Chapter Text
It’s a Tuesday night. The bar is deserted, aside from a few patrons that mainly keep to themselves.
Mira isn’t in a great mood. Typically with her seniority, she gets the prime nights at the bar to work, ones that result in fat tips as people let loose on a weekend.
Tuesdays are dead, she’s lucky to break even with the metro fair to get to work. Not only is the money shit, but Bobby, her manager, had a lovely list of deep cleaning to get done before the end of her shift.
So, why is she there on a shitty night? Cause she’s too nice and let Lisa her coworker cash in her favor tonight. She can’t be too mad, Lisa really did her a solid a few months back.
It’s just the boredom that’s the worst. The clock on the POS system is so large, taunting her as the minutes pass by like molasses. She’s still got four more hours in this shift, and at this point it feels like she lives there.
Mira rests her chin on her hand, sighing deeply. The list is done, patrons refilled, tables wiped, and now there’s nothing left to do other than wait. The bar plays some soft, heartbroken tunes that have Mira rolling her eyes. The song likely was picked by a customer, sitting alone with their sorrows. She begged Bobby to take that stupid jukebox away as soon as he installed it. On some weekends, they’d go from Ke$ha to some backwater country she’s never heard of that sounded a little too ‘I love my tractor like my wife’ for her liking.
No use sulking, she thinks. She lifts from the bar and wipes it down for the hundredth time to make the minutes pass faster.
Mira feels the door open before she hears it. A bitter breeze hits her shoulder, chilling her to the bone.
It’s mid summer… Why is it so cold?
Her head shifts to the direction of the door, and somehow, time shifts to an even slower pace.
Two women walk in. Scratch that, two of the most stunning, breathtaking, etherial women walk in to Mira’s bar on a random fucking Tuesday. It’s like a movie and a tired cliche, so confident and already owning the space despite the fact that Mira’s never seen them before. She has to shake her head to rid herself of a slight daze, realizing she’s staring a little too obviously.
One is taller with long purple hair, folded tight in a braid that looks like a mohawk. She’s wearing a long sleeved black top, with a large heart shaped window right on her chest. She has matching black ear cuffs and earrings with dark makeup on her lips and eyes. The woman wrapped around her elbow is shorter with black hair, short bangs and… space buns?
Space buns isn’t dressed as modestly as purple hair. She’s wearing a black, lacey corset, with matching leather pants. Her makeup is dark as well, all sharp lines and lethal. Both of their eyes are on Mira as they walk, not wavering with a certain intent. As they approach the bar, Mira wonders if there was a BDSM munch nearby she wasn’t aware of that just let out.
Mira doesn’t ask the question out loud, professionalism and all that.
“Welcome in. What can I get you ladies?” Mira asks instead. She grabs two bar napkins and places them on the bar where the two women sit.
It’s an awkward stand off for a few minutes. The two women just stare at her, blinking slowly with wandering eyes. They look at each other, then back at Mira, a non verbal conversation passing through them.
Sure, it isn’t the first time Mira’s been looked at like a juicy steak. She wears low cut tank tops and half pigtails for a reason. However, tonight isn’t really the night for silly flirtations. She’s simply too bored and tired, and the tip won’t be worth the effort. She clears her throat to get them to focus.
The two blink themselves out of a daze. The one with purple hair orders first, “Do you per chance have absinthe?”
Pretty voice, but in the wrong place. Mira doesn’t hide her chuckle, “Not that kind of bar, sweetheart. We have liquor, beer, and shit to mix it with.”
Purple hair frowns, as if Mira spat on her shoe. “What kind of–” she begins. She shakes her head, not finishing the thought. “I will have a gin and tonic, please,” she requests with a tight smile.
“And you?” Mira asks space buns.
“Whiskey is fine for me, neat,” she smiles. Her voice is higher than purple hair, slightly reminding Mira of a fox.
Mira nods at them and gets to work. Of course the chairs the two women chose are right on Mira's working area, so she decides to make some small talk.
“You guys new around here?”
The question delights space buns. She smiles like she knows a secret, “To you maybe. We've been around quite some time.”
“Very mysterious,” Mira muses. “You two together?”
“For many long years,” Purple hair teases. Space Buns elbows her swiftly.
“I meant the tab, but I'll take that as an answer,” Mira chuckles. “What brings you to my bar on a Tuesday night? Big plans?”
The one with purple hair grins. Her teeth are eerily white, canines a little too pointed to be real. “We were just a little parched. That's all,” she says.
Okay, maybe not a local Munch, but a medieval role-playing club?
