Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Rumi knows it’s a dream —the edges of her vision are too soft, she has no memory of how she got here—, but that’s the last thing in her mind right now. 

Now, with Zoey dragging her lips down Rumi’s stomach, tender as she goes low, low, lower. 

Now, with Mira’s arms circling her from behind, her firm front pressed to her back, hands climbing up her shirt and cupping her breasts so deliciously. 

“You’re doing so well for us, Rumi.”

Mira’s voice is low against her ear, heat traveling down her veins to where Zoey is kissing.

“So well, Rumi. So beautiful like this.” 

Zoey mouths below her navel, bottom lip brushing against the hem of her panties and oh, how Rumi wants to buck her hips and chase her. 

“Look at you, so eager.” 

She can hear Mira’s grin, hands squeezing her breasts possessively, while Zoey chuckles. 

“You want us this badly? You’re so cute, Rumi.”

“Please…” Is what leaves her lips, pitiful and so full of the heat that drips down the low of her belly. 

“Go ahead, Zo. She’s being so good for us.”

Mira’s green light feels like a blessing, but Zoey only kisses down the baby blue fabric of her panties, down to where it hasn’t been dry for a while now. 

“Should I? I kinda like hearing her beg…”

Rumi’s almost embarrassed at how her hips press forward, chasing lips and mouth and any kind of heat that’s denied from her. “Please, Zoey… I need you.”

“Now you’re just acting up, aren’t you?” Oh, Mira’s fangs on her skin feel like the most delicious kind of torture, right where her neck meets shoulder. “Should we remind you who’s in charge?”

“No, I…” Rumi pants, her brain to mouth filter has been gone for a while. She’s all helpless desire and an itching almost, almost, almost. “Mira…”

Zoey presses a kiss to the restless damp fabric and grins when Rumi shivers.  

“S’okay. I’m getting impatient too.” She slides down the baby blue panties in her own kind of heated mercy. “I’ll give you what you need, Ru.”

She can only whimper, head thrown back on Mira’s shoulder as her legs tremble— Halfway between chasing Zoey’s mouth or going limp entirely. Mira takes the chance to draw kisses over her open neck, the only soft thing in this restless desire. 

“You’re so wet, Rumi.”

There’s a smile in Zoey’s voice, and in another circumstance those words would’ve sent Rumi into a bashful frenzy. Not now, no. Not now when all she can feel is Mira’s chest pressed on her back, her fingers circling her nipples in a slow reverie, and the ghost of Zoey’s breath making her dampness feel impossibly cold. 

“Zoey… I can’t…”

So she reaches a shaky hand and finds purchase in her dark hair. Not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to prompt her close, closer, or else she might fizzle out of her skin before even being touched. 

And Zoey can’t be happier about it. 

“We’ve got you, Rumi… Just breathe and give me all you have…”

Rumi’s eyes are squeezed shut, but she doesn’t have to see. Not when she can feel Zoey’s mouth open. 

Zoey’s fingers spreading her open. 

Zoey’s breath colliding against her heat. 

Zoey’s tongue darting out. 

And she finally—

Finally—!

The alarm blasts off. 

A sentencing sound barring all traces of the dream, soft edges and heated touch, from her mind in a blink. Rumi jolts awake, drenched in sweat.

“What…?”

She plops back down on the bed, the mattress sinking under her damp skin. Her body’s still tingling with the faint memory of the dream, her heart pounding beneath her ribs. She takes a moment to breathe. Eyes closed, in and out, the dream fizzles out and her muscle untie like a ribbon. 

“Just a dream…” She mumbles to herself. 

A pause.

Her cheeks explode in a burst of red. She did not just dream of her teammates and lifelong friends, Mira and Zoey, in such an intimate and sinful way, did she? 

“Oh my god—“ She drapes an arm over her face, groaning into the angle. 

She cannot think like that, she can’t. She’s repressed —okay, sure—, and she has a lifetime of undeveloped desires and an unexplored relationship with her own body, yes. But that’s no excuse to thirst over her teammates like this. 

No, no.

They’re a music group. They make music, and defeat demons, and spend time together, and sure, she’s noticed how Zoey and Mira are close to each other and yes, she’s seen how they look at her sometimes but— She’s never had friends before, not outside of them. She’s never had a family, outside of Celine, really. What if all of that was normal? Regular, lifelong friends’ sweet and touchy behavior. 

And it makes sense, doesn’t it? They’ve defeated Gwi-Ma, their enemy for the entirety of their careers —Of Rumi’s life, really, and a dozen generations before her—, so it makes sense that they’re all more affectionate with each other, no? 

That must be it, yes. That must be why she’s had this dream. It’s just her brain coping with the new changes— Rumi’s patterns being out, her entire identity public knowledge, Zoey and Mira’s acceptance, the almost losing them, their easy love. She’s just grateful and admittedly touch-starved, okay. Nothing more than that.

“Yeah… Just that…”

Rumi’s muscles relax once again on the mattress, still slightly damp with sweat from the dream. She rolls over, turning to the side when—

What…

…Is…

…That.

Rumi’s lungs still, the air caught inside as her eyes travel lower on her body, so slowly. 

Oh, how the blood drains from her face. 

There, under the sheets —between her legs— is something that wasn’t there before. That definitely, definitely wasn’t there before. 

Reaching out to lift the fabric of the sheet, she stops. Her hand —or what should’ve been her hand— is instead a claw. The tips of each finger continue on in a pointed, sharp thing bathed in purple. Following up her arm, her patterns —a dim, glistening opal these days— hum in the same purple hue, climbing up her skin like vines, up her arm to her shoulder and beneath her pajama shirt to what she understands must be her entire body.

Her chest starts pounding— Firstly, because her demon traits are out, for whatever reason. But more importantly, there’s an ache between her legs that’s new, and it’s scary, and it’s pulsing with something uncomfortably close to need. 

Taking a breath, she yanks the sheets off of her, and there it is— An obvious bulge, clear as day, shamefully straining against her pajama shorts. 

Rumi almost feels lightheaded —the blood is rushing somewhere else anyway—, how is this even possible? 

She’s a woman, she has been her entire life. She might have questioned her sexuality at some certain points, yes. Definitely not after Gwi-Ma, when she went to a bath house with Mira and Zoey for the first time and she bared herself, and she saw them bare, and their glimmering hair, and their damp skin, and how the droplets traveled down their chests and stomachs and—

…Did it just throb?

Rumi flushes red. 

Jesus, this is wrong. So wrong. 

This can’t be happening, it simply can’t. She has questioned her sexual attraction, sure, but she has never questioned her identity. She has always been a woman, up until last night at the very least. What could have possibly happened?

Maybe she’s still dreaming— Yeah, maybe that’s it. She just has to pinch herself, close her eyes really tightly and she’ll wake up in her regular, human, female body. 

“…Alright.” She takes a deep breath.

Pinching herself is admittedly difficult —her fingertips continue on to claws, after all—, but even managing that, and even squeezing her eyes really tight, the ache is most definitely still there. 

…She’s gonna have to look, isn’t she?

With her eyes still squeezed shut, Rumi finds the hem of her pajama shorts. Slowly —mortifyingly so—, she lowers the elastic fabric to mid-thigh, resting there for a second. This is it, the thought crosses her mind as she opens her brown eyes, and…

God, it’s almost sinful. 

There’s no denying, it’s a cock.

A very fleshy, very real cock that stands entirely too proudly from her crotch, throbbing slightly with every beat of her treacherous heart. Her patterns, cascading down the expanse of her stomach and sides, climb up her waist and down her thighs and crotch, threading the shaft with lilac vines. Following up the heated skin, the head pulses lightly in the same purple hue as the tips of her claws. A demon cock.

“This… No.” Rumi whispers to herself. “This can’t be— This is not real.”

She bolts out of her bed, untangling herself from her pajama shorts and letting them fall altogether as she rushes to the bathroom, private for her only, annexed to her room. Her chest pounds like a wild thing as she yanks her shirt off. She needs to know what else is different. 

It’s a little humbling, standing naked in front of her bathroom mirror, but she has no time for that emotion, really. Not when the mirror reflects what she’s just deemed not real— Her very present, very aching, very real demon cock. Very much still there. 

