Chapter Text
The stage lights were blinding—brighter than usual, hotter, sharper—and the crowd roared louder than she’d ever heard them before. Rumi felt her heart pounding, soaring like a bird desperate to burst free from its cage. Sweat traced down her brow, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, caught somewhere between exhilaration and disbelief. Thousands of voices screamed her name. But it wasn’t just hers—woven into the frenzy were cries of “You go, Mira!” and “We love you, Zoey!” echoing alongside her own. This wasn’t just her moment. It was theirs, and she could feel it.
The air hummed with anticipation—it wasn’t just a performance, it was a promise kept. Their biggest comeback yet. More fans, more songs, more everything . Rumi could hardly breathe. They had sung through storms, fought through silence, raised their voices to protect something sacred. Now they could sing to celebrate. For the ones who stood by them. For each other. For themselves .
The stage lights dimmed for the first time that night—but not the last. For the girls, it was their first live show big enough to need an intermission longer than fifteen minutes, and it wasn’t just for them, but for the fans too. Rumi couldn’t imagine how anyone could scream that long without losing their voice—hers was already starting to strain.
As she, Mira, and Zoey waved their way off stage, grinning and practically bouncing with adrenaline, they welcomed the short break. Well, Mira and Zoey definitely did—Rumi could hear Zoey giggling like a schoolgirl, Mira snickering along beside her. But before she could ask what was so funny, a sudden push sent her stumbling into their shared dressing room, a surprised gasp tumbling from her lips.
“Hey-,” Rumi said, stepping forward to stop herself from falling. “Guys, seriously? ” She groaned and turned to face the two. Zoey’s smile was soft and dreamy, a dopey little look, her cheeks flushed a sweet, bashful red that deepened by the second. But Mira—Mira looked like sin wrapped in silk. That grin of hers was razor-edged, predatory. And those mulberry eyes didn’t just look at Rumi—they held her there, unmoving, as if daring her to breathe.
Suddenly the air around them felt heavy, heavier than it had all night, and Rumi felt the need to break the silence that was becoming so crushing it felt like she was stuck between a rock and a—Well, Zoey. Though, she supposed that wasn’t so bad.
Rumi blinked hard and shook the thought away, her voice cracking through the silence like glass. “Guys? What’s going on?” Zoey just giggled, that sweet girly little laugh that always seemed to echo in Rumi’s chest. But Mira didn’t laugh. She closed the door with a slow, deliberate click, not even locking it—as if she didn’t need to. She moved forward like a storm with no sound, her gaze sharp and her presence overwhelming.
Rumi moved to retreat, but it was already too late. Mira followed, slow and deliberate, like a predator that knew exactly when her prey would run out of room.
Rumi’s back hit the wall with a soft thud, a breath curling from her lips. Mira stopped just short, purple eyes dark as dusk, pinning her in place. Then a hand rose, palm meeting the wall beside her head—firm, silent, possessive. Rumi’s eyes darted to the side, catching Zoey’s approach. Not stalking like Mira, but gliding, playful. There was a spark in her eyes. Anticipation. Amusement. Like she’d been waiting for this all night.
“Don’t act surprised,” Mira snickered. Then Zoey piped in, “You promised if we behaved during the show we’d get a reward,” She said it like it was obvious . Like Rumi was the stupid one for being so clueless.
“Yeah, but-,” Rumi didn’t even get a chance to finish her sentence before Mira’s hands were on her hips, fingers tracing idly into the exposed skin, following her patterns. Her breath hitched, and with a shaky exhale she tried to sound as stern as she could. “I meant after the show, not during it. Cut it out you guys.” Mira and Zoey didn’t seem to care, not with how Mira’s hands only seemed to trail further, scrunching up her stage outfit to reveal more of her stomach, more of those tantalizing patterns.
There was nowhere for her to run, not with how tight Mira had her pinned against the wall, and not with how eager Zoey seemed gleaming over the taller woman’s shoulder. Rumi’s hips shifted, not knowing if she wanted to get away from it all or feel more of that soft skin against her own.
Mira made the choice for her. Rumi barely registered the moment before it happened—just a breath, a tilt of the head—and then lips met hers. It was soft, deceptively so. A kiss that burned beneath the surface, restrained only by the thin line of vanity—like Mira wouldn’t dare ruin her make-up. Like she knew they didn’t have the time to get ready all over again, but she didn’t really care. Not under the surface.
