Chapter Text
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popbase Rumi Jang, former member of K-Pop girlband HUNTR/X, spotted at the California airport with friend, Jinu Han. This marks the first she has been seen in public in over 5 years.
497,1947 comments
fu_fella So invasive why are we taking pictures of her at an airport????? Especially when she's been offline this long
umi_eese IS THAT A CHILD
roach3467 LMFAO IS THAT A KID
ato_babom wait what color is the kids hair can anyone tell???? if it's purple then that is HER KID like straight up
cha0sliv3 fuck that hoodie covering the kids hair
gremlinstate does anyone see a ring on either of their fingers
geeekstoned are they actually married and raising a kid in texas like everyone said
us34n4me don't zoey and mira live in california too
complexstellar is she visiting mira and zoey????????/
theywontfindmez WHOS GODDAMN WHITE BABY IS THAT
v1v13nn3r this joke doesn't work when you cant even tell if the baby is white or not
windtempo_s i feel like we aren't freaking out enough guys. POLYTRIX REUNION
dollieeraj goddamn she looks good..............rumi jang milf era
kaizakazama fuck whys she still hot
capivara_aiko someone tell her to sign up to twitter dot com again
lesbianismfr holy FUCK
valb0rd_art RUMI JANG MOTHER?????
pixuigi we literally don't even know if thats her kid or not you guys are so gullible
September 24th, 2021
California, USA
Rumi didn't sleep that night.
Not really, anyway. Perhaps a few winks at the end of the night, easier classified as early morning, brushing past 5 AM, but...
Nothing substantial. Nothing sustainable.
Instead, she walked.
She did not snoop. She knew better than that, but--
Yeah. She walked. Paced around their rather big California home, pacing lines into carpet and tile.
The laundry room, boring with one single sign that cheered make the world better; The kitchen, outlandishly decorated in a way that screamed Zoey; the bathrooms, upstairs and down, blue tiles and green decor with a whisper of Mira's touch in the shower curtains.
It wasn't evenly divided. And it was perfect.
It killed her.
Everything had a memory. Small happenings tied to them through sight, sense, smell, touch. The missed moments screamed in the empty hallways, echoing off dusty-pink walls and rose tinted hardwood. They shone in little marks on the wall, then a big hole that looked like a fist--marker that someone had clearly attempted to remove, sticky notes on every surface reminding Zoey to lock the door and drink some water. Mira's handwriting. Sharp, messy, capital.
Dry erase-marker hearts on the glass of wedding pictures.
God. It was a beautiful fucking wedding.
She'd gotten an invitation. Only second hand--word of mouth from Bobby, passing conversation, but an invite nonetheless.
She would've gone, if--
If not for Novalee.
Zoey's dress was big. Poofy, layered, trailing 3 feet behind her everywhere she went with a teal tint in the sunlight. Her grin matched it in every picture, spreading across her face and consuming it like a virus that spread to everybody around her. Small shark tattoos were generously displayed on her exposed forearms, small tiara sitting on top of her signature space-buns and a beautiful ring shining like a national treasure from her finger.
Matching Mira's, of course.
Her dress was a little... less. As always, Rumi supposed. It was sharper. Angled triangles at the top, cutouts around her waist and skintight down to her ankles. Her hair was fully down for once in her life, dramatic veil hanging, eyeliner so sharp it could kill a man. It had a pink glaze to it, complimenting her hair in ways Rumi hadn't thought possible.
They didn't work together at all, visually. The dresses, the girls, the opposite features from their ears to their toes.
But their eyes.
Rumi knew that look. Had received herself it many times over the years, from random men in the street to diehard fans to her bandmates themselves.
It was there. In every photo.
And she'd missed it.
All for her daughter.
Novalee's call wasn't anything special. Homesickness. Missing her mom like the sky missed the sun, dramatic and wailing. It certainly wasn't worth blowing up her only chance at a real reunion, and yet. Here they were.
Rumi had heard Mira's breath catch in the dim hallway, a sharp reaction to the words leaving Rumi's mouth. Misunderstood and cruel.
She'd heard the scampering away. The door closing, hushed whispers consisting of I think Rumi lied and was this a mistake?
It'd also meant she'd heard the sex.
Heated, quiet, fucking intense, even from 2 doors down.
She'd heard her own name. Multiple times. Followed by moans.
Maybe, that was on purpose.
Either way, it was a problem for tomorrow. Add it to the list.
Sighing, she picked herself up off the couch and stretched. A purple star clock shone a nice and even 5:19 AM.
