Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Frisk wasn’t sure what had made her think suggesting this was a good idea.

She’d always been curious, of course. A monster just like her mate, but somehow bigger, meaner, and far more crude than anything that she’d encountered in her own Underground? One that hit on her irreverently and insatiably, no matter how many threats that Sans made? One that carried such confidence in his gait, and such sin in his gaze, that it made her legs weak?

Sure, she knew how much he wanted her. Sure, the little arrangement she’d managed to talk Sans into was tantalizing. Sure, she couldn’t forget the way Fell had dragged his sockets down her body when he had agreed on the deal, lascivious and greedy.

But being here, sandwiched between his broad, bare rib cage and her Sans’ loving hands, their breath heavy on her bared skin and their magic crackling, static and mist, in the air around the bed the three of them reclined on, was making her dizzy, her head light and her blood burn.

Fell’s undulating tongue climbing the length of her throat didn’t help, nor did his constant, rumbling affirmations as he ran his hands over her body, drool trailing from his parted fangs and his desire evident in the tented crotch of his shorts.

Frisk sucked in a labored breath when his clawed hands slipped down her lower back to cup her posterior, squeezing through her lacy panties and grinding her down, against the thick, twitching form of his cock, chuckling against her throat when she whimpered in need.

 “shit, you got a gorgeous body… jus’ like i always imagined. sweet, and hot, an’ so fuckin’ ready… jus’ like that wet little pussy.”

Fell’s tongue extended again to trace a stripe of glowing red saliva up the underside of her chin and along her jaw, the luminescence of his magic lighting his left socket with crimson avidity as he watched her squirm against his chest with a wide, hungry smirk.

She couldn’t help the flush that overtook her cheeks, the helpless rush of arousal through her veins.

Frisk could hardly think straight, lost in the sensation of so much attention and ardor, and as such shivered when Sans, his hands tracing her spine and the undersides of her bare breasts with care and benevolence, as ever, kissed the back of her neck, nuzzling his nasal ridge against the fall of her hair.

His touch was cool against her flushed skin, probably intentionally (he could read her so well…), his voice a balm to her flustered mind.

“don’t be shy, frisk… he’s right. you’re beautiful, every part of you, and i can’t get enough of you… are you alright? do you need anything?”

Frisk leaned into her mate’s embrace, finding solace and peace in his attentions and care, and ignored Fell’s thwarted snort and grumpy frown at her removal from his exploring tongue and nipping teeth (though he didn’t seem to mind the view of her arched back against Sans, her breasts on full display), turning to meet his gentle smirk with her wet, parted lips.

“I… I-I… It’s so hot… you’re both so… ahhh… overwhelming… just a little nervous…”

Her speech was interspersed with adoring kisses and shuddering whines, Fell joining their discourse by raising his hands to fondle Frisk’s breasts (his smile only grew with every shudder and muffled moan he drew from her, his palms weighted with her flesh and his claws flicking at her nipples), and Sans, with a bald, displeased look sent to Fell and his ministrations, pressed another kiss to his lover’s lips, his hands settling on her waist, unmoving and patient.

“need us to slow down, babe? we could take a break, let you relax…”

He was sincere and calm, clearly willing to pull away and give her every comfort, but Frisk shook her head immediately, her own hands lowering to cover his and firm his hold on her flesh. Her hips pressed further into the monster below her, her chest into his eager grasp.

“N-no! I want to keep going! Don’t stop…”

Sans smiled warmly, pressing his bare bones to Frisk’s back and humming in acceptance of her affirmation; his phalanges plucked at the hem of her panties, sliding beneath the sides to slowly slip them down her hips, the slope of her posterior. His mouth moved its attentions to her neck, kisses and scrapes of his teeth drawing sounds of pleasure from her lips.

Lying beneath the whimpering, squirming human girl, Fell watched her last scrap of clothing fall away from her body with perverse lust, her arousal glistening between her parted legs sending him into a whole new level of desire. His tongue swept the line of his sharpened fangs, gold glinting in the low light as he leaned forward to lick at one of her nipples, a free hand smoothing down the flesh of her abdomen, parting her downy curls and delving into her wetness.

His gaze rose to meet hers, from his place against her chest, a single knuckle making slow, intent circles around her clit.

“don’t think i could, babydoll.”

He gloried in her helpless moans, the way she arched into him and only grew wetter for him (humans were such a joy to fuck, so soft and wet and stars, did their bodies smell good), but Sans, behind the quaking, whining girl, glared over her shoulder at the larger skeleton monster, a grimace of warning overtaking his soft assurance.

Electric blue magic flickered in his left socket, dire consequence and judgment within.

“you damn well better if she says it’s too much.”

Frisk, with a shuddering, haltering moan, turned to kiss along the irritated monster’s jawline, the hand not currently guiding Fell’s between her legs rising to trace along the side of Sans’ skull. He had been such a good sport to allow her this, to sate her curiosity and add some spice to their love life, and she said as much against the living bone of his mandible, appreciative and comforting.

He knew what he meant to her. He knew her soul, and how much she loved him. Just because another him had spawned from another universe, dropped out of place and time by a strange machine and trapped in a world not his own, didn’t mean he meant less, or that she intended to replace him.

He knew that, but sometimes, he needed reminding. After this, she’d do just that.

Fell, tsking his magical tongue against the backs of his teeth, rolled his gaze in his sockets, allowing Frisk to guide his fingers in rubbing her just right while she whispered love and assurance to her beloved. Jealousy burned in his bones, a sickly green anger that made him more and more nauseous the longer he was stuck in this namby-pamby universe, but he made no mention of it, concentrating instead on the opportunity he had been given, his hands on the female that should have been his.

He was lucky to get this much, he knew that. He was just as unhappy to share as Blue was, but it was this or nothing, another night spent knowing Frisk was with him while he jerked himself off in his shitty apartment, as alone as he’d always been.

He’d take this any day.

And who knew? Maybe the sweet, sexy girl would get addicted and come back for more. Maybe it was possible for them both to have her. They did have the same soul…

Something to think about another time. Right now, he had more pleasant, soft, wet things on his mind.

“yeah, yeah, calm down, shorty. i know when my partner’s uncomfortable, i ain’t gonna do nothin’ she don’t like.”

To emphasize that point, and recapture Frisk’s attention, Fell squeezed the breast he wasn’t licking, pinching her nipple between two claws, and slowly slid a thick phalange into her core, taking her all the way to the knuckle with satisfaction and greed glinting in his growing smirk, the breathy gasp and returned gaze of the girl in his lap doing wonders for his ego.

He leered up at her, teasing her breast with the edge of his parted teeth and slowly, ever so slowly, rolling his finger within her, stroking her g-spot and rubbing his palm against her clit.

She was a vision in her rapture, a siren and an angel at once. All he’d ever needed in the world, without even realizing it, was to see her as she was now, crying out with helpless pleasure and thrusting against his hand, pushing her silken flesh against his bones.

Stars…

So much for her being the one forming an addiction.

“but what she does like… got that shit in spades, heh.”

Fell’s self-confidence was clearly well placed, the motions of his hands and nubile tongue practiced and evocative, and had Frisk all but wailing in ecstasy, clutching at his thick ribs and arching into him haplessly. His satisfied grin was evident of his awareness of his skill, gloating and, in a moment of pure egotism, prompting him to send a smug look up at the smaller skeleton monster, his hands caressing Frisk’s sides and his own tongue working on her neck.

Sans flushed a powder blue at his stare, glaring back and barely holding back a bestial, territorial snarl, but quieted himself for Frisk, sneering as well and taking a moment to trace his fingers down the length of Frisk’s arm, his fingerbones clacking against the bracelet she still wore, glowing in the darkened bedroom with his own magic.

His smile held superiority and candor in it, his free hand circling her torso to trace up her fluttering abdomen, her heaving ribcage, and between her breasts to rest over her heart, the magic of her soul tumultuous and writhing in pleasure beneath the palm of his hand.

It pulsed in recognition as his closeness, Sans’ grin only growing as he held Fell’s stare.

“sure you do, buddy.”

Fell did growl at that, reddening with rage and his newfound jealousy, and turned back to his occupation rather than face the truth of Sans’ unspoken claim, sliding a second finger into Frisk’s core and thrusting them into her almost aggressively, grasping her waist with his other hand and rubbing quick, intense circles around her clit with his thumb.

Asshole… taunting him with the only thing he couldn’t have… see how he liked his wife getting off on another monster better than she ever did with him.

Sans took over playing with Frisk’s breasts in Fell’s concentration on fingering her into mind-numbing pleasure, intensely pleased with himself and, admittedly, with his mate’s bliss. He whispered encouragement and praise in her ear as he cupped and toyed with her flesh, licking the sensitive shell of her ear and rolling her nipples and pressing himself to her flexing posterior, grinding his own erection against the swell of her ass.

He so loved to see her lost to pleasure, nothing got him off better than knowing she had felt at least twice as good as he had… and though he hated seeing Fell touching her, knowing he would smell the bastard on her for the next month, he could live with it if it meant seeing her like this.

It was like she’d told him the night before, and again before they let Fell into the house that day: she was his, and always would be, no matter how good the other monster made her feel.

Frisk, in her haze of near euphoric rapture, couldn’t have contained her cries and undulations if she’d had the mind to try, grinding down against the furious thrusting of Fell’s hand and then bucking back into the hardness of her lover’s restrained cock. Her attentions were split between Sans’ voice, soft and hot against her sweaty hair, and Fell’s harsh, grunting breaths against her abdomen, gentle twists and pressure at her breasts and biting, controlling claws at her hip.

Two different brands of desire, so different but both focused on her. Two different monsters, both endeavoring to bring her pleasure.

And who said a girl couldn’t have it all.

Fell forcing a third phalange into her entrance and Sans parting his jaw to bite gently at the joint of her shoulder and neck struck a chord that Fell had been working towards for nearly five minutes, Frisk’s eyes flying wide and her hands grasping wildly for Fell’s shoulders. Her knees started to quake, her walls tightening and fluttering and her breaths coming in short pants.

She couldn’t speak, it was too much, she was… she was going to…

Fell suddenly removing his fingers from her jolted her, her thrown back head dropping to look on incredulously as the monster seated between her spread thighs licked happily at his dripping phalanges, grinning so wide she thought his skull would split. She spluttered in protest, grasping for his hand, but Fell only chuckled and held it over is head and out of reach, smirking up at her with half-lidded, flirtatious sockets.

“ah ah… y’ain’t got permission ta cum yet, do ya. you hold onta that for me, babydoll. i wanna feel ya orgasm on my dick, heh.”

Frisk pouted, whining in her need and the steadily subsiding orgasm the larger monster had built in her, and leaned provocatively against Sans, rubbing her ass against his erection and bucking her breasts into his stilled, light grasp.

“Sans… Sans, honey…”

Sans, despite his instinctive desire to give his mate everything she desired, merely snickered at her plaintive plea, smoothing his palms down her sides to clutch at her posterior, giving it a smack for good measure as he kissed her shoulder apologetically.

His grin sharpened at the wanton sound she let out at the slap of bone to her ass, his magic surging in bald desire.

“be patient, babe. you promised you’d be a good girl for us… we’d rather not have to punish you.”

Fell scoffed at that, returning to licking his fingers clean and stroking the swell of Frisk’s hip with his free hand, the scratches he had dug into her flesh.

“speak for yerself.”

Sans ignored him, content to squeeze his lover’s ass and kiss her throat as her orgasmic high died, but Frisk was not so latent, whimpering and dropping her knees out to sit fully in Fell’s lap. She circled her hips enticingly, pushing her breasts to his bare rib cage and extending her own tongue to lap at his arousal stained phalanges, trapped between her body and his.

Her sodden folds parted over the tented fabric of Fell’s shorts, soaking the material and allowing him to feel the heat he had bred within her.

“Ahh… ahh… please… don’t tease me… I… I-I need you…”

She ground against his erection with wild abandon, taking his dripping fingers into her mouth to suckle at them enticingly, and Fell, the lights in his sockets shrinking in shocked arousal, allowed his jaw to drop, watching her with open, rabid longing.

“shit that’s sexy… ‘aight, sugar, you’ve convinced me. ya get your wish.”

He pushed her hips away from his for a moment, allowing her to continue laving her tongue over his phalanges while, one handed, he undid his belt and pulled the zipper on his shorts down, releasing his intimidating, glowing, scarlet cock from their confines.

The thick, twitching appendage pressed insistently to Frisk’s abdomen, it’s warmth in stark contrast to the coolness of the line of piercings trailing its underside, and Fell grinned up at Frisk when she gasped at its contact with her skin, thrusting against her and stroking his saliva dampened fingers along her chin, tracing the length of her throat rapturously.

“go on… sit on daddy’s cock.”

Frisk moaned halteringly at his command, flushing prettily and whimpering as she looked down at the size of him; her teeth bit into her lower lip desirously, and she hesitantly bucked her saturated folds against the length of him, drawing a staggered, surprised breath at the feeling of his piercings dragging along her clit.

Behind the distracted human girl, Sans grimaced, the bone above his nasal ridge wrinkling as he shot a disgusted glare at the larger, just as occupied monster.

“yeah, no. don’t call yourself that.”

Fell ignored him gracefully, his crooked smirk widening with every explorative motion Frisk made against him, and so Sans snorted, turning to watch his mate as well. She was really into it… and so was he. A slow, wicked grin overtook his upset, a string of his own saliva dripping from his teeth to trail down his jaw as she slicked her entrance against another monster’s cock.

His hands moved to her hips, his mouth returning to her ear.

“but the order stands, babe. get yourself on his dick… i wanna watch you take it.”

Frisk shuddered against him, turning to nuzzle against the side of his face and meet his gaze, double checking that it was okay, and nodded eagerly at his wink, her hands clenching on Fell’s shoulders as she lifted herself to turn in his lap, settling her back against his ribcage and posterior against his pelvis.

Her thighs spread wide around his femurs, the hard, erect magic of Fell’s arousal a persistent reminder of their occupation between her legs, and with a tremulous hand, the other wrapped around the back of the large skeleton monster’s neck, she took his cock in hand and brought him to her entrance.

All three let out a strangled breath when she began to sink herself onto Fell’s length, Frisk with shocked, breathless pleasure, Sans with voyeuristic intent, and Fell with satisfied levity, his hands grasping at Frisk’s waist and his skull dropping back against the headboard of the bed.

“fuuuuuuuck yeah… holy shit, you’re tight, sweetheart… take it slow, i know ya ain’t used ta somethin’ this big…”

Sans barely held back a snarl at that, baring his teeth at the crass monster and truly considering ending this all early just out of spite, but held back, watching his bride pant and shift her legs to accommodate more of Fell into her core, the silver studs marking the underside of his dick disappearing into her one by one.

She was enjoying herself, and that was the whole point. This was for her, not him. He could get over his pride for half an hour…

If Fell would let him, the giant bastard.

And so, Sans let the comment go unheeded, and turned his attention to Frisk, her rampant moans and her trembling legs, and scooted closer to her, dragging his palms along her thighs and pushing kisses to her lips.

One hand ventured between her thighs to spread her folds even further than they were by the girth of Fell’s cock, a single fingertip flicking at her clit slowly, teasingly.

“how’s it feel, honey? you like it?”

Frisk nodded eagerly, tears in her hazy eyes and her free hand rising to grasp at Sans’ shoulder as she took another inch of the thick appendage she was slowly sinking onto, her back arching and her lips parting in a silent cry of rapture.

Another stud, teasing along the swollen flesh of her clit, popped inside her, and she all but wailed in pleasure, squirming and tossing her head.

“He’s… so big… the piercings… oh god…”

She thrashed at the stimulation of Sans playing with her and Fell filling her entirely, the heat rushing in her veins making her lightheaded and dizzy with ecstasy.

Fell, pleased with her acclaim, leaned forward to drag his tongue up the length of her neck, his hands on her hips pushing her down further, taking her to the very base of his cock. He nuzzled at her ear as she moaned and shifted in his lap, grazing his teeth along her earlobe.

“heh… thought you’d like those… they always do.”

He patted her hip, grinning and shifting his legs to plant his feet in the mattress.

“bend forward an’ spread ‘em, sweetcheeks… gimme some room ta work on ya.”

She did as she was bidden, Sans helping her prop her torso on a few pillows, and Fell, squeezing his clawed fingers in the plush flesh of her ass with a wolfish, hungry grin, gave a preliminary thrust once she was settled, grunting in pleasure at the feeling of bottoming out within her and the way she clenched around him, soft and hot and wet as sin.

“fuckin’ perfect. jus’ like i always imagined. now… why dontcha use those pretty lips ta get your mate off too while i fuck ya, eh?”

He smacked his palm across her ass, drawing a shuddering gasp from the girl, and Frisk, flushed and panting and heavy-lidded, looked shakily up at Sans, licking her parted lips and coming even with his already bared, precum dotted erection.

Sans smirked at her, stroking a hand along his length and weaving his other into her hair, pushing the head of his cock against her lips.

“get to it, babe.”

She needed little prompting, replacing his hand with one of hers as she eagerly accepted him past her lips, the tip of her tongue sliding in and out of view in her fervent worship of her lover’s offering. Her other hand rested on the mattress below her, keeping her body steady for both of the skeletons, and both took her cue as their own, their smiles identical in lecherous perversion.

Sans took up a slow, even circling of his pelvis, reveling in the feeling of his human’s mouth and hot, wet tongue against his surging magic and her silken hair around his fingers, and Fell, for the first time, withdrew from his full penetration of Frisk’s core, though only to give himself room for the next upwards thrust into her warmth.

His pace was less measured, quickly adopting a passionate rut that rocked Frisk body back and forth, his clawed hands digging into her wide hips and his gaze glued to the vision of his cock slipping in and out of her entrance, transfixed and aroused beyond measure.

Yes… this. This was where she belonged, mounted on his cock and moaning for him. Gorgeous girl… stars, he was glad he’d taken this deal.

He never wanted to leave her body, and so pounded himself as far into her as he could go with reckless abandon, desperate to imprint some part of himself on her.

Fell’s furious, rough pace only aided Sans’, pushing Frisk further down his length with each meeting of his hips with her backside, saying nothing of her tremulous, wild groans of pleasure around him. It sent shivers deep into his bones, heat and arousal beating through his soul in waves of intense, concentration breaking ardor.

He could barely keep from throwing his head back, closing his eyes, and losing himself in the moment.

He forcefully kept his sockets open and focused on Frisk, though, on the flutter of her lashes, the stroke of her fingers along the base of his cock, the suction she bore down on him with in her attempt to pleasure him. The way her back arched back into Fell’s rabid fucking, and how her legs shook in her rebuilding orgasmic high.

She was so beautiful like this. He couldn’t afford to forget that, forget any part of her.

“didn’t think i’d like this much, considering… but watching you come apart… watching you taking two monsters at once… stars save me, you look so hot.”

And he wasn’t lying in the least, the truth of his admission and arousal pulsing through the magic between his mate’s lips, and Fell, looking up from the perfect sight of Frisk taking every inch he had to give for a moment, smirked crookedly, casting his gaze over her reclined body, the motion of her head, Sans’ phalanges buried in her hair.

“i’d be jealous of tha view if i wasn’t balls deep in her, blue… you get ta have this piece every night. fuckin’ waste… maybe we can-”

He began his offer with vain design, hopeful that Sans was too caught up in the moment to begrudge him a few nights with her a month (it was his right too, she was his soulmate too, he could have demanded a fight to the death for the right to claim her but he hadn’t, he’d played fair, more fair than Sans ever had), but that hope dwindled the moment Sans looked up and met his eye with dark threat, his teeth gritting audibly.

“we’ve talked about this, fell. one. time. only.”

Fell’s expectation fell into a glower, scowling and spurned yet again (how many times had he tried? How many times had he attempted to convince the stubborn ass to share her? Too many to count), and so turned back to the only real hope he had, the human girl practically fucking herself on him.

She had been the one to want this, want him. Sans had called it curiosity. Fell had seen it as more. She felt the call to him as well. It couldn’t be helped. She’d feel it again, all too soon.

See Sans try to stop her. He gave her everything she wanted, their tryst today was evidence of that.

Fell squeezed her thighs, his soul burning and his spirits soaring again.

“we’ll see ‘bout that, won’t we, beautiful?”

His mutter was quiet and muffled by the slap of flesh to bone, by the constant, desirous moans rolling through Frisk’s body, only heightened by Fell adjusting her position and his thrusts so he ground regularly against her clit with his pelvic arch, her spine shooting straight and her lips leaving her mate’s cock with a sloppy breaking of suction.

She clung to Sans’ iliac crests helplessly while Fell kept it up, crying out with ever increasing volume and passion, and all too soon was succumbing again to her climax, her walls clamping down around Fell’s length and her abdomen clenching of waves of cresting pleasure.

“Ohhh… ohhh… S-Sans… baby, I’m… haahhh…”

She could barely keep her own weight up on her arms and knees, wobbling dangerously in her light headed, breathless lust, and Sans, chuckling and just as eager for her to meet her end, peeled her fingers from his pelvis, setting her down so her chest lay flat on her platform of pillows.

He combed a hank of hair from her face, tracing her wetted lips with a fingertip and watching her body build up to her orgasm again with a wide grin.

“cum for us, frisk. cum on his cock…”

She didn’t last another moment, following her lover’s command, and came undone with a warbling cry of absolute rapture, her hands clenching in the sheets below her and her strength utterly failing her, dropping her fully onto Fell’s pistoning dick.

This only served to heighten the pleasure, a keening wail leaving her lips at the press of him to her spasming walls, and it was all Fell could do not to blow his load right then and there, clinging to her hips and panting for air and forcing himself to stop while she rode her climax out, buried in her core to the hilt and very nearly passing out from the feeling of her cumming around him.

“holy shit… fuck, fuck, fuck, feels so fuckin’ good…”

He was incapable of real thought or expression beyond cursing or observing how good she felt around him, and would be for a few moments after Frisk’s orgasm had faded, leaving both she and Fell a panting, sweaty, wordless mess, but Sans was more than willing to pick up the slack, unbelievably turned on from watching his mate cum for him, and smoothed his palm up her cheek, rubbing behind her ear and humming in approval.

“that’s my good girl. felt good, huh? but i know you, babe… you’re gonna want more, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, the knowing look in his sockets convinced and firm, and Frisk, her eyelids fluttering, immediately nodded, nudging her cheek against his hand and whimpering wordlessly.

Sans smirked at that, and slipped his hands under her arms, helping her up while, at the same moment, not allowing her to dismount Fell. Both she and the large skeleton monster groaned at the motion, their connection still sensitive and raw, but Sans didn’t give either of them a reprieve, diving in on Frisk’s lips for a kiss and moving her thighs further apart to settle her better in her perch.

“sit back against his chest, darling. let’s see how much more you can take, hmm?”

His whispered offer against her lips was met with excitement and a groan of allure, Frisk’s cheeks brightening and walls tightening in a surge of arousal, and Fell, catching on to what was happening as the girl in his lap situated herself more comfortably, moaned beneath his breath himself, scooting further up the headboard and hooking his hands beneath her thighs.

He lifted her fully into his arms, spreading her wide and burying his face in her hair, his grin wide and glinting in the low light.

“c’mon, blue… stretch that pussy like it deserves…”

Sans snorted, sparing Fell a flat glance, but scooted into the cradle of his beloved’s thighs nevertheless, anchoring his hands under Frisk’s knees and lining himself up with her already occupied entrance.

It was a tight fit, interspersed with a great deal of repositioning and irritation (“why is your dick so damn big, fell? excessive as hell…” “what can i say? i’m blessed, heh.”), but with a quiet squeal from Frisk and a satisfied grunt from both skeleton monsters, Sans finally managed to push himself into her, alongside the line of pierced studs decorating his counterpart’s appendage.

Frisk had never felt so full in her life, wordless in her pleasure as she grasped at both of her skeletal lovers, her eyes rolling back at the barest motions the both of them made.

Gods, it felt so good… she was so hot, she needed… she needed… more.

Both Sans and Fell gasped when she started circling her hips, grinding the cocks within her together and sinking them further within her. Sans could only tighten his grip behind her knees, trembling and wide socketed, while Fell, winded but voracious, parted his jaws to lick along Frisk’s neck, watching over her shoulder as her breasts bounced and her hips rotated.

“yeah, that’s it, gorgeous… get fuckin’ stuffed… damn you’re sexy…”

Frisk whined at his gruff compliments, bucking her hips in an attempt to pull them deeper within her, and Sans, recovering from the suddenness of the stimulation, shot Fell a glare, starting up a rolling, sensual pace, one hand lowering to his wife’s abdomen to stroke her already overstimulated clit.

He moved his gaze to Frisk’s, his bare frown melting into a flirtatious, hungry grin.

“shut up for once and just fuck her.”

Frisk, eyes widening in shocked arousal, arched back against Fell’s rib cage, choking on her breath and crying out with each firm, practiced meeting of Sans’ pelvis to her flesh, his every thrust taking her as deep as he could go. Fell remained idle himself only a moment longer, stimulated by both the tightness of their fit and Sans’ fervent motion.

He firmed his grip on Frisk’s thighs and pounded himself up into her with ravenous abandon, smirking at Sans.

“my pleasure.”

After his comment, the only sounds that permeated the room were muttered explicatives, the wet friction of a lover’s union, and frequent, passionate exclamations, the bed rocking and the mattress squeaking with the driven intent on both monsters attempting to outperform the other.

Frisk could barely keep up with them, gasping for breath and moaning in constant, unbelievable lasciviousness, and reached mindblowing orgasm three more times before the end was in sight, her skin covered in the prints of their hands and trails of their saliva and her muscles aching from their competitive vigor.

She clung to Fell’s neck nearly bonelessly, arms above her head and eyes closed, begging breathlessly for the fifth climax her lovers were breeding within her, but neither skeleton monster were sure they would manage to make it there, their movements jerky and telltale.

Both were attempting to push her over the edge before they met their own, Fell’s large hands encompassing Frisk’s breasts and Sans’ thumb rubbing circles around her clit, his mouth at her throat as he whispered encouragement and worshipful, breathy pleas to her.

“c’mon, babe, just a little more… gimme one more, ineed it…”

Frisk wanted it just as badly as they, bucking down onto their lengths and doing all in her power to reach her climax, but it was only when Fell, his breath a hot cloud of lust and desire against her flesh, made good on the tease of his fangs against her shoulder and bit down that she felt the coil of her last orgasm, her eyes shooting wide and her abdomen spasming.

“Please… oh please, yes… S-Sans… Felllll, ohh…”

Her body clamping down around their already dangerously sensitive cocks spelled the end for both monsters, her orgasm pushing them into their own, and both came with shuddering, exquisite cries of bliss, clutching at Frisk and pumping their magic into her as one.

“stars, frisk… fuuuck, yes… milk my cock, babe, take it all…”

“shit, baby, yeah, fuckin’ scream for me!”

Their high lasted far longer than any of them could tell, lost to intense passion and incredible fatigue, collapsing into the puddling remains of thier lust in a sweaty heap. Both monsters curled instinctively around the nearly unconscious, sore, breathless human, though, hands worshiping her body and her slightly distended abdomen.

Fell was the first to recover, and the first to arch up to press a kiss to Frisk’s parted, saliva dampened lips, caressing her throat and the bite mark he had left in her flesh.

He hadn’t meant to mark her. He had only wanted to help her reach her end. But it was there, now, sparking with his magic and blatant, stark meaning, and he’d have to deal with it eventually.

He couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. After all, wasn’t it what he’d really wanted?

“stars fuck me, that was amazin’.”

Sans, sockets shuttered and as yet unknowing of what had happened, hugged Frisk closer to his chest, humming in pleasure and contentment.

“for once… hah… i agree with you.”

Chapter Text

It started, of all things, as hand holding.

