In the vein of being bitter and annoyed about the Zoerumi and Zoemira tags. Here. Content (silly content)
In-universe Zoey discovers the Zoerumi and Zoemira ships and she's so freaking delighted and smug about it. Because it's an internet rule that whomever takes the first name in a ship is the TOP one of the relationship (fictional or otherwise).
The smugness just dripped from her and she played the part. The fan service intensified, the butchness, stronger. She was having a lot of fun and making the others a little bit crazy. But the breaking point came when Zoey pointed out. That Mira was the bottom one in both ships. The Zoemira ship and the Rumira one to Mira's horror.
Zoey kicked her feet where they hung over the back of the couch idly. This hiatus wasn't even a hiatus, really–but it was enough to get bored.
On the opposite end of the couch, Rumi scribbled on a wrinkled bit of sheet music, leaning over her guitar with a frown creasing her eyebrows.
She wasn't bored, of course–and neither was Mira, down in the studio running choreo–but Zoey's words weren't wording and she was tired of squeezing her brain like a damp sponge, so she had given in a while ago; now she lay soaking in the wintery sunlight streaming through the penthouse windows with her head hanging off the cushions, and she.
Was.
Bored.
Meanwhile, Rumi strummed a chord, and then plucked the notes individually; muttered something Zoey couldn't identify; scribbled a bit more.
Plucked.
And plucked.
And–
Zoey got an idea.
She twirled a lazy hand above her, trailing her fingers through the air, spinning golden motes of dust like tiny stars as she tugged the Honmoon from the ether.
It came to her in strings and whorls, in waves and pulses of light; it twined around her fingers like a friendly cat, warm and purring with the power of all the souls who loved their music.
Powered with all the love in her soul.
Zoey was particular about the thread she picked: warm and beautiful, blue and gold and thin as spidersilk. It tickled the shivery little hairs on the backs of her knuckles; it resonated with the heart thump-thump-thumping away in her chest–it tugged at her soul, where one end of the thread rested, disappearing into her sternum.
The other end, however–
Rumi shivered, though it wasn't cold in the penthouse–not with the sunlight, and not with Mira's lovely, frigid ass cranking the heat up hot enough to break a sweat in–but she was so deep in the melody ringing in her ears that she didn't notice Zoey rolling the thread that connected them between her fingers.
So Rumi plucked.
And Zoey plucked.
Rumi's only reaction was to twitch, spine straightening like she'd been goosed. After a moment she hunched back over, still squinting, without realizing Zoey's game.
She plucked.
And Zoey plucked.
Harder this time, and she heard Rumi's breath stutter with it–saw the goosebumps race up her bare arms, patterns flashing in waves. The thread Zoey plied with her fingers disappeared somewhere between Rumi's shoulder and spine, and she watched with barely disguised glee as Rumi reached behind herself to scratch at it before she wrapped that hand around the neck of her guitar once more.
Readied her fingers.
And plucked.
Zoey plucked, feeling the tickle inside of her chest, biting her lip–
And finally, finally Rumi realized what was going on.
Zoey didn't bother trying to hide the laughter that bubbled up from her throat as Rumi spun, eyes narrowing when they locked onto her. If she was quick enough, Zoey could make Rumi chase her all the way down to the studio, and then they could both bug Mira, and–
And she was not quick enough. Like, not even a little bit.
Damn.
She hadn't even managed to get fully horizontal before Rumi had one hand wrapped around her ankle, yanking her clear across the couch, huffing a laugh when Zoey tried to squirm out from beneath her. She pinned one leg with a knee, and one arm with a hand, and–
(And okay, so maybe this was the outcome Zoey had been hoping for actually, because–)
Rumi loomed over her when Zoey ran out of breath, too giggly to put up much of a real fight, batting her lashes and putting her maknae powers to good use. Rumi rolled her eyes and laughed.
With her hair down like this, falling in a wavy curtain around them, the rest of the penthouse–hell, the rest of the world–fell away; in the here and now it was just them, their breath warm and the thread of their souls glowing between them.
"Messing with me," Rumi murmured, eyes reaching for a frown that fell short around the quirked corners of her mouth. "You need something?"
She was warm–the palm of her hand, the firm line of her bicep when she lowered herself, the press of her hip between Zoey's legs as she settled–she was warm, and it was setting every nerve ending in Zoey's body alight.
"Dunno what you're talkin' about!" Her voice was maybe just a bit too breathy to really pull that off, but fuck it; she'd tried. "I was just playing the strings. Bangin' out the tunes. Y'know."
"I do know," Rumi grinned, leaning in, leaning close– "that you're messing with me because you're bored."
Zoey lifted her head for a kiss and tried her best to put some bass in her voice, but her "Says who?" was more air than anything else, and Rumi's grin broke free as she drew back just enough to tease.
"Says you." She hummed, then dragged a hand up along Zoey's side–leaving mini-lightning strikes in the wake of her fingers–to tap her chest, just above the thump-thump-thump of her heart. "I can feel you, right here."
"Okay, perv."
"Not a perv." Rumi's voice was low and confident–easygoing, like she had all the time in the world. "Just made for you." She pressed a kiss to the corner of Zoey's mouth. "Tied up in you." Another kiss, and it was probably a good thing Zoey was laying down, because she was getting real dizzy. "In your soul. And you're in mine."
"Like soulmates?"
Rumi grinned, fanged and lovely. "Like soulmates."
Zoey snorted. "… Corny. But I like it."
And she knew Rumi liked it, too; when she leaned down, capturing Zoey's lips in a proper kiss, Zoey could feel the gold of Rumi's soul nestled right beside her own, woven into the thread of her beating heart.
