks away, jaw clenched. 

Zoey narrows her eyes. “You kissed her, didn’t you?”

Mira blinks. “What? No-she-okay well-technically-”

“Oh my god!” Zoey throws her hands in the air. “You kissed her first! You absolute traitor!”

“It wasn’t like that!” Mira protests, flustered. “It just… happened. We were watching the movie, she looked at me, and it felt right, Zo. I wasn’t planning on anything.”

Zoey glares, though it’s more mock offence than anything. “I was asleep for five minutes. Five! And you swooped in like some soft butch demon-seducing siren!”

“I did not seduce her,” Mira huffs, pink dusting her cheeks. “I… she was glowing, okay? And nervous. And sweet. And she whimpered-”

“Oh my god, Mira.” Zoey clutches her own head. “You’re killing me. You know I’ve been trying to ease her into this whole maybe-we-all-love-each-other situation like a normal person.”

Mira looks sheepish. “There’s no easing into Rumi.”

Zoey pauses. Her teasing fades just a little. “Yeah… I know.”

They stand there in silence for a moment, anxiety creeping in again.

“I’m not mad,” Zoey says softly. “I mean, I’m mad because I missed it, and I wanted it to be all three of us… but mostly I’m scared.”

Mira finally looks at her.

“She ran,” Zoey says. “And she’s hurting. And what if she thinks she’s just some… sidepiece or experiment? What if she thinks we’re not enough to hold her together?”

Mira exhales shakily. “Or worse… what if she thinks she’s too broken to be loved at all?”

Zoey’s chest tightens. “We have to find her.”

Mira nods. “We will.”

Zoey bumps her shoulder. “But when we do? You’re not allowed to kiss her without me ever again.”

A small smile cracks Mira’s serious face. “Deal. Next time, we kiss her together.”

They continued searching locations Rumi might possibly visit. After some protest Zoey sent Mira back to the penthouse after she started to look a little too pale. It felt like hours trudging through winding streets and isolated spots but she constantly came up empty. 

The door clicked shut behind Zoey as she returned from her third failed attempt scouring the surrounding area. Her breath fogged in the cool air, her hoodie damp with sweat and mist. Mira sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, her wrist and back freshly bandaged but her shoulders rigid with worry.

Zoey dropped her keys on the counter with a clatter.

“Nothing,” she said quietly, voice trembling.

Mira didn’t respond. She was staring at her hands, thumbs rubbing invisible circles into her palm. The kitchen light glowed off the pale skin above the bandage, a haunting reminder of how this all started.

“She’s gone,” Zoey whispered, and something cracked inside her chest.

Mira finally looked up. Her eyes were glassy, rimmed red. “She’s not gone. She’s just… scared. She thinks she’s a danger to us.”

“Isn’t she?” Zoey snapped, then instantly regretted it. “I didn’t mean… fuck. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Mira’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “I know what you meant.”

Silence settled between them like a storm cloud.

Zoey leaned forward, slumping over the counterpressing her forehead into the cold marble. 

“We should’ve said something. We should’ve told her how we felt. That we wanted her. That we saw her.”

“She wouldn’t have believed you.” Mira’s voice was softer now, barely above a whisper as if she was ashamed to confess feelings of her own. “She doesn’t believe good things can belong to her. I recognize it.”

Zoey lifted her head, eyes searching Mira’s. “You do?”

Mira nodded slowly. “Because I was her once. When my family broke me, I thought I was poison. I thought I had to earn love or stay far away from it.”

Zoey’s eyes filled with tears. “I should’ve done more. Gods, what if she’s somewhere thinking we hate her? That she proved her Celine right? Mira, what if she never comes back?”

Mira pushed off the counter, crossing the room to pull Zoey into a hug. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The hug didn’t fix it, but it held them together long enough to keep breathing.

“I’m scared too,” Mira whispered into Zoey’s hair. “But I won’t lose her. I won’t lose you. Not after everything. I don’t care if she’s half demon, or glowing like the sun, or if she sets the world on fire. We’re going to find her.”

But hours had passed and there was still no sign.

Mira paced the length of the penthouse, her phone gripped so tightly her knuckles were white. Zoey sat on the floor by the coffee table, laptop open, dozens of tabs pulled up with security feeds, subway cameras, bus lines. All useless.

“She’s not answering,” Zoey said for the fourth time, voice cracking.

Mira took a breath and tapped Celine’s number.

Zoey’s head snapped up. “You’re seriously calling her?”

“She’s still… Celine,” Mira said, jaw clenched. “And if Rumi thinks she’s a monster… there’s a chance she went back to the source of that pain.”

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times- Celine answered, her voice clipped and cold. 

“Mira. To what do I owe the displeasure?’’

Mira hated this, hated reaching out to her to admit they needed help. She put the phone on speaker.

“Rumi’s gone. She hurt me by accident and now she thinks she’s dangerous. She’s not answering. We think she might be in real trouble.’’

A beat. Celine was quiet. “I haven’t seen her.’’

Another pause. Mira’s throat dried. 

“…but?’’

A heavy sigh came from the older woman, like this was an annoyance. 

“But… If she is truly spiralling… she may go to where she feels like she belongs. In death… Her mother’s grave. She might go there to be close to her failure of a lineage.”

Zoey’s breath caught. She hates that Celine knows Rumi better than themselves sometimes. But they were only learning, only seeing the real Rumi come out after her patterns were shown. She rarely spoke about her mother. 

 “Where is it?”

Celine stayed silent, thinking carefully, a distance in her voice. 

“Don’t you girls worry. I’ll put an end to this. For her own good.’’

The line went dead. 

Zoey looked at Mira in panic, voice trembling at the thought of Celine reaching Rumi before they did. She gripped Mira’s hand pulling her towards the door. 

“We have to go. Now!’’

The clouds hung low, heavy with the kind of silence that presses against your chest and stays there. Rumi stood still at the edge of the graveyard, boots sinking slightly into damp soil. Her hood was up, shadows pooling over her eyes, but even that couldn’t hide the blood dried under her claws or the dull fuschia glint of her markings, now smeared and flickering weakly.

She didn’t remember teleporting here. Just that her body wanted distance, space between her and the people she could hurt. The people she had hurt.

She stared at the simple headstone in front of her.

RYU MI- YEONG

Beloved Mother. Gentle Soul.

1973 - 2004

Rumi dropped to her knees, her legs giving out like they no longer had purpose. She stared at the name as if it would rewrite itself. She didn’t cry, not yet, but her throat was a storm, and her hands trembled with something not quite grief and not quite rage.

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered.

The wind didn’t answer.

She curled in on herself, claws biting into her arms. The patterns along her neck hissed with residual energy, a dull, sickly red now instead of their usual purple. Unstable. Angry. Hungry. She’d let them out, again. She’d hurt Mira. Carved into someone she loved. What if she’d-

She let out a small, choked sound. Not a sob. Not even human. Something demonic.

Her hands shot to her mouth like she could shove the sound back in.

You’re dangerous.

They should fear you.

You’ll always be this—

“No,” she whispered aloud, desperate, rocking slightly in the dirt. “No, no, no…”

But the words echoed- Celine’s voice, her own voice, Gwi Ma’s dark laughter layered between.

Her skin rippled and shimmered unnaturally, markings starting to move again- too fast, too bright, too wrong. Something inside her clawed for space, for freedom. Something monstrous. Her breath picked up as the power surged beneath her ribs like a tide breaking.

She dug her claws into the earth to ground herself, chest heaving.

“I’m not-” Her voice cracked. “I’m not a monster.”

But even as she said it, something inside laughed.

She felt it now, the other side of her creeping forward like rot under skin. Her fingers twitched, aching for violence. For release. Her body wanted to shift, to lash out, to scream until the earth broke open around her.

And in that moment, hunched at a grave, shivering under the weight of herself, Rumi wondered if Celine had been right.

Maybe she was too dangerous. Maybe being loved had been a mistake. Maybe she was born for ruin.

Then-

Footsteps.

Deliberate. Slow. Not Zoey’s frantic energy, not Mira’s steady grace.

Her blood ran cold.

Rumi stiffened and turned.

Celine stood a few paces away, her expression unreadable. Black heels in the mud. Dressed in tailored black like she belonged at this grave more than Rumi ever did. Her hair was pinned back tightly, her sickle sheathed at her back, still as a statue.

Her eyes were the only thing alive.

“I figured you’d come here,” she said, voice smooth, distant. “Fitting, really. That you’d run back to the woman who ruined us both.”

Rumi couldn’t speak. The words lodged like thorns.

Celine stepped closer, slow like a predator.

“You look awful,” she said. “Bloodied. Weak. You slipped again, didn’t you? Hurt someone?”

Rumi flinched but didn’t deny it.

Celine crouched in front of her, tilting her head. Reaching out to roughly grip Rumi’s face in her fingers so she was forced to look at her. Bright, burning scars spilled down her face, one eye a demonic yellow. It made her sick. 

“You see it now. Why I told you to stay hidden. Why you should’ve never let them close. This is what happens when you pretend you’re something you’re not.”

Rumi’s jaw trembled. “They’re not afraid of me.”

“They will be,” Celine hissed. “They should be. You sliced into one of them, didn’t you?”

Her fingers reached out, stroking blood-crusted claws like she was inspecting a weapon.

“You’re slipping further,” she whispered. “The patterns don’t lie. The demon side of you is winning, little flame.”

Rumi recoiled, shaking her head in denial. She was struggling, Celine always lied.

“That’s not true.”

Celine’s smile turned cold. “Rumi, look around. This is your truth.”

She stood, slowly drawing her blade, its blackened edge humming low with corrupted energy.

“You came here to hide. But I think part of you knew, ” Her tone darkened. “You came here to end it.”

Rumi’s breath hitched. “W-what are you talking about?”

Celine’s voice turned soft. Almost kind. “You’ve always asked me to help you control it. So maybe it’s time I finally do.”

She raised her blade.

And Rumi froze. Because part of her agreed. Maybe this was the only way to stop it from happening again. Maybe letting go was-

A sharp pain tore across her chest. Celine had moved.

Rumi screamed, body crumpling, blood soaking into her hoodie. She instinctively wrapped her arm around her wound, looking down to see the deep dash ripping across her torso, Celine had gone for the kill. Tears flooded her face as she raised her head desperately. 

“Please… I can control it. I don't want to die…’’

But her pleas were ignored. Celine raised her blade again ready for a final blow. 

“Trust me Rumi, this is hard for me too.’’ 

She swung down. 

Rumi’s eyes flared gold-white in instinct. Power surged, the demon in her unwilling to let go so easily. Her claws extended, slashing back on reflex, catching Celine’s arm.

The older woman stumbled a step, smirking even as blood bloomed across her sleeve.

“You see? You’re a demon, Rumi.”

They clashed again, steel against claw, wound against wound, until a distant shout cut the storm.

“RUMI!”

“GET AWAY FROM HER!”

Mira’s voice, furious, sharp. Zoey not far behind, wind howling unnaturally around her as the honmoon surged. 

Rumi blinked through the haze, Celine’s blade raised again.

But they were already there, Zoey’s shin-kal flashing through the air like silver fire, Mira’s polearm crashing into the ground between them.

They had come.

And suddenly, Rumi wasn’t alone anymore.

Celine’s blade was already swinging again when Zoey struck. The air cracked with passion as her shin-kal sliced through the space between her and Rumi, knocking Celine’s sickle just off course.

The blackened steel rang out as it skidded off one of the gravestones, throwing sparks.

Celine turned, eyes narrowing, jaw clenched.

Mira was right behind her, gok-do spinning already sweeping low, aiming to take out Celine’s knees. The older woman jumped the strike, but not fast enough, Mira’s blade grazed her thigh, ripping cloth and skin alike.

“You should’ve stayed out of this,” Celine growled.

“Fuck you,” Mira spat, placing herself fully between Rumi and Celine. Her chest was heaving. Her arm shook with the weight of the strike. “You come near her again, I'll gut you.”

Celine smirked as she circled, blade lazily dragging against stone. “You’re shaking. You think that polearm makes you dangerous?” She tilted her head. “Sweet of you to think she’s worth dying for.”

Mira snapped, rage strangling her voice. “I’m not letting you take her.”

Rumi, bleeding and half-conscious behind them, tried to push herself up but collapsed again. Her patterns were pulsing erratically, flares of white, gold, deep shadowy purple. She was fading fast.

With Celine distracted, Zoey darted to her side. She took in the damage, putting pressure on the wound and rubbing her fingers over Rumi’s head.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, brushing blood-matted hair from Rumi’s face. “We’re here now. We’re here.”

“I’m sorry…” Rumi croaked. “I’m-dangerous- I-”

“No.” Zoey snapped, gripping her hand tightly. Her voice cracked. “You’re not a danger. You’re mine. You’re ours. You don’t get to leave us.”

Celine stepped forward, and Mira blocked her path again, this time meeting her blade to blade. Sparks flew as the blackened sickle and curved polearm clashed. Celine was fast, unnaturally fast, and Mira had to duck, spin, kick to stay even. She fought like a storm. Wild, angry, desperate.

“She’ll kill herself,” Celine hissed as they clashed. “You’re playing house with a fucking weapon.”

“She’s not a weapon,” Mira snarled. “She’s family.”

Their blades locked, grinding against each other, and Mira’s strength finally overpowered the older woman. She slammed Celine back with the flat of her blade, sending her staggering.

Zoey stood then, shin-kal glowing hot in her hands. She threw one of her blades, it whistled past Celine’s face, slicing through her hair and embedding into a tree.

Celine turned just in time for Mira to tackle her.

The two women went down hard, Mira’s elbow pinning Celine’s weapon arm while her knee dug into her ribs. Celine struggled, furious, teeth bared, but she was pinned.

“You don’t get to define her,” Mira hissed. “You don’t get to come back after all this time and kill what she’s built.” She flung Celine’s weapon away out of her reach. 

Rumi stirred on the ground, voice barely audible. “Zoey… Mira…”

They were both at her side in seconds.

Zoey pressed her hands over the wound, letting the honmoon flow from her palms. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Mira cradled her head. “We’ve got you.” Their backs were to the teacher. 

Behind them, Celine pulled a small blade from her boot and lunged-

But Rumi moved first.

Her claws flashed out, not in rage, but with control.

They caught Celine across the chest, shallow and intentional. Enough to knock her back. Enough to stop her.

“Enough.” Rumi said, voice steady despite the pain. “You don’t get to hurt me. You don’t get to hurt them.”

Celine snarled, bleeding and dazed.

Zoey raised one blade again. “Leave.”

Celine hesitated. But something in Rumi’s glowing eyes, steady, golden, and utterly hers - made her pause. Then, slowly, she sheathed her blade and backed away.

“This isn’t over,” she hissed. “You will regret keeping her close.”

Then she disappeared into the dark, limping, bleeding, defeated.

Silence fell again.

Rumi collapsed into their arms. She was trembling, her demon side still thrumming just under the surface - but she hadn’t lost control.

Mira held her tight. Zoey pressed kisses to her temple.

“You both came.” Rumi whispered. 

“Of course we did,” Mira murmured.

“Always,” Zoey whispered. “Every damn time.”

Then Rumi closed her eyes, her injuries threatening to pull her deeper into nothing. 

“Rumi? Fuck.. H-how are we going to get her home? She’s loosing so much blood.’’

Zoey looked around the darkness of night swallowing them, city lights far in the distance. And as if on cue, a cloud of pink smoke enclosed the trio.

The teleport haze faded with a crack of displaced air. Zoey, Mira, and Rumi landed hard on their living room floor in a heap of tangled limbs and bloodied clothes.

Rumi barely stayed conscious.

Mira didn’t let go of her for a second, cradling her to her chest as Zoey rushed to grab towels, salves, anything to stop the bleeding. The usual soft light of their home felt too bright, too peaceful for the aftermath they carried in their bones.

“Rumi?” Mira whispered, brushing a shaking hand through her hair. “Stay with us, okay?”

“T-thank you…” Rumi murmured, voice weak but defiant, a soft broken laugh left her lips. “I thought you’d hate me. After what I did to you.”

Zoey dropped to her knees beside them with a bowl of warm water, eyes darting between them both.

Mira didn’t answer at first. Instead, she wiped blood from Rumi’s neck with steady hands, her fingers trembling slightly. Her voice came low and rough:

“I thought I’d lost you for good.”

“You should’ve,” Rumi muttered.

“Don’t say that,” Zoey snapped, sharper than she meant. Then her tone softened. “Don’t you dare say that.”

Rumi’s eyes fluttered open. “Why?”

Zoey looked away but Mira spoke first. “Because if you don’t get to be saved… then neither do I.”

That silenced the room.

Mira swallowed hard. “My whole family taught me love was transactional. Cruel. You… changed that.”

She gently took Rumi’s claws in her hands, inspecting the dried blood still caking the ridges.

“You’re not too much, Rumi,” she whispered. “Not too broken. Not too dark. You’re ours.”

Rumi started to cry, not the dramatic sobbing kind, but slow, fractured gasps. Like something ancient and jagged inside her had been yanked loose.

“I was so scared she was right,” she whispered. “She said that I couldn’t be loved. That she should’ve put me down sooner. And I-I believed her.”

Zoey took her hand, slipping her fingers between Rumi’s.

“She’s wrong. She was always wrong.”

Rumi looked down at their hands, her claws against Zoey’s soft palms, the way Mira still hadn’t let go of her.

“I thought I was too broken to be loved.”

“No,” Mira said, pulling her close again. “You’re too important not to be.”

They sat together in silence, tangled on the floor.

Outside, the city pulsed quietly, unaware.

Inside, three people held each other like the world had ended and had been rebuilt in their arms.

Chapter Text

The penthouse was too quiet.

The kind of silence that rang louder than screams, where grief and fear pressed down like fog on glass. Dim, uneven light bled through the windows, casting fractured shadows across the open space—chaos frozen in still-life. Dampened bloodied towels and bandages scattered across the apartment, surgical tools with dried blood stained across the kitchen island.

Rumi lay on their large couch, slumped against a bundle of blankets and pillows that Zoey had scrambled together. Her skin, usually a dusky glow of warmth, now looked sallow, slicked with sweat. She had yet to wake up, her breathing slow and flickering. The deep wound pulsing just beneath her chest was half-wrapped, sewn up to heal, hoping they hadn't been too late. They hummed soft lullabies through the honmoon, hoping it would help the healing. 

“Her body’s rejecting everything,” Zoey whispered, again, for the third time in an hour. She knelt beside the couch, hands hovering above Rumi’s chest, a soft trail of light flickering under her fingers. They were fading with every hour. 

“I don’t—I don’t know how to stop this.”

“Because it wasn’t meant to be stopped.” Mira’s voice was sharper than steel and just as brittle. She paced the length of the room like a caged beast, blood still drying on her temple, her hoodie unzipped and clinging to her sweat-drenched back. They were exhausted. 

“It wasn’t just another demon. It was a hunter's blade. Her blade. It’s not meant to heal.’’

Zoey closed her eyes, her jaw tight. “We don’t know that for sure.”

Mira wheeled on her. “ Don’t we ?’’ 

She jabbed a finger toward the couch. Rumi didn’t stir.

“It’s been hours, and she looks like she’s getting worse!”

A beat. 

“We need to find Celine, we need to make her pay for this Zoey! She needs to know she can’t j-just hurt Rumi… c-can’t just try to kill her!’’ Her breathing picked up and her lungs felt tighter. 

Zoey stood slowly, exhaustion dragging through her limbs like cement. She knew Mira was upset, hurt but she was struggling too.  

“Going after Celine isn't important right now, and you yelling isn't going to help Rumi.’’ 

“No, but you defending Celine sure as hell doesn’t either.”

That did it.

Zoey spun, eyes sparking with energy. “I’m not defending her! I just don’t want to go in guns blazing and make things worse!”

Mira’s voice dropped, dangerously quiet. “You think things can get worse than this ?”

They stared at each other. The air between them thick with hurt and fury and a desperation neither one had words for. Rumi groaned faintly on the couch, and both of them snapped their heads around like they’d been shot.

But she didn’t wake up.

Just shifted, her breathing uneven. Her body tried to curl in on itself, then twitched violently and stilled.

Zoey exhaled. “ Fuck .”

Mira dropped onto the floor with a thud, her knees finally giving out. She pressed her hands to her face, trembling. “It’s my fault, Zo… I-I called Celine, I led her right to Rumi. She needed us and I sent her instead.”

The air was quiet, only Rumi’s ragged breathing piercing through the ringing in Zoey's ears.

“You couldn’t have known,” Zoey said quietly, guilt encasing her own chest. “We didn’t know she was capable of this.”

“She still got hurt.”

“We all did,” Zoey murmured, voice tight. “But we saved her life.”

A beat passed. Mira let her hands fall, and her eyes met Zoey’s.

“I can’t lose her,” Mira whispered. “I just got her. We just started figuring this out.” She had never seen Mira so vulnerable, so emotional. It broke her inside. 

Zoey blinked rapidly and sank beside her. “I know.”

“I love her,” Mira said, so plainly it cracked something in Zoey’s chest. 

Zoey didn’t answer right away.

Her throat burned.

Her heart ached.

“I love her too,” she said finally. “Even when she’s being a grumpy, distant little shit. Even when she pulls away, or tries to disappear. I still love her.”

She turned to Mira, voice wavering.

“But sometimes I think she doesn’t believe it’s real. Like… no matter what we do, she’s just waiting for us to leave.”

Mira gave a sad, wry laugh. “Because we did… When we found out she was a demon, we pushed her away.”

Zoey leaned back against the couch, her shoulder brushing Mira’s.

They sat in silence for what felt like hours, falling in time with each other's breaths. Mira didn’t know how to feel all of this. How to just sit here and wait praying to the honmoon that Rumi wouldn’t be taken from them. 

The city buzzed beyond the glass, uncaring. Somewhere in the city, a siren wailed and faded into the distance. The peak of sunrise began to rise above the buildings, bringing light into the apartment.

Finally, she stood up, grabbed her jacket, and headed for the door.

Zoey caught the shift in the air before she even moved — the weight of Mira’s anger, thick like a storm about to break.

“Mira,” Zoey said from the floor, “don’t.”

Mira froze. “I can’t just sit here Zoey, just waiting. I can’t let her get away with this. ”

She didn’t need to say Celine’s name.

Zoey crossed the room, quiet and calm. “And what? You’re going to go track Celine down by yourself? In this state?” Mira shut her eyes, holding back tears. Her grip on her jacket was achingly tight.

“I have to do something!” Mira snapped. 

“You are doing something. Rumi needs you. Here!” Zoey said firmly, her voice and aggravation rising with every word.

Mira blocked her out and pushed forward, painful eyes darting to the rapper. Why didn't she understand?

“Zoey. She tried to murder her.”

Zoey stood, blocking Mira’s path toward the door. “I know. Trust me, she is top of my hit list but running out there, bleeding and pissed off, isn’t a plan—it’s suicide.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well I do!” Zoey shouted, grabbing Mira’s arms. “ Fuck Mira , I care if you get yourself killed! Rumi will care! I can’t lose you too!”

Mira flinched like she’d been slapped. 

She didn’t know how to do this, how to accept a failure, how to be here without being so angry . She felt as if she was drowning in the middle of an ocean being pulled down by an anchor every second. 

Her breath hitched. Her jaw clenched.

And then—quietly—she broke.

All at once.

The weight of fear and rage collapsed in on itself, and Mira crumpled forward, resting her forehead against Zoey’s collarbone.

“What good am I if I can’t protect you both?” she said, voice raw. “I don’t know how to be enough .”

Zoey wrapped her arms around her tightly. Face buried in pink hair, afraid that if she didn’t squeeze hard enough Mira might disappear.

 “You already are.”

They stood like that for a long moment, shaking and silent, grounding each other in the middle of a fractured night.

Then—

“Zo… M-Mira…”

The soft rasp came from the couch.

Both heads snapped toward Rumi.

Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. Her chest hitched as she tried to sit up, a weak hand rising from the tangled blankets.

Zoey was the first to move. “Hey—hey, no, stay down, baby—”

“I can’t—where—”

“Shhh,” Mira murmured, suddenly kneeling at her side. “You’re safe. We’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

Rumi blinked slowly. She looked between them, gaze hazy.

Then she mumbled, “You’re fighting again…”

Zoey let out a half-sob, brushing damp hair from Rumi’s face. “We weren’t fighting. Just panicking.”

Rumi gave a weak frown. “Don’t lie to the half-dead girl…”

Mira huffed out a watery laugh. “Told you she’d still be a smartass.”

Rumi reached out blindly. Mira caught her hand and pressed a tender kiss to her palm.

“You came back,” Rumi whispered, barely audible. “You didn’t leave…”

“Never,” they said together.

Rumi’s lip twitched into a small smile before unconsciousness took her once more. I 

And for a moment—despite the chaos, despite the blood, despite the tremble in the walls that hinted Celine was still out there, still watching—they had each other.

And that was enough to breathe.

The couch was warm. Too warm.

Rumi stirred under layers of blankets, her breath hitching as a dull throb radiated from her side. Something was pressing against her ribs—a tight ache, rhythmic and insistent. Her skin prickled like fire and frost danced underneath it.

She tried to sit up.

Bad idea.

“Ah—fuck—” she hissed through her teeth, vision swimming.

Immediately, a pair of hands steadied her. Gentle. Familiar.

Zoey.

“Easy, Ru,” Zoey murmured, brushing a cool cloth across her brow. “You’re safe. You’re at home.”

Another shape moved beside her.

Mira.

Rumi blinked, trying to force her vision to focus. Mira was perched on the coffee table in front of her, knees braced apart, elbows resting against them. Her knuckles were scraped. There was blood on her collar, but her eyes were soft—too soft.

They looked at her like she might vanish.

“I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the chest,” Rumi croaked, trying to offer a weak grin of amusement. Neither of them laughed. “Geez, tough crowd.”

Zoey exhaled sharply—half laugh, half sob—and buried her face in Rumi’s shoulder. Her arms wound around her middle, careful but tight. “You scared the shit out of us.”

Rumi’s fingers brushed through her hair weakly. “I know…”

Zoey clung tighter.

Mira stayed where she was, fists clenched between her knees. Her voice came low. Rough. “You passed out with your eyes open. I thought—” 

She didn’t finish the sentence.

Rumi swallowed hard. She looked between them, guilt cutting through the haze.

“I… didn’t know it would happen like that…” she whispered. “I—I was scared… but I didn't think she would–’’ Tears dropped from Rumi’s eyes and she scrunched up her face in an attempt to stop them.

Zoey lifted her head. Her eyes were red, lashes still wet. She reached out a soft hand cupping Rumi's face, her thumb swiping away at fallen tears. “Shh baby, I know.” She whispered. “We can talk about everything when you’re recovered.” She bit the inside of her cheek. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think.” She tried to reassure them both with a small smile but she hesitated. 

“I didn't think I was going to wake up.” Rumi admitted.

“You better always come back,” Mira said roughly. “I don’t care how scared you are. You don’t get to disappear on us.”

Her voice cracked. 

Rumi went quiet.

She couldn’t meet their eyes.

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. “You say that now. But what happens when something worse comes? When my demon side slips again? When I hurt one of you?”

Mira stood up.

Crossed the room.

