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A Frans Wonderland: NSFW Edition

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Frisk wasn’t sure what had made her think suggesting this was a good idea.

She’d always been curious, of course. A monster just like her mate, but somehow bigger, meaner, and far more crude than anything that she’d encountered in her own Underground? One that hit on her irreverently and insatiably, no matter how many threats that Sans made? One that carried such confidence in his gait, and such sin in his gaze, that it made her legs weak?

Sure, she knew how much he wanted her. Sure, the little arrangement she’d managed to talk Sans into was tantalizing. Sure, she couldn’t forget the way Fell had dragged his sockets down her body when he had agreed on the deal, lascivious and greedy.

But being here, sandwiched between his broad, bare rib cage and her Sans’ loving hands, their breath heavy on her bared skin and their magic crackling, static and mist, in the air around the bed the three of them reclined on, was making her dizzy, her head light and her blood burn.

Fell’s undulating tongue climbing the length of her throat didn’t help, nor did his constant, rumbling affirmations as he ran his hands over her body, drool trailing from his parted fangs and his desire evident in the tented crotch of his shorts.

Frisk sucked in a labored breath when his clawed hands slipped down her lower back to cup her posterior, squeezing through her lacy panties and grinding her down, against the thick, twitching form of his cock, chuckling against her throat when she whimpered in need.

 “shit, you got a gorgeous body… jus’ like i always imagined. sweet, and hot, an’ so fuckin’ ready… jus’ like that wet little pussy.”

Fell’s tongue extended again to trace a stripe of glowing red saliva up the underside of her chin and along her jaw, the luminescence of his magic lighting his left socket with crimson avidity as he watched her squirm against his chest with a wide, hungry smirk.

She couldn’t help the flush that overtook her cheeks, the helpless rush of arousal through her veins.

Frisk could hardly think straight, lost in the sensation of so much attention and ardor, and as such shivered when Sans, his hands tracing her spine and the undersides of her bare breasts with care and benevolence, as ever, kissed the back of her neck, nuzzling his nasal ridge against the fall of her hair.

His touch was cool against her flushed skin, probably intentionally (he could read her so well…), his voice a balm to her flustered mind.

“don’t be shy, frisk… he’s right. you’re beautiful, every part of you, and i can’t get enough of you… are you alright? do you need anything?”

Frisk leaned into her mate’s embrace, finding solace and peace in his attentions and care, and ignored Fell’s thwarted snort and grumpy frown at her removal from his exploring tongue and nipping teeth (though he didn’t seem to mind the view of her arched back against Sans, her breasts on full display), turning to meet his gentle smirk with her wet, parted lips.

“I… I-I… It’s so hot… you’re both so… ahhh… overwhelming… just a little nervous…”

Her speech was interspersed with adoring kisses and shuddering whines, Fell joining their discourse by raising his hands to fondle Frisk’s breasts (his smile only grew with every shudder and muffled moan he drew from her, his palms weighted with her flesh and his claws flicking at her nipples), and Sans, with a bald, displeased look sent to Fell and his ministrations, pressed another kiss to his lover’s lips, his hands settling on her waist, unmoving and patient.

“need us to slow down, babe? we could take a break, let you relax…”

He was sincere and calm, clearly willing to pull away and give her every comfort, but Frisk shook her head immediately, her own hands lowering to cover his and firm his hold on her flesh. Her hips pressed further into the monster below her, her chest into his eager grasp.

“N-no! I want to keep going! Don’t stop…”

Sans smiled warmly, pressing his bare bones to Frisk’s back and humming in acceptance of her affirmation; his phalanges plucked at the hem of her panties, sliding beneath the sides to slowly slip them down her hips, the slope of her posterior. His mouth moved its attentions to her neck, kisses and scrapes of his teeth drawing sounds of pleasure from her lips.

Lying beneath the whimpering, squirming human girl, Fell watched her last scrap of clothing fall away from her body with perverse lust, her arousal glistening between her parted legs sending him into a whole new level of desire. His tongue swept the line of his sharpened fangs, gold glinting in the low light as he leaned forward to lick at one of her nipples, a free hand smoothing down the flesh of her abdomen, parting her downy curls and delving into her wetness.

His gaze rose to meet hers, from his place against her chest, a single knuckle making slow, intent circles around her clit.

“don’t think i could, babydoll.”

He gloried in her helpless moans, the way she arched into him and only grew wetter for him (humans were such a joy to fuck, so soft and wet and stars, did their bodies smell good), but Sans, behind the quaking, whining girl, glared over her shoulder at the larger skeleton monster, a grimace of warning overtaking his soft assurance.

Electric blue magic flickered in his left socket, dire consequence and judgment within.

“you damn well better if she says it’s too much.”

Frisk, with a shuddering, haltering moan, turned to kiss along the irritated monster’s jawline, the hand not currently guiding Fell’s between her legs rising to trace along the side of Sans’ skull. He had been such a good sport to allow her this, to sate her curiosity and add some spice to their love life, and she said as much against the living bone of his mandible, appreciative and comforting.

He knew what he meant to her. He knew her soul, and how much she loved him. Just because another him had spawned from another universe, dropped out of place and time by a strange machine and trapped in a world not his own, didn’t mean he meant less, or that she intended to replace him.

He knew that, but sometimes, he needed reminding. After this, she’d do just that.

Fell, tsking his magical tongue against the backs of his teeth, rolled his gaze in his sockets, allowing Frisk to guide his fingers in rubbing her just right while she whispered love and assurance to her beloved. Jealousy burned in his bones, a sickly green anger that made him more and more nauseous the longer he was stuck in this namby-pamby universe, but he made no mention of it, concentrating instead on the opportunity he had been given, his hands on the female that should have been his.

He was lucky to get this much, he knew that. He was just as unhappy to share as Blue was, but it was this or nothing, another night spent knowing Frisk was with him while he jerked himself off in his shitty apartment, as alone as he’d always been.

He’d take this any day.

And who knew? Maybe the sweet, sexy girl would get addicted and come back for more. Maybe it was possible for them both to have her. They did have the same soul…

Something to think about another time. Right now, he had more pleasant, soft, wet things on his mind.

“yeah, yeah, calm down, shorty. i know when my partner’s uncomfortable, i ain’t gonna do nothin’ she don’t like.”

To emphasize that point, and recapture Frisk’s attention, Fell squeezed the breast he wasn’t licking, pinching her nipple between two claws, and slowly slid a thick phalange into her core, taking her all the way to the knuckle with satisfaction and greed glinting in his growing smirk, the breathy gasp and returned gaze of the girl in his lap doing wonders for his ego.

He leered up at her, teasing her breast with the edge of his parted teeth and slowly, ever so slowly, rolling his finger within her, stroking her g-spot and rubbing his palm against her clit.

She was a vision in her rapture, a siren and an angel at once. All he’d ever needed in the world, without even realizing it, was to see her as she was now, crying out with helpless pleasure and thrusting against his hand, pushing her silken flesh against his bones.


So much for her being the one forming an addiction.

“but what she does like… got that shit in spades, heh.”

Fell’s self-confidence was clearly well placed, the motions of his hands and nubile tongue practiced and evocative, and had Frisk all but wailing in ecstasy, clutching at his thick ribs and arching into him haplessly. His satisfied grin was evident of his awareness of his skill, gloating and, in a moment of pure egotism, prompting him to send a smug look up at the smaller skeleton monster, his hands caressing Frisk’s sides and his own tongue working on her neck.

Sans flushed a powder blue at his stare, glaring back and barely holding back a bestial, territorial snarl, but quieted himself for Frisk, sneering as well and taking a moment to trace his fingers down the length of Frisk’s arm, his fingerbones clacking against the bracelet she still wore, glowing in the darkened bedroom with his own magic.

His smile held superiority and candor in it, his free hand circling her torso to trace up her fluttering abdomen, her heaving ribcage, and between her breasts to rest over her heart, the magic of her soul tumultuous and writhing in pleasure beneath the palm of his hand.

It pulsed in recognition as his closeness, Sans’ grin only growing as he held Fell’s stare.

“sure you do, buddy.”

Fell did growl at that, reddening with rage and his newfound jealousy, and turned back to his occupation rather than face the truth of Sans’ unspoken claim, sliding a second finger into Frisk’s core and thrusting them into her almost aggressively, grasping her waist with his other hand and rubbing quick, intense circles around her clit with his thumb.

Asshole… taunting him with the only thing he couldn’t have… see how he liked his wife getting off on another monster better than she ever did with him.

Sans took over playing with Frisk’s breasts in Fell’s concentration on fingering her into mind-numbing pleasure, intensely pleased with himself and, admittedly, with his mate’s bliss. He whispered encouragement and praise in her ear as he cupped and toyed with her flesh, licking the sensitive shell of her ear and rolling her nipples and pressing himself to her flexing posterior, grinding his own erection against the swell of her ass.

He so loved to see her lost to pleasure, nothing got him off better than knowing she had felt at least twice as good as he had… and though he hated seeing Fell touching her, knowing he would smell the bastard on her for the next month, he could live with it if it meant seeing her like this.

It was like she’d told him the night before, and again before they let Fell into the house that day: she was his, and always would be, no matter how good the other monster made her feel.

Frisk, in her haze of near euphoric rapture, couldn’t have contained her cries and undulations if she’d had the mind to try, grinding down against the furious thrusting of Fell’s hand and then bucking back into the hardness of her lover’s restrained cock. Her attentions were split between Sans’ voice, soft and hot against her sweaty hair, and Fell’s harsh, grunting breaths against her abdomen, gentle twists and pressure at her breasts and biting, controlling claws at her hip.

Two different brands of desire, so different but both focused on her. Two different monsters, both endeavoring to bring her pleasure.

And who said a girl couldn’t have it all.

Fell forcing a third phalange into her entrance and Sans parting his jaw to bite gently at the joint of her shoulder and neck struck a chord that Fell had been working towards for nearly five minutes, Frisk’s eyes flying wide and her hands grasping wildly for Fell’s shoulders. Her knees started to quake, her walls tightening and fluttering and her breaths coming in short pants.

She couldn’t speak, it was too much, she was… she was going to…

Fell suddenly removing his fingers from her jolted her, her thrown back head dropping to look on incredulously as the monster seated between her spread thighs licked happily at his dripping phalanges, grinning so wide she thought his skull would split. She spluttered in protest, grasping for his hand, but Fell only chuckled and held it over is head and out of reach, smirking up at her with half-lidded, flirtatious sockets.

“ah ah… y’ain’t got permission ta cum yet, do ya. you hold onta that for me, babydoll. i wanna feel ya orgasm on my dick, heh.”

Frisk pouted, whining in her need and the steadily subsiding orgasm the larger monster had built in her, and leaned provocatively against Sans, rubbing her ass against his erection and bucking her breasts into his stilled, light grasp.

“Sans… Sans, honey…”

Sans, despite his instinctive desire to give his mate everything she desired, merely snickered at her plaintive plea, smoothing his palms down her sides to clutch at her posterior, giving it a smack for good measure as he kissed her shoulder apologetically.

His grin sharpened at the wanton sound she let out at the slap of bone to her ass, his magic surging in bald desire.

“be patient, babe. you promised you’d be a good girl for us… we’d rather not have to punish you.”

Fell scoffed at that, returning to licking his fingers clean and stroking the swell of Frisk’s hip with his free hand, the scratches he had dug into her flesh.

“speak for yerself.”

Sans ignored him, content to squeeze his lover’s ass and kiss her throat as her orgasmic high died, but Frisk was not so latent, whimpering and dropping her knees out to sit fully in Fell’s lap. She circled her hips enticingly, pushing her breasts to his bare rib cage and extending her own tongue to lap at his arousal stained phalanges, trapped between her body and his.

Her sodden folds parted over the tented fabric of Fell’s shorts, soaking the material and allowing him to feel the heat he had bred within her.

“Ahh… ahh… please… don’t tease me… I… I-I need you…”

She ground against his erection with wild abandon, taking his dripping fingers into her mouth to suckle at them enticingly, and Fell, the lights in his sockets shrinking in shocked arousal, allowed his jaw to drop, watching her with open, rabid longing.

“shit that’s sexy… ‘aight, sugar, you’ve convinced me. ya get your wish.”

He pushed her hips away from his for a moment, allowing her to continue laving her tongue over his phalanges while, one handed, he undid his belt and pulled the zipper on his shorts down, releasing his intimidating, glowing, scarlet cock from their confines.

The thick, twitching appendage pressed insistently to Frisk’s abdomen, it’s warmth in stark contrast to the coolness of the line of piercings trailing its underside, and Fell grinned up at Frisk when she gasped at its contact with her skin, thrusting against her and stroking his saliva dampened fingers along her chin, tracing the length of her throat rapturously.

“go on… sit on daddy’s cock.”

Frisk moaned halteringly at his command, flushing prettily and whimpering as she looked down at the size of him; her teeth bit into her lower lip desirously, and she hesitantly bucked her saturated folds against the length of him, drawing a staggered, surprised breath at the feeling of his piercings dragging along her clit.

Behind the distracted human girl, Sans grimaced, the bone above his nasal ridge wrinkling as he shot a disgusted glare at the larger, just as occupied monster.

“yeah, no. don’t call yourself that.”

Fell ignored him gracefully, his crooked smirk widening with every explorative motion Frisk made against him, and so Sans snorted, turning to watch his mate as well. She was really into it… and so was he. A slow, wicked grin overtook his upset, a string of his own saliva dripping from his teeth to trail down his jaw as she slicked her entrance against another monster’s cock.

His hands moved to her hips, his mouth returning to her ear.

“but the order stands, babe. get yourself on his dick… i wanna watch you take it.”

Frisk shuddered against him, turning to nuzzle against the side of his face and meet his gaze, double checking that it was okay, and nodded eagerly at his wink, her hands clenching on Fell’s shoulders as she lifted herself to turn in his lap, settling her back against his ribcage and posterior against his pelvis.

Her thighs spread wide around his femurs, the hard, erect magic of Fell’s arousal a persistent reminder of their occupation between her legs, and with a tremulous hand, the other wrapped around the back of the large skeleton monster’s neck, she took his cock in hand and brought him to her entrance.

All three let out a strangled breath when she began to sink herself onto Fell’s length, Frisk with shocked, breathless pleasure, Sans with voyeuristic intent, and Fell with satisfied levity, his hands grasping at Frisk’s waist and his skull dropping back against the headboard of the bed.

“fuuuuuuuck yeah… holy shit, you’re tight, sweetheart… take it slow, i know ya ain’t used ta somethin’ this big…”

Sans barely held back a snarl at that, baring his teeth at the crass monster and truly considering ending this all early just out of spite, but held back, watching his bride pant and shift her legs to accommodate more of Fell into her core, the silver studs marking the underside of his dick disappearing into her one by one.

She was enjoying herself, and that was the whole point. This was for her, not him. He could get over his pride for half an hour…

If Fell would let him, the giant bastard.

And so, Sans let the comment go unheeded, and turned his attention to Frisk, her rampant moans and her trembling legs, and scooted closer to her, dragging his palms along her thighs and pushing kisses to her lips.

One hand ventured between her thighs to spread her folds even further than they were by the girth of Fell’s cock, a single fingertip flicking at her clit slowly, teasingly.

“how’s it feel, honey? you like it?”

Frisk nodded eagerly, tears in her hazy eyes and her free hand rising to grasp at Sans’ shoulder as she took another inch of the thick appendage she was slowly sinking onto, her back arching and her lips parting in a silent cry of rapture.

Another stud, teasing along the swollen flesh of her clit, popped inside her, and she all but wailed in pleasure, squirming and tossing her head.

“He’s… so big… the piercings… oh god…”

She thrashed at the stimulation of Sans playing with her and Fell filling her entirely, the heat rushing in her veins making her lightheaded and dizzy with ecstasy.

Fell, pleased with her acclaim, leaned forward to drag his tongue up the length of her neck, his hands on her hips pushing her down further, taking her to the very base of his cock. He nuzzled at her ear as she moaned and shifted in his lap, grazing his teeth along her earlobe.

“heh… thought you’d like those… they always do.”

He patted her hip, grinning and shifting his legs to plant his feet in the mattress.

“bend forward an’ spread ‘em, sweetcheeks… gimme some room ta work on ya.”

She did as she was bidden, Sans helping her prop her torso on a few pillows, and Fell, squeezing his clawed fingers in the plush flesh of her ass with a wolfish, hungry grin, gave a preliminary thrust once she was settled, grunting in pleasure at the feeling of bottoming out within her and the way she clenched around him, soft and hot and wet as sin.

“fuckin’ perfect. jus’ like i always imagined. now… why dontcha use those pretty lips ta get your mate off too while i fuck ya, eh?”

He smacked his palm across her ass, drawing a shuddering gasp from the girl, and Frisk, flushed and panting and heavy-lidded, looked shakily up at Sans, licking her parted lips and coming even with his already bared, precum dotted erection.

Sans smirked at her, stroking a hand along his length and weaving his other into her hair, pushing the head of his cock against her lips.

“get to it, babe.”

She needed little prompting, replacing his hand with one of hers as she eagerly accepted him past her lips, the tip of her tongue sliding in and out of view in her fervent worship of her lover’s offering. Her other hand rested on the mattress below her, keeping her body steady for both of the skeletons, and both took her cue as their own, their smiles identical in lecherous perversion.

Sans took up a slow, even circling of his pelvis, reveling in the feeling of his human’s mouth and hot, wet tongue against his surging magic and her silken hair around his fingers, and Fell, for the first time, withdrew from his full penetration of Frisk’s core, though only to give himself room for the next upwards thrust into her warmth.

His pace was less measured, quickly adopting a passionate rut that rocked Frisk body back and forth, his clawed hands digging into her wide hips and his gaze glued to the vision of his cock slipping in and out of her entrance, transfixed and aroused beyond measure.

Yes… this. This was where she belonged, mounted on his cock and moaning for him. Gorgeous girl… stars, he was glad he’d taken this deal.

He never wanted to leave her body, and so pounded himself as far into her as he could go with reckless abandon, desperate to imprint some part of himself on her.

Fell’s furious, rough pace only aided Sans’, pushing Frisk further down his length with each meeting of his hips with her backside, saying nothing of her tremulous, wild groans of pleasure around him. It sent shivers deep into his bones, heat and arousal beating through his soul in waves of intense, concentration breaking ardor.

He could barely keep from throwing his head back, closing his eyes, and losing himself in the moment.

He forcefully kept his sockets open and focused on Frisk, though, on the flutter of her lashes, the stroke of her fingers along the base of his cock, the suction she bore down on him with in her attempt to pleasure him. The way her back arched back into Fell’s rabid fucking, and how her legs shook in her rebuilding orgasmic high.

She was so beautiful like this. He couldn’t afford to forget that, forget any part of her.

“didn’t think i’d like this much, considering… but watching you come apart… watching you taking two monsters at once… stars save me, you look so hot.”

And he wasn’t lying in the least, the truth of his admission and arousal pulsing through the magic between his mate’s lips, and Fell, looking up from the perfect sight of Frisk taking every inch he had to give for a moment, smirked crookedly, casting his gaze over her reclined body, the motion of her head, Sans’ phalanges buried in her hair.

“i’d be jealous of tha view if i wasn’t balls deep in her, blue… you get ta have this piece every night. fuckin’ waste… maybe we can-”

He began his offer with vain design, hopeful that Sans was too caught up in the moment to begrudge him a few nights with her a month (it was his right too, she was his soulmate too, he could have demanded a fight to the death for the right to claim her but he hadn’t, he’d played fair, more fair than Sans ever had), but that hope dwindled the moment Sans looked up and met his eye with dark threat, his teeth gritting audibly.

“we’ve talked about this, fell. one. time. only.”

Fell’s expectation fell into a glower, scowling and spurned yet again (how many times had he tried? How many times had he attempted to convince the stubborn ass to share her? Too many to count), and so turned back to the only real hope he had, the human girl practically fucking herself on him.

She had been the one to want this, want him. Sans had called it curiosity. Fell had seen it as more. She felt the call to him as well. It couldn’t be helped. She’d feel it again, all too soon.

See Sans try to stop her. He gave her everything she wanted, their tryst today was evidence of that.

Fell squeezed her thighs, his soul burning and his spirits soaring again.

“we’ll see ‘bout that, won’t we, beautiful?”

