Fairytale Complex - [Sans x Reader]

Chapter Twenty Two | Another Medium (Part 1 of 5)

Alternate Chapter Title

Is That a Pistol in Your Pocket, or Are You Just Glad to See Me?

• • •

g' mornin', doll.

While you'd normally stay an extra hour in bed, you're wide awake by the time you receive that message today. The house is silent, allowing you to hear each step you take against the creaky floorboards, as well as the sound of you composing a reply. Besides the fact the monster's chosen such an early hour to text you, the word 'doll' catches your attention out of that simple greeting. It's silly -- and sillier still when you read it aloud. Imagining him saying it, however, is a completely different story.

Good morning, 1900s noir detective.

ah, c'mon.
it's either that, or 'husky'.
gotta vary the pet names now that we're gonna be datin'.

Wouldn't husky be a literal pet name, though?

and a reference to how much taller you are compared to me.
didn't notice how much smaller i was until i, uh... sat you on my lap.
but anyway, how d'you wake up?
head doin' okay?

Doll's fine, if that's the case.
Unless you want me to call you Corgi.
And...
I'm doing alright.
It stings, though it's nothing I can't tolerate.

video call me so i can kiss it better.

You're being such a hardcore suck-up today, and it's only five thirty in the morning.
Anything you want from me, sugar?

your love and attention.

I'm all out.
Sorry.

A video call invite pops up before you can set your phone down.

You end up answering it out of sheer spook rather than want, and it results in you giving your greatest welcome to the monster; and by that, it's the complete and utter opposite. You haven't done anything other than wash your face and brush your teeth; not even your clothes are decent enough for you to have considered so much as the thought of picking up the phone. Pajamas gifted to you by Frisk on your birthday are still worn, these composed of jarring, neon colours and patterned with pancakes, berries, and OJ all over. It's the very first thing he sees as you try to fix the camera to a more flattering angle. You feel his gaze on you throughout, but it's not until you finally sit, settle down, and make yourself appear less messy that you look back to the phone screen to see his room. Bedsheets are strewn about, several pillows lay behind him, a few clothes are left dispersed by the night stand, and a soft, yellow night light helps bring some illumination on him. Various dogs can be seen either sleeping or staring intently at the half-open, curtained windows, these displaying the sun slowly replacing the moon and stars. One of them in particular you recognize as the fluffy Samoyed you both met at the park, who now rests behind him, cat plushie tucked close to him and all.

"Hey," he says, gaze intent on your choice of sleepwear. "You look-"

Your eyes shoot wide open when you decide to study him rather than his room.

Not only is he shirtless and still wiping away the few water drops left on his arms and neck, but -- when looking down at the bedsheet he's wrapped up in -- a small bump can be seen right between his legs. The fact he's being so nonchalant only makes your face turn colder than it already has. Him hanging the towel over his shoulders does it worse, igniting a long-forgotten side to your thoughts.