#that fond ass sweet ass look in the left drawing is so accurate to them

[starbiastra]

what if i jumped did you ever consider that

“what do i say to convince you that i need you too?”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.9 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch is getting a chance to meet the local Sheriff and to say he is not excited would be an understatement.

Read chapter 9: ‘Addressing the Public’ on AO3 

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

For his first day off from the grocery, today sure seemed like it was determined to make its mark so he couldn’t possibly forget it. At this point, it was about burned into Stretch’s memory, for sure.

First there was Doris who added her clues into his trick r treat bucket, then the town assholes showed up for their serial killer practice. Then, as a treat, he got to have the double punch of a lunch with Edge, a sweet and sour mixture of possibly flirtatious revelations coupled to an unwanted chat about his own traumas, served warm over some delicious pie.

Now it looked like he was about to get a sequel to the Assholes: Part Deux, the Assholes’ Revenge, in the form of a sheriff filled with blustering indignation and accusations, and all Stretch had was a mouthful of pie to defend himself. Worse, his only witness had already paid the bill and left.

Stretch swallowed his last bite, chasing it down with water when it tried to stick in the back of his throat as he went over possibilities. He could try to explain the situation, but if there was one thing he’d learned from living in Ebott, it was that if a Monster was talking to the cops, it was best to keep it short, sweet, and polite. Don’t try to explain or admit to shit, ‘cause they’d be more than happy to add another line to the list of things to harass you about.

Seriously, he missed being able to shortcut, this whole facing trouble head-on thing wasn’t for him.

The sheriff huffed again, loudly, and it fluffed up his broad mustache like a human-shaped walrus. He propped fists about the size of a baby’s head on his broad hips and growled out, “So? Is that it? You’re here startin’ some trouble in my peaceful little town?”

Stretch looked up into those mirrored sunglasses. If they were standing, Stretch would probably have a couple inches on the guy, but sitting here in the booth the sheriff loomed over him ominously, his own distorted reflection showing back his nervous face.

“no, sir,” Stretch said politely. Stick with the basic, that was good for a start, and hopefully Red would be willing to bail him out if that became necessary. At least Red wouldn’t have far to go.

The rest of the diner was staring, not a single fork was engaged as they watched the latest scene in the town drama unfold. Not that he blamed them, this was probably about the most action they’d seen in weeks, but he did sort of wish someone would be a little concerned rather than eagerly interested. Waiting to see if maybe the local sheriff was gonna slap on some cuffs so they could whip out their phones for a nice tiktok video while he was getting read his rights?

“No?” the sheriff demanded. His sunglasses reflected the overhead light, making Stretch wince back. “I heard you were out there riling up the corn yesterday. And today you were playing dog days with the doggerel boys?”

That was true, except how it wasn’t, and a trickle of sweat was winding its way down Stretch’s spine despite the air conditioning. Before he could wheeze out another ‘no sir’ or any other answer at all, a sudden, booming laugh filled the entire diner, loud enough to echo from the greasy grill before rolling back out to rattle the windows. The sheriff hooked his thumbs into a belt with a buckle so big that could probably double as a satellite dish, guffawing loudly, “Aw, you ain’t in any trouble, I’m just joshing ya, boy!”

Oh. Ohhhh, this was only a little goodnatured small-town hazing, that he could deal with, if he managed to swallow his quivering soul back down where it belonged. Stretch tried on a smile to match the sheriff’s ongoing laughter and found that it fit pretty well, all things considered.

“can’t be joshing, my name is stretch,” Stretch said with cautious humor. “but i guess stretching me would be an entirely different meaning. think they gave that one up in the middle ages.”

The sheriff bellowed out another laugh that practically shook the silverware, actually bending over to give his knee a loud slap. Around them rose other chuckles around mouthfuls of pie and how strange was it that he could feel the difference between people laughing at him and laughing with him. There was a certain fondness in that laughter, in the warm expressions coming his way from townsfolk that he sort of knew; these were people who’d bought their toilet paper and fresh apples from him on any given day, who’d give him waves and smiles when he passed them on the sidewalk and maybe it was an unusual form of kindness, but their humor still made unexpected tears prick in his sockets.

Stretch grabbed his napkin and dabbed hastily at his face as if he were wiping away sweat before anyone could see and misunderstand. How could he explain to them that in all his life, he’d never felt such a wash of overwhelming fondness from anyone except maybe his own brother.

(Not even from the person who’d told him so often and so tenderly that he loved him…until he didn’t, fucking hell, he wasn’t thinking about that right now, he wasn’t.)

The sheriff was obviously no fool and already his expression was softening into remorse, maybe coming up with an apology that Stretch desperately did not want, not for this. Rescue came almost too late and from an entirely unexpected source. Granny Collemore was so short Stretch could only see her steel-gray hair piled up in a messy bun over the top of the booth as she approached, but he heard her hollering well enough.

“Buford, you let that poor boy alone!” There was a smacking sound of a cane hitting flesh and Stretch couldn’t see where the blow struck, but the sheriff, Buford, let out a yelp, hopping on one foot as he frantically rubbed his shin.

“Sam Hill, granny, I was only playin!” he grumbled. He pulled up the leg of his trousers to examine his granny-inflicted wound. There was a reddened welt on the skin, already shading to purple.

“You hush yourself,” Granny huffed, “I’m half-past give-a-shit today and you may be the sheriff in these parts, but you ain’t too old for a hiding!” Granny shuffled into view, her cane hooked over one arm. She reached out with her wrinkled hands and Stretch leaned over obediently to let her to cup his face gently in her palms as she clucked with concern. “Does he look like he’s up for your shenanigans?” she groused loudly, “‘specially since this feller is working over at the grocery with Red, bless his heart.”

“That a fact?” Buford pushed his hat up and offered a crooked smile. “Must be a brave soul, then. Well, you tell that sonavabitch I’m gunning for him this Sunday. He better be there with silver bells on and you tell him that whatever aces are up his sleeves, better make sure they ain’t spades, ‘cause that’s the reverend’s favorite cheat.”

“i’ll do that,” Stretch agreed, a touch bewildered. Hell, he’d thought Red was joking when he said the sheriff was his poker buddy.

That sounded like an exit line, it was starting to look like Stretch was going to make it out of here unscathed, and he might have if Granny hadn’t put in, happily, “Anyhoo, Buford, you just miss seeing Edge. He was here sharing a slice of pie with our new fella.”

Dark eyebrows rose up over those mirrored lenses and Buford hooted a laugh, “Oho, that how it is. On a date with our Edge, were ya.”

Great, that was exactly what he didn’t want getting back to Red. Enjoying a little flirting was one thing, but not if it started the wheels of the gossip train turning. With his luck, it would crash right into a dumpster fire. “uh, no, no dates, just pie.”

He did not expect Buford to suddenly look a little offended, those eyebrows drawing down into a frown behind his glasses. “Why in the Sam Hill not? Ain’t he your type?”

“Uh.” Stretch looked around a little wildly, away from Granny and Buford to see the rest of the diner was still watching them with interest. No, not just interest, there was an awful lot of sly looks there and whispering behind hands, along with soft expressions and doe-eyes…

Oh. Oh, shit, it was worse than he thought. They were invested, everyone in this diner was taking sides and they were choosing the romance option, this was bad, this sort of thing was infectious and the last thing he needed right now was an entire town of matchmakers trying to hook him up with the local hottie. It was like an unsolved Agatha Christie took a sudden, sideways turn into a Hallmark Gyftmas movie.

Buford and the rest of the diner were all waiting for him to explain why he and Edge weren’t dating and Stretch was sitting here, fumbling around at the pass.

“we’re not dating, we’re just—” Stretch coughed awkwardly, hesitating. The truth was ‘it’s complicated’ was probably most accurate, although ‘barely met acquaintances’ was a close second, or even the generic, ‘he’s my boss’s baby bro whose ass i am definitely not staring whenever i see him but also his smile is really nice and—' “—friends,” Stretch finished, lamely.

Buford nodded like he’d offered not a nugget of wisdom, but an entire ten-piece with the tangy sauce. The light reflected in his mirrored gaze as he said, kindly, “That ain’t a bad thing.”

Relieved, Stretch let out an unsteady laugh, “kinda surprised you don't think i'm a cousin or something.”

Buford snorted loudly at that, “Son, you boys don't look a thing alike.”

And that there was another surprise to add to his daily total. In Ebott, Stretch was constantly getting mistaken for Papyrus or Sans, even his own brother once or twice. Half the time, people either didn’t know his name or didn’t care to, and Backwater was a strange place, no question, but that sure didn’t mean it was bad.

Buford didn’t seem to notice his shock as he went on, “Now there’s a boy who could use some en-ter-tainment. Works too hard, damned if he don’t.”

Now that was a clue looking him right in the face and Stretch took the Velma leap and pounced on it, trying for a little discreet nonchalance, “yeah? what does he work so hard at?”

A shame Buford seemed to be pretty quick on the draw. He gave Stretch a shrewd look, “He ain’t told you?”

“no, sir,” Stretch sighed glumly. Seriously, he was the worst Velma ever.

Buford went ahead and poured salt into the open wound with another short laugh, “Naw, I’ll ain’t stepping in that cow pie. I’ll let him talk to ya about that. But see if you can’t get him to slow down for another--” Buford gave him a sly wink and actually hooked his thick fingers into air quotes, “’friend date’, wontcha?”

Then he grunted as Granny Collemore jammed her elbow into his soft gut, tutting loudly, “You never did shake the ants outta your pants did you, Buford! Let those boys alone, they'll go at their own pace.” To Stretch she offered sunny, toothless grin, “Come on, and walk an old lady out.”

“yes, ma’am,” Stretch said. Hey, he might be an idiot, but he was no fool. He stood up, ready to make his getaway, halted only briefly by Buford snatching up his hand and giving it an enthusiastic shake, though his grip was gentle on the delicate bones.

“Welcome to town, Stretch,” Buford told him. For once he was completely serious as he said, low, “and don’t you worry about those boys.” He tapped the side of his nose, his broad finger reflected in his sunglasses. “I know what happened, it’ll be taken care of.”

“i appreciate that,” Stretch said, and he meant it. He turned and followed after Granny, only dodging ahead to hold up the door so she could shuffle out.

“Thank you, sonny,” Granny huffed as she made her slow way through the door. “These old bones ain’t as spry as yours. You should head on home now, there's a storm a’comin'."

Stretch looked up into the cloudless sky in confusion, greeted by endless blue.

“Oh, you can trust me," Granny grimaced and rubbed at her hip, "these joints don't lie."

“i will,” Stretch agreed. After his lesson with the corn, he was taking the townsfolk at their word and if granny said a storm was heading this way, he expected to see clouds blowing in any minute now.

He left Granny to make her way home and headed back to the store. Red only grunted when he came in, didn’t even look up from his book as he hooked an absent thumb towards his apartment. There was a bag sitting on the table and when Stretch looked inside, there was a sandwich neatly covered in plastic wrap, a bag of chisps, and a bottle of juice. He was still full up on pie, but it would make for a nice, simple dinner, good thing he had Red up there looking after him. Maybe he should suggest to Red that he get a tattoo, a nice heart engraved on his arm with ‘Mom’ in the middle, since now he had one.

Stretch took the bag upstairs with him and opened the window. He took a moment to breathe in the already cooling air, a herald to the coming storm.

The book was sitting where he’d left it last night when he’d dragged himself off Red’s sofa, limbs spaghettied from sleep and his mind noodly mush. He’d brought the book along without even thinking about it and now the hardcover seemed to mock him with the necessary knowledge hidden somewhere within those pages.

Welp, there was only one way he was gonna get the info out of it and that didn’t mean beating it against his skull until the words shook out. He picked it up and settled to sit cross-legged on the bed, bracing himself for what might well be hours of boredom as he turned it to the first page.

And frowned. At the top of the page was a family name, ‘Anderson’, along with the date, ‘1884’. There was a short selection of first names beneath it and next to each was what looked like a telephone number and an address.

“what the hell?” Stretch muttered. He flipped to the second page and it was the same thing, only the name was ‘Armstrong’ and there were a lot more first names to go with it, someone was getting busy on the weekends, for sure.

Stretch flipped to the next page, and the next. All of them had the same thing, a last name, then a collection of firsts with a number and an address. Finally, he flipped back to the title page. There, right underneath the scrolling text declaring the book ‘The Informal History of Backwater’ was a tiny addition he hadn’t noticed before, stating in a small, stark font, ‘Municipal Directory.’

For a long moment, Stretch could only stare at it, until the words started floating in his sight. Laughter bubbled up suddenly, fizzing in him like a shaken soda. "sonofabitch," Stretch burst out, snickering madly. The damn thing was a glorified telephone book and Edge had flat-out given him his damned address already, practically gift-wrapped it! And he'd almost refused to take the damn thing! Guy wasn't only sexy, he had jokes and if he wasn't already a treat to the senses, that would have upgraded him to a bone-ified snack.

Address had to be in here, all Stretch needed to do was find it. The book was bigger than he would’ve thought from a small town, but from the look of it, they never took anyone out, only kept adding on. Occasionally next to a name he saw an abbreviated ‘dec.,’ so maybe this was a bit of town history, after all, kind of a family tree, anyway.

It still took him awhile to find their names, flipping through the book. The names were alphabetized, but that didn’t help much when the family he was looking for didn’t have a last name. Finally, under the surname ‘Skeleton’, he found them.

“should’ve tried that to begin with,” Stretch muttered. He read the entry, following along with his finger, only to pause in confusion when it came to the date recorded neatly by their names. It listed them as arriving in town over a decade ago and if that was when they came to Backwater, then whoever printed this needed to proofread a little better, because that was impossible. Monsters had only been on the surface for a couple years, not quite three now, so it had to be a mistake.

Except, Edge struck him as the kind of guy who was pedantic enough that there was no way he wouldn’t bitch until it was fixed; anyone who ate their pie like it was a military maneuver wouldn’t be able to stand such an egregious error. And he’d made sure to give Stretch the book, so he damn well knew he’d be seeing this. So what the hell did all this mean?

What did any of this mean?

Stretch sank back against the wall behind him, tipping his head up so he could stare at the ceiling. There was a crack in the plaster in one the corner, spidering off into a shape like a lightning bolt and that was exactly what Stretch felt like he’d been struck with.

What the hell was this place? Some kind of fairytale, where one day in town was a week on the outside? If he hopped on another bus and made his way to the next town over, would the papers tell him it was next Tuesday or the next century?

It was enough to inspire him to check his messages. Stretch fumbled for his phone, opening the text app for the first time in days. The amount of alerts made him wince but it was the last message that roused that endless ache in his soul back up to true pain.

I understand that you’re hurting, brother. You don’t have to tell me where you are. You don’t even have to call. All I ask is you send me a message every once in a while to let me know you’re all right. Please.

Stretch closed his sockets and swallowed against the sudden knot in his throat. Before he could rethink it, he typed a hasty, i’m all right and sent it, then lurched over to shove his phone into the nightstand drawer, slamming it shut.

Even so, he couldn’t help listening, straining to hear but there was no vibrating buzz, nothing to indicate a return message.

Good enough.

Stretch took a deep, shaky breath, then dragged the book back over and studied the entry again. Red’s address was the store, no surprises there, but Edge was listed under 637 Wood’s End Drive.

Wood’s End. Seriously?

Welp, it was one mystery solved, anyway, even if he’d skipped the meddling kids part. Now all he needed was to plan a field trip.

A sudden flash of lightning lit the room, putting the fake bolt on his ceiling to bitter shame and the sky outside seemed to burst, rain pouring down and pelting through his open window. Stretch scrambled over to slam it closed, shaking away the damp on his hands. All the sunshine from earlier was gone, the sky darkened into angry, swirling storm clouds as the downpour drenched the parched earth.

