WhoLetThisHappen
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Today, Rumi learned two things:
1: Getting your car stuck less than ten feet from your own garage is mortifying.
2: Getting rescued by the prettiest tow truck driver you've ever seen somehow makes it both better and infinitely worse...
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OR: Rumi calls for a tow and Mira finesses a date out of it.
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“Hold on!” Zoey said like it was some great epiphany, stepping forward into the weak light that filtered through the boarded windows. “If you don’t remember what happened to you, and nobody knows what happened to her, then… Who’s to say you’re not her?”
Rumi stared at them, jaw slightly limp. Mira could almost see the gears turning in her head, slow and uncertain.
Mira stepped in smoothly just as Zoey backed off a bit, letting certainty fill her voice.
“Either way, you get where you’re trying to go. If you are the Princess, then you’ve found your family. And if you’re not…” She shrugged gently, as though it were all so simple. “You still make it to Paris.”
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OR: Ten years after the revolution, the exiled Queen searches for her daughter. Mira and Zoey just need a quick buck. And Rumi? Rumi has no clue who she used to be—so why not a Princess?
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The irritation already simmering under her skin surged hot enough that the scathing response was halfway up her throat in an instant.
Then she actually looked at the woman, brows pulled as her lips dropped into a sneer—and promptly forgot every single thought in her head.
Oh.
The woman standing in front of her was, quite frankly, unfairly beautiful.
She wore a zoo uniform polo over a long-sleeved compression shirt, paired with shorts that Mira was reasonably certain violated at least several workplace regulations regarding inseam length.
For one briefly catastrophic moment, Mira suddenly understood why “sexy zookeeper” had been on that Halloween costume list Zoey’d scrounged up last year. Then she immediately shut that thought down before it could do any permanent damage.
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Mira understood bees—and Zoey, sometimes. Other people? Not so much. She had only agreed to give a conservation talk to raise awareness, not spend the whole day distracted by the zoo's resident butterfly keeper.
Unfortunately, said butterfly keeper was very pretty.
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“With the right sponsorship, Cruenta could very well win the tourn—”
“But Appa…” A softer voice interrupted, clear and unexpectedly close. Directly behind her, as if its owner had been circling without drawing attention until now. “I like this one.”
Warmth brushed along Mira’s bare shoulder—just the lightest drag of soft fingertips against sweat-damp skin. The contact was so gentle, it startled her more than any strike could have. A shiver raced, sharp and unbidden, down her spine.
An Omega, Mira realized distantly.
OR:
Condemned to the sand and grit of the Roman gladiatorial pits, Mira had only one goal: win her freedom by any means necessary. A sponsorship from Senator Ryu could be exactly what she needed, with only one problem. That scent would not dissipate from her mind, even from far up in the stands above—the scent of the senator's daughter.
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“You know Valentine’s Day is coming up, and I…” Rumi’s fingers toyed with the edge of her notebook. She hesitated, then smiled certainly—like she’d made a decision. “And I—well, would you maybe—”
Mira didn’t let her finish.
The words tangled in her chest, sharp and panicked. She could already hear it—Jinu this, Jinu that. Some request for help picking something romantic. Advice she absolutely did not want to give—at least, not without a solid week to prepare herself. The idea of sitting there, nodding along while Rumi talked about her boyfriend, made something twist painfully in her chest.
“I’m so sorry.” Mira blurted, already shoving her chair back with an uncomfortable scrape. “I… I didn’t realize how late it was. I really have to go.”
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OR: Mira being oblivious while Rumi repeatedly hits her over the head with the "pls ask me out" stick. And then they fuck about it.
Recent series
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A collection of oneshots for RuMira Week 2025 :))
- Words:
- 35,401
- Works:
- 7
- Bookmarks:
- 28
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Summary
A mix of the Tattoo Artist/Florist AU and the Tumblr prompt: Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?”
- Words:
- 13,884
- Works:
- 2
- Bookmarks:
- 8