Chapter Text
It starts, as most of Zoey’s most unhinged ideas do, as a joke that isn’t really a joke.
When Zoey suggests matching collars be worked into their concert outfits and promotional material at the concept design meeting, everyone laughs. Because it’s funny, and because the title song for their next EP is filled with dog symbolism and analogies. It’s funny, and nobody shuts Zoey down immediately and tells her it’s “too risky” or “too out there” or “too adult” for the HUNTR/X brand.
So of course, given that a lack of immediate rejection almost always means eventual acceptance for the golden goose that is HUNTR/X, when she emerges from her room that evening Zoey has a tape measure and a notebook in either hand with a scheming smile on her face.
The order for 3 custom leather dog collars is placed that same evening, padded lambskin interiors perfectly fitted to their throats to not obstruct breathing while dancing or singing or rapping. Most of the time spent customizing the orders is on the dyes, with each of the desired colors hand picked off of a large swathe of “the best” colors that Zoey arranged together in a powerpoint presentation that she presented in a crisply fitted black suit and turtle-patterned tie. 43 shades of purple for Rumi, 76 shades of pink for Mira, and 159 shades of blue for the mastermind herself.
(“I ask that the board give these important decisions the due consideration.” The thank you slide appears with the most needlessly complex transition Rumi had ever seen, the slide itself consisting of a fake transparent image of an emoji holding up a thumbs up with “tahnks for watching!!!” written above it in comic sans. “I will allow you to deliberate amongst yourselves.”
“Zoey, what the fuck.”)
Mira, of course, picks a reddish hot pink for herself and immediately returns to the book she was reading. Zoey ends up begging them to make the choice for her between her two favorites, a lovely cornflower blue and a pastel baby blue, and eventually settles on the pretty baby blue. (Rumi picked the baby blue, Mira picked the cornflower blue, and Zoey pouted and called them both useless.) Rumi’s is a lovely shade of lavender that almost matches her hair. All three are embroidered with lines of opalescent thread that mimic the jagged edges of Rumi’s demon patterns, an idea that fills her with no small amount of fondness and dread.
Zoey uses one of their thousand pseudonyms and drop-off points, as they always do for online orders of any kind, but it feels particularly necessary for this one.
The collars arrive two weeks later in a discreet brown box, five weeks before the date they have slated to release their new EP. Zoey immediately herds them over to the couch, drops the box with a flourish on their glass coffee table and demands they try them on immediately.
Zoey happily fiddles with the adjustable buckle of Rumi’s collar, practically vibrating in excitement. Her smile is too wide and infectious to not smile back at her, even if Rumi is significantly more apprehensive about this idea than Zoey.
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Zo? It’s a little…”
“Kinky?” Zoey supplies helpfully with a bright smile. Mira chokes on her water and goes tomato red, and Zoey drops Rumi’s collar to fuss at her.
Her girls are wearing their collars already. Mira’s fits perfectly to the elegant curve of her throat, soft padded interior pressing into flexing tendons with each tilt of her head. The hot pink is a few shades darker than her hair, and the sight of Rumi’s iridescent markings on her—even just on a collar—is doing something exceptionally strange to Rumi’s brain and heart. Zoey’s baby blue looks fantastic against the spray of freckles along her cheeks and neck. She keeps reaching up to run her fingers along the embroidered threads every few seconds, a strange smile that Rumi has never seen before on her face.
“Kinky?” Rumi wonders aloud.
Both heads whip toward her. “Rumi,” Mira says slowly, her voice probably still strained from choking on her water, “please tell me you know what that word means.”
“Of course I know what it means! What I don’t know is why dog collars are kinky.”
Zoey and Mira glance at each other and back to her. Slowly, Zoey picks the purple collar back up and draws it carefully around Rumi’s throat. The expression on her face is one Rumi has seen only once. Her face heats.
Zoey’s eyes are dark as she runs her tongue along her teeth, consideration written in the lines of her brows. There’s familiar amusement at the corners of her mouth, but it feels even more dangerous this time around.
(Mira never walks with anything less than perfect posture and grace, and never limps.
With the notable exception of the day after Rumi saw Zoey’s face drawn into that exact smirk.)
The polished brass buckle clicks shut with finality. The collar is a heavy weight on her throat, unfamiliar and strange.
And then Zoey gently slips two fingers beneath the collar’s edge, and Rumi has to choke back the noise that tries to leave her throat. The pressure of the deft fingers and collar against her pulse drapes a strange and pleasant fog over Rumi’s brain. She swallows, feeling the way her throat struggles to work against them.
“How’s that, unnie?” Zoey asks sweetly, her voice low and gentle. She edges closer to peer innocently down at the collar and her fingers tucked underneath it. “Too tight?”
“Nope,” Rumi croaks. Zoey finally pulls back, satisfied, that same damned smirk on her face. Mira watches the entire exchange with her mouth hanging slightly open and her eyes full of interest.
“Good,” Zoey chirps. “You look cute like that, unnie. Like an adorable puppy.”
Rumi’s lagging brain finally clicks into gear. She feels her blush get hotter and spread across the shells of her ears. Oh. That’s why. Her hands immediately reach up to feel the collar around her throat.
Zoey claps her hands together, the smirk disappearing like it was never there. “Practice time!”
Mira snaps out of her awe to throw her head back with a dramatic groan. Rumi remains perfectly motionless on the couch, like an actor hiding from a CGI T-Rex. “Seriously? It’s like 10pm.”
Zoey drags both of them off the couch with a strength that Rumi definitely does not fixate on. “We have to test out the new fit! Gaja, gaja, gaja!”
Both girls go willingly, though Mira complains verbally the entire way, as Zoey leads them into the elevator down to their private gym.
—
As it turns out, trying to dance and sing with a restriction on your throat is a lot more difficult than Rumi expected.
Zoey and Mira both have had leather or silk chokers of some variety incorporated into one of their previous stage outfits, and seem to have no trouble transferring skills. Mira’s head and shoulders are unusually stiff for around 2 seconds, before she flips some unseen switch and is suddenly back to effortless, awe-inspiring perfection. Zoey moves as though the collar isn’t there at all, still rapping and dancing and hitting her notes with her infectious energy and easy swagger.