Her dialect sounded old, definitely faked for some reason. Which is fine, Mira has encountered weirder folks, it's a bar in the middle of town after all.
Still, the sight of her teeth and the way her predatory gaze is lingering on Mira as she works churns her stomach a little. The jury's still out on whether it's a good or bad churn.
Mira finishes up their drinks and places the glasses on their respective napkins. “That'll be twelve bucks. You two want to open a tab?”
Purple hair reaches into her black leather clutch and pulls out a card. “We'll stick around for a while, the sights here are unmatched,” she smirks.
Mira didn't know how to take that. The bar itself barely has a theme, weird knick knacks and posters slathered everywhere. The TVs almost never play sports aside from the Super Bowl, just random shit on cable.
However, with the way Purple Hair eyes Mira up and down, makes her think she's not talking about the bar.
It piques Mira's interest, despite her annoyance earlier.
Mira pushes the thought away as she takes the card from Purple Hair. Their fingers brush just slightly.
She shivers, a strange sensation crawling deep in her chest. Purple hair's skin is cold, borderline dead level cold. Mira tries her best to keep it cool, laughing it off and asking, “Got iron deficiency or something?”
“You can say that. It's been a long while since I've had a good meal,” Purple hair muses.
Then why are you at a bar? Mira wants to ask, but she's not sure the answer will be very productive with the way Purple hair is staring at her. Space buns, too.
She takes the card and quickly starts the tab with the POS system. The card is metallic and heavy in her hand.
Someone with money.
So two supernaturally attractive women walk into a shitty bar on a random Tuesday, flirt with her and have money?
Mira supposes this is the excitement she manifested, having a boring shift. If this is how it's going to be, why not have a little fun with it? It'll either throw one into a jealous rage, or if they are that couple, just dust off her flirting skills. Either way, it's all equally entertaining.
She can feel their eyes on her, watching her finish up ringing up the tab and moving on to the next patron to check on them.
Mira steals a few glances their way as she works and each time she does, at least one pair of eyes are on her. The newcomers are definitely close, likely lovers of some sort with the way they cling to each other. She watches as Space Buns leans close to Purple hair, whispering something salacious with the smirk that twists her lips. After she whispers, Purple hair looks in her direction, matching that hungry gaze.
Mira takes a little too long to realize she's staring. She clears her throat, wiping a table she's already gone through with heat radiating from her cheeks.
What is wrong with me?
A few more wiped tables later and sweeping under a table, a regular, Bill, orders another beer. Mira returns to the bar to fill up a glass.
“Still doing okay over here, you two?” Mira asks as she waits for the tap. She avoids eye contact.
“Just perfect,” Space buns places her chin under her palm, watching Mira work. “How long has this been your profession?”
Profession?
“Eh, few years,” Mira answers.
“I say, you're quite the natural. You coast around this room like a sea breeze,” Space buns compliments.
Mira waits for the beer to set, asking, “Did you sail a lot or something?”
“Some time ago. When we still used sails,” she says.
Space Buns has a distant look about her. The way she answered made it seem like her sailing days were years ago, but the woman barely looks twenty five. Mira frowns at her slightly, a fresh question on her lips, but Purple hair quickly changes the subject.
“Zoey, would you like another whiskey?” Purple hair asks, a little too quickly. Her arm reaches under the view of the bar, but based on Space Bu- Zoey's squeak it likely was a reprimand of some sorts.
Mira looks at their glasses. Both are about half full, so she wasn't neglecting them.
Zoey nods quickly, “Please.”
She doesn't argue, “On it.”
Mira delivers the beer to the other side of the bar first. By the time she gets back, the glasses in front of Zoey and Purple hair are noticeably empty.
Interesting.
She smirks in amusement as she takes the used glasses, and pulls out fresh ones to start a new order.
“Alright, since you don’t sail anymore, what do you do now?” Mira asks.
“We’re both in music production,” Zoey answers.
“Oh yeah? Produce anything I’ve heard of?”
“Most likely, depending on what you’re into,” Purple hair says. “But I have a good read on people, so I bet you have.”
Mira raises a brow, “Is that so? You have a good read on me?”
“I believe I do.”
“Okay, I'll bite. What's the read?”
Zoey grins in glee, “Careful now. Rumi is scarily accurate.”
Rumi for Purple hair. Zoey for Space Buns. Mira will remember that.
“How about a wager? If I get your most listened to artist correct, you will have a drink with us,” Rumi says.
“Bold, but I like it. And if you don't guess correctly?”
Zoey smirks, “Name your price.”
