Home of the Concierge

It is a pain to be underestimated. But in this…it is useful.

A man lies dying at your feet, his heart leaking from his neck in thick, quick spurts. His eyes bulge up at you, pale and big in his head. You only tilt your head as you crouch, balancing so you avoid the arcs of carmine liquid.

“Forgive me my enthusiasm,” you murmur, reaching out to lift one side of his blazer up. It is heavy - a mobile phone lies in its inner pocket. It buzzes and buzzes, lighting up the fabric which conceals it. “I’m afraid I have gone without for too long. I find myself…overeager.”

The man gurgles a response. It is all he can manage between clawing at his throat and pressing hard against it. The movement dislodges your grip on his blazer, but you’re not bothered. “Be calm, it will end soon,” you say as if to reassure him, but it does little as the life bleeds from his wide eyes. The colour leaves his cheeks, pooling around his body instead of remaining within it.

Scarcely had he taken his last breath before you reach back into his blazer to remove the mobile phone from its spot, peering at the touchscreen with dead eyes. Two calls from an unsaved number - one you recognise. A handler belonging to the broken remains of a yakuza group.

Gloved fingers turn the screen off as you stand, tucking the phone into your own jacket. Your own phone buzzes at that moment. You smile.

What timing.

Your gloves are clean and pristine despite the gore at your feet. Your clothes untouched but carrying the scent of iron and copper. If you were to walk onto the street, no one would know the violence that your hands have wrought in this rundown home.

“Nezu-san,” you speak quietly when you pick up the phone.

The high pitched voice on the other side greets you warmly, “Concierge! Should I take it that your mission was successful?”

In a way. You walk away from the corpse and its pool of crimson, tucking your free hand into your pocket as you go. “I have an in.” Knuckles brush against a slim thumb drive in that pocket. “And what you requested.”

“Well done! I shall send someone to collect it. Ah, there’s a new cafe that opened up in the next neighbourhood, have you had their coffee?”

This is familiar. Reading between the lines. Looking beneath the underneath. You miss it. You miss it fiercely.

That being said, you know the cafe he’s talking about. Overpriced coffee to afford maintenance of the cafe’s ‘entertainment’. “Not their coffee, no.”

“Then this would be an excellent opportunity to do so! In fact, their coffee is sourced from—“ Nezu, as you have learned, is prone to long-winded explanations about the smallest of things. Politely, you listen, leaving the rundown home behind and blending into the evening crush of bodies heading home.

As it happens, you’re one of many on their phones and in your nondescript coat, shirt and trousers, you look like any normal salaryman or woman. Alas, you’re anything but.

It is two days later before you find yourself at said cafe. Said cafe being a cat cafe with minimalist decor and a multitude of cats in all colours. You don’t think you’re a cat person, but neither do you think you’re a cat hater. So you sit there at the table, a pot of tea before you and a black cat in your lap purring away.

The barista doesn’t look up from where he taps away at his phone, though he greets someone as they enter.

From where you sit with your back against the wall in the corner, you can see who comes in. A man, tall and lean, with scraggly hair and a five o’clock shadow comes ambling in. His steps are measured though his back is hunched. His eyes rove the store though his expression remains slack. A fighter, you think without looking away from the window. A hero.

His boots hardly make a noise on the floor as he dodges cats who rub up against his ankles, and neither does the chair when he drags it out to sit across from you. At this, you flick your eyes over to him. The cat in your lap likewise cracks its eyes open to meow at the newcomer, its green eyes glowing bright in the afternoon sun.

You both sit in silence save for the meowing of attention-seeking cats. The man softens and pets a cat that jumps into his lap. You turn your eyes back to your cup of tea and take a sip, balancing the feline in your lap that decides to stretch on its side.

“I see you’re finally taking some time off,” the man rumbles lowly as the barista sets down a massive coffee cup at his elbow.