Dropped to her knees beside the couch.

“You already hurt me,” she said simply.

Rumi flinched.

“But you didn’t mean to,” Mira continued. “And even then… I still wanted to find you. I still chose to love you.”

Rumi’s eyes widened.

Zoey’s breath caught beside her.

“Mira—”

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” Rumi whispered, terrified of the weight in Mira’s voice. “Don’t say that just because I almost—because I nearly—”

“I’m saying it because I do,” Mira snapped. “Because when I saw you bleeding out, I didn’t think about running. I thought about losing you. And it gutted me.”

Rumi looked at her, truly looked.

Mira’s eyes weren’t just furious. They were terrified. Her hands trembled where they rested on Rumi’s knee. Her mouth worked around words she couldn’t say.

“I love you,” Mira said again, voice breaking. “I don’t care how broken or dangerous you think you are. You belong with us.”

Rumi turned to Zoey, wide-eyed.

Zoey nodded.

Her voice was softer. “We wanted to tell you before, tell you we’ve been waiting our whole lives for you. But we didn’t want to scare you.”

“You already do,” Rumi breathed.

Fuck use better words Rumi .

Zoey winced.

“No—” Rumi reached for her hand. “Not like that. I mean—I’m scared because it feels real. You both do. And I’ve never had that. Never been wanted like this.”

She closed her eyes.

“When I see you together, it’s like—part of me thinks I’m intruding. Like I’m just a fun thing you let in for a while. And one day, you’ll realize you don’t need me.”

Zoey’s mouth dropped open.

Mira swore under her breath.

Rumi tried to smile, but it trembled. “I know it’s dumb. But I feel it anyway.”

“It’s not dumb,” Zoey said, fierce now. “But it’s wrong. You do belong here. We don’t want a fling. We want you. Your softness. Your darkness. All of it.”

Mira cupped Rumi’s cheek.

“We want to build something with you. Not just a night. Not just a kiss. But a home. If you’ll have us.”

Rumi’s breath hitched.

The tears welled before she could stop them. Hot and helpless. Her body shook as a sob cracked loose and she buried her face in Zoey’s shoulder, then Mira’s hand, caught between the two of them like a lifeline she’d never known she needed.

“I want to,” she choked out. “I want that. I just—don’t know how to let myself.”

Zoey kissed her temple. “We’ll teach you.”

Mira leaned in, her forehead pressed to Rumi’s. “We’ll go slow. We’ll go soft. But we’re not letting go.”

They stayed like that for a while.

Breathing.

Entangled.

Heartbeats syncing.

And somewhere in the corner of the room, unseen, one of the marks on Rumi’s arm flickered faintly—not in warning, but warmth.

Acceptance.

“I love you too, both of you.”

The chaos from a few nights before had been cleaned up, Rumi had mostly slept, barely moving, letting herself slowly heal. Zoey would wake her up every few hours to change her bandages and check her temperature while Mira forced her to eat whatever she could hold down. 

Morning light spilled through the penthouse windows in lazy golden streaks, catching on dust motes and casting long shadows across the floor. 

But the air was still.

Safe.

And for once, no one was bleeding.

Rumi blinked awake slowly, squinting against the sunlight. Her whole body ached—deep, slow pulses of soreness coiling under her skin—but it was a distant ache. Bearable. The worst of the injury and fever had burned off overnight, thanks to Zoey’s persistent care and a healing tea that smelled like wet bark and sadness.

She realized quickly she wasn’t alone.

Zoey was curled at her side on the couch, legs draped over the armrest, her head resting lightly against Rumi’s shoulder. Her hair sticking in every direction, and her tank top was dangerously low-cut from how she’d twisted in her sleep. One of her hands was tucked possessively over Rumi’s waist.

Mira, meanwhile, was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of them, her back to the window, eating a bowl of cereal and watching a trashy reality show on mute with the subtitles on. Her hair was damp from a shower. She had on an old black T-shirt and boxers with little red bats on them.

It was domestic. Ridiculously so. 

And Rumi’s heart almost stopped from how much it hurt—in a good way.

Zoey stirred as Rumi shifted slightly. “Mmm. You’re awake,” she murmured sleepily, voice husky. “Thought about poking you with a stick to see if you were hibernating.”

Rumi let out a soft huff. “You’re the worst.”

Zoey beamed. “You say that, but you didn’t shove me off the couch.”

“I would’ve if I could feel my body.”

From the floor, Mira looked over. “Good morning, sunshine.” She smiled over her cereal. “You look like someone hit you with a car and then kissed you on the mouth.”

Zoey snorted. “Rude.”

“I mean it in a hot way,” Mira added.

Rumi groaned, hiding her face in her arm. “Can we not today?”

Zoey leaned up slightly, grinning like a cat. “Oh no, now that we know we can make you blush, it’s basically a sport.”

Rumi peeked out from behind her arm. “You’re going to bully the injured?”

“Absolutely,” Mira said.

“Mercilessly,” Zoey added.

“Great,” Rumi muttered. “Should’ve stayed unconscious.”

Mira set down her bowl and crawled over on hands and knees, resting her chin on the edge of the couch, wickedness behind her stare “But then you’d miss us doting on you. Feeding you, holding you, nursing you back to health.”

“She just wants to play nurse,” Zoey said slyly, poking Rumi’s side gently.

Rumi jumped and hissed. “Ow, hey—”

“Oh, sorry, Ru,” Zoey grinned mischievously, not looking sorry at all. “Did that hurt? Want me to kiss it better?”

Rumi’s eyes went wide.

Mira smirked. “We’re gonna break her.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Rumi asked, voice tight.

Zoey leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Nope.”

Rumi flushed scarlet. Her patterns betraying her instantly. 

Mira reached up and pushed some of Rumi’s tangled hair out of her eyes. “You’re cute when you’re squirmy.”

“I’m injured,” Rumi protested. “You’re harassing a defenseless patient.”

“You’re our defenseless patient,” Zoey said.

“And we’re gonna make sure you feel very loved,” Mira added.

Rumi sank lower into the couch, trying to hide behind a throw pillow, which only made them laugh more.

She couldn’t stop the smile pulling at her lips.

“Fine,” she said finally, peeking up at them. “You can stay. But if either of you tries to take advantage of my weakened state—”

Zoey leaned closer. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll—moan really loudly just to embarrass you in front of the neighbors.”

Zoey choked. Mira full-on cackled.

“That’s it,” Mira said, pushing herself up and plopping next to Rumi on the couch. “You’re officially one of us.”

“Welcome to hell,” Zoey whispered, flopping on top of both of them with a dramatic sigh.

They ended up in a pile, half on top of each other, limbs tangled and awkward. Mira’s thigh was across Rumi’s lap and the throw pillow had been unceremoniously kicked to the floor.

And yet—

Rumi had never felt so warm. So seen.

So wanted.

Even in pain, even wrapped in bandages and bruises, even with parts of herself she still didn’t understand.

They were here.

And they weren’t going anywhere. They sat peacefully until they were interrupted by a loud growl coming from Rumi’s stomach. 

“Okay up we get! It’s been days and I think it's time we all had an actual meal.’’ Mira pushed herself off the couch, sauntering towards the kitchen to see if there was anything edible still in date. 

“Oh I'll help!” Zoey lifted herself up before holding out a hand to Rumi. “Up to a change of scenery?”

She nodded her head and reached out to grab Zoey's hand.

A few minutes later, Rumi sat at the kitchen counter in Mira’s oversized hoodie—her own clothes still stained and mostly destroyed—and watched, bemused, as her two girlfriends ( They were totally girlfriends now right??? ) attempted to make breakfast together without declaring war.

It wasn’t going great.

“Mira, don’t flip it yet!” Zoey scolded, rushing over to the pan like a tiny fire marshal. She slapped her hand away. 

Mira growled, spatula already in hand. “It was literally smoking, Zoey.”

“It was caramelizing! There’s a difference!”

“That means burning! You have the palate of a raccoon.”

Zoey rolled her eyes bumping Mira with her hip to move out of the way.

“You have the patience of a wet cat.”

Rumi stifled a laugh behind her hand.

They were both standing too close to the stove, bumping shoulders and hips as they jockeyed for control. Mira’s hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and she had flour on her cheek. Zoey was barefoot, wearing boxers with tiny moons on them and one of Rumi’s tank tops that barely covered anything.

Rumi’s heart swelled.

They were ridiculous. Beautiful. Hers .

She cleared her throat. “You know, this is really touching. Watching you both ruin breakfast for me.” She threw a sly smile their way. 

Zoey turned, dramatically wounded. “Excuse me? This is a culinary masterpiece.”

Mira snorted. “It’s edible. Probably.”

“I’m only doing this because you’re injured,” Zoey said, pointing at Rumi with a spoon. “Otherwise I’d let Mira feed you leftover dumplings straight from the container.”

“Dumplings are breakfast,” Mira said, unbothered.

“They’re not everyone’s breakfast,” Zoey snapped.

“They’re Rumi’s breakfast.”

Rumi laughed out loud. “Guys, I would eat gravel right now if it meant sitting here with you.”

Zoey melted. “Ugh, see? She’s so sweet.”

Mira smirked. “It’s the hoodie. Makes her all soft and defenseless.”

“I am not soft,” Rumi grumbled. 

Zoey walked over with a plate, set it in front of her, and leaned in close. “You’re literally swaddled in Mira’s hoodie like a sleepy baby kitten.”

Rumi’s cheeks flushed. “Shut up.”

“She’s blushing again!” Mira crowed from the stove. “That’s what, the fifth time today?”

“Six,” Zoey corrected, leaning casually against the counter. “She flushed so hard when I kissed her shoulder earlier, I thought she might pass out again.”

“I hate you both,” Rumi mumbled into her pancakes.

“No, you love us,” Zoey sing-songed. “You told us and you can never take it back.”

Rumi shoved a bite of food in her mouth to hide the grin she couldn’t suppress.

The breakfast was chaotic, slightly overcooked, and the pancakes definitely were more burnt than caramelized—but it was perfect. There were shared bites, syrup fingers licked clean, and bickering over whether tea or coffee was superior (Rumi quietly drank both). Zoey spilled juice and Mira made her clean it with a dishrag she immediately turned into a towel-snapping weapon.

They were a mess. A loving, loud, impossible mess.

And Rumi loved every second of it.

After breakfast and some light couch cuddling, Rumi leaned her head back against the cushions, eyes fluttering shut again. But her skin itched faintly, her hair was matted with sweat, and she felt like she’d rolled through a battlefield—probably because she had.

She shifted.

Winced.

“I should probably shower,” she murmured.

Zoey stirred beside her. “Mmm? You need help?”

Rumi hesitated.

Her throat worked around the words.

“I… maybe?” she said, soft and a little pink around the ears. “I don’t think I can reach everything. Or stand too long.”

Mira was across the room, but her head turned immediately. “I can help, if you want.”

Rumi’s blush deepened. “I—I was going to ask Zoey.”

Mira raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Interesting.”

Zoey perked up, eyes suddenly gleaming with mischief. “Hah, she loves me more!.” She stuck her tongue out at Mira who rolled her eyes and huffed in response. 

Rumi covered her face. “This was a mistake.”

“No no no,” Zoey said quickly, hopping up and offering her hands. “It’s not. I’m very honored you asked. I will be on my best behavior.”

Mira snorted. “You don’t know how to behave.”

“You’re just jealous,” Zoey shot back.

“Damn right I am.”

Rumi was very much trying to melt into the couch.

But Zoey was already helping her up—gently, carefully, her body humming quietly under her skin to support Rumi’s weight as needed. They moved slowly to the bathroom, with Zoey murmuring nonsense like “ patient zero coming through ” and “ do not feed the injured demon unless authorized .”

Inside, the room was warm and misted from earlier showers. Zoey guided Rumi to sit on the little bench inside the large walk-in stall, then turned on the water, checking the temperature with her palm.

“Let me know if anything hurts,” she said, voice softer now. “I’ll go slow.”

Rumi nodded.

Zoey helped her out of the hoodie, fingers brushing bare skin, and Rumi felt her entire spine lock up.

Her marks flared faintly—warm and golden, not aggressive—glowing like veins of light across her ribs.

Zoey paused. “Your marks are pretty today.”

“They’re not… supposed to glow like that,” Rumi muttered.

“I think they’re reacting to how cute you look naked.”

Rumi squeaked.

“Zoey!”

“What? You are!”

“I am sitting in a shower stall with one leg asleep and dried blood on my thigh—”

“And you’re still the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Zoey knelt beside her, fingers slipping behind Rumi’s ear, tucking away wet strands. Her eyes glittered, warm and teasing.

Rumi looked away, trying to hide her face, but Zoey leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“Relax,” she said. “I’m here. Let me take care of you.”

And Rumi did.

Even as Zoey’s hands slid up her thighs to rinse the soap, even as her touch lingered a second too long, even as she whispered things like “bet Mira’s going to lose it when she sees your damp hair curled like this”—Rumi let herself lean back, close her eyes, and smile.

For once, she wasn’t afraid of being seen.

The bathroom was humid with steam, soft golden light spilling through the fogged windows. Zoey had wrapped Rumi in a thick towel, her hands lingering on bare skin a little longer than necessary, fingertips drawing slow lines up Rumi’s spine as if committing every scar to memory.

Rumi sat on the bench again, flushed and damp, her thighs slightly parted under the edge of the towel. Her demon marks still faintly glowed in delicate curls along her collarbone and ribs. It wasn’t the same wild, pulsing magic from when she was fighting—it was softer now. Responsive. Curious.

Or, more likely, aroused.

Because Zoey wasn’t exactly subtle.

“You know,” Zoey murmured, kneeling between Rumi’s legs and sliding her hands up to rest on the tops of her thighs, “if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to forget you’re still technically recovering.”

“I wasn’t—” Rumi’s voice cracked. “I wasn’t looking at you like anything.”

“Oh?” Zoey leaned closer, her breath warm against Rumi’s stomach. “So you didn’t just make that little sound when I washed your back?”

Rumi’s jaw tensed. “That was involuntary.”

“Mmhmm. And when I said your marks were glowing because you were turned on?”

“You didn’t say that!”

“I didn’t have to.” Zoey’s grin widened. “Your whole body did.”

Rumi grabbed at the towel, like she could physically shield herself from how much she wanted this—how much she wanted her. “Zoey…”

Zoey looked up then, and for a moment, the teasing dropped. What was left in her expression was hunger, yes—but also something gentler. Something reverent.

“You know I won’t push you, right?” she said, voice low but earnest. “We don’t have to do anything. I’ll help you dry your hair, kiss your forehead, and carry you back to the couch like a royal pain in the ass.”

Rumi swallowed hard. “But if I said I didn’t want you to stop…?”

Zoey didn’t move.

Her hands were still resting warm against Rumi’s skin, but her expression changed—softening into something like awe.

“I’d kiss you,” Zoey whispered, “slow. Careful. And I’d touch you like I had all the time in the world. Which I do. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Rumi’s breath caught.

And then the door opened.

“Hey, did you guys drown in—”

Mira’s voice cut off.

Rumi whipped her head around so fast her neck popped. She grabbed at the towel like it was a shield, eyes wide, cheeks a brilliant red.

Zoey, unbothered, smiled over her shoulder. “Hey babe.”

Mira blinked, frozen in the doorway.

Zoey still kneeling between Rumi’s legs. Rumi flushed and disheveled, towel slipping slightly from her chest. The demon marks still glowing faintly. The room thick with steam and tension.

Mira exhaled slowly. “I see.”

Rumi let out a small whimper. “This isn’t what it looks like—”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” Mira said, leaning against the doorframe and folding her arms, expression unreadable. “And I’m really mad I missed the first half.”

“Mira—” Rumi started, flustered beyond belief.

But Mira was already crossing the room, eyes locked on hers. She crouched beside Zoey, brushing a hand across Rumi’s cheek, slow and deliberate.

“You okay?” Mira asked softly, voice cutting through the heat like a blade of cool water. “Want me to leave?”

Rumi shook her head, throat dry. “No. Just… Don't tease me right now.”

Zoey made a noise of mock offense. “But teasing is the best part.”

Rumi glared at her—though it lacked any real heat.

Mira smiled, tilting her head. “You’re blushing so much your marks are brighter.”

“I hate you both,” Rumi muttered.

“Say that again while I’m between your thighs,” Zoey whispered, so only she could hear.

Rumi’s breath hitched. Her knees tried to close reflexively—but Zoey’s hands were already there, gentle and grounding.

Mira watched them, eyes flicking between their faces. Then she reached out and pulled Rumi’s towel just slightly tighter, not to hide her—but to give her a moment to breathe.

“We’ll go slow,” Mira said softly. “Together. When you’re ready.”

Zoey nodded beside her. “Until then, we’ll just… keep seeing how pink we can make your cheeks.”

“Record’s already broken,” Mira grinned.

“Shut up,” Rumi groaned, burying her face in Zoey’s shoulder. 

She let out a heavy breath, tilting back to watch them both. “I don’t think I’m ready yet. I’m still scared of…’’ She trailed off not wanting to admit it. 

“That’s okay.” Zoey’s voice was soft, loving. She moved her hands from Rumi’s thighs to cup her face gently. Mira hummed beside her. 

“We’ll be here when you are.”

They helped Rumi get changed, Mira insisting once again she wear her sweatpants and hoodie, which of course were way too long on Rumi but Zoey admitted it made her look like ‘an adorable bunny’ so she didn’t argue much. 

They retired to the couch once again, the movie only being on for less than 5 minutes before all three of them had drifted off to sleep. Arms and legs tangled together into one heap. Heartbeats in time. 

Chapter Text

The days ticked by slowly. Rumi would sleep in, Mira would make them dinner, they’d cuddle that evening and put on whatever weird movie Zoey recommended that night, then they would fall asleep pressed together (usually in Mira’s bed), sharing way too much space. It was perfect, a quiet bubble that helped Rumi recover and the trio to test their boundaries together. 

They had talked about everything . They all agreed that everything was on Rumi’s pace, which they were all finding extremely difficult. It was safe to say that the trio were equally obsessed with one another which often led to too much touching, too much kissing, too much teasing before they had to pull back. 

Rumi was mentally cracking up. She couldn’t push past the fear of hurting the girls again, letting go completely and it was driving her insane. She wanted it all so badly but each time they would slightly go past that boundary, Rumi felt panic in her chest and pushed them away. 

Zoey and Mira hadn't let up either, their hands were on Rumi nearly all the time, whispering lewd comments to her to make her flush, kissing her with just the right softness to make her melt. They never pushed, always asking for permission and reading her for any signs of discomfort, signs that she didn’t want it. 

But she wanted it. So much . 

But after about a week of this they all admitted they missed the stage, at least going back to work would be a good distraction from not trying to fuck each other every 10 minutes. Many confirmations later that Rumi was ready to get back to action, they had called Bobby.

Rumi sat cross-legged on the couch, tablet balanced on her knee, phone pressed to her ear.

“Yeah, Bobby,” she said, trying to sound like she had her life together. “I think a soft rebrand for the tour visuals makes sense. Less gloss, more edge. Especially with my new tattoos.” Rumi hated lying to Bobby about her new markings but it had to be done. 

She scribbled a note on her pad. Her handwriting was neat. Focused.

Zoey was not.

Zoey was bored. Which was dangerous.

Mira had gone to the store to grab some groceries for dinner and Rumi was busy organizing their schedule. But that didn't mean she couldn't have some fun. 

The lyricist crept into the room wearing only a sports bra and sleep shorts with turtles on them, still barefoot from their lazy morning. Her hair was a bit wild, lips faintly pink from leftover strawberry smoothie, and she looked way too amused as she sauntered behind Rumi.

Rumi felt the shift in the air instantly.

“Oh! Um—hang on a second, Bobby,” she said, clearing her throat.

Zoey leaned over the back of the couch, pressing her cheek against Rumi’s. “Are you being all serious and businessy?” she whispered, voice hot and low.

Rumi swatted her away gently, lips twitching. “Yes I am. Now shoo, go away and be cute somewhere else. It’s distracting .”

“I can help,” Zoey offered innocently, fingers starting to trail down Rumi’s bare arm. “You want ideas?” She leaned in close, breath tickling Rumi’s other ear. “How about more leather harnesses? Or a live duet where you try to sing ‘Golden’ while I’m between your thighs?”

Rumi slapped a hand over the phone. “Zoey…” She bit the inside of her cheek refusing to look at the girl, because if she did, she would crumble. 

She blinked innocently. 

“What? I’m brainstorming.”

“You’re being a menace.”

Zoey pouted dramatically and climbed onto the couch behind her, legs folding around Rumi’s waist like a koala. Her chin rested on Rumi’s shoulder.

Bobby’s voice buzzed back through the speaker: “You still there?”

Rumi scrambled to recover. “Y-Yes! Sorry, a cat jumped on me?” 

They didn't have a cat. 

Zoey snorted directly in her ear. “Meow,” she whispered before nibbling on her earlobe. 

Rumi flushed bright red, chest burning. Her patterns pulsed pink and gold.

“We were thinking of doing a web-exclusive track release, right?” Bobby asked, still clueless. “One that shows off more of your writing. More raw.”

“Raw,” Zoey echoed, and kissed Rumi’s shoulder gently.

Rumi jolted. “I—I like that,” she gasped, her stylus fell from her hand.

There was a pause on the other end.

“…The idea. I like the idea,” she added quickly.

Zoey was driving her crazy. Her arms slipped around Rumi’s waist lazily, like they belonged there. Her fingers drummed teasing patterns against the hem of Rumi’s shirt, just beneath the fabric.

Rumi’s thighs squeezed together.

She was dying. She was going to combust on a live call.

Bobby continued, oblivious.

“Also, we need to talk about your solo PR. You’ve got a lot of heat right now, and we should lean into your whole ‘sexy mysterious bad-ass rebrand’ thing–”

Zoey dragged her lips across Rumi’s neck, whispering, “Sexy, huh?” Rumi had to clamp her mouth shut to prevent a groan. 

Bobby kept talking but Rumi was absolutely not listening. 

“Also, I know you probably won't go for this but the PR team suggested a fake dating stunt with another Kpop star called Serin to boost ratings. She has great traction right now and it could help with the whole aesthetic we're going for after the Idol Awards. I can tell them no, I know you’re private with your dating life but I wanted to sugges–”

Zoey’s teeth sank into the side of her neck with a sharp bite the same time her thumb brushed over her nipple and Rumi broke.

“Oh my god –” A moan escaped from her throat. 

The line was quiet for a second.

“...Rumi?”

Zoey’s hand slipped into her waistband, tongue flicking her earlobe. “I think someone is looking for you, baby.” A glint of a smirk in the words. 

Rumi barely swallowed a moan. Her free hand clutched the couch cushion in a death grip. She blinked rapidly, pulling out of the haze for a moment. 

“A-as in oh my god, what a great idea Bobby!” she blurted.

Pause.

“Really?…Okay if you're sure,” Bobby said slowly. “I mean—yeah. Amazing. We’ll set up a fake date. Get paparazzi to snag a few pictures. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Zoey snapped the elastic of her underwear.

“I’m great,” Rumi gasped. “Never better. Gotta go!”

She hung up without waiting for a response.

The second the phone hit the cushion, Rumi grabbed Zoey by the hair and pulled her up fast, until they were face to face.

“You’re evil,” she growled.

Zoey’s grin was devastating. “And you love it.”

Their mouths crashed together, heat and hunger instantly roaring to the surface. Rumi surged forward, pushing Zoey onto her back on the couch, crawling over her. Lips collided with feverish urgency. Tongues tangled. Rumi’s fingers dug into Zoey’s waist, dragging her closer.

Zoey let out a low, throaty moan, arching under her. “That call made you needy, huh?”

“You made me needy,” Rumi hissed against her mouth, breathless. “Now shut up.”

Zoey laughed and pulled her in tighter.

Hands slid under clothes. Teeth grazed skin. Moans were swallowed between gasps and kisses. 

“You’re such a tease,” Rumi panted.

The air was thick with heat and static and maybe Rumi was finally ready because there was no panic, no fear, no hesita–

RING RING.

Rumi’s phone buzzed loudly on the cushion beside them.

They both froze.

“…Don’t,” Zoey muttered, attempting to pull Rumi back in. 

Rumi glanced over, panting.

“MIRA🍆” lit up the screen.

Zoey groaned and flopped back dramatically. “I swear, she has a sixth sense for cockblocking.”

Rumi slumped forward, her face buried in Zoey’s neck. “I can’t answer like this.”

“She’ll know,” Zoey teased. “Your voice is already a wreck.”

The phone rang again.

Rumi kissed Zoey once more, deep and lingering, then finally reached over and picked up.

“H-Hey, Mira.”

Pause.

“…You sound out of breath. You okay?”

Zoey bit Rumi’s shoulder again, smirking.

Rumi squeaked and scrambled off her, flustered as hell. “I’m fine, just…doing yoga.”

“My name isn’t yoga!”

Zoey called from the couch collapsing into a fit of laughter behind her.

Mira wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure you’re doing yoga and not being corrupted?”

“I–,” Rumi stammered. Zoey grabbed the phone from Rumi.

“Hi babe! You should have seen how close I was to fuc–”

Rumi shoved Zoey’s head into a pillow, knocking the phone out of her hand. It fell to the floor, Mira’s voice still audible. 

“I was calling you two nitwits to let you know I’ll be home in 20 if you want to meet me in the dance studio? We’ve to practice some routines.” 

Zoey looked up at Rumi with a wink and whispered, “I only need 10.”

Rumi huffed, suppressing a smile.

A cough on the other end of the line to grab their attention. “And no making out without me.” 

Rumi chuckled at the jealousy laced in Mira’s voice. 

“Buzzkill. We’ll meet you there.” 

She hung up the phone and looked down at Zoey who was wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. 

“You’re an idiot.” 

She pushed herself off the couch and headed towards her room. Zoey called after her. 

“I can help you get changed if you want?” 

Rumi’s bedroom door slammed shut. 

The hardwood floor of the practice studio was slick with sweat and frustration. Sunlight slanted through the high windows, casting geometric shapes across the mirrored wall. One of their beat-heavy tracks thumped from the speakers, too cheerful for how serious Mira looked, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Rumi's brain short circuited as soon as Mira discarded her shirt leaving her only in a sports bra, the intense moment from Zoey had her in a spiral and she was fumbling to recover. Her baggy sweats clung to her lower half, beads of water rippling down her chest and honestly Rumi hadn’t been able to focus since. She actually had to physically stop herself from licking the sweat from Mira’s torso. 

They had been at it for hours now, way past dinner time but Mira insisted they couldn’t leave until they got it down. But Rumi just couldn’t get anything right today, she kept missing steps, fumbling into her dance partners or her brain would just blank in general. 

The more Mira snapped with frustration the more Rumi snapped back, hungry and exhausted and quite honestly pissed off she wasn’t getting anything right. 

“Your left foot goes back on the beat, not… whatever the hell that was,” Mira said, gesturing to Rumi’s steps. 

“That’s what I did!” Rumi huffed. Sweat slicked her own body, patterns dancing a mix of lilac and fuchsia. They were hot to the touch. 

“No, you’re messing up the routine because you’re not listening to me.” Mira snapped back. 

“I am listening to you.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“I am.”

