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It is not the soft rays of sun that urge Rumi into wakefulness but the almost suffocating blaze of heat surrounding her body. For a moment she thinks she is laying in fire, her mind supplies the image of Gwi-ma's roaring mouth, her ears can almost make out the crackle and whoosh of flames but then—
Rumi's eyes open with a soft gasp on her lips because even in the worst throes of nightmares she has learned to keep quiet. The last thing she needs is Mira or Zoey barging into her room in fight mode over Rumi screaming. Her nightmares cannot touch her, she has had enough of them by now to know this, but the heat feels so real.
Her body flexes on its own accord, eager for it's morning stretch before Rumi inevitably drags herself out of bed. She barely gets to move at all with the way she is surrounded on all sides. There is a firm weight at her back and a sinking softness in her arms that is decidedly not pillow shaped. Her ears focus on the gentle sounds of breathing, and then—with mounting realization—the pounding of her own heart in her ears.
It comes back to her quickly in a conglomeration of static images—Mira's arm stretched behind her back to hold Rumi's hand, the pink of Mira's cheeks as she looked at Rumi over her shoulder, Zoey's hands curled around Rumi's shoulder squeezing gently, foamy smiles while brushing their teeth hip to hip to hip, both of their hands unbraiding Rumi's hair, the flush on her own cheeks after being passed back and forth for gentle kisses—even her wildest dreams couldn't conjure up.
Rumi has loved them and been in love with them as long as she's known them. She cannot fathom the simple fact that they love her the same. Even with the very real memories of a confession, she can't even begin to wrap her head around it.
"You awake?" Mira's voice is lower in the mornings in a way that scratches pleasantly at Rumi's ears. She feels Mira's body stretch, even more heat boiling her blood at the full length drape of Mira's body against her own. The ghost of her breath on Rumi's shoulder has goose pimples lining her flesh instantaneously.
Rumi squeaks out some semblance of an affirmative sound. She feels her hands clench from her own nervous instinct and realizes very quickly her hand is curled around Zoey's waist. Zoey only lets out a soft, content sound in response.
"Good," Mira drawls out slowly. "Are you going to give me a good morning kiss or what?" Rumi is used to hearing a general underlying teasing to Mira's tone but finds not a trace of it now. She feels the gentle nudge of Mira's nose against the back of her shoulder, and while she is used to Mira treating her softer than she would anyone else other than Zoey, this feels like an entire new level unlocked.
It's been less than twenty-four hours since a three way love confession and already Rumi is greedy for everything that comes with it. If it was going to be rolled back, if she was going to lose it eventually, than she might as well take all she can while she has the chance.
Rumi flips over slowly, from the lack of space she has with how tightly pressed together they are, and from the blooming shyness that comes with what she is going to do next. Her cheeks flush with heat, the dull itch of her patterns coming to life following it, but she doesn't let it deter her.
The smile on Mira's face once Rumi is finally facing her isn't new—because Rumi has watched them for as long as she's loved them—but she has only ever seen this look leveled at Zoey. It is suffused in softness, teeming with affection, and makes Rumi feel like she just might be worthy after all.
"Rumi," Mira teases, the hand at Rumi's hip trails its way up Rumi's side until she is cupping her palm against Rumi's jaw. "I've waited forever to kiss you, you gonna keep me waiting?" Her thumb smooths just over the arch of Rumi's cheek, and her eyes practically twinkle with delight. Rumi can't quite believed it's aimed at her.
She leans up and presses a hesitant kiss to Mira's lips before she can think herself out of it. For a really long time she never understood the movies and books that talked about fireworks and described earth-shattering kisses but she thinks she gets it now. It's not their first kiss or even their tenth, and Rumi hopes it's nowhere near their last, but it feels like the first one all over again. Sparks, and fireworks, and magic.
Rumi doesn't even get to back away fully before Mira is following after her. Unlike Rumi, she is not shy about kissing Rumi back. Her fingers slip to the back of Rumi's neck, tilting Rumi's head up with practiced ease, and sighing against Rumi's mouth like she has been waiting for this her entire life.
In love with Rumi since she was seventeen, she'd said last night, so maybe she has.
Rumi certainly understands the feeling.
Mira kisses her soft and sweet but it gives Rumi such a head rush she is almost dizzy when Mira finally releases her. She doesn't move very far, which Rumi is greedily grateful for. She has imagined a million times over being close to them like this—always as friends, of course, because there was no way she deserved more—but the reality surpasses her own imagination tenfold.
"Mm," Mira hums, supremely satisfied somehow even with pink cheeks and dazed eyes. "Can't wait to do that forever," she says with not an ounce of shame or embarrassment. It leaves absolutely no question about how long she intends to keep Rumi in her clutches. She has known Mira long enough, been stung by the bluntness of Mira's words herself, to know that Mira does not say things she doesn't mean. The realization sits heavily on her chest.
"You really love me too?" Rumi finds herself whispering before she can stop herself. It's way too needy, shows too much of a side of her she desperately wishes didn't exist at all. It's harder to hide in the mornings when sleep still keeps the panicking portion of her brain dormant enough to ignore.
Mira doesn't even blink before pressing her lips to Rumi's forehead. "So much," she confirms fiercely. "So fucking much, Rumi."
Mira has never lied to Rumi before and she certainly has no reason to start now. Especially not after the promise of no more lies even if they hurt.
"Okay," Rumi sighs in something akin to relief.