Bedtime, she supposed.
Breakfast was awkward.
Rumi figured it was a mix of several things.
Energized and functioning after her full 3 hours of sleep, she wasn't sure if they knew she'd heard them yesterday--and if so, if it was on purpose or simply an extremely awkward accident, but she did not plan on asking.
She'd had to drink an entire bottle of airport-water to calm the fuck down. Crudely relieved herself, just enough to subside the ache until past midnight, once she was truly alone.
She refused to admit how obnoxiously turned on she'd been.
Besides the point.
Additionally, the six years apart probably aided in awkwardness, but--
Well. Elephant in the room--they definitely thought she was fucking someone named Lee-lee.
Mira barely even looked at her the entire 30 minutes they shared the kitchen. It was decorated with hues of pink and yellow, purely pretty and covered in Zoey's touch.
Zoey's smiles were strained. Tugged at the corners with twine, force upwards by her own will to make it seem as if everything was normal, and--
And Rumi couldn't take it anymore.
"I know you heard that call, Mira."
The words left her mouth without much warning.
The dancer's head snapped up, hands freezing against the counter as if she was the one caught. "I didn't--"
"You did. I heard the whispers."
Across the room, Zoey actually blushed. Rumi could easily guess where her head went, but she wasn't going to call out the sex.
Not now, anyway.
"It's not what you think," Rumi murmured, letting desperation seep into the words, because frankly, she was desperate. Desperate for them to believe her, desperate to not ruin anything 12 hours in.
Clearly, Mira wasn't convinced.
Her eyebrows sharpened. Eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. Fuck.
And Rumi had no idea how to start this.
She supposed getting Zoey back to the barstool would help.
"C'mere, Zo. I should... tell you both something."
Her heart sped up like a treadmill, incline and resistance set to the fucking max as Zoey raised an eyebrow, padding across the kitchen and into the barstool next to her wife.
Rumi hesitated.
There was no going back from this.
She'd spent 5 years withholding the information with such fervor--hoodies when they left the house, bribing people left and right, NDA's galore .
It'd also meant she'd had 5 years to prepare for this.
These weren't strangers. Not PR risks.
They were her girls.
Zoey and Mira, Mira and Zoey.
All there was left to do was hope they didn't hate her.
"When I was 26, I met a man."
Their faces hardened instantly, both in time with the other. It maybe wasn't the best place to start, but--
Well. It was the beginning.
"His name was Kino. It was a night bar, I... don't remember much. Probably drinking my ass off." Her hands moved on their own, spreading butter over a piece of toast she probably wouldn't end up eating. "He bought me a drink. And... I slept with him--"
"Oh, fuck you, Ru-"
"Mira." Zoey's voice was the sole interrupter--one hand covering her wife's, the other motioning for Rumi to continue. She still had an ounce of forgiveness left in her, apparently.
All Rumi was saying was one of her exes was certainly nicer than the other.
"I never saw him again."
It was true.
But Zoey was confused. That much was clear. Her knuckles gripped the edge of the counter, turning white and strained against black marble. "So... why are we talking about him?" She whispered, soft and genuine. Holding onto hope, maybe.
Now, the tricky part.
Rumi steeled herself. She could do this. She was a big girl, right?
"We were drunk," She whispered, careful. "We weren't... careful, and much to my surprise, he hadn't used protection."
Mira tensed. An unmistakable flex of muscles, up and down her arm.
Rumi figured she knew where this was going.
"I wasn't on the pill or doing anything preventative either."
Was Zoey even breathing?
She braced herself before her next words. Working them in her head with a fucking scientific calculator, careful not to say the wrong thing, putting up a barrier in case she did, and then--
"I haven't talked to him in 5 years, since I told him I was pregnant."
It seemed to hit them all at once.
Zoey physically stood up.
Feet hitting the floor with a stomp, eyebrows knitting together in a sort of shock that Rumi hadn't seen since she saw the patterns for the first time. She looked almost defiant. Ready to dismiss it as a joke, a lie, anything.
She was almost offended.
By what, Rumi couldn't tell.
Koda jumped off the couch by instinct, joining Zoey at her feet and brushing his massive body across almost her entire leg, staring up at her with glossy, brown eyes. Zoey's hand moved on pure muscle memory. Scraping up and down his back, never once even glancing at the dog.
Mira, on the other hand, froze. Her usual trauma response. Her body didn't move a fucking inch; every muscle strained, breathing stuttering in her throat.