That drove Rumi mad. The precision of it. The want held back like a deep breath. She wanted to give in, let it all unravel right there. But there was no time. No space. And she wasn’t sure she could survive what came next if she said yes. Couldn’t stand the humility of being late because she was too weak to say ‘no’.
Mira nipped at Rumi’s bottom lip, pulling a strained sigh and a gentle yelp from her as she flinched back. A chuckle of amusement was all she heard, and another girly giggle from Zoey who bit her own lip and watched the display Mira perfectly set up for her, like Rumi was some sort of puppet for them to tinker with.
Sensing Rumi’s faltering defenses, Mira pressed in, no longer holding back. Her touch turned rougher—fingernails dragging up beneath Rumi’s top, fingers brushing over skin with just enough pressure to make her shiver and leave nail marks. She avoided leaving the markings easily spottable, deliberately keeping them hidden from view as if they were something sacred. Only for the three of them. And all the while, the kiss deepened—less soft now, more demanding. Possessive. Hungry.
Rumi could feel the moment their tongues met, the moment the wet heat of it all felt like it was going to consume her whole. She kissed back tentatively, but Mira’s mouth would’ve continued whether she kissed back or not. Rumi knew that, she knew it deep in her heart, there was no getting away no matter how much she tried. That thought alone sent a white hot jolt of something dangerous to her stomach, making her cheeks grow redder and her chest heave with how hard she was trying not to get lost in the kiss.
Mira didn’t make it easy, she drank Rumi in with so much greed it made her head reel; like Rumi was a drug she simply couldn’t get enough of. She was surprised at how quick Mira stopped caring about their make-up and clothes, but that was also just like her. The Mira that Rumi knew like the shine of her own patterns.
If she kept this going Rumi knew it’d only get worse. Maybe she could just sweet talk the girls out of this madness, allure them away with promises of ‘we’ll continue when we get back home,’ and ‘I’ll take good care of you after the show is over,’ though she wasn’t even sure that could work anymore, not with how Mira’s hands gripped into her sides and feasted on her skin like she was a meal to be consumed.
Rumi mustered the strength to push Mira back, but her resistance came in the form of a pleading gaze—silent, breathless, too winded to force out the sweet reasoning she knew wouldn’t land anyway.
Mira paused, catching her own breath while Rumi struggled to steady hers. That smug, insufferable grin curled across her face, eyes locked with heat and satisfaction on Rumi’s kiss-swollen lips—like she’d already won, and she damn well knew it.
By the time Rumi caught her breath, it was already too late to even utter a word. Zoey had nestled herself against her side, wearing a soft, smug smile of her own. Without urgency—without Mira’s overwhelming dominance—she reached up and cupped Rumi’s cheek, turning her gently into a kiss. Across from them, Mira’s eyes narrowed—not in anger, but with that simmering hunger that had nowhere to go.
Rumi leaned into Zoey’s kiss faster than she meant to.
It was different from Mira’s—softer, more coaxing than commanding. Possessive in a way that didn’t take, but asked to be held onto. And still, somehow, just as overwhelming.
She felt herself melting into it, all the tension she clung to slipping through her fingers. The stern walls she’d built began to crack, and every reasonable voice in her mind—the ones that reminded her they had a job to do, that this wasn’t part of the plan—flickered, faint and fading, like the last breath of a candle struggling to stay lit.
Zoey’s fingertips were soft against her cheek, but they held her there firmly, keeping Rumi grounded in the moment; in the burning intensity of Mira’s gaze, in the way Zoey gently forced her lips apart and took them like it was as simple as skipping stones in calm water.
Half of Rumi hated how easy she was—how quickly she crumbled under their touch, how effortlessly they slipped past every wall she worked so hard to build. But the other half? The other half loved it. Loved how Mira and Zoey could unravel her with a glance, a kiss, a whispered word. Loved the simplicity of surrender—how natural it felt to let them take the reins and guide her wherever they pleased.
Rumi’s sigh melted into the kiss, only to catch in her throat as Mira leaned in again, lips trailing fire along the curve of her neck.
She lingered at the pulse point—hovering, burning . It was careful, almost reverent, but Rumi could feel the want in every slow movement. Mira wouldn’t leave a mark, but the intention was there, burning just beneath the surface.
