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Sweetheart, Sugartits, I just hit the Jackpot

Chapter Text

You. You fell.

Okay. Maybe you didn’t fall. Maybe you jumped. For complicated reasons that don’t really matter anymore. Because now you’re in the Underground. Hurt. But alive. The flower warned you. You didn’t listen. The goat monster warned you. You didn’t listen. You don’t know how to do anything except keep going forward. And you think that’s okay.

Remaining with Toriel wasn’t appealing in the slightest anyway. An extremely overbearing monster with a Jocasta complex who demanded you stay by her side at all times. Unbelievable. You knew the creatures trapped down here were dangerous but not that they were all fucking crazy. Crazy in ways that were interesting, but awkward. And unpleasant. You made it past her rather easily. She wanted to kill you. But you were too determined to let one nutcase stand in your way. In the end, she begged for death. You almost killed her, but you didn’t. You wish you felt guilty about it, but you don’t.

The flower impedes you again, imploring you to stay in the Ruins. You smile at him. This creature is absolutely right. You tell him you know you’re walking into your grave. But you have to keep going. He says he’ll try to protect you. You thank him. Carry yourself to the massive stone door. Palms press flat against the surface. Push.

Stepping out of the Ruins, a fresh, wintry breeze instills new life into you. Boots crunch in the fluffy snow. The door slams shut dramatically behind you. No going back now.

It’s a pleasant forest. With an ordinary path trailing off into the horizon. Scan for monsters. No one in sight. Start walking. Hands tucked in the pockets of your hoodie. It’s cold. Everything is fine for a while.

But then. A branch, 15 feet behind you, snaps in two. Okay. Something is following you. Adrenaline and norepinephrine flood your system. Just keep moving forward. There isn’t anything else you can do. In your hyper-alert state, you hear every brush of wind against the pine trees, every waft of snow blowing by, and every. footstep. that. follows. a fraction of a second after your own.

Ahead is a bridge, with huge, lumbering tree trunks acting as a barrier across it. You can already tell you won’t be able to make it through that. Could maybe climb over it with a running jump. Immediately you bolt, sprinting as fast as you possibly can, making a B line for the overpass. You leap, your panic lending enough strength for you to reach the top of one of the shorter tree trunks. Unfortunately, the top is covered with ice and snow, and your fingers slip uselessly, gravity pulling you back to Earth as you screech. Land with a THUNK directly on your back, knocking the wind out of you.

Footsteps, footsteps. Even though your world is spinning and your are lungs choking for oxygen, you sit up. Peering over your shoulder, you come face to face with what you can only presume is a monster, towering over you.

“h u m a n,” they say, voice low and rumbling directly in your ear. Vision quickly returning to normal, frantic static in your ears fading, you take in the image of a rather stocky skeleton. At least, you assume it’s a skeleton, based on the exposed legs. Short in stature, hands in their pockets, fur-lined hood pulled up to conceal their face. “d o n ‘ t y a k n o w h o w t a g r e e t a n e w p a l?” Slowly, a left hand appears from their jacket pocket to reach out to you, fingers resembling phalanges of a human skeleton. “t u r n a r o u n d a n ’ s h a k e m y h a n d.”

Of course you don’t reach out to it. You just stare, frozen stiff for a few seconds before an unseen force takes control of your arm, thrusting your entire body around, facing them, hand being pulled into theirs. Phalanges tighten around your hand, yanking you up to your feet. Two red pinpricks of light ignite inside the hood, black centers pooling in the scarlet, dilating like pupils.

You should pull your hand away and fucking run, but you can’t move. You just gape at the creature as they shake their head a bit, hood falling back onto their shoulders. Oh no. He’s hot. He’s literally a skeleton, hollow eyes and nose, pronounced cheekbones, and a cartoony grin, complete with jagged teeth. A few beads of sweat on his brow. Gaze… hard to read.

Swallow hard and squeak out one word at him, “hi!”

He chuckles loudly, the noise echoing across the wall of trees as he releases your hand, returning his to his pocket. “hey. that wuzza real cute maneuver ya just did, sweetheart.” His voice is so dark and rich, it travels through your entire body. You might even say it rattles your bones. Fuck, why are you thinking about jokes right now, run, you idiot!

But you don’t run. You smile stupidly and finally realize you’re still holding your hand out. Bring it to rest at your side. Run run run, (your name)! Or at least say something.

“yer a human, right?” he says as he leans towards you, apparently wanting to get a better look, eyes unabashedly examining you. He was already pretty close, now he’s just a half a foot away. Smells like… mustard. “thaz adorable.”

Jaw unhinges, making an audible creak, mouth opening, and out of no where there’s a red, translucent tongue running across his lower teeth, then slithering back inside. What the fuck. That shouldn’t have turned you on. “i’m sans,” he booms, “sans the skeleton.”

He pauses and you realize he’s expecting a response. Of course he is, get your shit together, be normal. Maybe you got lucky and ran into a merciful monster. “I’m (your name),” you respond.

“y’know…” he starts, reaching up to brush a finger under his nose, “im actually sapposed ta be on watch fer humans right now. but…” his hand lingers near his face as his smirk turns… predatory. “i could be persuaded ta not kill ya-“ you gulp at that. “—if ya give me somethin’ i want.”

Think on that for a moment and come up with what he’s getting at rather quickly. The heavy gazing, the tongue, the fact that you are a human in the Underground with nothing to offer other than your body and your soul. He wants to fuck. Goddamn, is this a hentai or something? This can’t be real life.

But there he is, Sans the motherfucking skeleton, who you met literally three minutes ago, dropping some pretty heavy hints right in front of you. How does that even work if he’s a skeleton? Magic? Probably.

A growl bellows in his chest, sending tingles up your spine. “i ain’t a patient guy, pumpkin. bettah' make it quick.” The tone is completely different, still heavy, but much more intense. Can tell there’s a lot of power and tension behind those words. “ya could be dead inna heartbeat,” he promises.

You visibly shiver and feel your face flush. God, you wish you didn’t have a fear kink and that you weren’t attracted to this monster. Sans continues, “bash yer head into a tree. crush yer skull with two fuckin' fingers. would be so easy.” Bite your lip to hold back a whimper, keeping your eyes on his shoes; gross, red sneakers with mustard-colored socks.

He must have noticed that. His hand reaches forward and roughly grabs your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. Pupils widen, red lights starting to flicker. “holy fuck,” he sounds genuinely flabbergasted, “yer actually gettin’ off on this, aren’t ya?”

Press your lips together, clenching your fists at your sides, trying not to make an expression that totally gives you away. “Maybe. Just a little bit.”

Sans’ grin stretches to an impossible width, exposing every inch of his dagger-like teeth, eyes brightening so much they're almost sparkling. “hell yea, i just hit tha jackpot.”

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How would a monster know about jackpots? Do they have gambling down here? Probably, actually, gambling has been around forever. Your train of thought is thankfully interrupted when Sans’ hands are suddenly upon you. Keen phalanges slip up your hoodie and fan out across your bare stomach, smooshing the tissue.

“fuuuck, sweetheart” he breathes, air hot against your face, “so damn soft n’ helpless. yer on a roll here,” he purrs as he fondles the folds of your abdomen, “i could eat ya right up, rip ya ta bloody shreds…” You moan out immodestly as his hands run down to roughly grab your ass. Reach up to curl your arms around his neck. He’s so warm.

Hands travel even further, sliding down to the backs of your thighs, fingers digging in as he lifts you up by them. Suddenly, the bark of the trees on the bridge is against your back, your legs spread and you’re straddling his waist as he supports you with ease. The wood of the bridge creaks under his weight. How did he move so fast? His right eye has gone empty, left blazing with a red inferno of magic, crackling and completely focused on you. You’re so turned on, everything is happening so fast. You want more. His pelvis thrusts into your core, solid points of his pelvic bone digging into your asscheeks, and you can feel the evidence of Sans’ arousal throbbing against you. Through both sets of clothing. Holy shit.

“so fuckin’ eager,” he chuckles, bucking into you again, hard enough to bunch the fabric of your underwear between your folds. “today must be my lucky day. not only do i find a pretty lil’ human, yer also a fuckin’ freak.” You whimper at that word, shame and desire mixing into an exhilarating emotional slurry. “i wonder what else yer into, huh? let’s find out…”

You catch the flash of an arm swinging towards you and the next thing you know something is colliding with your cheek, forcing your head to slam back against the tree trunk. Dizzy, eyes rolling around in your head, brain sending surges of stinging pain and panic through you. Turn to look at him, his boney palm in the same position it was in when it struck you.

Haha, jokes on him, impact play, particularly slapping, is one of your favorite things. Getting slapped in the face is pretty intimate, but. You like it. On your ass would be better, though. Cheek probably red and beginning to swell, you beam at him, grinding your hips down, nails digging into the cracks of his skull. “Thank you, sir,” you coo, voice slightly hoarse, “may I have another?” Extend your pink tongue, rolling it across the metacarpals of his hand. He tastes salty. Sweaty.

Sans shows a stupefied face for a fraction of a second, then smirks manically, arm reeling back, punching you this time, on the same cheek. The pain is exponentially worse than before. You yelp and do your best not to move your head during the impact, staying put to accept the strike, entire body quivering.

“aahn…” the skeleton groans quietly, more to himself than anything. Looks aroused and a little bewildered, brow bones furrowing. Cheekbones alight with red magic, a large amount of perspiration trickling down his skull and soaking into his white t-shirt. “pretty… impressive, babycakes. but ya better address me as master if ya dun’ wanna get in trouble.” Waggles a finger at you, then leans against the wood behind you, thrusting himself between your legs again.

Pride swells in your chest as you drink up his revealing reaction. You feel confident enough to consider yourself on the same level as him, at least enough to push a button or two, despite the reality of the lopsided power dynamic. Fingers sneak into the collar of his shirt, curling around his clavicle. “Heehee, can I call you Daddy instead?” Lick your lips, and you notice the taste of blood, fuck, maybe he knocked a tooth loose. You hope your cheek was just pinched.

He stares at you. Then, out of nowhere, all you can see is darkness, static rings in your ears, and you can’t breathe. It lasts for a few seconds, you regain the ability to blink, and your reality comes flooding back. You’re completely naked, arms circled back around the trunk of the tree, being held in place by some unknown force. Probably magic. The flakey bark of the tree scratches and cuts up your back and arms. Sans is still standing between your legs, thighs resting on his iliac crests, something warm and tingling between your legs, snuggling up to your bare, damp labia.

Both of his hands are clasping around your breasts, arms hooked under your knees. His grip is so intense you don’t notice the skin puncture until the familiar rusty smell hits your face. A hearty chuckle resounds in his throat, “hey, i gotta joke.” Move your eyes from the blood running down your chest to his face and he looks absolutely enamored. “whadda toys and tits have in common?” He waits maybe a heartbeat or two before howling out the answer, “both were made fer kids but dads wind up playin’ with em!” The laugh he bellows out is loud enough to hurt your ears. You offer a mock giggle, turning it into a scream as he slaps a breast hard enough to splash blood in your face.

“ya look good in red, angelface,” he hums as he cups your cheek, shoving a bloodied thumb into your mouth. You gladly accept it, reveling in the flavor, sucking and lapping at as much of his hand as your tongue can reach.

Ass pulled towards him, the red tip dips into your wetness, coating your folds, forcing a loud, real moan out of you. He snickers lowly at your sounds, his body reverberating as he presses it flush against you. His hand moves from your face to your hip, the other grasping the base of his dick to aim at your opening. “ya feel that? feel how fuckin’ wet ya are?” he grumbles into the crook of your neck, mouth opening, scrapping his long teeth across the warm skin of your collar bone. “and i’ve barely done a damn thing. a’ight, get ready fer me ta fuck yer brains out.”

You can feel each bone of his ribcage digging into yours, breasts squished against his sternum, staining his already wet t-shirt with red. He envelops you in his massive coat, the temperature change in itself making you whine. He pushes forward, sliding in easily, filling you maybe 3 inches. Enjoyable, manageable, oh god, it’s getting wider, stretching you more and more as he enters. Oh GOD, it’s so much, he’s so thick, it burns! Sans hilts, thinner at the base, giving you the sensation of being knotted.

“fuck yeeaaaaa, cupcake, whadda nice n’ tight lil’ cunt ya have,” he growls into your shoulder, “been a while, huh?” You don’t respond, fingernails digging into the bark of the tree, brain just trying to wrap around the entire situation. You’re in the Underground and a monster you just met is balls deep in you. He’s so thick and hot, it burns so fucking good. He doesn’t give you any time to adjust, pulls out all the way, plunging back in, jabbing your cervix. Moans burst unbridledly out of your mouth, you don’t have the capacity to hold any semblance of power or reservation anymore.

The thrusting is fast and short, keeping most of his length inside you, nudging your core over and over and over again. Skelehands reach between your legs, pinching the outer labia, yanking them apart, making you whimper. “here’s another one, whadda ya call tha useless flesh surroundin’ a pussy?” He punctuates his question by pulling up on the folds, stretching them, then releasing, “tha human!”

When you don’t respond other than moaning to his dick pounding inside you, he leans away and slaps you across the face, other cheek this time. “HEY,” he barks, obviously vexed, “dun’ be fuckin’ rude, that wuzza good joke, least ya can do is acknowledge it.”

You perk up, eyes bright, and say, “s-sorry Sans! Good one!!” Let out a few disjointed laughs, trying to still your quivering legs.

The assault on your entrance never eases up, the speed inhuman, shoving into you with enough force to launch you flush against the tree. It’s so fast and constant and his dick is so big, you can feel your climax about to be ripped from you. When you open your mouth to tell him, a blood-curdling scream comes out instead as razors delve into the muscle between your neck and shoulder, Sans’ jaw clenches until the tips of his incisors meet inside you. He opens his mouth and runs the red tongue across your wound as you mewl in agony. You’re still so close.

“yer fuckin’ mine now, (your name),” he groans out, tongue scooping blood and tissue from your gaping injury. “ya can cum when ya promise yerself ta me.” His sweat mixes with yours, wet skull nuzzling against your bruised cheek, hands roaming all over, hips continuing their frantic pace. You’re so close, fuck fuck, what are you going to do. His smoldering voice doesn’t give you time to think, “gimme yer body an' soul or bleed ta death in the fuckin’ snow.”

“Yes!! Okay, whatever, I’m yours, pleaseplease, let me cum! DADDYletmecum!!”

A thumb finds you clit and rubs it in hard circles, Sans gazing at you with a delighted expression, “there we go, cum fer me, lil’ human.”

You do, buckling into him, clenching around his member, drawing him to your cervix as liquid erupts free, squirting all over his pelvis and shorts, pooling with the blood on the bridge beneath you. The pulsations of your muscles are so strong, they force him out of you. He grits his teeth and grips the trunk of the tree so hard bark splinters, monster seed unloading onto your stomach as he howls. It’s scorching, searing your sensitive skin, tingling and almost twinkling in the light of his magic.

Coming down, aftershocks beginning to fade, reality sets in. You’re in immense pain. Shoulder throbs, mouth and chest bleeding, vagina sore. Still held against the tree, Sans panting between your legs. Of course you don’t plan on holding your promise. Sans will provide healing items and will protect you from the rest of the Underground until the opportunity to continue forward shows itself.

The skeleton heaves out a heavy sigh and cups both hands around your face. He leans in and ‘kisses’ you, sweaty teeth brushing softly against your mouth. “tha muthafuckin’ jackpot,” he mumbles tenderly into you, “sugartits, yer my ticket outta this hellhole.”

Chapter Text

The magic suspending you to the tree dissipates with a wave of Sans’ hand. Still shaky and in shock, you ineptly fall on your ass, bark scrapping the skin of your back, casting the fresh scent of blood in the air, and landing on a pile of your bloodied clothes. At least it looks like he had the decency not to rip them to shreds.

Sans just observes and mocks you, “heh heh, fallin’ fer me already?” Digs in the pocket of his shorts and pulls out a fucking hotdog. He shoves it in you face. There’s lint on it. “ya want mustard?”

You grab the food and scarf it down immediately, not bothering to chew, only caring about the pulsing torment leaving your battered body. Sans pulls out a mustard bottle and squirts some directly into his mouth as he continues to watch you. A magical aura surrounds you for a moment, the energy from the food coursing through you, injuries instantly healed. Ugh, that’s better. Your genitals aren’t even sore anymore. Stick your finger in your mouth, damn, he did knock a tooth loose, one of your back molars. That didn’t heal. Fucking great. Hopefully it won’t fall out. Maybe they have dentists in the Underground? Oh god, that’s a horrible idea, scratch that.

“hey,” Sans says as he kicks his foot against your bare thigh, tucking the condiment bottle back in his pocket, “we dun’ have time to sit around, gotta get ya dressed an’ hidden before my bro comes this way.”

Brother? Quickly slip on your socks, pants, boots, then rise. Legs a little unsteady, you’ll be fine. Top and hoodie on. Your clothes are wrinkled and covered with blood and cum, but you’ll have to deal. The skeleton pulls your hood up over your face, then scoops you up in his arms. One set of footprints, makes sense. He walks right through the barrier of trees on the bridge, what the fuck?? Then begins to trot down the path.

“How did you do that?” you ask, grasping his shoulders to lean up and look behind him at the unchanged wall on the bridge.

He half throws you in the air, catching you, amused with your frantic scrambling. “how the hell ya think i do anythin’?” Magic, of course. Boring answer.

Squirm in his arms a bit, bones digging into you, thank god for his jacket or it’d be like lying on a shitty park bench. He gets annoyed, tucking both arms under you and hugging you to his still wet t-shirt. He doesn’t smell very good. Like old sweat and mustard. And your cum. The more you take in his image, the more you see that he’s actually pretty gross. Tired circles under his sockets, crooked teeth, sweat ceaselessly dribbling down his skull. His jacket looks old and unkempt. Why does that make you like him more? Fuck, stop developing feelings for this monster. You don’t know anything about him.

He notices the continuous attention you’re giving and raises a ‘brow’ at you, “whater ya lookin’ at?”

You smile at him, thinking of something that might get under his skin. Heh, loaded phrase, he’s a skeleton. “You should slap and bite my ass next time, I can take quite the beating down there” you offer.

Red light casts across his cheekbones and he averts his eyes, quickening his pace. “pumpkin, ya keep talkin’ like that and i might be the one fallin’.”

Does. Does he mean falling in love? If that was a joke, it wasn’t a very good one. Change the subject, asking, “what’s your brother like?”

Sans stops walking just to sag his shoulders and sigh heavily, “ee’s a fuckin’ asshole. even more so than me.” His voices makes it sound like he doesn’t want to talk about this topic. Continues walking. “he’d kill ya on sight, tha patriotic fuck. thaz’ why i gotta hide ya till my shift is over. dun’ wanna raise suspicions leavin’ work early.”

Hmm. Sounds like by keeping you alive Sans is going against whatever authority rules the Underground. And you’re his ‘ticket out of this hellhole?’ You guess he needs a human to cross the barrier. He might be lying to lure you into some kind of trap… Hopefully not. Decide that you’ll probably stay with Sans for the entirety of your journey down here. At least you know he won’t kill you and he will be getting you where you need to go. Plus, he’s pretty cute and a good lay.

Mind starts to wander, oh, the things that tongue of his can probably do. The places it could reach. Maybe he could even conjure two dicks to double penetrate you? Fuck. Blush deeply, biting your lip and pressing your thighs together. The monster holding you chuckles, a finger slipping between your legs purposefully. “already? damn, human,” he sneers, rubbing the sharp tip of a phalange into your crotch and you whine happily. “as much as i’d like ta’ use that cute lil’ hole again, yer gonna haveta wait.”

There’s a small clearing in the mass of trees, a wooden counter-thing, large piles of snow, and lamp? Uh, okay.

“shit,” Sans hisses, and the same darkness that you experienced earlier clouds your reality. Blink blink, you have control again. You appear to be under a wood counter, and based on the color, it’s the same one you were just looking at. Hear the sound of a jacket zipping up and Sans clearing his throat a few meters away. Guess that means someone is coming, better keep quiet.

The crunching of large boots in snow gradually gets louder. The jingling of metal accompanies it. Can see about a millimeter of the outside between the cracks in the wood, the black ball of Sans’ jacket swaying back and forth.

“wuzzap, bro?” Sans calls out, his anxiety showing in his words.

“DON’T GIVE ME THAT SHIT,” an ear-splitting voice roars, coated in disdain. It’s so high-pitched and ostentatious, you really don’t want to listen to it. “WHAT. ARE YOU DOING?” The thundering footsteps of Sans’ brother stomp closer to you and you see the flash of red through the small gap. Oh god, please, don’t let him find you.

“just, y’know. gettin' a skeleton of work done.” Can hear a heavy SMACK, Sans reeling back with a yelp of pain.


You can see the two figures getting close to each other, Sans sniveling quietly, “wh-what would i be hidin’ from you, papyrus? dun’ be so paranoid.” Another SMACK. Your heart’s pounding, what the fuck is going on.


Sans’ breathing is starting to quicken, his voice quivering as he speaks, “b-bro, i-i ‘m really not he-hiding anythin’…”


You aren’t sure what’s happening now. They’re both standing next to each other, but you can hear the rustle of fabric and Sans.. whimpering? What. the fuck. is happening. He squeals loudly, making noises nowhere near what he made when he fucked you. What. THE FUCK. You’re terrified and oddly titillated, humiliating yourself by trying to imagine what could be going on.

A few minutes go by of the same noises, slowly climbing in intensity, scattered thumps of what you assume is Sans being struck, before he whispers something, “pap… not here… please? later?” There’s a low growl, the same stomp of boots in the snow, the jingle of metal, that slowly fades away until it’s gone. You still don’t dare to move an inch.

After a good five minutes of hearing Sans’ breath slowly still, he’s almost running to the stall your hidden under, pulling out the stool and sitting on it. Thumb scoops under the waistband of his shorts, pulling down until a thick, red cock bounces out.

“take care of this,” Sans orders, smoldering eye casting crimson light on you, expression stern. Well, now you know the implications of his meeting with his brother. Turn on your butt to face him, hands shaking as you rest them on his femurs. You can actually see what his dick looks like now. Surprisingly, it’s shaped like a chubby, uncircumcised, human penis. He snarls, apparently impatient with you, as he’s grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking you into his crotch. “fuckin’ get ta work, (your name).”

Open your mouth to give him an experimental lick. No flavor, but it’s REALLY warm. Sans pinches your face in his other hand, forcing your jaw to open before shoving his entire length inside you. Immediately you gag, while still doing your best to keep your teeth from brushing him, but he’s so thick, he fills your entire mouth. He doesn’t seem to mind the teeth. Whine loudly around his cock as he just holds you there, tickling the back of your throat while you gag over and over, eyes watering heavily.

The hand holding your jaw open suddenly slaps you across the face and you accidentally bite him. Instead of getting angry like you anticipate, he squeals in the same way he did when his brother was here. “huh-human…” Tilt your head up to make eye contact and he… looks like… he’s about to cry? He rests his head on the counter and sniffles quietly as both hands tangle in your hair, pulling you off his dick, then back down onto it. You get the picture, moving your head with his hand, occasionally keeping him inside you, letting him tug roughly at your hair.

This situation is so fucked up, you have no idea what he’s feeling or how to feel yourself. You would berate yourself for being turned on if the way he’s face fucking you right now wasn’t so hot. Mumble into his shaft and plead at him with your eyes until he lets you go. You cough and suck in a few heavy breaths, brain needing more oxygen than you were getting.

As you’re panting, you feel his hand brush your hair out of your face. “this isn’t enough,” he sighs, “on yer hands and knees. back that ass up, sweetheart.” Sans pats his lap with a loud thunk of bones colliding, legs spreading further.

Turn around, bunching the sleeves of your hoodie around your hands to protect yourself from the frozen ground as you hunch under the counter on your hands and knees. Look over your shoulder as you inch back into him, stopping when the seat of you pants meets the edge of the stool. Can only see his lap and the slow rise and fall of his ribcage from your position under the sentry station. You feel ashamed that you want him to fuck you, considering what just happened, but you can’t lie to yourself. Moan softly when he cups the curvature of your ass.

Unexpectedly, he socks you with his fist and it hurts so much all you can do is tense and hold your breath. “i dun’ wanna hear a fuckin’ word. not one sound, babydoll.” Fingers pull your top up enough to access the button of your pants, hurriedly unfastening them and yanking them down, along with your underwear, enough to expose your entrance. You’re grateful most of your legs will be shielded from the frigid weather.

Sharp phalanges stroke your crease once before a few slip inside, how many, you can’t tell. You’re surprisingly damp, his fingers beginning to fuck you with relative ease. “nice,” he compliments, inserting another finger, other hand roughly jacking himself off. You want to whimper, feeling so delightfully filled, the sight of his cock bulging between his digits is enough to make you want to beg for more. But you don’t. Say nothing, tongue clinging to the roof of your mouth.

Sans scoots towards you, removing his fingers from your front and pushing them into your back hole without warning. You choke on the yelp you want to release, nails scratching at the dirt beneath you. “heh heh, anal’s a lot like broccoli, dun’ ya think?” he chuckles, digging into your ass as his cock strokes across your folds. “if yer forced to have it as a kid, ya won’t enjoy it as an adult,” he laughs out half of the punchline as he uses his fingers inside you to pull you back onto his length.

Even though you had the same cock inside you maybe 30 minutes ago, the thickness of it still throws you off. God, you want to cry out, he’s so big, you’re so overstimulated, the obstruction in your front tightening your ass around his fingers. Quicker than your body was ready to accept, he’s filled you. So hot, so tight, fuck.

“mmmph,” he grumbles, “i bet ya wish ya could talk, huh?” Don’t respond. “yer such a good lil’ human. obedient as fuck. ya’ve accepted errythin’ i’ve given ya, all with yer cunt nice n’ wet. i’m impressed.” A whimper escapes your mouth in response to his earnest voice. The fingers in your back spread, pointed tips stabbing your sensitive tissue, and you’re unsure if he punctured you. “ah ah,” he scolds, “what’d i say, not a fuckin’ sound.” Stabs into you again, pushing the flesh of your rectum into your G-spot. “ya gun’ be a good lil’ slut this time?” You silently nod, unsure if he can see you or not, you’ve got your head hung between your shoulders. “good. now bounce on daddy’s dick.”

You comply, leaning back, doing your best to fuck yourself against him. Don’t have much power or leverage in this position, the thrusting is shallow and slow, but hard. His cock still stretches you out nicely, almost to the point that isn’t nice. Sans groans blissfully behind you, fingers leaving your ass to grasp one of your jiggling cheeks. Ugh, gross, you hope his fingers didn’t get dirty. “now that’s a sight that’d cheer any monster up. lookit ya, workin’ so hard fer me, heh heh.”

Continue like that for a few minutes, clenching your thighs together, increasing the intensity of your muscles tightening around his shaft. Speechlessly receive the intermittent slap across the ass. Starting to perspire. Tension building in you slowly. “a’ight, time ta get serious.” Skelehands circle your hips, pushing hard enough to grip around your hipbones. He starts bucking into you, same brutal speed as when you were up against the tree. You stop moving and just quiver in place as he pounds into you, chest crowding with the cries you’re aching to release.

It doesn’t take long before you can feel Sans’ dick throbbing and swelling inside, he must be getting close. Oh god, is he going to cum inside? Remembering the incredible heat of his jizz on your stomach, you suddenly feel apprehensive. Like he could read you mind, Sans speaks up, “ya ready to take yer reward, honeypie? want me ta fill ya till yer overflowing?” It takes every bit of willpower not to cry out to him. “ahhhn, fuck, impregnate yer fuckin’ belly with my cum?” WHAT!? Can monsters actually get humans knocked up?! He doesn’t give you time to panic, “well, here ya fuckin’ go, (your name)!

Can’t control the scream that escapes you when he releases, his cock pulsing and burning you up, liquid bursting forth, filling every cavity you have. It scalds your sensitive insides, spilling out the sides of his still buried length, there’s simply no room for it inside you. Sans groans loudly and gives you a few more pumps, forcing cum to leak down your thighs, phalanges digging into your skin enough to draw blood.

He pants heavily, releasing your hips to lovingly stroke your bruising asscheeks. You shiver defenselessly, still so horny, you didn’t reach your climax. In a flash of red light and static, you’re empty, his dick and semen disappearing. That’s convenient. No mess to clean up.

You don’t move, unsure what he plans to do with you next. Hopefully he’ll get you off. He pulls out a cigarette from his jacket pocket. You can’t see him from your position, but you hear a spark of magic and smell the familiar whiff of tobacco. He leans under the counter, cigarette between his sharp teeth, and yanks up your underwear and pants haphazardly. “ya didn’t cum right? good. dun’ touch yerself. i’ll take care of ya later,” he smirks wickedly, blowing smoke in your face, “maybe.”

Cough and wave your hand in front of you to disperse the smoke. Reach back to fix the clothing around your genitals, fuck, you’re so swollen, you want to finish so badly. When he doesn’t do anything other than slouch and continue enjoying his cigarette, you turn over and sit on your butt, leaning against the corner of the stall.

Nervously, you ask the question that’s biting at you, “… I won’t actually get pregnant, right?”

Sans snorts and you can see his elbows raise in a shrug, “hell if i know. not much information on humans fucking monsters.”

He doesn’t even know?! Oh my god!!!

“probably not,” he assures you.

Chapter Text


You start to panic. What if his magic semen has already been absorbed by you? What if an embryo is growing right now!?! You just met this guy! He’s a monster! This is a fucking nightmare.

Sans notices and sighs heavily, “calm tha fuck down. lez’ not worry about that unless it 'appens.”

Fiddle with your clammy hands. “How am I even supposed to know down here? Do monsters have pregnancy tests?”

“i’d know,” he says simply, then pats his lap with the same thunk of bone, “c’mere, cupcake.”

Breath still short, heart pounding, you scoot across the frozen dirt to his legs. He takes one last drag of his cigarette then flicks the still burning butt behind him. After a few minutes of just sitting there, leaning against his shin, his hand lazily stroking your hair, you suddenly feel affectionate.

Decide to share your feelings. “Thank you, Daddy,” you chime, beaming at him.

He blinks at you, obviously confused, sweat trickling down his temple, “fer what?”

“For fucking me,” you clarify.

Sans just stares at you for a moment. Has he never been thanked before? Maybe, actually. Skelehands cup your face and there’s an unfamiliar ardor radiating off him as he leans down to ‘kiss’ you. Groooss, his hand smells like your butt. You still pucker your lips against his moist teeth and he seems to enjoy it, humming cheerily.

Reel back when his ass-fingers brush your cheek. “Ugh,” you spit out, “can you wash your hand in the snow or something?”

He chortles and shoves two dirty phalanges in your nostrils, pulling you up to your knees by them. “dun’ tell me whatta do, ya lil’ piglet,” he gibes. Takes a hold of your jaw with is other hand and removes the fingers from your nose to dive them into your mouth. You whine unhappily but accept them, slathering them with saliva, cleaning them with your tongue. “good human,” he praises, pulling out of your mouth with a lewd pop, then wipes them off on his already soiled shorts.

Sit back on your knees as he releases you, trying to ignore the swell of your genitals and the pain of the wounds he left on your hips. “how ya holdin’ up down there?” he asks, returning his hands to his pockets. “need a snack?”

Shake your head, replying, “I’m okay. Could use an orgasm, though. And some new clothes.”

“nah,” he turns down casually. Guess you’re stuck in these blood-stained, cummy clothes for a while. Yuck.

"a’ight,” he says as you rest your arms on his legs, looking up at him. “ere’s my plan. i’m gettin’ the hell outta here. and i need yer soul fer that.” That makes you uneasy. Hopefully the soul can stay in your body. “but first we gotta actually get ta the fuckin’ barrier. by now, shit’s hit the fan, most of the underground probably knows about ya. so. gotta bide time till’ errybody assumes yer dead n’ gone. few days at least.”

Great… stuck waiting around for who knows how long. That’s exactly what you don’t want. The capacity to move forward was the only thing that kept you going.

Sans continues, “so imma hide ya at my place fer a while. pap never goes in my workshop.” His house? This feels extremely intimate. “then we got time ta really have a ball,” he snickers, grabbing at his crotch to punctuate his joke.

That sounds like fun and your body eagerly responds, but it’s not what you care about right now. “Where’s the barrier?”

“king’s castle.” He pulls out the same mustard bottle you saw before, squeezing some into his open mouth until it farts, indicating it’s almost empty. That makes him grumble and chuck the bottle over his shoulder. Dirty litterbug. “cute lil’ place. loaded with human corpses and souls,” he grins, like he wanted that to scare you. It didn’t.

“How are we supposed to get there?” you ask, toying with the red elastic trim of his winter jacket.

He heaves out an exasperated sigh, “shit, kid, i dunno. probably cum all over ya ta hide yer scent and put ya in a disguise er somethin’.”

Twist up your face at his words. You were anticipating him to have a cunning plan or at least a plan that doesn’t completely suck. “That’s it?” you mumble, “you’re going to get us both killed.”

A deep growl vibrates in his ribcage, “dun’ be an ass, i came up with this like a fuckin’ hour ago.”

“Can’t you just use magic? Teleportation or something?”

“that ain’t how magic works, sweetheart.”

This is getting frustrating. “Well, how does it work then?” you say, voice laden with your chagrin.

Snickering, he rubs your head like you’re a pouty child, “yer awfully cheeky fer a creature wit’ literally no power over their own life. shit’ll work out fine. an’ if not? i’ll just wait fer nother’ human.” The hopelessness and impuissance of your situation finally hits you, teardrops beginning to cloud your eyes. Hands quiver on his femurs as you hide your face in the elbow of your sweatshirt, quietly sobbing. “hey now,” he purrs, “yer a good human, i like ya, i ain’t just gun’ let ya get killed. have a lil’ faith, huh?”

Faith? You’ve never had faith. All you’ve had is yourself. That’s the only thing you could ever rely on. You don’t know anything about this guy. How could a few bad jokes and romps in the snow possibly earn your trust? You’re going to die down here.

When you don’t stop crying, he runs his warm hand down the collar of your hoodie. “mmm, be that way if ya want, babyface. bet a nice distraction would help. how about a joke?” You really don’t want another joke but he continues before you can even say anything, “whuzza pedophiles favorite part of halloween? free delivery!” He snorts and slaps the thigh you aren’t resting on. You just groan into him. “ah, didn’t like that one? well, maybe i can cheer ya up like ya did fer me…” his voice flows through you like melted chocolate as his hand grazes your bare shoulder blade.

Nerves still alight from being fucked earlier, you respond more enthusiastically than you wanted to, moving you head to bury your face in his crotch with a moan. Bad idea, his groin is just a bunch of sharp angles and divots. Uncomfortable, but you bear it. He lets out a pleased murmur, bucking against you lightly, the bones of his hand traveling leisurely across your back. “why don’t ya unbutton those pants an’ start touchin’ yerself?”

Rest your head in his circle of his ilium and do as he says, opening your pants enough for you to slide your dominant hand inside, cupping your bare sex. You’re still so wet, fingers entering easily. It’s nowhere near enough, especially when compared to his cock, but you’re grateful for any stimulation.

Sans laughs, “there ya go. that feel nice? keep goin’, lil’ one.” Slumping dramatically, he traps your head between his ribcage and pelvic bone, a skelehand joining you in your pants. Distal phalanges find the swollen bundle of nerves as your crest and start circling lightly. Express your appreciation for his efforts with an emphatic mewl. This position must be putting some strain on him, he has to reach so far. He’s being so gentle and attentive, unwanted feelings of attachment start surfacing.

“that’s a good human,” he compliments, other hand still in your shirt, beginning to scratch at the thin skin protecting your spine. “how many fingers ya got in there?”

“Th-three,” you whimper, continuing to plunge them as deep as you can.

“put one more in,” he instructs. You do, slowly, stretching yourself out to about the thickness of his shaft. “good,” his voice is murky and loaded with anticipation, it resonates through his bones and into you. He evaluates your reactions when changing rubbing styles on your clit and goes with the one that makes you compulsively thrust into his hand. “good, (your name), that's right...”

Roll your hips as your hand moves frantically, you’re getting close, you need this, you need him. “S-Sans, I’m gonna…!” You trail off when he pushes into you harder, the tension stewing in your pelvis becoming overpowering.

“cum,” he whispers into you, and immediately, you do. Jerk beneath him as waves of energy travel through you, flooding your mind with dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin. Struggle to keep your fingers inside as your ride out your climax. It lasts longer than you expected, electrifying your entire body. Muscles still throbbing, you pull your hand from your pants, breathing heavily into his shorts.

Sans leans up and although you can’t see him, you’re still coming down from the incredible high, can hear his tongue materialize and lap at his fingers. “feel bettah'?” he asks.

You wheeze out a garbled giggle and lift your heavy head to make eye contact. “Yeesss,” you sing out, “thank you, Daddy.”

Chapter Text

Sans still had six hours on the rest of his sentry shift. You cuddled up to him as much as possible to stay warm, wrapped around his spine, legs curled up into yourself, his massive jacket draped over you. He randomly smoked cigarettes and played with various parts of your body while you both just talked. When he asked about how you fell, you didn’t respond. When you asked about why he wanted to leave the Underground, he didn’t respond.

The more you learned about this monster, the more conflicted you felt. He was obviously dangerous and unstable— someone who a typical human would steer clear of. He was tactless and just plain nasty. But. All that gave you new, unfamiliar feelings of fondness. His vulgar jokes made you cringe in the best way. Toothy kisses made your stomach flutter. Every stroke and prod of his honed phalanges garnered enthusiastic reactions out of you. Fuck. You didn’t want to get attached to this guy. But you almost certainly were starting to.

It seemed like monsters showed affection in ways similar to humans. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say Sans was beginning to like you too. He listened to your anecdotes of the human world intently, maintaining eye contact and interjecting occasionally with a bad quip or shared experience. Peppered you with compliments whenever you said/did something he found especially endearing. Whispered dirty talk into your ear, promising to do deliciously horrible things to you once there was a roof over your heads. He made another joke about falling in love with you. That made you nervous and lamentably infatuated.

When you offered alternative plans to sneaking to the barrier, he grumbled and waved all options away. Said he had days to come up with something better. How irritating. Gritting your teeth at him and arguing brought his persistent anxiety to the surface. Eyes shifted and skelepalms perspired until the slow burn finally reached it’s peak. Sans’ digits dug into the flesh around your jaw as he pulled your face up to his. “shut tha fuck up,” he hissed. Released you. Silently, you nursed your wounds as he smoked another cigarette. Awkward silence. Eventually, he sighed dejectedly and pulled out another hot dog from his jacket pocket, offering it to you as an apology. You took a bite as he held it, which made him smile.

Hours passed. How many, you weren’t sure. Probably about six.

“a’ight, buttercup,” Sans shifts and you lean away, immediately missing his body heat. “lez’ get ya home.” Home? He stands, bones creaking, and crouches down to gather you up in his arms. Nestle against him, hugging your knees to your chest. “ready ta’ get a taste of real magic?” You gulp but nod zealously. He plants a chaste peck on your forehead before speaking, “hold yer breath an’ dun’ move.”

You do and the next thing you know, reality is twisting, light ceases to hit your eyes, and it feels like you’re riding through a corkscrew on a wooden roller coaster. Your stomach jumps in your throat and if it weren’t for Sans, you’d probably lose all sense of verisimilitude. As quickly as it washes over you, it sensation vanishes. Still dizzy, you take in your new surroundings: medium sized room, blue walls, purple tiling, work tables, papers and machinery scattered about.

“lookit ya, kid!” Sans booms, embracing you tightly and giving you another kiss, “didn’t even puke, whadda trooper.” You guess he must have teleported you, to what you can only assume is his workshop. Unceremoniously, he drops you like a sack of potatoes and you land on the swell of your ass, yelping. Thank god for buttcheeks, otherwise you probably would’ve fractured your tailbone.


“aww, that hurt, lil’ one?” he sneers as he drops to his knees, joining you on the floor. “wan’ some assprin?” he snickers. Monsters know about something as human as acetylsalicylic acid? Banishing all wandering thoughts from your mind, he crawls on top of you, effectively forcing you to get into missionary position. His grin looks positively lecherous as he looms above. “ya won’t be needin’ these anymore,” his voice is different, lower, grittier, and you can already tell you’re in for a rough fucking, even before he starts shredding your clothes. You squeal as claw-like fingers yank and hack at your attire until they’re nothing more than tattered strips of fabric. The thread cuts into your skin as he pulls the remaining pieces off, leaving you completely naked.

He pauses to take in your flushed, bare form, admiring the quiver of your limbs. “lookit all that pretty flesh ya got,” Sans purrs as his hands rest atop your knees, pressing into your skin before trailing them up your thighs, stomach, over your breasts, and across your shoulders. Sexual energy rushes through you, beginning to accumulate between your legs and giving you goosebumps. “i wonder what yer cunt tastes like,” his words vibrate into you as teeth sink into your right breast, just enough to prick the skin, not enough to lacerate tissue. Fresh blood joins the dried red that’s already coated various parts of your body. You moan and arch your back, pushing more of your chest into his mouth. “mmm, if yer blood tastes this good… lez’ get ya nice n’ soaked, baby.”

Remembering to do something with your hands, you shakily cup his sweaty skull, brushing one hand down to rub his scapula. He lets out a content sound from your touch and releases your breast, coming face to face with you. “see how dirty ya made my teeth, human?” he says through an unmoving jaw, mouth coated with your blood, “why dun’cha put that useless tongue of yers ta work?” You comply immediately, curling your arms around his neck to pull yourself up to his face, extending your short tongue to lap across his glossy teeth. The taste is especially salty, his sweat mixing with your fluids.

“I’m sorry,” you say in a voice that even you find pitiful. Are you really that inept at hiding your own need? Don’t dwell on it, continue cleaning. Wiggle your tongue into the small space between teeth at the back of his jaw and he rewards you with a thrust of his pelvis between your thighs. His fingers dig into the fresh injuries of your breast and slather the blood across your torso. “Th-thank you, Daddy,” you whimper, trying to angle your hips so his concealed member meets more of your vulva.

Jaw unhinges and with the utmost care, two incisors pinch your tongue, and you have to scream as they almost go completely through. He lets you go and the blood poouuurrs, spilling down your chin and throat, making you choke. The pain feels so intimate and real, it arouses you even more. Just the thought that he could’ve bit your tongue clean off but didn’t is enough to make you want him inside you.

“i can fuckin’ smell ya already, dollface,” he comments as he pushes his shorts into your center again, wetness escaping your entrance. “what a disgustin’ lil’ piece of shit,” he growls into your neck, teeth grazing the scar tissue of the large mark he left hours earlier. “ya actually like gettin’ torn apart by me, dun’cha?”

You’re so scared he’s going to bite you again. But he doesn’t. He dips down and tucks his hands into the joint of your thigh and calf, pushing forward, causing your knees to meet the blood on your chest. “answer me,” he barks, pushing harder and pulling your legs apart, hoisting your ass off the floor, exposing your vulnerable genitals to the brisk air.

Legs shake uncontrollably in his grasp. “Yesh!” you cry out, your words lisping from the swell of your injured tongue, “I love it! Pleashe give me more!”

There’s that familiar static in your ears and he opens his jaw just to show off a long tongue flopping out the side of his mouth. “good human,” he praises. Red bindings, what you assume is his magic, sting as they circle the backs of your knees, pinning you in place as his hands move to spread the lips of your privates. “aah, lookit how deep i can see inside ya,” he spreads further, enough to hurt, before the twitching tip of his translucent tongue glides from your perineum up to your clit. The sensation is so much better than you were anticipating— like hot glass, smooth, but with a little give, like firm jelly, tingling and rumbling as he moans into you. “tangy,” he mumbles, “heheh, ey, whadda ya call tha space between tha asshole an’ tha pussy?” His left hand releases your labia to push forcefully into the spot he’s talking about.

