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this is how you lose — polytrix

summary. mira and rumi were some of the most competiitive women in the world, at least that’s what zoey think. so, if a game of mario kart can't decide which of them is the best, maybe there are... alternative methods. warnings. rumira. polytrix already established. smut. g!p rumi. top!rumi. top!mira. dom!rumi. they battle for dominance, guess who wins. dom/sub dynamic. play fighting. power play. blowjobs. dubcon. biting kink. a/n: this is majorly based off of my one of my headcanons that mira and rumi argue over stupid shit a lot and will most certainly start fighting if they dont resch a conclusion. also i got too lazy to decapitalize so if it looks weird then that's what it is so sorry, I'll probably change it later. also I will be updating soft, first kisses, sometime in the next few days. ao3.

Mira and Rumi loved each other. A lot.

The kind of love that made the air hum when they entered a room, that tethered them together no matter how far apart they stood.

Their souls quite literally responded to the sound of the other’s voice—drawn like magnets, whether they were whispering or yelling. Zoey included, of course, in that strange, beautiful triad they’d built like some messy celestial accident.

But anyone who’s ever loved deeply knows: love doesn’t always mean peace. In fact, sometimes it means the opposite. The closer the bond, the more volatile the friction

And when you’ve got two hotheaded, competitive, stubborn women crammed under the same roof, sharing the same couch, breathing the same air?

Things get… dicey.

So—why Zoey chose to bring out her Nintendo and buying Mario Kart during their small family night was beyond her honesty.

Please, save her.

“I crossed the line first!” Mira snapped, stabbing an accusatory finger at the TV, where the game’s result had the audacity to flash TIE in all-caps, bold yellow letters. The kind of letters that felt smug, condescending.

“Do you not have your contacts in, or are you just acting blind on purpose?” Rumi fired back, already flinging her controller onto the couch with the flair of a woman wronged. “I hit that drift like a proooo, dude! You heard Lakitu. We were neck and neck!”

Zoey cringed at Rumi’s words, brows scrunching.

Ugh, don’t teach those two anymore slang.

Mira rose from the couch like a storm cloud condensing from thin air, arms folded tightly over her chest, the kind of posture that said: I’m about to ruin your entire night.

Rumi rose to meet her, a fraction shorter but no less defiant, her shoulders squaring as she stared up into Mira’s face like a challenge waiting to happen.

“Neck and neck,” Mira said coolly, her tone butter-smooth and condescending, “means I was ahead by a neck. My neck. Which is longer, by the way, short stack.”

“Short stack!?” Rumi scoffed, laughing with her whole chest, head thrown back. “Oh wow. Are we measuring necks now? In the big 2025? Here, let me grab a ruler, giraffe-girl.”

Oh my god.

Zoey groaned, loud and long, flopping backward onto the couch like a civilian caught in a crossfire.

“Okayyy, you two,” she said, voice muffled by a pillow. “The screen says tie. Let’s just leave it at that, okayyy?” She said as she stood, walking toward Rumi and pressing a kiss to her lips before doing the same to Mira. “Call it a draw, go play another round or fight or whatever you two do. This is turtle-ly ridiculous so I’m removing myself from this narrative.”

She patted Mira’s chest before she made her way toward the kitchen. “I’m making popcorn then going upstairs. If one of you gets stabbed, yell first so I don’t spill the butter.”

But neither Mira nor Rumi were listening to her.

They were already locked in.

“No! No!” Mira barked, cheeks flushed as she spun back toward the screen and jabbing the air like it personally betrayed her. “I won fair and square! It was four to three to two—until someone opened their big, fat mouth and said it should be six-for-six!”

“My mouth is not big!” Rumi shouted, grabbing the nearest pillow and chucking it like a grenade. It hit Mira square in the shoulder with a satisfying whumph. “Mira! You’re just mad I had the better boosters. You saw it. Triple mushroom. I flew through that shortcut like a legend!”

“Oh my god,” Mira hissed, eyes narrowing, voice low and dangerous. “You used the Waluigi bike. I told you that thing’s cursed.”

“It’s not cursed, it’s optimized! You just don’t know how to drive!”

“You don’t know how to let go of losing!”

“I. Didn’t. Lose!”

There was a beat of silence.

Then an explosion of movement.

The familiar hiss of steel sliding free echoed through the living room. Zoey, halfway into pouring melted butter, paused.

She turned around and sighed deeply. Rumi’s blade was out—sharp, gleaming under the lights—and held like a threat wrapped in grace. Mira’s gokdo followed a second later, her hand drawing it in a single smooth flick, the gleam in her eyes unmistakable.

They stood across from each other, muscles coiled, energy vibrating between them like an electric fence. Couch cushions lay on the floor like fallen soldiers.

“Hey!” Zoey called, hand on her hip, popcorn bowl tucked under her arm. “Move the couches and the table before you start fighting! I’m going to our room. Please don’t die while I’m not watching.”

With that, she turned on her heel, climbed the floating stairs two at a time, and disappeared into their shared bedroom, muttering, “Unreal.”

Back downstairs, the air shifted.

Mira kicked the couch off to the side while Rumi did the same to the coffee table.

No more jokes.

They lunged.

Blades clanged, gliding against each other in bursts of sparks and heat. Mira struck first. A clean and efficient attack, eyes laser-focused. Rumi ducked low, slicing upward, pushing back with a snarl on her lips.

The room became a flurry of movement, grunts, shouts, feet slamming into floorboards as they danced each other.