Rumi's heart ached.
Still, she persisted. Too far in now.
"I kept it," she whispered, and--
Christ.
Rumi had never seen Zoey so... heartbroken. Her face fell, every muscle pulled by gravity like a candle to a wax figure, glass shattering behind her eyes as she finally put the pieces together.
Breathe, Rumi.
"Jinu held my hand in the hospital." The words left her faster, now, rushed and persisting. "Helped with some of the medical bills over the nine months, and then--"
"Rumi--"
No going back.
"I have a daughter, Zoey."
And there it was.
Zoey Cheong was 7 when she looked at a mother crossing the street with her child and said, I want that.
Not a monumental decision, not back then. Barely even a cognitive thought. The same as wanting a pie in a bake shop window display, a toy in the toy aisle, food on a menu. It wasn't a commitment, not then. Just a desire added to her list of many over the years.
Back then, it hadn't felt real.
20 years is a long time when you're 7 years old.
Then, people started asking.
15 years old, sitting on the bench of an Olive Garden, aunts from all sides grinning, asking don't you want to have kids when you're older?
17 years old, sitting in her room with her band mates, muttering tiny truths into the darkness with a hesitant, "I think I'm going to adopt when I'm older." Back then, she hadn't known about IVF.
20, just hours after a meet and greet, hugging a hundreds of little girls and wondering what it would feel like if it were her own.
23, watching the love of her life walk out the door and thinking, now I'll never know if she'd be a good mom.
25, on a call with her mother just days before she cut her off, listening to the woman go on and on with little regard. When are you going to give me grandkids? she'd asked, unaware of the blooming romance with her best friend. Of course, Zoey didn't correct her. You're getting old, Zoey. You won't be young forever.
28, starting a long and expensive IVF process. Injections and special diets and so many doctors visits, just for--
30. Losing the only chance she'd ever had.
2 AM in their shared bathroom. Harsh cramps, stabbing pains that left her near screaming on the bathroom floor. It'd woken up Mira, climbing out of bed at nearly the speed of light and wrapping her arms around her wife.
The following doctor appointment wasn't fun. Then--
31 years old. Giving up.
31 years old, deciding maybe she just wasn't meant to have kids.
31 years old, staring her ex-bandmate in the face and trying to process that she--
I have a daughter.
That's what she'd said.
And she hadn't even fucking tried.
Rumi had never even wanted kids. Always the fallback out of the three of them. The first to mutter I don't think I'd be a good mom, serious and deadpan, and now here she was.
Daughter.
The words were entirely foreign coming from Rumi's mouth. Her voice, her inflection; the one that made everything sound like a secret, tied up and wrapped with a bow in the back of her mind.
Zoey didn't speak.
Couldn't speak.
Daughter.
Rumi had a daughter.
Rumi was a fucking mom.
Before Zoey.
The jealousy hit first. White hot and rancid in her gut, burning holes through lung linings and her heart.
But Rumi didn't stop talking.
"She's 5," she whispered, looking right at Zoey now. A whole human. Not even a toddler--a goddamn kindergartener. "Her name is Novalee Miyeong Jang. I call her Lee-lee because when she was a baby, she couldn't pronounce her full name and Lee-lee was the most I could get. Her first word was shit. She loves every animal she's ever come in contact with, but we don't have any in the house because she can't be trusted--"
Zoey couldn't do this. Couldn't just sit and listen. "Rumi, stop it--"
"She's in the hotel with Jinu. He didn't come for me. He came so he could watch her while I'm with you. She calls him her uncle, I don't think she knows we're not actually related--"
She couldn't do this.
"Rumi. Shut the fuck up."
It was a little harsher than she'd intended, but she didn't back track.
A whole fucking daughter.
Zoey was supposed to be happy.
She was supposed to smile. Laugh, maybe, hug her friend, congratulate her--
But Zoey did not smile. She didn't laugh, and she definitely didn't congratulate her, because, again, what the actual fuck.
"I want to... see her"," Zoey whispered, attempting to look stoic and knowing she was failing. "Pictures?"
Rumi's eyes softened just enough to be noticeable, waving her hand towards her phone. "Look at my lock screen."
Lord. Lock screen and everything, huh?
Her hand was hesitant as it reached out--slow, wielding until it tapped lightly on a jet-black screen, and--
Oh, fuck.
An actual child.
She wasn't sure what else she was expecting. Black letters, maybe, spelling out, just kidding, I love you!