“I dunno,” you breathe out, hands uselessly curled beside your chest. Tongue still bleeding, pressed against the roof of your mouth, you stopped trying to conceal the drool and blood leaking from your dry lips.

“tha chinrest,” he laughs, moving his hand to the floor for support and replacing it with the jut of his chin. You let out a genuine chortle, turning it into a groan as his tongue plunges inside. It stretches you out nicely, molding to your tunnel rather than forcing it open. It reaches the back and explores the blockage, poking at the entrance of your cervix. The tapered tip stretches, actually managing to slip inside a few millimeters, before you shout from the strange sensation. Your uterus throbs accordingly, trying to protect itself from the intruder.

“ere’s nother’ one,” Sans chimes, his words still laden with lust but unchanged other than that, “why’re pubic hairs curly?” The hand holding your labia moves to stroke the fatty tissue of your mons, “if they were straight ya’d poke yer eye out!” He chuckles and winks at you as the appendage inside exits, then delves back in, the motion making an audible squish sound. You buck into his mouth, his closed teeth grinding against your entire vulva as the tongue starts it’s long, deep thrusts inside.

Despite the incredible distraction, you remember that you should acknowledge his joke, “heehee, that’s silly, you don’t even have eyeballs.” He laughs in agreement before both hands reach around your legs to pinch your erect nipples. Harshly pulls at them and you’d be worried he’d rip them off if his tongue didn’t feel so fucking good. It’s so different than his dick, tickling at every inch of your aching hole, curling and changing its width and length to his whim.

“ya like that, lil’ one?” his tone and the pet names, oh god, you’re starting to get close. “ya like gettin’ tongue fucked by a monster?”

“Yesh!” you eagerly reply, and he rewards you with a slap to your bleeding chest and a faster thrust of his tongue. The pleasure and pain was becoming unbearable, the energy inside you about to overflow. “Pleashe give me more, Daddy, I’m getting closhe!”

One hand moves to your clit and you have to cover your face with your hands, eyes rolling back in your head as his thumb massages the distended nerve bundle over and over. “thaz’ my sweetheart, cum fer-“

There’s a loud BANG BANG BANG followed by, “SANS!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE?! YOU KNEW I WAS MAKING DINNER TONIGHT!!” It sounds like Papyrus. You slap your hands around your mouth to be as quiet as possible, Sans sighing and leaning away, his magic leaving you entirely.

“gimme a sec,” he grouses as he wipes his bloody hands off on your thighs, then vanishes.

You’re alone, heart pounding, the fear of getting caught making you want to finish even more. Grab a shred of your clothing and wrap it around your still bleeding tongue, applying pressure with one hand while the other reaches between your legs. Who knows when he’ll be back. Sans won’t mind if you get off, right? Just a little more, your hand glides effortlessly, bringing you to climax. You convulse and writhe on the floor, energy finally releasing, genitals throbbing, moans muffled by the fabric in your mouth. Aftershocks take you and you hum happily, trying to catch your breath.

In a jolt of static, Sans reappears in front of you, hands in his pockets. He looks furious, eyes just empty sockets.

“w h a t d i d y o u j u s t d o,” his voice is quiet, lacking its warm accent, echoing in your brain like the first time he spoke to you. You’re petrified, unable to move, frozen beneath him, hand still between your legs. “did you forget who owns that body?” Shake your head, body beginning to quake with fear. “or are you one of those fuckers who d o e s n ’ t k e e p t h e i r p r o m i s e s?

It looks like. You’re about to have an unpleasant experience.

Chapter Text

“Wh-what?!” you stutter, curling into yourself and removing the cloth from your tongue, which has mostly stopped bleeding, “we never negotiated anything like that!”

Sans takes one step towards you and the adrenaline pumping into your system finally initiates a flight response. Scooting on your butt, you back away from him into one of the corners of the room, cowering behind a piece of machinery.

Flickers of red magic ignite in his sockets as he stomps closer.

You’re so scared, oh my god, what is he going to do. Would he kill you? You hope he wouldn’t be so wasteful. “You can’t just make up rules without telling me and then get upset when I break them!”

He doesn’t say anything. With inhuman speed, he’s upon you, hand in your hair, using it to pull you to a chair at his workbench. Cry out loudly, gripping around his wrist to alleviate some of the pressure from your scalp. Not giving you any time to recover, he plops down in the seat, bringing you to lie face down in his lap. You hang awkwardly over the armrests, immediately finding his bony legs uncomfortable.

An incredibly hot skelehand rests on the seat of your bare ass, the other moving from your hair to the back of your neck, preventing you from looking at anything other than the floor. Oh shit. A spanking? THAT’S your punishment? Hell yea, this’ll be a cakewalk.

But you can tell something is wrong. His energy is all… murky. “S-Sans,” you whisper, “are you okay?” You wonder if seeing his brother caused this heightening of emotions. Again, he doesn’t respond. His left hand leaves your skin. Brace yourself for impact. It comes back down on your ass with colossal force, lurching you forward in his lap. It isn’t like a human hand slapping you. The only thing you could compare it to is having a professional baseball player swing their bat directly into your asscheek. You remain stationary in his lap as his hand grinds the power into you, not making a sound, brain working to process the pain you just received.

“breathe,” Sans reminds you, tenderly massaging the spot he just struck. You do, gulping in air, just letting the pain wash over you. Left hand pulls away and comes back down, spanking you again in the exact same spot. You whimper and can already feel tears welling in your eyes, squirming as his femurs dig harshly into your flesh. “dun’ fuckin’ move, cupcake,” he warns.

Of course, you listen to him, remaining as motionless as possible as he smacks you again. same. spot. It hurts! At least his normal tone and use of pet names is back, that takes the edge off a bit. Hits you again. SAME. SPOT. He lets out a serene sigh, mushing around the fat of your butt as you start to cry. “Sans, please… other cheek, please?”

All he has to offer you is a low growl and another strike to the exact same spot, which you can already tell is badly bruised. The pain continues to grow significantly, each hit only adding more blood to pool under the skin of your ass. You sniffle and wipe your running nose off on the back of your hand.

“PLEASE,” you shout after a particularly solid whack, “STOP.” No change. Another. And another. Desperation rushes with the pain, the speed of your breath increasing as you fist your hands until your knuckles whiten. “SANS, I’M SORRY!”

The beating stops and he’s resting his hand on the back of your thigh. Turn your head to see him out the corner of your eye, streaming sweat, his sockets closed, jaw clenched. He takes a deep breath and you can feel his legs starts to quiver beneath you. A skelehand comes to cradle your face delicately, pulling you up to make eye contact, red irises blazing. “you…” he spits out through gritted teeth, “yer sorry?!”

Abruptly, he punches you three times in the same spot while starring into your eyes, digging his knuckles into you in the last strike as you reflexively recoil into yourself, screaming. “ya have nothin’ ta be sorry fer, angel,” he assures you as he slips a finger between your legs, pushing into your still recovering entrance.

Sans sighs and presses the elbow of his other hand into your back, using you like a table so he can rest his head on his fist. You listen to him intently. “this ain't really about you,” skilled phalanges toy with you as he speaks casually, “imma pretty fucked up guy, ya know? i just… my brother…” He trails off as he notices your heavy stare. “(your name). yer… yer just an easy outlet.”

…That makes you angry. Why should you have to suffer for his complicated bullshit? You might enjoy it, but that’s not the point! Just an outlet? He scared the shit out of you just to make himself feel better? You’re a fucking person. Fuck this.

“but it’ll be ok,” he breathes out, a hint of angst in his voice, “i’m gettin’ tha hell outta this place.” Warmly, he adds, “with you.”

Snarl, curling your lips in contempt as you pull away from him. “You’re the one who’s disgusting,” you accuse, glaring at him through the messy locks of your hair. Eye sockets widen at you, his static grin faltering. “You really think a promise is going to make me follow you forever? And I’ll be your perfect little sex toy? And we’ll just cross the barrier together, easy peasy, what a happy ending.” you scoff and he doesn’t react any further, “are you delusional or just that good at lying to yourself?”

It’s probably not the best idea to antagonize him but in this moment you genuinely don’t care. You’d rather be dead than remain in this room any longer, unable to continue forward.

You expect an outrage. More pain inflicted upon you. And you are ready and able to accept that.

But Sans doesn’t do any of that. He cradles your head in his hand and moves you to sit on his lap, your legs going through the armrests, toes meeting the floor. There’s something cushioning your seat, buzzing lightly, taking care to avoid the blossoming bruises on your left asscheek. Must be magic. Avoid eye contact. Tense up when he leans forward, he hums quietly into your body, phalanges petting your hair back.

“What are you doing?” you eventually ask after a few minutes of him embracing you.

“can i fuck ya? please?”

Did. Did he just ask you for permission? Your heart flutters, grateful he can’t see your staggered expression with his skull nuzzling your shoulder. What is he doing, why is he acting like this? What changed?

“… Okay,” you answer. The beating grievously aroused you and anything that might change the surrounding ambience is quite welcome. “Just don’t think I’m doing this for your benefit.”

“course’ not.” His familiar heat presses against your labia as his hand slowly drags down your body, finding that sweet spot at the crest. He’s already learned how to play with it perfectly, indulging you until you’re dripping. Still hiding in the crook of your neck. He’s warm. Warmer than ever. You begin to perspire along with him.

Eventually, you beg him to fuck you. Sans hums again as the magic around your body lifts and angles you onto his red cock. The tip penetrates. You can’t see it, but his penis feels… smaller. Not dramatically, but enough so that the stretch doesn’t hurt. Whimper as he lowers you onto him, turning it into a moan as he hilts. He raises his head to make eye contact and you shove your face in the fur of his hood. Chuckles faintly at you, one arm wrapped around your head, the other on your unharmed buttcheek, pushing you into him, the grind of your hips making his cock pull at your muscles.

Ribs dig into yours. Breath on your shoulders. He never picks up the pace or thrusts at all, just letting your hips roll into each other. “What are you doing,” you repeat, puzzled by the drastic change in his mood. The rough sex you can take, very little emotional investment in that. But this? This is how your lover of several years would fuck you after a long day. You’re afraid of the answer, but you ask anyway, “why are you like this?”

“i’m in love with ya, (your name).”

What?!” you exclaim. Yeah, that was the exact thing you didn’t want you hear. You start to panic, shaking in his arms, too afraid to move away, can’t see his face right now. “B-but you barely know me,” you squeak out, “I met you this morning!”

He laughs at that and curls his spine, thrusting into you as his pelvis scrapes across the seat of the chair. “did ya ferget where ya are, honeypie?” Reality punches you in the face again. You’re in the Underground and a monster you just met earlier today is balls deep in you. For the third time today. Sans is the only thing keeping you alive. And he’s apparently smitten with you. “no time fer romancin’ down 'ere. i love ya, i know it.”

You whine and have to lean away, unpleasant and overwhelming emotions crowding your head. His hand reaches over and cups your chin, forcing you to look at him, faces only inches apart.

“i know ya dun’ feel tha same way. an’ thaz ok. i dun’ blame ya,” his breath is hot and it smells like you. Magical fumes spark from both his sockets, the red lights dilating, his melancholy obvious in his expression. “but i’m bringin’ ya ta that barrier. and when we’re free, yer still gunna be mine.”

Both his hands clasp around your ass and you scream from the pressure applied to your swelling cheek. He lifts and slams you into him, groaning contently, the care he took handling your battered body moments earlier now completely gone. Jaw opens and his mouth is upon yours, conjured tongue penetrating you, tingling as it curls with your own short appendage. Shudder and moan into him, feeling his dick inside you stretching to it’s previous, cunt-wrenching girth.

“ya know what, sweetheart?” he utters, speaking with perfect clarity despite his tongue still inside you, “i think ya are pregnant.”


He continues before you can collect yourself, “i can smell my magic seepin’ from yer fuckin’ pores.” The tongue plunges down your throat and you gag on it. When you shove roughly at him and try to put space between you, his power encases your entire body, holding you in place and forcing you to ride his cock. He leans back in his chair and leaves your mouth, grinning blissfully, hands stroking your thighs. “ya know how happy that makes me? knowin’ that yer carryin’ my young?”

Start to cry, you can’t be pregnant, you can’t be, he’s a monster, what’s going to happen to you!? Body unable to move fluidly with the motion, the speed at which his magic shifts you up and down makes you dizzy. It’s so fast, you’re so scared, you can feel it building, you want to climax. His hand moves to your lower stomach and pushes, pinching your G-spot between his dick and palm. Let out a pathetic whimper, the intense pressure bringing you to orgasm. “Fuck yeesss!!!” you sob as the shockwaves overtake you, cum erupting all over his lap.

As you’re climaxing you register that Sans is showing signs that he’s close. He moves his hand on your stomach to hover over your uterus. “NO,” you scream, looking at him with wide eyes, “not inside! Not again, please don’t cum inside me!”

He chuckles loudly and lifts his hips to meet you, strengthening the force with which you're impaled. “i’m gunna breed ya like tha fuckin’ bitch ya are,” he growls, and it feels like he's peering directly into your soul. Another orgasm cascades through you and all you do is repeat ‘no,’ ‘please,’ and 'Sans,' your brain short-circuiting from sexual indulgence. “aaah, kitten, thaz right, keep goin’.” You do, his thumb brushing your clitoris enough to make you cum again.

“i love ya, i love ya so much,” he repeats those words as he climaxes, left eye spewing red flames, the magic enfolding you feeling more like electricity, singeing the hair your skin. His piping hot magical seed is unleashed, splashing against your insides, cock pulsing as jet after jet of red cum fires into you. You might have orgasmed again, you aren’t sure. Sans fills you until it starts seeping onto him, which makes him take ahold your thighs, lifting you with him still inside, and letting your upper body fall, your hands fumbling to catch yourself so your head doesn’t hit the floor. He continues thrusting, using gravity to force his jizz as deep as it can possibly go. You whiiiine, feeling your uterus throb, your body happily accepting his gift.

With a laborious sigh, he stops, his magic dissipating. He lets you go and you’re too stricken to even cry out from the pain of your bruised ass hitting the tile. “Saaaanns,” you mewl, entire body shaking, curling into yourself. He crouches next to you and pulls your arms away from your face so he can kiss you. He smells bad. You break down, sobbing dramatically, gripping the sleeve of his jacket like a child.

He smiles softly, kissing you again as he wipes the sweat off your forehead. “my lil’ human…”

Chapter Text

Sans sat next to you while you recovered, smoking a cigarette in only a few puffs as he softly ran his clawed phalanges across your back. When you regained the ability to form complete sentences, you demanded to know if he was lying about you being pregnant. He said from what he could tell, you were indeed knocked up. He laughed thunderously as you began spewing your alarmed thoughts and questions, joking, “ya still gunna call me daddy?” You kicked him in the face and he laughed even harder, reminding you of his love, once again. Fucker.

The skeleton gave you his jacket, letting you take in the reality of his otherworldly physique, arms literally just thick bones, appearing brittle, but you know better. He promised he’d be back later. Great, later, very specific, thanks. Mentioned he’d bring you some books about monster pregnancy, ‘er somethin,’ and fed you half of his last hot dog before leaving. Locks the door behind him.

You’re alone.

With no human food in your system, you never had the urge to go to the bathroom. Which was a huge relief. Found a shower in the corner of the workshop and contemplated using it for about 10 seconds before turning it on. Water turned pink, diluted with your dried blood, swirling down the drain. The water never warmed up. But at least you were clean. Freezing cold. You wished Sans was there just to get some of his body heat. Er. Bone heat.

His jacket was really gross the more you examined it. Smelled like old sweat. Dried smudges of mustard in the pockets. Relish packets. A few cigarette butts? Why the fuck would he keep those? Yanked a sheet off one of the machines, shook out the dust, and wrapped it around yourself while you spot-cleaned the jacket. Emptied the pockets, used the shower water to rub out some stains. Still stunk. But not as much as before. Put it back on. It’s big enough to act like a potato-sack-mini-dress. You swore his jacket carried some of his warmth. Maybe some of his magic lingered in it.

Curl up in a pile of sooty bed sheets, the weight of the day’s experiences dragging you into slumber. Entered REM sleep and underwent the most vivid dream you’ve ever had. You rode into your hometown on the back of a giant goat, the landscape more green and lush than you’ve ever seen it. Smells like cherry blossoms. Reality twists in the spiral of an emptying kitchen drain and you found yourself in your 5th grade math class. The desk you had in the back of the room had shelves full of knickknacks covering it, which annoyed you. How were you supposed to do your math problems with no work space? The old flip phone on one of the shelves buzzed and you opened it, finding a text message from yourself. It was a drawing of a green-haired elf girl riding an immense, disembodied penis. Still in the classroom, the photo turned into a video and you started masturbating to it, the surroundings of the classroom melting into darkness. You couldn’t climax, despite the amplifying debauchery of the video.

There’s a loud CLATTER of something being knocked off a shelf on the other side of the room, jerking you out of the dream. Remembering where you are, you freeze, heart racing, and can immediately tell it’s not Sans. Maybe if you don’t move, they won’t be able to see you. Like a T-rex. It’s pretty dark in here anyway, no windows, you turned off the fluorescent lights earlier. Joy washes over you when you recognize the silhouette in the blinking lights of the plugged-in machines; it’s Flowey! It feels like it’s been ages since you saw him, even though it’s only been a day. He’s snaking through the drain in the shower, vines curling into the spaces between the floor tiles.

Beam and run to him, excited to interact with anyone. Stop when he gives you a look of… disgust.

“What the HELL are you doing?” he snaps while trying to avoid eye contact, flower face blushing pink. He’s a flower, he doesn’t have blood, how is he blushing?

Oh, wait. He’s probably been watching you this whole time. Whoops.

“Uuh…” is all you can come up with.

“Do you think he actually cares about you? You idiot,” Flowey hisses, “that skeleton doesn’t love you, he just wants your soul. He’s only keeping you alive because you…” he doesn’t continue that thought. “(Your name), you have to get out of here!”

Fiddle with the spandex at the end of the jacket sleeves, staring at the floor. You aren’t sure if you should be relieved or hurt by his words. Can… can you even trust Flowey? The only thing he’s done to earn your trust is not try to kill you. But Sans’ didn’t try to kill you either. . …Sort of. Why are you even defending him? He’s your captor, right? Is it stockholm Syndrome? Or maybe you do like him. Or maybe whatever is growing inside you is starting to affect you.

“I know. Flowey,” you hesitate, but you have to ask, “what do you know about… pregnancy in monsters?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “we don’t have time for this.” He must not understand what you’re getting at but you don’t elaborate further. “He doesn’t sleep… but we have to find a way to get that key off him. I’ll figure something out.”

“Dude, I can’t just leave,” you huff in exasperation, “there must be monsters all over the place down here and I don’t even know where the King’s castle is.”

“Just disguise yourself, not many monsters know what a human looks or smells like. Keep going East, I can help you along the way.”

Go East. The prospect of going forward excites you, you want to leave, the entire day you’ve just been stagnating. And having a lot of sex. “Maybe I can just talk to Sa-“

The familiar scritch scratch of a key trying to fit into a keyhole shuts you up and Flowey begins his retreat. “I’m sorry, (your name),” he whispers as he shrinks back into the drain, voice echoing from the small pipe “don’t lose yourself, okay?”

Lose yourself? What does he mean by that?? Scurry to the nest of bed linens in the corner and hide in them as the door creaks open. Will your lungs to slow each breath, pretending to be asleep.

Heavy metal smash of the door slamming shut. Silence.

A gentle, familiar whimper. It’s Sans. He cries out, “(your name)?” voice high-pitched, followed by the boney clank of him dropping to his knees. There’s so much despair and neediness in his voice, you ignore whatever trepidations you had to reach out to him. He must have received that punishment from Papyrus when he was away. Nothing else seems to kindle a reaction this ruinous.

“Hi, Sans,” you say softly into the darkness.

The scrapping of him crawling on the tile is accompanied by his woeful sniveling. Poke your head out of the bedsheets, seeing only the faint glow of one crimson eye socket. “(your name),” he repeats when he reaches you, clammy skelehands cupping your face. He smells like… blood? Where did he get blood on him? Toriel didn’t bleed.

“ah… ha ha,” he flutters out a stilted laugh, eye blazing a bit brighter, enough to cast light on your uneasy expression. “it’s… nice ta see ya.” There’s a crack in his skull, trailing down his left eye to the root of his golden tooth. Geez, what did this guy just go through?

It doesn’t matter what situation you’re in. That you're effectively this monsters hostage. Nothing else matters right now. You’ve been where he is. With no one. You know this monster needs… someone. And you can be that someone.

Give him a genuine smile, reaching out of the linens to take his hand into yours. He’s… lukewarm. “You look like shit,” you state immutably, leaning up to pull him to your chest with your other arm. Another laugh quivers from the skeleton as he settles between your breasts, his phalanges lacing with your fingers. He smells bad too, but you don’t mention that. “Wanna talk about it?”

His only response is a grumbling whimper.

“Okay… then how about I tell you a joke?” Clear your throat, “what’s Deja Moo?” Pause, he lets out an ‘iunno,’ and you say, “the feeling that you’ve heard this bull before.”

“thazza good one.. pretty tame, though,” he mumbles as he starts pulling away the bed sheets, releasing your hand, unzipping his jacket that you’re wearing, and shoving his hands inside to wrap around you. “ya know, i think my bro izza ventriloquist. heh heh, ee’s always puttin’ his hand up my ass an’ tellin’ me not ta talk.” The chortle he belts out is so sincere it makes you want to puke. “too real, huh?” he asks as he nuzzles his sweaty skull into your bare abdomen.

You aren’t sure how to respond. Thankfully, Sans says something before the silence becomes too dense. “shit, kid… yer pussy is fuckin’ soaked, i can smell ya. ya really that much of a sicko?” He ducks into the bedsheets between your legs, the flesh of your inner thighs grazing his head when you try to close them.

“N-no!” you stutter, embarrassed that he’d suggest you getting off to his incestuous relationship. Lean against the wall behind you, watching him as he slowly works his way down to your crotch. “I had a… very graphic dream.”

“oh yea?” he replies, words muffled by the fat of your thighs. His Sansy, shit-eating grin is back and that makes you happy. One arm moves to your knee and elbows it out of the way, gaining him access to your drenched core. “wanna tell me bout it?” Other arm, still wrapped around your torso, pinches at various folds as he explores your warm body.

Electricity in your ear, red illumination fills the space under the sheets, a magical tongue guiding along the seem where your thigh meets your hips. Gasp and say in an already wanton voice, “it wasn’t very interesting… not worth talking about.” The sleeves too long, your fingers peak out of the jacket, grasping at your breasts.

“ya say that, but lookit how excited that shit gotcha,” he punctuates with a slide of his appendage up your folds, making you realize the acuteness of your arousal. “mmnn, whadda mouthful.” Jerk forward when he rubs the flatness of his tongue across your clit, pinching a nipple between your fingers. “heh heh, ey, how are jello an’ humans alike?” One gleaming red eye rolls up to look at you, translucent tip teasing into your already clenching tunnel. “they both wriggle when ya eat em,” he moans out the punchline instead of laughing it, grinding his closed teeth against you, beginning to eat you out with new vigor.

Jaw opens and you freeze, expecting a bite. Gawk at the back of his unlit throat as the magic of his tongue elongates down his vertebrae, illuming the inside of his skull, trickling down, and pooling into a red glow behind his ribs. He takes the entirety of your groin in his gaping mouth, bottom teeth digging into your asscheeks, top encasing your mons. The sharp incisors don’t break the skin; just apply enough pressure for him to latch on. You squeal and move your hands to his skull when an odd sensation of suction pulls you even further into him.

“do me a favor,” he growls, the words vibrating straight to your pelvic bone, “say ya love me.” Tongue fills you completely, stretching enough for you to feel the entire thing double over inside, tip reaching out to flick at those 8000 nerve endings. “i know ya don’t yet. just lie ta me, babe, please.

Yet? Presumptuous prick. Hands motionless on the sides of his head. You manage to get out, “Sans, I-ahh!” before he starts winding and twisting inside you, shutting you up with pleasure. “I don’t, ah, umm” you falter, his eye contact so intense, but you can recognize his inner disquiet. Brain crowds with the same labyrinthine emotions he gave you when he confessed his feelings. Clench the proverbial fist around your hesitation and just say it, “I love you.”

In a heartbeat, the tongue is gone, he’s hunched over you on his knees, hands braced on the wall next your head, pushing his cock inside you. “aww, sweetheart,” Sans whimpers as he rests his forehead against yours, the flames of his eyes tickling your skin. “thanks.”

His member utterly fills you and you cry out delightedly, bending your legs around his pelvis, bucking up to meet him. In the darkness, you can see the glow on your lower stomach of him inside you, holy shit.

“God yesss, fuck me,” you mewl as he starts his frantic thrusts, body curling into him. Push aside the jacket he’s wearing to touch his ribcage and you notice the dull light source behind his t-shirt. Experimentally, you thrust your hand inside, reaching until you find the origin, an igneous ball of tingling magic that causes something deep inside you to combust. You stop breathing and feel yourself leave your body for a microsecond. Try to pull your hand away, but you’re unable to retreat from whatever you just stirred, both in him and you.

Sans groans loudly from your touch, intensifying the force of his dick ramming into you, enough to hurt, moving a hand from the wall to hover over your sternum. Purple mist materializes and you completely leave your normal plane of existence when Sans extracts a violet heart-shaped… thing from your body. Can feel yourself exist in three places simultaneously: still in your human body, feeling the friction of his cock pounding into your pussy - your consciousness in the purple object he just pulled from you - and a third party perspective, taking in the image of Sans on top of you, and you notice the purple heart has some white swirled into it at the base, tendrils snaking upwards.

“see this?” Sans’ voice echoes across all three levels of your actuality, “this is yer soul, sugartits.” The realization hits you like a freight truck, eye widening as he literally stares into your life force. “whadda ya think monster seed is made of? errytime i fuck ya, i’m givin’ ya part of my soul.”

The severity of the situation just sky rocketed. This pregnancy isn’t just a bodily thing, something you could abort with the promise of physical recovery. No. Your soul has been invaded. This is something human science and reasoning can’t help. Sans knew how monster pregnancy worked. He didn’t have to finish inside. But he did.

Focus on the sensation of touch, bringing more of yourself into your body, enough to scream, “you FUCKER!!!” Slam a disembodied limb into him, soul falling back into your body. Conscious returns to your human body in a flash of purple, blink blink, brain registers the light radiating from Sans’ eye, you’re back. “YOU KNEW!!!” Hand still inside his ribcage, you clench your fist around what you presume is his soul and he stops everything with a choked breath. It feels like gripping thunderstorm, wet, the occasional shock, so real, but so not. “YOU KNEW THIS COULD HAPPEN!! WHY, WHY DID YOU!?!”

“i-i-aah,” he strangles out, frozen in place, eye just a red pinprick. Your rage subsides enough to loosen your fist and he gasps, filling his nonexistent lungs. “h-how was i sapposed ta know humans had enough magic in em ta receive somethin’ like that?” Dissatisfied with that answer, you rattle your hand around in his ribcage, which makes him squeal, seemingly in pleasure.

“dun’ act like this is all my fault, ya lil whore,” he says in a guttural tone, fighting against you enough to continue the movement of his hips. The hand that pulled the soul from you clasps around your face, grasping so hard the fat of your cheeks bunches around you eyes. “this kinda shit doesn’t just 'appen. ya accepted it. hell, ya fuckin’ wanted it.”

Fist one of his bottom ribs and yank, other hand still inside his ribcage. “Why.. the FUCK. Would I want this?!”

He fucking laughs and bucks into you with new ferocity, other hand returning to your sternum, applying pressure. “i dun’ fuckin’ know. sounds like somethin’ ya gotta do some soul searchin' fer.” Seeing the same purple haze billow around his phalanges, you return your hand to his heat, not wanting to be completely at his mercy. In retrospect, that might have been a bad idea.

A connection was generated when he extracted your soul. Images and thoughts that don’t belong to you surge: A laboratory. He’s gone. What happened to our timeline? Why am I like this? It isn’t supposed to be like this. There has to be a way to fix it. No, there isn’t. Move on. But don’t forget.

It’s severed when Sans releases you, all magic leaving your body, both of you now in darkness. Echo each others heavy breathing. The memories are too much, foreign emotions prodding in places they don’t belong. Completely overwhelmed.

Hear the hushed clink of his jaw closing. “aww, (your name)…” he whispers, finding you in the void and embracing you. Did he see something too? Unsure what to do, you remain motionless.

“… I’m scared,” you admit.

“i know, kitten,” he says.

Deep breath. “Can I have a cigarette?”

Chapter Text

Sans chuckled at your request and said, “no way. yer pregnant, remember?” Oh my god. Is he actually planning on having and raising this thing? He still let you have a drag of his cigarette. Just one. The tobacco was unfamiliar and made you cough, but it was nice to get out of your head, even if just for a few seconds. The mild high distracted you pleasantly as Sans sat next to you and slouched against the wall, his red eyes mirroring the blinking red lights of the surrounding machinery.

Ruminate over the images that Sans bequeathed when the two of you were… linked. So many questions you want to ask. Anxiety rushing. Timelines? Like time travel? He used to wear a blue jacket. Why is that important? Focus on your heartbeat to center yourself. He lets you take another deep drag when you pester him. Exhale, smoke seductively spiraling around you until it dissipates.

“Hey…” you rasp, “I can’t stay here anymore. I need to keep going forward.”

He scoffs and curls one arm around your shoulders. It reminds you of being on your first date and that makes you feel bashful. That eases when he shamelessly starts fondling your breasts. Finishes his cigarette with one big inhale, the smoke seeping from his t-shirt, billowing out the holes in his skull, even from the new crack below his eye. He pinches the burning butt in his fingers until the light goes out.

“I’m serious. I’ll leave without you if I have to.”

A light tweak to your nipple and he’s laughing again. “come on, angelface. i know ya’d rather stick with me. dun act like ya haven’t enjoyed everythin’ i’ve done ta ya. even this,” he says as he turns to face you, his other hand reaching in the jacket to touch your lower stomach, cocksure grin on his skull, “maybe especially this.”

Give him a sideways glare and keep your arms stationary in your lap. Don’t give into him. “Whatever you need to tell yourself…”

“heh heh,” he snorts at your reaction, leaning forward to get right up in your face, “ya act so detached, it’s fuckin’ precious. i can see right through ya, (your name). yer developin’ some gordian feelin’s fer me an’ yer tryna run away from em.”

… Did he just mention the Greek legend of the Gordian Knot? How. The fuck. Does he know about that. And why did it turn you on so much? Suddenly, you’re thankful that the only light source is his red magic; he probably can’t see the crazy blush you’re wearing.

“lemme be yer alexander, babydoll. why untangle that knot when ya can just…” he groans against you, tongue materializing and lapping across your jugular vein, “cut it.”

“Fuck,” you hiss, clenching your hands into fists, everything about him setting your libido aflame. Magical tongue slides up, tracing the details of your ear and you have to moan. “God, how do you do that every time…” Hot breath in your ear, left skelehand still toying with your chest, right sliding down to your still soaked folds with agonizing slowness. “Aaahn, every damn time,” you whimper.

Sans growls when he feels how wet you still are, dipping in a few fingers, then immediately pulling out to seize the fatty tissue of your inner thigh. Squeal in response and arch your back against the wall, hands flying to cup around his, encouraging him to manhandle your flesh even harder.

“dun’ worry, lil' one,” he purrs, one leg moving between yours, the heel of his sneaker digging into your other thigh until it spreads to his liking. “we’ll be outta here soon. gotta take care of some shit first. be patient, a’ight?” Right hand yanks at your thigh flab so hard that something rips and you moooaaan, fuck, that hurt!

“Nooo,” you drawl, “I don’t wanna be patient… I have to keep going. I can’t just stay here and fuck you in this room forever.” Start playing with yourself when he doesn’t, fingertips grazing your swelling clit.

He laughs and gives your leg a vivacious slap before joining you between your legs, phalanges teasing your entrance. “forever? dun’ be so dramatic,” he grumbles as his tongue outlines your jaw bone, scooting close enough for him to grind his arousal against your leg. “nother’ day. maybe two.”

Turn your head to fight back a bit, extending your own tongue to lick across his cheekbone, tongue briefly filling the crack in his face. He lets out a fluttering groan when you force his head back, mouth meeting the vertebrae of his neck. “No,” you repeat between licks and kisses to his bones, “tomorrow. Or I’ll bite my tongue off and bleed to death right here.”

The skeleton giggles at that, moving his left hand from your breast to your face, cradling you into his upper torso. “geez, cupcake… ok, ya win. tomorrow it is.”

Beam and reward him with a bite to his clavicle, which you regret immediately, his mewl not worth the now aching head. Just hold into him with your teeth as he starts bucking his hips against you, hot length glowing through his gym shorts. Let go and mutter, “do you want to fuck me?” Bite again, ignoring the pain it causes, feeling the bone give slightly under your molars.

“always, babe.”

Instead of putting his fingers inside you like you anticipate, he grabs a fistful of hair and pulls you down to lay on your side. He spoons you on the floor, yanking his shorts down before rutting his member against your bare ass. Arm scoops your leg up, spreading you ruthlessly as his hand clasps around your throat. Whimper and arch against him, already so desperate to have him inside. Other hand snakes under your head, taking a hold of your face, turning your sounds into muffled cries.

“beg fer me,” Sans demands as he moves his hand to allow you to speak, but he loops two phalanges into your mouth, pulling your cheek to the side.

Whine from the pain and humiliation of your mouth being forced open, but reply quickly, “pleathe fuck me, god, I don’ care about anything elthe, jutht uthe meee.”

You can almost hear the grin stretch across his face. Removes his fingers and slaps you across the face, smearing saliva all over you. The hand around your neck releases you to aim his dick at your opening. Thrust, he misses, poking you in the urethra. Grouses behind you, moving your hips back. Second try, too far away this time, shoves against your dry asshole, you lean away and clench before he can penetrate.

“god dammit…” he complains, about to go for a third try when you reach between your legs, guiding him easily, tip tucked inside. He enters, filling you with one smooth motion. His arm curls under your leg again, returning his phalanges around your neck. Regains his confidence with a few hearty thrusts, hand around your throat tightening, causing you to choke on your moans. Brace your palms on the machinery in front of you, using it as leverage to push back against him, doubling the intensity each time he hilts.

Sans tucks his head into the hollow between your neck and shoulder, varying the grip of his hand. “ooh, fuck yea, sweetheart, thaz right, you love daddy’s cock, duncha?”

“Fuck YES,” you enthusiastically bellow, “harderharder!

He grants your wish, using his hand on your throat to pull you back into his propelling hips. Other hand returns to your face, covering your mouth with metacarpals as the distals of his index finger and thumb pinch your nose, entirely cutting off your intake of oxygen, taking away your most basic human need. “i bet ya’d love it if i came inside ya again, wouldn’t ya?”

You’re already pregnant, so it shouldn’t matter, but remembering the incredible heat and tingling of his cum… Whine helplessly and shake your head, the static of you about to faint ringing in your ears, your hands moving to scratch and pull at his appendages. He takes his hand away long enough for you to breathe once, twice, then he’s back, laughing, “of course ya would, ya lil’ freak.”

Once again, he brings you to the brink of passing out before allowing you to breathe again. You’re almost bawling at this point, nose running, openly drooling, but you’re too far gone to do anything about it. Not once did his hips slow. “tell me, tell me what ya really want,” he pants into your neck, the hand around your throat sliding down, between your legs, finding the spot that he knows will push you to the edge.

Gasp frantically and reach back to grab the seat of his pelvic bone, fingers curling around his tailbone. “Fucking destroy me. I’m already yours, aren’t I?” a hint of scorn in your words, “just fucking ruin me.”

Sans trails his nasal bone up the back of your neck, breathing deeply. Then, all at once, teeth sink into the flesh of your neck, avoiding your vertebrae, his hand cuts off your oxygen supply again, and he plunges so fast, your orgasm is ripped from you. Without air in your lungs, you scream silently, body rushing with so many extreme, clashing sensations. The sharp pain in your neck fades as the sexual high rocks you, muscles throbbing around his cock, clitoris distended as he pinches it.

Like he can read your mind, he lets you breathe before you pass out, and you cry out to him, tilting your head back to bump into him, teeth still imbedded in your flesh as he snarls. Thank him over and over again. The orgasm doesn’t fade as he continues his assault on your entrance, continuing and building on itself. Head clouded with lasciviousness and neurotransmitters, you gurgle out, “S-ssaanns! F-fill me, PLEASE! I need it Ineedyoupleasegivemeeverything!!

Fresh pain pierces into you when his mouth leaves your neck and chomps down onto the same spot he attacked when you were against the tree, shredding scar tissue, pulling his head back slowly, the feeling of your flesh slowly separating making you think of ripping a ripe orange in half. The metacarpals over your mouth stifle your high-pitched shriek. Shock starts to set in and you almost don’t register the blisteringly hot liquid discharge inside. The same static overtakes you, reality fading to black.





Lips and mouth are dry. Swallow hard. Twitch your fingers. Slowly open your eyes. Take your time absorbing your surroundings and getting in tune with your body. You aren’t dead. Raise your dominant hand, inspecting the last thing you remember: the spot Sans bit. It’s perfectly healed, raised bits of new, thicker scar tissue around the outline. Same for the back of your neck. Groan and drop your hand lazily.

How long were you unconscious? Ugh, who cares. Roll onto your side, immediately wanting to fall back asleep. There’s a mad scuffle of feet right outside the door of the workshop. Ignore all the sounds until you discern the familiar squeal of Sans. Jolt up, listening intently. Crawl to the door, the light from outside seeping under the crack.

“b-bro, i, ahh!!” Sans shouts and there’s a slam against the door. Lie on your stomach, pressing your face against the crack and you can smell the fresh air and see shiny red boots. “i’m sorry… i’m sorry, papyrus.”

“IF YOU WERE REALLY SORRY YOU WOULDN’T KEEP DOING THIS!” Another bang against the metal door. Your heart is pounding. You should go hide in a corner and avoid hearing this, but you’re so curious and sickly thrilled, you have to keep listening. “ALWAYS DISAPPEARING… MISSING DINNER… COMING HOME TOO EXHAUSTED TO HAVE ANY FUN,” Papyrus gripes in a pouty voice. It makes your lips curl with loathing. The sound of bone thunking together.

“p-pap…” Quiet scrapping.


Sans doesn’t say anything.

“SANS. BROTHER…” The harsh sound of fabric tearing, a black ball falling at what you assume are Papyrus’ feet. “UGH, LOOK AT YOU. DISGUSTING.” There’s… the sound of something wet, followed by Sans’ whimper.

“heh heh… wh-what can i say, bro, you always gives me the-the biggest boners.”


Chapter Text

Laid flat on your stomach, still wearing Sans’ jacket, face against the tiled floor, watching Papyrus’ boots shift occasionally as the brothers fucked. At least, that’s what it sounded like. Wet sounds, repetitive slamming against the metal door, Sans mewling, yelping from being struck, begging for more every so often, Papyrus whispering in a low voice. Things like ‘who are they’ and ‘what do they give you that I don’t.’ You hate him.

The entire time, your stomach was in your throat, it felt like you were going to have a panic attack. And you couldn’t BELIEVE they were doing this outside! Why didn’t they just go inside somewhere? The depravity and uncertainty of the situation made you quiver with excitement. Immediately, you chastised yourself. Jealousy and hostility towards Papyrus also surfaced and you quickly repressed all that nonsense. This isn’t any of your business, after all.

Eventually, they stop, both panting heavily. The red boots step away from the door and your view becomes blocked by the blackness of Sans’ jacket. He oophs from his fall, skelehand moving to the ground for support right next to your face, his pinky finger inching under the door.

“THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING, BROTHER. DON’T DISAPPOINT ME AGAIN,” Papyrus barks. Crunch crunch of boots in the snow. Assuming he’s gone, you slip your fingers under the door, fingertips brushing against trembling phalanges.

After a long period of silence, Sans grumbles, “hey, cutiepie. sorry ya had ta hear that.”

Stroke the bones of his finger, disgruntled that the crack is too small for you to hold his hand. Or even just a finger. “Let’s just go,” you insist, “we could leave right now.”

His voice fluctuates as he chuckles. “i can’t… iz my fault ee’s like this. everythin’ ere’ is my fault.”

“What? That’s crazy, there’s no way-“

He cuts you off, “yes, there is. ya dun’ understand. iz’ all my fault.”

… What is he talking about? Push for him to elaborate, keeping your voice hushed.

“this is what happens when people like me try too hard.” His normal accent is gone, “i messed with the timeline. i tried to change things. then this happened. and i couldn’t go back.”

Is that what you saw? Him in the blue jacket, with blunt teeth, working in a laboratory. That’s who Sans.. really is? Or was?

Swallow your curiosity and state simply, “I don’t give a fuck about that. That doesn’t even matter anymore. I’m here now and I’m… I’m fucking—“ it’s a challenge for you to say it out loud, “I’ve got a bun in the oven.”

He sighs. You continue, “So. We have three options. I die in this room. You let me go to the barrier alone. Or we leave together.”

You would greatly prefer the last option. But you won’t tell him that.

Fuck, he’s right. You have some… feelings for him. Already. How many days has it been? Two? It’s ridiculous, but you aren’t going to lie to yourself. You want to take him away from this place and bandage up all those wounds. Hold his hand. Learn more about what he’s been through. Maybe even… share some dark parts of yourself.

There’s a sudden unfamiliar warmth in your uterus. Muscles throb. Reminds you of a menstrual cramp. Pull your hands into yourself to curl up as the pain startles you. Breathe through it, hoping he didn’t notice. Are you having side effects already? What the fuck.

“heh heh…” Sans chortles weakly. He doesn’t say anything else.

The pulsating of your womb subsides enough for you to speak without hinderance, “how long was I out? Can we go soon?”

“14 more hours till it’s tomorrow, doll.” Wiggles the distal of his pinky at you, “i love ya. be good, ok?” With that, he stands up, snatching the ball of fabric Papyrus ripped off, and there’s the crunch crunch of sneakers in the snow, slowly fading until there’s only silence.

Take a deep breath of the wintry air. Let it out in a heavy sigh. Stay in that same position for an undetermined amount of time. Just thinking. About everything and nothing. Mainly Sans.

When your feet get cold enough, you sit up and rub some warmth into them. Rise and turn on the blaring fluorescent lights. You’ve investigated everything in this room a hundred times. Welp, let’s do it again. Shuffle through the blueprints on Sans’ workbench. Notes written in a language composed of easily recognizable symbols. Remember seeing this language when you were young, playing with the various fonts on the school computer. Pick up the hastily drawn penciling of three figures with the words “don’t forget” next to them. Can’t even make out who these people are.

Marvel in the reality of how intelligent Sans really is. His notes had formulas you remembered seeing on the TV show Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey. Pages and pages of the stuff. Makes you wish you knew more about astrophysics. He told you not to mess with the machine at the far wall. When you badgered him as to why, he just said: “ya lookin’ ta be shattered across space n’ time? thaz what i thought. leave it the fuck alone.”

Return to your nest of bedsheets when the frigidness of the room becomes unbearable. Pull up the hood of San’s jacket, the fur tickling your cheeks, protecting your eyes from the harsh lighting. Somewhere between the uterine contractions and fantasies of that skeleton, you fall asleep.



The sound of the metal door slamming shut jolts you from your slumber. Eyes blur for a second, clearing with a few blinks, taking in the image of Sans locking the door behind him, then shuffling towards you. The crack below his left eye is gone. Give him a soporific smile as you stretch out on the floor. “Hiii,” you warble at him, sitting up when he kneels beside you. “Time to go?”