You peer at him over your teacup and blink slowly. “I have been told that it is good for my mental health to spend time with animals.” The cat in your lap meows softly. “I can see where they’re coming from.”

The man looks at you and tugs down his pale scarf to bring his coffee to his lips. “That it is.”

For a moment, you enjoy the silence. At least, until your teacup empties and you place it down in its saucer with a soft clack. Your phone buzzes on the table softly, drawing your attention. Gloved hands pick it up, gently tapping at the screen until you sigh and place it down again.

The man looks at your phone, then at you with a raised brow. “Work?”

Looking at him through your lashes, you smile softly. “No, a friend.” Then you slide your phone back into your pocket and regrettably place the black cat back on the floor. “I’ll see you around, Aizawa-san.”

When you look at him, his jacket is off - hanging on the coat rack next to yours along with his tie - and the top buttons of his shirt has also been undone. It gives him a rakish look that you didn't expect. What you also didn't expect is how attractive it makes him look.

That little triangle of pale bone at the base of where his neck would be if he was human, the rungs of his clavicle, the thick column of his cervical vertebrae, all framed by his broad shoulders and chest.

Holy...

It takes conscious thought for you to tear your eyes away from him and to turn towards Sans, putting your back to the younger brother. The older skeleton monster has somehow managed to set himself up with a pillow nest by the time you turn back to him, looking so comfortable that you're honestly a little jealous.

"I take it that you're comfortable?" you tease, unbuttoning your blouse and shedding it with ease. You're tempted to get up and put it away in your hamper, but Papyrus stops you and takes it from your hand instead.

Sans only grins and laces his fingers behind his head, as though enjoying the scene unfolding before him.

It's not much of a scene, you don't think, though there is some stripping involved.

Now down to your turtleneck undershirt, you look over your shoulder at Papyrus. "I take it this should be sufficient?"

"lose the shirt, sweets," Sans says, distracting you. He leans forward, his sharp claws catching on the soft fabric of your shirt. "ya promised."

Papyrus surprisingly doesn't quip anything, but you can feel his stare burning at the back of your head.

So you did. 'Next time,' you said. 'Second meeting,' you said. And if nothing else, you are nothing if not a person of your word.

"Very well," you concede. Hands reach for the hem of your shirt, flesh and blood and bone alike. Sans grins up at you, his greedy fingers tugging fabric up and up. From behind, you can feel hot breaths feathering over the back of your head as Papyrus does his part in pulling up your shirt.

When at last your upper body is bare save for your underwear, both men gasp. Albeit for different reasons.

Sans at your tattoo. Papyrus at your bruises.

Sans licks his teeth as he greedily takes you in. The creeping wreath of laurels that crawl over your shoulders, across your collarbones, and up the sides of your neck. The large fanged skull, canine in nature, sitting in the hollow of your throat, snarling and ferocious. The intricate designs just under that cradling the entire tattoo.

A collar inked into your skin.

"i've been wondering what that looked like for fucken' ages," Sans rumbles, reaching out with his sharp claws to trace over it gently. "y'know, if it ain't fate."

You look at him quizzically, appearing to be nonplussed by your undressed state in comparison to theirs.

"fanged skull," he points to the tattoo, then to his own fanged grin and Papyrus' toothy scowl behind you. "see? we match."

A gentle laugh bubbles in your chest at the expression on his face. "Indeed we do."

Sans looks chuffed to have made you laugh. "remind me ta show ya my gaster blaster one of these days."

Gaster...blaster? From context alone and from the sigh coming from over your shoulder, you surmise it must be some sort of attack.

"THE NUMBSKULL'S LASER ATTACK," Papyrus answers, his crimson eye lights boring into the side of your head. "IF HE DOESN'T BRING THE BUILDING DOWN AROUND YOUR HEAD IN DOING SO."

Ah, you were right. Shaking your head with a smile, you reach back to pat Papyrus' knee. "It will be fine." Then, you look at Sans, using that same gloved hand to touch his face. "I look forward to it."