Yeah, field trip was postponed on account of rain, but not for long. He’d get there and maybe once he showed up on Edge’s doorstep, he’d finally get some real answers.

For now, though, all Stretch wanted was a towel.

tbc

[benkouji726]

Language!

Future fic. Alex and Michael are married and they adopted a daughter. Just the fluffiest fluff.

Summary: Alex will never get any work done because apparently he has two kids now.

———————————————

“Alex! Alex!!”

Alex closed his eyes briefly, opened them, checked the clock, which said 10:35. He sighed, and thought to himself, what now.

At roughly 10 o’clock, he had told Michael, that he needed to finish his presentation before noon, so he’d actually have something TO present to his client this afternoon, and could Michael be a good Daddy and took their three years old daughter elsewhere so he’d have like one hour to himself.

Michael said no problem, with enthusiasm. He then took Bella into the garden, while discussing with her which toy car they should take apart today, seemingly happy and fine.

At 10:03, they barged back in, before Alex even opened PowerPoint. When Alex asked what’s wrong, Bella said she hadn’t gotten a hug and a kiss from Alex and that was just not acceptable, which, OK, totally Alex’s fault.

She climbed onto Alex’s lap. He held her for a minute, kissed her forehead and her rosy cheeks. At that point Michael demanded to be held and kissed too, so the three of them relocated to the small sofa in the study room, they squeezed together, Michael by Alex’s side, Bella on his chest, two sets of messy curls tickling his neck and his chin, two pairs of honey colored puppy eyes looking up at him with love and adoration. Sometimes he wondered how they ended up adopting THE most Guerin-like baby in the world. She didn’t even just look like him, she clung to Alex like Michael too, and Alex couldn’t say no to either of them.

They left at 10:16, with great effort and self control from Alex’s end.

They barged in again at 10:18. PowerPoint still inactivated.

This time, Bella wanted to observe Alex’s eyes for a while because she decided to draw him. While she was staring at him, Michael began to brag about how HE wouldn’t need to observe in order to draw Alex because he memorized everything about him. Needless to say, Bella was upset by this, so Alex must comfort her while glaring at Michael, who refused to admit that he was wrong. They relocated to the sofa again.

They left at 10:29. Still arguing about who knew Alex better.

Alex checked the clock once more. Yep, still 10:35. At least the PowerPoint was opened by now.

He turned around, at the same time Michael rushed in, Bella held in his arms.

No, that was not an accurate description.

He held her up in front of him, like the weird looking monkey holding up Simba in front of the king’s subjects. He looked a little panicky.

Alex started to panic too. “What? What is it?”

Michael shouted. “Say something!”

Alex was confused. “I just did, what are you...”

“Say something to her! Anything! Just, say something, and see!”

He was not making a lot of sense. Alex decided to give up on him and spoke directly to Bella when she said, loud and clear.

“Say something MY ASS.”

Alex froze. He stood up, stared at his sweet innocent daughter, then at his husband, who honest to God looked a bit SMUG as if saying “see? I told you!”

He was going to strangle him.

He took a calming breath, released it, and said in a controlled voice.

“WHY. IS. MY. DAUGHTER. SAYING. THAT.”

Michael looked oddly offended by that. “What? Why are you asking me? I never said anything like that in front of her, it’s not my fault.”

“Not my fault MY ASS!” She even emphasized the ASS. Her chubby little legs dangling in the air, she giggled, like she was having the best time of her life.

Alex couldn’t take it anymore. He took her from Michael’s hands, held her in his arms, and asked.

“Honey, why are you saying this? Who taught you that?”

She ignored him and began to rub her chin on his shoulder.

“See? She clearly didn’t learn it from me! Maybe from some TV show, you know how it is with the kids show today!”

“Kids show my ass!”

They both realized the pattern at the same time.

“Wait, you are only adding that to MY words? Why not to Alex’s?” Michael was dumbstruck.

“Alex’s my ass!”

The whole room seemed frozen for a second.

They relocated to the sofa for the third time.

Alex held her in his arms, and asked again. “Sweetie, why are you saying that? Where did you hear such a phrase?”

She looked a bit uncertain. “Is it a bad one?”

Alex hugged her closer. “No, baby. Not bad, just not so good either. And you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”

She said in a small voice. “I once heard it from aunt Izzy on the phone, she said it to Daddy, and I thought it was funny.”

Alex glared at Michael. “You put Isobel on speaker when she was around?”

Michael, to his credit, seemed a little sheepish at last.

“I didn’t put her on speaker. But when she yelled at me, I might’ve put the phone away from my ears and you know, she is not particularly quiet.”

Alex sighed. And turned to Bella again.

“OK, sweetheart, it’s not that big a deal. Just, you are very advanced in language learning, and Daddy and I decided we should watch ourselves more when we’re around you, so that you don’t say something you don’t know the meaning to. And sometimes, when you don’t know the meaning to the words, you could use them wrong, and express yourself wrong.”

She considered for a minute, and nodded.

“What does ‘my ass’ mean then?”

Michael perked up at that.

“Well, my ass means...”

Alex was really going to strangle him.

But before he could open his mouth and stop Michael, Bella beat him to it.

“Shut up, Guerin.” She even had the EXACT fond smile and exasperated look on her little round face.

They stared at each other silently for a moment, until Alex admitted defeat.

“Alright, *I* should watch myself too when I’m around her.”

Michael smirked.

“So, care to explain to our daughter the meaning of ‘my ass’?”

Well, guess the presentation can kiss his ass goodbye then.

[iphoenixrising]

Dr!Tim: Missing Scene from London Bridge is Falling

@poison-basil needed this to finish off the bridge thing, and well, I can’t tell my babe no. @the-sky-is-a-lie def did the beta-ing because wow, sleep dep. Warning, you might get some feels.

 **

He was pretty sure this was going to be a...thing. But, he could not have predicted it would be this bad.

��C’mon, Tim,” Dick is hanging effortlessly from the light fixture in the bedroom, clutching his scrub top like a lifeline, “they said you could have another week. You don’t...you shouldn’t go in yet. You need more time!”

From the floor, the annoyed doctor is standing shirtless with his arms crossed over his bare chest and his mussed hair all up in his face. The fact he’s frowning like a disapproving Dad should really tip off his vigilante boyfriends on how now is not the time.

“My leg is fine. There’s no need to wait,” he snaps back for what feels like the tenth time today. “Dick, we already talked about this.”

“That ain’t necessarily accurate, Sweetheart,” Jason drawls out from the doorway. His tactic is somewhat more...subtle. He’s mostly awake from a few hours of sleep after a night of vigilante-ing it up, had made sweet love with his boys before passing the fuck out for a few hours of well-deserved unconsciousness. Timmy getting out of the shower woke the both of them immediately because they still aren’t really on board with this, yeah?

So he knows the picture he presents, hair mussed and eyes half-mast with the remnants of sleep, warm and soft from blankets. His chest is bare, dotted with bruises, fine white lines of his scars breaking up the sleek and powerful muscle. The black briefs are heavy in the front while hugging the slight curve of his ass in the back. He knows when he talks, Tim’s eyes come back to him slouching against the frame, takes him all in.

(He sees the way his boy swallows before his cheeks get just a little pink. Such a good look on their Doc.)

So he straightens up, walks in their bedroom with his easy stride, all those muscles working in a terribly effective sync. His eyes are soft and fond when he wraps up their boy from behind, automatically rubbing over the healed bruises on Tim’s ribs and sides from the bridge attack. He gives no fucks about shit like being a dirty goddamned cheat when he presses against his boy’s bare back, just a reminder of how good it feels to be pressed close.

(Tim can feel the heat of skin and oh God does he feel amazing.)

“Pretty sure ya tol’ us y’ were good ‘nuff ta be on yer game.” Shamelessly, Jay leans down just a little to snuffle at the base of Tim’s neck sleepily.

“You both knew I planned on going back today.” Tim just has to keep his resolve. He absolutely cannot let these idiots think he needs to be (protected) coddled just because he’s a civilian. It’s really a good thing he’s never really told them about the crazy situations he got into long before he found Nightwing on his fire escape bleeding out (a very, very good thing, there’s only so much mother-henning anyone can take).

Dick finally jumps down to the ground, the move smooth and effortless.  His hands tighten when Tim goes to take the scrub top from him, those electric blue eyes beseeching. “We’d feel so much better if you didn’t push yourself, Baby. You were right in the middle of a collapsing bridge. You almost died.”

What now? Seriously?

“When is that any different from what you two face every night?” He demands hotly, pulling the top out of Dick’s curiously suddenly-lax grip. “It’s Gotham, Dick. Bad things happen to good people all the time, but it’s people like us that have to keep up the effort.”

“Not at ‘cher expense, Sweetheart,” Jay contradicts softly against his throat while Dick’s eyes get mysteriously shiny.

“I said I’m okay, and I mean it,” he argues soft and firm, “it’s time for me to go back and get to work.”

“There are hundreds of doctors—” Dick tries haltingly.

“I’m not having this argument,” Tim comes back, reluctant but decidedly pulling out of Jay’s mesmerizing hold. “Because there is nothing to argue about.”

He steps away, moves out of the bedroom because it is just too easy for them to convince him there. The t-shirt to go under the top is there, and he throws it on fast in an attempt to save himself from the very hot and pouty vigilantes following him. He’s struggling into the scrub top, pulling it down over his t-shirt (it’s about the computations behind unicorns. Yeah, yeah, it’s a great shirt), picks up his badge off the kitchen table to clip to the pocket, and has the vigilante only medical bag ready for things like just incase.

When he turns around, his boyfriends are blocking the way to the door, giving him the look. Tim keeps himself from sighing, but just barely.

“Sweetheart,” Jay starts out, seeming almost hesitant for a man that usually has no qualms tellin’ it how it is, “ya don’t got nothing ta prove ta us, you feel me?”

He tilts his head, blinking.

Dick picks up before he can deny anything, taking a step forward and reaching out a hand, “it’s fine to take as much time as you need, Timmy. We’re not...we’re not going to judge you, okay?”

So he inhales slowly, counts to ten.

Not helping.

He repeats the process.

“I really appreciate it,” he starts, “how much you care. But—”

“But nothing,” Jay finally raises his voice a little, his arms getting tight, “you ain’t gotta do that shit, Tim. We do what we do ‘cause there ain’t nothing else, but that don’t mean jack-fuckin’-squat that cha gotta keep up with us!”

“That is not what this is about,” he snaps back, starting to feel anger curl up his spine. “This has nothing to do with Nightwing or the Red Hood or any of the night life!”

“The hell it don’t—” Jay comes back heatedly, taking a step closer.

“This is about my life,” Tim interrupts viciously, “it’s about how I do what I have to do, and it’s no less important than the Red Hood or Nightwing or Batman or anyone else!”

He sees Jason gritting his back teeth, but they’re too far into it to stop now.

“Tim,” Dick is firm, resolute, “we push ourselves because if we don’t, then—”

“People die, Dick?” He comes back, turning to the older vigilante, “if Nightwing isn’t in Gotham, people might die? How is that any different than what I—”

“Because it’s you,” both of them yell back at him in an eerie kind of sync, startling him out of the snarling knot in his lower belly.

“God, fuck, Tim,” Jason yells at the ceiling, throwing up his goddamned hands, “don’tcha think we paid enough f’ karma ta just stop fuckin’ wid us? Well, we apparently ain’t.”

Dick’s hand on his shoulder makes Jay ease back, just a bit.

“Being with us is always going to mean you’re in danger, do you understand that, Tim?” And the torture is right there in Dick’s eyes, in the tight draw of muscle and fine tremble of his hand. “And one of these days, just like on that bridge, we’re going to be too far away. We won’t...we won’t be able to make it in time.”

Oh.

Oh.

And because he hadn’t seen this before, hadn’t realized this is why the two of them were so crazy about things, he blames shock for the obvious malfunction in his brain.

“If I wasn’t in love with you two, I’d seriously beat the shit out of you for underestimating me,” but his voice is hoarse with emotion. “And for the shitty double-standard. There have been times when I almost haven’t made it to either of you and if you think for one second-”

But he stops because Dick and Jason are staring at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

Jay has a hand out, like he was reaching for Tim and just froze. Dick has a hand splayed over his chest, staring with his mouth hanging open.

And Tim blinks back whatever rigamarole he was going to come out with because—

Oh God. He said it.

The little epiphany he had while the world was crumbling under him, everything falling away, when he thought this is the end, and I didn’t even get to tell them good-bye.

It’s like one of those Hallmark movies where realizing how much you love someone is finally so crystal clear it’s amazing how you ever could have missed it.

And he just threw it out there like a complete dumbass without even thinking because Dick and Jay probably didn’t feel that way, couldn’t right? There was no way they could be as invested, and he’d probably made them extremely uncomfortable, maybe even enough that they—

Please don’t be gone by the time I get back. Please don’t pack up your things and try to let me down easy. Please, please be able to pass that off as a fluke.

“I’m sorry I said that,” he rushes before they can come out of shock, “I shouldn’t have. Put that on you two, I mean. Forget I said it and let’s just keep being us. How we’re-we’re comfortable. I shouldn’t haven’t… That was wrong of me, but a-anyway,” he keeps on talking, literally pushing between the two of them, able to move them easily, carefully not thinking about how the fight has just suddenly gone out of them. “It’s...it’s what our lives are. So...so, I’m not going to let it hold me back,” and God, his throat feels scratchy and his tongue too thick, stuttering out. His hands are minutely shaking by the time he manages to get the front door open, ready to just run.

“I’m...I’m going to work and do what I do. Tonight, you guys do the same, and we’ll...we’ll have dinner and everything is going to be fine, okay? It’s-it’s fine. It’s all going to be fine.”

And he can’t even look at them when he darts out, closing the door tightly behind him.

**

The welcome backs are nice. The hustle and bustle is business-as-usual familiar and just enough to keep his brain busy so he doesn’t have to think too hard about other things (like Dick and Jay having a conversation after he left, about them thinking maybe they should pull back a little, give him some space to get a handle on his apparent feelings. God, what if they’re moving their stuff back to Dick’s apartment right now? Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it).

His leg starts aching up halfway through the shift and he manages to duck into one of the supply closets to massage the muscle out for a few minutes before he goes back on the floor for the next round of patients coming into his ER.

The second time a hard shock of pain shoot up into his hip and makes the leg almost give out on him. The Chief of Staff is very not happy about it.

“I can’t believe you,” Lucas Trent shoves him down in a chair while the healing muscle twitches and spasms, kneeling down to shove Tim’s scrub pant leg up and look at the injury. “Anyone else and you would have thrown them the hell out the second they came through the door. Seriously Tim, you had another week.”

“I was bored,” he grits out as those hands massage out the painful cramp. “I needed to come back to work.”

Luke looks back up at him with a frown, “the muscle is still traumatised, Tim. It’s not healed enough for you to take the longer shifts. I’m giving you straight eights for a while, so you’re out of here immediately. I’m calling you a cab, you’re going home, and taking care of this leg as soon as possible. Understand?”

Tim closes his eyes a little, shudders when he thinks about going home. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Trent stands back up and lays a hand on his shoulder, “Tim are you okay?”

“It hurts a little,” he comes back too quickly, not looking up. He busies himself by rubbing the leg out a little more and pulling his pant leg back down.

The Chief of Staff huffs out a sigh since he really likes Drake, but the guy can be a pain-in-the-ass. While Tim’s head is bent, a flash of something makes Luke look up quickly, catching a flash of white in the window. His eyes narrow at the flash of black and blue, but he schools his expression into neutral lines while Drake stands up and gives him a half-hearted, watered-down version of his usual grin.