There's no way Rumi will guess right on this. Mira grins, showing teeth, “You have to take a shot of a Jersey Turnpike.”
Rumi isn't intimidated, “Deal.”
“Alright then,” Mira places her forearm on the bar and leans over it. “Give it your best shot.”
Rumi leans closer, lips widening into a sharp grin. Mira's confidence falters just slightly, there's just no way–
“You like to act all tough, quoting all metal and grunge bands, but I see you.”
Mira swallows, “Do you now?”
“BLACKPINK, aespa, Backstreet Boys, BTS, am I getting close?”
Uh.
Mira's heart stutters, “W-wait–”
Like a light suddenly flickering on, Rumi’s eyes widen as she leans back in her chair.
Oh no…
“Saja Boys.”
Mira doesn’t confirm, doesn’t even twitch as she stares in silence. Sure, it could've been a shot in the dark, but the way Rumi grins at her in victory makes Mira believe otherwise. It's as if she's been witness to her music tastes all this time.
She silently pulls a shot glass and places it on the bar, then grabs the bottle of her favorite liquor. She pours to the tip of the glass, watching the lightbulb click in Zoey’s brain.
”Saja Boys?!” she shrieks, cackling to Mira’s disdain. “My little soda pop?!”
“It’s infectious,” Mira justifies before putting the glass to her lips. She knocks it back, barely flinching as the burn of the alcohol glides down her throat.
A deal’s a deal, after all.
She expects more teasing as she sets the glass down, but she's quickly proven wrong.
Two mouths are parted open, chests moving in a slight pant. They are looking at her, not directly in the eyes, but lower towards her neck. They watch as the muscles flex and move as she finishes swallowing the alcohol. The hunger in their expression is unmistakable. It’s barely reigned in, obvious and lurking.
Aside from the hunger, Mira notices something in their eyes, a deep maroon red that glows in them. Perhaps it’s the trick of a light, or a neon sign she didn’t realize was behind her that reflects that color.
As soon as she spots it, the two blink rapidly, returning to the deep brown like before. Like waking from a dream.
Mira doesn’t comment on it, but doesn’t forget it. An involuntary quiver runs under her skin as the image plays in her mind. It repeats, over and over again. Each time, the image starts to shift into something else, images she can’t escape. Those hungry eyes draw closer, watching her every move. She feels hot breath on her neck, sighs and whispers, pulling her into a soft tempting tide.
Their voices echo in this daydream, saying only one thing. Pleading.
Mira. Mira. Mira.
“Mira?” Zoey’s actual voice is like a bucket of water poured on her head. She smirks at Mira, as if she’s witnessed where her mind was from the beginning.
She snaps out of it quickly, shaking her head as she clears her throat.
Did she ever tell them her name? She can’t remember…
She needs to walk away, to clear her mind for a second. So she gestures to the other patrons, and walks away to tend to them without a word. As she works, the fog clears out from her mind completely. It leaves her with genuine confusion on what exactly occurred, and how it’s affecting her.
Mira’s always been focused on the job. Even the times people offer her a drink, her brain has always been sharp.
What is this? Daydreaming? Thinking about two women she’s just met? Imagining them calling her name as they–
Okay, so it’s been a while since Mira’s been laid. Sue her.
But she’s suffered through longer spells, and she’s never had a lapse in judgement like this. One shot of alcohol shouldn’t change that.
How did they know her name, too? Were they some sort of mind reader? Or worse, stalkers? How else would Rumi know she secretly likes kpop boys?
She quickly shakes herself out of it.
Get over yourself. It was a lucky guess.
She’s thankful some patrons have left, giving her the excuse to wipe down the tables. Twice for good measure. Their eyes follow her each step, except this time it’s laced with concern.
Well, there goes her tip.
Perhaps she should've played it off with a wink before scurrying away, but can’t change the past. However, a strange feeling twists in the pit of her stomach. She gives a reason or a name for it, but it's there.
Unfortunately, she must return to her station. She’s got a couple of drink orders, and their glasses are getting empty again. She avoids eye contact as she approaches, placing some glasses in the sink to wash. Luckily, she doesn’t have to start a conversation, Rumi does it first.
“We’d like to apologize,” she says.
Oh.
She looks up, frowning in confusion.
“We saw your name on your computer, we didn’t mean to be so weird.”
Mira blinks about three times before turning her head towards the POS system.
Well.
She’s been using that thing for fucking years, forgetting her name is clear as day on the top right corner if she doesn’t lock up the screen.
Strange, she's normally better about that.
“Oh,” is all Mira can say.
