When Two Fates Intertwine (Sans x Reader)

What He Deserves

~Your Perspective~

You stand at the stove, watching for the bubbles that will signal the pancakes are ready to flip. The smell of them has your stomach rumbling. You glance over towards the living room, where Frisk is settled on the skeleton brothers' worn out couch. She's cocooned in one of Papyrus's blankets, her breathing even as she sleeps.

Nothing like a peaceful morning.

For the last week or so, you and Frisk had been "having sleepovers" at the Skelebros' house. Between Chara's possible appearance at the castle and your own little excursion to go see her, Sans had felt it'd be safest for all four of you to stay as close together as possible. He doesn't say it outright, but you think it makes him feel better knowing that everyone he cares about is within protective distance of his blasters. You can still recall the look on his face when you'd told him about your conversation with her, and the chastising you received shortly after.

He definitely wasn't happy, you think, wincing. But all things considered, he handled it pretty well. We did say we were going to be more open with each other, so I did the right thing, telling him. And he's right-he's our best bet at protecting ourselves right now. Besides...

You glance towards the stairs, your heart beating a little faster in your chest. You didn't want to get up this morning. You'd woken up to his arms around you, and he was so warm...

It's nice... being able to wake up like that... You hurriedly return to the pancakes as their smell gets a little strong, rushing to flip them. Darn it, burnt. Ah well, they'll taste just fine with some butter-

Boney arms wrap around you from behind, a cloth-covered sternum pressing into your back. The chill of the kitchen is instantly gone as the warmth of his bones seeps into you, and your face warms up even further as he brushes a gentle kiss against the curve of your neck.

"What's cookin,' good lookin?" he drawls, resting his mandible on your shoulder.

"Morning Blue," you say. "We have slightly burnt pancakes."

"Nothing a little ketchup can't fix," he says sagely.

"You and your ketchup," you say, chuckling to yourself. "One of these days I'll convince you to try another condiment."

"I dunno Buttercup-everything else seems a little saucepicious to me."

You groan and wiggle out of his grip, giving him a disapproving look. You can't hold it though, and inevitably break into a smile.

"It's too early for puns," you tell him, trying to hide your smile. "Go wake up Frisk or something. Food will be ready soon."

"DID I HEAR THAT BREAKFAST IS READY??"

"Soon!" you shout, hoping your voice carries all the way up the stairs. Papyrus appears at the top of the steps in his pajamas; loose fitting heart-patterned boxers and a plain T-shirt. You still aren't used to the sight of the skeleton in anything other than a speedo and armor.

"THIS FOREIGN SMELL DOES NOT APPEAR TO BE PASTA-RELATED," he notes, trying and failing to hide his disappointment. "IS THIS ANOTHER HUMAN DISH?"

"Morning Papyrus," you say. "And I guess so? Toriel makes them too, so they can't be that unusual around here."

Toriel had needed some convincing to let the two of you stay with the skelebros' for a while, but she had eventually given in, on one condition: daily phone calls and weekly visits. You'd agreed, but the doting mother-figure had taken matters into her own hands. You enjoy the daily calls you receive from her. Something about her voice is calming.