Skelehands cup your face and he’s leaning in to kiss you. Instead of the familiar slickness of his bare teeth, you feel a spark of magic sweeping like lips across your mouth. Gasp when the magic sucks at your lower lip, exposing your bottom teeth. He pulls away with a happy rumble, the magic around his face evaporating, red light of his eyes flickering. “nah,” strokes his thumb across your still puckered lips as he speaks, “nother’ 9 hours, sugartits.”

Open your mouth to coquettishly pass your tongue over his finger and he snickers. “i can’t stay. just came ta drop off some readin’ material.” Reaches in his jacket, which is almost identical to the one you’re wearing, just more beat up, and brings out three books of varying sizes. Open your hands to catch them as he drops them in your lap. As you read the titles, Sans moves into your jacket, peppering mock kisses across your chest and neck. What to Expect When You’re Expecting: Monster Edition, Monsters: An Intimate Geography, and… the Ultimate Dirty Joke Book.

Snort at the last title, turning it into a moan when his hands clasp around you breasts. Two hearty squeezes, a low grumble into your skin. Kneads the soft tissue like a cat before he lets go and picks himself up, peering down at you with a sulky expression.

"ere's a good joke from that book. whadda ya call a human with two brain cells?"

"... What?"

"pregnant," he chortles.

Scowl at his joke, but express your appreciation anyway. “Thanks,” you chime, meeting his eyes to beam at him.


Then he just fucking disappears in front of you, his outline spasming and appearing to break into pixels then POOF. He’s gone. Take a deep breath and lean against the wall, setting the other books aside and opening to the table of contents of the pregnancy book.

Hours pass as you absorb every bit of information. Have to cross-reference the monster anatomy book to understand everything. Monsters are comprised almost entirely of magic, which is attuned to their soul. It seems to imply that magic… is the same thing as the soul in some cases?

The explanation of magic is vague — the essence of someone, the hidden flow that exists within everything. Sounds like hippy-dippy hogwash. Maybe Sans can explain the science behind it later.

Skip the 250 page chapter on souls for now.

There’s a brief excerpt on humans and magic: Humans are mostly composed of physical matter; only 1-5% of their body is composed of magic. Thus, their souls aren’t as incorporated with their bodies. Of course, there are exceptions to this.

It doesn’t go on about the exceptions, but you really wish it would.

There’s absolutely nothing on pregnancy or sex between humans and monsters. Sigh.

Monster pregnancy is completely magic based in most monsters, having a gestation period of only a few days, taking place in the recipients soul. That scares the shit out of you. Don’t panic. Keep reading. Both souls of the participating monsters need to be receptive to conception, or a zygote won’t form. Intentions and emotions are the most important factors in impregnation.

You accepted Sans almost immediately.


Continue reading. There is a special species of monster called a boss monster. They’re the only monsters with high mass to magic ratios, being about 50/50. Babies of boss monsters form in the female’s uterus, and they develop physically as well as magically. Gestation of boss monster young runs the span of several months. Although, some pregnancies have been as short as two weeks. The baby develops 50% physically and 50% magically. Often, both parents provide for 25% of the mass and magic to the baby. But there are cases of boss monsters mating with normal monsters, resulting in detrimental loss of physical matter to the boss monster.

It says something about… boss monsters giving portions of their souls in order to form a zygote. The female accepting another’s soul inside causes several side effects. High levels of magic. Uterine contractions. Insomnia and oversleeping. Over emotionality. Extreme feelings of affection for their mate. Increased sex drive. Vivid dreams. Soul… bonding? Soul splintering?

Reading the side effects makes you feel better and so much worse at the same time. Your feelings are justified and real. But you are absolutely pregnant and the early stages already resemble a healthy boss monster pregnancy.

Sans is probably a boss monster then. Since you’re having physical side effects. You probably have higher levels of magic than the typical human. This pregnancy is just a really shitty roll of the dice. Suppose he could be a normal monster and you’ll be providing this baby all it’s mass. Part of his soul is inside you. Fuck.

Will have to read about soul bonding and splintering later. Those both sound terrifying. Brain buzzing away. Another throb of your uterus. Whimper and curl into yourself, letting the open book fall on the floor. Too much to think about. More than anything, you wish Sans was here.

You’re grateful the sandman takes you rather quickly. Or, you would be if you weren’t asleep already.

Another dream. A giant waterfall in a hospital room. Recognize this hospital, you’ve been here. Sitting in bed, completely naked. A wedding dress hung on a coat rack in the corner. Pink slippers at the foot of the bed. Pull at the sterile bed sheets to cover yourself. The mist of the water annoys you. As you examine it, the waterfall slowly approaches, the roar of the water slamming into the black hole beneath getting louder. Red roses start cascading down the falls, only a few at first, increasing in number until the water is so red it looks like blood. Get out of bed when the water reaches you, leaping directly into the steam. Thorns from the flowers cut your skin and blood starts pouring from your mouth and nose. Start falling with the water, darkness surrounding you. “Sans,” you whisper. You want to scream out his name, but there’s no power behind your lungs. Hear the sound of a slot machine as you descend. The yank of the lever. Ding ding ding of victory. Sans’ voice yelling in celebration. Call out to him again. Land on a bed of stuffed animals. “i won!” his voice says. Look for him. Only see falling roses. Human hands are upon you. Moan and arch into the figure behind you. A tongue across your collar bone. “sweetheart.” Sans’ voice vibrates through you, the human figure transforming into a skeleton, the rigidity of the flesh turning to bone arousing you. “sweetheart, wake up.” Wad up the blood in your mouth and spit it into the pile of plushies.

Like unplugging the satellite cable from a television while playing a movie, your dream turns to static. Open your mouth to gasp for air, finding nothing. Can’t even open your eyes. It passes and you return to reality. Lift your heavy eyelids to see the smiling face of Sans. Notice a bit of food in the cracks of his teeth. This is real. Your dream didn’t have the details right. Before you say anything, he puts an index finger over your lips.

“i brought ya ta my room. not a word, a’ight?”

Blink blink, realize you’re lying on an unkempt bed in a strange room. His smell completely surrounds you and that alone turns you on immensely. Despite the fact that the smell is of typically unpleasant things: sweat, mustard, and wet autumn leafs. A treadmill in the middle of the room. Dirty laundry everywhere. A pachinko machine on his dresser, it’s vibrant lights flashing. A swirling cyclone of yellow socks? What. Eyes roam the room until Sans starts crawling on top of you while removing his jacket. Throw an exaggerated eyebrow raise at him, silently asking what the hell he’s doing bringing you into his house.

He understands and just hovers over you on his hands and knees. “i just… wanna fuck ya in my bed before we leave.”

His sentimentality surprises you. Nervously shift your eyes to the closed door as he unzips your jacket, exposing your naked body. “dun worry bout’ pap. ee’s busy. an’ even if ee’ comes home, ee’s used ta me bringin’ babes over.”

Give him a knowing smirk in response, still feeling apprehensive until he provides a nice distraction: giving you a taste of the same magical kiss, faux lips pressing against yours. Return the action earnestly, opening your mouth to push your tongue into his closed teeth. Sans whines suddenly and wraps his arms around you, pulling your upper body into a tight embrace. Still kissing you. Grasp yearningly at his shoulders and head, needing him so much already.

Heart pounds, veins pumping hot, purple haze forming around you sternum as the red glow in his ribcage beats. Open your eyes to find his sockets closed, small beads of liquid at the corners. You want to say it. How you feel right now. You’re afraid. Of him. Of yourself. Of what’s growing inside you.

His magic loses it’s shape from the intensity of your kisses. Trying to reveal your feelings through action rather than words. Make out with his teeth and the bones of his jaw, tongue tracing the magic of his red gums, snaking into his skull via behind his molars. He laughs breathlessly and opens his jaw with a creak, granting you access. Red tongue meets yours as you enter his mouth, lapping across the textured roof, vibrating with the groan he releases.

“sh-shit, angel…” he flutters as your tongue tangles with his. You moan excitedly into him, indifferent to his incisors cutting up your lips.

Not paying attention, you don’t notice the violet mist of your soul meeting the crimson of his. You’re bombarded with more memories— blue jacket Sans alone in a broken timeline. He loved his brother. And he lost him. Thought he could do something. He couldn’t. Reset, reset. Wished he didn’t remember. But he did. He remembered everything. Life was meaningless. well. i’ve got nothing to lose. i’ll try. The energy is so real and overwhelming, you pull out of the kiss, turning your head away, but keeping your essence merged with Sans’. i tried. then this happened. i created this hell. and i. can’t. do. anything. i love you. i love you.

Sans growls and thrusts the swelling of his shorts between your spread legs, nudging your bare sex. “lookit me,” he demands, and you do. Stare into his single, blazing red iris, foreign, yet mutual, emotions overtaking you. Love. Real love. Not just romantic, compassionate, nurturing. Also sick and twisted, wrapped with it’s intensity and determination. The desire for every aspect of you. Every dark corner, every broken memory, everything. You want to cry, take your soul back, but you continue losing yourself in the black sphere of his pupil. It’s you, the color of your irises, the scars he’s made, the scars you came to him with, each stretch mark and wrinkle on your body. The way you cling to him desperately, muscles accepting every inch of him, the sound of his name coming from your mouth. This is how he sees you. He… he really loves you.

Whimper, pushing your hips up against him. You’ve never wanted anyone so badly in your entire life.

“S-sans…” say it, say it, “I…”

An index finger pushes against your lips, shushing you. “not yet, (your name).”

Okay. Not yet.

“just let me fuck ya.”

Chapter Text

Fucking... Why wouldn’t he want you to say it? Wasn’t he just asking for it the other day? Cagey fucker. Your souls still connected, Sans appears to understand your frustration, letting out a hearty chuckle with another roll of his pelvis.

“i know, honeybun. trust me, a’ight?”

He leans away and the bond is split, the magical fog fizzling out. Breathe through it while you come back to yourself, you alone, no Sans, trying to distinguish what part of you now exists because of him. Focus on your thoughts, settling into a corpse pose as he scoots away so he can place his head on your sternum, head turned, seemingly to listen the lub-dub lub-dub of your heart.

Reaches between your thighs, single swipe up your crease to discern your arousal. The slickness pulls you out of your mind, god, how are you this excited already. Feeling either dissatisfied or generous, he continues stoking the fires, massaging your clit with two fingers and you simply must vocalize your need.

“Sans,” is all you can articulate.

Streaks of his sweat trail across your abdomen as he leisurely makes his way down, cheek and nasal bones dimpling the flesh of your stomach, his grin boring into you. “(your name),” he responds.

A finger pushes against your mons pubis until the entirety of your clitoris is deprived of it’s protective hood. The cold air of his room on such a delicate erogenous zone makes you shudder. It’s replaced with the heat of his thumb and you’re both grateful and unnerved, the feather touch of his circling finger is immediately too much for you. Squeal weakly, compulsively bucking upwards and clamping your legs around his hand, remaining in Savasana otherwise. A tongue materializes and dives into the indentation of your navel, his movements on your nub enduring despite your bodily quibbles.

His other hand starts at the junction of your hip and compresses your skin as it moves between you and the mattress, across your asscheek, and in-between. Down your crack until he reaches your dripping arousal. A few phalanges inside, much to your delight, only to soon withdraw and return to your rear orifice. He carefully orbits the sensitive muscle, gauging your reaction before inserting. Arc your spine dramatically, hands rushing to find his skull, nails probing the lambdoidal sutures. Thumb still at your uncovered clitoris, the sensation so overwhelming, you do nothing but hang onto him for stability.

Sans…!” you repeat, lustier this time. You need him.

The fingers inch deeper and deeper until the joint of his metacarpals passes inside, your canal and anus burning from the stretch. A flare of magic materializes, his hand leaving your lap, head lifting, and you open your eyes to see him sitting up and yanking down his shorts one-handedly — his other hand remains inside you, unmoving.

Can’t help but titter at him as he struggles to get on top of you while keeping himself inside your ass, trying to maneuver his hips into the right position while offering a nervous smile. Elevate the leg his arm isn’t wrapped around and hold it to your chest, grasping his throbbing magic in your other hand. The skeleton hunches above and you take a mental photograph: one hand resting on the bed for support, his other hidden beneath you, bare pelvic bone between your legs, white t-shirt spotted with perspiration, face twisted with desire and tension, eye peering into you, the milkiness of his bones casted in the red light of his magic.

Give his member a few eager pumps, fingers fumbling from the smooth, glassy texture, he feels lubricated despite leaving no fluid on your hand. Guide the tip into your opening and he enters without delay, hilting so he can move into a more comfortable position, for him at least — he lies on top, crushing you with his weight, resting his head on your left shoulder and curling his other arm under your shoulder blade, his hand clasping your right shoulder. That hand holds onto you as he pulls out and plunges back in, his other coming back to life, rubbing the tissue of your rectovaginal fascia against his thrusting cock.

You can barely breathe with him squashing your diaphragm, causing you to remain almost silent as he begins his onslaught. Wrap yourself around him, arms lazily stroking the bones of his vertebrae. Closed teeth rub into the scar tissue from his bite as he wildly fucks you into the mattress, the wet squelching sound of your sex paired with his grunting and your choked breaths.

“Harder,” you burble out, wanting the entirety of his strength forced upon you, “please.”

“shuddup,” Sans growls, sending a tinge of fear through you, exciting you to the point of clenching around him even tighter. He notices and chuckles, stopping the movement of his hips to continue the thrust of his fingers, tugging harshly at your tissue from lack of lubrication. Bite the inside of your lip to stifle your cries, rolling against him for more vaginal stimulation.

“god, just lookit ya…” he mumbles as he puts more of his weight on you, ribs digging in painfully as he lifts his head to watch your debauched expression. Look away the moment you meet his gaze, suddenly feeling embarrassed. After a particularly vigorous thrust of his fingers, he removes them, reaching up to tangle both hands in the hair on the back of your head. “fuckin’ lookit ya. sick freak.” Ugh, that word. It makes you whine but you wish he’d say it again. Fingers tighten and yank hard enough to crane your head back, upper body lifting to alleviate the pain on your neck.

Repeat his name in a strained voice and writhe against him until he resumes fucking you, starting slow, increasing in speed until he’s moving too fast for you to process anything else. Say his name again as a jelly-like tongue laps at your jugular, terror mixing with hedonism, is he going to bite? Tear out your trachea? You almost want him to. “i love ya so fuckin’ much,” he groans.

The pummeling on your pussy continues for a while, his magic setting nerves alight all over your body, and you eventually climax. It starts in your vagina, the contractions of your muscles blasting sexual electricity through your entire body, tingling in your toes, swirling in your mind, giving you the sensation of leaving your body. Moans of pleasure are broken and retched out as you struggle to expand your lungs enough to breathe.

He doesn’t say anything as he finishes, just randomly head-butts you in the face, OUCH, red-hot seed occupying what space it can inside you before spurting out. He hit you in the nose, tears immediately flowing, blood pouring down the back of your throat and lips, pooling in the hollow of your collar bone. Hands fly to inspect the damage: nothing broken, you think. No pain other than the swelling.

“Why did you have to do that?” you snap, shoving him back so you can let the blood flow onto his mattress, fingers pinching the soft part of your nose just below the dorsum. Magic vanishes as he sits back on his knees, admiring how blood-engorged and open your groin must be. He even forces your legs to stay spread when you try to regain some level of humility.

“dun’ question me, lil’ human. i’ll do whateva tha fuck i want,” Sans says with a smug mug before ducking down into your crotch to taste your fluids. “hey, what did tha blind guy say at tha fish market?” another lick, don’t respond to him, “good mornin’ ladies.” UGH, a healthy vagina does not smell like fish! What an asshole! Snarl and kick him in the face, toes jabbing into his eye socket and he shrieks, lurching away, falling backwards off the bed. Lands on his back with a loud fa-thud and the drastic change in his expressions during the whole ordeal makes you laugh. One hand still pinching your nose, cover your mouth with your other to muffle your guffawing. He just lies there for a minute, face contorted with his obvious rage.

With the audible creak of bones, he gets up, grabbing the waistband of his shorts before they fall and pulling them up. Immediately stop laughing when he approaches, afraid he’ll retaliate. Instead, he bends down to your level, edging between your hand and face to give you a toothy kiss.

Lean away when he starts getting too enthusiastic, god, he’d probably fuck you again if you let him. “Can we go yet?”

Enters your personal space again, probably just to mess with you, “yeah,” he mutters as teeth scratch at soft skin, “lez go.”

He brought your books and boots, which he kindly didn’t destroy along with the rest of your clothes, to his room. Gives you a pair of socks and grungy backpack, turning down your request for a shower and more clothes. “ya look way too cute in just my jacket. yer stayin’ like that.” Complain that other monsters will be able to smell your blood and he so charitably licks it off you. What a fucking saint.

Nose has stopped bleeding. Books and a few of his t-shirts shoved into the backpack. You feel like a kid on the first day of a new school year, wearing clothes that are too big, about to go to an entirely new place, nervously holding a backpack while your caretaker drinks some substance that seems to act like a much needed remedy. Alcohol or coffee for most, mustard for yours. His hand rests on the back of your thigh as you stand ready to leave, pushing the jacket up to caress a fatty asscheek. Releases it, then pulls your hood up to conceal your face.

You’re about to open the door when Sans wraps an arm around your shoulders, saying, “i knowa shortcut.” Physical existence breaks into a plethora of pixels as he brings both of you into the void.

Chapter Text

Blackness. Contrasted only by the white and red of Sans standing next to you. Can’t breathe. Static. Light at the end of the darkness, approaching quickly. Then it’s all gone and you’re bombarded with something you haven’t had in several days: fresh air! Breathe deeply as the lightheadedness fades, deep periwinkle of the surrounding environment becoming clearer with each blink. You’re outside somewhere, dirt beneath your boots, looks like a cave. A pool of water falling off a foreboding cliff. Catch the eye of an orange monster in the far corner and freeze.

“Shit, Sans,” the monster says in a voice that sounds so normal, it almost throws you off more, “will you quit fucking scaring me like that?”

“fuck off,” Sans barks back, sounding anxious. He takes his arm back from your shoulders and crouches to rummage around in the sentry stand in front of you, shoving hot dogs and bottles of condiments into his pockets until they’re bloated. This looks… like the exact same stand you hid under on that first day. It even has snow on the roof? Even though this cave feels pretty balmy. … How?

“Heeey,” the monster bubbled, switching their focus to you. “Who’s this? And why do they smell like that?” Their grin makes your hair stand up on end. “Shiiit, you two have been busy, huh?”

What the FUCK, this monster can tell all that just from smelling you? You really hope Sans is respected or at least powerful enough to dissuade others from messing with you, or else this is going to be a really short fanfiction.

“f-fuck off,” Sans repeats as he roughly grabs your arm, yanking you along him as he stomps to the East. Wade through a flowing stream. Look over your shoulder when you feel there’s a comfortable amount of distance between you and that monster. They’re just standing there. Phew. The skeleton lets you take a few steps in front of him so he can unzip your backpack and stuff it with the snacks from his pockets.

So many questions have been biting at you. Need to let them out. “Hey,” you begin, “are you a boss monster?”

“yeah,” he states plainly, zipping up the bag and shoving at your shoulders when you turn to look at him. Just keeps walking, avoiding eye contact. Weird.

“Have you gotten anyone else knocked up before?”


Hesitate before asking the next question, “I don’t suppose… monsters perform abortions at all?”

“… nope.”

Have to let yourself sigh at that. Didn’t think so. The book never mentioned anything about abortions. Unwanted pregnancies just… didn’t seem to happen between monsters. Okay. There’s absolutely no way out of this. Next question, “aren’t you afraid?”

He doesn’t respond. Take that as a yes.

“Why did you even want to get me pregnant?”

When you enter the next part of the cave you audibly gasp. The spacious expanse of the cavern gives the illusion of a starry atmosphere. Beads of turquoise twinkling in the unexplainable light. It looks like the night sky! Sans walks forward to a lone telescope, glancing at it almost forlornly. Removes one hand from his pocket to absentmindedly spin the scope on it’s tripod.

“i didn’t want that. i just… wanted ya ta be mine.” His muffled words echo from the surrounding flowers. “completely mine.”

Ignore the plants replaying what he just said. Grumble and roll your eyes, taking ahold of the backpacks straps, marching forward with new vigor. What a shitty reason to wind up getting magic-pregnant. “That’s not how the world works,” you say as you pass him, turning to go down the hall to the North. “No one ever completely belongs to anyone.”

Sans scoffs behind you, flicking the telescope once more before disappearing with the sound of a BLIP. In the fraction of a second that he’s gone, you wait, already knowing what he’s going to do. And he does exactly what you expect: teleporting directly in front of you, probably with the intention to scare you. Stand your ground while fighting to keep an unruffled expression as he aggressively invades your personal space.

“that might be how it works on tha surface,” he sibilates as he steps between your legs, femur against your naked crotch, making you jump back. Notice a damp spot you left on his shorts. “but not here, cupcake. iz already started.” Another stride forward, forcing your back to meet the wall of the cave, clank of mustard bottles jostling around in your backpack. “just lookit yer soul,” he sneers as a skelehand makes a ‘come hither’ motion, plucking the heart-shaped essence from your sternum. More white roots obstruct the pure purple then when you last saw it, covering almost 1/5th of your soul now. This is happening fast.

Having gotten more comfortable existing both inside and outside your body, you reply easily, “your soul? What happens when it covers the entire thing?”

He pauses, “i dunno.”

UGH, what is even the point! Reach up and smack his hand away, staggering as your soul plunges back inside. “Why is everything a dick measuring contest with you?” you hiss, does he really have to force you against the wall and rip your soul from your body just to prove a point? “Can’t you just talk to me like a normal fucking person?!”

“aww, lookit ya,” Sans almost sings, hand moving to lovingly stroke your face, “yer adorable when yer pissed.” Squeeze your lips together, trying to pacify your tempter as he stares at you with endearment. “my own lil’ Palm Top Tiger.”

Did he. Just. Reference. The Japanese light novel series ToraDora!? What. THE FUCK. Is this guy!?!

Sigh internally, whatever, just give up trying to comprehend what this monster’s deal is. “You’re nothing like Ryuji,” you spit back then nip at his hand. Can actually hear a crack of bone when your teeth clench, which just makes him blush and release a stifled whimper. You’d be worried you hurt him if you weren’t already waspish.

“true…” he drawls and yanks his hand out of your mouth, slamming his palms on the cave wall on both sides of your head. “but yer still in love with me, aren’t ya?”

Make a face somewhere between self-flagellation and guilt as he leans in to kiss you. Return the kiss but still attempt to escape, but his fast hands nab you by the hips before you get very far. Throws you against the wall with as little force as possible and you pull away, giggling.

“It’s been… what, 30 minutes?” your voice is already tinged with the lamentable effect he has on you. His hands press into your flesh and work up your torso, sneaking up the jacket as he catches the zipper between his fangs. Yanks it down enough to reveal stiff nipples. “… and you want to fuck me again? I’m still sore. We need to keep going.”

Sharp teeth descend upon your breast, scrapping across skin rather than lacerating. “who said anything about sex?” One hand rolls down your spine to grip mercilessly at your buttocks, the other buries into your tightly closed legs, finding your still wet, but unaroused juncture. “maybe i just need a taste so i dun’ go crazy an’ gobble ya up in one bite.”

Yelp when two dry phalanges slip inside, both hands taking ahold of his wrist as you kick at his shins. “Ow, what the fuck did I just say?!”

He fucking laughs at you, the sound vibrating into your ribcage as he takes enough of your chest into his mouth for the flatness of his teeth to meet your bones. Keeps his fingers inside, other hand between your cheeks at your rear orifice.

“Mmmph, no way,” you carp with a half-hearted protest, wriggling against him as his fingers just sit inside, motionless, “that one’s even worse. Assholes need lube, y’know.”

“yeah, no shit,” he dismisses, withdrawing his head enough to release your breast with a bounce of tissue, only to plunge into the jacket, face finding your armpit. Flush like mad and attempt to close the joint as he take a deep whiff, but that just hugs his head closer. His rumbling moan and gentle shudder elicits a response, your hips bucking into his palm. “mmyer right…” he breathes into your already moist underarm, “i do wanna fuck ya.”

You laugh this time, more fluttery than forceful. The promise of another sexual cavort is tempting, but his phalanges at your asshole compel you to reconsider. Let go of his wrist to reach into your jacket and shove as many fingers as you can into his flaring red eye sockets, fingernails thunking against the inside his skull. The unearthly screech he lets out rattles the entirety of your anatomy, but it renders him incapacitated enough for you to slip away. Digits vacate each others orifices as you sprint East, guffawing over your minor victory.

Run across the black chasm on a floating square of plywood, surprisingly fearless, looking over your shoulder to see Sans rubbing his face and beginning to follow you. Slow your dash to a jog when boots meet the wood of what appears to be a very long bridge. Spin and walk backwards, catching your breath enough to shout something at him, “hurry up, slowmo-“CHINNNG!!! A blue spear skewers the wood right behind you, the handle swaying from the momentum. Slowly turn your body to the right and freeze when you catch the glow of one white pupil fixated on you behind the distant columns. What is-

WOOSH-in a spark of cobalt three javelins materialize above you. Time slows as instincts take over — SOMEONE IS THROWING SPEARS AT YOU RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. Splinters of lumber fly as the weapons nip at your heels, missing you by the narrowest of margins. THREE MORE. FUCKING RUN. You register the figure to your left side-stepping alongside you, but not the booming shouts of Sans in the distance.

“fuckfuck, (your name)!!! get back here!”

There’s a blip of teleportation, but the only thing you hear is the SHOOM of spears soaring, your brain repeating RUN, and the ear-piercing “HUMAN!!!” that your aggressor shrieks.

Chapter Text

You aren’t a person at this point. You’re a scampering meat sack, swimming with catecholamines; the adrenal medulla just above your kidneys has taken over completely. Javelins continually launch and you’ve been able to avoid everything with just your unpredictability.

Sans blips in front of you with arms outstretched, probably intending to nab and teleport you out of the danger. Your brain recognizes him as a blurry gray and red obstacle, so you zigzag around him. “goddamnit, (your name)!!! fuckin’ stop!” he hollers, but you don’t even hear it. RUN. RUN.

Your assailants cackle is loud enough to grab your attention and you don’t notice Sans appear again until you almost run into him. Stretch your arms out to maneuver around him, nearly pushing him into the waters below. A spear shoots across your extended limb, slicing the fabric of the jacket and the top layer of skin on your upper arm.

HUMAN!!!!!” they repeat. Holy shit, oh my god oh my god!

The bridge stops at the edge of a cliff, leading to a forest of green. You’re getting tired. Hide, hide! Give your bleeding wound a death-grip as you duck under branches and elongated leafs. Find a dark corner in the middle of the woods. Okay, they’ll probably find you here if they look hard enough, but it’ll give you time to catch your breath. Hopefully.

Oh wait. Was. Was that Sans yelling at you?

The stomping of metal boots getting closer swarms you with new panic. Don’t breathe. Don’t blink. The flash of shining armor darts by. Maybe they think you continued running? There’s silence.

Another gleam of metal and then there’s a gauntlet wrapped around your neck. Gasp for air and latch onto the hand as they lift you up over the tops of the trees. They chortle, stopping the moment you kick them in the head. You must have been thrown, as the world is now a haze of blue and you soon land on the lumber of the bridge. Everything is spinning, spinning, ears ringing. You have to get up, (your name), you have to-


Sans casually strolls by, planting himself in a self-assured stance in front of you.

YOU!” the figure in armor bellows while pointing an accusing finger at the skeleton, “what the FUCK do you think you’re doing?! This is Royal Guard business!”

“nah, iz not. this one’s mine.”

Try to rise and flee in the other direction, but a familiar grasp on your soul keeps you stationary.

“YOURS?! AGAIN with this shit!!!” they scoff and stomp forward until they’re right in Sans’ face. “This is the last one we need. Don’t play these fucking games, Sans. I don’t care what Papyrus does, I’m ENDING you NOW.

He quivers slightly, but remains inanimate otherwise.

“Give me that human or-“

They’re cut off as magic blazes out of nowhere. Eyes widen as you taken in the image of something you can’t really comprehend: a giant… dinosaur? skull materializes and blasts a laser beam right at the figure. It disappears immediately in a poof. Sans raises his left hand, huge femurs bursting from nothing, impaling through their armor.

“You little sneak,” they gurgle, obviously wounded, but they still launch forward with a newly formed spear. Sans dodges easily, spinning with an outstretched hand, your attacker freezing in midair. He turns back around, tossing them over him into the bridge. Unable to do anything, you just watch. Their helmet falls off before they lift their head. She looks like… a humanized fish monster. Blue scales, covered in scars, face now bloated from the attacks. “Not even going to fight me for real? Hiding behind that bullshit again? You fucking pussy.”

“SHUT UP,” Sans shouts in a voice you’ve never heard before, teleporting to her and slamming her face into the ground with his foot. “SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPYAFUCKIN’CUNT!” His sneaker comes down repeatedly, there’s a crack, she can’t move, her head crumpling more and more with each blow. Want to look away, should look away, but you’re transfixed. A scintilla of magic leaves her body as she breaks down into ashes. An upside-down white heart hovers in the air above her corpse before splintering into nothingness. He laughs and grinds his sole into her dust, spurting maniacally, “THAZRIGHTWHATDOYAHAVETASAYTAMYBROTHERNOW?? FUCKIN’NOTHIN’!

An incredibly sharp pain surfaces in your lower stomach, you scream. His hold on you releases. Curl into a ball as your uterus pulses with an ache you’ve never experienced before. On shaky legs you rise and stumble to the left, clutching your stomach with one arm, the other finding support against the cave wall. You’re sweating, chills run through you, another throb, knees lock so you don’t topple over.

He’s next to you, “what,” his nervous voice manages, “what is it?”

Grit your teeth and lift your head to glower him. It must have been a pretty grim look, as the hollows in his pupils widen and he’s leaning away from you. Uterus is pounding so hard, you don’t notice the liquid discharge until the warmth runs down all the way to your knees. Reach between your legs and see the dark ruby of vaginal blood at your fingertips.

“Oh goddd,” you whine, too shocked to even be embarrassed. “I hate this,” you hiss and move both hands to the wall, red smearing. The pain of your nails digging into the rocks is a welcome distraction. “I hate this place, I hate you, I hate what you’ve done to me!” Clamp your thighs together when another wave leaves you, “I hate everything!!!

Sans lets out a fluttery laugh and you can’t believe him. Can’t believe any of this. Stare at the ground, the dust on his sneakers mixing with your fluids as he steps as close to you as possible. The tenderness of his arms circling you makes you completely break down. Let the pain wash over you. Alternate between bawling and wailing. Depends on how bad the pain is. He just holds you and almost purrs, moving one hand under your jacket to press a warm skelehand against your lower stomach.

Aren’t sure how long you stayed like that. The pain fades a bit. Was that a miscarriage?

Bones creak as he crouches below you. Gape at him when the jut of his cheekbone nuzzles your thigh. “What are you doing,” you ask flatly. Another spark of magic. A warm appendage wiggling against the crease of your closed legs. “Oh my god, what the fuck are you doing…” Voice trembles.

One glowing crimson iris rolls up to make eye contact. “just let me…”

“Let you what..? … Sans.” You know what’s happening, but it's terrible, this is all so terrible. He just killed someone. You didn’t even know her name. Cross your arms against the wall and hide your face in them. He carefully massages the tight muscles of your thighs. You finally relax enough to allow him between your legs. His hands slide down to your red-stained socks. Squeezes some of the liquid from them, then wipes off the now dehydrated flakes of ruby from your calves. “There’s water right over there… you don’t…” A tongue sliding up your drenched folds makes you whimper loudly. This is awful, you can’t believe he’s doing this. “I hate you,” you repeat.

“mmmnn,” he grumbles, apparently enjoying the flavor. Or maybe the situation gets him off. He enthusiastically proceeds to clean you and you hate yourself but it feels.. really good. The dried red leaving your skin makes you hum. Tepid, tingling magic soothes your raw muscles. Balmy breath brings you back from your panic. Openly moan when he enters and he responds with a rumbling sound.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” you giggle, peeking down at him. The image of him squatting, the back of his skull between your legs stirs enough arousal to alleviate the uterine stress. “… What’s wrong with me?"

Pulls his tongue back into his open jaw, somehow consuming your blood. Back inside you. “dun’ worry bout’ dat shit, sweetheart. just stay with me.”

He cleans you surprisingly thoroughly, taking his time, then stands to meet you. Kisses you, sullied tongue lapping at your closed mouth. He smells like you, ugh gross, turn away. Wipes some sweat off your face with the sleeve of his jacket and you ask, “is… did I lose it?”

His wet forehead meets yours and his static smile falters. “nah. iz still there.”

You’re both disappointed and… disgustingly relieved.

“Let’s just… keep moving forward.”

"no," he says as he presses his closed teeth into your cheek, "ya need ta be punished first."

Chapter Text

What the fuck did he just say? You need to be punished?? Umm. “Excuse me?” you exclaim, bending away from him, but not very far. You’re still in pain and everything that just happened took all the energy you had. “Punished for what!? Getting so stressed that I almost had a miscarriage?”

He pulls his shirt up to expose the top of his pelvic bone before he bucks it into you. Show off. Growl through the moan you want to release, hands moving from the wall to grip the tops of his humerus’s through his jacket. “that shit wouldntve 'appened if ya hadn’t shoved yer fingers in my fuckin’ eyes an’ ran off,” he clarifies.

Yeah, having fingers scraping into your open eye sockets must be pretty unpleasant. By punishment he probably means something sexual rather than pain-inducing. Thankfully, that line is blurred for you, so anything that doesn’t require you to physically/mentally strain yourself will be fine. “But you just…” pause as scenes of your attacker being thrown about and crushed into nothingness flood back. Wish you could leave that mental image behind you. “You just killed someone.”

“so what? she’s gone.” Sans hunches over, hands scooping under your thighs to hoist you up. Don’t comply, making it difficult for him by holding your legs together. More blood will flow if he jostles you around. Instead of forcing you to spread and straddle him, he moves a few feet down the path through the woods, to the other side. Go with him, both of you still grasping at each other. The path ahead looks exactly the same as everything else down here. No other monsters in sight.

“ya said it yerself, cutie. all that matters now is you,” he utters, words laced with complacency as he takes a seat on the ground and pulls you onto his lap in one fluid movement, “an’ me.”

Looks like you’re in for another spanking. Wiggle against his bones until you find a not completely unbearable position. God, he’s so uncomfortable. “You remember that I almost had a miscarriage, right,” you gripe as he pulls off your backpack and sets it next to your head. “That much blood isn’t normal. Kind of a big deal for humans!”

“i fuckin’ know that,” he sneers, rolling his eyes at you, “i’ll be gentle. just wanna make sure i get my point across so ya dun’ pull that bullshit again.” His hands nudge your jacket up, exposing your rear along with most of your torso. Well, looks like this is happening now. Might as well enjoy it.

And try to do something productive while you tolerate his waste-of-time punishment. As he starts warming your ass up with an aggressive groping, you unzip the rucksack and pull out the pregnancy book. Surprised none of the condiment bottles broke during your chase. As you tuck the bag under you to act as a makeshift pillow, his left hand winds back and comes crashing down. Sway a little, biting your lip to contain a lustful mewl. So thuddy, hardly any sting. This pain is SO much better. This you can process and accept and revel in.

Rest your chin on the bag, stretching your arms in front of you to open and start paging through the book. Another slap, same spot. Oh, you hope he isn’t going to play that game again. “whacha lookin’ up?” he queries.

Another. The way his bones grind into the tissue extracts an emphatic moan out of you. “Mmm, really?” you hum as you shimmy your cheeks against his hand, “you can’t guess?” Find the section on common pregnancy problems for boss monsters. Nothing about bleeding. From what you’ve read, it seems like monsters don’t have blood. For intense uterine pain, see page 566. Turn to that as he smacks you again, other cheek, fast, light, consecutively. Feels good. Rub your thighs together to get some stimulation on your swelling privates. Book says intense pain is typically a result from excessive stress and it is the first sign of possible miscarriage. See your doctor immediately. The book doesn’t mention anything on home remedies for this.

Sigh and drop your head, face falling into the backpack. You’re screwed. “ya done?” Sans complains, giving you a few playful slaps, “i’d kinda like yer full attention ‘ere.”

“No,” you respond. He impatiently grumbles and returns to fondling your fat. Lift your head a bit and flip to the page you bookmarked with one of his notes from the workshop: easy ways to alleviate your pregnancy cramps. Golden flower tea. Warm baths. Relaxing massages. Simple fire magic. Bed rest. Urrg, you can’t do any of these while you’re on the run with this stupid skeleton. What the heck do they do with the fire magic? Book lists Ibuprofen. Sans did mention aspirin before. Maybe you could get some pain killers. Deep, centering inhale, then exhale. Close the book and carefully return it to it’s carrier. “Okay,” you announce, “I’m done.”

“a'ight,” he growls deeply, clenching his fist and digging it into the seat of your ass, “say yer sorry, (your name).”

… Forgot what you were supposed to be sorry for already. Another image of the blue monsters head caving in under Sans’ shoe. Swallow it down, don’t think about it. “I’m sorry!” you answer sweetly.

Arm pulls back and he punches you. Whimper and arch into his fist, taking in the energy he’s giving. “sorry, what?”

“I’m sorry, Sans.”

“nah, not good enough, babydoll.” Another jab. His power transfers into you as sexual stimulation and you roll your hips into his femurs without realizing it. Another, other cheek. Curl your toes inside your boots. “ya can do bettah than that.”

You know what he wants you to say. And you like calling him that. But in the light of recent circumstances… it’s a bit too tongue-in-cheek for you. Peer over your shoulder at him; he’s got one eye socket dark, the other filled with a blazing red orb, glancing sideways at you. The sweat trickling down his furrowed brow, his crooked smile, the blotches of blood around his mouth, the dramatic rise and fall of his rib cage, like he’s breathing somehow. Urrgh… FEELINGS. ARE. HAPPENING. Ignore them, ignore them. Just say it. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you finally squeak out.

His grin stretches, cheekbones lifting. “mmm, thaz my good lil’ human. good (your name).”

The build up of desire has caused most of the uterine pain to shrivel away. Joke internally that you could just be aroused for the entirety of this pregnancy, that’d take care of the cramps. He’d enjoy helping you with that. A phalange creeps up the heat between your legs and you spread, silently asking for more. “this stuff is messy but…” he sniggers and bucks his pelvic bone into your stomach, prompting you of his available arousal, “i bet it makes great lube.”

Smile wickedly at him, allowing yourself to temporarily forget the situation and environment. “Wanna find out?”

In a heartbeat, he scurries from underneath to behind you, gym shorts pulled all the way down to his ankles, probably to avoid bloodying them. Keep your head in the ‘pillow’ and wrap your arms around it. Lift your ass to meet him and arch your spine, invitingly exposing yourself. The smell of your ichor wafts freely. Don’t care anymore; all sense of shame and modesty have vanished. Continue watching him over your shoulder as he ducks down to get another taste of you.

Let out a low laugh as he eats you out zealously. “You’re so gross,” you mutter.

“nnng,” he slavers out and you can hear the sound of his hand thunking his pelvic bone as he jacks himself off, “maybe ta a human. but i dun’ give a fuck. i’ve put a lotta things in my mouth, sweetcheeks, an' there’s nothin’ in tha underground that tastes likes you…” He trails off with a throaty rumble when the tip of his tongue finds your cervix and prods at the opening. “i can fuckin’ relate ta báthory, this stuff is… mmmnghh.

Oh fuck, he just made a reference to the Hungarian Blood Countess. That’s… really hot. And scary. Accept everything he gives you, every lick, soft bite, every maul from his sweaty phalanges. But you have to tense and pull away when his appendage leaves your vagina to taste your rear opening. Hands grab your hips to yank you right back into his face and you whine, enjoying all of this more than you probably should.

Takes his time between your cheeks, never inserting more than maybe an inch, delighting in the conflicted sounds you make. Finally decides to mount you after you beg to be fucked. He looks terrifying and staggeringly sexy as he positions himself for entry: slouched over you with a frenzied expression, vermilion streaked across his face, golden tooth gleaming in the light of his magic eye.

“Fuuuck, just gimme all of it, pleeeaaasse, Daddy,” you plead when he only inserts the tip a few times, in out in out in out in out.

Sans makes a lewd slurping noise as he squeezes the entirety of his dick into your waiting hole. The blood provides a smoother entrance than you’ve ever experienced with him. He ogles at the sight of your union, then bares his teeth, making a single-minded expression: i’m gonna fuck tha shit outta this pussy. Well, that’s what you assume that face means. Titter to yourself over that, transforming it into a loud moan when he starts moving. Can feel every bump and curve of his shaft, even the occasional vein. You’ve never been this sensitive before. It’s not necessarily arousing by itself, but you can feel fucking everything.

“aww, haha, oh fuck,” he chokes out as he lets his torso fall forward, his weight pushing your bare legs into the dirt of the cave. Skelearms hug around you like he’s a dog trying to keep it’s bitch in place. “yeeaaa, that feels pretty fuckin’ good. ya ok, lil' one? this helpin’?”

“Hell yes it is,” you chime eagerly, “keep going.” It is helping; his cock is even warmer than his tongue and after all this sex, your body molds to fit him perfectly. Reach between your legs to rub that swollen button, orgasm still beyond the horizon, but you’re so impatient, you want to finish now. Sans nudges into you over and over again, keeping the majority of his length inside.

“heh heh, ere’s one,” he chuckles. Oh great, another joke, “how did tha red sea get it’s name?”

“You’re a monster who’s never left the Underground, how do you know-“

He cuts you off, “cleopatra used ta bathe there, periodically.” And he fucking laughs, slowing his hips, ribs vibrating against you.

You have to admit, that one was pretty good. But you won’t tell him that. You aren't even menstruating anyway. “I hate you,” you sough, doing your best to rock yourself into his now stationary cock.

“no, ya don’t,” he replies.

Open your legs a bit more and tense them, which makes him pop out, his wet dick slapping blood across your inner thigh. He snarls quietly and enters you again without any guide from his hands, and starts to fuck you with new determination. “what can i do ta help ya cum, baby? i wanna make my lil’ human feel all better,” he purrs into your flesh and just his voice makes your tunnel throb.

Answer without hesitation, “stop telling jokes. One hand on my tits. Other around my neck. Whisper threats in my ear, scare me. Please.” Sans gives you exactly what you want; hands unfurl from your stomach, one arm reaching under to clasp a breast, the other reaching over to curl around your throat, applying pressure, but not enough to hurt or cut off oxygen/blood flow. The wetness of his soaked t-shirt meets your shoulder blades as his skull nuzzles next to your ear.

He pauses before breathing out, “yer gonna be mine ferever, (your name).” The phalanges around you tighten and tug you back into his hips as he continues fucking you, fully in, fully out. You never stop circling your clit. He whispers as he thrusts, hot air tickling against you, “yer body, yer soul, all of ya. even when yer a fuckin’ corpse, you’ll be mine.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry, genuinely a little scared. You were not expecting the threats to get this real.

“i’ll keep fillin’ ya wit’ my cum till yer nothin’ but a fuckin’ vessel fer my magic. yer useless body is gonna spit out whatever tha fuck this thing is,” he says brusquely as his hand releases your breast to cup your lower stomach, “an’ then, we'll do it all over again.”

“No! Noo!!

“an’ if ya try’ta escape?” his snicker is so low, it chills your very core. With each word he enters you with more power, until it feels like the points of his pelvis are piercing you. “i’ll catch ya an’ i’ll kill ya. eat ya up, piece by fuckin’ piece. an’ you’ll love erry’ second of it cuz yer a-a,” he falters, fingers sliding up your neck to take ahold of your jaw, “a fuckin’ sick p-piece of shit.

“F-faster!!” you beg.