When Zoey finally pulled away from the kiss her touch lingered, her fingers still gently cradling her, holding her like she was a masterpiece to be praised and worshiped. Rumi melted at that, melted at the sweet smile on Zoey’s freckled face, melted at the way Zoey pressed their foreheads together and pleaded oh so sweetly. “Pleaase…” She started, pausing when Rumi gasped at the way Mira sucked at the skin on her neck. “We just wanna make you feel good, Jagiya. ”
That nickname broke her, it always did—damn how good it sounded on Zoey’s lips. Rumi cursed herself for teaching her hubae how to improve her Korean, cursed herself for teaching Zoey nicknames she knew would be used against her. This was just karma, karma for being so weak to these damn girls and their sickly sweet words that lit a fire in her chest every time.
“ Zoey,” Rumi was breathless, dazed. She didn’t even try to fight when Mira slowly peeled the jacket off of her shoulders, revealing those slender but toned arms of hers. She didn’t have the strength for it, couldn’t bring herself to say no because all she wanted was to make her girls happy.
Suddenly, Mira and Zoey pulled away, leaving Rumi breathless and dazed, jacket slipping halfway down her arms, shirt wrinkled and bunched from where they had touched her. Her back was still pressed against the wall, but her legs felt unsteady, like she’d forgotten how to stand on her own.
She blinked, stunned, lips parted, chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. She must have looked pathetic—lost and longing, completely undone. And then… they turned from her.
Mira and Zoey looked at each other and smiled—soft, teasing, like there was some unspoken joke only they knew. Then they kissed. Deep, slow, and impossibly intimate.
Rumi couldn’t look away. Her throat tightened. The sight of it—it was mind bogglingly sexy, yes, but it hit her like a blow to the chest. She wasn’t jealous, not in the bitter sense. She just… wanted. Wanted to be a part of that closeness, that ease. Wanted to be kissed like that. Needed to feel them both again before the emptiness inside her grew too sharp to bear.
Her hands curled against the fabric of her jacket, nails digging into the sleeves to keep herself grounded. She swallowed hard, heart fluttering like it wanted to burst through her ribs. Heat coiled in her stomach, twisting tighter with every passing second of that kiss she wasn’t part of.
And then, before she could stop herself, a whimper slipped from her lips—raw, needy, a plea of desperation.
The two pulled away after what felt like forever—wrapped in a warmth Rumi could only sit back and watch them create. Mira’s hands rested firmly on Zoey’s hips, fingers splayed possessively. Her eyes flicked to Rumi, cool and unreadable, and her voice was calm, almost dismissive.
“I thought you didn’t want it, Rumi,” she said. “Don’t we have a show to worry about?”
The words stung more than they should have, something sharp and wicked stirring inside Rumi—need, raw and unbearable, rising like a flame licking at her throat.
Zoey turned next, smiling with that signature softness. “It’s fine, really,” she cooed. “Me and Mira can take this somewhere else. You can just join us after the show.”
Rumi stood frozen, her back still near the dressing room wall, heart thudding painfully against her ribs. She knew exactly what this was—what they were doing. This was a test. A trap. They wanted her to beg. Mira, with her sharp grin and cruel calm. Zoey, with that soft lilt in her voice, all sugar and lace but laced with something far more dangerous. They were waiting to see how far she’d go.
And gods help her, she wanted to go.
Her fingers tightened around the hem of her jacket, breath catching in her throat. She told herself not to fall for it. To be strong. To walk away, even if just for now. They’d still be there later. She could still have this—but on her own terms. But then she looked at them again. Mira, statuesque, smug, lips still kiss-wet and parted in the faintest ghost of a smirk. Zoey, bouncing on her heels like she already knew how this would end. Their warmth, their attention, their touch—all just barely out of reach now. The ache inside her twisted violently.
And suddenly, pride didn’t matter so much. Rumi’s eyes flicked between them, wide, vulnerable. Her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but no words came. Only a shaky breath, and then—she stepped forward. Just one step. That was all it took. The second she moved, she saw Mira’s expression shift. Just a flicker of it—satisfaction, hunger, victory. Zoey gave the tiniest hum of approval, almost like a purr. Rumi’s stomach flipped.
She hated how easy she was to read. She loved how they read her anyway.
“I…” she tried, voice barely audible, “I didn’t say I didn’t want it.” It sounded weak, even to her. But Zoey only smiled. Mira cocked her head, as if waiting. So Rumi let go. Let herself fall.
“I can’t—” Her voice cracked. “Don’t leave me out again. Please .” The word please tasted like surrender. It shattered whatever resolve she had left, but it felt good—terrifying, humiliating, and good. Like finally breathing after holding her breath far too long.
Zoey’s smile only widened at Rumi’s plea, soft as flower petals but laced with something wicked. “There it is,” she murmured sweetly, like she’d just been handed a gift.