Frisk had always loved playing with the joints and divots in his hands, and the movie they had gone to see wasn’t as interesting as they had thought it would be. Sans was already drifting off, his other hand in the popcorn bag and his sockets thin slits lit by stuttering, dim magic, and Frisk, bored and tactile, started tracing the lines and dips and empty spaces on his extended palm.

It took awhile for her to notice him watching her from under his bony eyelids, no longer drifting into slumber but curious and watchful. He wore a shiteating grin, one of her absolute favorites (not that she would admit that to him), and when she started tracing his phalanges with her fingertips, he surprised her by chuckling.

“whatcha doin’ there, babe?”

His whisper was rough but quiet, suited to the mostly empty theater, and Frisk jumped, looking guiltily up at him and his gentle smirk.

“Oh! Um. Just, you know… exploring.”

Her mumble was hushed, her fingers retreating to ball in her lap, but Sans’ hand chased hers, worming its way between her clenched fingers; he grinned at her, winking and rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

“don’t let me stop you.”

She glanced at him shyly, her cheeks tinting lightly, before taking up her tracing again, feeling the curves and chips in his carpals. Her fascination both amused and captivated him, and he watched her in silence for a moment, the movie white noise in the background, before leaning closer to her, nuzzling the ridge of his nasal cavity against her ear and kissing her cheek lingeringly.

“you really don’t mind the bones, do you?”

He sounded both amused and in awe, his fingers lacing between hers to squeeze her palm, and Frisk giggled at the sensation of his breath on her skin and his nuzzling, leaning into him and flushing slightly.

“No, they’re fascinating. You’re amazing.”

She glanced at him from under her eyelashes as she spoke, shy and sincere,  and in his chest, his soul throbbed, the lights floating in his sockets forming tiny hearts.

His phalanges tightened between hers, and his other hand rose to turn her chin; his bony lip line pressed to her plush mouth, stealing her breath and drowning in her love.

“‘m just magic. you, though… you gorgeous, perfect woman… you’re amazing. just look at you…”

His whisper against her lips was haggard and intent, his sockets lidded and warm; his hands stroked her body, up the length of her thigh, the narrow of her waist, the column of her throat.

Frisk couldn’t help the gasp she breathed in, the warming of her cheeks. She pressed fluttering kisses to his jawline, lost in the moment and ignorant of all that was happening outside their sphere of being.

Sans hardly minded. In fact, his exploring hands only became bolder, a cursory glance over the theater confirming that no one was paying them any attention.

The fingers of one hand snuck beneath the hem of her sweater, tracing the soft flesh of her stomach; the fingers of the other sank into her hair, pulling her lips back to meet his.

“so soft everywhere, so warm, so beautiful… with the kindest soul and warmest heart in the world. melted chocolate eyes, and the cutest laugh this side of snowdin.”

His voice was gruff and low, his compliments sincere and breathed hot against her flushed skin, her spread, wetted lips, and Frisk, high on his attention and the feeling of his bones on her bare flesh, could only whimper in response, clinging to his jacket sleeve and meeting his short, fevered kisses desperately.

Sans smirked at the sound of her whimper, the tightening of her abdomen, and pulled back to look in her eyes; he withdrew his hand from under her shirt, blithely ignoring her hushed protest, instead settling his hand on her bare thigh, the tips of his fingers edging under her skirt.

“you’re getting into this, huh? want more?”

His offer was blatant, as obvious as the lust in his satisfied gaze, and Frisk, head light from the rushing of her arousal, glanced nervously over his shoulder at the few other people in the theater, biting her lower lip before nodding, her fingers digging further into his coat sleeve.

“Y-yes…”

At her confirmation, Sans grinned broadly and untangled his fingers from her hair, using them instead to trace a path down her neck, her shoulder, the valley between her breasts.

He cupped the soft flesh there when she pressed her chest forwards into his grasp needily, flicking the tip of his thumb over her beaded nipple provocatively.

“stars, your nipples are hard. you didn’t wear a bra today, did you? and i know it’s not that cold in here…”

He pinched it, squeezing her thigh at the same moment and leaning forward to lick up her neck, the blaze of his magic muted in the darkness of the theater, and Frisk shot a hand up to her mouth to quiet her moan, looking again, with panic, at the other movie viewers.

Sans snorted at the tension in her body, how she pulled at his jacket warningly in her nervousness, and pulled his head up to kiss her nose, sending her a reassuring smile.

“they’re not paying attention to us, babe… focus on me, not them.”

She nodded haltingly, mostly due to him never stopping the rolling of her nipple between his fingertips, and Sans, pleased by her acquiescence and her arousal both, returned his attention to her throat, the hand sliding up her skirt coaxing her legs apart.

Frisk’s back arched the moment his phalanges met the crotch of her panties, his fingertips zeroing in on her swollen folds and sodden entrance with practiced ease. He rubbed his knuckles gently against the sensitive, covered flesh, thumb extending to press and massage her clit.

He grinned wider still at the muffled groan she let out, kissing up the column of her tight throat. Her soaked panties stuck to his bones as he stroked her searing folds, separating and meeting with sloppy, quiet squelches.

His thumb rubbed gentle circles on her clit, the other putting pressure on her stiffened nipple.

“holy shit you’re wet. heh… been thinking about bones other than the ones in my hands, haven’t you?”

Frisk whined against her palm, her eyelids fluttering as she nodded and weakly moved her hips against his plying hand, and Sans moaned in return, his shorts tightening and his magic pulsing with need. His teeth scraped her neck, a hunger for more than her body coursing through him.

He needed her so badly, down to her soul. He burned with the need for completion, for the age old call of his magic to his mate.

He pulled back though, forcing the need down, and kissed up to her ear instead, breathing heavily and blinking away a trail of sweat. Not here. Not now. There was so much more to do, so much to tell her. He had waited this long.

He could keep waiting.

Sans pushed his own desire back, nibbling at her earlobe and instead concentrating on hers, on the unpracticed, raw buck of her core against his fingers, the swell of her breast in his hand, the scent of her arousal and readiness in his head.

“you’re so fucking sexy… everything i want in the world. so gorgeous… so incredible. i love you so much, every part of you. you drive me crazy. you make me melt, and at the same moment you get me harder than i’ve ever been in my fucking life.”

His adoration and lust was clear in his tone as he muttered against her ear, breath hot and intent as he redoubled his efforts to please her, stroking her folds and squeezing her breasts and bending his every talent to bringing her to her end, to make her writhe and bleat helplessly against the cover of her hand.

He brought her to the very brink before pulling his hand from her breast, taking her chin, and forcing her to meet his gaze. At the same moment, he slid a single finger under the edge of her panties, sinking it into her already clenching core torturously slowly.

“cum for me, frisk…”

The slide of him into her was her undoing. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her whole body spasming in her explosive release; her core clenched tight around his finger, breeding even higher lust within him (stars, what would it feel like for this velvet tightness to squeeze around his cock…), and he rolled his phalange within her while she rode her orgasm’s high, pulling her hand from her lips so he could swallow her every moan himself, his tongue twisting with hers and his sockets shuttered in bliss.

When she finally settled, slumping bonelessly in her seat and humming in sated pleasure, Sans pulled himself from her body and helped her right her clothes, though his touch was no less lingering, his gaze as worshipful and admiring as before.

Frisk blushed despite the pressing dark and their previous activity, no longer aware of the people in the seats below (who, by some miracle, hadn’t seemed to notice a thing), and Sans, hand rising to brush a hank of mussed hair from her face, could only smile, bending close for another heady kiss while the movie, forgotten, played on in the background.

“damn me to the void, how did i get so lucky.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: I imagine that whenever Frisk is off on an ambassdor trip that Sans' can't come with, they end up having phone sex. (Or one of them sends the other a recording of them jacking off.)

Sans had promised his human lover a surprise the third night she had been away from home, something to relax her from the difficulties of her struggles with foreign diplomats and stodgy government officials. She was nearly giddy when she settled herself into her hotel bed that night, dressed in her favorite plaid, button up pajamas and texting her mate to be with love and loneliness in her eyes.

Her phone vibrated the moment she had poured herself a glass of wine, and she nearly dropped the glass at the sound of his long, low, gutteral moan in her ear when she answered the phone, panting heavily and already aroused beyond belief.

He told her how badly he’d wanted her, from the moment that she’d left; he told her how much he missed her beautiful body, her sweet lips, the silk of her skin against his bones. Stars, how cold their bed had grown. How he wished he could make her whine and thrash and cum the way he knew only he could.

How he craved to hear her moan for him again.

“do you know what i’m doin’, babe? do you know how bad i want you?” he groaned into the phone, the husk of a growl hinting at his raspy, deep voice, and quieted himself so she could hear the slickness of his hand on his summoned magic, the wet motion of him stroking his cock, and she gasped, her body hot and her cheeks flushed and her legs, clad in her flannel pajama pants, rubbing together.

He chuckled darkly, his breathing already hard and wanting, and breathed the knowledge she already possessed into her ear, that he was getting himself off, wishing it was her hand, her mouth, her perfect little body; he told her how he’d teased himself all day, keeping his cock hard and needy.

He told her what he would do to her, if he could be with her.

“you’d be in my lap right now, baby girl. i’d have my hands up under that cute little plaid top you always bring on your business trips, your legs spread for me… my dick rubbing your wet pussy through your pants. i’m hornier than i’ve been since my last heat, but i know how you like it, sweets… i’d take my time, play with those perfect breasts, fuck your sweet mouth with my tongue… get you so hot for it you’re begging for me to have you before i do.”

Frisk is fidgeting in her sheets, now, whining under her breath and running her free hand over her breasts and abdomen through her shirt; she can feel herself getting wet, while he growled temptations and offers in her ear, her palm sweaty and her core clenching in desire.

“you know what we haven’t done in awhile, babe? 69′ed. i wanna eat you out while you suck my cock. i wanna fuck your little pussy with my tongue and feel your pretty pink lips takin’ me deep. do you want that? huh? heh… i know you do, sugar. i can hear you whimpering… unbutton your shirt. touch yourself like i wish i could.”

She barely hesitated, fumbling one handed with her buttons so she could palm her sweat streaked breasts, closing her eyes and pinching her nipples just like he did and choking on her gasps and listening to him rumble in approval in her ear, the sound of his own pleasure quickening.

“yeah, just like that. stars, i wish i could see you right now… wish i could lick all over your tits, make you make that little breathy noise you do when i bite down, just a little, on your nipples… fuck, i want you under me right now.”

She let out a full on moan at that, trembling and breathing in ragged gasps, and laid down fully on the bed, hurriedly shoving her pants down to hang from one ankle and delving her eager fingertips between her thighs and burying them in her soaking wet curls, pressing at her entrance and teasing herself as much as she was able.

“Sans… Sans, please…”

He growled needily at her voice, awash with desire and lust, and fucked himself harder, his breath hitching; she slid her slim fingers in and out of herself in time with his exhalations, her head dropping back and her lips gaping and her voice keening.

“damn, baby, yes… love yourself, like i would if i could be there too… deep and hard and fuck, frisk… fuck, i don’t think i could go easy tonight, you’re too hot and i bet you’re wet as hell and shit, sh-shit, i’d screw you so hard we’d wake the people in the next room, but i don’t give a damn, i need you too bad and they can listen if they fuckin’ want cuz they should get off on the sound of you saying my name, you’re a d-damn goddess and FFUCKK…”

The sound of him nearing his end built Frisk’s urgency, her palm grinding against her clit and her core clutching at her fingers and her pleasure building, echoing in her shuddering breaths-

“yes, yes, cum for me, cum, baby, let me hear it… please, yes, cum with me…”

It didn’t take much longer for her to comply, the sound of him orgasming on his end driving her over the edge, and when she came, it was with a long, whining, shuddering exhalation, her limbs shaking and a string of saliva leaking past her lips and her vision whiting out in her pleasure; Sans nearly came again just listening to her, and told her so once he had regained his ability to speak, panting and nearly purring in contentment.

“so damn sexy, every time. hahh… you’re so good, frisk. so good. and, yanno, i hope that helped you relax, too. got a little carried away, but i just miss you so damn much. love you, babe. sleep good.”

And oh, did she.

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Anonymous asked: Oh my gosh imagine Sans fucking Frisk in the lingerie store's dressing room while she's wearing nothing but the stockings, and he has her bent over in front of the full length mirror, hand wrapped over her mouth to muffle her cries as he murmurs how unbelievably sexy and red faced she is

“shhh… we don’t want anyone to hear us, babe…”

The fingers of one hand tightened over her mouth, quieting the breathy gasps that had been leaking between her lips, while the other rubbed circles around her magic and arousal soaked clit, sending shudders and rolling pleasure through her body.

The hand rose to flick her nipples and stroke her abdomen on occasion, stoking the fire of the human’s arousal ever higher, while the monster behind her, magic sparking across his bones and dripping from between his lover’s legs, thrust even more fervently, grunting under his breath from exertion and pleasure.

Sans’ narrowed, fuzzed sockets took Frisk in through the mirror she was propped against, her perfect breasts swaying with their motion and her eyes glazed with lust, and smirked breathlessly, streaks of blue saliva dripping down his chin from his parted teeth.

He took a moment to survey the sheer, thigh high stockings she had slid up her legs before he had flashed into the change room, the unattached garters bobbing in the air and the matching panty and bra set abandoned on the cushioned stool they stood beside, and chuckled lecherously, arching up into her with abandon.

His free hand sloped down the curve of her thigh, the silky material of the stockings; her legs trembled at his touch, at the force of his thrusts.

“shit, you’re so sexy… just look at yourself. look how gorgeous you are, in just these tights and my hands…”

He bent over her back to grasp one of her breasts when Frisk raised her eyes to the mirror, rolling her nipple between his phalanges, and she whimpered in response, her core clenching around his cock and her eyes rolling back.

Sans let out a quiet groan of his own, his sockets lidding and his grin tightening in restraint; his pistoning hips flexed, pushing himself deep into her as he nuzzled his nasal ridge against her ear.

“i wish you wore stockings more often… your beautiful legs are made for them. plus, stars, they turn me on like nothing else…”

He ground his pelvis against her ass, pressing against her in all the right ways and returning his hand between her legs to stroke her clit, and Frisk, shuddering and panting against her lover’s palm, quaked at the stimulation, her toes curling into the carpet and her back arching even further as her orgasm washed over her.

Sans slowly rode her through it, muttering quiet praise and encouraging lust into her ear, and only when she was done, hands dragging streaks of sweat down the surface of the mirror, did he again rut into her at his own pace, digging his fingers into her hips and throwing his head back in his ardor.

Her own climax had sped his along, stimulating his end, and it wasn’t long until his back bowed and his cock throbbed within her, his teeth biting into his bony lower lip and his magic spilling into her.

They panted together as his motions finally halted, their arousal dripping to the floor between them, before Sans, with a lazy grin, flopped onto Frisk’s back, slinging his arms around her middle and winking at her through the mirror.

“so we’re buying all the stockings they have, right?”

Chapter Text

Anonymous Asked: Teacher!Sans making a strand of magic fuck Student!Frisk during a lesson, secretly enjoying her red face and how hard she's trying to keep her moans in

“miss dreemurr, is there a problem?”

Frisk squirmed in her chair, turning even redder as the eyes of the rest of the room turned to her seat at the back of the lecture hall; she tried to still her trembling body, tried to hide her growing arousal, even as the strand of blue magic currently flicking at her clit stroked her further into madness.

She was lucky she was wearing pants today… otherwise she’d be dripping down her thighs extremely obviously. As it stood, she just looked like she’d caught heat stroke and needed to go to the restroom.

Frisk, aware that she was now the center of attention in the middle of a situation that she very much didn’t want to be noticed in (damn him… damn him…), sat up as straight as she could, arranging her textbook on her desktop and looking to the male that had called her out, her Applied Physics professor.

Shit, she needed… well. She couldn’t get what she needed right now.

“N-no professor! Go on, please!” she called out, waving away her classmates’ attention with a shaky laugh.

At the front of the room, perched on the edge of his desk and wearing the most shit-eating grin anyone present had ever seen, Sans slid his hands into his lab coat’s pockets, arching a brow bone and smirking.

Stars, he loved it when she called him that… almost as much as he loved seeing her whining and panting up in her seat, practically begging the wisp of magic he’d been circling and teasing her entrance with for nearly twenty minutes to slip inside her soaking, desperate core.

This is what she got for teasing him that morning, leaving him hard and slavering for her while she flounced off to her first class. He wasn’t going to take pity on her after that, no ma’am.

“i don’t know, miss dreemurr. since you seem to know so much about optics that you can afford not to pay attention, maybe you should tell the class about light oscillations within the realm of laser frequencies while i make myself some coffee. sound fair?” he suggested, crooking his fingers inside his coat pocket, and the tendril of magic in Frisk’s panties responded, slithering between her folds to stroke back and forth over her clit and entrance both, slick with her arousal.

Frisk only barely bit back the moan that rose in response, clenching her legs together to attempt to stop the magic’s motions, but only succeeded in making it press harder against her, her back arching involuntarily. She struggled with her response for a moment, avoiding Sans’ victorious leer and her classmates’ curious glances, before nodding, turning back a few pages in her textbook.

“Y-yes sir. Should I begin where you left off?” she questioned, and Sans nodded curtly, waving a hand at her and hopping off the edge of his desk to stroll over to his coffee maker.

“if you would. and stand, please… so everyone can hear you,” he prompted lazily, sending her a glance over his shoulder to ensure she complied.

She did, knees shakier than she had expected and book trembling in hand (he had something planned, she could feel it from here, see it in the tilt of his grin), and started to read the section of the lesson that dealt with electron excitement and radiation emmision, glad that she had studied this in depth on her own beforehand.

The wisp of magic kept up its pace while she read, though, thankfully, didn’t break her concentration enough to be obvious; she could almost ignore it, beyond the shocks of pleasure that were almost constantly running through her abdomen, and nearly smirked herself, proud of her control.

She was halfway through the second paragraph, starting to doubt her instincts that he was going to do something worse, when it finally hit; Sans had turned back to watch her, watching her from over the lip of his coffee cup, and slowly, almost torturously, lifted one finger of the hand propping him up on the edge of his coffee stand.

The strand of magic responded in kind, slowly slipping inside her core to fill her entirely, and Frisk, eyes growing wider with every inch he fed her, felt her attention slipping, stumbling over words and rereading the same sentence twice without noticing. A few giggles ran through the room at that, and Sans, sipping from his mug, finally halted the advance of his magic once the tip was pressed against Frisk’s cervix, more than a little distracted himself.

Stars, it felt so good to be inside her… she was so hot and wet…

“still distracted, i see. unfortunate, but you’ve gotten us far enough for me to take over again. take your seat, miss dreemurr. if the rest of you would turn your attention to the next page, you will see a diagram depicting the average state change of an excited atom during stimulated emmission…”

As he spoke, he tapped his forefinger against the top of the stand he leaned against, and with every motion of his phalange, the magic seated within Frisk pulled out and thrust back into her; she quickly covered her mouth with one hand, to stifle the whimpers that she simply couldn’t hold in, her abdomen already clenching with the orgasm that he had been denying her the entire class.

And that wasn’t about to change, either; Sans spent the rest of the hour long lecture alternating between teasing her with soft pulses of magic and heat, fucking her until she was nearly crying with passionate stimulation, and passing the other end of the length of magic over her, never once giving her the completion she so desperately desired at this point.

She was nearly ready to thrust a hand down her pants and get herself off, by the time the class ended and the rest of her classmates were packing up, chattering to each other and discussing what they were going to be getting for lunch.

At the front of the classroom, Sans was erasing some diagrams he had drawn on the chalkboard, calling out instructions for the next class and still, ceaselessly, swirling his finger around in his pocket, his magic responding to his motion and making Frisk drop her pencil case on the floor.

“don’t forget, the two week report on the status of your conduction project is due tuesday! if you have any questions or concerns, my office hours are three thirty to six, monday through friday,” he reminded them, setting down the eraser and turning around to watch his students stampeding towards the exit to the lecture auditorium, and grinned at Frisk, watching her throw her bag over her shoulder and attempt to beat a hasty retreat.

“miss dreemurr. if you would stay behind… i would like to discuss your project with you. the equation you concocted for your transistor wavelength needs some work, and i believe we can find a way to remedy that quickly. you’ll have the right length in no time.”

Oh stars, it was going to be a long lunch hour.

Chapter Text

Frisk slammed her way into the empty locker room, still fuming and flushed from her dismissal from the pitch. Wood was going to be so pissed that she had been red carded for fighting with that total headjob Beater on the other team, he’d had to call in the stand by Chaser to replace her…

She was going to curse Sans Snowdin the second she got her hands on her wand.

Her jaw clenched and she threw her broom onto the floor, screaming behind her gritted teeth in absolute frustration.

Sans the fucking skeleton. Her transfer from America had spared her his acquainted her first four years of schooling, but this year… He’d been a plague on her life, and she’d never even formally met him.

He was an incredibly intelligent monster, practically genius and clever and witty, someone she would expect to be great friends with. She’d heard of his exploits, his extraordinary talent with nearly every subject he touched (he fought for top of the year with Hermione Granger, for the stars’ sakes) and his penchant for trouble and danger… But hadn’t expected him to turn his considerable mind and troublemaking talent on her.

She was an easy target, of course. Out of place in the country, unknowing of customs and courtesy and the castle itself. No friends, and somehow the target of a seventh year Slytherin with an extreme taste for pranks and off color jokes.

She knew it was him behind it all, the disappearing ink and disillusionment charm cast on her skirt and the trick wands that turned into rubber chickens. She had tried to laugh it off at first, blushing prettily and brushing it off as light hazing. He didn’t seem to have been satisfied with her reactions, though, smirking with his stupid snickering friends across the Great Hall or in the hallways. He’d upped the intensity of his pranks, almost to a personal level (whoopie cushions at all of her desks, a streak of blue in her hair after he brushed past her on the stairs, a howler that shouted her secret crush on Neville Longbottom to the entire school), and by the time the first game against Slytherin had come, she had had enough.

She wasn’t the best Chaser at Ilvermorny for nothing. She was going to put the beat down on them all personally, and dedicate the asswhooping to the skeleton bastard himself.

She’d told him as much as she shook his hand on the pitch, clenching his bony hand harder than necessary and staring up at him with determination burning in her eyes, and he’d laughed. He’d just LAUGHED at her, and smiled like she was a child, and waved her off.

“sure, sweetheart. let me know if i need to fetch longbottom for you, he could bring you some aloe for the spanking you’re gonna get.”

She’d turned the reddest she ever had, and flipped him off right on the field, earning her a slap to the head from Harry, a warning from Madam Hooch… But a shocked look from Sans that had made both worth it.

He’d made it hard for her immediately, targeting her purposefully as she had raced up and down the field scoring goals, but she hadn’t paid him attention, letting her instincts take over and scoring a hundred of the first hundred twenty points herself. She’d been so smug, doing tricks on her broom and shooting the enraged looking monster finger guns each time he missed her with a Bludger.

Until he hit her square in the back with one, and had shouted “not half as hard as plant boy’s gonna hit it”. She’d lost her temper at that one, and had hit him upside the head with the Quaffle as she screamed obscenities at him, which he had shouted back just as angrily. They’d both been blind to the match, to the crowds watching their tiff, until they’d both been flagged for unsportsmanlike conduct and been kicked from the pitch halfway through the game.

He’d looked even angrier than she had been, somehow, his cheekbones blue with shamed rage and his shoulders set as he had stormed off to Slytherin’s locker rooms, ave she could probably look forward to some particularly mean pranks in her future.

The last thing Frisk expected was him storming into her locker room as she was halfway done redressing in her uniform, clad in only her kneesocks, her suddenly too small pleated skirt, and a bra that she hurriedly did up when she saw him stomping towards her through the lockers, blushing and spluttering in shock.

“S-snowdin, what the hell are you doing?! You’re not supposed to be…” She yelped, trying to hide her mostly bare torso behind her unbuttoned blouse, but he didn’t care, his green tie loose around the collar of his untucked shirt and his teeth bared in rage.

“don’t tell me what to do, you stupid little bint,” he growled at her, magic flashing in his sockets. He stopped right in front of her, using every inch of the half foot he was taller than her to stand over her intimidatingly.

“you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? had to be the center of attention. had to try to prove your damn point,” he snarled, and Frisk gaped at him in absolute shock before glaring right back, her blouse forgotten as it fell to the ground at her side.

“ME?! Are you kidding right now?! You haven’t left me alone a day in two months! I’m not going to let you walk all over me, you son of a bitch!” she shouted, poking a finger against his chest, and he slapped her hand away, slamming the palm of his hand against the locker behind her.

“that’s school. you could have gotten back at me there. but on the pitch? this is my last year at this place before i graduate and get sucked into my dad’s insane laboratory. this is the last year i’m going to get to play quidditch, and you… you might have gotten me kicked off the damn team,” he snapped, and Frisk laughed harshly, shrugging ironically.

“And what do you think you’ve done to my year? This was the only escape I had from you and your incessant "jokes”, which a toddler could do better, by the way. And the jibes about Neville? Childish and incredibly crude. You’re slipping,“ she sniped, and Sans looked deeply offended, one of his sockets twitching.

"am i? is that why you turn as red as your pretty little bra whenever he’s around, hmm?” he purred at her snidely, nodding down at her bared torso, and she gasped, reawakened to her nakedness and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Why do you care so much, Snowdin? So what if I like him? How does that affect your pure blood friends or your perfect little academic record?” she asked sarcastically, backing up a step, as she was starting to feel a little warm, this close to his chest, and his sockets narrowed before he stepped closer, one of his hands’ fingers clenching against the locker and his other twitching towards her.

He bent over her, bringing their faces inches apart. His breath washed over her, smelling of pumpkin juice and butterscotch and magic, and before she could stop them, her eyes darted down to his bony lips.

She didn’t see him do the same. She didn’t see his sockets flash with bright blue magic, and certainly didn’t anticipate him closing the distance between them even further.

The kiss wasn’t gentle, or without relative violence; he pushed her back against the locker behind her roughly, moving a hand into her hair and clenching the other on her hip. She was shocked for long enough for him to slip a phantom tongue into his mouth, her hands jumping to his collar and her eyes hazing slightly before she regained her right mind and bit his tongue hard, trying to ignore the heat building in her chest and forcing her eyes open so she wouldn’t forget again that she was currently frenching an asshole.

He groaned at the pain, flinching and, surprisingly, pressing his body closer to her (even more surprisingly, she reacted much the same way), before pulling away and glaring into her eyes, panting and rubbing at her bare skin and the handful of her hair he was gripping.

“cuz maybe i don’t want you to like him. cuz maybe i’ve been waiting for the smart, crazy, sexy girl from america to pay me the attention i’ve been paying her,” he growled, and Frisk, panting and glaring too, scoffed at him with all the anger she could manage in her awakened awareness of how close he was, how good he felt, and how much she liked the danger and emotion of this moment.

“You were jealous? And tried to get me to like you by gluing my panties to my bench? What are you, twelve?” She gasped out, forcing herself not to move against the leg he had pushed between hers, and he rolled the lights in his sockets, though his smirk, highlighting a surprisingly sharp canine, was impossible to miss.

“that, honest, was just to see the color of your knickers. black… very nice,” he snickered, reaching around to squeeze her ass, and Frisk squealed before reflexively trying to slap him, trying to ignore the wetness in her panties.

He caught her wrist though, chuckling and pushing her arm against the locker behind her.

“but yeah… probably could have said something before, instead of just beating around the bush,” he admitted, bending to kiss her captured palm, and Frisk, flushed and overwhelmed, tried her best to stay aloof.

“If you think I’m just going to forgive you after a few sweet…” She started to huff, pulling against his hands, but he stilled her, looking over at her with a sneer and a gleam in his sockets.

“don’t expect anything, dreemurr,” he crooned, though his wandering hands and circulating hips suggested otherwise, and Frisk, sending a look at the clock, flicked a nonverbal locking spell at the locker room door.