But the world isn't perfect.
The picture itself wasn't anything special. Outdoor iPhone picture, a grinning kid with a fluffy, long purple braid, a corny t-shirt and black shorts, tan in the sun--
Fuck. They were identical.
Zoey looked back up at Rumi. Compared the two faces, from the slight of her jaw to the point of her eyelids, small nose and toothy grin.
Even the patterns.
The girl--Novalee--didn't have as many as her mom. Sharp purple line down her forehead, one on her left knee, two on her arms.
"Patterns." It wasn't a sentence. Barely a real word with how quietly Zoey had whispered it, but Rumi heard. Of course Rumi heard.
"Patterns," she agreed, equally incomprehensible. "They're... smaller. Spread since she was born, though. She's... still 25% demon."
Mira's breath caught at the picture. Her head whipped away--if she couldn't see the photo, it couldn't hurt her.
Rumi stayed decidedly quiet.
Waiting for Zoey.
But Zoey didn't know what the fuck she was supposed to say.
Maybe she could yell a little. Take her anger out with harsh words and a scathing expression, but it wouldn't help anyone. Wouldn't fit the canyon Rumi just carved between them.
"Why didn't--" Her voice caught on the words, strained and frozen in her throat. "Why didn't you tell us, Rumi?"
That was the million dollar question, wasn't it?
Rumi didn't even flinch. Clearly, she'd been thinking about this for a while as she set her lips in a straight line, shrugging. "I'd protect my daughter with the world, Zoey."
Christ.
Somehow, deep in her bones, Zoey understood. Carnally.
"She's not one of their hunters."
And--
Zoey hadn't even considered that. Forgot that yes, that's what she used to do, too; forgot that she was expected to train her kids just like Celine did Rumi.
"I'm not letting her grow up how I did. She's staying out of the spotlight as long as possible, no knife training, nobody is gonna tell her how small her waist should be at all times and it's going to stay that way."
This wasn't the Rumi that Mira knew.
It was almost weird to watch.
Sure, she was oldest, but she was also the most... timid. A kicked puppy for most of her life, and now here she was, hands sturdy against the counter, voice strong, eyes stern as she talked about a newfound daughter. A proudness lacing the words, profound need for protection because that was her job now.
"I'm sorry," their leader finally murmured, expression so genuine Zoey nearly fell to the goddamn floor. "I am, Zoey. She's so much like you. I never wanted to keep her from you, but--" the words, thick and sweet like molasses, caught in her throat. "Circumstances are rough. You know that."
Zoey did know that. Maybe a little too well.
Then, through the silence like an axe to soft wood--
Ring.
Ring.
Rumi's phone buzzed uncomfortably on the pink tile.
And Zoey also knew that she was going to kill Jinu Han.
Fucking Jinu.
Rumi actually jumped when her ringer went off. It was entirely unwelcome in the tense silence, echoing in her goddamn ears as she turned to her band mates, cringing hard.
She was already on thin ice. It cracked every second she hesitated, splintering in every direction.
Zoey near death glared her. "If you pick that up, Rumi, I swear to god you're on the curb--"
And, yet, the phone was already in her hands.
"I have to," she muttered, hardening her eyes and meeting Zoey's. "I'm not happy about it either, but--fuck. It might be Novalee. Just give me a singular minute, Zoey."
She clearly wasn't happy about it, but the fire behind her eyes dulled the tiniest bit.
Good enough. She could apologize later.
Rumi picked up her phone with the hesitance of a baby giraffe.
A soft "Jinu?" into the receiver, and then--
"Rumi," Jinu said, loud in her ear, relieved beyond belief. "Fuck, I'm so glad you picked up--oh, god. Ru, I cut my arm. Badly. I think I see bone--"
Oh, fuck.
"I definitely need stitches. And I need to drive to the hospital now. I-I can drive myself, but--"
Oh, fuck.
"But you can't take Novalee with you."
Her voice was melancholy as she sagged against a countertop, finishing his sentence and setting every nerve to panic mode.
She knew where this was going. Of course she did.
"Please let me drop her off at Zoey and Mira's."
And--
It wasn't ideal.
She knew it, too, but--
"Give me a second to talk to them."
She said it anyway. A tentative commitment.
Rumi lowered the phone from her ear to find Zoey already staring at her, burning holes through her retinas. Her eyes shone an equal mix of anger and confusion.
Mira just raised a single eyebrow. Soft, a silent question.