Grim, manic laughter erupts from his mouth, the fingers on your face beginning to quake, “i’d love that, ta see tha color drain from yer face. watch tha life leave those pretty eyes o’ yers. ooh, baby, yer lucky i’m in love wit’ ya. er’ else y o u ' d b e d e a d w h e r e y o u s t a n d.” Again, his voice echoes directly into your skull. Everything he's saying is true, you know it is. That’s so fucked up. And exhilarating.

He picks up the pace and you frantically grind your fingers against your clit until you climax. Reality is lost in a flash of light, brain pounding with the effervescence of your orgasm, eyes rolling back, muscles pulling him in as deep as possible. Repeat his name in a garbled whimper as it washes over you, flushed body spasming under his weight. Bask in it for a few seconds, then return to rubbing yourself, you can cum again.

“yer so fuckin’…” Sans loses that sentence when you reach the peak again, tears falling down your face.

“Thank you thankyouthankyouforyourcockDaaaaddyy!!”

Moves his head to the back of your neck, closed teeth caressing you in a mock kiss before he joins you during your third orgasm. Fills you completely, but less than before. Nothing spills out. The high-pitched whine he vocalizes makes you hum and roll against him. He chokes on his breath, cock still twitching. You want to say it. Those three words. “Saanss, I lo-“

“mnnnno, pumpkin… not yet…” he mumbles through a drooling, shaky jaw.

You’d ask why if you had a better grasp on your mental state. He lies on top of you for a while, keeping his magic inside. The heat feels nice. About to drift into slumber when you hear the poof of his magic returning to his body. You’re empty. Feel him pick you up and embrace you. Then you fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Nothing existed and everything was peaceful. Until you're jerked back to reality from the alarming sensation of being completely submerged in water. Instinctively close your mouth, but your nostrils still flood with liquid. Pop your head out of the water and thrash a bit before realizing how shallow it is. IT’S COLD. Sink your feet into the mud below to stand. The water reaches almost to the tops of your hips.

Cough out as fluid slides down the back of your throat and you blink away the tears to see Sans standing completely naked in the water with you, maybe two feet away, hands on his hipbones, snickering at your panic. Whoa. Wipe the snot from your face as you blatantly check him out; he looks so small and dainty without any clothes. A literal skeleton, ribs so thin, bet you could snap one right off. He smirks at your ogling and pops his hip out suggestively. The way his spine curls and shifts with the movement is… really sexy.

“mornin’, beautiful,” he pipes, closing the gap between you, reaching to wrap his boney arms around your abdomen. Oh, you’re naked too. You’d normally bounce away from him, especially with that erotic cadence he’s got, but he’s so waaarrrrmmm, you want that heat.

Press your entire body against him as apathetically as you can, barking, “WHY didn’t you just wake me up?”

“i did,” he scoffs, “and ya need a bath. two birds, one stone.” He purposefully presses a femur between your legs while caressing a love handle.

Does it never end with this guy? You sneer right back and jab an elbow into his ribs, making him stumble back and giggle with a hand clutching his ‘wound’. “You need one too. Fucking asshole,” you sass, crouching into the water and beginning to scrub the filth off with your hands. This river doesn’t have the clearest water, but you’ll trust that this is the only current option. Reminds you of lakes on the surface. There’s even a tickle of flowing seaweed across your calf.

Sans squats with you, submerging until just his sockets peer at you from the top of the waters surface, red pupils casting a rippling reflection. He looks both sinister and silly like that. Bubbles rise to the surface, presumably from him exhaling, however the fuck that works, as he advances on you again. Lifts his head enough to speak, liquid draining from the various holes in his skull, “whuz tha rush? ya still gotta take it easy, babe. lemme help.”

Scrunch up your face at him. Take it easy, he says. Let him to touch you anyway, cozy bones rubbing the dry flakes of blood off your upper arm. Oh yeah, you got nicked with a spear there. The wound is gone; he must’ve fed you while you were unconscious. The mental picture of him gently coaxing food down your throat while you slept is charming. Run your wet hand across his forehead, wiping away the stains of dried sweat. His bones are surprisingly greasy.

He stopped you from saying the L word for the second time. “Why can’t I say it?” you ask after he gives you an especially affectionate look. Avert your eyes and feel your cheeks blush, his tender touch and attention to detail is way too intimate. “You say it all the time.”

“our souls are pretty fuckin’ bonded at this point, kitten,” he sighs, seemingly disheartened, “i dun’ want ya ta start splinterin’. dunno if a human soul can take that.” Phalanges trace across the outline of your collar bone as he zones out watching the skin stretch with his gestures. “sayin’ that is… there’s magic in it.”

“Like a spell?” you inquire as you bend forward to wash your hair and scalp, both hands reaching up and massaging the dirt away.

“yea. sure.”

Squeeze the liquid from your locks. He doesn’t do anything. “What happens when souls splinter?” Let more water soak in, comb it with your fingers, dampen it again.

He blinks, coming back from wherever he just was, and abruptly shoves a hand between your thighs to rub carefully at your folds. Makes you laugh, his soft stokes almost tickling. “only ‘appens with expectin’ couples,” his voice lilts significantly, giving the impression that this topic makes him anxious. “monsters souls bind so much they s-stop bein’ individuals an’ experience errythin’ together, even when they’re physically apart. goes away after tha young is born.”

Jump and squeak when he spreads your labia to wipe out the blood from each crease. Satisfied with the cleanness of your hair, you dive your hands into the water to his still red-stained pelvis and he gasps, face flushing with magic. So responsive. Grin at him and circle the edge of his obturator foramen, other hand probing the joints of his lower spine.

“Is that why you’re scared?” you interrogate with a cocked eyebrow. It’s rewarding to see him flounder like this. “You’ve already been so many Sans’s. Can’t take being another person?”

“i’m scared fer a lotta reasons,” he admits. Trails from vagina, across perineum, orbiting your sphincter. Expect him to shove a few fingers inside when he smiles devilishly at you. One sharp distal phalange pushes in, retreating the moment you react. Grasp his tailbone and he thrusts forward, trying to rub himself against you, but your hold keeps him in place. He whimpers before clearing his throat and grumbling out, “heh, yer kind of a bitch sometimes. ya know that?”

Grind the nail of your thumb into the seam of his pubic symphysis, retorting, “says the biggest douchebag I’ve ever met.” That makes him chuckle and lean in for a kiss.

… This is probably going to lead to more sex. Should put an end to this. You pull away and he lets you go. Turn your back to him, do a quick full-body rinse, then wade to the shore where your belongings are piled. Grab one of his ‘clean’ shirts from the backpack and towel yourself off with it, watching him the whole time as he sinks completely into the water. He stays under for a while, surfacing after you’ve already dressed yourself in another shirt, his poofy jacket, and clean yellow socks. You hunch over to tie the laces of your boots.

“heeey,” he drawls, moving to float on his back, arms lazily flapping to swim towards you, “wuz tha difference between a bitch an’ a whore? yer both o’ those, by tha way.”

“Stop. Talking.”

“see, a whore will fuck erryone at tha party. a bitch’ll fuck erryone except you.” He snorts as he stands and takes his time sauntering over. Tilts his head to the side and smacks it to dislodge the trapped liquid.

“You’re doing that wrong,” you point out, scuttering to him and placing your palm over his external acoustic meatus, creating a temporary vacuum to pull out the remaining fluid.

“i dun’ really have flesh ta make that work. but thanks.” Lifts his skull back up, sticking a finger into the same hole and twisting it around. Can’t help but stare at his otherworldly body some more. He’s just a skeleton, that’s fucking crazy. Wish you could lie in a bed or just be somewhere that isn’t out in the open to survey every inch of that handsome ivory. You shouldn’t be this attracted to a bunch of walking bones.

Picks up his shorts and pulls them over his legs, waistband resting around his iliac crests. Leans against the cave wall to put on his socks and sneakers. You’ve been gaping at the way the laces travel between his fingers and he meets your eyes as he tightens the final knot. Focus on the way his shoes bend with each step, the tautness of the laces, the sound of his sole crushing into the soil. They’re still covered in her dust and your blood.

He cups your face in both hands and directs you to look at him. You do, with a trepidatious smile. Closes his eyes, you keep yours open, and his sharp teeth nestle into your puckering mouth.

Leans away, his thumb skimming your cupid’s bow. “i love ya, sweetheart.”

“And I, also, am fond of you, Sans,” you trill. That sounded more genuine and heartfelt than you intended. A tiny throb of your uterus. “Do…” you pause and stare into his bare ribcage, the glow of his soul almost too transparent to notice, “do you know anything about it yet?”

“… yea.” His hands leave you and he’s bending to grab a mustard bottle from the unzipped backpack. Unscrews the cap and lets some pour into his open jaw, other hand snatching his gray jacket from the ground, avoiding looking at you. “feels pretty happy.”

Chapter Text

Ha… haha. Pretty happy. He says. It’s… pretty happy.

Why did you even ask?

Try to swallow down the lump in your throat as uncomfortable emotions bubble up. Clank of bottles meeting as he returns the mustard to its carrier. Needing something to do as he takes his time getting dressed, you reach into your jacket pocket and find one of the several mustard packets. He doesn’t bother putting on a t-shirt, just pulls on his heavy coat over still dripping bones. Rip it open with your teeth and suck out the healing condiment. Tastes terrible by itself, but it’s convenient and the pain in your uterus actually fades. A little bit. New energy materializes, you feel 100% again. Maybe 85%.

Catch your reflection at the waters edge. You look like shit; rings under your eyes, lips cracked from being so dry, a few scattered bruises, hair matted to your scalp. And yet, you’re really beautiful at the same time. Maybe more beautiful than you’ve ever been. Your hair is shinier, eyes brighter, skin clear and rich with color. There’s a literal glow about you, red mutedly illuminating your cheeks. His magic? That’s. Weird.

The image of Sans appearing in the water next to you brings you back and you immediately whip around to grab the backpack and put it on. Pull your hood up, hiding your face. Can see the dull luminescence when looking down at your nose.

“heh heh, hey, (your name),” he starts, “whaz tha difference between a light bulb an’ a pregnant chick?”

Distort your face with disgust, stomping behind him and elbowing at him to move forward, “fucking walk, skeleton.”

“ya can unscrew a light bulb,” he snorts, stumbling a bit from your exertion.

MMMMNN. Hmhm. Hm. Don’t kill him. Don’t punch him in the face. Don’t throw him into the water. Deep breath. “You seem to like jokes,” you point out through gritted teeth, “I know a lot of jokes. How about we make a deal?” His eyes perk up at that. “Whenever I make a joke that makes you laugh, you have to do whatever I say. Within reason, of course.”

“fer how long?”

“Until you can make me laugh.”

“a’ight, human,” Sans agrees, wearing that typical impish grin, “gimme yer best shot.”

You’ve got the perfect joke. “Knock knock,” you pipe, stepping forward push him again, feeling the back of his ribcage through the jacket. Just go, fucking WALK, let’s get to that barrier!

Plants the heels of his sneakers into the ground, halting your efforts. “who’s there?” he replies, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. You recognize the brand. Where did he get that?

“Smell map,” you beam, already knowing this is gold and going to work.

Slaps the pack against his hand to compress the tobacco before withdrawing one stick, returning the rest of them to his pocket. “… smell map who?” Slides it between his closed teeth, an orange flame appearing from nothing to light it.

“Wow, Sans, I knew you were kinky, but scatplay? I didn’t even know monsters could shit.”

He coughs on his inhale then tries to cover it up by shoving his hands in his pockets and ambling East, unsuccessfully suppressing a quiet, “heh. heh heh,” as he goes.

“Haha!” you cackle and practically skip after him, “I heard that!”

“ya got me,” he confesses with a shrug, “yer lucky i like toilet humor.”

Titter and take his arm, forcing him to match your faster walking speed. “Okay, here are my terms. No more pregnancy jokes.” He gripes at that, but you overcast him by continuing in a louder voice, “we keep moving forward! No stagnating. The next time we fuck, it’ll be INSIDE.”

“whoa whoa,” he protests, “ya can’t plan that shit. besides, you n’ i both know i could bend ya over undyne’s dust on fuckin’ tv an’ ya’d love it.”

Was that her name? Undyne? That’s ironic. The tormenting sound of her skull breaking down under his shoe disrupts your train of thought. Ugh, the way her eyeballs bulged before she disintegrated… The lingering mustard on your tongue and that vile image makes you feel queasy. Stop moving, covering your mouth with your hand, feeling a strong gag edging up your throat.

He seems to notice as he removes his hand from his jacket to tenderly rub your back, encouraging you to continue walking. “ya know, i wuz thinkin’ bout gettin’ into tha telescope business ‘fore ya showed up.”

Swallow hard, gag lightly, pretend it didn’t happen, “the telescope business? How is that a job?” A burp comes when you expect vomit, tasting horrible and echoing in the cave. Sans lets out a booming laugh. That expulsion of air made you feel way better, the nausea withering. You just noticed the telescope tucked in a corner. It looks exactly like the one he was fiddling with before.

“i wuz gonna charge monsters 50000G or a blowjob ta use it,” he says as he gestures toward the object and you can’t tell whether he’s joking or not. “but since yer my babymama,” oh god, did he just call you- “ya can use it fer free. howzabout it?”

At first you’re suspicious. He’s being way too coy. But the glimmer of the caves ceiling is enticing enough for you to give in, stepping up to the scope and leaning into it. Grasp the handle to adjust it and then there’s something slapping the back of your head, forcing the eyepiece into your face, OUCH. Reel back, hand flying to cover your damaged eye, you hear Sans’ sadistic chuckle. What an ASSHOLE!!!

Howl with rage and start punching him with your dominant hand, not really trying to hurt him, even though you probably should. Other hand still clutches your pulsing eyeball. Your efforts only make him laugh harder, moving his hands to lazily deflect your jabs.

“what ‘appened ta movin’ forward, sugartits?” Skelearms wrap around you and he’s picking you up awkwardly; you’re still in a standing position, arms trapped, lifted off the ground just enough for your feet not to drag. “c’mon, lez go.” Flail half-heartedly in his grasp, falling forward, pushing his face between your breasts and he just smirks, tilting his still lit cigarette between his teeth so it doesn't burn you.

Unexpectedly, he teleports both of you, surroundings fragmenting, bodily processes stopping for a picosecond. Cough and cling to him like a baby koala when the transfer is complete. He hums, rubbing his teeth into your skin, and you finally articulate, “you-” wheeeeeze, “you need to warn me before you do that.”

“wanna go onna date?” he asks, hands moving to cup your bare rear, “when we get ta tha capital, i mean.”

Ignore him for a moment, jerking your head around to see where he blipped you; a secluded hollow in the same cave system, a small, fish shaped, red and black house taking up most of the space. This is her home. Undyne. Unsure how you know that. Flashback to her physical form breaking into ashes as Sans screams. Suppress it. “Why?” is all you question, assuming he knows what you’re referring to. All that’s on your mind is her.

“uh, cuz’ i like ya? an’ it would be fun?”

No,” you sneer, dismissing him completely. “Not that. Why are we at her house?”

He carries you to the entryway as he speaks, “gettin’ ya some tea.” Can hear the click click of a lock being picked and the door is opening, Sans’ hands remaining on you the whole time. He spits his cigarette out and stomps out the burning tobacco. The smell of fresh sushi wafts and suddenly you’re hungry. That’s fucked up.

It’s a normal house; one big room, kitchen at the back wall, dinning room, a giant, luxurious, grand piano. Whoa, is that a Steinway? Sans sets you down and moves to one of the dinning chairs, plopping down with a heavy sigh. The piano may be perfect, but the rest of the room looks like a fighting ring. The colorful fish wallpaper is slashed in various places, spears and swords puncture the walls and tile. There’s dust on the floor. It smells like fish. Again, you feel like you’re going to puke.

“ah geez,” he grumbles upon noticing your pale face, “just sit.” A grip on your soul directs your legs to walk to the chair next to him and bend until you sit. With a lift of his now glowing index finger, there’s a floating tea kettle being filled with water from the sink. Wiggles his phalange, stove turns on, kettle drops onto the burner with a clang.

Don’t throw up. Clench your fists, breathe in through your nose, out of your mouth. “Isn’t this like, really not okay?” You don’t look up, but can hear various things rustling and clanking in the kitchen. “We shouldn’t be here.”

“psssht,” Sans spurns, slouching dramatically and resting into his arms crossed on the table, “thaz just yer human sentimentality. that bitch being dead dun’ change a thing bout this place.” He touches his face to carefully brush something out of his eye socket. The smell is so strong. You can imagine her here. Maybe she was friends with Papyrus. Sans gives you a side-glance, expression changing to something remorseful. “… ya never saw anyone die ‘fore, huh.”

Don’t say anything, just swallow hard, ignoring the sweat beginning to trickle down your forehead.

“… sorry,” he says.

Then he just stares at you for a few minutes, until the hot kettle begins to whistle. “A lot of sugar,” you utter. Look to the counter to see a bag of sugar being ripped open, the force flinging a generous amount of granules into a fish-shaped teacup. Boiling water is poured into the cup and it’s teleported on the table right in front of you. “That’s pretty handy,” you remark, another deep breath, reach up to swirl the teabag around in the water, “do all monsters have telekinesis?”

Sans smiles again, eyes lidded, lifting his head to rest it on his propped up palm. That looks really uncomfortable, his phalanges have to grip his head so it doesn’t slide right off. “nah,” he says, fingers of his left hand tapping one after another on the wood table. “just ones who’er good with offensive magic.”

The tea smells really good. It’s a deep gold hue. Probably golden flower tea. Just inhaling the steam alleviates your upset stomach. Want to drink it now, but it’ll burn. There’s a faint red radiance coming from Sans’ jacket. He didn’t put on a t-shirt; you can see the curves of ribs poking out. Inquisitive, your right hand inches across the space between you until a palm finds his femur.

The lights in his eyes travel down to your hand as fingernails dig into the fabric of his shorts to pull it up, scratching, slowly, inch by inch, bunching it around his hip joint. “drink yer tea, (your name),” he reminds you, his tone almost scolding. Press fingertips into his leg, pushing until your digits wrap around him and you pick up your tea with your other hand. Bring it to your face, blow cool air, and stare into the cup as you sip. Mmm, it’s sweet, washing away the taste of old mustard. The magic slides down your throat, being absorbed through the stomach lining, relieving stress and pain.

He looks really alluring right now. Is this stuff making you horny? Maybe that’s just your neutral state now. Run your hand down the femur, letting go and dancing across the divots of his knee. He groans quietly when you try to wedge a nail under the patella, “whadda ya think yer doin’?” Another drink of tea, uterine ache completely gone, it even starts to feel pleasantly warm.

“Exploring,” you simper. Not paying attention as you take another sip, the liquid slips out the side of your mouth, spilling onto your jacket and t-shirt. Maybe he didn’t notice. Laugh at yourself a little, taking your hand off him to clean yourself.

He sways his hips in his seat to scoot the chair closer, until his leg presses against yours. “do ya like raisins?”

“What?” Another mouthful of tea.

“how ‘bout that date i mentioned?”

Another. It’s almost gone. Return your sticky hand to his exposed femur. “Sure,” you chime.

Chapter Text

After your second cup of tea you uh. Kind of grabbed Sans by the ribcage and laid him out on the kitchen table. He had leaned in to kiss you, exposing more of his anatomy, the beat of his soul in tune with yours, and then this. You didn’t notice the dust waft around as his jacket fell open. Forgot all about Undyne, her death, and that this was her home. And well. Now he’s below you, fingers tangled in still damp hair, and one of his ribs is between your lips.

He’s surprisingly submissive if you just assert yourself. Splayed out, blushing, arching his spine into you, enthusiastically whimpering. You’d be disappointed in how little effort it took if he wasn’t so obviously desperate for you. For anything you decide to give him.

“(your name),” he stutters, voice high-pitched and feathery. Respond with a sonorous hmm, tongue rolling across the seams where ribs connect to sternum, already salty from his sweat. Dominant hand reaches between his legs to palm at his pubis, other trailing up his spine, creeping inside, teasing towards his center.

“fuck, babe, that feels…” he dwindles and bucks into your hand as you poke one finger at his soul. You hum again, leaning up so you can take in his entirety, phalanges never breaking contact, moving from your hair to your shoulders. God, he’s beautiful: expression so flushed with magic and yearning, glistening with a thin layer of perspiration, bones dyed in the pulsating light of his soul, rib cage actually expanding as he pants.

Sans pushes at your jacket until you let it fall off, one arm at a time, now completely naked except for his white t-shirt and your footwear. Hand roams his pelvic bone until finding his coccyx, curling around it, carefully sliding your hand up and down, simulating jacking off a dick. The guttural moan he belts out is accompanied by his hands shakily yanking up your shirt until it gathers above your breasts. He squeezes them and thrusts upward again, phalanges digging into flesh enough to hurt.

“Do you like pain?” you ask directly, words gravelly from mucus accumulating in your throat.

“y-yea…” he inflects the word with a lilt. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

Smile warmly, releasing all parts of him to direct his hands to your swinging hips and he grasps hard enough to pucker skin. “Would you like it if I hurt you?”

The response is immediate, “fuck yes.

Instincts and passion annex the situation. Fist two of his thickest ribs, lifting his heavy upper frame before slamming it back down. His hands leave you, pupils disappearing as he reels from the jolt. You do it again. He cries out. One more time. Clear liquid starts trickling from his eye sockets and he snivels, “(your name), (your name), i—f-fuck, i-“

“Shh,” you hush, fingers touching as much bone as possible before cupping his face, thumb wiping away the liquid that doesn’t actually feel wet. “Are you okay?”

His lower jaw quivers, teeth clanking, and he whines, “no.”

About to apologize and stop everything, but it looks like Sans doesn’t want that, as he’s wrapping one arm around your shoulders to hug you, the other forcing your legs to spread, grinding his clothed pubis into your arousal.

“Sans, we don’t-ahh!” The ridges of his pelvic bone rub up and down your crease and you decide to just continue. Maintain eye contact as you stretch back to yank his shorts down enough to expose his pelvis. Lay on top, the flesh of your torso filling the grooves of his ribcage, arms wrapped around his neck, supporting his head, and you angle your hips to brush your clit again his pubic symphysis.

It’s not very comfortable; his bones have no give and the humpable surface area is minimum. Have to rely on only your wetness to alleviate the harsh friction. But the motion is smooth and his bare body is so warm and real. Think you can actually feel the magic tickling as you grind against him over and over again. His hand drags across you until he cradles your face. Your eyes are closed, but you know to pucker your lips as he brings your mouth to his. There’s magic to meet you. It’s very faint this time, and applying any pressure causes you to break though and kiss bare teeth. But you don’t care, you like his kisses.

There’s a warmth increasing inside both of you. Another image of you from Sans’ eyes. It’s happening again. Open your eyes a crack to see flickers of purple swirling with crimson. This time, you welcome it and dive in head first. It’s you. But. It’s not you? You’re different. Holding Sans hand. He’s wearing a blue jacket. There’s a plate of spaghetti. It’s snowing outside. i love you, kiddo. This is… a memory?

You’re torn from whatever that was as the Sans physically beneath you gives the hair at the base of your scalp a light tug. He looks as terrified as you feel, eye sockets completely black. “i don’t… i don’t remember this,” he whispers.

Is. Is this why you wanted this? Why you let yourself get pregnant? You fell into the underground instead of the child. Only once. An anomaly. The dull-toothed Sans loved you. then you… you were cowardly, (your name). and you left me. i hated you. and waited for another reset.

Oh god oh god, heart racing, hips stopped, he just holds onto you. I’m sorry, Sans. I’m sorry. I love you.

it never came. so i did it myself. sorry you got caught up in this, kid. you falling was a pretty big glitch. didn’t think it’d happen twice.

More memories besiege you, like a movie on fast forward. The image of your lower stomach glowing blue shocks you to the point of jumping back, severing the connection. You’d have fallen off the table if he hadn’t sat up and grabbed your arms. J-just a few deep breaths, (your name), you can…

No. No, you can’t breathe through this. You were another person, you lived another life, with him. What the fuck.

The Sans beneath you seems to understand completely. One arm encircles you, the fluff of his jacket cushioning your embrace. Other hand takes your chin. Just like that first day in the forest and snow. And you look at him. He looks unnerved. And determined. Right socket goes black, left igniting with an audible foosh.

Without speaking, you hear him say something.

all that matters is you and me. right here. right now.

can i fuck ya?

What the fuck. “Haha..” you laugh, ”hahahahahaha!” It’s uncontrollable at this point, your voice echoing lightly in the large room as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, under his fur-lined hood. He just smiles at you, hands moving to fondle you all over, genuine tenderness reflecting in his single iris. Rest your forehead against his, your cackling softening into a flitting giggle.

There’s a magic ghost cock pressing against your labia. “Hahaaa…ahh,” you moan as you lower yourself ungrudgingly onto him. He winces and lets out a long, low, rumbling breath as both hands cup your ass, lifting you enough to straighten your legs and sit completely in his lap, remaining inside you the entire time.

Curl your limbs, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. He probably is. Your mind is swimming with rediscovered memories. In most of them, you’re with him. It wasn’t always happy. Teardrops start dribbling, partially from a few unfortunate recollections and being overwhelmed, but mostly because. You really love him. Completely. Without the side effects of the pregnancy. And apparently. You always did? That’s… heavy.

A tongue materializes with a prickle of static and licks away the streams of salt from your face. He begins to move, directing your hips to rock with his. “my human,” he mumbles as he yanks at the collar of your t-shirt, stretching it so he can plant toothy kisses across the scars he’s made. “(your name).”

“F-fuck,” you stammer, fingernails clawing at the back of his jacket, sounding like someone walking in windbreakers. “Pleeeeaasse,” you sound so needy, mirroring his behavior just moments ago.

“please, what?” he asks as he ducks down to your breasts, nuzzling his face between them, breath hot and moist on your skin. When you don’t respond other than trying to grind harder into his crotch, he says, “w-what can i do?”

“Please give me more. Sans, I lo-“ The metacarpals of his hand silence you and a thrust hard enough to bump your cervix distracts you from trying to repeat yourself.

“i know, sweetheart, i know.” He’s lying down on his back, pulling you with him, and you fumble to move your legs out of the way before he crushes them. As you’re trying to get situated in the new position, he’s raising himself into you at a speed that could probably make you squirt in just a few minutes. Just fall forward and burry your face into his hood, your cheeks touching. His is pointy. Slows when you let out a powerful cry, looks like he wants to take his time with you.

Too busy fucking, neither of you hear the door open. But you do hear the voice trumpet through the room. “KNOCK KNOCK,” Papyrus roars.

Chapter Text

Oh shit.

Sans is frozen beneath you, dick still inside, both sockets empty. Gotta think fast; you dismount the skeleton, and he’s pulled out with a squish as Papyrus speaks, “UNDY-…“ he stops.

Okay, blinding panic is back, run run RUN. Spot a door in the far left corner, reflexes assuming control as you scramble across the table and plant your boots on the floor.

“SANS, WHY ARE YOU HAVING SEX IN UNDYNE’S HOUSE? DIDN’T I TELL YOU…” The moment you reach the door there’s a familiar, chilling grip on your soul and you’re rendered immobile. “OH MY GOD,” Papyrus squeals, “IS THAT. A HUMAN?”

As he speaks, you’re able to slightly turn your head, taking in the form of Sans’ brother. Although you loath him, you have to admit, he’s pretty attractive. A leggy skeleton, must be over six feet tell. Skull long and angular, two cracks spanning across his left eye socket. Pointed teeth, complete with menacing tusks. His outfit is incredibly ostentatious: black leather pants, his iliac crests peaking out, black crop top with the most super-villainy shoulder pads you’ve ever seen, red knee-high boots and elbow length gloves, a flowing red scarf around his neck, gold accessories and dangling chains. Papyrus is the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. But much more menacing.

“yes,” Sans squeaks, voice barely concealing his nerves as he sits up on the table.

Papyrus makes a triumphant expression, crimson pupils blazing as he puffs his chest out, “THE HUMAN!!! I, THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS, HAVE FINALLY FOUND THEM!” He moves his jaw to the words as he speaks, unlike Sans. “AT LAST, THE SEVENTH SOUL IS…” Face twisting with austerity, he looks to his brother and snarls, “THIS IS WHAT YOU WERE HIDING.”

Still can’t move. Heavy boots thud and chains jingle as Papyrus stomps up to you, oh god, you’re so scared. He fists the fabric of your t-shirt to yank you into his face. Forced onto your tippi toes, the magical hold on you leaves as he hunches over to get as close to your face as possible. Smells like bay leafs and leather cleaner. Reach up and grab his hands, nails digging into the perfect texture of the gloves. “YOU???” he spits out with great inflection, appearing disappointed, “WHAT’S SO SPECIAL ABOUT YOU?”

It seems like he isn’t going to murder you right away. Maybe you can talk yourself out of this. “Uhh,” is the best you come up with.

The wind is knocked out of you as your back finds the wall and you wheeze, placing your hands on Papyrus’s ribcage as he proceeds to survey your mostly nude body. Choke back a moan when he undauntedly slides the leather of his gloves between your legs, poking and prodding until finding your dripping entrance. “YOU REEK OF MY BROHER,” he grimaces, observing you with a shrewd, cold expression as you squirm around his fingers and shove at him with trembling limbs.

“Hi, Papyrus,” you huff, boldness surfacing out of contempt, “nice to meet you.”

“SHUT UP,” he barks as he slaps you across the face, the fingers inside inching deeper until they meet a dead end. They feel good and part of you wants to accept what’s happening, but you don’t. Oh wait, you taste blood, tongue investigates the source; it’s the same tooth Sans knocked loose when he punched you. The impact of Papyrus’s slap agitated the already injured root. Feels like it’s about to fall out. Clench your teeth to keep it in place and mute your cries of pleasure as he starts finger-fucking you with phenomenal speed and pressure. Why, why is he doing this?

Notice Sans shamble towards you, fully dressed, hands in his pockets, skull contorted with anxiety. Call out to him, vocalizing a “Sa-“ before Papyrus smacks you again, violently, severing what connection your tooth had. It rolls around in your mouth and you almost choke on it. Wad it up with saliva and blood, about to spit it at his face when the hand that slapped you covers your mouth, and you accidentally swallow it. Whine and arch against the wall, fingers wrapping one of his bottom ribs, yanking feebly as the approaching climax saps your strength. Sans just watches.

The orgasm is fucking earth-shattering, arousal from fear and sexual tension you built with Sans slurrying together around Papyrus’s commanding fingers. You’d drop to your knees without his power keeping you in place. Through your carnally clouded vision, you register a wine glow of your soul materializing outside your body and the brightening luminesce of Sans’ magic on your cheeks. Papyrus releases you, shock washing out his face. He knows. He knows you’re pregnant.

“DISGUSTING,” he comments with a fluttery voice, nabbing you by the waist when you try to slip away. “YET,” his eyes widen and glimmer a bit as he says, “SO EXCITING!” Wetness smears across your skin as he pushes a palm into your lower stomach, bearing down until you feel something that wasn’t there before. There’s a bump and he’s depressing it until you scream in pain.

“Stop!!” you yell before jabbing an elbow into Papyrus’s ribs, sending him back a few steps.

Before either you or Papyrus do anything, Sans appears between you, slumping into himself, hands still in his pockets. “i-i wuz takin’ em t-ta-ta see th-tha doc,” he sputters, swaying lightly in his stance. Start sneaking towards the door on your left as the taller brother regains his composure, taking one stride forward. Sans backs away towards you, “tha-tha-this izza big deal, bro. i didn’t t-tell ya cuz…” he chuckles and it sounds genuine, “i knew ya’d get jealous.”

“JEALOUS,” Papyrus snorts, another step forward, “OF THAT MUTANT? NO.”

Only able to get maybe a foot closer to the door before Sans’ jacket meets your chest when Papyrus closes the gap and you intuitively wraps your arms around him. Whisper against his skull, “let’s go, we can just leave.”


“Sans,” you plead, embracing him tightly. He whimpers when he’s finally sandwiched between you and Papyrus, his hands swiftly circling his brothers spine, beginning to work it with honed precision. “We made a deal,” you remind him, “you have to do what I say.” Eyes roll up to see Papyrus hunching over both of you, one hand finding support against the wall, the other reaching around behind you. The entirety of your asscheek is fondled by his massive hand, pulling your crotch into Sans’s tailbone and his into Papyrus’s femur.

“YOU’VE PROBABLY BEEN FUCKING ALL OVER THE UNDERGROUND, HAVEN’T YOU?” he accuses, dramatic voice subdued with budding arousal. “ABSOLUTELY FILTHY…” Papyrus’s sockets go black before blood orange flames appear from nothing, giving you a static shock, the fire dying out into smoke and revealing his iris, focused on you. “A HUMAN THAT ACCEPTED A MONSTERS SEED. MY BROTHERS SEED!” You’re forced against the wall when Papyrus thrusts against Sans’s ribcage, and he bellows, “SUCH MAGNIFICENT DEPRAVITY!!!”

“j-just dun’ hurt em, ok?” Sans breathes out. “well,” his familiar mischievous tone returns as he tosses his brother a playful wink, adding, “not too badly.”

What?! He’s just going to give consent for you? “What the fuck are you doing,” you ask Sans loudly, indifferent to Papyrus hearing you.

The shorter skeleton moves one hand to his brothers belt buckle and you notice a sizable bulge under those tight leather pants. He looks over his shoulder at you as he undoes it, his inner turmoil and pure lasciviousness clear. “i can’t… i-ah…” he mutters, “s-sorry, babydoll.”

Annoyed with your chatter, or maybe just wanting more of your fleshy body, Papyrus is jostling you two around until you’re wedged between them, facing Sans, his back against the wall. The t-shirt is pulled off, now completely naked except for your socks and boots. Bare chest flattened against your lovers ribcage, Papyrus’s now exposed cock thrusting into the small of your back. You whimper, not wanting this, but not wanting to fight it even more, arms hugging around Sans’s shoulders.

“THEY’RE SO SOFT,” Papyrus comments. Long fingers edge up your spine and comb through your hair. He takes a fistful and uses it to crane your head back until you’re forced to look at his face. Throw him a petulant mien and he smirks in response.

“fuck, i know, r-right?” Sans agrees, exploiting your position to manifest a tongue and taste the skin protecting your jugular as his hands encircle your waist. He pinches your thigh between his femurs, shamelessly rutting into your flesh, sharp bones leaving streaks of irritated skin.

Sans’s phalanges move to play with your available nipple as a gloved hand reaches to cover a majority of your chest, smooshing the tissue around. Curse under your breath when Papyrus’s cock slides down your crack and pokes at your recovering entrance. “NYAH HAH HAH,” he chuckles theatrically, “ENJOYING BEING TAKEN BY TWO MONSTERS. BROTHERS, NO LESS! WHAT A REPREHENSIBLE LITTLE WHORE.” The last word is drawn out, rolling from his teeth until transforming into a growl.

Grit your teeth, bucking your hips back, beginning to push him inside you. His voice is like nails on a chalkboard— if a chalkboard was a smug piece of melodramatic shit. “Do you ever stop talking?” you jeer, apathetic to the possible repercussions.

You’re being hoisted up by the arm around your chest, face and knees smashed into the wall, brace yourself against it, away from Papyrus. Smaller hands hook under your knees, holding your legs up and apart as an unfamiliar cock pierces you. It’s not as warm as Sans’s and it lacks his tapering, feeling more like a smooth dildo. Oh, it’s longer, entering until it physically can’t go any deeper.

Papyrus starts moving and you remember Sans’s face is literally right between your legs. Glance down at him, but you have to whine and turn away as he just stares at your sex, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. He hums, hands traveling down the backs of your thighs, legs propped on his shoulders, and he hugs your lower half, tongue lapping at his brothers thrusting member and your engorged clit.

It feels really good and you can’t help but vocalize your indulgence, “oooh, fuck." This is so fucked up. “What the fuuuuck,” you say with a giggle.

“HAH HAH, HOW PRECIOUS,” he groans, stretching out the last word with a particularly long thrust. A gloved hand is cradling your face, pulling you back so you lean into the monster fucking you, head resting on his shoulder. Avoid looking at him, curling your arms into yourself. Tosses you up in the air for a moment, vacating your hole in the process, and catches you by looping his spindly arms under your thighs, forcing you to spread mercilessly, legs packed against your torso, feet wobbling near his face. Ack, can barely breathe with your body so compressed like this. “MMM, HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN SINCE WE RAVISHED A HUMAN LIKE THIS?”

Sans’s only response is a low grumble and it sounds like he’s sucking a cock, there’s panting, slurping, the occasional pop of suction breaking. You just hang in Papyrus’s grip awkwardly, freeing your arms from being trapped between your legs and stomach, reaching to silently ask for him to ease his grip on your knee-joint. He readjusts, releasing you just a few inches, enough to allow you take a proper breath.

“BACK INSIDE,” he orders and you can feel Sans’s hands spreading your labia and he gives you a long lick before Papyrus reenters. He slides in with even greater ease. Was probably lubed up from Sans’s mouth. Somehow.

Daze off looking at the ceiling as he continues fucking you for a few minutes, listening to your wet union, both of them grunt, whine, and breathe, and bone thunking together as Sans jacks off. Eventually, Papyrus bleats, “HOW DO I MAKE THEM CLIMAX? THIS IS GETTING TEDIOUS.”

The hood of your clitoris is pulled back and there’s a boney thumb rubbing quickly across your hardened nub. “th-they can take a lot… go faster,” Sans instructs. His brother does and all you can do is curl into yourself, mouth hanging open as they wreak havoc on your vulnerable body. One of Papyrus’s hands cradles your face, impelling you to take in the action between your legs: Sans leaning against the wall, left hand on your vulva, right on his throbbing magic, jacket hanging off both shoulders, his brothers cock glowing as it pistons its entire length. Hoooly shit.

So close, he’s moving so rapidly, so close so close— you finish, letting out a powerful moan as fluid gushes, muscles pulsing around his still thrusting member. Cries of pleasure change to sobs when neither of them stop, building and extending your orgasm, head muddled with feel-good neurotransmitters. “NOW, THAT’S A NICE SIGHT,” Papyrus purrs next to your ear, “BUT I’M SURE YOU CAN DO BETTER.”

They seem to understand each other completely; Papyrus crouches a bit, Sans stands straight and catches your gaze for a second, then situates himself, length in hand. Wait, both at once? In the same hole!? The head of his cock teases at your clit before Papyrus makes a small noise, and then Sans is squeezing inside the already occupied hole. One inch, it burns, one more, it’s too much.

The pain overshadows the pleasure, and you attempt to tell them to wait, but Papyrus mashes his face into yours, lips cut up from being forced into your own teeth, his protruding tusks perforating, blood dripping. Sans hesitates, there’s a jelly-like tongue entering your mouth when you yelp. Papyrus moans enthusiastically when he discovers the blood source at your missing tooth, which seems to encourage his brother to keep going. You cry from the pain of hot magic rubbing against your raw gums and having two literal monster dicks inside your pussy.

Thankfully, they remain motionless as your body adjusts. Even in this fairly well lit room, the glow of their cocks is visible on your stomach.

Papyrus is the first one to move, pulls out once, almost all the way, then right back in. It hurts, tunnel so sensitive from climaxing. One of your legs is released, foot settling on the wall, you don’t really notice it, you’re so focused on the intense sensation between you legs. The brothers reach for each other, Papyrus leaving your mouth to clank bare teeth against Sans’s.

Natural wetness can only do so much when you’re getting double fucked. “Luuuuube,” you whimper when both of them start moving, one going in as the other pulls out, rubbing against each other inside you, holy shit, fuckfuckfuck!

Sans is thrown back against the wall from a random punch Papyrus sends to his clavicle and that same hand grabs your mons pubic, claws digging through leather until skin is torn. Shriek at the top of your lungs and scratch at him as fingers dig into the wound, pushing and lifting the skin open, blood spilling onto your groin. “THERE WE GO.” Removes his fingers and pats the flesh back down, then brings his hand to his jaw to drink your fluids. The blood provides some lubrication, but it dries quickly.

They’re both fucking you, the intensity still overpowering enjoyment, feeling nothing but insane pressure and burn. “T-too much,” you snivel, “can you p-put one in my ass?” That penetration will probably initially hurt more, especially without synthetic lube, but at least you’ll have access to your clitoris and you G-spot won’t be squashed.

“we’ve never-“ Sans is interrupted when his brother lifts you, both leaving your hole with an obscene sound, and hurls you in the air again with a spin, catching you when your facing him. Supports your legs and the rest of your weight crushes Sans into the wall, back of your head bonking into his nasal bone. You’d complain that he doesn’t need to fucking throw you around to make you switch positions if, you know. you weren’t two orgasms in at the hands of two sadistic skeletons.

“YOU HEARD THE HUMAN,” Papyrus barks, positioning you so your spine arches back, Sans’s dick hot-dogging between your asscheeks. “PUT THAT PATHETIC THING TO WORK.”

He’s quivering behind you, one arm wrapping around your torso, the other grasping between his legs, pointing the head of his cock at your ring of muscle. “h-hey bro, why are brothers like burritos?” … Is he telling a joke?

“SHUT UP, SANS, ” Papyrus replies, but he doesn’t do anything other than glide his hands across the skin of your thighs, pinching a bruise or scar now and then.

“bad ones hurt yer asshole,” he chuckles. Papyrus rolls his eyes and pushes you into Sans, his cock penetrating you before you were ready for it. You shout, it HURTS, so thick compared to everything you’ve taken back there lately. “aah, f-fuck, (your—“ he stops saying your name after the first letter, “sweetie, thaz tight.”

Warm tears come to your eyes and you reach back to hold his skull against the crook of your neck, his free hand beginning to lovingly stroke your lower stomach and still swollen clit. Able to ignore Papyrus right in front of you for a bit, just focusing on him sliding in and out, blurring the boundaries of pain and pleasure. “Sans,” you whisper in the smallest of voices. The expression he reciprocates with is so tortuous, all you want to do is save him.

The wall shakes and bows when Papyrus slams his hands against it, trapping both of you underneath him as he enters your front with one effortless motion. It’s pleasant, but so snug. “… YOU ACTUALLY LOVE THIS ONE, DON’T YOU?” he snarls, single pupil dilating to a pinprick as he hooks two fingers into Sans’s eye sockets so he looks up at him

Papyrus starts moving, way too rough, way too fast, with Sans immobile behind you, jaw clenched, doing nothing.

“ANSWER ME, BROTHER.” That blood orange pupil focuses on you as his fingers shove deeper into Sans’ face, making him shriek.

“Stop!” you yell, Sans’ suffering granting you enough power to vocalize your objections.

“HOW DARE YOU—“ “I said STOP!!!” By reflex, your leg winds up and propels the heel of your boot into Papyrus’s ribcage. There’s a loud CRACK, he’s reeling back, sockets empty, curling into his torso as dust spills out the bottom of his shirt. He chokes and your feet plant awkwardly on the floor, Sans still inside.

“Come on, let’s go,” you implore, trying to pull away or run, but he’s literally frozen around you. “Sa—“

There’s a sharp pain so severe, you don’t know how you didn’t pass out immediately. Claws rake across your folded stomach, exploding with red, opening up your cavity so quickly, all you can do is attempt to process it. There’s a cock inside your pussy again, but all sensation from that is masked by another deep laceration.

“I’LL RIP THAT TONGUE RIGHT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH,” you hear Papyrus say, then there are fingers between your teeth, pinching right through your tongue and pulling. Try to jerk away and you sense something inside you pop. Haha is… is that your small intestine? Spilling out of your stomach like spaghetti falling out the side of a full bowl? O….. kay………..

You want to lose consciousness but you don’t. There’s ringing in your ears, blood everywhere, you cough, hands trying to push the red mass back inside yourself. There isn’t enough processing power for you to register the fact that they’re still fucking you or that Sans is speaking.

“please, please, pap,” he pleads, “no no, please, not this one.”

A red hand around your neck, vision blurry, you see Papyrus scowling. All airflow stops. One hand around your split abdomen, the other grasping at the hand stealing your oxygen.

