Chapter Text
“What's the first tattoo you got?”
Rumi almost shakes her head and says she doesn't have any tattoos but then she remembers that her lie is littered all over her body.
Demonic patterns spitefully gifted from mother nature like a physical stain on her once great family tree. Mi-yeong, the tree's freshest fruit, ripped herself off the branch and fell into the depths of hell to fuck a demon.
And there came Rumi.
A purple haired baby with pointy teeth and little claws.
She had a good childhood, she thinks.
Celine, a dear friend of her mother who died during childbirth, gave Rumi a roof over her head and burdened yet ever so sincere love.
In search of education, Rumi was 17 when she left the home that so often felt only like a house but still exactly where she wanted to be and moved to the big, beautiful city.
Or that's what she thought for a few seconds before reality settled.
Every day after that was survival in a concrete jungle where her biggest predator was being exposed as the demon she was. Very few believed in the existence of hellish creatures but even the non-believers whispered tales that clung like a stubborn smell. Inhumanly good at everything she tries, Rumi became a tattoo artist to mask her patterns as decorative ink after asking ChatGPT.
(Rumi no longer uses AI after her good friend Zoey presented a 33 slide PowerPoint about why she shouldn't touch the 'unoriginal generative junk')
(Really all Zoey needed to do was bat her big brown eyes because Rumi was weak for the girl she pines over.)
(Well, one of the girls she pines over. The other wearing an expression that makes her realize she was lost in thought and quiet like an idiot.)
“Here!” Rumi blurts out, rolling up her black sleeve to reveal an indigo jagged line. “I... I got more as I got older.”
Technically the truth, she thinks proudly, feeling pleased with her 'honesty'.
“So you got them... everywhere?”
Yanked out of any lingering thoughtful daze, Rumi flushed and spluttered as she turned to her curious client. Then she only flushed more.
Mira Kotadoski.
A woman so picturesque that she could be her own muse.
Ferocious and unmistakable crackled the fire burning within the approaching girl. Sharp edges and the intent to cut if necessary form her lithe figure. A body designed by hard work and genetics, a collaboration of manmade and nature pursuing absolute beauty. Magenta tresses curtained her straight back, a vivid compliment to the rouge fabric wrapped around her.
The hues of pinks and reds resembled her soul blazing so fiercely it was almost incandescent.
But Rumi was never scarred by the fire, only warmed into a fluster.
Right now, she felt like she was scorching.
Bare from the waist up, long hair running down her shoulder, resembling a marble statue come to life, Mira sat on the bench and stole the breath from Rumi's lungs like it was just the cost of looking at someone so beautiful.
(Rumi would happily pay any price.) (Being an idol's daughter, even in secret, meant she had money to burn.) (And she wanted Mira to set her on fire.)
Completely oblivious to the blushing demon a mere few feet away, Mira was rightfully captivated by her own reflection in the wide mirror. Not only was she a gorgeous woman who knew she was exactly that, but she now had a picture pretty enough to be a mural painted across her back.
Red roses curving up her spine and over the pale skin outlining bones and muscles.
“I can't believe you did this for free.” Genuine awe lit her usually dark tone as she traced the mirrored flowers with her sharp eyes.
Rebellion against parents she finally felt bold enough to defy was Mira's main reason for accepting Rumi's offer - that was written with endearing shyness on a napkin beneath the coffee she ordered at the tattoo artist's other job. But after witnessing the artistry forever marking her body, she felt so much more than spiteful.
She felt seen.
'Surprise me,' she'd said before stripping her clothes. 'Whatever comes to your mind,' she'd said before laying on the bench. Now she was lost for words that weren't tinged with a blush and reverence.
“Pretty girl discount?”
Amused and distracted from her tattoo, Mira shifted on her knees and turned to Rumi who stood there like she couldn't do anything other than stand, a lopsided smile spread over teeth that were sharp enough to raise suspicion but not accusation.
Chest only covered by the sleek curtain her hair provided, Mira stood slowly, feeling unsteady on her legs after laying down for so long but secretly hoping she falls (into a love not even God could drag her out of.
“So, you think I'm pretty?” She smiled, hovering her face a distance that was too close to Rumi's to be polite. “Good. I think you are too.”
Like an artist admiring her favourite masterpiece, Mira spent her sweet time brushing her fingertips along the exposed tattoo, the ink line that illuminated beneath her touch.
“Thought so,” she hummed smugly, whispering into an ear she suddenly noticed was pointed. “You're a demon.”
Inexplicable terror washed over Rumi despite the fact her existence was the stuff of nightmares to the average person because who was dangerous enough to declare her monstrous identity like it was a dream come true? Mira, that's who.
Answering the incoherently spluttered question, a sly smirk guided the corners of Mira's lips across her cheeks in an experienced motion like she was all too used to being correct.
“You're just too goddamn hot not to be from hell.”
Dead mother? Check. Deadbeat demon father? Check. Emotionally constipated parental figure? Check. First kiss? Absolutely fucking not.