“Thanks, Luke. I’ll take the shifts, try not to kill myself.”

“Everyone would appreciate that, Tim. Now go home! Don’t make me call in Stephanie and Layla or you’ll be in real trouble.”

The effect is immediate, Tim’s hands coming up in a no, no, anything but that. “No need for that. Like, at all, I’m going. See? This is me leaving.”

Nodding in approval, the Chief of Staff’s eyes slide back to the empty window, thoughtful on why one of Gotham’s premiere vigilantes would be outside his hospital at this time of night when it should be close to time for all Bats to turn in for the day. He hums to himself on the way back to his office, wondering if one of his best people might be of interest.

As Luke Trent heads back to the mounds of paperwork sitting on his desk, Tim half-limps into the break room to pull his bag out of his locker. He’s got one earbud in while he waves to everyone and takes a few minutes to update the replacement attending about the night’s activities. He’s numb by the time he gets outside in the crisp air, shivering automatically in his oversized hoody, listening to Imagine Dragons in one ear while the other keeps him from getting snatched into crazy vans (again). The burn in his calf is a secondary owfuck while he takes familiar back alleys and passes by the all-night bakery six blocks from his penthouse.

He gets about two blocks away, just has to make a left and he’ll be home in a few minutes, when his heart gives a hard thump in his chest and his feet won’t carry him any farther. The horrible indecision lingers in his brain pan, the possibilities, the what-ifs he’s tried not to focus on hitting him right where he’s about to make that damn turn and potentially unlock the door to see the familiar sights, Dick’s uniform shirt laid out over a chair, Jason’s holsters beside the couch, the mountain of DVDs, the clothes in his closet that are perpetually too big, the Superman and Wonder Woman toothbrushes on his sink, all of it—

Gone.

Instead of taking the left, Tim lets himself fall back against the brick and mortar of the old Soda Pop stand long out of business, lets his hands splay over the coarse brick, abrading his fingertips as he tries to pull himself out of the quaking fear and nausea low in his belly. But really, it’s his own fault anyway.

He’d gone into this relationship with Dick and Jay knowing they could never commit to anything long-term, not with the lives they lead, the duties that lay heavily on the two of them. He’d always know this thing they had was living on borrowed time.

It was okay because he understood that’s how it had to be, how they had to be. There could be no promises or I love yous because their lives didn’t allow for that (or because the two of them weren’t there. They cared, yes, they were with him as much as they could be, but to love him? That...that’s asking so much when Gotham, the world, already takes so much of them every fucking night). Saying it out loud was just a selfish thing on his part, a stupid, selfish mistake.

A mistake that might have costed him the best thing he’s ever found.

So when his eyes get hot, it makes Tim even angrier at his own selfish feelings because really he did this to himself.

With a hand out for balance, he limps back to the narrow alleyway between the two dilapidated buildings and lets himself sink down to the dirty ground, his other hand slapped over his mouth tight. Deep breaths through his nose, the twitching, twinging muscle in his leg radiating thumping pain in tune to his heartbeat, his chest shuddering when he attempts to just get himself under control again, to steel himself for whatever he might have to go home to face.

(But he could just keep walking straight instead, keep walking until he gets to Ives’ or Steph’s, to be there instead of the crazily empty apartment where the memory of being sat on the counter by big hands, of being sandwiched between two warm bodies on the couch, of stitching up broken skin and wrapping painful muscle damage, of throwing popcorn at the TV screen, and holding on tight enough to make his arms ache when memories were inescapable.)

Instead of standing up, he stays there, head in his hands, and lets himself shake apart for a few long and painful minutes.

The soft sigh in the night, the boots on concrete are lost in his silent self-recriminations, in berating he gives himself in the deep parts of his brain where he still can’t believe these two ever even considered someone like him worth their time.

(And he fucking ruined it all, didn’t he?)

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.”

He jerks before Nightwing ever touches him, lurching to the side, gasping in a breath with his eyes still spilling over.

Staring up into the whiteouts is just another fucking dammit he really doesn’t need.

“What—” he tries hoarsely, quickly looking away to scrub at his face, “why aren’t you on patrol?”

The hands on him, the fingerstripes against his wrist, all so familiar and soothing, torturing him without the intent.

“I stopped by the hospital to check on you,” N admits without a hitch, “I was worried you’d push too hard. You...you always give everything you have no matter what. Timmy, Jay and I—”

“Don’t,” he moves away, out of those hands, manages to get his feet under him, “it’s—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. If you’re-if you’re leaving, I...I get it. I get it, and it’s fine.”

But his eyes are filling up again because no matter what his mouth might say, it still so fucking painful he feels like his chest is going to close up, going to keep him from getting any air.

“Wait, what?” N follows him, hearing the disgruntled noise over the comm in his ear. “What? Tim, what are you talking about?”

But the doctor is moving toward the mouth of the alley, retreating from this terrible conversation, wondering if he shouldn’t just go right the hell to Ives and stay for a few days.

“Don’t like this, Dickie,” Hood sounds just as disturbed as N feels, “somethin’ ain’t right here.”

With one finger, N taps the comm, “you’re not seeing what I’m seeing. Rendezvous at the nest. ASAP.”

He gets an arm around Tim’s waist before his civilian boyfriend can make good on an escape, already firing a grapple to get them airborne before Tim can try to kick out of his hold.

“Put me down,” is rough, harsh even with the wind whipping back and forth, “I can walk just fine, and Gotham needs you—”

“You need me more right now.” Nightwing replies darkly against his ear. “Stop arguing and hold on.”

And because it’s easier, he actually does, winds an arm around Nightwing’s neck, keeping his face firmly over a broad shoulder so he doesn’t have to look at those whiteouts, so the part that’s apparently coming (“It ain’t that we don’t like ya, Timmers, ain’t that at all—”  “It might be best if we take a...a break, okay? Give us all some time to think.” “It ain’t chu, Tim, it’s us, you feel me?”).

All he has to do is keep his calm, to let them say their piece, and...keep himself together when he has to—

(when he has to let them go)

—let them leave.

Once Nightwing lands it on the roof of his perch, Tim pulls out of the vigilante’s hold and limps his hurt ass right to the fire escape, muscles tight with the struggle to keep his shit together. It’s fine, he reminds himself, nothing lasts forever.

He doesn’t fall through the window, but it isn’t for lack of trying.

His leg feels like a burning point of pain shooting lightening up to his hip when he crosses the living room, pulling the scrub top off, laying his vigilante-only bag down. He doesn’t go for coffee or food, doesn’t look up at whatever message might be left on the fridge from the day while he was gone, doesn’t look too closely at anything in case things are already missing.

Instead, he pulls out a chair from his table and sits his weary ass down, throwing his hurt leg up on the chair beside him, turning to it, hunching over himself to look at the spot where he’d taken the stitches out himself the day before yesterday.

A mug is softly set by him on the table by a gloved hand, but he thumbs a trickle of blood away from his calf and tries resolutely to ignore the very nice gesture.

(Because he knows what’s coming. Everyone leaves him, even Steph did for a while.)

“I’m home, you can go back to patrol,” he tries a little desperately, jaw tight enough that the muscles twitches.

“Slow night,” Nightwing’s voice changes, becomes Dick as the domino comes off. He pulls out the other chair by Tim’s legs, deactivates the gauntlets, pulls them off with the gloves. “I’ve got nowhere else to be, baby, but right here with you.” Bare hand on his ankle, thumb moving over the bone.

Tim opens his mouth, almost blurts out, “for how long though? Can’t we just go back to where we were yesterday?” but closes his mouth so fast his teeth clack together.

The hand on his ankle tightens.

Tim busies himself with wrapping gauze around his calf, eyes focused on what he’s doing, refuses to look up at Dick’s face, Dick’s electric blue eyes, Dick’s I’m so sorry expression. So that’s the situation when the Red Hood hits the window, steps in still fresh from patrol with the scent of gunpowder and brimstone following him like cologne.

“Notcha best idea, yeah Tim?” The vigilante is already stalking across the room, gloved hands working by his sides.

If anything, his baby boy’s shoulders curve further down into himself, and Hood pulls off the helmet, puts it right on the table as he passes by. He looks up at Dick’s worried expression, a silent exchange back and forth since years of being partners have given them every ability to speak volumes without the need to say a single word.

When Dick’s frown deepens, when his brows draw together, Hood gets that all ain’t right in the world.

He pulls at the dom, gives it a toss, and bend down over their doctor. He doesn’t give a fuck what else is doing, winds still gloved fingers in too-long hair and pulls.

Tim’s head goes with the unexpected move, his eyes wide when his throat is exposed at the odd angle of the hold. He is completely unprepared for the mouth slanting down across his, for the lingering, familiar taste of cigarettes and chewing gum when a tongue is pushed into his mouth, slides over his in one hell of a hiya baby, how’s kicks?

Jay gives himself a few minutes to enjoy it. Sucks a little on Timmy’s lower lip, maps out that mouth until he gets a small noise, one that makes him all kinds of satisfied.

When he pulls back, Tim’s eyes flutter open wetly, and just the sight makes Jay straighten with a little dread rolling through his abdomen.

“Aw shit, s’at bad, ain’t it, Sweets?” His gaze goes to the leg Tim’s got propped up on a chair, notes the few splotches of blood on pristine bandages.

“It kind of...hurts. The Chief sent me home,” admitting it doesn’t make him feel bad because, you know, pending truth bombs and such.

“Coulda called,” Jay points out, picks up the mug and puts it in his palm.

Dick follows up, sliding his chair closer so both hands can take over the bandage job.

He sips his coffee since it’s in his hands and gives him a convenient excuse to do something in the ruminating awkward.

Still, it doesn’t take much to roll his eyes up and smirk, “nah. Figured you were busy beating the shit out of the Penguin for his bad life choices. Who wants to break up that?”

It’s enough for Jay to bark out an abrupt laugh, but the follow-up is the younger vigilante leaning down for more, being easy to make it nice n’ sweet.

(Timmy can have certain...tendencies. Running from things that could physically hurt him? Naw. Some things vaguely emotion-shaped? The whole story gets left out, makes you have to read between the lines.)

He keeps up with some slow, drugged kissing until Tim sighs against his mouth and his shoulders ease down. It might be a terrible thing that he keeps their boy distracted so Dick can lift his leg carefully in both hands and slither over the seat, hold the injured leg over his thigh the two of them closing in.

When he finally leans up, gives Timmy a little space, Dick is right there to supplement, nosing behind Tim’s ear before coming back for his turn. And it’s just like Dick to want to give proof with his body, to want to be close and hold on, to have one hand on his jaw, the other gripping his thigh while he drags his mouth over Tim’s until he sneaks inside.

(Apparently they had some things to prove here, Timmy.)

“That’s better,” Dick finally sighs against his mouth and sits back to rub circles in his calf knowledgeably (well, acrobat that is experienced with muscle strains and such).

Tim very pointedly brings up his coffee to hide how stupidly he’s smiling because ugh, boyfriends (yeah, yeah, so sometimes he’s a dumbass, but honestly, they’re going to be nice about it is all, so at least they aren’t going to just up and go. That...that’s fine, he can handle that).

“So, good night? You know, before you might have had to rescue a totally metaphorical damsel in distress?” He sits back too, easing down from the gnawing, yawning pit of fear that they (that everyone) would just—

Disappear.

(Trust him to get the most stubborn, and capable significant others pretty much on Earth.)

Jay hums and goes to the coffee pot with a kiss to the top of his head while Dick continues to work, eyes half-mast and rubbing those soothing little circles rhythmically.

“A few purse snatchers. Maybe a bank robbery if Demon wasn’t such a kiss ass,” Jay’s World’s Best Zombie mug is just the right look.

“Stop calling him Demon Spawn and he might be nice enough to let you in on it next time,” Dick points out serenely, “he’s a good kid once you get to know him.”  

“Unfortunately, avoiding sharp, pointy things to the face is the first steps,” Tim volunteers.

He gets a hum and a laugh, watching Jay pull a chair out and flip it around effortlessly so he and Dick are facing him.

Shit. Here it comes. The let-down.

Jay takes a sip from his mug, but those eyes never leave him, the green flecks barely visible, and Dick sobers, the little circles moving up to his knee.

“About...about ah, earlier—” he scratches the back of his neck while his face gets hot, damn his pale skin.

“I want to hear it again,” Dick interrupts softly, “that. That wasn’t really fair, Timmy. So, you have to say it for us again.”

And if he breathes in too fast, that must be why his chest is suddenly achy and his heart picks up just a little faster.

“Yeah,” Jay echoes, “yeah, Dickie, I feel that. I think maybe ya owe us that much, Baby Bird.”

He swallows a little, mouth suddenly dry, and looks from one to the other, “I’m in love with you two. It’s...it’s not new, but yeah. Without the masks, without the gadgets and the world-saving, that- that wouldn’t change. Robin, not Robin, vigilantes or the guys that lay with me on the couch and Netflix, either way, that’s going to be my answer.”

He blinks abruptly, realizing how fucking stupid that must sound, straightens up and works his hands around his mug.

“It’s...I don’t expect anything back, okay? I mean, that’s not why I...I shouldn’t have just dropped it like that, so I mean, things aren’t going to change or-or—it’s...You two were together before, you know, this, so if that’s how it is, I’m okay with—”

But the hand floats into his peripheral and takes the mug out of his hands. Stupidly, he watches it happen, head moving with the motion to put it on the table. Dick is already standing, grips his biceps to pull him up on his feet, compensating for Tim’s hurt leg, and sit his butt down on the table top. With his thighs spread to accommodate Dick’s hips wrapped up in Nightwing, his face is tilted up with those hands so thumbs can move over his jaw.

“I’m completely, crazily in love with you,” and Dick’s eyes are so fucking blue, darkening with the easily given admission. “The minute I woke up on your couch with my injuries taken care of and you asleep on the floor, I knew I was in trouble. It was...it was so hard on me to stay away in those early days, Tim, but I tried for you. I’m not sorry that it brought us here. I’m sorry every time you get involved in our messes, when you have to patch us up and get angry about it. I’m sorry I can’t promise for one hundred percent I’m always going to come home to you. But I can promise that while I’m still breathing, I’m always going to come back. You’re mine, Tim. For as long as you’ll have me, you’re mine.”

“Dick…” and dammit, now his eyes are all hot and full again, his voice cracking slightly.

The slow and soft move of their mouths together is that promise burned into his skin, and he’s helpless to do anything other than grip Dick’s wrists and open for his ownership.

An arm sneaks around his waist and he’s held closer, right up against the Kevlar and Nomac weave, his eyes fluttering shut when the kiss deepens and he can let Dick take over.

It never becomes too overwhelming, stays this perfect intensity.

“I’m sorry,” is breathed against his mouth, “I’m sorry I didn’t say so sooner.”

Whatever he might have said is groaned into Dick’s mouth.

It slacks off to just slow, drugged kisses and assurances in between, on how much Dick needs him, how much he makes their lives better, how he fills in this gap they never knew was there. And by the time Dick pulls back to rest their foreheads together and let his fingers ease the muscles in the back of Tim’s neck, the doctor’s mouth is red and wet, lips puffy and eyes soft with something utterly fond.

Those hands finally let him go so Dick can do that thing where his body is literally able to move in any direction at any moment, and slide across the table to bracket him from behind. He gets Jay next, fingers in his hair and the familiar smirk softer than the usual.

“Ain’t all that good with words, Sweets,” and he might breathe out a little harder at the low, syrupy quality of Jason’s baritone sliding across his spine like fingers, “but what I know ‘s real simple. Real easy ta understand.”