"Jinu has to go to the hospital," Rumi started. Neither of them flinched, but the corner of Mira's lips lifted so subtly it almost wasn't noticeable. Of course she'd be happy about this.
"He can't take Novalee, and asked me if--" Her voice broke around the words. She wasn't strong enough for this. "If she can come here."
The following silence screamed.
Zoey looked as though she was seconds away from bursting into tears.
Fair enough, Rumi supposed.
Neither of them responded, though, so she continued, short-leashed.
"I know it's soon, but it's either this or I leave all together to go watch her in the hotel--"
"It's fine." Mira's voice was hoarse, barely comprehensible as her eyes lifted slowly, locking onto Rumi almost like a challenge. "Tell him it's fine. She can stay here."
The first words she'd uttered in a good 10 minutes.
Rumi hadn't expected her to be so... kind.
"Are you sure?" She whispered, just in case; a meek little sound. Her hand slowly rose back to her ear, muffled Jinu talking to Novalee through the receiver. "I don't wanna--"
"Don't make me change my mind, Rumi."
There she was.
It was definitive. A true warning.
So, Rumi took it like the lifeline it was.
Pushed the phone back to her ear. Took a deep breath--in through her nose, out through her mouth, and braced herself. "Drop her off here. Go to the hospital, send me updates. Good luck, Jinu."
Her heart raced even as Jinu sighed with heavy relief, groaning painfully into her ear. "Thank you, Ru. Fuck. Thanks. Be there in 10."
"See you."
She didn't say anything more.
Simply lowered the phone, pressed a final red button and tried to remember to breath.
Zoey's breath caught. She was still standing, but barely--her muscles tensed, knees shook, breath coming out in short staccato bursts.
She did not look at Rumi. Didn't dare look at Mira.
"I'm gonna go lay down."
It was laced with tears and lies.
Mira didn't get a word in before her wife was already climbing the stairs, barely containing the last traces of her sanity in a ratty cardboard box, breath coming out louder and more urgent the farther away she got.
Fuck.
Rumi's heart shattered. "I'm so sor--"
"Don't tell me you're sorry." Mira's voice was harder, less forgiving. Her feet hit the floor with some hesitance, padding slowly towards the stairs. "I know it's not your fault. I know you were trying to protect her by not saying anything and I know you have your reasons, but this is Zoey we're talking about, Rumi."
Frozen, Rumi's eyes softened at her words.
"I know you love her."
It pierced through the air. Words unspoken for six years, truthful and meaningful.
"I know you love me." Mira shook her head, almost as if she couldn't believe the words coming out of her own mouth. "I wish you'd act like it, Ru."
And then she was gone.
Leaving Rumi standing in a foreign kitchen with nothing but a splintered heart and her own breathing, slow and unruly in the newfound silence.
It'd be a miracle if she managed too stay alive for the next week.
September 17th, 2017
4 years before
Seoul, Korea
Zoey's wedding day was not perfect.
Shocker.
It was to be expected, right? That's what everyone had told her, anyway--even Mira, quiet in their bedroom, trying to soothe her anxious girl with back rubs and small kisses. There were simply too many variables. Too many moving parts, too many people of all personalities and backgrounds, too much space for everything to go smoothly.
She was content with that. And, anyway, it wasn't as if her dress got lost or the entire cake fell--just small things. A stain on a bridesmaid's dress, a missing bridesmaid altogether. Vogue Korea vans, big fancy cameras everywhere. Blab-mouth cousins and bitter aunts, homophobic comments whispered through the reception like wildfire.
Zoey hadn't understood why they even came.
They're family, a cousin had whispered, disapprovingly eyeing Zoey through her glasses. They want to see you happy.
They wanted to see her with a man. Richer than her, preferably, with a medical job and a kind smile. How stereotypical.
But Zoey didn't say that. She couldn't. Because just like always, she was stuck being packed into a box, repressed, just so she was more palatable for others.
So, she stayed quiet.
And she complained to her new wife in the bathroom at their own fucking wedding.
Only married 30 minutes, at that point.
"I wish they'd just... shut up, at least," she'd muttered, hands rubbing together a little too vigorously in the sink.
Beside her, Mira had just hummed empathetically, already a little disheveled. Her eyeliner smudged halfway up her temple, lipstick fading, eyebrows fluffed. "Don't give them a second of your time, baby," she whispered, kissing behind Zoey's ear how she knew she liked. "It's your day. They don't get to ruin it, alright?"
They hadn't even invited Mira's family.
Zoey wasn't sure of the last time they'd spoken, really.