“Good. Cuz you’re not getting anything, Snowdin,” she snapped, and reached up to crush her lips to his, ripping at the buttons on his shirt quickly.

No, she didn’t like him. Yes, she thought he was pretentious, and rude, and juvenile, and not worth her time after his shenanigans. No, she wasn’t going to consider his attempt at a confession, not after what he’d pulled today. She might just ask Neville out on a date out of spite.

But she might as well get her feelings, in this moment, out. She couldn’t deny he was attractive, couldn’t say she wasn’t feeling the heat, and so she fumbled with his shirt and his belt, the same way that he pulled at her skirt and panties and plyed hungrily at her lips, riding her up against the lockers and growling heatedly.

She liked the roughness of him, the sharp edges of his bones and the hardness of his hands as he freed himself from his trousers, lifted one of her legs in the crook of his arm, and thrust himself into her; he called her names, as he fucked her hard and fast, and she spat them back at him, clawing at his bared ribs and trying not to moan too loudly.

She wasn’t new to sex, and he obviously wasn’t either, from the way he moved his hips and thumbed at her clit (not enough to make her cum, of course, the bastard), but she had to admit, as he rode her with the wild abandon of the rushed, spontaneous quickie they were engaged in, he wasn’t bad, and she would likely think of their tryst often, when she was pleasuring herself.

He didn’t last long, pulling from her abused pussy, pushing her down onto the bench beside the lockers, and letting her suck the cum from his glowing blue cock; she did so only so she could spit it out on his shoes, smirking back at him as she redid her bra, and that brought on a whole new round of angry, rough kissing, punctuated by several aggressive smacks on the ass and a slightly bent locker.

There were no cuddles or fond farewells, after their joining; Sans mended the rip Frisk had made in his shirt with his wand, pocketed her panties, and departed with a smirk and a “don’t be late to potions, sweets, you know snape hates that” while Frisk threw him the second bird of the day, cursing at him and trying to figure out how she was going to get back to the dormitory, much less her afternoon class, without her underwear.

Sans Snowdin was DEAD when she saw him again. DEAD. Those were the last panties he’d ever see, and were certainly the last of hers he’d get his bony hands on.

Oh, how wrong she was.

Chapter Text

Sans woke that night in a state that he was no longer accustomed to… a cold sweat.

Most of the nightmares that had once ruled him had turned with the cycle of the earth and sun. Most of the terrors that had once ceaselessly plagued him in the smallest hours had fled him, succumbing to the way of time. Happiness had a way of doing that, driving away the shadow and leaving behind the love and cherished memories he had made with his beloved.

He had thought he was safe. It had been years since he had thought of the time before. The resets, the never ending days in the dark. The weed. The demon. He was the happiest he’d been in his whole life. He was stable, he was free of the Underground… he was even married. Mated to his beloved.

Why?

Why did he have to feel these things, see the dust on his hands and on the scrap of red cloth and clinging to every corner of his twisted prison? Why was everything blood and bone, sharp metal and furious, hateful vengeance?

He didn’t want it. He never had, had never meant to hurt her. Had done everything he could to avoid it. Had spent a decade making up for it, for doing what he had had to do, to save her and the rest of the world.

It was not enough. It was never enough.

Sans, empty sockets on the ceiling, rubbed his palms into his sockets and groaned, wiping fruitlessly at the tears he found there. His breath hitched in his chest, the visions of cruel grins and bloody bones and the same day, over and over and over, clinging to his sight whether his sockets were open or closed, and he sat up to sit on the edge of his bed, holding his head and sweating and shaking.

He… he could handle this… he just needed… did they have any alcohol left? He tried not to keep it around the house, not with his past history of abusing it, but there might be some Irish Cream from St. Patrick’s Day in the back of the fridge…

Just enough to get him back to sleep. That’s all he’d drink.

He should have known he’d catch Frisk’s attention, in his unease and unrest. Her soul was part of his, and his hers. They were practically one, of course she would feel his distress.

The human girl, roused from her sleep and blinking into the darkness, reached out to him instinctively, ticking her fingers over the back of his ribcage and querying about his well being. She could feel something wrong in the air, in the way he flinched at her touch and how he was shaking, and crawled to his side, muttering soothing platitudes and hugging him.

She told him that he was safe. That he was loved. That he was there, with her, not trapped in his own personal hell.

That he wasn’t bad for the things he had done.

He knew that she had only bare memories of her time while held prisoner by Chara, that she really only knew what he had told her about her forced genocide, but whenever she found him like this, from the time she was a mere child to one of the first times they had slept together, she knew. She knew what his fear and anguish meant, what plagued his mind and kept him from his rest.

She sat with him, rocking with him and reminding him of all the good things in his life. Their home. Their future family. His freedom, his friends, the love they shared. HIs past couldn’t hurt him anymore. He was safe. He was not alone.

When he could hold his composure no more, they lay together, legs dangling over the side of the bed, and clutched each other while he sobbed out his anxieties and fear that it would all come back, that the Underground and the resets would reclaim every ounce of happiness he’d made for himself.

She curled up against him and listened. She rubbed the back of his skull, and dried his tears, and kissed his clavicle, and whispered that she understood. More than her knowing when he was in distress, she knew what he needed when he was, and though he couldn’t say it, while he languished in his misery, he had never been more grateful to her.

It was hours before he calmed, before he stopped shaking and could drag himself back all the way onto the bed. Frisk helped him, muttering encouragements and kissing him soundly and looking to him not with the disgust and exasperation he had expected (all he ever did was disappoint her…), but with the love she always claimed to hold for him, the same love he felt flowing through every bone in his body.

He was weak, and susceptible to his fears, but with her, even his nightmares were bearable. He felt like he could take on the world, even though he knew that he would only go about his usual day when they dragged themselves out of bed in the morning.

Sans met her kisses as she fluttered her soft lips over his cheekbones, whispering that he needed sleep and that she was here if he had another bad dream; he threaded his phalanges into her hair, and stole her breath, and pulled her body against his, needing the press of her flesh, the beat of her soul.

Part of his desire sprang from gratefulness, his need to give back to Frisk what she so freely gave to him, but another part echoed with his displacement, his fear that none of this was real and that it would all fall apart like wet paper the moment he wasn’t paying enough attention.

Her flesh, silk under his hands and plush against his bones, couldn’t lie. Her breathless moans against his throat, as he slid his fingers into her panties to stroke her clit and tease her entrance, attested to his reality. Her hands finding their familiar places, tangled in his ribcage and dug into her pillow, and her legs settling over the curve of his pelvis as he crawled over her, were concrete and stable, a brand of beauty and pleasure and love burned into his mind.

The feeling of joining with her, of flesh and bone becoming one, swept away even the most lingering of his doubts.

Sans was immensely tired, in the wake of his battle with himself, but he worked himself (to the bone, heh) within his beloved feverishly, ignoring the headboard smacking into the wall and the sound of rain starting to fall against the bedroom window and everything else in the world except her, worshiping her how she deserved and pulling her climaxes from her with pride.

Stars, he loved when she came around him, how she arched and whimpered and trembled beneath him…

She was beauty incarnate, a vision in the bare light of his bedside lamp; he couldn’t get enough of her, touched every inch of her sweat-streaked skin and kissed her helplessly and made love to her with desperate urgency. He wanted to repay her, for how she had helped him tonight, and every other night, but keeping her awake at 3AM, no matter the reason, was hardly fair.

As much as he knew she liked their intimacy, she needed sleep too.

And so he gripped her hips, and buried his face in her neck, and let ecstasy take him, finishing within her like he knew she loved and reveling in the reverberations of her groans of pleasure against his bones and very nearly passing out on top of her.

He didn’t, though he could remember all the times that he had, helping her right her bedclothes and kissing her blushing face (she still flushed every time they had sex, even years later; it was adorable and he hoped she never stopped) before collapsing beneath the comforter, tangling their legs and hands together, and drifting off into exhausted slumber as one.

He fell asleep with the taste of her in his mouth, with the feeling of her love ingrained in his bones, and when he dreamed, it was of her, and their hope for the future.

Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: Frisk getting hit on by a human male. Before Sans can deal with him, she tells the human what exactly makes Sans the best. In detail. Sexually.

This happens every time Sans leaves Frisk at the bar for a second. He goes off to talk to an acquaintance, and he comes back to find his seat full of douchebag. Usually, he handles the joke of a boy with his typical panache, joking with them passive-aggressively and being mildly threatening until they leave, but tonight his temper is short. It’s getting close to the heat season, and he’s unusually possessive.

That’s HIS sexy human, in that little dress she wears just for him because she knows how much he loves her long legs (she even wore the thigh highs tonight, damn), and he stomps over to throw the asshat out of his seat by his ratty little mustache…

Before he realizes that Frisk is taking care of business for him.

“…and don’t even get me started on the nerve you have, to come over here and proposition me after watching me holding hands and kissing someone else. Are you blind, or just stupid?”

“Well, uh… but he’s a monster. A skeleton. C’mon, he can’t be giving you what you need…”

“Tch. He gives me what I need, asshole. He fucked me before we came out tonight, and when we get home, he’s going to fuck me again, because he knows how hot I am for him. I wore this dress for him, hoping that he’d screw me in the bathroom, but he’s making me wait. Do you have any idea how sexy that is?”

“I… girl, but…”

“But what? You don’t think he’s got the equipment? Oh, he’s packing, buddy. His cock is bigger than your brain and your dick combined. I can barely fit him in my mouth, but I sure as hell try, because I can’t get enough of him. Do you know what I was asking him before he went to talk to his friends? If I could go down on him on the ride home. He said no. You have no idea how wet I am for him right now. Your stupid little popped collar and overpriced sunglasses and needledick don’t impress me.”

“…shit that’s hot.”

“You’re damn right it is. Now get lost, he’s going to be back any minute and that’s his seat. Plus, I‘d rather not waste any more breath on you.”

Needless to say, she got everything she wanted out of him that night.

Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: So, I don't know if you take requests, but I was wondering what Blue and Frisk's first time would have been like if Red had never gotten his hands on her. Would you ever write something short and sweet like that? (〃ω〃)

Frisk’s mark, the shimmering bracelet he had been imagining for years, is done ten days after their night on the hill. He plans their first time together down to the letter, reserving a cabin at a beautiful lakeside for her spring break. She can barely contain her excitement, but first, before he lets her get too attached to the idea, he takes her on a long, long walk, to have their long awaited talk.

He tells her everything. The process of soulmating, from the exchange of soul magic between them both to the Rules, the ancient, sacred laws that govern bond pairs and their interactions with other monsters, to the moment that they would become true, literal soul mates, the instant that their manifested souls truly met and joined and became one, changing forever and linking them, body and soul, for the rest of their lives.

He told her what sex for them would be, that it was more than just the physical and emotional connection that humans had, that if they hoped to be able to mate their souls one day they would need to exchange magic that way quite a bit (a joke about him foreseeing that not being problem for them inserted here). He told her about his research into monster/human relations, and their capability to breed offspring, and assured her that there was no danger of him impregnating her until after their actual soulbond had been forged, which would take years to establish and realize.

Any questions she had, he answered, making sure she had no reservations before sitting her beneath a tree, in the glow of a magnificent sunset, and offering her the bracelet, the mark that would declare her his mate to be, that would protect her from other monsters, and from him as well. He told her, one last time, that the choice was hers, that he would not hold it against her if she changed her mind. He knew she was young, and that she may one day regret her choice in tying herself to him this way. If that were to happen, all she had to do was remove the bracelet.

He wouldn’t stop her.

She silenced him and the fear she could hear in his voice, calm as he tried to keep his tone, with a deep kiss, slipping her hand into the bangle without hesitation. His claim settled into her blood, tying her soul to him and him alone, and they kissed rapturously, lost to the intimacy of their closeness for an unknowable time.

Neither could wait for their week together at the lake, come spring break, and unsurprisingly, the moment they closed the door to the cabin their clothes littered the floor, locked in a fumbling, passionate kiss while hands explored long desired bare flesh and bone. They made it to the large bed only because Sans laughingly insisted on it, and the moment her back hit the neatly made sheets, her shivering, overstimulated body naked besides the bracelet around her wrist and the blush on her cheeks, Sans’ face was buried between her legs, his tongue lapping at her folds to ready her for their lovemaking.

He stroked her to keening orgasm around his tongue and fingers, stroking his cock in time with his efforts, and let her assuage her curiosity with him in the same way when she asked, breathy and sweaty from her pleasure. She sucked him to completion as well, awkward in her inexperience but sincere and energetic, and with the warmth of his magic inside her, their gazes locked in pleasure and love and shared desire, he helped her into his lap, his persistent erection pressing to her soaked entrance and slipping within her easily, given their play.

He let her ride him at her leisure and pace, helping her find her rhythm and pace with his hands on her hips and his mouth at her throat, breathing his pleasure against her flesh; she moaned wildly as she worked them both desperately, breasts pressing to his bare ribs and her head bent back in earnest, exuberant passion.

She came again, around his cock, and lost her ability to move quickly after, falling limp against him even as she tried to continue, but Sans only chuckled, and turned her gently onto her back, and pumped himself into her from above her, kissing her senseless and stroking her thighs as he brought them both back to the edge, the creak of the bed outdone only by their joined cries of rapture. He brought her to another orgasm just before he found his own, whispering his love for her and twining his fingers with hers as he filled her with his magic.

They slept not long after their finishing, trading sweet, lingering kisses as their still tangled bodies fell into slumber, both wearing a sated, totally in love smile. They indulged in each other countless times that week, experimenting and loving and learning each other even more than they had before, a sense of completion neither had felt before growing between them both.

Their relationship only grew better, over the years their courtship lasted. They came to know each other better than anyone else ever would, and two years later, under the stars and before their family and friends, they were wed, the happiest they’d ever been, knowing they would be together forever, true soul mates, the very next day.

That night, during their lovemaking, they at long last joined their souls, living each other’s lives and knowing each other completely, from beginning to end. Their emerged power, when they recovered from their joining and their souls again separated, was a gorgeous, royal purple, and a little more than a year later, they celebrated the conception of their first child, the tiny soul beating in Frisk’s abdomen and under San’s loving hands.

Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: I imagine Axetale Sans, in the privacy of his room, sometimes remembers the night before Flowey, when his bones were pressed against Frisk's soft flesh in their love-making...

Sans tucks Papyrus into bed, and Aliza as well (“night, precious… dream of better things than this place.”), before he slips into his room, locking the door and looking over his darkened bedroom in agitation.

It had been a bad day. They had had little luck in finding food, Aliza has nearly fallen into an old, deadly trap of Dogamy’s, and he had had to dust another fool monster coming after his little family. His mind was not right, spinning in circles of false contemplation and insane deviance.

He needed her.

He teleported to the basement as soon as he was sure his housemates were asleep, into the low light of his former workshop. The walls were bare of blueprints and plans now, plastered instead with letters and pictures and his own scrawlings, the counters piled haphazardly with memorabilia and the floors crammed with crates of old clothes. On a lumpy mannequin was draped a white dress, pristine and clearly well taken care of.

He went to the counter slowly, pulling open a drawer full of pictures to find what he was looking for. Well worn, aged photographs of Sans, whole and undamaged, alongside a beautiful, smiling woman abounded, but he looked for one at the very back, a photo he had captured of her without her knowing.

Frisk stood, beautiful and bare besides a see through pink shift, beside the shuttered sliding glass window in their bedroom, looking out over a storm with a small smile on her lips and her hands laid on her stomach.

They had just made love, in that picture… He knew her afterglow, the contentment and pleasure that still lit her gaze… And if he recalled correctly, that had been their last night together. He had rushed her out through the barrier the next day, never to be seen again but in obsessive memory and longing daydreams and hopeful, twisted lust.

He didn’t indulge in the memories of their intimacy often. It hurt too much, knowing he’d never know the touch of her hand again. The sweetness of her breath, the warmth of her body, the stroke and softness of her flesh against his bones.

His soul despaired, even as his mind protested, but his magic rose still, his need reared and pushed to be answered, and he went to a chair set in a dark corner of the room, away from the many memories of his deceased beloved, to shove the elastic band of his shorts down, to clutch at the picture of his wife and stroke his hand along his erection, desperate and grunting needily and remembering, so fondly, how she used to feel, how she had gasped, so quiet, when he had pushed himself into her body. How she had clung to his ribs as he made love to her.

How it felt for her to cum around his cock, and how she moaned when he spilled himself into her, her legs a vice around his hips and her voice breathy in her love and desire.

He finished quickly, efficient and pent up, and sat in the quiet of the shadowed basement for an unknowable time, starting at the ceiling as tears ran down his cracked face unheeded.

“frisk…” he whispered in the dark, and clutched the photograph so hard it tore.

Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: If you don't mind humoring the criminal attraction fans, would you write about the first time that Sans gives Frisk "the ride of a lifetime" featuring his tongue? Unless that appears sometime later in the story, and it would be considered spoilerish... Either way, thanks for starting that story! I've really enjoyed it so far, and you do a great job with seamless dialogue. That's something I've always admired in your fiction--the way a conversation can flow so effortlessly between characters :)

The tension becomes too much for the both of them around the fourth slow dance. The tips of Sans’ fingers have been dancing over Frisk’s exposed lower back since the second, his gaze soft and pleased when she doesn’t tell him to move them. His cologne is a heady perfume in her head, his voice a base rumble running through her body, his magic sweeping over her skin in his touch and his breath and his quiet laughter.

The champagne is addling her, she can tell it is, and knows better than to trust herself while tipsy, but this has, honestly, been a long time coming. His flirtations and lingering touches and his heated, lustful kisses and his offers had started to wear her down, long before she had found herself on the dancefloor with him. All that stood between her and him was pride, pride and stubbornness and her resolute denial, to both herself and him, that she felt anything.

Those things were fading, under the gentle glow of the moon and the fairy lights and his hopeful gaze, and when he asked her the question he asked her nearly every time they were together, when he asked her to come back to his room with him, this time, she said yes.

Only for tonight, she whispered against his skull. The next day, things would return to normal. Just for tonight, would she indulge, and tomorrow, this never happened.

He didn’t like it, his grip on her waist tightening and his smile false… but he took what he could get, and pulled her through space and time and into his bedroom, the lights already low and his bed an unspoken entity before them.

“if that’s what ya need to tell yourself, doll.”

He truly did love her dress, that was no farce; he finally was able to touch it, and the flesh below it, as he desired, dragging his palms over her stomach, her waist, the flare of her hips, to rest on the fullness of her ass, clutching her greedily and pulling her against him and pushing a hard, needy kiss to her painted lips.

They devoured each other desperately, the truth of right and magic and helpless attraction saturating the air around them; clothes littered the floor around their feet, shoes kicked off and tongues twisted and flesh and bone caressed with fervent worship.

Sans met her gaze, when she stood in her slip and underwear before him, his suit pants hung low on his hipbones and his ribcage bare, and slipped his ring off his forefinger, taking her hand and putting it onto her ring finger. Frisk made to protest, sentiment and reluctance surging in her, but he closed his hand over hers.

“i know you don’t want it yet. this is just a precaution… so i won’t mark ya with something more permanent. i told you i’d wait, and i will. you… you can give it back after.”

There’s hope, and hurt, in his face and tone, driving a sour note into the evening, and Frisk was tempted to both assure him that she would keep it and leave right then. Instead, she just nods, and steps back to sit on the edge of the bed, and pulls her slip over her head.

He accepts her unspoken acquiescence, and undoes his belt as he approaches the bed himself, letting his pants drop around his feet and allowing her to view him, his differing anatomy and his proud, thick, dripping cock, before dropping to his knees before her, hands spread on her thighs and magic alive in his sockets.

“lay back… let me take care of you. know it’s been awhile.”

She did as she was bidden, his breath hot on her skin and her cheeks flushed with arousal and self-conscious nerves, and let him press kisses to the insides of her thighs, let him rub her through her lace panties (”that’s right… let it out. i wanna hear ya, darlin’, don’t hold in anything.”), let him pull her underwear down her legs and set her legs on his shoulders.

“beautiful. just beautiful.”

The first lap of his tongue to her folds is bliss, a shock of magic and slick ectoplasm and liquid lust, and Frisk clutches her hands in the sheets she’s laying on, squeezing her legs around his head and arching her back and whimpering.

The second and third send quivers through her whole body, her breath catching in her throat and her toes curling and Sans’ rumbles of appreciation and gratification shaking through her body, and when he looked up to meet her fluttering eyes, the tip of his tongue extending between his teeth and his breath eager and heavy, he winked at her cheekily.

“knew you were sweet under all that sass…”

He clenches his hands around her thighs, licks across his teeth, and ducks back down to stroke the width of his tongue across her, spreading her for him and caressing her softly, fully, and more intimately than she ever had been before. He alternated between lapping at her, sucking tenderly at her already sensitive, engorged clit, and delving his tongue into her entrance, and gloried in every twitch, every moan, every breathless gasp his human let out.

He couldn’t keep from giving himself a few strokes, needy and driven nearly insane with desire, when she came around his tongue, his name on her lips and her gorgeous breasts heaving and her core milking at him desperately.

Her arousal and his saliva mix into a beautiful blend of luminescence, spattered over her thighs and dripping from her entrance, and when she finally stops shaking, her orgasm drawn out by the lazy thrust of his tongue in and out of her body, Sans stood, his hands drawing up the length of her legs and his gaze glutted with need.

His erect cock brushed her thigh, precum dragging along her skin and making her shiver.

“that’s a good start, beautiful… but i’ve got more for you. scoot up. let’s see how many more of those we can get out of you.”

The answer to that was seven, not including three of his own.

When she left him in bed, apparently still asleep, the next morning, making the walk of shame back to her own room, she left his ring on his bedside table, guilt and regret weighing on her but knowing, knowing she didn’t have time for this. She had to continue her investigation, and being mated to a mob boss would not just get her kicked out of the force, but would remove many of her connections from her reach.

She just couldn’t afford it. Not now, if ever.

Sans, from beneath his bony lids, watched her leave, and sat up when the door closed behind her, reaching up to rub over the back of his skull. In a rare moment, his smile was scarce, low in a frown of bitter pain and heartache. He reached out and picked up his ring, slipping it back onto his forefinger, and stroked a thumb over it pensively, the metal still warm from her skin.

The next moment, his cell phone was in hand, his fingers flying over the numbers.

He knew her reasons for leaving. He knew her reasons for resisting him at all. So if he made her job easier… surely, she would be able to stay all that much sooner.

“heya paps. yeah, i know it’s early for me. listen… i got a problem only undyne can solve. tha brides up yet? figured. put ‘er on the line.”

Chapter Text

Frisk could honestly count the times that she had had a sex dream on one hand.

It wasn’t like she didn’t dream often, or that she didn’t remember them. She was also a very sexual being, it would have been natural for her to have them fairly regularly. Instead, though, she dreamed about things like ninja alligators, or falling up through clouds made of cheeseburgers. So her having one during the first week she had been living with her boyfriend ("i ain’t your boyfriend, babydoll, i’m your soulmate.” “Yeah, yeah. Calling you my boyfriend til we’re married.”) was indeed an oddity.

It was a good one too. Sans was fucking her over the edge of the dining room table (she’d have to remember to tell him about this one, they hadn’t done that yet), their half-finished plates of greasy pizza clanking and the carpet getting more than its fair share of dirty from the insatiable skeleton monster’s repeated orgasms.

The insides of her thighs were soaked with cum, more sluicing out of her abused, sore pussy around his thick, pierced cock; his hot breath steamed over the back of her neck, his voice was gruff and deep in his ecstasy, and his hands were hard and rough on her hips, just how she liked it.

When Frisk stirred from the dream, hot and wanting and wondering if Sans would be mad at her if she woke him up for a spontaneous middle of the night boning, though, she realized that not all of her dream had been her fantastical mind.

Sans was already awake, and was jerking off next to her, breathing heavily on her neck and muttering filthy encouragements to her while he got himself off.

He looked like a guilty child that had been caught stealing cookies when she turned over to look at him, bunching the covers over his clearly erect dick and staring at her with wide sockets and contracted red pupils.

“ain’t my fault! you were… you were moanin’ my name, and fuckin’ yourself in your sleep, an’… it was so sexy, i didn’t wanna wake ya up…” he excused hurriedly, his blush glowing in the darkness, nearly as bright as his neglected cock, and Frisk, belatedly realizing that she did indeed have her hand buried down the front of her panties, pulled her fingers from between her legs, met his gaze, and licked her juices from them.

“Why don’t you fuck me instead?”

He didn’t need to be told twice, though he hesitated for a moment, almost as though making sure that he wasn’t dreaming; he pulled her into a fierce, hard, hungry kiss, thrusting his metal studded tongue past her lips and pulling her nearly see through nightgown off her before pushing himself up on his knees, making the familiar circular motion with his finger that she immediately obeyed.

She turned onto her stomach, raised herself onto her hands and knees, and spread her legs for him, her panties doing nothing to disguise her already dripping core.

He didn’t even bother to take her panties off her, merely pulling them to the side to allow himself entrance, and wasted no time with gentleness or care, thrusting himself into her to the hilt and adopting a pace so hard and rough that Frisk was thrown to her chest, her arms collapsing under his fervor.

She didn’t even think about telling him to slow down, though, as she had to occasionally, merely reveling in the mounting of the pleasure she had built in her licentious dream, and Sans, his own lust and Frisk’s panting wails of desire spurring him onward, dug his claws into her waist, slicked his tongue over his dripping fangs, and fucked his woman with wild abandon.

It didn’t matter that they had had sex before going to sleep, not to mention the three times interspersed through the day (and saying nothing of the blowjob she’d given him during lunch); it was like they were starved for each other, rutting like animals and totally wrecking their bedsheets while they did.

It was hours, several different positions, and a few angry knocks on the other side of the wall ("IT IS THREE IN THE MORNING, YOU IDJITS! KEEP IT DOWN!”) before they were satisfied, lying in the middle of the mess that they had made and pawing at each other’s tired, sweaty bodies and grinning uncontrollably through pants for air.

Sans, finally dismissing his cock despite Frisk’s complaints ("sweetheart, we both gotta work in tha mornin’. i think six rounds ‘s enough for tonight.”), pulled his lover over to lay on his bare chest, smoothing his fingers through her mussed hair and nuzzling his nasal ridge into it.

“damn, baby. talk ‘bout a wake up call. you dream ‘bout me dickin’ ya down a lot, or is it jus’ my lucky middle of tha night?”

“Shut up, I know for a fact you have wet dreams almost exclusively.”

“ya know ya like it.”

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Anonymous asked: Imagine Hufflepuff Frisk and Slytherin Sans taking advantage of Hogwarts' emptiness during spring break...

Sans is unused to the amount of freedom he suddenly finds himself in possession of. Generally, his holidays are spent in the depths of his father’s lab, forced to work on foul experiments. That spring, though, the Snowdin patriarch had gone to America for a conference, leaving Sans to his own devices, and for the first time in his education, he decided to spend his break at Hogwarts.

His decision may or may not have been influenced by the fact that Frisk was staying too.

The American sweetheart and the Slytherin prodigy had become fast friends, during her time at the castle, ignoring all who mocked them for their acquaintance and truly enjoying their camaraderie. Sans didn’t have a lot of things he could enjoy with no strings attached, with no consequences for his indulging himself, and Frisk’s friendship was one such thing.

Their friendship had started to warm into something else entirely, since Christmas. Her gift of a map of famous American restaurants, along with several brochures to cooking schools, had opened his sockets to the fact that he, truly, had never had anyone but his own brother believe in him and his dreams, and that she had never failed to be there for him. Never wavered, when his house mates had disparaged her intelligence and nationality, never cowered, not even when his he had lashed out at her that one night, after receiving a reprimanding letter from his father about his one, slightly below average grade.