The hand tightens a little in his hair, holding him still so he can get the full view of Jay’s eyes, “me n’ Dickie ain’t right wi’out cha. It ain’t me n’ him, it’s us, baby, you feel me? There ain’t no Dick ��n Jay without Timmy. There ain’t no baddie out there hard enough, mean enough, fucked-up enough ta keep me from comin’ back here ta ya. Not yet. Someday, maybe. Some day, when it’s my goddamned time, and they put me back ina ground, at least I’m gonna be able ta say…” Jay pauses, staring hard, throat bobbing as he swallows, “I’ma gonna be able ta say I fucking loved this little pain in my left nut more n’ anything. That he made alla hard fights n’ long nights worth every goddamned second. Little shit what don’t know how ta run, gotta keep tryin’ ta fucking save me.”

And the volumes behind it, behind Jason’s weary eyes, when the old pain and hurts, when the fears and indecisions, when the Pit and its’ temptations rise out of his soul to devour all the things he fights to keep, when the world should just move the fuck on and leave him where he belongs, it’s all there, laid open, bare to the world.

Tim Drake is one of the few that’s ever been able to see it.

So it’s him, that grips and pulls, that brings Jason closer, wraps his arms around the body suit, uses his leverage to pull so breath on his throat is heavy and wet-sounding, so the warm on his jugular sliding down is just that much evidence on what spectacular dumb assery it is to even think they might just—

Leave.

“Took too long ta figure it out, baby” is so soft he could almost imagine it’s not even there in his skin. “Never gonna give up on me, are ya?”

The laugh bubbles up, spills out of his mouth, cracks just around the edges, “no, you asshole, I’m not.”

“Must be martyrs, you n’ Dick then, yeah?”

Arms wrap around him from behind, Dick sliding a little closer to bracket his body between powerful thighs while Jay finally tilts him back enough to make the kiss just as easy as before, barely any pressure, an invitation that will never be a no.

And it’s crazy how Jason is laughing in his mouth while Dick’s arms tighten slightly and his forehead is pressed into the base of Tim’s neck, how the doctor gets sandwiched between them with the lines of their bodies fitting in this perfectly unperfect kind of puzzle, making a whole picture without the need to slide to the side to make it the right fit.

They’re going to keep him there and trade lazy kisses and easy touches, talking into skin and against lips, laughing and bantering, wallowing in something very comfortably warm.

His leg is eventually unwrapped, held in gentle hands, gets photographed and sent to Alfred because, you know, Bats, rewrapped while something delicious cooks and fills the kitchen with the usual smells of home.

It’s just one of those things when he gets carried to the couch (damn, back to this again?) and they lay all over each other while Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow runs as white noise.

The chemistry probably changes a few minutes in and a hand might sneak down below the waist to start a little something nice.

It progresses to hands running up sides, taking away covering so scars can be traced and sensitive skin brought to life with palms and mouths.

The eventuality is so good, not enough, more, and not yet. It’s how he could possible let this, any of this, any of them, go. It’s the fight to keep them up and moving whenever he can, to be the eye of the storm when the lives they lead come crumbling down but he can still do something even if it is just holding on. And while his body is brought to the peak, when he can’t think in full sentences, when he’s crying out and arching up or back or down because there has to be more, then he can say it without a moment of hesitation.

He can scream it when he explodes and whisper it hoarsely while they’re coming down.

He can say it because he just has to, because they need to hear it as much as he needs to say it.

He whimper it against skin with his eyes wet.

He can say it because he means it.

“I love you...fuck, I love you.” 

[dat-town]

Too bad, too sweet (m)

Characters:  Lust!Hoseok & demon hunter!OC

Setting: supernatural au, demon au

Genre: 50% background story 50% filth

Warnings:  Explicit language, (dark) humour, violence, blood and sexual content including brief mentions of voyeurism and exhibitionism, dom/sub undertones, breathplay, light bondage without safe words and lots of talk about sex. (Kind of dubcon at some parts but not really.)

Summary:  Hoseok, the Sin of Lust has loved all era he has lived in but the 21st century might be his favourite. He owns a popular place in Las Vegas: an ordinary bar on the surface but basically a sex club underground. However, rumour has it that a reckless demon hunter is coming after him. He couldn’t care less until Black Widow steps into his bar but then things get heated quickly. Hoseok is determined to break her resistance and teach her a lesson: there only one rule of lust: no love. Everything else is fair.

Words: 12502

Moodboard

Part of the 7 Sins collab for BTS’ anniversary. Check out the other stories as well!

People are fragile. Weak and predictable. They were born to sin. And what could be a better place to do that than the infamous Las Vegas?

The dark city with its pretty neon lights awaits sinners with open arms and a charming smile. The kind you see in toothpaste commercials: expensive, artificial and full of intent. Because once you set a foot in there and trespass its threshold, there’s no way out, there’s no confession or prayer that could save your soul. In Vegas even the air is poisonous. It doesn’t damage your body or brain, instead it secures your spot in the deepest pits of Hell. After all, nobody comes here with a soul as white as an empty canvas.

A pair of careful eyes watches over the crowded streets discreetly, hidden in a shady corners waiting for a certain person to move. The girl wears a tiny crimson dress, her pale thighs displayed on the big screen, her curly hair bouncing on her shoulders and a pretty laugh coming out from between cherry red lips. Her sneaky fingers are wrapped around the necktie of a rich looking man, if the Rolex on his wrist and the Armani tuxedo is enough to give that away. She’s beckoning him closer under the dim lights, tugging him towards the end of the blind alley. The man is way too gone by now, he doesn’t think, his eyes are hazy with want as he licks his lips. He trips, maybe it’s a sign that he should stop and turn back but no, he clings to the girl like latex.

The shadow follows them closely.

They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Actually, it’s a cobbled road with casinos, shiny skyscrapers, haute couture boutiques and nightclubs with fancy names most people can’t even pronounce. The lighting is supposed to set the mood: glowing purple and red hues decorating the buildings and painting the already drunk and/or high jaywalkers in lively colours.

The girl with the businessman is only one of the many grotesque pairs on the street but she seems different from the rest of the wasted, freshly turned 21 years old who came to the so-called Sin City. The way she knocks on one certain metal door and pulls the man after her seems practiced, almost robotic. Her smile is forced and the glint in her eyes is dangerous when they vanish from sight under the gilded gate and the huge scarlet sign.  It draws a lot of attention to the place but there are no long queues or well-built security guards. It looks like every other club on the street but there’s something unique about it. It’s a little more private and a lot more mysterious: maybe it’s because of that luring dark feeling that intrigues people who doesn’t know exactly what they’re looking for.

Highway to Hell, the sign says in messy handwriting and the caped man behind chuckles; he could have guessed. He is fiddling with his jacket and chewing on the now tasteless gum. It was once minty mixed with the metallic taste of his own blood.  He waits a minute or two more then spits the gum out as if it was venom and strolls straight to the door.

He doesn’t know if he should be surprised or not at the arrogance it implies but there’s nobody who checks up on the newcomers. Or at least, they cannot be seen. It makes him even more aware of his surroundings and loosening his shoulders, he tries to blend in.

It’s impossible to tell from the plain facade because the place doesn’t look much from the outside, but inside it’s more than extravagant. The owner really lives up to his name, exceeding everyone’s expectations after his previous similar businesses. The ground floor seems like a conventional club: with loud, sensual music, the dance floor full of sexually frustrated people grinding onto each other, cute waitresses in barely enough clothing and expensive drinks. It’s all glitter with shady corners and drunken people. Ordinary, isn’t it? It should be disappointing because the man expected more, something much more interesting but he doesn’t give up. He has already come a long way here and he knows very well that the real business is done below. He just needs to find the entrance and for that, the girl from earlier will be his pass card.

And just like this he catches a glimpse of her dark hair swirling around in the air as she confidently follows the red lights leading the way to a white door at the end of a long hallway. She waves to the man guarding the entrance while she kisses a path up on her current partner’s neck. Her bare tan back is glowing under the fluorescent lights as she disappears beyond the door and the man following her suddenly feels like he stands out too much in his simple jeans and hooded jacket. He expects the guard to stop him, to shoo him away or at least ask him what he wants when he approaches the door but he is merely acknowledged while passing by.

Behind the ivory door there are several steps of stairs dissolving into the darkness. Hues of vermilion paint the pitch black walls from time to time, their colours pulsing to the sweet sounds of enchanting music that’s flooding from beneath. The man smiles at the thought of how accurate it is, the stairs leading downwards. Just as Virgil said once: the descent to Hell is, indeed, easy.

“Welcome to Hell! How may I help you?” a sickly-sweet voice greets him as soon as he reaches the end of the staircase and he can’t help but grimace at the word play: so the ground floor is the highway and this is hell. It looks like the owner hasn’t changed that much since the last time they met. When was it again? Maybe in the early 1900s? Yet, the other guy still seems to be fond of puns.

“I’m looking for the boss,” the visitor steps in front of the model-like girl who looks way too young to be doing this kind of job. Yet, her onyx eyes lack any sort of innocence as she flutters her lashes or the way her hips sway to the sensual music. Her beautiful Ariel-hair spreading all over her chest is the only thing that covers her breast in that flashy, see-through revue costume she wears.

“Like everyone. If you don’t have an appointment, get in line,” with an artificial smile she motions gracefully towards a corner where young girls and guys are lying on sofas, sipping of suspicious looking liquors, wearing clothes that barely cover anything.

“It’s important. He wants to see me,” the man shakes his head but soon a giggle’s melody fills his ears.

“I’m sure he doesn’t. He has company. Prettier than you,” the girl shrugs much less sweetly by now. She looks annoyed and bored, she must get lots of requests like this.

It’s not surprising, Hoseok or whatever his name is in this life has the reputation for it. No wonder keys hang on the wall behind the receptionist. It makes the place look like some kind of love hotel with private rooms. Which kinda it is. Expect it has nothing to do with affection, personal feelings, caring, there’s just the love for the body itself.

“Tell him it’s Henry and I’m here because of business,” the man doesn’t back out, it’s too late to retreat now. “Not the pleasure kind. Unless he makes it one,” he adds, to make it clear before the girl could rudely interrupt him again with some wild suggestion.

The receptionist, Candy as the name tag suggests, frowns deep in thought. She hesitates for a whole long minute until a loud moan coming from the hallways snaps her out of it. She is so unfazed by the bewildering sound, it must be common around here.

“Wait here,” she demands and walks away like a professional heartbreaker: swinging her hips seductively and flips her hair behind her shoulder. It doesn’t take long for her to come back with an answer: “He isn’t happy about it but you can go in. The second room on the left.”

“Thanks,” Henry says dryly while his hands itch to leave a report in the book of complaints. However, this isn’t a normal place like any other. There’s probably no such thing like that around here.

He isn’t surprised when on his way, a guy with a hand whooping his ass is practically shoved out of the door he’s heading to. The guy doesn’t wear anything, his clothes are in his hands pressed against his chest. But rather than being shy because of it or uncomfortable about his nakedness he seems blessed (or more likely fucked) out of his mind.

Henry rolls his eyes at the human’s pathetic state and steps into the said room, shutting the door behind him. The sound resonates throughout the place that has a whole wall made of glass. It immediately catches the newcomer’s attention because on the other side of it, there’s a stage looking like a podium for shows and the pair he followed here is having sex there while others watch them like they were circus performers. He grimaces in disgust but doesn’t comment on it. He has never understood this exhibitionist kink but it’s none of his business. “He was tasty,” the room’s habitant pouts complaining about being disturbed. He tugs himself back into his tight leather jeans and fixes his belt. Henry clicks his tongue.

“Your secretary is a pain in the ass.”

“But at least she has a nice ass and a thing for lingerie,” Hoseok shrugs licking his lips at the thought. The carmine robe still hangs on him opened, revealing his tan chest and abs. “Nevermind. She’s a good labour, keeps the unwanted out.”

The young man seems no older than twenty-five as he looks up at his visitor with a teasing smirk playing in the corner of his mouth. There’s something undeniably attractive about him that lures people in. It might be his confidence in the way he stands tall or those deep dark orbs that take anyone to places they only dreamed about. They might discover wonders they have never knew about and all that because of a man who has the body of a masterpiece sculpture blessed by the Heavens - or the next best thing humans are obsessed with – but the attitude of the worst of worst miscreants. His piercing gaze sends shivers down their spines, filling every fibre of their bodies with want and only a few of them can find it in themselves to tear their gaze away. He can’t help it. He’s Lust after all, it’s in his blood. However, Henry has known him for long enough to not fall for his dark charm.

“Long time no see,” he greets the older demon with a knowing smile. They go way back, it would be foolish to pretend to be strangers.

“Oh yes, the Roaring Twenties in New York City, those were the good days,” the club’s owner plops down on one of his leather chairs and grabs a drink from the table. He doesn’t offer a seat for his guest but Henry sits down anyway. “We had so much fun until you were stupid enough to fall for that human girl. Did it end in blood and tears like I predicted?”

Nostalgia usually isn’t Lust’s thing, he loves to live in the present and taste the fresh meat. Going down on the memory lane is only for the sentimental ones, he claims but he can make an exception just for now.

The lower ranked demon sniffs at his sarcastic tone.

“I hate it when you are right,” he mumbles bitterly, still tasting the faint metallic flavour in his mouth.

“I know,” the demon singsongs cheerfully without any trace of solidarity and gulps down half of the golden liquor in his glass. As he moves, the gilded accessories glint around his wrist and neck under the hazed warm lights exposing their high-class brands. The expensive Rolex made of gold and silver tinkles on his left arm even though he couldn’t care less about time. As an infinite being time isn’t a concept he cares for. What’s more, down here the Sun never comes up, the night never ends.

The whole place screams lust, not only for sex but for anything expensive. There’s lace, cashmere and silk everywhere, the marble is glossy and smooth while the carmine lights create that glamorous, mysterious, dimmed atmosphere that makes the clients feel like it’s a different universe. A dimension where social norms and the expectations of society can’t limit them, here only their most carnal needs and desires matter and define their actions. There are no taboos or rules. Hoseok only meddles in when things got way too out of hand. Until then he lets them get lost in here. People can waste their lives satisfying their cravings in his luxurious underground dungeon, completely forgetting about the outside world. And in Las Vegas, his business is soaring.

“You’re really predictable. A brothel in Vegas, really?” Henry has the balls to call him out on how effortlessly he made his luck but only laughter bubbles up from Hoseok’s throat.

“It’s easy. Everyone is a sinner here,” he shrugs. Challenges are fun but he likes if his things go smoothly. The city is called America’s Playground for a reason so why would he have missed this opportunity? In the past, he owned one of those famous ginseng houses in Japan in medieval times then the Moulin Rouge in Paris in the 1800s. He finds liking in these so-called red light districts more than anything. And to be precise, this isn’t a brothel. Sure, people pay for their stay but there are no sex workers here, only clients.

“Don’t you get bored?”

“Bored of what? Sex? Absolutely not. How could I when there are always new people, new kinks and the advancement of technology always brings new, exciting things? Have you seen the latest toys?” he snorts as if the question itself was downright ridiculous. But the wide, thrilled smile on his face soon turns into an irritated grimace and his stone-cold gaze stays on the lower demon scornfully. He had enough of this crap and has better things to do. Quite literally.  “Okay, so what do you want? I hope for your own good, it’s fucking huge, a good enough reason to bother me during fun.”

“You are always having fun.” Henry snickers disrespectfully.

“Well I can’t argue with that,” Lust raises his hands in a theatrically defensive manner but the bored look on his face shows that his patience is already running thin.