"It's our day, Mir," she whispered, looking at the two of them in the mirror. "Not just mine."
They seemed to belong together.
The way Mira's chin fit into Zoey's collarbone like a puzzle piece. Her hands, perfectly sized to Zoey's waist, her eyes, seemingly only created to stare at Zoey, but--
Fuck.
She couldn't stop thinking about--
Her.
Rumi.
She saw her in everything.
A flash of a guest's purple hair that caused Zoey to double take so hard she heard her neck crack. A voice, a little too similar to hers in the background of the noise. A sunset in the distance, one she usually would've snapped a picture of and sent to their groupchat. Purple lines on a dress that seemed reminiscent of patterns, and god, it drove her crazy.
Zoey had tried to forget about her all day. She isn't coming, she'd convinced herself, forcing her eyes into the distance and not on the 3 year old with a purple hair streak in the second row. Let her go.
But Rumi wasn't someone you just let go. Got over, like an ex with a bad mom and a mortgage.
She had to stop thinking about it.
2 years into dating and 20 of knowing her, Mira knew when Zoey spiraled. She'd gathered clues over the years; patterns to the women she loved. The way her eyes glazed over a little, how her eyebrows knitted in concentration, her jaw clenching, lips pressing into a straight line so subtly anybody else would've missed it.
All things she was doing right now.
She could probably guess what she was thinking, too.
Zoey always got a specific look in her eyes when she thought about Rumi. Weary, maybe. Full of regret. Fucking mournful.
Mira exhaled slow and measured, wrapping her arms tighter around her wife from behind. "Are you thinking about her, too?"
Zoey didn't respond immediately.
Her breath hitched, though. A small acknowledgement.
So, Mira continued.
"I miss her too," she whispered, treading carefully. It was a damn minefield. They didn't talk about her often, and never this freely, but--
Zoey didn't stop her.
"I know it hurts. It always will, Zoey. We're never going to get over her, but the good news is that I'll always be here to help you live with it instead. I promise."
Her own voice surprised her. Confident, almost, comforting in a way she'd only ever used on her wife. Still, Zoey's eyes slowly welled up in the ornate golden mirror, gentle tears rolling down her cheeks with incredible slowness.
Mira didn't tell her to stop. She did not tell her to calm down, get it together, you're okay.
She simply held her tighter. Kissed her head a little more intentionally, whispered sweet nothings into her ear and waited for it to pass. The slow tears evolved quickly--morphing to harsh sobs that seemed to wrack Zoey's entire body, chest falling in on itself and makeup running faster than Mira could wipe it.
It broke her fucking heart. Of course it did, but what could she do?
Rumi was gone. There was no fixing that.
"I fucking love her," Zoey rasped, barely comprehensible through the crying, but--
Mira heard.
2 years had passed, and Zoey had still used present tense.
God.
"I know," Mira whispered, finding herself to be the sole reason Zoey was still standing. "I know, baby, me too. I love her too."
And they hadn't even needed to say her fucking name.
Soon, they ended up on the floor--flush against soft pink tile and drywall surfaces, sobs echoing in the empty space and staying there. Tainting a once perfectly good bathroom.
They still had guests to entertain.
Despite a growing urge to break down and never get back up, Mira had to at least try to calm her down.
So, she took a breath.
"I think about her all the time," she whispered, a soothing tone lacing her words in every syllable. "Every time we get drinks from Sonic, I have to remind myself not to order her Dr. Pepper. Every movie, wondering if she'd like it, every new song we write, wondering what she would add to it."
Zoey hand tightened around her forearm, fingers pressing into soft skin. A warning, maybe. Her ballgown, twisted and maneuvered, pooled around them like a sparkling ocean of fabric.
"I wonder what her dress for today would've looked like."
It wasn't a lie. Wedding dress shopping, flipping through racks and racks of sparkling dresses in more shades of white than Mira had ever known existed, wondering what Rumi would've liked.
Something tight at the top and waist, probably. Looser at the bottom. A train. Iridescent, maybe.
In Mira's arms, Zoey sniffed once. Twice. Three times, and then she tested her voice, hoarse and broken.
"Open back. Definitely."
Zoey did not recover quickly. They must've spent 30 minutes hiding from their own wedding, flush against the floor of an overly fancy bathroom in the corner of their venue. Her makeup was still a little fucked up, even as they walked back to the dance floor with artificial grins, saying, we just have to make it through the night.