The rest of her, fortunately, remains the same. Though her demon traits are most definitely out, too. 

Rumi’s eyes trace over her body, following the patterns born on her cheeks, jaw and temples swivel down the column of her neck, curling on her shoulders and drawing the expanse of her chest, rounding her breasts and down the white expanse of her stomach, flat lines painted in marks that travel down her sides, tracing her hips, her thighs, down where the mirror doesn’t follow— And staining her still very present demon cock with pulsing, purple patterns. 

…So it’s the one new thing, but the rest of her is the same. Mostly. She can work with that, can’t she? 

Rumi’s claws latch onto the sink, brown eyes still all over that thing —in case she can will it away, one can never know—, heart still pounding like a wild thing beneath her ribs. 

“How…?” She mumbles to herself. “This has never happened before. How on earth…?”

How did it happen, indeed? She’s had patterns her entire life —mixed blood, really—, and that had never changed her appearance before. Sure, with the whole Gwi-Ma incident, her demon side of her took over for a while, but it was nothing more than glowing patterns, demonic eyes and those claws, was it? And, yeah, that teleportation thing they haven’t mentioned afterwards— But never something like this. And why a cock, of all things? What does it mean? 

Rumi steps away from the sink and rests her back on the bathroom wall. The cool tiles ease off some of the heat and sweat on her bare skin, giving her a moment of relief. She can figure this out, she can.

Perhaps going back on her night is the key to whatever happened. Let’s see— She had dinner with Mira and Zoey, had a long bath with that new hair conditioner that smells so good, scribbled some lyrics that came to the top of her head before bed, followed her skincare routine and then went to sleep. What’s escaping her right now?

…Oh.

The dream.

Rumi’s cheeks blossom red again. Of course it’s that, how hasn’t she thought of that immediately? The sight of Zoey on her knees for her, lips trailing to the most intimate part of her, while Mira held her from behind, teeth traveling down her neck, whispering how well she was doing, prompting a river of warmth and heat down her belly right to where Zoey was about to—

…Did it just throb, again?

Rumi sighs, cheeks an embarrassing pretty pink now. There’s no denying what happened, then. But how can one just accept this? It’s insane, thinking, Yeah, I grow a demon dick when I’m turned on. Who even goes through something like this? 

“Rumi, are you up?”

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Is that Zoey? 

That’s Zoey. That’s Zoey’s voice. 

Rumi’s heart skyrockets. Looking down at herself —but ass naked, demon patterns, demon claws, demon cock— there is absolutely no way she can go out there. Not in a million years, no. But if she knows Zoey, and she very much does, silence will only prompt further questioning. So, taking a deep breath —and doing her absolute best impression of someone who is very much not freaking out right now—, Rumi pops her head out of the bathroom, facing her bedroom door when she answers. 

“Yeah, I’m up. Did you, uh, need something?”

Zoey’s voice comes clear through the wooden door, unsuspecting. Good. 

“Yeah. Well, not really. Mira just left for an early photoshoot, and I’m hungry. I was thinking of going all out and making some pancakes. American style, you know? With the syrup, and the fruit, and the whipped cream, and… Yeah. Do you want some, too?”

Rumi’s half-heartedly listening —there’s something very distracting and very pulsing between her legs that she very much can’t get used to—, but she manages to follow the string of thought. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great, Zo. I’ll be out there in a second.”

“Okay!”

The sound of Zoey’s steps leading her away from the door is heaven sent to Rumi’s shaky heart. She just agreed to coming out there —though, really, she couldn’t have hidden away forever anyway—, which means she has to find a way to hide this now.

She looks down at it again. Fleshy, pulsing, and admittedly big and kind of heavy down her crotch; it’s a sight she never in a million years would’ve thought of seeing. And she has to gather now everything she knows of these before Zoey comes asking questions she’d rather die to Gwi-Ma than answer. 

Which… now that it dawns on her, she has no clue what to do, really. 

Okay, yes, she’s not an idiot and she’s not that pathologically sheltered— She knows what guys do when their cock gets a little too lively like this. She’s not entirely clueless, but honestly? Touching it is the last of the things she wants to do now. No, no. Absolutely not the answer. It might be attached to her body, but it’s not really hers, is it? It’s a demon cock. It will go away eventually, just as strangely as it’s come. She only has to endure until then, but she is absolutely not going to touch that thing. Much less relieve herself like— No. No, no. God, no. She needs another solution. 

“…Let’s get you covered up.”

She mumbles, turning the bathroom lights off and walking back to her bedroom. Her wardrobe —a walkable, modern, brimming thing with the prettiest clothes she could ever want—, has obviously nothing fitting to hide an entire living and annoyingly big demon cock, as one could imagine. Still, Rumi has to try. 

Opening the underwear drawer, she stares dejectedly at her pretty panties, small and lacey and feminine how she likes them. She reaches for one —baby blue fabric on her claws, can’t she at least calm down enough to earn her regular fingers back?— and tries it on. 

…God.

She wants to cry. 

Not only do the panties not cover her entire crotch, but the fabric bulges very obscenely. It’s doing the opposite of hiding, really. It’s like a dartboard or a bullseye, saying, Here! Look here! Look what’s hiding here!

She yanks the panties off, tearing the fabric with her claws, but honestly she can’t care less right now. She feels the powerlessness bubble up in the vault of her chest, stinging behind her eyes, but— No. She’s fought demons, she’s fought the King of all demons and won. She’s not going to be crushed by a demon cock that’s too stubborn to hide. 

Steeling herself, Rumi tries everything in her walk-in closet— Shorts? It hangs out one of the leg openings. Skirts? Absolutely not. An onesie pajama? That definitely covers it, but she has the feeling the constant brushing is gonna give her more problems later on. Jeans? The tightness is going to be too obvious. Regular, baggy pants? She could do that, but won’t Zoey ask what she’s doing or where she’s going?

Rumi rubs her temples, feeling the headache brimming beneath her skull. Why is it so hard to hide a cock? If it was smaller, then she could work with that, but not this. If only she had—

“…Boxer briefs!” 

Her brown eyes widen, of course! 

They did that one photoshoot for Calvin Klein a couple of weeks ago, after defeating Gwi-Ma and settling the rumors of their disbandment— Rumi remembers the set, the low and seductive lights, Mira’s ease in front of the camera, her own nervousness of having her patterns out and photographed for the very first time, and Zoey’s excitement over the boxers. They could take them home with them afterwards —Zoey rambled on how they were much more comfortable than panties sometimes—, and they did. 

She has them still, Rumi’s sure. 

One rummaging through every drawer and gift box in her room afterwards, she finds them. Glorious, untouched, clean and comfortable and expensive Calvin Klein boxers. She wastes no time sliding them into place. 

…Oh, she could cry.

This is worlds better. This —her bulge safely secured in place, cupped comfortably, no longer just dangling shamelessly but held— is exactly what she needed. In her relief, she runs a hand through her hair, sighing, and it’s actually a hand this time. Her patterns have dimmed, too, and her claws have eased back into her own regular, beautiful fingers. 

She smiles, tiredly, leaning back against the wall of her walk-in closet. Now things are looking up, demon dick or not. 

“Rumi? Did you fall back asleep in there?”

Cutting through her blissful relief, Zoey’s words shoot through her mind. But Rumi’s no longer anxious —at least, not freaking out, though she’s definitely still weird about that new weight between her legs—, so she clears her throat easily. 

“I’m up, I’m up. I’ll be right there, Zo.”

“Okay, ‘cause your pancakes are gonna get cold if you don’t hurry. Or eaten, if you’re not careful!”

That earns a chuckle out of her, and it’s such a breath of fresh air after the morning she’s had so far. 

True to her word, Rumi quickly fetches her sleeping shorts, a light pink top and does her best to smooth her hair. When she’s pretty sure she doesn’t look like the stuff from nightmares anymore, she opens the wooden door and greets Zoey with her best impromptu smile. 

“Hey. Sorry I made you wait.”

“No worries.” Her easy grin is like oxygen into Rumi’s lungs, blissfully unsuspecting. “What happened in there, though?”