“I'm sorry if we crossed a line,” Zoey says.
Mira shakes her head slightly, “No it's okay. I know both of your names, so it's only fair.”
A soft, relieved smile widens on both of their faces. They deflate a little as the tension eases. Strangely, she relaxes too.
“It's a beautiful name, you know. I couldn't think of a better one that fits your essence,” Zoey compliments.
Mira chuckles, despite the weirdness of it all, “My essence? You two barely know me.”
“We know your favorite band. That's like a window to the soul,” Rumi teases.
“And we would like to know you better, that's for sure,” Zoey adds. That dream like fog coats her eyes again as she grins.
“Both of you?”
Zoey and Rumi nod.
So they are that type of couple.
“I don't know anything about you two, either,” Mira protests, but it lacks any conviction.
“Easily fixable things,” Rumi replies. “Ask us anything. We won't hold anything back.”
“And if you change your mind at any point, we close our tab and leave. No questions asked,” Zoey adds.
“Tempting,” Mira teases. “I am on the clock, you know.”
“And we are patient,” Rumi smirks.
“You two are serious,” Mira states. She quirks a brow, but internally, she can't help but feel a modicum of interest.
“Deadly serious,” Rumi responds, teeth showing in a grin.
Mira's nails tap against the bar in thought, “I have to close up tonight.”
“We stay up late.”
She huffs a laugh, light and flirtatious, “You don't quit, do you?”
Zoey pipes up, a brow raised with a teasing and low question, “Do you want us to?”
The way she says it. She adds a charcoaling timber to her voice, and it has Mira's composure stumbling.
Her instinct is to avoid the answer, give them a coy response to keep them tethered on an imaginary leash through the night.
But this night isn't ordinary. Her queen is checked too many times on the chess board, the upper hand completely lost.
Maybe it’s the liquor still burning her tongue, or the vivid daydreams that has her whispering, “No.”
That delights them. Like a dinner bell ringing in an enclosure for big cats. Their smirks widen, now taking in her frame without shame. Under the scrutiny, Mira feels an uncontrolled churn in her stomach. One laced with a familiar, long ignored heat. Her nails tapping the wood start to dig in, centering herself.
“D-Do you guys need a refill?” Mira asks, not even looking at their glasses. Anything to change the subject, anything to fix her composure.
Drastic mistake.
Rumi lets out a huff of air in the shape of a chuckle. It's low, knowing and electric. She shakes her head, “No, thank you.”
Mira finally looks down at their glasses, and notices they are just about full.
Fucking idiot.
“So Mira, what do you want to know about us?” Zoey asks.
She’s thankful for the change in the subject. Any more pointed scrutiny and Mira may combust into pink confetti.
“I guess I'm just curious at how often you two make a habit of dropping into random bars, flirting with any girl you see,” Mira says.
“Not often,” Rumi answers.
Zoey leans in, “Would you believe it if we said we were drawn to this one in particular?”
Mira raises a brow, “Drawn how?”
“The strings of fate.”
The snort Mira lets out is loud, “You’re an absolute cornball.”
Zoey isn’t phased. She just grins at her knowingly, “So what if I am? It’s working on you.”
Mira rolls her eyes playfully, and grabs the soda gun behind the bar. She holds it up enough for Zoey to see it. “Don't make me use this,” she warns.
“If you wanted to get me wet, you can just say so,” Zoey says.
Unreal.
This girl is unreal.
Of course this corny, cheesy shit is working, but she won’t give that away just yet.
Rumi cuts in at this point, pinching Zoey’s arm in a teasing reprimand. “I don’t think she’s joking, yeobo.”
“Neither am I,” Zoey replies, not backing down or taking her eyes off of Mira.
Her thumb hovers over the water option on the gun, and points it at Zoey. She’s about to say something stupid like “Any last words?” but a loud, booming voice interrupts their flirtatious bubble.
“Oy!”
The three whip their heads to the source.
Ah, Bill.
An unfortunate regular. He’s been a little bit of a sore spot for the bar. Most of the new employees hate him outright, but Mira doesn’t mind him. She’s learned his antics. If he’s ignored, he gets on the crankier side, but if his glass is never half full, he pays his tab (with a shitty tip) and barely says a word. He’s there almost every night, most likely ignoring his responsibilities and spouse.
Mira is usually on top of her game with him. Even if he gets too rowdy, she can calm him down with a pointed glare, but this night isn’t ordinary.
She whispers a quick, “Sorry,” to them before putting the soda gun back in its place. Both Rumi and Zoey look like they want to say something, to stop her, but they don’t. Their expressions shift to hard lines, looking at the intruder of their little game.