Mira spun and aimed a swift kick at Rumi’s side, but Rumi caught it, twisting and shoving her back against the wall.

“They say people with long legs usually kick well. Does that not apply to you?” Rumi taunted, breathless, a feral grin spreading across her face.

“You wish you had legs half as long as mine.” Mira shot back, grabbing Rumi by the collar of her shirt and slamming her backward into the floor with a thud.

They rolled—once, twice—bodies twisting, grappling like they were made for it. Their swords lay forgotten somewhere under the couch.

Their fight had turned into something else entirely.

Hands gripped shoulders. Fingers twisted into hair. Thighs tangled, locked. Breath caught, shallow and hot. There was no finesse now—just instinct, pressure, and heat.

It wasn’t even really about Mario Kart at this point, and they weren’t trying to hurt each other either.

They just wanted to win.

To dominate. To make the other yield. Mira’s knee drove up between Rumi’s legs, only for Rumi to shove her weight down harder, sliding her thigh dangerously close to where Mira was already beginning to ache.

Mira gritted her teeth.

But she had the advantage—for now.

She straddled Rumi’s hips, both hands wrapped tight around both of rumi’s wrists, pinning her arms to her side. Rumi’s eyes narrowed, body tense beneath her, but Mira only smirked.

“Not so tough from down there, huh?” Mira breathed, her voice thick with sweat and triumph. “Maybe you should stay put. You’re kinda cute like this.”

Rumi tugged against her hold—once, twice—but it was no use. Mira’s grip was solid and confident.

Which only made her cocky.

And that only pissed Rumi off.

“Shut up, Mira,” Rumi spat, voice tight, breath rushing through her nose as she strained against the restraint.

Her wrists ached from tension, and her pride stung more than anything.

“Aww, come make me. Oh wait, you can’t.” Mira grinned, leaning down, brushing her nose against Rumi’s with maddening gentleness. “Not getting up without my say-so.”

She sat up fully, knees pressed into the hardwood floor while her thighs caged around Rumi’s stomach.

And for extra measure, just to make sure Rumi didn’t try to flip her over, Mira shifted her hips just slightly, unknowingly letting the full weight of her ass grind against the thick outline of Rumi’s bulge.

Rumi exhaled sharply, brows knotting as her jaw tensed.

“Shit—” she hissed, hands flexing beneath Mira’s grip. The friction hit her just right, sweet enough to hurt.

Mira’s smirk faltered, blinking in confusion.

Something was off.

Her eyes flicked down to Rumi’s face—tightened, flushed, too still. Not the usual fire or arrogance, not even the irritation. There was something restrained. Focused. Tense.

“You ready to give up?” Mira asked slowly, trying to keep her tone teasing—but her fingers stayed firm around Rumi’s wrists.

Rumi didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she gave a short breath and lifted her hips beneath her, just enough to test the pressure of Mira’s hold. The moment she did, a flicker of light pulsed across her ribs—those golden marks just under her skin igniting faintly like a low-burning flame.

And Mira’s smirk returned, brightened, twitching up to her eyes.

”Did you just—did you just grind yourself into me?”

Her tone was playful, but her body tensed, eyes glued to the soft glow still pulsing beneath Rumi’s skin.

Mira shifted her hips just a little, dragging her weight slow and deliberate over the bulge pressed under her. Rumi sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, her arms tensing under Mira’s grip.

“Mira.

“Ohhh… Rumi,” Mira purred, dragging her hips forward again, letting her core press down right where Rumi was hardest. “Is that what you wanted?”

Rumi’s breath hitched, sharp and shaky. “Mov—“

Mira’s grind was deliberate now—taunting, devastating. Slow circles of her hips that left heat blooming beneath Rumi’s skin.

She was purposefully cruel with it, dragging that sweet, wet ache along Rumi’s bulge like she knew exactly what it was doing.

Rumi’s fingers twitched at her sides, digging into the floor.

“Poor Rumi, she needs this, huh?” Mira asked again, smug and saccharine, her voice a wicked caress.

Rumi tried to speak but the friction was too good, too precise. All she could do was groan low, her teeth gritting, her body jerking instinctively upward, chasing the pressure.

She went still, then softened—her body sinking into the floor, breath evening out. Her wrists stopped straining against Mira’s grasp. Her legs relaxed beneath the straddle.

Mira smirked, believing she’d won. “Aww,” she crooned, “giving up already?”

She leaned down, lips brushing Rumi’s cheek, warm breath pooling between them. “That’s my Rumi.”

Rumi’s eyes fluttered half-closed. She even let out a soft, almost broken sound—low in her throat, submissive.

Mira’s grip loosened just a bit. Just a little shift in weight.

And that was all Rumi needed.

Her eyes snapped open—glinting like a blade. In one sharp, fluid movement, her hips bucked up, knees hooking, and she twisted—

Mira yelped as the world flipped beneath her. The floor met her back hard, air knocked from her lungs.

In a blink, Rumi was on top of her, crouched low, wrists pinned above her head. Her eyes were wild—smug and shining with triumph.

Mira blinked up at her, stunned, heat roaring under her skin.

“You’re not being fair, Mir,” Rumi murmured, voice like smoke as she leaned in, their noses nearly brushing. Her grip tightened just a little, playful but firm. “You’ll never win like that.”

“Fuuck, you’re such a little shit,” Mira hissed, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. “That hurt.”

Rumi grinned, all teeth and mischief. “That’s what you get. The whole ‘grinding against me’ thing? Please.”