Two sets of red eye lights drift over your face, then down your lightly inked, lightly scarred arm to your still gloved fingers. Sans is the one who speaks, "next meetin', wasn't it?"

You nod. "But you already know what lies under them." After all, you had shown your bare hands to Sans early on in your acquaintance, and then to Papyrus in Osaka, and then again to both of them on the ride back to the Hotel.

"ain't the same," Sans murmurs, taking your hand and pressing a skeleton kiss to it, nuzzling and rubbing. "back then, ya were try'n ta scare me off. and then we were takin' care of ya. i want it ta be because ya trust us and wanna show it ta us. ya feel?"

That...is far too romantic for a hardened mobster. And yet your heart skips a beat, your belly squirms, and you have to fight the blush from blooming across your cheeks.

From behind you, you can feel Papyrus nodding and pressing a hesitant skeleton kiss to the side of your head. At that simple touch, your heart begins to pick up in pace. The hairs on the back of your neck stands from his proximity, but in the best of ways. His scent is subtle, cleaner, a little crisper than Sans' mustard and cherry and smoke, but still very, very nice to smell.

Damn Sans and Papyrus for making your heart flutter. Their teeth are marginally cooler than the rest of their bodies, Sans' is far more stark given that he is holding your hand to his face. Cool teeth and warm hands. It's an odd juxtaposition, you know, but it's one that you like. Very much.

Reaching out with both hands, you cup their faces, and drag Sans close enough that you can kiss him on the forehead. "You two are far too romantic for your own good," you mutter to them, releasing Sans so he can lean back where he sits, and Papyrus so he can get back to whatever he was doing.

Now bereft of distraction, Papyrus turns his attention to your back. "STARS," Papyrus murmurs, using the tips of his phalanxes to trail over the monstrous bruises blooming in black and green over the length and breadth of your back, disappearing under your belted trousers.

You look over your shoulder with a wan smile, shifting your shoulders carefully to stretch the bruised and strained muscles there. "Tactical lining has its advantages...and its disadvantages."

"I CAN TELL. I'M SURPRISED YOU DON'T HAVE ANY INTERNAL DAMAGE," he says, then presses his fingertips to your jaw to make you look back at Sans again. "NOW DON'T MOVE."

Green light flickers at his fingertips. Sinking into your skin, your flesh, and bringing with it the most curious of sensations. It wasn't quite like when he healed your hands. It's warmer now, slower, more deliberate. Less rushed.

There are no words to describe what Papyrus' healing green magic feels like other than sinking into a warm onsen. Warmth seeping into your muscles, your bones, your very being. Soothing. Relaxing.

You sigh and close your eyes to fully appreciate the sensation, your head slowly dipping without conscious thought. The aches from your shoulders, your back, your backside, your thighs. It all melts away under Papyrus' healing touch.

Sans just smiles and shuffles closer. "don't fall asleep, sweetheart," he purrs, taking your hands to start massaging them over your gloves. "we ain't done here yet."

Your lashes flutter, then lift, and you look at him with interest. "Oh?"

"yeah," he grins, his clever phalanges finding the ties and clasps keeping your gauntlet shut. You just watch him as he undoes them all, doing nothing to assist nor to stop him. "fucken' fascinating..."

"WHY DO YOU INSIST ON USING SUCH FOUL LANGUAGE IN FRONT OF OUR DATEMATE?" Papyrus growls from over your shoulder, though his tone indicates he's simply ribbing his brother rather than truly admonishing him. A warm bony hand touches your arm gently. "DONE. AND DON'T COUNT ON THIS HAPPENING OFTEN."

"next time ya fall over he'll kiss yer bruise better," Sans snickers and dodges a swat from Papyrus who reaches over your shoulder with a snarl.

"ANOTHER WORD OUT OF YOU AND I'LL TELL THEM WHAT I HEARD THE OTHER NIGHT." The finger that's jabbed into Sans' face almost pokes into his empty eye socket.

