Rating: T
TWs: Wholesomeness
Prompt for Frans Monthly November: [Cuddles]
Word Count: 1,422
Cross posted to Ao3 here!
@frans-monthly
Frisk’s feet ached, and her back felt as tight as a violin string.
Night had fallen, but Frisk found herself content to stay in bed or rather compelled to. Golden cast irises darted up to the blood bag currently suspended above the edge of the bed and trailed down along its length as they finally followed a thin tube down to her wrist where Alphys had so delicately taped it to her skin.
Frisk was in the second trimester of her second pregnancy, however it was no better than the last. Sans had said as much—had warned her that it would be another risk just as Elys’ had been, but she’d not listened. They’d spent hours, weeks going back and forth on the issue.
She’d never seen him lose his temper before…
The way his eyelights had terrifyingly flared, the viciously crooked downturning of his grin as he’d shattered what had been considered a valued treasure in his bare hand.
Frisk had trembled, scared.
But then he’d taken a moment to close his sockets, to breathe, before smiling again as he always did. Only, she’d then seen the sadness in his expression, his concern as he’d finally agreed and pulled her close to hold her while listing off all the precautions they’d need to take—fully supportive.
That small, monumental, interaction was what made her certain that she’d been making the right choice. Because the more they’d talked about how to handle it, the more he’d softened, and even arrived to the point where he’d cracked a good joke or two about future plans together as a family.
Sans had been so worried…
Frisk stared at the IV rather grumpily and the crimson liquid inside it.
He still was.
Despite that, she still so desperately wanted this child.
Not just for her to dote on, but for the look on Sans’ face…he so enjoyed being a father. She never would have believed it from how everything had gone before Elys had come along, but she ended up loving the effect their little girl had on him almost as much as she loved the skeleton herself. She knew this would be worth it, and they’d love this one just as much as Elys, and Elys would have a friend, someone she could hopefully play and grow with through the years.
Frisk had so many hopes and dreams for this.
Ultimately the aches and pains she currently felt were nothing in the grander scheme of things. She didn’t regret all the hard work they’d had to invest into making this happen, especially so soon after their first when compared to other vampires who’d take centuries at a time if that at all to produce offspring.
She just wished she could’ve been spared the complications that came with it.
Knock
Knock
Slowly she lifted her head, curious and a bit excited at the prospect of company. Whereas normally she would’ve asked who it was as a preemptive measure of setting up a joke, she was too eager to see who had come to pay her attention, and so gave a happy, “Come in!”
The creaking of the door as it opened echoed around the room as a sliver of darkness exposed the shadowed hall beyond in a thin slit barely large enough for a mouse to prod through.
Frisk blinked, confused.
And suddenly the crack opened wide and a snowy white head of hair popped in.
“Mom?”
Instantly Frisk grinned as she met the cool blues of her daughter’s eyes. Gently she eased herself up to lean against the headboard of her bed, trying her best to ignore how dizzy the action slightly made her, and waved Elys on in with a small pat to a spot on the bed beside her.
That was all that was needed as the little girl’s own smile widened—so similar to her father’s—and she padded in with happy steps until she was swinging herself over the edge of the mattress and tucking in beside her mother. Frisk made a joyful sound as Ely’s arms came around her and returned the embrace.
“Dad said you couldn’t come down to eat.” Elys huffed.
Frisk felt a drop of sweat on her brow. “Yes, I was a bit light headed this evening and out of concern your father fetched Alphys. I’ve been ordered to spend the next two days in bed to make sure I have enough blood for the baby.”
At that Elys glanced down at the slight protrusion of her stomach and hummed.
“Brother eats like Uncle Pap.”
Frisk raised a brow as she chuckled.
“Brother? Why do you say that? For all we know it could be a sister.”
Elys shook her head as she nuzzled closer, content in her mother’s arms. “No, brother.”
Frisk decided to not speak further on the assumption. She never understood how children could sound so confident in what they thought or felt, she could barely remember how she was at such an age. The idea that Elys wanted a brother of all things rather than a sister to sow or learn to cook with actually sparked warmth in Frisk’s soul. It wasn’t common to see a child wanting a sibling of the opposite sex.
But then again…
Children did have an uncanny ability when it came to making predictions…
“A brother then,” Frisk giggled. “And yes, he has quite the appetite.”
Another knock, and this time Frisk looked up to spot her husband standing in the doorway with a cheeky smirk across his teeth. Elys beamed as she stuck her tongue out at him before making a show of wiggling impossibly closer into her side.
“i’ve been beaten to my own room, the shame.” His baritone rolled as he entered and walked up to the side of the bed.
“You were racing?” Frisk asked as Elys snickered.