Mira only holds her a little closer and with Zoey flipping over to mold herself against Rumi's back whilst still asleep, Rumi thinks this might be the happiest she has ever been in her life. She commits the feeling to memory just in case.
There is a tickling against her nose and try as Rumi might to twitch it away, it remains annoyingly persistent. She tries turning her head, finding the soft relief of a pillow that smells so good, and even gets to sink blissfully back into sleep's embrace just for the tickling sensation to move down her neck instead.
Rumi lets out a small, pitiful groan as her precious slumber slips away from her like sand in an hourglass. She swipes blindly at her collarbone to rid herself of the itch. She assumes it's someone's hair—Honmoon knows there is no shortage of it in this bed—but her fingers catch against something too solid to fit the bill.
The ensuing giggling has Rumi awake enough to be affronted at the interruption of probably the best sleep she's ever had in her life. She sweeps up the offending culprit—fingers, slightly larger than her own but not the largest Rumi has memorized—and yanks to cradle them close to her chest. The giggling continues, delighted now, and Rumi whirls to pin her culprit beneath her. Her brain supplies her images of alligators and death rolls with relish.
It's not very hard to accomplish when Zoey goes so willingly.
"Sleep," Rumi commands, dropping her entire weight against Zoey's squirming body, faintly cognizant of her cheek landing on a naked collarbone. There is blissful stillness and soothing warmth that has Rumi making good on her own command. She sighs contently as she nuzzles into her new captive.
It lasts all of five seconds before Zoey starts to wiggle beneath her.
"Rumi," Zoey murmurs in a small whine. "You're crushing me," but even as she says this her hands reach out to flirt their way down Rumi's naked spine, landing softly to curl around Rumi's naked hips—
Rumi pops up from Zoey's chest as heat floods her face, the familiar itch that precedes her patterns lighting up spanning the length of her body, and her eyes widening as memories from the night before come barreling back into her mind with stunning, belly swooping clarity.
Zoey lets out a warm laugh, her lips pinched at the corner sympathetically even though amusement dances in her eyes. "Hi, good morning, do not freak out."
Easier said than done when they are both naked. They have seen her naked before, of course, at the bathhouse and then every time Rumi works up enough nerve to change in front of them, and the rare occasion when she teases them with photos. But those were controlled circumstances and now they have truly seen Rumi naked.
In fact, now they have seen every single part Rumi has to offer. It was exhilarating. It was freeing. It was a little terrifying.
"Do you want me to let you go?" Zoey asks softly, no judgment in her voice whatsoever. "So you can cover up?"
"No," Rumi says after a beat. "No, I just—forgot," she finishes lamely. Her cheeks heat further at the knowing look on Zoey's face. She feels it spread to her ears and the back of her neck when Zoey's mouth twitches into something distinctly wolfish.
"Oh I bet," Zoey breathes with little shame. Her knuckles brush gently across Rumi's cheek, tucking a curl behind her ear sweetly. "Fucked you right to sleep, huh? Surprised you even remember your own name—" her words trail off into a deep belly laugh when Rumi whines in embarrassment and scrambles halfheartedly away from Zoey's body.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Zoey soothes around her laughter, her hands keeping Rumi firmly in place. "Don't be embarrassed. It was so hot, Rumi," she says in utter sincerity. "I kinda thought I was still dreaming when I woke up but then there you were. All naked and beautiful and real," the breathy quality of Zoey's voice as her fingers trace mindlessly against Rumi's back only makes Rumi blush a little harder.
Rumi resettles against Zoey's chest, grinning quietly to herself when Zoey's warm lips find the edge of her hairline.
"How do you feel?" Zoey asks barely above a whisper.
Rumi considers her question seriously.
"Tired," Rumi decides, rolling her eyes when Zoey kisses her head again and Rumi can feel her shit eating grin. "A little sore, but in a good way." She exhales a breath that trembles before an earnest, "A lot more in love with both of you than I was yesterday," tumbles its way out.
Zoey's arms tighten around her. "Yeah," she murmurs, her voice so incredibly gentle. "Same."
The door to Mira's bedroom opens then, and Rumi looks up to find Mira in the door way with her hair up in a messy bun, glasses slipping down her nose, and a giant tray packed with steaming food in her arms.
"Hey," Mira says with as much emotion as Rumi has ever heard in a single syllable from Mira ever. Her eyes visibly soften behind her glasses. "You're awake," she notes with clear delight. "I made us breakfast."
Zoey mutters something like, "So in love," and loosens her grip on Rumi's back so Rumi can sit herself up. She takes the sheet with her and tucks it beneath her armpits for good measure. It's pointless really after they have seen it all—she tries not to blush at the memory of the wild splay of her own limbs and the wanton sounds she made between them, for them, because of them—but it makes her feel a little more secure.
Zoey's smile doesn't dip an inch and Mira approaches swiftly, a smile curling her lips like Rumi is their most precious thing. In this moment, Rumi thinks she might believe it.
Mira sets the tray down just in reach of both of them and Rumi's eyes widen at the sheer volume in front of her. There is a lot of their normal breakfast—Rumi's favorites in excess—but there is American style too. There are even flowers tucked artfully around the plate edges.
Rumi looks back up at Mira with shimmering eyes to find Mira's lower lip caught between her teeth and her eyes a little wide like she is waiting for Rumi's final judgment. She breathes an audible sigh of relief when Rumi extends her hand and curls her fingers to invite her back into their bed.