“papyrus, please!

Finally, everything fades away. Part of you panics at the reality of death, another part is grateful to escape the pain.

Before you’re gone, you hear Sans say, “they’re special.”






Chapter Text











Mmm. You’re cold. All you know is that you feel cold. Instinctively reach around for a blanket you might have kicked off in the night. Find something and pull it across yourself. That’s better. Maybe just a little bit longer… No, you should get up. It feels like you’ve been in bed for a while.

Arch your back and stretch your arms forward, bumping into something that shouldn’t be there. Mmm, did you move your end table? Yawn. Lay there for a bit. You’re still tired. Maybe you can just… wait…

Oh. Oh fuck. It all floods back. What happened. Papyrus. Sans. Fucking Sans. Are you dead?

Bolt up, eyes flying open, vision hazy. This room is so bright, the only things you can make out are the dark teal walls, matching floor, and a yellow, red, and white blob at the foot of the bed. Too weak, muscles stiff, you don’t even have the energy to panic. There’s an IV in your left arm, actively injecting a warm substance inside. Wearing a hospital gown, covered with sterile sheets and Sans’ jacket.

No, you aren’t dead. Must still be in the Underground. “Where am I?” you croak, positive that the yellow object is a person. Or rather, a monster.

“Oh. My god,” a squeaky, shrill voice exclaims, “I didn’t expect you to wake up so soon! And h-here I am, caught red-handed, how a-aw-awkward!”

Rub knuckles into your eyes, wiping away some moisture. What is she talking about? Squint at her; she look like a small, yellow dinosaur. Shiny scales, sharp buck teeth, long white lab coat, black and red striped dress, and manic, bulging eyes behind circular glasses. She’s short, about Sans’ height. She doesn’t look… terrifying, but you definitely wouldn’t approach her if you saw her on the street. Was she just sitting there? Watching you?


“I’m Dr. Alphys,” she screeches, ugh, her voice is unbearable, “I’m Asgore’s royal scientist!”

Who the fuck is Asgore? Is that the king Toriel mentioned?

Her face twists with jitteriness and she’s waving gloved hands around. “B-b-but, ahhh, you should relax! I won’t hurt you, we need to keep that baby healthy.”

… You’re still pregnant!?! Pull back the covers, looking down at your slightly larger stomach; it’s about the size of a human female at the end of her first trimester. Has a gentle red glow, only visible in the shadows. Long scars from where Papyrus cut you open, looks like they haven't fully healed yet. How the fuck are you still pregnant? What is this thing made of?!

“We were all surprised. That thing is nothing like a human or monster baby. Very resilient. Wow, you look completely sh-shocked!” She chortles and it sounds incredibly forced, “but, um, why else would you be alive?”

The reality of your stomach actually distended from a living being growing inside you is paralyzing. Takes a few extra moments to understand what she just said. “… What?” you ask.

She’s looking at you like you somehow offended her. “The only good part of a human is their soul. B-but you! You’re a miracle of nature! I mean, more like, hah, um, an abomination.” She laughs, as if that was a clever joke. “Why w-would I bother saving your life without that? Come on, (your name), be logical.”

Don’t like the way she says your name or that she knows it at all. Hug your knees into yourself, inquiring, “where is he?”

“Who?” she replies smugly, looking down her snout at you. “Oh, you mean the father! Probably off f-fuh-fucking his brother, what else does that little cr-creep do, who cares.”

Everyone knows about that? Yikes.

Alphys continues, “I want to hear about Undyne. Everyone thinks you killed her, but I know better.” Her tone is different. Almost suggestive. “Since you left the Ruins, I’ve been observing everything through my console.” Gives you a knowing grin, resting her arms of the bed so she can lean closer, “it has video but no audio. Tell me, what sounds did she make as she died?” She actually. looks aroused. Umm.

Suddenly, you’re way too aware of everything; the stale smell everywhere, the needle in your arm, the scratchy bed sheets, your aching muscles, the wrinkles around the doctors eyes, the way her grin twitches at the corner. Feel nauseous, slapping your hands around your mouth to focus on the scent of your own skin. Even that offers no comfort.

Tilts her head, eyes widening, “wh-wh-what? Wh-why won’t you answer me?” Alphys waits for a response, claws scratching at the bed sheets, harder and harder as time passes, until it’s ripped.

Finally make eye contact, giving her a perplexing expression. Shake your head slowly. How could you possibly respond to a question like that?

She looks genuinely hurt. “I was h-hoping we could be friends!” Her hands start shaking and she’s standing, beginning to pace frantically, bare feet pitter-pattering on the tile. “So selfish,” she hisses as she rambles up to you, grabbing your arm. She’s freezing cold, with unforgiving scales. About to struggle, but seeing her fingers clasp the end of the IV makes you stop. Pulls out the tube, leaving the needle in place, and fiddles with the various bags of liquid on the tall stand until connecting a tube of neon crimson. “I guess we-we’ll just be professional then. Researcher and test subject. Fine, that’s fine.

Test subject? So Sans took you to a stereotypical evil scientist? Fucking. GREAT. What a shitty hand you’ve been dealt. Why do things just keep getting shittier? Is this karma or something?

The bag she just attached has a lot of warning labels on it. “Wh-…” you start, hesitating when she glares at you, “what is this?” Motion towards the IV.

“Blood substitute,” she flicks each bag as she speaks, “neutral magic, saline, Ringer’s lactate, and,” flicks at the bag she just hooked you up to, “0.45% Determination.”

That’s a weird name for a drug. “What’s Determination?”

“I could explain it, but wh-what would the point even be?” she snorts, “human brains don’t retain much information anyway and you don't know anything about magic or soul science. You spend all your time making stupid forms of escapism. Like all those cartoons, what is even the point?” She says it right to you, like you’re blameworthy for the the entirety of mankind. Starts manhandling you, pressing latex fingertips into various body parts, mostly checking pulse.

Looks like you’ll have to be especially careful with yourself around this monster. Walking on eggshells already. Offer her something that doesn’t make you sick to remember, “Undyne’s last words were, ‘you fucking pussy.’ ”

Alphys laughs, hands running across your inflated belly, “haha, classic Undyne right there. I’m pretty jealous of Sans—“ just hearing his name stirs something inside you— “I wish I could’ve been the one to kill her.”

What the fuck. is wrong with everyone down here?

She skitters to the door, looking over her shoulder to say, “he’ll be here soon to provide your daily dose of red magic. Bye!” Grins nastily at you before leaving. The door is locked.

He’ll be here soon… Aren’t sure how you feel about that.

The slowly dripping ‘Determination’ finally meets your IV and it stings as it enters your bloodstream. Feels like you’re being injected with hot sauce. Along with the pain comes a thrilling sense of euphoria. Like you could do anything right now. Unfortunately, your muscles are too weak for you to stand more than a few seconds. Stand, then sit. Stand for a bit longer, then sit. Continue this process until you can stand without difficulty. You feel extremely accomplished.

Okay, time to find a way out of this place. You aren’t going to wait for Sans or be at the whims of that irksome doctor. No windows, one door. There’s a ventilation shaft up there. Could probably squeeze into that. Try to push the bed or some other piece of furniture below the shaft, but nothing moves an inch. Is everything stuck to the floor or are you just that weak right now? Getting tired. A familiar throb from your uterus. Ugh. Let’s just go back to sleep…

About to slip into a dream when the door opens. Catch the image of a kitchen knife and the sound of bells ringing before returning to consciousness. Pretend to still be asleep; no matter who it is, you don’t want to interact with them. Door closes, silence, then an uneasy shuffle of feet. The scree of a sneaker rubbing on tile. God, it’s him.

“i know yer awake, (your name).”

Scowl and tightly clutch the sheets, keeping your eyes closed. He smells like tobacco and mustard. Warm phalanges run up your cheek to comb some hair over your ear. The tenderness is too much, so you duck into the jacket acting as a blanket, wanting to run and hide from these emotions.

Sans chuckles. “ya mad at me?”

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” you snap back.

“yer mad,” he sighs, “i know it probably does jack but. i am sorry.”

“Great, thanks, bye.”

“oh, come on. that kinda shit ‘appens ta me all tha time.”

Sit up quickly, so furious, you have to look at his stupid skeleton face. “So that makes it OKAY that it happened to me?!” You shouldn’t have looked at him. So many tiny wrinkles in his face, dark sockets even darker, another crack, this time on the top of his skull. He looks so sad... Instinctually, you want to hold him and offer some comfort. But you can’t. With a quivering, about-to-cry voice, you say, “it-it didn’t just happen. You fucking helped…”

He sighs again, letting his head drop into a slouch. “i’m… i’m sorry. i dun’… uh,” he trails off, hand wiggling around in the pocket of his jacket, it sounds like he’s playing with a few loose coins. “i didn’t want any a’that. i’ve dealt with my brother in this timeline for so long i just… can’t anymore. iz easier ta shut down, ya know?” He looks really uncomfortable. “th-that’s not an excuse er anythin’.”

You are absolutely not ready to forgive him. But you do still love him. Reach out and pinch the sleeve of his jacket. He lets you pull his hand out of his pocket and you hold it. Give him an unconvincing smile and he fucking breaks down: grips your hand tightly, shoving his face into his other arm to let out a heavy sob. One more heave, then he’s taking a deep breath, releasing your hand so he can pace a bit, mumbling, “ok ok ok ok…. ooookaayy.”

Although it’s heartbreaking to watch, his exaggerated expression and stilted walk make you giggle. He grins at you but still paces. “hey,” here it comes, “when’s tha best time ta get an epidural?”

“I thought I told you no pregnancy jokes,” you remind him.

“right after ya find out yer tha only monster in recorded history ta get a fuckin’ human pregnant.”

Yeah, alright, that was pretty funny. You laugh emphatically, trying to hide it the moment he points at you. “ha! ya have’ta do what i say now.” Although you weren’t sure what he had in mind, you definitely weren’t expecting this: “get bett’r soon. so we can cross that barrier togetha’. all…” his face twists up and he chokes out quietly, "all three a’us. i mean… if ya still wanna.”

Ah, man… Bare toes touch the cold tile, fingers curl around the wheeled IV stand, and he stops pacing as you approach him. Carefully rest a hand on his sternum, leaning in to kiss his sweaty teeth. The moment there’s contact, the magic of your souls begins to swirl and immediately, you need him. Wrap that arm around him, the other finding support against the IV stand, and he curls himself around your waist.

There’s the sound of metal banging together and you both ignore it. Bang. Bang bang. As your fingers start inching up his t-shirt, the lights go out. “What the-“BOOOOOOM there’s a super bright light shining in your face out of nowhere.

“WELCOME, WEIRDOS…” a loud, robotic voice announces, echoing throughout the room.

“oh, fuck this,” Sans grumbles, and then he just fucking disappears! He teleports away, leaving you alone in the spotlight! What is happening?!

The far wall is beamed upon by another spotlight as something BANGS against it. BANG BANG POOSH-a triangle-shaped.. robot? plows through the wall Kool-Aid Man style. Like, this is literally happening right now. Right in front of you. It’s an upside down triangle on wheels, with four arms and a flashing LED screen for a face, holding a microphone and waving to the other side of the room. Look to where it’s waving and notice the distinct shine of a lens and a red light of a camera actively recording. WHAT!

“TO TODAY’S QUIZ SHOW!!!” There’s clapping and screaming all around you, disco lights drop down from the ceiling and starting doing a laser show as heavy metal music blares. WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING???

“OH BOY!” the robot bellows, spinning on it’s wheel to face you, “I CAN ALREADY TELL IT’S GOING TO BE A GREAT SHOW!”

You aren’t dead. But you really wish you were.

Chapter Text

Welp. Here you are. In the Underground. In what was your hospital room. Wearing nothing but a knee-length hospital gown; leaning forward even a little bit exposes your backside. IV still in your arm, ‘Determination’ pumping into your veins. Red confetti and glitter rains from the ceiling. You have no idea who this robot is or what the fuck it’s doing. Apparently you’re on a game show?


The once cheering ‘crowd’ turns to booing as the robot slaps two hands together, emitting a generic clap soundbite. “I’M SURE ALL YOU FOLKS AT HOME ARE WONDERING WHY THE SEVENTH HUMAN IS STILL ALIVE! WELL, YOU’LL HAVE TO STAY TUNED TO FIND OUT WHY!”

Upon seeing your confused expression, the robot wheels over to you dramatically, leaning into the motion, before stopping about 2 feet away with a scree of rubber. “NEVER PLAYED BEFORE, PIG?” it asks and you curl your upper lip at the insult, “NO PROBLEM! IT’S SIMPLE! THERE’S ONLY ONE RULE! ANSWER CORRECTLY…”

It pauses for dramatic effect as you start nervously wringing your hands.


* Mettaton attacks!

There’s a tug at your soul, the world is shifting, and you now find yourself suspended by one of the robots long arms encircling you. It winds around your body like a tentacle, avoiding your lower stomach, between your legs and breasts, the hand at the end directing you to look at the camera. It holds you there as the robots continues waving to the tiny red dot in the darkness. Quickly, you * check out the robot:

* METTATON 99 ATK 999 DEF. * His metal body renders him invulnerable to attack. Can’t run or fight to get out of this one. Might as well play along.

“LET’S START WITH IN EASY ONE!!” He spins, bringing you along with him, “WHAT’S THE PRIZE FOR ANSWERING CORRECTLY?”

Mettaton’s looking at you, his LED face blinking randomly, apparently expecting an answer. “… Mercy?” you squeak.

The sound of a low buzzer. “HAHAHA,” he laughs and the metal arm surrounding you sends a shock through your body; it feels like you just touched an electrified fence, ouch! “YOU WISH! WRONG!

“HERE’S YOUR TERRIFIC PRIZE: MORE QUESTIONS!” All you can do is whimper and hang your head as he continues, “WHO IS THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD?”

Uhh, Undyne mentioned being in the royal guard, Sans said Papyrus was loyal to the king… You take a guess, “Papyrus?”

BA-DA-DA-DING-DO-DING, rainbow confetti is released, the arm starts vibrating gently, and Mettaton says, “TOO EASY FOR YOU, HUH?????????? YOU WOULD KNOW, HAVING KILLED THE PREVIOUS CAPTAIN!” There’s booing again. The vibrations increase in intensity and you have to chew the inside of your cheek not to moan, it’s right against your clit, fuck. Another human might have lashed out and declared their innocence in Undyne’s death, but fuck that. You’re completely at the mercy of this robot, the crowd hates you, what good would it even do?

“COME NOW, SUNSHINE,” his voice is muddled as the vibrations intensify to the point of rattling your bones, “LET THE AUDIENCE KNOW HOW THRILLED YOU ARE TO BE CORRECT!” It’s so strong, all you can do is let out a low, shaky scream. It stops. Deep breath. Take a moment to look directly at the camera with exasperation. Everyone must be watching this. Everyone.

* The quiz show continues.

“ENOUGH ABOUT YOU, LET’S TALK ABOUT ME!” Mettaton does another 360°, careful to avoid yanking or tangling your IV tube. “WHAT ARE ROBOTS MADE OF?”

He’s obviously made of metal. But he’s not just a robot, he seems to have inhuman powers, similar to that of monsters. “Metal and magic?” your voice is surprisingly confident. There’s pounding on the door to your room, high-pitched shrieking behind it.

BA-DA-DA-DING-DO-DING, more confetti, gentle vibration exclusively on your vulva, what the fuck, why. “CORRECT! WHAT A TERRIFIC ANSWER!”

The door flies open and Dr. Alphys storms inside. You never thought you’d be relieved to see that crazed, yellow monster. Struggle a bit in your restraints and look at her expectantly. Mettaton doesn’t skip a beat, he steps aside to give her room in the spotlight and scolds, “ALPHYS, ALPHYS, ALPHYS. IF YOU WANTED TO BE IN THE SHOW SO BADLY, ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS ASK!!!”

She strikes a pose and blows a kiss to the camera, the background cheers growing into deafening screams. “Mettaton,” she hisses under her breath as she throws her lab coat behind her theatrically, like a cloak, “you know the human isn’t healthy enough for this yet.”

A moment of awkward silence. The robot continues, “I’LL ASK A QUESTION… YOU’LL BE SURE TO KNOW THE ANSWER TO!” The doctor sneers at him, holding her head up with poise. “WHO DOES DR. ALPHYS HATE MORE THAN ANYONE?”

More silence. She isn’t going to answer. You think you know the answer but you aren’t going to say it. BA-DA-DA-DING-DO-DING, you get zapped again.

“CORRECT. DR. ALPHYS DOESN’T HAVE ANYONE TO HATE ANYMORE. BECAUSE YOU KILLED HER.” He thrusts you into the camera, face now only inches away from the lens. Say nothing, look away, trying to hide in your hair. Urrrgg, please let this end.

“WELL WELL WELL.” Toes meet the tile, Mettaton’s arm around you retracting, metal scratching on metal. “WITH DR. ALPHYS IN THE ROOM, THIS SHOW HAS NO DRAMATIC TENSION!” Attempt to flee towards the open door, but Alphys grabs you by the arm before you get very far. “BUT. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING!”

The lights leave you and the doctor, focusing on the robot in the center of the room as he begins his outro. “WE’LL FIND OUT WHY THE HUMAN IS MORE VALUABLE ALIVE THAN DEAD… NEXT TIME!!!” His arms and wheels pull back into his body, and he somehow balances on the tip of his triangular body before rocket jets shoot out the bottom. There he goes, disappearing into the darkness of the ceiling. Did he teleport?

Everything returns to normal, spotlights leaving, ceiling lights back on, camera and audience completely gone. What the fuck.

“I’d unplug that robot if he wasn’t such a good moneymaker,” Alphys grouses, directing you to get back in bed with the grip on your forearm. Whine and reach out toward the open door, so close! “Oh, shut up. Sans, get your ass back here.”

With a poof, the skeleton appears, hands in his pockets, a dumb grin on his face. “ya were great, sweetcheeks,” he compliments, eyes brightening when he looks at you. Scrunch up your face at him bitterly. Fuck this guy.

Alphys lets you go, leaving detailed marks of her scaled palm on your flesh. As she removes the needle from your other arm completely, she says, “just get it over with so I can perform more tests.” Huffs and puffs as she scuttles out the door, closing it behind her.

Alone with Sans. Again.

“sorry bout that,” he says as he saunters over to you, stopping when his femurs meet the mattress, “part’a tha deal. tha doc keeps ya goin’, n’ you appear on a few of her pet’s television shows.”

You’re cold, so you resentfully pull his spare jacket around your shoulders. It’s even warmer than you remember. “Along with being her guinea pig,” you hiss. Tuck your clammy feet under yourself as he sits next to you, still smirking.

“i’ll get ya outta here soon as i can. have a lil’ faith, huh?”

… Faith, he says.

A hand reaches out to cup your face and he’s stroking a distal phalange across your lower lip. He has that look. How can he possibly have that look. You’re so angry, he let this happen to you, he abandoned you. Again. The fact that your body responds to his touch with such eagerness must be a side effect of the pregnancy. Because despite your vexations, you really want him.

“What are you doing?” you ask when his hand slides down your neck and pulls open the knot holding your gown up.

“ya ain’t tha only one supportin’ that kid, dollface.” Let the material fall onto your lap, sleeves bunching around your elbows, bare nipples immediately hardening from the temperature. “it needs magic. an’ only one a’us can provide that.” Gauges your expression before leaning in to sweep closed teeth across your chest, releasing your arms from the gown with a light tug. “an’ tha easiest way ta do that is…” Warm breath gusts across you as he speaks, “well, shovin’ my cock in yer pussy till i goo.”

Heh. Heheh, goo. Start openly laughing, he said that with such a sexy voice. “Goo,” you parrot and he chuckles back, arms encompassing you. “Yeah, shoot that baby batter into me,” you say in the most seductive voice you can muster. He snickers again, seemingly taking your joke as dirty talk as he continues his advance. Jaw opens, incisors kiss your neck, and a sudden sensation of suction makes you moan. Arch into him, hands leaving your side to take ahold of his iliac crests, bunching his shirt around the bone.

The remaining knots of your gown are undone. “mmn?” he hums against you as one hand creeps down your spine slowly, “ya want that red hot goo inside ya?”

This is so stupid, but it’s actually turning you on. Take it one step further, “yeeaaah, gimme that liquidy almost-children.” That makes him groan enthusiastically, the suction on your throat heightening before it’s replaced with a wet tongue. Torn between laughing and moaning, decide to do a bit of both. Inch across his pelvis until finding his spine. Attempt to mimic the way Sans fiddled with Papyrus’s column; fisting it, massaging between the vertebrae.

“fuck, i love ya, (your name).” The words make your soul begin to manifest outside your body, seeking his. Fight it a bit, wanting to focus on the physical sensations; his tongue tracing the details of your ear, one hand alternating between sliding down your crack and fondling your asscheeks, the other clutching you into his ribcage. Your fingers slip ineptly from the perspiration, but his encouraging sounds urge you to continue. “(your name), (your name),” he mumbles.

“Sans…” you reply, looking down at the swirl of your spirits. Notice his glowing erection painfully obvious behind those thin gym shorts. It’s been a long time since you had that in your mouth. The swell of your belly prevents you from slouching enough to reach his pelvis. He makes a jubilant noise when he realizes what you’re doing and he sits up on his knees, grabbing the metallic headboard for balance. Waste no time; yank those shorts down, red cock bouncing once before your lips wrap around it. Grasp the base with one hand, the other curling around his pelvis to deter him from thrusting.

There’s magic between your spread legs. It feels like a tongue, but when you look down all you see is the faint red tip of a disembodied tentacle outlining the seam of your thigh. It teases at your vulva, never granting direct contact, as you bob lightly on his member, hand jacking off the base, the jelly magic feeling almost like foreskin. Sans whines and trembles lightly, hips attempting to shove more of his length inside, but you don’t let him.

You both play this game for a while; his magic avoiding your most sensitive spots as your tension builds, your mouth obliging his cock, pulling away any time he grabs your hair, tries to go deeper, or when your jaw gets sore. You’re the one to eventually cave, throwing your head back and crying out, “don’t tease, please, just fuck me.” His glowing eye rolls down at you, his grin crooked. He wants you to say it, so you do: “Daddy~

“ooh, babe,” he replies, releasing the headboard to gently seize your legs, phalanges running down to your ankles, then he’s hoisting them on his shoulders. Lie on your back, arms resting above your head, big toes looping together around the back of his head as he slides his arousal between your legs. Thrusts into the fat of your thighs before fanning out his femurs, lowering himself until red magic meets your swollen wetness. Glides between your folds and you buck upward. “ya ready, lil one? ready ta take yer medicine?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you coo, undulating your hips to get more clitoral stimulation. He ogles at you, then moves his hand to aim himself. There’s unexpected burn from tightness as he enters and briefly you wonder about how long you were unconscious. You just had two cocks in here, but this tight. Like you haven’t been penetrated in weeks.

“haha…” Sans laughs when he sheaths, “fuckin’ tight… just like tha first time, huh?” Pulls out only an inch, back in, the large bulge at the base stretching you until it hurts. “ya were so fuckin’ cute. ya smelled so good,” he growls, right arm around one leg, left hand between your legs, rubbing moisture across your clit. Starts moving, half his length in and out, over and over. “now lookit ya,” almost reverently, his hand pets your stomach, then returns to the nerve bundle at your crest, “my lil human bitch.”

Meet each thrust, legs squeezing around his neck for leverage, which he seems to enjoy. “You were so scary,” you breathe, trying to ignore your inflated belly altogether. “You would have killed me.”

A look spreads across his face that hasn’t been directed at you for quite some time; one socket wide, single red pupil dilating, other eye furrowed, mouth stretching to expose every sharp tooth he has. Obviously, he’s trying to get a reaction out of you. “ya scared a’me now?”

Yes is the real answer. After everything he’s done. Everything he hasn’t done. Knowing he’s lived through countless timelines. In each one, he’s still a pretty fucked up guy. And here you are, in probably one of the worst timelines of them all. “Yes,” you finally rasp.

“but ya still love me,” he says, butting his head into your legs until they spread enough for him to get between them, “dun’cha?” Hunches over you, hands resting next to your face, wearing the same expression, maybe even a bit more twisted than before. Starts fucking you faster, the vaginal sting fading into pleasure, thighs hugging his pelvis. He’s quivering, can tell he’s trying to be gentle.

“Yes,” you say, hesitation dulling with the continuous attention to your genitalia. Extend your arms to hold his face and you kiss him, harrowing look and all. Sans whines when you do; probably not anticipating the affection. “Pretty fucked up, right? I should hate you.” His snicker implies his agreement.

Little bit faster, he grunts lowly, then he abruptly orgasms. Penis expands and twitches as it unleashes his magic. It’s not a lot; about the same amount as a human male would ejaculate, sitting in the back of your tunnel until he vacates and rolls onto his back next to you. He just pants, letting the sweat trickle, reaching up to scratch at his face. That’s it? Well, this sucks.

Grumble and poke him, bucking your hips into the air, you aren’t even close yet! He gives you an almost irritated look, but he still turns to face you, shoving three fingers inside your pussy. His expression softens as you mewl happily and move your body into the motions, resting his skull on a fist so he can watch you. The pads of his phalanges massage into your g-spot, sharp tips occasionally brushing. The idea that he could stab right into you is intoxicating.

Reach down to rub your clitoris perfectly, legs spread at just the right angle. When you start whining and spasming, Sans switches from rubbing to harsh jabbing, leaning over you, humming contently. Fingers curl and yank up into that sensitive organ, then down to the other wall, back and forth, faster and faster.

“S-saaannss!” you cry, warning him that you’re close, and he goes even faster. Throw your head back and focus on yourself as the peak creeps up on you. Legs tremble, vagina throbs, clit engorges, and your orgasm releases into his waiting hand. Whimper ‘daddy, daddy’ as you ride it out, the energy immediately overwhelming. As it dims, phalanges leave you only to give your puffy vulva an open-palmed slap. The sound is loud and wet; you keep rubbing your clit and moan, he slaps you again, harder, growling quietly.

Your mouth hangs open as you finish again, even harder this time, fuuuuck. All you can do is experience it and freeze, too sexually swamped to respond to his tongue entering your face. He lashes his appendage inside your mouth, pausing to investigate the still empty space where your tooth was. When you come back to reality, you hug around his neck, continuing to frantically make out with him as his teeth just press into your face.

He leans away and smiles wickedly at your disheveled state, running his dripping hand across your now glowing cheeks. Close your eyes and wiggle into the firm mattress until you feel comfortable enough to relax. Exhaaaaaale. Feels like you’re going to fall asleep. Don’t want to. There’s still a lot to talk about. Sans pulls his shorts over his hips and sits up with a huff, prodding at your belly button idly.

He’s going to leave. “Where are you going?” you ask, immediately frightened of being without him.

Stands up and takes a cigarette out of his pocket. Rubs the back of his head and says, “i uh. i’m guh-gunna see my bro.” A spark, then the smell of burning tobacco.

A chill prowls up your spine at the very concept of Papyrus. Stiffen up and grab the bed sheets, yanking them over your nude form. You don’t have anything to say about that.

“ee’ wants ta visit ya,” he comments, turning around to look at you. Give him the stink eye; you can’t believe he’d even mention such a thing. “ee’ ain’t normally that uh. what a’ppened was… extreme. even fer ‘im. ee’ wants ta ap-pologize.”

Flare you nostrils in disgust and roll your eyes. You aren’t even going to respond to that. “Well. Bye.”

Sans sighs. He watches you sit there for a minute. Then he teleports away. Nothing to do now but focus on regaining your strength and wait for the doctor to return.

Chapter Text

You sat in bed for an extra few minutes. Basking in the afterglow of your orgasm, ignoring the cum soaking into the linens, and collecting your thoughts. The balloon of your bare stomach made you feel anxious, so you found a clean gown in one of the drawers and put it on. When you started pulling the dirty bed sheets off the plastic-lined mattress, the doctor walked in, clipboard in hand.

Alphys stops, her snout wrinkling as she sniffs the air. Probably smells like body odor and sex in here. Can’t tell if she finds it disgusting or titillating; she’s blushing, eyes wide, lips curled scornfully, a long pink tongue lapping across exposed teeth. “Ugh,” she grunts, “l-let’s go, human. To the examination room.” You’ll go along with whatever testing she has in mind, as long as it doesn’t involve anything extreme. Such as being disemboweled.

Follow her out of the room and down a dimly lit hallway, your fingers twisting uneasily into the fabric of your gown. Eyes dart around, looking for possible escape routes. Not much to look at. A few doors, more air vents, wires and metal tubing dangling in random sections. You’re led to a large room at the end of the hall; it has the same teal flooring and wallpaper, three operating tables, only one of them appearing clean, various pieces of easily recognizable hospital equipment, a few counters, some sinks in the corner, and dust all over the floor. Why couldn’t she give you shoes…

She directs you to stand on what looks like a scale. You do, the dial bouncing to a weight that’s surprisingly… a lot less than you were anticipating. Your figure hasn’t noticeably changed, but you’ve lost a lot of weight. Maybe that’s from the baby taking physical matter from you? How would that even work? Alphys jots the number down as her clawed toes clack on the floor to the clean operating table, which she commands you to lie on. Gulp audibly and lie on your back on the flat surface. It’s metal surface really uncomfortable, but surprisingly warm; maybe it’s heated?

Rubber grippies of a stool make a loud sound as the doctor drags it next to you and then takes a seat on it. Her expression is weird. She’s obviously has a sour disposition, but she’s trying to maintain a poker face. The result is a stiff, bug-eyed monster looking daggers into you. Offer her a synthetic smile. She calms a bit, slouching into her clipboard as it sets in her lap.

“How are you fuh-feeling?” she asks.

“Uh, I’m fine” you respond, “how are you?”

Rolls her eyes and laughs a bit, “oh my god, I mean physically. Any nausea? Cramping?”

Oh, duh, of course that’s what she meant. Take a second to focus on your body, which up till now, you’ve been actively avoiding. “I’m sore. And I feel pretty weak. I can’t stop shaking, but that’s probably from being anxious.”

The yellow monster scribbles frantically as you speak, “uh-huh. Do you want to take something for that?”

You don’t like the idea of being subdued and under the influence of unfamiliar drugs, so you say no.

“Have you felt the baby m-move?”

Fuck. It’s going to start moving. Inside you. God, he’s the worst, but you wish Sans was here. Shake your head.

“Any vaginal bleeding? I mean, before that incident after Undyne’s death.”

Her devilish smirk implies that she saw that whole exchange. Your face flushes with embarrassment and the image of that skeleton crouching between your legs to lap up your red leakage comes back, sending a tingle of arousal through you. “No,” you peep out.

Alphys startles you by slamming the clip board on the adjacent table. She laughs through her apology as she yanks your gown up over your hips, bunching it under your breasts, revealing your still wet genitals and pregnant belly. Your jaw drops when you see a tiny bulge move behind skin accompanied by a strong red glow. Oh my god. It’s moving right now. This is so fucking scary. That timing was way too perfect, did it do that on purpose? The doctor beams when she notices and immediately puts her cold, bare hands on you. Gentle rubs at your stomach, she meets another internal movement.

“That’s one happy fetus,” she says merrily, “that’s weird, but good! It’s g-going to need all the help it can get.”

You don’t want to talk about this. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to acknowledge and fully deal with the fact that you are pregnant with a skeleton monster’s baby. Nope nope nope nope nope.

“You must really love Sans, huh?” Alphys sneers, pulling away to snap on some hopefully sterile latex gloves. “That’s funny.”

“Can we not?” you gripe. She’s fiddling with a machine next to you and squirting some cold gel onto your middle. You know what’s coming next. Try to think of something, ANYTHING, to talk about that might distract you. Remember something the doctor mentioned earlier. “What human cartoons did you watch?”

She bleats at that question as she puts the transducer probe on your stomach, using it to spread the gel across you, filling the still healing claw marks. It stings a little bit. “W-why did you have to remind me?” she says, “something called anime. Colorful garbage.”

“I like anime,” you note quietly, glancing between the doctor and the lit screen on the ultrasound machine.

“Humans like a lot of st-stupid things. Like Sans,” she says with a laugh. “We used to work together, you know. He’s always been a complete mess; emotional, clingy, lazy, never doing his work. Thankfully I got him to quit after our boss died.” She’s moving the probe around carefully, the screen lighting up with masses of your internal organs.

When something beings to take shape on the monitor, fear overwhelms you and you look away. Focus on one of the cracks on the far wall as Alphys makes little comments to herself. Things like ‘good,’ ‘developing well,’ and ‘what is that.’ Panic panic, nope, you aren’t looking at that screen. “Do you want to know it’s sex?” she asks.

“No,” you immediately respond. You’re so scared. You don’t want to know anything about it. Hopefully you’ll die before it’s born. “Wh-… what happened to your boss?” A memory that probably belongs to Sans surfaces: a tall, white monster in a laboratory, an explosion.

“He died,” Alphys repeats with a giggle, continuing to push the instrument around on your stomach. “So fast… You’re due in just a few more weeks. Maybe a month.”


“I can’t w-wait to see what it looks like!” She bounces a bit in her seat and claps her hand against the probe. “Don’t worry, (your name)! I’ll make sure you both survive this. The king would h-have my head otherwise.” Runs her finger across her throat and makes an ‘i’m dead’ face. “He’s first in line once this one is delivered.”

Oh god. They plan on breeding you. Locking you in a laboratory for the rest of your life. Receiving their magic and spitting out hybrids until you’re spent. That prospect is the only reason why you’re alive right now. No no, that won’t happen, calm down. Sans will get you out of this.

Won’t he?

“You can’t just impregnate me. I have to want it, right?” you say with a quiver.

The doctor moves one hand between your slightly spread legs, her other still scanning your stomach with the ultrasound. “That won’t be a challenge. You accepted Sans. The king is way hotter than that loser.” Clamp your legs around her hand when she goes for your clitoris rather than vagina. Alphys continues, “you’ll be so desperate for any interaction at that point anyway, you’ll accept anything anyone decides to give you.”

Whimper and grab her wrist when two clawed fingers enter you, “what the fuck are you doing?!”

She’s blushing, but she looks just as unhappy about the situation as you do. “S-se-sexual stimulation is the easiest way to gauge m-magic levels in humans, okay? Don’t make this into a bih-big deal.”

Loosen your hold on her wrist as she rubs at your sensitive walls, an unwanted flare of arousal budding inside you. The glow on your stomach deepens and there’s a flash of red from the ultrasound monitor. Don’t look, don’t look at it. Curiously wears you down enough to steal a glance, but all that’s on the screen are red and white indistinguishable masses. The red fades, you can see a little—NOPE, you look away. Alphys makes a pleased sound, then her hands leave you.

Curl into yourself, yanking your gown back down as the doctor puts the unwashed transducer probe on the machine. The aquaponic gel on your abdomen absorbs into the fabric, immediately feeling sticky.

“Go back to your room,” she commands, “I’ll come by later. He’ll probably see you again.” She yanks the wrists of the latex gloves until they stretch off, then wads them into a ball. “Maybe you’ll be lucky and the captain of the Royal Guard himself will visit,” she says with a twisted face. You attempt to hide how much that bothered you. “Be a good test subject, (your name)! Or else I won’t come save you the next time my robot decides to have a little fun.”

You pout, not wanting to go back to that stuffy room and be alone for another indeterminate amount of time, but you do as she says. Drag your feet as you return the way you came, Alphys watching you from the other end of the hall. “Your things are under the bed!” she yells at you. Why didn’t she tell you that earlier? Why didn’t you think to look there? You close the door, but not all the way, keeping it open a crack, hopefully you can- no, it slams and locks shut. Great.

Remove the soiled gown, use a clean part of it to wipe away the dampness between your legs, and throw it in the corner. A shower in the opposite corner. You use it. The warm water is relaxing, but having to touch and recognize your swollen gut puts you on edge again. A few weeks. A few weeks. Fuck.

Redress in a new gown, Sans’s jacket, and some of his yellow socks, which were still in the backpack under your bed. Pull out all three of the books he gave you: the one on monster pregnancy, the one on monster biology, and the dirty joke book. Decide to open the joke book; what you need right now is a distraction. What has 30 teeth and holds back a monster? My zipper. Okay, that one is pretty good. You hope Sans hasn’t read this. It’d be fun to tell him some of these.

There’s something that sounds like vines growing in the walls, but it can’t be that, how could plants— a loud CLATTER, the face of the air duct falling onto the tile, a few screws rolling into the drain at the center of the room. Look up to see Flowey and you are so happy! He’s come to help! You’ll be away from this doctor in no time!

You beam and scurry to him, bracing yourself against the wall below as he turns his flower head to look at you. Oh no. That’s not the face of someone who’s ready to help. He looks sick, his pedals low, face twisted with… disgust.

Clears his throat and in a small voice he says, “Howdy. I just… came to say goodbye.”

There goes that hope you had. “… What?” you ask distraughtly, “you said you’d help me.”

“Not anymore. You’re dangerous,” he accuses, “there’s a monster inside you. Who knows what will happen if that got to the surface. Who knows what that thing is like. I can’t be responsible for any more human deaths.”

You’re angry, physically shivering from emotion. “Oh, but you’re completely fine just watching while I get killed.”

“(your name), you aren’t just a human anymore. You lost yourself. I’m sorry…”

“Ma-maybe humans can help me! That’s where I belong, on the surface!” You’re frantic, trying to say anything that will change his mind, that will convince him that you’re more of a danger here than out there. “They’re going to breed me if I stay here. You’re helping them. Just lift me up there, I can do the rest myself.”

It looks like he’s considering your words. He considers for a long time, then opens his mouth, “I don’t—“ a knock knock on the door. Neither of you do anything.

“HUMAN???” the penetrating voice of Papyrus bellows, “MAY I COME IN?” Damnit, anyone but him!

When your glance returns to the air vent, Flowey is gone. God damnit!!

“NO!” you scream in reply at the door, reflexively clenching your fists and taking an i’m-trying-to-defend-myself stance.

You hear Papyrus sigh, followed by hushed banter, a familiar Sans chuckle, the crinkling of plastic. That fucker, he actually brought his brother to see you. What the fuck does he except to happen, something pleasant? Does he enjoy torturing you like this?

“it’ll be real quick, sweetheart,” Sans calls out.


Behind the door, an exasperated protest, a loud crumple of plastic, the quick click of heels, Sans saying, “wait, bro—“ timidly.

The handle turns and you tense every muscle you can, ready to fight or run. Sans peeks his head in, holding up a giant bouquet of golden flowers. He’s got something else in his other hand but most of his body is hidden behind the door. “whadda bout me? can i come in?” he asks.

Chapter Text

Sans steps into the room before you can get the answer out, revealing an oversized gift basket in his other hand. It’s exploding with colorful wrapper and ribbons, looking like something you’d see in a magazine, too perfect to be real, but there it is.

Tear your eyes from the bounty of presents to scowl at the grinning skeleton as he sets the basket and bouquet on a table at the far wall. “Of course, welcome, please come in,” you say as sarcastically as you can.

The crack that was in his skull is gone, leaving behind only a tiny seam of shiny new bone. “ya look real cute like that, kitten,” he praises randomly as he looks you over.

You are still furious, the ridiculous gifts only adding fuel to the fire. It makes you think that they see you as a vain, simple-minded creature, who’s easily swayed with material possessions. Or that this constitutes as a suitable apology for almost killing you. Neither of those are true. “Sans, I’m angry and you’re going to stay here and listen to me.”

“yeah yeah,” Sans replies dismissively as he digs in the pocket of his jacket, “check out what i got’cha.” He pulls out… what looks like a small, black, velvet box, just like one that would hold new jewelry. Oh fuck. If he gets down on one knee, you swear— he opens it and presents it to you. It’s…

It’s a fucking gold tooth.

It’s a molar and it looks like it would fit in the space where your loose tooth once was. “Are you. kidding me?” you ask tonelessly.

He looks absolutely ecstatic, “nah, i had it made fer ya! got it at tha same place i got mine.” Tap tap of a distal phalange against his false tooth. “i could even put it in fer ya.” You throw your hands up warily and take a step back, finding the idea of this skeleton inserting a fucking crown into your gums repellent.

“Fucking stop!” you protest, “you aren’t shoving that thing into my mouth!”

It looks like you hurt his feelings. “hey, this wuz expensive. i wuzza doctor too, i know what i’m doin’.”

How dare he look so offended and injured, after what he’s put you through? You’re so pissed off YOU ARE SO FUCKING—stop. Deep breath. In. And out. “Sans,” you attempt to keep your voice level, “listen to me.” Close the gap between you, slap the tiny black box shut, and take ahold of his shoulders. Stare right into the flecks of red light that are his eyes and he fucking blushes. God damnit... he's cute. “Listen. To. Me,” you repeat, gently swaying him with each word.

“ok,” he says, returning the present to his jacket pocket.

Think back to your relationships on the surface, the communication strategies you learned. Avoid finger-pointing, keep it from your perspective. If he feels the need to get defensive, it’s over. “It makes me feel angry… when you bring someone, who I obviously don’t want to see and expect me to interact with him.”

"ok," he blinks, “but ee’s—”

You cut him off, “NO, no. I know, but that doesn’t matter.” You do know, how he still blames himself for everything. How Sans clings to whatever he can in this timeline, desperate to find shreds of his happier past. “That thing isn’t your brother.”

At first, he looks cross, but it quickly melts into contemplation.

“I get angry and scared when I’m abandoned on a stage with a killer robot.”

“i knew ee’ wouldn’t kill ya.”

“That doesn’t matter… and besides, I didn’t know that.” God, this is weird. Talking to him like he’s your boyfriend who hurt your feelings accidentally. You wish the circumstances were that simple. “Maybe you could try to look at things from my perspective every once in a while? That I’m a pregnant human, in an unfamiliar place, constantly afraid, and you’re the only one I can go to. I need you.”

That last part makes him tear up a bit, the crimson glow in his sockets sparkling, like they’re somehow moist. “oh, sweetheart,” he purrs and steps closer, giving you a warm hug. “i’m sorry, but thaz never gunna happen. i can lie ta ya, but—“

Lean away from him as you speak, forcing him to look at your flustered face, “so that’s it? You aren’t even going to try to make my life just a little bit easier?”

“i ain’t that kinda guy, an’ i think ya know that. never have been, never will be.”

Before you give a retort, your stomach complains loudly, the muscles contracting. You haven’t eaten since you woke up. Sans smiles, lets you go, then ambles to the table where the gift basket is. “What is that?” you ask as he plucks two large presents from the neat pile and sets them on your bed.

“paps is a great chef in this universe. ee’ made a lot of fancy things fer ya. his way of apologizin’.”

Now you’re curious. Move to the bed, which is still devoid of clean sheets, and sit on the edge. “How do I know it’s not poisoned?” you accuse, beginning to carefully undo the pink ribbon from a light blue box.

“POISON???” Papyrus’s voice thunders from the still open door and you let out a shriek of surprise. He’s peeking in from the entryway, wearing a stylish, perfectly tailored business suit, complete with a red bow-tie. “THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS WOULD NEVER KILL YOU IN SUCH A COWARDLY WAY!” You freeze and just stare at him with wide eyes. Images of him flash back: he’s above you, hand around your throat, innards spilling down your legs, all three of your holes filled as red fingers dive into your mouth.

Sans notices your alarm and turns to wave a hand at his brother exaggeratedly, shooshing him before he can continue. Papyrus has an annoyed scowl, which he quickly replaces with a solemn expression before saying, “I’M SORRY, HUMAN. PLEASE ACCEPT THESE GIFTS, THOUGH I…” he pauses, face contorting, like what he’s saying is challenging for him, “I EXPECT NO FORGIVENESS. BYE BYE!” Steps out of the doorway, closing the door, leaving you alone with Sans.

