Ahhh… Daten City.
A city where neon lights hummed like broken halos, and the air itself reeked of smoke, sin, and cheap liquor. The streets never rested; they pulsed with a kind of manic heartbeat that made the asphalt tremble beneath your boots.
Angels tore holes in the skyline in the name of “justice,” demons crawled out of alleyways with grins sharp enough to cut your reflection in half, and the cops? They’d packed up their faith long ago. Daten didn’t sleep—how could it? Not with lust, violence, and divine chaos breathing down each other’s necks under every buzzing streetlamp.
But somehow, through all that noise and filth and divine absurdity… it was still home, sweet home.
You tug your jacket tighter around yourself and walk through the mess of lights and shadows, your bag thumping softly against your side. The day’s shift had left its weight on your shoulders—aching feet, throbbing temples, the faint hum of tired satisfaction.
You stop at the little corner store, a couple of treats find their way into your bag—nothing fancy, just small rewards for surviving another day in a city that chews people up and spits them out grinning.
You deserve it, you think. A little indulgence after working your ass off.
The streets wind and twist until you reach your building—a modern apartment complex with clean tiles and yet an elevator that's always out of service. You climb the stairs once again, two at a time.
Finally, you reach your door.
Your hand fumbles in your pocket, fishing for your keys through the mess of receipts and candy wrappers. A sigh, then—Aha! Found it.
The lock clicks, the hinges groan.
Creakkk…
The smell of your apartment greets you—faint cologne, coffee grounds, and something else… warm. Familiar.
You step inside, closing the door behind you, twisting the lock twice (you’ve learned better than to take chances in this city). Shoes off, socks against cool wood.
You’re about to drop your bag when—
"Ah, welcome home, my dear."
The voice slides through the air from the kitchen, smooth as silk dipped in smoke.
Right. You’re not alone here.
You’d almost forgotten. You’ve been living with the Incubi twins—Leather and Latex. Two demons of temptation who somehow made themselves at home in your personal space.
Latex, the younger of the two, leans against the counter as you step into the kitchen light. His grin is all teeth and charm, eyes glowing faintly with that pale, eerie light. His white pupils catch the reflection of the stove flame as he smirks, mischief curling at the corner of his lips.
"You’re home just in time, darling," he purrs, rolling up his sleeves. "Care to join us for dinner?" His tone drops an octave, wickedness dripping from his tongue. "I can eat you for din—"
"Latex."
Leather’s voice cuts through the teasing like a clean blade. His tone is calm, but it carries a quiet authority. Standing beside the counter, he looks like a painting come to life—white hair tied back neatly, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms dusted with flour.
"Don’t be a crude," he says, cracking an egg with effortless grace, the yolk slipping into a porcelain bowl.
Latex rolls his eyes dramatically, crossing his arms with a huff. "Dear brother, I was just joking, of course." His pout is practiced—childish, even. The kind that might melt hearts if he weren’t a walking sin incarnate.
Leather chuckles softly, the sound rich and patient. "You’ll give them the wrong idea, dear brother."
"Oh brother, would that be so wrong?" Latex teases back, tail flicking lazily behind him as he turns toward you again.
You can’t help but smile at their familiar banter—it’s almost domestic, in the strangest way.
Leather finally meets your gaze, eyes calm and knowing. "You may help us if you wish," he says, stirring the mixture in the bowl. "We’re preparing dessert."
"Red velvet cake~." Latex chimes in, his grin returning, fangs catching the light. "Your favorite."
Leather nods. "Though we’ve run out of strawberries for the topping, I’m afraid."