Mira didn’t say a word. Her gaze sharpened, and her smirk deepened as she slid a hand along Zoey’s waist, pulling her back in for another kiss—this one shorter, sharper, filled with fire and heat but over too quickly, like a match struck and blown out before it had a chance to burn.
Rumi watched with glassy eyes, chest heaving. They weren’t ignoring her—no, this was worse. They were letting her see everything she was missing. Letting her feel every beat of absence where their hands, their lips, their love should have been.
Mira’s tongue grazed Zoey’s bottom lip before she pulled away again, eyes cutting to Rumi with a cool precision. “You’re quiet all of a sudden,” she said smoothly. “You don’t think that’ll be enough do you?”
Zoey giggled, biting her lip. “Or did you forget what you were gonna say already? Poor thing.”
Rumi’s heart twisted violently. Her legs trembled under her, knees locking and unlocking until finally—they gave.
She dropped to the floor like a puppet with cut strings. There was no grace to it, just collapse. Her hands rested limp on her thighs, fingers trembling against her own skin. She didn’t care how she looked. She didn’t care if her voice cracked or if she made a fool of herself.
“I don’t care anymore,” she whispered, and then louder—raw. “I don’t care what you want me to say, just—just don’t leave me like that again.” She looked up at them, eyes wide, desperation painting every inch of her face. “ Please . I want you. Both of you. I need you. You know I do. So please…”
Her voice caught in her throat. She wasn’t even sure what she was asking anymore. Just more. More warmth. More closeness. More of them. Her pride lay shattered around her like broken glass, and she didn’t even flinch at the cuts.
“Please,” she whispered again, nearly breathless. “I’ll do anything.” Then her head gave, and her eyes darted to her trembling fingers.
She looked a mess. A pretty little mess on the floor for them, in the same stage outfit she would have scolded herself for letting touch the floor in any other situation. Mira and Zoey knew they won, they knew they won the moment they had her pinned against the wall.
For a long moment there was silence, deep and unnerving, Rumi didn’t even have the courage to face their gazes, all she could do was tighten her fingers into a fist and let the shame of it all sink in.
Mira’s shadow fell over her as she stepped in, lifting Rumi’s chin with a slow, calculated grace. Rumi’s breath faltered, Her body obeyed before her mind caught up.
Zoey’s pride seemed genuine, her smile bright with approval. But Mira’s was a different kind of pride—possessive, frigid, and laced with control. It wrapped around Rumi like a collar made of ice. She didn’t know if she was being honored… or claimed.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it? We knew you’d come around eventually.” Mira smiled, caressing Rumi’s chin gently while her thumb trailed a gentle line across her lower lip.
“Such a good girl for us,” Zoey added. “And good girls deserve rewards don’t they? Especially one as pretty as you.” Her voice had an edge to it that wasn’t there before, not as sharp as Mira’s, but she spoke with deceptive care, care that made Rumi wary of what was to come next. A warning flashed through her mind again, though she was way too far gone to care. All she did was smile up at the girls and lean into Mira’s touch, lips parting slightly for the taller woman’s thumb.
Mira pressed her thumb inside, dragging it over Rumi’s sharp canines like she wanted to feel the danger—like she didn’t mind getting bitten. She rested it on Rumi’s tongue, holding her mouth open with quiet authority, no words needed.
Rumi let her. Let it all go. Her makeup, the ticking clock, the weight of expectations. None of it mattered—not with two devastatingly beautiful girls looking at her like she was theirs to ruin or protect.
Rumi watched from a distance as Zoey slipped up behind Mira and wrapped her arms around the taller girl’s waist, fingers lacing together at the front like a loose cage. It looked like she was holding Mira still—claiming her gently.
Mira didn’t resist—why would she? She always melted under Zoey’s touch. Rumi knew the feeling.
Zoey had to stretch to rest her chin on Mira’s shoulder, the difference in height obvious and almost comical—but she managed, barely. And the way Mira leaned back ever so slightly into her made it clear: she liked being caught.
“Look at our pretty girl,” Zoey said, her voice low and pleased as she nuzzled into Mira’s neck, lips just brushing her skin. “So easy for us.”
Mira exhaled softly, the sound catching in her throat. That voice always did something to her—especially when she knew Rumi was watching. Zoey only ever spoke like that when it was the three of them, when it felt like a secret they all shared.
Mira’s breath caught on her tongue, and Zoey felt it like a pulse under her own skin, hot, heavy . When Mira pressed back into her, hips rolling with quiet need, Zoey’s smile turned sharp. She giggled into Mira’s ear, delighted, then let her fingers hover at the edge of her skirt’s waistband. Not tugging. Just toying. Her touch moved in slow, lazy circles—like she had all the time in the world to make Mira squirm.