“Are not.”

“I am!”

“Run it again.”

“Ugh!” Rumi practically growled, moving back into position as Mira moved to replay the song again. 

Off to the side, Zoey sat cross-legged with a smoothie in hand, grinning like she’d just found the front row seat to the best comedy act in the world. She had finished her set an hour ago and right now, was just enjoying the view. Maybe sometimes making things worse. 

“I’m just saying,” she took a slow sip “if this were a fan cam, y’all would already be trending under #EnemiesToLovers.”

Both Rumi and Mira froze.

“I hate you,” Mira muttered, without turning.

“You love me,” Zoey said sweetly.

“I love when you’re silent,” Rumi added, but her smile betrayed her.

Zoey sat up straighter, eyes glinting. “Wow, I’m sensing a lot of unresolved tension in the room. Want me to light a candle? Facilitate a couples’ stretching session? #grumpymiraandrumi.”

“Zoey—” they both snapped at the same time.

Zoey just held up her hands and leaned back again, smug as ever. “Continue. This is better than any k-drama I’ve streamed this week.”

Mira pressed play.

“Again. Five, six, seven—”

The music kicked in again, bright and fast. They moved together, Rumi copying Mira’s steps, just a half-beat off. Mira’s form was sharp, precise, and all fire; Rumi’s was more fluid, like she was dancing to a different beat she could only half-hear. 

Still, she moved with Mira, their energies clashing and syncing in unpredictable rhythm. She just needed to get this right once and Mira would get off her back. It was actually going well until Rumi peaked at Mira’s exposed abs a little too long and ended up missing a full section of the dance. 

The music cut out. 

“Dammit, Rumi! What is up with you today? Even your stance is weird.” She put her hands on her hips.

And really Rumi felt bad, she did. Mira was trying so hard, and had been so gentle and soft for hours about Rumi not getting the moves. But I guess she had pushed her to her limit, she couldn’t really blame her. 

Rumi should just apologize and explain how she’s feeling, but... she’s stubborn and very hungry so she did the exact opposite, riled up on emotions.

“Nothing is ‘up’—this is just how I stand!” Rumi barked, trying again to mimic Mira’s graceful glide across the floor. Her shoulder twitched in an unintentional jerk, and the move collapsed halfway through. 

She groaned into the floor, finally giving up. “I hate this.” 

“Wow,” Zoey said, sipping loudly. “Such grace. Such synchronicity. It’s like watching a swan and a brick argue.”

“I’m the swan, right?” Rumi asked.

“No,” Zoey said with a shit-eating grin. “You’re the chaotic weather event. Mira’s the brick.”

“Excuse you—” Mira started, but Rumi was already laughing, really laughing, head thrown back, and Zoey blinked for a moment, surprised by the sound.

It was rare. Real. And it lit something up in the room, breaking the tension completely. Mira and Zoey shared a bright smile, seeing Rumi like this was new. It was refreshing and they loved hearing her giggles and snorts ring through the studio. It made their hearts full and their stomachs flip.

Mira stared at her for a beat, caught off-guard. “You’re actually enjoying this?”

Rumi wiped a tear from her eye, catching her breath. She climbed back to her feet, feeling slightly more relaxed now.

Mira was frustration but also passion all rolled into one, she was similar to Rumi in a lot of ways and sometimes they clashed because of that. But Zoey always knew how to pull them back in. 

“I’m allowed to laugh, aren’t I?” 

“Yeah, I just didn’t know you could.” She shrugged her shoulders, a smirk pulling on the corner of her lips.

Rumi shoved her lightly. “You wound me.”

“Not as much as you’re wounding that choreography,” Zoey added.

“Do you want to try it?” Rumi asked, raising an eyebrow.

Zoey looked at her smoothie like it was the world’s most valid excuse. “I’m supporting the team emotionally.”

“Uh-huh. Emotionally from the corner.”

Rumi turned back toward Mira, positioning herself again. She was grinning now, more relaxed, and her demon marks were faint — not dormant, just still. 

“I know you worked hard on this…” she rubbed her neck looking down at her shoes “I don’t know why I keep fucking it up.” 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Mira said sweetly, hands on her hips. Her sports bra clung to her skin, a sharp contrast to her smooth control. “You could learn if you’d stop trying to muscle through everything. Loosen up. Your shoulders are locked tighter than your jaw during a spar.”

Rumi pouted. “I am loose.” 

“You’re not. You look like you’re bracing for an earthquake.”

“She always looks like that when you’re watching her,” Zoey chimed in, voice syrupy with mischief. “Especially when your hand’s on her lower back like it was earlier.”

Rumi immediately flushed, glaring daggers at Zoey in the mirror. “I swear to all that is holy, I will put your plushies up for adoption.”

Mira tilted her head, amused. “Are you nervous when I touch you, Rumi?”

“No. I’m just... ticklish?” She didn’t sound convincing.

Zoey snorted. “That is the worst lie I’ve ever heard, and I once watched you Google ‘ how to be cool in front of your hot poly girlfriends .’

“You said you weren’t going to bring that up again—”

Mira raised her hand. “Focus. Reset. Bickering later.”

Rumi mumbled something under her breath and got into position again. Mira moved behind her this time, hands ghosting lightly over her waist. Rumi stiffened instantly.

“Relax,” Mira whispered, voice lower now. Her lips were near Rumi’s ear, and her breath sent a shiver down Rumi’s spine. “I’m guiding you, not setting you on fire.”

“Same difference,” Rumi muttered, trying not to react to the heat rising to her cheeks, or the way Mira’s fingers slid down her hips to adjust her stance.

Zoey was full-on grinning now, eyes dancing. “Is it getting hot in here, or is it just our demon melting under pressure?”

“Zoey,” Mira growled.

“Yes, teddy bear?”

“Get your smug little face in this formation or I swear to god I will not make you dinner for a week.”

Zoey sauntered over, tossing her bottle aside with dramatic flair. “Gladly. Watching is fun, but I’d rather grind up against you and Mira while Mira yells at us both.”

“I don’t yell,” Mira said flatly, stepping back into her own position at the front.

“You do yell,” both Rumi and Zoey said in unison.

Mira ignored them. “One more time. I swear, if you two get through this whole routine without combusting or groping each other mid-step, I will buy dinner.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Zoey asked, already syncing into position behind Rumi.

“It’s a miracle,” Mira sighed. “Let’s go. Five, six, seven—”

The music started again. This time, Rumi made it through half the choreography without error. Mira smirked approvingly.

“See? Not so hard when you actually focus.”

“I am focusing,” Rumi panted. “I’m focusing on not getting distracted by your damn hips.”

Zoey let out a scandalized little gasp and nearly missed her cue. “Did you hear that? She admitted it!”

Mira just grinned. “Eyes forward, both of you.”

But even as the music surged again, and the three of them moved in sync across the gleaming floor, Rumi felt the tension between them pulse like an extra beat under the bass.

This dance wasn’t just about the stage anymore. 

///

The apartment had gone still.

Mira had vanished to the shower, claiming sore muscles and “psychic trauma” from Rumi’s dance attempts. The stereo had gone quiet. Even the street noise beyond the windows had dimmed to a low hum.

Rumi sat curled into the corner of the couch, damp hair tucked behind one ear, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. She was staring at nothing, a faint smile still lingering like smoke after fire.

Zoey padded in barefoot, a mug of tea in each hand. She offered one wordlessly and sat beside her, tucking her knees up to her chest.

They sipped in silence for a moment. Comfortable.

“Still thinking about Mira pinning you to the floor?” Zoey teased lightly.

Rumi huffed a laugh, eyes flicking toward her. “She was very determined.”

“You like that about her.”

“I do,” Rumi said before she could stop herself then and immediately looked away. “Don’t quote me on that.”

Zoey grinned but let it go. She waited another beat, watching Rumi’s face settle. There was less tension now. Less guarded stillness. Something in her posture had changed over the last few days, like she didn’t always expect to run anymore.

“I saw you today,” Zoey said quietly.

Rumi blinked. “I was hard to miss. I nearly broke the mirror trying to do that spin.”

“No,” Zoey said. “I saw you. The real you. Not hiding. Not flinching. Just… here. With us. Laughing.”

Rumi stared at her tea. “It felt weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?”

“Scary weird. Like… if I get too used to it, it’ll vanish. Or I will.”

Zoey nodded, as if she’d known that answer already. “I get that. But you know what else I saw?”

Rumi didn’t answer.

“I saw someone who didn’t push away the people who care. Someone who let herself have fun. Someone who didn’t apologize for taking up space.”

Rumi’s fingers tightened around the mug.

“I know you think you’re too much sometimes,” Zoey continued gently. “Too dangerous. Too broken. Too… whatever. But you’re not. You’re just you. And you being comfortable? That’s not a threat to us.”

She reached over and nudged Rumi’s knee with her own.

“It’s a gift.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, it was full. Something warm and quietly overwhelming. Rumi stared down into her tea for a long moment before finally whispering, “I don’t know how to be this version of me yet.”

Zoey smiled, soft and real. “That’s okay. We’re still figuring out how to be the version of us that gets to keep you.”

Rumi’s throat tightened. She didn’t speak, but she shifted just slightly closer, letting their arms touch, even just at the elbow.

Zoey didn’t say anything else.

She just stayed there beside her, the stars outside spinning on, and the tea between them slowly going cold.

The apartment was dimly lit, the late-night city glow slipping through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The big screen TV flickered in the background, muted as Zoey passed Mira a half-empty wine bottle and flopped onto the couch placing a popcorn bowl in her lap.

“She agreed to this?” Zoey asked, grabbing the remote and unmuting the screen just as the network cut to the host’s signature red and gold logo. “Jay Verona? The guy who literally made a fart joke during a political scandal last month?”

Mira was curled sideways in an oversized hoodie, hair damp from a shower, scrolling absentmindedly on her phone. “Bobby pushed it. Said it would ‘soften her image.’ Get her solo engagement up. Big PR moment.” She looked up. “I don’t like it either.”

Zoey frowned looking at the time on her phone. 

“This was recorded a few hours ago, right? I thought she’d be home by now.” 

Mira reached across grabbing a handful of popcorn, tossing one at Zoey. “Stop worrying, she probably just got held up. Now shush, our girl is on.”

They both turned toward the screen as the segment began. 

Rumi walked out in all black, her tattoos half-visible beneath a sheer black sleeveless panel, her expression neutral but stiff. She gave the audience a soft smile, the one Zoey knew wasn’t real. Mira sat up straighter.

“God,” Zoey murmured. “She looks like she’s walking into a damn courtroom.”

“She hates those shoes,” Mira whispered. “Can tell by the way she’s walking. Too stiff in the ankles.”

The set was all glossy lights and polished smiles. Rumi sat stiffly in the plush velvet chair across from Jay Verona, the smirking late-night host whose reputation preceded him, a little too handsy, a little too bold, but always somehow untouchable under the guise of “entertainment.”

Zoey winced. “Ugh, he’s already leaning in too close. Back up, creep.”

She could feel the hum of the cameras, the audience’s subtle lean forward, the heat of the studio lights that made her back slick with sweat under the clothes the stylist had picked. The Huntrix logo flashed briefly on the monitor behind them, cut to applause, then to the host’s smarmy grin. The lights were hot, the couch too soft, the air too fake.

Rumi gave a practiced half-smile as Jay Verona leaned across the small coffee table set, cue cards in hand and charm oozing from every movement.

They watched in silence as Jay started in with harmless questions. The kind meant to disarm. Rumi played along, barely. Her voice was low, careful. Her answers were short, too rehearsed.

Mira frowned. “She’s doing that thing with her hand.”

Zoey looked closer, sure enough, Rumi’s fingers were pressed together in her lap, her knuckles white. A grounding tic. Bad sign.

Jay was charming at first.

“We’ve got the one and only Rumi in the house tonight.” The studio audience cheered loudly for her.

“It’s your first solo interview, right? You feeling nervous?”

Yep . 

“Not really. I’ve been doing interviews for years.” She smiled with a small shrug. “But I will say, I already miss Zoey and Mira not being with me.” 

Zoey blinked. “Oh,” she said, voice unexpectedly soft. “She said our names.”

Mira smiled faintly. “She always does when she’s nervous.”

Jay put his hand over his heart, the audience following suit and erupting into ‘awhs’ at the earnest answer. “Isn’t that sweet folks?” 

“ Too sweet for this bastard,” Zoey muttered.

Why did I agree to this?  

“Well, it’s about time we got you alone.” Wink. Laughter. His eyes linger on her a little too long. 

Mira sat up straighter. “Did he just—? Gross.”

“So, Rumi of Huntrix,” he said with a knowing smile, fingers tapping casually against his cue cards. “The leader. The fans are obsessed with your… aura . Stoic. Intense. Dangerous.”

She gave a polite smile. “I guess that’s better than boring.”

Zoey snorted. “That’s my girl.”

The audience laughed on cue along with Jay.

But his grin widened, too sharp now, teeth like a blade under the glint of studio light. 

“Speaking of dangerous,” he said, voice smooth, “there’s been a lot of talk online about your new tattoos.”

Zoey straightened. “Nope. Don’t like where this is going.”

Mira’s eyes didn’t move from the screen. “He’s baiting her. Listen to how he’s wording it — ‘intense,’ ‘dangerous,’ trying to make her defend herself.”

Rumi stiffened. “What about them?” She unknowingly reached for sleeves she wasn’t wearing. 

“Fuck,” Mira whispered. “She just tried to hide.”

Calm down, we knew this question was coming.

He held up a screen to a zoomed-in paparazzi photo, her side exposed during The Idol Awards, demonic markings burning faint plum across her ribs. 

“They’re certainly a surprise! Wow! Do they also cover the places we don’t see?” He smirked. 

Zoey sat forward like she’d been slapped. “Are you kidding me?”

“Say something, Rumi,” Mira said under her breath. “Don’t let him corner you.”

Rumi’s expression didn’t change, but her breathing did. Mira could see it, the slight lift of her shoulders, the ripple at her throat.

Rumi stiffened and chewed the inside of her cheek. 

“I don’t really think that’s anyone’s busin—“

He cut her off. 

“There’s entire forums dedicated to decoding your tattoos. I saw one thread claiming you had joined a cult. Another said you’re just really into heavy metal and sad poetry.”

Flatly. “Why not both?”

Zoey let out a small laugh despite herself. “Okay, that was iconic.”

The audience laughed. But Jay leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting subtly.

“But, let’s really dive into it. They cover about 40% of your body? Some of them are… intense. ”

“She’s not a sideshow,” Mira snapped. “Why the hell is he treating her like one?”

Rumi was tense, she felt like she wasn’t breathing right. “They’re mine. They mean something to me. I came here to talk about our new release, not to discuss my tattoos.” 

Jay put his hands up in defense.

“Right, right. Totally personal, I get that. But — and I’m just playing devil’s advocate here — don’t you think fans deserve a little clarity? I mean, some people are saying the imagery’s a little dark. Maybe even a little… off-brand for Huntrix.”

Zoey stood up and started pacing. “I’m going to fight him. I’m actually going to find him and fight him.”

She was trying to keep her composure, he was baiting a reaction out of her with 10 different cameras pointed at her face waiting for the fallout. 

“We’ve evolved. All of us. That’s kind of the point of being an artist.”

Rumi’s fingers clenched slightly in her lap. Her face didn’t change, but something behind her eyes flickered.

Jay pushed harder.

“I mean — again, no judgment — but there’s a real question going around: Are Mira and Zoey ashamed of your new look? Is that why your team is pushing for solo interviews?”

Mira’s breath hitched. “What the fuck did he just say?”

Zoey froze mid-step. “He just dragged us into this?”

The studio air went silent. No laugh track. No applause. Just the tension of someone crossing a line and pretending they hadn’t.

Her face definitely betrayed her in annoyance. 

Quiet, clipped. “Are you asking if my trauma is inconvenient?”

He laughed innocently. “No, no, come on. I’m just giving you the chance to respond to what’s already out there. Transparency. That’s all.”

The audience sat on the edge of their seats fueling in the tension and drama.

“I’ve always been transparent. People just prefer it when it fits their narrative.” Her smile was completely gone now. 

Mira whispered, “She’s gonna snap.”

A beat. 

He was looking for an opening. 

“So let’s stay transparent.” He flipped to the last card in his hand. 

A source tells me that you recently had a falling out with Celine Nuna, she created the band. Correct?”

Rumi froze, a sudden stabbing pain in the scar across her chest. 

Zoey stopped breathing. “No…”

“There it is,” Mira muttered, deflated. “The kill shot.”

“Was it because of the tattoos?”

A deep, dangerous silence fell across the room. Her breath hitched. Her panic, once bottled, cracked open at the seams. Something behind her ribs went tight and ugly. Was she shaking?

“You don’t know anything about us.” 

“Well then, tell me. Set the record straight. Is Rumi still a part of Huntrix? Or just a ticking time bomb?”

And something snapped.

She stood up. Sudden. Quiet fury.

“We’re done.”

Jay rolled his eyes dramatically, scoffing at the action. 

“Whoa, don’t storm off. You’ll make people think they were right.”

But she was already walking, the mic pulled from her back, footsteps echoing down the stage hallway as producers scrambled behind the scenes.

Cut to silence. Then forced laughter. Then a wide-eyed Jay turned to the camera with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Guess we touched a nerve. Let’s go to a commercial.”

The screen switched to advertisements. 

Zoey threw a pillow across the room. “I’m going to take his stupid face and– and flush it down the toilet!”

Mira was already grabbing her phone, number already punched in. “I’m calling Bobby. I swear to god if they make this into some ‘viral’ moment—”

Zoey looked toward the door. “She should’ve been back by now.” Her voice went quiet. “She hasn't been answering my texts either.” 

The apartment had gone silent, the muted commercials flickering across the screen like static between thunderclaps. Mira’s phone was pressed to her ear, her body rigid. Zoey sat forward on the couch, elbows on knees, her thumb anxiously spinning the ring on her index finger.

“Bobby, what the hell was that?” Mira’s voice was low but sharp. “You said this was supposed to be light. Promo. You didn't say anything about—about Celine or the tattoos.”

On the other end of the line, Bobby’s voice crackled with stress. “I didn’t know, Mira. He blindsided her. We signed off on pre-approved questions, this wasn’t part of it. Jay went completely off-script. You know I wouldn’t have let her do it if I had known.”

Zoey muttered, “Scumbag was smiling the whole damn time, too. Like he was waiting for her to break.”

Mira shot her a look of agreement before turning back to the call. “And Rumi? Where is she now?”

“She left right after. Said she was coming straight home, listen something happened backstage after–”

Before Bobby could finish, the commercial break ended. Zoey unmuted the TV. 

The show returned not to Jay’s usual smug intro, but to something different—off-script. Off-brand. Off-putting.

Jay Verona sat alone, his tie slightly loosened, hair out of place. There was a faint red mark blooming on his cheek. His expression teetered between performative concern and smug vindication.

“Well, folks,” he began with faux gravity. “Tonight’s guest had a very strong reaction backstage after the interview ended. And, well… transparency, right? We believe in letting the audience decide.”

The screen cut to grainy backstage footage.

Rumi paced a narrow corridor behind the set, her back to the camera. Her silhouette was tense. She kept wringing her hands, shoulders tight.

Jay entered the frame, calm, unhurried. “Look, you’ve gotta learn to laugh at yourself. You can’t be so sensitive out there.”

He stepped too close. Mira and Zoey both flinched.

“You act like a victim, people are gonna treat you like one. You wanna be the dark little freak? Own it.”

Rumi turned, her eyes angry. Jay stepped into her space, whispering something not caught by the camera. His breath hot against her ear.

Her face twisted, her body rigid.

One second of charged silence.

CRACK.

The sound of the slap echoed, raw and sharp. Jay stumbled back, grabbing his cheek. The camera jolted, catching a frame of Rumi’s wide, furious eyes before cutting to black.

Silence.

Zoey stared at the screen, jaw tight. “Good,” she said flatly. “She should’ve punched him.”

Mira didn’t speak right away. Her hand, still holding the phone, was trembling.

“She was cornered,” she said softly. “He followed her. After humiliating her on live TV.”

They stood side by side, the screen looping Jay’s dramatic retelling while the video played again online in the corner inset.

“Wait!” Zoey jumped scrambling to find her phone. “I made Rumi share her location with me after last time!” 

Her screen lit up, logging into the app and zooming in on the mini Rumi icon. 

Mira stared impatiently. “Well, where is she?”

Zoey blinked. 

“She’s… here? 

Zoey double checked in confusion. 

Updated 1 minute ago. 

“The roof!” They said in unison, already heading out the door. 

///

Rumi was crouched behind a ventilation shaft on the empty rooftop, legs folded beneath her, the wind tugging at her bare arms which radiated a blend of colors. Her body ached from tension, tiny crescent moons dug into her own skin.

The slap kept replaying in her head, not the sound, but the moment before. The space between his words and her hand. The way his breath hit her cheek. The way her body had moved on its own .

"You want to be the dark little freak? Own it."

She had. For one second.

And now the world thought she was dangerous.

She was dangerous.

The clip had gone viral. #RumiSlapsJay was trending. She scrolled through her feed, reading every word, every reaction.

And the reaction… wasn’t kind.

@Sajalover69 “What a diva. Can’t take a little heat?”

@gaygirlrobsessed “She’s so unstable it’s honestly embarrassing.”

@zoemirashipper “Rumi’s always been the weak link. Kinda proving the point, huh?”

@user3789492 “If she can’t handle a few questions, maybe she shouldn’t be in the spotlight.”

The headlines were worse.

‘Huntrix’s Rumi Attacks Talk Show Host After Live Meltdown’

‘Tattooed Trouble: Is Rumi An Advocate For Violence?’

Her eyes burned. She didn’t cry. Not really. But her face felt raw, like salt had been rubbed under it.

Then—footsteps. She tensed.

“ Rumi? ” Mira’s voice, soft but urgent, echoed between the concrete.

Zoey followed close behind, slightly out of breath. “We tracked your phone. You forgot to turn off the location again, dumbass.”

Rumi didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

They approached slowly, like she was a frightened animal, ready to bolt.

“I shouldn’t have hit him,” Rumi whispered, resting her chin on her tucked up knees.

“Maybe,” Zoey said, shrugging. “But he deserved it.”

Rumi looked up sharply. “That’s not the point.”

“No,” Mira said, kneeling in front of her. “The point is, he cornered you. You didn’t snap. You defended yourself.”

Rumi pulled back, ashamed. “Everyone saw it. The real me. That’s what Celine wanted.”

Zoey came around the side, crouched beside her. “Yeah? Well, everyone also saw Jay being a condescending creep. He made you out to be a horrible person, and you held back more than I would've.”

“I hit him,” Rumi hissed. “I lost it . That’s how it starts. First a slap, then claws, then—what? I tear someone’s throat out on live TV?”

Her voice cracked. She buried her face in her hands.

“I don’t want to be like this.” It was quiet, but they heard her.

Mira reached out, gentle, firm, cupping Rumi’s cheek, guiding her eyes up. “You didn’t lose yourself, Rumi. You fought for yourself. There’s a difference.”

Zoey leaned in too, close enough their shoulders brushed. “You think we’re afraid of that side of you?” She let out a soft laugh, unsteady. “We like that side. Not because it’s violent, but because it’s real . It means you’re not pretending anymore.”

“You didn’t scare us,” Mira said.

“You scare yourself more than you ever could us,” Zoey added.

The wind whipped around them, carrying the sound of traffic, the distant buzz of the city.

And then, Rumi let herself lean forward. Her forehead pressed into Mira’s shoulder, and Zoey’s hand wrapped around the back of her neck, warm and grounding.

“He did kinda deserve it.” 

For the first time all night, she let herself shake.

They held her until the fear passed. Until her breathing evened. Until she stopped seeing Jay’s face behind her eyes, and instead saw theirs —stubborn, protective, impossibly loving. 

Mira broke the silence, her long fingers curling around Rumi’s. 

“C’mon, I think you need to blow off some steam.”

The penthouse’s private training room was quite large, lined with thick mats and reinforced walls. The soundproofing was a necessity—not just for their line of work, but for nights like this.

Rumi stood barefoot on the mat, tense, arms crossed. Her hair was tied back, a fresh wrap of bandages over her palms. Across from her, Mira stretched like a lioness before a hunt, tank top already clinging to her chest, muscles flexing with deliberate ease.

Mira cracked her knuckles. “C’mon. Hit me.”

Rumi blinked. “What?”

“You need to let it out,” Mira said, already rolling her shoulders. “Don’t bottle it. Use it.”

Zoey leaned against the mirrored wall behind them, holding a water bottle and watching like a coach who definitely enjoyed the view. “Mira’s been itching for an excuse to beat someone up. She just wants it to be you because she knows you won’t break easily.”

Rumi’s mouth twitched, but her expression stayed guarded.

“I’m not gonna spar with you just to... vent.”

“Not just to vent,” Mira said. “To feel . You’ve been scared of what’s inside you ever since that night. Scared of what happened to me. With Jay. But you’re not dangerous because you feel. You’re dangerous when you suppress it and it explodes at the wrong moment.”

Rumi looked down at her hands. The faint trace of her claws shimmered beneath the skin, always just beneath the surface.

“I don’t know how to fight like me. I only know how to fight like I’m trying not to hurt someone.”

“Then fight me like you would fight for someone,” Mira said. “Like you’d fight for Zoey. Or for me.”

Zoey’s voice was soft but clear from the corner. “We want to see you. All of you. Even the teeth. Especially the teeth.” 

Rumi glanced back at her, lips parting slightly in disbelief. “You’re both nuts.”

Mira smirked. “Maybe. But you love it.”

And with that, she lunged.

The first exchange was all instinct.

Rumi sidestepped fast, faster than she meant to, and Mira swept a leg low to counter, forcing Rumi into a backward flip that cracked through the air.

She landed, breath ragged.

Her body was already shifting, subtle but present. The air pressure around her changed. Her muscles tensed, eyes glinting yellow beneath their usual brown. She didn’t even realize it until Zoey whispered, reverent:

“There she is.”

Rumi growled under her breath. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Zoey teased. “Sound turned on when you get all demony?”

Rumi charged Mira without warning.

The fight was a blur, satisfying, hot, sharp. Mira matched her, strike for strike, letting Rumi go just a little too far before blocking. Rumi’s claws sparked once, slicing the air close to Mira’s cheek—but Mira didn’t flinch. She smiled.

“Don’t hold back.”

Rumi’s foot connected with Mira’s shoulder and sent her sliding back on the mat. Zoey let out a low whistle.

“Okay, yeah, this is definitely working for me.”

Mira pushed to her feet and charged back, hooking Rumi into a grapple that pinned them chest to chest, breathing hard.

Rumi twisted, trying to pull free, but Mira didn’t let go. Instead, she leaned in close, voice low and rough in her ear.

“You think this scares me? You think I didn’t know who you were when I touched you the first time? You think I don’t want this part of you, too?”

Rumi stilled, shuddering under the weight of it. Her demon instincts raged beneath her skin, but not in panic. Not in shame. In hunger. In want .

Mira slowly let go, hands sliding down Rumi’s arms. “You’re not broken. You’re a blade that never got to cut.”

