Chapter Text
“So, how did the sitter work out?”
“Uh, not very good.” Rumi was struggling, her cellphone pinned between her shoulder and her cheek while she had an armful of inconsolable child holding onto her clothes for dear life. Mi-Jin was clutching onto her as if the word would end if she let go for a single second.
“Oh, no. I can hear her crying.” Bobby’s voice was full of sympathy on the other line and Rumi could perfectly imagine his heartbroken expression. The only person who came close to loving Mi-Jin as much as she did was Bobby. He had been the first one to hold her after Rumi, doing things that far surpassed his obligations as her assistant. Rumi considered him family, even if he was still on her payroll. “What happened?”
“Oh, the usual.” Rumi was trying to calm Mi-Jin down, alternating between bouncing, rocking, and pressing kisses against her daughter’s flushed, teary face. None of it was working and Rumi’s poor joints were suffering because of it. Mi-Jin was getting way too big to be carried around all of the time and though Rumi would never admit it, her days of physical excellence were becoming distant memories. “I managed to slip out and it took MiMi all of five minutes to realize I was gone and start screaming bloody murder.”
A deep, sympathetic sigh came out of her phone’s tiny speakers, barely audible over Mi-Jin’s crying. “I’m really sorry Rumi. I thought this one would work out. The agency said she’s worked with kids in family situations like yours before.”
Rumi had seen that flag on the nanny’s information. It stood out like a neon flare
“Works with grieving children to offer support to surviving parent”
She knew it wouldn’t work. Mi-Jin wasn’t the one grieving, really. Mi-Jin never met her father. She had only ever seen his tombstone, more bored than anything whenever Rumi took them to visit his grave. Rumi tried to tell Mi-Jin all about Jinu whenever she could muster up the courage, but a child could only be so invested in a parent that died before they were born. It would probably be easier when Mi-Jin was older and could understand more, but Rumi wasn’t inclined to make her daughter grieve when she could just enjoy being a kid instead.
“I know. I thought it would work out, too.” Rumi lied, moving to sit on the couch with Mi-Jin in her lap instead. It was mostly to give her knees and hips mercy. “Maybe I should delay my return to the office and keep working from home, you know?”
“You have been saying that for two years now. I don’t want to speak out of place, but you need to put yourself out there and start living again, Rumi.” Out of place? She almost broke Bobby’s hand when she gave birth to Mi-Jin. He was the only person who was with her in the delivery room. Jinu had no living extended family, both of Rumi’s parents were long dead, and Celine and Rumi hadn’t spoken since the announcement of their elopement. If anyone was in the right place to say that to her, it was Bobby. “Even if it's just to have an afternoon to yourself. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m a single mom, not a helpless prisoner.” Rumi tried to joke, absolutely falling flat from the exhaustion weighing on her voice. Mi-Jin was beginning to calm now that her eomma had sat down, less likely to disappear again.
“I’m going to figure something else out, trust me.” Bobby continued, ever-determined. Rumi could only sag and let out a sigh, not looking forward to going through this painful trial and error (mostly error) again. “There has to be someone, somewhere who will work for Mi-Jin.”
“So far it's just Eomma.”
“You know what I mean. I’ll talk to you later, okay? You have that meeting in three days. I’ll find someone before then.”
“Sounds good.” Rumi said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Mi-Jin mimicked her, her lips still quivering as she followed her Eomma’s super special calm down exercises. “I’ll talk to you later.”
The call ended and Rumi tossed her phone to the side, wrapping Mi-Jin firmly into her arms and cuddling her. Her daughter still had her jet black hair in two pigtails, a little loose and messy from the earlier meltdown. The adorable yellow dress Rumi dressed her in was now stained across the front from when Mi-Jin flipped her plate of nuggets and ketchup during her hysterics. It was probably staining Rumi’s clothes, too, but she was too tired to care.
“Are you gonna leave me again?” Mi-Jin’s voice was tiny and weak, her tears wetting the collar of Rumi’s blouse where her face was tucked close. Rumi squeezed her close, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“No, sweetie. I was never leaving you and I will never, ever leave you.”