Suddenly, Sans blanches and then blushes so hard he looks like a neon light bulb. "ey! ey i was jus' teasin'. no need ta threaten me like that."

Now you're curious. Placing a hand on Papyrus' forearm, you pull it over your shoulder and chest and look up at him from the corner of your eye, a ghost of a teasing smile on your lips. "Papyrus?"

Papyrus, normally so stern, takes one look at you and inhales sharply. But not in a bad way, considering the soft blush on his cheekbones. His hand relaxes into your grip, going with your pull and tentatively resting his hand on your thigh.

"boss," Sans warns nervously.

And that seems to cement the younger brother's decision. "IT'S HARD TO IGNORE YOU WHEN YOU'RE CALLING OUT OUR DATEMATE'S NAME WHILE MASTURBATING LOUDLY IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT."

"fucken--" Sans swears and lunges at Papyrus with a snarl.

"HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO INSTALL NOISE INSULATING WALLS, YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING NUMBSKULL?" Papyrus effortlessly fends Sans off with a single finger, his other arm still wound around you protectively. "TRY SLEEPING WHEN ALL YOU CAN HEAR IS YOUR BED HITTING THE WALL AND YOUR YELLS OF--"

"okay alright that's enough!" Sans growls, only to stop when he hears your soft laugh.

Curled over Papyrus' arm, you have your hand clasped over your mouth as you try to stifle your laugh as best you can. Alas, it's not working, because both brothers are now looking at you fondly while you try to compose yourself.

"ain't that funny," Sans grumps, but tugs at your arms nonetheless to pull you out of Papyrus' embrace. The taller skeleton lets you go easily and you don't resist as Sans yanks you right into his lap.

Once more, it's soft like flesh - his thighs and belly both, as you brace yourself on his chest and straddle his thighs. Ah, this must be the 'ecto-body' they were referring to before?

Sans lets out the slightest of sighs as your weight settles fully in his lap. "stars, babe," he groans, hands kneading at your hips and clothed backside. "yer stunnin'." Clearly, he's already over the embarrassment from earlier.

You only look down at him with soft affection. "Why thank you," you dip your head down to press a kiss to his teeth in response. "You are as well."

"nah," he retorts but says nothing more, too busy leaning into your kiss to truly bite back.

Alas, you don't give him much more, pulling away after one last flick of your tongue to that golden tooth. He whines softly, craning his head up to maintain contact. "ey, where ya goin'."

"Making sure I pay attention to both of you." And with that said, you turn your head so you can see Papyrus still sitting where you left him, his hands in his lap, a dim glow starting to tent his trousers. "Come here, Papyrus."

The taller skeleton seems to hesitate, but he obeys, shuffling closer until his femur - soft like Sans' - is pressed against your leg. You reach out and he leans in, allowing you to spread your palm wide against the broad expanse of his shoulder where it connects to his cervical vertebrae.

"Do you have an issue with me being in control?" you ask him gently, tripping your fingers up the hills and valleys of his wide vertebrae, feeling every single scar and divot even through your gloves.

Crimson eye lights grow fuzzy as Papyrus blushes a little cherry blush. "...NO," he rumbles, daring to place his hand on your thigh.

You reward his answer with a firm touch to where his cervical vertebrae meets his skull, a touch that in turn earns you a shudder and a sharp inhale. "And do you have an issue with sharing me even in bed?"

That blush brightens, the glow in his pants intensifies, and once more you see a considerable bulge tent his trousers, straining at the zip. You're immediately reminded of that time you spotted him in the alley while you ravished Sans, of the day he stormed to your desk and allowed himself to get so flustered from your teasing remarks.

At last, he averts his eye lights for but a moment, then meets your eyes with a mote of embarrassed desire. "...NO."