Mira quickly leaves her spot, a little frustrated at the situation. “Another beer, Bill?” she asks, not hiding her annoyance.
He doesn’t say anything, just grunts as she grabs his empty glass from the table. She returns to the bar, grabbing a fresh glass. She tilts the tap, eyes shifting to Rumi and Zoey without her realizing, though she frowns as she sees they aren’t looking at her, but at Bill. That fresh anger doesn’t dissipate, watching his every move like he’s an injured, cornered animal. The air is certainly thick, but rooted in a tension that’s like a fraying rope tied to a freighter ship. Any gust of wind could snap it.
But it’s just Bill, he’s just a harmless drunk.
However, as she approaches with the cold glass, a strange pit falls to the depth of her stomach. Something she can’t place.
She sets the beer on his table, that unsettling feeling isn’t strong enough to hold her back from muttering, “There, Bill. Feel better?”
Mira isn’t expecting him to respond. His voice is low, grunting through many years of grime from smoking cigarettes, “They ain’t right, you know.”
“Huh?” Mira stops in her tracks, a genuine, befuddled frown forms on her head.
Bill doesn’t back down. He turns in his stool to face her now, eyes glassy with grit yellow teeth and a stained white beard. “I said they ain’t right,” Bill repeats slowly. “You been dancing around them all night, but they’re just whor–”
Mira immediately reaches toward Bill’s glass, “Alright, that’s enough for you.”
A hot, sweaty hand grabs the reaching arm in a crushing grip. Bill heaves, shoulders rising as he works himself into a rage.
Unfortunately, Mira has handled this before. Groping patrons is an unspoken reality when it comes to this job. She takes a deep breath, ready to de-escalate with several years of training on it.
Till she doesn't need to.
Like a strike of lightning, Rumi is behind him. She clasps the back of his large neck, making him wince from the strength. She isn't acting alone, as Zoey appears next to Mira with a hand between her shoulders. The other wraps her hand loosely around Mira's arm, just below Bill's crushing grip.
Rumi speaks then, low and dangerous as she directs Bill's head in her direction, “Unhand her. Now.”
In this strange circumstance, Mira can only watch Rumi's eyes. They flash that abnormal red as she orders submission.
As quick as she says it, Bill's hand unclenches from Mira's wrist as if the skin burned. Zoey guides Mira a few steps backward out of the danger.
Rumi doesn't let go, she isn't satisfied with rage clear on her face. Zoey's hand remains on Mira's back, but her expression is as unyielding as steel, ready to pounce.
“You will quietly pay your tab. Then, you will leave this building and never even think about setting foot here ever again.”
Bill just nods. The movement is slow, mechanical. Not quivering with fear like seconds ago.
Rumi releases the grip on Bill's neck. True to his word, he lifts up from the stool and reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He doesn’t just grab a few bills to cover the tab and tip, no.
He pulls out the entire stack and places it on the table. No gruff remarks, no back handed comment. He doesn’t even look in Mira’s direction as he leaves the bar.
What the fuck?
She blinks a few times at the door, waiting for Bill to get a random second wind and burst through, but he doesn’t. What does occur is the rest of the patrons clearing out of the bar as well. The tables they sat at also had folded bills, far too much for their table.
“What the fuck?” Mira says aloud this time.
Suddenly, Zoey’s grip on her tightens as she shifts her gaze back to her. That eerie, unmistakable red glow is fresh in her eyes. Seeing it up close, there’s no doubt it’s real and not a trick of the light. Rumi meets her gaze as well after watching everyone else leave, and that same light pulses out.
Mira tries to back herself up out of Zoey’s grip, needing space to think, but she’s anchored by her strange amount of strength.
She attempts to pull away again with more effort and alarm. She doesn’t thrash, but it would be enough to at least throw someone Zoey’s size off.
It doesn’t, she’s as still as stone.
There’s no way she’s that strong.
“What the fuck?!” Mira repeats, not giving up her struggle.
Zoey looks at Rumi, features still clenched with hard lines, “We’re losing her.”
What?!
Rumi approaches her then. She stands tall with a harsh intensity. Mira is taller than her, but the look she carries has her wanting to shrink, hide in a corner.
The red light in her eyes starts to shine like a beacon in a storm. Mira can't move, but it isn't Zoey's clutch this time. The glow shining directly on Mira keeps her still, like her feet are sinking into the floor.
