Can I take you to Dinner? Mafi-fell!Sans x Reader. [COMPLETED]

After Hours

It had been hours since the doors to the cafe closed, Grillby rubbing his fiery palms together anxiously. You were still inside, finishing up with the day's dishes- not that Sans knew that.

Now, it wasn't the dark street that had made him unbearably nervous, put him in the dark unknown and he'd light it up instantly. But that wasn't the problem. It was what waited in the dark, what was coming, if not for his soul, his best employee. He cursed himself silently for encouraging Sans' clear interest in the smaller girl, who else would work sixty hour weeks for him?

It couldn't have been helped he supposed, Sans would've seen her sooner or later and he'd be where he is now. In the cold... Alone. Heck, even with their history- he knew better than to stop one of the gaste- "What are you standing around shivering for?" The low, baritone of Sans cut through the dark, instantly making Grillby more alert as to announce Sans' arrival.

Grillby shuffled around meekly to meet the fiery gaze of Sans, shrouded in the vile plumes of smoke from his cigar. Grillby felt a niggling sense to point out sans had been the one that was late... He kept his mouth shut. "Oh, hey! Didn't see you there!" Grillby tried in chipper tone. Sans blinked. Grillby's gaze fell to his shoes, now silent. Sans let out an amused grunt before speaking: "How much do you want for information??" He asked, retrieving his wallet from his back pocket, filing through the crumpled notes of cash. Grillby lifted his head, crackling. "I'm not telling you where she lives, that's just wrong." Sans let out a barking laugh at this. "Eh, I'll figure it out for myself." He sniffed, pinching a note between phalanges. Grillby gulped at his words, wringing his apron nervously.

Sans crossed over to him through the leaky alleyway, skeletal body now drowned in Grillby's dull amber light. "Naw, but, I just want a little info on the little lady. Now, how much?" Grillby trembled: "Uh, ...s-surprise me??" Grillby stammered out as more of a question than he had meant to. Sans chuckled before outstretching a one hundred dollar bill. He rolled it carefully and stuffed it into Grillby's shirt pocket, patting it gently. "Now spill." Sans growled.
"W-What did you want to know?" "Aw geez, I dunno-! Her birthday? Her favourite flowers? Does she attend Sunday church??" Sans began sarcastically before frowning with bared teeth, gripping Grillby by the collar. "Tell me her age, Grillby!! Tell me what she does, who she's with-!! When she's working, when she's not, tell me everything or it's over for you!!!" He roared

—

Your head perked up from the sink, hands pruned by slick dishwashing liquid and frigid water. You could've sworn you heard shouting, you reached for the dish rag, drying your hands haphazardly. You peered out of the tiny widow, giving view to the dimly lit alley. Nothing more than trash cans. You furrowed your brow as you threw the rag down, making for the back door.

—

"Ahh-!! H-Her, She's (insert current age) a-a-and she's single as far as I know!!" Approval washed over Sans' face momentarily. "Keep going." He growled. "All I know about what she does is waitressing, she mentioned actressing once, a-and she's a wonderfully kind and sweet girl, gonna be honest, she wouldn't go trifling 'round with people like you-" he whispered, head bowed. An all-too familiar ring of red suddenly tightly encased his chest, Grillby choking. "What was that??" He heard Sans calmly ask, eerily contrasting the life-threatening situation he was in. "Nothing." Grillby wheezed, the red ring dissipated.

Grillby dropped to the ground in a chorus of crippling coughs. "*Cough* All.... A-All I meant to say was... she doesn't like violence. She hates it. ...There were two ex-soldiers in here brawling the other mornin', she sent them out. She keeps the business in order here- no more bar fights like back home." Grillby chuckled fondly. This made sans silent before he sighed in defeat, slumping back against the grimy brick wall: "Well, they do say opposites attract." He chuckled to himself. Grillby let out a nervous laugh, rubbing his arm meekly before Sans turned to him. "Leave the restaurant empty tomorrow mornin', I'll be coming to pick her up- And before you worry, I'll have someone come in and fill her shift." "But-!" "I'll make sure their qualified-" Sans prattled, turning away from Grillby. "Sans, you're... you're not taking her are you? I can't allow that-!" There was silence. "Sans—!" Grillby protested before he was thrust back, filthy puddle water diminishing his bright flame.

Flames quivering in fear, Grillby watched as Sans loomed over him, red eye smoking a violent, bloody red that smelt of filth and dirty tobacco. Only rare few had had the 'pleasure' of seeing this before they died, the rest had been killed before being offered the chance.

"She's mine now Grillby. Don't ever let me hear you say otherwise.." he growled before the door cracked open, you poking your head out into the cold night air. You stared at the duo through the slim alley now drowned in light, Sans towering over a shivering Grillby. You gaped. Sans stared up at you before smiling as charmingly as criminal could. "Bub! What a pleasant surprise!!" He outstretched his arms expectantly. You ran down the steps, holding your dress up before kneeling at Grillby's side. "Grillby! Are you ok?" As you continued to fuss over the damp monster, Sans sent him a stormy glare before erupting into crimson smoke. You whirled with a frown on your features. "Hey- what's the big ide-?!" You growled, too little too late-

For he was gone.

-

You were still fuming. How dare he treat you- let alone your boss in such a manner? You may just be a waitress but you were nothing short of polite! You harrumphed as you furiously scrubbed your (s/t) skin, even the smell of the cinnamon butterscotch soap no longer soothed you, beyond irate. Pulling the bath plug, you stomped out of the tub, drying yourself sourly before glaring at the mirror. You looked like an angry ball of fluff. Grunting you stormed to your wardrobe, you hoped to hell and back you didn't run into that pompous, arrogant, violent—CROOK again.

Sighing, you flopped onto your worn bed, springs squeaking like a symphony of shrill, rusted screams. Your thoughts drifted to the large grinning skeleton, thoughts of that scalding crimson stare. You flushed with fury, burying your face into the pillow with a muffled half-scream.

Tomorrow would be better, tomorrow will be better...

...

Wrong.