His unannounced guest squirms in his seat uncomfortable and steals a glance at the obscene sight not so far from them.

“Can we...” He points to the curtains on both side of the glass wall that makes the other man crack up.

“Oh, don’t worry, they can’t see us.”

The demon lets out a small ‘Ah’ sound at the realization. Other days, other ways indeed. Two way mirrors are the modern peep-holes they used to use to pry into the affairs of others.

“Still...” he requests not wanting to get distracted by that.

“You are such a killjoy prude. Go on!” the Sin waves for him to hurry up because, of course, he wouldn’t do it himself. He’s used to getting his way in and out of the bed, too.

Henry stands up with a sigh and closes the curtains just as the couple on the other side reaches their high. Good for them, but it’s time to get down to business, he decides and shoves a picture on the table in front of the higher level demon.

Hoseok seems amused as he picks up the photo of a girl in her early twenties. From the angle it looks like a candid shot and it probably is one. The girl doesn’t look like she’s aware of being photographed but there’s something confident in her presence as she turns around in the busy street. Everyone around her fades into oblivion but she’s still there, outstanding.  In her leather jeans, heels and trench coat that most likely hides wonders under. But the most prominent thing about her is that fierce look in her eyes.

“Woah. Collecting girls for me, are you?” Lust licks his lips imagining all the things he could do to a pretty doll like her. However, the answer is totally different from what he expects.

“She’s a hunter.”

“And hunting what? Bambis?” he deadpans but his visitor doesn’t find it so funny and sends him a look of haughty disdain.

“Our kind.”

The words have their own weights. Yet, the club’s owner tsks. “You mean your kind.”

Being arrogant as always, the Sin hates being associated with lower ranked demons. Like Henry. They were both humans once, they died and they are here but Hoseok isn’t just an ordinary demon sealing deals left and right, trying to bring people misery. Oh no, he has lived more than a millennium already and he enjoys nothing more than to seduce mundane and transcendental creatures as well to the dark side. He’s one of the seven deadly sins’ embodiments, no less.

“I always forget you think you’re better than us,” the other man scoffs and gets the conversation back on its original track. “They say she’s worse than the devil himself. She’s only a human yet she makes demons beg. She killed dozens just last week.”

Oh, a demon hunter. It’s been a while since Hoseok last encountered one. They are even rarer nowadays and most of them can’t even do more that pulling that damn trigger. They are lucky if they found a demon who’s an even bigger idiot than they are. He sighs stoically and brings the glass back to his mouth.

“Why is it my problem, again? She can’t kill me,” he reminds his companion peering over the brim of the glass but Henry isn’t quite convinced.

“And what if she has angel blades?”

Hoseok snorts loudly, almost spilling out his drink but recovering fast and smoothly. “Angels? Huh, they don’t exist.”

“You are such a non-believer,” the lower demon shakes his head in disbelief but the older only shrugs.

Stupid demons, they have no idea how this systems works. Virtues, sure. But angels? He only heard about fairy tales made up by pathetic humans so they can pray for their souls. Some would think after turning a demon, they suddenly know everything but no, they are still groping blindly in the dark. Even if angels really existed, he wouldn’t know but no angel has ever tried to meddle in his business and as long as it stays this way that, Hoseok simply doesn’t care.

“Never seen one. Why would I believe in them?”

It’s a rhetorical question, of course, he has no reason to do otherwise.

“Haven’t you heard what happened to Wrath?” Henry enquires further bringing up a normally sensitive topic. However, Hoseok has lived long enough to see others come and go, so another Sin dying and being replaced by a new one isn’t newsflash for him. He doesn’t feel sorrow or pity, even if he kinda liked the dude. Okay, he may have tried to kill him one time but could you really blame him though? They are demons after all.

“It had nothing to do with angels. He was weak, too sentimental,” he brush the question aside since the possibility of something like that happening to him doesn’t mean a threat for him. It’s impossible.

Not long ago, Yoongi called him to see if he had anything to do with the latest attempt to kill him. If he recalls it correctly, Wrath mentioned something about someone who had his number but he couldn’t find out who it was. Usually he doesn’t associate with stupid hunters and he wonders faintly if the girl on the photo is targeting the Sins. It doesn’t really matter because in the end, she wasn’t the one that took Wrath down but that disgusting thing humans call love.

According to Don Juan, love is the only sacred thing. For Lust it’s definitely a weakness. It only brings destruction and havoc, a painful mess. A feeling so unnecessary and yet powerful that it never fails to amaze him that people still yearn for love heartbreak after heartbreak. Masochists. But luckily for him, humans are especially weak when it comes to the sin of flesh.

Of course, for staying ‘pure’ you don’t have to keep celibacy. Sex itself isn’t a sin. It’s natural, a must for human reproduction and enjoying it doesn’t make it sinful. Sex is a sin if the partners don’t love each other, if their sexual desire is separated from true affection. When it’s not making love but just a good fuck, it becomes self-seeking and that’s the sin of lust... among other, more brutal and disgusting ones. They just crave the body to satisfy their own needs. It’s selfish and if the insatiable hunger isn’t handled properly, it can most definitely subvert propriety.

“Look… this girl...” Henry takes a deep breath trying to reason and convince the more powerful demon that it’s a serious issue he should be concerned about. But Hoseok easily cuts him off:

“Look,” he mimics the others tone mockingly. “She could knock on my door for all I care. Why me? I like to stay out of this business. Can’t you bother someone else to do the dirty work?”

Centuries passed, demons died and were born as well as humans but he only ever participated in their pitiful games if he found it fun. That’s all he has ever wanted. Revenge, power, leading a country to revolution? Sounds nice but he had better things to do. It was during the French Revolution when he last saw Pride and the beginning of World War II when he had business with Greed. He isn’t a social figure among their own kind, he would rather get lost in human crowds and then control the stray ones.

“I know you like the feisty ones,” Henry brings up a new argument, knowing well it should be the closest to a good explanation. “And I heard she’s after the Sins. Rumour has it that she got her hands on Pandora’s Box.”

A legend, a stupid fiction but nothing more. Still, lots of people were after it over the times: adventurers, rulers, Hitler and even Greed himself. Lust doesn’t know anyone who really saw it or could prove it really exists. He only helped Taehyung to see how it goes. You could say he was curious but not about the box. He couldn’t care less about the mythical object. He just wanted to see if the Sin could taint such a pure soul. Also, it’s always a rewarding feeling when even his fellows give into lust.

“How many tales are going to tell me tonight? I might fall sleep... or no, I have some more girls to fuck. So hurry up!” Hoseok groans impatiently. He has never been the kind who likes speeches with no end, maybe that’s why he doesn’t like to be teased either.

“She’s called the Black Widow,” Henry adds throwing in the information like it should mean something but that only makes the other roar with laughter so hard it makes his shoulders shake.

“She’s even named after a comic book character. Is she even real?” he snorts and all it takes to successfully piss off the lower demon.

“I shouldn’t have come here. You really don’t care about your kind. It’s true what they say after all,” he stands up so quickly it’s an achievement worth mentioning even for demon standards. However, he shouldn’t have been so quick on the mouth because the amusing glint disappears from Hoseok’s eyes all at once. He knows what the man implies because of course, he has heard the gossips they whisper behind his back. They say Lust is the least serious capital sin and even a lame excuse of a demon. He does nothing else than clubbing and fucking because these are the only things he can do.  Normally, the Sin wouldn’t care, he would let them talk but Henry really does have a death wish if he had nerve to say it to his face.

“Say that again and I will make sure you can’t use your dick more than a hose pipe,” he hisses dead serious, his gaze looking like it could cut through glass and no matter how quietly he speaks, the threat is obvious in his tone. “Get out before I change my mind and kill you on spot.”

“Gladly,” Henry yammers and strides to the door slamming it shut after him. The harsh sound still resonates through the room when Lust finishes his drink.

It takes one more glass of gin to forget all about this whole intermezzo an pick up the photo from the table.

To be honest with himself, he has found this mystery girl quite entrancing so far. A challenge, something exciting. A girl on heaven’s side killing demons much stronger than her petit human body. It isn’t something you hear of everyday. And she’s looking for the Sins? Well, let her find him and let the fun begin!

Being a demon hunter isn’t an easy job but it’s not like she wanted it. Her father has always been obsessed with training to be the most excellent in all kind of martial arts. Of course, he just wanted the best for her – aren’t all dads? - but he was a little extreme. Instead of taking her to ballet lessons or paying for extra language classes, he made sure that she learnt a dozens of fighting techniques, that she was skilled in archery, could fire a gun without a problem and that she recognized demons before they could even touch her. You could say that his wife’s sudden death drove him a little crazy.

Black Widow got herself a name in a certain company quite quickly. And no, she didn’t choose the alias, it just kind of stuck since everyone called her that. It’s a little embarrassing, even though she likes how badass it sounds. It made hunting and killing demons sound cool, rather than terrifying and disgusting. While doing this unusual job, sometimes she got tired, sad or lonely but at the end of the day she was grateful for his father that he taught her how to live in this cruel world, seeing it for what it is unlike the ignorant people.

“Please, let’s make a deal, I can give you anything you want…” the demon begs on his knees in front of her. The shiny dagger with her monograms in it points to his throat and makes him bleed burgundy.

“Bullshit. I don’t need your deals. Pathetic,” she spits out. Even though Kindness is a virtue she can’t find it in herself to be nice to a demon. They’re monsters after all. “Let's talk about where I can find the Sins.”

“I... I don’t know,” he utters out in ragged breaths looking more scared than a dreadful evil spirit should.

“Wrong answer,” she presses the dagger’s edge more into the demon’s deceivingly human skin that now has red spots all over it because of his own dripping ink dark blood and the holy water she sprayed on him earlier.

“I swear I have no idea,” he mumbles in desperation, clearly fighting with tears. It’s a laughable sight. She didn’t even know these creatures are capable of crying.

“Lying is a sin, did you know?” she reminds him almost gently and keeps stroking his neck with the steel. “So where are they or how can I find them?”

“I’m telling you the truth. They are higher ups, they can be wherever they want and they would kill me if I would tell you anything,” he explains hastily but she doesn’t have any of this.

“Well, in this case I will kill you sooner. Bye,” she rolls her eyes and raises her right arm up ready to strike.

“Wait!” the demon grabs her wrist as if he was clinging on the last string of hope. “I heard one of them is in Vegas. I am not sure…” he trails off trembling.

“Where?”

“There's a club called Highway to Hell where a lot of demons hang out, you might find him there,” he says a little bit more confidently than before. That’s the only thing that makes the hunter believe that he is telling the truth despite the ridiculous club name. The owner is an AC/DC fanboy or what?

“If you lied to me, I will find you again and kill you,” she shakes him by his collar and drags him to his feet. As soon as she releases him, he runs off like Hell is after him.

The girl in all black chuckles. Her phone buzzes in her pockets but she lazily wipes the blood off the blade before she picks up.

“Where are you? I’m going insane here! I thought you are dead,” the guy on the other side practically hollers into the phone.

“Hey, you should know it’s not that easy to take me out,” she lets out an offended huff and leaves the dark, bloodied dead alley behind.

“I know but still, it’s dangerous! Don’t disappear from the map again like this! I should be your eyes, remember?”

Yeah, that their team: the Chwe sibling against the world. While she does the killing, her little brother works behind his computer, hacking into databases, tracking suspicious people and keeping eye on the mission sites. This has always been like this, ever since both of their parents died. They make a good team despite their disagreements about her methods. Judging by his voice, Vernon is still mad but also relieved because she seems okay and more than that: enthusiastic.

“I think I have a lead,” she tells him the big news that got her so happy but her brother immediately tenses up in suspicion. They just finished a job, they wouldn’t need leads for a new case. He just wants one peaceful night without monsters. Is it too much to ask for? Apparently it is.  

"A lead for what?”

It’s funny how the silence drags out. The girl builds up the anticipation on purpose.

“To the Sins.”

“What do you mean the... oh my god, you must be kidding! No, that’s a suicide mission, you absolutely can’t!” Vernon yells at her, first confused then terrified.

He has nobody but his sister, only the two of them left. He cannot lose her too. He just can’t let it happen. He’s already a saint for letting her go to hunt these assholes in the darkest hours of the day. Of course, he does as much as he can from the background because you learnt from quite bad experiences that the field job is not for him. He’s good at fighting and strategy so it’s not about that. He just can’t stand what violence brings: the blood, the chopped heads, the stabbed hearts or anything like this. Why can’t all demons just turn to dust, only the old ones? Why do they seem so human-like? He doesn’t know how his sister does it, but it’s like she is immune to these things. Maybe she even enjoys it but not in the sadistic way. The fact that she does good for innocent people by saving them without them knowing and gets revenge on these evil creatures to make amends meet, it means salvation for her.

Ordinary, pitiful demons? Okay. But the Sins? That’s a whole new level. Rumour has it they can’t be killed, at least not permanently and anyone who has ever tried, failed, ended up dead in some alley or being ripped to pieces and thrown to the dogs. The siblings used to laugh at the idea of them existing. What’s next? The Horsemen?

But then they met Chastity, a Virtue. She was beyond beautiful and as pure as one could get. She got Vernon totally whipped, feeling harmless puppy love for her.  So if Virtues were real, walking among humans, why wouldn’t Sins be real too? It’s written in the ancient balance.

“I can and I will,” the so-called Black Widow argues in an authoritative tone that ends the discussion. Vernon knows he can’t stop her from doing something she has already set her mind to. He can’t do anything but trust and help her. “Get me a plane ticket to Vegas or I will hitchhike my way there.”

“Okay, just… Hey sis, don’t do anything…” dangerous? he asks her to take care in his own way every single time but she hangs up on him before he could finish. She can’t promise him that. She lives on adrenaline and dangerous things. What’s fun about it if it’s not risky a little?

Most of the times, Hoseok is in the basement watching over the orgies and the BDSM business where people can experiment with their kinky side under control. He doesn’t want anyone to die just yet, after all. Lust has a special treat for anyone visiting his hidden den: he could spread aphrodisiacs with a simple touch which gives people the sense of being in ecstasy but also dirties their already impure thoughts. Sometimes, he joins the fun or invite the lucky ones into his private room. Unlike his fellow Sins who often like to stay behind, hidden in the shadows, not revealing their faces, he soaks up all the attention. But sometimes he actually gets bored like Henry presumed and those times, he comes upstairs to observe the clueless humans and a few reckless demons from behind his glass of Scotch at the bar.

Tonight is boring. There’s nobody interesting who caught his eye and he almost regrets not asking Henry about that girl. It has already been couple of days since his sudden visit but nothing happened. Maybe all that fuss about Black Widow really is just a gossip among their kind.

Or not.

Hoseok can feel the change in the atmosphere right away as the light breeze of late summer nights rushes through the opening door. It brings the faint scent of something bitter and burnt like caramelized sugar. The aroma is so sweet it clouds his senses for a moment but his gaze is hungrily searching for the owner of the expensive perfume and chattering heels. It doesn’t take a minute for her to come in her glory: knee high boots that make her slender legs look longer and a pretty black dress sticking to her skin like second skin. It could be the low cleavage or the lace pattern running along its whole back not leaving much to imagination but her presence immediately gains attention. Her long, dark hair is brushed to one side displaying her flawless swan neck almost teasingly. Her soft skin looks unfairly delicious, waiting to be marked.

Hoseok is aware of the dozens of predatory eyes focused on the new arrival and he can sense the increasing level of arousal and the spreading nasty thoughts. Oh if she knew what others would like to do with her! But it’s her fault dressing like the embodiment of seduction, a real life femme fatale, every man’s wet dream. However, she seems oblivious of the massive interest in her sudden appearance or simply ignores it as she strides to the bar confidently. Even the barista is licking his lips as he takes her order, a Sex on the Beach coctail. It’s like an open invitation that anyone would be a fool to reject.