Whine and fall onto the mattress, curling into a ball and wishing you never met this Papyrus. You remember the ‘real’ Papyrus, so upbeat and hopeful, he never would have done that to you. Your skeleton lover leans over and combs through your hair consolingly, his other hand fiddling with the blue box until it’s opened.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” you gripe, but as soon as the smell meets your nostrils, you change your mind. Garlic, tomato, onions, the steam billows from the box invitingly and you raise your head to see what it is. It’s pasta. Haha, maybe there are some similarities between the two Papyrus’s after all. Perfectly shaped cappelletti’s lying on a bed of fresh basil, topped with a chunky tomato sauce and melted white cheese. Sit up and carefully take the dish, holding it like it’s a bomb about to go off. Sans grabs a long-pronged fork from the basket, tearing away a green ribbon tied around the handle before giving it to you.

“Tell me about souls,” you mumble through a mouthful of food. It’s fucking delicious, each bite bursting with flavor and you can’t tell whether it’s human or monster food. Hopefully it’s monster food; you haven’t seen a single toilet in the Underground. Nudge at the books on the mattress with your toes as you elaborate, “these books make it sound so… supernatural. But there must be science behind it, right?”

A yellow bottle appears from his jacket and he slides the pointed tip between his teeth, squeezing and tilting his head back, the mustard smell overpowering Papyrus’s gift. But even that doesn’t spoil your appetite; half of the pasta dish has disappeared inside your mouth already. You feel the baby move, but you ignore it.

He gives you a sideways glance as he continues drinking. “i dun really wanna explain tha details of quantum physics to ya right now,” he says clearly, despite having a mouthful of condiment.

You perk up at that, “oh, I knew magic wasn’t a real thing.”

“course iz real. iz just not tha mystical hoodoo humans think it is.” Sets the bottle on the end table and with a flick of his finger, the gift basket appears on the bed next to you, the springs of the mattress complaining under it’s weight. “like that?” he points at the object he just teleported, “ya can do that too. humans first teleported photons in 1998. they teleported lasers in 2002.”

The movement of your chewing jaw slows as you intently listen.

“moving physical matter iz a lot trickier, though. i think… 1028 atoms make up tha human body?” He casually rests a hand on your knee and presses into the skin. “each one just a set of data. thaz a lotta pieces ta break apart an’ put back together. iz more like destruction an’ creation than it is a transfer. but we’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

So, every time he teleported you, he killed you, then immediately brought you back to life. That’s scary. Every time, something could have gone wrong. You wonder why that fear never crossed your mind before.

“magic iz just shit happenin’ on tha quantum level, tunnelin’, superposition, entanglement…” Sans clears his throat, eyes darting around as he speaks, “but we’re observin’ all this as beings in tha third dimension, who follow the laws of classical mechanics and relativity, so iz easy ta write it off as tha paranormal.” Phalanges start creeping up your thigh. “but iz as real as you n’ me, capiche?

Ignore his use of 1940s Italian slang to sate your curiosity. “What about memories and consciousness? Does that just exist within someone’s atoms?”

“i dunno. i dun’ think anyone’s figured that out yet.” Skelebrow furrows and he’s looking at the floor. “i dunno… why i remember resents and no one else. or why i didn’t remember…” he hesitates, moving his gaze to you, “why i didn’t remember our timeline till now.”

Our timeline. The one that existed right before this one. There are countless universes. You were never supposed to be the seventh human that fell. It was always someone named Frisk. But you did. Twice in a row. What are the odds of that? “The universe is weird,” you offer, stabbing your fork into the last cappelletti, “and she is a cruel mistress.” That last part was meant to be a joke, but it only seemed to drag him further into his thoughts. Set the empty box on the table and start opening the next, a striped orange present with white bows. “Knock knock,” you chime.

He blinks and meets your face with a wide grin, “who’s there?”

“Urine.” Inside the box are an assortment of recently baked macarons.

Looks at you suspiciously, but still he plays along, “urine who?” He grabs a yellow macaron and tosses it into his open jaw. It closes with a quiet clank.

Urine trouble if you bring Papyrus to see me again.”

At that he chuckles and scoots over so he can recline against the pillows and headboard. Takes a hold of your leg, yanking with the intention of asking you to move rather than moving you himself. “knock knock,” he breathes out, a happy sigh, like he’s relaxing for the first time all day.

You wiggle your legs and butt over to him, lean against the headboard, throw one leg over his, and hug it between your thighs. “Who’s there?” you respond before taking a bite of a purple macaron, ooh, it tastes like lavender and vanilla, it’s so sweet and the texture is perfect.

“fuck you said,” he answers, putting his left hand on your thigh to stroke the skin and soft hairs.

That sounded like a half sentence, but when he repeats himself, yes, that is indeed what he said. “Fuck you said who?”

“me. i said that,” he replies flatly. You titter airily and say that one was dumb. He agrees.

The living thing inside you moves again; feels like it’s tumbling around, and you reflexively put a hand on your stomach with a noiseless grunt. The monster beside you notices and his hand leaves your leg to join you on the swell beneath your breasts. Another movement, lighter, reminding you of butterflies fluttering in your stomach during moments of apprehension, meeting it’s fathers touch.

Sans makes a weird sound: high-pitched, something between a whistle and the squeal of a car slamming on it’s breaks. His face is alight with red magic, sockets wide, pupils so igneous, the light turns to smoke, rolling from the holes in his head.

“What?” you ask nervously, unsure whether you want to know the answer or not.

All his focus is on your stomach; he hunches over to press the side of his skull against you, arms flopping onto the mattress. “iz sayin' somethin',” he whispers.

Yooouuuu aren’t sure how you feel about that. Your mind tells you no nope no way but everything else, your hormones, soul, the love you have for this skeleton, tells you yes! Good, this is good! “What is…” you trail off, not wanting to finish that question.

“ee’ likes tha food. have anotha’ macaron!”

… He. It’s a… he. Fuck.

Chapter Text

The two of you ate the entire box of macarons, along with another box that was filled with various French desserts. Sans kept one hand on your belly the whole time. The baby kicked inside you occasionally, making it’s father beam and share with you what the fetus was feeling. It liked the macarons and éclairs the most.

You weren’t expecting this level of excitement from Sans, someone so painfully self-centered and anxious. Asked him how he felt about having a kid, and he said, “scared shitless. i would’ve killed ya tha moment i knew if i hadn’tve fallen fer ya.” He admitted he thought about human methods of abortion. But then he saw his glow on your face and heard it’s soul sing. You told him he’d be a horrible father. He agreed.

Alphys came in at one point, turning her nose up at Sans as she injected you with a few things, then reattached your IV, neutral magic this time. It made your stomach glow pink. She left as quickly as she could, saying nothing but a few mean spirited comments.

Now here you are. Lying on your back as he lies on his side next to you. About to have sex. You can just tell at this point; the energy between you tightens, eyes linger a fraction of a second longer than normal, and everything that isn’t him fades into the background. For some reason, you feel more bashful than you ever have, even though he hasn’t even touched you yet. As you’re focusing on the details of his tired face, you feel color flush your cheeks and you turn your head the other way, hiding in a hospital pillow.

“what,” he says it more like a statement than a question. When you don’t respond, he reaches over and delicately cups one of your breasts. “yer tits’r gettin’ bigger,” he says as he squeezes.

He’s right. And they’re tender, way more sensitive than they used to be. Whimper when distal phalanges tweak at your nipple through the cloth of the gown. You roll over, your back facing him, his hand staying on your chest. He snickers and moves closer, spooning you, his sternum against your back, and he says with a voice already loaded with desire, “why so shy? yer actin’ like imma bout ta pop yer cherry.”

“I dunno,” you reply. His breath on the back of your neck is enough to start the process; muscles clench, sweat begins to accumulate, and a strong surge of sexual energy travels right to your groin. “But I do want you to fuck me,” you confess.

Phalanges curl around the fur-lined hood of the jacket your wearing and Sans yanks it down, the sleeves bunching around your elbows, exposing your bare back, the fabric gathering in the space below his ribcage. Warm, moist teeth kiss you between your shoulder blades, moving up slowly as his hand leaves your breast to run down the curve of your side. “how badly ya want it?” he asks as his hand passes the curve of your hip.

Make a winsome sound, like a tuneful squeak, as you arch yourself back to greet his already manifested dick, inviting, but reserved. “Not very badly,” you giggle and grind your ass against him, which makes him hold his breath briefly. His hand flows as far down your thigh as it can reach before swooping back up, between your legs. Teeth stop their gradual ascent up your spine at the base of your skull. “I’d survive without it. But I mean, your cock is already hard, so. Might as well.”

At that he laughs, louder than you expected. “i appreciate tha honesty,” he purrs as he plays with your pubic hair, which has grown long and corkscrewed from your extended time in the Underground. He brushes through it until one strand gets caught between the joints of his fingers and harshly tugs. “do ya believe in fate?” he asks out of no where, the bumps of his phalanges beginning to slide across your inner thighs.

What kind of question is that? As you contemplate, you reach behind you to sandwich his member between your asscheeks and palm. The same hand moves between your legs to tease yourself, wanting that wetness as quickly as possible. “I don’t,” you say as your hips begin to slowly rock against him, “I think people create their own destinies. Do you?”

“nah,” he replies, his fingers moving to assist you with your teasing, barely grazing your outer labia as you fiddle with your clitoris. “but i wish i did.”

“Mmm, why?”

“it would…” he pauses when the tip of his dick gets caught in your back entrance, just a fraction of an inch. The dry, uncomfortable friction and heat make you moan, “nnng, it’d be easier ta write shit off as fate.”

“Like what?”

He’s taking him time with you. Can tell your getting moist already, but he only dips in the tip of a finger to spread the juice through your folds. “like you… like why ya showed up twice in a row, even though ya aren’t supposed ta be here at all.”

Turn to look over your shoulder and smile at him, his face looking down at his member against you, but you can tell he isn’t actually seeing it. He blinks and his face flushes red as you reach between your legs to seize his cock, his hand pulling back to protectively wrap around your stomach. “Some things just don’t make sense,” you murmur as you push him into your folds, not entering, just rubbing against him, enveloping him with your vulva and he lets out a desperate mewl. “You’re a scientist… ahnn, you know that a lot of things statistically don’t make sense.”

“yea, but… aah, fuck,” Sans cries out when the hand holding his length against you starts pulling and pushing around the jelly-like foreskin. “man, i wish i believed in somethin’,” his voice is strained from lust, but still forlorn, “then i could at least lie ta myself. pretend all this has meanin’. or that imma prophet instead of a glitch.”

Crane your arm around to hug his skull into the hollow between neck and shoulder, fingers slipping from the sweat. “Who says you can’t be both?” He smiles and you say, "I'm here now. Just be with me."

“(your name),” he stutters in response, face crumpling with emotion, but his dick still throbs between your thighs. “please,” he begs, but you only continue the sway of your hips as you plant sloppy kisses across his forehead, “don’t tease.”

You grin smugly at that. Just a few hours ago, you were pleading for the same thing. “I love it when you’re like this,” you groan. Neck starting to ache from turning your head so drastically, you face forward again. He tries to fuck the fat of your thighs, but you spread enough to withdraw all friction and he whimpers.

“please, please,” he repeats, his voice so pitiful and telling of his inner ferment. “c’mon, s-sweetie, babydoll, please.

Angle your hips, his tip at your entrance; one thrust of his pelvis and he’d be inside you. But he doesn’t move, he just watches you with lidded sockets, sweat trickling down his skull, one droplet landing onto your shoulder. “Tell me you love me,” you request

Without hesitation, he says, “i love ya, (your name).” And you know he means it.

Move yourself back, pushing him inside, letting out a hiss of pain as his girth stretches your muscles. He remains motionless, quivering. “ah, y-ya okay? am i hurtin’ ya?”

“Wh-when has that ever been something you avoided?” you counter as you buck back onto him, enjoying the burn of his thick cock. Start a gentle seesaw of your hips, grinding him against your walls rather than thrusting in and out. He still hasn’t moved, despite how much he wants to, if his throbbing erection is anything to go by.

“i dun’ wanna hurt ya anymore,” he mutters and it sounds like he’s ashamed. His hand on your stomach skim down until he finds your clit. The pad of one phalange rubs small slow circles into it.

Sans’s words remind you of what happened in Undyne’s house, but you quickly suppress it. Focus on right now. What do you want right now? “I like it when you hurt me,” you say, and you mean it. He laughs softly. The familiar hot glass texture of his tongue presses between you shoulder blades and gives you one long lick up to the back of your ear. Harsh sting from penetration dulls into comfortable pressure and your body asks for more. “You can start moving,” you tell him.

His pelvis rocks slowly with your movement, meeting you in the middle, adding a bit of thrust to your grind, but only an inch or two. He runs his tongue across the marks of your neck and shoulder, leaving behind moisture that exists and doesn’t exist at the same time. God, you want him to bite. You want that intimate pain that only he can give you. But you don’t ask for it.

“Sans,” you whisper, “you feel really good.” It’s more rambling than an actual compliment, but it still makes him whimper.

“sweetheart,” he whispers back. The tongue disappears. Another finger joints the one rubbing the bundle of nerves between you legs. The pace of his circling digits and thrusting pelvis quicken in unison, and you moan forcefully. He lets out fluttering groans in reply.

You and Sans stayed like that for a while. When your natural lubrication started to dry, you added your own saliva to your union. Apparently dissatisfied with that, he stopped and played with you until you almost said the L word again. He bucked into you to shut you up. He fucked you as your souls reached for each other. Yours escaped from your the back of your spine to join his. Another burst of memories. Sans held you close as you both watched your previous lives crumble and celebrate - all of it, together.

The orgasm that shook you at the precipice of pleasure turned everything into static and all you could focus on was yourself. You didn’t notice it happening, didn’t see any of it. But something happened between you and Sans during that climax.

He remembered something.

When you were done, all his magic left you. And he looked at you. Like you were Papyrus. Like he was… afraid. Then. He left. Offering only a few sweet, hollow words.

Now… here you are. Carefully setting the heavy gift basket on the floor. Putting clean linens on the plastic mattress. Pulling your IV stand around the whole time. Feeling more alone than when you first fell. More alone… than before you fell. You feel the baby move.

What did he see? What could he possibly have seen to make him look at you like that?

“(your name)!” Flowey’s voice rings from the still open air vent. You don’t really care about escaping right now. But you look up at him and smile anyway. His face is much more spirited than it was before. “I’ll help you get out of the lab. Just don’t make me regret it, okay?”

Chapter Text

Flowey waited patiently while you took another shower; you stunk from cuddling/fucking a sweaty skeleton for so long. You went through every gift the brothers gave you, hoping to find something useful. Thankfully, there were clothes. Things from Papyrus: loud sun-dresses, high heeled shoes, frilly accessories. And things from Sans: black leggings, black graphic T-shirts, wooly socks. You donned the more practical pieces; leggings, socks, your boots, and a T-shirt with Metallica’s logo on it. You wonder where he got this.

The black velvet box containing your present of a gold tooth was on the floor near the door. He must have dropped it. You picked it up carefully and opened it. Still there. Your stomach tied into knots as you moved your wrist slightly to watch the light travel across the golden gift. Sans didn’t even notice he left it. You put it in the red, leather purse Papyrus gave you, along with some food and what clothing you can fit.

“Well?” Flowey finally says. He didn’t seem much for conversation, at least not with you. You were grateful; it’s not like you had anything to talk about anyway. All you could think about was Sans. You stare at the skeletons spare gray jacket lying on the bed, remembering everything you’ve done in it and if you should bring it with. “Let’s go,” the flower urges as you reach for the coat, “you won’t need that and it won’t even fit.”

It felt like turning your back on Sans himself when you left that jacket. You suppose, you kind of are. He told you to stay and recover. You were planning on doing that until he… looked at you. You aren’t sure what happened. But you know something changed. And once again, you’re left with the only things you’ve ever relied on: yourself and your resolution to continue moving forward.

Standing below the open air vent. Flowey’s thick, green vines grow down and entangle your torso. He makes a face when he touches you. “What?” you ask as he avoids eye contact.

He throws you a detached side-ways glance as you’re slowly lifted, “you’re the grossest human I’ve ever met.”

That doesn’t even make you angry. Even seeing a glimpse of what you’ve done, and how much you’ve reveled in it, is enough to squick out most creatures. The negativity is unwelcome, but you apologize anyway.

You’re pulled inside the vent, the tops of your thighs scrapping against the cornered edge of the wall. It’s snug; you can’t turn, look behind you, or move other than to shimmy forward against the smooth metal. Arch your back to take weight off your pregnant belly as you start crawling.

“Okay,” Flowey says, his vines retreating into the darkness, “when you get to the first junction, take a right. Then left, right, left, left, straight, right, right, straight.”

Shit, you wish you had a pen and paper to write this down.

He continues, “you’ll have to go on foot through the resort to the King’s castle. Good luck. You’re on your own now.” He disappears soundlessly.

Alone again. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Start worming your way through the metal shaft, avoiding bumps and harsh movements to keep quiet. You’ll need to be quick; when Alphys’s returns, she’ll know exactly how you escaped. All you have to do is make it to that first junction… Right, left, right, left, left, straight…. what came after that? Left? Shit. No, it was right. Right? Right, left, right, left, left, straight, right… straight, right? That sounds right. You repeat that to yourself like a mantra, one word with each movement. Any time your thoughts wander, you repeat it in your head, louder. RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, LEFT, STRAIGHT, RIGHT, STRAIGHT, RIGHT.

Sans didn’t cum. He didn’t even let himself have an orgasm. He just fucking left. What could he have possibly seen? RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, LEFT, STRAIGHT, RIGHT, STRAIGHT, RIGHT.

You can hear voices below you as you go, but you ignore them all. It’s pitch black. Eventually, the tunnel opens into multiple paths. You go right. Then left. It feels like you’ve been crawling forever. You’re sweaty, hot, chaffing. This sucks. Remind yourself of what fate lies behind you. Getting bred to death.

Keep moving. Another junction, you go right. It’s so hot, so fucking hot, touching one spot for too long starts to burn. Crack open a mini champagne bottle that was one of the brothers gifts. It’s alcoholic, but constantly chilled with magic, and taking a few deep gulps of it revitalizes you. Keep going. Squirm down the next passage to the left.

So tired… Maybe you can rest for a— NOPE, you SCREAM at the top of your lungs when the bottom of the ventilation shaft is suddenly welded out from under you and you fall, maybe 8 feet, before landing on a pile of flour. Like, baking flour. On your hands and knees, your joints aching from the blunt trauma of catching you. Fl-flour? What is—

The lights turn on. You’re on a counter in what looks like a lavish, American kitchen, but it’s just a TV set. The walls end and there’s a fucking camera on the other side, it’s red light blinking. “Oh no,” you squeak.

A trap door opens behind the island counter, Mettaton slowly appearing for the camera, wearing a white chef’s hat, his face blinking sporadically. “OHHHH YES!!!” his metallic voice screeches. “WELCOME, FIENDS, TO THE UNDERGROUND’S PREMIER COOKING SHOW!!!”

He points three of his index fingers at the black abyss and a concert hall amount of voices respond with, “COOKING WITH A KILLER ROBOT!” Is there an audience in that darkness? Is this all magic? Your hand slips from the bag of flour and you topple over, landing on your back on the floor, white powder dusting everywhere. Awkward silence, then the ‘audience’ laughs at your expense as you slip again trying to stand up.

Mettaton emits a tsk tsk soundbite, then says, “PRE-HEAT YOUR OVENS, BECAUSE WE’VE GOT A VERY SPECIAL RECIPE FOR YOU TODAY!”

You rise and pat off some of the flour, but it doesn’t do much, every fleck of white shows up on your black attire.


Twist up your face at that and turn to walk off stage to the left, but nope, nothing’s ever easy, the robot wheels directly in front of you and extends one tube-arm to wrap your shoulders.

“MY—” the robot cracks up, “-LOVELY ASSISTANT HERE WILL GATHER THE INGREDIENTS. EVERYONE GIVE THEM A BIG HAND!!!” He claps all four of his hands together as the audience starts booing loudly, confetti raining from the ceiling. A tomato collides with your face, exploding red and seeds on your forehead before plopping onto the floor. Did someone just fucking throw that at you? Instinctually lick your lips and the juice from the fruit actually heals the aches from crawling and falling. Haha, jokes on them!!

Their folly of healing you grants you a stupid amount of confidence; you put your fists up, grin, and strike a pose at the heckling audience. Mettaton’s face flashes red and he shoves you back towards the counter you landed on. “MY ASSISTANT WILL GATHER THE INGREDIENTS,” he repeats, unamused.

Knowing he can’t kill you, you decide to have a little fun. You chuck the cartoon of eggs at the robot with one arm, the gallon of milk with the other. He wheels out of the way, but a splatter of white liquid splashes across his screen. The voices of the audience express their approval with a vicious uproar and Mettaton starts literally steaming with rage. A few voices are loud enough to reach you: “FUCK YOU, MTT,” “FUCKING TIN CAN,” and “SHOW US YOUR BOOBS!”

He’s behind you, a gloved hand in your hair, and before you can react, you’re smothered with flour as he mashes your head into the open clothed bag. It fills your nose when you breathe and you cough, hands reaching to shove the powder away from your face. Still holding your locks, he yanks you upright and shoves two heavy bags in your arms, but you uncaringly drop them. Flour spills and the heavy closed bag of granules lands on your foot.

PERFECT,” his contemptuous voice hisses, “GREAT FUCKING JOB, SWINE.” Uh oh, he’s lost his warm, loud, TV announcer voice. He almost drags you to the counter at center stage and you reach up to brush away as much flour as you can. Ugh, it’s in your eyes, it burns!

“OH WAIT. WAIT JUST ONE MAGNIFICENT FUCKING MOMENT!” One of Mettaton’s hands retracts into the arm and a hose nozzles pops out, spraying water in your face and chest. It cakes with the flour, but at least now you can see. “HOW COULD I FORGET!?! WE’RE MISSING THE MOST IMPORTANT INGREDIENT!” Another hand take a fistful of your T-shirt and fiercely rips the front open, your breasts bouncing free as you struggle to get away.

The audience cheers and whistles at your nudity. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t panicking. Mettaton puts one gloved palm on your sternum, applies pressure, then pulls back, wrenching your soul from your body. Over half of your purple heart is swarmed with the white of what you can only assume is Sans’s soul. “A HUMAN SOUL!!!!” Mettaton shouts.

It’s suddenly quiet. Way too quiet. The robot runs a thumb across your soul and you can actually feel it, what the fuck. It feels like he’s tickling the inside of your brain, ribcage, and uterus all at once. A pleasured cry escapes your mouth when he shoves a finger into it. The monsters of the audience start mumbling and whispering as the wine glow of your cheeks brightens and the white in your soul shines. You catch one monster ask, “what the fuck is wrong with them?”

* Ring… Ring…

The icon of a pixelated telephone appears on Mettaton’s face. It disappears as he says, “HELLO…? I’M KIND OF IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING HERE.”

“You-you IDIOT!!!” Alphys’s voice clamors from the robot, audible only to the two of you, “if you expose th-the human now, EVERYONE will be hunting for them!” He releases your life essence and it falls back into your body.

“A SUBSTITUTION, YOU SAY?” Mettaton bellows toward the camera, “USE A DIFFERENT, NON-HUMAN INGREDIENT?”

“I’m not pl-playing these fucking games, MTT. Bring them to the lab r-right now or—“ he hangs up on her.

“THAT’S A BRILLLLIIIiiaannnttt iiddeaaaaaahh…hhh…h……” The robots voice lowers in pitch and trails off into static, his lit up face blinking until it goes dark. His arms fall limp, then retract into his body, along with his wheels. He stands there on the tip of his triangular body and you run.

You run and run, paying little mind to your surroundings. Red lava, empty voids, a huge, metal building. A memory surfaces: a lab coat billowing in the breeze, blueprints, Sans, you always think so small. You suppress it, you can’t be overwhelmed with random recollections right now. An elevator. Right floor 2. Try to catch your breath as the machine hums, your stomach compressing slightly from the change in gravity. Stay in there for a few moment, leaning against the wall, wiping away the sweat and wisps of flour. You tie the ripped shreds of the front of your T-shirt together. It looks stupid, but at least it covers you.

Hopefully this is taking you in the right direction. You step out of the elevator but freeze when you notice a small, flamed monster facing away from you. Be cool, maybe they won’t notice. Casually, you stroll by. Just keep walking, keep…

What the fuck.

You see something, but it’s so shocking and unexpected, you have to remind yourself that yes, this is reality, you are not hallucinating. It’s Sans, bent over the counter of a hotdog stand, having a threesome with two royal guards. They’re tall, fully clad in armor, except their exposed, hard cocks. One of which is fucking the glowing magic of Sans’s pelvic bone and the other carefully sliding between sharp teeth into his open mouth. You just stand there, trying to process the image. The skeleton moans and grabs the guards hips, pulling him flush against his face. No one has noticed you.

This is the only way you can continue forward. Start tiptoeing by them. Fist your hands in your shirt and keep your eyes on the path, throat tight, face blushing, unwanted arousal kindling. They’re so loud and it sounds so wet. You’re jealous and angry and scared and titillated all at once. One guard calls Sans a whore as he fills his mouth and then high-fives the other guard.

You’ve passed them, but you stop the moment the sex fades to silence. Oh god. You can almost hear the sound of the tissue grinding between the vertebrae of your neck as you look over your shoulder to see all three of them staring at you. Sans has wide eyes and a wide open jaw, tongue still making contact with the tip of the other monsters cock. Both the guards have helmets on, but you can guess what kind of expressions they’re making.

“Bro, is that like…?” One guard says.

“… The human,” the other replies.

And then you fucking RUN.

Chapter Text


Both of the guards are chasing after you! Glance over your shoulder to see them sprinting, their still hard dicks flopping between their legs, which is both terrifying and hilarious. Sans, Sans, surely he’ll save you!! In that same glance, you see him frown, pull his shorts up, and teleport away. God damnit!!!!!

You flee until you reach a point where the path divides and turns into moving platforms. Pause briefly as you take in the situation and Sans appears in front of you, his outline depixelating until he’s fully formed. His arms immediately snatch you, time stops, everything stops. You’re able to breathe again once the teleportation is complete. You’re back in the hospital room at the lab, nooo!

“tha fuck ya think yer doin’?!” Sans yells, tightening his embrace when you start to shove and stomp at him.

“Let go of me!!!” you scream, he smells like sweat and semen, you hate him you hate him!

“stop,” he snarls and picks you up by the hips, so all you can do is thrash.

All that work, all that crawling, having your soul ripped out for the entirety of the Underground to see, just to be brought back by the one who’s supposed to protect you. “Take me back,” you demand, “take me back right now, I’m getting out of here.”

“you lil’,” he swears under his breath, “this iz tha only chance we’ve got!” The door flies open and an angry little dinosaur takes one step inside before Sans’s magic slams the door in her face. Alphys is hollering and pounding, but the door remains shut. “why can’t ya just fuckin’ listen ta me?”

“Listen to you!? Look at what’s happened to me because I listened to you!”

With that, he sets you down carefully and shoves his hands in his pockets. Some of the knots keeping your shirt closed have come undone, but you don’t care. “tha plant?,” he asks, “iz that who helped ya?”

Dismiss him completely, “what do you mean ‘the only chance’?” His eyes widen, then look away. “What did you see?”

“ee’s killing’ ya, ok?” he says brusquely as he pulls a hand from his jacket to point at your stomach, “tha humans couldn’t help. ya fuckin’ died. alphys is tha only one who might save ya.”

He’s talking about the last timeline. Is that what he remembered? But… you know this isn’t the whole truth. He’s hiding something. The face he made before. That was the face of someone who was betrayed. His previous self called you ‘cowardly’ for leaving him. “You’re lying,” you accuse.

Sans snorts, magic smoke puffing out from his nose, “believe what ya want, i dun’ care. just stay here till’ i say so.”

“No way. They’re going to fuck me to death.”

“i ain’t gonna let that happen.” A red bulge suddenly appearing in his shorts halts the conversation. His crimson eye flashes down to it briefly, then back at your still scowling face, “well, whaddaya expect? i’m horny as fuck. ya interrupted me, twice.”

Fists clench, teeth grit, face contorts with rage, “I interrupted you?!?!”

His sockets lid, cheekbones blush, and he’s shoving a hand into his shorts, “heheh, ya look pretty pissed off.”

“I. Want to kill you right now.”

“hit me,” he says, his hand moving slowly, “it’ll make ya feel better.”

Well, who are you to deny your sweet, sweet skeleton? Wind up your dominant leg; he steps back and lets out a “h-hey, wai-“ before the flatness of your boot crunches between his legs. Your foot gets caught in the opening of his pelvis and you almost lose your balance, but he falls to his knees before that happens. Sockets empty and gaping, he gasps, both hands between his legs. “Why are you wincing?” you sneer, nudging your still lodged shoe against his tailbone, “you don’t even have anything down here.”

“fuckin’… cunt,” he wheezes, crumpling into himself.

“I don’t want you having sex with anyone else,” you say as you wrench your leg free to take a firm stance above him.

He just kneels there for a while, then takes a sharp inhale, “… ok.”

“I wanna hit you again. In the face.”

“sounds—” he exhales, “-fair. careful, dun’ break yer hand.”

Squat to get to his level and he raises his head to meet you. His expression is complex: bits of sorrow, happiness, lust, anger… His jaw quivers slightly. Open your hand and whack the butt of your palm into his forehead. It barely moves him at all, but your hand stings. Sans just chuckles and winks at you. “wh-… why is my life like my cock?”

You’ve heard a version of this one before. “Women make it hard?”

you make it hard,” he corrects with a dumb smile.

Can’t help but smile back, but you try to hide it. This is serious time, you’re angry, don’t let him get away with this one. “Take me to the barrier. Now.”

“didn’t ya hear me?” Pulls his hands from between his legs to prop himself up on one knee and stand with a loud creak of bones, “yer dyin’. alphys will…” he doesn’t finish that thought.

Rise with him and shuffle away when he reaches to hold your hand, “I don’t care about what you say. I don’t trust you. Someone will kill me if I stay here.” That someone might even be Sans. Push that intrusive thought aside. “If you have any love for me… you’ll take me away from this place.”

Sans sighs, “oh, sweetheart… please, dun’ do this ta me.”

“I’m leaving whether you help me or not.”

A static shock, and that red protuberance reappears between his legs. He grumbles and stomps at the ground, grabbing at his crotch like a man readjusting his balls. “look, i gotta take care a’this. guess i’ll go…” he sighs again, heavier, “masturbate.”

See an opportunity, decide to go for it, “if I get you off, will you take me to the barrier? Or at least where I just was, in Hotland?”

He sneers, his eyes darting between you and the door, which Alphy’s is still yelling at. “doc, they’re fine,” he bellows, then looks to you and says in a quieter voice, “sugar, that ain’t a fair deal at all.”

Stride forward, press your chest against him, fingers finding his iliac crests, and you breathe into his acoustic meatus, “make something I can penetrate and I’ll fuck you.”

Sans shivers and lets out a fluttery whimper, his energy suddenly melting into something much more submissive. “g-give us a few minutes,” he shouts at the door.

“AGAIN?!” Alphys screeches from the other side, “I can’t believe you t-two!” A pause, you stare into Sans’s left iris as the magic between his legs starts taking a new shape. “Make it quick,” she finally says, “b-but I’m staying here until you’re done.”

The space bellow his ribcage shocks you with electricity as magic flows through it. Behind his t-shirt, you can see the glow of something resembling a fat, human gut. It flows down, the light stopping halfway down his femurs. Curious, you take handfuls of the newly formed magic; it mooshes between your fingers, tickling you, losing it’s shape and letting you pass through if you apply enough pressure. The texture is smooth and hot, like gelatinous glass, much like his tongue and dick.

He freezes when you cup the warmth between his legs. It’s fucking soaked. Chuckle hoarsely and grab his skull with your other hand, forcing your weight into him until he backs into the wall. “Way too easy,” you say as you pin him there.

“(your name), (your name), c’mon. dun’ play games,” he whines as he leans back, hands uselessly limp at his sides. His timid expression is replaced with strained pleasure when you push into the jelly folds through the fabric of his shorts. “i-i’m serious. just be a good human fer me, an’—“

He’s cut off when your elbow jabs him in the sternum. “Fucking shut up,” you hiss, other hand yanking his shorts down to his thighs. There’s a plump belly and red vulva, which looks very similar to your own. Cute. “I’m not your good little pet right now, Sans.” Spread his labia, yep, that’s pretty much your pussy, and coat your fingers with his ectoplasm before inserting two inside. Other hand reaches up and pokes at his mouth until it opens. Shove a few fingers into his empty skull, digits passing between the spaces of his teeth to avoid their sharpness.

“aaahhaa ha, fuuuck,” he moans around your fingers, eye rolling back, hips bucking uncontrollably. It feels a lot like your vagina, though not as tight, incredibly warm, and more malleable, allowing your fingers to go in pretty much any direction. This reaction is nice, but you’re impatient and still angry. Squeeze in two more fingers and start pumping them in and out, almost passing the joints of your knuckles each time. That’s better; he screams and spreads for you, reaching to grab your face for support as he crumples against the wall.

“I hate you,” you snarl and scrape your nails against the roof of his mouth, which makes him gurgle dryly, “you’re so terrible, I fucking hate you.”

“fuh-fuck yea! b-babe, (your name), fuck yeaaa, gimme more,” he mumbles around your fingers, his hands desperately grasping at your shoulders and face.

“Look at me,” you demand as you yank his mandible down until he makes eye contact, his pupil large, dilated, and sparkling. “Are you even sorry for what you’ve done to me?” Pull your thumb into your palm to make a closed shape and you slip the entirety of your fist inside him, fingertips brushing his tail bone. Pull back out almost completely.

“a’course i am,” he whimpers, “god, do that again, please, i wanna cum.”

Take a fistful of his ribs, bunching the sweaty t-shirt around them, and push your hand back inside, his magic throbbing as you curl your fingers into a fist. Rest your forehead against his as you hold him in place and start moving inside, up to wrist, back to knuckles, in and out. He sobs, jaw hanging open, magic starting to spark from the holes in his skull. Must be getting close.

“Tell me! Say you’re sorry!”

Sans gulps in air and blubbers out, “i’msorry(yourname)i’msorryi’msorryiloveyoui’msorry!”

Lower your voice so Alphys can’t hear and you whisper, “you’re getting me out of here. You can cum when you promise me that.”

“sw-sweetheart!!” he cries when your hand reaches around to prod at the holes in his coccyx, your other still mercilessly fucking his magic. “ican’tican’tineeditplease!”

“PROMISE ME,” you repeat. Plant a bite to his first rib, near his neck, teeth grinding, bone wedging into the space of your missing tooth.


Release his rib and run your tongue across the bite marks. “Good boy,” you praise, “now cum for me.”

Immediately, he does, squealing enthusiastically, head lurching back, ectoplasm escaping around your wrist as his mock muscles pulse and heat up to an uncomfortable temperature. Keep your hand inside, rotating your wrist as he grinds against you, pubis bumping into your forearm. He says your name over and over again as he sobs, left eye empty expect for a billowing of magical smoke.

His genitals and the surrounding body parts dematerialize in your hands, his magic returning to his soul. He pants, looking so vulnerable and almost cute against the wall like that, all tired, flushed, and satisfied.

The moment your hands leave him, he’s dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around your hips, face burrowing between your legs. You must be so wet and sweaty after the recent ordeals, which he seems to enjoy— taking a big whiff and letting out a rumbling groan into you. You flush with embarrassment and before you know it, your leggings are pulled down, and he’s shoving his face into your vulva and spreading your cheeks with his hands. Even from up here, you can smell how sticky your groin is from crawling in those vents for who knows how long, ew.

Sans whines, licking your crack and folds, mouth enclosing your vulva and applying suction, somehow. “You’re gross, you’re so fucking gross,” you scold as you reach to take ahold of his skull. Hold him in place as you rut against him, damp crease gliding across the front of his sharp teeth and the space below his nasal bone. “You love humans, don’t you?”

“fuck yea i do,” he mumbles into your crotch, “dirty, stinky lil’ pigs.” His tongue slithers between your cheeks and pushes into your back hole, making you gasp and arch away, his grip on your hips tightening to keep you in place. Tongue expands, massaging your insides, rubbing your G-spot through the separating tissue and tingling the nerve endings around your entrance.

Shove at his head until you can reach between your legs, inserting two fingers into your front hole, meeting the magical appendage inside you through the rectovaginal fascia. One of his hands joins you, adding two phalanges to your already tight cunt. “Oooh~ that’s nice,” you moan as all the insertions move on their own, his fingers pushing against your back wall as you pound into your G-spot on the front. “Go faster,” you order, grabbing the base of his tongue with your free hand, “make me finish. You wanna taste that, don’t you?”

yessss,” he hisses like a snake, stretching his tongue in your grasp and flopping it behind your hand, against your clitoris. The thrusting of his tongue quickens along with his fingers and suddenly, the entire appendage starts vibrating. He hums as he rubs the rumbling magic against you, face totally blissed out.

Before long, the overwhelming sensations consume you and your climax gushes out into his waiting mouth. “G-good boy!” you cry as your mind and body are swamped with sexual energy. Legs weak, you lean into his face and hump randomly, fingers leaving your hole to rub the blood-engorged nub at your crest.

Stand there and knead your clit for a few minutes, his fingers and tongue just sitting inside you. Catch your breath and have to laugh when you look down at him, mouth open, eyes lidded, crooked grin twitching at the corners. “Quite a mouthful,” you giggle, sounding winded, “how’s that taste?”

“ya really wanna know?” He punctuates the question with a deeper shove of his tongue, penetrating the inner rectum, aah, too deep! He pulls out and the tongue disappears behind his teeth before you can get a good look at it. You’re self-conscious again, so you step away, wetness connecting your pussy with his fingers momentarily, and then you pull your leggings back up.

He’s a fucking mess, your cum trickling down his face, absorbing into his clothing, shorts still bunched around his knees. Rubs off his face into the sleeve of his jacket, letting out a loud noise that sounds like someone sniffling hard enough to accumulate snot in their throat. Gross. Cross your arms and impatiently tap your foot as he takes his time getting up and putting himself back in order.

“Come on,” you eventually scoff, “to the barrier.”

Sans throws you an impish grin that you know means trouble. “barrier? i didn’t promise that.” He puts a hand on your shoulder and you’re teleported to Hotland, the same spot where he grabbed you before, right in front of the moving platforms. “i promised i’d get ya outta tha lab,” his hand leaves you to pull a cigarette out of the familiar pack you’ve seen a hundred times. “promise fulfilled.”

Aaaand then he disappears. Sigh.

Well. Here we go again.

Chapter Text

Okay, so…

There are two moving conveyor belts. The one moving away from you has three pillars next to it, each of which has a button. There’s an electric barrier on the other side. Seems pretty self explanatory. Readjust yourself before stepping onto the walkway. Stick your hand out to flick each switch, hit the first one, miss the second, turn and run against the platform, stretch out and flip the one you missed, along with the third. The barrier dissipates.

Simple enough!

Walk forward cautiously. Up next are a bunch of spread out islands in a sea of lava. They aren’t connected in anyway, but there is steam billowing from grates in the center of each island, which have red arrows pointing in north, south, east, west directions. … Hm. Walk up to the edge of the cliff and tap your foot against the white button that sits next to the grate. Several arrows change positions.

How are you supposed to cross? Nudge a rock with your foot until it wedges into one of the cracks on the grate. A gust of warm air pushes the rock into the air in the direction of the pointing arrow. It lands on the platform to the west and bounces off into the lava below. Gulp. Looks like this is how you’re supposed to get across… Swallow your fear and step onto the arrow. The steam lifts you, feeling almost like heavy ocean waves. Boots thunk on the platform to the west, the button is suppressed, the arrows around you change direction.

This is dangerous. And stupid. You sneer and gauge the gap between you can the island to the west. Just two long jumps and you won’t have to deal with this puzzle. Hike up your leggings, tuck your purse behind you, and crouch. Take two long strides toward the platform and you leap, soaring, shoes scrapping against the edge of the other platform. Oh no, you lose your balance, try to lean forward, the cliff edge crumbles beneath you— NOOO!

You’re falling, you’re falling, the lava quickly approaching, panicking, panicking, what a shitty way to die.

Something snags you in midair. Can’t breathe, a flash of red. Blink, Sans’s anxious face appearing only inches from yours. He’s got his arms around you and you’re both standing on the safe stretch of cliff that was on the other side of the puzzle. He saved you! Skelehands move to caress your stomach protectively, then shove at your shoulders so you stumble away. The baby responds with a gentle kick.

“ya stupid human,” he huffs, “yer gunna give me a heart attack.”

“You don’t even have a circulatory system,” you titter and continue walking.

He follows, kicking up red dust as he goes. “you realize ya almost died, right?” Takes a few long strides in front of you, turning to walk backwards so he can look at your face and force you to slow your pace.

“The key word there is ‘almost.’ You’re in my way, please move.”

“fuckin’…” He sounds conflicted. “i meant it when i said stayin’ here is tha only chance ya’ve got. come back with me. i’ll stay with ya this time, i promise. (your name), please.

A realization. Stop in your tracks and furrow your brows. “… You aren’t crossing the barrier with me, are you?” He doesn’t respond or react other than a slight twitching at his frown. So many questions: why, what changed, don’t you hate it here, what the fuck did you remember you stupid fucking asshole skeleton? But you know Sans well enough by now to realize that you won’t get a straight answer out of him. If all he’s going to do is impede you, he’s useless. Tense up and say flatly, “then get out of my way.”

“here’s some friendly advice,” he says slowly, clearly, methodically, “if you keep goin’ tha way ya are now…”

His sockets go black.

“. . . y e r g u n n a h a v e a b a d t i m e .”

Those words echo inside your skull, a flutter of terror surfaces. Everything goes black for a fraction of a second. Then he’s gone.

Fears turns to bubbling rage— you scream and kick at the shoe prints he left in the ground, cursing his name and sending clouds of red sand into the air. Dig inside your purse until you find the velvet box containing the golden tooth he gave you. Chuck it into the lava below. Warm tears fall down your face as you watch it plop into the molten lake. Flames creep up around it. It’s so hot here. Smells like sulfur.


Then you ran. And you ran. You ran past the two guards who chased you earlier. You ran through every random encounter, through the scene Mettaton was trying to lure you into, all the way to the elevator with ‘L2’ flashing above the doors. So tired. The elevator was stuffy, but you still fell asleep when you sat down to catch your breath. Then you had a dream:

You’re a drink maid at a large casino. The air is filled with tobacco smoke. The skirt you wear is short. Monsters and human males occasionally pull at it when you hand them their drinks. You’re disgusted with them and this place. One customer ordered a bloody mary and complained that there weren’t enough eggs in it. You assured him that all the bar had right now was quails eggs. “I’m sorry, sir,” you said, “would you like to speak with my manager?”

The dream changes; you’re sitting at a roulette table. But you aren’t you. You’re the baby inside your stomach. As if everyone can see you, you wave your hand inside the womb and hold up a few fingers. Seven. Put everything on seven. A pile of purple chips is dumped on the red number seven. “No more bets,” the dealer says. They sound suspiciously like your father but all you care about is watching that wheel spin. It spins and spins, the white ball rolls and rolls. It bounces out of one spot. And then it lands in the seven space. “THA MUTHAFUCKIN’ JACKPOT,” the dealer screams. The table explodes with a plethora of purple chips. You laugh and direct your mother to touch them. Hands are shoved into the pile, but they’re hot, you’re melting, mommy, why does it hurt. Then you wake up.

You’re a sweaty mess lying in the corner of the elevator. There’s no cooling or any air flow in here. Wipe the sweat off your face with the sleeve of your Metallica shirt. Sniffle away some snot. You’re sore, but you stand anyway, hand on your swollen stomach as you grab the wall for support. You’d swear he’d grown during your sleep. Left Floor 3. The elevator whirs with movement. Ding! The doors open.