She's filled with warmth, something starts deep under her skin and spreads out. The initial alarm and panic from what she just witnessed sinks away, and is replaced with a feeling that can only be described as coming home. Like smelling fresh sweets, right out of the oven and a soft embrace as a greeting.
Her vision blurs into just that red light. Everything surrounding it, and Zoey’s grip fade into the background.
Like it all doesn’t even matter, just that glow.
She surrenders into it easily, like smoke rising in the air. As Mira’s eyes slip closed, she vaguely hears calm directions from Rumi.
“You will close this bar. You will go home, and not utter a word of this to anyone,” Rumi says.
As she finishes it, Mira repeats the words back in her head, etching the order in stone.
I will close this bar, I will go home–
Mira doesn’t wake peacefully.
She shoots up from the bed, gasping deeply like she’s breaking the surface of water. Mira is in her bed, sheets damp from clammy skin and the hot air of her apartment. It’s pitch black in her bedroom. Not even her nightlight she keeps on near the door is on. She rubs her eyes with one hand while blindly reaching for the lamp next to the bed.
Once it’s clicked on, Mira spots her phone right next to the lamp. She pauses before grabbing it, noting a glass of water next to it. It looks freshly made, barely any condensation touching the glass.
Okay…
Maybe she’s taken up sleep walking lately, who knows?
She shrugs it off and clicks the power button on her phone, but frowns at the empty battery image it shows.
Mira never leaves her battery like that.
Mira pulls out the cord behind her bed and plugs it in. Her breathing slowly returns to normal as she waits for her phone to power on.
Wednesday, 1:52 am is the time it reads.
She flops back on to her bed, staring at the time like it'll change back to when she initially woke up this morning saying April Fool's!
Mira doesn't remember getting home at all. The last thing she can recollect is that eerie, warm glow that consumed all of her senses. She remembers Zoey and Rumi, and their audacious flirting.
She remembers the heat under her skin with each remark, each smile.
Mira shakes her head. Focus, she tells herself.
Each time she tries to pry even a fragment of memory after that moment in the bar, she feels herself growing dizzy.
She gives up after a few moments. Mira blames it on a sudden hit of exhaustion, maybe a dream, refusing to believe anything different.
Any alternative to that is too scary to think of. Best to avoid that spiral for now.
Mira places her phone back on the nightstand and rubs her eyes again. She’s able to sit up just fine, and her limbs aren’t acting like dead weights. Her head, however, is feeling like it’s overstuffed with fog and pressure. She winces a little, blinking her eyes open.
Her gaze shifts to the glass of water on the table, fresh droplets rolling down.
Mira's mouth feels suddenly very dry, all the way past her throat.
A voice, so subtle in a whisper, passes through her awareness. It echoes like it’s in a long, empty hallway, but Mira swears she feels the suggestion physically. The actual breath passing her ear.
Drink.
Mira whips her head around her dark room. Her heart spikes in her chest, painful with each erratic, startled beat. There’s no movement in her bedroom, not even an ant on the floorboard.
Her stare returns to the glass. Another droplet falls and pools to the bottom. Some strange, outwardly need to drink it floods her senses, like she’s in a desert somewhere, desperate for it.
Mira, drink.
She’s had enough, standing quickly from her bed. Chanting, “No, nope. Nope nope.”
Mira’s not about to succumb to some odd psychosis from lack of sleep.
She’s too wired to try and go back to bed, though. She’s also unfortunately sweaty. Her slum landlord still hasn’t fixed the fucking AC.
A cold shower should do. That will help wash off the sweat and clear her head. She grabs a fresh towel from the closet and walks quickly to the bathroom. It takes a couple of seconds for her eyes to adjust to the lights of the bathroom. She hovers over the sink, waiting for the image to clear so she can take herself in.
Mira is still wearing her tanktop from the bar, but no pants. Her hair is messy, dark from the sweat on her brow. She leans closer and takes note of her eyes as well. They aren’t bloodshot, and don’t seem to be dilated.
Okay, so maybe she wasn’t drugged. How does that explain the foggy head, dry throat and the memory loss?
She’s likely not going to find any answers in the mirror, so she brushes the million questions away, and turns to switch on the shower. She pauses once she looks down at her forearm.
A purple tint wraps around it in the shape of a large hand catches her view. Mira pokes it with her other hand, and immediately winces from the soreness.
It was real.
It was all fucking real.
The fight, Bill, Zoey and Rumi rescuing her–
The thought brings unmistakable, powerful heat into her veins. The way they ordered that man around, how he followed the demand without a fight, how they ordered Mira...