His mutter was quiet and muffled by the slap of flesh to bone, by the constant, desirous moans rolling through Frisk’s body, only heightened by Fell adjusting her position and his thrusts so he ground regularly against her clit with his pelvic arch, her spine shooting straight and her lips leaving her mate’s cock with a sloppy breaking of suction.

She clung to Sans’ iliac crests helplessly while Fell kept it up, crying out with ever increasing volume and passion, and all too soon was succumbing again to her climax, her walls clamping down around Fell’s length and her abdomen clenching of waves of cresting pleasure.

“Ohhh… ohhh… S-Sans… baby, I’m… haahhh…”

She could barely keep her own weight up on her arms and knees, wobbling dangerously in her light headed, breathless lust, and Sans, chuckling and just as eager for her to meet her end, peeled her fingers from his pelvis, setting her down so her chest lay flat on her platform of pillows.

He combed a hank of hair from her face, tracing her wetted lips with a fingertip and watching her body build up to her orgasm again with a wide grin.

“cum for us, frisk. cum on his cock…”

She didn’t last another moment, following her lover’s command, and came undone with a warbling cry of absolute rapture, her hands clenching in the sheets below her and her strength utterly failing her, dropping her fully onto Fell’s pistoning dick.

This only served to heighten the pleasure, a keening wail leaving her lips at the press of him to her spasming walls, and it was all Fell could do not to blow his load right then and there, clinging to her hips and panting for air and forcing himself to stop while she rode her climax out, buried in her core to the hilt and very nearly passing out from the feeling of her cumming around him.

“holy shit… fuck, fuck, fuck, feels so fuckin’ good…”

He was incapable of real thought or expression beyond cursing or observing how good she felt around him, and would be for a few moments after Frisk’s orgasm had faded, leaving both she and Fell a panting, sweaty, wordless mess, but Sans was more than willing to pick up the slack, unbelievably turned on from watching his mate cum for him, and smoothed his palm up her cheek, rubbing behind her ear and humming in approval.

“that’s my good girl. felt good, huh? but i know you, babe… you’re gonna want more, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, the knowing look in his sockets convinced and firm, and Frisk, her eyelids fluttering, immediately nodded, nudging her cheek against his hand and whimpering wordlessly.

Sans smirked at that, and slipped his hands under her arms, helping her up while, at the same moment, not allowing her to dismount Fell. Both she and the large skeleton monster groaned at the motion, their connection still sensitive and raw, but Sans didn’t give either of them a reprieve, diving in on Frisk’s lips for a kiss and moving her thighs further apart to settle her better in her perch.

“sit back against his chest, darling. let’s see how much more you can take, hmm?”

His whispered offer against her lips was met with excitement and a groan of allure, Frisk’s cheeks brightening and walls tightening in a surge of arousal, and Fell, catching on to what was happening as the girl in his lap situated herself more comfortably, moaned beneath his breath himself, scooting further up the headboard and hooking his hands beneath her thighs.

He lifted her fully into his arms, spreading her wide and burying his face in her hair, his grin wide and glinting in the low light.

“c’mon, blue… stretch that pussy like it deserves…”

Sans snorted, sparing Fell a flat glance, but scooted into the cradle of his beloved’s thighs nevertheless, anchoring his hands under Frisk’s knees and lining himself up with her already occupied entrance.

It was a tight fit, interspersed with a great deal of repositioning and irritation (“why is your dick so damn big, fell? excessive as hell…” “what can i say? i’m blessed, heh.”), but with a quiet squeal from Frisk and a satisfied grunt from both skeleton monsters, Sans finally managed to push himself into her, alongside the line of pierced studs decorating his counterpart’s appendage.

Frisk had never felt so full in her life, wordless in her pleasure as she grasped at both of her skeletal lovers, her eyes rolling back at the barest motions the both of them made.

Gods, it felt so good… she was so hot, she needed… she needed… more.

Both Sans and Fell gasped when she started circling her hips, grinding the cocks within her together and sinking them further within her. Sans could only tighten his grip behind her knees, trembling and wide socketed, while Fell, winded but voracious, parted his jaws to lick along Frisk’s neck, watching over her shoulder as her breasts bounced and her hips rotated.

“yeah, that’s it, gorgeous… get fuckin’ stuffeddamn you’re sexy…”

Frisk whined at his gruff compliments, bucking her hips in an attempt to pull them deeper within her, and Sans, recovering from the suddenness of the stimulation, shot Fell a glare, starting up a rolling, sensual pace, one hand lowering to his wife’s abdomen to stroke her already overstimulated clit.

He moved his gaze to Frisk’s, his bare frown melting into a flirtatious, hungry grin.

“shut up for once and just fuck her.”

Frisk, eyes widening in shocked arousal, arched back against Fell’s rib cage, choking on her breath and crying out with each firm, practiced meeting of Sans’ pelvis to her flesh, his every thrust taking her as deep as he could go. Fell remained idle himself only a moment longer, stimulated by both the tightness of their fit and Sans’ fervent motion.

He firmed his grip on Frisk’s thighs and pounded himself up into her with ravenous abandon, smirking at Sans.

“my pleasure.”

After his comment, the only sounds that permeated the room were muttered explicatives, the wet friction of a lover’s union, and frequent, passionate exclamations, the bed rocking and the mattress squeaking with the driven intent on both monsters attempting to outperform the other.

Frisk could barely keep up with them, gasping for breath and moaning in constant, unbelievable lasciviousness, and reached mindblowing orgasm three more times before the end was in sight, her skin covered in the prints of their hands and trails of their saliva and her muscles aching from their competitive vigor.

She clung to Fell’s neck nearly bonelessly, arms above her head and eyes closed, begging breathlessly for the fifth climax her lovers were breeding within her, but neither skeleton monster were sure they would manage to make it there, their movements jerky and telltale.

Both were attempting to push her over the edge before they met their own, Fell’s large hands encompassing Frisk’s breasts and Sans’ thumb rubbing circles around her clit, his mouth at her throat as he whispered encouragement and worshipful, breathy pleas to her.

“c’mon, babe, just a little more… gimme one more, ineed it…”

Frisk wanted it just as badly as they, bucking down onto their lengths and doing all in her power to reach her climax, but it was only when Fell, his breath a hot cloud of lust and desire against her flesh, made good on the tease of his fangs against her shoulder and bit down that she felt the coil of her last orgasm, her eyes shooting wide and her abdomen spasming.

“Please… oh please, yes… S-Sans… Felllll, ohh…”

Her body clamping down around their already dangerously sensitive cocks spelled the end for both monsters, her orgasm pushing them into their own, and both came with shuddering, exquisite cries of bliss, clutching at Frisk and pumping their magic into her as one.

“stars, frisk… fuuuck, yes… milk my cock, babe, take it all…”

“shit, baby, yeah, fuckin’ scream for me!”

Their high lasted far longer than any of them could tell, lost to intense passion and incredible fatigue, collapsing into the puddling remains of thier lust in a sweaty heap. Both monsters curled instinctively around the nearly unconscious, sore, breathless human, though, hands worshiping her body and her slightly distended abdomen.

Fell was the first to recover, and the first to arch up to press a kiss to Frisk’s parted, saliva dampened lips, caressing her throat and the bite mark he had left in her flesh.

He hadn’t meant to mark her. He had only wanted to help her reach her end. But it was there, now, sparking with his magic and blatant, stark meaning, and he’d have to deal with it eventually.

He couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. After all, wasn’t it what he’d really wanted?

“stars fuck me, that was amazin’.”

Sans, sockets shuttered and as yet unknowing of what had happened, hugged Frisk closer to his chest, humming in pleasure and contentment.

“for once… hah… i agree with you.”


Chapter Text

It started, of all things, as hand holding.

Frisk had always loved playing with the joints and divots in his hands, and the movie they had gone to see wasn’t as interesting as they had thought it would be. Sans was already drifting off, his other hand in the popcorn bag and his sockets thin slits lit by stuttering, dim magic, and Frisk, bored and tactile, started tracing the lines and dips and empty spaces on his extended palm.

It took awhile for her to notice him watching her from under his bony eyelids, no longer drifting into slumber but curious and watchful. He wore a shiteating grin, one of her absolute favorites (not that she would admit that to him), and when she started tracing his phalanges with her fingertips, he surprised her by chuckling.

“whatcha doin’ there, babe?”

His whisper was rough but quiet, suited to the mostly empty theater, and Frisk jumped, looking guiltily up at him and his gentle smirk.

“Oh! Um. Just, you know… exploring.”

Her mumble was hushed, her fingers retreating to ball in her lap, but Sans’ hand chased hers, worming its way between her clenched fingers; he grinned at her, winking and rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

“don’t let me stop you.”

She glanced at him shyly, her cheeks tinting lightly, before taking up her tracing again, feeling the curves and chips in his carpals. Her fascination both amused and captivated him, and he watched her in silence for a moment, the movie white noise in the background, before leaning closer to her, nuzzling the ridge of his nasal cavity against her ear and kissing her cheek lingeringly.

“you really don’t mind the bones, do you?”

He sounded both amused and in awe, his fingers lacing between hers to squeeze her palm, and Frisk giggled at the sensation of his breath on her skin and his nuzzling, leaning into him and flushing slightly.

“No, they’re fascinating. You’re amazing.”

She glanced at him from under her eyelashes as she spoke, shy and sincere,  and in his chest, his soul throbbed, the lights floating in his sockets forming tiny hearts.

His phalanges tightened between hers, and his other hand rose to turn her chin; his bony lip line pressed to her plush mouth, stealing her breath and drowning in her love.

“‘m just magic. you, though… you gorgeous, perfect woman… you’re amazing. just look at you…”

His whisper against her lips was haggard and intent, his sockets lidded and warm; his hands stroked her body, up the length of her thigh, the narrow of her waist, the column of her throat.

Frisk couldn’t help the gasp she breathed in, the warming of her cheeks. She pressed fluttering kisses to his jawline, lost in the moment and ignorant of all that was happening outside their sphere of being.

Sans hardly minded. In fact, his exploring hands only became bolder, a cursory glance over the theater confirming that no one was paying them any attention.

The fingers of one hand snuck beneath the hem of her sweater, tracing the soft flesh of her stomach; the fingers of the other sank into her hair, pulling her lips back to meet his.

“so soft everywhere, so warm, so beautiful… with the kindest soul and warmest heart in the world. melted chocolate eyes, and the cutest laugh this side of snowdin.”

His voice was gruff and low, his compliments sincere and breathed hot against her flushed skin, her spread, wetted lips, and Frisk, high on his attention and the feeling of his bones on her bare flesh, could only whimper in response, clinging to his jacket sleeve and meeting his short, fevered kisses desperately.

Sans smirked at the sound of her whimper, the tightening of her abdomen, and pulled back to look in her eyes; he withdrew his hand from under her shirt, blithely ignoring her hushed protest, instead settling his hand on her bare thigh, the tips of his fingers edging under her skirt.

“you’re getting into this, huh? want more?”

His offer was blatant, as obvious as the lust in his satisfied gaze, and Frisk, head light from the rushing of her arousal, glanced nervously over his shoulder at the few other people in the theater, biting her lower lip before nodding, her fingers digging further into his coat sleeve.


At her confirmation, Sans grinned broadly and untangled his fingers from her hair, using them instead to trace a path down her neck, her shoulder, the valley between her breasts.

He cupped the soft flesh there when she pressed her chest forwards into his grasp needily, flicking the tip of his thumb over her beaded nipple provocatively.

“stars, your nipples are hard. you didn’t wear a bra today, did you? and i know it’s not that cold in here…”

He pinched it, squeezing her thigh at the same moment and leaning forward to lick up her neck, the blaze of his magic muted in the darkness of the theater, and Frisk shot a hand up to her mouth to quiet her moan, looking again, with panic, at the other movie viewers.

Sans snorted at the tension in her body, how she pulled at his jacket warningly in her nervousness, and pulled his head up to kiss her nose, sending her a reassuring smile.

“they’re not paying attention to us, babe… focus on me, not them.”

She nodded haltingly, mostly due to him never stopping the rolling of her nipple between his fingertips, and Sans, pleased by her acquiescence and her arousal both, returned his attention to her throat, the hand sliding up her skirt coaxing her legs apart.

Frisk’s back arched the moment his phalanges met the crotch of her panties, his fingertips zeroing in on her swollen folds and sodden entrance with practiced ease. He rubbed his knuckles gently against the sensitive, covered flesh, thumb extending to press and massage her clit.

He grinned wider still at the muffled groan she let out, kissing up the column of her tight throat. Her soaked panties stuck to his bones as he stroked her searing folds, separating and meeting with sloppy, quiet squelches.

His thumb rubbed gentle circles on her clit, the other putting pressure on her stiffened nipple.

“holy shit you’re wet. heh… been thinking about bones other than the ones in my hands, haven’t you?”

Frisk whined against her palm, her eyelids fluttering as she nodded and weakly moved her hips against his plying hand, and Sans moaned in return, his shorts tightening and his magic pulsing with need. His teeth scraped her neck, a hunger for more than her body coursing through him.

He needed her so badly, down to her soul. He burned with the need for completion, for the age old call of his magic to his mate.

He pulled back though, forcing the need down, and kissed up to her ear instead, breathing heavily and blinking away a trail of sweat. Not here. Not now. There was so much more to do, so much to tell her. He had waited this long.

He could keep waiting.

Sans pushed his own desire back, nibbling at her earlobe and instead concentrating on hers, on the unpracticed, raw buck of her core against his fingers, the swell of her breast in his hand, the scent of her arousal and readiness in his head.

“you’re so fucking sexy… everything i want in the world. so gorgeous… so incredible. i love you so much, every part of you. you drive me crazy. you make me melt, and at the same moment you get me harder than i’ve ever been in my fucking life.”

His adoration and lust was clear in his tone as he muttered against her ear, breath hot and intent as he redoubled his efforts to please her, stroking her folds and squeezing her breasts and bending his every talent to bringing her to her end, to make her writhe and bleat helplessly against the cover of her hand.

He brought her to the very brink before pulling his hand from her breast, taking her chin, and forcing her to meet his gaze. At the same moment, he slid a single finger under the edge of her panties, sinking it into her already clenching core torturously slowly.

“cum for me, frisk…”

The slide of him into her was her undoing. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her whole body spasming in her explosive release; her core clenched tight around his finger, breeding even higher lust within him (stars, what would it feel like for this velvet tightness to squeeze around his cock…), and he rolled his phalange within her while she rode her orgasm’s high, pulling her hand from her lips so he could swallow her every moan himself, his tongue twisting with hers and his sockets shuttered in bliss.

When she finally settled, slumping bonelessly in her seat and humming in sated pleasure, Sans pulled himself from her body and helped her right her clothes, though his touch was no less lingering, his gaze as worshipful and admiring as before.

Frisk blushed despite the pressing dark and their previous activity, no longer aware of the people in the seats below (who, by some miracle, hadn’t seemed to notice a thing), and Sans, hand rising to brush a hank of mussed hair from her face, could only smile, bending close for another heady kiss while the movie, forgotten, played on in the background.

“damn me to the void, how did i get so lucky.”

Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: Frisk getting fucked by a tentacle dick?


Frisk hadn’t thought much of the idea, when Sans had first asked her about trying it out. It sounded… weird. She’d been just as hesitant when he’d shown her the things, summoning the writhing appendages and letting her touch them.

He’d done plenty of things that she wanted to try out, though. It was only fair that she at least try one of the few things he’d ever asked for in the bedroom.

She hadn’t expected to enjoy it as much as she did. She didn’t expect to want it again.

It was one of her favorite games for them to play, after the first time. He had played it safe, then, only summoning one tentacle and having her lie on top of him while he thrust it into her core, giving her all the power to pull away if uncomfortable or disgusted or just not into it.

He didn’t have to worry. The undulations of the appendage, the speed and angles he was able to use with it, brought about some of the best orgasms she had ever had. She could barely move afterwards, she was so blissfully sated.

Soon, she wanted to try it again. Soon, she wanted more.

Sans was more than willing to indulge that desire, too. One tentacle became two, one buried in her entrance and the other her mouth. Two became four, the extras wrapped around her wrists or ankles, depending on their position. Four became seven, every part of her filled as he hung over her, watching and whispering filthy nothings in her ear.

Thank the stars for magic.

Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: I imagine that whenever Frisk is off on an ambassdor trip that Sans' can't come with, they end up having phone sex. (Or one of them sends the other a recording of them jacking off.)

Sans had promised his human lover a surprise the third night she had been away from home, something to relax her from the difficulties of her struggles with foreign diplomats and stodgy government officials. She was nearly giddy when she settled herself into her hotel bed that night, dressed in her favorite plaid, button up pajamas and texting her mate to be with love and loneliness in her eyes.

Her phone vibrated the moment she had poured herself a glass of wine, and she nearly dropped the glass at the sound of his long, low, gutteral moan in her ear when she answered the phone, panting heavily and already aroused beyond belief.

He told her how badly he’d wanted her, from the moment that she’d left; he told her how much he missed her beautiful body, her sweet lips, the silk of her skin against his bones. Stars, how cold their bed had grown. How he wished he could make her whine and thrash and cum the way he knew only he could.

How he craved to hear her moan for him again.

“do you know what i’m doin’, babe? do you know how bad i want you?” he groaned into the phone, the husk of a growl hinting at his raspy, deep voice, and quieted himself so she could hear the slickness of his hand on his summoned magic, the wet motion of him stroking his cock, and she gasped, her body hot and her cheeks flushed and her legs, clad in her flannel pajama pants, rubbing together.

He chuckled darkly, his breathing already hard and wanting, and breathed the knowledge she already possessed into her ear, that he was getting himself off, wishing it was her hand, her mouth, her perfect little body; he told her how he’d teased himself all day, keeping his cock hard and needy.

He told her what he would do to her, if he could be with her.

“you’d be in my lap right now, baby girl. i’d have my hands up under that cute little plaid top you always bring on your business trips, your legs spread for me… my dick rubbing your wet pussy through your pants. i’m hornier than i’ve been since my last heat, but i know how you like it, sweets… i’d take my time, play with those perfect breasts, fuck your sweet mouth with my tongue… get you so hot for it you’re begging for me to have you before i do.”

Frisk is fidgeting in her sheets, now, whining under her breath and running her free hand over her breasts and abdomen through her shirt; she can feel herself getting wet, while he growled temptations and offers in her ear, her palm sweaty and her core clenching in desire.

“you know what we haven’t done in awhile, babe? 69′ed. i wanna eat you out while you suck my cock. i wanna fuck your little pussy with my tongue and feel your pretty pink lips takin’ me deep. do you want that? huh? heh… i know you do, sugar. i can hear you whimpering… unbutton your shirt. touch yourself like i wish i could.”

She barely hesitated, fumbling one handed with her buttons so she could palm her sweat streaked breasts, closing her eyes and pinching her nipples just like he did and choking on her gasps and listening to him rumble in approval in her ear, the sound of his own pleasure quickening.

“yeah, just like that. stars, i wish i could see you right now… wish i could lick all over your tits, make you make that little breathy noise you do when i bite down, just a little, on your nipples… fuck, i want you under me right now.”

She let out a full on moan at that, trembling and breathing in ragged gasps, and laid down fully on the bed, hurriedly shoving her pants down to hang from one ankle and delving her eager fingertips between her thighs and burying them in her soaking wet curls, pressing at her entrance and teasing herself as much as she was able.

“Sans… Sans, please…”

He growled needily at her voice, awash with desire and lust, and fucked himself harder, his breath hitching; she slid her slim fingers in and out of herself in time with his exhalations, her head dropping back and her lips gaping and her voice keening.

“damn, baby, yes… love yourself, like i would if i could be there too… deep and hard and fuck, frisk… fuck, i don’t think i could go easy tonight, you’re too hot and i bet you’re wet as hell and shit, sh-shit, i’d screw you so hard we’d wake the people in the next room, but i don’t give a damn, i need you too bad and they can listen if they fuckin’ want cuz they should get off on the sound of you saying my name, you’re a d-damn goddess and FFUCKK…”

The sound of him nearing his end built Frisk’s urgency, her palm grinding against her clit and her core clutching at her fingers and her pleasure building, echoing in her shuddering breaths-

“yes, yes, cum for me, cum, baby, let me hear it… please, yes, cum with me…”

It didn’t take much longer for her to comply, the sound of him orgasming on his end driving her over the edge, and when she came, it was with a long, whining, shuddering exhalation, her limbs shaking and a string of saliva leaking past her lips and her vision whiting out in her pleasure; Sans nearly came again just listening to her, and told her so once he had regained his ability to speak, panting and nearly purring in contentment.