Rumi, however, is fumbling.
The collar is a different kind of distraction from the turtlenecks she wore to hide her spreading patterns, and her muscle memory is struggling to adapt. She can breathe fine, Zoey made sure of that, but the leather is biting into her throat in ways that shatter her focus and have her stumbling through the notes and moves. It’s snug to her skin even after some adjustments and loosening, as Zoey refuses outright to loosen it any more. According to her, if it’s too loose it will shift when she moves and chafe on the skin. Zoey declares that to be the unfun kind of neck injury. Rumi takes her word for it.
It’s embarrassing to be laid so low by a band of leather around her neck, even one that feels welcome and warm around her skin like it’s always been there. So, Rumi does the thing she does best, and throws herself into practice with abandon. Mira and Zoey are kind enough to not say anything about Rumi’s stumbles and stutters. They exchange worried glances in the mirror when they think Rumi isn’t looking, increasing in frequency in direct correlation with Rumi’s frustrated noises and barked commands to run through the set again.
Rumi’s voice cuts out on the same high note for the fifth time in a row, and she growls. An actual, animalistic growl. Like a dog.
What is wrong with her?
Both Mira and Zoey are staring at her. Mira with eyebrows raised and Zoey with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Rumi wipes her face with a towel, scrubbing hard at her eyes. She can still feel the rumbling of the anger that wants to leave her throat. She swallows it down. “Sorry. Can we run that one more time?”
Zoey steps forward then. Rumi snaps her eyes to her shoes to avoid watching the way her lip reddens as it's freed from her teeth. “Unnie. It’s late. We should go to bed. We can practice some more tomorrow, okay?”
All three of them are panting slightly and dewy with sweat, but where Zoey and Mira look exerted, Rumi feels out of control. Like she’s some sort of feral animal that her friends are trying to tame, both of them looking at her with such gentle caution like she’s about to attack them or bolt away.
The little digital clock in the corner reads 01:47. Rumi chews on her cheek, and tastes copper. “You guys go on ahead. I’m just going to run through this a few more times. I think I’ve almost got it.”
“Nope!” Zoey’s hands fall to her hips in the most disapproving mom pose imaginable.
“Wha—?”
“We’re not doing this. Maybe in the past me and Mira would let you work yourself to an early grave, but that ends now. We have five weeks before the EP is even released. Six before the first major live performance. You,” Zoey says and pokes a finger into Rumi’s chest, “are coming back to the penthouse with us, and so help me God I will sit on you to make you stay there. All night. Head leg-locked and everything.”
Rumi can feel her cheeks heating. “That’s really not necessary—“
“Leg-locked, Rumi! I’ll do it! You know I will!”
“Zoey doesn’t joke about leg-locks,” Mira agrees. Her face and voice are both annoyingly amused.
Zoey nods sagely. “I do not.”
“Just a few more runs. I really do think I’ve almost got it.”
Zoey steps into Rumi’s space now, their faces dangerously close together. Her brows scrunch a little in the type of annoyance that is both real and played up. She brings that same finger up to hook into the D-ring at the front of Rumi’s collar, and Rumi’s brain kicks into a hard reboot.
Her entire body goes gooey and limp as Zoey drags her closer by the collar. That same weird fog clouds all of her rational thoughts, all of her frustration and annoyance. She stops thinking about anything at all, really.
“We are going to bed, Rumes. All three of us. I’m gonna leg-lock you, and Mira’s gonna snore, and it’s gonna be great.”
“I don’t snore,” Mira complains.
“You do-oo,” Zoey sings with a teasing smile. She starts carefully walking Rumi back toward the elevator, index finger still hooked into the brass ring. Rumi goes willingly.
“Yeah, well, you talk in your sleep. Like a weirdo.”
“Yep, I do, and I’m still that bitch.” Zoey wiggles her eyebrows.
Rumi feels like she’s listening to them through water. Or maybe a few thin walls. She’s hearing the words but hardly understanding them.
“Yeah, whatever,” Mira grumbles.
Later, with Zoey plastered to her front and sleepily mumbling into her shoulder and Mira’s body against her back with her arms curled protectively around both of them, Rumi realizes she never took the collar off.
—
When Zoey enters the kitchen the next morning, she walks head first into a wall with a yelp and a thud.
Rumi turns to look at her curiously from her post by their coffee machine. It’s an expensive one with way too many buttons and options to press, but Rumi has come to an understanding with it. Which is to say she selects the “latte” button and prays that the machine magically understands. It burbles unhappily at the interruption, and Rumi considers performing a human sacrifice to keep it placated.
“Rumi.” Zoey’s voice sounds strangled.
“Yeah?”
“Why are you still wearing your collar?”
Rumi blanches. She considered taking it off when she crawled out of the cuddle pile this morning, but ultimately decided against it. She likes the way it feels around her neck, and she likes the way Mira and Zoey’s eyes linger on it.
“Um. Am I not allowed to?”
“No! Uh, I mean— Yes! You’re allowed to. It’s just, um. I wasn’t expecting that.”
The silence that follows is awkward. She’s not entirely sure how to read the expression on Zoey’s face. Zoey’s emotions are always written so plainly on her body, but there are so many right now. A bit of pride in the rise of her shoulders, a child-like glee twinkling in her eyes, some embarrassment in the draw of her brows, and awe at the corners of her mouth.
Rumi snaps her gaze away the moment she realizes she has been staring hardcore like an absolute weirdo. She gestures lamely at the espresso machine. “You, um. Do you want coffee?”
“Yes,” Zoey says too quickly. She rambles on just as quickly, like she’s trying to freestyle a new rap. “If you’re willing to sacrifice your firstborn to the machine to make it work. I don’t know how Mira manages to get it to do anything without at least one plea to God.”
Rumi laughs as she pulls Zoey’s favorite turtle mug out of its position of honor in the front row of the cupboard. The machine sputters out the last of her coffee into Zoey’s least favorite turtle mug, which is to say the misshapen and sad turtle mug that Zoey liberated from some pawn shop on one of their tours to the Americas. (“Look at him! He is a tortured soul trapped in kiln-blown clay. He deserves a chance at a better life. Even if he’s weird and creepy and honestly a little disturbing to look at!”)