“But you were gone. ” Mi-Jin said, breath hitching again.
“I was just going out to run some errands. I was going to come back - I will always come back.”
Rumi knew Mi-Jin was nowhere near convinced, but the little girl had worn herself out crying enough to not continue the debate. It would be a longer conversation for later, when Rumi wasn’t dead on her feet and Mi-Jin wasn’t on the knife’s edge of breaking down again.
“Are you tired, sweetie?” Rumi asked softly, rubbing soothing circles across Mi-Jin’s back. Mi-Jin nodded, but made no move to lessen her grip on Rumi’s blouse. “Okay. Eomma will take you upstairs for a nap, okay? I won’t go anywhere.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. I’ll stay with you while you fall asleep and be right there when you wake up.”
“... Okay.”
With a heave, Rumi stood from the couch, carrying Mi-Jin up to her room and bumping open the door with her hip. The room was painstakingly decorated, most of them selected by Bobby, to be a bedroom fit for a little princess. The walls were painted a soothing purple, glow in the dark stars scattered around and absorbing the light from the fairy lights running across the ceiling. Everything was frilly and lacy, from the curtains, to the bedsheets, all the way to the honest to god canopy on the toddler sized bed and every piece of clothing in Mi-Jin’s closet.
Rumi wished she could take credit for it, but could never bring herself to lift a single finger when it came to designing her daughter’s nursery. That was something she was supposed to be doing with Jinu. Picking out paint colors and themes was something Rumi imagined doing with him by her side, both of them teeming with excitement about what their baby would be like and counting down the days to her due date.
But Jinu never even knew she was pregnant. Rumi didn’t either, not until he was already gone.
Don’t be mistaken. Rumi loved her daughter with every bit of her heart. Sometimes she couldn’t help but ache about the whole situation, though. She was never properly given time to grieve Jinu, not when she had to focus on healing, having a baby, and then raising it without him. Rumi wanted her husband, but Mi-Jin needed her mother more. Rumi didn’t know if it was for better or worse that Mi-Jin was Jinu’s carbon copy, looking like her father’s face had been copied and pasted onto hers. Sometimes it filled Rumi’s heart with warmth, seeing a part of him live on. Other times, it was a punch to the gut, a hole in her heart that never healed.
Even then, sitting in Mi-Jin’s room and watching her fall asleep clutching a blue tiger plush to her chest, Rumi was riding a rollercoaster of emotions too tangled for her to figure out. A few therapists had tried, but she always felt like all of her energy needed to be put towards taking care of Mi-Jin and that she could figure out herself later.
Sitting in the rocking chair in the corner of Mi-Jin’s room, the one she used to sit in during all of the late night feedings, Rumi kept her promise, not going anywhere as Mi-Jin napped. Her phone quietly buzzed in her pocket and she fished it out, half expecting another email from Bobby and being pleasantly surprised.
Honestly, other than Bobby, Mira was the one person Rumi could keep close nowadays and the only one Rumi would ever think about sharing her troubles with. Sure, Mira was constantly telling her that she should learn to accept much more help and to be far more open, but what little she was willing to let Mira in to see was massive to her.
Mira had become such a rock for her, even if they had only met in person enough times to exchange contact info. At first, Rumi was closed off, glued to the wall at some charity gala when Mira approached her. She was ready to politely duck away and avoid any socialization before Mira stated outright that her parents were forcing her to talk to Rumi because they wanted “connections” and that she was coming to talk to Rumi to genuinely get to know her as some weird fuck you to her parents. Rumi was too confused to be guarded, deciding that sharing a conversation with this spitfire of a woman might not be too bad. In the end, they couldn’t talk for long. Not when Rumi had a nine month old infant at home.
They traded contact info, taking a solid year before they were texting and chatting daily. Another year passed before they realized they felt a little more towards each other than just best friends, but Rumi was far too broken to let that go any further. Mira took it in stride and said that it didn’t matter what their relationship was or what feelings they had for each other. What Rumi was comfortable with is what she would give.