She chuckles, leaning to look over Rumi’s shoulder and into her room. True enough, her room is a mess— Disheveled sheets and covers, scrambled drawers and at least half a dozen pairs of clothing scattered across the wooden floor. Pink blooms under her cheeks, a silent admission.

“Uh, nothing. I couldn’t find this top, is all.”

“And you did all that?” She chuckles again, a light and breezy thing. “You could’ve used any top, Ru. You’re gorgeous in everything.”

“I, uh—“ 

Oh, how her heart misses a beat at that. The easy compliment, the beautiful way in which Zoey sees her, sends a ripple of warmth down her veins, almost down to— Oh, my god, is she still sensitive down there? 

Thankfully, her stomach rumbles just in time. That earns another sweet chuckle from Zoey, and a tug at Rumi’s wrist.

“C’mon, before we starve. Pancakes are ready!”

Breakfast goes surprisingly smoothly.

There’s still that uncomfortable newness on her crotch, but at the very least it’s held now, and the pancakes are extraordinary in her rumbling stomach, and Zoey’s conversation flows as easily as ever. All of that drives Rumi’s mind away from the anxiety that swamped her mind before. All is under control. 

She’s proud of herself. She can conquer any obstacle and strange situation, see?

“I’m done.” Zoey pushes her empty breakfast plate away, drawing an easy smile on her lips. “Wanna watch something on the couch while Mira gets back?”

Okay, Rumi swallows, thinks to herself. You’re in control.

“Sure. That sounds good, Zo.”

Half a minute later, she’s been dragged down to the couch by Zoey’s grip. Early morning light dripping from the large penthouse windows, soft cushions underneath them, and the faint sound of whatever movie they left unfinished last night filling the space of the living room. Usually, Rumi would be up and running now, after breakfast, with about a million things— Warming up her vocals, answering a thousand emails, rehearsing the last choreo Mira came up with, or running down to the studio to try some new melodies. But today’s a Sunday morning, and they’re still on hiatus —after the world tour and, most importantly, Gwi-Ma’s events, Zoey and Mira insisted on taking the break seriously.

So here she is, taking the break seriously. With a bulge hiding under her pajama shorts. But she’s totally being normal about it right now, with Zoey sitting so close to her. She is, really. She’s in control.

“I’m still sleepy.” Zoey announces with a stretch, Rumi has to take her eyes away before they follow the edge of her lifting shirt over her hip, the glimpse of white skin beneath. “Can I lay my head on your lap, Ru?”

Oh, how her chest messes up a beat at that. 

“No—“

The answer comes all too quickly, and Rumi curses herself. She can feel her pulse beating faintly in her ears, feel the weight and presence of that thing right there, right where Zoey wants to rest her cheek— No. Absolutely not. That cannot happen.

But Zoey isn’t happy about it. 

“Why not?”

“You, uh… It’s not comfortable here, Zo. Wouldn’t you like it better with a pillow?”

“No. I don’t want a pillow, I want you.” Her lips purse in protest, and something stirs in the depths of Rumi’s belly. Be strong. “Just for a while. Please?”

God, that pleading tone sent something heated down her veins. No, no. She has to be firm, she can’t let Zoey rest her head so close to the very shameful thing she’s hiding, press her cheek so close to what’s faintly pulsing beneath her shorts, saying, I’m here, I’m here, you want this!

Rumi swallows, “I just think you’ll be more comfortable that way. You can rest your legs on my lap, instead? You always do that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but—“

Zoey, unconvinced, leans closer to her. The moment her hand lands innocently on Rumi’s thigh, like it has tons of times before, Rumi jolts back like she’s been burned. Shit.

“…Rumi, what’s up?”

Shit, shit, shit!

It’s undeniable —the blooming red tinted on her cheeks, the tenseness of her raised shoulders, the brown eyes blown wide like a confession, a deer caught in headlights—, but Rumi is nothing if not perseverant. She will try to deny it. 

“…What do you mean? Nothing’s up.”

“You’re tense.”

“I’m always tense.”

“You’re red.”

“I’m always— I’m… Running a fever.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re pulling away—“

“I’m not!”

“Rumi—!”

Zoey’s grabbing her shoulders now, not enough to hurt but definitely enough to prevent her from fleeing —which, truthfully, was her next best move right now—, leaving Rumi with the only shameful, pitiful option of meeting her eyes. Her brown, loving but entirely too searching eyes. 

“What’s wrong? We said no more secrets anymore. Not after all we’ve been through.”

The ache in her voice makes something close to guilt twist in Rumi’s guts, but what can she even say? Maybe, Hey, nothing is wrong, I just grew a fully sized, very fleshy and very real demon cock in my sleep! Oh, and how, you ask? Ah, that’s cause I was dreaming of you and Mira sandwiching me as my very first wet dream experience! Fun!

…Rumi is beyond mortified. 

“Nothing is wrong, Zoey. I promise.”

She pulls away from her grasp, if only to get a full breath inside her lungs, remorse sinking on them like a plague. 

Zoey’s eyes are accusatory, but Rumi knows it stems from hurt, when she says, “Are you really doing this right now? We said no more secrets, Ru. You promised you’d lean on us.”

“I did, I do lean on you guys.” She runs a hand down purple hair, choosing her words carefully. “This is different—“

“So there is something!”

…Crap.

Her throat closes altogether. How can she be so bad at this? She needs a distraction, or an excuse good enough that Zoey drops the topic. But if she knows her friend —and God help her, she does—, the chances of that happening are close to slim, at best. She and Mira love Rumi too much to let her wallow in anything alone, after Gwi-Ma. But this really is an entirely different thing! 

“Zoey, I’m okay. I promise this isn’t like— I’m not hiding anything dangerous. This is just a me thing.”

“Your me things are Huntrix’s things, too! We’re a family, Ru. You can trust us— Trust me!”

Oh, not the family card. She can’t fight back the family card, not when Zoey sounds so desperate to help, to let her in like she was beginning to do now, after all the debacle and almost losing them. Rumi can’t fault her, really. Her me things do really tend to become global catastrophes, as it happens. But she cannot give in. It would be way too embarrassing to admit what’s going on in her pants! 

“Of course I trust you, Zoey, this— This is just personal.”

“Please.”

“I promise to tell you when it’s over—“

“Please.”

“I can handle this on my own—“

“Please!”

“I can’t tell you, Zoey!”

“Please, please, please!”

Oh, her blood is boiling. Why won’t she take no for an answer? Why is she even in this situation in the first place? Screw her cursed blood and her stupid patterns! Screw this aching, heavy, and exhausting feeling of having to hide and lie constantly to the people she loves most! And screw the building heat pooling in her stupid crotch that isn’t supposed to be there in the first place!

“Fine!” Is what burst out of her mouth. 

“Fine?” Zoey beams, entirely too hopeful. 

“Fine. I’ll… I’ll tell you.”

…Now that the burst of energy is out of her, it’s starting to feel again like a terrible, terrible idea. But somewhere in the depths of her mind, Rumi knows that, from the moment Zoey noticed something was off, this was the one and only possible outcome. 

So she takes a deep breath, fills her lungs with whatever cool air she can to ease off the heat in her body, and opens her mouth. 

“…You have to promise to not freak out.”

“I’m gonna freak out now that you said that.” 

“Zoey…” Her voice is a mortified thing. “I’m being serious. This is really difficult for me.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I got nervous. I’m serious now, too.”

As if to prove her point, Zoey sits up straight on the couch, facing her fully with her entire and undivided attention. Somehow, that makes Rumi’s embarrassment worse. 

“Okay, so…” She sits up straight too. Where to even begin to explain the morning she’s had so far? “It’s something new. As in, today new. I didn’t have this yesterday night.”

“Okay.” Zoey’s acceptance comes easy. “Is it a demon thing?” 

Rumi hesitates. “Kind of? I mean… Yes, and no. It’s complicated.”

“That’s not helping, Ru.”

“I know.” She buries her face in her hands, cheeks flaring. It doesn’t take a genius to know she’s stalling the inevitable. “…It’s just really embarrassing.”

At that, Zoey seems to soften. She reaches out, taking one of Rumi’s hands and holding it in between hers, warm, safe. 