“no, i was finishing an important discussion. elys was racing, by herself, after declaring there was a race to begin with.” Without preamble Sans slid onto the mattress at Frisk’s opposite side and wrapped an arm around her waist, tucking her close against his chest. Even now the contact still sent a flush to her cheeks.
“Hey!” Elys cried. “I won! I get the cuddles!”
Frisk bit her lip as she did her best not to laugh at the girl’s outrage. Sans on the other hand openly chuckled as his brow creased in an uptick and his eyelights flashed briefly with amusement as he purposefully nuzzled Frisk’s cheek, turning her primrose blush a deeper shade of scarlet.
“you forget, there’s such a thing as a consolation prize.” Sans winked. “and that prize is that i get to cuddle both your mother and the winner.”
Elys’ expression dropped into a deadpan as Sans’ other arm came around and encircled her as well, completing the collection of their immediate family as he placed a light press of his teeth to the top of her head.
“That sounds more like a first prize.”
“maybe~” He drawled. “but surely you don’t want to run over my feelings by denying me the cuddle pile, do you?”
There was no hesitation as Elys shouted, “Yes!”
“the betrayal.” Sans huffed.
Frisk sat happy and silent as they both went back and forth; Sans with his teasing and Elys with her indignation. This went on for sometime before the three of them had migrated to fully laying down beneath the covers and Elys fell asleep against her mother’s side.
Smiling gently she ran a tender hand through her daughter’s hair.
At the same time a warm hand glided up and down her arm, slow, unrushed as it came to a stop and a thumb brushed over her shoulder.
Sans’ voice was a whisper against her ear. “how are you feeling?”
Frisk took a second more to stare at Elys' sleeping expression, content and warm between the two greatest things of her life. She couldn’t help smiling as she pressed further into him and pulled Elys closer.
“Better than ever.”
And it was true.
These were the moments Frisk lived for, and what she so desperately hoped to have so much more of when their family grew. Sans didn’t say anything, merely moved his hand to her stomach and gave it a gentle stroke with a low hum on his teeth, just as he’d been doing from the start, and let his gloved phalanges rest there as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her temple.
Rating: M
TWs: Alcohol Mention
Prompt for Frans Monthly August: [Rain]
Word Count: 3,982
Cross posted to Ao3 here!
@frans-monthly
They say life is a party, a gala, that you should enjoy it before time passes by and before you know it the party’s over. At least that was what Frisk had been told since the early days of her childhood.
So then why wasn’t she having fun?
There were swaths of men and women both human and monster alike conversing and laughing together at whatever jest had been made or topic given. It was plain to see many were enjoying themselves simply basking in shared company.
But Frisk stood aside, awkwardly nursing what remained of her lemon juice as her gaze panned the intricate lounge with barely a pause. Sans had departed some time ago with a regent of whom Frisk didn’t know concerning business that involved the new market place opening up just at the rim of Asgore’s dukedom, leaving her completely and utterly alone.
Not to say there weren’t people attending that Frisk didn’t know, in fact she knew quite a few, but they all seemed otherwise preoccupied with people she didn’t know. For example: she’d tried to join in on a conversation the Duchess Raitha from the neighboring dukedom had been a part of but she’d quickly found herself disinterested when they’d began discussing the latest fashion from across the sea.
Frisk loved clothing as much as the next person, but for tonight she couldn’t bring herself to find a draw in the topic. Frisk was used to attending Gala’s and Balls, but this was her first soiree and as much as she’d have loved to relax and make a good impression she was finding it wasn’t the most…exciting. Sans of course fit into the atmosphere as easily as he did every event they attended, if anything this particular type of gathering was right up his alley with amused and calm games of cards and low droned music playing gracefully from a piano somewhere in the far corner.
But not Frisk’s.
She felt very much out of place.
And exceedingly bored.
“Ma’dam De Nocturné,” Frisk jolted at the sudden voice, not expecting a server to have approached her. His smile was amused but warm as he continued, “Forgive me but you seem to be out of drink. Would you care for another?”
A quick glance down proved his words to her surprise. A bit startled still and now slightly embarrassed she forced a smile. “Um, yes I would appreciate that. Another lemon juice if you would?”
“Oh I am afraid we are out of fruit my lady.” The way Frisk’s expression dropped must’ve broken his heart as he frowned in one instant before smiling hopefully in the next. “But if I may? You’re looking a tad uneasy, a Mint Julep should help to prevent the vapours. It’s rather delicious as well as refreshing.”
A Mint Julep?
Frisk wasn’t one to indulge in drinking often, an odd glass of wine for supper maybe but that was very rare and often with a meal. She didn’t partake of it for tonics nor social gatherings as she’d seen her mother or similar ladies of her class do. Frisk had seen what too much alcohol could do to a person’s inhibitions.