She presses some more buttons on the machine and hopes for the best. By the time Rumi is finally sitting back against the counter and sipping her latte, Zoey has made her way across the kitchen to throw herself into Rumi’s arms bonelessly.
It doesn’t take much effort to catch her. Zoey is light, and she is practiced enough with a controlled approach that Rumi doesn’t even have to drop her mug. Just one hand underneath the thigh to steady her is enough when both of them have the core, arm, and leg strength of Olympic athletes.
Her maknae snuggles into her neck, and tightens her limbs around her like the world’s weirdest boa constrictor. Arms are thrown carelessly around her shoulders and thighs are squeezing around her hips like she’s afraid she’ll fall. (Rumi very pointedly does not think about the strength of her thighs.) The heat of Zoey’s breath washing over the skin of her neck and the leather of Rumi’s collar is doing Something to her in a way that feels inappropriate for the situation.
Mira finds them in that same position when she wanders into the kitchen fifteen minutes later. Zoey’s coffee has been done for thirteen of those minutes, but she is snoozing comfortably in Rumi’s arms and Rumi would rather give Gwi-Ma a kiss on the cheek than wake her up again for something so insignificant.
Mira picks up Zoey’s mug and bonks her gently on the head with it. Zoey bats out at her hand with a sleepy complaint. “It’s four in the morning and you’re being mean to me.”
“It’s ten AM.”
“It’s 2 in the morning and you’re being mean to me,” Zoey corrects, unrepentant.
Mira rolls her eyes. Zoey sticks her tongue out at her as Mira deftly pulls another of their turtle mugs out of the cupboard and does some magic with the coffee machine. She makes no move to get down from Rumi’s arms, so she doesn’t let go.
(Privately she’s pleased that Zoey has stayed clinging to her like a koala while awake, too. Or maybe not so privately, given the knowing looks Mira is sending her way.)
Zoey’s coffee is fully cold by the time she bothers to take her first sip. “Mira,” she starts, puppy dog eyes out in full force. The effect is probably dampened while half buried in Rumi’s chest, but it doesn’t stop her. “Warm this up for me, pwease?”
Mira dutifully places it in the microwave anyways with little more than a fond scoff. They lapse into comfortable silence as the microwave hums away. Zoey snuggles back into her neck to snooze again, so Rumi finishes off the last of her coffee and sets the cup aside so she can readjust her grip.
Zoey has decided to sleep on her, and thus she shall. Rumi is powerless to break this law of the universe, not that she would ever want to.
They leave the coffee in the microwave once they hear soft, even snores coming from Zoey again. Mira pulls out ingredients to whip up some probably criminally delicious breakfast from whatever random stuff she can find in their fridge.
“So,” Mira begins, voice quiet to not disturb their sleeping maknae, “is this like, a thing now?”
“Hm?”
Mira gestures at the collar still around her neck. Rumi’s face burns. Is it really so weird for her to like it and continue wearing it? Is she missing something? Mira doesn’t say anything more, which Rumi is thankful for.
“I guess it is.” She goes for the cowardly noncommittal answer, but Mira seems to read between the lines regardless.
“Cool.”
The silence that follows isn’t exactly uncomfortable per se, but it's not peaceful either. Rumi focuses on the soft, rhythmic sound of Mira’s knives meeting the cutting board and the rise and fall of Zoey’s chest against her own.
“We’ll have to get you some aftercare lotion,” Mira says simply. “It’ll help with the skin irritation.”
Neither of them say anything after that.
Rumi expects it to stay in the quiet reticence of the morning, but she finds a bottle of lotion on her dresser later that afternoon. It has a bright, hot pink sticky note slapped on it with a doodle of a fluffy dog with a “>:3” for a face and a comically oversized spike collar dwarfing its head.
Rumi tapes it to her bathroom mirror, right above the lotion’s newly designated place on the counter. Zoey squeals when she sees it that night, and presses light butterfly kisses across her face.
For the first time in her life, she wonders if it really can be this simple. If she really can just take what she wants without consequences.
She leaves a purple sticky note with a poor attempt at a turtle on the fridge for them to find as a thank you.
(Rumi finds her drawing pinned in a place of honor on Zoey’s corkboard, and she leaves another, even shittier doodle of a shark with Mira’s signature hairstyle hidden in one of the kitchen drawers for them to find.
Zoey’s cackles echo all the way across the house to her room when they finally discover it.)
—
They bring the collars to the next design meeting, and Zoey practically bounces off the walls when they get the okay.
Within days a matching three piece set of black leather leashes arrives at the HUNTR/X penthouse, designed to tuck into the belt loops of the matching suits they had commissioned for the music video and concerts.
The music video ends up being a product entirely of Zoey’s creation, with Rumi and Mira just flashing a thumbs up whenever she or Bobby ask for their opinion. The only thing that Bobby vetos is the addition of a muzzle to any of their outfits outside of the title track music video, which Zoey pouts about for a few days.
It is… significantly more sensual than any of the music videos they’ve ever released, with there being a scene where Mira is literally dragging Zoey’s head between her thighs by the leash. Despite the hours of deliberation about it, none of the corporate executives deliver the killing blow to the whole operation, so sensual it stays.
Bobby leads the promotional team as per usual, deciding what photos they needed when and where and how, and scheduling all of the pre-release teaser interviews and post-release interviews with all of the approved media outlets. The Comeback EP didn’t really need advertising given the entire debacle with the Saja Boys keeping all of the attention on them for weeks after the “special effects” and Gwi-Ma’s defeat, but this is their first major release after that PR nightmare.
He reviews their PR training with them over and over again, and very politely begs them to try to stay away from mentioning anything related to pet play. (Zoey wiggles her eyebrows in a way that means she absolutely will not be doing that, and Bobby’s resigned expression has Mira and Rumi struggling not to laugh.)
Under Bobby’s photo op director, they take dozens of photos of all three of them in various stages of disheveled with the collars and suits on (though occasionally rumpled and undone). Zoey stands beside the director when Rumi and Mira are beneath the cold white light of the set, offering “suggestions” that are promptly followed. Rumi swears she sees a bead of nervous sweat fall down the man’s temple at some point.