Rumi didn’t move. She didn’t need to. The fire behind her eyes said everything—slow-burning, electric, hungry. The markings on her skin pulsed in vibrant waves, their glow syncing with her breath, betraying the calm she tried to keep.
Mira noticed first. Her eyes flicked toward Rumi with that quiet intensity, that sharp understanding only lovers shared. The corner of her mouth lifted—not a smile or a smirk, not quite. More like a promise left hanging in the air. Zoey followed Mira’s gaze and breathed in heavier when she saw the way Rumi’s lips twitched, like she was trying so hard not to just bite down on Mira’s commanding thumb. Her eyes darted between the two like they were food, though it wasn’t quite predatory, she looked more like a woman desperate for any relief she could get.
“She’s watching,” Zoey murmured into Mira’s ear, definitely loud enough for Rumi to hear. “And she’s starving. ”
With that, Zoey’s lazy circles around Mira’s waistline ceased and were replaced with a more urgent press. Fingers sliding down her thighs, quickly reaching the bottom of the tight skirt Mira was wearing just so they could hike up the fabric and reveal her panties for Rumi’s desperate eyes.
Mira’s breath hitched the moment she felt it—that subtle scrape, the ghost of Rumi’s fang dragging over the pad of her thumb. It wasn’t enough to break skin, but it was enough to make her blood stir, her pulse jump. A teasing graze, slow and intentional, daring her to react.
Then came the sound: “Please…” a slurred word from Rumi’s mouth, low and thick with heat, caught somewhere between a broken— filthy moan and a whisper. It melted into the space between them, too soft to make out, but Mira didn’t need clarity to understand it. Her eyes narrowed—not from suspicion, but from something sharper. Focus. Anticipation. Hunger.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.
Slowly, purposefully, she withdrew her thumb from Rumi’s mouth, the retreat as intimate as its entry had been. Her touch didn’t vanish—it simply moved, gliding down the curve of Rumi’s bottom lip, lingering there for a heartbeat before trailing lower to rest beneath her chin.
Her fingers curled ever so slightly, not gripping, just existing—anchoring Rumi in place with a touch that asked nothing and demanded everything. Mira tilted her head, studying her. Not just the flushed lips or glowing skin—but her. The weight of her need. The stillness she held with such effort. The want, barely caged.
“That look in your eyes,” Mira murmured, voice low, not quite a question, not quite a tease. “You’d take more if I let you.”
Her thumb brushed over the swell of Rumi’s chin, a final flicker of contact. She held it there—long enough to mean something, short enough to leave doubt. Then, finally, she pulled away.
Her hand dropped. The air between them cooled just slightly. But the imprint of her touch lingered, and she knew Rumi would still feel it. Not on her skin—beneath it.
Rumi had never felt so abruptly, achingly empty. The moment Mira’s hand left her skin, the heat between them evaporated, leaving behind a chill that settled deep in her chest. Her breath caught—half-formed, unsatisfied—as her eyes followed the retreating touch like something sacred had been taken from her.
Her body remained still, but every muscle buzzed with restless energy. She’d been right there, on the edge of something sharp and electric, and now... nothing. Only the ghost of Mira’s touch lingered—on her chin, on her lips, on her tongue.
Her thighs shifted, almost imperceptibly, a quiet attempt to ground herself, but it didn’t help. Want bloomed under her skin, tangled with disappointment, tightening her fingers into the fabric of her skirt.
She was still watching Mira—gaze fixed, lips parted, silently begging for another chance. Another touch. A word. Anything.
But Rumi wouldn’t be disappointed for long. Mira knew exactly what she was doing. She always did. And somewhere in the slow burn of silence, Rumi could feel it: this wasn’t the end of the moment. It was just the pause before something else caught fire. And catch fire it most certainly did.
Mira snickered, unable to help herself at the look on Rumi’s face—so raw, so transparently aching. The kind of emptiness only she and Zoey could create, and only they were allowed to fill. Teasing Rumi was a thrill she never tired of. The way that girl teetered between restraint and desperation made every pause, every withheld touch, feel like a symphony Mira conducted with a flick of her fingers. But even Mira had her limits. As tempting as it was to keep Rumi dangling, lost in the delicious ache of want, the clock was ticking.
