Snacks and drinks are strewn around, limbs tangled and sprawled over the couch—and each other. It’s easy. Comfortable. Safe.
Rumi mumbles something about heading to bed. Mira pokes her side suddenly, making her jump.
“Oi!” Rumi protests.
Mira waves an accusatory finger at Rumi’s face and the girl groans, annoyed and tired.
Mira laughs then, eyes sparkling. “Come on,” she tugs on Rumi’s arm, firm but gentle, helping her sit up properly, “we’ll help you.” She throws a glance Zoey’s way and the girl is already on her feet, gathering face masks, skincare kits, all the pampering essentials.
“Noo, I don’t wanna,” Rumi groans, trying to collapse back down.
Mira just laughs, the kind of laugh that’s soft and warm and knows no giving up. “Your face will thank me in the morning.”
“I’m too tired for this,” Rumi whines, half smiling, half resisting as Mira pulls, and she pushes back playfully.
They sway in a clumsy, giggling dance of fatigue. Zoey returns, cheeks flushed with laughter, doing her best to help Mira settle Rumi down.
And then Mira climbs up into Rumi’s lap, straddling her.
Suddenly, Rumi’s wide awake.
Zoey leans over her back to sweep Rumi’s hair aside, fingers brushing softly against her neck as she holds it back for Mira to work.
Rumi’s breath hitches. Her heart races.
Zoey’s fingertips trail the curve of her neck—light as a whisper, a ghost of a touch that sends jolts through her nerves. The back of her hand grazes Rumi’s skin, tugging gently at her hair. Sending shivers down her spine.
It’s so subtle, so slight, so tender, Rumi almost convinces herself it’s accidental. Especially with how hard it’s become for Rumi to remain still.
Except it isn’t.
Mira’s fingers brush Rumi’s cheek. A deliberate, teasing caress that makes her skin buzz beneath the surface. Her patterns flare bright, vivid against her skin, impossible to hide now with the lights on and her two closest people so close to her.
Especially with the way Mira’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk.
Her index finger traces a slow line along Rumi’s jaw, then drifts down her neck. She can’t remember how to breathe.
Zoey’s other arm snakes around Rumi’s shoulders, setting between her shoulder blades, steady and grounding—or at least it should be.
Every touch is fire.
Every glance a spark.
Rumi wants more.
And stupidly, stupidly, she lets her eyes flick down, daring but terrified. To Mira’s lips—the soft curve of her perfect mouth, that stupid, infuriatingly attractive smirk that says I know exactly what I’m doing.
She can’t bring herself to look back up.
The tension pools heavy on her tongue, swelling in her mouth, making it almost impossible to breathe.
Her heart thrums like a drum in her chest, wild and unpredictable.
And yet, she stays motionless—too afraid, too caught in the moment to move, to ask, to break the delicate, crackling spell.
Rumi swallows hard. Her hands are braced at her sides, too aware of every place she’s being touched. Mira’s thighs warm on either side of her hips, heat bleeding through fabric, anchoring her in place. Zoey’s arm now slung around her shoulder with deceptive ease, a gentle tether that burns like longing. And their eyes—one soft with something like awe, the other sharp with certainty—are on her. Only her. Like she’s the centre of something they haven’t dared name.
Mira’s thumb ghosts along Rumi’s cheek, slow and idle and utterly devastating. Her other hand rests lightly against Rumi’s chest, fingers just brushing the base of her throat, where her pulse is stammering too fast, too loud. Mira’s smirk has softened now, something quieter creeping in behind it—like maybe this isn’t a joke. Like maybe it never was. Melted into something quieter, something that trembles with the weight of the moment. Like this was never a tease. Like it was always going to come to this.
And then she leans in.
Slow. Unhurried.
Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just inevitable.
A breath between them. A hesitation.
Rumi’s eyes flicker up, just for a second, and Mira is there, close enough to count her lashes. Close enough to see how she’s watching Rumi’s mouth.
Rumi’s breath stutters.
She doesn’t know what’s happening.
Yes, she does.
She doesn’t know if she wants it.
Yes, she does.
But she’s frozen. Brain a wildfire. Patterns lit up in screaming colour on her skin. Mira tilts slightly, and then—
Zoey shifts behind her. And Rumi feels it—the faintest brush of lips. Right at the slope where her shoulder curves into her neck. A kiss that’s not a kiss. A nothing and an everything.
Her whole body shudders. Not from cold. Not from fear. But because her body doesn’t know how else to contain this. Her skin catches fire.
One hand moves without thought, finding Zoey behind her, fingers curling into the loose silk of her hair, then sliding down to the warm skin at the nape of her neck. Rumi’s touch trembles. Her breath hitches. Zoey’s arm glides across her back, a hush of sensation, before her other hand closes over Rumi’s wrist—a squeeze, grounding. Reassuring. Yes.
Rumi holds her there. Not pulling. Just holding. Like if she lets go, it all might dissolve. Too scared to pull even as desire drips from her fingertips.
Her other hand reaches forward—achingly slow—and finds the front of Mira’s shirt. Her fingertips shake as they rise, inch by inch, until they settle against the ridge of her collarbone. Her hand fists the fabric, it’s soft but she barely feels it.
All she feels is the storm behind her ribs and the press of Mira’s breath on her lips.
I can tell the second there’s news about lego monkie kid season 5 my old fixation is going to grab me by the ankles and drag me back kicking screaming clawing at the floor it’s just a matter of time
Mayor Josh: Having a much stronger body is certainly an advantage, but not all the time... It attracts too much attention, especially from that Kapp’n.
Lollipop discourse @firstfandomfangirl in an attempt to break this awful mint that should be fruit lollipop, I broke it against a table. Oh. I destroyed it. Sugar, plastic, lollipop shards. Everywhere. I even managed to cause sugar to solidify and clump together.