And Lust is the last person you would call a fool.

He stands up from the barstool and brings his glass of whiskey with him as he walks to this phenomenon of a woman. He flashes a triumphant smile towards the men who were too slow to approach today’s jackpot while his aura emits something intimidating that makes them retreat.

“Hey, beautiful, can I buy you a drink?” he casually plops down next to her, his voice sweet like saccharine. That particular sweet aroma fills his nostrils once again as he leans closer. The girl in smoky make-up doesn’t even look at him, just throws her hair behind one shoulder.

“Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.”

Oh, even her voice is smooth like honey. Hoseok feels more and more thrilled. It’s an exciting change to meet someone who doesn’t fall for his charms immediately. Nowadays, it’s so rare to find ladies who play hard to get just right, well enough to rile him up.

“Really? Who’s the lucky bastard?” he asks truly interested, not even slightly disheartened.

“A sin,” she replies casually as if it was evident. The sly smile she has on her pretty, soon-to-be-bitten lips makes the demon a little baffled, just a little bit. He didn’t expect her to be so straightforward.

Was she kidding? Or she actually meant what she said and provoked him on purpose? Whatever it is, Hoseok is ready to play along with the game. Hell, he could even seduce Virtues in the past just because he likes seeing them fall out of grace. He especially takes pleasure in getting under the skin of the actual virtue of Chastity from time to time. So he definitely enjoys games like this.

“You can’t just wait for him to come to you,” he makes a small remark emphasizing the fact that sins are, indeed, walking around among ordinary people in their human shell.

“Well, he just did, didn’t he?” she turns her head towards him with a playful glint in her eyes. Her smile is dangerous in the same way beautiful things can be dangerous: unseen, silently but deadly. She really does know who he is and she isn’t afraid. What a rare combination!

“Touché,” Hoseok chuckles amused because oh how much he loves these witty comebacks! “You know, only a handful of people made it out alive knowing who I am. What makes you think you are one of them?”

“And what makes you think I don’t want to stay?” she whispers sinfully putting down her cocktail and bending towards him so there’s only a few inches between them. Her gaze lingers on his plump lips for a second too long before she pulls back. Such a tease. “I quite like this place and there are some really handsome men over there. I bet they would fuck me so good.”

“Not as good as me and someone like you deserve the best. Don’t even bother going to them,” he orders firmly while possessiveness poisons the blood in his veins. He doesn’t want to share her with anyone else, not yet at least.

“Well, watch me,” she raises an eyebrow cockily, rising to her feet gracefully. The playful, fake innocent curve of her rosy lips makes it obvious that she’s really just toying with him. Daring little girl. It’s time for him to teach her a lesson: don’t tease Lust.

“I am watching you and I like what I’m seeing,” he muses with a smirk, his eyes glowing dark with intent. It’s the worst pick-up line he could use but it makes her stop in the tracks.

“Do you always flirt like this? It’s lame,” she rolls her eyes but sits back nonetheless, crossing her right leg over the other. The demon shrugs, not at all offended but rather amused. Hardly anyone dares to complain about that to him and even less of those who know about his true nature.

“Usually, I don’t even have to flirt,” he winks in a playful manner, knowing very well why he doesn’t need that. A touch is enough to drive anyone crazy with all that lust they have pent-up in them. A touch and all their hidden dirty fantasies are only a step away. Only a touch, literally that’s all it takes to become a slave of devil. Lust is an addictive aphrodisiac trapped in a human body waiting to affect.

Yet, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t flirt. He knows very well how to, thank you very much. Who do you think taught Don Juan and Casanova everything they knew to seduce all those women all around the world? They were his favourite sons, not biologically, of course, but still. His most successful pupils or the devil’s disciples as some said.

“You’re so full of yourself,” the bold girl grumbles with that loose tongue she has. Hoseok hasn’t decided yet that he likes her more with or without her sass. It makes her interesting, challenging, out of ordinary but he has always hated disobedience. It’s only fun because he knows he can break off any walls and turn her legs into jelly.

“No, I just know what I want,” he flashes a predatory grin that can only be described as mischievous.

“And what is it?” The pretty girl asks curiously with tilt of her head. The sudden movement bares her neck even more while her silver earrings tinkle to the sensual background music. The way her rouge lips twitch upwards is cunning, sinfully so. But the demon has never loved it more.

“Right now, it’s you…” he itches closer to her ear but she doesn’t back away. His breathe is fanning over the shell, his lips lightly nib on the soft skin there as he huskily whispers those sinful words: “...pinned to the wall, tied up in my bed, naked, crying out my name in pleasure…”

“Please,” the girl chokes on the word grabbing his lounge-jacket in desperation and Hoseok smirks. That’s it: any resistance can be broken.

“Please what, babygirl? Lust teases sliding his hand down on her side following the dress’ curves. Her body seems fragile under his fingertips but he knows she can take a lot because she already bears dozens of scars hidden by the dark dress.

The girl shudders at the pet name and her body goes pliant under his hands.

“Can we… Can we go somewhere private?” Her voice cracks so beautifully, dripping need. It’s music to the demon’s acute ears, since he’s feeding on humans’ lust after all.

“Sure we can. That’s why you were waiting for me in the first place, isn’t it?” he asks in a hoarsely whisper. His teeth tugs at her earlobe teasingly and she lets out a slight moan between her parted rosy lips. Her cheeks are flashed red like a good, aged wine and she’s so gone already, she can’t even form a sentence. Almost too easy.

Hoseok detaches her fumbling finger from his collar and grabs her by the wrist. He isn’t gently at all, there’s firmness in his touch like always as he walks her straight into the lion den. Straight across the long corridor, through the door and down, down, down the rabbit hole.

The eyes of half-naked, staring people follow them as they pass by velvet curtains and dozens of doors. She clinging to him for dear life, body pressed achingly close and her breath is coming out ragged as if they came running. They almost did.

The last door on the right is different, it doesn’t have a door knob or handle, nor does it function with locks and keys. Hoseok simply puts his palm flat on the wood and it flings open revealing a room full of glinting crystals. Based on the expensive interior design, the silk bathrobe carelessly thrown on the floor, the vitrine full of expensive liquor and the unmade double bed, it looks like Lust’s private suite.

As soon as the door shuts, they are all over each other, fighting for dominance: hands wandering on bodies, nipping on exposed skin and kissing the warmness they find there. Hoseok isn’t tender in the way he marks her up leaving dark magenta hues all over her swan neck then lapping his tongue all over the bruises. She’s trembling out of pleasure but it’s fake. Just like the sweetness in her voice and all the little noises she makes; a huge lie.

She is a good actress but she can’t fool the devil. Or stab him so simple, it’s a matter of fact.

“Tsk-tsk-tsk,” Hoseok clicks his tongue disapprovingly as he catches the girl’s moving arm and pins it to the wall beside her head. Fighting back is useless and soon, she also accepts that he has better reflexes and senses than any human could have. There’s no way he would have fallen for this trick. It seems being an experienced demon hunter doesn’t mean they aren’t stupid and naive.

“Bad girl,” he growls into her ear and the shudder running through her is more of an adrenaline rush than lust this time.

The demon pulls back so he can take a good look at the dagger in her right hand. It’s silver with a marble grip and sacred symbols all over it. It would make a pretty nice toothpick but nothing more, the demon thinks with a low chuckle. It’s just a pretty knife with all of its holy patterns carved in it but none of them would do much damage on him.

“Did you…” the girl hisses between her white teeth, questioning with eyes angry dark. Lust raises an eyebrow arrogantly.

“Oh honey, I knew you were a hunter the moment you walked in. You reek of holy water. Such a pity it doesn’t work. On me at least,” he sniffs into the air indulging in the sweet scent of something burnt. He had heard other demons complain about it being bitter for their nostrils but Hoseok has always found a liking to its peculiar aroma. (Maybe because the forbidden fruit is always the finest of all.) But it wasn’t the only thing that gave her away, he immediately recognized her from the photo Henry brought. She was impossibly to mistake with someone else. She has that aura that definitely leaves on impression on mankind. So maybe that’s why he didn’t kill her the moment she dared to step into his club. What would have been the fun in that anyway?

“And still, you came to me,” the girl with red-tinted lips doesn’t have fear in her eyes. Maybe she’s a little uncomfortable based on the way she fidgets in his hold but scared? No. Hoseok can see curiosity and confidence in her eyes, so she’s definitely planning something. He wonders what it could be behind this poorly-executed attempt to kill him.

“Of course, I would never back out of a challenge,” the demon grins amused and takes the girl’s wrists in one hand so he can rid of that shining, edgy object threatening to draw blood. He carelessly drops it to the floor in close proximity. For one, he isn’t afraid of that it might hurt him and who knows? Maybe she’s into those bloody sexy times.

There’s a slight pause. A moment when the world stills and they just look at each other. Dark universes of eyes bore into each other observing any flicker, searching for any hint of uncertainty. Hoseok is finds truly interesting what he sees. The girl is around her early-twenties, so young, only a fleck of dust in history, yet the bitterness in her coal-like orbs hold stories of millenniums.

“You are really Lust, aren’t you?” she furrows her eyebrows dubiously and it makes the Sin laugh out loud. The situation is so surreal: them in his underground playroom having sweet small talk about who he is while he keeps her caged in his arms.

“Oh shoot, where are my manners? Sorry. I probably forgot to properly introduce myself when you tried to kill me,” he reminds her with salty irony dripping from his voice. “To be honest I’m quite impressed. That’s why I didn’t kill you the moment you stepped into my club. Plus, it would be bad for business. You are a great actress, I will give you that. I almost believed what you said. But did you really think you could get away with it?”

“It was worth a shot,” the femme fatale answers so casually like killing demons is the most natural thing to do on a Saturday night. She shrugs or at least tries to as much as her held down arms let her.

“Reckless little hunter,” he muses and finds himself pondering over her question. “What makes you think I’m Lust?”

At first, he thought, she knows exactly who he is but it seems like she only knew that he was a Sin. But then again, how can it be irrelevant to her, what kind of demon she’s attacking? Would she have tried to seduce any of them? Alright, he can give her that it is a good strategy, after all, he knows, that even demons fall in the trap of temptation from time to time (or more often than not). This tactic would have probably worked with Greed and Pride, maybe even Gluttony, but the others not so much. So it makes him curious how or when she found out about his identity.

“Well, the club speaks for itself,” she says and Hoseok nods, he can’t argue with that. “And you have this aura,” she adds the vague explanation and the demons brows shoot up.

“Is it your way of saying I’m sexy? Are we back at flirting already?” his teasing question makes her scoff.

“Why are you so chill?” she muses in clear disbelief. Her confusion is understandable since most demons kill before they ask questions. Maybe she has gotten used to those stupid lower class demons that overreact every little thing.

“You want me to rave with fury? What for? I knew you were coming and try to kill me. It’s unusual but I love exciting foreplays,” he licks his lips seductively, using his leverage in their current position to slot a thigh between her legs. She keeps the eye contact and her pretty poker face says she isn’t affected at all, but oh boy, does he know the truth!

“Is it all a game to you?” she asks brows drawn together seemingly with no care about her vulnerability. She must have something up her sleeves, Lust assumes.

“Describe it,” he tilts his head, curious, his eyes glinting with excitement.

“Sex.”

Now we are talking! Sex is his favourite topic since you could say he’s an expert in this field.

“Well, it’s in my job description so why not enjoy it?”

The girl lets out a snort at his life philosophy. Her judging look is surely meant to be offending. So does her suggestive tone. Not that Hoseok cares.

“Okay, let me rephrase: is it fun making people sin, making them commit rape, fornication, adultery, bestiality and other disgusting things?”

The blatant accusation of immoral sexual acts doesn’t catch him off guard. He has heard it all before. Still, it upsets him a little, that this human girl just barges into here all bossy and questions him. How dare she?

The grip on her wrist suddenly tightens.

“Just for the record, I don’t make them do anything. They do it themselves, because you, humans are so weak and fallible. And of fucking course, you all blame it on us,” he spits in return to the ridiculous accuse because humans can be so pitiful sometimes. “So yes, I am Lust. But I have been called so many things in life: master, daddy…”

“Sir?” she asks out of blue, huffs coming out erratically. Maybe it’s a part of her plan, just a game, a test but the demon likes it anyway.

“Yeah… yeah that too,” he nods hastily and the huntress cannot believe her ears. Maybe they are playing a trick on her but for a moment he sounds a little breathless. Could it be? Can she affect him in that way with a simple word?

“But you can call me Hoseok if you want, kitten,” the demon offers feeling oh so generous. Or maybe he just wants to hear his name from that pretty, loose mouth of hers.

“Don’t call me that!” she snaps, lips red and eyes wild. But she’s a true actress transforming in front of him from one role to another with a resigned sigh. She’s falls back quickly into the earlier, almost pliant one as she wriggles her trapped wrists in his hold.  “Would you...?”

The tilt of her head clearly indicates what she wants and Hoseok lets out a low chuckle.

“Let you go? Why so polite suddenly?” He strokes her jaw with his index finger ever so slowly and gently, like one would pet a prideful cat. “See, I wasn’t kidding about you pinned against the wall. Even though the position is quite to my liking, maybe if you are a good girl I might let you go, yes. So tell me, why are you really here? Do you really just want to kill a Sin, Black Widow?”

The emphasis on the name doesn’t go unnoticed. The girl’s eyes widen the slightest, a little taken aback by the fact that he knows who she is. Yet, she acts all smug.

“So you have heard of me.”

“Yes, your reputation arrived earlier.”

Thanks to Henry and his blabber mouth.

“You did yours.” the huntress nods acknowledging his reputation. “So your magic touch doesn’t work on me, I made sure of that.”

She says it so confidently Hoseok doesn’t doubt that she really did everything she could to make him powerless against her will. The only thing he doesn’t know is how.

It’s almost too simple, you see. She has tattooed the seven Virtues’ names on her back because according to the ancient balance names have their own power. That’s why some of them are sacred or forbidden and cannot be said out loud. If it was her strong will or the tattoos, she can’t be sure but she’s in control all the time and can’t be manipulated by demons. Sounds good, huh? But the tattoo process isn’t a piece of cake. The pen has to made out of a consecrated item and the ink has to contain ash from sacred places that has been burnt down after a pure soul sinned for the first time. It hurt like a bitch and was hell of a trouble to go through getting one name after the other every month. No wonder why she doesn’t know about anyone else who has all seven of them.

It doesn’t change the fact that Hoseok’s aphrodisiac touch didn’t affect her and yet she’s still tempted by the raw feeling of lust.

“Oh so you did your research. Flattering, but I know. I haven’t even used them yet. Up until now, it was all you, darling,” the demon gladly enlightens the over-confident girl as he brushes his lips against her soft neck and that sensitive area behind her ear. “You can’t deny that you find me attractive. I can sense your hormones. I can practically feel how aroused you are even though I barely touched you.”

It’s the truth: he can smell the rosy scent of her pheromones and a triumphant smirk spreads all over his face when she gulps.

“I am Lust. I know exactly what riles you up, your biggest secrets, your most hidden craving, the needs you are ashamed of. I know you like the danger and that you want someone to tie you up. I can do the honour if you want...” he offers, his sinful words pressed into the curl of her neck making her shiver.

“Fuck you!” she snaps, frustration evident in her dark orbs.

“Gladly,” the demon says with a devilish grin.