"bet boss'll love watchin'~" Undeterred by the shift in your attention, Sans nuzzles at your neck in lieu of chasing a kiss. His bones and teeth feel odd against your bare skin. A warm, hard mask rubbing smoothly against the column of your throat. His tongue, wet with red magic, slicks up against your pulse and all the way up to your ear. "stars, ya taste good." You can feel his grin widen against your neck. "wonder if ya taste as good everywhere else."

You hum lowly, very much enjoying the way he flicks his tongue over your skin, your jaw, in gentle licks. "If you're good, you'll find out."

NSFW

Doom & Gloom All Up In Your Room by TrashCollector (Badguy!Sans only reverse harem)

A Little Tied Up by TrashCollector (Dust!Sans x reader smut one shot)

Puppy by missterchaos (UT!Papyrus x reader smut one shot)

The entire Bottoms Up series by dunked_delirious (Fell!Sans x reader smut one shots)

Caught Blue Handed by poubelle_squelette (the filthiest UT!Sans x reader I've ever read and I love it)

Alone with a Heart by MarshmarrowSans (Mobtale!Sans x reader, Sans whacks one several out to thoughts of reader)

"Fuck!" you hiss, stumbling back into the door, your fists raised.

"shit, sweets!" Sans stands from where he was lying on his side on your bed, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "didn't mean ta scare ya."

"YOU SHOULD'VE ANNOUNCED YOUR PRESENCE SOONER, BONEHEAD. AND PERHAPS HAVE MORE LIGHTS ON THAN THE ONE LAMP," a derisive voice comes from the dark doorway beside you and you flinch, swearing under your breath as you look up at the--Papyrus?

"Papyrus?"

What was he doing in your bathroom? With the lights off?

"see, ya scared em too, boss." Sans snickers.

Despite the thundering of your heart, a laugh escapes you against your will. You lean against the wall and clutch at your chest, your shoulders shaking from the force of your laugh.

"uhh..."

"YES I AGREE THAT MY BROTHER'S ATTEMPT AT SEDUCING YOU WAS LAUGHABLE," Papyrus says as he ducks his head to get through the doorway, reaching out to you to help you straighten up. The way he hovers over you like an overly concerned mother hen only makes you laugh harder. "...WHY DO I GET THE FEELING YOU'RE NOW LAUGHING AT ME."

"No, no," you wave his concern off but take his arm all the same, leaning on his incredible strength to hold yourself up. "What were you doing in my bathroom with the lights off?"

Papyrus blushes then, red and bright like a lamp. "I-I-WELL-" he stutters uncharacteristically. "I WAS ASSESSING THE CLEANLINESS OF IT, OBVIOUSLY. IT WAS...ACCEPTABLE" It takes a moment but it finally comes out. "IT WASN'T MY INTENTION TO STARTLE YOU."

With the lights off?

"boss did a lil bit o' cleanin'. didn't want ya ta see him raiding yer cleaning closet."

"BE SILENT." That blush on his face glows brighter.

You only huff another laugh, pressing your forehead to the bottom of Papyrus' chest, the highest you can reach. It's firm, almost hard, and you can feel the ossified surface of his sternum through the exquisite fabric of his waistcoat.

Footsteps come a little closer, shuffling a little over the carpet, and a broad hand gently spreads over the small of your back. "sweetheart?" Sans sounds a little concerned.

Another hand comes to brace itself on your hip, much larger and with longer fingers than the one on your back. Papyrus.

"It has been..." you derive some comfort from the warmth of Papyrus' chest and Sans' presence next to you, "a very long week."

There is a gentle rumble from the chest under your forehead. "THEN WHY ARE YOU STILL STANDING UP?"

Sans' warmth disappears from beside you and Papyrus hunches down even more, displacing your forehead from his chest. But the reason for moving soon becomes obvious as he gathers you into his arms and cradles you to his chest, hoisting you very, very high off the ground.

Clinging to his coat and shoulders, you peek over your shoulder to see exactly how high off the floor you are. Like this, you can see the top of Sans' skull and the little fissures where the parts of his skull have fused together. And how he seems to grin and leer at your expression.