Drag your feet onto a maroon, metal platform. Still hot out here. But not as hot. Go down the path to the left. Notice a few spider webs, in every available corner and connection of metal. Don’t spiders like damp, cool places? Maybe these are like. lava spiders.

There’s a table blocking the path. A purple monster with long pigtails, six arms, and five eyes gives you a grin, showing off her dramatic fangs. She’s got a gun in one of her hands, knives in two others, one hand strokes through her black hair, and the remaining two count gold coins on the table. The gun spins around her finger on the trigger guard and stops when the barrel points at you. You freeze.

“Hello, deary~,” she chimes, “it’s 500G if you want to pass.”

The skeleton brothers only gave you food and clothes. You regret throwing that golden tooth away. “I-I don’t have any money,” you admit.

She lowers the gun and flares her nostrils. “So you refuse to pay, but you still want to pass?”

“… Yes?” you squeak.

“That’s fine, deary~” maybe she’s a merciful monster— “I’ll just take your SOUL instead!”

Never mind.

* Muffet traps you!

Spiders surround you, larger ones pulling web from their spinnerets, crawling in frantic circles around and above you until you’re encased in warm, sticky spiders silk. It smells pungent. Within only a few seconds, your limbs are trapped to your body and you’d fall over if the spiders hadn’t webbed you into a standing position. Surprisingly, they had the decency to avoid wrapping up your pregnant stomach. Well. Looks like your only options are to…

* Check
* Struggle
* Pay 500G
* Offer something else

* Check

If she invites you over for tea, excuse yourself.

* Struggle

You struggle to escape the web. Muffet runs a knife across her mouth and giggles at you.

* Pay 500G

You don’t have any money.

* Offer something else

You offer the only thing that might have value, your body. Muffet is so amused by your words that she gives you a discount!

“You’re positively vile, deary~!” she laughs.

That’s it, that’s all you can fucking do. Can’t fight her, can’t run. Is Sans nearby? If you called out, would he help you? Suck in air and bellow out the loudest, “HELP,” you can muster. It echoes in the vast expanse, bouncing off cave walls until it fades away. Muffet claps and spins the knives in her hands as she starts pirouetting towards you.

There’s a distant clank of metal that you’ve heard before. It sounds like Undyne in her full suit of armor stomping towards you. You fall even further into panic, remembering her white soul shattering, suddenly questioning if monsters leave behind ghosts. Muffet halts her dance and almost all the spiders shrink behind her as the footsteps approach.

“I SEEM TO RECALL,” the voice of Papyrus roars behind you, “UNDYNE GIVING YOU A WARNING TO SHUT THIS OPERATION DOWN.” He steps into your line of sight, fully decked out in royal guard armor, the visor of his helmet open, red scarf flowing in the breeze.

Muffet hisses, “the captain of the Royal Guard is dead. Her orders are null and void.”

“NO, I DON’T THINK SO,” Papyrus says simply, pulling out a tiny notebook from his breast plate to jot down a few notes. “PACK UP YOUR PARTY OF DELINQUENTS IMMEDIATELY OR I’LL BE FORCED TO IMPOSE MY AUTHORITY.”

You’re scared, you’re so scared. The skeleton gives you a sideways glance and fucking winks at you. You have no idea what that means and it only served you put you even more on edge. Muffet begins shouting at him in a low, gruff voice, much different than the high-pitched fluttering she directed at you. He seems to ignore all of it, focusing only on writing, his pen swirling cursive letters on the paper.

“I UNDERSTAND YOUR DESPERATION AND I DO NOT GIVE A SHIT,” he says as he tucks the pen and paper away. He turns to you and extends a gloved hand, delicately pulling a few fliaments of silk out of your face, “ARE YOU ALRIGHT, HUMAN?” His face is soft, at least as soft as a tusked, scarred skeleton face can be. You don’t respond. Of course you aren’t alright.

“Hey, stop!” the spider monster shouts, “I caught them, by law they’re mine!”

“I AM THE LAW, DEARY,” he mocks as he pulls a dagger from one of his boots. You gasp and cower from the blade, squeezing your eyes shut. The slick sound of a sharp knife running through string. The silk splits away from you as Papyrus makes one smooth cut from chest to feet, not once grazing your skin. Try to jerk away, but the adhesiveness of the web pulls at your clothing and the tiny hairs on your arms, yanking your ripped shirt open and plucking a few strands of hair. Papyrus laughs lightly, covering your nakedness with one hand and removing the webs with the other.

“This is bullshit,” Muffet says as four arms and two legs cling to one strand of web, “the king will hear about this.” Then she’s crawling up the white string of silk with her fellow spiders, disappearing into the darkness of the ceiling.

“Leave me alone,” you howl at Papyrus, sounding more fearful than forceful, as you shove his hand away to close your ripped top.

“THAT’S A SHAME,” he sighs as he takes a better look at your disheveled state, “SANS LOVED THAT SHIRT.”

When enough of the web leaves you, you bolt, not going very far, you run into another giant arrow puzzle.

“HUMAN, WAIT,” Papyrus calls out, beginning to approach you cautiously, “WOULDN’T YOU PREFER TO BE ESCORTED TO THE BARRIER?”

Chapter Text

“OR…” Papyrus starts, “AT LEAST AS LONG AS YOU WILL HAVE ME?” Open your mouth to reply, but he speaks over you, striking a theatrical pose, “I’M SURE YOU’RE ECSTATIC! WHO WOULDN’T WANT THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS, CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD, PROTECTING THEM?”

Make a face at him, lips curling with contempt. He notices and drops his pose, blood-orange magic lighting up his high cheekbones. Is he fucking blushing? Like he’s embarrassed? Ugh. Take another look at the puzzle blocking your way. You don’t want to interact with this guy, but you REALLY don’t want to deal with this stupid, dangerous puzzle.

Before doing anything else, you grab one of the black T-shirts you stuffed into your purse and shake it out. This one has Che Guevara on it. You wonder if Sans even knows who this guy was. Throw the tattered Metallica shirt to the ground and slip the Guevara one over your head before Papyrus can even say anything.

Fully turn towards him, he’s still blushing. Watch as he extends a welcoming hand. “Why are you trying to help me,” you ask, only flickering your eyes to his gloved hand. The pain that hand caused— slapping you, violating you, splitting your abdomen wide open… Focus on the details of his attire to avoid flashbacks. A single bead of sweat trickling down one temple. His armor is so perfectly shined. Not a single visible smudge.

“FOR MY BROTHERS SAKE,” he clarifies, his hand still reaching, unmoving, “HE’S TOO… EQUIVOCAL AT THE MOMENT TO DO SO HIMSELF.”

“What does that mean?” You don’t know what the word ‘equivocal’ means.

“IT MEANS THAT SANS HAS MANY CONFLICTING EMOTIONS THAT ARE OVERWHELMING. SO, HE DOES NOTHING.” Finally, you reluctantly take his hand. He pulls you close, holding you in front of him as though you were about to waltz, your back facing him. Papyrus is cool, temperature wise. And he smells like cinnamon and apples. “HE’S QUITE FRAIL,” the skeleton continues as he rests his free hand on your waist, “THANKFULLY, HE HAS A RESPONSIBLE BROTHER TO PICK UP THE SLACK.”

Papyrus takes one step forward and directs you to do the same, legs moving in sync, two steps, three, then you’re walking on air. You become paralyzed as you literally start floating, Papyrus maintains his leisurely pace, pushing your back into the front of his armor. He cackles lightly, then continues his previous thought, “SANS IS SO PASSIVE. HE’D RATHER SIT AROUND AND WAIT FOR THINGS TO CHANGE. I KNOW THAT YOU HAVE TO CHANGE THINGS YOURSELF!”

Look down at the fiery chasm and immediately regret it. Turn to focus on him, but him giving you a sickeningly familiar smirk makes you regret that too. That’s the same grin he wore when he…

“Wh-what kind of conflicting emotions,” you stammer. Think about Sans, even that’s better than reliving what happened.

“WELL.” The two of you start your descent, levitating back down to the other side of the puzzle. “YOU BETRAYED HIM BY LEAVING.”

His heavy boots thud as he lands, while you make almost no sound. “Uh-huh,” you sneer, immediately pulling away from him and saying, “cause’ it’s not like he betrayed me by raping and almost killing me. Thanks for triggering that whole thing, by the way.” It would be impossible for your tone to be any more disdainful.

“I ALREADY APOLOGIZED FOR THAT,” Papyrus sighs and goes after you when you proceed down the path to a large, metal door. “BESIDES, WE WERE TALKING ABOUT MY BROTHER. IT’S RUDE TO ALWAYS BRING THE CONVERSATION BACK AROUND TO YOURSELF, HUMAN.”

You don’t even respond to that.

There isn’t an obvious way to open the door, but Papyrus seems to have it covered; he waves his hand and it opens. So simple, it makes you wish you could use the magic Sans has given you. The baby flutters around and you reflexively put your hands on your belly with a small grunt. Feels like he’s ‘saying’ something. Maybe the next time you’re alone, you should listen to him.

“I WONDER WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE,” Papyrus says as he stands next to you, wearing a look that implies he wants to touch your stomach. You wonder that too, despite your best attempts to avoid acknowledging his existence. The skeletons fingers twitch as he sustains eye contact with your pregnant girth, so you scurry ahead of him. There are more spider webs ahead. Many more. Have to stop when the path turns into a bridge of sticky, fresh spider silk. “IT WOULD BE BEST IF I CARRIED YOU UNTIL WE GET TO THE CAPITAL.”

Sans mentioned that capital. He went on about places he wanted to show you during your date. There was a restaurant he really liked. “I don’t really want you to touch me…” you utter. He looks irritated. Step close to him as you add, “so make it quick.”

“VERY WELL.” Then he scoops you up, holding you out a bit to avoid compressing your torso. His armor is uncomfortable, but it feels better than Sans’s bare, thin bones digging into you. He walks right atop the webs, boots never sticking, as he awkwardly tries to avoid eye contact with you entirely. You’d raise an eyebrow or inquire as to what his deal is if you gave a shit about this monster. But you don’t. This isn’t your Papyrus. You can’t get to the capital soon enough.

Then there was silence for a while. Papyrus strolled onto another one of Mettaton’s scenes, which he walked right through, despite the robots protestations. The two of them bickered like they were once lovers. One would say something staggering to the other and then the camera would fly into your face, probably to get a reaction shot. Your fetus kicking and illuminating with a red glow made Papyrus rediscover you in his arms and he apologized bitterly while starting a brisk pace to the East. There was a blue bunny monster suggestively sucking on a popsicle. You wanted one, it’s looked tasty, you were so thirsty, but Papyrus didn’t stop. He wouldn’t put you down, either. Said you’d be too slow.

The captains boots clang clang clang as he ascends a tall staircase. The light from the molten lake fades away to leave you both in purple darkness. The temperature drops significantly. There’s flashing lights at the top of the steps. Faint noises of machines beeping and sirens blaring. Getting louder. Tension building. This must be the capital.

Papyrus lets out a huff when he reaches the top. The blinking signs blinds you, squint and rub your eyes, blink; it’s a HUGE building! It looks like a resort or casino, stretching to a skyscrapers height, the words “MTT” flickering yellow and white above the double door, surrounded by two caricatures of Mettaton. There are a few dead shrubs and monsters mingling around the entrance. Some are smoking, some look like they’re trying to sell something, some are… oh.

There he is.

You spot Sans in the alley that trails off from the right side of the building. Papyrus crouches to set you down gently. Readjust your clothing as you watch the short skeleton chat up a pair of female monsters. Well, it looks like he’s flirting; he’s leaning against the wall, trying to look cool, flipping a coin into the air and catching it. He’s wearing a different jacket; the less beat up one that you wore for so long and left at the lab. His sockets lid and you can faintly hear his chuckle when the green alligator pokes a playful finger into his chest.

“SANS!!!” Papyrus bellows, silencing all of the monsters within earshot and everyone turns to look at the two of you. Except Sans. He just freezes in place, his eye sockets empty, the coin he flipped landing to the ground with an audible ching. “COME HERE,” Papyrus crosses his arms across his chest, his tone stern.

His brother notices you standing next to him, but you don’t give him any more of an amenable look. The crimson magic flickers back into his eye sockets. He picks up the coin he dropped before shoving both hands into his pockets and sauntering towards you. “h-hey, bro,” he calls out, “i wasn’t, ahh… uh, weren’t ya scheduled ta snowdin today?”


It’s still dead quiet; the other monsters just watch and huddle together a bit, a few whispering to each other. Almost all their eyes stay glued to you. One points to your middle. Are they talking about your soul or have they noticed your pregnancy?

“i’m on break,” Sans snickers. He stops in front of you with a scree of his rubber sneakers and gives you a pleased, but distressed expression. “an’ shouldn’t they be at tha lab?”


At first, it looks like Sans is going to break down into tears or a tantrum, but with a deep breath, he puts on that suave, confident face he wore when you first met him. “yer right, bro. thanks.”

Papyrus musses your hair and leans down to press his closed teeth against your cheek, kissing you. Scrunch up your face and lean away, which makes him nyah hah hah loudly. “GOODBYE, HUMAN.” He stands straight and turns his attention to the small crowd, “WHAT ARE YOU DUSTBAGS STARING AT??? BACK TO YOUR BUSINESS!” With that, the monsters disperse and Papyrus is marching back down the steps. Good riddance, asshole.

Alone with Sans. Once again.

“hey, sugartits,” he says while eyeing you with a greedy smile, “mmn, ya just keep gettin’ bigger…” He undauntedly reaches to cup your swollen chest, squeezing— you feel something warm and wet escape from the tips of your breasts. Oh fuck, are… are you lactating? Already?? Grab his wrists to pull him off you but he notices the dampness immediately, running his thumb across the moist spot on your t-shirt. “h-holy shit,” he whispers, pupils dilating, obviously aroused.

You scowl and harshly jerk away, “you leave me to die and think you can just touch me like nothing happened? Fuck off.”

He rubs the milk between two fingers thoughtfully, his grin faltering. “looks like yer pretty close ta tha core.” You have no idea what the core is, but you don’t interrupt him. “how ‘bout grabbin’ some dinner with me first?”

* Yeah
* Fuck no, I'm busy

* Yeah

Sans looks relieved. “great,” he winks at you, “thanks fer treatin’ me.” You didn’t find that very funny; both of you know you have no money.

* Click to continue

* Fuck no, I’m busy

Sans laughs, “what tha fuck could you be busy with? ya promised me a date.”

“I didn’t promise anything,” you remind him.

“c’mon, (your name). i’m tryna be nice here. humor me, at least?”

He takes your hand gently and steps towards the alley, rather than the front door. “over here,” he says when you hesitate, “i knowa shortcut.” He leads you into the darkness, you blink, and then find yourself sitting on a chair at a dining table. Perk up and look around: byzantium tiled floor, amethyst wall paper, several tables surrounding you, each with its own uniquely tattered table cloth. The table is bare, save for a few neatly arranged dishes and utensils. Several fake plants, vines crawling up a few walls, reminding you of Flowey. There’s a large, bird-like monster standing in front of a stage, eyeing you suspiciously. Other than that, it looks like you’re alone.

With Sans. He sits across from you at the table, resting his skull on one fist, fiddling with something he has in his other hand and staring off into space. Upon closer inspection, the thing he’s holding is a gold tooth. The same one you threw into the lava.

“How did you…?“

“so. your journey’s almost over, huh?”

It didn’t feel like it was almost over. until he said that. Your stomach tangles into knots and you do your best to hide your nerves. Shrug at him.

“ya must,” he exhales, “really wanna go home.”

That’s not the reason why you want to leave. And he probably knows that. What is he doing? His words feel so scripted.

“hey. i know tha feelin’, buddo.”

Buddo?” you parrot. He’s never called you anything like that before, “what the fuck are you doing?”

He chuckles awkwardly and hides his face in his hand. “ah… this wuz a lot easier with tha kid.” Frisk, that must be who he means. “you, though,” he peeks at you between a few fingers, “i dun’ really know what ta say ta you. especially in this timeline.” The red flecks of his eyes dart between your chest and face.

“You cling so tightly to your past. Why do you think you have to repeat things you’ve said in previous timelines?” At that, his brows furrow, teeth clench, and he grips the gold tooth so tight you can hear it scrape against his metacarpals. Why did that make him so angry? “You…” hesitate, swallow hard, continue, “you can just talk to me. As a person, right here and now.”

Sans is quiet for a while. You’re suddenly grateful this dinner apparently doesn’t involve food. You couldn’t eat with the tension this strained.

“hey… lemme tell ya a story.” The chair creaks as he slouches in it, tilting his head back, throwing the tooth into the air and catching it. “so imma sentry in snowdin forest, right? thaz consistent between almost every timeline. fer some reason.”

Hold your hands close to yourself, cracking a few knuckles and carefully pulling your fingers, the action producing faint popping sounds. You listen, focusing on his face; he’s trying to maintain a blank expression. This iteration of him isn’t very good at that.

“i’m at timeline… what… 62a?” He continues, tossing the tooth and catching it all the while, “i’m used ta seein' lil kids. six brats, expectin’ tha seventh ta be no different than tha previous.” His expression melts into something genial. “but then… you walked out that door.”

You remember this. It was one of the memories that came back to you when you were on top of him in Undyne’s house. The look blue Sans gave you was of absolute shock. Shock. And desire.

“fuckin’ you…” he says it like it’s an accusation, “with yer… heheh, mature bits and purple soul.”

Smile at him, feeling yourself begin to relax, “you were shorter in that timeline.”

“n’ i tried ta treat ya no different than tha others… i really tried.”

“I understand. No mortal can resist my charms,” you jest.

He lets himself laugh a little at that. Catches the tooth one last time before sitting up and reaching out to you with that hand. You meet him in the center of the table, his phalanges uncurling until the gift lands in your palm. Rests his warm hand atop yours, digits circling your wrist. “this timeline, though?” he continues with that cocky cadence you’ve grown so familiar to, “all six humans were adults. guess tha universe was merciful— not sendin’ any kids down here. so you were nothin’ special. aside from how,” a low growl in his throat, “perverse ya were.”

Most people would probably take that as an insult, but all it did was turn you on. His wicked smirk implies that he notices. Feel a blush come on, averting your eyes and gripping the bones of his forearm.

“but. i still fell fer ya again. just as hard.”

Another pause. Eventually, you speak up, “is there a point to this story?”

“i dun’ think so,” he laughs, “this iz all new fer me. normally, i’d tell ya how you should stay here, i’d threaten ya, and play it all off like some kinda sick joke. but. everythin’ is different this time.” He moves your hand so his fingers lace with yours. Firm bones pucker your flesh, but it fits perfectly. “i know yer leavin’. no matter what i do. so can ya just…

do me a favor?”

Smile meekly, “after all that’s happened, you should be doing me favors.”

Sans continues, “spend tha night with me? one last time?

Chapter Text

“You could still come with me,” you offer hopefully.

“yeah. i could,” Sans replies.

“… But you won’t?”

“i don’t want to.”


That hurt. That hurt a lot. Immediately, you start quivering and feel a heavy cry coming on. Look down at your lap to choke it down and find two visible damp spots at your nipples. Thankfully, the t-shirt is black, so it isn’t super noticeable, but you’re still mortified. The urge to sob finally overtakes you, tears trickling. You say nothing, what could you even say at this point? Turn away from him while struggling to suppress your feelings. It’s not healthy. But you don’t want Sans to remember you like this.

“ya hungry?” he says, fingering at one of the menus on the table.

“sh-sure,” you choke out, “but not for this. Do you have any hotdogs? I’d prefer something greasy.” Papyrus’s cooking is still fresh on your palate; you anticipate fine dining such as this would pale in comparison.

Sans smiles, “i know just tha place.” Phalanges squeeze your hand and he looks at you expectantly. You nod in response.

Reality dissolves into nothingness and the only thing that exists is Sans. A new reality is formed when the teleportation is complete. He’s still holding your hand, you’re both in the exact same positions, only now you’re sitting in a booth. In what looks like a seedy bar. It’s filled with smoke, tobacco and marijuana. It’s humid, dimly lit, and it smells like a campfire. There are several monsters at the bar and tables, and one who looks like he’s made entirely out of purple flames. Looks like he’s the bartender.


“ey grillby,” Sans yells toward the bar, waving his free hand in the air, “two breakfast platters and a rum n’ coke.”

The bartender crabbily leans up from his lounging position on the counter, crackling like a noisy wood fire, and struts through a kitchen door on his right. You’re surprised by how well dressed he is, considering the bleak surroundings. The smoke tickles your throat and you cough, already feeling a bit intoxicated from the residual marijuana. Mind goes to the baby; this can’t be good for him.

The kitchen door flies open, Grillby’s heels clicking as he makes his way to your table, carrying a black waiters tray on one shoulder. Ooh, he’s handsome, blaring white lights as eyes, black-rimmed glasses, the flames of his head sparking lavender as he notices you. Let go of Sans’s hand to free space up on the table, clutching the gold tooth into your palm. The bartender carelessly slides one plate across the table in front of Sans and leans over purposefully as he sets an identical plate in front of you. It’s eggs, hash browns, and toast.

Grillby gives you a salacious look as he asks what you’re doing hanging out with such filth. He says it’s been so long since they had a human in town, and that you should let a real monster show you around. He cups your jaw with the one hand so you make eye contact, his other still holding the tray. He’s not as hot as you were expecting him to be, temperature wise— about as hot as Sans’s cum. Scorching, but after spending so long in Hotland, you don’t even flinch. That seems to impress him.

The skeleton snarls loudly and stands to snatch his drink from Grillby’s tray, the ice clinking around in the glass. “hey. why duncha back tha fuck off, pal. they’re mine.” He sits back down with a thump, looking as disgruntled as ever. One hand death-grips the rim of his drink, the other taps fingers one after the other on the wooden table.

The fire monster seems to ignore him; all he does is run a warm thumb across your lips and stare into your wide eyes. “Can I…” you start, pausing as you glance between the two monsters. Grillby’s says yes, you can do whatever you want, then he calls you his pet. Whoa, you blush at that. “C-can I have a glass of juice?” Grillby says of course before lightly pinching your lower lip and swaggering off.

Sans is slouching over the table dramatically, swirling his drink as he glares at you. “well, ya sure seemed ta be fuckin’ enticed. lose yer appetite or are ya just hungry f-fer cock, huh?

Oh shit, he’s jealous. That’s super adorable. You smile innocently and take a piece of toast to dip it into the running yolk. “What? He was hitting on me. I didn’t do anything.”

“yea, exactly,” he scoffs, then throws his head back, downing his drink in just a few gulps. “grillz, another,” he yells at Grillby, who’s pouring beverages behind the bar, “double shot. an’ dun’ fuckin’ water that shit down this time, ya cheapskate.”

It’s awkward. Until you take one of Sans’s hands to put a few fingers in your mouth, with the excuse that he had some ketchup on them. You suck on them and watch the arousal flush his face, only smiling around his digits when Grillby returns with your drinks. Another rum & coke for Sans and an apple juice for you. Sans pulls his hand back with a suggestive pop of suction breaking and mumbles something like, “i’m still mad. fuckin’ slut,” through a palpable aura of lust.

The two of you scarfed the food down, getting more intoxicated as time went by. He guzzled drink after drink and you gradually became stoned as the surrounding monsters continually lit up blunts and joints. You were shamelessly flirting intermittently with Sans and Grillby, enjoying the skeletons reactions and the flame monsters generous attention and smoldering hands. At one point, you shoved a socked foot into Sans’s crotch under the table as Grillby whispered in your ear how much of a shame it was to waste your body just to use your soul. Your sock had a strong smell; you’ve been wearing the same boots for your entire journey, sometimes without socks. But if Sans disliked it, he didn’t show it. He just squirmed in his seat while your toes copulated with the holes in his pelvis, eyes lidded, fork in hand.

After your meal, you felt pleasantly euphoric. The world seemed to slow down as your intoxicated mind processed everything. Sans called you a naughty lil’ human for teasing him and Grillby like that. You egged him on, saying if you were so bad, maybe he should punish you. He did. He grabbed you by the hair and bent you over the table, only your chest mashing into the plates to avoid compressing your stomach. It hurt; you could feel your breasts ache with internal pressure, more moisture trickling from your nipples.

Sans fucked you right there, your leggings pulled down just enough to enter you, one skelehand around your mouth to stifle your cries. You apologized and whined from embarrassment, even though the monsters only gave you occasional glances, mostly unfazed by the obscene spectacle. The bartender was the only one who showed any interest; he offered to silence you with his cock down your throat, but Sans shoved his fingers into your mouth, assuring the other monster that he wasn’t needed. You climaxed before they could continue the conversation and Grillby complimented Sans on training his human so well. He said the meal was on the house, but he still had to pay for the drinks. Sans insisted with drunkenly slurred words that it wasn’t on the house— “i gave ya’ll fuckin’ fucks a good show. i earned dat muthafuckin’ shit.” Then he smacked your ass so hard, some of his cum leaked from your pussy onto the floor. That turned a few heads.

Even now you were incredibly horny, begging for more from your Daddy, desperate for any stimulation, cunt still brazenly exposed, and blissfully unaware of the bar patrons beginning to approach. Sans hummed and pulled you upright, saying, “put it on my tab, grillby,” before teleporting both of you away.

It looks like he brought you to a hotel room. Just one big room, with orange carpeting and a gigantic candy red bed that took up almost all of the space. There was a bathroom to the left and right away you wanted to use it. You hadn’t bathed since before crawling around in those vents and fucking Sans twice. You dropped the gold tooth onto the floor as Sans held you with one arm and slowly peeled your soiled clothes off with the other. His tongue manifested to lick at one puffy nipple, but you cried out, saying they were way too sensitive. He seemed reluctant to stop.

He shed his attire and ‘helped’ you shower, both of you grasping and fondling each others contrastive bodies, making out, doing a bit of actual showering here and there. The two of you dried off ,then gracelessly stumbled to the bed. You sat naked at the foot of the bed, wet locks of hair curling and sticking to your face.

Fuck… You’re still so fucking high. He seems to be pretty drunk; he won’t shut up and he’s drooling a little. You giggle, “how drunk are you? Should we even be messing around like this?”

“mmnnn, i’ve been drunker,“ Sans assures as he sits next to you, also naked, “dun’ worry bout me. i sober up quick anyway. i wanna take care a’you.” He leans into you, his tongue finding that spot between your neck and shoulder, a hand slipping between your legs to stroke the curls down your labia. Rest your hands on his ribcage, curling your fingers and pulling on them as you angle yourself to face him. He cups your mound and massages your entire vulva, a bit of wetness already meeting his touch.

Tense up when his mouth inches toward your aching breasts. You’re nipples and areola have darkened and stretched; you had noticed but you don’t really care, since there’s nothing you can do about it. “aah, my poor lil pregnant human,” he purrs when you wince.

“relax, babe,” he mumbles, “i think this’ll help. just… relax.” He kisses your sternum with closed teeth as he rests his hands on the tops of your breasts and begins rubbing slow circles. This is okay, you can manage this. He goes lower and you feel a bit of the pressure in your breast release as white liquid spurts and dribbles out. “haha, hooooly shit,” he gapes, continuing to rub, milk shooting with almost every touch of his hands. This is embarrassing and weird and ridiculous and… kinda hot. The milk lands on him and drips down his bones; he wears an absolutely enthralled expression the whole time.

Maybe he would wanna…

“You… I mean, if you want you can…” you don’t finish that thought. He looks up at you with bright eyes, seeming to understand completely.

r-really?” He sounds like a surprised child who was just told yes, this toy is yours, you can play with it.

“Be gentle, skeleton,” you try to say seriously, but your titillation pollutes the tone.

Slouching, his jaw opens and takes the majority of your left breast in his mouth. It just sits there, flesh puckered between shark teeth, and he waits until you confirm that you’re alright. His tongue finds your nipple, circles, then applies suction. How can it suckle like that? Magic is weird.

Fuck, it hurts, how is this helping, you don’t—“Ahh!” you cry out when it feels like part of your breast was sucked out. GOD, that feels so much better! The pressure decreases greatly and you moan with relief. Sans makes a surprised sound at whatever he took into his mouth, then he gulps loudly.

Take his left hand and grasp it over your other tit, directing him to squeeze. Hold your breath through the pain, it hurts, aah, the milk squirts wherever, landing in both your laps. Curious, you bring your wet hand to your face and taste yourself. It’s sweet, creamy, and almost has the flavor of.. smoke. Probably because you were inhaling the stuff for so long at the bar.

The monster doesn’t stop doing what he’s doin’. He grumbles happily and moves his mouth to the other breast, leaving your left sticky with ectoplasmic saliva. His red appendage circles the entire thing, left skelehand returning to your groin, a few phalanges skimming your folds to gauge your wetness. You’re surprisingly aroused; he slips inside easily, fingers curling into your tight walls, finding that spongy tissue and beginning to rub it. Cry out your approval as you hold his head to your chest, this whole thing feeling incredibly intimate and foreign at the same time. This is so weird, and so ridiculous. You’re pregnant with this skeletons baby and he’s fucking erotically breastfeeding. What the fuck is your life.

Just looking at Sans is enough to push those thoughts aside. “Wh-what do you think,” you ask him with a fluttery voice.

“iz fuckin’ awesome,” he replies enthusiastically, his words perfectly clear, vibrating your flesh inside his mouth. “it’s.. iz sweet n’ it’s yours n’ ya made it cuz of me, fuck.” Still sounding pretty drunk, he continues mumbling praise and admiration, almost to the point of worship, “all i did wuz cum inside ya. n’ lookit all yer body has done.” He strokes your stomach with one hand, smearing milk across it, his other hand still teasing, beginning their thrust in and out of your pussy.

“yer fuckin’ beautiful, yer amazin’. i can’t believe ya fuckin’ exist.” Sans pauses, releases your breast and leans away. “i dunno… what i’ll do when yer gone."

“Sans,” is all you say. He just stares at your chest, remaining in his hunched position, fingers idly moving inside you. “Don’t… just don’t think about that. I’m here now.”

“but soon ya won’t be.”

Plant a kiss on the top of his head and hug his face to your bust. “Can you forget about it? Just for a little while? To make this last time memorable.” He doesn’t respond. “I’m here now, just fuck me.”

Sans lets out a sigh, his fingers leaving you, “nah,” his familiar smirk stretches the corners of his mouth, “but i will make love ta ya. n’ that means more forepla— nnaah!”

Seize his spine, both hands curling and probing at every joint. Down and down, taking care not to neglect any inch of bone. Back up, he whines and bucks his hips, telling you he wants more. Not yet, skeleton. Down, back up, between a few ribs, kissing and scraping teeth across his jaw and neck.

His pelvis is damp with sweat and quivering by the time you get there. Run your fingers down the tiny bumps on the back of his tailbone and tease at his sacroiliac joints. As you slowly follow the circle of his pelvic inlet, there’s a foof as his magic is activated. Immediately start stimulating his pubic symphysis as something starts to form there. Smoke billows and twists, there’s a sizzle of electricity, have to pull your hand away as the red becomes a tangible body part. It’s the same chubby vulva from before, mons extending from his pubis, the rest kinda just floating in the empty space of the pelvis. Experimentally, you reach around it. Although theres nothing visible except the vulva, a pliable barrier around the entire bottom of his ilium zaps you if you push too hard.

Get an idea for something that will get you both off. Spread your legs and sit a bit in his lap, his magic against your inner labia. He leans back on his arms to make room for you and tenses when genitals make contact, goggling at it with a dumb grin. Hump once, dragging crease across crease, he tingles against you, feeling so smooth and warm. “ooh, fuck,” he exhales on your face, breath reeking of alcohol and your milk, “wow, i’ve never…”

“Never tribbed before?” That surprises you. Sans makes it seem like he’s done every sexual maneuver in the book. “I’ll show you. Lie down.” He does, arms resting above his head, wearing a timid yet enraptured expression. Take ahold of his iliac crests and squat on top him, your spread labia meeting his smooth mons. Thrust thrust, he whines and bucks upward to meet you, the hardened nub of his magic meeting your clit. “Well?” you pant, “pretty nice, right? It’s easier with no hair, but-“

“mmm-nnnggg,“ it sounds like he wants to say a word, but can’t quite get it out.

“Mmm? M what?” Grab his ribcage instead of his pelvic bone and give him one long, fluid thrust.

“mmmmommy,” he whispers, like he’s ashamed to say it. The grin you gave him must have been wicked, as it makes him blush even harder and put one hand over his face, like he’s hiding from you. “mmmmmnn, i like it, it feels good.”

“Say it~”

mommy,” he cries, “please give me more.” Auugh, he’s so cute, you want to fucking destroy him.

You do, squatting lower to grind the entirety of your slit against his, labia folding together, and you rut at a quicker pace, various body parts bouncing from the motion. He takes both breasts in his hands and kneads them, more juice spurting, god, how much can there be? Doesn’t it stop?

Pause and stand up, he whimpers from the stimulation stopping. Spread his legs with your feet until there’s enough space for you to crouch between them. Hold his femurs there and make contact again; this angle is much better for accessing his surface area. He groans in a high-pitched voice and meets every thrust, while pinching and playing with your chest.

Before long, he breathes,“mmmama i’m, i’m gonna—“ “Cum for me, baby,” you urge as he quickly approaches, the smoke in his eye turning to flames, “all over my pussy, I wanna feel you, cum, cum.” And he does, spasming and squealing in pleasure beneath you, his cunt heating up and throbbing against yours. Grind your hips in a circle and stroke the bones of his ribcage as he rides it out, thanking you with tearful sockets.

Sans lies there for a while, breathing heavily and soaking in the dampness of his perspiration. Patiently wait on top of him, rubbing yourself against whatever parts of his pelvic bone are fairly humpable.

After catching his breath, he hums contently and sits up to kiss you. His bare teeth nuzzle into your lips as he wraps his arms around you, cupping his hands under your thighs, and picking you up like that. You eep and grab onto his shoulders, legs dangling in the air, crotch mashed into his boney groin. Phalanges dig harshly into your skin and already you can feel bruises forming. His chubby, crimson cock manifests in it’s usual spot between his legs, pressing into your drenched folds. Something takes you and holds your weight, probably his magic, spreading your legs and supporting your upper body as he reaches around to cup your ass.

“mmn… ya ready, lil one??” he asks, voice strained, bones drenched in sweat. Right hand massages your asscheek as his left grasps the base of his shaft. He runs the head slooowwwly down your crease, poking at your tunnel, then baaackk uppp. Slaps it against your clit a few times, sounding wet and fleshy.

Move your hips as best as you can against him and nod in response. “Pleeeaaase, fuck me,” you beg. Another few strokes up your folds and then he’s entering. All you do is breathe as he fills you, inch by inch, slowly stretching you out, the knot at the base forcing it’s way inside. It hurts in the absolute best way and you make sure to vocalize your enjoyment. “Sans! Your cock… it’s so thick. Fuckin’ goddamn, I love it!”

“i love you,” he grunts into your chest as he starts moving, lifting you, then letting gravity bring you back down, a little bit deeper each time. You whimper, knowing you can’t give him a verbal reply, wishing against reality that you could. So you just repeat his name as his magic pumps into you, over and over. Can feel your soul reaching for his. But nothing responds to it.

When you ask him to kiss you he turns around and sets you on the bed on your back, your ass hanging off the edge. He kisses you, mouth opening, your tongue lapping against his, and you moan into his skull. Grasps your ankles and pushes them towards your head until you yelp from the extension, resulting in a much deeper penetration. With each hilt, he bumps your cervix.

“aww, my kitten, my good lil’ human. yer so tight. i can feel ya pulsin’ round me.”

“I love it!! Fuck, it feels so good!”

“i love you,” he repeats, voice more uneasy, the pace of his plunge increasing. Sans takes a leaking breast into his mouth and continues the sucking motion from before as the bulbous base of his magic goes in and out. “thaz my good human. mmm, yer so good, takin’ all of daddy’s cock. i love you, sugar, i love you.”

“Daddy, Daddy,” you whine desperately, arms cradling him to your jiggling tits. “More, Daddy, please use me, fill me!”

A warm appendage squirms between your teeth and touches the back of your throat before leaving, then going right back it. Blink away the tears to register one of his red, disembodied tentacles fucking your mouth. Moan around it, an unseen force encircles your wrists and pulls them above your head. Sans doesn’t skip a beat, his shaft still pounding, your peak quickly approaching.

“ooh, i can feel that, honeypie. yer getting so hot. ya wanna cum, duncha?” You whine around his magic in reply and he releases your legs, but they stay in the air by the same force that holds your arms. Sans leans back and looks you up and down, stopping at your crotch to pinch the outer labia and spread them. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure, you can’t see him, but there’s warm breath on your middle and an entire hand pressing against the bundle of nerves at your crest. “yer clit’s so red n’ swollen,” he growls, “gaaah, fuck, who’s daddy’s lil toy?”

Phalanges rub vertically across your clitoris, and his cock never stops. The appendage in your mouth pulls out so you can shout, “I am!!” More slick magic twists around your chest, neck and face so you look at him— he's sweaty and glowing crimson, face contorted with arousal, teeth bared, red drool dribbling down his chin, both hands on your vulva as he unforgivingly fucks you.

“Oh my gaaaaawwd, Daddy, I wanna-I wanna finish for you!“

“good (your name), let it out.” Closer, closer. “say my name, kitten.”



SANS!!!” You scream and convulse as the precipice of pleasure, figuratively, punches you in the face. The monster in the adjacent hotel room pounds on the wall, but neither of you hear it. He praises you as your juice releases onto his pelvis and the carpet, amplifying the sound of your union. So wet and squishy, accompanied by the slap of bone against flesh. His cock slows but his hands don’t, and before you know it, another orgasm rolls through you.

And then you start crying. Well, not so much crying as sobbing. Your snot and tears flow as your lover continues fucking your sensitive cunt. You cum again. His magical bindings dematerialize, your legs falling useless to the floor, and the skeleton bends to latch onto a nipple. Oh god, it’s too much, you love it.

Then you had about… four more orgasms before you feel asleep with his cock still inside you. You had another dream, but this is all you could remember: a small machine, big enough to fit one passenger. there are buttons and dials and charts and notes. Cuddling in bed with dull-toothed Papyrus as the Sans in the blue jacket reads both of you an excerpt from Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time. Papyrus fell asleep almost immediately, but Sans voice flowed through you as you absorbed the information, stirring your brain in so many different ways. He made eye contact and your vagina tingled in response.

You woke up. Red Sans was next to you in the bed. It looked like he was sleeping. Now’s your chance; slip away so you don’t have to say goodbye. It would only be heartbreaking, anyway. Got out of bed and dressed yourself as quietly as you could. Red leggings and a frilly blouse from Papyrus.

Sit on the edge of the bed to put the same pair of socks on. Soundlessly, Sans comes up behind you, completely naked, and hugs you, his palms resting flat on your belly.

“… (your name),” he almost whispers.

“Hi, Sans.” Both socks are on. Now for the shoes.

“ya dun’ haveta go… it could always be like this . just you n’ me. and soon, him. please, (your name), stay with me. i’ll take care a’ ya.”

He told you to have faith in him. The only faith you’ve ever had is in yourself. Every bone in your body tells you to leave. You think your son also wants you to leave. Leave the Underground, at least, he doesn’t want you to leave Sans. “No,” you reply.

“i’ll do anythin’ if ya—“ “No,” you repeat, firmer. Tie the last lace of your boot. Time to go. “I’m sorry.”

Sans snarls and unravels his arms to shove you off the bed. You stumble to avoid falling, face almost colliding with the opposite wall. “fine,” he hisses, tone completely void of all warmth and love. “then get out. get tha fuck outta my fuckin’ life.”

You can’t, you can’t leave him like this. This can’t be your goodbye. “Sans, I just—“ “ISAIDGETTHAFUCKOUT!” Throws himself onto his feet and starts to approach. Left eye blazes with magic, lighting up the dark room with red, his jaw opening, energy forming in his mouth like he’s about to blast something at you. You throw open the door.

And then you run.

Chapter Text

What the fuck is this place? You have no idea where you’re going.

The elevator in the hotel isn’t working. Looks like you’re going to have to walk through a place called the Core.

A fluttering in your belly. It feels like he’s trying to tell you something. Close your eyes and rest both hands on him. Deep breath. The color red appears. It takes shape, becoming a red blob. What the fuck is that supposed to be? He kicks a bit harder, making your grunt. He’s hungry. Still have a few treats from Papyrus’s gift basket smooshed into your purse. You eat a flattened cinnamon bun that’s decorated with frosting and fondant to look like a bunny. It’s incredibly sweet. Seems he likes it.

The wood of the bridge creaks beneath you as you leave the warmth behind and walk into the cold, blue lights of this giant machine. The microchip-detailed walls click and blink. It smells like motor oil. The elevator in here doesn’t seem to be working either.

This room splits off into two separate paths. Take the path on the left after the baby kicks in that direction. As soon as you cross the foreboding entryway, there’s a scuffle behind you. Fucking… great. Try to act like you didn’t notice it, continuing down the hallway. Someone giggle’s. What the fuck. Pick up the pace.

As you duck under the next doorway, there’s blackness. Something soft covers your face, can’t see, your arms held back by cold digits. Thrash and scream, a familiar “ahuhuhuhu,” in your ear. Hot, sticky web encases you and you’re being carried off. Through your terror, you told yourself that you should have expected this. A shitty, pointless end to a shitty, pointless journey.

You were carried for a bit. Face still obscured with what feels like a cloth bag, you saw nothing, but you could smell a lot. Oil, rust, fading into clean linens and tobacco smoke. Muffet said a few things, mostly about how disappointed she was that she wouldn’t get to eat you. A door opens, strong perfume blasts you in the face, can see pink light through the black fibers of the bag. You’re spun around as the spider unwinds you, getting so dizzy, gonna puke, urrrrg, burp instead. It tastes like cinnamon. Seated on a fluffy cushion, bag removed. Squint from the brightness.

Looks like you’re in a dressing room. A pink one, with black and gold accents. Numerous framed posters of Mettaton and a few posters of a humanoid robot with 4 arms and 4 eyes. Go rigid when you register the three other monsters in the room with you. Three bunny's, and it looks like they could be sisters. Each of them in a different color: gold, black, and red. The two on the couch giggle at you.

“What the fuck is going on?” you demand.

“It’s your big show tonight!” “I’m so jealous!” “Don’t ask questions.” All three of them say at once.

“We’re in charge of prettying you up!” “Yeah, you looked terrible on those last shows!” “A good-looking human means higher ratings.”

“And that means more money!” They say in unison and hold up a few cosmetic instruments.

Ugh… With Muffet guarding the door, it looks like there’s no way out of this one. “Let’s just get this over with,” you grumble.

They stripped you. The gold bunny was fascinated with your body and she touched you to the point of her sisters scolding her to stop. You were bathed and scrubbed until your skin felt raw. Lotioned and powdered. Given a haircut, new bangs and layers. They even trimmed your pubic hair, much to your discomfort. Stuffed into skimpy, laced black lingerie that was too small. Face slathered with makeup— the whole nine yards: glitter, eyeliner, false eyelashes. Every time you looked into the mirror, you recognized yourself less and less.

As the monsters worked, they gossiped. About each other, the king, the queen, the royal scientist, the skeleton brothers… The black bunny liked Sans, but the other two liked Papyrus and shamed their sister for her preference. They asked about your baby and who the father was and how the brothers were in bed. The monster in gold caressed your stomach and called your stretch marks beautiful. You only responded with the occasional sarcastic quip. The bunny in red liked that.

A rack of evening wear was rolled out. They argued over which dress to put you in. You suggested wearing pants, they’re more comfortable and practical. No one listened to you and you were squeezed into a corseted dress until they realized your stomach was simply too big to fit. They settled for a flowing, full-length red dress with an empire cut. The red one said it would make ‘the big reveal’ more unexpected. Matching, strappy heels. Black jewelry. You looked and felt ridiculous. But you had to admit, you were beautiful.