However, she was kind of thirsty now that the server had mentioned it…and surely only one couldn’t hurt. It would be a treat truthfully. Her lemon juice had been refreshing but a bit bland, and she’d heard that Mint Juleps were typically very flavorful, even sweet. Not to mention the lounge was slightly stuffy from the warm summer heat outside even at this late hour.
“I suppose…” She murmured. “Just one wouldn’t hurt.”
The way the server seemed to light up and grin at her agreement— probably excited that he’d managed to have a smooth conversation and give significant input with a noblewoman, Frisk thought sadly—brought a smile to her own face as he began to mix the drink from the trolley beside him.
The moment he handed the drink to her and it touched her lips Frisk immediately knew it was too much. It was far too sweet, caused her skin to immediately flush with heat, and burned!
She tried to hide her coughs behind her hand but even still it barely did a thing to hide the racket of her lungs as several guests glanced curiously in her direction. Frisk closed her eyes tight and did her best to control the reflex, forced her wheezes to become long drawn out sighs and deep breaths as she silently counted to ten. Once she felt confident she could speak again she handed the drink back to the man who looked as if he was struggling to contain his own laughter while she did her best to look anywhere but at the whole of the room.
“I think wine will be just fine!” She squeaked.
He didn’t say a word as he handed her the new glass, simply bowed and made a suspiciously quick exit, maybe to avoid the second hand embarrassment Frisk currently felt or to perhaps avoid any possible retribution for having inadvertently made a noblewoman look foolish. Though she suspected it was more so he could finally break down in his humor with how his shoulders shook.
She took a wary sip, and let out a small sigh. Much better! It was mellow with just a hint of grape, and most of all didn’t make her feel as if she’d swallowed a hot coal. Frisk dared a quick glance around and caught the abruptness with how quickly those still watching turned away.
She was starting to really dislike soirees.
Frisk kept to herself, and to her drink. At least she tried too. At some point midway into her glass an exclusive selection of wines were brought out to be pursued for purchase, with free drinks being offered for sampling. Surprised and a little excited to finally have a social activity she could participate in, Frisk was rather quick to join as the names and companies were listed off while sips were taken. Opinions were given and Frisk listened with mild interest until she began to listen wholeheartedly with vivid interest upon her fourth glass.
The room was warm and she felt as if her feet were trying to balance on the deck of a ship, but Frisk honestly didn’t care as she giggled to herself at something Lord Lional said regarding the new spirits tax coming into effect. The golden hue of her eyes were locked on his mustache, watching fascinated as the curled corners wiggled with every word he spoke and the tilted with every slight change in expression.
It was as if he had a really cute fuzzy white caterpillar on his face.
She had the wildest urge to touch it.
“partial to the bordeaux?” A deep husky tone whispered in her ear.
Frisk didn’t bother turning away from the sight before her, she’d know that voice anywhere with the way it made her heart skip, and waved her hand around behind her to grasp Sans’ before tilting her head back and speaking in what she was sure was a small whisper. “If you watch closely you’ll see it move!”
Sans was silent as his eyelights panned from Frisk’s face to where she was staring transfixed.
Lord Lional’s mustache did a little jig as he finished off his glass of wine.
Frisk giggled.
Sans’ grin widened as he chuckled along with her. “amusing as watching an old man’s hair wiggle about is, how about we step out for a sec?”
Frisk shivered as she felt the back of his gloved knuckle brush the back of her neck just under the locks of her hair, the soft satin a blessed coolness against the heat that only seemed to climb with Sans’ sudden closeness.
His breath ran hot over the shell of her ear, fevered. “get a quick bite to eat?”
Grinning and heart racing she tossed back the last of her drink, causing Sans’ sockets to widen and go full ovaled as she sat the empty glass aside and eagerly took his already captured hand in both of hers. “Yes, please take me away from here.”
Frisk thought she saw a flare of blue cross his cheekbones but if it had it was gone quicker than she could blink. His sockets lidded and his grin turned sly as he turned and began to expertly weave them through the fringes of the group, out the side glass doors and onto the crescent shaped veranda, just off to the side beneath the overhang where they couldn’t be seen.
Once outside her eyes widened. She hadn’t realized it’d been raining, but the coolness it offered was more than welcome as she held her hand out to catch a few of the stray droplets.
Sans watched her with a quiet calmness as Frisk laughed at a drop falling onto her dress before stepping back, a blush tinting her features in a rosier hue at the wetness that should have been expected.
She was clearly inebriated, tipsy at the least.
It was adorable.
“tasted more than one wine i take it?”
