Could I potentially pick your wonderful creative mind for MF Sans (and any other Sans grouping if you’d like ie Bad Sanses) coming home from some kind of long business requiring no communication and reacting to you/the reader wearing his clothes or doing some habit of theirs to stave off the lonely yearning for them?
Yes…. The Mafia Sans… I’m going to assume by ‘long business’ you mean like. Away from home on a trip kind of thing.
He’d be in a bad mood the whole trip… business was his least favorite part of the ‘job’, the fancy shmancy stuff was more Papyrus’ thing, and he has to be on his best behavior when he’s not in his home turf so to say. He’s uncomfortable, he’s bored, and worst of all, he doesn’t have his little girl/boy/datefriend with him >:((( and he can’t even contact them. Irritable without someone to calm him down (apart from Pap telling him to chill out until they can go home).
He’s basically flying through the door to find you and. Hm. You’re wearing his pajama top. You’re kind of just… standing there deer in headlights. Sans has no expression and you get flustered.
”U-um, it’s, I was, I missed you!”
It’s got a mustard stain on it, one that won’t come off. You think he’s mad at first because his eyelights are so small… all of a sudden he’s rushing to you and he kisses you like a man that’s been in the desert finally finding an oasis. Your face is flushed red and he immediately asks you to come to the bedroom (djskhf)
Depending on your answer he either Does That (you) or he cuddles you in bed being really touch starved and flirting a storm and saying how much he misses you (please give him sugar).
I’m adding HMF Sans because why not?? We could use more HMF Sans hjjlk
He’d be very homesick. Not that he enjoys the city he lives in but it’s familiar. He’d be very homesick, especially with his loving human partner at home, not being able to contact you or call you to hear your voice. He’s itching to come home, he’s ready to squash his spouse.
And then he’d see you in giant clothes (even by monster standards), maybe even sniffing his long sleeves or something, reading a book/watching the TV… his mind explodes and he kinda blacks out, all of a sudden he’s on the sofa with you squashing you to his chest. He likes your smell too and he’s missed it, and he’s missed you and he misses your skin (did he say that out loud?) he doesn’t really care how weird he’s coming off, he’s just happy to be with you again.
It wasn’t the first time Sans had pulled you into his lap, by any stretch of the imagination. The wads of cash he so often put in your pocket to ‘make up’ for the time you spent trapped had been difficult to explain to the bank at first- by now, it had happened so often that the tellers just got a look on their faces when they saw you walk in
They called you by name without looking at any paperwork. They probably thought YOU were in the mafia.
It was common bar knowledge how fond he was of holding you through his meals. Nowadays, Lisa would jokingly 'warn' you when he came through the doors and his mood was visibly stormy... the deeper his glower, the more likely he was to pull you in without warning when you passed his table, those giant claws sealing tight around a body that immediately became tiny in his presence.
So you should've been used to it.
...
... Something was very new about this time. And it wasn't just the lit cigar between his phalanges, different to his usual brand of choice.
Up against his huge chest. Your cheeks were hot, your heart was thumping. His touch was... different. Sat sideways across his lap, he kept you tucked against him with a hand on your thigh. Though on your thigh was a little bit of an understatement- his hand was so huge, he had nearly all of your thigh in his hold.
The other hand, resting on the table, had the cigar held between the index and middle finger. It felt like an impenetrable barrier between you and the outside world... his gold rings gleaming in the low light.
... Perhaps it was the position of his hand. Holding your thigh gently, but with a possessive hint in the curl of his claws that slightly pressed into your flesh. Big, warm bones, the cold metal of the rings... he was holding you like he owned you.
Either way, you were just staring at his jacket lapel. Finding it very hard to cool down. The smell of smoke and gold was overpowering.
(You’d grown pretty adept at just tuning all table conversations out, for fear of overhearing something dangerous. But today, you couldn’t have concentrated on what was being said to Sans by the other two men at the table, even if you tried to.)
You didn’t know what the meeting he was having was about, and whatever it was, he didn’t seem happy about it. But he wasn't furious in a way that would usually frighten you. His energy was much more... reserved. There was a low scowl written across his face, he looked serious, dark. The crack and his scars cast deep and expressive shadows across his face. You were protected from the entire world, like this.