Mira’s fingers trailed over her own skin with maddening slowness, each movement deliberate—igniting sparks in their wake. The motion was almost lazy, but charged with purpose, and it drew Rumi’s gaze instantly. She couldn’t look away—drawn in, helpless, as if Mira’s touch cast a spell just for her. And like clockwork, Zoey’s eyes snapped to the same place, the shared current between the three of them thrumming to life in an instant.
Her thumbs hooked around the waistband of her panties, and finally, like ripping off a bandaid, she slowly pulled the garment down to reveal her tantalizingly wet pussy. Zoey bit her lip, nuzzling into the side of Mira’s face more, breath shallow against her skin. But Rumi? Rumi looked like an animal, ready to pounce, to please , like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.
Mira’s underwear dropped unceremoniously, catching around the heels she wore. She beckoned Rumi in with her hands, tempting her to scoot closer—of course Rumi listened, followed , like an obedient dog waiting for her treat. When she got in close enough, face just barely out of reach of Mira’s pussy, Mira grabbed her chin once again, commanding Rumi’s face upward.
“Make me cum before our show starts again, and maybe we’ll let you have your way with us.” Mira was smug, almost annoyingly so. She knew the control she had over Rumi, knew how to work her like a puppet. And the sad part? Rumi fucking let her. Let her say whatever she wanted, do whatever she wanted. And she loved it, wouldn't have it any other way.
Rumi nodded enthusiastically, hands gently coming up to rest on Mira’s thighs, nails digging into the soft, warm flesh. “I promise,” She mumbled, pressing a kiss into Mira’s exposed skin. “Promise to make you feel so good…” More kisses, each getting more desperate. Mira scratched under Rumi’s chin like a dog, and Rumi welcomed it with a sigh of satisfaction against bare skin.
From her spot nearby, Zoey watched in still silence—eyes soft, lips parted just slightly, as if breathing through Rumi’s kisses herself. She loved the way Rumi looked at Mira like she was made of starlight. Loved the way Mira, in all her sharpness and quiet command, softened beneath Rumi’s touch. This was why she trusted them. Why she loved them. Zoey’s heart ached in the best way—not with jealousy, but with pride. With longing. With the kind of joy that comes from being part of something rare and real.
Rumi’s kisses burned a trail up Mira’s thigh, and with each one Zoey grew more eager to watch, and Mira ‘s breathing quietly got shallower.
When Rumi finally nuzzled her face into Mira’s pussy she ate like a woman starved —like she’d never tasted better in her life, and would never get the chance to again. Her tongue trailed carefully through slick sodden folds, from Mira’s entrance to her hard clit, hungry, feral.
Mira let out this long shaky exhale, breath hiccuping into the quiet of their dressing room. Well, aside from the roaring fans they could hear even from all the way backstage, and the sounds of Rumi panting into her pussy. Mira removed the hand she had placed under Rumi’s chin and instead placed it on her head, careful not to rough up her hair, but grip hard enough to push Rumi in further, forcing a muffled grunt of satisfaction out of her.
“That’s right, pretty girl,” Zoey’s fingers clasped themselves even tighter around Mira’s waist, body pressing so tight into her it was like she wanted to become one with Mira. “Make our beautiful pop-star feel good. She’s been dying to get her hands on you all night.”
Mira bit her lip, hard enough to leave a mark, trying—and failing—to mask the way her breath caught in her throat. Her voice came out low, threaded with a warning she didn’t mean. “Zoey, don’t push it.”
But Zoey only smiled, smug and soft all at once. She knew that tone. Knew the way Mira’s fingers tightened just slightly in Rumi’s hair, like she was trying to pretend she was still in control. She leaned in closer, brushing her lips just below Mira’s ear. “You love it when I do.”
Mira didn’t answer—not with words. But the way her shoulders sank back into Zoey’s touch, the way she subtly parted her knees as Rumi began kissing and sucking her clit, told Zoey everything.
And Rumi—gods, Rumi felt it too. She didn’t say a thing, but the press of her lips grew slower, deeper, deliberate. She was basking in it: Mira’s barely contained need, Zoey’s gentle dominance, the shared breath between them all. Zoey’s eyes met Rumi’s over Mira’s shoulder, a silent understanding passing between them. We’ve got her. She’s ours .
Mira let out a moan—low and rough, rasping from her throat like it had been dragged out of her. It was gruffer than her usual voice, unpolished, almost vulnerable… but gods, it was still sweet. Still Mira. And it lit something molten in Rumi’s chest.
The sound settled in her bones and stirred something desperate. She wanted more. Needed it. She wanted Mira to lose control again, to say her name like it meant something, like she couldn't help it.