"tha's a cute expression ya got there, sweets," he snickers as he turns on his heel, heading back to the large bed that suddenly doesn't seem that large with the two monsters in the room.

It's hard to keep the smile off your face as Papyrus carries you to your bed, as he kneels down slowly to deposit you upon the spot that Sans had kept warm for you. "What are you two doing?" you ask them, prompted by the two pairs of skeletal hands that reach for and remove your shoes.

"takin' care of ya," Sans says, his face gentling but his tone becoming serious. "look. i dunno what's goin' on with you and the manager, but that was a li'l fucked. even if ya looked hella good doin' it."

'That' being sending you to Osaka and painting a big red target on your back.

You sigh and press your cheek to your shoulder, watching them quietly. Papyrus closes his hand around your ankle and eases your shoe and sock off without a word, his hat casting a shadow over his face and rendering it unreadable.

"not gonna say anythin'?" Sans asks you in the same somber tone, his eternal grin drooping. He takes his time with your sock after he takes your shoe off, his phalanxes tripping up to flit over the concealed knife in your sock holster.

"It..." you start, then stop.

Sans gently caresses your ankle in encouragement, taking off your knife holster and setting it aside while you gather your thoughts.

"It was a calculated gamble. I knew it was."

"IT WAS TOO CLOSE," Papyrus finally says, his hand tightening on the arch of your foot as he sets it down on the carpeted floor. "UNDYNE AND THAT CHIDI FELLOW COMBINED WOULD HAVE SPELLED YOUR END. YOU WERE FORTUNATE THAT YOU HAD MY MARTIAL PROWESS AT YOUR DISPOSAL."

You cannot deny it. And so you don't, remaining silent. But it doesn't disperse the feeling in your chest that has been bubbling since your conversation with the Manager, and so you vent some of it by shucking your coat.

Since Sans is still slowly removing your sock while feeling you up, Papyrus is the one who helps to take your coat and put it on the coat rack.

To have both men wait on you hand and foot is...odd, to say the least. You remember seeing Papyrus fling heavily armoured men into walls and crack their heads open without so much as a grunt. You remember seeing Sans tear his enemies apart from the inside out with that bloodthirsty grin on his face.

But...you can't deny that the dichotomy is incredibly attractive.

"You say you intend to take care of me," you speak up, watching as they both turn to you in tandem. "What does it entail?"

"whatever you want." Is Sans' answer.

"WHATEVER YOU PERMIT." Is Papyrus'.

A little chuckle escapes you. "That's not very helpful." You shake your head good-naturedly. But perhaps this would be a good time to have a thorough discussion. The bruises on your back and thighs protest slightly at your decision to postpone your rest, but you've gone longer weathering much worse. "Very well, have a seat." You wave to the two chairs in your room.

You can see that Sans is tempted to sit where he kneels at your feet, but Papyrus hauls his brother up and deposits him in, conveniently, the same chair that he sat in the last time he was in your room. It seems that he remembers it too, sitting with a slouch, his arms over the back of the chair, his knees spread, and that incorrigible leer on his face. All in a mirror of how he had last spent his time in your quarters.

"WELL?" Papyrus asks as he makes himself comfortable in another chair that he drags over, folding his long body into it. His hat comes off his head and is placed over his knee, revealing his bare skull and the stark scars over it.

Crossing your legs at the ankle and tucking your knees together, you place your hands in your lap and look at them. "I believe that a...how did you put it...a 'closed triad' was on the table. Let's talk about that."

Interestingly, both brothers begin to sweat. Papyrus more so than Sans. Hmm, and you thought Sans was the one who would be more adverse to talking about feelings. Although now that you think about it, Sans had been the one making advances all this while, even if they were more focused on seduction than anything.

On that note, Sans is the first to speak. "yeah, so..." He looks up at Papyrus for a moment, then turns his crimson eye lights to you. "that's basically it."

