Chapter Text
The penthouse used to be a field of schedules, half-eaten ramyeon cups, and three separate beds that somehow always ended up with someone sleep crawling into someone else’s room after a brutal practice. Now it felt like home in a way Rumi had never let herself believe in.
It had taken weeks of gentle (and not-so-gentle) bullying to get here.
Zoey had been the one to start it, of course.. She'd climbed straight into Rumi’s lap one exhausted night after rehearsals, wrapped her arms around the leader’s neck like a determined koala, and declared, “Rumi, you’re being stupid again. We’re dating you. All of you. Even the glowy purple bits. Especially the glowy bits.”
Mira had leaned in the doorway, her arms crossed. “She’s right. You keep hovering like a ghost at your own damn relationship. Either get in the program with us or I’m dragging you in by that braid.”
And Rumi, the strong, graceful, sword-slinging leader of Huntrix, had felt exactly like a wet cat being lowered into warm water. Her ears pinned back. Claws out. Heart trying to claw its way out of her chest. She’d wanted it so badly her patterns had flared warm under her sleeves, but the fear was louder. What if they saw too much? What if the demon side slipped free while she was vulnerable? What if they realized the “perfect” leader was actually a trembling mess who just wanted to be held down and loved until her brain melted?
But they’d coaxed. They’d waited. They’d kissed every inch of hesitation until Rumi finally let herself sink into the middle of their big shared bed and stay there.
Now they were official. And it was perfect.
Except for one tiny, soul-crushing detail.
She still hasn't slept any of her girlfriends.
— —- —-
Rumi sat curled in the big armchair, wearing nothing but Mira’s oversized black hoodie and a pair of soft shorts that did nothing to hide how tightly she was pressing her thighs together. The living room lights were dimmed to that golden nighttime glow Zoey loved. Some chill R&B track hummed low from the speaker, something with a slow, filthy bassline that was absolutely not helping.
On the wide couch, her girlfriends were… indulging.
Mira had Zoey half in her lap, hot pink hair mixing with Zoey’s black hair as they kissed like they were trying to win a competition. Mira’s hand had disappeared under Zoey’s cropped tank top, palming a small breast and teasing a pierced nipple until Zoey made that breathy, squeaky little sound that always went straight to Rumi’s core. Zoey’s legs were spread shamelessly, one thigh hooked over Mira’s, grinding down against the hand that had just slipped into her loose sleep shorts.
“Fuck, unnie, right there,” Zoey whimpered, head tipping back. Mira chuckled low and dark, biting at the sensitive spot under Zoey’s ear.
Rumi’s mouth went dry. She wanted to be there so badly it physically hurt.
She wanted Mira’s strong hands pinning her instead. Wanted Zoey’s eager mouth everywhere, especially on the patterns that still decorated her ribs and hips like living tattoos. She wanted to be stripped bare, held open, fucked so thoroughly she couldn’t even remember how to hold a sword, let alone lead a performance. Raw. Messy. Overwhelmed. Until her voice cracked for an entirely different reason, a much better reason than shame.
Instead she was here. Her notebook balanced on her knees like the world’s saddest overachiever. Pen scribbling furiously.
Zoey always arches when Mira curls her fingers like that. Makes that little ‘ah-ah-ah’ stutter.
Mira’s grip tightens on Zoey’s hip when she’s trying not to lose control. Possessive.
They both glance at me when they think I’m not looking. Like they’re checking if I’m okay. Or waiting for me to join.
Rumi bit her lip hard enough to sting. Her patterns were glowing faintly under the hoodie, warm pink edges bleeding across her collarbones and thighs. Shame and desperate want twisting together the way they always did. She’d heard them for months before this. The muffled moans through thin walls. The rhythmic thump of a headboard. Zoey’s voice pitching higher and higher until it broke into that breathless gibberish when she came. Mira’s low, filthy growls.
Rumi had touched herself raw to every single sound, face buried in her pillow, one hand between her legs and the other biting down on her pillow so they wouldn’t hear their fearless leader falling apart to the evidence of their pleasure.
Now that she was in the relationship?
Crickets.
Soft kisses. Sweet cuddles. Occasional heated makeouts that always slowed the second Rumi started overthinking or anxious.
They were being careful with her. Respectful. Patient.
It was driving her insane.
She wanted to be wrecked, not handled like glass.
She was just too scared to hand over the sledgehammer.
Rumi shifted in the chair, pressing the heel of her hand against the aching heat between her legs through her shorts. Pathetic. She was the leader. The one who in charge. And here she was, moping like a jealous stray because her girlfriends were too ‘nice’ to rail her stupid. It was funny when you think about it.
A soft, amused snort escaped her before she could stop it.
Zoey’s eyes cracked open mid-moan, hazy and sparkling with mischief even while Mira’s fingers kept moving lazily inside her.
“Unnie… are you laughing at us?” Zoey panted, her cheeks flushed bright pink.
Mira turned her head, one eyebrow arched, looking unfairly hot with her hair messy and lips swollen. “Notebook again? Really, Rumi? You planning to publish a thesis on how to make Zoey come?”
Rumi’s face burned. “I’m… observing,” she muttered, her voice small and hoarse. “Research purposes. You know…leader stuff.”
Zoey giggled, then moaned again as Mira did something particularly mean with her thumb.
“Baby,” Zoey breathed, eyes soft and full of so much love it made Rumi’s chest ache worse than the want, “you don’t need a field journal. You need to get over here and let us love you stupid.”
Mira’s gaze sharpened, dark and hungry but still gentle at the edges. “We can go slow. Or we can go hard. Whatever you want. But sitting there while you take notes is just torture at this point. For all of us.”
Rumi’s pen slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.
Her heart hammered so hard she was sure the new Honmoon could feel the vibrations. She wanted it, wanted them, so badly her whole body felt like it was vibrating. Wanted to stop hiding. Wanted to bare every mark, every insecurity, every filthy desire and let them take her apart until she couldn’t walk straight for tomorrow’s dance practice.
But the cat inside her was still clinging to the edge of the tub, claws dug in, shivering with how much she needed the warmth.
“I… I’m still learning,” she whispered, half-laughing at herself, half on the verge of tears from pure yearning. “Just… give me a minute. Or ten. I’m working up to it.”
Zoey smiled, soft and wicked and so fond.
“Take all the minutes you need, Rumi. We’re not going anywhere.”
Mira leaned down to kiss Zoey’s neck again, but her eyes stayed locked on Rumi the whole time, promising, patient, and just a little bit predatory.
Rumi swallowed hard, thighs clenched, patterns glowing brighter under her clothes.
She wanted to be fucked raw until she couldn’t walk.
She wanted to belong to them completely, bare and shameless and loved.
Soon.
Just… not quite yet.