He steps back just in time before the girl pulls her leg up to knee his crotch when she finally had enough of being caged. It all happens so quickly that Hoseok lets go of her wrists in order to protect his precious manhood. She doesn’t waste a minute to grab the dagger from the floor and throws it in the demons direction. A swish sound later, the metal rips through the air and hit the copy (or who knows, it might be the real one) of a Botticelli dead on.

“Oh, I liked that painting!” Hoseok pouts even though if it wasn’t for his excellent relaxes, the dagger would have pierced through his heart. Leisurely, he shifts his gaze back to the huntress and in that moment, he agrees that the name Black Widow really suits her. She’s a siren: beautiful, alluring yet deadly. When Shakespeare wrote ‘she drinks no other drink but tears’ he probably meant her.

“You call yourself Lust all proud and think it makes you different but you’re just a manwhore,” she bolts forwards trying to kick or hit him with bare hands but Hoseok is always one step ahead, just barely out of reach. Until the back of his legs hit the bed’s edge.

“You just called me a whore? Wow.” he laughs out loud. If it was meant to be an insult, it didn’t work. “Show some respect to sluts, please, they are doing an amazing job! But what about you, little miss perfect? Flirting with the evil just to stab them into the back? Are you lust after power, honey? I know you enjoy seducing all those demons and making them beg. It makes you a sinner too, you know? Lust like most sins is more about what you feel or think rather than what do. Of course, rape and such things are sins even if they are done out of love. Otherwise all is fair.”

“Shut up!” the girl punches him. Hard. Its strength takes him by surprise, making him lose balance when he gets a well-aimed kick on the chest. He stumbles back and falls on the bed into the pile of black silk sheets.

Black Widow is on him in an instant, stretching herself to reach the dagger stuck in the renaissance painting that hangs just above the bed. Even before her fingertips could touch the object, the demon grabs her waist and flips them around. Soon they are in a similar position like earlier: Hoseok kneels between her thighs holding both of her wrists above her head and applying pressure on her abdomen with his body so she cannot move. Though, the bed is definitely more comfortable than the wall.

“When will you give up? Just give into lust,” he whispers temptingly, knowing fully well she won’t last long but she is a feisty one so she will try to defy him.

“Never.”

“We will see about that,” he challenges her and gets bored of the cat-mouse game. He lets go of her hands but grabs her jaw with one hand, not allowing her to turn her head away as he forces his lips on hers.

At first, she tries to push him away banging fists on his chest but soon enough, instead of pushing, she’s pulling him closer by the collar of his Gucci shirt. The shift in her behaviour is so obvious: instead of kicking, she wraps her legs around his waist, so she can pull him closer seeking some friction and oh, the way she moans! A symphony he could never get bored of listening. “You are so naughty,” he comments when his fingers run up to the insides of her bare upper thighs and finds a revolver there. He unclasps its case easily and throws it away. A second later he regrets it because it could have come handy but never mind. He doesn’t let himself get distracted now when he can finally feel her warmth. “So wet for me already, babydoll?”

“Ah, not for you,” she answers between broken whines, feeling heady but still resisting. Meanwhile her body is already a slave for the Sin, digging her nails into the sheets and arching her back to be closer to him.

“Are you sure?” he asks playfully and pulls her panties aside. Feeling how ready she really is for him, he doesn’t waste any more time to insert a finger. The girl gasps at the intrusion but her shallow breathing quickly turns into nasty moans, a music to the demon’s ears. No matter how hard she tries to fight him or tries to hide the bliss she’s experimenting, it’s in vain: he knows exactly how to please humans. Lust is a tempter after all.

“Good girl,” he praises her for taking him so well and without a warning he adds a second digit. It doesn’t take long to fill the room with the wet sounds of pumping in and out, sloppy kisses on her neck and her breathy moans.

“Do you like it?” Hoseok whispers with a wicked smile on his flawless face. He already knows the answer he won’t get anytime soon.

“Answer me, doll!” he switches to a brutal speed that makes the girl cry out from the mixture of pleasure and pain. She opens her eyes, staring at him with eyes hazy of desire. Yet, her dark gaze still holds hints of rebellion.

“No,” she lies even though her voice breaks. The challenge only makes her more interesting in the demon’s eyes. He immediately retreats his hand and she unconsciously whines at the loss as Hoseok tastes her on his fingers.

“Well, if you say so,” he shrugs and hooks his fingers into her lacy underwear. He pulls them down alongside with her boots and tosses them away carelessly.

“Don’t touch yourself until I say so or I have to tie you up for real,” he warns her strictly, voice lashing out but she shamelessly whimpers at the thought. A smirk creeps on the demon’s face in delight, because he can almost hear the walls of her resistance crumbling. “Oh do you want that, sugarcup?” he lets the new, experimental pet name roll off his tongue musically and sinfully as he feeds up all the broken pleas she sighs.

“Yea- yes.”

“Yes what?” he inquires further, eager to hear her beg while his practiced fingers make a lazy work of unbuttoning his own white shirt. The girl is watching the movement with teeth sank into the plump flesh of her bottom lip, chest heavily rising.

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s it,” Hoseok grinned pleased and leans over her waiting body to kiss her briefly on the lips. “You act all bossy but you like to feel out of control, don’t you?”

Instead of answering, the huntress bits back a moan as she rolls her hips up aching to be touched and Lust takes it as a queue to continue. He may not be a gentleman in bed but he likes to leave his partners satisfied. Also, he’s known for being a tease. Hence, it shouldn’t be surprising that he keeps a silk rope within reach and it comes in handy when he ties her up to the headboard.

“Patience! Be a good girl for me,” he coos when the girl whines at the loss of their skin-to-skin contact when he pulls back.

Hoseok makes a show of undressing while the tied up girl is squirming before him. He isn’t some fucking teenager or overeager human, he knows how to savour the finest tastes. He knows that being patient gets rewarded in the end. When he’s finished with discarding the last of his clothes to the floor, it’s her turn. The demon basically tears her dress down so he can yank it off her without unbinding her. Meanwhile, he doesn’t miss the way her gaze loiters over his body or licks her lips appreciating the sight. Even if she didn’t show, her pheromones would betray her.

She is beautiful. Really, from head to toe. Like a delicate flower but with thorns. Especially since she has pure lust glinting in her eyes. He could probably get off just to the mouth-watering sight of her and all the fantasies he would do with her naked, delicious body. But why waste the opportunity if she’s in front of him so eager to take him?

“Will you even touch me or just continue to look at me as if I was an exhibit in a museum?” the girl complains with that sharp tongue of hers apparently not satisfied by watching Lust stroking himself to full hardness.

“I said patience. Now, turn around. On your knees,” he orders and when she obeys, he manoeuvres her to spread her legs more and grip on the headboard for leverage.

As the huntress turns her back to him, the black ink decorating her skin makes the demon smirk. The seven Virtues’ names in pretty handwriting take up almost all the space on her bare back, Chastity at the top. How ironic.

“You have them all, wow. But you are a real sinner. You belong here,” he mumbles against her smooth skin, kissing his way up but he doesn’t say what he means by here: Las Vegas, the city of sinners, his club or under him, ass up, face down in the pillows, naked.

“Your body is a sacred place I want to corrupt,” he leans close to her ear, voice dangerously low and hoarse while he’s pulling at her earring with his teeth from behind. The helpless girl can only shiver and melt at his touch while his skilled tongue laves over the hickey he has left on the juncture between her neck and shoulder earlier. He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses all over her back just to rile her up until she’s a moaning mess under him even without being properly touched.

It doesn’t take long until she breaks.

“Please... just fuck me already!”

“Shh… babygirl,” Hoseok soothe her licking over the reddening marks he let on her skin like an artist marvels at his finished masterpiece. “How bad do you want it?”

“So bad, sir. I need it,” she doesn’t even hesitate before answering, only nibbles on her bottom lip trying to suppress her pathetic sounds. That’s all it takes to end her sweet torture. He just wanted to hear her beg since she’s already let the unbridled sexual desire consume her.

“As you wish.”

Sex with Lust is never pretty: it’s messy and needy, almost aggressive but oh so good. He sinks into her heat right away because he knows she can take it. It takes her breathe away for a second but then she’s quickly gasps for air, grabbing the headboard harder, shutting her eyes and crying out in pleasure.

“Oh god.”

“Far from him. I’m quite the opposite but anything for you,” he grunts out amused, fingers digging into her waist so hard it’s definitely going to leave a mark. He pulls out for a moment and slams back into her setting an unforgiving rhythm. The room is soon filled with sounds of skin slapping skin and her breathy moans. She has been aroused for so long, she won’t last long. Lust can already feel her climax coming but slows down just to take her closer to the edge later.

“What do you want? Tell me and I will give it to you,” he breathes into her ear seductively because it’s a promise he can keep for sure.

“Please touch me,” Black Widow pleads voice full of yearning that makes the demon pleased with himself. Is she really the huntress that intimidates hordes of demons? In his arms she’s just another helpless, yearning mess. Yet, after all the headache she caused, he isn’t going to make it easy for her.

“You have to be more specific than that. I know what you want but I want you to say it.”

Hoseok knows it isn’t fair to press her to admit her most hidden desire, a kink she has been fighting for so long but he doesn’t care. In this game all is fair and she accepted the rules the moment she began flirting with him.

“Cho-choke me,” she mutters into the pillow too immersed in lust to feel ashamed and Lust rewards her with untying the knot of silk around her wrist. He whispers words of praise as he lays her on her back before entering into her again. He’s really good at giving what his partners want. It’s also a part of knowing exactly what button to push and how. He’s a giver, he’s a taker, whatever they need him to be because he feeds on their lust.

He looks straight into her blown pupils as he presses his thumb on her air-pipe. Gently at first just to test the waters but that look of pure pleasure she has in her pretty eyes gives him green light quickly. He hoists up her long slender legs as his thrusts become harder and the press of his fingers on her throat more daring. The thrill of danger is rushing in her veins, electrifying, just like the kind of adrenaline she craved.

“Please...” she whines, her voice worn out, barely above a whisper when the demon finally lets her breathe just before she could pass out due to the lack of oxygen in her lungs. It hurts but she likes this kind of pain. “Please let me come.”

Hoseok wonders how much he broke her will that she became so pliant. Even if he didn’t have that aphrodisiac effect on her, it looks like he is quite addictive. The thought boosts his ego more than it should.

“I never said you can’t. Go on.”

And she doesn’t hold back anymore when he presses down on her air-pipe especially hard, hard enough to give her that airy weightlessness that makes her feel like she’s up in the clouds. While she’s coming down from her high, Lust mercilessly chases his own release. Despite being sensitive she doesn’t complain, only tugs on the demon’s short ginger strands with her finally free hands and enjoys the way he gasps when he orgasms.

“Fuck,” he groans while pulling out. “It was nice, sweetie.”

He picks up the silk robe from the floor and casually puts it on. He pours a drink for himself before going back to bed to lie down by the hunter’s side in post-sex bliss. The girl wraps the sheets around her sweaty body fully aware that the Sin won’t be a gentleman to clean off the mess they left. She doesn’t really care either, because she has only wanted one thing: for him to think he has her wrapped around his finger.

Oh boy, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

She is quite spent, her legs are jelly and the tingling feeling is still all over her body but she hasn’t built her stamina during the past years for nothing! So she sits up like it’s nothing and that throws the demon completely off. Despite his superhuman abilities, he isn’t fast enough to stop her and the power of surprise when she pulls out her dagger from the painting above and straddles his hips over the dark, stained sheets. She digs the steel edge into the skin of his throat hard enough to bruise.

“I’m looking for Pride. Where is he?” she questions him with eyes on fire, ever so confident and the firmness in her voice is very different from the one that begged so lovely earlier.

“So you didn’t come because of me? Disappointing,” Hoseok pouts theatrically, not even hiding his amusement, still not getting the seriousness of the situation.

“Answer me,” the huntress snaps at him, pressing the metal even closer, totally dropping the submissiveness. She doesn’t have any of it anymore. She may have had the best sex of her life but this isn’t what she came for. She’s got a job and she’s planning on finishing it.

“Ew, bossy! Oh shit…” the demon hisses when the dagger draws blood and the touch of the dagger blessed by Virtues burns his wounded skin. “Okay, I will tell you what I know if you tell me why you are looking for him. Why Pride especially?”

Is it jealousy? Black Widow knots her brows together in confusion but doesn’t let herself thinking too much about useless things like this. Even though it’s quite flattering to think that she can make even Lust jealous.

“I have to return a favour by finding him,” she shrugs not caring about how much he knows. He won’t live long anyway to tell the tale.

“Hm, interesting,” the Sin muses aloud, clicking his tongue. “To be honest, I haven’t seen him in centuries. For all I care he can be anywhere.”

Wrong answer, she wants to say but before she could utter a word, the demon knocks the dagger out of her hand and turns their position once again. This time, the girl doesn’t even hesitate to punch him in the face. She tries to get away from him as she catches a glimpse of her gun discarded on the floor.

“Bitch,” Hoseok growls as he licks the blood off his split lip. He grabs a hold of the huntress’ long hair to pull her back when she reaches out to seize her weapon.

“Jerk,” she ripostes and kicks him violently until she can make it out of the bed. She must be a unique sight: hair and makeup a mess, the sheets rumpled around her and a revolver in one hand pointing at the half-naked high demon of Lust.

“You can’t kill me with that,” he laughs but doesn’t move or take his eyes off of her.

“Are you absolutely sure? The bullets are blessed by Chastity herself.”

Hoseok snorts. Virtues and their pitiful tricks.

“Go ahead. Give it a try,” he shrugs lazily but he’s dead serious when he warns her: “But if it won’t work, I’ll take you down, darling.”

Black Widow giggles. Death hasn’t scared her for quite some time now. She dares to take this chance. “See you in Hell,” she smiles ravishingly and pulls the trigger.

 (He doesn’t die, of course, - since love is his only real enemy or something brutal like chopping his head off - but it takes him almost two days to crack an eye open. With a hand clinging to his chest, the bullet pops out from the wound leaving it throbbing in pain.

“Ouch. It actually hurt,” he grimaces just before his memories come back to him.

Oh right, the hunter girl, the sex and the damned Virtues who can’t mind their own business. But at least, it looks like he won’t be bored one of these days. He promised Black Widow something after al land thinking about chasing after her makes him smile. It’s time to teach her another lesson: nobody can get away with fooling Lust.

“Oh... it's gonna be so much fun.”)

[undertalertrashfanfics-blog]

Fontcest

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Unhealthy Relationships

Sans is a very fucked up skeleton

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The surface world was nothing like they'd imagined. It was harsh, and cruel, and unfair to all who dared to be different from what the humans had accepted as "normal". They were taken advantage of and fetishized in the same stroke of the brush. Sans would do anything to give Papyrus the life he'd always dreamed of, even if that meant taking the sort of jobs reserved for dark nights and locked doors.Because to Sans, his brother was everything.

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It was a little over a year since the barrier had fallen, and monsters had left the underground for the surface world. Describing the first few weeks of their freedom as “chaotic” was a large understatement; the humans put up an absolute hissy fit when they learned of the existence of an entirely new race of sentient beings. Monsters went from being the villains in movies and the focus of horror stories to a political pain in the humans metaphorical ass.  If they weren’t complaining about how the Monsters would strain their resources and take their jobs, then they were bitching about differences and segregation and how these “demons” would steal their women. It was honestly idiotic.

Sans wasn’t a baby bones. He knew that it was all just a front to disguise their nasty stereotyping and fear. His opinion of humans wasn’t all that great to begin with, and his experiences trying to assimilate into the human community did nothing to wash the dirty taste from his mouth. His physical make up was apparently synonymous with “death” in their culture, and not a day went by where he wasn’t either screamed at, cursed out, or spit on. Didn’t exactly match his vision of what life above ground would be like. It was the same for most of the others.  Laws in their favor developed slowly, and the accommodations they were allowed came at a high price. But they were on the surface, so everyone was expected to play happy.