You sigh, then smile. "So your proposal is essentially that you wish for me to date you. Both of you. At the same time." Though your tone is even, you allow a smidgen of affection to slip into your voice. Just to make sure that they know you're not against the idea. Simply...clarifying.

Papyrus nods. "US. AND NO ONE ELSE. LIKEWISE WE WOULD NOT DATE ANYONE OTHER THAN YOU."

Tilting your head, you roll that around in your mind, turning your gaze to Papyrus first. "I'm open to it. I admit I find you both attractive. But...I don't know you as well as I do Sans. And you don't know me. So tell me, Papyrus, why you would agree to something like this." You smile then, gently. "I didn't think you were interested in anyone that way."

Papyrus looks away, a soft red blush on his zygomatic bones. Sans, for once, chooses not to say anything, though he does look at Papyrus out of the corner of his eye socket.

"I...WAS NOT." He finally says. "FOR A VERY LONG TIME. BUT..." The blush on his face intensifies. "BUT THEN I SAW YOU AND SANS..." In the alleyway.

Sans turns to leer at you, though you barely react.

"AND I..." He trails off, as if embarrassed. "THE WAY YOU HELD HIM BEFORE...DURING...AFTER...I...WANTED THAT TOO." It was only the spark of his interest. And then.

"THEN I LEARNED MORE ABOUT HOW YOU SOUGHT VENGEANCE FOR SANS. I FOUGHT BESIDE YOU MYSELF, TRAVELLED WITH YOU..." That perpetual scowl on his face softens and he looks at you with blazing red eye lights that look less sharp than usual. "CONCIERGE. I AM A WARRIOR AT MY CORE. IN THE HEAT OF BATTLE, I CAN SEE YOUR SOUL. WE MIGHT ONLY KNOW EACH OTHER FOR A SHORT TIME, BUT IT DOES NOT FEEL SO TO ME."

That did not cross your mind before, but now that Papyrus brings it up, a lot of things made sense. You know that there is a certain level of camaraderie that comes with fighting side by side, by weathering chaos together. You know that one can make a deep connection with another just by standing by the other's side as they faced certain death. You know that you can see another's heart, their Intent, from how they fight alone.

Papyrus, though he exerted his own level of critical thinking, nevertheless chose to follow you and back you up in every engagement. Used his abilities to support you and supplement your own. Watched your back as you watched his. Healed you when time afforded it, neglecting to tend to his own injuries. And though he was protective, he trusted in your strength first and foremost.

And you cannot deny that little flutter in your belly when he healed your hand in that little lull in the fighting. That he showed you such tenderness that he would not to anyone else...

Inhaling softly, you nod. "I see." You smooth your hand over your forearm, feeling the reassuring stiffness of your gauntlet, its weight. It helps you form your thoughts, grounds you. Looking back up at him, you see the way he seems tense. Nervous. Worried about how you have taken his confession. So you smile and reach out, touching the top of his hand that rests on his knee. "When then do you think of sharing with Sans?"

Papyrus' posture relaxes some then, as if this is a more comfortable topic for him. "SKELETON MONSTERS TEND OT HAVE A MATRIARCHAL FAMILY STRUCTURE, CONSIDERING THAT OUR POPULATION HAS TENDED TOWARDS MALES." His voice takes on a more formal tone, as if repeating something that he learned long ago, rather than speaking from the soul. "THERE ARE FEW OF US LEFT, CERTAINLY NO FEMALES. AND...HISTORICALLY, WE HAVE ALSO FORMED PRIDES ALONGSIDE OTHER MALE MEMBERS OF THE FAMILY."

Prides...now that's a term that you haven't heard before, but you can piece together its meaning through context cues. Rather than a family structure similar to the bunnies, with a single male with multiple female mates, a pride would be...a single female with multiple male mates? Yes, that seems to make sense with what Papyrus is explaining.

But you're not here for a history lesson. And as much as you enjoy the lesson, that's perhaps best reserved for another day.