“Fuck,” Mira exhales shakily. The memory physically manifests deep in her stomach. She clenches there, as it aches for attention.
Mira’s hands shake as she turns the water on in the shower, hoping the sound and the steam will rinse away her drifting thoughts and growing need between her thighs.
It doesn’t do much, unfortunately. Her mind returns to the memory, despite her trying to distract herself. Not only does she imagine the way Zoey and Rumi looked at her, but creates new scenarios with them. Images of them touching her, claiming her like she’s a well won prize for rescuing her.
Her name falls from their lips with barely contained hunger, greed.
Mira…
…Mira…
…Mine.
Mira’s eyes shoot open as that word courses through her, shivering under the skin. Scared by the feeling, the loss of control, she quickly tears off her tanktop and underwear to get under the stream of water.
She takes deep breaths, trying to rid the echo of their voices from her head. However, all it does is make it worse. The heat from the water feels like a physical touch. Her mind drifts to the feeling of possessive touching again.
Mira really needs to get laid, it seems. It's been a while since she's been this desperate.
It's too late to call up past love interests, and the drama isn't worth a quick fuck at almost three in the morning. She also isn't patient enough for a dating app.
Fuck it.
The heat is almost too unbearable at this point. Her chest heaves, and her jaw is clenched tight trying to fight off the otherworldly desire. Ignoring it simply isn't working anymore, so there's nothing left to do other than lean into it.
As the voices continue, her hands drift on her skin, taking the paths her mind drifts to. One gives attention to her chest, squeezing the flesh and gasping as she pinches a nipple. Her other hand drifts lower, no use in teasing at this point.
She's slick and hot between her legs. Mira whines as her fingers find home in practiced circles on her clit. She breathes hard and deep, losing herself to it all.
Mira thinks of them. She can't help it at this point, wondering if they were there and caught her, how would they react?
How would they touch her?
How would they fuck her?
Ours.
That word courses through, growled with such a danger it's electric.
“Yes…” she whispers to the air. Yours.
Her head hits the cool tile of the shower, baring her throat to her imaginary intruders. Mira knows they'll like it, with their hungry gazes sent heat down her spine at the bar.
Teeth so sharp, digging deep into the skin as they take her, she imagines.
“Fuck!” Mira gasps.
Her fingers increase their speed on her clit. She chases that orgasm as if her life depended on it, but she stumbles. It's too forced, and it's not enough.
She chokes back a sob, needing that release. Needing to be filled.
What is happening to me?
She doesn't want to know the answer, the danger of it is too real and distracting. Mira won't sleep if she does.
Instead, she shifts her focus into finishing her shower. She's going to wash up, fuck herself into unconsciousness and never think of this night again.
This new purpose helps immensely with the invasion of thoughts. She mechanically scrubs herself, including her back entrance. Mira knows what she needs, what toys she's going to use.
Once she's done, she barely dries herself and quickly combs her hair. Mira wraps her body up in a towel and returns to her bedroom. The air is gross and humid, the heat of the night settling in without any moving breeze. Before she grabs her toys out, she opens her window. She groans in relief, as a fresh brush of wind enters the room, making her long curtains float.
Mira tugs off the towel and lays it down on the bed, not caring if it’s a little wet. She pulls open the drawer on her nightstand and starts to pull out the items she’s looking for.
She’ll start with a black modest sized plug, and a couple of dildos. One is smaller to help work her up, sometimes used anally if she feels feisty enough. The other is a larger, fantasy dildo with plenty of ribs and a knot on the end.
Yeah, Mira gathers. It’s that bad.
The last thing she pulls out is her bottle of lube. She doesn’t waste time by applying some on the tip of the plug. It’s mechanical, the way she leans over the bed slightly and reaches around. There’s barely a wince as she pushes the tip inside. It glides easily in, popping inside as she presses it all the way in till the flared base stops it. Then, she lays down on her bed, already getting to work with lubing up the smaller dildo.
Anticipation for her release, being filled, grows slowly. Like blowing on a fresh, building bonfire. Her heart thumps in her chest, drifting her eyes close as Mira revisits the persistent fantasy.
She teases herself, rubbing the cock near her entrance, because she knows Rumi would.
It’s a strange thought for sure, Mira’s barely gotten to know her in general. However, Mira just knows Rumi would make her wait for it, tease her. Zoey too, with a sinister glee. She could tell with the way they sized her up when they thought Mira wasn’t looking. Long, slow glances up and down her body like she’s something to be treasured.
Devoured.
Mira’s head falls back on to her pillow, eyes closing as she slowly, achingly presses the dildo inside. There’s no burn, barely any stretch as her body welcomes it in.