“Whatever it is, Ru, it’s okay. I love you. And Mira loves you, too. You really don’t have to be scared of sharing anything about you, not to us. I mean, we’ve seen you in full demon form, kind of, and we’re still here.” She squeezes her fingers in her own kind of oath. “What I mean to say is that we’ve got you— I have you. And I’m here to listen whenever you’re ready.”

Oh, the familiar sting of tears behind her eyes. How can Rumi possibly say what’s really going on after such heartfelt words, and the way they’re broken through her ribs like morning light? 

“Thank you, Zoey… That means the world. It really does, you… You’re the best.”

She swallows down the emotion, tucking it away somewhere where she’s been shoving every single confusing and overwhelming thing she’s almost felt today— Which is an alarming lot, and it’s not even close to midday yet. Zoey seems pleased at her words.

“Great.” A pause, brown eyes brimming with curiosity. “Will you tell me now?”

With a deep breath, Rumi nods, focusing on the slow tracing of her thumb on Zoey’s knuckles. Warm, and close, and hers.

She doesn’t meet her gaze when she mumbles, “I may have… grown something. Overnight. Something that I shouldn’t have, really, but… now it’s there. And it’s kind of freaking me out.”

Zoey blinks once, twice.

“Grown? As in, demon stuff? Like horns or— Oh my god, did you grow a tail?”

“What? No—“ Well, kind of. Rumi blushes at her own treacherous thought. “No, no— Not horns or a tail.”

“Okay, then what did you grow mysteriously overnight?” She sounds almost disappointed, brown eyes trailing over Rumi’s form. “Cause I’m not seeing anything too different right now.”

“It’s cause it’s— Well…” Her face is definitely flushing red right now. Slowly, she allows her eyes to travel down her body to there. Her soft, unsuspecting, innocent light grey pajama pants. “…There.”

The way Zoey follows her gaze sends an entirely too warm shiver down her veins, stopping just shy of where her brown eyes land— The fabric of her crotch, carefully hiding the Calvin Klein boxer briefs and, more importantly, the new, tender skin that bulges beneath. 

“…Rumi, what are you saying?”

Looking away, Rumi swallows —trying to drag the shame, the need and the small tremble of her body back to the depths of her ribcage, unsuccessfully—, and opens her mouth. 

“You know… You know how guys have something that girls don’t? Well, now I… What I mean to say is— Overnight, I think I’ve grown a… And— And I don’t know how or why or—“

“Rumi.” 

Her own name falls over her shoulders like a bucket of ice cold water, dripping down her damp neck and back muscles. 

“…Yeah?”

“Did you grow a dick overnight?”

…God, she wants the earth to swallow her whole, to never let her see the light of day and  face any question remotely close to that ever again. 

“…Yes. Yes, I did.”

To her absolute, absolute surprise, Zoey is nothing short of delighted. 

“Oh my god, you have to be kidding!” She sits up straighter on the couch, dark hair falling over her shoulders as she bounces in her seat. “Did you— Are you being serious right now? Rumi, did you really grow a—?”

“Yes.” She cuts her off. If Zoey says that word one more time, Rumi’s fairly confident she’s going to pass out from embarrassment. “Yes, Zoey, in which world would I lie about something like this? I wouldn’t— You know I would never say anything close to this if it wasn’t the truth.”

“Yeah, I guess that checks out, you’re not one to pull these kinds of pranks. Or any, really. But that means—!” Her brown eyes fill with brimming curiosity again. “You have to let me see! Oh— Um. Unless that’s weird?”

“Yes!” Rumi’s ears are burning crimson, shoulders hunched. “I mean— No! Ugh— Yes, it’s weird. And no, I’m not showing you.”

“Okay, okay.” Zoey’s chuckle comes almost too freely, for the situation. “Then, walk me through it? How did this even happen?”

“I don’t know.” Rumi sighs. A lie— Well, half a lie, really. She doesn’t know how it happened, and while that’s true, she knows it definitely has something to do with the wet dream she had. And she is, under no circumstances, sharing that part of the story. “I just woke up like this. It wasn’t there last night.”

“Okay, and… Has this happened before?”

“What? No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Zoey, I think I’d remember if I had ever woken up with a—“ She blushes again. “You know.”

“A dick?”

She chuckles easily, and that only makes Rumi’s crimson cheeks deepen. Forgive her for being chronically sheltered and foreign to mostly everything to do with sex and intimacy— Growing up with Celine whispering in her ear, Cover yourself up, and, The Honmoon depends on you, Rumi, doesn’t really leave out much time for personal exploration or interest in that department. 

“…Yes, that.”

“Why are you shy? It’s just a body part. Like arms, or legs, or toes.” Zoey shrugs, entirely too unbothered, and Rumi’s about to refute that —because it’s a very, very different kind of body part—, when Zoey continues. “Pause. You said before that it’s kind of, yes and no, a demon thing. What does that mean? Oh— Is it a demon dick?”

“Geez, Zoey.” Rumi cringes at the thought, but then again… “Kind of? I suppose that it is, yes. If I had to call it something.”

“How do you know what a demon dick looks like, though?”

“Well, for one, because I’m a woman and I didn’t have that before. Humans don’t just grow body parts overnight, so I’m gonna have to guess that my demon heritage is to blame.” A pause. “And… I’m also guessing human ones aren’t purple.”

“Purple?!” 

Zoey’s eyes grow comically wide. It would be funny, if Rumi wasn’t at the brink of choking on her own embarrassment. How are they even talking about this so calmly?

“Uh… Yeah. It is.”

She thinks back to hours earlier, when she first noticed the new and aching heaviness between her legs. How she’d pulled the sheets aside, her shorts down and there it was— her very fleshy, very real and very present demon cock with pulsing, purple patterns curling under the skin, converging on the head. Definitely, definitely purple.

Something in Zoey’s eyes shifts at that— Curiosity, plain as day, along with some new glint that Rumi’s in no position to name right now. It makes her throat close a little. 

“Rumi… I’m really curious. Will you let me see it, please? Just a teeny tiny second.” 

Oh, this is bad news. 

“Zoey, that’s— No. That’s too much.”

“Why do you mind so much? It’s not as if it’s going to be permanent, no? You’ll be back to normal eventually.”

“Yeah… I guess so.” I sure hope so.

Zoey continues, a soft hand coming to trail up Rumi’s patterns on her arm.

“Then, it’s okay, isn’t it? Just a glimpse.” A pleasant shiver follows her fingertips. “In any case, it’s not a part of your real body. It’s just something temporary, no?”

“I… Yes, hopefully.”

“Soon you’ll be back to your usual body, without this. And, anyway, we’ve seen you that way too. Remember, at the bathhouse?”

“Yes… I suppose you have seen me before.”

Rumi concedes, and it’s true— After everything with Gwi-Ma and, later on, the press was resolved, their first priority once the hiatus was established was visiting a bathhouse. A calming, warm and relaxing bathhouse, where Rumi had exposed herself and all her patterns for the first time to her girls, and the world hadn’t stopped spinning. And that was her real body. 

Zoey smiles, lips curling into a coy thing. 

“See? Then, does it really matter if I see you right now? It will be just a second. Just out of curiosity, before you go back to being yourself again. That’s not too bad, is it?”

“Yeah, I—“ Rumi’s about to agree, when the words die on her tongue. A pause. “Why are you so interested in seeing it, anyway?”

Her blush is so prominent, she’s fairly sure her entire body is lit up in red like a christmas decoration. Is she really considering showing Zoey that? 

But Zoey’s gaze doesn’t waver. She places a hand on Rumi’s shoulder, serious, like she’s sharing an earth shattering secret when she says,

“Rumi, when you’ve read enough fanfics like I have, you know you can’t waste an opportunity to see a demon dick.”

“What—?” Oh, this is mortifying. Another pause. “What are fanfics?”

“Nevermind that!” She shakes her hair, dark hair cascading down her shoulder with vehemence. Her eyes are determined. “Please, Ru. It’s just you and me, c’mon. Mira’s photoshoots take ages. You know you can trust me. Haven’t we learned anything from all that stuff with Gwi-Ma? Hiding only makes these things snowball into worse things. Let me be here for you.” 