Since Rumi grew up with a role model who seemed like she was born heartbroken, romance was a fickle beast that she hadn’t tamed. There were only two notable love interests in the mundane mystery of her life.
Jinu, a demon from her highschool senior days who made her feel less alone but only with company in her insecurities, was the first to tackle the confusing mess that is her heart.
But then he was tackled by Zoey Choi.
5ft bisexual with a personal vendetta against bullies, she snapped when he picked on her for the millionth and last time. With little respect for the scolding teachers and even less for each other, they fought like dogs being bet on.
Who would’ve guessed a chihuahua could beat a greyhound?
Jinu came out of the brawl with three less teeth and one less girlfriend than he came in with. Meanwhile Zoey came out with yet another detention and an awkward pretty girl tagging along at her heels.
Since then, Rumi precariously tiptoed the tightrope hanging between confessing her crush and confessing her demon identity.
For a long time, she believed she was an unstoppable force – always finding a way to seem human, an exceptional one at that. But now she was facing an unmovable object that she didn’t even want to move in the first place.
“I came for a tattoo and now I’m doing this.” Mira reflected as she sunk to the ground in confident ease. “Can’t say I’m complaining though.”
There was a time when Mira would drop to her knees so she could prey to God for forgiveness and repent her sins with a match against her skin as if she could burn the homosexuality away.
Now she smirked, kneeling at the altar of a demon.
Lithe fingers making themselves comfortable on hips that bucked beneath her touch like an eager stag, gently untucking the black shirt but not before offering a curious glance, a silent question of “Is that okay?”
In wordless response, Rumi could only let a quiet growl strangle her vocal cords.
A wolf who says please is still a wolf who eats.
And currently Rumi wanted to be devoured.
A disappointment for both girls, Mira’s feast was postponed by an unexpected visitor.
“Ugh Rumi I just had the worst day today! Bobby helped me with coursework, but I hardly understood any of it and my tests are looming like the creeps in that horror movie I made you watch.”
Entering the tattoo parlour like she owned the place; Zoey was oblivious to the world and more importantly the meal she interrupted as she ranted to ears that she trusted to always listen only to discover that there were two pairs of ears.
“Oh, wow!”
Eyebrows raised to her wispy fringe; she exclaimed when she took in the heavenly sight blessing her unworthy vision. A gorgeous, half-naked, freshly tattooed stranger knelt in front of her best friend who she’s loved for the longer part of a decade.
Anyone else would be envious with a healthy dose of mortification.
But ever the wildcard, Zoey was simply relieved.
“You’re gay! Brilliant!”
Feeling weak in the knees and only held steady by the addicting hands on her hips, Rumi swayed slightly as her buffering brain struggled to process the absurd situation. Finally, she managed to stutter out something understandable. “My ‘tattoos’ are glowing… you’re not shocked?”
“Well, it’s pretty obvious you’re a demon!” Zoey shrugged as she approached with an increasing appetite, brushing the bewilderment off like lint on her shirt. “You have ‘dyed’ purple hair and full body ‘tattoos’ but I know damn well Celine would never allow either.”
The concept of personal space lost on her, she filled Rumi’s dazed vision with a bright smile.
“And you purr!” Before the demon could even attempt protesting indignantly, she simply scratched gentle fingers against a neck that immediately responded with a low rumble.
“Woah,” Mira, still on her knees and only seeming emboldened by the newcomer, sighed in wonder, a smile curling her lips with cunning intent. “That’s sick.”
Already tying the black waves hanging at her shoulders into a quick bun, the personified welcome intrusion glanced down at the pretty stranger through her fringe and smiled. “Room for a third? My name’s Zoey by the way.”
“Always space for a pretty girl,” the knelt woman obliged as glee glinted in her sharp gaze like a predator with a plan. “And I’m Mira. Pleasure to dine with you.”
“Dine?” Rumi echoed meekly, her lips pursed together as her patterns flared a vicious shade as pink as the first culprit’s hair.
Settling on her knees with eagerness that expressed she was more than happy to belong there; Zoey’s eyes widened like someone hung the stars in them. “Wow, a demon blushing?”
As if continuing lyrics from a song written to serenade Rumi, Mira murmured softly against a patterned waistline, unbuckling the belt with only just enough polite hesitance to be stopped.
“Are you thinking about us sinfully?”
Involuntary but helplessly honest, Rumi groaned as she looked down at the women gazing up at her through their lashes with eyes possessing beautiful complexity that she wanted to drown in.
Fingers sharpening into talons as the suppressed demon within her reared its ugly head due to the intensity of her fluster, Rumi barely managed to stay upright when she flicked the sign on the door to ‘CLOSED’, thanking disappointed gods for her store’s tinted windows.
Between a whine and a noise most unholy, she sighed through the struggle of her heaving chest. “You two are going to be the death of me.”
(As soon as the first kisses were pressed to her revealed thighs, purposely over the sensitive patterns, by two pairs of eager lips, Rumi realized something that was terrifying and thrilling for all the hottest reasons.)
(She would die happy.)