“Nooo, you did it first trying to be slick and it failed,” Mira shot back, but her voice wavered when Rumi shifted, just a subtle grind of her hips that made Mira bite back a sound.

“Oh, please,” Rumi whispered, voice dipping low, lips brushing the edge of Mira’s jaw. “You can’t outplay and outflirt me.”

Mira’s nose twitched. “Shut up,” she muttered, squirming beneath her.

God, Rumi was strong.

Too strong. And too cocky. And too damn close.

Rumi, for her part, was buzzing. The way Mira wriggled under her, flushed and squirming?

She’s trying to act tough, but she’s already breaking.

The temptation to push, just a little more, burned in her throat.

“You look pretty like this,” Rumi murmured suddenly, her voice intimate. “All pinned down and winded. It suits you.”

Mira’s breath caught.

No it doesn’t.No. Just no.

“Fuck you.” Mira spat, but heat was blooming low in her gut, traitorous and hot.

Rumi smirked—and rolled her hips, slow and firm between Mira’s thighs. “If you say so.”

Mira sucked in a sharp breath, body arching before she could stop it.

Don’t. React. Don’t.

But her hips pressed back into Rumi and her breath shuddered as she exhaled.

“Mm,” she hummed, eyes lighting up. “You think I couldn’t tell you grinding those pretty hips on me wasn’t effecting you too?”

“Be quiet,” Mira warned, a little too fast. Her voice cracked with effort, low and trembling around the edges.

Rumi’s hips rolled again and Mira let out a whined before speaking. “You’re not going to seduce me, Rumi. I know you’re nothing but a needy girl who needs her fix—but not now.”

Rumi’s pupils dilated at the sweet tone of Mira’s voice, so condescending in such a sweet way. And she loved it. Her marks flared across her collarbones and arms, glowing faintly. Heat pulsed through her, blooming in waves.

Rumi was losing focus by the minute, and Mira could see.

In one clean, practiced motion, she lifted her hips, bringing her legs around Rumi’s neck and using her arms to push her upper body off the ground.

Rumi gasped, caught off guard.

What the fuck—

And then she was down.

Mira moved to sit up—now it was Rumi flat on her back, Mira seated firmly above her face, thighs clamped tightly around Rumi’s throat. Not enough to cut off air, but enough to hold her in place.

Enough to say ‘don’t move unless I say so.’

And god, that power—it wasn’t lost on Mira.

Her thighs flexed around Rumi’s neck, and it hit her just how… compromising this position was.

She was on top, in control, but also exposed. Vulnerable in a way she wasn’t used to being. She could feel Rumi’s breath against her skin, could feel Rumi’s hands on her thighs—not pushing, not fighting, just holding. Steadying. Like she wanted to stay right there.

“I mean, honestly,” she panted, voice smug. “For someone who runs her mouth so much, you’re really easy to pin.”

Rumi blinked up at her, half-lidded, flushed, the line of her throat moving under Mira’s grip. Her hands weren’t resisting anymore. They were cradling. Like she wasn’t trying to escape—like she was grateful to be here.

And that look in her eyes…

It almost made Mira forget who had who.

Rumi’s breath hitched, the scent of Mira, the heat, the sheer proximity clouding her head. Her cheeks were flushed, her neck hot, ears burning. Mira wasn’t even pressing that hard but it didn’t matter.

It was everything else, the position, the voice, the way Mira looked down at her like she already knew the ending—that made Rumi feel like she was crumbling from the inside out.

Her smirk faltered—just for a second.

She lifted her chin up, letting Mira’s thighs completely cage around her neck. “You’re beautiful,” Rumi murmured, barely audible.

Mira cocked an eyebrow, but the heat in her gut betrayed her.

“Shut up and tap out, Rumi,” she said, sitting back fully onto Rumi’s chest, the movement deliberate. Her voice dipped low, thick and sweet like syrup, “Don’t embarrass yourself any more than you already have, my love.”

And fuck—Rumi felt it. In her gut. In her spine.

It made her feel owned. Wanted. Like Mira wasn’t just winning—she was claiming.

Her body stilled beneath her, breath shuddering out, something shameful and hungry curling tight in her belly.

Mira knew what she was doing. Knew exactly how to hit Rumi where she’d break. She could feel her body reacting, submitting.

But Rumi wasn’t done.

Not yet.

Her jaw locked, gaze sharp again through the fog. Mira felt the shift, felt the tension under her thighs. She’s close. She’s cracking.

Mira’s smirk spread, wide and full of promise.

So close.

But then—Rumi’s hands squeezed her thighs. Not to fight. To feel.

She felt so good.

“We should really try face-sitting,” Rumi murmured, voice velvet-dark, her gaze locked on the center of Mira’s heat before trailing lazily to the inside of her thigh. Her breath was hot—too hot—and when her lips brushed against Mira’s skin, she pressed a kiss so soft it made Mira’s stomach coil like a live wire. “You and Zoey on my face would be really nice.”

Mira’s breath caught. Her muscles tensed.

Then she saw it, that familiar flicker of gold in Rumi’s eye, pupils dilated, drool at the corner of her mouth as her mouth lowered revealing sharp, gleaming fangs.

Mira gasped.

“Wait—Rumi—” she started to pull back, body jolting with instinct.

Rumi surged forward, but Mira was already moving, twisting just enough to tear herself out of reach. She slammed her back to the floor with a choked breath, dazed and panting, the adrenaline lighting her nerves like fire.