Rumi is happy to let Zoey take the reins for once, and she very much pretends she doesn’t think about the other ways Zoey could take the reins.
She wears the collar. Around the penthouse, at practice, to rehearsals, to corporate meetings, to fight the last remnants of Gwi-Ma’s army, to sleep. She takes it off to shower, and to let Zoey and Mira carefully rub soothing cream into the agitated skin after days of consistent wear. Her neck feels empty and cold without it there, without the safe, warm protection of everything it means to her. Rumi feels like she finally belongs.
(To them.)
Zoey and Mira don’t say anything about it, because they are kinder than Rumi has ever deserved. She sees an understanding in their eyes that makes her want to shrink into herself and disappear forever. She loves them so much, and she is so frightened of it, of the enormity of the love for them that curls inside her chest.
She loves them, and she loves that they accept her new habit willingly, but they try to keep her healthy, too. They urge her to take off the collar for a day or two to let the raw skin recuperate, and she always eventually concedes. (They always offer to administer the hydrating cream themselves, and Rumi is too weak to deny a chance to have the weight of their palms against her throat.)
Needless to say, the compartmentalization of her desires is going splendidly. Or, at least it was. Before Rumi fucks up monumentally seven hours before the approved teaser images for the new album were meant to be posted on all of their socials.
Before Rumi sleepily wanders into the bodega on the corner to pick up snacks and drinks for the bespoke Couch Celebration they always throw after a song release with her collar still on, and the remnants of a particularly brutal demon fight on her skin.
—
Ryu Rumi Spotted Buying Groceries During Walk of Shame
HUNTR/X STAR SHOCKS FANS WITH NEW ACCESSORY AND PROOF OF A LOVER’S TRYST
Ryu Rumi Dog Collar: A Sordid Secret Or A Publicity Stunt?
jinu’s footstool @fangirl234
okay am i going insane? has anyone else noticed rumi’s collar???? huntr/x in their freak era??????
blood is at the huntr/x concert @bl00dygh0st
replying to @fangirl234
Are people just not allowed to wear neck jewelry anymore?
GAYTR/X IN YOUR AREA @huntrxsoh0t
replying to @fangirl234, @bl00dygh0st
> “neck jewelry”
> looks inside
> leather d-ring dog collar
[cat.jpg]
RUJINU CONFIRMED!!! (see pinned) @gilliegirl_
replying to @huntrxsoh0t
ogm do you think its from jinu??!!!
Rumi is my WIFE @RUMIPLSSTEPONMEPLS
replying to @gilliegirl_
kpop stans be normal for 3 seconds challenge: impossible
View 739 more replies
KPOP NEWS @kpopdramanewschannel
Strange New Neckwear From HUNTR/X’s Rumi Has Fans Speculating
[paparazzirelease.png]
huntr/x girls to the world @HUNTRXFAN012
replying to @kpopdramanewschannel
y’all she’s literally trying to buy groceries can we leave the poor girl alone for 5 minutes?
finale (18+ only) @finaaaaaale
replying to @kpopdramanewschannel
i zoomed in and shes got a hickey under her hoodie, ur welcome
[enhancedphoto.png]
SAJA PRIDE @sajagirl7
replying to @kpopdramanewschannel, @finaaaaaale
holy fuck is that a bite mark on her collarbones???
View 17665 more replies
—
Zoey isn’t in her room, and Rumi is panicking. Her phone is vibrating every second, possibly on the verge of exploding, from new notifications of all sorts; people are tagging her official HUNTR/X account on every social media platform, and she’s getting calls and texts from the executives, from the PR team, from Bobby, from Celine, from the Marketing team, and from the legal team.
Zoey’s room is empty, her turtle plushie pile undisturbed by a maknae thrashing around in her sleep. There is no sign of struggle or forced entry, just an empty, untouched room and a Rumi now on the verge of hyperventilating.
She slams Mira’s door open before she can stop to calm herself down and try to be gentle, and her hands immediately raise to shield her eyes. “Oh my god!”
Zoey yelps and falls off the bed. Mira groans in pain.
When Rumi dares to peek through her fingers again, she finds Mira still seated with her back against the headboard, her lap now empty of a certain black-haired rapper and holding her forehead with a miserable frown. Her neck and shoulders are a mess of bruises and bites, some of which disappear beneath the low cut of her—correction: Zoey’s—sleep shirt. Zoey’s naked back, now visible to the world because she is face down on the hardwood floors, looks like it was mauled by a wolverine; long, angry red scratches travel from her hips up to her shoulders and neck, which have received the same treatment as Mira’s.
“Heeeeey, Rumster,” Zoey says awkwardly, muffled by the floor. Presumably so that she doesn’t flash Rumi again, which she is both extremely grateful for and a little sad about. “Come here often?”
Mira snorts at the wording, still holding her forehead. “Nice one, babe.”
Rumi blinks at the two of them for a few moments before she collects herself. Well. That’s certainly one way to reduce anxiety. “We are talking about this,” Rumi says as she gestures broadly to the two of them, “later. Right now we have an emergency.”
Zoey shoots up from her place on the ground, and Rumi’s eyes get to confirm that yes, she did see correctly, and Zoey’s freckles do in fact continue across her chest. And there are some, um, Piercings she was unaware of. Rumi thanks the Honmoon that Zoey is wearing her favorite turtle patterned boxers, because she thinks she might’ve died if she saw any more than this. “Honmoon-related?”
“Worse. Scandal-related.”
“Oh, ew,” Mira says, and promptly drops a spare shirt on Zoey’s head. Both of them ignore Zoey’s indignant squawk of protest.
“It’s related to, um, this.” Rumi points to the leather collar still around her neck, and then tugs down her hoodie to show off the demon bite mark and bruise on her neck. “And these.”
Zoey, now successfully shirted and standing, clicks her tongue and whistles. “Yikes.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re fucked. Or at least you look like you were.”
“Mira,” Zoey and Rumi both hiss.
“What? Am I wrong?”
Rumi very carefully places the ticking time bomb, still blowing up with notifications faster than she can read them, on the bed between all three of them.