"You didn't have to do all of this," Rumi informs her but she is so infinitely touched that Mira has. It presses against all her tender spots, reminds her how much they love her just how she is. Rumi is still trying to work it out in her head.
Mira looks affronted at the suggestion, "Of course, I did. You worked up an appetite last night and fell asleep before I could feed you." She reaches out for Rumi then, her smile creasing the corners of her eyes as she cups Rumi's cheek in the warmth of her palm. Her smile only widens when Rumi leans into it instinctively. "How do you feel?"
Rumi almost rolls her eyes. She is a little embarrassed about the check ins, a little shy under their expectant gazes, but after so long of putting her own feelings aside, it feels good to be asked. Still weird to actually share. "Fine," she promises. "I'm not made of glass you know."
Mira's smile sharpens, her palm firming just a little against Rumi's cheek as she taps Rumi's lower lip twice with her thumb. "Oh trust me," she practically purrs. "I'm well aware."
Zoey sighs wistfully. "Listen, Rumi, you should totally eat breakfast but like," she widens her eyes dolefully, pressing a palm innocently to her chest. "I'm totally down if you want to fuck again. We can marathon it all day."
"Zoey," Mira sighs around an exasperated laugh. "We can't," she says, a touch begrudging. "That kind of stamina needs to be built up to."
Rumi perks up a little, torn between indignation at a knock against her stamina when she has demon blood in her veins, and a little embarrassed about how quickly heat pools below her hips. "I have stamina!"
Zoey's grin nearly splits her face. "Yeah, Mira," she says agreeably. "Rumi has stamina!"
Mira rolls her eyes, a smile permanently stuck to the corner of her lips. "Rumi, trust me," she says gravely. "This is for your own good. Zoey is insatiable." She nudges the tray closer, smile softer as she says, "Eat, please."
Still, Rumi feels like she has something to prove. She knows she doesn't, of course, because they will go at whatever pace she dictates. They have proven that with how gentle they cradled her body last night, how long they waited before Rumi finally broached the subject, and how immediately they gave her exactly what she asked for when she asked for it. Rumi did not think sex could be like that—gentle and fun and giggly and rough and filthy and still so freeing—and she already knows she wants more of it.
She eats her breakfast enthusiastically, even joins their conversation about nothing in particular, and all the while she plots. She finds she does not want to wait. She finds herself a little greedy for a repeat performance, and Rumi has come too far to not get the things that she wants.
"I had a lot of fun last night," Rumi informs them and it warms her all over to watch them perk up significantly in pride. "It made me realize that I haven't had a lot of fun," she continues on and it aches a little to realize all the things she's missed out on but she can unpack it later when she is not a woman on a mission.
"That's okay!" Zoey comforts quickly, "It's not a race! Everyone does stuff in their own time—"
"—yeah, Rumi, Zoey didn't even know how to masturbate when I met her—"
"That's literally not true but okay—"
"You used to dry hump—"
"—fuck you I like firm stimulation and friction!"
"Anyway!" Rumi cuts in before they can stray too far from where she wants them. She reaches for both of their wrists, grateful that Mira has cleared away their breakfast tray because when she lets the sheet slip to reveal her naked chest it's a completely unobstructed view.
The way they look at her makes Rumi feel more power than wielding any weapon or taking any stage.
"I think I deserve to have more fun," Rumi tells them in a sweet little simper. "Don't you think?"
Their heads nod absently, gaze still fixed on her chest, and Rumi squeezes their wrists.
"Are you going to have fun with me?" Rumi asks with her sweetest, most innocent smile, and she practically watches their eyes glaze over.
"Yes," Zoey manages to squeak out. "I'll give you so much fun you won't have anywhere to fit it," she says with a surety that lands heavy between Rumi's legs.
"So much fun," Mira joins in in that sultry purr that makes Rumi's heart do back flips in her chest. "You'll cry from it."
Rumi feels a shiver race up her spine, delight and lust and love so hot in her own veins. Still, she manages to shrug casually. "Guess we'll see," she says like a challenge.
Rumi just knows they'll prove it.
Rumi is not the only one awake nor is she the first to wake at all.
The sun has not even graced the sky with its presence though Rumi suspects it's not long with the ever lightening blue peeking in from their curtains. The exhaustion clings stubbornly at her eyelids, the melancholy and regret from the night before lying heavily enough on her chest to make it difficult to breathe, let alone sleep.
Despite the fact that she's been awake for at least an hour, she does not imagine moving from this bed. It feels too much like they are in a stalemate, and as much as Rumi wants them to go back to the domestic bliss of yesterday morning, leaving with so many words unsaid feels like the wrong choice.
The Rumi before the Idol Awards would have slipped out of bed in the dead of the night to cower in shame. The Rumi she is trying to be stays even if it means being vulnerable when she is already feeling so fucking tender. It's a new feeling, she thinks, to still feel love for them so staunchly and so hurt by them in equal measure. It's not a new feeling to be disappointed in herself, but it is to feel slightly disappointed in them.
The only thing that keeps Rumi from fully losing her mind is the realization that they must all feel the same.
Rumi knows Zoey is awake behind her because her breathing is too fast to be the familiar gentle snore that often lulls Rumi to sleep. She can feel the heat of Zoey's body wafting towards her, a constant sinking reminder that she has fucked up so badly that no part of her body touches Rumi's. Yet, no matter how disappointed at Rumi she is, she has not left.
Rumi does not hear Mira at all but she knows she is awake too. She imagines Mira has marbled herself out of stone, curled on her side with her back to both of them. She can feel the tense silence that comes with Mira's upset, like a coiled spring ready to snap. No matter how mad at Rumi she is, she has not left either.