Mira knew what was coming—knew what it did to her. The daze. The dizziness. The bond tightening like a vice. One bite and her body would stop listening to her.

She got on her fours, trying to push herself up but socks and hardwood didn’t go together like white on rice.

She slipped, hitting the floor with a hiss before she pulled herself back up

But Rumi wasn’t letting Mira get away that easily.

Mira had barely gotten one leg up when Rumi reached out—lightning-quick—and grabbed her ankle.

Mira yelped, falling back down, but Rumi only grinned.

Her grip was firm. Inevitable.

With one brutal pull, she dragged Mira toward her, the slick of her thighs catching against the floor.

Then—

Mira barely had time to scream.

Rumi crawled over her body, pressing her face into her neck and sinking her fangs into the soft skin.

The bite seared through her like lightning, stealing her breath, muscles locking, back arching violently as her brain white-noised.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Everytime, that bite was powerful, leaves her dizzy and disoriented.

That same pleasure-laced pain rushing your limbs, disarming you slowly, coiling behind your eyes like smoke.

Mira’s ears filled with a low, thick buzz—like being submerged underwater with her own pulse pounding in stereo.

The world tilted, her vision swimming, smeared at the edges like wet paint.

She could feel everything—every flicker of Rumi’s breath, every slight shift in pressure—but it was disorienting. Her body was hypersensitive, nerves strung up and burning, while her mind reeled and blurred.

Her limbs grew heavy—not limp, but delayed, as if her bones were no longer fully hers.

“R-Rumi—” she gasped, but it came out slurred, her voice thick and shaky. “Y—You little sh..”

Rumi had long since moved from the position on top of Mira. Now, she was repositioning Mira—hands firm on her body, turning her over with an eerie ease.

Mira let out a startled whimper as her chest was pressed into the cold floor, the shock of it blooming across her ribs. Her cheek dragged against the smooth surface, smeared with warmth and sweat.

One of her arms was wrenched behind her back, held firm in Rumi’s grip, while the other rested aimlessly next to her. Her hips were lifted—pulled up and cradled, high and exposed.

Pinned.

The sound that spilled from her wasn’t quite a protest. It was too breathless, too wrecked—more sensation than language. Her body trembled, overstimulated, the venom still humming beneath her skin like static.

Everything felt tight—too tight. Her chest. Her thighs. Her core, pulsing with heat that wasn’t going away.

And Rumi… Rumi crouched over her now like a shadow made of hunger, gaze molten as she looked down at her prize. Her hands skimmed along Mira’s back, fingers dancing down the knobs of her spine with maddening slowness. Then lower, lower—until they landed on Mira’s waist, possessive.

Her nails pressed in, sharp crescents of warning.

A reminder.

Who has you now?

“All that fight’s gone,” Rumi murmured, voice thick with hunger and heady triumph. “I won, Mira.”

Mira’s lashes fluttered. Her breathing was shallow. Heat coiled inside her, deeper than before—laced with something sharp and animal and needy. But her heart, defiant and proud, beat on.

She twisted her head to the side, cheek still pressed to the ground, eyes meeting Rumi’s with effort. Her voice scraped out low, thick with venom of its own.

“N—No,” she panted. “I’m still… not...”

Her breath hitched again as Rumi’s fingers flexed against her hips, nails digging in deeper.

But Mira didn’t flinch.

Even pinned. Even claimed.

She was still Mira.

“You’re still fighting me?” Rumi whispered, breath hot against the back of Mira’s neck. Her lips brushed skin, sending goosebumps racing down Mira’s spine. “Even like this?”

Mira’s breath stuttered, but her smirk was audible in her voice. “Especially like this.”

Rumi exhaled hard—frustrated, aroused.

God, this woman was infuriating.

She started arguments and refused to concede them even when it’s in her best interest.

Even with her face to the floor, her muscles trembling from, her body pliant and exposed—Mira still held onto something untouchable.

Rumi leaned in again, letting her breath ghost just behind Mira’s ear. “You really don’t know when to let it go, do you?”

Her fingers slipped lower—slow and deliberate—and pressed between Mira’s thighs.

Right over the damp fabric of her shorts.

Mira gasped, her whole body flinching, hips jerking up against Rumi’s touch before she could stop herself. A traitorous reaction. One she immediately hated. But Rumi didn’t let up—she only smiled, sharp and knowing, and pressed her down harder, grinding her thumb in slow, devastating circles.

She let out a moan—warm, soft, involuntary. Her eyelids squeezed shut. Her cheek dragged against the floor as her breath came hot and uneven, teeth clenching as her limbs trembled beneath her.

“You are embarrassingly wet,” Rumi whispered, voice thick with heat. “I can feel it through your shorts, Mira.”

The words made something in Mira’s stomach twist painfully. Not with shame—but with rage.

With heat.With defiance that hadn’t burned out yet.

That untouchable fight.

Mira sucked in a sharp breath, chest lifting from the floor as her muscles lit back up, nerves reawakening like coiled wire.

The effects of Rumi’s bite were wearing off.

Finally.

Mira’s breath came sharp and fast, vision still hazy at the edges, but sharpening just enough to catch the subtle shift in Rumi’s face as she twisted her head to look behind her—the cocky satisfaction of thinking Mira was still weak. Still high off venom. Still beat.

She wasn’t.

Her eyes snapped open—glassier than usual, but lit with that unmistakable fire. Dangerous. Focused.

Rumi paused.

Too long.

Mira dropped her hips to the floor, sudden and sharp—a fake-out. A feint.

And Rumi fell for it.