She was faithful and true, and had been far better to him than any “friends” he had ever made before. He wasn’t about to lose that, after he graduated this year and finally got away from his father. He had a feeling she felt the same way, too, with the way her hand lingered, when their fingers made contact, sitting in the long grasses by the lake. When their eyes met, and the silence stretched, and they both flushed but couldn’t look away.

When she leaned against him, and he was brave enough to sling his arm around her, and neither of them pulled away.

He wanted more, to know what it felt like to have something good and lasting, more pure than anything he had had before… and he was going to get it.

Frisk was, naturally, ecstatic that he was staying, giddy and talking a mile a minute as she set up plans for their endless week of frivolity and carefree indulgence; he chuckled at her energy, how sweet and thoughtful she was, and played with her hair while she wrote out ideas on a scrap of parchment, suggesting places they could go and things they could do casually, trying not to give any special significance.

Trying not to give away his plan.

They began the next morning, walking to Hogsmeade to enjoy a simple outing, away from the old, familiar hallways and classrooms. Things went off with a bang immediately, when Sans’ troublemaking penchant reared its head while they browsed through Zonko’s joke shop; a pack of wet start fireworks, Malfoy’s hood, and a whispered ignition spell later, and the pair of them were sprinting headlong down the main street of the village, holding their sides and listening to the angry screeches of the aristrocrat (”My father will hear about this, Snowdin!”).

Frisk attempted to scold him, when they edged into Honeyduke’s for some sweets, but she was laughing too hard, and honestly loved when he pulled one over on the snooty Pureblood. He was particularly proud of himself, as he loved to hear her laugh, and hung over her shoulder, smirking impishly and pinching her cheeks and tossing candy puns at her until she stopped pretending to be angry with him.

The kiss he snuck to her cheek helped too, turning her into a flushed, inarticulate mess and allowing him to sneakily pay for their purchases while she choked hilariously on a bit of taffy.

She huffily insisted on buying them lunch at The Three Broomsticks, which he let her have with a shrug of his shoulders, but could tell that she was trying to think of how to respond to his boldness, if she should pretend that it didn’t happen or… or otherwise.

The answer came when he sat next to her in their booth instead of across from her, their legs pressing against each others’. She spent the first ten minutes blustering, turning the prettiest red he’d ever seen, then, slowly, reached her hand below the table to slide into his, a little greasy from their lunch but warm and soft and he wouldn't have cared if she was covered in mud, he never wanted her to let go.

The wind had picked up, when they had polished off their butterbeers and managed to pry themselves away from their quiet, private chatting (she had never pulled her hand from his, and he certainly wasn’t going to let hers go), and he surrendered his scarf to her with a chuckle and a smug smile (”told ya you’d need one.” “Just shut up and be a gentleman, Sans.”), before they walked, much more slowly, back up to the castle, his hand bumping against hers suggestively, hopefully.

She only hesitated a moment before sliding her fingers between his again, and it wasn’t until they were lounging in their private little corner of one of the study rooms that they let each other go, playing little games and telling each other stories and jokes from their candy wrappers until dinner.

Curfew came far too soon, and the pair lingered around the top of the Slytherin common room staircase until only moments remained until Frisk had to return to her rooms. Neither wanted to part, their hands again twined together, the new, answered feeling of blooming intimacy a drug. He wanted to kiss her, but felt it would be too soon, and started to pull back, wishing her good night with regret in his voice.

Thankfully, Frisk had found her own courage, and stopped him before he had taken a step. She rose to her tiptoes, clutched her hands in the collar of his button-up, and pressed her sweet, soft lips to his teeth, lingering for a too short moment, too short even for him to react, before she pulled away, squeaked out a goodnight, and sped off towards the kitchens.

He was walking on clouds, until the next morning, stirring his oatmeal absentmindedly and reliving the press of her lips to his mouth and waiting for her to come into the hall with her usual whirlwind of comfortable sweaters and untied tennis shoes and frumpy, adorable hair, singing to the sun and ready for their next day of fun, but when she did appear, it was with a shy, timid demeanor that he was unfamiliar with.

She had attempted to put on makeup, had combed and put up her hair, and wore a clearly borrowed, showy outfit that truly didn’t suit her, much as it showed off her features and drew his attention. He raised his bony brows, when she sidled up to the spot he had saved for them at one of the long tables, sitting next to him and smoothing her much shorter skirt down and looking at him from beneath long, darkened lashes shyly, her hand twitching towards his and her voice quiet as she asked about his night.

A few of her housemates watched her from their table, giggling joyfully and making eager hand motions (clearly the culprits behind her outfit), and though Sans was truly, fiendishly amused by her friends’ attempt to help her, he knew better than to possibly offend her by laughing. She was sensitive, despite what she claimed, and so he took her hand in his, and poured her some orange juice, and leaned over to push a kiss against her cheek.

She was lovely no matter what, though he preferred her comfortable and herself, and spent the rest of the morning that they were booby trapping classrooms with the joke items they had bought at Zonko’s the day before complimenting her, making no move to return the kiss until he knew the moment would be right.

The moment came that evening, after the tension had been building and building all day. He took her to the Astronomy tower, breaking in so he could take her to the very top, and watched a short, sweet meteor shower together in awe.

He moved behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist while they watched, laying his chin on her shoulder and snuggling against her for shared warmth. He could feel her flush against his cheekbone, and when she turned to glance at him, he turned as well, raising a hand to her cheek and pushing his bony lips to hers. He lingered, long as he desired, letting her turn in his arms, reaching up to loose her hair from its restraints.

It was twenty-two minutes after curfew when they separated enough to realize the time, but thankfully, Sans had picked up a few tricks from the Weasely twins, and got her back to her common room without Filch catching wind of them rushing through the corridors giggling like loons.

He kissed her soundly, twice more than necessary, when he left her at the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, whispered that she didn’t need to dress up for him, that he liked her how he was, and practically skipped back to his bed, incredibly pleased with himself.

The rest of the week was just as pleasant, if not somehow more so; many of their secluded corners, in the library and the study halls and under the willow next to the bank of the lake, became sanctuaries for their intimacy, kissing and touching to their hearts’ content. He discovered that she made absolutely delicious noises when he kissed her neck, rising to keening whimpers if he dared to lick there as well, and despite his intent to behave himself, sure that she was innocent to the ways of men, he couldn’t help but sneak his phalanges under her jumper to touch her bare midriff, one afternoon in a shadowy corner, her seat in his lap tempting him beyond reason.

The way she gasped, arching into his touch, and then away indecisively, cemented his guesstimate, and he would have pulled back, and assured her of his patience and the caution he meant to take with her, if she hadn’t, with a flushed, determined expression, repeated his action by pushing her hand under the hem of his sweater and tracing her fingertips over his ribs.

He wished teleportation was possible inside Hogwarts, after the noise he let out, looking up into her eyes with such burning lust and need that she whimpered in return; it was impromptu, and rushed, and nowhere near what he had wanted for their first time, but they had privacy, in the quiet, comfortable study room (no one was even in this part of the castle besides a few rats, and none of the tattling kind), they were both willing and wanting, and he promised her, as he shimmied her panties down her thighs and she kissed helplessly, rapturously, at his jaw, that this was not all that he wanted from her.

He was no cad, after an easy shag with a pretty girl. He wanted her for much, much longer, for far more than the new, physical feelings they were sharing, and was so relieved that she understood, nodding excitedly and pulling at his belt buckle and whispering how much and how long she had loved him, that she knew it was more than this.

And when they slid together, her blouse pulled up over her breasts and his hands on her thighs, back propped against the wall and her arms around his neck, it was with a mutual sigh of satisfaction and relief, their mouths meeting in heated, passionate kisses and their bodies undulating together.

Sans made sure she reached her end before he found his, caressing her body and rubbing slow circles around her clit and licking lovingly at her beaded nipples, and finished with a murmur of her name, whispered against her neck and clutching her close to him. They lay together for a long, long time, kissing each other lingeringly and laughing quietly in their lover’s embrace, and once they cleaned up, spent the rest of the day smiling giddily at each other, never more than an arm’s length from the other.

It wasn’t what he had intended, but Sans couldn’t find it in himself to complain, with Frisk curled up against him in the window seat he had made love to her in, reading a joke book together and twisting a lock of her gorgeous brown hair around one of his fingers.

There were worse ways to spend a spring break, that was for damn certain.

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Anonymous: What do you think a completely willing and consenting, older Frisk and Fell first time would be like

Sans had been planning that night for what felt like forever. She deserved the best from him, after all, and he was going to give it to her.

Frisk deserved so much, so many things in the world and the heavens and the Underground all, for what she gave to him, for the happiness she had brought to his life. For saving him, and his brother. For giving them all a chance at redemption, despite how twisted and wrong they were. Her mercy was star sent. Her love an impossible treasure.

He loved her, more than he had ever loved anything, more than his soul could contain. Some nights, as he lay awake texting her far into the morning, hugging his pillow and wishing it was her, he would cry pitifully.

Not in sadness. No, she had never brought him sadness, not after the terrifying hour where they had all thought that she had died. After she had broken the barrier, and had lain in his arms like a rag doll, limp and cold and so, so small.

No. She brought him only joy, only the most beautiful kind of ache in his bones, and in the darkness of his selfish loneliness, of his pathetic longing, he would cry, wishing he could tell her exactly how much her love meant to him but knowing he would fuck it up somehow. Knowing that his fear would freeze him up, that he would back out and make some stupid joke instead and probably hurt her with his unwillingness.

Thanking, all the stars in the sky, that she somehow knew what she meant to him without him saying it.

Frisk had always been like that, though. She’d always known what he was feeling, when he’d shout and kick things and punch walls. When he’d chain smoke his way through an entire carton of cigarettes. When he’d come home drunk, again. When he’d call her names, or make tasteless jokes, or hide in his room and curse at anyone that tried to get him to come out.

She knew his vices, his darkest places, and brought light to them all, without fail.

Sometimes, he worried that he was dragging her down. That he was the darkness that kept her from rising to where she deserved to be, among the angels that were her kin and kind.

Luckily, he had never outgrown his selfishness. Luckily, he knew she loved him just as much as he loved her, and was willing to keep her from the light that she deserved so that he could hold on to her beautiful soul, her gorgeous mind, her both blessed and cursed determination, just a little longer.

She deserved all she could ever desire, from everything and everyone, and he had done everything to make sure their first night together was perfect. They’d been dating for several months, much to the dissatisfaction of her mother (he couldn’t count how many times he had been menaced by the goat monster, threatened with dismemberment and castration and many, many other things he dared not mention), and tonight was the night they finally joined.

They’d come close several times before, most notably when Frisk had taken him to the observatory (he’d brought those blue balls on himself, should’ve known they’d be interrupted in their intimacy), but they’d always stopped, usually at his own insistence, determined to make it something special, rather than the quick, uncaring rutting he was accustomed to, before her.

He wanted her to remember their first night together with fondness, years later, when they’d fallen even more in love, when the world had turned and finally allowed them the option to be together forever… when he was allowed to marry her, see her dressed in the white gown she always looked at so fondly in the window of the dress shop and call her his, only his, for all time.

He had had everything planned. He had made reservations at her favorite restaurant. No burgers and fries for tonight, no, he was going all out. He had bought them tickets to a show. Had cleaned his room, put fresh sheets on his bed, the ones she had bought him. Had candles and flowers set out. Had even done extra reading on human reproduction, to make sure he knew what he was doing and wouldn’t hurt her.

She was a virgin, after all. He would be her first (and if he had his way, he’s be her last, too), and that came with the hefty responsibility of being supremely conscientious with her. He had sworn to himself, and her, that he would be as gentle as could be. He had even given himself a pep talk, that morning in the mirror, promising himself that he would have control.

She didn’t need the bestial side of his sexuality, not until she was comfortable with sleeping with him… if then. He liked it hard, and fast, and dirty, but with her, he didn’t know if he could be like that, ever. She was so small. So dainty and precious, like a china doll. His angel, made of glass and everything perfect and delicate in the world.

The last thing he would ever desire was to break her.

Yes, he had had it all planned. Put on his best clothes, at Papyrus’ insistence (“IT SAYS YOU MUST WEAR YOUR FINEST ATTIRE IN THE BOOK, BROTHER, AND I WILL NOT LET YOU SPOIL THIS BY SLOUCHING AROUND IN YOUR RAGS.”), showed up early at her house, was moderately nice to the old lady, even.

Had kissed his love’s hand, when she had stepped onto the porch in a perfect red dress, so beautiful and incredibly sexy he’d barely been able to keep his jaw on, and had led her to the car by the hand, unable to keep his sockets off of her.

That was when it had all began to go wrong.

He’d made sure to make it early to the restaurant to pick up his reservation, an amazing table next to the window, overlooking the sunset and the river so he could reminisce with her as the stars sparked to life; he had intended to take her out to the balcony, after dessert, to dance with her under the stars (he had been practicing, and had gotten fairly good at a simple two step), and was sure he would wow her with his efforts.

When they had arrived, though, he had been told his reservation had not just been lost, but the entire restaurant had been booked for the evening. There would not be a table available for hours, and nowhere near where he had wanted to be seated.

Frisk had laid a hand on his arm, before he could snap at the concierge, and had talked him into taking her to Grillby’s, to his unrest and humiliation. He stewed in his distemper, grumpy and cranky and looking longingly at the bottles of alcohol behind the bar as he had eaten his usual, but had consoled himself with the reminder that they would still have the play, during which he could, in the dark of their private box, get her excited and longing for their intended activities that night.

Again, though, when they had arrived at the theater, he was told that his plans were for naught; the play had been cancelled, due to an unfortunate circumstance with the cast (several members had fallen off the stage when a fixture broke in the rigging, and had needed to go to the hospital), and though they offered him a refund of his money, there would be no show that night.

Another of his intentions for nothing.

Sans had been in quite a state by then, fuming and cringing at the thought of what Frisk thought of him and his attempts to treat her like she deserved, but Frisk had known what he was feeling, and had climbed back into his brother’s car (he had a motorcycle, himself, but had deemed it unfit for a romantic evening) with a patient smile and a quelling, soothing hand on his shoulder, kissing his cheekbone and whispering that there were more ways than one to entertain themselves that evening.

“Take me home, Sans. I’m ready.”

That had made his temper vanish in an instant, a flush of surprise and excitement overtaking his cheekbones, and he had kissed her soundly, fastidiously, messily, in the front seat of the car before driving off into the night, to bring her back to his house and make her his.

And then, out on the highway, Papyrus’ car had broken down.

He had wanted to cry, at that point, uncaring of the fact that his beloved was watching. She had watched, with pitying, amused eyes, as he had shouted at the towing company through his cell phone, as he had kicked the front tire of the convertible, as he had smoked half a pack of cigarettes to try to calm himself.

He had been convinced, as he stood with his hands in his suit pockets and his head low, watching the tow truck take the car away, that he might as well just take her back to her mother at that point. That he should just give up, crawl into his bed, and try to sleep away his embarrassment.

Until she had clasped his arm, nuzzled against him, and looked up at him with her clear, lovely brown eyes.

“I thought we were going home, baby…”

He had stared at her, confused and hardly daring to hope, before sweeping her into his arms, looking into her eyes pitifully.

“you sure? after this shitstorm of a night? figured you, uh… wouldn’t wanna. figured you’d think i was a fuck up.”

She had laughed, had arched up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and had kissed his frown away good-naturedly.

“I didn’t need any of that in the first place. I just want you, not the bells and whistles.”

He didn’t need any other assurance. He only needed the love in her eyes, the softness of her touch and her grace, and had turned on his heel, with her in his arms, teleporting them both to his dark bedroom and his waiting bed.

He was anxious, as he lit the candles that he had laid around his room earlier that morning, his hands shaking like a schoolboy’s; thankfully, Frisk seemed just as nervous, pulling tracklessly at the hem of her skirt, clearly unsure of what to do.

Once done, he had tossed his lighter onto his bedside table, pulled her gently to the edge of the bed, and had kissed her softly, slowly, easing her into the contact of their bodies and the touch of his hands as he slid the zipper on her back down, her dress pooling at her feet and her skin bared to his greedy gaze.

She was shy, when he pulled back to look at her, standing in her heels and her stockings and her panties (she had forgone a bra, that night, and he could hardly keep himself from drooling), but he had soothed her worries with whispers of his love and her beauty, laying her on the bed so he could disrobe himself.

She was not surprised by his anatomy, familiar with him and his differences from her by that point, but flushed nevertheless when he unzipped his pants, her eyes widening as they fell on his erection. She had seen it before, had felt him through his pants and had, on the best lunch break he’d ever had, sucked him off once, but this was different, and they both knew it, both of their breaths short and quick and excited.

He could see her squirming, on the bed, her thighs rubbing together and her teeth digging into her bottom lip and her hands tracing over her bare skin, and he felt a surge of pride, keenly aware that it was him that had put her in that state. That he was the one that had aroused and excited her, and the moment he had kicked his way out of his pants, stumbling slightly in his distraction, he had mounted the bed to crawl to her side, reaching out to touch her at last.

She was so soft, so smooth and fleshy and perfect, though she made a dismissive noise when he spoke aloud his wonder; he made no move to pull her stockings or her heels off, when he moved between her legs, only discarding her flatteringly wet panties so he could, with his gaze locked with hers, throw her legs over his shoulders and trace his summoned tongue along the seam of her thighs.

He stroked his cock as he drove her to madness and orgasm, readying himself for what he already knew was the only female he would ever see like this again, his soul beating frantically against his rib cage in reckless abandon and plaintive love, and when she cried out her bliss to the flickering ceiling, grasping at his shoulder blades and clenching her legs around his neck, he rose to kiss her, to position himself between her trembling thighs and to press in, his careful preparation giving him the wetness he needed for his insertion (he was not a small monster, gifted with significant girth, and didn’t want her to feel any pain from that).

He had never seen her so beautiful as when she was arching against him as he made their bodies one, and buried his face in her long, slender neck as he hilted in her, her tightness and heat taking his breath away. She clutched at his back, her fingernails scraping at his ribs and his spine, as he began to move in her, so careful, so slow, just as he had promised himself.

But she didn’t want that, and made it clear to him the moment he kissed up her neck to attempt to delve his tongue past her lips again; she locked gazes with him, her gorgeous eyes glazed but determined, and curled her legs around his pelvis, tightening her grip to force his next thrust into her roughly.

“Sans… Sans, I appreciate your care… but I need more. Fuck me,” she muttered longingly around the whimper she let out in response to his hard thrust, clutching at his shoulders and pushing sticky, pale pink kisses to his cervical vertebrae and jaw and gritted teeth, and Sans, already at the brink of his control from that awful evening and his short temper and her willing, clutching body, her whines of pleasure and the glow of her soul, gave in almost immediately, lowering himself to his forearms, forcing his tongue into her mouth, and bucking into her with the frenetic, pent up need he had been holding onto for years.

And oh, the music she made for him as he rutted into her like a fucking animal, the way her nails dug into his bones and how she threw her head back, her hair spread over the pillow like a waterfall. Her body fit to his so perfectly, so damn perfectly… he lost himself in her, as his headboard slammed against the wall and his hands made indents around her wrists and his tongue wended its way up her throat.

As he thrust himself into her as deep as he could go, and as he felt her soul beat against his, through her heaving chest.

He lost himself, something he had promised himself that he wouldn’t do because he had terrible control when he did that, and before he knew it he was blowing his load only five minutes in and he was so disappointed and worried that she had wanted more and he felt like absolute shit, he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her as he knelt between her legs and cursed at his dissipating cock and the oozing, hot as hell crimson magic that leaked from her perfect body.

He dared to meet her gaze, after a long moment of feeling like the biggest fuck up in existence, and was astounded to see her holding her arms out to him, smiling like the angel she was and welcoming him to lay with her in the afterglow of what he had thought was terrible but was, because of him, somehow, the best night of her life.

“Because it was with you, bonehead. Because it was with you.”

And, he supposed as he pulled the blankets over her naked body and cradled her under one arm (padded with her pillow) and stared at the ceiling with a dopey grin, that was something he could definitely live with.

Plus, there was always the morning and round two. He couldn’t wait to see what her tits looked like bouncing in the sunlight.

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Anonymous asked: I would love to see Frisk x Bara Sans- (I always imagine Frisk to be really shy and kinda turned on whenever she's with Sans because she gets turned on with size differences.)

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Anonymous asked: Underfell: Frisk fell around 17-19 and can be a total seductress and a blushing, stuttering mess a few minutes later. Sans thinks its adorable.

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Anonymous asked: After reading your mobfell ask, I had a horrible idea. Sans captures Frisk to interrogate/kill her for what she knows. He pulls out her soul, and only then realizes that she's his soulmate. Instead of torturing her, he uses his magic on her, teasing her and not allowing her to cum. Then, when she's on the brink, he shoves his gun between her legs and tells her to ride it. She resists, but eventually obeys and cums. But Sans isn't done yet. He still has questions, and Frisk isn't going anywhere.

The hit man pulled his gun from between the panting, trembling human’s legs, sending a smirk her way before turning the barrel of his firearm under the light. It was dripping with her juices, with the lust he had bred in her, and without hesitation, he raised the muzzle to his mouth, extending a lithe, glowing red tongue to lick a stripe along the gathered wetness.

He rumbled in pleasure at the taste of her, his sockets shuttering, before slurping his tongue back into his mouth and pushing the gun against hers.

His grin was as wicked and dangerous as he, glinting with voracious hunger and unspoken malices.

“clean up your mess. i ain’t your maid,” he grunted, pushing the gun’s tip harder against her lips, and through her tears of pleasure and her mussed hair, unkempt from where he had grabbed it, Frisk glared up at him before obeying, parting her lips to accept the barrel into her mouth.

It tasted of metal, and blood, and her, and she had a feeling that a lot of things that came to this monster did, slipping her tongue around the metallic thickness and doing as she had been bidden.

His promise of more, and the lust in his glowing sockets, told her she’d be finding out before the end of the night. He had claimed her, he had muttered in her ear as he’d tied her arms behind her back and forced the chain of a pretty necklace over her head. She was his, to do with what he willed, and she better get used to the idea.

So much for getting some investigating done…

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Anonymous asked: #nodalliance Sans and Frisk having angry sex. If that's even possible for the two lovebirds lol

It started off as a simple argument. They didn’t happen often, as the pair were almost sickeningly sweet together; they had a method of compromise that led to any disagreements being settled before they blew up.

That night, though, they were both annoyed at outside influences, Sans at the school board and Frisk at the efforts of several backwards politicians, and a discussion over who was going to do the dishes got out of hand.

Accusations started getting thrown. A scrub brush ended up on the floor. Voices got louder and louder, and eventually, the arguing ended when a glass was knocked to the ground and shattered.

They stood looking at each other over the broken glass, panting and glaring.

“…are you as turned on as i am?”

“Yeah.”

“you wanna…?”

“Yeah.”

Sans lifts her against the counter with her legs over his arms and her pants pooled on the floor at his feet, her hands grasping the cabinets and her head thrown back. It’s hard, and fast, and rough, neither of them speaking beyond grunts and cries of pleasure; they scratched and bit and pulled at each other, panting for breath as they rode each other to their ends.

Frisk then shoves Sans against the wall and drops to her knees, re-arousing him with lingering licks and grasping hands and scrapes of her teeth.

They tired and exhausted their tempers after three rounds, and sheepishly apologized while they redressed and cleaned up the kitchen.

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Anonymous asked: Can we get some details on the 8 and a half minutes from the restaurant ask? You know for research purposes. XD

A lot can happen in eight and a half minutes. People get killed in less. They could have fought for most of it… they could have made out and got handsy over (maybe even under) their clothes. Sans could have continued teasing Frisk until she straddled him and stole his breath the way he loved to do to her. They could have even ignored each other, playing with their phones and pretending to be alone.

But what really happens is Sans looks down at Frisk, her hand curled in his tie and her breath panting over his face, and grins, snapping his fingers at the door to lock it.

“well alright then.”

She’s up and in his arms the next moment, his hands working at her top and her lips sealed to his mouth, and she’s clawing at his tie, though she’s well aware they don’t have the time (or patience) to spare for undressing. This isn’t their first time together, most of their joinings much like this, in fact (he’d fucked her in the back of his car and in a public bathroom, for the stars’ sakes), so they both knew how to arrange themselves, once Sans has gotten in his lecherous grope at her chest.

Frisk bends over the edge of the table, shoving her pants down to her ankles and gripping the edge, and Sans releases himself from his suit pants, pulls her panties to the side, and slides into her with a satisfied groan.

It’s fast, and rough, and everything they both needed at the moment; the mobster’s thrusts move the table a few inches across the room, jangling glasses and silverware, and Frisk’s grip pulls the tablecloth across the surface and down to drape across the floor between her spread legs.

They are both hushed, as they could be easily overheard, Sans grunting animalistically with each motion of his hips, muffled by his forcefully shut jaw, and Frisk biting down on a fabric napkin to quiet her orgasm, when it rushes through her.

Sans finishes in record time, his cum dripping down his human’s thighs to stain the mussed tablecloth and the wooden floor, and his smugness at the sight of her filled with him nearly earns him a slap across the face.

“what? i can’t be proud of my work?”

They clean up as quickly as they can (Sans is practiced in fast, efficient cleanups, a fact that neither of them brings up), trashing the tablecloth and moving the table back, and have a quiet, breathless twenty seconds of staring at each other across the table, the swelling magnitude of their more and more frequent interludes sitting barefaced between them.

“It still means nothing.”

“sure it doesn’t, doll. sure it doesn’t.”

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Anonymous asked: In the au where Dalliance doesn't happen, do Sans and Frisk try out all those positions mentioned in Dearly Beloved during their time at the cabin? Or does Sans save the one that Frisk really wanted to try for a special night? And per request, could we possibly see that scene written? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

The lovers descended into slumber, after their first joining, bare and sweat covered and absorbed in each other and their love, sleeping away the early evening until the need for each other grew again, waking them from their sleep to renew loving caresses.

They kissed softly, fingers and legs tangled together and voices quiet as they talked and laughed and flirted with the temptation of another round. Frisk was too shy to ask, too new to the power of seduction she felt rushing in her blood, but Sans knew what she desired, could feel her want in her breath on his tongue and her light strokes along his ribs.

He trailed his hand along her thigh, dragging it up to prop on his pelvis, his awakened desire pressing against her magic and arousal soaked core.

“tell me what you want, babe. tell me what you want from me,” he breathed against her lips, bucking against her and caressing her breast, chuckling when she arched into him and moaned breathlessly, and though she struggled with her nerves (and his distracting touch), she managed to whisper her desire against the side of his skull, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance as she did.

“I… I want you… please…” she cried out softly, grinding down against him, and though he could tease more, he took pity on her state (he wasn’t much better himself, hungry for her body against his once more) and rose to his knees over her, patting her hip gently and smirking down at her.

“then you’ll get me. let’s try something else though, hmm? somethin’ i remember you saying you wanted,” he murmured, stroking his hand along his erection, and then narrowed his sockets, snapping the fingers on his free hand.

“on your knees.”

Frisk shivered, the hard heat in his tone shaking her straight to her core, before she obeyed, turning onto her stomach and raising herself to her hands and knees, conscious of her bare ass in the air and face a bright red… but so aroused and intrigued that she paid no mind to her nerves.

Sans spent a moment rearranging her position, spreading his love’s legs, scooting a pillow closer to her, for her to rest her head and chest on, and directing her in arching her back more, before rubbing the thickness of his cock against her, dragging through her dripping desire and pulling a whimper from Frisk.

“i know you said you wanted it rough, babe, but you’re not ready for that yet. when you are, you’ll get it, believe me… but for now, let’s just take it slow, yeah?” he crooned, squeezing one hip and thrusting shallowly against her entrance, before he pressed into her, spreading her wide, slowly and patiently, relishing every twitch and moan the girl beneath him released as he buried himself within her.