As Mi-Jin got older and theoretically less dependent, Mira had begun urging Rumi to start a new chapter, to find an identity other than Rumi, the widow or Rumi, the retired popstar with a tragic ending. Rumi wished it was that easy, that she could be stronger for Mi-Jin and that she could let herself feel more and be more with Mira, but every glance at the faded scars covering her entire body sent her back to square one.
Rumi smiled to herself, easily sending back a heart of her own. She loved Mira, but it was … complicated. Maybe one day she would figure it out, but that day hasn’t come. It was just especially impossible to figure out when she had a daughter that was practically made of velcro.
Honestly, Mi-Jin’s severe separation anxiety wasn’t one-sided either. When she was with Jinu, Rumi finally felt like she had a family, that she could have a family and in one sudden blaze, that dream was gone. Every time Mi-Jin wasn’t nearby, anxiety stabbed into Rumi’s chest, beyond what could be considered normal for a helicopter mom. Her daughter was her last piece of Jinu and the only blood-related family she had ever had in her entire life . She had to dedicate every second of every day to proving that she was allowed to have this, that she could be the mom she never had and the one Celine failed to step in as.
In some morbid act of grace, Mi-Jin was also the only reason her and Celine were on somewhat speaking terms. While rigid and unapproachable, Celine wasn’t heartless. That or she just saw Mi-Jin as another remnant of the precious Ryu Mi-yeong, one that hadn’t “betrayed” her yet. Rumi tentatively allowed them to have a weird grandparent-esque relationship but knew if she ever saw Celine try to railroad Mi-Jin into singing or dancing lessons, that she would have to pull the plug.
Celine probably already had that idea, being the first to offer to babysit Mi-Jin. Rumi shot that down pretty quickly, saying she was too scared to be alone in the early stages of her healing. It was pretty much true, after all.
That left Rumi in her own little world, her phone being the one peek of the outside world that consisted of Celine, Bobby, and Mira, while her and little Mi-Jin figured out life together. Unfortunately every time they managed to master one thing, the ever changing world of child-rearing threw something else at them. She couldn’t keep Mi-Jin to herself for much longer. There was less than a year left before Mi-Jin would have to start school and Rumi had no doubts that Celine had vetted hundreds of private tutors while Bobby compiled a detailed list of every private school in South Korea.
When she mentioned schooling to Mira in the past, she got a reply back that said “fuck it idk get her a forklift operator certification” and Rumi laughed for a solid five minutes as the stress of everything temporarily left her body. Mira had been raised in private schools, in boarding schools, and with private tutors and definitely had opinions about it, ones she didn’t hesitate to share.
Nothing felt like the correct way to go. Motherhood was truly a dream.
As long as Mi-Jin is happy Rumi thought to herself, watching her precious daughter sleep in her cutesy purple bed.
The rest of the night went without much fanfare, though it was probably because Rumi didn’t leave Mi-Jin’s sight until it was time to go to bed for real. After two bedtime stories, five good night kisses, and one good inspection to make sure there were no monsters under the bed (which Mi-Jin actually wanted for some reason and was always bummed when Rumi said there were none), Rumi felt like a husk of herself. Or really, more of a husk than she felt like before. With Mi-Jin asleep, she was just … alone.
Mi-Jin always slept through the night. There was nothing else for her to do. Mira was busy with other events, though none on her parents’ behest. She only did what she wanted now and Rumi had no expectation or desire to monopolize all of her attention. Rumi already felt bad enough feeling like she was stringing Mira along, despite Mira assuring her hundreds of times that was not the case.
Quietly shuffling to her office, she sat and flipped on the baby monitor on her desk, setting it to the side so she could keep an eye on it while she worked on her computer. There were a dozen emails she needed to reply to, especially since her anticipated return to the office did not go to plan again . Rumi knew for a fact that if she wasn’t the kind-of-adopted-daughter of the CEO or if she didn’t have a decent amount of shares of Sunlight Entertainment, she would be fucked job-wise.