She makes a compelling argument, Rumi’s gotta admit that much. Last time something demon related happened to her, she chose to hide and hide and hide so much that the Honmoon was fractured and the entire global population almost got swallowed by a raging demon. This, of course, is entirely different, but… If she can trust anyone, it’s Zoey. 

And a part of her —a small, treacherous, shameful part of her, hiding in the depths of her lower belly— wants to show her. To see what face she’ll make, what her first instinct will be. What Rumi’s own reaction will be. 

So, taking a deep breath —and loosening something in her chest that’d be tightened strongly for the entirety of her years—, Rumi nods. 

“Okay… Okay, I’ll show you.”

The next second is a baited breath. 

Zoey doesn’t say anything else, almost surprised her litany of words had the desired effect on Rumi. Disbelieving, almost.

And Rumi doesn’t add anything else, since she’s somehow driven herself up to this corner and —as she’s learned through the years—, the only way out is, often, through. 

Slowly, she reaches down to the hem of her shorts. 

The soft, grey fabric creases down as she drags it to mid thigh, revealing the Calvin Klein boxers that saved her sanity earlier this morning. Zoey smiles upon seeing them. 

“Told you they were comfortable.” Her voice is a smug thing. “I bet you’re glad now that I insisted we keep them.”

“…Yeah, I’m glad.” Rumi admits under her breath, or maybe it just sounds muffled under the heavy thump, thump, thump of her chest. “Are you really sure—?”

“Yeah.” Zoey’s quick to say, eyes on her trembling fingers as she reaches for the hem of the boxers, this time. “S’okay. Go on, Ru.”

…God, what is she even doing?

Maybe it’s that small, shameful part of her that moves her fingers to pull down the briefs. Maybe it’s that side of her she’s left unexplored and untouched for years on end, that lets the fabric ease off of her heated skin. And maybe it’s the remnants of that fire she felt back in the dream with Zoey and Mira —that warm, sticky heat that dripped down her limbs like honey—, what prompts her to raise her hips just enough to properly take the boxers off. 

And now, she’s bare. 

And she can feel the morning air touching her skin there— New, and big, and pulsing faintly with every thump, thump, thump of her heart. 

And she can almost feel Zoey’s eyes on her, Zoey’s brown and beautiful and curious and heated eyes trailing down the path of her patterns, the swirling of their edges down her hips, how the converge all over her new skin, circling down the shaft to color the head in purple hues, as promised. 

And she can’t, for the life of her, open her eyes now. 

“Wow…” Zoey’s the first to break the silence, eloquently. “You really weren’t kidding.” 

“You don’t have to stare so much.”

It comes out stronger than Rumi intended it, but can you blame her? She’s butt naked on the penthouse’s couch with her —and she can’t really believe it, even now— demon cock out. She’s deeply, deeply out of her comfort zone right now. 

“Sorry, it’s… It’s just fascinating. It really is purple, too.”

Tentatively, Rumi opens her eyes again. The sight that greets her is her crossed out legs, her new addition resting between them like it’d always belonged there— All swirling lilac patterns, but surprisingly soft. Thank god. 

Meeting Zoey’s eyes next is the mistake. 

She blushes immediately, the blood rushing up to fill her cheeks. Zoey’s gaze is soft, but filled with curiosity and something else that Rumi really, really doesn’t want to catalogue right now. 

She opens her mouth to say something —anything, really, to fill this awkward silence—, and what comes out is, “What do you think?”

…Who even asks something like that?!

Zoey thinks for a moment, brown gaze looking down, then into her eyes, then down at it again. 

“…It’s big.” God, how she regrets the question now. “How does it feel?”

“Um… I’m not sure. Heavier than usual. Sensitive, too.” Is saying that a mistake? Saying that is definitely a mistake. She can feel Zoey staring intently, and a rush of warmth sinks down her stomach to the tender skin those brown eyes are so focused on— No, no. “Please, don’t… Stare that much, Zoey.”

“Why? It makes you shy? We’re way past that, Ru.”

No, because it might make it grow again!, Rumi’s chest thumps faster, but she can’t really say that out loud. 

“Yeah… Makes me shy.” She swallows, throat dry like the entirety of the desert sits on her tongue. “Can we— Is this enough? You’ve seen it. I think we should just forget this ever happened, and—“

She quickly reaches to pull her shorts up again, end this calvary. 

“Wait, Ru— I still have, like, a ton of questions. You don’t have to—“

In an attempt to stop Rumi from covering herself, Zoey’s hand lands on her thigh. 

And that is her undoing. 

God, she doesn’t know what comes first— If the shameful, open whimper that leaves her lips; or the rush of blood that shoots through her cock like a death sentence. 

Zoey’s hand flies back, like she’s been burned, but Rumi’s already too far gone —her thigh shivers with the ghost of the touch that’s just left, and her crotch had never been this hot before—, she’s almost dizzy. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean—“ Zoey begins, then her eyes land on the reaction she’s caused, growing under her gaze. “Damn.”

“I’m sorry…” Rumi whimpers, pretty sure she’s about to pass out from how warm her entire body is, from her cheeks to the tip of her— “I can’t control it…”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

Zoey lets the words die on her lips, because she should have what? Touched Rumi’s thigh? Asked her to not cover up? Asked to let her see her demon cock, at all? There’s a lot of steps that have been taken here, but the only ones that matter are the ones that they choose from here on out. 

“S’okay.” Rumi shakes her head, her thoughts swirling. There’s still an ounce of decency in her, fighting to control the situation. “I think I should go, I— Yeah… I’ll have a shower, calm down, and then…”

“No”.

Oh, how her heart stops for half a second. 

“…No?”

“No.” Zoey’s hands clench on her lap, a decision in the making. “No, stay here.”

And Rumi understands —through her fogged brain, through the heat brimming just below the surface of her skin—, that there’s a choice here. 

A choice to leave, and save her dignity, her sanity, and the innocence of their friendship. 

Or a choice to stay, and let her blood, and her impatience —and the deeply rooted and terribly ignored desire she’s buried for years, years and years—, take the lead for once. 

And damn her if she doesn’t know the answer already. 

“Zoey…”

She whispers, and it’s a question, a warning and a plea altogether. A last saving grace. 

“I know... Stay, please.” Is what Zoey replies, body leaning closer to her, brown eyes tender and aching. “Please, don’t go anywhere.”

And when she touches her thigh again —not accidentally, but firmly, this time—, Rumi’s resolve all but crumbles. The doubts fly out of her mind, filled now instead with an intense need for close, close, closer.

“Okay… I’m here…” She breathes out, her entire body pulsing, her body throbbing, and throbbing, and throbbing there where her legs meet. “Zoey, please…”

She doesn’t really know what she’s begging for— Her touch, right where it’s most aching? Her acceptance, of this new and wild side of her? Her promise, of seeing all of her, of taking this burning ache from her body? 

Her love?

But Zoey seems to understand, and her hand travels just a tad higher on Rumi’s thigh, fingertips gracing the trembling skin. 

“S’okay. Do you trust me, Ru?”

“Yes.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Zoey smiles —she has a feeling that Rumi would’ve agreed to almost anything for her right now, and that thought is intoxicating—, wasting no time in cupping Rumi’s cheek and colliding their lips together. 

Oh, how Rumi moans deliciously in the kiss, lips parted and welcoming of Zoey’s mouth, chasing more and more as her inhibitions fall apart. Her hands —claws, really— climb up to Zoey’s back and take root there. Not clinging, simply holding, for now. Respectful even through the haze of desire— But Zoey’s anything but, having been building up to this moment, so she kisses Rumi fiercely, and she abandons herself entirely to her lips, and her hand reaches up her thigh to finally cup her demon cock. 

It’s immediate. 

“Zoey—!”

The touch sends sparks shooting through Rumi like a line of fire across dry tinder, and her hips shift forward to chase more of her palm. 

Zoey grins at that. At how Rumi needs her, she realizes. Her love, her kindness, her burning touch. All the things she can’t give herself. 