The evidence of their former lovemaking lingered, squeezing around Sans’ thickness and dripping down the insides of Frisk’s thighs as he settled his pelvis against her backside, and both groaned at the feeling, Frisk’s eyes shuttered and fluttering and Sans’ grin crooked, satisfaction and pride in its tilt.

He said nothing, though, pausing in his insertion to let her get used to him again (”you’re doin’ great, frisk… so fuckin’ great. you feel so good… does it hurt? anything uncomfortable?”), before he started to move, keeping his thrusts shallow and even while below him, Frisk keened and shuddered and arched into him, helpless to the feeling of her lover’s body joined with hers in love and passion.

They moved together in unison, Frisk’s unpracticed undulations evened out by Sans’ guiding hand, and it wasn’t long before he decided she was ready for more, his grip on her waist hardening and his voice deepening.

“alright, babe. i’m goin’ harder, and i’m gonna try you out with a little power play, kay? you ready?” he probed, smoothing his thumbs over the swell of her ass, and she nodded without hesitation, wriggling her hips and whimpering in excitement.

He grinned, her unspoken desire plain, before he leaned over her, placed one hand lightly on the back of her neck, and pulled her back into him with both fervor and firm, possessive ardor.

“i know how much you’ve wanted this, frisk… i know how much you’ve wanted me to take control. to wreck you how you’ve always dreamed… and now you’re gonna take it, because i’ve been dreamin’ of it too.”

She shuddered at his words, gasping and breathless and tingling with desire, and attempted to reply, but Sans tightened his hand on her neck, his grin sharpening.

“i didn’t say you could speak. all i wanna hear are your sweet little moans, and the sound of my cum squeezin’ out of your tight little pussy, understand?”

Frisk whimpered, nodding and clawing at the pillow she lay on and choking on the heat that surged in her veins, and Sans barely held back a groan of his own, forcefully keeping his surging lust in check so he could control his movements. She was still too new to this, he couldn’t afford to lose his grip and possibly hurt her.

And so he did, thrusting into her with hard, deep, but carefully held in check passion, and filled the cabin with the sounds of their joining, the wet motion of bone against soaked flesh, the creak of the bedsprings, the lustful panting and exhalations of lovers in union.

It wasn’t long until Frisk, at Sans’ direction, descended into mindless pleasure, her own fingers circling her clit and sending her into orgasm, and Sans himself didn’t last much longer, abandoning most of his dominance to hunch over her back and press kisses to her arched spine and fill her again with his magic, sweat and cum spattering the insides of Frisk’s thighs in their mutual finishing.

Neither could resist collapsing where they were, after their bodies seperated, Frisk’s shaking legs falling under her and Sans’ tipping him over next to her, and they panted together in a pile of tangled limbs and exchanged, hot kisses and soft compliments (”did you enjoy that? yeah? heh, of course i did, babe, you’re hot as hell.”), reclining in the aftermath of their lovemaking and staring into each other and knowing, in each their own way, that this was only the beginning of a long week of discovery and passion.

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Frisk had always known she was different, in more ways than just her capability to make friends with monsters. Her peers let her know that too, mocking her body and her looks and her hair and anything that they could find to belittle. It affected her little, as she was preoccupied with matters far greater than they could comprehend… but as the years went on, she started to feel the weight of their words. She started to look in the mirror and agree with them.

Fat. Ugly. Weird. That was what she was, all she could see, and nothing she did, no new hairstyle or fresh change of clothes or makeup would change that.

She began to struggle, in her day to day. She grew her hair long, to hide behind it. She wore baggy clothes, to hide her body and her shame. Her newly regained speech failed her, plunging her into silence. Her family and friends began to truly worry, when she would no longer go outside, refusing company and falling into herself.

None one knew how to help her, no one understood… except for Sans the skeleton.

He more than understood not feeling good enough. He more than understood being down on yourself. And the last thing he wanted was for Frisk, the mate of his soul, to be left in a state like that.

He started slow, with his hand twined with hers as they sat and talked quietly over their lunches. A gentle brush of his fingers along her hairline, moving her bangs out of her face so he could look into her eyes. A kiss, soft and sweet and sincere, when the time was right and the moon was full, though she blushed and spluttered and did not understand why or how.

She accepted him, though she protested the fairness of what he was getting in exchange for what he gave. He only laughed softly, and kissed her breathless, nullifying her protests with actions both persistent and frank. He told her of her beauty, no matter how she denied. He professed his attraction, despite the depths of her concerns and doubts.

And when he took her to bed, slowly but firmly helping her out of her clothes and pressing her body to his, he surprised her by leaving for a moment, and even further surprised her when he brought back a mirror.

He made love to her in front of that mirror, asking her to watch herself as their bodies moved together. To see, at last, what he saw when he looked at her. How gorgeous she was, as he pushed her hair from her lovely face, how her lips parted and her neck stretched in her pleasure. So sexy and desirable, as the body she hid away twisted and strained and joined with his, his hands worshiping her breasts and the narrows of her waist and the fullness of her hips.

She was beautiful, in every way, a goddess in his eyes, and as her monster lover pushed her into orgasm, as he stoked the body she had long been so ashamed of into a work of pleasurable art, she looked on herself in the mirror, a siren in the reverent, bony hands of a male incredibly in love, and found herself, at long last, to be enough.

She didn’t know if she would ever agree with him. She knew she would look in her mirror the next day and think the same things she always had. But as Sans muttered his love and desire and his devotion against her flesh, as he met her soul with his and moaned, again, how beautiful she was, she felt like maybe she could believe in what he saw, just the tiniest bit.

She let him slide the buttercup decorated hairclip into her hair the next morning, sweeping her bangs out of her face for the first time in years, and met her reflection with a strange confidence in her soul, with his hands on her waist and his bony lips on her throat. Maybe his attempt at getting her to change her perspective had worked, more than she thought. Maybe she had seen just a little of what he did…

Just maybe.

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Anonymous asked: Reapertale: When they reunite for the cold months, Sans kisses her and then leads Frisk to the bedroom in order to welcome her back.

The Underworld had missed its queen nearly as much as its master had, and the flowers she had planted last winter bloomed as Sans led her, hand on the small of her back, to the doors of the dark castle, black roses and bone white lilies springing forth from the cold ground.

They did not linger long, in public eye, retreating to their shared chambers to reacquaint themselves with each other; Sans is usually very particular about the execution of his duty, as Death, but he leaves his reaping to his brother while he loves his returned bride, glorying in her warmth and softness and the sound of her passionate cries.

It is three days before they finally part, before they leave their bed to see to their individual activities, but the God of Death has never looked happier as he takes up his scythe, has never been more benevolent or forgiving than when the scent of his angel of Mercy still lingers on him.

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Anonymous asked: I need mob G hatesex!

Frisk curled her fist into G’s tie tighter, yanking it back and into the divots of his cervical vertebrae. He choked on a breath, struggling to grasp at the material and her wrist at the same time; his chair slid against the floor, scraping over the cracks in the hardwood of his office floor.

Her teeth were bared in a fierce snarl of exultant victory, sure she had finally gotten him, sure that she had finally bested her worst enemy, that smirky bastard that always mocked her and humiliated her and threatened her… she was prepared to accept the punishment she would receive for killing a don.

As long as she never had to see him grin at her around his damn cigar again. 

She felt his struggles start to cease, as she pulled her improvised garrote tighter around his throat, his fingers scrabbling against her skin and his neck slowing, and almost smiled, almost laughed… before he stood completely, grabbed both of her arms, and flipped her over his shoulder onto the top of his desk, his tumbler of scotch spilling to the floor along with his cup of pens and various documents.

The breath was shocked from her body, hands loosening around his tie, and he punched her across the face for good measure, sending stars wheeling across her sight while he gasped for lost composure, glaring and wheezing. G recovered before she did, rounding the desk to stand at her feet, and backhanded her again, snarling in his rage.

“fuckin’ bitch. you always pull this bullshit. why don’t i just do you a favor and end you already?” he growled, jerking a handgun from the back of his slacks, and leaned over her to press it to her temple, sweat and anger dripping from his clenched jaw.

Frisk stared up at him challengingly, rolling her bruising jaw, and spat blood into his face, sneering.

“You tell me, asshole.”

He gritted his teeth, wiping her spittle onto the shoulder of his suit, before clenching his free hand into the collar of her button up, ripping down and to the side to bare her breasts, a string of long, white scars spread across her chest and throat, and a hidden side arm. He drew the gun and tossed it into the corner, along with his own, before grasping, one handed, at her belt, unthreading it as he bent to press his bony lips against hers, hard and angry.

She curled her fingers into his shirt, pulling and tearing at the material, and kissed him back, biting his golden, undulating tongue viciously when he tried to thrust it down her throat to choke her.

G made short work of her pants, leaving them and her panties hanging from one ankle, before freeing his cock from his pants and thrusting into her with no warning, no preparation, and excessive roughness, threading one hand into her hair to tug at it and the other settling on her hip to lift her into him, fucking her as hard and as painfully as he could.

Frisk snarled at him in return, bucking up into him and scraping her nails over any exposed bone she could reach.

“whore,” he sneered at her as he ravaged her body, digging his fingers into her flesh to leave his mark, and she laughed harshly beneath him, leaning up to bite into his exposed clavicle ferally.

“Pig,” she growled in return, and he smirked, bending to bite her neck in return.

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Anonymous  asked: Oh my gosh, could there BE a worse hell for poor Underfell Sans than trying to protect Frisk during his heat? The poor guy would just try so hard to keep her hidden from other monsters while trying to keep himself off her. He just can't catch a break!

Each day, the need grows more.

His hand is no longer enough by the fourth day. He can smell her through the walls the fifth, and shreds the bed sheets in frustration. He gets some relief from jerking off into a pair of her panties that he finds, but he knows that, on the seventh day, if he doesn’t get her out of the house, he’s going to end up having her. But the streets are full of hunting male monsters, as hungry and horny as he is, so he knows he can’t take her outside.

He ends up having Frisk handcuff him to their bed, though he nearly, lost to instinct, tackles her onto the mattress when he smells that she is at the height of her own human reproduction cycle, and spends the next three days humping the bed and clawing at the headboard.

The eleventh day, he snaps the handcuffs, no longer capable of rational thought, and goes hunting for his woman. He finds her in the kitchen, and backs her into a corner. She had offered to help him, a week and a half ago. He had said no then. He didn’t remember why now, and growled at her, his mate, his submissive, to allow him to have her.

His hand lowered to her abdomen, pressing in and rubbing with clawed, soft movements. He begged her to let him fill her with life magic… To let him impregnate her, like he had dreamed of forever, all his life.

She doesn’t hesitate. She lowers her hand to the front of his ragged, cum stained shorts, and squeezes.

The next 48 hours are some of the longest, but most pleasurable, of her life. He has her everywhere, in every way that he can, rutting into her body and filling her to just about bursting with magic. He is not gentle, pent up and swept away in the call of his soul, the raging need to breed his mate, and by the end, when they lay together in the mess they made, it was with satisfaction, her swollen abdomen, glowing with the sheer amount of magical cum in her, a point of pride for the soon to be parents.

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Anonymous asked: One of Frisk's best seduction tatics is to wear Sans' jacket with only her underwear on...or nothing

“…stars fuckin’ save me.”

It wasn’t the first time Frisk had done this. Of course, usually he found her curled up in his jacket on their bed, otherwise naked and beckoning him with one of her sinfully long legs… today must be a special occasion.

It was a little odd that he’d found her in the laundry room like this, but he attributed it to the fact that it was laundry day, and he’d sacrificed his couture (heh) to the washing machine earlier that day for a much needed soak.

Ketchup stains were murder.

She must have found it when switching out the loads, and gotten the clever idea to seduce him while she was at it. Not that he minded… he just hadn’t been anticipating popping a hard on next to the ironing board that day.

But stars, what a sight she was.

The faded shade of blue his jacket retained looked simply radiant against her skin, stretched across her breasts and just barely covering them… she had found her fishnet stockings, and had even put on the garter belt that went with them, for his viewing pleasure.

The pièce de résistance, though, the crowning jewel of her ensemble, were those little red panties with the cute pink bow on the front. They drove him absolutely fucking wild, and it was with this in mind that he dropped the armful of socks he was holding, crossed the wash room, and pushed himself to her front, arching to steal her lips and sliding his hands under the hem of his jacket to stroke the bare flesh of her back, the washing machine rumbling against her back soothingly.

He twined his tongue with hers, swallowing every tiny moan and whimper she let out as his hands explored her body, cupping her breasts and tracing her thighs and worshiping her beautiful, perfect ass. He lifted her onto the washing machine once touch was no longer enough, dragging her panties off with regret and licking his lover to riotous, explosive orgasm…

And bent her over the shaking machine to slide himself into her still clenching core, bestial in his lust and rocking the washer against the wall with his fervent thrusts. He bit at her earlobe as he rutted against her, muttering his love and adoration for her in low, guttural moans, and got his jacket filthy all over again when he pulled out and spilled his magic over her back, needing, needing, to see himself on her sweat dappled skin.

Ah well. They could just wash it again… they had a few things to do in the shower together anyway.

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anonymous asked: A scenario: Sans standing and holding Frisk up against the wall with her legs over his shoulders as he eats her out

For the first time Frisk could remember, Sans had nothing to say, noticeably silent and content to be so. On any normal occasion, he was always flapping his jaw, jokes or banter or the latest gossip heavy on his tongue. She’d never minded, of course… she had the slightest of attractions to the tone of his voice. It was wonderfully deep and resonant, rumbling through his whole body and easily discernable in a crowd. She often fell asleep to its dulcet tones, curled against his side while he read over his next day’s lecture.

She was especially weak to dirty talk from him, filthy nuance and insidious temptation on dark, flirtatious whispers. Nothing got her hotter than something as simple as him muttering his desires in her ear and placing a light, meaningful hand on her thigh.

She truly had no mind to spare to his out of character silence, however, given her skeleton lover’s current occupation. He had better uses for his mouth, at the moment… namely slipping his sinuous, incredibly long tongue in and out of her clenching core.

She wriggled in his grasp, back stretched against the wall he had propped her against when he had swept her into his arms with seductive intent in his sockets and murmurs of love on his bony lips. Her hands clawed at his shoulders, the bunched material of his button up shirt and the dome of his skull, and sounds of rapture and delight spilling from her lips without quarter.

Thrown over his shoulders, her legs quivered and flexed without notice, toes curling and arching, and as the slick, twisting prominence of the monster’s tongue curled within her to stroke her just right, one of her hands jumped to her parted lips, her eyes closing and her head dropping back as she wailed in absolute ecstasy.

Sans’ grin against her arousal soaked flesh was insatiable, his hands gripping her upper thighs tightening and his sockets glinting with mischief and delight, but he held his silence in favor of slipping his tongue from within her to flick against her clit, savoring the sound of her pleasure and the way she tasted and the glorious feeling of knowing it was him that made her feel this way.

Stars, the sound of her when she came… she was sexy all the time, especially when she laughed, but when she orgasmed for him…

There wasn’t a more perfect, beautiful sound in the entire multiverse.

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Whoo doggy. Ok you know I gotta ask. How does the scene play out the first time Frisk gets off from frottage with Sans?

It had started off as harmless flirting, the kind she got away with on a regular basis. A wink accompanying a suggestive comment, a stray touch of her hand…  a kiss to his jawbone, her breath whispering over his cervical vertebrae.

Okay, so maybe not completely harmless.

Nevertheless, it was nothing more than regular for her and him, the way she pressed herself against his side, their fingers laced and his arm pressed between her breasts. The way the train rumbled underneath and around them, only pushing her closer to him.

He’d made no comment on her attentiveness beyond turning to press a kiss to her lips, joking and chatting with her as usual, but the moment he led her into the living room of his home, her eyes on the kitchen and her school bag abandoned on the floor beside the door, he had her crushed to the front of his body, his sockets crazed and libidinous.

His bony lips find her throat, tongue laving her flesh and hands clutching her waist.

“you drive me fuckin’ wild, frisk… stars, you know just what buttons to push, don’t you?”

He seats himself on the couch and pulls Frisk into his lap with the intent and hunger of a monster starved, pulling her into a kiss both ravaging and consuming; as he twisted his tongue with hers, magic and his lust sparking through her awareness, he rolled his hips against her, the hand not tangled in her hair clutching at her waist.

She gasped into his mouth when she felt something that certainly wasn’t bone twitch between her thighs, hard and hot and sliding against her barely covered folds, beneath her crumpled skirt; they’d never done this before, gone beyond brief touches, the teasing temptation of the desire running hot between them… he’d only just touched her breasts the previous week, palming their weight as they had kissed, quiet and passionate, during his lunch break.

She had wondered, of course, if he had a cock. It had seemed a silly wonderment (he’s a skeleton, Frisk, why would he), but he certainly had a tongue… and she’d just been too shy to ask him about it. The question was definitely given answer now, as the almost intimidating girth of him twitched against her again, the rhythmless buck of his pelvis grinding him deeper into her folds until she saw stars, until the grain of his jeans and the fervency of his motion rubbed against her clit and tore a cry of rapture from her lips that sent Sans reeling.

His skull drew back, his sockets wide and his breath catching in his chest at the sound of her; his smile grew ravenously, his hips making the same motion again to rip that glorious sound from her once more, and he was rewarded with a keening whine of helpless ardor, her fingers digging into his t-shirt, clutching at his ribs.

Her entrance clenched in unbridled lust, and he gasped at the sensation, grasping at her hips to push her down against him, to press her into his rutting endeavors to pleasure them both; it was an emulation of their true desire, a mere facsimile of the dance they wished to indulge in, but it served them well, his name on her parted lips and hers on his.

Sweat streaked their faces and necks, the smell of sex and magic filled the air the curtained window behind the sofa fogged with their passionate exhalations… the couch creaked in their exertion, their heads filled with naught but each other, and the exquisite pleasure of finding their ends as one.

Sans, to his humiliation, came first, far too starved for her to last even under the bare pressure of her heat against his clothed erection; the lights in his sockets rolled back, the tip of his tongue hanging over his teeth as he jolted and twitched and groaned in his release, but the moment he recovered, he rolled her under him, still panting for breath, and thrust his hand between their bodies to rub against her folds, searching the wetted material for her swollen clit.

He stroked her to wailing, boneless completion, wishing so badly to feel that wetness around his still hard cock… but pulled back, her feet in his lap, once she had come down from her high, and rubbed the soles of her feet soothingly, smiling down at her blissed out expression crookedly.

“hot damn.”

It was all he could say, and fit the feeling of united completion perfectly.

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Anonymous asked: More biker!G/Frisk please.

It was a quiet evening, hardly disparate from any other. The sun set as it always did, families laughed about their dinner tables, and bars opened for the night, calling to those in need of comfort and companionship alike.

The man storming up a set of apartment steps paid no mind to the fair eve, however, a set of keys jingling in his hand and his expression set in vindicated fury. He mounted the stairs’ landing in a wide, ungainly leap, awkward in his emotional distraction, before stalking to the first door on the right, the brass number 17 shining in the waning light.

He only fumbled with the keys for a moment, clearly familiar with the placement of the one he needed on the fob, before shoving it into the knob and bursting through the door, squinting to adjust his eyes to the darkened interior and diatribe already prepared for what he was sure awaited him within.

The last thing he expected to see was his recently ex-girlfriend completely naked, undulating in the lap of a smoking, nearly as naked skeleton, a movie paused in the background and a box of pizza hanging half open on the coffee table.

“Frisk, we need to t- what the hell!?” he shouted, eyes wide and trying to understand the scene before him, while Frisk, face coloring in surprise and shock, scrambled off of the monster she had been riding unabashedly, grabbing up a nearby pillow to hold over her breasts.

“Homygod!”

The skeleton monster was less surprised, though he had certainly jumped at the loud intrusion that had removed him from enjoying what was proving to be a very good evening indeed, and sent a bland, annoyed look over his shoulder towards where the man stood in the doorway, scowling and pulling his cigarette from between his teeth, tapping the ash from the end.

G reached for the blanket they had been cuddled under only minutes before, throwing it over Frisk’s body as she tried to hide behind the small throw pillow. He was much more slow to redo his pants, slipping his cigarette back between his teeth and standing before doing so.

“Mind closin’ the door, pal? Little drafty outside, and the lady’s in no state to handle the cold,” he commented languidly, zipping the quickly fading golden magic of his cock back up and exhaling a billowing cloud of smoke (and flicking two fingers at the front door when the boy only continued to stare, slamming it with a gentle burst of magic), and Frisk, clinging to the blanket that had been thrown over her like a life raft, glared across the back of the couch she had just vacated at the still floundering man, anger and pent-up fury snapping in her fierce gaze.

“Kevin, what the fuck are you doing here? Why do you have another key, I took yours when I booted you out, remember?” she shouted, and the man, still staring open-mouthed at the skeleton monster as he buckled his belt and took another deep drag of his cigarette, shook his head and looked back to the woman curled in the corner of her beat-up loveseat, popping his mouth closed and assuming the most accusing expression he could manage, in the wake of his deflated gusto.

“You wouldn’t take my calls, what else was I supposed to do? We have a lot to talk about, you paying me back for my car to start with, quickly followed by a conversation about the corpse you’re fucking!” he yelled back, gesturing wildly with both hands, and G, pulling his cigarette from between his teeth, shot a cool, narrow look over at “Kevin”, giving him a slow, unimpressed up and down and setting the heel of his hand on a still exposed hip bone.

“Breaking and entering’s a crime, bub. So’s the haircut, but I think you’re in enough trouble already. So watch the names you’re throwing around, hmm?” he murmured warningly, flicking ash into a nearby ceramic tray, and Frisk, flushed bright red and awash with her fury, stood completely to gape at the man, at his sheer gall.

“Pay you back? Pay you back? Okay, sure! I’ll pay you for your precious car, and you can pay me back for everything I bought for you! All your games, the tv, the thousands I lent you for whatever the hell stupid shit you were getting that day, and… huh… the fucking car!” she listed sarcastically, baring her teeth and clutching the blanket around her body, and Kevin, gulping and paling, blustered for a moment before brightening and pointing accusingly at G, looking victorious.

“Well. Well. What about this thing then? You really replacing me after a week? Bed’s not even cold yet and you’re screwing everything that looks your way, even monsters? What a fucking wh-” he started to comment, expression rife with his diatribe, but before he could utter the slur that hung on his lips, his mouth was forcefully shut for him, golden magic shimmering in the air around his head.

G stood tall in his position, one hand raised, phalanges clawed and tight and crackling with magic, and sockets ablaze with obvious lividity. He bore a sneer of malice, hard and unforgiving, and where Kevin stood, he quailed, his knees shaking.

“I don’t think so.”

He sent a glance to Frisk, sending her a wink and sliding his cigarette back into his mouth.

“Sweetheart, much as I’d love to watch you destroy this needledick, it’d be my pleasure to handle it for you,” he purred, shooing her back to her seat, then turned his baleful sockets back to the man in the entryway of the apartment, his boots thumping against the worn carpet as he strode, slow and menacing, around the edge of the couch towards him.

“Now you. You don’t get a say in who she brings home, not after what you did. She kicked you to the curb, man. She’s made it more than obvious. And the fact that I’m a monster should only scare you, friend. I could tear your jaw off, right now, on a whim. I could turn you inside out with a snap of my fingers. I could rip out your guts and make you dance like a puppet,” he threatened, flexing his fingers and tightening the magic around the man’s head in emphasis; Kevin whimpered at the pressure and the monster’s approach both, his eyes filling with tears when he stopped three feet from him, leaning over him and meeting his gaze with a cruel smile.

“I could visit you with your worst nightmares and not bat an eye. Don’t have any, see?” he joked baldly, raising a finger and tapping his empty, scarred socket, then stood back to his full height, but not before blowing a stream of smoke straight into the trapped man’s face.

“So yeah, she’s moving on. She’s over you and the way you’ve treated her, and if I have anything to say about it, she won’t think about you for a second for the rest of her life. So why don’t you walk your happy ass out that door, leave your key, and never darken her doorstep again?” he suggested, then dropped all pretense of a smile, his magic cranking up a notch and draping the entire room in blackness.

Odd shadows danced in the man’s periphery, distorted laughter and skeletal dragon creatures wending through the roiling darkness, and in the center of it all stood the devil himself, merciless and bent on justified vengeance. He curled a hand into the collar of Kevin’s shirt, dragging him forward and off the ground an inch.

“Because if I ever hear that you’ve bothered her again, you won’t get another chance. I’ll make sure you’re never seen again. We clear?” he prompted, devoid of even the remotest sign of doubt and releasing his hold on the man’s mouth so he could speak, and Kevin, pants darkening with urine, looked into the monster’s empty sockets and nodded several times.

“Y-yes,” he whispered, his life flashing before his eyes as he nearly lost himself to the darkness in the monster’s gaze, and G, appeased for the moment, let the man’s collar go and took a step back, smirking and waving a hand at the front door, which promptly popped open.

“Good. Now get,” he commanded, his magic slipping the key still in the knob out and breaking it in half before tossing the rest into Kevin’s hands, and the man couldn't escape quickly enough, slipping over his own feet before sprinting out the door and slamming it behind himself.

G watched him go, shaking his head and chuckling to himself (he hadn’t scared the shit out of someone like that in forever… damn did he miss it), before turning and meeting Frisk’s gaze.

She was staring at him with wide, awed eyes, and his smile fell away, one hand raising to the back of his skull.

“…too much?” he wondered, dropping his sockets to the toes of his boots, but Frisk snorted, smirking a little and immediately dropping the blanket from around her shoulders, letting it pool around her bare legs.

“God no. I’ve never been more turned on in my life,” she muttered huskily, beckoning to the monster with a crooked forefinger, and G, helpless to the surge of lust that crackled down his spine and coalesced once more behind his zipper, dragged his gaze over her bared body with relish, abandoning his post beside the door without question.

“Well damn. Remind me to make your asshole exes piss themselves more often, heh.”

Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: If #cabincanoodling is a thing, what about first time wall sex? And/or the morning after their first night, Frisk wakes up to the smell of breakfast and the sight of sans in an...apron(?) XD

It would have been amusing, Sans’ pampering of her, if it weren’t so out of place.

Frisk sat at the little round kitchen table in the cabin’s dining room, wrapped in a blanket and nursing a cup of cappuccino, eyes on her skeletal lover’s back as he stood before the stove, flipping pancakes comically high. She honestly hadn’t put it past him to only stock the cabin with breakfast cereal and microwaveable hot dogs.

And yet here he was making pancakes and bacon, fixing her coffee and cinnamon rolls (Pillsbury, but it was still an effort on his part)… he’d even carried her in here, fretting over the twinges of pain in her hips and abdomen, even though they weren’t that bad.

“maybe five times was too many, heh.”

She supposed it could have been, but that hadn’t been her concern the night before. She’d been far more interested in feeling him against her, his bones burning hot against her flesh, the sound of her name on his tongue, the feeling of him joining with her…

Her face erupted into a brilliant crimson flush, her hands shaking so much that she nearly spilled her coffee. Sans glanced over his shoulder at her sound of panicked distress, and noted the blush on her cheeks with a knowing tilt to his smile.

“something on your mind, babe?” he murmured, the edge of his grin visible as he watched her steady her mug with tremulous fingers, and she pouted at him through her shortened breath and her bluster, tracing a fingertip along her cup’s handle and biting at her lower lip.

“Just… um. Thinking about last night…”

He chuckled quietly, turning back to watch the frying pan. The ties of the apron he had donned with a flourish (”got a kiss for the cook, babe?”) swayed as he sidestepped to tip another set of pancakes onto a plate.

“yeah? still hurting? i can run you a bath after breakfast, the tub has jets and everything. the food should help too, snuck a little magic in there for ya.”

