Fics like the problem child becomes the only god you’ll ever see

“Mira helps herself to Zoey’s bed, and arranges Rumi so she’s sitting on the familiar sheets too. The faint scent of clean laundry and citrus from Zoey’s shampoo tints the air, and Rumi wonders if she should be more embarrassed about taking in a deep breath of it as she settles cross-legged at the end of the bed. She doesn’t think much longer on it, though, tuning instead to the click of an expensive wood box being set on the bedside table, then Mira shifting around behind her. The bed dips, and Rumi rocks back a little, right into Mira’s hands. Warm and firm, they settle on her shoulders and straighten her posture. Obligingly, Rumi rolls her shoulders back and makes an effort to sit tall and pretty. ‘Good. Now, stay still and let me braid your hair. I want it out of the way when I collar you for the first time.’” Or Mira and Rumi order something fun, and Zoey’s all too happy to join in.

Fics like the problem child becomes the only god you’ll ever see

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