Her official title was Lead Creative Director, sitting at a computer looking at countless concept boards and drafts of whatever merch designs, promotional material, or product components for whichever popstars Sunligjt Entertainment have under contract. They didn’t need her to be physically at the office, but it sure would have made some things a little smoother if she were.
Or so Celine claims.
Luckily the emails weren’t that hard to deal with, Rumi finishing them up quickly and closing anything and everything work related off of her desktop. She sat back in her chair, chewing a bit on her bottom lip as her eyes flicked back and forth from the baby monitor to the clock on her computer screen. Carefully setting the baby monitor face down, Rumi swallowed down her shame and opened a frequently used website of hers. The screen turned from her bland desktop wallpaper to a candy pink monstrosity of a site with the name in damning cursive letters at the top of the page.
Lovely Cams on Demand
Okay so single mom or not, Rumi had needs.
The only person she could imagine being intimate with was someone who had so much more to do with their life than be weighed down by a widow with a five year old and Rumi wasn’t about to go prowling hookup apps. That’s early 20’s shit and in her early 20’s she is definitely not.
Not to mention there was no chance in hell she was letting anyone see her undressed. Not when pale, shiny scars lashed all across her skin. They looked much better than when they were fresh, having gone from blistering, blackened red to what they were now, but it was still an eyesore in Rumi’s opinion. She barely even let Mira see them, only showing glimpses in pictures when she wasn’t wearing makeup to cover the ones on her face or gloves for the ones on her hands.
Rumi’s imagination could get her there just fine, but she wanted a little more. Porn worked for a bit, but it still felt isolating. It was with great embarrassment that she clicked on a link to a camgirl site, flicking through the profiles at random until one livestream caught her eye.
SunneeZee, 22
Zee streamed twice a week, Fridays and Tuesdays at 9pm, without fail. The clock on Rumi’s computer read 9:05, which meant she hadn’t missed anything yet. It was easy to find Zee’s profile, considering Rumi wasn’t subscribed to anyone else.
The collection of thumbnails of random cam models disappeared, her screen filled with the familiar sight of Zee kneeling on her seaform green bedsheets, her hair in its signature space buns and wearing a two piece lingerie set in a shade of blue that complimented her pale skin beautifully.
“Hello everyone! I see everyone beginning to pour in and it's looking like it's gonna be a good night.” Zee addressed the camera, speaking to the chatroom of over three hundred people flitting across the side of the stream. There were already pinging noises from donations, albeit nothing big just yet. Rumi was already inching her mouse towards the big, bright “DONATE” button.
“I put a poll up earlier today for what you guys might want to see and I got some rather surprising results,” Zee continued, twirling one of the strands of hair that framed her round, smiling face. “I know you guys loooove me being a perfect little toy to play around with, but apparently you have been craving something more dominant.”
Oh.
Oh no.
“-So today we’re gonna do some dirty talk where I talk you guys through exactly what I want from you. I’m going to be referring to my precious little fans who love getting fucked, rather than doing the fucking. Sound good?”
A flurry of chimes from donations came in, the chat either expressing their approval or lamenting their preferences not being the focus of the night. Rumi sure as shit knew which one she was, already reaching down to unbutton her slacks and shove them down and off. Her other hand clicked the donation button, not hesitating to send a frankly absurd amount for only being nine minutes into the stream.
“There you are, PurpleTiger226. Always good to have you here. Don’t start spending too much yet! We haven’t even gotten to the good parts!” said Zee, Rumi torn between wanting to shrivel up and die or imploding from horny. The username she ended up choosing was so, so stupid and had she known she would end up being known by name because of how much money she dropped on Zee’s streams, she might have chosen something better. She just couldn’t help herself, not when Zee’s beautiful face lit up every time the payments went through.
“Don’t worry guys, I haven’t forgotten about you. I just like to make sure my regulars and biggest donors feel appreciated. We all know PurpleTiger is a super nice lady, after all. It’s support like hers that keeps me coming back every stream, after all.”
God. Rumi wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
She doesn’t remember how she gave away that she was a woman, but she knows it was probably during some horny stream of conscience back and forth with Zee via chatroom and donations. The fact that Zee not only remembered her username and that she was a woman was mortifying.