Zoey crossed the mat toward them, calm and composed. She reached up and tucked a strand of damp hair behind Rumi’s ear, letting her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

“And we’re not afraid of the edge,” Zoey murmured. “We want you sharp .”

Rumi stared at them both, wide-eyed, torn between disbelief and something far more dangerous, hope.

For the first time in days, she didn’t feel like she was spiraling.

She felt like she was waking up.

Rumi was still catching her breath, bent over with her hands on her knees, sweat dripping from her jawline. The demon heat simmered just beneath her skin, calmed, but not gone.

Mira tossed her a towel and grinned. “That was hot.”

“You’re insane,” Rumi muttered, muffled in the towel.

“Maybe,” Mira said, shrugging. “But you kept up.”

From behind them, Zoey clapped her hands once. “Okay. My turn.”

Rumi straightened up. “Wait—what?”

Zoey was already kicking off her shoes, hoodie sliding from her shoulders. Underneath, her sports bra showed the stretch of lean, wiry muscle, compact power in motion.

Mira arched her brow. “You sure? You usually like to watch.”

Zoey winked. “Oh, I’ll watch later. Right now I wanna dance.”

Rumi squinted. “You’re not serious.”

Zoey pulled her hair back and flexed her fingers. 

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Zoey said with a grin. “I fight differently than Mira. She bulldozes. I needle.”

Rumi stood, cautious. “You’re gonna get knocked down.”

Zoey spun, effortlessly light on her feet, and tapped Rumi on the shoulder.

“I think you’re afraid to hit me because I’m cute.”

Rumi’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not.”

“Then prove it.”

Zoey was already moving, fast. Not just fast, fluid . She danced around Rumi’s first strike, twisting like wind through trees, one hand brushing Rumi’s ribs before she darted back, just out of reach.

“Oh come on,” Zoey said, circling. “You can do better than that, Ru.”

Rumi lunged. Zoey wasn’t there.

She twisted again, sliding under Rumi’s outstretched arm, then gently slapped the back of Rumi’s thigh.

“Missed again!”

“Oh, I’m gonna kill you.”

Rumi went in harder. She swung low, then high, but Zoey anticipated, redirected , caught Rumi’s wrist mid-strike and spun her into a throw, but instead of slamming her down, she twisted Rumi just enough to knock her off balance and land them both in a tangled heap on the mat.

Zoey ended up straddling Rumi’s hips, her breath warm, wind-charged fingers splayed against Rumi’s chest.

“Pinned,” Zoey grinned, hair falling forward.

Rumi glared up at her. “You cheated.”

“I adapted.” She shrugged innocently, but the sparkle in her eyes said otherwise. “You telegraph your punches when you hesitate.”

“I wasn’t hesitating.”

Zoey leaned down, nose brushing Rumi’s.

“Yes, you were,” she whispered. “You still think you have to hold back when you like someone.”

Rumi’s breath hitched.

Behind them, Mira groaned. “Ugh, if you’re gonna flirt, at least win first.”

Zoey rolled her eyes and got off of Rumi, offering her a hand up. “That was winning.”

Rumi took it, and pulled her down hard instead. Zoey yelped as she hit the mat, Rumi landing on top of her with a sharp, growling grin.

“No, this is winning.” Rumi huffed, pinning Zoey's hands above her head..

Zoey just grinned back, not even pretending to be upset. “Okay, yeah. You’re hot when you’re mad.”

Mira sat nearby, watching the two of them breathe hard, flushed, tangled in limbs and tension.

“Proud of you,” she said, voice softer now. “Both of you.”

Zoey turned her head and gave Mira a lazy thumbs-up from under Rumi.

Rumi stayed still for a moment, hovering between them, breathless, heart pounding, the demon heat still simmering in her bones.

But this time, she didn’t feel afraid of it.

She felt wanted in it.

She felt like herself.

Rumi smiled brightly down at Zoey. “Want to go again?”

///

The air reeked of sweat, lust, and mischief.

Rumi stood in the center of the sparring mat, stretching her neck. Her tank top clung to her, soaked through. Hair wild. Breath steady. But her eyes flicked between the two circling her like sharks.

Zoey on the left, light on her feet, a constant breeze dancing around her fingertips.
Mira on the right, arms crossed, relaxed, the slow, deliberate swagger of a predator who knew she didn’t need to hurry.

“You both realize this is cheating,” Rumi said.

“It’s training, ” Zoey said sweetly. “Two-on-one builds resilience.”

“Also,” Mira added, cracking her knuckles, “you keep holding back. So now we’re gonna piss you off until you stop.”

Rumi exhaled. “Seriously?”

Zoey smirked. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Before Rumi could reply, Mira flicked her in the back of the head.

“Ow—what the hell?”

“Sloppy stance,” Mira teased.

Then Zoey slapped her on the butt and dashed away.

“Focus, baby demon. You’re surrounded.”

Rumi growled, spinning on her heel. “You two are infuriating. ”

“That’s the point,” Mira said, lunging.

The fight was chaotic. Zoey darted in and out, tapping nerves and weak points to distract. Mira pressed hard from the front, blunt force, feints, and sweeping kicks. Rumi blocked, parried, dodged, but she was getting frustrated.

Her patterns flared bright amethyst, electricity sparking beneath her skin with every movement. Her claws fully extracted, movements in high alert with her senses. It felt good . She felt in control for the first time in weeks. 

She let it out.

Rumi kicked Mira away after a strike, twisting to dodge another jab from Zoey. She landed hard, claws sparking against the mat, and drove forward—slashing low at Zoey, who flipped but still got caught. A cut opened on her thigh. Blood darkened the fabric.

Mira came next. Rumi spun to dodge, but Mira baited her into a feint, and the opening gave her time to slam a punch into Rumi’s side. Rumi retaliated without thinking, claws arcing up across Mira’s ribs, slicing her shirt, and skin underneath.

Both girls stumbled back. Zoey touched her leg. Mira hissed and pressed a palm to her side.

Rumi stared at the blood on her claws.

Time stopped. 

“I didn’t mean— fuck , I didn’t mean to—” Rumi said, frozen in horror.

She looked between them, shoulders heaving, hand clutched against her chest like she could shove the demon part of her back down.

Mira looked over at Zoey, who was inspecting the slice across her thigh. Both minor. Both shallow.

“Did we just get demon-clawed?” Zoey blinked, fascinated.

Mira smirked. “ I got hit first.”

“No, I did—yours is barely a scratch.”

“Please,” Mira smirked, pulling up her top to show off the three long scratches going down her abs. “She gave me a clean diagonal, if it scars, it’ll look like I survived a tiger attack.”

Rumi blinked. “Are you two seriously comparing battle wounds...?”

They both shrugged. Mira tugged her shirt higher to examine the wound, still grinning. “I told you. We’re not afraid of you.” 

Zoey turned to Rumi, eyes gleaming. “Be honest. Who did you want to hurt more?”

“I— what?! I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone! ”

Zoey stuck her chin out proudly. “It was me. You were jealous of my footwork.”

“You tripped on your own feet,” Mira said flatly.

Rumi stared at them, mouth open, mortified. “I clawed you and you’re making jokes?! ”

Zoey leaned in, brushing a bit of sweat-damp hair from Rumi’s face. “We want all of you. The soft part that panics, the sharp part that fights, the part that laughs without thinking. That’s the whole point.”

Rumi looked down at her hands, still trembling. “It felt… good. When I stopped holding back. Not to hurt you, but to move. To be fast. To be me.”

Mira tilted her head. “Then let’s keep training. Let it be yours, not Celine’s.”

Zoey narrowed her eyes with a smirk. “Oh but next time, aim higher. My chest could use a souvenir.”

Rumi looked like she might cry. “You’re both idiots.”

They fought for another hour, until they were bruised, breathless, and collapsed on the mat. Rumi stared up at the ceiling, a smile plastered on her face that had been there for a while. For the first time since The Idol Awards she felt ready to take on anything, half demon and all. 

Chapter Text

It was like Rumi had woken up one morning and the weight of her emotional baggage had been strung up by balloons—still tethered to her, still hers, but buoyant enough now that she could finally breathe. The pressure wasn’t gone, not completely. But it had shifted. It no longer crushed her ribs or curled her spine. Now it just… hovered, floating just enough to let her exhale without flinching.

The weight had always been there—grounding, in a way. A dark anchor she'd grown used to, sometimes even clung to. Shame, guilt, fear—those had been her constants. Predictable. Stabilizing in their own cruel way. When panic rose, they gave her something familiar to latch onto. But today, lying here in the soft hush of morning, she realized there was space. A strange, terrifying, liberating kind of space.

And in that space, for once, there was room for something else.

The training she was putting in to embrace her demon side was working, she could mostly control it now, the electricity still there under markings but now dulled with a soft buzz. Her relationship with Zoey and Mira was soaring, every day she felt more relaxed, more at peace. She was happy . And that happiness made something shift inside. 

She blinked slowly, lashes brushing her cheeks as she turned her head just slightly on the pillow. Mira was curled up on one side, a tangle of strong limbs and messy hair, mouth parted, one hand possessively resting across Rumi’s waist. Zoey was on the other side, sprawled out like a satisfied cat, an arm thrown across her face to shield herself from the soft morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. 

They were so close. Warm. Breathing softly. Mira’s steady rhythm against her side, Zoey’s occasional snuffle. And Rumi—Rumi wasn’t afraid.

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, but it wasn’t fear this time. It was something else. Something lighter.

I think I’m ready. 

Not a declaration. Not a dramatic vow. Just a truth, uncovered like sunlight beneath fog.

A few minutes passed like that. Quiet. Safe. Then Zoey shifted beside her with a groan and pulled the blanket up over her face.

“M’too pretty to be awake before nine,” she mumbled.

Mira stirred next, blinking open one eye. “You’re pretty delusional, that’s what you are,” she rasped, her morning voice deep and gravelly, but soft with affection.

Rumi bit back a smile. “You two really start flirting in your sleep cycles, huh?”

Zoey peeked from under the blanket with one eye. “You’re just mad I didn’t dream about you this time.”

“Oh?” Rumi arched a brow, her voice still husky from sleep. “So what did you dream about, then?”

Zoey stretched with a dramatic yawn, her tank top riding up her toned stomach.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would ,” Rumi said, glancing down the line of Zoey’s bare legs tangled in the sheets. “Maybe you’ll show me later.”

Mira smirked at the response, Zoey’s mouth feeling a little too dry.

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with our flustered innocent Rumi?” Zoey lifted an eyebrow reaching out a finger to poke at the older girl's shoulder. 

“What? I’m allowed to flirt. I’m still the most innocent person in this bed,” Rumi shot back, smirking.

“Oh?” Mira lifted her head, her eyes gleaming. “Are you sure about that?”

Rumi’s breath caught. Heat curled low in her belly, slow and lazy like the morning sun. But instead of teasing back, she softened. Mira was smiling now, a real one—open, unguarded. And Zoey’s hand had found hers beneath the covers, their fingers lacing together like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe… maybe it could be.

She let her head fall back against the pillow, her body melting between theirs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this at peace,” she murmured.

Zoey rolled onto her side, eyes now fully open. “Get used to it.”

Mira kissed her shoulder, murmuring, “Yeah, you’re stuck with us.”

Something in Rumi’s chest tightened and then loosened all at once. Like those balloons holding her baggage had finally caught a bit of wind, drifting higher out of reach.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m not running anymore.”

//

The kitchen was sun-drenched and half a mess by the time Rumi stumbled in, barefoot and wearing Mira’s oversized T-shirt, a picture of a cat smoking giving the middle finger—which hung off one shoulder and barely covered the tops of her thighs. Zoey was already rummaging through the fridge like it owed her money, and Mira was at the counter attempting to measure flour with the seriousness of a demolition expert.

Rumi leaned against the doorframe for a second, just watching.

She was still adjusting to mornings like this. Loud, chaotic, full of warmth. Mornings used to be stiff, transactional—coffee, small talk, disappearing quietly. No lingering. Worried getting too close would expose her marks.

But here, in the kitchen with Mira squinting at the back of a pancake mix box and Zoey humming off-key into a spatula, something in her chest ached in a new way. A good way.

She padded over, arms folding loosely around Mira from behind, her fingers ghosting patterns over her stomach. 

“You know you can just eyeball that, right?” she said, resting her chin on Mira’s shoulder. She was a perfectionist when it came to cooking, always following the recipe to the detail. It was adorable. 

Mira snorted, tilting her head to the side to glare at Rumi for even suggesting to just ‘eyeball’. “Yeah, and then we end up with pancake soup.” She naturally leaned back into her touch, Rumi smelt like warm popcorn. 

“Which you’ll still eat,” Zoey called over her shoulder, pulling a tub of strawberries from the fridge. “You’re worse than a gremlin when you’re hungry.”

“Gremlins don’t look this good,” Mira shot back, flexing one arm as she poured the mix into a bowl. Some of it missed. Rumi chuckled and reached over to wipe the counter with a paper towel.

She loved this. The banter. The movement. The casual touches. Mira’s warmth behind her, Zoey’s presence flickering in and out like sunlight on water.

She loved them .

“Okay, chef,” Zoey said, pointing a spatula at Mira. “Do not mess up these pancakes. I will know. My tongue is trained.”

“Oh, I know,” Rumi said before she could stop herself, lips tugging into a smirk.

Zoey’s eyes flicked to hers, amused. “Oh, you don’t even know half of it yet, baby. Just wait until I’m sandwiched in between your thig–.” 

“I was talking about pancakes.” Rumi said innocently, her chest and cheeks burning red, patterns along her arm shooting soft pinks down her arms betraying her confidence. She grabbed the strawberries from Zoey’s hands and rinsed them in the sink, grateful she could turn her back to them to hide her burning face.

“Sure you were,” Zoey purred, sidling up beside her. “But if you want a taste test, you just have to ask.”

Rumi flicked water at her. “Get back to slicing. Before I report you for excessive flirting.”

Zoey gasped. “Rude. Mira, your girlfriend is bullying me.”

“She’s my girlfriend too,” Mira said, flipping a pancake. “So behave, both of you.”

Rumi choked on a laugh. “Or what?”

“You don’t want me repeating myself, Rumi,” Her voice low, sliding a perfect golden pancake onto a plate. “Trust me.”

There was something in the way she said it. Low. Certain. Like a boundary drawn and then erased with heat. It curled through Rumi’s spine in slow-burning ribbons.

And just like that, the teasing stopped feeling like it was just that–teasing. Now more sounding like future promises.

Rumi met Mira’s eyes for a beat too long. Then Zoey brushed past her again, hips bumping hers deliberately, and the spell broke back into reality.

By the time they sat down at the breakfast bar, the table was a beautiful disaster: slightly misshapen pancakes, half-sliced fruit, a blob of whipped cream that Mira insisted was artistic , and one fork mysteriously missing (which Zoey blamed on ghosts).

Rumi sat between them, plate balanced on her knee, and tried not to think too hard about the way their shoulders brushed hers. Or how easily their fingers found hers again when they laughed. Or how every part of her that used to flinch at closeness now leaned in, hungry for it.

She was full of something she didn’t know how to name. Not just desire—though that simmered low and constant—but something warmer. Softer. Something like being chosen.

“I could get used to this,” she murmured.

Zoey looked up, mouth full of pancake. “Us feeding you? Or us flirting with you nonstop?”

Rumi flushed, but smiled. “Yes.”

Mira chuckled. “Careful what you wish for.”

Rumi felt a strange mix of courage and mischief unfurl in her chest like smoke catching light. She wasn’t sure why it had bloomed so suddenly this morning—why boldness had taken root in her hands and mouth and gaze—but the urge to push the boundary was too tempting to ignore. Without overthinking, she reached for a strawberry, dipped it in whipped cream, and offered it to Mira.

Mira’s eyes flicked to hers, brow lifting in quiet amusement.

Slowly, deliberately, she leaned in. Her lips brushed Rumi’s fingers as she took the berry between her teeth and bit down, a soft crunch breaking the silence. Her tongue followed, a casual, sensual flick across her lips to gather the smudge of cream left behind.

She never looked away.

Something popped and fizzed low in Rumi’s stomach—like the spark of a match against a soaked fuse. Her breath caught.

Across the counter, Zoey raised an eyebrow so high it practically touched her hairline. 

“Okay, are you two about to start fucking on the kitchen counter? 'Cause I feel like I should either leave or grab popcorn.”

Rumi blinked, suddenly aware of her hand still half-raised in the air. The heat that had filled her a second ago now curled into something quieter, more fragile. 

“Sorry, I… couldn’t help myself,” she said softly. The teasing edge had vanished from her voice. Her eyes dropped as she smiled, embarrassed, the vulnerability sharp in contrast to the moment before.

Zoey’s expression softened. She moved closer, her fingers brushing lightly over Rumi’s thigh—warm, grounding.

“You’re allowed to want more, you know,” she said gently, voice still edged with mischief, but the kind that invited rather than pushed.

Rumi swallowed hard, her heart a confused thrum in her chest. She wanted to say something clever, something that made them laugh or look at her the way they just had—but all she could manage was a quiet breath.

And just like that, the flirting folded into something deeper. Not heavy—but real.

Rumi glanced between them, heart a little too full, a little too fast. The balloons above her chest bobbed again, tugging lightly at all the grief she hadn’t needed to carry alone.

“I think I do,” she said softly. “Want more.”

The room went still. Not tense—just… quieter, more alert. Like the sunlight had shifted through the windows and settled differently on their skin.

Mira set her fork down slowly, eyes never leaving Rumi’s face. “More of what?”

It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t even a challenge. Just a question. One Rumi had never been given the space to answer before.

Rumi looked down at her plate, then at the smudge of cream on her thumb. She wasn’t sure how to put it into words without sounding greedy or broken or scared. But for once, she let the fear sit beside her instead of over her. Let it exist without owning her voice.

“More mornings like this,” she said eventually. “More chances to feel safe. More of… you. Both of you.”

Zoey let out a soft breath, something loosening behind her eyes. “You already have us, Rumi.”

“I know.” Rumi paused. “But I’m ready to stop hesitating. I want to stop waiting for everything to collapse the moment I let myself enjoy it.”

There it was. The ache under all the softness.

“I don’t want to keep pulling away every time I get close,” she added. “I want to be close. I want you to touch me. I want to touch you. Both of you. And not stop this time.”

Mira reached out first, her hand curling gently around Rumi’s wrist. Not gripping. Just anchoring. “You’re not broken for needing time,” she said. “Or for being scared.”

Zoey leaned in on the other side, her tone softer than usual. “But you’re also allowed to be happy. To want. To have. You don’t have to earn that.”

Rumi blinked rapidly, surprised by the sting behind her eyes. She hadn’t meant to get emotional. But here it was anyway—bubbling just beneath the surface. And instead of pulling away, she let herself stay there.

“I want to be part of this,” she said. “Whatever this is. I just don’t know the rules yet.”

“There aren’t any,” Zoey said immediately, reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Rumi’s ear. “Not really. Just whatever we figure out together.”

Mira’s fingers traced small circles on the inside of Rumi’s wrist. “We can go slow. Or fast. Or both. Whatever pace feels right. You’re not behind, Rumi. You’re here.”

And that—gods, that hit . Because they weren’t asking her to catch up. They weren’t measuring her progress against some invisible standard. They were just… waiting. Offering.

Her voice came out softer than she meant, almost like a secret: “What if I ruin it…?”

“You won’t,” Mira said.

“And even if you do,” Zoey added with a smirk, “we’ll just ruin it with you.”

Rumi laughed—a real laugh this time, short and breathless and a little wet with emotion. Mira smiled at the sound, her thumb brushing across Rumi’s knuckles like she was memorizing the shape of her happiness.

Rumi met her gaze, something molten stirring behind her eyes. “I don’t know all the rules yet,” she murmured, voice low and a little rough, “but I’m a fast learner… if you’re both willing to teach me.”

Mira’s breath hitched. Zoey made a pleased little noise.

Zoey leaned in closer, lips quirking. “Lesson one: kiss the girl who made you pancakes.”

Rumi turned toward Mira, raising a teasing brow. “That’s you, right?”

“I burnt the first one,” Mira admitted, “but it still counts.”

“Perfect.” Rumi leaned in, cupping Mira’s jaw as their lips met—slow, intentional, but deeper than before. A kiss that lingered. That tasted like gratitude and growing hunger, like a promise whispered on a breath.

When they parted, Mira was visibly dazed. Rumi turned to Zoey, the corner of her mouth curling up. “And you?”

Zoey was already closing the gap, her grin lazy and dangerous. “Lesson two: always make sure both your girls feel properly worshipped.”

Their mouths met in a kiss that sparked instantly—playful at first, then deeper, wetter, Zoey nipping at her bottom lip before pulling Rumi closer by the waist. It left Rumi breathless, clinging to Zoey’s shirt, a little stunned by the intensity coiled beneath all that charm.

She sank back between them, still holding Mira’s hand, still reeling from Zoey’s mouth on hers. Her pulse was racing, but for the first time in maybe forever, it wasn’t from fear.

It was want. It was joy. It was belonging .

And she was done pretending she didn’t crave it.

Something shifted after that morning.

It wasn’t immediate. There wasn’t a grand declaration or earth-shattering kiss to mark it. But something settled in Rumi’s chest like a coiled thread being tugged loose — taut, hot, electric.

She noticed it first in the stillness. In the lull between rehearsals and late-night meetings, when Mira was scrolling through fight choreography videos and Zoey was pacing during strategy calls with production. Rumi would find herself watching them — just watching — and feeling something tight and burning in the pit of her stomach.

Want. Not the abstract kind she used to feel from a distance, disguised as envy or curiosity. This was sharper. Needier. Physical.

She wanted them. God , she wanted them.

Not just in a dreamy, romantic way. Not just the safety of soft kisses or sleeping between them like a fragile thing. No — Rumi had spent her whole life surviving softness. But now she was aching for something else entirely.

She wanted to be taken apart by them.

Her thoughts drifted more and more often. During training, Mira's tank top clung to her skin, damp and tight, and her arms flexed with every punch. During briefings, Zoey would stretch with a yawn and let her crop top ride up, exposing just enough toned waist to make Rumi’s breath catch.

Even the casual domesticity of their life together became laced with tension. Zoey brushed past her in the kitchen, bare thighs against Rumi’s as they leaned against the counter. Mira, half-asleep on the couch, pulling Rumi into her lap without thinking — one big hand pressed low on Rumi’s hip.

And Rumi? She was suffering .

She kept catching herself daydreaming, zoning out during meetings with images flashing behind her eyes: Zoey’s mouth between her thighs. Mira’s weight pressing her into the mattress. Fingers. Hands. Tongues. She imagined being pinned, teased, ruined — and then soothed, held, kissed like she mattered.

She imagined begging for it.

And she imagined them giving in.

But no matter how hot it got in her head, reality kept snapping her back.

They were so fucking busy . Huntrix was at a prime opportunity right now, with the popularity of ‘This is What it Sounds Like’ the studio were pushing for a new album release and new single drops every month or so. Rumi felt like she was being dragged in every direction, from photoshoots to studio meetings to rehearsals. Which meant any time they got to spend together was very limited.

Rumi was also waiting for the right moment, I mean what exactly is the right moment to ask your two extremely gorgeous girlfriends that you want to have the most mind-blowing, earth shattering sex with them and that you’ve been fantasying about this for weeks now. Because the moment should definitely include candles and a sex playlist that was carefully curated to be erotic and calming, right? But they just didn't have time for any of that. Any time the trio touched, flirted, and teased was one crank further to Rumi’s internal tightly wrapped string completely breaking. Their lives were loud again. Buzzing with schedules and security risks and public appearances.

And Rumi — Rumi was starting to feel like she might combust from how badly she wanted them.

Sometimes at night, she’d lie in bed between them and her body would thump like a live wire, her core soaked with the tension of everything not happening. Mira’s arm around her waist. Zoey’s breath warm against the back of her neck. And Rumi lying there, wide-eyed and feral, wondering what would happen if she just asked .

Touch me.

But she didn’t. Not yet.

Because she was still maybe a little bit scared– nervous. And it wasn’t the right moment, yet . 

So she smiled. She waited.

And the coil in her gut twisted tighter.

But then, a few days later, it started with a towel.

Rumi was already wound tight from the moment Mira stepped out of the shower, skin still flushed and damp, wrapped in nothing but a short white towel slung dangerously low on her chest. Her wet hair was pushed back, droplets trailing down her collarbone like liquid heat. The soft steam lingering in the air clung to every curve, every subtle rise and fall of muscle under glowing skin.

Mira didn’t seem to notice Rumi watching her from the edge of the bed— or maybe she did, and it simply didn’t register. That was the problem now. They were so casual with her. So effortless in their own skin. So impossibly at ease.

But Rumi wasn’t casual. Not about this. Not with them.

She was barely holding herself together.

Mira moved across the room like she wasn’t a walking weapon of destruction, the towel slipping with every step, tugging lower, exposing more of that bare skin beneath. Rumi’s eyes flicked—first to the curve of Mira’s ass, round and smooth, then down the long stretch of thigh, where water still glistened and caught the light, skin warm and inviting in the soft glow of the room.

And something inside Rumi snapped.

She was off the bed before she could stop herself, bare feet silent against the floor, heart thudding painfully against her ribs like a trapped thing desperate for release. Her fingers brushed lightly against Mira’s back, testing the heat, the smooth tension beneath her fingertips.

When Mira straightened, Rumi didn’t hesitate. Her hands slid around Mira’s waist, drawing her close with a grip she hadn’t realized she’d been craving.

Mira froze—not startled, just alert, like a coiled spring ready for whatever came next.

“Hey,” Mira murmured, tilting her head just enough to catch Rumi’s gaze. “You okay?”

Rumi’s mouth was dry, words caught in the tightness of her throat. Her hands spread wide, exploring the heat of Mira’s skin, the hardness of muscle beneath, the drop of water tracing a slow path between ribs.

“I’m fine,” she breathed out, voice low and rough, more honest than she meant.

Slowly, Mira turned in her arms, until they were chest to chest, breath mingling. Her hands settled possessively on Rumi’s hips, the towel slipping a little lower, revealing more bare skin.

“Yeah?” Mira asked softly. “You sure?”

Rumi’s breath hitched. She could feel every pulse of heat beneath her hands, smell the sharp sweetness of Mira’s soap, warm and intoxicating. Her voice came out a fragile whisper, raw with need.

“I want—”

A sudden knock slammed against the door.

Both flinched.

Zoey’s bright voice came through, cutting through the tension like lightning.

“Hey! Emergency team meeting in five. Some of the dancers got food poisoning from a food truck, so Mira, we gotta redo choreography. Rumi, Bobby’s looking for you—something about reworking your press angle.”

Rumi closed her eyes and let her forehead fall against Mira’s shoulder with a quiet, defeated groan.

“Of course.”

Zoey, finally sensing the thick tension, smiled devilishly from the other side of the door.

“Everything okay in there?”

Rumi flushed bright, nodding a bit too quickly.

“Yep. Peachy.”

Mira chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Rumi’s head.

“Rain check?”

Rumi pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“You promise?”

Mira grinned—slow, wicked, full of promise.

“I promise. And when we’re not being dragged, called, or scheduled into oblivion? You can finish that sentence.”

Rumi’s cheeks burned hotter, her whole body humming with heat.