In a violent twist, Mira rotated her lower body enough to slam her knee into Rumi’s side—just under the ribs.

Rumi let out a barked gasp, more shock than pain, her body lurching sideways.

“Fuck—!”

Mira didn’t wait. She surged upward, teeth bared, dizzy but focused. Her body screamed at her, still sore, still overstimulated—but she didn’t care.

Adrenaline was singing in her veins now. Her hair clung to her damp forehead, her jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Her breathing was still ragged—fast and uneven—but her limbs obeyed her again.

She wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

Rumi groaned, sitting up against the wall, a hand pressed to her side. Her eyes were wide now—stunned and impressed and undeniably turned on.

Mira’s strength wasn’t supposed to come back this fast.

But of course it had.

Because who was Mira to stay down? She never gave up, now when she was pinned, not when she’s immobilized. Not when her body had been trembling and soaked and on the verge of breaking.

It was infuriating. Impossible.

And so fucking hot.

Rumi’s breath hitched when Mira closed the distance again—slow this time, deliberate. Like a predator circling back after faking weakness. Her hands moved between Rumi’s legs, keeping her hands on her knees.

She leaned in, palms gliding slow over Rumi’s thighs—nails dragging just enough to make the muscles tense beneath her touch. She could feel the shudder running through Rumi’s body, could feel the fight still coiled tight in her frame, and it only made her grin.

One hand slipped to the hem of Rumi’s shorts.

She dragged them down, slow and purposeful, like unwrapping a gift she already owned. As the fabric tugged over her hips, a string of slick pre-cum clung from the inside of her boxers, shining in the low light.

Mira bit her lip, trying—failing—not to laugh. She tilted her head, eyes full of mischief.

“Weren’t you just making jokes about me being wet?” she murmured, her voice warm and mean and sweet all at once. “And here you are, leaking like this?”

Her voice dipped as she added, “You’re such a pervert, Rumi. What a mess.”

Rumi’s body flinched like she’d been struck, cock jumping from Mira’s words. “Mira, come on, don’t—don’t say it like that,”

“Why not?” Mira giggled, hand curling around the length of her. “I think our friend here likes it.” She teased while she tightened her grip , slow and deliberately pressing her thumb against the head in a way that made Rumi’s hips stutter.

That gorgeous mauve colored tip, flushed and sensitive, looked obscene against her palm, soaked and twitching.

Mira’s grin widened. “You’re so dramatic,” she teased, thumb sliding through the pre-cum like she was testing the consistency of syrup. “And so fucking easy.”

She leaned forward, eyes still locked to Rumi’s.

Then Mira leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss right about Rumi’s pelvis, just above where should be a bush but is a flat plain. (Rumi fully shaves, zoey trims, and miras between bush and shaved idc)

The marks nearest to Rumi’s lower stomach and ribs flared—a sudden, electric burst of gold and hot pink crawling up her skin in jagged streaks. Like the heat inside her had nowhere else to go.

“Oh, look at you,” Mira whispered, almost tender. “Glowing for me.”

Rumi didn’t respond, couldnt. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but all that escaped was a shaky exhale and a twitch of her thighs.

Because it wasn’t just arousal now.

There was something else there, something way deeper.

Mira looking up at her like that—confident and hungry and hers—it short-circuited Rumi’s brain.

Her marks pulsed like an exposed nerve, like they felt her want and tried to scream it out loud for her.

And Mira saw it.

She moved lower, lips brushing the base of Rumi’s cock with reverence that only made the tease more painful.

Rumi’s breath hitched—caught somewhere between a whimper and a moan.

Then she flicked her tongue out once, slow and cruel. Then again, circling the tip before she finally wrapped her mouth around it and sucked. Not deep, not fast—just enough. Enough to make Rumi’s whole body lock up and twitch beneath her.

Rumi let out a strangled, wrecked noise. “F-Fuck, Mira—come on—!”

Her hands dove into Mira’s hair, clutching, desperate. Her hips jerked once, involuntarily, and Mira made a sound deep in her throat—mocking approval, like she was encouraging her.

She pulled off with a pop, grinning, saliva-slick lips glinting.

“Already begging?” she asked, smug. “Thought you liked being in charge, you know? Being a winner.”

That did it.

Something detonated under Rumi’s skin.

The shift was instant—violent. Heat surged through her veins like wildfire, the marks beneath her ribs flaring bright gold, casting a glow through the seams of her control. Whatever softness had lingered in her—gone.

The part of her that wanted to take her time? Dead.

She lunged.

Mira barely blinked before Rumi grabbed one of Mira’s pigtails and yanked her head back, sharp and unrelenting. She gasped, lips parted—and that was all Rumi needed.

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Rumi growled, dragging her in until their foreheads nearly touched. “And all you do is run it. Get me riled up just to sit there and gloat?”

There was no patience in her now.

She released Mira’s hair only to seize her upper arm and haul her upright. Mira stumbled, unsteady—then was shoved, hard, over the back of the couch. Her palms hit the cushions, body folding, spine arching.

She grunted at the force of it, mind still catching up.

She tried to rise, twisting beneath Rumi—but a firm hand slammed between her shoulder blades, locking her down.

“Rumi—”

“You’re done calling the shots,” Rumi muttered, voice low and edged with something far too calm to be safe. “You’ve had your fun, now keep still and do what I say.”

Mira pushed her hips back, bracing to fight—but Rumi was already yanking her shorts down in one clean motion. Cold air kissed soaked fabric and Mira hissed, jaw clenching, refusing to make a sound.