“so damn sexy, every time. hahh… you’re so good, frisk. so good. and, yanno, i hope that helped you relax, too. got a little carried away, but i just miss you so damn much. love you, babe. sleep good.”

And oh, did she.


Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: Oh my gosh imagine Sans fucking Frisk in the lingerie store's dressing room while she's wearing nothing but the stockings, and he has her bent over in front of the full length mirror, hand wrapped over her mouth to muffle her cries as he murmurs how unbelievably sexy and red faced she is

“shhh… we don’t want anyone to hear us, babe…”

The fingers of one hand tightened over her mouth, quieting the breathy gasps that had been leaking between her lips, while the other rubbed circles around her magic and arousal soaked clit, sending shudders and rolling pleasure through her body.

The hand rose to flick her nipples and stroke her abdomen on occasion, stoking the fire of the human’s arousal ever higher, while the monster behind her, magic sparking across his bones and dripping from between his lover’s legs, thrust even more fervently, grunting under his breath from exertion and pleasure.

Sans’ narrowed, fuzzed sockets took Frisk in through the mirror she was propped against, her perfect breasts swaying with their motion and her eyes glazed with lust, and smirked breathlessly, streaks of blue saliva dripping down his chin from his parted teeth.

He took a moment to survey the sheer, thigh high stockings she had slid up her legs before he had flashed into the change room, the unattached garters bobbing in the air and the matching panty and bra set abandoned on the cushioned stool they stood beside, and chuckled lecherously, arching up into her with abandon.

His free hand sloped down the curve of her thigh, the silky material of the stockings; her legs trembled at his touch, at the force of his thrusts.

“shit, you’re so sexy… just look at yourself. look how gorgeous you are, in just these tights and my hands…”

He bent over her back to grasp one of her breasts when Frisk raised her eyes to the mirror, rolling her nipple between his phalanges, and she whimpered in response, her core clenching around his cock and her eyes rolling back.

Sans let out a quiet groan of his own, his sockets lidding and his grin tightening in restraint; his pistoning hips flexed, pushing himself deep into her as he nuzzled his nasal ridge against her ear.

“i wish you wore stockings more often… your beautiful legs are made for them. plus, stars, they turn me on like nothing else…”

He ground his pelvis against her ass, pressing against her in all the right ways and returning his hand between her legs to stroke her clit, and Frisk, shuddering and panting against her lover’s palm, quaked at the stimulation, her toes curling into the carpet and her back arching even further as her orgasm washed over her.

Sans slowly rode her through it, muttering quiet praise and encouraging lust into her ear, and only when she was done, hands dragging streaks of sweat down the surface of the mirror, did he again rut into her at his own pace, digging his fingers into her hips and throwing his head back in his ardor.

Her own climax had sped his along, stimulating his end, and it wasn’t long until his back bowed and his cock throbbed within her, his teeth biting into his bony lower lip and his magic spilling into her.

They panted together as his motions finally halted, their arousal dripping to the floor between them, before Sans, with a lazy grin, flopped onto Frisk’s back, slinging his arms around her middle and winking at her through the mirror.

“so we’re buying all the stockings they have, right?”


Chapter Text

Anonymous Asked: Teacher!Sans making a strand of magic fuck Student!Frisk during a lesson, secretly enjoying her red face and how hard she's trying to keep her moans in

“miss dreemurr, is there a problem?”

Frisk squirmed in her chair, turning even redder as the eyes of the rest of the room turned to her seat at the back of the lecture hall; she tried to still her trembling body, tried to hide her growing arousal, even as the strand of blue magic currently flicking at her clit stroked her further into madness.

She was lucky she was wearing pants today… otherwise she’d be dripping down her thighs extremely obviously. As it stood, she just looked like she’d caught heat stroke and needed to go to the restroom.

Frisk, aware that she was now the center of attention in the middle of a situation that she very much didn’t want to be noticed in (damn him… damn him…), sat up as straight as she could, arranging her textbook on her desktop and looking to the male that had called her out, her Applied Physics professor.

Shit, she needed… well. She couldn’t get what she needed right now.

“N-no professor! Go on, please!” she called out, waving away her classmates’ attention with a shaky laugh.

At the front of the room, perched on the edge of his desk and wearing the most shit-eating grin anyone present had ever seen, Sans slid his hands into his lab coat’s pockets, arching a brow bone and smirking.

Stars, he loved it when she called him that… almost as much as he loved seeing her whining and panting up in her seat, practically begging the wisp of magic he’d been circling and teasing her entrance with for nearly twenty minutes to slip inside her soaking, desperate core.

This is what she got for teasing him that morning, leaving him hard and slavering for her while she flounced off to her first class. He wasn’t going to take pity on her after that, no ma’am.

“i don’t know, miss dreemurr. since you seem to know so much about optics that you can afford not to pay attention, maybe you should tell the class about light oscillations within the realm of laser frequencies while i make myself some coffee. sound fair?” he suggested, crooking his fingers inside his coat pocket, and the tendril of magic in Frisk’s panties responded, slithering between her folds to stroke back and forth over her clit and entrance both, slick with her arousal.

Frisk only barely bit back the moan that rose in response, clenching her legs together to attempt to stop the magic’s motions, but only succeeded in making it press harder against her, her back arching involuntarily. She struggled with her response for a moment, avoiding Sans’ victorious leer and her classmates’ curious glances, before nodding, turning back a few pages in her textbook.

“Y-yes sir. Should I begin where you left off?” she questioned, and Sans nodded curtly, waving a hand at her and hopping off the edge of his desk to stroll over to his coffee maker.

“if you would. and stand, please… so everyone can hear you,” he prompted lazily, sending her a glance over his shoulder to ensure she complied.

She did, knees shakier than she had expected and book trembling in hand (he had something planned, she could feel it from here, see it in the tilt of his grin), and started to read the section of the lesson that dealt with electron excitement and radiation emmision, glad that she had studied this in depth on her own beforehand.

The wisp of magic kept up its pace while she read, though, thankfully, didn’t break her concentration enough to be obvious; she could almost ignore it, beyond the shocks of pleasure that were almost constantly running through her abdomen, and nearly smirked herself, proud of her control.

She was halfway through the second paragraph, starting to doubt her instincts that he was going to do something worse, when it finally hit; Sans had turned back to watch her, watching her from over the lip of his coffee cup, and slowly, almost torturously, lifted one finger of the hand propping him up on the edge of his coffee stand.

The strand of magic responded in kind, slowly slipping inside her core to fill her entirely, and Frisk, eyes growing wider with every inch he fed her, felt her attention slipping, stumbling over words and rereading the same sentence twice without noticing. A few giggles ran through the room at that, and Sans, sipping from his mug, finally halted the advance of his magic once the tip was pressed against Frisk’s cervix, more than a little distracted himself.

Stars, it felt so good to be inside her… she was so hot and wet…

“still distracted, i see. unfortunate, but you’ve gotten us far enough for me to take over again. take your seat, miss dreemurr. if the rest of you would turn your attention to the next page, you will see a diagram depicting the average state change of an excited atom during stimulated emmission…”

As he spoke, he tapped his forefinger against the top of the stand he leaned against, and with every motion of his phalange, the magic seated within Frisk pulled out and thrust back into her; she quickly covered her mouth with one hand, to stifle the whimpers that she simply couldn’t hold in, her abdomen already clenching with the orgasm that he had been denying her the entire class.

And that wasn’t about to change, either; Sans spent the rest of the hour long lecture alternating between teasing her with soft pulses of magic and heat, fucking her until she was nearly crying with passionate stimulation, and passing the other end of the length of magic over her, never once giving her the completion she so desperately desired at this point.

She was nearly ready to thrust a hand down her pants and get herself off, by the time the class ended and the rest of her classmates were packing up, chattering to each other and discussing what they were going to be getting for lunch.

At the front of the classroom, Sans was erasing some diagrams he had drawn on the chalkboard, calling out instructions for the next class and still, ceaselessly, swirling his finger around in his pocket, his magic responding to his motion and making Frisk drop her pencil case on the floor.

“don’t forget, the two week report on the status of your conduction project is due tuesday! if you have any questions or concerns, my office hours are three thirty to six, monday through friday,” he reminded them, setting down the eraser and turning around to watch his students stampeding towards the exit to the lecture auditorium, and grinned at Frisk, watching her throw her bag over her shoulder and attempt to beat a hasty retreat.

“miss dreemurr. if you would stay behind… i would like to discuss your project with you. the equation you concocted for your transistor wavelength needs some work, and i believe we can find a way to remedy that quickly. you’ll have the right length in no time.”

Oh stars, it was going to be a long lunch hour.


Chapter Text

Frisk slammed her way into the empty locker room, still fuming and flushed from her dismissal from the pitch. Wood was going to be so pissed that she had been red carded for fighting with that total headjob Beater on the other team, he’d had to call in the stand by Chaser to replace her…

She was going to curse Sans Snowdin the second she got her hands on her wand.

Her jaw clenched and she threw her broom onto the floor, screaming behind her gritted teeth in absolute frustration.

Sans the fucking skeleton. Her transfer from America had spared her his acquainted her first four years of schooling, but this year… He’d been a plague on her life, and she’d never even formally met him.

He was an incredibly intelligent monster, practically genius and clever and witty, someone she would expect to be great friends with. She’d heard of his exploits, his extraordinary talent with nearly every subject he touched (he fought for top of the year with Hermione Granger, for the stars’ sakes) and his penchant for trouble and danger… But hadn’t expected him to turn his considerable mind and troublemaking talent on her.

She was an easy target, of course. Out of place in the country, unknowing of customs and courtesy and the castle itself. No friends, and somehow the target of a seventh year Slytherin with an extreme taste for pranks and off color jokes.

She knew it was him behind it all, the disappearing ink and disillusionment charm cast on her skirt and the trick wands that turned into rubber chickens. She had tried to laugh it off at first, blushing prettily and brushing it off as light hazing. He didn’t seem to have been satisfied with her reactions, though, smirking with his stupid snickering friends across the Great Hall or in the hallways. He’d upped the intensity of his pranks, almost to a personal level (whoopie cushions at all of her desks, a streak of blue in her hair after he brushed past her on the stairs, a howler that shouted her secret crush on Neville Longbottom to the entire school), and by the time the first game against Slytherin had come, she had had enough.

She wasn’t the best Chaser at Ilvermorny for nothing. She was going to put the beat down on them all personally, and dedicate the asswhooping to the skeleton bastard himself.

She’d told him as much as she shook his hand on the pitch, clenching his bony hand harder than necessary and staring up at him with determination burning in her eyes, and he’d laughed. He’d just LAUGHED at her, and smiled like she was a child, and waved her off.

“sure, sweetheart. let me know if i need to fetch longbottom for you, he could bring you some aloe for the spanking you’re gonna get.”

She’d turned the reddest she ever had, and flipped him off right on the field, earning her a slap to the head from Harry, a warning from Madam Hooch… But a shocked look from Sans that had made both worth it.

He’d made it hard for her immediately, targeting her purposefully as she had raced up and down the field scoring goals, but she hadn’t paid him attention, letting her instincts take over and scoring a hundred of the first hundred twenty points herself. She’d been so smug, doing tricks on her broom and shooting the enraged looking monster finger guns each time he missed her with a Bludger.

Until he hit her square in the back with one, and had shouted “not half as hard as plant boy’s gonna hit it”. She’d lost her temper at that one, and had hit him upside the head with the Quaffle as she screamed obscenities at him, which he had shouted back just as angrily. They’d both been blind to the match, to the crowds watching their tiff, until they’d both been flagged for unsportsmanlike conduct and been kicked from the pitch halfway through the game.

He’d looked even angrier than she had been, somehow, his cheekbones blue with shamed rage and his shoulders set as he had stormed off to Slytherin’s locker rooms, ave she could probably look forward to some particularly mean pranks in her future.

The last thing Frisk expected was him storming into her locker room as she was halfway done redressing in her uniform, clad in only her kneesocks, her suddenly too small pleated skirt, and a bra that she hurriedly did up when she saw him stomping towards her through the lockers, blushing and spluttering in shock.

“S-snowdin, what the hell are you doing?! You’re not supposed to be…” She yelped, trying to hide her mostly bare torso behind her unbuttoned blouse, but he didn’t care, his green tie loose around the collar of his untucked shirt and his teeth bared in rage.

“don’t tell me what to do, you stupid little bint,” he growled at her, magic flashing in his sockets. He stopped right in front of her, using every inch of the half foot he was taller than her to stand over her intimidatingly.

“you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? had to be the center of attention. had to try to prove your damn point,” he snarled, and Frisk gaped at him in absolute shock before glaring right back, her blouse forgotten as it fell to the ground at her side.

“ME?! Are you kidding right now?! You haven’t left me alone a day in two months! I’m not going to let you walk all over me, you son of a bitch!” she shouted, poking a finger against his chest, and he slapped her hand away, slamming the palm of his hand against the locker behind her.

“that’s school. you could have gotten back at me there. but on the pitch? this is my last year at this place before i graduate and get sucked into my dad’s insane laboratory. this is the last year i’m going to get to play quidditch, and you… you might have gotten me kicked off the damn team,” he snapped, and Frisk laughed harshly, shrugging ironically.

“And what do you think you’ve done to my year? This was the only escape I had from you and your incessant "jokes”, which a toddler could do better, by the way. And the jibes about Neville? Childish and incredibly crude. You’re slipping,“ she sniped, and Sans looked deeply offended, one of his sockets twitching.

"am i? is that why you turn as red as your pretty little bra whenever he’s around, hmm?” he purred at her snidely, nodding down at her bared torso, and she gasped, reawakened to her nakedness and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Why do you care so much, Snowdin? So what if I like him? How does that affect your pure blood friends or your perfect little academic record?” she asked sarcastically, backing up a step, as she was starting to feel a little warm, this close to his chest, and his sockets narrowed before he stepped closer, one of his hands’ fingers clenching against the locker and his other twitching towards her.

He bent over her, bringing their faces inches apart. His breath washed over her, smelling of pumpkin juice and butterscotch and magic, and before she could stop them, her eyes darted down to his bony lips.

She didn’t see him do the same. She didn’t see his sockets flash with bright blue magic, and certainly didn’t anticipate him closing the distance between them even further.

The kiss wasn’t gentle, or without relative violence; he pushed her back against the locker behind her roughly, moving a hand into her hair and clenching the other on her hip. She was shocked for long enough for him to slip a phantom tongue into his mouth, her hands jumping to his collar and her eyes hazing slightly before she regained her right mind and bit his tongue hard, trying to ignore the heat building in her chest and forcing her eyes open so she wouldn’t forget again that she was currently frenching an asshole.

He groaned at the pain, flinching and, surprisingly, pressing his body closer to her (even more surprisingly, she reacted much the same way), before pulling away and glaring into her eyes, panting and rubbing at her bare skin and the handful of her hair he was gripping.

“cuz maybe i don’t want you to like him. cuz maybe i’ve been waiting for the smart, crazy, sexy girl from america to pay me the attention i’ve been paying her,” he growled, and Frisk, panting and glaring too, scoffed at him with all the anger she could manage in her awakened awareness of how close he was, how good he felt, and how much she liked the danger and emotion of this moment.

“You were jealous? And tried to get me to like you by gluing my panties to my bench? What are you, twelve?” She gasped out, forcing herself not to move against the leg he had pushed between hers, and he rolled the lights in his sockets, though his smirk, highlighting a surprisingly sharp canine, was impossible to miss.

“that, honest, was just to see the color of your knickers. black… very nice,” he snickered, reaching around to squeeze her ass, and Frisk squealed before reflexively trying to slap him, trying to ignore the wetness in her panties.

He caught her wrist though, chuckling and pushing her arm against the locker behind her.

“but yeah… probably could have said something before, instead of just beating around the bush,” he admitted, bending to kiss her captured palm, and Frisk, flushed and overwhelmed, tried her best to stay aloof.

“If you think I’m just going to forgive you after a few sweet…” She started to huff, pulling against his hands, but he stilled her, looking over at her with a sneer and a gleam in his sockets.

“don’t expect anything, dreemurr,” he crooned, though his wandering hands and circulating hips suggested otherwise, and Frisk, sending a look at the clock, flicked a nonverbal locking spell at the locker room door.

“Good. Cuz you’re not getting anything, Snowdin,” she snapped, and reached up to crush her lips to his, ripping at the buttons on his shirt quickly.

No, she didn’t like him. Yes, she thought he was pretentious, and rude, and juvenile, and not worth her time after his shenanigans. No, she wasn’t going to consider his attempt at a confession, not after what he’d pulled today. She might just ask Neville out on a date out of spite.

But she might as well get her feelings, in this moment, out. She couldn’t deny he was attractive, couldn’t say she wasn’t feeling the heat, and so she fumbled with his shirt and his belt, the same way that he pulled at her skirt and panties and plyed hungrily at her lips, riding her up against the lockers and growling heatedly.

She liked the roughness of him, the sharp edges of his bones and the hardness of his hands as he freed himself from his trousers, lifted one of her legs in the crook of his arm, and thrust himself into her; he called her names, as he fucked her hard and fast, and she spat them back at him, clawing at his bared ribs and trying not to moan too loudly.

She wasn’t new to sex, and he obviously wasn’t either, from the way he moved his hips and thumbed at her clit (not enough to make her cum, of course, the bastard), but she had to admit, as he rode her with the wild abandon of the rushed, spontaneous quickie they were engaged in, he wasn’t bad, and she would likely think of their tryst often, when she was pleasuring herself.

He didn’t last long, pulling from her abused pussy, pushing her down onto the bench beside the lockers, and letting her suck the cum from his glowing blue cock; she did so only so she could spit it out on his shoes, smirking back at him as she redid her bra, and that brought on a whole new round of angry, rough kissing, punctuated by several aggressive smacks on the ass and a slightly bent locker.

There were no cuddles or fond farewells, after their joining; Sans mended the rip Frisk had made in his shirt with his wand, pocketed her panties, and departed with a smirk and a “don’t be late to potions, sweets, you know snape hates that” while Frisk threw him the second bird of the day, cursing at him and trying to figure out how she was going to get back to the dormitory, much less her afternoon class, without her underwear.

Sans Snowdin was DEAD when she saw him again. DEAD. Those were the last panties he’d ever see, and were certainly the last of hers he’d get his bony hands on.

Oh, how wrong she was.


Chapter Text

Sans woke that night in a state that he was no longer accustomed to… a cold sweat.

Most of the nightmares that had once ruled him had turned with the cycle of the earth and sun. Most of the terrors that had once ceaselessly plagued him in the smallest hours had fled him, succumbing to the way of time. Happiness had a way of doing that, driving away the shadow and leaving behind the love and cherished memories he had made with his beloved.

He had thought he was safe. It had been years since he had thought of the time before. The resets, the never ending days in the dark. The weed. The demon. He was the happiest he’d been in his whole life. He was stable, he was free of the Underground… he was even married. Mated to his beloved.


Why did he have to feel these things, see the dust on his hands and on the scrap of red cloth and clinging to every corner of his twisted prison? Why was everything blood and bone, sharp metal and furious, hateful vengeance?

He didn’t want it. He never had, had never meant to hurt her. Had done everything he could to avoid it. Had spent a decade making up for it, for doing what he had had to do, to save her and the rest of the world.

It was not enough. It was never enough.

Sans, empty sockets on the ceiling, rubbed his palms into his sockets and groaned, wiping fruitlessly at the tears he found there. His breath hitched in his chest, the visions of cruel grins and bloody bones and the same day, over and over and over, clinging to his sight whether his sockets were open or closed, and he sat up to sit on the edge of his bed, holding his head and sweating and shaking.

He… he could handle this… he just needed… did they have any alcohol left? He tried not to keep it around the house, not with his past history of abusing it, but there might be some Irish Cream from St. Patrick’s Day in the back of the fridge…

Just enough to get him back to sleep. That’s all he’d drink.

He should have known he’d catch Frisk’s attention, in his unease and unrest. Her soul was part of his, and his hers. They were practically one, of course she would feel his distress.