Then, as if by miracle, the phone suddenly lights up with a familiar picture. “Hi, Bobby!”
“Girls! Don’t post anything on your official or private accounts!”
There is a chorus of agreements and acknowledgments, before Rumi asks, “How bad is it?”
Bobby makes a noise into the microphone a little bit like a dying balloon. “It’s not great, but we’re handling it. We need to move up the release of those promotional photos—on the company HUNTR/X accounts, not yours, and we need to stay silent on this. Let it blow over. Okay?”
“Uh, are you sure?” Mira asks, picking at her fingernails. Zoey’s eyes get caught on the movement for whatever reason, and the look they give each other makes Rumi feel like she should maybe leave the room and give them privacy. “No posts at all?”
Bobby hums thoughtfully on the other line. “Well, you can post some solo teaser photos of you in your concert, photoshoot, or music video outfits. Professional or amateur photography. Do not post a statement about the collar under any circumstances. Just let the speculation die with the birth of the teasers for the EP, okay? “
Another chorus of agreements and acknowledgements, but thoughtful this time.
“Okay, I’ve got another corporate meeting to get to. Bye, girls! Don’t get into trouble!”
“Bye, Bobby!” Click.
All three of them log onto their phones as quickly as possible and start hunting through their camera rolls for a suitable picture. Rumi turns her phone onto do not disturb mode as she does.
“What do you think about this one?” Zoey shows off a picture of her pinning the camera with a bright gaze and a smirk. Her shirt is scandalously rumpled, revealing the definition of abs beneath the crisp white button down. It looks for all the world like she’s smirking up at some observer behind the camera, perhaps the person who messed up her clothes to that degree.
Rumi very studiously avoids the evocative images that flood her mind.
“It’s good, if you want to start another scandal,” Mira says dryly. Zoey grumbles something to herself about stupid fans and stupid, sexy Mira.
Both Rumi and Mira elect to ignore the second part.
Zoey recovers from her sulking by grabbing Rumi and pointing to her phone. “Ooo, you should totally use that one!”
“The one with a muzzle?” Mira leans over to peek. She seems unimpressed. “Aren’t we trying to say that Rumi’s not a freak with these pictures?”
“Well, yeah,” Zoey starts, and both of them immediately brace themselves for whatever unhinged sentence is about to follow, “but we’re also trying to advertise, and Rumi’s freakiness in the sheets is generating a lot of buzz!”
Rumi whines miserably. She pretends she doesn’t see the way her girls’ eyes snap to her and flood with hunger at the sound. They are just in a mood, Rumi tells herself, because they were interrupted. It’s not because of her. “I’m not a freak!”
Mira and Zoey make eye contact for a few moments. There is an eyebrow wiggle or two, and a pursed lip in response. Then a complicated face-scrunching gesture, with the response being another, more intense eyebrow wiggle. Rumi watches this exchange and tries very valiantly not to feel left out. (It doesn’t really work.)
Whatever silent conversation they have concludes with Zoey turning to her and gently placing one hand on hers. “I mean, unnie, you are wearing my collar all of the time like you belong to me. It’s not that far of a stretch.”
Mira chokes on her own spit and Rumi makes an embarrassing, strangled noise like she’s just been stabbed in the throat.
“What happened to easing her into it, Zoey?” Mira hisses, just loud enough for Rumi to hear.
“You know Rumi doesn’t do well with euphemisms! She probably didn’t even know we’ve been fucking until like 5 minutes ago!” Zoey hisses back.
The sudden chance to defend her badly bruised pride pulls her out of her gay melting spiral. “I knew!”
That gets their attention. Rumi almost regrets speaking. She shuffles a little and looks away. “You guys really aren’t as discreet as you think you are.”
Zoey and Mira glance at each other again. Rumi really wishes those small glances didn’t feel like a knife to the heart.
“SF, 3rd American tour bus?” Zoey guesses.
Rumi flushes a little as she nods. She doesn’t tell them that that was hardly the first time she’d ever overheard them, because she thinks she would rather die than admit how many times she’s stayed silent and listened to their noises.
“Ugh, I knew it. See Mira? I told you you were being too loud.”
Mira rolls her eyes and huffs. “Yeah, whatever, my bad. I’ll try to be quieter next time Rumi is a bunk below us and you’re 6 inches deep.”
Rumi makes another embarrassing noise, but this time both of her girls look at her.
Zoey curses under the breath and flops back on the bed, crushing her phone beneath her back. “You gotta stop doing that, unnie, or Mira’s not gonna be able to walk tomorrow.”
“What?”
“She takes all of her frustration about not being able to fuck you out on me,” Mira says lazily, as if that’s not the craziest thing either of them have ever said to her.
“What?” It comes out as a shrill squeak.
Zoey groans and rolls around on the bed. The borrowed night shirt rides up slightly and Rumi snaps her eyes to examine the suddenly extremely interesting rock band poster on the opposite wall. “Can you blame me? Look at her Mira. With your eyes. Observe her.”
“Yeah, Zo. I’m looking.”
“She’s a snack. Nope, a full three course meal. An all you can eat buffet, even.”
Rumi gawks at them like she just learned how to breathe yesterday. “What is happening right now?”
“We’re talking about how hot you are, and how good you’d look beneath us, obviously.” Zoey props her head up on one hand to look at her. The oversized band tee slips artfully down her shoulder to reveal more freckles and a bruise right below her collarbones. Rumi’s mouth waters with the need to bite.
Mira nods, still scrolling through the promotional photos she saved on her phone. The tips of her ears are red beneath the curtain of her bangs. “You’re kind of attractive, or whatever.”
“You… you want me? Both of you?”
Mira looks up at her like she just suggested they wear last year's fashion to their next concert. Her brow is furrowed in the way it always is when she’s trying to determine if the stupid thing Rumi said is a joke or if she is actually just that dumb.
“Uh, duh?” Zoey and Mira say at the same time, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. Rumi blinks owlishly at them.