Frisk looked as if she’d been caught stealing from the proverbial cookie jar as she tucked her hands against her chest and bit her lip. She averted her eyes as she timidly responded, “...A few.”
“hm.”
“Are you upset?” Sans was surprised at the sudden worry in her eyes.
“no, you’re a grown woman. you’re free to indulge in what you choose. i just find it humerus when i see someone tipsy for the first time.” He winked.
"I'm not tipsy!" She defended as his pun flew right over her head.
"clearly." He agreed.
"I'm not!" Frisk crossed her arms as she cutely puffed out her cheeks, before quickly deflating. "Okay, I am a little tipsy."
Sans' grin curled higher at the corners.
She frowned at him curiously. “Have you never been tipsy?”
He didn’t know what to say.
In his long life Sans had never felt the need to drown his sorrows or find happiness at the bottom of a bottle. He’d had curiosities sure, he’d indulged in some of the more unsavory practices that humanity and monster both had had to offer once or twice, to his own regret.
But getting drunk?
He’d never managed it. He had stopped trying when he’d cleared out an entire tavern all by himself and then had compensated the man for his loss in revenue. Well, the supposed loss after what Sans had given him initially. Sans had felt at most a little warm, but that was it.
He hadn’t been particularly disappointed or anything though. Having watched countlessly as men and women alike celebrated and wept, Sans hadn’t felt a sense of loss. He may not have known what it was like to be under the influence of alcohol but that didn’t mean he didn’t find others enjoying it any less amusing or entertaining to watch.
As far as he could tell it was a harmless habit anyway, in moderation at least.
So he simply said, “nope.”
“Oh.” Frisk seemed just as lost at how to respond. "So…if you drink from me you won't be affected?"
It was true that things could affect the blood when the host had consumed something or partook of a substance. It was why hobbyist hunters often mixed in ingredients to foul the blood supplies when able. But Sans had had his fair share of drunkards on his plate and he’d never been afflicted in such a manner before, so he found the question rather silly.
But then again, it was Frisk who was asking.
The image she conjured of him sinking his fangs into her skin with the promise of her blood, combined with the inquisitiveness of her intellect made his soul thrum wildly in his ribs as the urge to feed narrowed his focus into a heated glance. Sans chuckled as he moved closer, his azul gaze pulsing with a fiery intensity that left Frisk breathless as she instinctively backed into the wall behind her, but also caused her to reach out and place her hands upon his chest as he pinned her in place with a forearm beside her head.
Slowly he reached up and twined a lock of her hair around his finger, twirled it as if it was the most fascinating thing to have ever caught his attention as he savored her stuttered breath and the rapid beat of her heart echoing in his acoustics.
Frisk shivered as his gaze met hers, tone low, teasing.
"why don't we find out?"
The world faded: the cool night air ceased to be and the sound of the rain was little more than a muffled note as Frisk watched her hair gently slide free of his touch, and felt his hand softly graze past to cup the back of her jaw—enticing, guiding her head up as his skull moved closer that the proximity caused goose pimples along her arms and the feeling of static of a touch just on the precipice of contact.
"Sans…" She whispered, helpless, wanting.
His thumb stroked tenderly over the swell of her cheek, right before he bit down.
Fire seared through Frisk’s veins as her nerves sang with euphoria, toes curling as all she could do was cling to his coat in an attempt to stay upright as her knees buckled. It was rough how she dug her hands into his lapels, desperate the way his hold on her shifted and his hands tangled in the fabric of her gown at her waist and cupped the other side of her throat as he used the press of his body to support her.
She whimpered.
Sans grunted.
His vision spun even as his sockets remained closed, basking in the taste of her as the warm ruby flow of her life danced across his senses and made his soul roil with a primal hunger that bordered insanity. Only the fleeting brush of her hair and the tug of his coat kept him in check as he drank with a fervor that would never be satisfied, that would never have enough of Frisk. A hot throb ricocheted through his bones as her blood joined with his magic, leaving him dizzy as the need to consume and take slowly died down into a low contented simmer.
Gently, Sans forced himself to let go and sealed the fresh mark he’d left upon her delicate skin with a slow lavishing brush of his conjured tongue. He was abuzz with energy, magic crackling with powerful overflow as it was every time he ever fed from his darling bride.
He frowned.
…’Darling’?
Slowly Sans pulled back to gaze at Frisk, his mind struggling to wrap around the sudden, almost dopey, surge of affection he felt towards her and went silent.
She was panting, hair a mess as a pretty blush played across her cheeks despite him just feeding from her. It reminded him of something cute, like a pretty pink peony in fresh bloom to greet the spring. The world tilted slightly and Sans had to blink and give a quick shake of his skull to clear it.