So they did.

They spread out, tried to garner as little attention as possible. They were just too weak, and with intent meaning so much to the physicality of monsters, the humans and their hate were just too strong. Many were “homeless” for a good while, but this was nothing new after scrounging underground for centuries. Their king and queen tried their best, but eventually even the royal mandate was to “keep your head down, keep hope, and wait.” It was all they ever did. It was their past, their present, and would probably be their future for as long as they lived.

The months wore on, and eventually something else caught the human’s attention. He couldn’t remember exactly what. With all the shootings and movie actor drama and political scandals it was honestly a blur to him. God they were so fickle. The media lost interest and their race was left alone to live their mediocre day to day lives in dingy apartments with exorbitant rent, working jobs that no one else dared to take. The above accurately described the life of Sans the Skeleton. It took months of grueling work at a number of suspicious jobs, but the older of the brothers had finally saved up enough money to move out of Toriel’s place and into a shitty apartment on the outskirts of town. It was in a crime ridden neighborhood, and was infested with cockroaches that could be mistaken for small dogs, but it had windows. More importantly, it provided them with a sense of privacy that they hadn’t indulged in in months. Toriel was… nice, but almost too motherly. Especially since living with the goat monster meant also living with Frisk . That kid gave him the fuckin creeps! They acted pleasant enough around him, but every time he met the kid’s eye, a searing ghostly pain dragged over his ribcage like a hot iron. Freaky was what it was. But Toriel was fond of the brat, and was nice enough to give him and Papyrus the spare room, so he tried to play nice. But the house was cramped, and Sans felt that he had to tiptoe from place to place in an effort to keep the home “child friendly”. No cursing, no dirty jokes, and bringing in his clients in secret was an endeavor that James Bond would appreciate.

That was one of his “jobs”. As much as humans pretended to hate monsters, he had discovered more than a handful found them… exotic. Too different to give basic rights, he supposed, but apparently not different enough to keep them out of their perverted sexual fantasies. He was barely two months on the surface when he found the first posting on craigslist, offering a shit load of human money to… well, summon his dick, lay back, and do nothing. That pretty much matched his “ideal job requirements”, even if it meant getting touched and groped by sticky fleshy fingers and covered with all sorts of human fluids.

What? It’s a living. And his brother would be so happy when he was able to surprise him with that shiny red convertible on his birthday next month.

Needless to say it didn’t take him long to become well known around that particular dark section of the internet. Entire forums dedicated to posting pictures they had unknowingly snuck during sessions. Threads discussing the feel of magical flesh in comparison to human genitalia.  He was the talk of the town. Fetishists and the curious filled his inbox with pictures, questions, offers; it was mostly the latter he took seriously. It was a good thing he slept so much growing up underground, the time he spent shut in his bedroom translated well to his new life. He didn’t sleep much anymore.

He made sure his apartment had a separate bedroom so that Papyrus would never have to know what he did to support them. He would dust himself before he would subject his brother to any of the jobs that were willing to hire their kind: Drug trafficking, hitmen, test subjects, prostitution, and numerous other distasteful tasks for monsters that managed to operate under the notice of the law. Papyrus was all he had, and he would do absolutely anything to protect him. The happy go lucky, energetic adult was under the impression that the surface was perfectly fine. Sans made sure to emphasize the slivers of good he was able to find in the outside world, and brought his brother all sorts of toys and treats and curios. Papyrus wasn’t allowed outside without Sans by his side, not that he would’ve gone anywhere without his stout brother anyway. Looking on their relationship from the outside, it was extremely unhealthy. Sans alienated himself from everyone, and his obsession with protecting his younger sibling drove him to practically cut the tall, energetic skeleton off as well. It was dangerous outside. They were family, and all they needed was each other.

Which is why the picture’s that began to pop up around his online forums were especially jarring. He was used to fan art. Once the internet got enough photos to get a vague idea of what he looked like (and even before then), people had rushed to capture his likeness in all sorts of ways. A lot of it was harmless, people who just found talking, grinning skeletons that often wore jackets and athletic wear fun to draw. He even had a couple of his favorites saved to his laptop. But if there was one thing he learned quickly about the human internet through his line of work, it was that everything, everything , was about sex. More and more of the drawings started to feature him in less clothing, revealing bones that should never see the public light of day. The positions started to get raunchier and the expressions more seductive, his sacrum and coccyx usually thrust in the air for a tantalizing view. The humans loved his magical flesh and how he could use it to create certain parts out of nothing. Sometimes, just to keep things interesting, he would change up the shape, the size; it certainly seemed to please his artistically inclined and thirsty fans. He got a laugh over the fact that his dick seemed to look slightly different in every image. They even spent hours depicting his sexual endeavors with humans real and not, caught in pen and digital color.

But this. This is where he drew the line. He just wasn’t enough for them; he’d introduced them to sweet monster skeleton sex and in his growing fame, he had almost forgotten that he wasn’t the only skeleton in town. The flash of red is what caught his eye, lights freezing in place and stuttering slightly when he got a better look at what was on his screen.

Pa-Papyrus?!

The skeleton in the drawing was missing his battle body, as well as… most of the rest of his clothes, but there was no mistaking it as the lanky form of his brother, wrapped in nothing but his trademark scarf. Hard fingers rattling against the desk, he speedily minimized the window and reeled back in his chair. He took in deep breaths that he didn’t actually need and stared blankly at his desktop photo - the two of them in Snowdin.

Sans snapped the laptop closed with a click and rushed out of his room without a look back. This absolutely wouldn’t do. He wondered if Papyrus had seen these… these… pictures. He had fixed up their computer to automatically block anything related to his name, but he hadn’t even thought to do the same for his brother. Papyrus was too young. Too innocent. Too… His mind unwillingly recalled the image of his sibling in a compromising position brightly behind his eye sockets.

He shook his head as if the motion would help drive away the mental picture. Papyrus may be inexperienced, and a bit naive, but had a sneaking suspicion that the other skeleton was less “innocent” than he appeared. No thanks to that fucking calculator Mettaton of course. After a few minutes Sans had managed to drag his mind away and distract it with other subjects - like what was for dinner tonight.

That was a trick question. It was pasta. It was always pasta.

He followed his nasal cavity into the small dingy kitchen, where Papyrus had just finished plating his nightly spaghetti creation. By the way the noodles sparkled, he had a sneaking suspicion that his brother had mistaken glitter for parmesan again. Plastering on a smile that hid the fact that he was dead tired and still a little shaken up, he thanked the lanky monster and took his plate to the couch. They didn’t have room for a table, so this is where they ate every night. He flipped on the TV and flopped down casually in his normal spot against the armrest. Papyrus settled himself much more gently right in the center of the couch, already invested in whatever drivelling human show was playing on the screen.

It was a routine they repeated often, almost nightly, but Sans couldn’t help but notice that tonight felt… different. The air felt hot and stifling. Never before had he been so acutely aware of the small amount of cushion between him and his brother. His arms pressed harder into his side in an attempt to curl in on himself without drawing notice. Oblivious, as always, the towering figure beside him leaned over conspiratorially to whisper comments about the outcome of the show into the side of his skull. He was on his feet before he knew it, tailbone leaving the couch as if a spring was attached to the tip.

“* uh- i just remembered i have work to do tonight!” He did, actually. There was an astronomy paper he was being paid to write lying on his desk, but it was the furthest thing from his mind. All he knew was that he had to get away - be alone for a little bit. Just long enough for him to shake whatever this weird feeling was around Papyrus. His heart plummeted when he turned to see his brothers face. He was smiling, but there was no mistaking a flicker of hurt beneath the toothy grin. With Sans so busy all the time, the time they spent together eating and watching television became somewhat sacred. But he just couldn’t. Not tonight.

“* i’m really sorry bro. I know i’ve been scarce, but the landlord raised rent on us again and i had to pick up a few extra jobs.” Again, not a complete lie. Papyrus sighed and hunched forward, resting his elbows on his bony knees.

“Are you sure you’re alright brother? You are acting… strange. Normally you at least pretend to watch the show.” Another punch to the gut. It just served to prove how intuitive his younger brother was. Other people may say things behind his back, that he was simple and ignorant and childlike, but he knew better. His brother just had a soul of gold, and believed in the good in everybody. While it was a worldview he certainly couldn’t accept himself, it made Papyrus Papyrus, and Sans wouldn’t have it any other way.

“* i’m fine paps. Just… tired.” The tall skeleton drooped further at that. “* i’ll be along later to read you your bedtime story- how about that? i’ll even do the voices you like?”

While sockets still searched his face curiously, it seemed to work. Papyrus set both of their empty plates aside and settled back into the couch to watch the show alone. Giving his brother one last apologetic look, he turned heel and shuffled back into his room. Shutting and locking the door behind him (a habit) he sat heavily at the desk, the weary office chair voicing a quiet complaint. He might as well actually try and do work while he was holing himself up in here. The astronomy paper practically wrote itself. The pen made a satisfying scratch against the notepad as long words and terminology spun into educated sentences and convincing paragraphs. He poured himself into science, the notion that he was nothing more than a tiny speck in the scheme of the universe making his own problems seem tiny, insignificant. It was easy to lose himself in the inspiring but nihilistic thoughts. He didn’t matter. This didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Any day now the kid would decide that they weren’t satisfied with this “happy ending” and send them all back underground. To anyone else the thought would be sobering, but in some fucked up way it was relieving to just give up control. His laptop sat closed on the edge of his bed and pulled at his vision with a hard-to-ignore presence. As hard as he tried, the temptation to open it up; to pull up the tab from before, was too great.

Fuck it.

The wheels of the chair squeaked as a kick against the desk propelled him across the cramped room. It bumped against the bed and Sans plucked up the heavy metal rectangle from where it lay half buried in his sheets, holding it close as he rolled out of the chair and onto the mattress. The pinnacle of laziness indeed. Using his ball of musty covers as a pillow, he propped himself up and flipped up the top of the old PC. His soul thumped as the screen whirred to life, revealing his desktop and the minimized tab waiting at the bottom. His ceramic finger slid noisily against the touch pad. Nothing happened. A frustrated grumble snuck out under his breath. He fished around on the floor beside the bed until he found what he was looking for, prying the scrap of black fabric from a pile of dirty clothes. He pulled on the touchscreen glove hastily, fabric scratchy against his metacarpals. It turned out fleshless limbs were pretty useless on touch sensitive devices, which is why he usually used a mouse plugged into his computer. But when he wanted to use his laptop in bed… well, he was lucky humans had thought to invent this particular product.

Swip, Swip~ The image from before filled the screen again, the flushed face and wide sockets of his younger brother staring at him seductively. While his face flushed, he forced himself to look, trying to decipher exactly what he was feeling. He had to go about this scientifically. He ticked off the reactions in his head as he went. Temperature, somewhat elevated causing flushing of the zygomatic arches. Soul seems to be beating at an irregular rate, and magic production is higher that usual. The majority of magic appears to be gathering at the junction of the pubis, as if responding to a state of aro u s  a  l .  .  .

Sans slammed his palms into his eyesockets. Oh sweet Asgore this was not happening. Maybe it was just the position, or something else about the image. It didn’t mean that he was necessarily attracted to Papyrus - right? His arrow drifted up to the search bar in the upper corner of the screen. Perhaps he just needed to do a bit more research. That’s what a good scientist would do, obviously. Repeated testing of hypothesis and all that jazz. Gloved hand trembling in a mix of nervousness and anticipation, he clacked in his brother’s name and pressed “search”.

The amount of orange and white that checkered his results page was horrifying. It seemed that the humans obsession with skeletons wasn’t personal to Sans in the least, and spilled right over onto anything they could latch onto. Slowly, the images began to stand out on their own instead of blurring together in a mishmash of color. His sibling in a variety of situations, poses; all sexual and seductive and enticingly erotic. Pupils small and bright, he took a certain detached pleasure in scanning over the array of brilliant white bones of the lanky skeletal figure. From the way his magic was reacting, it definitely wasn’t just that one image, but the monster depicted in them. The monster that he lived with and ate with and practically raised from a babybones. His brother .

A splash of blue caught in the edges of his vision, and he selected it automatically. Holy fucking shit. While he had just come to the realization that he liked his sibling in less than innocuous ways himself, the humans had been busy for quite a while. What did Alphys call this particular human custom? Oh yeah - “shipping”. They knew of his relations to Papyrus, yet here was an entire page of pictures of him pressed against the taller monster; bone against bone. He didn’t want to look, in fear that once the image was set into his mind that it would sit there like a piece of the Core, begging to be attended to and acted on.

Curiosity killed the cat, and he’d already come this far. He shouldn’t pussy out now. Laughing wryly at his tense attempt at humor, he brought up the image that had first caught his eye. They seemed to be on a bed, sheets bunched up around their feet. Papyrus was beneath him, shyly looking away from the camera as his older brother slid his thick fingers between the gaps of his delicate ribs. The lights in his own eyes were trained piercingly on the viewer, left lit up in a brilliant blue gaze. His smile was hungry.

His shorts were uncomfortably now too tight, his summoned magic pressed against the warm metal of his laptop separated by the thin fabric. His breath came in short heated pants. He couldn’t tear away, and his free hand traveled down of it’s own accord to paw at the apparent bulge. Maybe… just once wouldn’t hurt. He wouldn’t finish. He wouldn’t!  But his cock was begging for some sort of attention, and the desire for friction had his fingers toying with the waistband of his shorts in seconds, soft scrapes sounding from where he brushed against his pelvic arch. He was so close - the heat from his erection painting his hand when there was a loud knock on his bedroom door.

“SANS! I’m heading to bed now! You promised to read to me!”

There was a loud thunk in return as his laptop was flung from his lap onto the floor, the short skeleton yanking his hand from inside of his pants like his dick was going to burn him. Throwing the sheets back, he made to stand. He was still rock hard, and the way the fabric of his shorts moved against the magical organ pulled a needy whimper from the back of his throat. Of all the inconvenient, horrible, bad times Papyrus could’ve picked to knock…

At the thought of his brother again, his cock gave an insistent twitch. His fingers mimicked the motion, but another glance toward the door told him that Papyrus wouldn’t wait. Instead he roughly shifted it so that it was a bit less visible and pulled his shirt down to cover as much as he could. He bent down to pick up the fallen computer, placing it back on the bed. He glanced at the image on the screen for one last, long moment before closing the tab. His own expression was burned into his mind, cocky smile and teasing eyes. “This could be you.” He seemed to say, his double running his fingers down the ribs of the tall skeleton pinned beneath him. The eyes that flicked at the closed door once more held an entirely different heat.

Their life on the surface wasn’t great. They lived in a cramped apartment, in a bad part of town, in a world where everyone hated them. Any day, what little comfort they had could be ripped away from them by a child who treated their existence as a game to be played. There was blood on his hands, in this timeline and others. He’d done illegal things - immoral things. He whored himself out to give Papyrus the best life he possibly could. Papyrus. His reason for life. His everything.

He kept a lot of secrets from his brother.

A miniscule grin hiked at the corner of his mouth as he opened the door and joined his sibling in the hallway. His eyes roved across bone and magic, seeing everything in a different light. Tonight, he was going to read Papyrus a story. He would do the voices and tuck him into bed when he fell asleep before the end. Then, he was going to come back to the safety of his room and fuck himself to the thought of his brother writhing beneath him. Wanting him. Needing him.

Sans had so many secrets. What was one more?