Frisk only reddened further, hiding her scarlet cheeks behind the rim of her mug. The worst of the hurt had only ever been mere twinges; he had been very careful with her, when not just preparing her, but making love to her as well, and she suspected the pain was likely only slight chafing from simply being insatiable for each other.

And the need was rising again, to be honest.

Frisk shifted in her seat, looking down into her swirling coffee and rubbing her thighs together. Would he even consider having her again, when he was clearly so concerned that he had hurt her? Because she definitely wanted more. Her heart was pounding in her chest just at the thought… her abdomen clenched, sending shivers and warmth rushing through her blood just at the vain hope.

The drag of fingers along the back of her neck startled her from her amorous thoughts, shooting her gaze up to meet the amused, softly lit sockets of her lover, and Sans, sliding the loaded plate he held onto the table in front of his mate to be, bent to press a quick kiss to her parted lips, stroking her heated cheek and humming when she leaned into him, when her arms wound around his neck to pull him closer.

“heh… got a little lonely, didja? don’t worry, i won’t leave your side again today, not if i can help it,” he muttered, nuzzling his nasal ridge against her nose, and scooted the chair across from hers closer with a slippered foot, slumping into it with a sigh, a clack of bone to wood, and a hand laid on her knee, stroking her bare thigh soothingly as his other hand pulled the morning newspaper in front of him, intent on the crossword within.

His wandering hand only served to distract Frisk more, the rasp of his palm over her skin traveling right between her thighs. She sucked in a quiet breath at the surge of hormones, at the slick of wetness that dampened her folds and how her nipples peaked, and ducked her head to poke at her pancakes (they smelled divine… she wished she had the mind to pay them the attention they deserved), but Sans wasn’t blind to her reaction, and glanced up at her over the top of the paper, looking over her flush, the line of her teeth biting at her lower lip and how she shifted in her chair.

His easy, restful smile perked at one corner, and he set the newspaper back on the table top, running his phalanges deliberately, intentionally, further up her thigh. All she wore was the t-shirt he had on the day before, bunched just above her panties, so there was no resistance, and Frisk let out a quickly silenced moan at the slide of his bone against her flesh, peeking up at him from under her eyelashes.

He grinned back, tilting his skull and setting it on his free palm.

“not thinking about the pain, were you? you had something else on your mind. something a little more… engaging.”

Frisk inhaled sharply when the tips of his fingers dipped under the hem of her shirt, when he rubbed at her sodden folds with two phalanges, her exhalation carrying with it a tremulous whimper, and Sans’ smile only sharpened more, the gently circling of his fingertips slowing to a mere twitch.

“yeah, thought as much. you were so eager last night, i kinda figured you’d be wanting more. but we should wait til after you eat, so any damage i did-” he began, his tone firming and his fingers pulling back, but Frisk immediately protested, grasping for his wrist and raising her chin.

“You… you didn’t hurt me, Sans, you were so careful. I just got a little sore, and not even bad. So we could… if you wanted… cuz I want…”

His hand stilled, allowing her to drag him closer; his expression darkened, want and hunger in the dilated lights in his sockets.

“say it, and its yours.”

Frisk trembled, meeting his gaze and flushing with pure desire; she pushed his hand to the apex of her thighs again, breathing heavily through her parted lips and rolling her hips forward, pressing his fingers deep into her folds.

“I want you, baby… please… make love to me…”

She was in his arms the next moment, the back of his chair hitting the floor and hers scooted back with what she knew was magic; he stole her lips in consuming kiss, walking her backwards until her back met the wall beside the lace-curtained window. He was clearly just as eager as she was, lifting one of her legs over a hipbone and arching into the warm softness of her body, and she arched back, tangling her tongue with his newly summoned one and clinging to the straps of the apron he had donned.

His hands clutched at her posterior, pulling her into his shallow thrusts. Her arms wrapped around his neck, crushing his bony lips to hers. No words were spoken, naught but gasps and grunts and muffled laughter (she giggled when he hoisted her into his arms completely and then attempted to pull her panties to the side, and he chuckled at himself as well, taking a moment to set her down and remove her underwear first before continuing), but when he slid into her, his shorts around his ankles and his tongue tracing a peaked nipple, she chanted his name like a mantra, her nails scraping along his skull and clenching in the material of his shirt.

She begged for more when he spilled his magic inside her, thrusting herself further onto his cock, forcefully stilled in his climax, and he didn’t disappoint, though he had to move her to the table (“not as strong as i look, heh; i’m all skin and bones. or just bones.”), stoking their mutual passion to a second end with equal fervor.

He would have refused her third request if she hadn’t looked so good naked.

Their breakfast was more than cold by the time they were done with each other (saying nothing of the spatters of blue magic they’d have to mop off the floor later), but that’s what they had the microwave for, wasn’t it?

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Sans knew she was planning something the moment he left for work that morning.

He’d never told her (why ruin her fun?), but Frisk had always had some tells, when she was trying to hide things from him. That secret smile that twitched at the corner of her lips… the slips in her speech, the way she twiddled with that one lock of too long hair at the nape of her neck and couldn't seem to meet his gaze.

It used to bother him, before. Long, long ago, before everything fell into place. Before the end of the world had been and gone, and the universe had been made right, and the barrier had shattered. Before she had saved them, and him. Before, it had haunted his nightmares, what she could be hiding. Would it be harmless, like her knowledge of one of his brother’s puzzles?

Or would it be everything, like time skipping backwards again, the endless cycle of pain and ruthless misery that had been existence beneath the mountain?

But that had been a decade ago, and more than out of her control. Now, he only chuckled under his breath, and shook his skull, and kissed her twitching, secret smile as she pressed his coffee into his hands.

Let her have her surprise. He would find out what it was all too soon.

Truthfully, he forgot about his bride’s mysterious intent almost entirely by the time he dragged himself home. It had been a hell of a day at the college, the tech students in an absolute uproar over Pi day; he’d seen, dodged, and eaten enough pie that day to last him the rest of the year.

So when he let himself into his house after his last class, his suit coat thrown over his shoulder and his briefcase under his arm, the last thing he was expecting was yet another pie… right in his face.

“Happy pi day!” Frisk shouted gleefully, clapping her hands and hopping on her toes in the way she always did when she succeeded in pranking him, and scrambled to pull her cell from her pocket as he stood before the still open door, pie tin intact on his face and, honestly, just a little bit in shock.

He really should have seen that one coming.

The flash of her cell camera was the first thing he saw when the pie, mercifully just apple and not anything whipped, finally flopped from his face and onto the newspaper covered entrance (ah, she’d been prepared), and all he could do, well egged, was let out a doleful chuckle.

“have mercy on me and don’t send that to my brother. he’ll never let me live it down,” he plead jokingly, reaching out to swipe a dribble of sauce from his cheekbone to taste (not bad…), already well aware that was her whole intent, and Frisk, very, very pleased with herself, pressed the post button with a flourish, stowing her phone away and walking over to join him beside the door.

“Ha! It was half his idea, after New Years. He wanted to put glue in it, though. I had to put my foot down on that one. You’re going to be enough of a mess already,” she snickered, edging him forward and closing the door behind him before, with a fond and slightly apologetic smile, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his sticky teeth and pick a piece of crust from his nasal ridge.

“You’re still the apple of my eye, though,” she snarked quietly, obviously trying to butter him up, and his grin widened, his hands lowering to grasp at her hips.

“oh, you’re gonna have to do better to get back tin my good graces. you’re in quite the sticky situation now,” he joked back, and with a wicked grin that she immediately registered with alarm, he leaned into her and wiped his face all over her shirt exaggeratedly, bringing a playful shriek to her lips.

When he pulled back, she pouted at him good-naturedly, wrinkling her nose at her now ruined shirt.

“Saaaaans, this was a good shirt!” she complained, whacking his shoulder with the palm of her hand lightly, and he rocked them both in place idly, humming and, in a moment of inspiration, alighting on an idea of his own.

“guess we’ll just have to get you out of it, huh. works for me… i had something i wanted to show you anyway, and you won’t need a shirt for it.”

Frisk narrowed her eyes and lowered her brows in confusion, cocking her head but letting him pull away, take her hand, and lead her towards the staircase.

“What is it? Why won’t I need a shirt?” she questioned curiously, picking at the hem of her sticky one as she walked, and Sans, the barest smirk playing about his bony lips, cast a coy look back at her.

“it’s a surprise.” 

When he finally took pity on her and pulled himself from within her, an hour and a half later, a gush of electric blue magic surged from between her thighs as well, accentuated by a weak, wailing moan from the sweat covered woman tangled in the sheets the two reposed among. 

His grin was pleased, and more than a little snarky, as he slipped two fingers between her folds to tease her clit, her legs twitching and her bare breasts shuddering in the light of the single bedside illuminated; she let out a whimper at the sight of the trail of cum his fingers left when he dragged them up her abdomen and between her breasts, the trickle of seed leaking from within her consuming her attentions.

He let out a dark chuckle, and sent a hot, meaningful look at the second mess they had made that night.

“happy pi day, baby.”

Chapter Text

Complete darkness reigned.

With the door to the bathroom closed and the light now switched off, it was pitch black behind the veneer of the shower curtain, the night pressing in like a heavy blanket about them. Not suffocating, though... it was comforting, like the familiar presence of a lover long denied. The water still fell, warm and gentle as summer rain, over them both, the steam filling the darkened air in swirls of ghost-like mist; their touches lingered, his at the small of her back and hers against the expanse of his exposed ribs, soft and tentative in the newness of their embrace.

Frisk's breath drew tight in her chest, as the dark renewed a modicum of her shadowy suitor's power, the tentacles mapping her bare form thickening and tightening as they curled to enfold her further... Nightmare's spilled across her flesh as fog through midnight streets, the curve of a small, open-mouthed smile pressed to the indention of her throat and shoulder as his form gathered both strength and size in the gathering dark, the heat of his presence and his breath heightening.

A fang scraped her flesh, as titillating and promising as the dark chuckle that rumbled in his rib cage, pressed tight to the rise of her breasts; her hands jumped to the sodden shoulders of his jacket, her head tilting without thought, an instinctive offering, to allow him more room...

But he made no move to sink the sharpness of his teeth into the softness of her flesh. His breath was heavy, heated and wanting, even. . . his hands traversed the slope of her waist and the roundness of her hips, hunger in the drag of bone against plush and delicate skin... but the slash of his smile only pressed to her clavicle in a venerating kiss, slow and soft as the fall of water from above.

Not romantic, not in the way he'd imagined it (even as he'd pretended to have never considered it at all)... but something close, maybe.

She gasped quietly, at the pressure of his bony lips, perhaps surprised by his gentleness... perhaps by the continuity of it, as he left a path of smaller, softer kisses up the length of her throat... perhaps by the increasing boldness of his tentacles, almost giddy in their excitement to caress the silk of her flesh. Her lashes fluttered, in the pressing darkness, her head turning to press her parted, querying lips to the dome of his skull, and her hands loosened their grasp to rove the expanse of his shoulders. The rise and fall of a scapula, revealed by the dip of his saturated clothing... the processes of his vertebrae, freed from the clotted mass of his corruption and bared to her blind perusal.

He gasped too, a quiet grunt of want held in check, at her own kiss, pressed to wetted bone and sweet with affection; his grip on her waist tightened, his weight leaning into her as a magnet drawn to its source, pushing her back against the cool tiles of the shower wall before he even realized what he was doing. His socket, closed as he let the sensations of giving in and finally feeling her wash over him, slid open, filling the enclosed space within the shower with the incandescence of his cobalt iris, even shaded as it was by the fall of her hair.

Nightmare didn't have to see her reaction to seeing his larger, looming, baser form, blossoming from the darkness like a Lovecraftian horror and filled with all its imposing power... he felt the breath falter in her chest, felt her fingers still on his bones, cleansed of the filth of his own making for the first time in centuries, her lips pull back from his skull as she took him in. Yet even as she beheld him, he felt no fear in her, her heartbeat steady in her chest, her bright, searching eyes calm and focused.

It was no farce, and no mistake on his part, no trick of the nonexistent light. He knew the flavor of her fear better than any other's... it had kept him coming back to her like an addict for years, desperate to drink her in in the only way he would ever allow, despite his frequent and increasingly lewd imaginings. The longer he came to her, the less and less he was able to taste it, though... and once she had bared herself to him in her never-ending teasing, nothing he did had been able to elicit that delicious surge of horror in her blood. She hadn't feared him for nearly two years now, had starved him and deprived him his basest appetites... and yet, he still came to her.

And yet, he tripped over himself to reach her when she fell into sleep, dropping whatever dreamer he had been torturing in an instant just to slip into her mind and subject himself to her whimsy.

He was a monumental fool, and had mocked himself for his weakness often... but as she looked on a sight that had made great men scream in terror without flinching, he found he no longer wanted that fear. He wanted many, many other things, things he'd long denied even the consideration of, but her fear? No, it was a thing of the past, his desire for her to cower and weep in his presence. He rather liked the strength in the jut of her upheld chin, the flash in her eye as she challenged him... the cadence of her laughter, even if she laughed at him.

The feel of her against him, willing and full and soft as he'd never dared to hope... perhaps it wasn't such a terrible thing, to fail so drastically in consuming her from the inside out, to turn her mind to madness and draw her into the dark.

He had other thoughts now, when it came to consumption... thoughts that made his tongue thicken in his mouth, made his bones ache with the want already straining the zipper of his shorts. Thoughts that burned in him with the same intensity of the lights she had used to subdue him, and parted his jaw to take the lobe of her ear between his teeth, nibbling enough to draw another delicious gasp from her lips.

The gasp grew ragged, when he released her ear to trace the pressure marks of his teeth with the tip of his tapering tongue, her hands grasping more fiercely and tightly at his bones, and his grin spread across his face like an oil slick on water, his tentacles surging across her skin with reflected excitement.

“You ask what will happen now, and yet provoke me even though you know what it will do... Always taunting and teasing. Trying my last nerves... tempting me beyond reason,” he whispered there, the processes of his bony lips pressed to the shell of her ear. One of his hands wandered, taking in the flare of her hip and the smoothness of her water streaked skin, to grasp the fullness of her backside in his large palm... the other trailed its way up her abdomen, the cage of her ribs, the heaviness of her breasts (he paused to heft one in his hand, squeezing just enough to make her squirm against him), to trace along the length of her throat, tilting her chin up and to the side to allow another slow, sensual trail of kisses to be laid to it.

His tongue joined his quiet worship there this time, though, laving droplets of water and the taste of her from her skin, and his iris rolled up to meet her heavy lidded gaze when he felt her throat tighten beneath his ministrations, hooded and knowing.

“There's only so much a monster can stand, human, even one like me. There's only so much you can push before your quarry pushes back.”

She whimpered quietly when he used the grasp of his hand on her rear to push her against him more fully, the curve of his desire pressing to her abdomen, and licked her lips (his magically lit gaze flared at the peek of her tongue between her lips, watching its journey and subsequent disappearance with gluttonous need) before slipping both of her arms around the back of his neck, drawing him closer herself with the effortless temptation that flowed from her pores as easily as the water fell from the showerhead. Her breasts pressed to the expanse of his thick ribs, softer than anything he'd felt in an age of men, her lithe fingers tracing along the back of his skull and her smile assuming its cheeky, sardonic quirk.

“And you'd know that, of course,” she quipped, watching him from beneath the thick fan of her dark lashes like the seductress that she was, and he huffed against her throat, his tongue slithering back between his teeth and his smile tilting to match hers. There was teasing in her tone again, he knew it well, and he ran his exploring phalanges into the dripping locks of her hair affectionately, trailing them through it lingeringly and dotingly.

How he'd longed to do this, for far longer than even he had realized...

“Of course. You're not my first victim. ...though that's hardly what you've ever been, even before your games,” he murmured, curling one of the longer strands around an extended forefinger and bending his head to kiss it worshipfully, and Frisk, chuckling beneath her breath, leaned back against the shower wall behind her to, he could only assume, see him better in the lambent illumination his glowing iris provided.

The haven of her body was removed from him by doing so, a strand of doubt writhing its way into his thoughts at the separation (had he actually misread her? Was she merely taunting him again?), but she didn't mean to leave him wanting... her hands pulled at the parted flaps of his sodden jacket, jerking him a step closer and against her again, and one of her legs slowly raised to hook over the curve of his pelvis, her inciteful gaze never leaving his even as she opened herself to him, as she pulled him closer than he'd ever been before.

Her own desire was sharp in the humid air about them, now, heavy and cloyingly sweet and filling his head in a moment, and it was all he could do not to ravage her on the spot, his arousal twitching with the knowledge of just how close she was, his chest throbbing with the need to finally, finally take this woman and make her his, his skull light and empty of any thought more complex than the mechanics of his zipper.. a trail of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth and down the length of his jaw to be washed away by the fall of the shower.

She would be the death of him, he was certain of it.

“What am I, then?” she all but crooned to him, once she had him settled against her just how she wanted, and Nightmare had to spend a moment recalling how to speak, all his thoughts on the heat of her and his rampant desire to sink himself into her. His tentacles were beside themselves, scrabbling to touch and caress her skin to garner the attention she had heaped on them only a few moments before; one of them was attempting to squirm its way through his ribcage, in fact, likely trying to reach her breasts, and he growled at it quietly to discourage it before glancing back to her anticipatory, alluring gaze, swallowing at the overflow of his saliva distractedly.

Stars, she was stunning like this... he wondered, an idle, fleeting thought, if she knew just how good she looked, if she teased with such confidence because she knew the effect she would have on him.

Minx.

“Elusive. Infuriating. Too clever by half. More than a little sadistic,” he grunted the moment his tongue was in working order (talking was a waste of it's time and it knew it, it could find far more pleasant occupation between her thighs-), rearranging his posture so he could bear some of her weight, and a look of surprise flitted across her face before a peal of laughter escaped her lips, filling the dark enclosing them with its joyful tones. A surge of fondness shook him, something so close to heartfelt tenderness rushing in his corrupted magic that it stole the all but his appreciation for her and everything she'd made herself to him from his thoughts.

And despite the whiplash of it, the entirely other sensation of feeling (all he had known was the darkness, after his fall from grace... she was a light in that dark, and though it shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did, he had acted just like every moth that had ever seen a flame, and darted straight for it), he smiled back, his hand lowering from where it had propped on the wall beside her head and to the length of her bare thigh.

His grasp firmed it's hold on his pelvis, ensuring it wouldn't fall away, and his spine bent, his free hand trailing her jaw as his forehead pressed to hers, a wordless sign of affection and trust that monster lovers had shared beyond time immemorial. He had no idea if she knew its meaning, though she stilled and closed her shining eyes while he lingered, but there would be a time and a place for softer things, for discussions of what this meant for the both of them... what it meant to him, to have her accept him so readily.

For now, he had other things to answer to... namely, the tracing of her beguiling fingertips along his sternum and down the back of his neck, her nails scraping just enough to make him shiver and his shorts tighten further.

He turned his head to hover his mouth a breath from her parted lips, his smile soft but his breath as heated as the palm he smoothed down the small of her back... and just as impossible to ignore as the roll of his hips against her, the difference in height preventing him from pressing just where he wanted but her position more than adequate to wrench another sweet gasp from her lips.

“Enticing. Seductive. ...beautiful, among many other things,” he breathed, socket lid hooding and dimming the ambient light it gave off, teasing a kiss he wanted so badly that he could feel the need for it clawing at the inside of his skull, and though it took Frisk a moment to catch her breath, her gaze fuzzed with surprised pleasure and her lower lip creased beneath the bite of her teeth, she rebounded with an open-mouthed smile and a quick, teasing press of her lips to his.

“If you're trying to talk me out of my pants, I'm afraid I have to inform you that you're a little late,” she teased back, though there was a raw huskiness to her voice now that he had never heard before and truly wasn't prepared to process through his already scattered mind (how she always turned the tables on him, how she outpaced him and surprised him without fail, was beyond his understanding), and both her response and the tingling of the brush of her lips left him scrambling for an answer, cast adrift in the sea of his heightening desire without any means of steering.

He may very well combust at this rate, even with the persistent fall of the water from the now defunct and unnecessary shower they had been taking... and he honestly couldn't say he'd regret doing so.

Being burned by her would be more than worth it.

“It's nearly impossible to get you to keep them on as it is,” he managed to force out, his mind divided between the lingering closeness of their mouths and the press of her body to his and the drag of his tentacles over her flesh (they were getting bolder and bolder as the minutes went by, only the lingering nagging of his self-doubt keeping him from allowing them to breach the space between her thighs beyond their teasing touches), but thankfully, she seemed just as distracted as he was.

She moaned softly as two of his tentacles finally managed to squeeze their way between their bodies, encircling her breasts and immediately working to draw further gasps of pleasure from her, forcing her to cling to him even more urgently to keep her knee from collapsing under her unstable weight.

Not that he was complaining. She must be incredibly sensitive, her head falling back and her lashes fluttering in her indulgence... and the sight of her so willfully lost to his touch was possibly the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

Yet, at least... the evening ahead was a long one, and one he intended to capitalize on.

One of his tentacles gave a particularly strong squeeze, its tip flicking her dusky nipple as it did, and the sound she let out... he was practically rabid to hear it again.

“Mnnn... I'd have thought you'd be grateful... I think they might've gotten in the way a bit~” she rasped the moment she had caught her breath, her reclined head rolling lazily on her shoulder to gaze up at him through her lashes, her smile lax and her cheeks flush with her arousal (her hands had adopted a seemingly unconscious path, stroking up and down his arms slowly... almost as though ready to cling to him at a moment's notice), and Nightmare smirked at her attempt at humor, watching his tentacles work her to near distraction lustfully.

So often she had the upper hand, so often she teased and taunted and played with him. And now she wanted for him, writhed beneath his touch... turnabout was fair play. He wouldn't be cruel, or prolong it excessively... he wanted for her as well.

Just enough to give her a taste of her own medicine.

And so, his grin spread wider, splitting the midnight bone of his face in a smile both knowing and conniving. So, he (admittedly reluctantly) shuffled back a step, the straining, saturated material of his shorts separating from the tile wall to open a space between their hips... so, his grip firmed behind her knee, keeping her perfectly displayed for his sordid machinations.

She barely noticed, beyond letting out a sound of dismay when he stepped back, scrabbling at his arms to pull him back against her, but he shushed her protests with a kiss of his own, her soft, damp lips meshing with the unforgiving bone of his in a way that made his skull spin. She welcomed him in, when his tongue plead for more, for deeper, and they were both dizzy to the point of thoughtlessness when they finally parted, gasping and clinging to each other to keep from slipping away into utter and contented inaction.

It would be so easy to simply fall into another kiss, and another after that, and forget everything besides it... he could feel the want for the same radiating from her and the puffs of air he could feel against his bony lips, the sparkle of her desire in her radiant eyes, illuminated by the glow of his surging magic.

Soon. He wanted for far more, beyond the comfort and ease of losing himself in the simple pleasure of her lips.

“True enough. They might've prevented this...” he murmured there, against the part of her plush mouth and the lingering flavor of her on his tongue (a single kiss would never be enough now, she had him hooked like the hopeless addict he'd been from the beginning), watching her brows furrow in an unspoken question as she processed his words through the haze of her own want... and released the little control he'd held over the writhing explorations of his tentacles.

They surged into action the very next moment, the spread of her a temptation too rich to resist even a second longer, and stroked through the wetness between her thighs with an eager smoothness that surprised a squeal from her lips, her eyes flying wide and her fingers tightening on his arms as her folds parted around the girth of three tentacles, a fourth wrapping around her thigh to pull it up further, the fifth and sixth persisting in their squeezing and stroking at her breasts.

Frisk was putty in their embrace, beneath his hands and rabid gaze, seconds after their encroachment, spreading the slick of her desire and encircling her already sensitive clit and teasing at her wanting entrance... she couldn't seem to decide where to lay her hands, clinging to his arms one moment and following the twisting lengths of the tentacles working her to twitching madness the next. She bucked her hips against them, hoping for an insertion he wasn't yet willing to give (she would beg for it first... it was the only thing he would insist on, tonight. She would beg for him to be inside her, he'd have it no other way), her head tossing and her voice catching in her throat with every new, compounded sensation.

The heat of her radiated through his tentacles, searing him to the core and breeding even more fervent want in his bones... the sight and feeling and sound of her intoxicated him until he felt drunk on her, and they had only just begun.

“Hhh... oh... Nightmare...” she gasped the moment the fluctuations of her voice resembled anything close to words, a shaking hand dragging along his jaw to attempt to pull him closer, from where he lazily perused the sight of his tentacles teasing her with all the ferocity that she had done to him (well... perhaps a bit more), her parted lips pleading for another kiss, and he couldn't have resisted if he'd tried or even wanted to, stealing her breath and swallowing her helpless moans with a hunger that surprised even him. His hand, now freed from the support of her thigh around his hip, shooed away one of the tentacles groping at her breasts, ignoring its stubborn attempt at refusal in lieu of grasping the fullness of it himself.

She whimpered around the twisting length of his tongue when he squeezed his prize, and his smile was both mischievous and wanton when he pulled away, tracing her kiss swollen lips with a thumb the same as his other circled her pert nipple.

“Is this how you saw your evening going, Frisk? Did you envision the monster under your bed having its way with you tonight?” he purred provocatively, licking the taste of her from the processes of his bony lips at the same time that one of his tentacles circled and teased at her entrance, slipping in and out of her tight wetness as though unsure that it truly wanted to be there (it did, it wanted to delve its deepest more than anything, but he forced it to hold back with all his might, forced it to wait for the right moment), and her perfect eyes fluttered open to glare at him lightheartedly, kissing the pad of his thumb as it flicked her lower lip.

“Mnnn... not tonight, but... eventually- aaah!” she began to reply, tracing the rise of his cheekbone with a shaking hand, but stuttered to a stop, her head falling back and her hand rising to cover her cry of ecstasy, when he, with a smirk and a glint in his illuminated socket, pinched the nipple he teased with his thumb, glorying in the feeling of her trembling body, her throaty cry of pleasure... her core tightening spasmodically around the very tip of his tentacle, promising a heaven he would find nowhere else but with her.

It was a strange thought, one both fleeting and yet monumental in this hour of growing passion between them... there truly never would be another for him now. Not that he'd bothered to take lovers, in his many years terrorizing the hearts and minds of man... the simple fact that he wanted to at all was enough to give the stars above pause. He knew it down to the cursed marrow in his bones that she would be the only one, though. She was, well and truly, it for him.

Did she know what she had done to him? Did she understand the gravity of it, the level of his unbridled and still growing attachment? That after he made love to her (hardly what he planned... he doubted very much that he had the wherewithal or restraint tonight to make it anything less than a rut), he would haunt her bedside for the rest of her days, her constant and jealous shadow, the ghost at the back of her mind, her own personal nightmare?

He wasn't sure if she did, and the consideration of it gave Nightmare pause, slowed the hopeful and desperate stroke of his tentacles between her legs, eased the pressure of his hands... dimmed the light in his socket.

He wouldn't trap her. He was selfish, he would never truly leave her now, he wouldn't be able to... but he wouldn't force her to accept him, if the depth and ferocity of his need for her light in his darkness proved too much.

“It's not what I was expecting either, if I'm honest... but it'd also be a lie to say I'd never considered it. Hoped for it. ...Craved it... Needed it,” he murmured as his breath settled from his excitement, his skull dropping to lie against the tile over her shoulder and his hands falling away to stroke the swell of her waist (so soft... so incredibly soft and real and bright and he needed her so much, so much more than she would ever need him-); his words were a statement of truth and a warning all in one, his voice deepening and the shadows about them growing darker, yet darker with every word, but Frisk stood apart from their consumption like the angel she was, looking to him steadfastly and truly, if with a bit of confusion for his lessening attentions.