The human girl, roused from her sleep and blinking into the darkness, reached out to him instinctively, ticking her fingers over the back of his ribcage and querying about his well being. She could feel something wrong in the air, in the way he flinched at her touch and how he was shaking, and crawled to his side, muttering soothing platitudes and hugging him.

She told him that he was safe. That he was loved. That he was there, with her, not trapped in his own personal hell.

That he wasn’t bad for the things he had done.

He knew that she had only bare memories of her time while held prisoner by Chara, that she really only knew what he had told her about her forced genocide, but whenever she found him like this, from the time she was a mere child to one of the first times they had slept together, she knew. She knew what his fear and anguish meant, what plagued his mind and kept him from his rest.

She sat with him, rocking with him and reminding him of all the good things in his life. Their home. Their future family. His freedom, his friends, the love they shared. HIs past couldn’t hurt him anymore. He was safe. He was not alone.

When he could hold his composure no more, they lay together, legs dangling over the side of the bed, and clutched each other while he sobbed out his anxieties and fear that it would all come back, that the Underground and the resets would reclaim every ounce of happiness he’d made for himself.

She curled up against him and listened. She rubbed the back of his skull, and dried his tears, and kissed his clavicle, and whispered that she understood. More than her knowing when he was in distress, she knew what he needed when he was, and though he couldn’t say it, while he languished in his misery, he had never been more grateful to her.

It was hours before he calmed, before he stopped shaking and could drag himself back all the way onto the bed. Frisk helped him, muttering encouragements and kissing him soundly and looking to him not with the disgust and exasperation he had expected (all he ever did was disappoint her…), but with the love she always claimed to hold for him, the same love he felt flowing through every bone in his body.

He was weak, and susceptible to his fears, but with her, even his nightmares were bearable. He felt like he could take on the world, even though he knew that he would only go about his usual day when they dragged themselves out of bed in the morning.

Sans met her kisses as she fluttered her soft lips over his cheekbones, whispering that he needed sleep and that she was here if he had another bad dream; he threaded his phalanges into her hair, and stole her breath, and pulled her body against his, needing the press of her flesh, the beat of her soul.

Part of his desire sprang from gratefulness, his need to give back to Frisk what she so freely gave to him, but another part echoed with his displacement, his fear that none of this was real and that it would all fall apart like wet paper the moment he wasn’t paying enough attention.

Her flesh, silk under his hands and plush against his bones, couldn’t lie. Her breathless moans against his throat, as he slid his fingers into her panties to stroke her clit and tease her entrance, attested to his reality. Her hands finding their familiar places, tangled in his ribcage and dug into her pillow, and her legs settling over the curve of his pelvis as he crawled over her, were concrete and stable, a brand of beauty and pleasure and love burned into his mind.

The feeling of joining with her, of flesh and bone becoming one, swept away even the most lingering of his doubts.

Sans was immensely tired, in the wake of his battle with himself, but he worked himself (to the bone, heh) within his beloved feverishly, ignoring the headboard smacking into the wall and the sound of rain starting to fall against the bedroom window and everything else in the world except her, worshiping her how she deserved and pulling her climaxes from her with pride.

Stars, he loved when she came around him, how she arched and whimpered and trembled beneath him…

She was beauty incarnate, a vision in the bare light of his bedside lamp; he couldn’t get enough of her, touched every inch of her sweat-streaked skin and kissed her helplessly and made love to her with desperate urgency. He wanted to repay her, for how she had helped him tonight, and every other night, but keeping her awake at 3AM, no matter the reason, was hardly fair.

As much as he knew she liked their intimacy, she needed sleep too.

And so he gripped her hips, and buried his face in her neck, and let ecstasy take him, finishing within her like he knew she loved and reveling in the reverberations of her groans of pleasure against his bones and very nearly passing out on top of her.

He didn’t, though he could remember all the times that he had, helping her right her bedclothes and kissing her blushing face (she still flushed every time they had sex, even years later; it was adorable and he hoped she never stopped) before collapsing beneath the comforter, tangling their legs and hands together, and drifting off into exhausted slumber as one.

He fell asleep with the taste of her in his mouth, with the feeling of her love ingrained in his bones, and when he dreamed, it was of her, and their hope for the future.


Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: Frisk getting hit on by a human male. Before Sans can deal with him, she tells the human what exactly makes Sans the best. In detail. Sexually.

This happens every time Sans leaves Frisk at the bar for a second. He goes off to talk to an acquaintance, and he comes back to find his seat full of douchebag. Usually, he handles the joke of a boy with his typical panache, joking with them passive-aggressively and being mildly threatening until they leave, but tonight his temper is short. It’s getting close to the heat season, and he’s unusually possessive.

That’s HIS sexy human, in that little dress she wears just for him because she knows how much he loves her long legs (she even wore the thigh highs tonight, damn), and he stomps over to throw the asshat out of his seat by his ratty little mustache…

Before he realizes that Frisk is taking care of business for him.

“…and don’t even get me started on the nerve you have, to come over here and proposition me after watching me holding hands and kissing someone else. Are you blind, or just stupid?”

“Well, uh… but he’s a monster. A skeleton. C’mon, he can’t be giving you what you need…”

“Tch. He gives me what I need, asshole. He fucked me before we came out tonight, and when we get home, he’s going to fuck me again, because he knows how hot I am for him. I wore this dress for him, hoping that he’d screw me in the bathroom, but he’s making me wait. Do you have any idea how sexy that is?”

“I… girl, but…”

“But what? You don’t think he’s got the equipment? Oh, he’s packing, buddy. His cock is bigger than your brain and your dick combined. I can barely fit him in my mouth, but I sure as hell try, because I can’t get enough of him. Do you know what I was asking him before he went to talk to his friends? If I could go down on him on the ride home. He said no. You have no idea how wet I am for him right now. Your stupid little popped collar and overpriced sunglasses and needledick don’t impress me.”

“…shit that’s hot.”

“You’re damn right it is. Now get lost, he’s going to be back any minute and that’s his seat. Plus, I‘d rather not waste any more breath on you.”

Needless to say, she got everything she wanted out of him that night.


Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: So, I don't know if you take requests, but I was wondering what Blue and Frisk's first time would have been like if Red had never gotten his hands on her. Would you ever write something short and sweet like that? (〃ω〃)

Frisk’s mark, the shimmering bracelet he had been imagining for years, is done ten days after their night on the hill. He plans their first time together down to the letter, reserving a cabin at a beautiful lakeside for her spring break. She can barely contain her excitement, but first, before he lets her get too attached to the idea, he takes her on a long, long walk, to have their long awaited talk.

He tells her everything. The process of soulmating, from the exchange of soul magic between them both to the Rules, the ancient, sacred laws that govern bond pairs and their interactions with other monsters, to the moment that they would become true, literal soul mates, the instant that their manifested souls truly met and joined and became one, changing forever and linking them, body and soul, for the rest of their lives.

He told her what sex for them would be, that it was more than just the physical and emotional connection that humans had, that if they hoped to be able to mate their souls one day they would need to exchange magic that way quite a bit (a joke about him foreseeing that not being problem for them inserted here). He told her about his research into monster/human relations, and their capability to breed offspring, and assured her that there was no danger of him impregnating her until after their actual soulbond had been forged, which would take years to establish and realize.

Any questions she had, he answered, making sure she had no reservations before sitting her beneath a tree, in the glow of a magnificent sunset, and offering her the bracelet, the mark that would declare her his mate to be, that would protect her from other monsters, and from him as well. He told her, one last time, that the choice was hers, that he would not hold it against her if she changed her mind. He knew she was young, and that she may one day regret her choice in tying herself to him this way. If that were to happen, all she had to do was remove the bracelet.

He wouldn’t stop her.

She silenced him and the fear she could hear in his voice, calm as he tried to keep his tone, with a deep kiss, slipping her hand into the bangle without hesitation. His claim settled into her blood, tying her soul to him and him alone, and they kissed rapturously, lost to the intimacy of their closeness for an unknowable time.

Neither could wait for their week together at the lake, come spring break, and unsurprisingly, the moment they closed the door to the cabin their clothes littered the floor, locked in a fumbling, passionate kiss while hands explored long desired bare flesh and bone. They made it to the large bed only because Sans laughingly insisted on it, and the moment her back hit the neatly made sheets, her shivering, overstimulated body naked besides the bracelet around her wrist and the blush on her cheeks, Sans’ face was buried between her legs, his tongue lapping at her folds to ready her for their lovemaking.

He stroked her to keening orgasm around his tongue and fingers, stroking his cock in time with his efforts, and let her assuage her curiosity with him in the same way when she asked, breathy and sweaty from her pleasure. She sucked him to completion as well, awkward in her inexperience but sincere and energetic, and with the warmth of his magic inside her, their gazes locked in pleasure and love and shared desire, he helped her into his lap, his persistent erection pressing to her soaked entrance and slipping within her easily, given their play.

He let her ride him at her leisure and pace, helping her find her rhythm and pace with his hands on her hips and his mouth at her throat, breathing his pleasure against her flesh; she moaned wildly as she worked them both desperately, breasts pressing to his bare ribs and her head bent back in earnest, exuberant passion.

She came again, around his cock, and lost her ability to move quickly after, falling limp against him even as she tried to continue, but Sans only chuckled, and turned her gently onto her back, and pumped himself into her from above her, kissing her senseless and stroking her thighs as he brought them both back to the edge, the creak of the bed outdone only by their joined cries of rapture. He brought her to another orgasm just before he found his own, whispering his love for her and twining his fingers with hers as he filled her with his magic.

They slept not long after their finishing, trading sweet, lingering kisses as their still tangled bodies fell into slumber, both wearing a sated, totally in love smile. They indulged in each other countless times that week, experimenting and loving and learning each other even more than they had before, a sense of completion neither had felt before growing between them both.

Their relationship only grew better, over the years their courtship lasted. They came to know each other better than anyone else ever would, and two years later, under the stars and before their family and friends, they were wed, the happiest they’d ever been, knowing they would be together forever, true soul mates, the very next day.

That night, during their lovemaking, they at long last joined their souls, living each other’s lives and knowing each other completely, from beginning to end. Their emerged power, when they recovered from their joining and their souls again separated, was a gorgeous, royal purple, and a little more than a year later, they celebrated the conception of their first child, the tiny soul beating in Frisk’s abdomen and under San’s loving hands.


Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: I imagine Axetale Sans, in the privacy of his room, sometimes remembers the night before Flowey, when his bones were pressed against Frisk's soft flesh in their love-making...

Sans tucks Papyrus into bed, and Aliza as well (“night, precious… dream of better things than this place.”), before he slips into his room, locking the door and looking over his darkened bedroom in agitation.

It had been a bad day. They had had little luck in finding food, Aliza has nearly fallen into an old, deadly trap of Dogamy’s, and he had had to dust another fool monster coming after his little family. His mind was not right, spinning in circles of false contemplation and insane deviance.

He needed her.

He teleported to the basement as soon as he was sure his housemates were asleep, into the low light of his former workshop. The walls were bare of blueprints and plans now, plastered instead with letters and pictures and his own scrawlings, the counters piled haphazardly with memorabilia and the floors crammed with crates of old clothes. On a lumpy mannequin was draped a white dress, pristine and clearly well taken care of.

He went to the counter slowly, pulling open a drawer full of pictures to find what he was looking for. Well worn, aged photographs of Sans, whole and undamaged, alongside a beautiful, smiling woman abounded, but he looked for one at the very back, a photo he had captured of her without her knowing.

Frisk stood, beautiful and bare besides a see through pink shift, beside the shuttered sliding glass window in their bedroom, looking out over a storm with a small smile on her lips and her hands laid on her stomach.

They had just made love, in that picture… He knew her afterglow, the contentment and pleasure that still lit her gaze… And if he recalled correctly, that had been their last night together. He had rushed her out through the barrier the next day, never to be seen again but in obsessive memory and longing daydreams and hopeful, twisted lust.

He didn’t indulge in the memories of their intimacy often. It hurt too much, knowing he’d never know the touch of her hand again. The sweetness of her breath, the warmth of her body, the stroke and softness of her flesh against his bones.

His soul despaired, even as his mind protested, but his magic rose still, his need reared and pushed to be answered, and he went to a chair set in a dark corner of the room, away from the many memories of his deceased beloved, to shove the elastic band of his shorts down, to clutch at the picture of his wife and stroke his hand along his erection, desperate and grunting needily and remembering, so fondly, how she used to feel, how she had gasped, so quiet, when he had pushed himself into her body. How she had clung to his ribs as he made love to her.

How it felt for her to cum around his cock, and how she moaned when he spilled himself into her, her legs a vice around his hips and her voice breathy in her love and desire.

He finished quickly, efficient and pent up, and sat in the quiet of the shadowed basement for an unknowable time, starting at the ceiling as tears ran down his cracked face unheeded.

“frisk…” he whispered in the dark, and clutched the photograph so hard it tore.


Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: If you don't mind humoring the criminal attraction fans, would you write about the first time that Sans gives Frisk "the ride of a lifetime" featuring his tongue? Unless that appears sometime later in the story, and it would be considered spoilerish... Either way, thanks for starting that story! I've really enjoyed it so far, and you do a great job with seamless dialogue. That's something I've always admired in your fiction--the way a conversation can flow so effortlessly between characters :)

The tension becomes too much for the both of them around the fourth slow dance. The tips of Sans’ fingers have been dancing over Frisk’s exposed lower back since the second, his gaze soft and pleased when she doesn’t tell him to move them. His cologne is a heady perfume in her head, his voice a base rumble running through her body, his magic sweeping over her skin in his touch and his breath and his quiet laughter.

The champagne is addling her, she can tell it is, and knows better than to trust herself while tipsy, but this has, honestly, been a long time coming. His flirtations and lingering touches and his heated, lustful kisses and his offers had started to wear her down, long before she had found herself on the dancefloor with him. All that stood between her and him was pride, pride and stubbornness and her resolute denial, to both herself and him, that she felt anything.

Those things were fading, under the gentle glow of the moon and the fairy lights and his hopeful gaze, and when he asked her the question he asked her nearly every time they were together, when he asked her to come back to his room with him, this time, she said yes.

Only for tonight, she whispered against his skull. The next day, things would return to normal. Just for tonight, would she indulge, and tomorrow, this never happened.

He didn’t like it, his grip on her waist tightening and his smile false… but he took what he could get, and pulled her through space and time and into his bedroom, the lights already low and his bed an unspoken entity before them.

“if that’s what ya need to tell yourself, doll.”

He truly did love her dress, that was no farce; he finally was able to touch it, and the flesh below it, as he desired, dragging his palms over her stomach, her waist, the flare of her hips, to rest on the fullness of her ass, clutching her greedily and pulling her against him and pushing a hard, needy kiss to her painted lips.

They devoured each other desperately, the truth of right and magic and helpless attraction saturating the air around them; clothes littered the floor around their feet, shoes kicked off and tongues twisted and flesh and bone caressed with fervent worship.

Sans met her gaze, when she stood in her slip and underwear before him, his suit pants hung low on his hipbones and his ribcage bare, and slipped his ring off his forefinger, taking her hand and putting it onto her ring finger. Frisk made to protest, sentiment and reluctance surging in her, but he closed his hand over hers.

“i know you don’t want it yet. this is just a precaution… so i won’t mark ya with something more permanent. i told you i’d wait, and i will. you… you can give it back after.”

There’s hope, and hurt, in his face and tone, driving a sour note into the evening, and Frisk was tempted to both assure him that she would keep it and leave right then. Instead, she just nods, and steps back to sit on the edge of the bed, and pulls her slip over her head.

He accepts her unspoken acquiescence, and undoes his belt as he approaches the bed himself, letting his pants drop around his feet and allowing her to view him, his differing anatomy and his proud, thick, dripping cock, before dropping to his knees before her, hands spread on her thighs and magic alive in his sockets.

“lay back… let me take care of you. know it’s been awhile.”

She did as she was bidden, his breath hot on her skin and her cheeks flushed with arousal and self-conscious nerves, and let him press kisses to the insides of her thighs, let him rub her through her lace panties (”that’s right… let it out. i wanna hear ya, darlin’, don’t hold in anything.”), let him pull her underwear down her legs and set her legs on his shoulders.

“beautiful. just beautiful.”

The first lap of his tongue to her folds is bliss, a shock of magic and slick ectoplasm and liquid lust, and Frisk clutches her hands in the sheets she’s laying on, squeezing her legs around his head and arching her back and whimpering.

The second and third send quivers through her whole body, her breath catching in her throat and her toes curling and Sans’ rumbles of appreciation and gratification shaking through her body, and when he looked up to meet her fluttering eyes, the tip of his tongue extending between his teeth and his breath eager and heavy, he winked at her cheekily.

“knew you were sweet under all that sass…”

He clenches his hands around her thighs, licks across his teeth, and ducks back down to stroke the width of his tongue across her, spreading her for him and caressing her softly, fully, and more intimately than she ever had been before. He alternated between lapping at her, sucking tenderly at her already sensitive, engorged clit, and delving his tongue into her entrance, and gloried in every twitch, every moan, every breathless gasp his human let out.

He couldn’t keep from giving himself a few strokes, needy and driven nearly insane with desire, when she came around his tongue, his name on her lips and her gorgeous breasts heaving and her core milking at him desperately.

Her arousal and his saliva mix into a beautiful blend of luminescence, spattered over her thighs and dripping from her entrance, and when she finally stops shaking, her orgasm drawn out by the lazy thrust of his tongue in and out of her body, Sans stood, his hands drawing up the length of her legs and his gaze glutted with need.

His erect cock brushed her thigh, precum dragging along her skin and making her shiver.

“that’s a good start, beautiful… but i’ve got more for you. scoot up. let’s see how many more of those we can get out of you.”

The answer to that was seven, not including three of his own.

When she left him in bed, apparently still asleep, the next morning, making the walk of shame back to her own room, she left his ring on his bedside table, guilt and regret weighing on her but knowing, knowing she didn’t have time for this. She had to continue her investigation, and being mated to a mob boss would not just get her kicked out of the force, but would remove many of her connections from her reach.

She just couldn’t afford it. Not now, if ever.

Sans, from beneath his bony lids, watched her leave, and sat up when the door closed behind her, reaching up to rub over the back of his skull. In a rare moment, his smile was scarce, low in a frown of bitter pain and heartache. He reached out and picked up his ring, slipping it back onto his forefinger, and stroked a thumb over it pensively, the metal still warm from her skin.

The next moment, his cell phone was in hand, his fingers flying over the numbers.

He knew her reasons for leaving. He knew her reasons for resisting him at all. So if he made her job easier… surely, she would be able to stay all that much sooner.

“heya paps. yeah, i know it’s early for me. listen… i got a problem only undyne can solve. tha brides up yet? figured. put ‘er on the line.”


Chapter Text

Frisk could honestly count the times that she had had a sex dream on one hand.

It wasn’t like she didn’t dream often, or that she didn’t remember them. She was also a very sexual being, it would have been natural for her to have them fairly regularly. Instead, though, she dreamed about things like ninja alligators, or falling up through clouds made of cheeseburgers. So her having one during the first week she had been living with her boyfriend ("i ain’t your boyfriend, babydoll, i’m your soulmate.” “Yeah, yeah. Calling you my boyfriend til we’re married.”) was indeed an oddity.

It was a good one too. Sans was fucking her over the edge of the dining room table (she’d have to remember to tell him about this one, they hadn’t done that yet), their half-finished plates of greasy pizza clanking and the carpet getting more than its fair share of dirty from the insatiable skeleton monster’s repeated orgasms.

The insides of her thighs were soaked with cum, more sluicing out of her abused, sore pussy around his thick, pierced cock; his hot breath steamed over the back of her neck, his voice was gruff and deep in his ecstasy, and his hands were hard and rough on her hips, just how she liked it.

When Frisk stirred from the dream, hot and wanting and wondering if Sans would be mad at her if she woke him up for a spontaneous middle of the night boning, though, she realized that not all of her dream had been her fantastical mind.

Sans was already awake, and was jerking off next to her, breathing heavily on her neck and muttering filthy encouragements to her while he got himself off.

He looked like a guilty child that had been caught stealing cookies when she turned over to look at him, bunching the covers over his clearly erect dick and staring at her with wide sockets and contracted red pupils.