They exchange another look and more hand gestures, before Zoey rolls her eyes, pouts, and finally turns to Rumi with a fondly exasperated smile. “We do want you. So badly. But we also love you, Rumi, all of you. I wouldn’t want it to be like a one time thing or anything, because god have you seen yourself? I think I’d die if I tasted that heaven only to have it ripped so cruelly away. But I’d also be happy just laying on the couch doing nothing with you. I love you.”
Rumi.exe has stopped functioning.
Zoey keeps rambling, the words falling faster as a small flush spreads across her cheeks. “I, like, kinda thought you knew because you were wearing my collar and you were always looking at me like that but I’ll say it a thousand times just for you.”
Rumi fights through the fog in her brain to ask, “Looking at you like what?”
The blush gets brighter. Mira smirks. “What was it you said? ‘Like she’d get on her knees and worship at my feet’?”
“I didn’t say that!” Zoey screeches. “Lies and libel and slander!”
“Libel is written defamation, drama queen.”
“And your words are so hurtful they have been carved into my very bones, thusly written in gruesome and terrible fashion!”
Mira rolls her eyes, this time. “K, Shakespeare. We were in the middle of a long overdue conversation about how we should all make out and date.”
Rumi makes another embarrassing and strangled noise like she’s one of those rubber chickens Zoey has shown her videos of. Pop princess idol with the voice of an angel? Nowhere to be found.
Their eyes soften as they both turn their attention back to her. Zoey’s palms slide across her winding patterns, while Mira draws her closer until she’s cradled delicately in her arms.
“I can hear you overthinking,” Mira says quietly, an amused rumble in her chest that Rumi can feel against her cheek. “Come back to us, pretty girl.”
Rumi buries her face further into Mira’s shoulder to hide the blush those words provoke. She finds that she really likes how Mira’s voice wraps around words of praise. “I’m back. Sorry, I just— this is a lot.”
Mira kisses her gently on the top of her head with a hum. “You don’t have to respond right now, okay? I suggested that we slowly introduce you to the possibility of being in a relationship with both of us, but Zoey had other ideas.” Zoey scoffs at that. “We’ll be here. Always. Just say the word.”
Zoey nods enthusiastically enough that her head looks like it might bobble right off her shoulders. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I know we’ve kind of avoided the topic of the us of it all, because of the patterns and stuff, but we’ll love you in any way you allow.”
“I do,” Rumi says immediately, desperate to get the words out. Her girls look at her with such open, loving wonder. “I love you guys so much. I always have.”
“Well, I guess that’s settled then.” She pushes Rumi’s face gently away from her shoulder, and chuckles softly at the pathetic whine she lets out.
But Rumi isn’t given the chance to be upset about the distance for long. Mira cups her jaw in one hand, and leans in to kiss the corner of Rumi’s mouth. She smiles when Rumi melts immediately into it and chases after her lips. It’s honestly embarrassing how quickly Rumi softens for them, but she refuses to try and hide it.
Mira chuckles again when Rumi whines, grabbing at her shirt to try and drag her back into a real kiss.
Then Zoey is turning her head, and pressing their lips together. Her fingers slide up to rest against the line of her jaw and the edge of her leather collar, reverent and soft like Rumi will shatter if she touches her too roughly. It’s gentle, it’s sweet, and she can feel Zoey’s smile against her mouth.
Zoey starts to pull away too, and Rumi decides she has had quite enough of that. Her hand sinks into the messy black curls at the back of Zoey’s head, and yanks her back in before she can fully comprehend what she’s doing.
The sound that Zoey lets out against her mouth echoes around in her skull. A gasp. High, sharp, and maybe the most sinful thing Rumi has literally ever had the fortune of hearing.
“Here,” Mira says, and Rumi startles at the voice so close to her ear. She sounds like a starved animal, rough and hungry. Her hand threads over Rumi’s in Zoey’s hair, gently guiding her to gather up the hair at her nape. “Like this.”
She guides Rumi to yank Zoey’s head back again, and the noise she lets out this time is sin incarnate as her eyes roll back. Her mouth drops open in a whimper, her breathing going heavy and uneven.
Zoey dives back into her lips with all the finesse of a sledgehammer. All of the gentleness is gone the moment Rumi’s hand tightens further in her hair. Teeth and tongue find Rumi’s bottom lip, the grip against her neck going from light to bruising in an instant. Rumi tugs her closer, closer, closer. Zoey takes the hint, sliding forward until her chest is pressed tight against Rumi’s back. She can feel the ball points of the nipple piercings even through the shirt, and she whimpers desperately into her mouth.
She needs her mouth on those, preferably yesterday.
Mira’s hands find her hips beneath the baggy gray sweatshirt, now, rough and calloused from years of handling her gokdo, and pull Rumi unceremoniously into her own lap. Zoey growls in complaint, squeezing closer until Rumi is practically squished between their bodies.
Zoey runs her tongue along Rumi’s bottom lip again, with intention this time. Those beautiful hands coax her jaw open, and Rumi allows it willingly. Zoey groans into her mouth as their tongues meet, which immediately takes the throne as the new most sinful thing Rumi has ever heard.
They stay like that for god knows how long. Mira’s thumbs rubbing gentle circles into Rumi’s hipbones as Zoey sucks hungrily at her tongue. Rumi tries to return the favor a few times, tries to take the lead and explore, but Zoey’s hold on her neck is too tight. She can do little more than sit there and take it.
(She wants to take so much more.)
A gentle nip at her tongue has Rumi moaning, far louder than even she was expecting. Zoey moans back in response, almost as loud as Rumi. “Fuck,” she whines against Rumi’s mouth. Beneath the heat and need Rumi finds herself ever so slightly amused. She’d long suspected that Zoey gave her the largest amount of lines in their songs for a reason.
Zoey breaks the kiss to pant heavily against Rumi’s jaw. Two sets of dark eyes are watching her squirm from her place pinned between them.
“Fuck,” Zoey whispers again against her skin. The warmth of her breath has Rumi squirming even more. Zoey clicks her tongue in displeasure. Then teeth sink into the skin just above her collar, to keep her still, and Rumi’s voice breaks in a whine that hits an octave she wasn’t even aware she could reach.
“Zo—ey, fuck, please.” Rumi’s hips kick into action finally, grinding down against Mira’s thighs and moaning at the friction.