Rumi is not sure how to exist in a space where love still mixes with emotions she thought were black and white.
It's not their first fight. They have all known each other for too long for that to be the case. It is, however, their first fight as a committed throuple. Rumi still can't believe its real. It almost feels too real in this moment. She doesn't remember exactly what set it off, just that one second she felt an awful hollowness in her chest at the callousness of Mira's tone, and the next second her and Mira were screaming at each other, only to be silenced by Zoey screaming at them.
They'd almost slept in separate rooms.
The tension filled silence that'd come after all of the barking had rung so loudly in her ears that she could not imagine sullying the sacred bounds of a shared bed. She'd been forlorn but resigned as she started the slow march down the hallway to her seldom used bedroom only to be stopped by Zoey's fingers looping around her wrist.
"You don't like sleeping by yourself," Zoey had said, her tone uncharacteristically gruff, and her eyes focused on Rumi's shoulder instead of her face.
Rumi had felt like she did not deserve the life ring being tossed to her.
Mira had chimed in then, her tone flat and scrubbed raw of any emotion as she said, "Together means together, Rumi. Even when we're fighting."
It hadn't closed the chasm yawning between them even a millimeter, but it had felt like lying tools and wood along the jagged edges for a bridge to follow. Sleep had not come easy for any of them.
Rumi doesn't think she can survive a moment longer of this divide, not when she now knows how good it can all be. She turns on her opposite side slowly, not a single plan in mind outside of soothing this three way ache. She tries to be silent and inconspicuous, acutely aware of the pin drop quiet of their bedroom, and only half way succeeds.
Zoey is very much awake, Rumi notes with a pang of regret tightening her chest. She lies flat on her back, staring listlessly up at the ceiling with both of her hands clasped together over her belly pointedly. The muscles of her biceps are tense, like she has to actively fight against her bodies natural inclination for touch.
Rumi has felt regret for a lot of things in her life, but making Zoey—who has confided in them in their softest moments how much being split down the middle hurts her, how having both of their swelling egos leaving little room for her makes her feel small—this upset tops the list by a mile. She knows she has not earned the right to reach across this gap, more like deserves to fall right into it, but she does anyway.
Rumi's fingers tap hesitantly against the joint of Zoey's closest shoulder, a tentative touch meant to gauge rather than sooth, and isn't immediately shrugged off. The relief of that realization almost makes Rumi's eyes water. It makes her grow bolder, a hand instead of fingers, her palm sliding across Zoey's collarbone with the intent to fix instead of break. The tears press hotly against the back of her eyelids when Zoey's lower lip trembles visibly.
Zoey doesn't move towards her but she doesn't flinch of out Rumi's grasp either. Rumi doesn't mind.
She gets close enough to feel Zoey's body heat directly, a distinct feeling of comfort following it—like coming home after a long day or slipping shoes off after hours of wear. She nestles closer on instinct. Her palm curls across Zoey's opposite shoulder, her forehead pressing tight to the trembling temple above Zoey's jaw. Her breath shakes on her next exhale at the feeling of the bridge of her nose against the skin of Zoey's cheek.
Rumi squeezes Zoey to her tightly, trying desperately to staunch the way Zoey's body trembles against her own. Still, Zoey remains tense and unmoving. Rumi think she deserves a lot worse.
"I'm sorry," Rumi whispers against the shell of Zoey's ear. "Please forgive me," she pleads without an ounce of shame. She thinks she would offer up the tender skin of belly and neck if it meant soothing this transgression. She doesn't dare to open her eyes, not even when Zoey inhales wetly, not even when the band of tension along Zoey's body breaks into tiny, heart rending cries instead. She holds Zoey against her, determined to be stalwart and safe in the way Zoey has always deserved. "I'm so sorry, Zoey," she whispers against Zoey's ear again, unable to stop the way her lips press against Zoey's cheek. The salt that finds her feels a little like retribution.
Zoey's resolve finally breaks.
She turns abruptly in Rumi's arms, her hands fisting tight enough against Rumi's shirt that Rumi wonders briefly if it will rip right down the middle. She tucks her head beneath Rumi's chin as she cries unabashed and unashamed. Rumi readjusts her hold to rub soothingly at Zoey's back.
It doesn't take very long at all for Mira's ice to thaw. She tilts backwards slowly, propping herself up on one elbow as she squints across the bed at Zoey. There is a long beat of Mira staring at Zoey crying, her face flexed into something so akin to misery that Rumi feels an echo of it in her own chest.
Again, Rumi reaches even if she doesn't deserve it.
Mira's eyes shift from Zoey to Rumi's outstretched hand. She squints even harder at Rumi, her vision so fucking poor in the low light and the six feet of distance that Rumi almost smiles. She settles for flexing her fingers impatiently instead.
Whatever it is that has led them here no longer matters. Not with Zoey crying as hard as she is, not with Rumi feeling as hallow as she does, and not with Mira prickling when she has tried so hard to smooth her edges.
Mira's entire body moves across the mattress in one swift moment. Her fingers loop around Rumi's wrist, hanging on fiercely as Rumi cups the tense hardness of her jaw, and lays flush against Zoey's back. She sees Rumi a little better now that she is closer, and even in the dark Rumi can see the remorse shining brightly around her irises. Rumi knows she must look the same.