“ain’t my fault! you were… you were moanin’ my name, and fuckin’ yourself in your sleep, an’… it was so sexy, i didn’t wanna wake ya up…” he excused hurriedly, his blush glowing in the darkness, nearly as bright as his neglected cock, and Frisk, belatedly realizing that she did indeed have her hand buried down the front of her panties, pulled her fingers from between her legs, met his gaze, and licked her juices from them.

“Why don’t you fuck me instead?”

He didn’t need to be told twice, though he hesitated for a moment, almost as though making sure that he wasn’t dreaming; he pulled her into a fierce, hard, hungry kiss, thrusting his metal studded tongue past her lips and pulling her nearly see through nightgown off her before pushing himself up on his knees, making the familiar circular motion with his finger that she immediately obeyed.

She turned onto her stomach, raised herself onto her hands and knees, and spread her legs for him, her panties doing nothing to disguise her already dripping core.

He didn’t even bother to take her panties off her, merely pulling them to the side to allow himself entrance, and wasted no time with gentleness or care, thrusting himself into her to the hilt and adopting a pace so hard and rough that Frisk was thrown to her chest, her arms collapsing under his fervor.

She didn’t even think about telling him to slow down, though, as she had to occasionally, merely reveling in the mounting of the pleasure she had built in her licentious dream, and Sans, his own lust and Frisk’s panting wails of desire spurring him onward, dug his claws into her waist, slicked his tongue over his dripping fangs, and fucked his woman with wild abandon.

It didn’t matter that they had had sex before going to sleep, not to mention the three times interspersed through the day (and saying nothing of the blowjob she’d given him during lunch); it was like they were starved for each other, rutting like animals and totally wrecking their bedsheets while they did.

It was hours, several different positions, and a few angry knocks on the other side of the wall ("IT IS THREE IN THE MORNING, YOU IDJITS! KEEP IT DOWN!”) before they were satisfied, lying in the middle of the mess that they had made and pawing at each other’s tired, sweaty bodies and grinning uncontrollably through pants for air.

Sans, finally dismissing his cock despite Frisk’s complaints ("sweetheart, we both gotta work in tha mornin’. i think six rounds ‘s enough for tonight.”), pulled his lover over to lay on his bare chest, smoothing his fingers through her mussed hair and nuzzling his nasal ridge into it.

“damn, baby. talk ‘bout a wake up call. you dream ‘bout me dickin’ ya down a lot, or is it jus’ my lucky middle of tha night?”

“Shut up, I know for a fact you have wet dreams almost exclusively.”

“ya know ya like it.”


Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: Imagine Hufflepuff Frisk and Slytherin Sans taking advantage of Hogwarts' emptiness during spring break...

Sans is unused to the amount of freedom he suddenly finds himself in possession of. Generally, his holidays are spent in the depths of his father’s lab, forced to work on foul experiments. That spring, though, the Snowdin patriarch had gone to America for a conference, leaving Sans to his own devices, and for the first time in his education, he decided to spend his break at Hogwarts.

His decision may or may not have been influenced by the fact that Frisk was staying too.

The American sweetheart and the Slytherin prodigy had become fast friends, during her time at the castle, ignoring all who mocked them for their acquaintance and truly enjoying their camaraderie. Sans didn’t have a lot of things he could enjoy with no strings attached, with no consequences for his indulging himself, and Frisk’s friendship was one such thing.

Their friendship had started to warm into something else entirely, since Christmas. Her gift of a map of famous American restaurants, along with several brochures to cooking schools, had opened his sockets to the fact that he, truly, had never had anyone but his own brother believe in him and his dreams, and that she had never failed to be there for him. Never wavered, when his house mates had disparaged her intelligence and nationality, never cowered, not even when his he had lashed out at her that one night, after receiving a reprimanding letter from his father about his one, slightly below average grade.

She was faithful and true, and had been far better to him than any “friends” he had ever made before. He wasn’t about to lose that, after he graduated this year and finally got away from his father. He had a feeling she felt the same way, too, with the way her hand lingered, when their fingers made contact, sitting in the long grasses by the lake. When their eyes met, and the silence stretched, and they both flushed but couldn’t look away.

When she leaned against him, and he was brave enough to sling his arm around her, and neither of them pulled away.

He wanted more, to know what it felt like to have something good and lasting, more pure than anything he had had before… and he was going to get it.

Frisk was, naturally, ecstatic that he was staying, giddy and talking a mile a minute as she set up plans for their endless week of frivolity and carefree indulgence; he chuckled at her energy, how sweet and thoughtful she was, and played with her hair while she wrote out ideas on a scrap of parchment, suggesting places they could go and things they could do casually, trying not to give any special significance.

Trying not to give away his plan.

They began the next morning, walking to Hogsmeade to enjoy a simple outing, away from the old, familiar hallways and classrooms. Things went off with a bang immediately, when Sans’ troublemaking penchant reared its head while they browsed through Zonko’s joke shop; a pack of wet start fireworks, Malfoy’s hood, and a whispered ignition spell later, and the pair of them were sprinting headlong down the main street of the village, holding their sides and listening to the angry screeches of the aristrocrat (”My father will hear about this, Snowdin!”).

Frisk attempted to scold him, when they edged into Honeyduke’s for some sweets, but she was laughing too hard, and honestly loved when he pulled one over on the snooty Pureblood. He was particularly proud of himself, as he loved to hear her laugh, and hung over her shoulder, smirking impishly and pinching her cheeks and tossing candy puns at her until she stopped pretending to be angry with him.

The kiss he snuck to her cheek helped too, turning her into a flushed, inarticulate mess and allowing him to sneakily pay for their purchases while she choked hilariously on a bit of taffy.

She huffily insisted on buying them lunch at The Three Broomsticks, which he let her have with a shrug of his shoulders, but could tell that she was trying to think of how to respond to his boldness, if she should pretend that it didn’t happen or… or otherwise.

The answer came when he sat next to her in their booth instead of across from her, their legs pressing against each others’. She spent the first ten minutes blustering, turning the prettiest red he’d ever seen, then, slowly, reached her hand below the table to slide into his, a little greasy from their lunch but warm and soft and he wouldn't have cared if she was covered in mud, he never wanted her to let go.

The wind had picked up, when they had polished off their butterbeers and managed to pry themselves away from their quiet, private chatting (she had never pulled her hand from his, and he certainly wasn’t going to let hers go), and he surrendered his scarf to her with a chuckle and a smug smile (”told ya you’d need one.” “Just shut up and be a gentleman, Sans.”), before they walked, much more slowly, back up to the castle, his hand bumping against hers suggestively, hopefully.

She only hesitated a moment before sliding her fingers between his again, and it wasn’t until they were lounging in their private little corner of one of the study rooms that they let each other go, playing little games and telling each other stories and jokes from their candy wrappers until dinner.

Curfew came far too soon, and the pair lingered around the top of the Slytherin common room staircase until only moments remained until Frisk had to return to her rooms. Neither wanted to part, their hands again twined together, the new, answered feeling of blooming intimacy a drug. He wanted to kiss her, but felt it would be too soon, and started to pull back, wishing her good night with regret in his voice.

Thankfully, Frisk had found her own courage, and stopped him before he had taken a step. She rose to her tiptoes, clutched her hands in the collar of his button-up, and pressed her sweet, soft lips to his teeth, lingering for a too short moment, too short even for him to react, before she pulled away, squeaked out a goodnight, and sped off towards the kitchens.

He was walking on clouds, until the next morning, stirring his oatmeal absentmindedly and reliving the press of her lips to his mouth and waiting for her to come into the hall with her usual whirlwind of comfortable sweaters and untied tennis shoes and frumpy, adorable hair, singing to the sun and ready for their next day of fun, but when she did appear, it was with a shy, timid demeanor that he was unfamiliar with.

She had attempted to put on makeup, had combed and put up her hair, and wore a clearly borrowed, showy outfit that truly didn’t suit her, much as it showed off her features and drew his attention. He raised his bony brows, when she sidled up to the spot he had saved for them at one of the long tables, sitting next to him and smoothing her much shorter skirt down and looking at him from beneath long, darkened lashes shyly, her hand twitching towards his and her voice quiet as she asked about his night.

A few of her housemates watched her from their table, giggling joyfully and making eager hand motions (clearly the culprits behind her outfit), and though Sans was truly, fiendishly amused by her friends’ attempt to help her, he knew better than to possibly offend her by laughing. She was sensitive, despite what she claimed, and so he took her hand in his, and poured her some orange juice, and leaned over to push a kiss against her cheek.

She was lovely no matter what, though he preferred her comfortable and herself, and spent the rest of the morning that they were booby trapping classrooms with the joke items they had bought at Zonko’s the day before complimenting her, making no move to return the kiss until he knew the moment would be right.

The moment came that evening, after the tension had been building and building all day. He took her to the Astronomy tower, breaking in so he could take her to the very top, and watched a short, sweet meteor shower together in awe.

He moved behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist while they watched, laying his chin on her shoulder and snuggling against her for shared warmth. He could feel her flush against his cheekbone, and when she turned to glance at him, he turned as well, raising a hand to her cheek and pushing his bony lips to hers. He lingered, long as he desired, letting her turn in his arms, reaching up to loose her hair from its restraints.

It was twenty-two minutes after curfew when they separated enough to realize the time, but thankfully, Sans had picked up a few tricks from the Weasely twins, and got her back to her common room without Filch catching wind of them rushing through the corridors giggling like loons.

He kissed her soundly, twice more than necessary, when he left her at the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, whispered that she didn’t need to dress up for him, that he liked her how he was, and practically skipped back to his bed, incredibly pleased with himself.

The rest of the week was just as pleasant, if not somehow more so; many of their secluded corners, in the library and the study halls and under the willow next to the bank of the lake, became sanctuaries for their intimacy, kissing and touching to their hearts’ content. He discovered that she made absolutely delicious noises when he kissed her neck, rising to keening whimpers if he dared to lick there as well, and despite his intent to behave himself, sure that she was innocent to the ways of men, he couldn’t help but sneak his phalanges under her jumper to touch her bare midriff, one afternoon in a shadowy corner, her seat in his lap tempting him beyond reason.

The way she gasped, arching into his touch, and then away indecisively, cemented his guesstimate, and he would have pulled back, and assured her of his patience and the caution he meant to take with her, if she hadn’t, with a flushed, determined expression, repeated his action by pushing her hand under the hem of his sweater and tracing her fingertips over his ribs.

He wished teleportation was possible inside Hogwarts, after the noise he let out, looking up into her eyes with such burning lust and need that she whimpered in return; it was impromptu, and rushed, and nowhere near what he had wanted for their first time, but they had privacy, in the quiet, comfortable study room (no one was even in this part of the castle besides a few rats, and none of the tattling kind), they were both willing and wanting, and he promised her, as he shimmied her panties down her thighs and she kissed helplessly, rapturously, at his jaw, that this was not all that he wanted from her.

He was no cad, after an easy shag with a pretty girl. He wanted her for much, much longer, for far more than the new, physical feelings they were sharing, and was so relieved that she understood, nodding excitedly and pulling at his belt buckle and whispering how much and how long she had loved him, that she knew it was more than this.

And when they slid together, her blouse pulled up over her breasts and his hands on her thighs, back propped against the wall and her arms around his neck, it was with a mutual sigh of satisfaction and relief, their mouths meeting in heated, passionate kisses and their bodies undulating together.

Sans made sure she reached her end before he found his, caressing her body and rubbing slow circles around her clit and licking lovingly at her beaded nipples, and finished with a murmur of her name, whispered against her neck and clutching her close to him. They lay together for a long, long time, kissing each other lingeringly and laughing quietly in their lover’s embrace, and once they cleaned up, spent the rest of the day smiling giddily at each other, never more than an arm’s length from the other.

It wasn’t what he had intended, but Sans couldn’t find it in himself to complain, with Frisk curled up against him in the window seat he had made love to her in, reading a joke book together and twisting a lock of her gorgeous brown hair around one of his fingers.

There were worse ways to spend a spring break, that was for damn certain.


Chapter Text

Anonymous: What do you think a completely willing and consenting, older Frisk and Fell first time would be like

Sans had been planning that night for what felt like forever. She deserved the best from him, after all, and he was going to give it to her.

Frisk deserved so much, so many things in the world and the heavens and the Underground all, for what she gave to him, for the happiness she had brought to his life. For saving him, and his brother. For giving them all a chance at redemption, despite how twisted and wrong they were. Her mercy was star sent. Her love an impossible treasure.

He loved her, more than he had ever loved anything, more than his soul could contain. Some nights, as he lay awake texting her far into the morning, hugging his pillow and wishing it was her, he would cry pitifully.

Not in sadness. No, she had never brought him sadness, not after the terrifying hour where they had all thought that she had died. After she had broken the barrier, and had lain in his arms like a rag doll, limp and cold and so, so small.

No. She brought him only joy, only the most beautiful kind of ache in his bones, and in the darkness of his selfish loneliness, of his pathetic longing, he would cry, wishing he could tell her exactly how much her love meant to him but knowing he would fuck it up somehow. Knowing that his fear would freeze him up, that he would back out and make some stupid joke instead and probably hurt her with his unwillingness.

Thanking, all the stars in the sky, that she somehow knew what she meant to him without him saying it.

Frisk had always been like that, though. She’d always known what he was feeling, when he’d shout and kick things and punch walls. When he’d chain smoke his way through an entire carton of cigarettes. When he’d come home drunk, again. When he’d call her names, or make tasteless jokes, or hide in his room and curse at anyone that tried to get him to come out.

She knew his vices, his darkest places, and brought light to them all, without fail.

Sometimes, he worried that he was dragging her down. That he was the darkness that kept her from rising to where she deserved to be, among the angels that were her kin and kind.

Luckily, he had never outgrown his selfishness. Luckily, he knew she loved him just as much as he loved her, and was willing to keep her from the light that she deserved so that he could hold on to her beautiful soul, her gorgeous mind, her both blessed and cursed determination, just a little longer.

She deserved all she could ever desire, from everything and everyone, and he had done everything to make sure their first night together was perfect. They’d been dating for several months, much to the dissatisfaction of her mother (he couldn’t count how many times he had been menaced by the goat monster, threatened with dismemberment and castration and many, many other things he dared not mention), and tonight was the night they finally joined.

They’d come close several times before, most notably when Frisk had taken him to the observatory (he’d brought those blue balls on himself, should’ve known they’d be interrupted in their intimacy), but they’d always stopped, usually at his own insistence, determined to make it something special, rather than the quick, uncaring rutting he was accustomed to, before her.

He wanted her to remember their first night together with fondness, years later, when they’d fallen even more in love, when the world had turned and finally allowed them the option to be together forever… when he was allowed to marry her, see her dressed in the white gown she always looked at so fondly in the window of the dress shop and call her his, only his, for all time.

He had had everything planned. He had made reservations at her favorite restaurant. No burgers and fries for tonight, no, he was going all out. He had bought them tickets to a show. Had cleaned his room, put fresh sheets on his bed, the ones she had bought him. Had candles and flowers set out. Had even done extra reading on human reproduction, to make sure he knew what he was doing and wouldn’t hurt her.

She was a virgin, after all. He would be her first (and if he had his way, he’s be her last, too), and that came with the hefty responsibility of being supremely conscientious with her. He had sworn to himself, and her, that he would be as gentle as could be. He had even given himself a pep talk, that morning in the mirror, promising himself that he would have control.

She didn’t need the bestial side of his sexuality, not until she was comfortable with sleeping with him… if then. He liked it hard, and fast, and dirty, but with her, he didn’t know if he could be like that, ever. She was so small. So dainty and precious, like a china doll. His angel, made of glass and everything perfect and delicate in the world.

The last thing he would ever desire was to break her.

Yes, he had had it all planned. Put on his best clothes, at Papyrus’ insistence (“IT SAYS YOU MUST WEAR YOUR FINEST ATTIRE IN THE BOOK, BROTHER, AND I WILL NOT LET YOU SPOIL THIS BY SLOUCHING AROUND IN YOUR RAGS.”), showed up early at her house, was moderately nice to the old lady, even.

Had kissed his love’s hand, when she had stepped onto the porch in a perfect red dress, so beautiful and incredibly sexy he’d barely been able to keep his jaw on, and had led her to the car by the hand, unable to keep his sockets off of her.

That was when it had all began to go wrong.

He’d made sure to make it early to the restaurant to pick up his reservation, an amazing table next to the window, overlooking the sunset and the river so he could reminisce with her as the stars sparked to life; he had intended to take her out to the balcony, after dessert, to dance with her under the stars (he had been practicing, and had gotten fairly good at a simple two step), and was sure he would wow her with his efforts.

When they had arrived, though, he had been told his reservation had not just been lost, but the entire restaurant had been booked for the evening. There would not be a table available for hours, and nowhere near where he had wanted to be seated.

Frisk had laid a hand on his arm, before he could snap at the concierge, and had talked him into taking her to Grillby’s, to his unrest and humiliation. He stewed in his distemper, grumpy and cranky and looking longingly at the bottles of alcohol behind the bar as he had eaten his usual, but had consoled himself with the reminder that they would still have the play, during which he could, in the dark of their private box, get her excited and longing for their intended activities that night.

Again, though, when they had arrived at the theater, he was told that his plans were for naught; the play had been cancelled, due to an unfortunate circumstance with the cast (several members had fallen off the stage when a fixture broke in the rigging, and had needed to go to the hospital), and though they offered him a refund of his money, there would be no show that night.

Another of his intentions for nothing.

Sans had been in quite a state by then, fuming and cringing at the thought of what Frisk thought of him and his attempts to treat her like she deserved, but Frisk had known what he was feeling, and had climbed back into his brother’s car (he had a motorcycle, himself, but had deemed it unfit for a romantic evening) with a patient smile and a quelling, soothing hand on his shoulder, kissing his cheekbone and whispering that there were more ways than one to entertain themselves that evening.

“Take me home, Sans. I’m ready.”

That had made his temper vanish in an instant, a flush of surprise and excitement overtaking his cheekbones, and he had kissed her soundly, fastidiously, messily, in the front seat of the car before driving off into the night, to bring her back to his house and make her his.

And then, out on the highway, Papyrus’ car had broken down.

He had wanted to cry, at that point, uncaring of the fact that his beloved was watching. She had watched, with pitying, amused eyes, as he had shouted at the towing company through his cell phone, as he had kicked the front tire of the convertible, as he had smoked half a pack of cigarettes to try to calm himself.

He had been convinced, as he stood with his hands in his suit pockets and his head low, watching the tow truck take the car away, that he might as well just take her back to her mother at that point. That he should just give up, crawl into his bed, and try to sleep away his embarrassment.

Until she had clasped his arm, nuzzled against him, and looked up at him with her clear, lovely brown eyes.

“I thought we were going home, baby…”

He had stared at her, confused and hardly daring to hope, before sweeping her into his arms, looking into her eyes pitifully.

“you sure? after this shitstorm of a night? figured you, uh… wouldn’t wanna. figured you’d think i was a fuck up.”

She had laughed, had arched up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and had kissed his frown away good-naturedly.

“I didn’t need any of that in the first place. I just want you, not the bells and whistles.”

He didn’t need any other assurance. He only needed the love in her eyes, the softness of her touch and her grace, and had turned on his heel, with her in his arms, teleporting them both to his dark bedroom and his waiting bed.

He was anxious, as he lit the candles that he had laid around his room earlier that morning, his hands shaking like a schoolboy’s; thankfully, Frisk seemed just as nervous, pulling tracklessly at the hem of her skirt, clearly unsure of what to do.

Once done, he had tossed his lighter onto his bedside table, pulled her gently to the edge of the bed, and had kissed her softly, slowly, easing her into the contact of their bodies and the touch of his hands as he slid the zipper on her back down, her dress pooling at her feet and her skin bared to his greedy gaze.

She was shy, when he pulled back to look at her, standing in her heels and her stockings and her panties (she had forgone a bra, that night, and he could hardly keep himself from drooling), but he had soothed her worries with whispers of his love and her beauty, laying her on the bed so he could disrobe himself.

She was not surprised by his anatomy, familiar with him and his differences from her by that point, but flushed nevertheless when he unzipped his pants, her eyes widening as they fell on his erection. She had seen it before, had felt him through his pants and had, on the best lunch break he’d ever had, sucked him off once, but this was different, and they both knew it, both of their breaths short and quick and excited.