Weird, odd. Bizarrely he felt as if he could taste lemon on the back of his tongue. A hint of mint that didn’t sit well with the citrus and made him grimace.
For the life of him he couldn’t understand what was going on.
“Sans?” Frisk asked, voice pitchy and rasping.
He couldn’t help grinning at hearing it. “yeah?”
“Are you…alright?” She whispered.
His eyelights were wobbly around the edges, and the blues a faintly lighter shade than normal.
"yeah."
Frisk stared at him and then giggled, making his grin go crooked. He wondered what it would take to get her to break into laughter, she always had the most enchanting laugh.
"Sans?"
"yeah?" The way her lips curved was cute. How the tiny little things pursed out even cuter as he continued to stare at them.
"I think my blood did affect you."
He blinked slowly as her words registered and chuckled as it explained the rash emotional shift he was experiencing and the unbridled fascination he had with the subtle changes in her expression. Had her eyes always been so bright? So deep that he felt as if he could wallow in their depths for hours?
"yeah."
"Is that all you can say?" Frisk teased as she covered her mouth with a hand to hide her amusement.
That wasn't fair. He wanted to see her smile. With a frown he reached up to remove the offending limb and then kept it prisoner in his so she couldn't steal the sight away again. He loved how soft her hand was, but then again all of her was soft, always squishy and warm.
Both her eyebrows rose.
His eyelights flared bright. "...nah."
Frisk couldn't help blushing again.
Oh no, she thought, he was too cute! Sans and cute in the same sentence left her speechless, and more than a little bit curious as she cast a mischievous glance out at the rain before zeroing back in on her husband.
With a wiggle that had Sans momentarily widening his sockets she slipped out of his hold and rushed behind him to the top of the steps that led down into the front yard. She paused as she stared out before speaking. "I'll be honest: the night has been dull thus far."
He frowned, concerned, and went to say something as he turned to face her but Frisk quickly held a hand out to him with an incline of her head.
“Dance with me, please?”
Sans looked out at the downpour with a squint, recalling something about Papyrus…and clothes? He also took note of the wet grass and waterlogged animal shaped bushes lining the perimeter. They were really creepy looking in the dark and left a disturbing shiver down his spine.
But the second his eyelights flickered back over to Frisk he froze.
She looked so hopeful, her eyes as wide as saucers.
He couldn’t bring himself to say no to her, not only was she too adorable for this world but he also felt guilty hearing she’d not had fun as he thought she would, it left a bad taste in his mouth and made his soul stutter with disappointment, so instead Sans smiled warmly as he wrapped an arm around her waist and took her hand before spinning them both right into the rain.
The second her laughter echoed out like the chime of a thousand pearly bells Sans felt his head spin with giddy delight. His gaze was solely on her as they moved without rhythm but in time all the same, a chaos of uncoordinated footsteps and random patterns that somehow flowed well together. They danced, to no music or chorus, only to the tune of their joy. There were dips, spins, twirls.
A moment where they stopped and went still as they tried to catch their breath.
A moment where their eyes met with equal red and blue flaring across cheeks.
Water soaked her gown and hair, ran down the planes of her face leaving shimmering trials of light in their wake. In that exact moment Frisk was the most stunning vision Sans had ever seen in the entire millennia that he’d spent alive, and if he’d had a heart rather than a soul, he was sure it would have stopped.
Just as soaked as she was, Sans' eyelights hazed around the edges as they lit the space between them with an ethereal glow that turned the water racing along his skull and bones a soft mesmerizing cyan. In that same moment Sans was the world and more, there was no one else.
They were both so sure that if they’d met under different circumstances, if they’d met with different existences, that they’d have still fallen for each other just as hard and just as passionately as they had now.
“I love you.” She whispered.
Sans’s hands slowly framed her face as he pressed their foreheads together. “heh same, love.”
They connected, lips and teeth, and they stood there lost in the rain.
Lost in each other.
~~
Sans had to grit his teeth to prevent the groan escaping his throat as he adjusted the cloth on his skull yet again. Frisk was sound asleep in his lap and the last thing he wanted was to disturb her, not if she would feel an ounce as bad as he currently felt upon waking.
The feeding…had not gone as he’d expected, at all.
What was supposed to be a quick indulgence, albeit a much desired one, had turned into another revelation and shock to his system. Once more Frisk had baffled him with the unknown effects her blood could have on him by not only accomplishing what no other including himself had done–gotten him intoxicated--but also by how she’d somehow managed to extract them from the soiree and get them both back home when he could barely recall what happened after biting her at all.