She wanted to finish that sentence right now.

But Mira was already backing away, towel still clinging low, reaching for her outfit.

Rumi stood there, fists clenched, jaw tight, breath short and shaky.

Another almost.

The coil inside her wound tighter.

And this time, she knew—it wasn’t going to hold much longer.

//

It was late. The penthouse was quiet.

Rumi had just stepped out of the shower, damp hair clinging to her shoulders, wrapped in one of Zoey’s oversized shirts and her own loose sleep shorts. The hallway was dim, the city lights bleeding softly through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She hadn’t expected anyone else to be awake.

Which was exactly why she nearly screamed when she turned the corner and saw Zoey perched casually on the arm of the couch, watching her with a slow, knowing smile.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Zoey asked softly, tilting her head like it was the most natural thing in the world to be catching Rumi off guard at this hour.

Rumi blinked, tongue-tied. “No, I was—just—”

Zoey stood, steps slow and deliberate, barefoot and loose-limbed as always. She crossed the room like she already owned every inch of it, eyes locked on Rumi’s like she already knew all her secrets.

“Funny,” Zoey said, stopping a breath away, voice low and teasing. “Mira told me all about you almost loosing it earlier. Just from seeing her in a towel. Which I mean, I don't blame you. ”

Rumi’s mouth went dry.

Zoey’s hand lifted with slow intent, tucking a wet strand of hair behind Rumi’s ear. Her fingers trailed lightly down, teasing over her neck, gliding along her collarbone until they brushed the hem of the shirt.

“I'm kind of jealous.” Zoey murmured, breath warm and low.

Rumi’s breath hitched as Zoey’s palm splayed flat against her stomach.

“I’ve been thinking,” she continued, voice dripping with lazy heat, “about how you’ve been walking around this place like a loaded spring.”

“I don’t—” Rumi tried to protest, but her voice cracked under the weight of desire.

“You do,” Zoey said with a sinful smile. “And I like it. It’s cute. But…” She leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of Rumi’s ear. “I wonder what would happen if I just… pushed a little.”

Her hand slid lower—not inside the shorts, no. Zoey was crueler than that. Instead, she pressed her palm firmly over the fabric, fingers curving possessively over the front of Rumi’s thighs, rubbing slow, teasing circles that set fire to every nerve ending.

Rumi let out a soft whimper.

Zoey’s voice dropped to a whisper. “There it is.”

Rumi trembled, fists clenching at her sides, struggling not to pull Zoey closer, to beg. But Zoey made that very difficult as she feathered kisses along her jawline and down her collarbone.

“Feels good?” Zoey asked, eyes sparkling with wicked delight.

Rumi nodded, voice caught in a gasp.

“You want more?”

“Please—” she whispered, breath ragged.

Zoey smirked.

Then she stepped back.

The loss of contact hit like a physical blow.

Rumi almost stumbled forward.

“I’m helping you with restraint,” Zoey said brightly, as if dismantling Rumi’s entire system was just a casual pastime. “We both know Mira’d be mad if I stole the first real moment without her.”

Rumi gaped at her, flushed and panting.

“Zoey. Y—you can’t just do that!”

Zoey winked.

“Kinda can.”

She turned and walked away, hips swaying, completely unbothered as if she hadn’t just shattered Rumi’s composure in seconds.

Rumi sank onto the couch, legs barely steady beneath her, skin burning and core aching.

Fuck the ‘right’ moment. Fuck the romance.

She was getting them both alone. Soon. No matter what.

8.23am

They were slammed today– rehearsals for an upcoming concert, a photoshoot and a fan meet all back to back with barely any breaks. Which meant Rumi was forced to keep it in her pants all morning. Zoey and Mira could absolutely notice the shift in her mood, and took every opportunity to push her further. 

The lights were harsh and bright, but Rumi barely registered them. She stood center stage in black leggings that hugged her legs like a second skin and a loose cropped tank top that barely covered the swell of her ribs. Mira was nearby in tight joggers and a worn band tee, her long hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and Zoey rocked her usual edgy style — a bouncy mini skirt and a loose crop top which hung off one shoulder, hair wild and effortless.

Every time either of them moved close, the heat in Rumi’s chest flared sharper. She tried to focus on the setlist and choreography notes, but their teasing touches—Mira’s fingers tracing the side of her waist, Zoey’s hand grazing the back of her neck—sent electric jolts down her spine.

“Hey, superstar,” Mira’s voice cut through, low and teasing. She sidled up and let her hand brush lightly over Rumi’s hip. “Are you even paying attention?”

Rumi swallowed hard, cheeks flushing bright. “I’m—yeah. Just memorizing the sequence.”

Mira’s smirk deepened. “Looks like you’re memorizing something else.” She flicked her thumb under the hem of Rumi’s tank top, grazing a sliver of bare skin.

Rumi’s breath hitched, heart thudding loud in her ears.

Zoey stepped in from the other side, voice smooth as silk. “You look like you’re about to explode, baby.”

Her hand slid down Rumi’s arm, fingers curling possessively. “What’s got you so fired up?”

Rumi’s lips parted, words caught somewhere between want and restraint. “Maybe you two should stop touching me,” she whispered, voice rough.

Zoey laughed softly, the sound low and suggestive. “Maybe you should do something about it.”

Mira leaned in, her breath warm against Rumi’s ear. “We can make a deal. Make it to the end of rehearsal. Then we get to have our fun.”

Rumi’s pulse quickened, every nerve ending alive and buzzing. She could feel their heat, smell the faint tang of sweat and soap, taste the possibility hanging thick between them.

“I don’t know if I can wait that long,” she confessed, voice barely audible.

Zoey’s grin was wicked. “Then maybe we should just ditch?”

Mira laughed, tugging at Rumi’s wrist. “Don’t tempt me.”

Rumi’s body tightened, the coil of need and desire winding higher with every stolen touch and whispered word. The world narrowed until it was just the three of them — their breath, their skin, the electric promise of what would come.

Rehearsals wrapped an hour later, the three of them barely made it to the dressing room. 

11.46am

The door slammed shut behind Rumi, cutting off the chaos of the concert prep outside. Her pulse was still racing, adrenaline humming through her like static, but it wasn’t from the stage. It was from the way Mira looked at her — flushed, wild-eyed, cornered against the vanity with her tee hanging low and her chest heaving in the dim light.

Zoey sat on a stool nearby, legs spread revealing the lace under her skirt just enough to make Rumi’s mouth go dry. Her top was rising, exposing her abdomen just enough, and there was a lazy smirk curling at her lips like she already knew exactly how this was going to go.

“We’ve got ten minutes,” Rumi said, her voice low and ragged as she stepped closer.

Mira tilted her chin up, fire dancing behind her eyes. “Then don’t waste any of it.”

The tension snapped like a taut wire. Rumi pressed Mira back against the vanity, their bodies flush, her hand braced against the cool mirror. She didn’t kiss her yet — just hovered there, lips inches apart, letting the heat build like pressure in a sealed room.

Mira’s breath caught. “Rumi—”

“Say it,” Rumi whispered. “Say you want me.”

Mira didn’t hesitate. “I’ve wanted you for months .”

Zoey stood from the stool, her boots clicking quietly against the floor. She approached with a lazy kind of grace, eyes flicking between them as she reached out and tugged playfully at the hem of Rumi’s shirt.

“You two gonna start without me?” she teased, voice honey-slick and wicked. “Not very polite.”

Rumi turned to her, caught off guard — and Zoey was already there, kissing her hard. Her mouth tasted like cherry lip balm and mischief, and Rumi melted into it, groaning softly as Mira’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her pants from behind.

“Fuck,” Rumi gasped, dizzy. “We’re really doing this.”

“We’re trying ,” Mira muttered against her neck, dragging her teeth along Rumi’s skin.

They both kissed differently. Mira grounding and passionate, every movement of her lips meant to do exactly what she wanted. Whereas Zoey was wild and messy but in a good way, she would change directions quickly, flick her tongue out teasingly like it was an experiment. 

Rumi wasn’t sure when her position switched, her back now flush with Mira’s chest while the pink haired girl possessively ran long fingers along her hips and chest. Teeth nipping at exposed sweat slicked skin, tongue dragging dangerously over areas Rumi was absolutely losing her composure on. Her breathing hitched when Mira brushed a thumb over her stiff nipple. 

She moaned into the kiss with Zoey, their tongues fighting for dominance, the younger woman's hands slipping behind to grab her ass. She pushed their bodies together in a desperate want for more. 

Zoey slid her hands around Rumi’s hips, pulling back panting next to her ear. Her words almost came out in a growl. “Choose who you want to taste you first—”

KNOCK KNOCK 

There was a bang on the door, so hard it rattled in its frame. Rumi flinched. 

“Girls?” Bobby’s voice rang through the wall. “We’ve got to get moving, we still have a packed schedule for the rest of the day.”

Silence. No one moved.

Rumi kept her eyes shut, her forehead pressed against Zoey’s collarbone, her body already shaking from the last comment that she didn’t even get to answer. 

Then, a collective groan.

Zoey backed away first, hands raised in exaggerated surrender. “I’m going to strangle Bobby.”

Mira let go of Rumi’s bra with visible reluctance, her lips swollen and her expression feral. “I had her shirt halfway off.”

Rumi just looked between them, breathless and seething with frustration. “I was ready to lose control.”

Zoey reached over and straightened Rumi’s collar, brushing her fingers down her chest a little slower than necessary. “We will. Later.”

“Back home,” Mira said. “No distractions. No schedule.”

Rumi nodded. “No stopping.”

But as she turned to the mirror to fix her lipstick, Zoey stepped in behind her and murmured into her ear, breath hot and needy.

“I could smell how wet you were.”

Rumi met her gaze in the mirror, her breathing faltering as her patterns flashed pink. “Or you know… the car journey is kind of long.”

Mira chuckled, leaning in to place a kiss on Rumi’s cheek. “We are not fucking in the car.”

//

12.24pm

They made it ten minutes into the journey before trying to fuck in the car. 

The SUV’s tinted windows offered just enough privacy to pretend they were alone, and just enough risk to make it dangerous.

Rumi was straddling Zoey in the backseat, her knees digging into the plush leather on either side of Zoey’s hips. The car rocked slightly as it sped through the city, but none of them cared. Mira was behind her, one hand resting low on Rumi’s back like she was steadying her — or claiming her.

“ Fuck, someone’s eager.” Zoey murmured, tilting her head back against the seat as Rumi rolled her hips slowly.

“You’re the one who told me to get on top,” Rumi said, breath hitching as Mira’s fingers slid under the hem of her shirt and traced along her spine. “Don’t act surprised.”

“I’m not surprised,” Zoey said with a low, amused growl. “It’s sexy.”

Rumi smirked, biting her bottom lip. She leaned down and kissed Zoey — deep, hot, a little desperate. Zoey’s hands slid up her thighs, thumbs brushing dangerously close to the edge of her underwear. Every touch felt like a promise.

Behind her, Mira leaned in and kissed the curve of Rumi’s neck. “You're always so soft after a performance,” she whispered. “Like you're still buzzing.”

“I am.” Rumi barely managed the words. “From you.”

Mira smiled against her skin, her lips brushing just beneath Rumi’s ear. “You feel it too, then. Good .”

Zoey’s hands tightened on Rumi’s waist. “I swear to god, if one of you makes me come in a moving car, I’m buying you matching rings and proposing tonight.”

Mira let out a dark laugh. “Do it. Dare you.”

Rumi was already panting. Zoey’s lips were on her throat, Mira’s hands under her shirt now, lifting it higher. Rumi closed her eyes and let herself sink into it — heat rising, pressure building, desire thick and molten in her blood.

She wasn’t scared anymore. Not of her body. Not of what she felt. Not with them.

Her hips rocked harder. Mira’s breath hitched. Zoey cursed.

“Fuck—” Zoey’s voice broke, the pressure of Rumi practically dry humping her though their thin layers making her feral. “Rumi, if you keep doing that I’m going to—”

The car jolted to a stop.

They all froze.

“We’re here!” The driver called from the front.

Silence, once again.

Rumi’s head dropped to Zoey’s shoulder. Mira cursed under her breath in Korean.

Zoey let out a strangled noise somewhere between a groan and a scream. “The fucking one time there’s no traffic.”

Rumi sat back slowly, her cheeks flushed, hands trembling slightly as she adjusted her shirt. “I was so close.”

“I was going to bite you,” Mira muttered, tugging her jacket shut with shaking hands.

Zoey ran both hands through her hair. “I need two minutes and a prayer.”

Rumi opened the car door and slid out on shaky legs, the cool night air doing absolutely nothing to help.

Mira followed behind her, and Zoey last, all three looking thoroughly ruined.

Bobby waved from the venue back entrance. “You’re right on time!”

Mira caught Rumi’s hand and leaned in close, voice low.

“We’ll find a moment alone, don’t worry.”

Rumi looked between them, her whole body aching. “It better be soon.”

//

3.15pm

The photoshoot studio was sweltering. Lights blazed from every angle, and a floor-to-ceiling silk backdrop rippled slightly from the motion of the cooling fans. Rumi stood at center stage, dressed in a high-slit, body-hugging black gown that shimmered with the subtlest red undertones whenever she moved. Her hair was tousled to perfection, lips stained a deep plum.

Mira was supposed to be posing beside her — and technically she was — but she couldn’t seem to keep her hands off Rumi’s waist.

“You look like sin in heels,” Mira whispered, loud enough only for Rumi to hear as she adjusted Rumi’s pose, deliberately dragging her fingers down the length of her arm.

“I thought you liked sin,” Rumi murmured back, not moving her lips.

“I do. ”

Zoey lounged nearby in a dangerously short suit jacket and nothing underneath. Her collarbones gleamed with body oil and confidence, and she was watching the two of them like a wolf denied a hunt.

“Can we get a little less touching?” the photographer called with nervous energy. “Just a bit more space between you two.”

Neither of them moved.

Zoey stood up and walked across the set slowly, heels clicking on the floor. She stepped between them, placed a hand on Rumi’s hip, and tilted her chin toward the light with two fingers under her jaw. “She looks better like this anyway.”

“It’s taking everything I have not to rip that dress off of you,” Mira said flatly, stepping closer.

Rumi swallowed hard, locked between them. “Can we not do this while I’m wearing silk and nothing underneath?”

Zoey raised a brow. “Wait… nothing ?”

“Girls,” the photographer said again, a little louder. “Focus, please.”

But Zoey’s hand was already brushing down Rumi’s thigh, hidden behind the fabric of the dress. Her fingers curled along the bare skin of Rumi’s upper leg, dangerously close to slipping under.

Mira’s voice dropped. “She’s shaking.”

“She likes being the center of attention,” Zoey said, leaning close enough to kiss Rumi’s cheek. 

Rumi’s breath stuttered. “Stop teasing.”

Mira pressed her body against Rumi’s side, lips brushing her ear. “Say you want us. Right now. On this backdrop. Under these lights.”

Rumi clenched her fists. “Of course I want you.”

“Good,” Zoey murmured. “Because we want you ruined.”

The camera clicked.

Then again.

Then again.

None of them moved.

“Beautiful,” the photographer said. “Now can we get just Rumi for the next set—?”

“Nope,” Mira said, stepping possessively in front of Rumi not wanting to leave her side right now.

Zoey laughed and threw her arms up in mock surrender. “We’re being very cooperative.”

But they were all flushed. Rumi’s dress was clinging to her skin like a second heartbeat. Zoey looked like she’d bite the next person who touched Rumi that wasn’t her. And Mira’s hand lingered far too long on Rumi’s lower back as they finally broke apart.

The shoot wrapped an hour later.

Rumi nearly collapsed into the dressing room chair the second they were alone. Her knees still weak. Her thighs still trembling.

Zoey closed the door behind them. “We could’ve had her right there.”

Mira leaned back against the mirror and gave a slow, heated smile. “We still can.”

Rumi lifted her eyes to meet theirs, legs parting slightly with permission. “Then do it.”

Zoey took a step forward. Mira reached for the lock.

The door burst open.

“Two hours to the fan signing, we've got to get you into your next outfits and make it to the next venue!” The assistant chirped. 

All three froze. A beat of charged silence.

Then Zoey groaned and dropped onto the couch. “I’m going to murder someone, like burn down the whole city so no one else can interrupt us type of mass murder.”

Rumi just laughed — breathless, exasperated, and completely undone. Rumi was definitely regretting coming off hiatus right now. 

//

8.02pm

The fan signing was already chaotic. They had already been there for hours, exhausting and frustration creeping in. 

Hundreds of people were lined up outside the tent, screaming from behind velvet ropes. Inside, it was slightly calmer — rows of tables, cameras clicking, flashes going off every few seconds. The girls were seated in a neat row, Sharpies in hand, name cards laid out.

But Rumi could barely hold her pen. She was wedged in between the two of them, chairs pushed in a little too close and Mira’s hand under the table resting on her thigh out of view.

“Stop it,” Rumi hissed, cheeks flaming as she forced a smile and signed the next album cover.

Mira leaned in closer, pretending to admire a fan’s hand-drawn art while she ghosted light touches up Rumi’s leg. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re literally touching my thigh.”

Mira’s nails dragged further up her exposed skin as she hummed innocently. “Am I?”

Next to them, Zoey gave a distracted smile to a flustered fan and whispered “Thank you so much” before turning slightly, murmuring without looking.

“If you two start fucking in the middle of this signing, I want in.” Zoey’s hand slipped under the table now, fingers wrapping firmly over Rumi’s other leg pulling it to the side slightly to give Mira more access. 

Rumi bit the inside of her cheek so hard she almost drew blood. “Both of you. Stop it.”

“Make us,” Mira said sweetly, nails digging slightly deeper. “Thank you for coming!” She smiled brightly at a big muscly guy who wore a pink cropped tee with her face on it. 

Zoey slid a photo across the table to a girl with blue glitter eyeshadow and winked. “You’re the prettiest one here.”

The girl promptly fainted.

“Can I breathe ?” Rumi hissed as Mira’s fingers started inching higher up her skirt, fingernails dragging over the band of lace.

Mira’s smile didn’t falter. “Why? You’re not the one doing anything.”

“Oh, I’m doing something as soon as we’re out of this tent,” Rumi muttered.

Zoey chuckled and leaned over, her breath warm against Rumi’s ear. “Think they’d notice if you came quietly?”

“Zoey—!”

“Sign faster,” Zoey said under her breath. “Or we’re doing this under the table.”

Rumi tried — really, really tried — to focus. To ignore the slow glide of Mira’s knuckles over her core. The way Zoey’s hand gripped tighter on her knee every time Rumi jolted or twitched. The heat was simmering just under her skin, and she was very thankful to be in a turtleneck because her patterns were burning hot. 

But then Mira leaned in and whispered, “I can feel how wet you are.”

Rumi's hand slipped.

Ink smeared across the photo she was signing. A fan gasped in delight.

“Oh my god, she made a smudge!” the girl squealed. “I’m getting this framed .”

Rumi blinked down at the ruined signature, dazed.

Zoey looked over and whispered, “You okay?”

“I’m going to combust.”

“Good girl.”

By the time the signing ended, Rumi could barely stand. Her legs were trembling, her thighs slick, her hands shaky.

She tried to storm off toward the car.

Zoey caught her arm. Mira kissed her jaw.

“Couch?” Mira offered.

“Bedroom,” Zoey added. “With soundproof walls.”

Rumi turned to face them, jaw clenched, eyes dark.

“If anything interrupts us again, I’m burning down the building.”

Mira’s grin was pure sin. “That’s my girl.”

//

10.37pm

As much as the sexual tension was there, the journey home was long and they had promised to not fuck in the car this time. It was late in the night, Rumi’s eyes fluttering with the movement of the drive in a sleepy haze. Mira decided to order them some food to hopefully get the energy back up, she had a lot of plans to end the night.

They made it in the door in sleepy silence, Rumi collapsing onto the couch with a groan, her hair damp from the day clinging to her temple. “I can't feel my legs.”

“Yeah today was… long,” Mira replied, dropping their bags she carried up for them onto the floor with a thud. She sat down beside Rumi on the couch lifting her legs to then place them back on her lap, an ice pack balanced on her shoulder.

Zoey kicked her shoes off and padded barefoot into the room, rubbing a tight spot on her neck. “Especially when you’ve been blue balled all day.” She huffed, flopping beside them both resting her head on Mira’s shoulder. 

“We fuel up,” Rumi yawned, face flushed. “Then mind-blowing sex.”

Zoey laughed softly. “How romantic.”

Rumi threw a cushion at her, and Zoey caught it with one hand and flopped beside her. “How long till food?”

“Twenty minutes. I got the spicy tteokbokki for you two, and the soy garlic for me,” Mira said, grabbing her phone.

“Bless you.” Rumi didn’t move from her position. “If I die here, please bury me in hoodies.”

“…Rumi.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve literally stolen three of mine already.”

Rumi mumbled, cheeks flushing. “Yours are comfier.”

Zoey grinned and opened her mouth to say something inappropriate when—

Ding-dong.

All three of them froze for a beat. Not the food — too early. Not management — Bobby would text first.

Mira frowned. “Did you order something else?”

Rumi shook her head. “Did you?”

Zoey was already halfway to the door, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Maybe it’s a package from the fan mail drop.”

She opened it.

A delivery man handed over a sleek black box and a bouquet of red roses, tied with a silk ribbon. She thanked him and closed the door, strolling back to the girls.

Zoey blinked, whistling. “…Okay, fancy.”

Mira sat up straighter. “Who’s it addressed to?”

Zoey read the gold label on the card tucked into the flowers.

“To Rumi. Can’t wait to work together 💋 — Serin.”

There was a full second of silence.

Rumi looked up from the floor, blinking. “Wait— Serin? As in… Kpop star Serin?”

Zoey stared at the package, then peeled back the tissue paper inside the box. Her eyebrows shit up, a frown on her face. “Uh. Lingerie.”

Mira stood a little too quickly as she stormed over. “What kind of lingerie?”

Zoey held up a sheer black lace bralette with metallic thread embroidery and tiny satin straps and a tiny pair of thongs to match.

“Her merch lingerie line,” Zoey muttered, tone shifting. “This stuff sells out in minutes. And this—” she flipped the tag. “This is a custom set. Rumi’s name is literally embroidered into the band.”

Rumi sat up too fast and winced. “Why would she send me that?!”

Mira shoved the flowers onto the counter, grabbed the card, and read it again with a scowl. “This is bullshit.”

“I haven’t even met her! I don’t even follow her!” 

Rumi shuffled over and looked at the roses and underwear with confusion, her face had been flushed red and Zoey and Mira looked slightly pissed off. No fucking way, were they… jealous ?

She re-read the tag again, ‘Can’t wait to work together’, what did that even mean? 

And then– 

A faint conversation that had been pushed to the back of her mind replayed like a bullhorn. 

“Also, I know you probably won't go for this but the PR team suggested a fake dating stunt with another Kpop star called Serin to boost ratings. She has great traction right now and it could help with the whole aesthetic we're going for after the Idol Awards. I can tell them no, I know you’re private with your dating life but I wanted to sugges–”

“A-as in oh my god, what a great idea Bobby!” she blurted.

Rumi squeaked. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

“I mean who does she think she is?” Mira scowled, tossing the roses into the trash with a thud. 

Zoey had gone straight for her laptop, Googling this woman to get all the information she could. “How did she even get our address?” 

Rumi stood still in a panic, this wasn’t random at all. She had literally agreed to exactly this on the phone. Oh Zoey and Mira were so going to flip. 

Rumi bit her lip, fingers awkwardly dancing between each other as she shuffled in front of Zoey and Mira. She looked guilty, Mira noticed immediately. 

Mira annoyingly noticed everything. 

“Rumi… what did you do?” Her tone was tight. 

“So I um, I maybe– kinda…” She sucked in a breath “agreedtofakedateSerin.” 

They both blinked, staring up at Rumi in shock. 

Zoey mock laughed. “You agreed to this!?” 

“Not on purpose! Ugh, fuck. I was on a call with Bobby and you–” Rumi jabbed a finger towards the rapper accusingly “distracted me!”

She released a defeated huff. “I didn’t realise I agreed to anything until it all clicked into place.” 

Rumi dropped to her knees in front of the girls taking a hand each, pulling them to look at her. She gave the widest puppy eyes possible.

“Y-you’re not mad right?”

They were mad, but not at Rumi. More at the thought of another woman thinking about Rumi in the same way they think about her. Which were filthy thoughts. 

Mira softened, her jaw still a little tight. “No, we're not mad.”

Zoey smiled lovingly, giving the half-demon's hand a tight squeeze. “I will admit it’s maybe partially my fault.”

Mira scoffed “100% your fault.” 

Zoey shoved Mira hard with a laugh. “But let's call Bobby in the morning, nip this in the bud before it gets any further.” 

“Agreed.” Mira and Rumi said in unison. 

A quiet moment settled over the three of them. 

Mira stood, arms crossed. “We’re burning it.”

“What?!” Rumi half-laughed, half-choked. “It’s expensive!”

Zoey raised an eyebrow. “You gonna wear it?”

Rumi stuttered, her cheeks flushed. “I—no! But still, you can’t just—”

Mira cut in, voice deceptively calm. ““You think we’re letting someone else imagine what we haven’t even unwrapped yet?”

There was a beat.

Then Rumi, flustered and still pink from the day, blurted, “Unwrap it then.”

Both Mira and Zoey froze, their eyes darkening. 

Oh she was so fucked.

//

10.53pm

The penthouse was quiet except for gasps and movement coming from the bedroom, moonlight slipping in through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. City lights blinked in the distance, but inside — it was all dim lamps and the low hum of breathless urgency.

Rumi’s top was somewhere near the couch.

Her skirt was on the hallway floor.

By the time they made it to the bedroom, Zoey had her pinned gently against the doorframe, kissing down her jaw while Mira knelt at her feet, tugging off her boots one at a time.

“You’re quiet,” Zoey murmured against Rumi’s throat, dragging her tongue slowly up to her ear.

Rumi exhaled, shivering. “Trying to survive.”

Zoey arms wrapped around Rumi’s waist from behind. Her mouth brushed her neck. “We’ve got you.”

“You’re ours ,” Mira added, her hand slipping under the waistband of Rumi’s underwear. “And we’re not stopping this time.”

Rumi whimpered softly, not afraid, not overwhelmed, just undone. She leaned into them like gravity itself had let go.

They kissed her between breaths.

Soft at first, reverent.

Zoey held her close from behind while Mira kissed her slowly, deeply, hands roaming like she already knew every inch but wanted to relearn it anyway.

Rumi moaned against Mira’s mouth. Her knees buckled slightly — not from fear, but because her body was already giving in.

“Come on, baby,” Zoey whispered. “Bed.”

They helped her down — not in a rush, not frenzied. Just hungry . She lay back against the pillows, Mira straddling her hips while Zoey crawled up beside her, cupping her cheek.

“Tell us what you want,” Zoey said, brushing a thumb across Rumi’s bottom lip.

“You,” Rumi whispered. “I just want—”

Mira dipped her head and kissed down Rumi’s chest, taking her time. Zoey’s hand slid under her waistband, fingers teasing but not yet giving. Their touches were perfect. Rumi was arching, gasping, ready. Their movements were comforting, warm, relaxing. 