And then, eventually, their own space. An Airbnb rented specifically for tonight by their wedding planner. Fucking king size bed and privacy for days.
Zoey could probably guess what for.
That's what they were supposed to do, right? Have sex, wake up married and happy?
And--don't get Zoey wrong. She was happy. She was, by all legal accounts, married, but she was also--
Disconnected.
Even as Mira kissed her by the front door, deep and meaningful, pulling them both to the bedroom at the end of the hall, her mind wandered.
Wandered to Rumi.
Still. When did it not?
But Zoey refused to bring her up again.
So, instead, she half heartedly returned the motions she'd already done hundreds of times, now a married woman. She pawed at Mira's shirt, absentmindedly kissed her back and whined into it.
Don't get her wrong; she wanted this. She'd just gotten married, for christ sake--she loved this woman. She loved touching her and she loved being touched by her, but her mind was simply elsewhere. A secret second dimension, written over by time and space, hidden to all, including herself.
Mira noticed the disconnect. Of course she did--she knew her wife, better than she knew herself. Her reaction times were slower; hands a little too gentle, like she wasn't really thinking about what they were doing, eyes a little clouded when Mira eventually pulled back.
"Zoey," she whispered, gently ceasing all movements with a sigh. "Do you actually want this?"
Her wife froze a little. Arms tensed where they sat on Mira's body, fell limp, held up only by apparent will to make it seem like everything was fine, but--
She had that look in her eyes again.
Rumi.
"Be honest, baby. Don't have sex with me because someone told you it's what you should do what your wedding night."
Zoey whined beneath her, seemingly guilty as she sat up, kissing Mira softly. "I do, I want this, Mira, fuck--I'm sorry. I'm just distracted."
Distracted by Rumi.
The implication hung in the air, held by a single thread of twine.
It wasn't like Mira had stopped thinking about her either, and--
Well. It wouldn't have been the first time her name was used as dirty talk.
Years ago, late nights in their penthouse. When Rumi was out--grocery run, press bullshit, recording session, it didn't matter--and Zoey was pent up.
It'd let to... shenanigans. All Zoey initiated; muttering, moaning Rumi's name in response to meaningful thrusts, intentionally cruel tongue movements, captivating kisses that left her simply breathless. All laced with Rumi.
Would it work now?
Mira was careful with her next words.
Delayed them as long as possible, gently scraping one nail up and down Zoey's side, hooking into the band of her bra, elastic around her jet-black underwear, just a tease. "Do you remember," she started, only a whisper. "When... mm. When she was out but you still wanted her, we'd--"
Her breathe caught on the memory.
Focus.
"You'd put her jacket on. Ride my strap, smelling her the whole time."
Zoey's eyes fluttered close. A good sign, Mira supposed.
Her mind seemed to go into overdrive. Shutting down at the mention of her ex-band mate, paired with the soft touches of her brand new wife, slow and teasing.
Any hesitation left her mind by the time her eyes opened. She was already flushed beyond belief--cheeks so red the Devil himself would be jealous, disheveled and gorgeous.
Rumi tended to have that effect.
Zoey took a deep fucking breath as Mira's hand wandered further down, slipping into her underwear and pointedly not touching her.
It was a game. They'd played it hundreds of times, each taking the role of winner and loser in an even split, and yet, Zoey buzzed with excitement of the unknown.
"Or we'd use that strap we dedicated to her. The purple one."
They still had it.
Tucked away in the back of their closet, going unused in the two years without her. It was hers, anyway, but she certainly wasn't going to pack a dildo along with clothes and shoes.
Zoey arched into Mira's touch, a movement that seemed completely involuntary. Fuck. Whatever Mira was trying to do, it was working.
And she didn't stop.
Her fingers, long and rough, slipped through Zoey's folds--coaxing a broken, soft moan to push through her mouth.
Mira gasped, so soft it was almost inaudible. Goddamnit.
She was wet. Capital W.
Zoey, ever impatient, gently ground down, letting her clit catch against Mira's thumb.
The feeling shot straight through her spine. Arching, repeating the motion with increased fervor, moaning freely when it hit directly where she needed it--just a soft brush against the bundle of nerves. A whisper in the dark, and yet, she was already this worked up.
Fuck. It was hot.
For a minute, Mira just watched her--star struck, in awe at how quickly the mood had changed with just a slight mention of Rumi.
They still hadn't said her name.
She'd use that as an advantage later, but for now--
Mira simply held her hand exactly where it was. Pressed her thumb at just the right time. Guided her hips with the other hand, kissed at her neck between her next words, soft and whispered into her ear.