Instinct kicked in—she lashed out with a foot, more reaction than plan.

Bad choice.

Rumi caught her mid-kick, yanked her upright with brutal precision, one arm banded tight around her chest—the other on her waist to lock her in place.

Then—pain.

Rumi’s mouth sank into Mira’s neck, again, fangs buried deep.

Mira choked on her own breath.

The burn wasn’t pain—it was overload. A surge of heat, of power, of something ancient and possessive pouring straight into her bloodstream. Her knees buckled. Her thoughts scattered.

Words tried to form but came out as breathy whimpers, moans that slipped past her lips before she could catch them. She could hear the sound of her blood sliding down Rumi’s neck as she sucked.

Rumi pulled away, fangs retreating from her skin and back into Rumi’s mouth.

And then—warmth.

Rumi’s tongue, smoothing over the bite, providing a warm, gentle feeling that eased over the pain.

“Shh,” Rumi whispered against her skin. “You’ve done enough for one day. I don’t want to hear anything else but a moan from you.

Mira slumped against the couch as Rumi dropped her, shoulders heaving, breath fractured and uneven. Her body trembled just trying to hold her hips up, every muscle pulled taut, straining with the effort.

She wasn’t used to this.Not to being unraveled.Not to losing.

Definitely not like this.

But Rumi wasn’t just being rough. She wasn’t just dominant.

She was guiding in a way that undid Mira completely.

It wasn’t about force—it was about knowing, about containing her.

That impossible blend of control and care, like Rumi knew exactly how to handle her, how to touch her, how to discipline her without ever raising her voice or using brute methods.

It was like she saw straight through Mira’s sharp edges and met them with something even sharper—authority. Not the fake kind. Not bluster or posturing. The real thing.

And that—That scared Mira more than anything.Because it made her want to be good.

It made her want to just lay down and take whatever Rumi gave her without a quip.

But Rumi wasn’t slowing down.

Her hands slid Mira’s soaked panties aside, fingers grazing over heat and slickness with deliberate, devastating slowness. Mira shuddered, a wrecked moan cracking from her throat before she could bite it back.

“That’s better,” Rumi murmured, almost approving, her tone maddeningly steady. Her fingers ghosted over Mira’s folds, feather-light, never giving her what she wanted. “Would rather hear those moans than your constant gloating.”

Mira bit her lip hard, jaw clenched in defiance—but her hips bucked without her permission, chasing touch, desperate for more.

Rumi grinned behind Mira.

She let her fingers part Mira just enough to feel how soaked she was, then dragged them down her thigh—leaving a slick, shining trail like a signature. “You’re soaked, Mira,” she said, voice velvet over steel. “And I’m not even inside you yet. I’ve barely touched you.”

A high, helpless whine escaped Mira as her body arched, shoulders curling forward. The emptiness inside her ached. Her body was screaming for it—for her.

Rumi moved closer behind her, heat rolling off her in waves. Mira felt the press of Rumi’s cock brush along her thigh and her breath caught—sharp and desperate.

She barely had time to process it before Rumi leaned forward, fingers slipping into Mira’s hair. One by one, she tugged the ties from her pigtails until Mira’s hair fell loose around her shoulders. Then her hand twisted in it, slow and possessive, tugging Mira’s head back to expose her throat.

Mira gasped, lips parting in shock and something else she couldn’t name.

“Stay just like this, Mir,” Rumi whispered at her ear, voice molten, anchored in total control. “Do not move.”

And Mira didn’t.

Not because she couldn’t.But because if she moved, she might break the spell.

Because this—this precise pressure of Rumi’s cock at her entrance, thick and pulsing and ready—was so perfect, so unbearably good, that moving might shatter her entirely.

She was soaked, open and aching, so ready to be filled.

She knew Rumi would slide in effortlessly, claim every inch of her in a single, perfect thrust.

Please.Oh my god, please, Rumi—

Rumi pressed forward.

Inch by inch, she sank into her.

Mira cried out—a broken, strangled sound—her eyes fluttering shut as her body clenched down hard, greedy, pulling Rumi deeper with every helpless contraction.

It was like her body had been waiting for this. Like it had been made to be filled exactly like this.

Her pride cracked beneath the weight of it—shattered somewhere between the searing stretch and the dizzying fullness, between the ache and the pleasure, between wanting to fight and needing to stay caged in her arms.

“There you go,” Rumi murmured behind her, voice calm, almost gentle—except for how sure it was. One hand came up to Mira’s throat. Not squeezing. Just… holding. Anchoring her. Making escape impossible. “That’s what you needed, huh? Not control. Just me. Right here.”

Mira’s whole body clenched at that. Heat pooled low in her stomach, molten and overwhelming, rushing through her like lava with nowhere to go. It wasn’t just arousal—it was something more primal. Something that reached into the rawest part of her and gripped.

The way Rumi’s voice melted into her bones like a command she didn’t know how to resist.

She was going crazy.

I’m not supposed to feel like this.She was the one who didn’t bend. The one who talked back, pushed first, kept her guard sharp and her walls higher. The one who didn’t need anyone.

I’m not supposed to lose.Losing meant being weak. It meant giving someone else control, and Mira had spent too many years clawing her way out of that helplessness to ever want to taste it again.

Even then, it wasn’t like Mira didn’t like being dominant, even in a non sexual aspect—the idea of someone seeking her out for her skills was good to her. She liked when people leaned on her, for anything.

She is their dominant choice, the one who was best equipped.