And then—

She blinked.

Her eyes fluttered.

Mira felt the shift before Zoey did. Rumi’s body stopped tensing. Her hands fell slack against the sheets.

“…Rumi?” Mira whispered, pausing.

Rumi didn’t answer. Her breathing had evened out. Her body had gone warm and pliant, loose in the way only sleep allowed.

Zoey sat up slowly, eyes wide.

“…Did she just…?”

Mira leaned in, brushing her fingers across Rumi’s flushed cheek. “Baby?”

No response.

“She fell asleep,” Zoey said, disbelief giving way to something softer. “She fell asleep. ”

Mira let out a sound that was half exasperation, half affection. “Right when I was— God, she was exhausted.”

Zoey leaned over, brushing Rumi’s loose hair from her face. Her cheeks were still pink. Her lips parted slightly, damp from kisses. She looked wrecked — not from sex, but from trying so hard to make it through the day.

“She trusts us that much,” Zoey whispered.

Mira’s hand was still under Rumi’s shirt, but now it simply rested there, palm warm over her ribs. She sighed and laid down beside her, kissing her shoulder.

“I’ll take that over an orgasm any night.”

Zoey snorted. “Don’t lie.”

“Okay. I’ll take it tonight. ”

They adjusted the blankets, pulled them up around her. Rumi shifted slightly, one hand instinctively reaching for Mira, the other brushing against Zoey’s thigh.

“…She really just knocked out midway, huh?” Zoey murmured.

“Power move,” Mira said fondly. “Terrifying.”

They lay there in the dark, holding her, bodies aching with need but hearts full to bursting.

“We’ll finish what we started,” Mira whispered against Rumi’s hair.

Zoey smiled. “Eventually.”

They held her for a few minutes before slipping out, both still wide awake. 

///

11.48pm

Leftover takeaway sat on the counter half picked at by Mira and Zoey. Mira returned from the bedroom after checking on Rumi, now changed into something more comfortable. She’d swapped her stage clothes for a soft, oversized black tank top that hung loose at the collar, revealing the strap of a sports bra beneath, and charcoal gray lounge pants rolled low on her hips. Her pink hair tied back in a loose bun, a few rebellious strands curling around her temples. She looked effortlessly hot, and very much like someone who could bench-press a truck in her sleep.

“She’s down for the night,” Mira said, sighing as she padded into the living room. “Poor thing’s completely out—like dead-to-the-world, little-snores kind of out.”

Zoey glanced up from the couch, where she was curled under a fleece throw, already in her favorite pastel PJ shorts with tiny shooting stars on them and a cropped baby tee that read “Chaotic Bi Energy” in glittery font. She accepted the glass of red wine Mira handed her, but didn’t drink—her attention glued to her phone screen, lip caught between her teeth in concentration.

Mira raised an eyebrow, sinking down beside her. “Earth to Zoey. Please don’t tell me you’re reading fanfic about us again. I swear to God, if I have to hear about one more ‘leather harnesses and moonlight’ scenario—”

Zoey rolled her eyes and bumped their shoulders together with a grin. “Relax. Not this time. Although that last one with the rooftop scene? We're acting that out at some point.”

Mira groaned.

With a quick flick, Zoey turned her phone toward her. The screen showed a paused video from Rumi’s recent interview—specifically the backstage footage. The moment after the cameras were supposed to have cut.

Mira’s brow furrowed. “Wait, is this…?”

“Yup,” Zoey said, voice rising with excitement. “The Jay Verona interview.”

The video played. It showed Rumi standing stiff-backed, her expression cold and unreadable. Jay leaned in, far too close, clearly whispering something. And then—Rumi’s hand snapped up and struck him across the face.

Mira exhaled sharply. “All I see is Rumi slapping the shit out of that greasy little pig. Which, honestly, ten out of ten. No notes.”

Zoey scrunched her nose. “No, no—look again.”

She scrubbed back, paused it at the exact moment Jay leaned in. “He said something to her. Watch his mic pack—he’s still wearing it. Which means…”

“…There should be audio.” Mira’s eyes darkened, her voice sharpening.

“But there isn’t.” Zoey nodded. “They edited it out.”

Mira’s face twisted into a slow scowl. “Those manipulative, slimy bastards.” Her fingers clenched tighter around her glass, jaw tight. “They cut it to frame him as the victim.”

Zoey took a long sip of wine, her features tight with frustration. “Whatever Jay said to her—whatever made her snap like that—must’ve been so bad, they couldn’t risk letting it air. They sanitized the whole thing to protect him . And now Rumi’s the one catching heat for it.”

Mira didn’t answer right away. A thought was burrowing beneath her skin, crawling deep and sharp. She hated the idea of Rumi holding something that ugly alone. It made her chest ache in a way that felt too big to name.

“Did she tell you what he said?”

Zoey met her eyes, then shook her head. “No. She brushed it off. Said it wasn’t important.”

Mira looked away, chewing on her bottom lip. “But it is . If it’s why she’s being dragged online. If it’s eating at her and she won’t tell us…”

“She still shuts us out sometimes,” Zoey murmured. “She’s getting better but I think a part of her is still afraid to be a hassle to us, in case we don’t like what we see and leave.”

Mira swallowed hard. She hated that part the most. That somewhere deep inside, Rumi still didn’t believe they’d choose her no matter what.

“So what do we do?” she asked, voice low.

Zoey’s grin broke across her face like dawn. Mischief sparkled in her eyes as she leaned closer, refilling Mira’s glass with a flourish.

“Oh ho ho ho,” she said. “I’m so glad you asked, baby.”

Mira narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “What now?”

“Well…” Zoey gave her a wink. “Let’s just say, we’re gonna need to finish this bottle first. And maybe charge our burner phones.”

Mira blinked. “I’m sorry—burner phones?”

Zoey took a sip, all innocence. “I didn’t say that. You imagined it.”

1.54am

The sky above was a deep navy blanket, clouds hanging heavy with the threat of rain, but Mira and Zoey moved like shadows through the alley behind Verona Studios. Well—Zoey moved like a shadow. Mira, on the other hand, looked like a gym rat reluctantly dragged into a college play about espionage .

“Zoey,” Mira hissed, adjusting the ridiculous oversized sunglasses sliding down her nose. “This is not a disguise. This is a war crime.” Her long pink hair was very badly stuffed up into a bucket hat that labeled ‘women want me, fish fear me.’ 

Zoey turned, affronted. She had on a long beige trench coat three sizes too big, a red beanie crammed over her dark hair, and thick-rimmed glasses with the lenses popped out. “Excuse me, these are classic infiltration fits . It's called low profile meets vintage chic. ”

“You made me wear a fake mustache. ”

“Yeah, but like… you pull it off.” Zoey waggled her brows at the ridiculous handlebar moustache glued onto Mira’s face and stuffed away a giggle. “You’ve got ‘sexy art thief’ vibes.”

Mira grumbled but didn’t rip it off—mostly because Zoey looked so damn pleased with herself, even if she was clearly two glasses of wine past reasonable.

They ducked behind a dumpster as security lights flicked on over the back door.

Zoey pulled out her phone, flashing a grainy photo of the back layout she'd snagged online. “Okay, here’s the plan. Studio B holds the interview files. If Jay’s lapel mic was feeding into the main board, it’ll be logged there—probably in the digital archives or backup storage.”

Mira blinked at her. “…How do you even know all this?”

Zoey shrugged. “I dated a sound engineer once. And also, I read a lot of fan fiction. ”

“That’s deeply upsetting.”

“Thank you.”

Zoey pressed a pin into the keycard slot near the door. Nothing happened.

“…Okay, plan B,” she muttered.

“You didn’t have a plan B.”

“I always have a plan B. That’s why I brought this .” Zoey pulled out a bobby pin and a credit card with a flourish, like she was starring in a budget spy film.

Mira crossed her arms. “You realize that only works in movies, right?”

“Have a little faith.”

It didn’t work.

Fifteen minutes later, Mira had forced the door open with a broken broom handle and her shoulder, muttering curses the entire time while Zoey declared it a team effort .

Inside, the building was silent, lit only by emergency strips along the baseboards. The echo of their footsteps seemed much too loud.

They found Studio B down a long hall, half-pitch-black and half-glowing from the faint blue LED screens inside. Zoey immediately bee-lined to the master console, her fingers flying over the touchpad like she’d done it a hundred times. Mira stood guard by the door, mustache wonky, arms crossed but eyes scanning every shadow.

“Okay… Okay, I’ve got the files,” Zoey whispered, breathless with excitement. “Jay’s interview folder is here. Rumi’s is labeled ‘V-87’... Damn, they compressed the hell out of this.”

“Can you find the raw feed?”

“Already on it.”

Mira kept glancing over her shoulder, heart thudding harder than it should. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Or maybe it was the thought of Rumi—curled up in bed, cheeks flushed from sleep, utterly unaware that the two people who loved her most were out here breaking and entering on her behalf.

“You doing okay?” Zoey asked, softly now.

Mira looked at her. Zoey had taken off the trench coat. Her shirt was slightly wrinkled, her eyes a little unfocused from the wine, but sharp with intent. Determined.

“Yeah,” Mira murmured. “I just hate that she keeps thinking she has to handle this shit alone.”

Zoey nodded, eyes flicking back to the screen. “We’re gonna fix that.”

There was a click. The file loaded.

Jay’s voice crackled into the speakers.

“You know I’d still be willing to fuck a brat like you… if you want me to make this all go away..”

Silence.

Then a breath.

Then— SMACK .

The room fell dead silent after the slap echoed through the speakers.

The audio crackled to silence.

Zoey’s lips parted but no words came out. Her hands, moments ago jittering with excitement, went still on the mouse.

Mira blinked slowly. Her spine stiffened. Her nostrils flared like she was breathing smoke.

Zoey whispered, “That fucking piece of shit .”

Mira's face twisted in anger, fingers balling into fists at her side. “He said that. He said that to her. And they covered it up. ”

“She must’ve felt cornered,” Zoey muttered, rubbing her eyes. “Violated. And we just—watched it all on live TV thinking she’d lost her cool.”

“Jesus, no wonder she slapped him.”

“I would’ve decked him.”

“You would’ve castrated him,” Mira snapped, pacing now. “And I’d help you.”

They were so wrapped in the rising heat of their fury that they didn’t notice the red motion sensor flashing in the corner of the ceiling.

Not until—

CLANG . The front door of the studio banged open.

“Hey! Who the hell’s in here? This area’s restricted!”

Both women froze.

“Shit,” Zoey hissed, scooping up the flash drive, yanking cords, stuffing them into her ridiculous novelty purse shaped like a bunny. “Shit shit shit—Mira, MOVE!”

Mira barely had time to grab her Zoey’s jacket and her stupid red beanie disguise before Zoey grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the back exit.

A flashlight beam swept across the hall behind them.

“There’s two of ‘em! Stop right there!”

They ran. 

Laughing and cursing and nearly slipping on the studio’s polished floors, they sprinted through the maze of hallways with hearts pounding.

“Whose idea was this again?” Zoey panted, ducking under a boom mic stand.

“Any ideas that end up with us getting chased is credited to you!”

“You went along with it!”

“We don’t have time for this conversation!”

They burst out the back exit into the alley, only to find a second guard on patrol rounding the corner.

“Hey!”

Zoey didn’t even hesitate—she grabbed Mira’s hand again and vaulted over a trash bin, pulling her behind it as they ducked into the shadows.

The guards shouted to each other, their flashlights bouncing down the alley, but the girls crouched low, holding their breath.

After a tense minute, the footsteps moved away. One of the guards grumbled something about "fucking teenagers" and the clatter faded.

Zoey finally exhaled, still gripping the bag like it was a priceless gem.

They sat in silence for a beat—sweaty, flushed, winded.

Then Mira started to laugh. Just a breathless, unhinged little laugh. It was either that or scream.

Zoey cracked a grin. “That was so stupid .”

“Yeah,” Mira nodded, leaning back against the wall. “But we got it.”

They stared at each other. Victory hanging thick in the air.

“And now,” Zoey said, lips curving into a dangerous smile, “we burn that bastard to the fucking ground.”

4:47am

The elevator dinged softly as it reached the penthouse floor, the doors sliding open to reveal two women stumbling in—coats half-buttoned, cheeks flushed, breathless with laughter.

Zoey leaned heavily on Mira, gripping the flash drive in one hand and Mira’s waist in the other. “I still can’t believe you’re wearing that stupid mustache,” she whispered, breath hot against her ear.

“I kind of forgot about it.” Mira huffed, grinning despite herself. “Plus you said it looks good on me.”

Zoey snorted, her tone suggestive. “So does that mean—“

“I’m not going down on you wearing the mustache, you freak.” Her tone was hard but her playful smile betrayed her. 

“Ugh you’re no fun!”

They tripped into the living room, still tangled up and giggling when—

“Where the fuck have you two been?”

Both of them froze like teenagers caught sneaking back in after curfew.

Rumi stood barefoot in a hoodie and boxers, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were wide, feral with fury and worry. “It’s almost five in the goddamn morning!”

Mira blinked, vision a little wobbly. “You’re awake?”

“I woke up hours ago. You disappeared. No note. No text. No calls. The bed was cold —”

Zoey bit her lip and leaned toward Mira hiding a smile. “She’s so cute when she’s pissed off.”

Rumi pointed a finger at them, scowling. “Don’t do that. Don’t—don’t look at each other like this is funny—”

Mira grinned. “It is kinda funny.”

“It’s not ! I thought something happened to you—!”

Zoey crossed the room and cupped Rumi’s cheeks in both hands, kissing her nose. “We’re okay. Better than okay.”

Rumi’s nose curled up. “You smell like… alley trash and wine,” Rumi grumbled, trying not to melt under the touch.

“We brought you a present,” Mira said, stepping forward and holding up the flash drive like a treasure. “The audio they cut from your interview with Jay.”

Rumi blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You remember when he whispered something to you right before you slapped him?”

Rumi’s eyes dropped. She shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Of course I do.”

Zoey gently tugged her toward the couch. “He had a mic. It was recorded. They edited it out to make you look like the aggressor.”

Mira’s jaw tightened. “We snuck into the studio and stole the unedited file.”

“You what —?”

“We hacked justice , baby,” Zoey said proudly.

Rumi sat down, looking between them like they’d grown extra heads. “You… you seriously broke into a network building for me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Dodged security.”

“And risked our stupid pretty faces.”

“To protect you ,” Mira added, her voice quiet now, but firm. “Because you shouldn’t have to carry that kind of shit alone.”

Zoey pressed play on her phone, the audio crisp and unmistakable.

“You know I’d still be willing to fuck a brat like you… if you want me to make this all go away?”

Then the slap.

Rumi’s jaw tightened. Her fingers clenched. She blinked hard, the audio hitting her like a second clatter—but this time, she wasn’t alone in it.

Mira moved beside her on the couch, and Zoey knelt in front of her. “We can post it. Expose the truth. It’s your call, Rumi.”

Rumi stared at the phone, breath shallow. Her heart ached. Not from the audio—but from what they’d done. For her . How far they’d gone, how much they'd risked, because she mattered .

“Let’s do it,” she whispered. “Fuck him.”

Zoey’s grin was feral. Mira’s hand found Rumi’s and squeezed it tight.

Ten minutes later, the clip was uploaded from a burner account. No names. No edits. Just the raw truth.

The reactions came fast. Thousands of shares. Comments exploding.

@bigman478 “So this is what the network covered up?”

@polytrixiscanon “Rumi was right to slap him.”

@user89037 “Disgusting. This man should never work again.”

@betareader27 “I told all of you!!!! We shouldn’t have doubted our girl Rumi #weresorry 😥😥

The tide turned.

Rumi watched it all unfold from the safety of the couch, sandwiched between Zoey and Mira. The glow of their phones lit their faces, but Rumi’s gaze was fixed ahead, her expression dazed.

“You okay?” Mira asked softly, brushing a hand over her hair.

Rumi nodded, then turned to look at both of them. “I… didn’t think anyone would believe me. Let alone do something like this for me.”

Zoey leaned up and kissed her cheek. “That’s because you keep forgetting you don’t have to fight alone anymore.”

Mira rested her head on Rumi’s shoulder. “We’ve got your back. Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, Rumi felt warm all the way through—not just because she was believed.

But because she was loved .

//

Later that night, wine haze worn off, lack of sleep taking over, they all headed back to bed to get some rest. The girls lay tangled up together in Zoey’s room, arms draped across in all positions. Rumi was drifting off to sleep when her phone buzzed on the night stand one too many times.

Zoey grumbled at the noise tucking her face into the crook of Rumi’s neck. Rumi placed an apologetic kiss on the shorter girl's temple. 

Rumi sat up on the edge of the bed, legs curled under her, phone in hand. Her feed was blowing up, but not from the video. 

@gaygirlobsessed omg guys it’s happening!! #SerinAndRumi

@gnarlybushmuncher “Did you see what Serin sent her?? Omg queens 😭💕”

@kpopfanaccount556 “She’s wearing her line now?? It’s official, y’all.”

@serinismygaypanic “Oh they so fucking!”

@huntrixworshipper “I always thought the three of them were secretly together and now my dreams are crushed😭😭 #huntrixbreakup”

“I didn’t post anything,” Rumi said, staring at the screen. Her body froze in panic mode. 

Mira and Zoey were behind her in a second noticing a shift even in their dazed state, reading over her shoulder. Zoey’s jaw clenched.

Rumi clicked on a picture that started the thread. The delivery guy apparently posted a ‘fan moment’ and tagged Serin’s merch line. The bouquet, the box, and the name on the label were all visible.

Mira growled. “That had to be intentional.”

Zoey reached over Rumi, scrolling through a few more posts. “And now people think Rumi’s about to star in some spicy music video with Serin. The whole fanbase is shipping it like it’s canon.”

Rumi looked up, eyes wide. “So what do we do?”

Mira crouched beside her. “I’m going to call Bobby now.”

Zoey nodded, taking the phone out of Rumi's hand and brushing her thumb over her knuckles. “We’ll figure this out. Okay?”

Rumi blinked between them, heart pounding. She opened her mouth but closed it again, not trusting her voice to steady her words. She just nodded lightly at them both, fingers fidgeting in her lap. 

She needed to get this figured out quickly because she was not sure if she could survive jealous Mira and Zoey.

Chapter Text

Weeks earlier - after the night at the graveyard

The door slammed behind her, echoing through the house. Celine stumbled inside, bloodied and bruised, one hand pressed against a wound inflicted by Rumi’s protectors. The dim light from a lone lamp flickered across the mess scattered on the floor, empty pill bottles, and half-full glasses of liquor. She barely noticed.

She leaned against the kitchen counter, fumbling around in drawers for a first aid kit. She didn’t want to feel weak—but tonight, the guilt was crushing her. Her mind replayed the encounter with Rumi over and over. The half-demon’s eyes had been wide, unknowing, innocent—and in that moment, Celine had almost ended her. Her oath, the promise she made to Rumi’s mother, had screamed in her ears, warning her, but her hands had moved on instinct, trained to kill.

“I… I can’t,” Celine muttered, pressing her temple against the wall. “I promised… I promised her I’d protect her…” Her voice broke on the word protect , heavy with guilt. 

She made that promise years ago, to the only person she ever truly loved, Mi-Yeong. She promised to protect her daughter, keep her safe. But that was before. Before she found out what Rumi was. A demon .

She tried to fix it. Sealing the honmoon was supposed to fix it. But now, after tonight, she had almost done the unspeakable. 

Her fingers shook as she reached for a bottle of whiskey, taking a small, trembling sip. The burn did nothing to numb the guilt. If anything, it sharpened it—reminding her of the life she’d nearly destroyed. She had taken an oath to slay demons, to protect humans from what Rumi embodied… but now she realized the complexity of it. This half-demon wasn’t just a threat; she was a person, fragile and full of life, someone she had vowed to watch over.

Celine’s gaze fell on a photograph on the counter, Rumi’s mother, smiling warmly, eyes full of trust. Celine’s chest tightened. She had failed already, and she couldn’t let it happen again. Her promise wasn’t just words—it was a weight pressing down on her, a responsibility that felt heavier with every heartbeat. Her chin trembled, a swell of emotions pouring in. She picked up the photo, staring at it as if she was in the room with her. 

“This is your fault!” A tear slipped down her cheek and spilled onto the frame. “I never asked for this. I can't protect her! I couldn't even protect you…” Her voice was barely a whisper. 

She closed her eyes, the alcohol and exhaustion blurring the edges of reality. The guilt seeped into her bones, reminding her that she had to be stronger, faster, smarter—but also… more careful. Rumi didn’t deserve her wrath, not fully. And yet, if the half-demon lost control, if the darkness within her ever surfaced… Celine would have to stop her.

She was being pulled in different directions. Her love and promise to protect the hunter she raised almost like her own daughter, to her duty to slay any demons in her world. Rumi had hurt Mira. It was only a matter of time before she killed someone. Another life on Celine’s hands. If she had followed her duty all those years ago, perhaps Mi-Yeong would still be here. But she was a coward in her earlier years, never admitting her true feelings, never following through and allowing the love of her life to be slain by Rumi’s father. So many nevers. 

She tasted bile in her throat, but washed it down with more alcohol. Why did she struggle to accept her, when Mira and Zoey clearly did it without hesitation. She collapsed onto the floor, a mess of guilt and regret. She prayed to the honmoon that Rumi would survive and she’d somehow find some way to fix this mess. If the guilt didn’t overcome her completely.

As she shakily patched her wounds, Celine curled up on the cold tile, hugging the picture frame tight to her chest and sobbed until she passed out.

Rumi’s eyelids fluttered open to a soft wash of light spilling through the pale curtains, painting the room in gentle gold. The warmth of the tangled sheets wrapped around her like a shield from the outside world, her body heavy with the weight of exhaustion—and with the limbs draped over her.

Mira was pressed firmly into her back, nose tucked against her shoulder, one arm cinched around her waist as if to keep her from drifting away. Her fingers rested in loose tangles on Rumi’s top, warm and familiar.

On her other side, Zoey lay on her back, half-awake, lazily scrolling through something on her phone. Her free hand rested on Rumi’s upper thigh, thumb absently stroking against the soft skin there. She was chewing on her bottom lip without realizing it, hair a little messy, eyes still heavy with sleep. She always looked unfairly cute in the mornings.

Rumi stayed still for a moment, listening to the quiet rhythm of Mira’s breathing and melting into the slow circles Zoey traced against her skin. Their warmth bled into hers, the three of them caught in their own small gravity.

Last night’s memories flickered. It hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but none of that mattered now. If this was all she ever had—her girlfriends at peace beside her, resting, happy—she could live without ever having sex.

(Okay… maybe not ‘ never’ . But still.)

The thought was still warm in her chest when panic started to creep in like a rising tide. Her gaze flicked toward the clock on the nightstand. Late morning.

Too late.

Her breath caught. Rehearsal, the radio interview, meetings—a packed day of tour prep she’d promised to help organize. She fucked up, she slept in without realizing. She let them down again, she was supposed to stay on top of this stuff. Her heart began to hammer, the sound rushing in her ears. She tried to sit up but Mira’s arm tightened, pulling her back into place.

Zoey noticed immediately. She locked her phone and set it aside, leaning in to press a grounding kiss to Rumi’s shoulder. Her hand slipped beneath Rumi’s shirt, fingertips skimming soft heat into her skin.

“Hey,” Zoey murmured, voice warm and steady. “Slow down.”

Rumi blinked at her, caught in the pull of those words.

“We’ve got a free day, remember? No calls. No schedules. No pressure. Just us.”

The truth of it seeped in slowly. Of course Zoey knew why she was spiraling. She and Mira always knew—before Rumi did, most days. If she forgot to eat, a plate was in front of her without a word. If she left something behind, it was in her hands before she noticed. If her mood turned sharp, they already had the cure waiting.

They knew every scar. Every shadow. And somehow, they stayed.

Her chest eased fractionally, a shaky breath slipping out.

“Kiss for your thoughts?” Zoey asked, tilting her chin to rest on Rumi’s chest, eyes searching hers like she had all the time in the world.

Rumi swallowed. “Yeah… I just thought I’d messed up the schedule or something.”

The words felt thin, too easy. Because yes—she was at peace in moments like this. But peace didn’t erase the constant tug-of-war in her head. The months had been chaotic, and the pit in her stomach was only getting deeper.

“I’ve been a little stressed… Celine normally helped with all this stuff,” she admitted, her voice low.

Zoey’s hand slid up to cradle her cheek, thumb brushing over the faint flush there. “It’s okay to feel that way. You’ve been carrying a lot.”

Rumi hesitated. “It’s like there’s this voice in my head that tells me everything needs to be perfect all the time.” Her gaze drifted down to where the scar was etched into her chest—her reminder. “ Her voice.”

“It’s easier with you and Mira. But…” She trailed off, unable to meet Zoey’s eyes.

Zoey waited. Silent. Solid. Rumi’s fingers tightened in the fabric of her shirt. 

“I’m trying so hard. But what if it’s not enough?” She bit her lip until it hurt.

“Celine had her flaws but she was like a mother to me—” The words broke off with a sharp inhale. Zoey’s thumb brushed away the tear that escaped before it could fall far.

“I spent my whole life hiding myself because she told me I should be ashamed,” Rumi whispered, “and now after everything, I’m just supposed to accept that she was willing to—” She cut off her own words, unwilling to speak them. 

Zoey’s fingers traced soothing circles on her hip, grounding her without interrupting.

“You and Mira have been so patient. I love you both. I have for a long time. You have proved how wrong Celine was time and time again.” The confession was almost too soft to hear, her voice trembling with shame. “But it still hurts, I can’t help but miss her.. Even after everything she did. Ugh fuck I feel like an idiot.”

The confession was raw. 

Air stilled around them for a moment and Zoey tried to push back tears. She loved Rumi so much, her heart cracked a little.

Behind her, there was a small shift, the sound of a sleepy inhale. Mira stirred, her grip tightening instinctively before she spoke, voice low and scratchy from sleep.

“You’re not an idiot,” Mira murmured, lips brushing against the curve of Rumi’s shoulder. “She was a big part of your life, it’s not easy to forget that.”

Rumi froze.

Mira’s arm slid higher around her waist, pulling her back until their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Her other hand reached forward, fingers curling gently over Zoey’s where it still rested on Rumi’s stomach, linking them all together.

“I heard enough to know you’re overthinking again,” Mira continued, her voice warm but unyielding. “You don’t have to fight that voice alone. That’s what we’re here for.“

Zoey hummed in agreement, pressing another kiss to Rumi’s shoulder. “She’s always going to be a part of your past Rumi, and if she comes back we’ll face her together.” 

Rumi’s breath hitched again, but it wasn’t panic this time—it was the sudden weight of safety, of being pinned between two people who weren’t going anywhere.

Her throat felt tight as she whispered, “I don’t deserve either of you.”

“Too bad,” Mira said, her lips curving against her skin. “You’re stuck with us.”

Zoey’s hand slid higher, fingers curling gently against Rumi’s ribs. “And we’re very possessive.”