So you interject gently. "Papyrus," you pat the back of his hand and pull back, catching the slight jerk of his own as if he was going to lift it. "I would be glad to listen to an anthropology lesson another time. But for now, I'm asking you. Not about your family's history."

Sans snickers, to which he receives a backhanded slap in the chest from his younger brother.

"I'M GETTING THERE." He grumbles, but he does cut to the chase. "I WOULD NOT MIND SHARING YOU. LEAST OF ALL WITH MY BROTHER. HOWEVER, I AM TOO POSSESSIVE OF A MONSTER TO TOLERATE ANOTHER. HENCE THE CLOSED TRIAD; I WOULD SHARE YOU WITH MY BROTHER AND NO ONE ELSE."

Carefully, you read his face. His body language. He is earnest, honest, with no trace of a lie or manipulation of his words. He really is alright with this proposed arrangement.

"y'know," Sans' voice draws your attention. "you've been askin' us a whole lot. but ya ain't said much about how you felt."

"POLYAMORY IS NOT COMMON AMONGST HUMANS," Papyrus chimes in.

"It is not," you concede, shifting your legs so you tuck your feet by your side. Sans briefly grumbles, his eye lights forced to move from where they had been staring at your legs. "However...hmm, how shall I put this."

"how's about in our beds~" Sans waggles his brow bones, to which Papyrus groans with his face in his hands, and to which you smile and laugh quietly.

"I'm getting there," you say with a smile in a mirror of what Papyrus had said earlier. "Polyamory is alien to me, yes, but only as much as any other romantic relationship."

Both brothers pause then. "wait," Sans leans forward, an elbow on his knee. "ya mean ta say..."

Papyrus suddenly looks a lot more comfortable, as if he is suddenly standing on equal ground with you. "HAVE YOU NEVER BEEN IN A RELATIONSHIP?"

"or had sex?"

You tilt your head, a soft expression on your face. Partly in answer, you tug down the high collar of your turtleneck shirt, revealing the dark, inked lines of a tattoo. The top of a fanged skull is visible, as is the curling vines of thorny briars and long, clean lines. The collar you bore as Emissary, one that you carry to this day, even if it no longer holds any power over you.

Two sets of crimson eye lights flick quickly to the swirls of ink, Sans' narrowing before widening in realisation. "yer one o' them..." A High Table Emissary. Assassins at the beck and call of the High Table.

"I was," you correct him, releasing the fabric and letting it cover your tattoo once more. "It has been years since I called myself Emissary." You tap the back of one hand with the fingers of the other. "Around the time this happened."

But then you wave your hand, as if to move past Sans' additional question. "But in answer, no, I have never been in a relationship. Yes, I have had sex."

Being at the High Table's beck and call as an obedient soldier and an effective assassin left you little personal time and certainly no desire to have a 'weakness' in the form of a romantic partner. Conversely, though you had little interest in pursuing sexual relations, you on occasion had to employ such tactics when the mission calls for it.

Now, though. Times have changed. You are in a relatively safe position in a protected organisation. Recent happenings aside, you are no longer on the front lines. You protect the Hotel by any means necessary, but no longer are you chasing your enemies and hunting them down. As your partners, Papyrus and Sans would be as at risk as you are. But unlike a human, or a civilian, both men are forces to be reckoned with. The carnage in Osaka is testament to that. They would be protecting you as much as you would be protecting them. And they would have each other, always.

Your mind made up, you slide to the edge of the bed and reach out to touch both their knees. Sans and Papyrus, in turn, inch closer to you, leaning in.

"well, sweets?" Sans asks softly, a bead of sweat dripping from his temple.

"WHAT IS YOUR DECISION?" Papyrus's scowl is less pronounced.

Your face aches a little from all the smiling it's been doing for the last half hour or so, but it's a pain you're willing to weather for this. "I'd like that," you say with conviction. "To have a closed triad with you two, that is."