Mira laughs, low and dark. “Easy, tiger. No one is going to take it away from you. We’re all yours.”
Her hips don’t stop moving. She’s not sure that she would stop even if Gwi-Ma himself appeared in the room next to them. She’s building toward something she’s only ever overheard in the next room over, heat twisting and ratcheting up in her core. Every grind of her hips, every burst of friction that has whimpers escaping from her lips is driving her further, higher, hotter, hungrier.
A second pair of hands find her hips and attempt to still her. Rumi whines pathetically, trying to writhe away from the hands so she can keep grinding.
“Rumes,” Zoey says, voice soft and rough and wrecked all at once. “We should wait. Today has kinda been a lot, and we need to talk about what exactly we’re doing here.”
“Don’t wanna,” Rumi protests, her voice embarrassingly close to a whimper. Zoey swears quietly against her back.
“I know you don’t, pretty girl,” Mira soothes, and then immediately decides to make it worse. “But I think it’s a good idea. I want the first time I make you come to be against my mouth instead of my legs.”
Rumi moans out loud at the mental image, and Zoey curses again.
“God you two are making me regret being the responsible one.”
“It sucks, doesn’t it?” Mira agrees. And then she gently twines her fingers in Zoey’s hair and pulls her into a filthy kiss.
Rumi goes through a complicated array of emotions as she watches Zoey bite Mira’s lips and tongue until she’s moaning against her mouth. She feels immediate regret for not having come clean about her patterns sooner, because if she had she could’ve watched this every single day for the past seven years instead of pretending like she couldn’t hear them through the wall. This is the hottest thing she has ever witnessed in the entirety of her life, and instead of feeling the jealousy she feared she would she feels nothing but pure unfiltered need. She’s such a fucking idiot she could’ve been watching her groupmates kiss this entire fucking time—
Zoey’s hips buck into hers when Mira’s teeth drag hard against her bottom lip, and the moan she lets out is deep and gravely. Rumi arches back into her, and with both of them distracted she is free to start moving again with their hands limp on her waist.
She grinds back hard against Zoey with every stroke, and soon their hips are moving in concert. She matches Rumi’s rhythm instinctually without prompting the way she always has, in dancing or in battle. The grip on Rumi’s waist tightens to a point of near pain.
She drops her head forward to rest in the crook of Mira’s neck and tugs Zoey even closer to her, somehow. There’s very little space left to roll her hips with both of them crowding around her in Mira’s lap, but having her girls no longer plastered to her body is an intolerable cost.
Mira threads her fingers gently into Rumi’s hair to turn her head back to face her again, and Rumi surges forward to meet her.
“Brat,” Zoey mutters against Mira’s jaw, before she opens her mouth to sink her teeth into the delicate skin there. “I know what you’re doing.”
“What ever do you mean?” Mira asks innocently, even as she trails her mouth down to leave biting kisses along Rumi’s jawline. Her breathing goes sharp against Rumi’s heated skin as Zoey sucks at the skin beneath her teeth.
“Yeah?” Zoey’s smile is vicious. Rumi watches with wide eyes as Zoey slides a hand down to vanish beneath the hem of Mira’s—Zoey’s—sleep shirt. Mira sucks in a shaky breath. “Are we playing this game today, babes?”
A slick noise reaches their ears, and Zoey’s laugh is full of fangs. Mira’s jaw goes taut, teeth clenched. “You’re not setting a very good example for our girl,” Zoey says, voice dripping derision. A shudder trembles down Rumi’s spine at the tone. “I guess I’ll just have to fuck some obedience into you.”
“You can try.” Mira’s attempt at dismissiveness falls just short. Zoey’s smile only ever gets sharper.
“Pretend all you want,” she says, conversationally, and another obscene slick noise echoes through the tense silence. Mira barely manages to choke back a moan. Rumi can feel herself trembling almost as hard as Mira is, and she isn’t even the one being touched. “You’ll be crying under me either way.”
And then Rumi’s phone buzzes to life with the ringtone she had set specifically for Bobby. Mira throws her head back and groans, in a decidedly not pleased way this time.
Zoey presses an apologetic kiss to the back of Rumi’s neck and leans forward far enough to collect the phone from where it was abandoned on the bed. “Hi Bobby!” Mira and Rumi are too busy catching their breath to join her in their customary greeting.
“Zoey? Where are Rumi and Mira?”
“They’re sulking and being grumpy, but they can hear you.”
Zoey offers her messy fingers to Rumi, and it takes her all of three seconds to process the request and yank the hand forward the moment she does.
Both of them watch Rumi suck the slick off her fingers with hunger. It doesn’t taste how she expected it to, with how everyone talks about how “sweet” it is, but she doesn’t mind it as much as she feared she might. She wants more, preferably straight from the source.
Zoey presses the mute button with her clean hand just long enough to whisper, “Good girl.”
Rumi moans around the fingers in her mouth, and Zoey unmutes to continue chattering away.
Rumi doesn’t bother trying to follow the conversation, opting instead to suck idly at the fingers still in her mouth. That same pleasant fog has dropped over her mind again, wiping all of the coherent thoughts from her brain.
Mira runs her nails gently along Rumi’s arms in soothing lines. Rumi shivers a little every time they run across one of her patterns, which Mira visibly notes for later.
Eventually the fingers are pulled away. Rumi whines rather pathetically at the loss. Zoey shushes her with a low laugh, pressing another kiss to the crown of her head.
They move to Rumi’s bed, which has been declared the “least violated bed they own”, to have an “after sexy times nap” that Zoey deems a necessity. Rumi doesn’t argue, because being cuddled and napping frankly sounds like a fantastic idea right now.
As Rumi falls asleep, she absentmindedly notes that Zoey has all three of their phones collected in front of her. That smile on her face never heralds anything good, but Rumi is too tired to investigate.
—
Her girls are asleep almost immediately, which is a skill that Zoey has always envied. Her own brain can hardly stop long enough to let her sleep after taking melatonin and Nyquil, much less on a random lazy morning with no meds.
Zoey should be sleeping right beside them, but she’s thinking. Frankly more than she should be.