Zoey's cries hitch, still for a brief second, before she is crying even harder into Rumi's chest. One of her palms unfurls, striking backward with devastating accuracy to pull at the fabric of Mira's sweats to keep her close.
The chasm between them closes when Mira completes the circle of connection. Her arm wraps around Rumi's back, tugging until they are both squashed in her longer wingspan. The sun rises as they stay wrapped tightly around Zoey and eventually her cries tapper off to sporadic hitches of breath, until that's gone away too.
It's Mira who reaches next and Rumi thinks she will never stop being in awe of Mira's bravery.
"I'm sorry," Mira says, her nails digging into the back of Rumi's shirt to be felt even through barrier. "I shouldn't have raised my voice," she continues on gruffly but earnest. "I was just mad that you were making decisions behind our back again," her eyes are wounded enough as they stare back at Rumi to portray nothing but sincerity. "It reminded me of you hiding before and then you were—" Zoey wriggles unhappily and Mira swallows thickly. "I felt," she corrects, "like you were being dismissive when I brought it up."
Rumi chews on that for a long moment. It comes back to her slowly, the way she scheduled herself alone for two back to back promo weekends so they didn't have to, and the way Mira had been enraged when Bobby brought it up casually to confirm in their presence. The confusion of Mira blowing up at her over seemingly nothing had sent her hackles raising and then it had gone from bad to worse from there.
"I'm sorry too," Rumi says along an exhale. "I just—" How can Rumi put into words how easy it is to slip into leader? How can she put into words that she observes them so closely after years of being on the outside looking in? How can she express that she only wants the softest and sweetest life for them after all they have been through? She is not sure she will ever be able to hit the mark but she tries anyway.
"The new exhibit we funded at the zoo is opening that weekend," Rumi starts slowly, a little unsure on her own ability to communicate. "There should be someone from Huntr/x there but the label needs someone promoing in Tokyo." She looks up at Mira hoping to find understanding and only gets a brow wrinkled in confusion. "I want you both to go to the exhibit opening," she explains. "I can take care of the boring promo stuff—"
Zoey tilts back in Rumi's arms so abruptly that Rumi looks down at her in concern. The narrow of her eyes is almost accusing. "Why do you think we would want to go without you?"
Rumi blinks. "What?"
"Rumi," Mira sighs in something akin to frustration. "This is what I'm talking about! You make assumptions—"
"—Mira."
"I feel like you make assumptions on how we feel!" Mira practically bursts out. "Do you think we'll be able to enjoy the exhibit opening when you're away doing stupid album promo? So far away from us? Do you like being away from us?"
"No," Rumi says plainly, a little relieved at a question she has an actual answer to. "I hate it."
Mira makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat. "So do we!"
"What she means—" Zoey murmurs soothingly, a little hoarse from all her crying. "—is that it hurts us when you exclude us from decisions. This isn't like before where you had to keep us in the dark to protect your secret. There's no reason for you not to talk to us about this kind of stuff now, right?" Though Zoey does take care to keep her voice soft, there is no hiding the thin layer of insecurity beneath it.
"Unless you're hiding something else," Mira's tone tries for teasing, but just like Zoey, Rumi can hear the unsureness coiled around it.
Didn't they know by now that everything Rumi ever did was for them? Had she not proved that to them ten times over? And yet they both stare back at her waiting patiently for her to reassure. To tell them again that she will not go back to lying and hiding even if its easier. After all, have they not proved to her too? That they will not waiver no matter what she shares. That they will make it better even when Rumi doesn't think it possible. Have they not proved that to her even more so?
"I'm not hiding anything," Rumi promises fiercely. "I just really didn't want to ruin your weekend with boring press stuff that I know I can do on my own. I'm sorry for not asking your opinion on it. It won't happen again." A small part of her is kind of relieved that she now has a reason to not separate herself from them again. An even bigger part of her is proud of the way they relax at the sound of her promise. She has at least redeemed herself enough to be that trustworthy.
"Good," Mira says and then she is redoubling her grip on both of them in her arms. "Now can we please actually sleep? I'm so tired. We can talk about it more later."
Zoey lets out a pitiful little laugh, her hands clinging just as tight. "Same."
Rumi thinks that's the best thing she's heard in the last twenty four hours.
The wound from keeping secrets for so long is far from fully healed, but as the sunlight streams through the windows, and the tense air around them finally fades, Rumi thinks its well on its way.
The morning finds her slightly breathless in a way that is familiar and not at all unwelcome. She is intimately aware of the way arousal coils low in her belly, the minute twitch of her thighs that comes from uncontrollable pleasure, and the inner tightening that signals she is close—
Rumi's eyes fly open, a guttural kind of moan crawling up her throat as she looks down between her own legs to find glittering eyes, sparkling in mischief. For a brief moment, Rumi thinks she is dreaming. After all, Zoey is supposed to be in America visiting her family, not trying to eat her way to Rumi's heart from between her legs.
And yet—
Rumi's fingers curl into Zoey's hair, her hips pressing upwards to grind against the flat of Zoey's tongue in earnest. It's almost muscle memory to chase her own pleasure at this point. Still, Rumi tries to fight through the haze of lust and sleep to voice her most pressing question.
"Zo—Shit—What are you—"
Zoey does not seem to want Rumi's mouth doing anything but moaning with the way her fingers press two deep with very little resistance. The groan that comes out of her is so loud, Rumi releases Zoey's hair to cup a palm over her mouth because she worries it will wake—
"What the fuck?" Mira's voice is throaty with sleep, but bristled and alarmed as she flops over from her belly to turn towards Rumi. She seems to take in the scene in front of her as best she can with no glasses. There is a short, raspy laugh as Rumi's eyes nearly cross in pleasure before she is speaking again. "You're home early," she says to Zoey evenly.
