Soriel 30 Day OTP Challenge (Oneshots Collection)

Day Seven: Laughter

prompt: " Your OTP making each other laugh. Jokes? Stories? Tickle fights?"

***

Sans' memory is hazy at the best of times, but no matter how many years or timelines go by, he's pretty sure he'll never forget the first time he heard Toriel laugh.

Some things from back in the Underground, he's still not sure whether they happened, or how they happened, or if they happened to someone else entirely – but that day, he remembers almost better than anything. The pause before the punchline, that fleeting moment of uncertainty as he realised he wasn't alone – and then those glorious, unrestrained, braying howls of laughter like nothing he'd ever heard before, right when he was starting to think he'd heard it all before, that they were all just locked in the same pointless loop until the next reset. Maybe you'd call it fate or destiny or something, if you believed in that stuff. Sans never did, but he did know back then, leaning back against that ancient forest door and listening to her laugh at everything he said like he was the funniest, the most fascinating guy in the world – and she was pretty damn hilarious herself – that nothing was ever going to be the same.

Sans always knew he wanted to keep making Toriel laugh for as long as she'd let him, but really, he was pretty much gone from the first time he saw it in person; not just the sound, but the way her whole face transforms as she clutches her belly, doubling over or throwing her head back as she laughs, throat bared and all her fangs on show with a totally unashamed, raw, almost primal energy that has absolutely no business being as attractive as it is. Sans isn't expecting to be as into it as he is, but hey, he's always been down for learning new things. Specifically, figuring out just how many different noises he can get Toriel to make – snorts and shrieks and howls, and sometimes he can even make her bleat, when he gets the ticklish spot right behind her ear.

He gets to learn a lot of her different laughs: there's the lighter, almost musical titter when she's in a good mood, pleased with herself as she pulls another delicious dessert out of the oven, or recites a particularly interesting snail fact or historical tidbit from school to Sans or Frisk or anyone else around to hear it, and then there's the shrill, high-pitched giggle that pops up when she's nervous or uncomfortable or trying to hide something.

Toriel is a terrible liar, Sans figured out pretty fast; she feels too much to be able to keep it from showing on her face, her eyes too wide and expressive to hide whatever's on her mind and in her heart. A little inconvenient if you're trying to plan a surprise party, sure, but Sans has to admit he's always loved that about her, how open she is and how easily he can read her when he gets to know her tells. Maybe it's a little because he got a little too good at pretending himself over the timelines – but mostly it's just the way Toriel's mouth twitches or how she scrunches up her nose right before she cracks, secrets spilling out in breathless, hysterical whoops, and then Sans starts too before he even has a chance to press her for details, until they're both just giggling like numbskulls at nothing, but it's worth it. It's always worth it.

The one that might actually be his favourite, though, that usually comes later. When they're just chilling on the couch, Toriel with a book on her lap and Sans sprawled out with his legs hanging off the end of the sofa and his skull resting against the crook of her arm or shoulder. He'll be telling her about his new genius idea of giving out discounts for every ten hot dogs or cats a customer can get on their head, or how someone's been stealing beer mats from Grillby's and it's definitely not him, despite what anyone says, because he's been pretty much set for life since back in the Snowdin days. Toriel might only be half listening, peering over her glasses at her lesson plan, but she'll still laugh, a soft, indulgent chuckle as she rubs the palm of her hand tenderly over Sans' skull, warm and comforting as a freshly baked cinnamon bunny.