“S’okay—“ She encourages, chest beating wildly at Rumi’s half-lidded expression, her pretty lips parted and searching. “You can kiss me and move all you want, Ru. I want to see it all.”

“Okay, okay…” Her claws on Zoey’s back urge her closer. “Please, Zoey…”

She lets Rumi’s lips collide with hers again, sloppy and too far gone. Her mind is half on Zoey’s tongue —warm and deliciously gracing hers again and again— and her hand, now wrapped more firmly around her cock. Rumi can’t fight it, not really, her hips moving on their own accord entirely, and she can feel it all— The warmth of Zoey’s palm brushing against her heated skin, the sinful sound of skin against skin, the pulsing blood beneath her veins there, the rub, rub, rub of every press of her hips against the circle of her fingers. 

When her lungs ache from the lack of oxygen —which is definitely the last thing on her mind right now—, Zoey parts just enough to latch her mouth onto her neck.

“Are you enjoying this, Ru?”

The words mouthed to the column of her neck almost make her whimper, she can barely form a coherent thought with Zoey’s hand still working her cock. 

“Yes… So— So much, Zoey… I’m not gonna…”

“Oh, I know.” Her grin is wide like a cat’s. “And I can’t wait to see you come apart. Just like this…”

At that, her fingers tighten on Rumi’s shaft —the breathless moan that comes out is definitely warranted—, her fingers stroking up and down, up and down, up and down all of her weak spots with an expertise that defies her inexperience.

“Zoey—!” Rumi’s eyes close tightly, pulse ringing in her ears. “If you do that, I’m gonna—!”

Oh, how her hips falter. They move on their own accord, but her entire body is shaking from the brimming volcano caged in Zoey’s hand— Trembling, faltering. She cannot even chase her own pleasure, being entirely in Zoey’s hands and trusting, trusting, trusting she’ll take her there. 

I know, Rumi barely registers the words kissed against her neck, down her throat, the pleaded, I’ve got you. Let it happen. Let it happen. 

Zoey’s hand moves impossibly faster, or maybe it’s Rumi’s haziness that feels it move, and move, and move —Palm against her throbbing shaft, and her fingers carving out sinful sounds from the root of Rumi’s chest to the wet of her lips, circling and circling around the pulsing head, and it’s so hot she can’t take it, she’s gonna burn up—

Oh, it’s there—

The pressure, the ache, the something right where Zoey’s rubbing and rubbing and rubbing— 

It’s hot and it’s inevitable, an avalanche taking over her senses, a sea of fireworks imploding in every inch of her heated skin, and she can’t breathe, she can’t hear, she sees white and—!

“Zoey—!”

The moan that rips out of Rumi’s throat is earth-shattering —coming from the depths of her bones, up her burning veins up to bursting out of her parted lips. Her claws sink into Zoey’s tender back, nails breaking skin as she spills the entirety of her being in Zoey’s hand. 

It lasts for a moment, two, a baited breath. 

And all the while, Zoey’s hand doesn’t stop moving— It rubs the bliss out of her until her toes uncurl, and Rumi’s nothing but a panting husk on the couch, flushed skin and brown eyes too hazy to recognize her yet. 

Only when she feels lips pressed tenderly against her temple —once her lungs have grasped the basics of breathing once again—, does Rumi focus her gaze on her. 

And oh, how easily the embarrassment comes. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” Zoey’s voice is sweet, the smile evident. She tucks some stray locks behind Rumi’s ear. “How was that?”

Rumi debates herself —she just came all over her friend’s hand and made a litany of terribly embarrassing sounds, after all—, but there’s no denying what they’ve done. There’s only facing the now. So she allows herself to be honest, for once, and draws a tired smile. 

“…I never thought I could feel that good, honestly. It has been… wow.”

Zoey’s grin grows beautifully. 

“I’m taking that as a compliment, though I didn’t do that much, really. You were already so worked up.”

Rumi’s cheeks bloom with crimson colors, and it’s true, she was terribly worked up. Zoey’s hand on her thigh and the heat of her lips on hers had been enough to send her reeling, so when she touched there, she was already too far gone.

And god, how that felt. Zoey’s fingers gliding over heated skin, feeling her throb beneath her fingertips and taking her higher and higher and—

…Oh.

Zoey’s brown eyes cast downward, too, and another smile blooms in her pretty lips. 

“…looks like I didn’t do enough, too. You’re still all up and ready to go, huh?”

“No, I—“ Rumi’s claws fly to press the sudden boner downwards. “You did enough, really. That was very good. I don’t know why I’m still…”

She’s cum a lot —stealing a glance at Zoey’s hands, still spilled with the sticky duvet or her release—, so why hasn't this pulsing, purple thing calmed down yet?!

But Zoey’s laugh comes easily, a sunny thing breaking through the fog of her mind. 

“It’s alright. If it’s a demon thing, I figured it wouldn’t be calm with just one time.” Slowly, she lifts Rumi’s hands from her crotch, letting the rising shape of her shaft touch the air. “Besides… I’m not done playing with you just yet.”

Oh, that grin is danger. 

That grin —slow, and searching, and heated— is definitely danger. 

Rumi’s pulse shivers down her veins, straight to where her legs meet, to the treacherous skin that hasn’t had enough of Zoey’s fingers and now aches for more once again. And Rumi’s not quite sure what to do with the situation —she hadn’t had any kind of sexual experience whatsoever until half an hour ago—, so she swallows hard. 

“What do you… What do you want to do?”

“I want to taste you.” It comes easy, premeditated, like the answer was there before the question was even in the air between them. “I want to know what you taste like, Ru. On the outside but also the inside.”

Rumi’s entire body flushed at the idea. Zoey’s tongue traveling down her body, warm and wet all the way to her throbbing cock, and—

No, no.

“Zoey… you don’t have to do that for me.” She looks down at her shaft, the purple head still spilled over and sticky. “Isn’t that gross?”

“It’s not gross. Not if it’s you, Rumi.” She leans closer, hands on her thighs to make the point across, and Rumi’s pulse quickens. “I wouldn't be asking for this if I didn’t know what I'm getting into, Ru. I promise I want this. Do you?” 

Yes!, says her cock, treacherous patterns glowing more strongly at the thought. 

“I… I guess so. If you want.”

“Yes or no, Rumi.”

She blushes, knows Zoey is pressing for a direct answer for consent, but voicing her needs has always been ridiculously difficult. 

“…Yes. Yes, please.”

Because she can deny all she wants, but her body is brimming with the idea that Zoey’s planted in her head, and somewhere at the back of her rational mind she knows she won’t go back to normal if she doesn’t have Zoey’s mouth wrapped around her like a ribbon, and god, does she want that desperately. 

“Great.” The way Zoey beams is so cheerful it’s almost out of place. “Then, lay down. Get comfy for this, okay?”

Rumi complies, allowing her body to relax and sink on the couch. She shifts to lay down, her back slightly damp from nerves and excitement as it comes to rest on the warm fabric of the couch’s cushions. With her head on the armrest, she can see it all— Her flimsy top, her body exposed from the stomach down for Zoey, the swirling patterns of lilac curling down her skin and up her standing, waiting shaft, and Zoey’s slender body as she settles down between her legs, staring too adoringly up at her like she’s a gift she can’t wait to unwrap. 

“Comfy? Still on board?” 

Her cheek is resting on the inside of Rumi’s thigh, and it suddenly strikes her how close she is. She’s never had anyone that close to her, in any way of form, not even when she didn’t have this demon dick— Will she look bad from that angle? Will she have hair down there she’s not aware of? Will she smell? 

God, the thought is mortifying. 

“…Are you really sure about this, Zoey? I don’t want you to…” 

To what, really? To see her in a way that isn’t picture perfect? To do something she doesn’t want to do simply because she woke up with a demon dick that doesn’t know when to settle down? To give her more than Rumi knows how to give back? 

But Zoey’s quick to shut down her thoughts —her mind, entirely— with a gentle kiss to the skin that meets her there, on the inside of her thigh. 

“I want this, Ru. I want you. I want you so much I’m barely able to not have you right now, so please don’t think I’m gonna do this out of altruism. I really, really want you.” A second kiss, for good measure, and then, “And you’ve never been more beautiful than you are right now.” 