Zoey's mouth comes away from Rumi's clit with a sinister wet smack that leaves Rumi twitching helplessly. Zoey's fingers continue to curl and pump into Rumi without faltering, keeping Rumi very much suspended on the edge of orgasm. "I missed you guys too much," she confesses breathlessly. "I swapped my flight to an earlier one."
Mira lets out a low hum, her back arching as she stretches the length of her spine leisurely, like Rumi is not dangling on a mind-numbing orgasm, and this is just a casual morning chat. "We missed you too," Mira says sweetly and then she is moving down the length of the bed to kiss Zoey like she's missed her.
Considering Zoey has been gone for six entire days and Zoey's cheeks are wet with Rumi, Mira's kiss is filthy. It devolves into squirming tongues and muffled moans until Mira is outright licking around Zoey's mouth. All the while, Zoey's fingers pump and curl as Rumi whines above them.
Mira turns to look at her then, a satisfied smile tugging the corner of her lips as she presses Zoey's face against her shoulder. The stares leveled Rumi's way have her thighs trembling anew. "Aww, look at her patterns," Mira murmurs in that lovely condescending tone that makes Rumi burn from the inside out. "She's missed you so much, Zo."
Rumi's pattern writhe an even wilder frenzy at Mira's call to attention. "I did," she murmurs breathlessly, her back arching under Zoey's mouth finding her once more. The lash of her tongue and seal of her lips is nothing short of a promise to devastate. "Missed you so much," she manages to get out around her own panted breathing.
"Don't let her come, Zo," Mira commands as she rises from the bed fully. She leans down enough to press a kiss to the crown of Zoey's head, her hand pinching playfully at Rumi's shin braced over Zoey's shoulder as she moves. "She hasn't earned it yet."
Rumi lets out a high, questioning whine, something desperate clawing at her insides as Zoey's mouth slows and her fingers follow suit to back Rumi away from the edge. She feels tears well in her eyes at the denial, even as she pulses around Zoey's fingers.
Mira only laughs at her misery. "Oh come on, baby," she says teasingly, "Don't you want to show Zoey how much you missed her? Maybe if you beg pretty enough, or come hard enough, she won't leave again."
Zoey's moan vibrates its way between Rumi's legs. She starts to speed her pacing back up, a strength behind each of her thrusts now like she is trying to bring Mira's words to fruition.
A challenge before eight in the morning? Rumi would scoff if she wasn't about to start drooling.
Rumi lets her hand fall back to Zoey's hair, lets the arch of her spine get a little obscene in the way she knows Zoey gobbles up, and then does as she's told. The simper of her words, the edge of her whine, the pitch of her moans all flow a whole lot easier with the way Zoey's fingers pound into her and her mouth sucks like she is trying to eat Rumi off the bone.
Rumi is only faintly aware of Mira rejoining them until her mouth is latching onto the stiff peaks of Rumi's nipples. The ensuing moans reverberate through the Honmoon in a way Rumi can be embarrassed about explaining to Celine later.
Still, Rumi is edged until she is crying and writhing against the sheets. Sweat sheens her body, her heartbeat residing firmly between her legs, and all sensation collecting low between her hips. Despite wanting to come badly enough to scream, there is nowhere else Rumi would rather be.
"How many was that, Zo?" Mira's voice filters in through the blood rushing in Zoey's ears, low but distinctly pleased. She drags her fingertips along the pulsing patterns spanning Rumi's ribcage, her touch casual and reverent at the same time.
"Four," Zoey answers hoarsely and even though she is the driving force behind Rumi's pleasure and subsequent denial, she sounds about as wrecked as Rumi feels. "She's so wet, baby."
Mira's lips are cool against the heated flesh of Rumi's cheek. Rumi can feel the pleased smile against her skin.
"Please," Rumi begs for the umpteenth time. "I've been good," her breath hitches on a sob and yet there is a fire in her that does not yield to her own tears. "At least fuck me harder if you're going to draw it ou—" she does not get to finish her words before Zoey is pressing into her with three fingers and rendering her so achingly full it makes her breathless.
Not one to be outdone, Mira's hand finds a home at the crown of Rumi's head, fingers tightening as she drags Rumi's head to face her. "Be nice to Zoey," she warns hotly but there is a spark of mirth in her eyes too. "She can't help that she's half American."
Zoey lets out a strangled cry, her fingers pausing briefly in their rhythm. "Hey!"
"You're doing amazing sweetie," Mira tells her soothingly. "I'll shut her up for you, don't worry about it."
Rumi's chest hitches around a laughing little moan and when Mira turns back to her there is affection brimming so staunchly on her face, Rumi just has to reach out to touch it.
Mira allows this, her cheek pressing into Rumi's palm as her fingers curl around Rumi's wrist.
Rumi makes the temporary break in guard count.
"Let me come, baby," Rumi whispers sweetly even as she pants against Mira's lips. "I'll do it so hard," she gasps a little wantonly, "Wanna show you," and watches in satisfaction as Mira's eyes flutter closed.
Mira lets out a low growl, frustrated for yielding, and Rumi nearly pants in excitement. "Fine," she says around a sniff. Her grip finds Rumi's cheeks and the squeeze that follows almost hurts. "But only because you're so fucking cute and I love you."