Was this what being inebriated meant? Did people really enjoy this and seek it out? His magic was pounding in his skull and through his joints like a violent tambourine, and the cloth soaked with raw healing magic barely helped to ease the ache he could feel radiating in the voids of his sockets.
An interesting side note in Sans’ rambling thoughts was the explanation of how exactly this had happened. All that he could scratch together in his current state was the possibility of their bond combined with the intent that had been shared between them when he bit Frisk had heightened his magic’s receptiveness to what had been coursing through her blood stream. Sending him right over the edge as if his soul had been directly soaked in a jar of brandy, rather than experiencing a second hand breakdown as his soul absorbed it after the initial deterioration consumption normally caused when eating.
But that was just a theory as of now.
Sans did learn one thing at least; he detested getting drunk.
Never again.
Frisk shifted against him and he gently adjusted his arm to hold her better. Once she settled Sans glanced over at the crystal decanter he kept on the desk and bottle of sherry tucked away behind it that he’d locked inside of a clear glass box the second he’d gained coherency.
Drunkenness was also far more dangerous than he realized.
Frisk had convinced him so easily into doing something like dancing in the rain when in his right mind he would’ve refused on the basis of Frisk catching a cold and Papyrus getting upset (as he was when they got home) over the new clothing he’d sown them for the occasion being ruined. Not to mention his spotty memory when such a thing was of vital importance to a monster in his position.
It wasn’t difficult to imagine Frisk going through the same thing, and it made his soul twist.
Anyone could make a foolish suggestion to her, anyone could take advantage, and she’d be powerless to refuse them. He’d foolishly left her alone not knowing better the depths alcohol could affect an individual having only ever witnessed it. He’d been smug, too confident that what he’d seen was a phenomena he’d never experience and therefore not worthy of his caution.
There wouldn’t be a repeat of what happened tonight if he had anything to say about it. No more soirees where wine tasting was on the list of activities with even the slightest possibility that Frisk would be unattended.
The guilt sat heavy in his chest as his skull gave another thunderous pound.
Frisk’s beautiful smile surrounded by droplets flashed across his vision.
Rating: M
Prompt for Frans Monthly May: [Sleep]
Word count: 1,000
Cross Posted to Ao3 here!
@frans-monthly
The night was long, and it was dark when the vampire finally returned to his abode. The sound of leathered wings slicing through air a prelude to his arrival as the paned glass window to his study flew open; bidding him enter, welcoming him home.
A thin whistling zipped and zapped, twisted into a low sigh of expelled energy as booted feet met carpet, and azul colored twin lights lit the space around an insouciant grin.
Sans stood to his full height and turned to shut the entryway with a gentle hand. He hadn't meant to linger as long as he had that evening, his mind focused on other duties to attend to at home concerning his new bride and brother, but unfortunately events hadn't played out as he'd planned.
The delivery from the red cross had been tainted, a month's supply for his coven wasted on petty grievances not of his own making suffused with garlic and other supposed vampire weaknesses and toxins.
Rage hadn't even begun to describe the way he had felt.
What a twist of luck that the boat had yet to depart when he'd arrived. It was easy to rectify the wrong that had occured. Not only had the supplier been willing to replace the loss without compensation—but Sans had managed to find the saboteur, foolishly stowed away among the ship's cargo as if freight.
He'd been quick, he'd been silent.
Regrettably.
Hobbyist hunters were getting bolder.
Tiredly he ran a hand over his sockets and let loose a sigh of exasperation. He'd missed dinner, missed the chance to keep his promise of a moonlit stroll and floating Lily pads.
Sans had so looked forward to it.
Disappointing.
Hopefully she wouldn't be too upset—
He stilled as he spotted a silhouette perched upon the fine leather of his study chair. The light of his eyes brightening as he took slow, cautious steps forward; sensing, feeling for disturbance or ill intent.
Sans' grin hitched up at the corners.
It was a woman; dressed in a simple nightgown with mousy brown hair, reposed gracefully with crossed ankles and folded hands even in the depths of slumber.
She must've waited for him.
How cute.
It sent a warmth fluttering through his bones, still chilled from the night air.
Briefly, Sans contemplated leaving her there. The sight of her adding a rather pleasant contrast to the whole of the room. He was severely tempted to spend what few hours remained before daybreak admiring her.
What a hilarity it was, that she still slept during what was supposed to be their waking hours.
He felt a flicker of concern.
Had she eaten? There were vials she could drink from but he knew she wasn't partial to them. Like he she much prefered to drink from the source.
One of her locks flew up from her forehead in a cute flip to the side as she let out a sigh.
…why was he worrying?
If she was sleeping so soundly surely she must've been fine. If anything she might have been suffering from disappointment and longing, given the position he found her in.
He stared, savored, and shrugged.