He could see her squirming, on the bed, her thighs rubbing together and her teeth digging into her bottom lip and her hands tracing over her bare skin, and he felt a surge of pride, keenly aware that it was him that had put her in that state. That he was the one that had aroused and excited her, and the moment he had kicked his way out of his pants, stumbling slightly in his distraction, he had mounted the bed to crawl to her side, reaching out to touch her at last.

She was so soft, so smooth and fleshy and perfect, though she made a dismissive noise when he spoke aloud his wonder; he made no move to pull her stockings or her heels off, when he moved between her legs, only discarding her flatteringly wet panties so he could, with his gaze locked with hers, throw her legs over his shoulders and trace his summoned tongue along the seam of her thighs.

He stroked his cock as he drove her to madness and orgasm, readying himself for what he already knew was the only female he would ever see like this again, his soul beating frantically against his rib cage in reckless abandon and plaintive love, and when she cried out her bliss to the flickering ceiling, grasping at his shoulder blades and clenching her legs around his neck, he rose to kiss her, to position himself between her trembling thighs and to press in, his careful preparation giving him the wetness he needed for his insertion (he was not a small monster, gifted with significant girth, and didn’t want her to feel any pain from that).

He had never seen her so beautiful as when she was arching against him as he made their bodies one, and buried his face in her long, slender neck as he hilted in her, her tightness and heat taking his breath away. She clutched at his back, her fingernails scraping at his ribs and his spine, as he began to move in her, so careful, so slow, just as he had promised himself.

But she didn’t want that, and made it clear to him the moment he kissed up her neck to attempt to delve his tongue past her lips again; she locked gazes with him, her gorgeous eyes glazed but determined, and curled her legs around his pelvis, tightening her grip to force his next thrust into her roughly.

“Sans… Sans, I appreciate your care… but I need more. Fuck me,” she muttered longingly around the whimper she let out in response to his hard thrust, clutching at his shoulders and pushing sticky, pale pink kisses to his cervical vertebrae and jaw and gritted teeth, and Sans, already at the brink of his control from that awful evening and his short temper and her willing, clutching body, her whines of pleasure and the glow of her soul, gave in almost immediately, lowering himself to his forearms, forcing his tongue into her mouth, and bucking into her with the frenetic, pent up need he had been holding onto for years.

And oh, the music she made for him as he rutted into her like a fucking animal, the way her nails dug into his bones and how she threw her head back, her hair spread over the pillow like a waterfall. Her body fit to his so perfectly, so damn perfectly… he lost himself in her, as his headboard slammed against the wall and his hands made indents around her wrists and his tongue wended its way up her throat.

As he thrust himself into her as deep as he could go, and as he felt her soul beat against his, through her heaving chest.

He lost himself, something he had promised himself that he wouldn’t do because he had terrible control when he did that, and before he knew it he was blowing his load only five minutes in and he was so disappointed and worried that she had wanted more and he felt like absolute shit, he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her as he knelt between her legs and cursed at his dissipating cock and the oozing, hot as hell crimson magic that leaked from her perfect body.

He dared to meet her gaze, after a long moment of feeling like the biggest fuck up in existence, and was astounded to see her holding her arms out to him, smiling like the angel she was and welcoming him to lay with her in the afterglow of what he had thought was terrible but was, because of him, somehow, the best night of her life.

“Because it was with you, bonehead. Because it was with you.”

And, he supposed as he pulled the blankets over her naked body and cradled her under one arm (padded with her pillow) and stared at the ceiling with a dopey grin, that was something he could definitely live with.

Plus, there was always the morning and round two. He couldn’t wait to see what her tits looked like bouncing in the sunlight.


Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: I would love to see Frisk x Bara Sans- (I always imagine Frisk to be really shy and kinda turned on whenever she's with Sans because she gets turned on with size differences.)


Frisk always loved how big Sans was. She loved it when he playfully threw her over his shoulder and carried her around. She loved holding her tiny hand against his, comparing his thick carpals and phalanges to her dainty palm and fingers. She loved curling against his side and napping with him, especially when he curled an arm around her to hold her close.

And as she grew older, she started to feel something else, too, when he would lean over her shoulder and put his head next to hers and grin at her impishly. When he would pick her up off the ground and sling her into his massive arms. When he’d sit her in his lap and watch tv with her for hours.

She started getting hot under the collar, the rasp of his bones and the weight of him speeding her blood into a racing inferno. His large hands on her hips made her knees weak, his arms around her bringing a flush to her cheeks. She starting to think things, crazy, wild things, about him and her, and sometimes, when he nuzzled her cheek and ran his fingers through her hair and laced her fingers through his and looked at her with those gently amused magical irises, she thought he was thinking those same things.

Even given her interest, and her hope that he felt the same, his romantic advances came as a surprise. He wasn’t subtle, made his intentions clear the moment that he began pursuing her (“if i said you had a nice body, would you hold it against me?”), but he was genteel, and understanding of not just her inexperience, but her hesitance. They spent years together, becoming familiar with each other and falling deeper and deeper in love, before Frisk asked the question that had weighed on her mind for a long, long time.

Did skeleton monsters have sex?

It didn’t matter to her if they could. She was happy with everything she already had, and could live without sexual gratification beyond his stroking hands and magical tongue.

She didn’t expect the answer to be yes. She didn’t expect him to have been waiting for her to come to him, for her to be ready in her own time… or for him to bring her the most pleasure she had ever felt in her life. He was large, when they joined for the first time, so large that he couldn’t fit all of himself in her (it was almost comical, when she tried to give him blow jobs; she couldn’t fit more than the first few inches of him into her mouth), but he was gentle, and never hurting her beyond the aching stretch of her muscles and the bite of his canines in her shoulder, claiming her as his mate at long last.



Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: Underfell: Frisk fell around 17-19 and can be a total seductress and a blushing, stuttering mess a few minutes later. Sans thinks its adorable.

Sans looked over the top of the car magazine he held, raising one bony brow at the girl posed seductively against his kitchen doorway. She had on an apron, tied tightly over a pair of long stockings, high heels, and a dress, surely, far too short for the weather in Snowdin (even with their heater turned on full blast, he could see the gooseflesh standing out on her arms… she knew better than to dress so scantily. He couldn’t even see the material of the dress behind the apron), and was licking brownie batter from a wooden spoon, her eyes meeting his provocatively.

Her small pink tongue flicked over the spoon, chocolate clinging to her lips and the corner of her mouth; he could already feel the need to lick it from her skin pressing at him. Could feel the want rising in his bones that called for him to offer her something else to lick

Instead, he remained where he was, raising the magazine back up, and resumed his reading with a shake of the paper to straighten the pages.

“makin’ dessert, eh? try not ta burn it this time,” he mocked with a snicker, finding his place in the paragraph he had been perusing, and though Frisk, in the doorway, deflated slightly at his ignoring of her occupation, she huffed slightly, persisting in her licking and posing despite his apparent dismissal.

It was only a show, though, of course, Sans’ disinterest… he knew just what she was up to. She got like this every few days, when she had regained her courage from her last failed attempt to seduce him, putting on the thigh highs that she knew drove him wild… those damn heels that he could already imagine locked around his spine as he knelt between her gorgeous thighs…

Taunting him with possibilities and desire and that fleshy, delectable body…

It drove him mad, her careless and far too poignant flirtations… she truly didn’t know how much he wanted to return her affections. How much he craved her, and what he knew he would find in her loving, desirous, full body.

How much he wanted to bend her over the kitchen counter, right now, and fuck her so hard she saw the stars.

But he couldn’t, he knew he couldn’t and desperately hid the erection pushing at the crotch of his pants, the drool that dripped from his fangs at the barest thought that he could dare to have her (stars, she would be so delicious), doing his hardest to pay attention to the words on the page that he had read ten times over by now, not once absorbing their meaning.

He knew he could never have her, not here, in the Underground. Not when she was so young, so unknowing of who she was trying to seduce. She was only 18, young even for a human… and a virgin. She didn’t know what he was like, the things he craved from his lovers.

He would break her fragile little body, with his passions and his desires, and he wanted that even less than he wanted to be trapped in these caverns any longer.

And so he ignored her, as best he could, the pages in his claws crinkling in his restraint. So, he pretended that she was as innocent as she should have been, at her age, that she didn’t offer herself blatantly to him on the regular. So, he resigned himself to another night of sending himself to bed alone, with her so close, but so far, and jerking himself off to thoughts of what could possibly be, in another world, in another place and time.

Stars, what she did to him.

Frisk, across the room from him, quickly grew weary of his avoidance, dropping the spoon from her mouth and, with more confidence than he liked knowing she possessed, reaching up to squeeze her breasts.

“Saaaaaans… I’m so cold and lonely in here. Won’t you come help me?” she crooned, tracing the palms of her hands down her body, and Sans, groaning beneath his breath (oh, he’d warm her up alright…), put the magazine down in his lap, sending the human a flat, exasperated look.

“frisk, if you’re so cold, go put on some decent clothes for once. and if you want company for cookin’, i’ll go get paps. you know he loves your crazy little experime… nts…” he snapped, starting to lose just a bit of his composure, but stuttered to a halt when he saw, behind her on the floor of the kitchen, just within view, the sleeve of a sweater.

Her sweater. The one she had been wearing that morning.

His voice stopped entirely, his gaze snapping back to Frisk’s body, and quickly raised a hand to clasp over his gaping jaw, realizing, far too late, why he couldn’t see the dress she was wearing behind the apron.

She wasn’t wearing one. She wasn’t wearing anything.

He was on his feet, taking a step towards her, before he even realized it, his magic flickering in his sockets and an animalistic, needy growl rumbling in his chest. He stopped himself as soon as he registered his movement, though, stopping in his tracks and standing there, panting and so, so needy and clearly giving away his arousal from the prominent tent in his pants.

He stared down the suddenly very pale looking girl standing only a few steps away from him (too close… too close, he could smell her, smell chocolate and her sweat and her desire for him wetting her little virgin pussy), his fangs bared in his snarl.

“what the hell do ya think you’re doin’, frisk? naked? in the middle of the house? for fuck’s sake, you’re lucky paps didn’t see you,” he barked at her, barely able to keep from advancing another step (he could see down the front of the apron from here, could see her bare cleavage, and nearly pounced, a trail of red drool dripping from his panting mouth to wend down his jaw), and Frisk, gulping and quickly loosing the wind in her sails, turned the prettiest shade of crimson that he had ever seen, wrapping her hands around her barely clad body.

“I-I’m not naked, I’m wearing…” she started to protest, pulling at the apron stubbornly, and Sans, gaze flicking down to her stockings before he could help himself (shit… shit, he wanted to peel them off with his teeth… no. No, he wanted to leave them on while he took her, feel the fabric against his thrusting pelvis), forced himself back a step, laughing harshly through his gritted jaw.

“what, you’re wearing tights and a fuckin’ apron? bullshit somewhere else, kid, you know what i mean. you can’t pull this shit like it don’t have consequences, like there aren’t two fully grown monsters livin’ here with you that would… that… just go put some damn clothes on,” he insisted, turning away and forcefully stuffing his hands into his pockets, fighting himself desperately (no, Sans, you can’t have her… she doesn’t know what she’s offering, she doesn’t know what she’d get if you took her up on it…), and, meek and abashed, Frisk obeyed, walking quickly back into the kitchen to snatch up the clothes she had dropped so she could flee into the laundry room, just off the kitchen, to put them back on.

Sans knew just how weak he was, though… that even though he couldn’t have her in reality, that he was selfish and needy and just as wanting as she was, and as she bent to pick up her clothes, he turned to glance at her from the corners of his sockets, starving for just a peek.

Just one look.

The sight of her bare ass and dripping wet pussy, bent so cleanly at the waist and so. fucking. perfect nearly turned him to dust where he stood. The image burned into his mind, craven and twisted and desirous… and he knew, even as he turned back around, as he pretended he had never looked, that he would never forget that sight.

He also knew, a moment later as he flashed himself into his dark, locked room and shoved his pants down around his knees and wrapped his hand around his thick, hard cock, that something in him had broken with that glance, and that looking may very well not be enough for him anymore.


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Anonymous asked: After reading your mobfell ask, I had a horrible idea. Sans captures Frisk to interrogate/kill her for what she knows. He pulls out her soul, and only then realizes that she's his soulmate. Instead of torturing her, he uses his magic on her, teasing her and not allowing her to cum. Then, when she's on the brink, he shoves his gun between her legs and tells her to ride it. She resists, but eventually obeys and cums. But Sans isn't done yet. He still has questions, and Frisk isn't going anywhere.

The hit man pulled his gun from between the panting, trembling human’s legs, sending a smirk her way before turning the barrel of his firearm under the light. It was dripping with her juices, with the lust he had bred in her, and without hesitation, he raised the muzzle to his mouth, extending a lithe, glowing red tongue to lick a stripe along the gathered wetness.

He rumbled in pleasure at the taste of her, his sockets shuttering, before slurping his tongue back into his mouth and pushing the gun against hers.

His grin was as wicked and dangerous as he, glinting with voracious hunger and unspoken malices.

“clean up your mess. i ain’t your maid,” he grunted, pushing the gun’s tip harder against her lips, and through her tears of pleasure and her mussed hair, unkempt from where he had grabbed it, Frisk glared up at him before obeying, parting her lips to accept the barrel into her mouth.

It tasted of metal, and blood, and her, and she had a feeling that a lot of things that came to this monster did, slipping her tongue around the metallic thickness and doing as she had been bidden.

His promise of more, and the lust in his glowing sockets, told her she’d be finding out before the end of the night. He had claimed her, he had muttered in her ear as he’d tied her arms behind her back and forced the chain of a pretty necklace over her head. She was his, to do with what he willed, and she better get used to the idea.

So much for getting some investigating done…



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Anonymous asked: #nodalliance Sans and Frisk having angry sex. If that's even possible for the two lovebirds lol

It started off as a simple argument. They didn’t happen often, as the pair were almost sickeningly sweet together; they had a method of compromise that led to any disagreements being settled before they blew up.

That night, though, they were both annoyed at outside influences, Sans at the school board and Frisk at the efforts of several backwards politicians, and a discussion over who was going to do the dishes got out of hand.

Accusations started getting thrown. A scrub brush ended up on the floor. Voices got louder and louder, and eventually, the arguing ended when a glass was knocked to the ground and shattered.

They stood looking at each other over the broken glass, panting and glaring.

“…are you as turned on as i am?”


“you wanna…?”


Sans lifts her against the counter with her legs over his arms and her pants pooled on the floor at his feet, her hands grasping the cabinets and her head thrown back. It’s hard, and fast, and rough, neither of them speaking beyond grunts and cries of pleasure; they scratched and bit and pulled at each other, panting for breath as they rode each other to their ends.

Frisk then shoves Sans against the wall and drops to her knees, re-arousing him with lingering licks and grasping hands and scrapes of her teeth.

They tired and exhausted their tempers after three rounds, and sheepishly apologized while they redressed and cleaned up the kitchen.



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Anonymous asked: Can we get some details on the 8 and a half minutes from the restaurant ask? You know for research purposes. XD

A lot can happen in eight and a half minutes. People get killed in less. They could have fought for most of it… they could have made out and got handsy over (maybe even under) their clothes. Sans could have continued teasing Frisk until she straddled him and stole his breath the way he loved to do to her. They could have even ignored each other, playing with their phones and pretending to be alone.

But what really happens is Sans looks down at Frisk, her hand curled in his tie and her breath panting over his face, and grins, snapping his fingers at the door to lock it.

“well alright then.”

She’s up and in his arms the next moment, his hands working at her top and her lips sealed to his mouth, and she’s clawing at his tie, though she’s well aware they don’t have the time (or patience) to spare for undressing. This isn’t their first time together, most of their joinings much like this, in fact (he’d fucked her in the back of his car and in a public bathroom, for the stars’ sakes), so they both knew how to arrange themselves, once Sans has gotten in his lecherous grope at her chest.

Frisk bends over the edge of the table, shoving her pants down to her ankles and gripping the edge, and Sans releases himself from his suit pants, pulls her panties to the side, and slides into her with a satisfied groan.

It’s fast, and rough, and everything they both needed at the moment; the mobster’s thrusts move the table a few inches across the room, jangling glasses and silverware, and Frisk’s grip pulls the tablecloth across the surface and down to drape across the floor between her spread legs.

They are both hushed, as they could be easily overheard, Sans grunting animalistically with each motion of his hips, muffled by his forcefully shut jaw, and Frisk biting down on a fabric napkin to quiet her orgasm, when it rushes through her.

Sans finishes in record time, his cum dripping down his human’s thighs to stain the mussed tablecloth and the wooden floor, and his smugness at the sight of her filled with him nearly earns him a slap across the face.

“what? i can’t be proud of my work?”

They clean up as quickly as they can (Sans is practiced in fast, efficient cleanups, a fact that neither of them brings up), trashing the tablecloth and moving the table back, and have a quiet, breathless twenty seconds of staring at each other across the table, the swelling magnitude of their more and more frequent interludes sitting barefaced between them.

“It still means nothing.”

“sure it doesn’t, doll. sure it doesn’t.”


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Anonymous asked: In the au where Dalliance doesn't happen, do Sans and Frisk try out all those positions mentioned in Dearly Beloved during their time at the cabin? Or does Sans save the one that Frisk really wanted to try for a special night? And per request, could we possibly see that scene written? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

The lovers descended into slumber, after their first joining, bare and sweat covered and absorbed in each other and their love, sleeping away the early evening until the need for each other grew again, waking them from their sleep to renew loving caresses.

They kissed softly, fingers and legs tangled together and voices quiet as they talked and laughed and flirted with the temptation of another round. Frisk was too shy to ask, too new to the power of seduction she felt rushing in her blood, but Sans knew what she desired, could feel her want in her breath on his tongue and her light strokes along his ribs.

He trailed his hand along her thigh, dragging it up to prop on his pelvis, his awakened desire pressing against her magic and arousal soaked core.

“tell me what you want, babe. tell me what you want from me,” he breathed against her lips, bucking against her and caressing her breast, chuckling when she arched into him and moaned breathlessly, and though she struggled with her nerves (and his distracting touch), she managed to whisper her desire against the side of his skull, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance as she did.

“I… I want you… please…” she cried out softly, grinding down against him, and though he could tease more, he took pity on her state (he wasn’t much better himself, hungry for her body against his once more) and rose to his knees over her, patting her hip gently and smirking down at her.

“then you’ll get me. let’s try something else though, hmm? somethin’ i remember you saying you wanted,” he murmured, stroking his hand along his erection, and then narrowed his sockets, snapping the fingers on his free hand.

“on your knees.”

Frisk shivered, the hard heat in his tone shaking her straight to her core, before she obeyed, turning onto her stomach and raising herself to her hands and knees, conscious of her bare ass in the air and face a bright red… but so aroused and intrigued that she paid no mind to her nerves.

Sans spent a moment rearranging her position, spreading his love’s legs, scooting a pillow closer to her, for her to rest her head and chest on, and directing her in arching her back more, before rubbing the thickness of his cock against her, dragging through her dripping desire and pulling a whimper from Frisk.

“i know you said you wanted it rough, babe, but you’re not ready for that yet. when you are, you’ll get it, believe me… but for now, let’s just take it slow, yeah?” he crooned, squeezing one hip and thrusting shallowly against her entrance, before he pressed into her, spreading her wide, slowly and patiently, relishing every twitch and moan the girl beneath him released as he buried himself within her.

The evidence of their former lovemaking lingered, squeezing around Sans’ thickness and dripping down the insides of Frisk’s thighs as he settled his pelvis against her backside, and both groaned at the feeling, Frisk’s eyes shuttered and fluttering and Sans’ grin crooked, satisfaction and pride in its tilt.

He said nothing, though, pausing in his insertion to let her get used to him again (”you’re doin’ great, frisk… so fuckin’ great. you feel so good… does it hurt? anything uncomfortable?”), before he started to move, keeping his thrusts shallow and even while below him, Frisk keened and shuddered and arched into him, helpless to the feeling of her lover’s body joined with hers in love and passion.

They moved together in unison, Frisk’s unpracticed undulations evened out by Sans’ guiding hand, and it wasn’t long before he decided she was ready for more, his grip on her waist hardening and his voice deepening.