And yet here she was—trembling, soaked, gasping under the weight of Rumi’s body. And it didn’t feel like weakness.

It felt right.

It felt safe.

It felt like someone finally knew what to do with all of her chaos. Like someone saw the mess and didn’t flinch—tamed it. They held it and owned it.

Is that why it feels so good to lose to her?

And honest to god, right now, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Mira couldn’t tell if she was about to come or cry right now.

Because every drag of Rumi’s cock against her walls was devastating, dizzying. It didn’t feel physical anymore—it felt like Rumi was inside her soul, reaching deeper than anyone had ever dared.

Her fingers scrambled against the couch cushions, trying to ground herself, but her body wasn’t hers anymore. Not fully. The effects of Rumi’s bite had kept things dulled, muffled—like the edge of everything good had been wrapped in cotton. But now?

The effects of that bite had dulled things before—softened the edges like cotton wrapped around fire. But now?

Now the dam had split wide open.

And it was rushing in, all at once.

The pleasure slammed into her—through her—like her body had finally caught up to the hunger, the stretch, the want that had been building.

She gasped—a breathless, cracked thing—and then sobbed out a sound that didn’t even resemble a word. Her hips jerked back on instinct, chasing more, while her thighs trembled and her vision blurred.

“Oh—R-Rumi, I—f-fuck—”

The words barely made it out, swallowed by the way her breath kept catching, body arching into every thrust like it was a prayer answered. Her thighs trembled, jaw slack, eyes fluttering back into her head as Rumi pulled her deeper into that unraveling.

Her voice broke apart on the syllables. Her body was all reaction now—arching into each thrust like it was the only thing keeping her heart beating.

And behind her, Rumi was watching. God, she thought, nearly drunk off the sight. She’s never looked like this. Never let anyone see her like this.

Mira, undone.Mira, hers.

She tightened her grip on Mira’s hips, reverent, grounding her in place as she thrust deeper. Each movement a claim, each press of her hips another reminder: This is mine.

Her Mira. Her fucking storm.

“You gotta let me pull out, Mir,” Rumi murmured, voice dark with warmth and teasing heat. “You’re squeezing me like you don’t want me to go. Do you want me to come inside?”

God, no.

Absolutely not.

But fuck, if Rumi’s cock didn’t feel like heaven dragging along her like that.

No. The breezy, gentle feeling life was awarding her felt way better than this.

So, she nodded, frantic, head tossed back, mouth open in a silent plea. “Yes… Mmmf, yes… Fuck.. Please.. Yes.”

Mm.

Mira moaned—felt more than answered—her body clenching down even tighter like it was trying to keep her there forever. But Rumi stilled and gently, she pulled out.

Mira’s body lurched—like something vital had been ripped from her. Her back snapped upright so fast it looked like she’d been yanked by a string. “No—no, Rumi, wait—what are you doing—I’m sorry!” Her voice cracked, unraveling with panic.

But Rumi was already moving. “Hush, Mira.”

“Rumi! Please! I’m—I’ll be good, don’t tease me, please.” Mira whined, barely able to lift herself from the couch.

Rumi ignored her, shrugging off her hoodie and lying it on the floor, turning to Mira and lifting herself in one clean motion—cradled her like something precious, even as her legs were still trembling.

“C’mere.” She said, picking Mira up and lowering her onto the hoodie, pressing her to the floor with a kind of gentleness that broke through the chaos like a blade through fog.

“I just wanted to see you,” she whispered, lips brushing Mira’s. “All of you.” Mira’s chest rose and fell before she shrugged her tank off, and grabbed the hem of Rumi’s too.

They let out a gentle giggle when the shirt caught on one of Rumi’s ear piercings.

Rumi leaned down, pressing their breasts together as their foreheads, breath mingled. Mira’s pulse raced, her heart stuttering like it didn’t know how to beat in this new atmosphere. Her legs locked around Rumi’s waist, clinging to her.

“Rumi…” she whispered, her voice full of need and confusion and something terrifyingly close to surrender.

“Mira..” Rumi whispered back, her eyes holding Mira’s as she sank back into her.

Mira gasped, the stretch slamming back into her like a tidal wave. Her head fell to the floor with a soft thud, tears springing instantly to her eyes. The new angle was devastating. Deeper.

It felt way more intimate. Like Rumi could reach parts of her no one had touched.

She didn’t even try to speak this time. Her moans turned into hiccupped sobs, her hands clawing weakly at Rumi’s shoulders, like the pleasure was too much now. Like it was pouring out of her faster than she could handle.

She felt Rumi’s cock slightly graze her cervix and her entire body trembled all she could do was hold on.

And Rumi held her—steady, sure—thrusting into her like she had all the time in the world, like Mira wasn’t falling apart in her arms.

“Look at me,” Rumi whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to Mira’s lips.

Mira shook her head—not from refusal, but sheer overload. Her eyes wouldn’t focus and it was easier to keep them closed. Her mind was gone. Her body was already somewhere far away, teetering on a ledge she wasn’t sure she could come back from.

“I—I can’t—it’s too—it’s—” she tried, the words crumbling in her throat. There was no room for language here. Only sensation. Only need.

The pressure lit her nerves on fire. She felt everything—every inch of Rumi inside her, the shape, the depth, the truth of it. It was too much. Her whole body locked up, spasming violently, her hands flailing against Rumi’s back as if she could claw herself free of the pleasure.

Rumi kept her pinned—cock moving, hips rolling, hand holding her down right at that spot where she could feel the deepest part of her being filled.