Rumi's pulse quickened, her mouth parting on a shaky breath. She would earn it—whatever Mira gave her, whatever sound she made next. She’d work for every syllable like it was the only thing keeping her alive.
And fuck, did she work for it.
Filled with a newfound vigor, Rumi wrapped her lips around Mira’s clit and sucked hard . The suction forced another shaky breath from the taller woman, but it wasn’t enough. Rumi didn’t want shaky breaths or barely composed moans, she wanted to hear Mira crack. Wanted to make her cum so hard she wouldn’t be able to help but to praise Rumi and treat her like the pretty little play thing she is.
A moan of Rumi’s own vibrated through Mira’s pussy at the thought, at the thought of being treated like the good girl that she is. She released her lips from around Mira’s clit, her tongue darting up to run a long stripe past her entrance and through her folds, relishing the way it made Mira’s thigh tremble.
Then suddenly Rumi pulled her face away, panting hard, struggling to catch her breath. But Mira didn’t even get the chance to react before she replaced her mouth with two fingers, eager and ready, already prodding at her slick folds. Rumi just smiled up at her, that absolutely wrecked smile that made her look smug and so fucking beautiful all at once.
Mira’s breath caught sharp in her throat, her lips parting just barely—like a confession sat trembling on her tongue, begging to be spoken. But nothing came. Not at first. Just the quiver of a breath too heavy with feeling.
Her brows furrowed faintly, and her chest rose like she was trying to steady herself against a wave no one else could see. She looked down at Rumi, eyes dark and dazed, hungry—but not just with want. With need. With trust. With something aching and raw.
Her mouth opened again, slower this time, and all that came out was a single breathy word, cracked and shaken by the weight behind it, her usual deep voice making way for something softer. “Rumi—”
Rumi slid both of her fingers into Mira’s aching pussy with practiced ease, a jolt of something electric stirring in her own stomach. Mira grunted and moaned hard, rough and husky as Rumi pumped and curled her fingers in deep; all while Zoey kept her down to earth by kissing and pampering her neck, sliding her own hands over Mira’s clothed body.
Rumi could feel it—the way Mira’s thighs trembled, the slight hitch in her breath, the barely restrained tension beneath her skin. Mira was close—so close to cracking, to breaking open for them. Rumi wasn’t the only one who noticed. Zoey felt it too. She always did. Her eyes cut sharply to Rumi’s with that knowing glint, lips curved in a wicked little grin as she pressed a kiss just under Mira’s jaw.
Zoey didn’t break that eye contact—not for a second—as her hands slid up Mira’s sides, fingers curling in the hem of her shirt and bunching the fabric at her waist. She moved slowly, deliberately, claiming space, grounding Mira with her touch while teasing something deeper just beneath the surface.
Then, something shifted in Zoey’s expression. An idea. A flicker of playful cruelty laced with love.
Rumi saw it the moment it sparked to life behind her eyes. Without a word, Zoey’s hands dipped lower, fingertips grazing down Mira’s firm stomach like a whispered promise, traveling further so they could dance just above the thin hairs decorating Mira’s lower half.
The moment Mira’s breathing faltered, making way for a moan so sickly sweet it made Zoey’s body shudder, she struck. Zoey used a single finger to claim Mira’s clit, circling steady, fast —catching both of her girls off guard in a single quick moment that left them all stunned. Mira bit her lip, almost hard enough to puncture the skin, just soft enough not to, then ground her hips into Rumi and Zoey’s relenting touch.
“Fuck—,” Mira mummbled, fingers tightening against Rumi’s braid. “You guys—, you guys are… Fuck you’re gonna make me cum.” Her thighs spread further and she readjusted her footing, allowing Rumi’s fingers to hit deeper, curl tighter. It was too much, she could feel that white hot pressure rising all too fast, much too steady.
What finally pushed her over wasn’t the way Zoey rubbed smaller, tighter circles around her clit. Wasn’t the way Rumi pushed in as far as she could to claim as much of her as possible. No, it was the way she felt completely consumed.
Rumi’s gaze locked onto hers, wide and wild and burning with a love so fierce it nearly hurt to look at. There was hunger there too—devotion wrapped in desire—and it pierced right through Mira’s faltering composure.
At the same time, Zoey’s free hand curled around her waist, pulling her in so tightly she could barely breathe. There was no space left to retreat, no distance between bodies or hearts. Mira wasn’t just wanted—she was held, claimed , cherished.