“Good thing I made the first move then, hmm?” she joked baldly, circling her hips against the formerly gratuitous pressure of his tentacles (they had retreated along with their master's melancholy, though they stirred with interest at her attempts to provoke them), and the shadowy skeleton monster, huffing out a self-depreciating and empty chuckle, shook his head, turning his lambent gaze back to her searching one wearily.

“Perhaps... perhaps not. I would never have been sure if... still am not sure, if this is what you desire,” he admitted in an undertone, his completely uncharacteristic lack of confidence showing through the cracks in his facade as a lamp through a lace curtain (he hadn't felt so unsure in what he felt to be his entire, long existence... she was a devastation to him in every conceivable way), and Frisk, scoffing beneath her breath, reached to take one of his wrists in hand, her slight fingers trembling with the height, and subsequent removal, of the pleasure he had been giving her.

She pulled his captured hand between her still spread legs, boldly and without reserve, to press two of his fingers inside her, her heat and wetness as clear as the reprimanding yet soft smile playing about her kiss swollen lips. She thrust them gently for him, when he made no move to do so himself (he was too stunned by the feeling of her, to be frank, too in awe to be suitably rapacious), and she sound of her accepting him, the soft slap of his palm against her flesh, the squelch of her liquid lust as his fingers sank deeper... her quiet moans as her walls spread for him... it was enough to nearly make him forget his reservations entirely.

Her eyes were heavy lidded as she rolled her hips into his hand, so seductive and wanting that her gaze seared him to the core.

“You tell me~” she crooned, grinding down against his fingers, the clear evidence of the desire he had questioned squeezing around the insertion of his bones, and he had to swallow heavily to keep the saliva pooling in his mouth from spilling over the edge of his jaw (again). Hesitantly, he took over the motion of his hand between her legs, rubbing the flat of his palm to her soaked folds and curling his fingers within her to rub at a spot that made her twitch and practically weep his name, before pulling from her core to watch, fascinated and all but bereft of complaint, as her juices ran down the lengths of his phalanges.

She insisted, in both word and deed, that this was what she wanted. He had felt it for himself, the slick of her wanting body and the desire of her mien... but still, his question of if she knew what this would all mean went unanswered. His thumb rubbed at the sticky strings of her arousal, heavy under the fall of the water overhead.

“...You know this will change everything, don't you?” he murmured, glancing to her flushed face from the corner of his socket (her deep blush, crawling down her throat to stain the rounds of her breasts, was nearly his undoing, his erection pulsing powerfully in the confines of his too tight shorts), and Frisk huffed out a breathless, frustrated sounding chuckle, lowering her brows admonishingly, and took his hand again, this time raising it to her parted lips.

She took the phalanges that had been inside her only a moment before into her mouth, licking them clean of her own juices teasingly (his head fogged, everything but the sight of her mouth around his fingers vanishing from his considerations), before pulling back, pressing a kiss to each of his damp fingertips, and leaning her cheek into his palm to smile at him knowingly.

“How in the world would having sex with my husband change anything?”

More joking, more teasing... he shouldn't have been surprised. He tsked his tongue against the back of his teeth, glaring at her as firmly as he could while she was pushing delicate, far too pleasant kisses to the palm of his hand.

Infuriating, capricious... beautiful woman...

“You jest, but for all intents and purposes-” he began to lecture hotly, his ribcage rising and falling heavily in his pique (this was serious, and she was acting as though sleeping with him would be as inconsequential as checking the mail-), but with his rising tone and his temper, her own seemed to have broken. A glare of her own overcame her softened gaze, the hand tracing its way along his bared ribcage rising to point a warning finger an inch from his nasal cavity.

“Nightmare, if you think for one second I don't understand what I'm getting myself into, what you are and what I want, then you don't know me at all. Also, on a side note, if you don't stop edging me I might strangle you with the shower curtain. As much as anyone can strangle a eldritch shadow being that may or may not be a fallen god, at least. Fair warning,” she snapped, staring him down with all the determination and bravery that he knew resided in her overpowering, unconquerable soul, and he could only stare at her, overcome by the sheer veracity of her claim.

There was no lie in her words... no hint of hesitation or qualm. She... she knew. She knew what he was, what they would be if they gave in and indulged in each other tonight... and she wanted it anyway. Perhaps had been wanting it, only waiting for him to show his own interest in the subject.

He was a far different sort of fool than he'd been calling himself for the past three years.

But no longer. The air was clear between them both (metaphorically, at least... the heat of the water from the shower was misting the air quite heavily now), the road ahead just as open and, though untraveled, one he wanted nothing more than to become acquainted with.

In time. For now, he had a very wanting human to please, and he'd kept her waiting quite long enough.

All emotion but utter shock had been wiped from Nightmare's expression, as he processed her admission and what it meant, but as he returned to the present, to the sight of her glare and the rise and fall of her breasts and the scent of her desire, only heightened by her lewd display only moments before, his ravenous smirk returned to him, his magic flaring enough to illuminate the drops of perspiration on her throat and his tentacles rising from their inaction, sliding slowly, tantalizingly into place around her wrists, along her belly... behind the knee that still held her weight.

He leaned into her as they wended their way around her, pressing another kiss to the slash of her fierce frown and tempting it into non-existence with the swipe of his tongue and the caress of his hand to her cheek and the small of her back. She melted into him after only a moment of resistance, her roused temper fading away to be replaced by rekindled desire, and he grinned against her lips when she whimpered at the bite of his teeth into her exploring tongue, pulling away to watch her pant for the air he had stolen from her.

He stroked his thumb across her cheek, feeling the heat of her blush throb against his bones... before glancing back to her watchful gaze, clever guile in the tilt of his smile.

“Heh... very well. Your wish is my command~” he replied at last, his socket narrowing teasingly, but he gave her no further time to react to his concession, or to his change in demeanor.

The next moment, his tentacles tightened around her limbs, gripping against her flesh hard enough to ensure she wouldn't slip but lightly enough not to damage her delicate skin, and lifted her completely off her feet. They dragged her up against the shower wall and pinioned her body in a way that opened her to him entirely, displayed like the work of art she truly was, so erotic that he couldn't help the groan that rumbled in his hollow chest.

She was understandably surprised, a yelp leaving her lips as all power was taken from her (far from all, in reality... she had him wrapped around her littlest finger so tightly he was certain he'd never be unwound), and instinctively struggled against her bonds, yanking at the tentacles holding her arms over her head and kicking at the thick, nubile shadows spreading her legs wide... before she settled, letting out a shaky breath looking to him with a trust and an excitement that only emboldened the skeleton monster further.

The tentacles not occupied with holding her aloft slithered excitedly over her tensed abdomen and fully displayed breasts, through the thatch of dark curls at the apex of her thighs... until one slipped inside her fluidly, pressing as deep as her tightness would allow.

Frisk's eyes widened, as it squirmed within her, thrusting with both careful patience and heady indulgence at once, and let out the most tremulous, haggard, raw sounding moan he'd heard her make yet, her toes curling and her fists clenching above her head.

“Oh... oh my god...” she gasped through her keens of pleasure, breathless with both surprise and lust, and Nightmare, watching the tentacles work her body into a frenzy with a broad grin creasing the midnight bone of his face, grunted under his breath, the want in her voice shooting straight through his bones and to his cock. He lowered a hand to squeeze the arch of it through his shorts, teasing himself with the thought of sinking himself into her to the hilt (soon... very soon), before shuffling a step closer, trailing the tip of his tapering tongue up her arched throat and shifting his hand to her, his thumb pressing to and rubbing circles around her reddening clit.

She whined under the attention, her head falling back against the tile wall and her legs trembling as her pleasure heightened (he could feel her clenching around the tentacle inside her already, could hear the breath in her chest hitching between her cries of passion), and let out a shuddering, breathy yelp when he nipped at her throat, parting her shaky lids to watch him leave a trail of darkening love bites down the length of her shoulder.

He met her gaze boldly, pressing a kiss to the darkest mark he left (far from the only one he would leave that night... he would make it up to her afterwards, he would make sure it would heal properly, but he wasn't going to be able to resist...), his hungry grin stretching, wicked and sharp, to nearly split his face in half. The hand not rubbing teasing circles at her clit spread her slick folds, ensuring he would have the room to do his very worst, and his mind bent to directing two more tentacles between her legs, the thickness of the one currently thrusting into her retreating just enough to spare some room.

She let out a quiet sound of displeasure, squirming in her bonds to attempt to force it inside her again (impertinent even in their mutual lusting... he'd expect no less), but Nightmare tutted, arching to press a quelling kiss to her desperate lips, the heated exhalations of her breath and the press of her heavy breasts to his ribs and the roll of her hips only shortening his patience for his own teasing further. His tongue spilled into her mouth with little in the way of his own permission, sliding along hers in lewd pantomime of the tentacle filling her from below, and swallowed every gasp and moan and whimper she made, distracting her from his true intent.

Only when he was satisfied that she was focused on him entirely did he pull away, ticking his nasal ridge against her nose indulgently as she caught her breath, did he speak again, the tentacles he had directed between her legs practically trembling with anticipation.

“So greedy you are... Are you telling me you need more?” he queried in a silken undertone, another, smaller kiss pressed to the corner of her parted, panting lips just as he released his control of the shadowy appendages begging entrance to the haven of her warmth. They didn't wait a moment more, either; a second tentacle slid instantly into her core to stroke her clenching walls in tandem with the other, filling the heated air of the shower with the sound of their coitus, while the other slid eagerly against her ass, teasing and circling her rear entrance in preparation for filling her entirely.

Her breath left her entirely in a cry of pleasure so loud and long he was certain she had damaged her throat, her body twitching and squirming in his hold and against his bones as though uncertain what it wanted to do, searching desperately for an outlet of motion that his bonds didn't allow her. Her head thrashed side to side, her saturated hair slapping the tile wall and his cheekbones, and her legs flexed in his hold, aimless but needful.

“Night- holy fuck, Nightmare-” she gasped, incapable of anything more than calling his name and succumbing to the onslaught of his tentacles on her, and he hummed beneath his breath in answer, upkeeping the circle of his fingers around the sensitive bud of her clit even as his free hand explored her body, stroking her heated, plush flesh worshipfully.

A single, glistening tear ran down her cheek from her clenched lids, brought about by the sheer over-stimulation of his attentions and the closeness of the orgasm he was breeding within her (he was desperate to make her come for him, he would have her pleasure, utter and complete, before he sought his own), and he licked it up greedily, drinking in the flavor of her lust and her overcome emotions.

She tasted like all the best things in the world, things he had been denied for centuries, and he had no intention of letting them go now. She was perfection, every little thing she did devastating to his intent and control... so far above what he deserved that his daring in taking her, in uniting his body with hers, felt as near to desecration as one could come without complete damnation.

He no longer cared, though. She was his , as he was hers, and he would idolize her and fulfill her as the queen she had made herself to him.

The questing tentacle pressing to her rear entrance sank into her at the same moment as he lowered his head to lap at one of her peaked, straining nipples, joining its brothers in assaulting her body with riotous pleasure, and with its advent, Frisk's body released the last of its desperate tension, collapsing back against the wall behind her and loosening to allow the tentacles to sink deep within her. She gave over to her lust entirely, practically sobbing as he brought her nearer and nearer to the first of her ends (there would be more than one if he had anything to say about it... she would be well rewarded for giving herself to him) and trembling with the overflow of her pleasure.

“God yes... god, yes... Nightmare...” she cried, his name heavy on her lips and dripping from every lush curve of her pinioned and presented body and filling her entirely... he couldn't have kept his hands off himself a moment longer if he'd had the mind left to try, shoving one handed at the waistband of his saturated shorts to release the unbelievable pressure of his arousal from within. He took himself in hand the moment it was free, stroking his length eagerly and in time with the thrust of the tentacles within her (he wouldn't last long once he found his way inside the wet heat of her, he knew that with a veracity that made his skull spin, but he didn't care), the circling of his fingers around her clit and the slick of his tongue over her nipple and the pulse of his cock in his palm and the heavenly sound of her voice echoing in his head overwhelming him.

He could feel her getting closer and closer with every plunge inside her, her could feel her body shaking and her voice pitching higher and her walls clenching in an age old, rhythmic dance that begged for succor, and bent his every skill, every thought not consumed with sating his own need, towards tipping her over that approaching precipice, his teeth closing around the peak of her nipple to bite gently, his tentacles working their way to the deepest part of her, his fingers pressing to the surely aching, needy bud of her clit.

She was wailing in his grasp and under the desperation of his attempts to bring her to her peak, her body shuddering and jolting with its need, so close they could both taste it in the air...

“Please... please, please, please-” she begged haplessly, her hips thrusting against the intruders stretching her around them, against the pressure of his fingers... and fell before she could say another word, her walls clamping down around the tentacles within her so hard they were forced into stillness, her limbs twitching and her breath catching in her arched throat (he kissed it's length desperately, as desperately as he continued the motion of his fingers between her thighs, the need to elongate her explosive orgasm to its fullest one he couldn't ignore) and her head listless in her distraction.

Nightmare had never seen anything more beautiful in his life than her in the throes of her climax, lost to pleasure so completely that she forgot everything but it... he could feel an addiction forming, his want to see her come undone for him now far more than a simple craving. How could he have resisted her so long, knowing now what it could have been to give in and have her?

Fool indeed.

As the height of her pleasure faded, her body slumping against him and loosening from its tightly wound indulgence, his tentacles retreated from her, slipping slowly from inside her, away from her heaving breasts... from around her wrists, settling her arms around his neck and her head against his broad shoulder. The ones supporting her legs propped them around his pelvis securely, placing her weight into his able arms, and he stroked her spine as she gasped for breath and clung to him, ignoring, as best he could, the heat of her folds now pressed directly to his abandoned length.

When she regained use of her weakened limbs, caught her breath and settled from her orgasm, he would take her to her bed. It was near, the bathroom she had dragged him to just next door to it, and he would have her there, free of his soaked clothes and without the cold, hard tile against her back. She would be more comfortable there, he was certain, and as her breath began to calm, her fingers, weak but explorative, traversing the processes of his spine and her lips pressing tenderly to his jaw, he made to turn off the water and exit the shower, shifting her in his arms to transfer her to her feet.

She clung to him even more fiercely, though, shaking her head desperately and digging her fingers into the drooping material of his jacket.

“No. No, don't let me go,” she plead in a ragged, strained whisper, nuzzling against him with an affection and a rekindled need that stopped him in his tracks and stole every wisp of breath from him, and he looked down on her with all the indulgence he was capable of while swept away by the heat of his own lust and a blooming adoration that made his bones ache, his thumb sweeping along her back and his face pressing into the fall of her wetted hair.

“I want you, Frisk...” he murmured there, bucking his hips gently to evidence the truth of his claim (his length slid through the abundance of her wetness so easily that he nearly slipped inside her, the head of his cock catching against her entrance for a moment before slipping away), and though her breath caught in her chest, her arms tightening around his neck and her core twitching against him... she pulled away from where her head rested against his shoulder, facing him with a weary but intense sort of determination in her eye that nearly made his mind short circuit.

She rolled her hips against him as well, bucking the softness of her body against the hardness of his, the sound of her wet folds against him prompting a chuckle from her. She stroked the slope of his skull, gently and tenderly pulling him in for a slow, deep, passionate kiss, and smiled breathlessly when she pulled away.

“Good. I want you too,” she muttered, nothing but truth, the spark of what he dared to call love, and growing desire in her shining eyes, and he let out a short, gruff sigh, pressing her back against the wall in defeat. It wasn't as though he minded the thought of having her here... it just wasn't very romantic. He'd had different thoughts, for when he made love to her.

“Here?” he grunted shortly, nodding to their current position (the water, and the tile at her back, was starting to get cold; it didn't bother him, he didn't have skin to be concerned about, but it wouldn't be good for her...), but she seemed to have no qualms with it, only nodding firmly and bucking against him again, tightening her hold on his shoulders and smirking so coquettishly that his length twitched against her.

“Here.”

Still thwarting him at every turn. He wished he had the ability to deny her... but he knew he would never be able to. All he could do was obey her whim, give in to the want and softness of her body... lean in to capture her lips again, and shift his pelvis back to slide his cock inside her, swallowing down her gasp and giving in to the lush softness of her around him.

There would always be a next time to treat her how he wished to, to show her his very best. For now... this would be more than enough.

“Your will be done... wife.”

Chapter Text

“ ey there lass. waitin' up for me?”

Frisk, sitting cross legged on her bed, jumped nearly to the roof, the book she had been nose deep in clattering to the carpet and the parchment awaiting her attention scattering. A quill fluttered to the floor as well, but its ink pot was saved before it crashed to its inky demise, caught up in a levitation spell that quickly and easily snatched it from certain doom midair and set it on Frisk’s bedside table.

She knew who to blame for the upset immediately, identified easily by his thick Irish accent, laughter infused tone, and late evening presence, and sent an accusing glare to the window culvert directly beside her bed, meeting the skeletal grin and amused sockets of the intruder currently climbing through her window.

She threw the closest thing that she could reach, which happened to be a pillow, directly into his face, and he fell backwards over the broomstick he was pulling through the window behind himself, chortling as he lay on the ground, totally unrepentant. Frisk could only fold her arms, huffing and glaring down at the snickering monster.

“ Sans Snowdin- you nearly gave me a heart attack! What do you think you're doing?” she demanded hotly, leaving off her glaring as it seemed to have no effect on him (she really shouldn't be surprised by now... so irksome. Why did she like him so much again?) to slide from her bed and attempt to contain the mess he had surprised her into making, and Sans, sitting up and attempting to untangle himself from his broomstick, sent the top of her head a quelling but mischievous look as it bobbed about on the other side of her bed.

“ comin’ ta see my favorite witch. that a crime?” he informed her teasingly, tilting his skull to read one of the scattered parchments to see what she had been up to, and Frisk, setting a handful of her work back in place on her rumpled sheets, pursed her lips at him, raising her eyebrows indicatively.

“ Sneaking into the girls’ dormitories is.”

He snorted at that as he finally gained his feet and set his broomstick beside the window, shutting and latching it before bending to help the human girl pick up her bits of homework. He stuck the tip of his tongue out at her as he did, though, completely unabashed by her lecturing, and wagged his own brows suggestively.

“ y'act like it's the first time~” he crooned, reaching out to smack her rear lightly when she bent to feel under the bed for her lost quill (she jumped slightly, nearly hitting her head on the baseboard, and let out a quickly stifled squeak), and Frisk let out a heavy sigh, snagging the writing implement up and turning to send her monster boyfriend a sharp look.

“ And every time you do, you almost get caught.”

“‘ almost’ bein' the key term here. five months and still scot-free... gives a whole new meanin' ta getting lucky, eh?”

And what a five months it had been. Every day had seemed both too long and too short at the same time, since the afternoon of their first fairly violent consummation, down in the Quidditch pitch locker rooms. They'd screwed each other silly every moment they'd gotten, those first few weeks, taking out months of frustration and anger on each other in every corner of the school, from the library to unused classrooms to one of the courtyards.

Once, he'd even fucked her on Filch's desk while he was out patrolling the halls, doing his absolute best to make her scream with the most wicked grin on his face.

That was all it had been for awhile, too, simply slaking each other's lusts in the most turbulent and messy ways possible... she'd never been as sore, or as horny, as she'd been during that time, knowing she could expect him to pull her into some dark corner at least twice a day, provoke her into either shoving him onto the ground to ride him or letting him do the same to her.

And then one day... it was different. He'd snuck her up to the divination classroom one afternoon (Trelawney had glared at her for two weeks after that one, making her paranoid that maybe she really could see some things-), spent their entire lunch hour ruining one of the little plush poofs. She'd let him finish inside for the first time, with his assurance that he couldn't get her pregnant like this, and was still resting on her, and inside her, when he'd just... he'd kissed her, more gently and tenderly than he ever had before.

And she hadn't protested it, either. It had felt... natural. More real than any of the others had, angry and passionate and rough as they'd been. He wasn't trying to choke her with his tongue, or trying to bite her lower lip, or stop her from calling him the terrible names that always got him so hard. He was just kissing her, stroking his hands over her hips and humming quietly, almost a purr... and she was kissing him back.

The next time they'd met, it hadn't been the same either. He'd wanted to talk. Just talk, sitting next to her and playing with her hand, like he wanted to hold it but wasn't sure how she'd react. The next two times after had been like that too, sitting together in quiet corners and just... talking. Idle chatter, discussions of classes and activities, a few unanswered flirtations.

She'd asked him why, through a note slipped into his pocket when he'd left her with a hand run through her hair and a whisper of a kiss to her lips. She hadn't the bravery to ask herself... fearing he'd lost interest in her completely. It shouldn't have mattered if he had... if he'd just been using her and was tired of her now... but her heart ached so terribly to think of it, even if all they'd ever done was abuse and fuck each other.

He'd answered her that night, the first night he'd snuck up to the Gryffindor dormitories.

He'd made love to her, flew her down on the broom that was required to reach the tower and found a spot in the back of one of the study rooms to do so. Spent over an hour all but worshiping her, made her cum so hard and often she hadn't been able to walk after... kissed her 'til her toes curled and her lips tingled, and whispered how he felt, what he really wanted and hoped for, against her lips, his smile hopeful and crooked and absent the carnal desire and teasing it usually held.

He wanted more than just her body, he wanted HER, and hoped she wanted him back.

It was more than she'd dared to hope for. They barely knew each other, outside their mutual lusting... they had different social circles, different houses, different interests. Yet she had started feeling for him too, made all too obvious from just how heartbroken she was by the thought of him losing interest in her, and his offer for them to be more was all she could have wanted.

It hadn't been easy. Beset by the heavy expectations his father put on him, Sans was determined to take nothing seriously (besides his classes... he asserted more than once that his father would come all the way to the castle to beat him like the family pig if his grades slipped), and his attempts to make light of almost every situation sometimes got in the way of things she truly valued. On the other hand, her dedication to making the most of her time at Hogwarts got in the way too... it often upset him to be put second over a dusty old book or a hidden corridor.

They worked through it, though. Their time together was the most cherished thing Frisk had in her life now, to an almost worrisome level... she couldn't seem to make it through a day without at least seeing him. Her heart ached at the thought of being separated from him, made tears sting at the corners of her eyes... and reminded her of the reality that threatened just that, striking her playful scolding from her expression and sinking her back into the depression that had consumed her for the past two weeks.

Final exams were fast approaching, and with them, the coming of summer and the end of the school term. With its ending, her transfer from Ilvermorny would be over as well, along with her travel visa. She would be forced to return home to finish her schooling in America, and Sans... Sans would be stuck in Ireland, his impending graduation placing him squarely in his father's hands.

He'd complained about it often enough for her to know how much he dreaded it, and just how inevitable it was. He hated the lab, destined to be reduced to working on machines he didn't care about, researching potions he didn't approve of, and constantly under his controlling, abusive father's eye. There was no hope of him escaping that fate to see her, if she could even manage to afford tickets... and Gaster certainly wouldn't approve of him going to see her in America, a human witch outside of the realm of his control.

They were doomed. She knew it, and yet couldn't face it, gathering her parchments into as neat a pile as she was able to with a straight, emotionless expression plastered to her face. She'd been trying to contain the damage as long as she could, tamping down her upset to prolong their happiness... she was certain he was ignoring it as well, as was his way of dealing with anything bothersome.

He was almost destined to notice her melancholy now, though, as close as they were in the little space between her and Wendy Livingston's bed, and his spotting her carefully schooled expression wiped the grin from his own, his brows lowering over his sockets and his hand reaching out to stop hers from crumpling the top piece of her homework.

“ 'ey, c’mon, don’t be mad. jus' wanted ta see you-” he murmured quellingly, threading his phalanges between her fingers to try to pull her closer, and she immediately felt guilty for robbing him of his good humor, trying to smile but pulling away all the same, to stand and safely put her work away. She could feel his gaze heavy on her back, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong, and she sighed, pushing the tears begging to be shed back before turning back to face him.

“ I don’t want you to get in trouble is all,” she muttered as way of an excuse for her temper, grabbing up a sweater from her trunk to pull over her blouse and jerking a thumb towards the door that led out of the dormitory. “Let’s go to the roof. We can talk there.”

Sans stared at her a moment longer, arms laid out on top of her rumpled covers where she had left him, but clearly decided to keep his own council regarding whether he believed her excuse or not, pushing himself to his feet with an exaggerated groan and looking sadly at the plush bed they would be leaving behind.

“ aww. wanted t'shag on a bed for once~ just a quick one?” he suggested with his familiar smirk, wagging his brows again in an attempt to lighten the air, and Frisk let out a strained chuckle, shaking her head and leading the way to the darkened stairwell, and the ladder at the top that would take them up to Gryffindor Tower's roof overlook.

Much as she would like to...

“ Not likely, my dorm mates will be back from the bath any second. Come on, let’s go,” she insisted, though she did wait to take his hand before starting up the stairs (he threaded his fingers between hers again immediately, his closeness soothing an ache in her chest that never seemed to leave when they were apart), and together they climbed the rest of the way in near silence, a few comments from him regarding his disappointment in the presence of her underwear shushed with a gentle smack to his arm.

They emerged onto the roof overlook before long, the stars outstreched over the castle. It was a good night to be out and about, and from their vantage, Frisk could see a late divination class spread out on the lawn far below, charting the stars and their movements, as well as a huddled group atop the astronomy tower, doing much the same thing. A pair of ravens swooped around each other overhead, barely visible against the velvety black backdrop of the sky and bound for the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and Frisk and Sans found themselves sitting against the railing on the edge of the overlook, Sans with his legs hanging over the edge, between two posts, and Frisk with her back set against the corner.

Sans flicked a pebble over the edge he sat on, watching it roll down the slope of the tower roof before pretending to shiver.

“ cold as bollocks out 'ere,” he complained, pulling his sweater closer around himself and throwing Frisk a teasing glance from the corner of his socket (what a ham... he was a skeleton, they couldn't get cold), but, with her melancholy persisting, she was only capable of snorting a little bit, shaking her head before laying it against the post beside her, hugging her knees and looking out over the swaying tops of the trees.

She had so little time left with him, and she was wasting it being sad... but she couldn't seem to stop.

“ Least it’s not raining,” she muttered, smoothing the edge of her skirt down against her leg with an idle hand, and even though she hadn't reacted much to his jesting, Sans didn't give up, pasting his smile on his face and prodding one of her legs with his elbow.

“ aye, that’d really put a ‘damp’er on things,” he snickered, raising his brows expectantly, but when his pun got no reaction from Frisk whatsoever, her eyes trained dully on the middle distance and her expression bleak, the skeleton monster's own expression sank, his shoulders drooping and the lights in his sockets dimming.

He hesitated a moment, just watching her in silence, clearly vacillating between keeping his silence, as he had these past few weeks, or actually saying something, before he reached out to drag a curled knuckle along her sweater clad arm, tilting his skull to try to meet her eye and pulling one leg from between the posts to face her.

“ ...frisky, you alright? you’ve been actin'… odd, lately,” he prodded gently, his concern clear in the lines dug in around his sockets, and with his questioning, finally acknowledging the elephant in the room, Frisk could no longer pretend nothing was wrong (she clearly hadn't been doing all that good of a job in the first place...), sighing heavily before scooting across the ground to lean against him, accepting the comforting arm he threw around her shoulders.

“ It’s almost the end of the term. My transfer will be over right after… I have to go home,” she revealed haltingly, clinging to his sweater and starting to shake. The tears that had threatened only moments before gathered again on her lashes, misting her eyes and catching in her tone, her voice trembling several times before she finished, burying her face against his neck.

“ I’ll never see you again. I don't know what I'll do without you,” she whispered sadly, nuzzling against his jaw in a desperate plea for affection and comfort, and the hand that had been smoothing over her back halted in its movement for a moment before continuing, accompanied by a dismissive snort and a chuckle.