To leave her as is would do her neck and back no favours. She'd be sore come morning, and the last thing he wanted was her sad and grumpy on top of it.
He'd have to think of a good way to make it up to her. Ideas were already forming but he'd much prefer to assess how she was when awake before committing to anything.
Doing his best to not wake her, he reached down and slid his hands as delicately as he could beneath her knees and around her shoulders. With naught a blink he easily lifted her up and against his chest.
She shifted.
Sans froze.
A small huff, and she settled more comfortably in his hold, on that border between wakefulness and sleep, before seemingly falling once again into deep rest as her head fell softly against his shoulder.
He felt a thrum in his chest.
For thousands of years Sans had wondered if he'd even had a soul like his brother had. If he'd been born with one.
Monsters and Humans had them both alike no matter the existence. But Sans had still questioned it, even as he'd borne witness to them countless times; at the loss of light in one's eyes or the joy of life being brought into the world.
He'd always felt cold, detached.
A shade away from the depth of emotion those around him displayed, though he wore a happy grin or saddened frown.
He'd felt empty.
How easy it was to tell a joke, to be crass and make remarks lacking any tact, when he truly felt so little in the way of emotional consequence.
In no way was Sans heartless—in the metaphorical meaning of the term—but he did admit he could be cruel, he could be indifferent, though he sometimes wished not to be.
Was it really so hard for him to believe he might be soulless, knowing that?
Once upon a time, yes.
It was true.
But now the proof of his soul lay in his arms, tucked safely against his body and nestled contently upon his shoulder.
Frisk.
His precious one, his lady of stars.
A fallen bird with broken wings that he'd been unable to ignore. That drew upon such profound sympathies and compassion that Sans had instinctively embraced and splinted her the only way he knew how. So moved him with her cries he wanted nothing else than to take her, protect her.
Her body beat against his where they touched. Her being a loud drum to his quiet hum.
A moment of weakness…
He gave in, and breathed deeply of her hair, her scent.
…The blood beneath her flesh.
Craved.
Sans closed his sockets.
With a gentle press of his teeth to her forehead he swept her away—to their room, and their bed.
Is Sans drinking blood because he is a skeleton and doesn't have his own
Vampires have to drink blood/magic in order to function, either one makes for a good solution it merely comes down to preference! For Sans, it’s blood, because he has a taste for it ^^
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,415
Prompt for Fransweek 2023: [Fancy]
Cross Posted to Ao3 here!
@fransweek
Society teaches that a lady is defined by three things; poise, etiquette, and her dress. These rules were taught and instilled in every girl at a very young age regardless of her social class, for they were the keys to raising through what ranks of her station that she could and securing a happy, fortuitous life.
And right now Frisk was struggling with maintaining the latter; the dress.
Papyrus and Sans were hosting a Gala this evening, the most influential leaders of the various covens were to be in attendance, and it was Frisk's duty as Sans' new wife to make sure she gave a favorable impression.
Which she began to doubt she could do, given the grim selection of clothing she managed to find.
…How odd it was still, to consider herself an unwitting bride of a vampire.
With a sigh Frisk let herself collapse on her bed and hid her face in her hands.
It wasn't that the clothing she'd been given weren't lovely, in fact they were made of the most luxurious materials, nothing to scoff at when it came to price, but they simply didn't fit the image of an event of such formal magnitude. Frisk didn't care to wear gowns of more than six layers and more so the fine trinkets that accompanied them. She would've been more than happy to attend in her normal attire, the off shoulder cut with small laced sleeves and the subtle touch of the star pin upon her breast was both humble and yet telling of her position in the brother's lives and household.
But life wasn't as simple as that.
A knock at the door had her looking up in time to see the arrival of her husband. The blue of his eyelights panned the whole of the room and the dresses spread out upon her bed before alighting on her, like a fire caught to parchment.
Her heart skipped a beat.
"is there a problem? you seem bothered." He remarked with an ever present grin as he drew close and glanced at the gowns again. "ruffled around the edges i'd say."
Frisk graced him with a wayward smile that felt more grimace than not. The pun was amusing, but at the same time a reminder of her dilemma.
"I can't decide what to wear. None of my clothing feels appropriate."
"i see."
Sans took her hand and sat beside her. His proximity was always a high note on Frisk's perception. There was a soft comfort and sharply contradicting intimidation in how he held himself, in how his body heat radiated off of him and caressed the skin of her wrist.
She took a deep breath, and tried not to think of the way her blood rushed excitedly in her veins, and recall how his teeth felt against the arch of her throat as fangs ravenously sunk in.
"have you tried asking alphys?"
Frisk nodded and waved towards the mountain of gowns. "Three of these are hers and are far too big for me."