Rumi manages to garble out some form of an I love you with great difficulty.
Mira holds onto her face as she gives Zoey permission to finally end Rumi's misery. She goads Rumi into keeping eye contact, even when Rumi's eyes roll back in her head, and everything around her fades to static as Zoey finally, finally, makes her come.
It quakes through her entire body, lights her patterns white and then gold, and when she finally regains control of her brain, Zoey is on top of her. It's hardly an unwelcome sight.
"Oh," Zoey trills, the apples of her cheeks fire engine red, and the pupils of her eyes so dark Rumi feels like she's staring into a void. "She's back," she proclaims with a tiny little gasp. "Just in time."
"Good," Mira grunts out with effort. "Then she can watch me fuck you until you can't walk."
Rumi hears the way Zoey's hands curl into the sheets on either side of her head. She lifts her neck with as much strength as she can muster, her visuals aided by the way Zoey sinks lower until her cheek is against Rumi's chest. She gets the perfect view of the curve of Zoey's ass and the spread of her hips, and the mouth-watering, imposing tower of Mira behind her.
Mira smiles back at Rumi with all of her teeth, her hands already iron gripped to Zoey's hips, and the familiar red leather of her favorite harness just barely visible beneath her navel. Despite Rumi not on the business end of Mira's strap this time, she shivers in a delighted kind of sympathy.
"You're fucked," Rumi murmurs to Zoey with nothing short of excitement. She tangles a free hand into Zoey's ruined hair, the other dragging a red tinted path with her nails up Zoey's already slick spine.
The first thrust of Mira's hips rings an echoing clap through their room, overpowering Zoey's breathless gasp easily. Rumi is intimately familiar with the air being fucked out of her lungs too. She presses a kiss to Zoey's forehead lazily. How lucky for her.
"You'll never get to leave us again," Rumi informs Zoey impishly and then like her words are a pistol at a race, Mira takes off like a shot. She sets a blistering pace that renders Zoey prone and drooling against Rumi's chest but deeply satisfied in the way Rumi has learned Zoey loves.
Rumi cradles her like their most precious thing and thinks Zoey's moaning sounds a lot like agreement.
When Rumi's eyes open, she knows immediately that she has slept way too late. She feels too well-rested, there is too much quiet, and then she is suddenly awake with worry. Not to mention a very full bladder.
It takes more effort than she would like to heave herself up and even then its less sitting up and more of a sideways sprawl than anything. Her body is not really cooperating with her at the moment and Rumi is too freshly awake to be anything but grumpy about it. She holds herself up on her elbow and tries not to pee herself as she pieces together her surroundings.
Rumi is in her bedroom, though she remembers falling asleep on the couch, and a small part of her is deeply embarrassed about being carried to bed with the new weight around her mid section but an even bigger part of her is thankful for the muscle cramping it's saved her. She is not alone in her bedroom, unsurprising considering she is never alone these days.
Zoey is sprawled out on her back to Rumi's right, mouth open as she snores on undisturbed. Rumi is infinitely jealous of how comfortable she looks, even with the tiny hand star-fished across her face. Their daughter—already five, growing like a weed and ready to tackle school and Rumi can't even look at her without getting emotional about it—is also lying on her back. Her head is tilted awkwardly under Zoey's chin, the hand not raised straight up, is curled sleep loose around Zoey's wrist. She is tactile in a way she probably gets from Rumi and unashamed about it in a way she definitely gets from Zoey.
Rumi stares at them for longer than she should with the way she feels urgency still tugging at her. It's like looking at a mini replica of Zoey—button nose and freckles and tiny—except for all the whirling pale patterns weaving in between. There aren't very many, she is only ¼ demon after all, but Rumi is still a little startled at the sight.
Min-ju thinks they are pretty, little worm friends to carry around forever, and Rumi is hardly one to sway her.
Their bed is distinctly absent of a very important body but Rumi doesn't have to look very far to find it. The rocking chair from her first pregnancy has refound it's home in their bedroom. It's also serves as Mira's unofficial throne. Rumi is pleasantly surprised to find Mira already awake and watching her quietly.
"Morning," Mira offers up with a faint twitch of her lips. She looks exhausted in a way that softens her features but incredibly happy in a way that makes her glow. Sometimes, Rumi can't quite believe Mira was ever an angry, spitting thing. Time has blunted and healed and made them all whole in ways they never dared to imagine. "You need some help?" The teasing raise of her eyebrow has Rumi rolling her eyes.
"No," Rumi grumbles, her lower lip extending without her own permission. "You already carried me to bed." Mira was also indisposed similarly to Zoey and thus unable to help anyway. In her arms, curled into the tiniest little ball imaginable, is their second daughter.
Rumi cannot see her face as tucked into Mira's neck at is it but she can see the tight bunch of Mira's shirt in her fist. Every rock forward of the chair, brings the tiny sliver of pattern on the length of her arm into the sun's reflection. She has less than Min-ju, though not by very much, and Zoey often jokes about Rumi's pattern printer running out of ink.
"I didn't carry you," Mira informs her with a faint smirk. "That was all Zoey. She didn't want your neck to cramp up like last time." The smooth rock of her chair and slow rub of her hand down their daughter's spine almost threatens to lull Rumi back to sleep. "I think she's trying to earn brownie points for eating the rest of your pickles."
Rumi scowls briefly at the reminder, but lets it melt away just as easily. She would just make Zoey buy her more. "What time is it?" Rumi asks with the kind of confusion that comes from a half finished routine.