There was another collection of pings, some of the incoming requests causing Zee to let out that adorable laugh of hers.
“Okay, okay. I’ll give you guys something before we start.” Rumi watched with bated breath as Zee reached behind herself, finding the clasp of her bra and unlatching it. Ever so slowly, she slipped the lacy garment off, revealing the most beautiful pair of breasts Rumi had ever seen topped with perfectly pert and round nipples. Approval and donations flooded the chat, Rumi practically operating on autopilot as she sent another donation of her own.
Beginning to feel constricted, Rumi started unbuttoning her stuffy, long sleeved blouse and shoved it off, leaving herself sitting in her underwear locked inside her office watching a topless camgirl with rapt attention. There was something about Zee that made Rumi forget about the anxiety of any of her scarred body being exposed, even if it was just to herself.
“Alright, now I want you to sit back and get yourself comfortable.” Zee’s voice turned soft, leaning towards the camera as she ran her fingers down her neck, between her breasts, and towards her abdomen. “Imagine it's me, touching you, teasing you, just like that.”
Rumi swallowed hard, following the instructions and nodding as if Zee could actually see her. She imagined Zee was right with her, touching her with those soft looking hands and treating her like the most wonderful thing in the world.
“Look at you baby. You’re already trembling. You needed this bad, didn’t you?”
Yes, yes I did.
“Play with those pretty tits of yours. Let me see them. Do you want me to kiss them? Suck on them?”
More than anything. It’d feel amazing. Rumi thought, clumsily unclasping her bra and throwing it carelessly to the side. She pinched at her own hardened nipples, holding back a pathetic whimper.
“You’re doing so good, baby. Are you wet for me? Show me. I wanna see how wet my pretty girl is.”
Rumi nodded again, dipping her hand downward and under her panties. She was soaked.
“Oh, wow. Is that all for me?”
All for you.
“Go ahead and give your clit a few circles. Gently. Remember that it's my fingers. I want to be sweet to you, baby.”
Just the gentle touch had Rumi’s breath hitching, so easy to key up from her years long dry spell. The last time she had sex was before the accident. Before Mi-Jin.
“God, baby. You’re so perfect. A little faster? I want you nice and wet for my fingers. Do you want two this time or three? Will they slide right in?”
Rumi let her hand travel lower, pressing the tips of her index and middle finger inside. Zee was doing the exact motions on stream, showing her audience exactly what she wanted to do to them. Her face was beginning to flush, her breath quickening as she played with herself.
“You’re so fucking wet, baby. You take me so well.” Zee whined, her hand thrusting underneath her panties. She shifted around, pushing the underwear down and revealing her slick folds. Rumi’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. “Let’s get those out of the way, yeah? I can fuck you better like this, like you deserve.”
Rumi hastily shoved her underwear off, now completely naked in her desk chair. She sunk her fingers in further, quietly moaning as she matched Zee’s pace. Her entire body moved on its own at Zee’s instruction, as if she was the one right there touching Rumi’s body.
Zee’s fingers inside of her, curling just right. Zee whispering so sweetly in her ear, calling her a good girl. Zee speeding up her wrist, pinching and pulling Rumi’s nipples with her free hand. Zee telling her to keep going, to let her hear the moans. Zee’s hand getting soaked, drenched in Rumi’s slick as the thrusts got harder, hit the right spots, more and more and more
Rumi came with a cry on her own fingers, quietly crying out Zee’s name. Zee was riding the waves of her own orgasm, writhing so sweetly for the camera. Rumi couldn’t tell if it was because of how good the mic was or how wet Zee was, but she could hear the slick noises of Zee’s fingers during the last few thrusts.
Letting out a sated, adorable little sigh, Zee withdrew her fingers, shamelessly licking them clean to the glee of all of her viewers. With one last long pull of her tongue from her palm to the tip of her middle finger, Zee smiled wide at the camera. It almost felt like she was looking right at Rumi.
“How was that, pretty girl?”
Unable to answer Zee directly, Rumi hit the donate button once again.