You stumbled in the high-heeled shoes when you tried to walk, not used to them. Almost twisted your ankle. Muffet picked you up and called you fat. She carried you down an ominous, narrow hall.

Light fading. It’s dark. A large room with blue LED’s lining the edges. Muffet sets you down and disappears.

A single spotlight shines on the opposite side of the room, exhibiting Mettaton, leaning dramatically on a golden chaise lounge chair.

“OH YES,” his metallic voice purrs, “THERE YOU ARE, DARLING.” As he talks, you bend over and pull off the shoes, letting them drop to the floor. “LOOKS LIKE IT’S TIME TO HAVE OUR LITTLE SHOWDOWN. IT’S TIME TO FINALLY GIVE THE MONSTERS WHAT THEY WANT.”

Take a few steps back towards the door you just entered, but it’s gone, your hand only swiping at thin air when you try to find it. Mettaton continues, “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT’S LIKE LIVING DOWN HERE. THESE CREATURES NEED SOMETHING TO KEEP THEM GOING. TO INSPIRE THEM!!! I,” he let’s out a soundbite of a woman sighing, “AM THAT SOMETHING.”

He springs out of his seat, machinery whirring and creaking, and the lounge chair disappears into the floor. “I GIVE THEM EVERYTHING! I AM THE MARTYR THESE CREATURES DON’T DESERVE!!! AND I’M GOING TO GIVE THEM SOMETHING THEY NEVER KNEW THEY WANTED.”

Please don’t let it be— “YOU,” he says. Damnit. A microphone appears in one of his four hands and his voice resonates all around the stage, like it’s coming from surround sound speakers, “REAL DRAMA!! REAL ACTION!! REAL DEPRAVITY!! IN THE PREMIERE OF MY NEW SHOW…”


A million voices scream and you realize crowds of monsters are encircling the entire stage. You’re completely surrounded. No way out. Five red spotlights swirl around Mettaton and the floor suddenly jolts. Forced onto your knees as the stage becomes a platform, cylinders pumping and it’s raised, higher and higher. As you go up, you look over the edge to see the scope of the crowd. It’s huge. Stretching back and up, like a stadium. The platform stops when it reaches a certain height. You feel light-headed.

The robot wheels next to you and pulls you up your feet, “BUT DON’T WORRY, DARLING. I’M NOT GOING TO KILL YOU. ON THIS SHOW, I PLAN TO HAVE A BIT MORE… FUN.

One of his arms reaches towards his back and you hear the click of a switch being turned on. He starts shaking and flashing and steaming and oh god what the fuck is happening. Back away to the other edge of the stage. An explosion of light and a robotic, male voice moaning out, “OOOH YESS!”

Oh no.

* Mettaton EX makes his 500th appearance!

Steam and smoke dwindle and disperse, revealing a tall, humanoid robot with two long legs, four tubular arms, and four red eyes on a handsome, bishounen face. You saw this on the posters in the dressing room. This is Mettaton too? The crowd begins to boo as he strikes a few poses, showing off every angle of his curvaceous body. This continues for a solid minute until a plastic bag full of flour is hurled at the robots face. The bag bursts open, sending white powder everywhere, the boos turning to laughter. Mettaton becomes motionless as the flour settles, the laughter slowly transforming into a chant: “HU-MAN! HU-MAN!HU-MAN!"


He bounds back to life, shaking the mess out of his stylized black hair as he stomps at the ground and screams, “YOU UNGRATEFUL PIECES OF SHIT!!!”

The chanting crescendos.

“FINE!!! HERE’S YOUR PRECIOUS HUMAN!” He’s next to you, one arm extending to twist around your upper torso when you attempt to get away. He smells like roses. A gloved hand on your stomach, pressing lightly, his other hands yanking at the skirt of your gown until it tears. The monsters cheer, you protest and he rips until the skirt is nothing but an asymmetrical tatter, it’s length now shortened to that of a mini dress. Hikes the dress up to your breasts, exposing your lower half and pregnant stomach to everyone.

A muddled silence replaces the clamor. Quiver helplessly in Mettaton’s arms, waiting for a response from anyone, but there’s nothing. Right on cue, your baby kicks hard enough to bulge skin, red magic lighting up inside you.

“THAT’S RIGHT,” Mettaton says in a normal voice, but it seems like everyone in the stadium can hear him, “THEY’RE PREGNANT. BUT NOT WITH A HUMAN BABE…” A gloved hand gropes your asscheek, then slides between your legs from behind, bunching the crotch of your black thong into your labia. Gasp and struggle against him, crying out when a finger unflinchingly enters you. Sans’s magic flushes your face and the glow in your stomach saturates as he starts to finger you. “WITH A MONSTER!

Hide your face in your hands and whimper, trying to curl into yourself, but Mettaton clamps his legs around yours and presses a thigh into you until you spread. Voices emerge from the horde, expressing several different emotions: you detect rage, fear, lust, but the overall tone is excitement. It’s intrigue. It’s show us more.

Another dry finger pushes inside and you utter, “stop. It hurts.”

“DON’T PLAY DUMB, SWEETHEART,” he says the last word with loaded inflection, “I KNOW HOW FUCKED UP YOU REALLY ARE.” In a louder voice he bellows to the crowd, his fingers still moving, “ACCEPTING A MONSTERS SEED!!! I MEAN, HOW MUCH MORE DEPRAVED CAN A HUMAN GET?”

You really wish everyone would stop kinkshaming you. Anger bubbles. “I said STOP!” With the last word, something exploded out of you, sending Mettaton reeling. It was like a shockwave, paralyzing his arms, allowing you to slip free. The magic on your face is brighter than it ever has been. Reach down and straighten your underwear and what’s left of your dress as your baby tumbles around blissfully.

At first, the robot looks shocked, like that was the last thing he expected. He regains his composure, his arms retracting to a normal length, and he walks towards you. “JUST IMAGINE IT,” he roars. You step away each time he steps forward. “A MONSTER WITH THE PHYSICAL POWER OF A HUMAN. WITH THE SOUL POWER OF A HUMAN.” The two of you are circling each other like two combatants in a fighting ring. Except you have no weapon.

He continues, “ALL BECAUSE THIS MAGICALLY INCLINED HUMAN HERE,” he grabs his crotch suggestively, “JUST CAN’T GET ENOUGH MONSTER COCK.” The spectators seem enthused with Mettaton’s words, they cheer and hoot, male voices overwhelming the female ones. “OUR KING WILL HAVE A NEW HEIR,” the audience erupts at that, “AND THEN WE’LL TEAR DOWN THAT BARRIER! AND FUCK THEIR WOMEN!! AND MAKE AN ARMY TO TAKE BACK THE SURFACE!!!”

That sounds terrible. All the more reason to stay alive and get the hell out of this place. Finally, the robot backs you against an edge, but you duck between his legs before he can nab you. Send you weight into his back, trying to push him off, but he’s SO heavy, all it does is bruise your elbow. His upper torso spins 180° and he walks backwards while facing you. “I’D LOVE TO THROW YOU INTO THE CROWD AND WATCH THESE ANIMALS TAKE YOU OVER AND OVER AGAIN,” he whispers, voice tainted with arousal. “UNFORTUNATELY, I NEED TO KEEP YOU ALIVE.”

Your son is saying something. Ignore him as Mettaton approaches and continues talking.


Can feel the magic inside you simmering, about to boil over. Your baby keeps kicking and trying to communicate. What’s happening?

Mettaton is almost upon you. “I’LL HAVE YOU BEGGING AND CUMMING ALL OVER MY—“

Nothingness. Can’t breathe. Static in your ears. It vanishes and you land on a twin-sized bed. Wheeze and gasp as you back into the corner, bare feet kicking up the perfectly made linens. This looks like the room you stayed in at Toriel’s home, but completely void of any color aside from gray. You were teleported! Eyes dart around, looking for Sans, but you’re alone.

Well, not completely alone. Your baby has since calmed, unmoving, red magic losing color until it’s gone. Did he…?

Lay back and start to sob, letting the emotions you suppressed during your fight with Mettaton wash over you. He was going to rape you in front of who knows how many monsters. This place is terrible, you hate everything. You have to escape, you have to. You’ll go to where you fell into the Underground and destroy it, making sure no human can ever go through this hell again. You promise that you’ll make these monsters rot until their extinction. Cry and cry into a pillow, but all your make up stays in place, even the lip gloss.

This might look like Toriel’s house, but it’s not. It smells different. Like old flowers and shaving cream. Two presents on the floor, wrapped in white ribbons. You open them. A heart-shaped locket in one, the inside of it is empty. Replace the onyx gems the bunny put around your neck with the locket. A simply designed, unused dagger in the other box. A weapon; and right now it’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen. Grip the handle in your dominant hand and perform a few practice stabs. Finally, you can defend yourself.

Leave the room. Numerous wilted golden flowers. It’s the exact layout as the queens home in the Ruins. That must mean that progress will be in the same place. There’s a chain locking the way but you just hop over it and head down the stairs, hair and loose threads of your dress tickling as you descend.

A familiar, but foreign long hallway. Your bare feet kick up dust as you walk. Before, you might have cared about trotting through the remains of monsters. But not anymore. Follow the path, it opens up to a huge city. White and gray towers and buildings stretching as far as the eye can see. No lights or noises, it seems to be abandoned. Notice a few details as you go: broken windows, garbage, a Jolly Roger waving limply at the top of a domed building. At the end of the passage is a large, deep entryway, red-orange light on the other side. Breathe deeply. And go through it.

It looks like an old French cathedral. Marble floors, an arched ceiling, tall, ornate pillars. Orange rays shine through one of the stained glass windows. It’s… it’s the surface! That light is the sun, about to set under the horizon to end another day. Crows caw outside. A distant rumble of thunder. You can’t see out the window very well, but it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve seen, maybe in your entire life. Just feeling the warmth makes you want to cry. Then you look down the hall to see a figure standing in the shadow of a pillar. Hold your knife close to you and approach soundlessly.

Stop when you’re about 30 feet away from the figure. You realize what it is. Who it is.

It’s Sans. Standing there. Hands in his pockets, head hunched over, snorting air through his nose. He’s fucking sleeping. You’ve never seen him sleep. Flowey said he never slept. But there he is, sockets closed, snoring loudly, and swaying a bit in his stance. Just watch him as he leans too far and almost topples over, stumbling, sneakers noisily screeching as he catches himself. His eyes open and he pulls one hand from his pocket to rub at his face. He grumbles and moves back to his original position, rotating his head until it audibly cracks.

“so ya finally…” he pauses to yawn, “mmn, ya finally made it.”

Chapter Text

Bells are ringing. Lowly, dimly, right above you. They chime three times. Then it’s quiet.

Sans takes a deep breath and looks in your direction, but you can tell he isn’t actually seeing you. “tha end of yer journey is at hand. inna few moments, you’ll meet tha king.”

“Stop,” you choke out, overwhelmed from so much. You remember this from the last timeline. You hadn’t killed a single monster and Sans deemed you worthy of bringing salvation to the Underground. And of earning his love. But it’s different this time. Everything is different.

“… that's then,” Sans continues, unfazed, “now. you’ll be judged. fer every action. fer—”

“Stop!” you speak over him, “just stop it!! Stop reading off the damn script!”

He scowls, blinks, then seems to finally register you standing in front of him. Sockets widen as he looks you up and down, then he’s fucking laughing. Throws his head back, the loud sound echoing down the hall and back to the other side. “aahhaha, (your name). ya look like a doll.”

Frown at him and pull at the tattered ends of your dress, wanting to conceal as much of yourself as possible.

“yer beautiful,” he adds.

Change the subject, “I haven’t killed anyone. Don’t toy around with me, just let me go.”

“this ain’t undertale, dollface. this is underfell. and you…” he visibly bristles, “you are completely deserving of my judgement.”

“For what?! What the fuck did I ever do to you?”

A pause.

“What did you remember?!? Just TELL ME!!

Your words resonate off the walls and you can almost hear the room shake along with you. It fades. And then it’s quiet.

So quiet. A crow caws. Another answers.

Sans scoffs, but remains motionless. He whispers something, you couldn’t hear it, ask him to repeat himself. “IT WUZ YOU!!!” he yells and an accusing finger leaves his pocket to point at you, the red lights in his face beginning to smolder. “it wuz all YOU, (your name). not me. everything in this timeline is YOUR FUCKING FAULT!

“… What?

“you fucked with my machine,” he chokes, obviously about to cry, his normal accent gone, “you fucked with it and when i used it, this happened. it’s your fault i’ve had to live through this fucking hell. you did this to my brother. it’s your fault EVERYONE is like this!”

“… I don’t… I don’t remember…”

His extended finger loses power until it just drops to his side. “yeah, i know ya fuckin’ don’t.” He’s crying. “we were fighting… you went into my workshop. then you killed yourself. and you took my son along with you.”

You can remember being pregnant with blue Sans’s baby. You remember having a big fight with him. But that’s all.

“Sans, I don’t… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Sniffles and wipes the tears away with his sleeve. “once i remembered that, it got me thinkin’.” All emotion leaves his voice, “i’ve never forgotten a timeline before. no human has ever gotten pregnant from a monsters seed before. never before has a universe been this different. there’s been only one consistent variable in the two timelines that wasn’t present in the others. an’ that variable iz you, baby.

“i ain’t tha glitch this time. it’s you. an’ maybe if yer erased, i’ll finally be able ta reset. an' forget bout all this...”

He’s going to kill you. Reflexively, you clutch your stomach. “Y-you can’t! What about him?”

“ee’ never should’ve existed in tha first place. i'm erasin' everythin' that ever happened here.”

“Sans, please! Wh-what happened doesn’t matter, you don’t have to do this, we can just leave, we can cross the barrier together.”

"i'm still a guy that does my job... if you'dve stayed with me, i wouldn'tve hadta put ya on trial like this. i could've lied ta myself. an' endured this hell fer you."


“but ya didn't... ya left me. and now. you’ll be judged.”

It feels like someone just punched you in the gut. All the air leaves your lungs and you don’t know how you manged to stay on your feet.

He continues in his monotone voice, “you never gained any EXP. and not only did you not kill a single monster, ya actually gave life ta somethin’.”

You can’t believe it. He’s blaming you for your own pregnancy. He’s judging you for something you did in a past life. He’s going to fucking kill you. And for what? Vengeance? A hunch that maybe once you're gone, he can change things? Whether it’s because of actual justification or out of a sense of preservation, fury begins to overshadow everything else. Clench your hands into fists, gripping the handle of the knife hard enough to hurt, but you don’t feel it. “you bastard,” you whisper.

“in this world, it’s kill or be killed. if ya behave, i’ll make it quick.”

“You bastard,” you say louder, taking a single step forward.

“… do ya wanna have a bad time, sweetheart? cuz if ya take another step forward…” The sockets in his skull go black, “you are REALLY not gunna like what happens next.”

YOU BASTARD!!!” Another step. A loud boom of thunder outside the window. There’s a sudden downpour, rain landing on the roof and windows in loud patters.

“mmmnnn,” Sans rumbles and slouches into himself, “welp. so much fer that.” He sighs, “whadda shitty day. crows are circlin’, flowers are drownin’…” Thunder erupts. Everything shakes as a bolt of lightning flashes across the skeletons face.

A red orb takes shape in his left eye. “but dun’ worry, angelface…” The same animal skull that appeared during his fight with Undyne manifests above him. It opens it’s mouth slowly.

“… i’ll send ya back ta heaven.”

Chapter Text

“let’s go,” Sans says.

The dinosaurs mouth is opening, light whirling and deepening, electrifying everything with static as it gathers magic. It’s going to attack, you have to dodge, you have to—ppwwweeeeEEHHH BWOOOOONNNNNNN!!!!!At light speed, his weapon blasts directly at you. But it doesn’t make contact.

Reality returns a split second later— your back is against one of the pillars, knife still in hand, your abdomen glowing red. Gasp for breath and stroke your stomach with your freehand. Smile as you feel the baby kick.

“whadda fuck?” Sans’s voice echoes behind you, “how did you? … whatever.”

Your soul feels like it’s being crushed as he takes ahold of it and uses it to yank you from your hiding spot. Stumble, but manage to stay on your feet, bare toes flaring out to stabilize yourself against his weakened pull. The movement rips your soul from your body, and it hovers in front of your sternum where you can clearly see the white tendrils almost completely covering it. There’s just a top of exposed purple left. As soon as it’s covered, you’ll give birth, you know it. So soon…

Sans stands 20 feet away, left arm extended to hold your soul, his right rising, the same dinosaur skull appearing out of thin air behind it. His arm lifts, it’s mouth opens, orange light billowing. Throws his arm down and the skull coughs out a puny ray of light, it’s eyes rolling around in it’s head. Then it disappears, just fading until it’s gone.

“mutherfucker,” the skeleton snarls, his eyes moving to your stomach, “that fuckin’ kid has all my magic.” His hold on you releases and he reaches to roll up the sleeves of his jacket. “just haveta do this tha ol’ fashioned way.”

* You feel like you’re going to have a bad time.

Sans made his choice. It’s your turn now. Time to make yours.

Author's Note: You have just played a pacifist run in the realm of Underfell. Sans has determined that you deserve death. But you are not helpless. You have a choice to make. Remember, you only have one life. There are no resets. Whatever you choose will be your canon ending. Good luck.

* Fight
* Act
* Spare











* Fight

You have do it. You know he’s going to kill you.

You’ll just have to kill him first.

Bound towards him, arm outstretched, swinging the knife wildly and slashing at— thin air. Sans side steps without even moving his feet, then moves back into place as his grip on your soul jerks you back to your original position. Your soul saturates with red from his magic activating. “heh heh, what,” he shrugs one shoulder and winks, “didya really think it’d be that easy?”

Columns of elongated femur bones appear off the screen and attempt to sandwich you. Leap and duck around them, surprisingly light on your feet, almost like you’re weightless. When his attack ends, you’re sweaty, it’s so humid, it’s raining so hard. Thunder echoes loudly. There’s pain in your uterus as it responds to the sudden exercise. Launch forward to attack. Again, he steps away, and you miss.

“y’know, i should’ve seen this comin’,” he muses with intense eye contact, “our reports showed nothin’, not a damn thing. ain’t even on tha timespace continuum. this timeline was defective tha moment you created it.”

“Shut up,” you bark, rotating your wrist to feel the weight of your weapon as you maintain a stance similar to that of a boxer in the ring.

His turn to attack; more waves of bones. Jump over the first, the second is red, too tall to jump over, following you as you try to step out of it’s path. It hits you, going straight through your body like a ghost, IT HURTS! Who knows what kind of damage that did. More are coming, jump, then something internal tells you to hold still. The next red bone passes through you harmlessly. What? Jump, don’t move, the red bone doesn’t harm you as it goes by. Okay… red means stop.

All you need is one good hit. Run at him and swipe horizontally, but again, you miss. Fuck! Sans faces you and gives you a gloomy look. “i just want it all ta end, (your name).” Lightning blares through the windows, followed by a boom of thunder, sending intense vibrations through the hall.

“Shut up!!” you repeat. You’re so sick of this, this of this place, sick of him, sick of his rasped, leathery voice saying your name. You have to kill him, you have to. Keep going, (your name). He can’t dodge forever.

Another onslaught of bones, so many fucking bones. Whimper through the pain of your uterus throbbing, dodge everything, OUCH, except that one! Bruises are forming where his weapons pass through your body. A trickle of blood runs from your nose; lick it away, and continue.

Grab your knife with both hands and fully extend your arms into Sans. Of course, he avoids it, but this time there’s a shred of gray fabric on the tip of your blade. Getting closer.

He sends another attack at you. This one has bones stretching down to meet you. Duck and jump, getting tired, adrenaline beginning to fade. One more blow, you cough, a bit of blood in your saliva. Fuck.

“ya can’t understand how this feels,” Sans says with a stilted smile.

You’ve heard this before— in his memories, you’ve seen this fight he had with Frisk. He’s hardly even bothering to say anything new to you. He won’t even give you an original fight.

That just makes you angrier.

There’s sudden warmth inside your veins, reminding you of the liquid Determination Alphys injected you with. The magic inside you is bubbling, steaming, building. As you exhale, a cloud of red mist billows from your mouth, swirling and crackling until it disappears.

He was so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice you until you manage to swipe the knife across the sleeve of his jacket. However, Sans moves out of the way before you can make contact with his body.

He continues his pervious thought, “rememberin’ everything. an’ then gettin’ stuck in a timeline where almost nothin’ is tha same.”

Slash at him again. You miss. God, how long can this go on for? You feel your body wearing weak, but the magic in your veins won’t let you pause.

“heh heh… oddly enough, it all gives me a sense of purpose.” Instead of sending another wave of bones at you, he teleports in front of you and grabs you by the face. “or is that just an excuse fer wantin’ ta kill ya with my own hands?”

Howl and hurl your knife at him, but of course, he’s no longer there to accept your strikes.

“hell if i know,” he says behind you, hands in his pockets, swaying, tossing you a cocky grin. “alls i know is… after sufferin’ in this timeline fer so long… ya should be fuckin’ grateful ta me.”

“SHUT UP!!!” With your shout comes a shockwave, but he’s prepared for it and it doesn’t effect him in the slightest.

“it’ll all be over soon, sweetheart.” His voice is sweet; he sounds so gentle and genuine it makes you want to puke.

“N o,” you bellow in a different voice, a charged voice, reverberating with the foreign power inside you as you turn to face him. “Y o u a r e n ’ t h u r t i n g m y b a b y .

Blink, and suddenly everything has a light tint of red to it. Your irises are alight with crimson, fuming, fizzing with electricity. Magic seethes out your mouth as you exhale, circling down your arm and entering the tip of your weapon. Sans’s faces twists into an expression of complete panic.

You break the rules attack outside of your turn, multiple times in quick succession. Miss, miss, nick, miss, HIT. As he’s dodging the fourth attack, your reflexes exceed human capacity and stuff the blade into his open eye socket. It deals 0.999999999 damage. He screeches, the red orb of his iris clenching around the knife like an orifice, preventing you from stabbing any deeper. A dinosaur skull appears and opens it’s mouth; you step back before the tiny laser beam can hit you. The skull shoots up into the sky, but another just like it comes down on the other side of you. When it’s mouth opens, only a puff of smoke comes out, and it comically disappears again with crossed eyes.

Sans yanks the knife out and throws it far down the long stretch of the hall. Before you can even attempt to go after it, he sprints up to you and takes ahold of your shoulders. His iris is blazing, eye socket now cracked and… bleeding? Why is Sans bleeding?

DOITMUTHERFUCKER,” he screams, shaking you once, then grabbing your hands to put them on him. Grasp his soul with your dominant hand and curl your other around the pointed bones of his neck. “JUSTFUCKIN’DOITDOITFUCKIN’KILLMEEE!!!

0.0000000001 HP left. He’s almost dead. So close. One more malicious strike and it’s done. Just when you don’t want it to, all rage and adrenaline drain from your body and all you see is your Sans. Broken and bleeding, eyes gaping, sweat pouring, begging for death.

“Sans, you’re such an asshole,” you croak, tears streaming down your cheeks, “you’re so stupid. I hate you.”

“then end it!!” He grips his hands over yours and you can feel the bones start to collapse. “just fuckin’ end it so i dun’ have to do this anymore.”

“It didn’t have to be like this,” you whimper, fingers beginning to tremble around his soul. It doesn’t feel as warm or wet as your remember. He’s given so much of himself to you.

“course it did, sweetheart…” Sans rasps, his t-shirt dying red as his blood soaks into it. “did ya really think i deserved a happy endin’? nah. but you two do. at least lemme give ya that.”

There’s silence. You just stand there. Holding onto each other. For an uncomfortable amount of time. Trying to process. Realizing that at this point, you have no choice. He’s already as good as dead. He smells terrible. Clench his neck a little harder and his head completely separates from his body, his clothes falling onto a pile with the dust that was his physical form. His head is heavy; you fall to your knees so you don’t let it drop, cradling it inside his jacket.

To your shock, Sans laughs. “i wish i’d smoked more cigarettes,” he grumbles into you, pupils back to normal, blood beginning to dry. Push away all horror and disbelief to return a soft chuckle, smiling at him. His mouth twitches grotesquely, sharp teeth glimmering as lightning flashes again. “life is like a box of chocolates,” he says, voice straining, “in tha end, ya always get tha same thing. an empty box.”

You laugh frantically, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“see ya on tha other side.” In your hands, his head crumbles into a pile of white dust. It slips between your fingers and lands on his clothes, wafting around, entering your lungs as you breathe. His false tooth makes a quiet noise as it hits the floor. The upside down heart that is his soul hovers in the air. The last remaining bit of white leaves his soul and enters yours. The empty heart quivers, then shatters into nothingness.

You level up. HP fully restored.

The remainder of his magic entering you instills new life. You feel whole. But so empty at the same time. He’s gone. He’s gone. Collapse in his remains and sob heavily, pulling and fondling the gray jacket he left behind. He’s gone! Sans!! Sans Sans Sans Sans SANS!!! No, why, it didn’t have to be like this, you idiot, you fucker!!

Your mourning is cut short when your son tells you something very urgent. He wants to come out. Put a hand on your stomach and ask him to wait. The only response you get is a harsh uterine contraction. Fuck… you have to get out of here.

The book on monster biology said a monsters essence lives on in their dust, and is often sprinkled on their favorite material possessions. Not wanting to leave Sans alone in this cold, hollow room, you shove every bit of him you can into the pockets of his jacket. You put it on, along with his socks and sneakers. The shoes are too big for you, so you tie the laces as tightly as you can.

Time to face the king of all monsters. He would probably be intimidating if you weren’t completely numb. A very tall, muscly, and hairy goat monster. If you can kill the one you love for the sake of your child, you sure as fuck can kill this nobody. You let Sans’s magic take over and beat Asgore into submission. Near the end, he breaks down and begs for mercy, spouting so many words and stories that you just don’t care about. You kill him. And take his crown as a trophy.

The barrier is a long hallway with a tall ceiling, white light pulsing down it's shaft. It rings and warbles a song of powerful magic. You hold your swollen belly with both hands. And pray that this will work. You start walking. Nothing happens. You walk for a long time. Nothing happens. Crows cawing in the distance. On the other side is a dark room with a grassy knoll under a single beam of moonlight. It’s identical to the one you landed in at the beginning of your journey. You expect Flowey to pop out and say goodbye. But he doesn’t. So you just continue forward.

A nearby murder of crows take wing when you step out onto the surface. They perch in a tree and continue squaking at each other. Rain lands in soft droplets on your face. The only light is that of the moon, peaking out from a rift in the storm clouds, and the blaring radiance of human civilization near the horizon. Skyscrapers pierce the heavens, red lights blinking from the top of each tower.

Look down at the two golden teeth you have in your hand. One, a sharp canine, the other, a dull molar. The rain washes away what dust covered them. You feel a strong contraction in your uterus and a strange dropping sensation. Your baby reminds you that he wants to come out.

Okay. You can do this.

don't kid yerself
an’ don't fool yerself
this love's too good ta last

an’ I'm too old ta dream

don't grow up too fast
an’ don't embrace tha past
this life's too good ta last
an’ i'm too young ta care
don't kid yerself
an’ don't fool yerself

this life could be tha last

an’ we're too young ta see

* Click to continue











* Act

* Check
* Say it

* Check

The most difficult enemy. Father of your child.

* Say it

You don’t care about the consequences. Having your soul splinter into nothingness is better than this. Let the knife fall to the floor with a loud clatter. Take a deep breath. And say it.

“I love you.”

The ramification is instant. Soul tugged from your body, purple haze seeping through the pores of Sans’s white shell. It feels like your brain is fragmenting inside your head, floating around like magnets. It’s not enough. You say it again, louder, “I love you!”

Sans jerks as his own soul is forcefully pulled out of him. It’s an upside down, transparent heart, with a thin white outline. A bit of white swirling from the pointed base. “no,” Sans hisses, “shuddap!! i need yer soul intact!”

“I love you, Sans!” The magic inside both you begins to attract; your feet start to slip forward from the exertion, almost like gravity. You smile at him and it causes him to follow the lurch of his soul towards you, his sneakers leaving marks of on the worn marble floor.

“no, no. (your name). please, not this.”

Open your mouth to say it again, but just making eye contact with him advances the process. Can feel your molecules stretch and bubble, the very core of your being completely exposed and crumbling. You aren’t numb, but it doesn’t hurt. It sort of feels like going from embryo to adulthood instantaneously. The cartilage between your bones, the linking of cells to make living tissue, the strands of your DNA, all floating, disconnecting, waiting to make new connections.

Without words, you hear his voice.

i’m scared. i’m so scared, (your name). i’ve never done this. i dunno what happens.

It’ll be okay. I love you.

i’ve never not known what was going to happen next. i’m scared! please, make it stop!

You don’t have to know everything. You aren’t alone anymore. I love you.

You look at Sans, standing there, hunched over, sweaty, and you take a deep breath. As though he can feel it, he stands straight, rib cage expanding, then he exhales with you. He looks nauseous. You tell him it’s alright. To let it happen. To trust you. He says okay. He says he loves you. And you say you love him, too.

The splintering was complete in that moment. Your souls merged together into one light purple, undefined, ever morphing shape— everything from a sphere to a stellated dodecahedron. You became Sans and he became you. Every sensation, every thought, every memory was shared. You saw how heartbroken your suicide made him. You saw every cruelty he had to endure in Underfell. He saw how equally twisted your love for him was. He saw the terror and trauma you’ve had to endure in Underfell and how so much of it was because of him.

And you both saw the fight you had. And why you left him that day.

Timeline 62a, as blue Sans called it. The baby was killing all three of you. He wouldn’t let you risk splintering and you accused him of being a coward. In his frustration, blue Sans said you were a glitch and that you and the baby should never have existed in the first place. He apologized immediately, saying it was the worst thing he’s ever said to anyone. You forgave him. But you still believed him.

Sans occasionally nonchalantly griped about not knowing what to expect in this timeline. Not knowing what to expect from you. He would talk about how easy and casual life became in the ‘normal’ timeline with Frisk. The normal timeline, you would repeat to yourself. The one where it was just him and his brother. You never let him catch on to how much you internalized that.

He had been drinking and he taught you how the machine worked. Just once. For fun. He regretted it the moment the lesson was over and called himself a bonehead.

Because of you, Sans was insecure. He was dying. You were going to take him away from his brother. So you went into his workshop. And tried to create a new timeline. The old one, where Frisk fell into the underground and you didn’t exist. The one where Sans knew everything and where he could be happy with his brother. Then, none of you would have to suffer. You thought that was what he really wanted. But he’d never do it himself. He never did anything he didn’t absolutely have to do. It didn’t make sense, really. It was stupid. And it didn’t even work. No matter how many times you tried or how many dials you changed, nothing happened. Death became a very real reality. Hopelessness set in. Sans didn’t have to suffer pointlessly along with you. You could end everyone’s suffering. You could…

You could. And you did.

At the last moment, your baby spoke to you. He said he loved you. And you tried to get your balance back. You tried to land back onto the ledge. But you didn’t. The ground beneath you broke apart. You fell. And you both died.

There are hands touching your face. But you can also feel those hands as your own, touching warm skin. “Sa…” you say, breathless. He’s kissing you. The softness of lips against your closed teeth. The habitually of it. You feel everything, his magic, living in his body, the frenzied machinations of his mind. Through his nose, you can smell how the perfume the bunnies put on your mixes with your natural pheromones. You smell delicious. You want him to take you right there. He laughs and says you’re crazy.

“all that…” Sans mutters, reflecting on what you did in the previous timeline, “just to wind up here. with me, knocked up, again.”

“Maybe it’s fate,” you chuckle.

Images and concepts of God, fate, and the universe whirl in his mind. He thinks way too much way too quickly. He acknowledges this and says well, maybe you think too slowly. You kiss him again, eagerly, and can feel the sensation of his magic centering between his legs in sexual tension. Having a magic boner feels surprisingly similar to the tingles of human sexual arousal. You both tell each other to chill.

You want to just sit and explore this new state of being. Sans has anxious thoughts of Papyrus and Asgore. “we gotta get outta here,” he says, standing and taking your hand to pull you to your feet. Fingers lace together. The baby kicks, he grunts and puts his hand on his stomach, which you involuntarily mirror. “geez, being pregnant sucks,” he huffs. You sneer at him and tell him to pussy up.

Either you were the last thing he expected, or the two of you look terrifying, because the king is speechless. Maybe it’s both. Take a step forward. Asgore stutters as he points his trident at you, saying you will not pass, that your souls will be his, and that the human belongs to him. In Sans’s head, you hear words like fucker, kill, dust, kill him, kill that fucker, kill, end him— grip Sans’s hand tightly, fingernails digging into the spaces between phalanges. A bit reluctant, he follows your lead as you simply walk towards the king.

Dead golden flowers crunch under your feet, between your toes, under your sneakers as you circle the throne in the center of the room. The power inside both of you flares, rendering Asgore motionless. Whether it’s due to your actual magic or your presence alone, you aren’t sure. But it doesn’t really matter. Because you’re at the barrier now. Asgore doesn’t matter anymore. Underfell doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters.

The long, tall hallway vibrates and moans with powerful magic. Neither of you have crossed the barrier before. In the previous timeline, you broke it, setting everyone free. He’s scared. His bones start quivering. You tell him the universe wouldn’t have fought to put you two together again just to end it here. He laughs and says how do you know this isn’t all just a big coincidence. You tell him neither of you could ever be that lucky.

Nothing happens as you cross. On the other side is a room identical to the one you landed in. Sans winces as he relives the pain you felt landing on that pile of wilted flowers. Crows caw in the distance. The smell of fresh rain. Moonlight shines through the doorway. You both step out onto the surface, rain trickling, making gentle sounds as it lands on your clothing and the nearby trees. There’s a vibrant city near the horizon and a shore, beyond which is a stretching ocean.

You both look out at the open world and realize you have no idea what to do next. He sighs, then asks if you know what the universe intended by putting you together again. Instead of answering, you kiss him. He can feel your hunger, your desperation, all your unanswered questions, your nipples hardening beneath the tight clothing.


It’s still raining, but the other half of the sky is completely clear, revealing the beauty that is starlight. He lies on his back and you mount him so he can look at the stars. As you ride, you can feel your own pussy enveloping his cock, your own fluids dripping onto his exposed pelvic bone. You see yourself bouncing on top of him while seeing him bucking beneath you. It’s pretty overwhelming. The red lights of his eyes scan the open sky and he lists each constellation he can find. He points out one of his favorites, the Andromeda constellation, and how the Andromeda galaxy is the farthest object in the night sky visible to the naked eye. It’s about 2.5 million light years away and it has a trillion stars. Breathlessly, you ask how many the Milky Way has. He says about 300 billion. For whatever reason, that makes you laugh, and you say you love him. And he says he loves you, too.


* Click to continue











* Spare

If you were to look at yourself right now in a vacuum, you’d probably have to laugh. Bare footed, in a torn formal dress, made up like you’re about to go to a ball. That illusion is lost when acknowledging your incredibly pregnant belly and the knife in your hand. It’s all quite silly, really. Everything you’ve ever done in your entire life has led you to this moment. There must be some deep, cosmic meaning behind it all, but you’ll be damned if you can see any significance in it.

Sans takes a few steps towards you.

Then again… Maybe there isn’t a message. No profound lesson. Maybe he’s right. And you’re a glitch. Just a mutation in the long genetic code of the universe. Never really important. Never meant to exist. An abomination, who’s only worth is in being eliminated. This is how you felt before you fell into the Underground. The utter hopelessness and interpersonal dread return easily.

You drop the knife. It clangs around on the floor a few times, then sits there, the light coming in from the window reflecting off it’s surface. Thunder grumbles, quiet at first, then building and pounding until the sound waves shake the building.

He’s in front of you now. Takes your face in his warm hands and makes you look at him. His expression: serious, searching. He smells nice, familiar and earthy. You’re too dispirited to do anything other than stare blankly.

“aren’t ya gonna fight me?” he asks. His breath is hot and it smells almost fruity, like acetone.

Blink at him. Then slowly shake your head. “I don’t want to.”

One of his arms encircles your waist, the other fondling your face, pinching a cheek, outlining your eyebrow. “ooh, (your name),” he purrs and pulls you close, his teeth nuzzling into your neck. You turn your head away and feel yourself wanting to cry. This time, you just let go. What’s even the point anymore. One strap of your dress falls from your shoulder, and he immediately goes to kiss at the newly exposed flesh.

“remember what i said at tha riverbank?” Sans mumbles as he seizes your breast and gropes until it starts to emerge from your bra. The sensation of hot wetness as his tongue appears and laps at a few scars. “i said if ya ran away, i’d eat you up.

All this makes you think if Little Red Riding Hood. Here you are in a red ensemble with a hungry wolf tasting you. He wants to eat you. For no real reason, you giggle, the sound muted from accumulating mucus in your nose and throat as you cry. “Y-you’re really going to kill me? Both of us?”

Very slowly, almost methodically, sharp teeth sink into your shoulder. It’s so slow-moving and quiet, it feels more like a doctor making an incision rather than your lover taking a bite. Cry out as the pain builds, reaching to tug at his jacket. “Saaaaaans,” you mewl unhappily. His teeth leave you and he leans back to look at you, blood coating his mouth, dribbling down his chin. He grabs you and hastily picks you up. Skelehands constantly move across you to get a better grip as he hobbles both of you to one of the pillars. Your back is pushed against it, legs held up by his arms looped under them, just like that first time against the tree. Throbbing magic bucks between your thighs, you gasp.

He chuckles. “god, yer such a freak. i know ya like pain, but this?” Thrusts into you again, bunching your underwear between your folds. “i’m gonna fuckin’ kill ya and yer gettin’ off to it.”

“Don’t—“ you start, pausing to cry out when he bites you again, more ravenous this time, “d-daah, it’s not my fault.”

“of course, nothin’s ever yer fault, iz it?” He slurps up your blood, his hips wildly dry humping into you. “mmnnnn, i wanna fuck ya. i wanna fuck ya till yer nothin’.”

“No…” you manage to say, “I don’t want this. I don’t—“

A shockwave erupts from you, powerful enough to jolt Sans back, and you fall to the floor. It hurts, you think you might’ve bruised your tailbone. Your son is trying to say something. But you aren’t listening. The pain of his bite marks, how cold your bare feet are, how meaningless it all is. You caused all this. You can’t fight him. He’s right. You’re a glitch. And maybe he is the savior. Who will erase corrupted timelines and plant the seeds for new offshoots. You can just die. That’s easy. All the pain and turmoil will end.

The skeleton quickly recovers and takes a hold of you again, pulling you to your feet. He gropes and paws desperately, and you completely lose it, “just fucking do it, Sans.” You sob, turning away from him every time he tries to get close to your face.

“i love you, sweetheart.”

He shouldn’t have said that. It ignited something in you. It pushed aside all despairing thoughts of suicidal ideation, and strengthened the connection between you and your baby. The infant gives you a blurred image, but you can tell what it is. The knife. Sans notices your change and grabs you by the arms before you move. Send your knee into his crotch and he reels, giving you enough time to slip away, but your feet tangle with his and you fall to the floor. Scramble towards the knife on your hands and knees, but Sans grabs your ankles before you’re able to reach it, pulling until you’re forced onto your back. You scream and thrash, reaching to yank at whatever parts of him you can.

“crazy bitch,” he grumbles, magic eye lighting up then poofing out of existence almost instantly. “god damn fuckin’,” he growls, eye sockets still empty, hunching over you to pin you down as best he can, “all my magic. that lil’ leech is gonna suck me dry.” He’s sweaty, dripping on you as phalanges struggle to take a firm grasp on anything they can. “gotta end this.”

One hand pushes into your stomach and another pulse of energy knocks Sans back. Reach for the knife, accidentally push it further away. He’s on top of you again, one hand around your throat, the other wrenching your soul from your body. Both squeeze and the pain it causes is indescribable. It doesn’t even hurt that much, but it feels like he’s individually clenching every cell in your body. Reach up and shove your fingers into both eye sockets, scraping and pulling. It obviously distresses him, but he still holds on, falling forward until his heavy frame crushes you.

Sans,” you choke out, struggling to breathe from his ribs compressing your chest and his hand still choking you, “stop. I thought you loved me.”

“shuddap,” he spits, the fist holding your soul pushing into the exposed part of your chest, right above your pounding heart.

“Noo, Sans!!” Crying crying, removing your fingers to lovingly hold his face. “What about our baby? Please. Please, Sans, please. Our baby.”

“shuddap… shuddap!” He’s crying too. “i have to, i have to. it’ll be better this way.”

Can’t breathe. Gurgle, ears ringing, everything starts to fade. He’s still talking. Something about resets, a new world. He says he’s sorry.

And then you’re gone.

Sans sealed your soul in a glass container. He panted and watched as the white magic of his own soul drained until all that was left was your perfect, purple heart. His own soul had filled in again. He let himself sigh with relief, all the magic he gave you returning to his body.

Then he looked at you. On his hands and knees, he hovered over your lifeless body. You didn’t make as beautiful of a corpse as he thought you would. He had the fantasy of using your remains over and over again, knowing every part of you belonged to him, forever. But now that you were there. Actually dead beneath him. He didn’t want to do that anymore. He kissed you. And sat back on his knees, looking out the window, the sun now completely under the horizon.

“if there’s anyone out there…” he whispered, “please. don’t make me remember this.”




















































You wake up in a bed. With soft, white linens and goose feather pillows. It smells like lilacs and morning dew. Rest your hands on your stomach only to find it flat. Your baby is gone. You sob and wail and curse and scream. He’s gone. There’s a voice. It tells you that it’s going to be okay. And that you should get out of bed. So you do.

Wearing a flowing, see-through robe, you glide across the wooden floor to the door. Outside is a long room, similar to the cathedral you were just in. But this one is bright, with orange and yellow tiles, rays of sunlight beaming through huge stained glass windows. As you go, you see people you know. Family, friends, well-wishers, and some you only glanced at on the street. They’re all so happy to see you but you kindly insist that you’re looking for something.

Through the next doorway is a throne room. A huge, empty throne in the middle, surrounded by a field of golden flowers. Birds are chirping. The ceiling is open with vines tumbling down the architecture and dandelion seeds wafting in the sky above. Off to the side is someone you recognize.

Sans is wearing his normal outfit. Blue hoodie, t-shirt, gym shorts, but he’s barefoot. He glances over his shoulder at you sheepishly and says hey. You run up and entangle him in an embrace. You cry and say how sorry you are. He looks kind of uncomfortable at first, but he still hugs back, saying none of that matters anymore. And that he’s sorry too. He kisses you. And when you kiss him back, he gives you the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen.

That is. Until you see your son smile.

Sans pulls the front of his jacket aside to show you a swaddled infant curled up against his ribcage. Your baby smiles at you. You take him in your arms and finally feel… whole. You feel perfect.












I can't remember when it was good
Moments of happiness elude
Maybe I just misunderstood

All of the love we left behind
Watching the flash backs intertwine
Memories I will never find

So I'll love whatever you become
And forget the reckless things we've done
I think our lives have just begun
I think our lives have just begun

And I'll feel my world crumbling
I'll feel my life crumbling
I'll feel my soul crumbling away
And falling away
Falling away with you

Staying awake to chase a dream
Tasting the air you're breathing in
I know I won't forget a thing

Promise to hold you close and pray
Watching the fantasies decay
Nothing will ever stay the same

All of the love we threw away
All of the hopes we cherished fade
Making the same mistakes again
Making the same mistakes again

I can feel my world crumbling
I can feel my life crumbling
I can feel my soul crumbling away
And falling away
Falling away with you

All of the love we've left behind
Watching the flash backs intertwine
Memories I will never find
Memories I will never find