For the first time all morning, a shaky laugh broke through Rumi’s chest. She let herself sink back fully, her head tipping against Mira’s shoulder, Zoey’s fingers still tracing lazy circles over her skin. Between the warmth of their bodies, the weight of their touch, and the certainty in their voices, the fire inside her soothed to embers, even just for a moment.

For a while, none of them moved. The quiet was too good, too rare. Mira’s breathing settled back into a slow rhythm against Rumi’s back. Zoey’s fingers kept up those lazy circles, each one drawing her deeper into the haze of comfort.

Then Mira’s voice rumbled softly against her shoulder. “I’ve been thinking… we should go out today.”

Rumi tilted her head a little, suspicious. “Out where?”

“A date,” Mira said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Somewhere we don’t have to think about anyone else. Just us.”

Zoey perked up immediately. “Finally. I’ve been saying we need one.” She shifted, propping herself on an elbow so she could see both of them. “What about that crappy little dive bar down the street? The one with the sticky tables and the juke box that doesn’t have anything from this century?”

Rumi blinked at her. “That’s… your idea of a date?”

Zoey grinned, entirely unbothered. “Greasy food, bad beer, no paparazzi? Perfect date.”

Mira chuckled low in her throat. “Greasy food does sound tempting. But I was thinking somewhere a little nicer.”

“I’m nicer,” Zoey said, leaning over Rumi to steal a quick kiss from Mira, “when I’m full of fried onion rings and cheap fries.”

Mira smirked. “M’fine, we don’t want a cranky Zoey.”

“See Rumi? She caves on anything with a kiss.” She winked at a scowling Mira.

Rumi’s eyes darted between them, suddenly aware of just how trapped she was between their bodies, their banter moving like a tide around her. “You two are ridiculous,” she muttered, though her ears felt warm.

Zoey’s grin turned sly as she looked down at Rumi. “Oh? You have a better idea, baby?”

“I—” Rumi faltered, instantly regretting opening her mouth.

Mira’s arm tightened around her waist. “Careful. She smells fear.”

Zoey laughed, leaning closer until her lips brushed Rumi’s ear. “I also smell the fact that you’d let us drag you anywhere if we held your hand the whole time.”

Rumi squirmed, trying to push at Zoey’s shoulder without much force. “I wouldn’t—”

“You would,” Zoey cut in, clearly delighted. “In fact, I bet if Mira and I decided right now, you’d just follow along and pout about it in the cutest way possible. Kinda like a little puppy.”

Mira tilted her head, considering. “True. And she’d get all flustered if we teased her about it.”

Rumi gave an exasperated groan, hiding her face in Mira’s shoulder. “I am not a puppy! Ugh why am I dating you both again?”

“Because,” Zoey said, smug, “we’re irresistible.”

“And because,” Mira added, brushing a kiss into Rumi’s hair, “We make sure you have fun, whether you like it or not.”

Rumi muttered something unintelligible against Mira’s skin, but her fingers had curled into Mira’s shirt instead of pushing her away. Zoey caught the small smile tugging at her lips when she peeked up.

“Dive bar it is,” Zoey declared. “We’ll get food, kick Mira’s butt in pool, lightweight Rumi might make an appearance—”

“I’m not a lightweight!" Rumi cut in immediately, mock offended.

Rumi was such a lightweight. 

They had been at the bar less than an hour, only one drink in and Rumi could already feel the heat in her cheeks and her mood feeling slightly lighter. Not enough to be tipsy, but enough to let go of some words a little easier and feel a little braver in her movements. 

The bar was dim but warm, all exposed brick and vintage posters, with a red-felt pool table nestled in the back corner like an afterthought. A slow, bluesy rock song filtered through the speakers, just loud enough to set a rhythm without drowning conversation. There was a few patrons that filled the seats, but none in the crowd that would have any clue who the tree of them were. It was a night just to be themselves. 

Rumi was bent over the pool table, one eye narrowed as she lined up her shot. Her black button-down was unbuttoned just enough to be distracting, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Her jacket had been discarded nearly immediately. She looked focused, almost serious—until Zoey leaned in from behind and ghosted a hand along her waist. 

The touch had just enough weight behind it to pull an involuntary shiver from Rumi’s spine. 

“You sure you want to go for that one?” Zoey purred, voice just behind Rumi’s ear. “You’ve already scratched twice.”

Rumi’s cue faltered, slipping from her grip slightly. She glared over her shoulder, but Zoey just grinned.

“It’s part of my strategy,” Rumi said coolly. “You distracting me means you’re losing, not winning.”

“Cute,” Zoey replied, pushing dangerously close into Rumi’s side. “Still not helping your score.”

Mira was leaning against the wall with a drink in hand, watching both of them like a cat with her favorite toys. Her tight black jeans and sleeveless crop top left nothing to the imagination, and the glint in her eye said she knew exactly what she was doing.

“You two flirt like amateurs,” Mira said, sipping casually. “Want me to come over there and show you how it’s done?”

Zoey turned, already smiling. “You say that like you’re not planning to do it anyway.” It was a challenge that Mira would easily accept. 

“Because I am.” 

The cue smacked into the ball with a clean thunk , and it bounced off the wall in the opposite direction. Rumi straightened as she blew a strand of hair from her face in frustration. 

“Your turn, hotshot,” she said to Mira, holding out the cue. “Let’s see you seduce your way through a clean shot.”

Mira took the stick without breaking eye contact, her fingers from the contact slowly dragging over skin. “Watch and learn.”

As Mira circled the table, Zoey slid next to Rumi and leaned into her side, her voice a little softer now. “You look really good tonight,” she murmured, fingers grazing Rumi’s forearm.

Rumi glanced down at her, lips twitching. “Do I?”

Zoey nodded. “Like… unfairly good. Like I want to bite you.”

“Right here? In public?” Her eyebrow perked in playfulness, but her blush painting her cheeks and chest betrayed her confidence. 

“Depends how long this game lasts.”

Rumi chuckled, low and warm, and tilted her head just enough to let Zoey brush a kiss against her cheek.

Mira bent low over the table, giving them both a perfect view of her back as she lined up her shot. One leg shifted, her hip cocked out just enough to tease, her legs parting slightly. 

Zoey whistled low under her breath. “Fuck. She wins.”

Mira glanced up with a sly smirk. “Obviously.”

She sank two balls in quick succession, then leaned casually on the table, cue resting between her fingers.

“You know,” she said, looking between them, “we could play truth or dare with the dart board over there?” She nodded to a beat up dart board in the corner of the bar, slightly secluded and out of range of the noisiness of the speakers. 

“It could be fun for... less wholesome activities.”

Rumi raised a brow. “Are you trying to fast-track this date?”

Mira shrugged, feigning innocence. “What? I’m just saying. Pool is great for foreplay, but I wouldn’t mind watching you both do some dares I’ve thought about.”

Zoey rolled her eyes, grinning. “You literally just want to see Rumi flustered.”

“She’s needy when she drinks. I want to see how desperate she gets.”

Rumi flushed, her eyes darted between them both and she didn’t know what to do with her hands. “I— I don’t get needy!”

“Oh you so do,” Zoey teased, closing the space to stand beside Mira, her stare locked on Rumi like prey. “She’s also a lot more vocal.”

Mira leaned in close then, her voice quieter now, meant just for the three of them. “Let’s make a deal. If I win the next round, I get to choose who kisses who first.”

Zoey blinked. “That implies someone’s not already planning to kiss everyone.”

“Exactly,” Mira said. “I just like choosing the order .”

Rumi turned to Zoey, her voice velvet. “Should we let her win?”

Zoey gave a slow, sultry smile. “I think she’s already winning.”

A round of pool later with Mira being victorious, Rumi was banished to the bar as the loser to order more drinks while Mira and Zoey snagged a corner booth beside the dart board.

“She’s definitely gonna get hit on,” Zoey muttered, leaning sideways to peek through the crowd.

Mira smirked. “Obviously.”

Rumi had gone up with a lazy confidence she didn’t know she had. Her markings were faintly lit beneath her collar — hints of them pulsing gold and violet across her throat and arms as they caught flashes of the bar’s strobe.

She looked like danger and mystery and poetry. Which is exactly why she had a stranger attached to her within seconds.

“She’s already got company,” Mira noted, sipping her whiskey.

Zoey leaned in. “Oh, damn. She’s cute.”

The woman at the bar had slid in with practiced ease — tall, sleek, all-black outfit, undercut on one side and eyes that glittered like she knew exactly what she wanted. 

“Need some help?” Her voice was laced with lust. 

Rumi turned, surprised by the interruption. Her eyebrow pinched up. Why would she need help ordering the drinks? Oh right, maybe the woman worked here.

“I’m good, thanks! That guy already took my order.” She smiled politely pointing at the bartender already working on her drinks, then turned to look away assuming that was the end of the conversation.

The woman chuckled, assuming it was a joke, she scooted in a little closer. 

“That’s funny. You know you look really good in that outfit.”

She was facing Rumi, leaning close, talking fast, smiling wide. Rumi… was nodding politely. And blinking. A lot.

“Gods, she doesn’t know,” Zoey whispered.

“She never knows.”

“She thinks this is small talk.”

“She probably thinks the girl’s offering her a business card,” Mira muttered. “Look at her trying to thank her for the compliment. Rumi noooo—”

“How about we leave the drinks and you follow me into the bathroom?” 

Maybe Rumi was so drunk right now she was completely misreading this interaction because why did the staff lady want her to go to the bathroom?

“But I haven't paid for my drinks yet? Plus I… don’t need to pee?”

The woman reached forward, brushing Rumi’s arm lightly — fingers lingering.

Rumi froze.

Her markings flickered.

Not red. Not defensive. Just… confused.

Mira laughed softly. “She’s buffering. Full spinning wheel moment.”

“She’s so hot and yet so dumb,” Zoey said, hand over her heart. “Our sweet oblivious warrior.”

“She’s gonna thank her again, I swear— oh my god.”

Rumi leaned in and bowed. A small, polite bow.

Both Mira and Zoey wheeze-laughed at the same time.

The woman at the bar looked… startled. And then amused. She clearly wasn’t giving up. Her hand went to Rumi’s waist. She said something low in Rumi’s ear.

Rumi jolted.

“Okay, she getting a but too handsy” Zoey muttered, gripping her glass. “I swear, if she leans any closer—”

“Relax,” Mira said, though her eyes didn’t leave the bar. Her jaw was tight. “Rumi doesn’t even know she’s flirting. She’s too damn polite.”

At the bar, the woman laughed at something Rumi said, throwing her head back, then leaned forward so her lips almost brushed Rumi’s ear.

Zoey’s nails tapped an impatient rhythm on the tabletop. “That’s it. Nope. I’m not watching her whisper into Rumi’s ear like that.”

Mira’s chair scraped loudly as she stood. “Together?”

“Together,” Zoey confirmed, her smirk back, though this time it was edged with something dangerous.

They crossed the bar like a two-person storm, sliding into place on either side of Rumi before the woman even realized what was happening.

Zoey draped her arm across the back of Rumi’s stool, leaning close enough that their cheeks brushed. “Babe, you’re taking forever with those drinks. We were starting to miss you.”

Mira, on Rumi’s other side, placed a steady hand on her thigh under the counter. She looked at the woman directly. “Do you need something?”

The stranger blinked at the two of them, clearly recalculating. “I… was just chatting.”

“Chat somewhere else.” Mira said simply.

There was no smirk this time, no easy shrug. The woman backed off quickly, leaving her half-finished drink behind. The woman melted into the crowd, her perfume lingering faintly where she’d been standing. Mira and Zoey didn’t sit back down right away—they stayed flanking Rumi like sentinels, as if daring anyone else to try their luck.

Rumi shifted uncomfortably on her stool, looking between them. “You two are… acting weird. She was just doing her job.” She shrugged. 

Zoey smirked, but her hand stayed on the back of Rumi’s chair. “Weird? No. Protective? Maybe.” She tipped her head toward the direction the stranger had gone. “She doesn’t work here, baby. You seriously didn’t notice she was hitting on you?”

Rumi blinked. “She was? I thought she was just… friendly.”

Mira let out a sharp laugh and shook her head. “Friendly? She was practically in your lap.”

Rumi’s ears turned pink. “Oh.”

Zoey leaned in, deliberately brushing her shoulder against Rumi’s. “See, this is what makes her dangerous. She’s so damn oblivious, people think they can just… swoop in.”

Mira narrowed her eyes at Zoey. “And you didn’t waste a second swooping in yourself, did you?”

Zoey arched a brow, her grin turning sly. “Jealous, Mira?”

Mira stepped closer, her hand still resting possessively on Rumi’s thigh. Her tone was low, controlled. “I don’t get jealous. I just don’t like anyone thinking they can take what’s ours.”

Rumi blinked rapidly, the buzz of the alcohol and the tension between the three of them making her skin vibrate. “Yours?”

Neither of them answered her directly. Zoey tilted her head at Mira instead, their silent standoff thick with heat. Then she leaned over and kissed Rumi’s cheek, deliberately slow, her lips lingering just enough to make Mira’s jaw tighten.

“Mine,” Zoey said.

Mira smirked, unbothered on the surface but sparking underneath. She brushed Rumi’s hair back from her face, her thumb grazing the line of her jaw. “Ours,” she corrected softly, staring right at Zoey as she said it.

Rumi made a strangled sound, half-protest, half-laugh, gripping her glass like it might save her. “You two are insane.”

Zoey only grinned wider. “Maybe. But tell me you don’t like it.”

Rumi opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her blush was answer enough.

Mira caught Zoey’s expression and shook her head, fighting a smile. “You’re shameless.”

“Only when she’s this cute about it,” Zoey shot back, nudging Rumi’s knee under the counter.

They both leaned closer to Rumi like gravity itself had shifted. The noise of the bar seemed to blur around them—music humming, glasses clinking, laughter carrying from the pool table—but here at the counter, it was just the three of them, wound tight with unspoken tension.

Zoey broke first. She caught Rumi’s chin in her hand, tilting her face up. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Rumi blinked, breath catching. “Get what?”

“That you drive people crazy,” Zoey murmured, her voice dropping low, playful but threaded with heat. And before Rumi could form a protest, Zoey kissed her—soft at first, then deeper, her lips coaxing Rumi’s open.

Rumi made a startled noise, half against Zoey’s mouth, half swallowed by it. Her hand flew to the bar for balance.

Mira watched, her jaw tight, but it wasn’t anger—it was want. She leaned in, brushing her lips against Rumi’s jawline while Zoey kissed her, her hand sliding higher on Rumi’s thigh. “She’s not wrong,” Mira murmured against her skin. “You make us both insane.”

Zoey broke the kiss with a soft laugh, only to press her lips back to Rumi’s again, rougher this time. Rumi’s eyes fluttered shut, her shoulders tense, her whole body fighting between giving in and holding back.

Mira wasn’t about to be left out. She hooked her fingers under Rumi’s chin, tugging her face just enough that their mouths met. The kiss was nothing like Zoey’s—fiercer, claiming, all heat and teeth. Rumi gasped, clutching Mira’s arm for balance as the world tilted.

Zoey grinned, watching them, then dipped in to steal Rumi back for herself, her lips grazing both Mira’s and Rumi’s in the same breath. Suddenly, the three of them were tangled together, shifting between kisses, hands brushing over shoulders, arms, thighs. It was messy, heated, impossible to tell whose breath belonged to who.

Someone down the bar wolf-whistled. Another voice called out, “Get a room!”

Rumi broke away first, gasping, her face flushed crimson. “We… we really shouldn’t—”

Zoey’s smile was wicked, her hand still curled at the back of Rumi’s neck. “Don’t want to let them watch?” 

She leaned in impossibly close, her lips brushing Rumi’s ear so only she could hear. “I could make you cum on this barstool if you let me.”

“ Zoey .” Rumi warned but came out as a half plea half threat.

Mira kissed the corner of Rumi’s mouth, softer this time, grounding her. “C’mon pretty, let’s go play some darts. You have plenty of time later to apologize for the flirting.” she said simply, her voice low and rough.

Rumi looked between the two of them, chest heaving, lips swollen, and realized she couldn’t think straight enough to argue.

Zoey was already halfway through a beer, perched on a high stool like she owned the place, while Mira prowled near the dartboard, twirling a dart between her fingers, her movements screamed mischief. They had taken the time to order another round along with a bunch of food. Greasy, glorious nachos buried under cheese, salsa, and jalapeños, and a basket of wings glazed with something that looks nuclear, onion rings and salty fries arrived at the table in little time.

Rumi, standing between them, was trying very hard not to be obvious about how warm she felt. From the booze. Definitely the booze.

“Alright, rules are simple,” Mira says, her voice smug as she lines up a shot. “Closest to the bullseye gets to ask, furthest away is the victim.”

Zoey grins. “And if we miss?”

“Automatic dare.” Mira throws. Thwack. It lands solid—just outside the center. “Boom. Now that is how you set the tone.”

Zoey snorts, finishing her drink. “You set the tone by missing?”

Mira flips her off with her free hand. “Let’s see you do better, hotshot.”

Zoey takes a slow, deliberate step up, swaying her hips dramatically. Rumi, caught watching, snaps her eyes away too late.

“I saw that,” Zoey murmurs near her ear, her breath warm. “Don’t look away next time.”

Rumi swallows hard.

Zoey throws. Thwack. Bullseye.

“Oh come on ,” Mira groans. “How are you good at everything?”

“It’s a curse,” Zoey says, bowing.

Rumi steps up next, cheeks already pink. She focuses, breath held, dart clenched—

Zoey slides behind her. “You sure you don’t need help?”

Rumi doesn’t turn. “Don’t.”

“Just saying,” Zoey whispers. “You hold your breath when you’re nervous. It’s cute.”

Rumi throws. It lands, halfway decent but still the furthest away. 

“Alright,” Mira announces, “that means Zoey gets to ask Rumi.”

Zoey grins wide, popping back up on her stool before resting her chin in her hands, eyes glued to a very nervous Rumi. 

“I’ll go easy. What position do you want us to fuck you in first?” 

Rumi spit her drink out a little. 

“That’s easy?!” Her voice cracked, then steadied, her blush spread to her chest but the alcohol in her system made her braver than usual. She locked eyes with Zoey huffing out a breath. 

“I don’t ugh–” She shut her eyes for a moment to gather the words. “I… I want to be between you both. Touching me. At the same time.” It felt silly to say these things out loud. 

Zoey blinked. Then smiled, slow and wolfish. “We can arrange that. Right Mir?”

Mira makes a strangled sound from behind her drink. “Okay. Ahem. Yep.”

Zoey stretches, head tilted. “We already talked about what positions we want to try with you anyway.”

Rumi’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Mira jumped in before Rumi combusted. “Alright, throw again, let's go.”

Zoey annoyingly hit a bullseye again . Rumi’s throw was kind of close and Mira’s was way off.

Zoey, without hesitation: “I dare you to lick the sauce off Rumi’s fingers.” Rumi froze mid bite of a wing. 

Mira smirked with a shrug. “Wasted a dare, I was gonna do it anyway.”

Rumi coughed almost choking on the food. Mira walked up to her carefully, like approaching a kitten that might scatter at too much movement. She looked at Rumi’s fingers, then back to her and winked. 

“Hold still.”

Rumi blinked. “What?”

Mira grabbed her wrist and leaned in, tongue dragging slowly over her two fingers, licking the sauce off like she’s starving and Rumi’s dessert. She takes them into her mouth, wrapping her lips around to clean off anything she might have missed. Someone groaned loudly and she wasn't sure if it was Rumi or Zoey. 

Then she let go—casual, like nothing happened. Her thumb dragged over her bottom lip wiping off excess sauce.

Rumi just sat there, stunned, hand still mid-air.

Zoey whistled. “ Fuck that was hot. I think you broke her.”

“Her brain is rebooting,” Mira agrees, licking her lips.

“I’m fine ,” Rumi croaks, reaching for a napkin like it’ll save her.

“Mhm sure,” Zoey says, sidling up beside her and pressing a chip into Rumi’s mouth, “do you want a napkin for your underwear too?”

Rumi chews. Slowly. Like she’s unsure what life is anymore.

They keep playing. More darts, more drinks, more dares. One involves Mira having to sit in Rumi’s lap for five minutes while making flirty eye contact (“Oh nooo, the torture ,” she deadpans), and another ends with Zoey whispering something in Rumi’s ear that turns her ears red and makes her drop a wing into the cheese dip.

“You guys are torturing me.” Rumi mutters, trying to wipe her hands on a napkin while Mira pokes her side.

“You like it,” Mira says.

Zoey throws her arm over Rumi’s shoulder. “She’s blushing again. Should we keep going until she melts into the booth?”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not already halfway there,” Rumi says, flustered and grinning.

Mira raises her drink. “To Rumi. Best reactions. Best arms. Best everything .”

“To Rumi,” Zoey echoes, tapping her glass to Mira’s.

Rumi hides her face in her hands.

The night spills on—filled with laughter, touches that linger just too long, and the kind of energy that sizzles just below the surface. They’re a little tipsy, a little too close, and not pretending anymore.

For the first time in a long time, Rumi doesn’t feel like she has to brace herself.

She just… lets go.

“Alright,” Mira announces, swirling the last of her whiskey, eyes sparkling. “New rule. Bullseye gets you a free pass. Anything else? You’re either spilling your dirtiest truth or doing whatever the table decides.”

Rumi blinks. “What happened to taking turns?” Her face was burning hot now, alcohol seeped into her system. She’s not sure who suggested going from beers to whiskey but she was already completely tipsy. She made sure to follow every drink up with a glass of water to stop herself from titling too far into drunk territory. 

Zoey, already lining up a dart with one eye shut, grins. “Drinks happened.”

Mira nods sagely. “Also, chaos is the goal.”

Rumi laughs despite herself, cheeks already warm. “Of course it is.”

Zoey throws. Thwack. Just off-center.

“Ooooh,” Mira coos. “No free pass. Group dare time.”

Zoey bows dramatically. “Do your worst.”

Mira and Rumi exchange a look. Then Mira leans in to whisper something in Rumi’s ear, and Rumi’s eyes widen .

“No way,” Rumi whispers.

“Absolutely yes,” Mira says.

Zoey watches them like she’s watching a car crash she paid to see. “You two are being suspicious.”

Rumi turns to Zoey, face still pink. “Your dare is to give Mira your best lap dance.”

Zoey dies laughing. “You did not .”

Mira just spreads her legs, leaning back against the booth like royalty. “C’mon, baby. Let’s see what you got.”

Rumi sat frozen between them, the burn of alcohol still warm in her veins, but her chest felt tight with something much heavier than tipsy amusement. She tried to laugh along, tried to swallow down her nerves, but when Zoey straddled Mira’s lap—slow and deliberate—her mouth went dry.

The music shifted, a sultry beat vibrating through the floorboards. Zoey’s body moved with it, hips rolling against Mira’s thigh, her hands resting lightly on Mira’s shoulders. Her eyes glinted with playful wickedness as she dipped low, pressing her chest teasingly close before sliding back up with a languid roll of her spine.

Mira chuckled, her hands hovering like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to touch or if resisting would make the whole thing hotter. Her jaw flexed, though, betraying that she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended to be.

Rumi, meanwhile, couldn’t breathe.

She told herself it was just a joke, just a dare. But the sight of Zoey’s body grinding down, the look in Mira’s eyes as she tried not to give in… it was too much. Heat coiled low in her stomach, sharp and demanding. She clenched her fists in her lap, praying no one noticed how hard she was swallowing, how her thighs pressed together under the table.

“Damn, Zo,” Mira muttered under her breath, voice hoarse. “You’ve done this before.”

Zoey tilted her head, hair spilling forward as she leaned in close, lips brushing Mira’s ear without quite touching. “Maybe I just know my audience.”

Mira laughed, but her hand twitched—like she was fighting every urge to grab Zoey by the hips and pull her closer.

And Rumi—poor Rumi—sat there transfixed, caught between fascination and jealousy, between hunger and panic. Her nails dug into her palm. Her heart thundered so loudly she was sure the whole bar could hear.

Zoey’s eyes flicked sideways then, just for a second, catching Rumi watching. Her grin widened, slow and dangerous, as if she knew exactly what effect she was having. She ground down once more, deliberately, hips rolling in a rhythm that sent heat flashing across Rumi’s skin.

Rumi bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood. She wanted to look away, needed to look away—but she couldn’t.

Rumi hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until Zoey slid off Mira’s lap and the music seemed to fade back into the background noise of the bar. Her chest rose sharply, air rushing in, but it didn’t cool the heat burning through her. She shifted in her seat, trying to play it off, but her whole body betrayed her—flushed cheeks, parted lips, knees pressing tight together under the table.

Mira, of course, noticed first. She leaned forward, bracing her elbow casually on the table, and tilted her head at Rumi with a feline smile. “You okay there, kitten?”

The nickname, in that tone, made Rumi’s stomach flip. She choked on her drink, coughing into her fist. “I’m—fine. Totally fine .”

Zoey slid back into the booth beside her, smug as hell. She draped an arm across the back of the seat behind Rumi, her body close enough that Rumi could feel the warmth radiating off her. “You’re blushing,” Zoey teased, her voice low, sing-song. “Like, really blushing. Cute.”

“I’m no t,” Rumi protested quickly, too quickly, and that just made them both laugh.

“Oh, you definitely are,” Mira said, eyes glinting as she sipped from her glass. “And you’re squirming.”

Rumi’s whole body tensed. She forced herself to meet Mira’s gaze, but that only made it worse—because Mira looked like she was enjoying this, savoring every crack in Rumi’s composure.

Zoey leaned in closer, close enough her breath tickled Rumi’s ear. “Be honest, Ru. Did watching me get you all worked up?”

Rumi nearly knocked her knee into the table. “Zoey—” Her voice came out hoarse, caught between a warning and a plea.

Mira chuckled, rich and knowing. “Oh, she did.”

Heat flared across Rumi’s skin. She wanted to deny it, to laugh it off, but the truth was written all over her face. Her heart was hammering too hard, her thighs pressed too tight together, and both of them could see right through her.

Zoey smirked, pulling back just enough to watch her reaction. “Guess we know what turns our demon on, huh?”

Rumi covered her face with her hands, groaning. “You’re both impossible.”

But despite the protest, her lips curved into a helpless smile behind her palms. The teasing didn’t sting—it thrilled her. Because under the heat and embarrassment, there was a heady sense of being seen, wanted.

Mira reached over and gently tugged her hands away from her face. “Impossible, maybe,” she said softly, her smirk easing into something warmer. “But we like watching you squirm.”

Zoey laughed, brushing her fingers lightly down Rumi’s arm, just enough to make her shiver. “And we’re not done yet.”

Rumi’s turn. She steps up, centers herself, throws.

It hits near the edge of the board. No chance.

Zoey claps. “Truth or dare, Rumi?”

“Dare,” Rumi says, maybe too fast.

Mira hums, eyes trailing her up and down. “Alright then. I dare you to—let Zoey feed you a wing… using only her mouth.”

Rumi blinks. “That’s not even—how would that even—”

“Figure it out,” Mira says sweetly.

Zoey is already grabbing a wing with her teeth, holding it out like a smug, hot retriever.

Rumi mutters something that sounds like I hate you both before leaning in—awkward, too slow—and bites the other end of the wing while Zoey watches her like a hawk.

Their lips brush. It’s messy. It’s spicy. It’s obscene .