She finally shattered—falling over the edge with both Zoey’s and Rumi’s names tumbling from her lips, tangled in breathless reverence. Her thighs trembled violently, every muscle pulled taut, her head thrown back as if the only way to survive the moment was to surrender fully to it. Her eyes squeezed shut, like she feared the bliss might vanish if she dared to look—like the world beyond their touch couldn’t possibly hold what she was feeling.
Zoey and Rumi held her through it—like she was sacred, like she was something they’d never let fall. Zoey’s grip never wavered, grounding her with strong arms and whispered praise, while Rumi pressed kisses into every inch of skin she could reach, like she needed Mira to feel worshiped as much as she was loved.
Only when Mira’s moans turned ragged, raw at the edges, and her legs threatened to buckle beneath her, did their hands begin to slow. Even then, they didn’t let go.
Zoey was the first to withdraw, slow and deliberate, her movements laced with a kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred things. She brought her hand away from Mira with a small, satisfied hum, placing a chaste kiss on Mira’s flushed cheek—not for show, but as a quiet reward. A gentle, grounding gesture. One that said I’ve got you.
Then came Rumi. She lingered. Always the one who couldn’t pull away until the last second—like letting go physically might somehow loosen the emotional tether too. Her fingers slipped free with aching slowness, her gaze locked on the way they parted from Mira, like she wanted to memorize the feeling. Like she already missed it.
But then she looked up, meeting Mira’s eyes—and her lips curled into something soft, but feral. She wanted to be seen. Needed Mira to watch.
And Mira did.
Rumi brought her slick-coated fingers to her lips, makeup smudged and eyeliner ruined, and kissed each digit clean. She didn’t rush it. Every lick was an unspoken confession, a vow disguised as indulgence.
Her tongue swept lazily, her expression dazed with something between devotion and need. She looked absolutely wrecked—and absolutely radiant. And she wouldn’t have changed a thing.
Zoey, watching from Mira’s other side, grinned like the devil and an angel combined. She reached over, brushing strands of hair off Mira’s damp forehead before stealing a glance between the two of them. “So... should I be jealous, or do I get my turn now?”
Mira huffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh you’ll get your turn when I make you both pay .”
The sudden, heavy knock on the dressing room door shattered the atmosphere like glass, the sound cutting clean through the lingering haze of heat and reverence.
Rumi jumped like she’d been electrocuted, her hands flying off Mira as if the door had physically slapped them apart. Zoey’s heart dropped into her stomach, and she froze mid-breath, eyes wide as she turned toward the door.
Mira didn’t even flinch. She just closed her eyes and sighed, dragging a hand down her flushed face—her usual composure gone, replaced by an edge of frustration and... disappointment.
She hadn’t locked the damn door, and all they could do was pray no one would walk in.
"Girls?" Bobby’s voice filtered through the door, laced with genuine concern. "You’re back on in ten. Is everything alright in there?"
His tone wasn’t scolding—it never was. Just that kind of gentle-worriedness that made it worse. Like he was already imagining worst-case scenarios: a wardrobe malfunction, a panic attack, a fight. Rumi sprang into action, voice rising three octaves like it was trying to outrun the guilt.
"Uhh—yeah! Yep, we’re totally cool! All good!" she blurted, wiping at her mouth and trying not to look at the smudged lipstick on Mira’s thighs. "Just, uh… just fixing ourselves up! Yeah. That’s right. Just fixing stuff!"
She sounded like she was trying to convince herself, not Bobby.
From the corner, Zoey let out a strangled snort—half nerves, half pure chaos. She stumbled away from the girls and leaned back against their vanity, covering her mouth with the back of her hand as her shoulders shook in silent laughter. “Smooth, babe,” she whispered behind her hand. “Real smooth.”
Mira finally cracked an exhausted, amused sigh. Her voice came low and velvet-soft: “Fixing ourselves up, huh?” She glanced down at the state of herself—shirt still wrinkled, her thighs still marked by fingers and kisses, her pulse still unsteady. “Well, we better make it convincing,” she added dryly. “Hand me the concealer, will you?”
Zoey moved first, grabbing a makeup wipe and tossing it toward Rumi. “You missed a spot.” Rumi caught it with a weak laugh, cheeks blazing as she hurriedly cleaned herself up. Despite the wreckage, the embarrassment, the sudden switch in energy—there was still a warmth between them. A silent agreement:
Later. We’ll finish this later.
And when they stepped out onto that stage, no one would know the tension, the intimacy, the tangled chaos that just happened behind that unlocked door.
No one except them.