"Remember doing this on her abs?"
Zoey did not respond. Couldn't, what with her vocal chords overrun by moans, whines.
"She'd never leave you alone. Never could. Put a hand between your thighs, touch you a little, help you out."
Every second that passed, the another oxygen particle set fire around them--burning, ashes scattering, leaving the air thick. Heated. Sweat was already pooling at the nape of Mira's neck as she panted into Zoey's.
"Sometimes, she'd--fuck, Zo. She'd slip a finger in, right? With no real warning?"
Mira copied her own words. Followed them like instructions.
Zoey gasped. Oh, god.
Loud and almost obnoxious, head tipping back in pure fucking ecstasy. "Mira--oh, shit--"
"Breath, baby."
"More, please--"
"You'll take what I give you."
It was a phrase Rumi used to use constantly.
Always their little tease.
The reference seemed to register within Zoey even through the haze as she whined like a starved child, grinding down and burying Mira's middle finger deep inside her.
Still, Mira didn't stop.
"She'd hold you like this for a while. Let you get used to it, then--"
With a soft, depraved whine, she let her finger slip most of the way out.
"Pull out, and back in."
Pushed it in once more. Harder than she'd meant.
Zoey couldn't fucking take this.
If she closed her eyes hard enough--if she used enough of her imagination, spreading it through a fog of horniness and prayer, well...
She could imagine it was Rumi ding these things to her.
Their fingers, once inside, felt eerily similar. Long, thick, sharp.
And every part of her body was on fire.
She needed more. She needed Mira to bite her neck, not just suck. Push another finger in--2, maybe 3--and twist them like she always did, maybe kiss her clit a little--
But her wife did not do that.
Instead, she continued to tease.
Cruel and slow. Just like Rumi used to. Fucking sadist.
"Then, she'd set a rhythm. Right?"
The finger left her body once more; pushing in with more urgency, scraping against her walls and all her most sensitive parts with a shaky breath. Mira's pace was ruthless--slamming in near ruthlessly, indistinct squelching sounds filling the room along with pure moans and the smell of sex.
All it'd taken was a mention of her, and Mira's arm was soaked down to her forearm.
For a singular moment, Mira thought about that.
She should call her.
But--
Well. Not right now. Not when Zoey was begging, grasping onto Mira like a lifeline--
She could think about this bullshit later.
Or, never at all.
Either way, right now, she had a job.
"So good for me," Mira whispered, raspy and attractive, right in her wife's ear. "Good girl, fuck. Taking it so well."
Zoey moaned. Real, loud, needy, and fuck, Mira was one lucky woman.
She was close. That much was clear--the way her breath came more ragged, barely there at all; her nails, digging into Mira's back with little remorse, her eyes, screwed shut and eyelashes brimming with tears.
Mm.
"Then she'd... curl her fingers a little. Yeah?"
Mira copied her own actions. Pulling back, curling and pulsing just right, and--
That did it.
The air broke around them. Splintering, stabbing, a knife through nothing as Zoey fucking shattered.
Zoey came with a sharp gasp, clenching around the fingers buried inside her with growing fervor. Her back arched, farther than should've been anatomically possible, mouth opening and closing in a silent scream that sent Mira's mind whirring.
Mira could've cried at just the sight of her.
Soft and writhing in her grip, she found religion in the way Zoey's hips moved with stuttering speed, riding out the wave with cruel whimpers and harsh fingers pressinh deep into Mira's shoulder. Marking her, claiming her, just as she'd done on an altar 3 hours beforehand.
Her wife fell back on the bed with one final moan, soft against her lips. "Christ, Mira," she whispered, eyeing the pink-haired woman with slight regard. "You're... insane."
She supposed that was... fair.
Sweat slicking down her back, she kissed Zoey's forehead, shrugging like nothing had happened at all.
Like they hadn't just used their ex's name during sex.
2 years after she left.
On their wedding night.
And it'd worked.
"Still breathing?"
Zoey chuckled beneath her, raising one arm and cautiously pulling her wife into her. "For now."
Then, softer--
"We should... talk about that."
They should.
Mira knew she was right, but--
Well, they didn't.
Not the next morning. Not the next day, week, month, year.
Not until Rumi showed up herself, in the flesh, hesitant and smiling.
Long time coming.
September 24th, 2021
California, USA
Novalee walked into the house practically screaming.
It was going to be a long fucking week.