“alright, babe. i’m goin’ harder, and i’m gonna try you out with a little power play, kay? you ready?” he probed, smoothing his thumbs over the swell of her ass, and she nodded without hesitation, wriggling her hips and whimpering in excitement.

He grinned, her unspoken desire plain, before he leaned over her, placed one hand lightly on the back of her neck, and pulled her back into him with both fervor and firm, possessive ardor.

“i know how much you’ve wanted this, frisk… i know how much you’ve wanted me to take control. to wreck you how you’ve always dreamed… and now you’re gonna take it, because i’ve been dreamin’ of it too.”

She shuddered at his words, gasping and breathless and tingling with desire, and attempted to reply, but Sans tightened his hand on her neck, his grin sharpening.

“i didn’t say you could speak. all i wanna hear are your sweet little moans, and the sound of my cum squeezin’ out of your tight little pussy, understand?”

Frisk whimpered, nodding and clawing at the pillow she lay on and choking on the heat that surged in her veins, and Sans barely held back a groan of his own, forcefully keeping his surging lust in check so he could control his movements. She was still too new to this, he couldn’t afford to lose his grip and possibly hurt her.

And so he did, thrusting into her with hard, deep, but carefully held in check passion, and filled the cabin with the sounds of their joining, the wet motion of bone against soaked flesh, the creak of the bedsprings, the lustful panting and exhalations of lovers in union.

It wasn’t long until Frisk, at Sans’ direction, descended into mindless pleasure, her own fingers circling her clit and sending her into orgasm, and Sans himself didn’t last much longer, abandoning most of his dominance to hunch over her back and press kisses to her arched spine and fill her again with his magic, sweat and cum spattering the insides of Frisk’s thighs in their mutual finishing.

Neither could resist collapsing where they were, after their bodies seperated, Frisk’s shaking legs falling under her and Sans’ tipping him over next to her, and they panted together in a pile of tangled limbs and exchanged, hot kisses and soft compliments (”did you enjoy that? yeah? heh, of course i did, babe, you’re hot as hell.”), reclining in the aftermath of their lovemaking and staring into each other and knowing, in each their own way, that this was only the beginning of a long week of discovery and passion.


Chapter Text

Frisk had always known she was different, in more ways than just her capability to make friends with monsters. Her peers let her know that too, mocking her body and her looks and her hair and anything that they could find to belittle. It affected her little, as she was preoccupied with matters far greater than they could comprehend… but as the years went on, she started to feel the weight of their words. She started to look in the mirror and agree with them.

Fat. Ugly. Weird. That was what she was, all she could see, and nothing she did, no new hairstyle or fresh change of clothes or makeup would change that.

She began to struggle, in her day to day. She grew her hair long, to hide behind it. She wore baggy clothes, to hide her body and her shame. Her newly regained speech failed her, plunging her into silence. Her family and friends began to truly worry, when she would no longer go outside, refusing company and falling into herself.

None one knew how to help her, no one understood… except for Sans the skeleton.

He more than understood not feeling good enough. He more than understood being down on yourself. And the last thing he wanted was for Frisk, the mate of his soul, to be left in a state like that.

He started slow, with his hand twined with hers as they sat and talked quietly over their lunches. A gentle brush of his fingers along her hairline, moving her bangs out of her face so he could look into her eyes. A kiss, soft and sweet and sincere, when the time was right and the moon was full, though she blushed and spluttered and did not understand why or how.

She accepted him, though she protested the fairness of what he was getting in exchange for what he gave. He only laughed softly, and kissed her breathless, nullifying her protests with actions both persistent and frank. He told her of her beauty, no matter how she denied. He professed his attraction, despite the depths of her concerns and doubts.

And when he took her to bed, slowly but firmly helping her out of her clothes and pressing her body to his, he surprised her by leaving for a moment, and even further surprised her when he brought back a mirror.

He made love to her in front of that mirror, asking her to watch herself as their bodies moved together. To see, at last, what he saw when he looked at her. How gorgeous she was, as he pushed her hair from her lovely face, how her lips parted and her neck stretched in her pleasure. So sexy and desirable, as the body she hid away twisted and strained and joined with his, his hands worshiping her breasts and the narrows of her waist and the fullness of her hips.

She was beautiful, in every way, a goddess in his eyes, and as her monster lover pushed her into orgasm, as he stoked the body she had long been so ashamed of into a work of pleasurable art, she looked on herself in the mirror, a siren in the reverent, bony hands of a male incredibly in love, and found herself, at long last, to be enough.

She didn’t know if she would ever agree with him. She knew she would look in her mirror the next day and think the same things she always had. But as Sans muttered his love and desire and his devotion against her flesh, as he met her soul with his and moaned, again, how beautiful she was, she felt like maybe she could believe in what he saw, just the tiniest bit.

She let him slide the buttercup decorated hairclip into her hair the next morning, sweeping her bangs out of her face for the first time in years, and met her reflection with a strange confidence in her soul, with his hands on her waist and his bony lips on her throat. Maybe his attempt at getting her to change her perspective had worked, more than she thought. Maybe she had seen just a little of what he did…

Just maybe.


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Anonymous asked: Reapertale: When they reunite for the cold months, Sans kisses her and then leads Frisk to the bedroom in order to welcome her back.

The Underworld had missed its queen nearly as much as its master had, and the flowers she had planted last winter bloomed as Sans led her, hand on the small of her back, to the doors of the dark castle, black roses and bone white lilies springing forth from the cold ground.

They did not linger long, in public eye, retreating to their shared chambers to reacquaint themselves with each other; Sans is usually very particular about the execution of his duty, as Death, but he leaves his reaping to his brother while he loves his returned bride, glorying in her warmth and softness and the sound of her passionate cries.

It is three days before they finally part, before they leave their bed to see to their individual activities, but the God of Death has never looked happier as he takes up his scythe, has never been more benevolent or forgiving than when the scent of his angel of Mercy still lingers on him.


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Anonymous asked: I need mob G hatesex!

Frisk curled her fist into G’s tie tighter, yanking it back and into the divots of his cervical vertebrae. He choked on a breath, struggling to grasp at the material and her wrist at the same time; his chair slid against the floor, scraping over the cracks in the hardwood of his office floor.

Her teeth were bared in a fierce snarl of exultant victory, sure she had finally gotten him, sure that she had finally bested her worst enemy, that smirky bastard that always mocked her and humiliated her and threatened her… she was prepared to accept the punishment she would receive for killing a don.

As long as she never had to see him grin at her around his damn cigar again. 

She felt his struggles start to cease, as she pulled her improvised garrote tighter around his throat, his fingers scrabbling against her skin and his neck slowing, and almost smiled, almost laughed… before he stood completely, grabbed both of her arms, and flipped her over his shoulder onto the top of his desk, his tumbler of scotch spilling to the floor along with his cup of pens and various documents.

The breath was shocked from her body, hands loosening around his tie, and he punched her across the face for good measure, sending stars wheeling across her sight while he gasped for lost composure, glaring and wheezing. G recovered before she did, rounding the desk to stand at her feet, and backhanded her again, snarling in his rage.

“fuckin’ bitch. you always pull this bullshit. why don’t i just do you a favor and end you already?” he growled, jerking a handgun from the back of his slacks, and leaned over her to press it to her temple, sweat and anger dripping from his clenched jaw.

Frisk stared up at him challengingly, rolling her bruising jaw, and spat blood into his face, sneering.

“You tell me, asshole.”

He gritted his teeth, wiping her spittle onto the shoulder of his suit, before clenching his free hand into the collar of her button up, ripping down and to the side to bare her breasts, a string of long, white scars spread across her chest and throat, and a hidden side arm. He drew the gun and tossed it into the corner, along with his own, before grasping, one handed, at her belt, unthreading it as he bent to press his bony lips against hers, hard and angry.

She curled her fingers into his shirt, pulling and tearing at the material, and kissed him back, biting his golden, undulating tongue viciously when he tried to thrust it down her throat to choke her.

G made short work of her pants, leaving them and her panties hanging from one ankle, before freeing his cock from his pants and thrusting into her with no warning, no preparation, and excessive roughness, threading one hand into her hair to tug at it and the other settling on her hip to lift her into him, fucking her as hard and as painfully as he could.

Frisk snarled at him in return, bucking up into him and scraping her nails over any exposed bone she could reach.

“whore,” he sneered at her as he ravaged her body, digging his fingers into her flesh to leave his mark, and she laughed harshly beneath him, leaning up to bite into his exposed clavicle ferally.

“Pig,” she growled in return, and he smirked, bending to bite her neck in return.


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Anonymous  asked: Oh my gosh, could there BE a worse hell for poor Underfell Sans than trying to protect Frisk during his heat? The poor guy would just try so hard to keep her hidden from other monsters while trying to keep himself off her. He just can't catch a break!

Each day, the need grows more.

His hand is no longer enough by the fourth day. He can smell her through the walls the fifth, and shreds the bed sheets in frustration. He gets some relief from jerking off into a pair of her panties that he finds, but he knows that, on the seventh day, if he doesn’t get her out of the house, he’s going to end up having her. But the streets are full of hunting male monsters, as hungry and horny as he is, so he knows he can’t take her outside.

He ends up having Frisk handcuff him to their bed, though he nearly, lost to instinct, tackles her onto the mattress when he smells that she is at the height of her own human reproduction cycle, and spends the next three days humping the bed and clawing at the headboard.

The eleventh day, he snaps the handcuffs, no longer capable of rational thought, and goes hunting for his woman. He finds her in the kitchen, and backs her into a corner. She had offered to help him, a week and a half ago. He had said no then. He didn’t remember why now, and growled at her, his mate, his submissive, to allow him to have her.

His hand lowered to her abdomen, pressing in and rubbing with clawed, soft movements. He begged her to let him fill her with life magic… To let him impregnate her, like he had dreamed of forever, all his life.

She doesn’t hesitate. She lowers her hand to the front of his ragged, cum stained shorts, and squeezes.

The next 48 hours are some of the longest, but most pleasurable, of her life. He has her everywhere, in every way that he can, rutting into her body and filling her to just about bursting with magic. He is not gentle, pent up and swept away in the call of his soul, the raging need to breed his mate, and by the end, when they lay together in the mess they made, it was with satisfaction, her swollen abdomen, glowing with the sheer amount of magical cum in her, a point of pride for the soon to be parents.



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Anonymous asked: One of Frisk's best seduction tatics is to wear Sans' jacket with only her underwear on...or nothing

“…stars fuckin’ save me.”

It wasn’t the first time Frisk had done this. Of course, usually he found her curled up in his jacket on their bed, otherwise naked and beckoning him with one of her sinfully long legs… today must be a special occasion.

It was a little odd that he’d found her in the laundry room like this, but he attributed it to the fact that it was laundry day, and he’d sacrificed his couture (heh) to the washing machine earlier that day for a much needed soak.

Ketchup stains were murder.

She must have found it when switching out the loads, and gotten the clever idea to seduce him while she was at it. Not that he minded… he just hadn’t been anticipating popping a hard on next to the ironing board that day.

But stars, what a sight she was.

The faded shade of blue his jacket retained looked simply radiant against her skin, stretched across her breasts and just barely covering them… she had found her fishnet stockings, and had even put on the garter belt that went with them, for his viewing pleasure.

The pièce de résistance, though, the crowning jewel of her ensemble, were those little red panties with the cute pink bow on the front. They drove him absolutely fucking wild, and it was with this in mind that he dropped the armful of socks he was holding, crossed the wash room, and pushed himself to her front, arching to steal her lips and sliding his hands under the hem of his jacket to stroke the bare flesh of her back, the washing machine rumbling against her back soothingly.

He twined his tongue with hers, swallowing every tiny moan and whimper she let out as his hands explored her body, cupping her breasts and tracing her thighs and worshiping her beautiful, perfect ass. He lifted her onto the washing machine once touch was no longer enough, dragging her panties off with regret and licking his lover to riotous, explosive orgasm…

And bent her over the shaking machine to slide himself into her still clenching core, bestial in his lust and rocking the washer against the wall with his fervent thrusts. He bit at her earlobe as he rutted against her, muttering his love and adoration for her in low, guttural moans, and got his jacket filthy all over again when he pulled out and spilled his magic over her back, needing, needing, to see himself on her sweat dappled skin.

Ah well. They could just wash it again… they had a few things to do in the shower together anyway.

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Anonymous asked: Hi banana. So I've been thinking about this No Dalliance AU you have. Seeing the prompts you do, I was wondering if I could submit my own if it fancies your interest. Could we get some No Dalliance sexy times, but with focus on dirty talk? If thats something you'd consider writing. *blushes and runs away*

“you sure about this, frisk? i’m down for anything, but… i don’t wanna go too far, not so early.”

Sans stood behind the human girl seated naked in one of their dining room chairs, dragged upstairs just for the occasion, the padded handcuffs he held clenched tight in his bony hands. Frisk hadn’t seen him so nervous since he’d been up for review at the University.

They’d been experimenting, since their week at the cabin, as many things as they could think of together. Some, she definitely enjoyed. Some were a little too hardcore for her, if only for the moment, and some they didn’t even bother to try, both of them weirded out by the thought.

This, though… what they were trying out tonight… she’d gotten a taste of his talent for it before their adventuring into the unknown (at least for her; thankfully, he had some experience, so they weren’t both left absolutely fumbling), and she was eager for more. Everything he was willing to unleash on her.

He’d been so giving, so kind and loving thus far. She wanted something rougher, the bare glimpse of dominance he had shown her on the hilltop three months before.

Frisk sighed softly, shifting in her seat and looking over her shoulder at him soothingly. She blew a hank of her unfettered hair from her eyes as she did (she really needed to get it cut, it was far too long).

“Sans, calm down. I have complete trust in you, and if you do go too far… hey, we’ve gotta learn our boundaries sometime, right? It’s alright… let loose on me.”

Her reassurance seemed to satisfy the hesitant skeleton monster, and he met her soft, encouraging gaze before nodding and bending to secure her already positioned hands in place with the cuffs, careful not to snap them too tight in his slightly shaking hands.

Not all of his hesitance was in the name of nervousness, after all. He was just as excited for this as his little human mate was… maybe even more so.

“alright, babe. just remember the safe word. don’t be afraid to use it, it won’t offend me,” he promised, leaning forwards to nuzzle the ridge of his nasal cavity against her jaw, pushing a slow, soft kiss to her throat, and Frisk squirmed, breaths coming in short, excited bursts.

“I remember. Please, baby…” she pled, a whimper of want carried on her eager tone, and Sans, grin spreading across his skeletal face, raised his darkening, sultry gaze to meet hers, his phalanges tracing up her bound arms, feather light and tantalizing.

“stars, i love it when you beg for me.”

Frisk shuddered at the cant his voice assumed, always astounded that it could get deeper, rougher, than it usually was, and let out a haltering gasp, pressing her thighs together and biting her lip. Sans wasn’t blind to this, and chuckled, standing fully and trailing a single knuckle along her shoulder blades, observing with immense satisfaction the gooseflesh that followed the line of his grazed, bare bone.

“yeah? you like my voice, don’t you… but that’s not even really a question anymore, is it? i know what gets you hot…”

He bent over her shoulder, pressing his mouth to her ear and breathing out a humid, quiet growl against it.

“what gets that pretty little pussy wet.”

Frisk moaned aloud at that, her breath catching in her throat and heat traveling, just as he had asserted, between her legs, setting her whole body practically aflame. The cuffs around her wrists rattled as she shifted where she sat, arousal already soaking her folds and the insides of her thighs, and Sans, grin only growing, walked slowly around her, hands sliding into his pockets and gaze on her flushed, bare body.

“and stars, are you gorgeous when you’re turned on… when you’re thirsty for my cock,” he purred, tilting his skull and stopping in front of her; she shivered under the intensity of his gaze, the feeling of his magical irises traveling over her flesh practically physical.

“Baby… gods, baby…” she whimpered, but Sans ignored her, gaze only leaving her heaving breasts long enough to send her a sultry wink.

“your blood rushes in your veins, your beautiful eyes dilate… you practically drool over me. you’re breathless, even now, from pure lust for me. so obvious… such a stunning little whore,” he rumbled lustily, parting his jaw and activating his magic to run the tip of his slithering cobalt tongue along his teeth, and Frisk turned the prettiest shade of crimson he had ever seen besides her own soul, turning her face away to attempt to hide it and sucking in a shaky, tremulous breath of desire.

Sans wasn’t about to allow that, though, and straddled her thighs, taking her chin in one hand to drag her gaze back to meet his. He smirked down at her rabidly, smile wicked and sockets intent in their shared game.

His thumb rose to stroke her scarlet cheek, glowing with warmth and her pumping arousal.

“look at you blush, like you haven’t been letting me fuck you for months. like you haven’t been begging for my dick every moment you could get it. like you didn’t go down on me under the breakfast table this morning, with your mother in the very next room.”

Frisk whimpered under her breath, blush only darkening, and her skeleton lover, free hand descending to stroke along her side, leaned in closer to her, laying his forehead against hers and grinning knowingly.

“we both know what you are, angel… we both know you’re a slut for monster cock. but it can be our little secret.”

He sealed the promise with a kiss so light and fleeting that Frisk chased his bony lips when he pulled away, eyes glittering with tears of pure, undiluted desire and frustration, but Sans didn’t allow it, standing again and snickering when she pulled at her restraints, hands again finding his pockets as he strolled away across the room to sit on the edge of his bed, reclined and relaxed and sure of his power over her.

The way she was whimpering and watching him told him all he needed to know.

“that’s right… because you’re my slut, aren’t you? feeding me all your kisses, saving yourself for me, getting hot from just thinking about me… just listening to me speak has you ready for me. all you can think about is getting yourself under me again, letting me fuck you til the stars shake in the sky. …tell me it’s not true.”

His filthy words and inference were making her light headed with need, her heart beating in her throat and her vision hazy from her eyes rolling back in sheer arousal. She couldn’t take much more of this… she was going to combust before they even got to his bed.

“I-I can’t… please… I want it so bad…” she cried out, rubbing her thighs together where she sat, and Sans, self-assured and thrumming with arousal himself from seeing his beloved in this state, lowered a hand to palm at the crotch of his shorts.

“you’re in luck. that’s all i can think about too,” he crooned to the squirming woman, stroking a languid hand along the length of his erection, before moving his gaze to her long, gorgeous legs.

“spread your legs for me. i wanna watch you wet yourself from just the sound of my voice.”

Frisk obeyed haltingly, strings of sticky arousal spreading between her inner thighs as she propped them on the corners of the chair; she shuddered at the cooler air of the darkened bedroom as it stroked along her soaked folds, the weight of her monster lover’s gaze as it fell on her wetted curls.

“Sans… Sans, please… I n-need…” she begged quietly, watching enviously as his hand tightened around his still covered length, and Sans, huffing out a breathy, lustful chuckle, gave himself one last squeeze before standing and sauntering to her side, smoothing his palm across her shoulders and the other along her bound arm.

“what do you need, lovely? do you need to touch yourself? let me…” he offered, and shifted his hands to cup her breasts. His fingertips flicked at her beaded nipples, drawing a shaky moan from her as her head dropped against his shoulder, but he wasn’t satisfied, gently squeezing before releasing one to trace his phalanges down her abdomen.

“no? not here? what about… here?” he hummed, spreading her sodden folds to rub the tips of two fingers around her clit, and let out a bark of laughter when she arched against him, keening and thrusting against his soft caress.

“jackpot. and stars damn me… you are soaked. making such a mess of yourself… tsk, tsk. whatever are we to do…”

His voice was as soft and teasing as his circling fingers, tempting the possibility of entering her core with every pass of his phalanges, and it was quickly driving Frisk mad. She tossed her head, whining and grinding against him as well as she could and kissing along every inch of his jaw that she could reach.

“Sans… Sans, don’t tease…”

She was so incredibly sexy like this, so wildly intent on joining with him, that Sans himself could barely keep his character, tempted to just give in and give her everything she wanted.

But he wanted one more thing before they finished and he let them both indulge… one more delicious supplication.

“why not? you’ll take anything i give you, i already know that… and so do you. you’ll have to do better than that if you want this cock. at this point, i’m satisfied with teasing you all. damn. night… unless you say what you are.”

And he sold it too, slowing his motion even further by lightly flicking a fingertip against her clit and ever so gently rolling her nipple between his phalanges, and Frisk very nearly wept in frustration, bucking against his hands and panting for air. She was flushed even darker, somehow, than ever before, but she knew what he wanted to hear.