Oh, how she blushes crimson at that. How not to, when the sincerity in Zoey’s eyes is disarming? 

“Okay.” Rumi breathes out, reaching down to find Zoey’s hand. When she interlaces their fingers together, she knows she’s ready. “I want this. Please… Make me feel good.”

And then, her thighs are being drawn in kisses. 

Zoey must understand how big this is, how huge it is for Rumi to openly state that she wants something —That she wants touch. That she wants pleasure— so she kisses her there tenderly, like she’s precious and entirely breakable. She makes a path up her kneecaps to the sensitive side of her inner thighs, the skin pliant and trembling underneath. And it’s such a beautiful thing, looking up and seeing Rumi’s eyes blissfully shut, giving in to the pleasure without shame or hesitancy. So, so beautiful. 

That fuels Zoey forward, to gently bite the skin that meets her there —teeth sinking just enough to elicit a sweet moan from Rumi’s lips, to feel the flesh shiver at the pressure—, to lick the imprint she leaves behind, and to mark one time, another, another and another up her thighs with love bites until her lips are at the base of the waiting shaft, until Rumi’s shifting beneath her with poorly unkept urgency. 

But Zoey’s not one to rush, so she gently guides Rumi’s legs to part further —which she does obediently, thighs parting and welcoming her further her heated skin—, and dives to press kisses to the balls that meet her there.

It’s a strange sensation, admittedly, but the way Rumi swallows her next breath tells her she must be doing something right. She lets her lips drag over the sack, lifting the hand that isn’t holding Rumi’s to brush her fingers over the shape, feeling the pulse underneath. 

“That’s— That’s so sensitive, Zoey—“ Rumi pants, but her eyes are still closed, entirely trusting of her, true to her request to give in and enjoy every bit of her touch. “You’re so gentle…”

“You like it when I’m gentle here, Ru?”

Experimentally, she licks there, feeling Rumi’s hips stutter— Almost wanting to pull away, almost wanting to press forward. The taste isn’t anything surprising, just faintly salty with sweat, so she lets her tongue drag over one, then the other until Rumi draws out a moan again. 

“I do… I do, it feels so good, but— But I need you higher, Zoey, please—“

It’s so sweet that she smiles to her damp skin, too aware that she’d give her absolutely anything she wanted if she asked with this heated voice. So she complies, of course, and slowly drags her mouth to the base of her cock, which throbs as if saying, Finally! You’re here! 

Zoey wastes no time in exploring her lenght— Lips drawing slow kisses from the base and up, up, up the head, feeling the skin there boiling hot, the pulses of blood rushing beneath every brush of her mouth, and Rumi’s audible panting drowns her ears. 

“Zoey… Zoey, that feels so good… I really like your mouth, god… Can you give me more…?”

Even like this —legs parted obediently, brown eyes hazy and aching lungs—, Rumi is nothing but polite and tender. 

Zoey wants to break that. 

She wants to wreck her so good that her politeness flies out the window, wants ragged breath and sinking nails and wants her own name carved into the shape of every moan that leaves Rumi’s flushed lips. 

So she parts her mouth and laps her up. 

Oh, how Rumi writhes under her when she feels her tongue— warm and aching and blissfully wet, swirling over her throbbing shaft, tracing the purple patterns up the sides like vines, tasting the pulse of each vein that throbs, throbs, throbs up to the—

“There! Hah, there—!” 

Rumi’s hand —the one that isn’t clasped in an iron grip on Zoey’s— flies to bury itself on her black hair, guiding her. 

And she complies, of course, and lets her tongue trace up the shivering skin right underneath the head, where it connects with the underside, where it makes Rumi’s toes curl and her thighs to almost close up on Zoey’s head. 

“There—! Zoey— Hah— Zoey…!”

And she licks there, and she swirls her warm tongue, her damp tongue over that spot that has her shivering, around the base of the purple, pulsing head, up that sensitive skin circling, circling until her tongue brushes the small, weeping hole right at the tip that sends fireworks bursting behind Rumi’s eyelids, that has her hips bucking up—

Oh, how easily Zoey’s lips close around her. 

It’s like a reflex, like the next logical move, like instinct when Rumi lets out a whimpering sound that has her shaking, when Rumi pushes forward in her mouth, when Rumi’s shaft fills her mouth with a taste that swirls her mind into a hazy, heated thing that has her closing her lips around it— Clasping, claiming. 

“Zo— Ah—!”

Rumi’s eyes are blown wide. 

Her most sensitive, most tender, most aching skin is buried in the fuming heat of Zoey’s mouth, and she’s pretty sure the entirety of every drop of blood in her body is rushed there, where Zoey’s tongue is swirling, where Zoey’s lips are caging her, where Zoey’s mouth is—

“Hah—!”

God, she’s sucking. 

The air leaves her lungs, the blood leaves her brain and her limbs all feel like jelly, every inch of her skin feels buzzing with static like an old television— All except for there, where Zoey’s throat is unearthing a volcano, something Rumi would never in a thousand lifetimes be strong enough to stop. 

And then, she feels it—

She feels it taking over her like a torrent unleashed from the very depths of her being. 

She feels a door somewhere in the pitch of her ribcage open and flood her with instinct, with roots, with an animalistic urge to take— Rumi’s fingers grow into claws again, her fangs poking through to bite blood in her bottom lip, her eyes burning yellow in intensity, and her patterns deepening into a bottomless purple, dark as the night covering her body with the urge to take, and take, and pound. 

“Move.”

The voice that comes out almost sounds foreign to her own ears— Something low, something dangerous reverberating in the air between them. Something demonic. 

Zoey stops, mouth still full when her brown eyes blink up to find Rumi’s yellow stare. 

“Move.”

She repeats, claws tugging back black hair until her glistening cock is out, and Zoey can finally say,

“What…? Are you—?”

But Rumi doesn’t let her finish, sitting up on the couch so Zoey has to crane her neck to follow her gaze. Her voice is something distorted, commanding. 

“You’re going to move. You’re going to lay down, and you’re going to let me take what I want.”

The words send a shiver down Zoey’s spine, coiling into something heated down the pitch of her stomach. She complies easily, this time laying down on the couch, eyes nervously following as Rumi hovers above her like an omen. 

“Rumi, I’m all for it, but what do you want? What are we—?”

Another shiver wreaks her skin as a claw comes to brush against her bottom lip, Rumi’s fanged smile making her thighs clench together. She’s never seen her like this —well, she has, back at the disaster of the idol awards, but that was an entirely different context—, patterns glowing purple with every pulse of her chest, heated gaze pinned on her like she’s prey. 

“You’re going to open your mouth…” Rumi’s claw presses on her bottom lip, prompting her mouth to fall open. “And you’re going to let me finish what you started.”

Something in the reverie of her voice, in the demonic pulse clouding that tone Rumi never uses with her, has Zoey reeling— It’s commanding, leaving no room for hesitancy, dominating.

So Zoey complies, and she parts her mouth open like a promise, and she understands all too well what Rumi’s about to do when her knees come to either side of her chest, when she’s greeted by the sight of her pulsing cock, the purple patterns aching in intensity, the weeping head closing in on her like a promise, an inevitability. 

“Yes—“ Rumi moans, something rough, like scraped over gravel, when Zoey’s mouth closes in on her again. “Just like before— You feel so goddamn good—“

Is that cursing? 

Rumi never curses. She’s all politeness and minding herself and measuring every word. This raw, commanding, demonic side of her is entirely too new to Zoey— but she has no time to ponder over that right now, not when Rumi’s claw closes in on her scalp, scratching her skin, urging her forward, deeper; when her mouth is filled to the brim with her, and her salty taste, and her shaky hands come to take root on Rumi’s shifting hips to have something to hold onto. 

But Rumi’s merciless, in this delirious state. 

She’s parting her thighs further on the couch, on either side of her, making more room to press forward beyond still, one hand clasped in Zoey’s scalp and another tearing through the fabric of the couch’s armrest, claws sinking deep into the cushion. 