Zoey pulls back, licking hot sauce off her lip. “Ten out of ten. Would feed you again.”

Rumi is silent. Her soul has left her body.

Mira fans herself teasingly. “Okay, I’m fine. I’m completely fine. ”

Rumi stumbles to the booth, mumbling something about needing water and maybe prayer.

Mira’s next. She throws—and nails a bullseye.

“Coward,” Zoey mutters.

“I earned that pass,” Mira says, smug. “Which means I get to ask you something, Rumi.”

Rumi looks up mid-sip. “Me?”

“Truth,” Mira says, voice a little lower now. “Do you think about us? Like… when you’re alone?”

The world slows.

Zoey freezes. Rumi blinks.

There’s a silence, thick and hot and filled with static.

Rumi’s voice comes out small. “...Sometimes.”

Zoey’s breath hitches.

Mira tilts her head. “What do you think about?”

“Mira—” Zoey warns, but her eyes are wide, wanting.

Rumi shifts, squirming slightly in her seat. “I don’t—It’s just. Stuff.”

“Details, baby,” Zoey whispers. “We live for them.”

Rumi buries her face in her hands. “I hate this game.”

Mira moves closer. “Do you imagine my hands on your waist? Zoey’s lips on your neck?”

Zoey leans in too. “Do you touch yourself when you think about us?”

Rumi makes a noise —somewhere between a squeak and a whimper.

Mira gasps. “She does .”

“Holy shit,” Zoey breathes. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Rumi, face now an unnatural shade of red, groans into the table. “I’m going to walk into traffic.”

“Not before it’s my turn,” Zoey chirps.

She throws.

Misses.

“Perfect,” Mira grins. “Truth or dare?”

Zoey smirks. “Dare. Hit me.”

“I dare you…” Mira leans in, eyes locked on Zoey’s. “To kiss Rumi, I think she needs it.”

Rumi’s head snaps up. “Wha—”

Zoey’s already moving.

She cups Rumi’s jaw, gaze steady, and whispers, “Okay if I do?”

Rumi nods.

And then Zoey kisses her—slow at first, soft and tasting of whiskey and hot sauce, but it deepens fast. Her hand slides into Rumi’s hair, and Rumi makes the softest sound against her lips, melting into it like she forgot where they were. She felt light and the noises she was making were definitely bolder thanks to the alcohol. Zoey was sloppier, more eager than usual. 

Mira watched them, convinced she had been given front-row seats to heaven.

They break apart slowly, breathless.

Rumi exhales, dazed. “That was… I…”

Zoey grins. “Yeah...”

Mira sighs. “I want a turn.”

“Next round,” Zoey says, already grabbing another dart.

Mira winks at Rumi. “You better pray I miss.”

And the game goes on, wilder with each turn—more dares, more inappropriate touching, more truths they should probably save for a safer time.

But none of them want to stop.

The night had mellowed into something delicious—half-drunk and warm, bodies close in the booth, cheeks flushed from teasing and heat and stolen kisses.

They’re tangled in laughter, fingers brushing over the last of the nachos, when Mira pulls herself out of the booth.

“Alright, if I don’t pee now, I’m gonna die. Nobody do anything hot while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” Zoey calls, already tipping the last of her whiskey into her mouth. “You’ve got five minutes.”

“I can do a lot in five minutes,” Rumi murmurs, emboldened by the alcohol—and Zoey’s mouth still tingling on hers.

Zoey flashes her a slow smile. “Oh? We’ll circle back to that.”

Mira throws them both a middle finger over her shoulder and disappears into the restroom.

Zoey stands up. “I’m getting us more water. Don’t move.”

Rumi salutes with a wing bone. “Aye aye, bootylicious.”

For a moment, she’s alone—sipping water, eyes half-lidded from warmth and buzz and adrenaline. It’s the first time she’s sat still all night.

And then—

A shadow falls across the table.

She glances up. A man in his mid-30s, wearing too much cologne and not enough charm, leans on the edge of the booth. He’s got a leather jacket two decades out of date and the smile of someone who’s heard the word no and decided it didn’t apply to him.

“Well hey there,” he drawls. “Didn’t mean to stare, but you’ve got one hell of a mouth on you.”

Rumi blinks. “Excuse me?”

He slides in next to her without asking, elbow brushing hers. “You here alone?”

She leans away, rolling her eyes. “No. And you’ve got exactly five seconds to leave before I say something that makes you cry.”

He chuckles, clearly mistaking her disdain for banter. “C’mon, no need to play hard to get.”

“I’m not playing,” Rumi says coolly. “I’m being generous.”

“You think you’re too good for me?” He scowled, leaning in a bit too close.

“I know I am,” she replies, tone sharp as broken glass. “Now get the fuck away from me before I introduce your ego to the floor.”

He laughs again, this time meaner. “Bitch—”

And suddenly his hand is on her—grabbing her arm, tight.

Rumi’s eyes go red at the edges. Just a flicker. She tenses, ready to break him in half.

But then—

CRACK.

Zoey’s fist collides with the guy’s jaw like a goddamn freight train.

Rumi doesn’t even see her approach—just feels the wind of Zoey lunging across the table and landing that punch square on the man’s face.

He stumbles back, howling, clutching his mouth. A bartender yells something. A glass crashes. Someone shouts “holy shit!”

Zoey’s cradling her hand, face twisted in pain. “Ow, fuck —Is his face made out of metal!?”

Rumi stares. “Zoey—”

“What the fuck is going on—” Mira comes charging back just as it happens, eyes wild. She sees the guy on the ground, Zoey shaking out her hand, Rumi stunned—and immediately yells, “WE GOTTA GO.”

Zoey grabs Mira’s hand with her good one. “Run now, explain later!”

And then all three of them are bolting out of the bar—Zoey half-stumbling, Mira cackling, Rumi breathless and stunned and grinning like an idiot.

They burst into the night air, scattering into the sidewalk, laughter exploding out of them.

“Holy shit ,” Mira gasps. “You punched him!”

Zoey’s eyes are wide. “I didn’t even think. I saw him grab her and I— bam. Instinct.”

“Your hand,” Rumi says, holding it carefully. “Are you okay?”

Zoey winces. “Are demon faces softer or something? Because I swear that hurt more than it was supposed to.”

Mira presses a kiss to Zoey’s temple. “You’re such a dumbass. Hot though.”

Rumi laughs, half-delirious. “I was handling it—”

“I know,” Zoey pants, “but I wanted to do it anyway.”

Rumi looks down at their tangled hands. Her thumb strokes over Zoey’s knuckles, soft and grateful.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Zoey’s smile turns gentle. “Anytime.”

A beat.

Then Mira wraps an arm around both of them, pulling them close. “Alright, broken bones, criminal escape—what now? Ice packs and kisses back at the penthouse?”

Rumi grins. “I vote yes.”

Zoey groans. “Someone carry me. I’m the hero tonight.”

Rumi smirks. “You’re the idiot who punched a guy.”

“And I’d do it again,” Zoey declares, limping dramatically. “For love and queer justice.”

They erupt into laughter again, the three of them strolling down the street—tangled, triumphant, and glowing.

It’s messy. It’s stupid. It’s perfect.

The elevator dings and the three of them stumble into the penthouse in a mess of limbs and laughter, Zoey still cradling her hand like a wounded soldier.

“Emergency!” she announces dramatically. “Bring gauze. Bring kisses. Bring chips.”

“You’re so annoying,” Mira groans, but she’s already steering Zoey toward the kitchen island and grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink.

“I’m a hero,” Zoey says, hopping up on a stool. “I saved Rumi’s delicate virtue.”

“I was literally about to throw that guy through a jukebox,” Rumi mutters, dropping her bag. “You just got there first.”

“And you would of looked hot doing it,” Zoey beams, holding out her hand. “But I also looked hot. So we all win.”

Rumi snorts as Mira starts gently cleaning Zoey’s knuckles. “I think your hand’s just bruised,” Mira murmurs, focused. “No break.”

“Bummer,” Zoey sighs. “Would’ve made a great war story. ‘Zoey Hwang: fractured fist, fractured hearts.’”

“You’re lucky I like you,” Mira mutters, carefully wrapping the bandage.

Zoey leans in while Mira works. “You like me?”

“I tolerate you,” Mira deadpans. “Because you’re semi-useful and occasionally funny.”

Rumi, leaning on the island, grins. “You also kissed me like you were starving earlier.”

Zoey’s eyes flick to hers, lips curling. “What can I say? You taste good.”

Mira tapes the final strip of gauze and gives Zoey’s hand a gentle pat. “All done, Drama Queen.”

She tilted her head, lips curving slyly. “Thanks, doc. Gonna kiss it better, or…?”

Mira rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let go of Zoey’s leg. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm, you like it.” Zoey’s grin widened, but then her gaze flicked past Mira, locking onto Rumi sitting stiff at the edge of the couch arm. “Don’t you, Ru?” she asked, teasing—her voice pitched low in a way that sent heat rushing straight to Rumi’s chest.

Rumi froze, caught like a deer in headlights. But the alcohol in her veins gave her just enough boldness to smile back, shy but steady. “...Maybe.”

The word hung between them like a spark. Mira’s lips parted slightly. Zoey’s smile softened into something darker, more knowing.

Rumi realized too late she couldn’t take it back. Her pulse thundered.

Zoey’s grin widened when Rumi didn’t flinch away. “Maybe, huh?” she teased, offering her bandaged hand. “Come here then. Sit with us.”

Rumi let out a soft laugh, the sound edged with mischief. She slid down from the armrest and dropped onto the cushion beside Zoey, her shoulder brushing hers deliberately. “Don’t boss me around,” she shot back, her voice low, playful.

“Bossy’s Mira’s thing,” Zoey quipped, but her gaze lingered, sharp with anticipation.

Mira shifted against the back of the couch, one arm slung lazily along the cushions. She was watching Rumi like a hawk, but there was no mockery in her stare—just hunger, as if she’d been waiting for this too.

Rumi didn’t give them more time to tease. She closed the distance and kissed Zoey, not tentative but sure, her lips warm and full against hers. Zoey froze for only half a second before groaning into it, kissing back with a grin that turned hungry quickly.

When Rumi pulled back, breathless but smirking, she met Mira’s gaze without flinching. “You’re next.”

Mira didn’t wait to be asked twice. She leaned in, her hand sliding behind Rumi’s neck, and kissed her with none of Zoey’s playful teasing—just heat and possession, tongue brushing against hers until Rumi let out a low sound that had Mira tightening her grip.

Zoey whistled under her breath, leaning back with her arm stretched along the couch to watch. “All that teasing really got you worked up huh?”

Rumi broke the kiss with Mira, her lips flushed, chest rising and falling. She turned her head toward Zoey again, smirking. “You talk too much.” And before Zoey could answer, Rumi leaned over and caught her mouth again, this time deeper, her hand sliding along Zoey’s jaw to keep her close.

Mira watched, eyes dark, her hand still on Rumi’s neck, thumb stroking idly over her skin. “I like this side of you,” she murmured when Rumi finally came up for air.

Rumi shot her a glance, daring. “Then don’t hold back.”

The challenge hung heavy between them, and just like that, the line snapped. Mira’s hand slid from Rumi’s neck down to her collarbone, fingers curling into the edge of her shirt. Zoey’s palm drifted higher on Rumi’s thigh, slow and deliberate. The space on the couch suddenly felt too small, too hot, every brush of skin sparking like kindling.

The couch seemed to shrink around them as heat coiled tighter. Mira’s fingers toyed with the hem of Rumi’s shirt, slow but deliberate, while Zoey’s hand inched higher along her thigh, her grin turning sharper with every shiver she pulled out of her.

Rumi wasn’t shy anymore—she tilted into every touch, caught Zoey’s mouth in another kiss, let Mira’s fingers graze her stomach and reveled in the jolt it sent through her. Weeks of restraint snapped like brittle string.

Zoey broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against Rumi’s lips, “You have no idea how long I’ve been dying to do this.”

Rumi’s laugh was low, breathless. “Then shut up and do it.”

That was all it took. Zoey’s hand slid boldly beneath the hem of her shirt, palm flattening against her warm skin. Rumi gasped, back arching into the touch. Mira took the opening, pressing her mouth against Rumi’s neck, teeth grazing in a way that made her moan outright.

The sound seemed to ignite them both. Zoey’s kisses turned hungry, desperate, while Mira pushed Rumi’s shirt up inch by inch, her mouth trailing lower with every heartbeat.

Rumi tried to keep up, to kiss them both back, but her body betrayed her—shuddering, melting, caught between the heat of Zoey’s tongue and Mira’s commanding hands. She felt undone, deliciously trapped in the middle, every nerve ending alight.

“Look at her,” Mira murmured, her voice rough, lips brushing the swell of Rumi’s chest. “Falling apart already.”

Zoey grinned against Rumi’s mouth. “Good. She owes us weeks of this.”

Rumi could barely breathe, her hands clinging to them both as if to anchor herself. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

“Not a chance,” Zoey whispered, sliding lower, her bandaged hand braced against the couch while the other traced dangerous patterns higher up her thigh.

Mira caught Rumi’s chin, tilting her head up so she could kiss her again—hard, deep, commanding. The world narrowed to touch and heat, the three of them tangled together on the couch, too far gone to care about anything but the ache of finally, finally giving in.

The couch swallowed them in a blur of heat. Rumi was everywhere at once—Zoey’s hands tugging her closer, Mira’s mouth at her neck, the press of warm skin and rough leather as the three of them tangled together. She felt lit from the inside, every nerve strung taut and singing.

Zoey kissed her like she was starving, lips hot and teasing, her bandaged hand cupping Rumi’s jaw while the other slid boldly beneath her shirt. Rumi gasped against her mouth as fingertips traced her stomach, lingering just long enough to make her squirm.

Mira’s kisses were different—claiming, measured, searing. Her lips dragged over the curve of Rumi’s throat, tongue dipping to taste, teeth catching lightly just to hear Rumi whimper.  

Rumi’s shirt was gone in seconds, Mira tugging it over her head and tossing it aside like she couldn’t stand another barrier. The sight of her left both of them staring—Mira with hunger sharp in her eyes, Zoey with a crooked grin that promised trouble.

“Fuck,” Zoey muttered, dragging her mouth down Rumi’s throat and biting lightly just above her chest. Her hand was already roaming higher, squeezing her breast through her bra before slipping beneath, fingers rolling her nipple until Rumi gasped aloud. 

Mira wasn’t gentle either. She shoved Rumi back against the couch cushions, climbing over her with a predatory focus. Her mouth claimed Rumi’s, hard and demanding, tongue forcing its way in as her hand slid down her stomach, nails raking lightly against sensitive skin.

“Fuck– mm yes .”

Rumi moaned into her, bucking against their touches, overwhelmed but desperate for more. Her thighs parted instinctively when Zoey’s hand slid between them, pressing firmly against the heat between her legs through her jeans.

“God, she’s soaked,” Zoey whispered against her ear, smirking when Rumi whined.

“Of course she is,” Mira growled, kissing down Rumi’s chest until she tugged the bra aside and sucked a nipple into her mouth, teeth scraping just enough to make her cry out.

Rumi clutched at them both, nails digging into shoulders, every muscle tight with need. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—just wanted more, rougher, faster.

“Please,” she gasped, voice breaking. “Don’t stop— please .”

Zoey’s laugh was dark, breath hot against her skin. “Not a fucking chance.”

Rumi barely had time to breathe before Zoey’s hand shoved her jeans open, pulling them off her legs in one clean swoop and slipped beneath, fingers sliding into her soaked underwear like she’d been waiting years for it.

“ Fuck —” The curse ripped out of her as her hips bucked, grinding into Zoey’s hand.

“Look at her,” Zoey muttered, biting at her ear while her fingers worked in tight, filthy circles that had Rumi gasping. “Dripping all over my hand already.”

Mira wasn’t about to be left out. She tugged Rumi’s bra down, exposing her completely, and latched onto her breast, sucking hard while her free hand slid lower. When her fingers brushed Zoey’s, she pushed past, sinking two fingers inside Rumi without hesitation.

Rumi cried out, back arching violently. “Oh my— god, ye s—”

The two of them worked her together, Zoey circling her clit while Mira thrust into her slowly, their rhythm merciless. Rumi was gone, clinging to Zoey’s shoulders, nails clawing into Mira’s back, pleasure flooding through her. They whispered filthy pleas into her skin that were drowned out by Rumi’s obscene moaning and whimpering. 

Mira’s long fingers picked up their speed, her thrusts pushing in a little harder now. “You’re doing such a good job baby, that’s it.” Zoey's fingers glided over her clit mercilessly, her bandaged hand clawing and grabbing at any contact she could find. 

“Yes, yes– fuck . Mira, Zoey–” She squirmed under them, Mira’s free hand pinning down her hips. 

It didn’t take Rumi very long. 

She came hard, the orgasm tearing through her with a broken scream. Her whole body seized around Mira’s fingers, shuddering as Zoey rubbed her through it, relentless until she was begging.

“Please—please—stop, I can’t—”

Zoey smirked against her throat, slowing her movements. “We’re nowhere near done with you.” 

Mira pulled her fingers free, slick and shining, then licked them clean with deliberate slowness, eyes locked on Rumi the whole time. “Mm you taste good.” 

Zoey pouted, leaning across Rumi to pull Mira into a kiss. “Let me try.” 

Their lips met, hot and wet, tongues tangling, mixing salvia with Rumi’s flavor. The image alone left Rumi wanting more. Mira pulled apart first, breathless, a dark look settled in her eyes. 

“Bed. Now.”

They stumbled into the bedroom still tangled, laughter breaking between kisses. The second her back hit the bed, Mira was on her again, yanking the rest of her clothes off and tossing them aside. “Spread your legs,” Mira ordered, not giving Rumi a chance before shoving her thighs apart and trailing her tough up her inner thigh. Zoey took the time to strip off her own clothes, transfixed on the scene in front of her. 

Rumi was a mess, her body sensitive to every touch, her folds glistening from how turned on she was. Mira’s head between her thighs ready to do insane things with her tongue. She swears she’s never seen an image so erotic before. 

Mira wasn’t interested in much teasing and taking her time, she was just as desperate for this. Her eyes looked up at Rumi, arms wrapping around her legs to hold her in place before she pushed up.

Rumi screamed, hips jerking as Mira’s tongue dragged through her folds and latched onto her clit with merciless pressure.

“Fuck—Mira!” she gasped, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets.

Zoey climbed onto the bed beside her, grinning down with wild eyes. “God, she’s eating you alive.” Then, with a wicked smirk, she swung a leg over Rumi’s face, hovering above her. “Time to multitask, Ru.”

Rumi’s answer was to drag Zoey down, tongue spearing deep into her. Zoey moaned, bracing herself on the headboard, grinding against her face with abandon. “ Holy shit , yes—don’t stop.” 

Rumi wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing, but she tried her best to listen out for movements and noises that Zoey was making, keeping in pattern what she could feel Mira was doing to her. Her moans vibrated into Zoey, which seemed to push her along even more. 

“Fuck Rumi– that’s it.. . a little bit to the left.” Zoey was patient and guiding. When Rumi lagged a bit, too overwhelmed by Mira eating her out, Zoey grabbed a fistful of Rumi’s hair and grinded down against her mouth. 

The air was thick with heat and slick sounds—Mira slurping greedily between Rumi’s legs, Rumi muffled under Zoey’s cunt, Zoey crying out above her. 

Mira shoved two fingers inside Rumi while sucking her clit, ruthless. Rumi writhed, muffled cries lost under Zoey’s body, thighs shaking violently as the orgasm tore through her fast and unforgiving. She bucked against Mira’s mouth, her scream sending vibrations through Zoey to send her over the edge too.

Zoey came undone with a broken cry, clenching hard around Rumi’s tongue as she rocked against her face. Her whole body shook, collapsing forward to brace herself on the headboard.

Rumi was wrecked between them, trembling, soaking Mira’s fingers, her face slick from Zoey’s release. Mira pulled back only long enough to lick her lips, satisfied. “Fuck… good girls.”

Zoey, panting, swung her leg back over to kneel at Rumi’s side. 

Rumi collapsed back against the sheets, chest heaving, body slick with sweat. She was trembling, every nerve overworked, but her eyes stayed locked on them. She couldn’t look away.

Mira was already pulling Zoey closer by the hips, her grip unrelenting as she guided Zoey into the position she wanted. Zoey laughed breathlessly, trying to roll with it, but Mira’s strength was absolute. Mira spun her around and pushed her forward until Zoey was between Rumi’s legs on her knees, their breasts pushed together so they faced, her arms framing either side of Rumi. 

“Stay still.” Mira’s voice was a growl, low and edged with desire.

Zoey’s grin flickered into a gasp when Mira’s hand slid down, fingers parting her with a rough stroke. “Fuck—Mira—”

Rumi’s lips parted, watching with wide eyes as Mira’s hand was already moving in hard, relentless thrusts, dragging moans from Zoey’s throat that echoed through the room.

Rumi’s body pulsed with heat despite her exhaustion. The sight of them — Mira’s sharp, commanding rhythm, Zoey’s body arching helplessly — left her aching all over again.

Mira caught Rumi’s gaze over Zoey’s shoulder, eyes blazing. “Watch her,” she said, voice thick with hunger. “Watch what I do to her.”

Zoey’s moans turned ragged, her back arching violently as she grabbed at the sheets. “Holy—fuck—don’t stop—please—”

“Beg louder,” Mira demanded, curling her fingers until Zoey’s whole body jolted.

“Fuck, Mira! Harder!” Zoey screamed, her voice breaking.

Mira’s pace turned punishing, her hips grinding down with every thrust, the sound of slick filling the room. Rumi squeezed her thighs together, watching helplessly, her face flushed and her breath shallow despite her exhaustion.

Mira locked eyes with Rumi again. “Touch her.”

Rumi didn’t argue, her fingers danced along Zoey, one hand settling on a hardened nipple, the other cupping her chin to tilt her face so she could see Zoey fall apart in front of her. 

Zoey whimpered, clinging to the mattress as her body shook, overwhelmed. “God, yes —don’t stop.”

Mira obliged, merciless, taking her with rough precision until Zoey broke apart beneath her, shuddering, crying out Mira’s name like a plea.

Rumi bit her lip, chest tight, feeling every tremor of desire all over again just from the sight.

Zoey came with a cry that bordered on a sob, body convulsing around Mira’s relentless hand. Mira didn’t stop right away, working her through it, snarling into her ear, “Take it. Take all of it.”

Zoey collapsed under her on top of Rumi, shaking uncontrollably, eyes glassy.

Mira finally pulled back, her hand glistening, her expression dark and satisfied. She turned her head toward Rumi, smirking as wiped her fingers on Zoey’s back. “Enjoy the show?”

Rumi’s answer was a broken whimper.

Mira kisses her, slow and possessive, as Zoey climbs up behind her and starts kissing her neck. Fingers dip between her thighs from behind this time—two sets now. Teasing. Stroking. Driving her mad.

“Think you’ve got one more in you, baby?”

“I want to watch you fall apart again,” Mira whispers. “Want you to remember this every time you close your eyes.”

“Already do,” Rumi gasps. “Fuck—please—do something— touch me —”

“Beg louder,” Zoey says against her ear. “You sound so pretty when you beg.”

“I want you,” Rumi moans. “Want both of you. I want to come. Please—please— please— ”

Zoey finally gives in—sliding a finger inside while Mira rubs her clit in slow, devastating circles. Rumi screams. There’s no other word for it. She arches so hard Zoey has to hold her down, one hand on her stomach, the other deep inside. They worked her slow, hyper aware of how sensitive she was. Her patterns pulsed pure light.

“That's it,” Mira breathes. “Let go.”

Rumi didn’t know who’s hand was where, or who’s lips were wrapped around a nipple or sucking hard on her neck. Her reality blurred into a feeling of pure ecstasy and bliss. It was too overwhelming, the pressure already building way too fast.

Zoey’s mouth was whispering in her ear, teeth pulling on her lobe. “Come for us, Rumi.”

And Rumi does —with a cry so raw it steals the air from the room. Her body shudders between them, every nerve on fire, thighs clamped tight around Zoey’s hand, fingers tangling in Mira’s hair. 

They don’t stop touching her. Not yet. Not until she’s sobbing, trembling, whispering their names like a mantra.

Only then does Zoey ease out, gently stroking Rumi’s thigh, her side, her hair.

Mira kisses her temple. “You okay, baby?”

Rumi lets out a choked laugh, still catching her breath. “I’ve never been better.”

“You’re wrecked, ” Mira teases, but her smile is soft, her fingers gentle as they push sweaty strands from Rumi’s face.

“I love you guys,” Rumi mumbles, half-drunk on orgasm, eyes fluttering shut.

Zoey hums. “Yeah. We know.”

They hold her—bare, breathless, warm between them. All the chaos of the night softens into something golden, humming, slow.

Rumi yawned softly, her body fully relaxed and sated, still nestled between Mira and Zoey. Mira’s arms wrapped securely around her, holding her close, while Zoey’s fingers traced idle patterns along her sides, teasing just enough to make Rumi giggle lightly.

“You’re so warm,” Zoey murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Rumi’s temple. “I could just stay like this forever.”

Rumi smiled sleepily, nuzzling against Mira’s chest. “Me too… I never want to leave,” she whispered. Her words were muffled slightly by the soft fabric of Mira’s shirt, but the contentment in her voice was clear.

Mira brushed her fingers through Rumi’s hair, pressing her lips gently to the crown of her head. “We’ll stay right here,” she promised. “No rush, no pressure… just us.”

Zoey leaned closer, her head resting lightly against Rumi’s shoulder. “And I swear, we’ll keep spoiling you until you can’t even remember a life without us teasing you,” she teased softly, but her voice had a tender edge that made Rumi’s chest swell.

Rumi giggled, letting herself melt further between them. “I… I love both of you so much,” she murmured. Her fingers lightly traced the line of Mira’s arm and Zoey’s hand, holding onto them as if they were anchored in the best possible way.

Mira smiled, pressing another soft kiss to Rumi’s hair. “We love you too, Ru. More than you’ll ever know.”

Zoey’s grin softened as she nuzzled Rumi’s neck, whispering, “You’re ours. Always and forever.”

Rumi let out a contented sigh, closing her eyes, feeling the steady warmth of Mira and the playful, constant touch of Zoey. 

“Always and forever. I like that.” She hummed into her chest. Her heart beat in rhythm with theirs, every gentle brush, every whispered word, a promise of love and devotion.

Minutes passed in silence, filled only with soft breathing, occasional giggles, and tender nuzzles. Mira shifted slightly to press a lingering kiss to Rumi’s lips, slow and deliberate. “Goodnight, my little goddess,” she murmured.

Zoey joined in, pressing her own kiss against Rumi’s cheek. “Sweet dreams, Ru… we’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Rumi snuggled closer, a blissful smile on her lips, her body fully relaxed, feeling cherished, adored, and safe. The three of them slowly drifted into sleep, tangled together in a warm cocoon of skin, whispered promises, soft laughter, and lingering touches—their hearts beating together, perfectly in sync, a quiet intimacy that needed no words.

Even as sleep claimed them, the room hummed with unspoken affection, playful teasing, and the deep satisfaction of love shared fully and freely.