Her stomach.

Rumi’s hand pressed against Mira’s stomach, feeling the warmth of her own cock dragging in and out of Mira.

Mira gasped, cried out, her voice wrecked.

“R-Rumi—fuck—I can’t—” She didn’t even recognize her own voice anymore.

Her legs shook violently. Her back arched. She couldn’t stop it.

Then—

That pressure. Low. Heavy, burning in her gut. A sharp of sense flickered through the haze. Her hand shot down between them, trying to push Rumi’s palm away, eyes wide with sudden alarm.

“Rumi—wait—!”

But Rumi only showed a wicked grin. “Oh, so now she opens those pretty eyes?”

Mira sobbed, voice cracked with heat and desperation. “Rumi—I don’t—something’s happening—please—”

And Rumi leaned in, lips brushing her ear, her voice smooth and low and cruelly tender.

“If you won’t look at me,” she whispered, “then you can feel me, Mira.” Her hand pressed firmer against Mira’s stomach. “Feel it. Feel how deep I am. Pay attention.”

Mira’s head lolled to the side, and with a sob, as Rumi thrust up into her again, slow but deep, her hand slid from Mira’s stomach to between her legs, giving her clit circular motions.

“I know you’re close,” she murmured, a flicker of pride beneath the roughness. “Let it out, Mira. I got you.”

Mira’s lips parted in a broken moan, tears streaking down her flushed cheeks. She wasn’t just losing it—she was unraveling, being undone cell by cell.

She could feel everything. Rumi’s cock dragging deep, stretching her open and grazing every aching spot inside her like it knew her. And her hand—broad, firm—was still pressing down into her lower belly, anchoring her to the moment, making Mira feel it all.

Mira’s breath hitched violently.

“I’m—Rumi—oh my god, I’m—!”

She screamed as she came, her body seizing, wetness gushing between them. Her thighs jerked, her nails clawing at Rumi’s back like she was trying to stay tethered to something real, something solid, in a world that had suddenly dropped out from under her.

“Fuck—” Rumi gasped, eyes wide with awe, watching Mira completely shatter beneath her.

The floor and Rumi’s hoodie underneath were soaked—obscene, slick, and shameless. Rumi didn’t move, didn’t thrust—just held Mira through it. Her fingers kept moving gently over her clit, her cock still buried to the hilt, and her forehead pressed to Mira’s as the waves kept crashing through her.

Mira was gone. Legs trembling, jaw slack, chest stuttering in shallow, gasping breaths. She blinked up at Rumi like she couldn’t even see her—dazed, wrecked, overwhelmed.

“…that’s it,” Rumi whispered, kissing her temple, gentle and proud. “That’s my girl.”

A sound escaped Mira’s throat—half sob, half laugh—and she buried her face into Rumi’s neck, shaking. She was still pulsing around her, too raw to speak, too full to think.

Rumi rubbed slow circles into her hips, patient, steady, letting her fall apart safely.

“Didn’t know you had that in you,” she said quietly, voice hushed with something tender.

Mira mumbled something against her throat—unintelligible.

Rumi smiled, kissed her jaw. “What was that?”

No response.

Just a tighter grip, arms wrapped around Rumi like she was all Mira had left to hold onto.

Because Mira couldn’t speak.

She didn’t really want to—this feeling was nice.

Nerves still buzzing, body twitching, aftershocks still chasing each other through her like she was being lit from the inside.

And at the center of it all—Rumi. Inside her. Around her. Warm and steady like a heartbeat Mira didn’t know she’d needed.

She just wanted to feel this—true surrender. No defenses. No games. Just the heat of Rumi’s body wrapped around her own, anchoring her to the moment.

Rumi’s palm slid gently up her side, a slow, grounding touch. “You still with me?”

Mira pressed her lips into the crook of Rumi’s neck, breath shaky. “Mhm…”

“What’s the color of your hair?” Rumi leaned back just enough to catch her face in the dim light.

Rumi almost laughed as Mira nodded. “Mhm.”

She was so out of it.

“Does this mean I won?” Rumi murmured, lips quirking.

Mira gave the smallest huff of breath—too close to a laugh to be anything else. Rumi brushed a hand over her cheek, her thumb catching a tear.

“You’re a mess,” she whispered, voice low with something between pride and awe.

“Your fault,” Mira croaked, trying for bite but barely managing a rasp.

Rumi leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth, soft and unhurried. “I’ll make it up to you, soon.”

Those words hit Mira in the chest.

Rumi liked that she got to see this version of her—the one no one else did. And Mira, even in the haze of it all, felt her throat burn with something more than lust.

She’d been stripped down to her rawest self. And Rumi hadn’t run from it. She was holding it. Her.

Still inside. Still warm. Still there.

Mira’s throat tightened, emotion curling hot behind her ribs. She blinked slowly, lips trembling, and clenched weakly around Rumi—just enough to keep her close.

“Don’t…” she whispered, almost afraid the moment would vanish. “Don’t pull out yet.”

Rumi’s smile softened, losing its edge. She leaned in, brushing their noses together. “Wasn’t planning to.”

So they stayed like that, their bodies tangled, breath finding rhythm, the heat between them humming low and steady—while Mira slowly pieced herself back together.

And at the center of every fractured piece… was Rumi.

I'm finishing the requests I have, promise! I've had a very busy week but they're all written, just need to go over them. © kandized on Tumblr and kodzynken on ao3 ; do not copy translate or feed my work into ai without my permission.

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