“Oh,” Mira groans aloud.
It’s relief, yet frustration building into one bubble of energy. Mira starts with slow, measured strokes with the dildo, imagining her hand isn’t the one fucking her.
She doesn’t think of another hand, no, but hips wearing a harness. They move rhythmically and slowly, coaxing whines from Mira’s mouth.Her mind wants to complete the body, identifying the wearer
There’s no use denying who's hips she’s imagining anymore, they are the reason she’s like this.
That moment, that surrender is what makes her cry out.
“Rumi,” Mira breathes, then “Zoey…” after.
What would they say if they knew they were doing this to her?
Knowing she won't get the answer, she starts to drift into possibilities of what that can look like. The hips fucking her turn into Rumi, leaned over her body and breathing filth into her ear.
Zoey wouldn't be outdone, she'd be on Mira's other side, touching and biting her chest.
The image feels so real, the words they whisper put her into a trance. Almost like that drifting, ethereal feeling at the bar.
Mira, Rumi whispers to her.
Such a good girl, Zoey whispers to her left.
Ours.
“Yes,” she moans to the fantasy.
Say it, Rumi growls.
The answer to the demand spills easily from her lips, “Yours.”
Again, Zoey’s voice rings, breathy and desperate.
“I’m yours,” Mira chokes on a moan.
Get the bigger one, Rumi demands, strangely clear in Mira’s mind.
She doesn’t hesitate, knowing she’s ready for it. Mira grabs the bigger cock next to her and applies lube. She pants as she spreads it, already lining it up.
Rumi orders, slightly teasing, Slowly now. You don’t want to hurt yourself.
“I’m already ready for it,” Mira growls back to her imagination.
Why is she so–?
Mira shakes her head, she’s literally in control of her own fantasy. She presses the cock to her entrance, groaning at the perfect stretch.
Zoey’s giggling echoes, Impatient. Do you think she’s earned the fucking she craves, my love?
Rumi’s hum pauses her movement, I don’t know, she has been good thus far.
But has she asked nicely?
“Please,” Mira whines to the air.
Zoey laughs softly, victoriously, She’s so sweet. It almost puts an ache in my teeth.
I know a perfect way to solve that ache, nae sarang.
…What? She didn’t think that–
Go ahead, Mira. Use it.
Mira shakes her head, not needing to be told twice despite the strange dialogue.
She exhales brokenly as she takes the bigger cock all the way to the hilt. With the plug still inside, the stretch perfectly fulfills that desire, the need to be filled.
Mira drifts further in the fantasy as she continues fucking herself. She pictures Rumi quickening her pace, she imagines Zoey under her as well. She can almost feel Zoey’s hands on her hips, controlling the movement, making sure she meets Rumi’s thrusts.
The idea has Mira trembling, the filth of it sparks heat from her spine to her feet.
“Oh, god,” Mira cries. Already, she’s approaching the brink.
But Rumi and Zoey wouldn’t let her orgasm so quickly. Not without making her work for it.
Beg for it, Rumi says.
“Please,” Mira gasps.
Zoey chuckles behind her, thrusting deep. Mira mirrors the movement by moving her own hips. She says, You can do better than that, aegiya.
“Please, please let me come. Please…"
Do you wish to become ours? Rumi asks.
The answer is easy and desperate, “Yes! Please, please let me–”
Rumi’s voice is low, dangerous, Do you want us to be your little secret? But only yours, forever?
Strange question, but frankly, her state of mind doesn’t give a fuck.
“Yes! Please I want it, I want you both, anything, please!” Mira cries, her desperation bordering on madness.
She’s so close, her arm almost burns as Mira fucks herself at a rapid pace.
She won’t come, not without them.
Mira pleads again, “Please let me–”
Her permission doesn’t come. Instead, a timid voice that sounds too real, one that doesn’t echo in her head asks, “Do you promise not to scream?”
…What?
A hand that’s not her own and freezing, presses against her mouth.
Everything stops, and Mira’s eyes shoot open.
Rumi, Mira blinks, covers her mouth with her very real (and purple?) hand. Her eyes are red, but not glowing like the moment at the bar.
Zoey sits next to her as well, grinning with extended canine teeth, much like a cat.
What the fuck?!
Is what she tried to say, but the hand covering her mouth impedes that.
“Told you she'd freak out,” Zoey goads, still grinning.
Rumi doesn't give her a response. Instead, she keeps her focus on Mira, looking apologetic.
“We have much to discuss.”
No fucking shit.