“ oh. that all? thought i'd managed t'knock you up or somethin',” he said laughingly, shrugging one shoulder casually, and Frisk, letting out a gasp, sat away from him to stare at him accusingly, a brand new worry worming its way into her mind.

“ You said you couldn't without a soul bond, you-!” she began to accuse, reaching out to shove his shoulder in her temper and flushing in humiliation (she never should have let him finish inside her, he'd promised he couldn't get her pregnant, and she'd been letting him for MONTHS now-), but stopped in her tirade when she saw the teasing smirk that had accompanied his words.

“ You're joking,” she clarified, and he nodded as he chortled to himself, obviously pleased to have both tricked her and pulled her out of her terrible state.

“ yep. see how small all this seems in comparison though?” he claimed, curling a lock of her hair around one of his fingers idly, and Frisk could only stare at him, shaking her head in saddened chagrin. She should have known he wouldn't be concerned with it... he couldn't be serious about anything.

“ ...Sans, it's not funny. I care about you, so much, and this is really upsetting me-” she explained carefully, her voice breaking again as the tears at last broke free of her control, flooding down her cheeks and dripping from her chin, and Sans' teasing expression crumbled into regretful remorse, reaching out to pull her back into his arms from the distance she had pulled away from him, resisting her weak attempts to lean away in her upset.

“ frisk, no, don't cry... i care about you too, y'know i do. please don't cry, i hate it when you cry, please... let me explain,” he soothed, petting her hair and rocking in place with her in his arms. She resisted his affections and words a little longer, shaking her head and hiccuping miserably and trying vainly to pull away again, before giving into the tender stroke of his hands on her back, the calming tone of his voice, and leaned fully against him, bracing herself for the end that was surely coming.

“ Why, then... why isn’t it bothering you…” she whimpered, weaker than she had ever felt before in the face of her breaking heart, the loss of one of the best things that had ever happened to her, and Sans pressed a kiss to the top of her head, making soothing, shushing sounds deep in his chest and smoothing his hands over her trembling back, until her shuddering sobs finally ceased. Once they had, and she simply lay sniffling in his arms, he finally replied, tucking a strand of hair that had escaped her braid behind her ear as he did.

“ i'm not worried 'cuz i’m goin' with you,” he whispered, dragging a knuckle along his human's neck affectionately, and she stilled, processing his words slowly through her stunned mind (he... he couldn't possibly mean what she thought he did-) before looking up at him through the fall of her bangs, her breaths catching in her chest.

“ What? But… what about your dad? You said he was gonna to make you work for him-” she queried disbelievingly, not daring to hope but feeling her heart start to throb nonetheless, and the skeleton monster scoffed dismissively, wrinkling his nasal ridge and rolling the flecks of light in his sockets.

“ he can kiss tha boniest part of my arse. i’m not gonna get sucked into his fuckin' lab, i’m goin’ to america. land of opportunity and all that, aye?” he joked, flicking her earlobe and wiggling his brows to try to get a smile from her at his half sarcastic reference, but Frisk was still awash in her stunned incredulity, only capable of blinking at him owlishly.

Could... this really be happening?

“ ...you'd do that for me?” she asked tentatively, wiping indolently at the tears drying in makeup streaked tracks on her cheeks, and his smile crooked into that incredibly handsome, clever smirk she loved, his hands pushing hers away from her face to wipe her tears away for her. She leaned into his palm, her eyelids fluttering as she looked up to meet and hold his gaze, and he leaned in to kiss her gently.

“ i'd do anythin' for you, frisky. but it’s only part for you.'s part for me, and part t'really stick it ta my old man. ’m tired of havin' my future decided for me. y'know he's been talkin' about pickin' me a wife too? i'm fuckin' sick of it. i’m takin' my inheritance and never lookin’ back,” he told her firmly, running his fingers into her hair to soothe her further; his gaze hardened as he spoke of his father's controlling temperament, his gaze drifting into the middle distance for a moment, before it snapped back to hers, his sockets hooding and his nasal ridge brushing against hers gently as he nuzzled her.

“ and when i’ve found work and a place, and you’re done with school... i'm gonna come for ya. we’ll be together, jus' you and me,” he promised fervently, smiling crookedly before leaning in to kiss her soundly, stealing her breath away and making her head fuzzy with the fullness of her emotions.

When he finally pulled away, it was with no small amount of his own breathlessness, panting as he sat back against the post behind him and cradling her closer. She had scooted herself into his lap as they'd embraced, twining their tongues together and losing themselves in one another, and he cupped her cheek gently in his hand there, brushing her mussed hair away from her lightly blushing face with curled knuckles.

“ if you'll still have me, with all my tasteless jokes an' terrible timin',” he snarked, obviously aware of how much he'd worried her and remorseful for it, and Frisk, leaning into his touch lovingly, watched him from beneath her lashes, still so thrown by it all that she felt dizzy.

“ Sans, are you... being serious? Really, really serious? ” she queried with the beginnings of hope in her voice, clinging to his sweater's front tight enough to wrinkle the button-up beneath it, and he let out a smooth chuckle.

“ 'course. y'mean everythin' to me.”

She just couldn't seem to grasp it. It was something a logical mind would scorn, outlandish and unexpected and just plain crazy . He was never serious... but he was being so for her. She could feel herself starting to tear up again for a whole new reason now, so ridiculously in love with the bony monster beaming up at her that she could think of nothing else.

“ I thought... I can't believe... I don't know what to say...” she stumbled, shaking as she jumped between so many emotions she was starting to get whiplash, and Sans smiled so lovingly up at her that her heart ached, sweeping his thumbs under her eyes to catch and dismiss her gathering tears adoringly.

“ ...say yes?” he prompted hopefully, with all the gravity and anticipation of a man that had just asked his beloved for her hand, and Frisk vacillated only a moment longer before bending forward to enclose him in an almost crushing hug, burying her face against his neck and letting out a shaky, grateful sigh.

“ Yes. Yes, I want to be with you. Always,” she assured him there in an ecstatic murmur, her heart only aching more as his arms folded around her, holding her close as he nuzzled her own neck and pressed gentle, staticky skeleton kisses to it. They stayed like that, for a time, merely embracing one another and glorying in the healed rift between them... until it was more than that, until her hands were pulling at the hem of his sweater to untuck it and her lips were climbing his cervical vertebrae, a warmth and an urgency filling her that only the love he made to her could satisfy.

She needed him so badly right now, so long denied the satisfaction of the more emotional side of their relationship (her own fault, but still) that she couldn't help her craving for the more physical as well.

She didn't remember when she started kissing him, or how she'd gotten his belt undone... all she recalled was him enthusiastically returning her touches, parting her lips with the length of his lithe tongue and freeing her skirt from the the curl of her legs to scoot it up and out of the way. Her panties were pulled to the side, and his thick length buried inside her, what felt only a moment later, and she was riding him the very next, one of his hands heavy on her hip as he guided her motions and the other lifting her sweater and blouse over her breasts, to palm and stroke their weight in his hand.

He seemed just as caught up and needy as she did, his hips thrusting up into her heat with every one of her smooth, forward rocking motions, and broke from their kiss with a groan when she took him particularly deep and ground herself against his pubic arch, panting and looking up at her with what looked, for a moment, to be hearts floating in his sockets.

“ stars, i love ya,” he claimed assuredly, holding her gaze as he said it, before ducking his head to lave his tongue over her tightened nipples, his free hand moving between her spread legs to flip her skirt out of the way and rub his fingertips against her clit. The rush of pleasure sent stars shooting across her vision, nearly as much as his proclamation of love (he'd never said it before... neither had she, but it... it meant so much to her-), and she scrabbled her nails across the back of his skull to hold him closer, her lashes fluttering as he brought her end closer and closer with every stroke of his fingers against her, every plunge of him deep inside her.

“ S-sans... I-I love you too…” she whimpered as she teetered on the edge, tightening around him and holding him close in her desperate grasp and loving him so much she thought her heart, and something even deeper inside her chest, might spontaneously combust, and he grinned sloppily where he flicked the tip of his tongue against her peaked nipple, slurping it back into his mouth before pushing her over the edge and watching her cum for him with egotistical pleasure.

“ i know~”

Chapter Text

The jungle was at peace, in the dregs of the afternoon and the first breaths of evening. The air was thick and heavy with both impending and already falling rain, vine and fruit heavy boughs filtered what little sun peeked through the clouds through verdant foliage, and above it all, the unbearable heat beat down without quarter, the humidity so thick in the air that mist gathered beneath the roots of the century old trees, among fallen and weathered ruins older than written history.

Hurried steps scuffed against worn stone stairs, within those most ancient ruins, interrupting the vibrant forest, the calls of tropical birds and the buzz of insects far too large for comfort and the drip of rainwater, with their tumult. Panted breaths disturbed the misty and still air, sending it swirling away from the scrambling passage of the being invading its rest, and mosses that had grown unimpeded for decades were scraped raw under unforgiving boot heels, dying and forgotten by the woman attempting to scale the steps of the temple at the center of the sprawling, once bustling but now silent remains of civilization.

Finally nearing the top of the temple, and potential safety, Frisk hurriedly scraped her sweaty hair from her eyes with crooked and trembling fingers, adrenaline surging in her veins as she climbed ever higher. Something was chasing her, something that had followed her every step from the moment she had entered the ruins, and that very something snatched at her legs even now, from the misty shadows, as she struggled frantically up the steep and unforgiving temple stairs, prompting a squeal from her lips and even further desperate ascension from her scrambling feet.

She hadn't managed to see exactly what it was that was after her, as she had fled its presence through the falling rain, the swirling mist and the twisting, meandering paths of the ancient city, but she knew, just from its tenacity and many attempts to trap her, that it was something she didn't want to face. Many things as clever as her pursuer lived in the shadows of the trees, the forgotten places of the world, things that defied any law but those they made for themselves. Beast kin in the form of sleek black panthers watched from high above, awaiting their chance to spring... feathered serpents danced among the clouds and stole stars from the sky to decorate their nests, snatching maidens to sate their various appetites... fallen, abandoned gods prowled in dark and terrible forms that could twist the mind, hungry for veneration and blood.

The creature chasing her could be any of those things, or none, another danger unknown to mankind. She really didn't intend to stick around to find out.

At last, she gained the top of the before seemingly never-ending steps, gasping for breath and wide eyed in her frantic escape, and scurried for the first possible refuge from her would be captor, sprinting full tilt through the yawning maw of the temple's greenery infested and web strewn entrance. She paused only to cast about her for a hiding place, hearing the scrape of claws against the stone behind her with dire trepidation, and, with vain but springing hope, slammed her palm against what had once been a stone closing mechanism for the door before running to duck behind a displaced table, laying on its side. The motion surely bruised her hand, her skin stinging and her bones protesting the inflexible and unforgiving surface they had been bludgeoned against, but as she crouched among shards of shattered pottery and fallen stools, she felt, with stunned but victorious disbelief, the ground beneath her feet shudder, ancient mechanisms whirring to life to lift a massive stone door from its culvert.

It was clearly a ponderous task, rock scraping against itself as the intricately carved door was moved securely into place, but it slammed home surprisingly quickly, rewarding her gamble with a cloud of dust, a thwarted screech from whatever beast now clawed at the outside of the door, and the questionably comforting darkness of the temple she had just locked herself inside for the foreseeable future, the only light filtering into the room coming from a skylight set in the roof far above, small and dim and dripping with rainwater.

Frisk had come equipped to explore the ruins, of course, more than prepared to face the darkness of long abandoned homes and places of worship, and, once her hands had stopped shaking from her adrenaline surge, she flipped the switch on the side of her headlamp, illuminating the antechamber of the temple. It was modestly furnished, as many entryways into such places tended to be, the walls carved and painted with the fierce faces of the gods once worshipped here (some sort of cross between snakes and men, it appeared) and dotted with a few doorways that led further into the darkness.

Not the worst place to start, or to wait out the now quiet but surely still present hunter outside the walls... a few sips of water from her canteen, and a few minutes rest to both catch her breath and clean her various scrapes, and she was ready to explore further into the temple, documenting the contents of the chamber she was currently in (as well as sketching one of the reliefs from the wall along the margins of her notes) before picking one of the doorways to traverse.

She made it no further than three steps down the first hallway.

From within the pressing darkness and stoic rock walls, just out of view around a bend, came the sound of something moving, the soft shifting of motion against the stone floor sending shivers down her spine and her feet reeling her body backwards, back into the antechamber. She scrabbled for purchase of the machete strapped to her belt as she did, staring, wide eyed, into the shadows that not even her headlamp seemed to be able to penetrate, her throat tight and her fear redoubling.

Had the beast that had been chasing her found a way inside already, and was coming to finish the job? It sure was taking its sweet time, if it was... it had sounded very close indeed, and she would expect, considering their game of cat and mouse only a few minutes prior, that it would hurry into the room, knowing she had effectively cornered herself. Yet the sounds of movement never quickened, slow and patient and smooth, like fine grained sandpaper against already lacquered wood.

Something else then. Something that sounded unsettlingly large, and was obviously stalking her with great care.

Frisk, finally managing to free her blade from its sheath and holding it loosely at her side (no need to offend, if, by some happy chance, the beast intended to welcome her), sent a quick look towards the closed and sealed temple entrance, considering the button that would reopen the door and if she wanted to chance having to face two monsters at once, to give her a chance at all of escaping. The answer came back as a resounding no, which she was almost relieved over, and it was with the resolution to, at the very least, attempt to face what was still slowly approaching from the dark ahead that she continued to step backwards, edging herself carefully towards another of the doorways and, potentially, a way to flee should things turn unpleasant.

Likely getting herself lost in the process, saying nothing of if there were more monsters hidden below. Crap's sake... and she'd been told the ruins would likely be empty.

They quite obviously weren't.

“W-who's there?”

She hated the quaver in her voice, clearly evidencing her fear through her shaky and weak tone; it bounced off the bare stone back to her, echoing hollowly from the dark halls stretching away from the room she stood in, and though the movement from the hall she had retreated from paused, reacting to the sound of her voice, she received no answer in return, only a long and dreadful silence, filled with impending doom. The handle of her machete rattled, as her arm began to shake from too often repeated stress, and the light from her headlamp bounced across the doorway it was directed towards, in an attempt to pierce the shadows within.

Its beam caught on motes of dust and falling water droplets, sending shining fractals around the room... and, for a moment so quick she wasn't sure she had seen it at all, illuminated a yellowed, bony jaw, a narrow, skeletal face lit with piercing violet magic in its dark sockets and decorated with jet black scales, before it was gone, disappearing back into the dark beyond the door frame.

Her heart was nearly beating out of her chest now, the phantom vision so striking that she nearly dropped her machete entirely; forgetting her thoughts of escape, she backed herself up against a wall, eyes wide and breaths so shallow her head was starting to spin.

She was seeing things... impossible things. Spores, most likely, spores from psychedelic mushrooms, buried deep in the temple... yes, it had to be. She should have put on her mask when she came in, she was such a fool, she knew better than to-

The sounds of movement started again, dragging her from her thoughts and physically back into the room. Something was there, just beyond her sight, not just a hallucinogen induced imagining... probably not the legendary creature she now feared it might be, but definitely something, something she was now unafraid to point her machete at in the only threat she had to give, shake in her hand as it may.

“Show yourself! I'm not kidding!”

She was proud, momentarily, of how much more steady her voice sounded this time, smiling both brightly and fearfully at her almost hysterical sounding thoughts (what did it matter how brave she sounded, whatever that was wasn't going to be impressed by it-), but all her resounding self-congratulations fell to the ground in pieces more shattered than the once whole pots she stood among only a moment later. A voice, a fell, cold, and decidedly male voice, hissed from the shadows before her in answer to her demand, the pair of intense, violet eyes she had told herself couldn't possibly be there now floating, amidst the darkness, too far off the ground to be of any comfort in the least.

“There's no need to shout, human. The entire jungle can hear your thunderous breaths, saying nothing of your grating tone.”

Frisk's breath halted entirely, her chest burning with its ceasing but seemingly incapable of restarting it to remedy the lack thereof. Her eyes strained against the darkness, trying to comprehend what stared back at her from within, and at the same moment shied away, terrified by the knowledge. She could barely think, beyond her mind's incessant pleas to run and hide... her legs would not obey the summons anyway, some sort of cursed combination of both jello and concrete, sticking her to the floor and making her weak all at once.

Her mouth ran dry. The large knife in her hand swayed, more than likely useless against the enemy she stood against.

“What are you? W-what do you want?”

Her voice was obediently quiet, this time, as though in answer to the hidden monster's demands... he seemed pleased by this, as well, a thrum of acknowledging approval shaking the very stone walls around her, but he also made no move to emerge from the shadows, only looking down on her from across the room, slitted, magical irises observing her every motion, as though to memorize them.

“Precocious thing, aren't you... demanding answers and bearing weapons while trespassing on my territory, within my own temple at that. A dangerous game to play, with a predator of my caliber...”

The threat was as plain as could be, the perceived offense to a creature surely as powerful as he very real and deadly. She almost immediately lowered her machete, deliriously hopeful that that would somehow amend the offense, and bowed her head in reverence, shaking from the ends of her curling, damp hair to the toes of her stained boots.

“I-I'm sorry, I didn't know the temple was yours, I was just trying to-”

Her hurried and stumbling explanation was cut off before she had really even begun, the flinty gaze of the monster in the shadows narrowing as he let out a quiet but commanding snarl to silence her. There was a flurry of movement, the same smooth, sliding sound against the stone floor accompanying him, surely, shifting his position, and against the doorway more easily illuminated by the weak light of her headlamp than the darkness beyond, two hands extended to clench, clawed, bare bones against aged and weathered rock.

She couldn't seem to draw her gaze away from those hands... they represented everything she had feared only moments before, evidence that she hadn't, in fact, hallucinated anything at all, and had indeed seen the fleeting visage of one of the oldest creatures known to this part of the world.

The oldest, and certainly one of the most feared.

How could they still be here? It had been centuries since the time that they had been regarded as deities...

“I don't care why you are here, human. The fact remains that you are... and without an offering, even more insulting.”

He sounded angry, further evidenced by the now almost constant and threatening hissing exuding from the darkness in which the ancient monster dwelt (he had a right to be; this was his home, his place of worship, she was desecrating holy ground just by breathing the same air-), and Frisk trembled in her boots, her breath returned to her in sharp and desperate gasps that stung her deprived lungs, her ribs protesting both the sudden inhalations and the pounding of her heart within her chest. She could sense, as any cornered and panicked prey, him moving closer through the shadows, pinning her in place with the intensity of his glare, sweat from her exertion and her fear both dripping down the back of her neck to further stain the neckline of her tank top.

If she escaped from this, and that was a big if, considering the monster's pique, she would have a story the like of which hadn't been heard in a thousand years.

Did she dare tell it?

“What can I do? What can I give, I don't have... I don't have anything...”

She did her best to communicate her humbled and terrified remorse, striking a bargain and showing herself adequately worshipful surely the only way she would get out of this place alive, but stumbled to an inarticulate and astounded halt as, at last, the creature who's home she was intruding upon revealed himself, spilling from the darkness with grace and poise she had never seen in another being.

It was as she had feared, but could now only stare at in wonder. A skeletal lamia, known in local history and carved with due reverence into the rock walls surrounding them both as the patrons of both wealth and prosperity, a creature beyond legendary and venturing into the divine. He was appropriately stunning, as well, his surging, heavy coils black as midnight but throwing rainbow incandescence away from the touch of her head lamp's light, and his bones, thick and strong and bearing evidence of many hard won battles, adorned with golden armor and painted with ancient symbols of power.

A forked, slithering tongue flickered from between his bared fangs, as deeply hued as the violet magic lighting his deep and penetrating sockets, tasting the air around him. His gaze swept her form, where she stood with her head now bowed (she could, by no means, meet his eye again; these creatures were well known to be masters of hypnotism, and could seize the mind of any they chose to with a single glance), and let out a rumbling, direly amused sounding chuckle, coming to a rest at the very center of the room, the light falling from the skylight illuminating him perfectly.

“You are impressed~ How belatedly becoming of you. It's good to know that for all their vices, humans still know to be awed when necessary.”

She nodded many more times than was required, in her fear induced prostration, swallowing at her far too dry tongue in the hope that she would be able to summon forth the words that she would need to amend her surely fatal transgression. It was a difficult thing to let out anything more than awed and tremulous murmurs, her mind slow to catch up with the information being offered it. At last she managed it, however, belatedly remembering the blade still held shakily at her side as she did and shoving it unceremoniously into its sheath.

“Please, I'm so sorry. W-what can I offer you? I don't want to intrude any more than I already have.”

He seemed far more amused than angry, now that he had gotten what he deemed due diligence, and considered her with folded arms, his tail wrapping around himself into intricate and gorgeous layers of scaled majesty, slick as spilled oil and throwing the hidden colors of their beauty around the room in dancing glimmers.

“As you say, you have nothing I could find useful... besides one thing, perhaps.”

She didn't particularly like the tone he said that with, slick and meaningful and dripping with intent, and would have backed up further, had she not already had her back pressed up against the moss covered wall, swallowing again at her nervous and too dry throat. She really hoped he didn't mean that he intended to eat her... he didn't look or sound all that hungry, but she could be wrong.

“What... what's that...”

Her questioning began as a way to buy time and hopefully slip away from him, her gaze flicking to the stone button not too far away that would allow her to, potentially, escape the unknown threat of the creature considering her across the room (legends said that the lamias could be benevolent beings, but that they were also capable of great cruelty, depending on their breed and from where they hailed), but with her glance, even as small and quick as she had made it, she felt, more than saw, her eye catch against his own gaze, a sorcery both old and powerful sinking into her blood to freeze her on the spot.

Not like ice... no, there was nothing cold about his magic, running through her body like the venom he surely also had to offer... it was warm, almost hot, even, both relaxing her and beckoning her to give in to his enchantment. Her head turned against her will, to turn her eyes to meet his own fully... she swayed in place where she stood, her memories of why she was resisting him at all fading slowly but surely from her entranced mind.

She was walking, shuffling along the floor towards him, him and his intense gaze, his welcoming smile... her bag fell to the ground as she did, her machete unclipping to land beside it, all undone with her own hands. He encouraged that too, nodding slowly in praise, his hands extended to take hers. She glanced at them, for a moment, taken in by just how much larger they were than her own... his enchantment started to slip, as she did, like catching a breath of fresh air after being stuck in a perfume shop for hours.

“Look at me, human... trust in me... relinquish your control.”

He was quick to draw her back in, raising his hands to realign her gaze with his own, and she fell twice as hard, any remaining dredges of free will slipping away to leave behind only him, him and her sudden and intense want to please him.

She found herself in those captivating hands only a moment later, his coils wrapping around her and lifting her so she was raised level with his bony, sharp, but unbelievably handsome face, his clawed fingers tracing along her jaw, the delicate skin of her throat, carding into her frizzed hair, as though desperate to become acquainted with another being. He looked approving, in his inspection of her, his former scowl now an attractive smirk of victory.

“Very good. You have a strong mind... a rarity for your kind.”

His sultry voice, velvet on glass and melted chocolate, filled her senses as surely as his touch, almost drunk on it. She couldn't help but reach out to touch him back, running stumbling fingers over his golden armor, the scuffed and cracked surface of his bones... the sharp line of his jaw, strong and impressive and as godly as he and his temple claimed he was. He allowed her touches almost eagerly, his sockets hooding and a strange rumbling echoing through his hollow chest... his serpentine tail surging around her, his coils shifting to bring her further into his grasp.

“Not strong enough, I'm afraid, but that's hardly your fault. Isn't that right, pet... you did your very best.”

Mindless, lost to his ensorcelling gaze and the beguiling lilt of his voice, Frisk could only nod, leaning into his touch and touching him in return, running her fingertips over the slick black scales scattered across his cheekbones, the lines of magic traced around his sockets, the tips of his ivory fangs. The slide of his tail against the inside of her thighs, bared by her khaki shorts, only served to entrap her senses further, lust surging in her blood without her mind's consent, and this only pleased the monster further, his tongue flicking out to scent her arousal with great pleasure flickering in his violet gaze.

He bent his skull closer, turning her head with the hand slid deep into her loose hair, to press his face against her throat, breathing her and her ignited passions in more deeply, and let out a hot and wanting chuckle there, his tongue flicking again, this time to taste her flesh, to tease a quiet moan from her parted lips.

“I owe you my very best as well then, don't I? Come... I will have my offering.”

The meaning of his teasing words, his wandering, bony lips, became more than apparent a moment later as her own hands began to move to remove her clothes, eagerly unbuttoning her top and letting it fall to the stone floor below. Her tank top, boots, and socks were soon to follow, leaving her bare but for her shorts, and her monstrous soon-to-be lover seemed much too impatient to wait for her to remove those, tearing them and her panties from her body himself to leave her naked in his hands and wound up in his coils.

He seemed very pleased with what he found there, his hands roving her body to evoke more of those soft, breathy moans that his licks along her neck had brought to rise, his expression rife with his own desire and his tail, slid between her thighs, surging to meet and slide along her core, teasing her more and more wetted folds with his motions. His hands cupped her breasts as she, either instinctively or hypnotically, began to circle her hips, dragging her own hands down his cervical vertebrae and the curves of his ribs, and the motions of her undulating against him must have pleased him even more than he already was, as, from a slit in his glittering scales, the tapering lengths of not one, but two monstrous, plated cocks arose, the one teasing at her reddening clit and the other sliding against the crease of her thigh, both dripping lavender strings of seed and clearly eager to sate themselves within her.

He made no move to slide her onto them, however, either through the work of his own hands or his enchantment on her mind... he seemed content for her to grind against them, one hand lowering to grope at her rear in her dance and the other raising one of her breasts to his mouth, to lap at and circle her peaked, rosy nipple with his tongue. Her moans and cries of pleasure seemed to sustain him entirely, watching her face as she gasped and whined and whimpered, taking glory in the way her juices dripped down his scales, how she jumped and jolted when, teasingly, the whiplike end of his tail would strike against her ass, leaving a loving pink trail behind in its wake and only seeming to leave her wetter.

He crooned to her as she rode him, praise and temptations and filthy, knowing declarations, until, with a cry that shook the leaves on the trees outside the temple and a mix of their juices (his dual lengths pulsed and emptied in time with her own climax, seeming to have been brought to bear by her orgasm), Frisk came undone, shaking and trembling and collapsing in her skeletal hypnotist's embrace. He gathered her, naked and boneless and sated, into his capable arms, petting her sweat streaked jaw dotingly, before snapping the fingers of one hand before her eyes, breaking his own spell and, at the same moment, lighting a bevy of lanterns hung around the walls of the temple.

“Awaken. You have served me well.”

The light of the lanterns revealed a much different landscape than the one Frisk had stumbled into, far removed from the dilapidated temple that had seen no eye in centuries... it was clean, pristine even, the furniture in good repair, the statues unbroken and whole, the pots unshattered and filled with fruits gathered earlier that morning. A low but comfortably made bed lay in one corner, beside a sunken, pillow lined pit, and it was to this bed that the snake monster brought her, laying his naked, panting, thoroughly unhypnotized mate on its sheets and stroking her cum and sweat stained skin dotingly.

She reached out a shaking, tremulous hand to his jaw just as lovingly, smiling, open mouthed, up at him from under bliss heavy lashes, and Sans, chuckling quietly to himself, bent to push a lingering kiss to the woman's panting lips before nuzzling at her shoulder affectionately.

“So. What did you think?”

Frisk could only let out an amazed huff in return, one arm rising to lay across her forehead and the other draping around her lover's neck, to hold him close in her repose.

“That was incredible- we've definitely got to try that again, all the way next time. Was I really feeling your pleasure too?”

Sans snickered again as he nodded, already imagining how sinfully delicious their deviant experimentation would have felt if he had allowed himself inside her. They might both have fainted from the sheer pleasure... he supposed they would have to find out next time.

“I told you it would please you~”