He looked away in consideration before grinning genuinely. "papyrus is very talented at arranging clothing for the ladies in the coven, i'm sure he'd be happy to help."
"Papyrus—goes into women's boutiques?" Frisk asked in shock, slightly scandalized at the thought of a gentleman going anywhere near a store specifically for women. She knew it shouldn't have startled her so, but years of expectations were hard to ignore when she least expected them to flare back to life under such news.
Sans chuckled. "it's one of his favorite hobbies actually. he's dabbled a time or two in sowing."
Frisk unreasonably thought she was going to faint. Were the vapors a real phenomenon? It certainly felt like it. Or maybe she was just that distressed she was overreacting. The skeleton beside her probably thought so, as his sockets creased upward in definitive amusement.
What choice did she have though?
"I suppose…if it wouldn't be a bother for him." Sans' grin shrunk slightly as he brushed a thumb over her knuckles, sending an inadvertent shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with how cold she suddenly felt or how the room seemed a size smaller.
"you worry too much. papyrus is just dying for the chance to dote on you," he paused to allow her to gently laugh before stating, "you should let him."
Frisk groaned.
Ever since becoming his sister-in-law Papyrus had become very assertive about certain things. Always insistent on Frisk accepting gifts from other members of the coven or joining in on activities otherwise reserved for a select few when she so worried about coming across as if taking advantage of him and those around them. The thought of that made her heart ache. Not to mention his rather sudden prodding for…
Nieces…
And Nephews…
Frisk flared red as she contemplated not asking at all. It never failed to make her light headed, imagining children with Sans, and Papyrus also never failed to slip in hints and sneaky plotting side eyes when he could.
But she did need the help.
Reluctantly Frisk nodded.
Within the hour Papyrus was sweeping into her room, a gallant picture with a fine pressed suit adorning him and a dress sleeve slung over one arm. The grin on his face was triumphant, his sockets arched with such pride that Frisk couldn't help smiling and feeling her worries lessen in the way of it.
Sans stood to the side as Papyrus stepped forward with a bow before holding up the sleeve presumably housing Frisk's new dress. "NEVER FEAR DEAR SISTER! I HAVE FOUND QUITE THE IMPRESSIVE ENSEMBLE BEFITTING YOUR RADIANT PERSONALITY."
Her brows arched up as she stepped forward to take the offered gift from him. Doing her best not to giggle at the display. She thanked him and promptly turned to lay it on her bed and roll away the cloth covering.
Frisk's eyes went wide.
The dress was a soft baby blue composed of layered tulle and lace, with bell shaped sleeves that went to mid length. The skirt was full length to where not even a peek of a toe would be seen and a thin strip of lace trimmed the bare shouldered neckline in a flattering elegance that would surely have heads turning.
A corset composed the chest and tied as one in the back, and delicate patterns of pastel chrysanthemums, Iris, and Hydrangea flowers sparingly decorated the skirt in sparse clusters while much smaller renditions circled the bottom of the corset and trailed up over the center.
In short; this was a dress better befitting royalty.
"Its…" She was speechless. "Lovely. Oh Papyrus!"
Both the skeletons exchanged pleased grins at the awed tone to her voice.
Joyous, Frisk lifted it up.
And nearly dropped it.
Tucked right beneath it was the last thing Frisk had been expecting, and her hair stood on end as her face tinted red at the sight of it.
A set…of rather risque colored lingerie.
Red.
The color of blood and ketchup.
The other shoe metaphorically dropped as Frisk realized just what had occurred and peered at Papyrus with a knowing glare that she tried her best to temper with a smile.
"Under ware? Papyrus?"
She intended to say more but the sight of Sans' expression from the corner of her eye however stilled her tongue.
Curiously she looked at him.
His eyelights were honed in on it, a brow cocked as a flare of pretty cyan made them pulse bright in vivid interest, and his smile had shrunken, turned a degree softer and thoughtful.
As if sensing her attention his gaze flickered up to meet her.
Like a wave that clashes upon rocks on the shoreline, the pretty blues sent a flutter through her chest that left her mesmerized and entrapped as their touch vibrated through the entirety of her being.
The mark on her throat throbbed.
His gaze locked on it.
Frisk suddenly found it very difficult to breathe.
"I THOUGHT THEY COMPLIMENTED THE GOWN." Papyrus stated simply. Before smirking and drawling, "AND WOULD MAKE FOR GOOD 'INCENTIVE'."
Whatever spell had come over Frisk and her husband broke instantly. A tightly wound violin string that snapped as he looked away to the wall, and she sputtered like a young debutante before her first ball in mortification as she swung back around to Papyrus with her new dress pressed protectively to her chest.
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