"Ten last time I checked," Mira sighs and Rumi watches her head twist to rest her cheek against Hae-un's tiny head of dark hair before saying, "It's been a long morning."
Rumi feels guilt squirm just beneath her skin. "You should have woken me up," she says quietly, mindful of all the sleeping bodies, but not quiet enough to hide the thin thread of accusation.
"You need your rest," Mira says calmly. "There's nothing you could have done anyway. Min-ju woke up at the ass crack of dawn more energized than the damn bunny which Zoey took care of with a level of rough housing you probably didn't want to see," her eyes shift over to Zoey and Min-ju, the naked affection on her face so stark Rumi feels like she can reach out and caress it in her palms.
"And," Mira continues on, her attention shifting back to the slumbering child in her arms. "I think Ha-eun is getting an ear infection so she's been extra crabby and extra clingy since she got up." It was no secret that their girls found infinite comfort in Mira's steady presence. They trail after her like ducklings most of the time and reach for her first when they are scared or unsure. "Perfect opportunity for you to sleep in." That same level of affection turned on her makes Rumi feel a little warm, a lot in love, but still a little sheepish.
"Still," Rumi grumbles as she pushes up onto her palm. "I could have done something to help." There is never a shortage of laundry or dishes or picking up to do. There is never a shortage of grocery lists to be built or food to buy and they are always running low on wipes.
Mira lets out a low snort. "Rumi," she chides, her voice still so soft. "You're growing two babies this time. You need even more rest than you did before. Besides, Celine already texted to say she's coming over to make us dinner and you already know she's going to deep clean the house."
Rumi lets her palm slide over the expanded portion of her midsection. Sometimes, she cannot quite belief this is her life. Twenty-five-year old Rumi did not have the self love to imagine a future this sweet for herself. Thirty-five-year old Rumi will never take it for granted.
"She shouldn't deep clean for us," Rumi says but it's a moot point and they both know it.
Celine, for as much as she is surprised by every single new addition—she had even pulled Zoey off to the side once and asked very politely (or so Zoey claims) for Zoey to stay off of her daughter; Zoey at least did not tell her about Rumi's propensity for locking her legs around Zoey's waist to trap her in place—wastes zero time in lending a helping hand.
Celine isn't the best with their kids, horribly awkward in a way their daughters think is hilarious and just dry humor like Mira and not Celine actively working through a lifetime of skewed beliefs, but she helps in ways she is comfortable with. Like cooking enough for them to feed themselves for days after, or cleaning all the places they don't have the luxury to, or buying an obscene amount of groceries so they don't have to deal with three different kinds of temper tantrums before they even make it to the garage.
"I swear she heard me say twins and added two on top of that," Rumi grumbles, a touch exasperated but mostly a little warm at the way Celine shows her care. Rumi can see it now and that's all that matters.
"I would love an even six," Mira chirps immediately. "But we're going to need a mini-van or small bus if we keep going at this rate." Her smile goes a little sly, "And we're risking the entire world finding out about your breeding kink."
Rumi scoffs a laugh, fingers swiping through her hair as she levers her way off the bed entirely. It takes two heaves and a lot more rolling than she wishes. "I think we're past that point, jagiya," she says dryly. "There will be no more babies after these two," she informs Mira firmly.
Mira's eyes practically sparkle with mirth as she smirks at Rumi openly. "Uh huh," she sing songs.
"I'm serious," Rumi whines.
"Don't tell that to me," Mira laughs quietly. "Convince Honmoon strap swinger over there. I know how to control myself and say no to pretty girls with big eyes and pouted lips," she reminds Rumi smugly. Her smile grows a touch fond. "Actually I'm kind of a pro now. There's four of you."
Rumi's eyes fall to Zoey once more, still sleeping soundly with their eldest daughter equally as asleep. "Okay but would six actually be so bad?"
Despite the lingering exhaustion and the occasional meltdown, the three of them had taken to parenting like they did everything else—successfully and coming out as number one. It didn't hurt that they had a plethora of resources at the tips of their fingers. Rumi knew how lonely her own childhood was, how much Zoey's had hurt with her parents divorce, how empty of love Mira's life was from birth. It was healing to be able to see how happy their little girls were, how every need and want was met from inception, and the three of them not losing an ounce of love for each other through it all.
This many years in and Rumi still finds more space in her heart to love them.
In direct contrast to Mira's earlier declaration, she looks over at Rumi with a knowing that only comes from years of learning Rumi inside and out. "Whatever you want, Rumi," she says earnestly. "But I draw the line at six." Her lips tilt into a tiny grin that promises a raise in Rumi's blood pressure as she says, "Unless we get a fourth partner."
Despite knowing it's classic rage bait material, Rumi falls for it hook, line, and sinker. "Don't piss me off before I've even brushed my teeth," she says flatly.
"I would never do such a thing," Mira says primly. "Not to the mother of my children."
"Mira."
"What? I'm just suggesting a potential solution to having more than six kids."
"You're trying to piss me off."
"Rumi," Mira's voice is saccharine sweet, mirth visible in her eyes. "I've never pissed you off a day in my life."
Rumi can't quite help the bark of laughter that bubbles up her throat. Unfortunately, the added pressure only makes the not so tiny fetuses in her belly squirm and press further on her bladder. "No more lies, Mira, that's like our ancient proverb," she manages to get out before booking it to the bathroom.
Mira's deeply amused laughter follows her the entire way.
~