“Yes, take me— Take all I have, just like that— Shit—“

Her pants come out shaky, voice distorted with that demonic ring to it, husky like something forbidden, but Zoey can barely hear those— Her ears ring with each pulse of her beating chest, her mouth is filled to the brim but Rumi’s pushing forward still, her eyes brimming with tears. 

But, if anything, she is determined to give her what she’s so desperately chasing for. She did promise Rumi she wasn’t done playing with her, and whatever demonic thing has awakened in her isn’t going to win against Zoey’s freaky nature. Not today. 

So she sucks —her mouth working overtime to accommodate all of that—, and she sinks her nails into the flesh of Rumi’s hips, and she revels in the earthly moan that breaks through Rumi’s lips like her own kind of victory. 

“Yes—! Yes, yes, yes!” Rumi’s hips redouble their efforts, chasing Zoey’s mouth with an abandon that borders on animalistic. “Take me— Shit, take me all—! I need to give it to you, I— I need to give you all I have, Zoey, I need you to swallow—!”

Jesus, even Zoey is blushing with how direct she’s being. She’s two hundred percent sure that Rumi would’ve combusted long before saying any of these things out loud, but right now it’s not her bashful Little Miss Perfect driving the scene, but the demonic blood boiling under her skin that’s making her scalp ache under her iron grip, her mouth protest with every slap, slap, slap of her hips— but Zoey is determined to see this through to the end. 

“Hah— I’m gonna— I’m gonna—!”

And Zoey knows, before she even mouths these words— She knows in the tightening of her claws, in the stuttering of her hips, in the throbbing of her cock buried in her mouth that burns with the beginning of what’s to come. 

So, sinking her nails further into her flesh and squeezing her eyes tightly with one last, long and burning suck of her mouth— She drives Rumi over the edge. 

“ZOEY—!”

The scream rips off her chest in two, a half-cry and half-sob of her name —halfway between the demonic gravel on her voice and the beautiful sound of the woman she’s come to love—, as Rumi’s vision grows white, eyelids exploding in a million colors. 

Her hips stutter, but Zoey feels the wave of release fill her mouth to the brim. She opens her throat, if only not to choke entirely, and feels it coveting the walls of her insides, heavy with the intensity of the moment, of her pulsing need, of her relief. 

Only when Rumi relaxes under her —toes uncurled, claws freeing her hair, each muscle untying slowly like a ribbon—, does Zoey swallow and, finally, release the softening cock from the warmth of her mouth.  

She licks her lips —dripping with that salty, musky taste that’s undeniably hers—, and blinks away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. The sight that welcomes her is one she’ll carve into the walls of her chest forever to come. 

Rumi’s sat back on the couch, chest heaving as her lungs relearn how to work properly; her lilac hair is disheveled, doe eyes hazy on hers, lips flushed from each whimper and moan that’s been robbed from them. Her limbs are faintly shivering still, but her demon traits are lessening significantly— her fangs retracting back, gaze back to that sweet brown hue, and her patterns have dimmed from that aching purple back to the soft opalite that’s become her new normal. 

Even her demon cock has softened, now resting calm and damp between Rumi’s legs like it wasn’t wreaking havoc just a second ago. The thought makes Zoey smile. 

“I did not think you had all that in you.”

Of course, her first instinct is to tease Rumi. And now, the bridge of her nose blooms with pink colors. All back to normal. 

“I didn’t know either… I lost control completely. Are you okay, Zo? Did I hurt you?”

Her voice is raspy, but this time not from the demonic side of her taking the lead, simply from overuse. And she doesn’t sound particularly sorry for what she’s done, which makes Zoey immensely happy. She did want that, after all, and she’s glad Rumi let herself go, even if it wasn’t exactly how she’d envisioned it. 

“I’m okay, nothing I can’t bounce back from.” She sits up, stretching her limbs over her head. Her back lets out a satisfying pop! “More importantly, how was that? ‘Cause you looked like you were having the time of your life.”

“I did— I was. Having a wonderful time, I mean.” Rumi’s smile is almost bashful, but she reaches out to touch Zoey’s cheek, surprisingly tender after all that’s happened. “Thank you, Zo. This has been… amazing. Though I’m not too sure how I feel about losing control like that. Or about, um… dirtying your mouth like that. Was that too gross?”

“What, your cum?” Geez, Rumi cringes, but Zoey chuckles and dismisses a hand. “Nah, not too bad. A small price to pay to see your blissed out face afterwards. You’re so cute when you finish, Rumi.”

Oh, how she’s blushing again. 

“Zoey…” The color climbs down her neck. 

Zoey chuckles again, “Don’t worry about it too much. It’s fine, I promise. And I wasn’t hurt, just a little surprised when you took charge like that. Maybe we should talk about it a bit beforehand, next time?”

That makes Rumi pause, her chest missing a beat. 

“Next time?”

“If you want, I mean— I’m just saying.” 

Zoey’s smile is small, and it’s such a rare thing to make her shy that Rumi’s stomach swirls with something sweet. 

“Yeah… Yeah. Maybe. If you want, there could be a… a next time, yes.”

Rumi can’t believes she’s saying this —can’t believe she’s allowing herself this—, after having her first sexual experience with her lifelong friend and band mate on their penthouse couch and with a demon cock. But, at this point, stranger things have happened to them, no? 

She can allow this one, good thing that’s theirs. And she can let go and enjoy herself, even ask for pleasure like she’s done today. Maybe she’s allowed, after all, and maybe Zoey cares about her just as much as she did before, and the world won’t stop spinning if she allows herself a little more of this.

Of her.

Zoey moves to wrap her arms around her shoulders, but they’re both a little too tired, so the balance is quickly lost and soon they’re sprawled down on the couch, together. Rumi rests her cheek on Zoey’s soft hair, and Zoey quickly finds a spot beneath Rumi’s jaw, in the warmth of her neck, and closes her eyes. 

“This is nice…”

Zoey breathes out the words against her throat, and that sends a pleasant shiver down Rumi’s limbs. One that makes her shift, if only enough to wrap her arms around Zoey’s form, bringing her closer to her. Her mind is miles away from what they just did, from the fact that she’s still naked from the waist down, or that her release sits somewhere in the fabric of the cushions, or that she’s never been this emotionally naked with anyone before— Her mind is right here, in the warmth of Zoey close to her, holding her as if she’s something so precious she cannot afford to ever let go. 

“Yes… It’s really nice, Zo.”

She whispers, eyes closed, and it’s true. 

There’s something else here. 

Something unspoken, something sweet and breakable, tender like a newborn thing; something that paints up with joy and warmth the vault of their chests— Something entirely too close to an, I love you.

But there’s so many new things they can unearth in a day, and this morning has already been full of so many wonderful, scary things. In this blissful tiredness, this sweet aching of their limbs and hearts, neither of them find it in them to say, I love you. To say, I am in love with you, you and Mira, and have been for as long as I can remember. To say, I want to take a chance at everything we could be, every bit of joy and love we could have. 

And, for now, that is okay. 

There’s joy and love, too, in the kiss that Rumi presses to her temple, sweet and so familiar it heals something within her. And there’s joy and love, too, in the way Zoey nuzzles the tender skin of her neck, how she finds a home there like it had always been hers for the taking. And it was. It really was. 

Ding! 

The sound of Zoey’s phone chime is what breaks the silence of the room, but it doesn’t break the moment between them. 

Zoey extends her hand, fishes it from the coffee table, and smiles a little before putting it down again. 

“Who was it?” 

Rumi mumbles to her hair, and Zoey wants to kiss the living daylights out of her, but she doesn’t want to let go of her arms around her just yet. 

“Mira. She’s coming back home. Her photoshoot’s over.”

At that, Rumi tenses beneath her, but she doesn’t let go. 

“…We should clean up.”

“We should.” Her voice is just a whisper again, soft enough to not risk upsetting whatever fragile world she’s stumbled into. Then, “Five more minutes?”

Rumi almost chuckles at that, but she nods easily. 

“Yeah… Okay. Five more minutes.”

Her arms circle Zoey just a little tighter, and she knows how this conversation should end. It’s what everyone in her position would say next, I love you. 

The words don’t come out, just yet, but she’s pressing them against her with every part of her being. And, for now —and for five more minutes—, that is more than enough.