But Zoey remembers the promotional photos they needed to post, before they decided to give into the horny for an hour. She also remembers a lovely song from the American 90s rap scene that was trending on the internet semi-recently.
Zoey, in a stroke of genius, decides to post all three of their social media posts for them because she has the most amazing idea ever. They all know each other’s phone passcodes, so she doesn’t even need to interrupt their naps for it either.
All hell promptly breaks loose.
—
Zoey!! 🩵🐢 @HUNTR/XZOEYOFFICIAL
woof ;)
[zpromotion5.png]
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Rumi 💜🐯 @HUNTR/XRUMIOFFICIAL
🎶Bark like you want it, baby🎶
[rmuzzlepromo.png]
Zoey!! 🩵🐢 @HUNTR/XZOEYOFFICIAL
replying to @HUNTR/XRUMIOFFICIAL
hey babe, are you an unsafe elevated walkway? because it looks like you could use a good railing
Rumi is my WIFE @RUMIPLSSTEPONMEPLS
replying to @HUNTR/XRUMIOFFICIAL, @HUNTR/XZOEYOFFICIAL
GIRL HELLO???
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Mira 🩷🔫 @HUNTR/XMIRAOFFICIAL
woof
[mpromotion7.png]
Zoey!! 🩵🐢 @HUNTR/XZOEYOFFICIAL
replying to @HUNTR/XMIRAOFFICIAL
[stitchlickingglasswindow.gif]
pwincess @prettyxprincess
replying to @HUNTR/XMIRAOFFICIAL, @HUNTR/XZOEYOFFICIAL
girl same but also QHAT?!?1?!
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HUNTR/X @HUNTR/XOFFICIAL
🐺15.10.2025 9PM KST
[promotion48.png]
(Image Transcription: All three HUNTR/X members are dressed in their matching black suits and collars. Zoey sits in the center on a black velvet chaise, her legs spread carelessly and a little smirk on her lips. Her hair is down, the curls falling artfully and messily around her face in her brand new wolf cut. Rumi kneels on the floor at her right with her chin cupped in one of Zoey’s hands. Black painted nails and rings dig just slightly into Rumi’s soft skin. Her expression is one of complete surrender, or perhaps reverence. The other hand is tangled in Mira’s hair, gently holding her against Zoey’s knee so that half of her face is hidden behind the crisp black fabric. Mira’s eyes are on the camera, sharp and almost possessive, daring the viewer to look away even as she kneels obediently like a dog.)
death to kings @focalors
replying to @HUNTR/XOFFICIAL
huntrix making official marketing materials look like a frame out of their home sex tape… okay freaktrix! speak your truth!
SAJA BOYS DEAD??!?!? @jointhepride66
replying to @HUNTR/XOFFICIAL
Ummm isn’t Rumi with Jinu?
girls kissing! yippee! @girlkissersunited
replying to @jointhepride66, @HUNTR/XOFFICIAL
Rumi could literally go on live television and ask ZoMira to strap up and pulverize her pussy like an olive in an oil factory and yall would still be bringing up some musty ass nugu man 🤢🤢🤢
pizza pieay @crabcakekitten
replying to @girlkissersunited, @jointhepride66, @HUNTR/XOFFICIAL
wow thats a brand new sentence
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GAYTR/X IN YOUR AREA @huntrxsoh0t
DID ALL THREE MEMBERS OF HUNTRIX JUST REVEAL THEIR POLYAMOROUS RELATIONSHIP IN THE FORM OF A GOONER BAIT PROMO???????
POLYTRIX IS REAL @huntrixgay4gay
replying to @huntrxsoh0t
i mean how else would they soft launch the fact that they have Ryu Rumi leashed, collared, and barking like a dog for them every evening?
sappho’s friend @sapphirasapphira
replying to @huntrixgay4gay, @huntrxsoh0t
girl thats foul (ME NEXT ME NEXT ME NEXT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ZOEY MIRA WOOF WOOF GRR PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!)
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polka @dottiedots
zoey doesnt just want that cookie, she wants the entire jar jesus crhist girl drink some water
HUNTER WORLD @huntrixgrlstothewrld
replying to @dottiedots
Wouldn’t you, if you had two attractive women looking at you like they wanted to eat you alive?
polka @dottiedots
replying to @huntrixgrlstothewrld
yeah that photo shoot looks actually criminally insane. imagine being a fly on the wall watching them practically eye fucking each other on camera for hours
RUMI GOD PLEASE PLEASE PLE @rumisleftfingernail
replying to @dottiedots, @huntrixgrlstothewrld
yall notice the lipstick marks under zoey’s shirt cuffs? maybe they were actually just filming their foreplay and decided to post it as a teaser
polka @dottiedots
replying to @rumisleftfingernail
the WHAT??!?!?
RUMI GOD PLEASE PLEASE PLE @rumisleftfingernail
replying to @dottiedots
kinda hard to see but i zoomed in. looks like Mira’s shade, right over the pulse in her wrist. i didnt notice it at first but it looks like Mira also has a lipstick mark right below her shirt collar. Zoey’s shade. Rumi doesn’t have any visible marks, but her shirt is buttoned up all the way 😏
[image1.jpg] [image2.jpg]
GAYTR/X IN YOUR AREA @huntrxsoh0t
replying to @rumisleftfingernail
THEY ARENT EVEN TRYING TO HIDE THAT THEYRE FUCKING NASTY EVERY DAY AND ALL OF YALL CALLED ME CRAZY!!!!
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pwincess @prettyxprincess
okay so either the collar thing was a publicity stunt for their new album or they've constructed an entire elaborate aesthetic for their new album that allows rumi to wear her collar outside… guys the delusions, they’re speaking to me—
GAYTR/X IN YOUR AREA @huntrxsoh0t
replying to @prettyxprincess
i know ive always been the biggest polytrix lover but imma be so fuckin fr the way rumi looks so immensely terrified the moment she sees that people have taken pictures of her out with her collar really makes me think its the latter. poor girlie had her freak aired out publicly
pwincess @prettyxprincess
replying to @huntrxsoh0t
yeah if the fact that my boyfriend had me collared every night was national news i think i’d actually just never show my face again
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