“Sans… please, I… I am y-your…” she stuttered, nervous and more turned on than she ever had been before, and Sans nodded encouragingly, extending his tongue to trace the lobe of her ear.

“say it, beautiful. say it, and i’ll give you what you need,” he prompted, a growl of want on his deep baritone voice, and Frisk only vacillated another moment before whispering obediently.

“I’m your slut, baby…”

Sans’ grin had never been wider, or his magic more focused as he snapped his fingers at the cuffs around her wrists, freeing her from her bonds and dropping a quick, passionate kiss to her parted lips, stroking her tongue with his rapturously.

When they parted, it was with an echoed gasp of ardor, equal passion and need in the lovers’ gazes.

“heh… yes you are. now stand your fine ass up and get on the bed. i’ve got something for you that i think you’ll enjoy.”

Chapter Text

anonymous asked: A scenario: Sans standing and holding Frisk up against the wall with her legs over his shoulders as he eats her out

For the first time Frisk could remember, Sans had nothing to say, noticeably silent and content to be so. On any normal occasion, he was always flapping his jaw, jokes or banter or the latest gossip heavy on his tongue. She’d never minded, of course… she had the slightest of attractions to the tone of his voice. It was wonderfully deep and resonant, rumbling through his whole body and easily discernable in a crowd. She often fell asleep to its dulcet tones, curled against his side while he read over his next day’s lecture.

She was especially weak to dirty talk from him, filthy nuance and insidious temptation on dark, flirtatious whispers. Nothing got her hotter than something as simple as him muttering his desires in her ear and placing a light, meaningful hand on her thigh.

She truly had no mind to spare to his out of character silence, however, given her skeleton lover’s current occupation. He had better uses for his mouth, at the moment… namely slipping his sinuous, incredibly long tongue in and out of her clenching core.

She wriggled in his grasp, back stretched against the wall he had propped her against when he had swept her into his arms with seductive intent in his sockets and murmurs of love on his bony lips. Her hands clawed at his shoulders, the bunched material of his button up shirt and the dome of his skull, and sounds of rapture and delight spilling from her lips without quarter.

Thrown over his shoulders, her legs quivered and flexed without notice, toes curling and arching, and as the slick, twisting prominence of the monster’s tongue curled within her to stroke her just right, one of her hands jumped to her parted lips, her eyes closing and her head dropping back as she wailed in absolute ecstasy.

Sans’ grin against her arousal soaked flesh was insatiable, his hands gripping her upper thighs tightening and his sockets glinting with mischief and delight, but he held his silence in favor of slipping his tongue from within her to flick against her clit, savoring the sound of her pleasure and the way she tasted and the glorious feeling of knowing it was him that made her feel this way.

Stars, the sound of her when she came… she was sexy all the time, especially when she laughed, but when she orgasmed for him…

There wasn’t a more perfect, beautiful sound in the entire multiverse.


Chapter Text

Whoo doggy. Ok you know I gotta ask. How does the scene play out the first time Frisk gets off from frottage with Sans?

It had started off as harmless flirting, the kind she got away with on a regular basis. A wink accompanying a suggestive comment, a stray touch of her hand…  a kiss to his jawbone, her breath whispering over his cervical vertebrae.

Okay, so maybe not completely harmless.

Nevertheless, it was nothing more than regular for her and him, the way she pressed herself against his side, their fingers laced and his arm pressed between her breasts. The way the train rumbled underneath and around them, only pushing her closer to him.

He’d made no comment on her attentiveness beyond turning to press a kiss to her lips, joking and chatting with her as usual, but the moment he led her into the living room of his home, her eyes on the kitchen and her school bag abandoned on the floor beside the door, he had her crushed to the front of his body, his sockets crazed and libidinous.

His bony lips find her throat, tongue laving her flesh and hands clutching her waist.

“you drive me fuckin’ wild, frisk… stars, you know just what buttons to push, don’t you?”

He seats himself on the couch and pulls Frisk into his lap with the intent and hunger of a monster starved, pulling her into a kiss both ravaging and consuming; as he twisted his tongue with hers, magic and his lust sparking through her awareness, he rolled his hips against her, the hand not tangled in her hair clutching at her waist.

She gasped into his mouth when she felt something that certainly wasn’t bone twitch between her thighs, hard and hot and sliding against her barely covered folds, beneath her crumpled skirt; they’d never done this before, gone beyond brief touches, the teasing temptation of the desire running hot between them… he’d only just touched her breasts the previous week, palming their weight as they had kissed, quiet and passionate, during his lunch break.

She had wondered, of course, if he had a cock. It had seemed a silly wonderment (he’s a skeleton, Frisk, why would he), but he certainly had a tongue… and she’d just been too shy to ask him about it. The question was definitely given answer now, as the almost intimidating girth of him twitched against her again, the rhythmless buck of his pelvis grinding him deeper into her folds until she saw stars, until the grain of his jeans and the fervency of his motion rubbed against her clit and tore a cry of rapture from her lips that sent Sans reeling.

His skull drew back, his sockets wide and his breath catching in his chest at the sound of her; his smile grew ravenously, his hips making the same motion again to rip that glorious sound from her once more, and he was rewarded with a keening whine of helpless ardor, her fingers digging into his t-shirt, clutching at his ribs.

Her entrance clenched in unbridled lust, and he gasped at the sensation, grasping at her hips to push her down against him, to press her into his rutting endeavors to pleasure them both; it was an emulation of their true desire, a mere facsimile of the dance they wished to indulge in, but it served them well, his name on her parted lips and hers on his.

Sweat streaked their faces and necks, the smell of sex and magic filled the air the curtained window behind the sofa fogged with their passionate exhalations… the couch creaked in their exertion, their heads filled with naught but each other, and the exquisite pleasure of finding their ends as one.

Sans, to his humiliation, came first, far too starved for her to last even under the bare pressure of her heat against his clothed erection; the lights in his sockets rolled back, the tip of his tongue hanging over his teeth as he jolted and twitched and groaned in his release, but the moment he recovered, he rolled her under him, still panting for breath, and thrust his hand between their bodies to rub against her folds, searching the wetted material for her swollen clit.

He stroked her to wailing, boneless completion, wishing so badly to feel that wetness around his still hard cock… but pulled back, her feet in his lap, once she had come down from her high, and rubbed the soles of her feet soothingly, smiling down at her blissed out expression crookedly.

“hot damn.”

It was all he could say, and fit the feeling of united completion perfectly.


Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: More biker!G/Frisk please.

It was a quiet evening, hardly disparate from any other. The sun set as it always did, families laughed about their dinner tables, and bars opened for the night, calling to those in need of comfort and companionship alike.

The man storming up a set of apartment steps paid no mind to the fair eve, however, a set of keys jingling in his hand and his expression set in vindicated fury. He mounted the stairs’ landing in a wide, ungainly leap, awkward in his emotional distraction, before stalking to the first door on the right, the brass number 17 shining in the waning light.

He only fumbled with the keys for a moment, clearly familiar with the placement of the one he needed on the fob, before shoving it into the knob and bursting through the door, squinting to adjust his eyes to the darkened interior and diatribe already prepared for what he was sure awaited him within.

The last thing he expected to see was his recently ex-girlfriend completely naked, undulating in the lap of a smoking, nearly as naked skeleton, a movie paused in the background and a box of pizza hanging half open on the coffee table.

“Frisk, we need to t- what the hell!?” he shouted, eyes wide and trying to understand the scene before him, while Frisk, face coloring in surprise and shock, scrambled off of the monster she had been riding unabashedly, grabbing up a nearby pillow to hold over her breasts.


The skeleton monster was less surprised, though he had certainly jumped at the loud intrusion that had removed him from enjoying what was proving to be a very good evening indeed, and sent a bland, annoyed look over his shoulder towards where the man stood in the doorway, scowling and pulling his cigarette from between his teeth, tapping the ash from the end.

G reached for the blanket they had been cuddled under only minutes before, throwing it over Frisk’s body as she tried to hide behind the small throw pillow. He was much more slow to redo his pants, slipping his cigarette back between his teeth and standing before doing so.

“Mind closin’ the door, pal? Little drafty outside, and the lady’s in no state to handle the cold,” he commented languidly, zipping the quickly fading golden magic of his cock back up and exhaling a billowing cloud of smoke (and flicking two fingers at the front door when the boy only continued to stare, slamming it with a gentle burst of magic), and Frisk, clinging to the blanket that had been thrown over her like a life raft, glared across the back of the couch she had just vacated at the still floundering man, anger and pent-up fury snapping in her fierce gaze.

“Kevin, what the fuck are you doing here? Why do you have another key, I took yours when I booted you out, remember?” she shouted, and the man, still staring open-mouthed at the skeleton monster as he buckled his belt and took another deep drag of his cigarette, shook his head and looked back to the woman curled in the corner of her beat-up loveseat, popping his mouth closed and assuming the most accusing expression he could manage, in the wake of his deflated gusto.

“You wouldn’t take my calls, what else was I supposed to do? We have a lot to talk about, you paying me back for my car to start with, quickly followed by a conversation about the corpse you’re fucking!” he yelled back, gesturing wildly with both hands, and G, pulling his cigarette from between his teeth, shot a cool, narrow look over at “Kevin”, giving him a slow, unimpressed up and down and setting the heel of his hand on a still exposed hip bone.

“Breaking and entering’s a crime, bub. So’s the haircut, but I think you’re in enough trouble already. So watch the names you’re throwing around, hmm?” he murmured warningly, flicking ash into a nearby ceramic tray, and Frisk, flushed bright red and awash with her fury, stood completely to gape at the man, at his sheer gall.

“Pay you back? Pay you back? Okay, sure! I’ll pay you for your precious car, and you can pay me back for everything I bought for you! All your games, the tv, the thousands I lent you for whatever the hell stupid shit you were getting that day, and… huh… the fucking car!” she listed sarcastically, baring her teeth and clutching the blanket around her body, and Kevin, gulping and paling, blustered for a moment before brightening and pointing accusingly at G, looking victorious.

“Well. Well. What about this thing then? You really replacing me after a week? Bed’s not even cold yet and you’re screwing everything that looks your way, even monsters? What a fucking wh-” he started to comment, expression rife with his diatribe, but before he could utter the slur that hung on his lips, his mouth was forcefully shut for him, golden magic shimmering in the air around his head.

G stood tall in his position, one hand raised, phalanges clawed and tight and crackling with magic, and sockets ablaze with obvious lividity. He bore a sneer of malice, hard and unforgiving, and where Kevin stood, he quailed, his knees shaking.

“I don’t think so.”

He sent a glance to Frisk, sending her a wink and sliding his cigarette back into his mouth.

“Sweetheart, much as I’d love to watch you destroy this needledick, it’d be my pleasure to handle it for you,” he purred, shooing her back to her seat, then turned his baleful sockets back to the man in the entryway of the apartment, his boots thumping against the worn carpet as he strode, slow and menacing, around the edge of the couch towards him.

“Now you. You don’t get a say in who she brings home, not after what you did. She kicked you to the curb, man. She’s made it more than obvious. And the fact that I’m a monster should only scare you, friend. I could tear your jaw off, right now, on a whim. I could turn you inside out with a snap of my fingers. I could rip out your guts and make you dance like a puppet,” he threatened, flexing his fingers and tightening the magic around the man’s head in emphasis; Kevin whimpered at the pressure and the monster’s approach both, his eyes filling with tears when he stopped three feet from him, leaning over him and meeting his gaze with a cruel smile.

“I could visit you with your worst nightmares and not bat an eye. Don’t have any, see?” he joked baldly, raising a finger and tapping his empty, scarred socket, then stood back to his full height, but not before blowing a stream of smoke straight into the trapped man’s face.

“So yeah, she’s moving on. She’s over you and the way you’ve treated her, and if I have anything to say about it, she won’t think about you for a second for the rest of her life. So why don’t you walk your happy ass out that door, leave your key, and never darken her doorstep again?” he suggested, then dropped all pretense of a smile, his magic cranking up a notch and draping the entire room in blackness.

Odd shadows danced in the man’s periphery, distorted laughter and skeletal dragon creatures wending through the roiling darkness, and in the center of it all stood the devil himself, merciless and bent on justified vengeance. He curled a hand into the collar of Kevin’s shirt, dragging him forward and off the ground an inch.

“Because if I ever hear that you’ve bothered her again, you won’t get another chance. I’ll make sure you’re never seen again. We clear?” he prompted, devoid of even the remotest sign of doubt and releasing his hold on the man’s mouth so he could speak, and Kevin, pants darkening with urine, looked into the monster’s empty sockets and nodded several times.

“Y-yes,” he whispered, his life flashing before his eyes as he nearly lost himself to the darkness in the monster’s gaze, and G, appeased for the moment, let the man’s collar go and took a step back, smirking and waving a hand at the front door, which promptly popped open.

“Good. Now get,” he commanded, his magic slipping the key still in the knob out and breaking it in half before tossing the rest into Kevin’s hands, and the man couldn't escape quickly enough, slipping over his own feet before sprinting out the door and slamming it behind himself.

G watched him go, shaking his head and chuckling to himself (he hadn’t scared the shit out of someone like that in forever… damn did he miss it), before turning and meeting Frisk’s gaze.

She was staring at him with wide, awed eyes, and his smile fell away, one hand raising to the back of his skull.

“…too much?” he wondered, dropping his sockets to the toes of his boots, but Frisk snorted, smirking a little and immediately dropping the blanket from around her shoulders, letting it pool around her bare legs.

“God no. I’ve never been more turned on in my life,” she muttered huskily, beckoning to the monster with a crooked forefinger, and G, helpless to the surge of lust that crackled down his spine and coalesced once more behind his zipper, dragged his gaze over her bared body with relish, abandoning his post beside the door without question.

“Well damn. Remind me to make your asshole exes piss themselves more often, heh.”


Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: If #cabincanoodling is a thing, what about first time wall sex? And/or the morning after their first night, Frisk wakes up to the smell of breakfast and the sight of sans in an...apron(?) XD

It would have been amusing, Sans’ pampering of her, if it weren’t so out of place.

Frisk sat at the little round kitchen table in the cabin’s dining room, wrapped in a blanket and nursing a cup of cappuccino, eyes on her skeletal lover’s back as he stood before the stove, flipping pancakes comically high. She honestly hadn’t put it past him to only stock the cabin with breakfast cereal and microwaveable hot dogs.

And yet here he was making pancakes and bacon, fixing her coffee and cinnamon rolls (Pillsbury, but it was still an effort on his part)… he’d even carried her in here, fretting over the twinges of pain in her hips and abdomen, even though they weren’t that bad.

“maybe five times was too many, heh.”

She supposed it could have been, but that hadn’t been her concern the night before. She’d been far more interested in feeling him against her, his bones burning hot against her flesh, the sound of her name on his tongue, the feeling of him joining with her…

Her face erupted into a brilliant crimson flush, her hands shaking so much that she nearly spilled her coffee. Sans glanced over his shoulder at her sound of panicked distress, and noted the blush on her cheeks with a knowing tilt to his smile.

“something on your mind, babe?” he murmured, the edge of his grin visible as he watched her steady her mug with tremulous fingers, and she pouted at him through her shortened breath and her bluster, tracing a fingertip along her cup’s handle and biting at her lower lip.

“Just… um. Thinking about last night…”

He chuckled quietly, turning back to watch the frying pan. The ties of the apron he had donned with a flourish (”got a kiss for the cook, babe?”) swayed as he sidestepped to tip another set of pancakes onto a plate.

“yeah? still hurting? i can run you a bath after breakfast, the tub has jets and everything. the food should help too, snuck a little magic in there for ya.”

Frisk only reddened further, hiding her scarlet cheeks behind the rim of her mug. The worst of the hurt had only ever been mere twinges; he had been very careful with her, when not just preparing her, but making love to her as well, and she suspected the pain was likely only slight chafing from simply being insatiable for each other.

And the need was rising again, to be honest.

Frisk shifted in her seat, looking down into her swirling coffee and rubbing her thighs together. Would he even consider having her again, when he was clearly so concerned that he had hurt her? Because she definitely wanted more. Her heart was pounding in her chest just at the thought… her abdomen clenched, sending shivers and warmth rushing through her blood just at the vain hope.

The drag of fingers along the back of her neck startled her from her amorous thoughts, shooting her gaze up to meet the amused, softly lit sockets of her lover, and Sans, sliding the loaded plate he held onto the table in front of his mate to be, bent to press a quick kiss to her parted lips, stroking her heated cheek and humming when she leaned into him, when her arms wound around his neck to pull him closer.

“heh… got a little lonely, didja? don’t worry, i won’t leave your side again today, not if i can help it,” he muttered, nuzzling his nasal ridge against her nose, and scooted the chair across from hers closer with a slippered foot, slumping into it with a sigh, a clack of bone to wood, and a hand laid on her knee, stroking her bare thigh soothingly as his other hand pulled the morning newspaper in front of him, intent on the crossword within.

His wandering hand only served to distract Frisk more, the rasp of his palm over her skin traveling right between her thighs. She sucked in a quiet breath at the surge of hormones, at the slick of wetness that dampened her folds and how her nipples peaked, and ducked her head to poke at her pancakes (they smelled divine… she wished she had the mind to pay them the attention they deserved), but Sans wasn’t blind to her reaction, and glanced up at her over the top of the paper, looking over her flush, the line of her teeth biting at her lower lip and how she shifted in her chair.

His easy, restful smile perked at one corner, and he set the newspaper back on the table top, running his phalanges deliberately, intentionally, further up her thigh. All she wore was the t-shirt he had on the day before, bunched just above her panties, so there was no resistance, and Frisk let out a quickly silenced moan at the slide of his bone against her flesh, peeking up at him from under her eyelashes.

He grinned back, tilting his skull and setting it on his free palm.

“not thinking about the pain, were you? you had something else on your mind. something a little more… engaging.”

Frisk inhaled sharply when the tips of his fingers dipped under the hem of her shirt, when he rubbed at her sodden folds with two phalanges, her exhalation carrying with it a tremulous whimper, and Sans’ smile only sharpened more, the gently circling of his fingertips slowing to a mere twitch.

“yeah, thought as much. you were so eager last night, i kinda figured you’d be wanting more. but we should wait til after you eat, so any damage i did-” he began, his tone firming and his fingers pulling back, but Frisk immediately protested, grasping for his wrist and raising her chin.

“You… you didn’t hurt me, Sans, you were so careful. I just got a little sore, and not even bad. So we could… if you wanted… cuz I want…”

His hand stilled, allowing her to drag him closer; his expression darkened, want and hunger in the dilated lights in his sockets.

“say it, and its yours.”

Frisk trembled, meeting his gaze and flushing with pure desire; she pushed his hand to the apex of her thighs again, breathing heavily through her parted lips and rolling her hips forward, pressing his fingers deep into her folds.

“I want you, baby… please… make love to me…”

She was in his arms the next moment, the back of his chair hitting the floor and hers scooted back with what she knew was magic; he stole her lips in consuming kiss, walking her backwards until her back met the wall beside the lace-curtained window. He was clearly just as eager as she was, lifting one of her legs over a hipbone and arching into the warm softness of her body, and she arched back, tangling her tongue with his newly summoned one and clinging to the straps of the apron he had donned.

His hands clutched at her posterior, pulling her into his shallow thrusts. Her arms wrapped around his neck, crushing his bony lips to hers. No words were spoken, naught but gasps and grunts and muffled laughter (she giggled when he hoisted her into his arms completely and then attempted to pull her panties to the side, and he chuckled at himself as well, taking a moment to set her down and remove her underwear first before continuing), but when he slid into her, his shorts around his ankles and his tongue tracing a peaked nipple, she chanted his name like a mantra, her nails scraping along his skull and clenching in the material of his shirt.

She begged for more when he spilled his magic inside her, thrusting herself further onto his cock, forcefully stilled in his climax, and he didn’t disappoint, though he had to move her to the table (“not as strong as i look, heh; i’m all skin and bones. or just bones.”), stoking their mutual passion to a second end with equal fervor.

He would have refused her third request if she hadn’t looked so good naked.

Their breakfast was more than cold by the time they were done with each other (saying nothing of the spatters of blue magic they’d have to mop off the floor later), but that’s what they had the microwave for, wasn’t it?