... Usually, you just felt like a tiny plushie in the arms of a big child who needed comforting. Not this time. And as he brushed his thumb slowly, back and forth across your leg... the prickles ran up your spine.
What's wrong with me? You swallowed. Your heart hadn't slowed down, not one bit, hands balled in your apron. What's going on?
... You heard Sans move, above you. You couldn't help but look up at him- and his big eye moved down to you. He seemed to register your altered state, for the first time, emerging a little from his obvious frustration at the other members of the table.
...
... His expression changed. Something about him shifted, ever-so-slightly.
His grin lifted, sharpened... his sockets fractionally lidded.
He was smirking at you.
You’d grown accustomed to gleaning as much as possible from Sans’ expressions. It was how you judged his mood, how you saw his grabs coming, how you guessed what he was trying to say with the few words he had available.
Perhaps you were too good, now. Because when he leered down at you like that, gently squeezing your thigh... you could practically hear his words purring through your mind.
“aren’t you cute~?”
You immediately broke eye contact, staring at your own knees. But it to was too late- you felt heat completely flood your face.
... Sans returned his attention to the other people at the table. But not before he gave your thigh another little stroke with his thumb. As if making sure you absolutely knew he saw that.
...
You faintly recalled hearing that Sans, before his famous injury, was something of a... playboy. If you were completely honest, it had been very hard to picture the Sans you knew successfully wooing someone.
hi!!! i love hmf! sans so fucking much he's just a combo of all my favs <3333, i had an idea for him. what if MC and him dated back before his injury, but her ran away cause ~commitment issues~, and now they meet again, several years later, as completely different people? i feel like in that case The World We Knew by Frank Sinatra would fit him REALLY well. just that bitter longing for a life he can't have anymore...im going feral. ilysm your writing gives me life have a blessed day
the ANGST.
He'd be extra determined to stay away from her, once he has his injury. No matter how hard he misses her, no matter how many hours he spends fantasising about the future they could've had, no matter how the pain never eases despite the time going by. She was the love of his life- and he wants her last memory of him to be the attractive bad boy that could make her laugh so hard her cheeks were hot to the touch.
He doesn't want her to see what he's become... a corpse of the man she once knew. It's better if she thinks he just abandoned her because he's a shit person. She'll move on faster, that way.
As for them meeting- it could go one of two ways. Either she recognises him, or she doesn't.
If she recognises him, it's a lot softer of an encounter than he anticipated. He thought she'd yell at him; and she definitely does, she yells and hits him. But after she's yelled her throat hoarse she holds his face and softly, heartbrokenly asks "What happened to you?"
If she doesn't... well, the fact that she doesn't know who he is makes him start to fantasise about starting anew. Especially when she isn't as afraid of him as he thought she'd be. She fell in love with a skeleton once before, right? Maybe... maybe she could do it again...?
some more of @aka-indulgence's lovely HMF Sans... tw, a fight and some blood, but it's over pretty quickly.
---
“E-erm... so... what can I get for you all?”
... You weren’t prepared for this. Nothing could ever prepare you for this. You hardly had the emotional capacity to serve one frightening mob guy, and he did little more than stare at you and order the same one thing every day.
Today? There were three other men at his table with him.
I didn’t sign up for this.
They were human, but they looked important- pretty damn important. Expensive cut suits, fine cigars in their mouths, they weren’t the usual rabble that stumbled into this bar. They looked like the kinds of people who would consider Sans their peer.
... Though notably, they sat across the table from him, none willing to sit close to the beast himself. It seemed like even those at Sans’ level of society were afraid of him.
You couldn’t blame them.
You had waited until they’d all stopped talking before you approached. You were terrified of being accused of eavesdropping on something you weren’t supposed to hear. Your hands shifted around your notepad, and you glanced at the skeleton... he was quietly tapping a claw against the table. For some reason, you couldn’t pin why, you were slightly comforted by the fact that Sans was far more frightening than any of the new men- though the human men certainly were intimidating none of them even came close to being as scary as the massive skeleton monster you’d been serving the past few days. He absolutely dwarfed them, both physically, and in terms of sheer presence. Like a tiger sitting at a table with a few alleycats.
(Would that make you a mouse, then?)
... Sans looked just as ‘pleased’ as you to have them there; you’d been around him enough to start recognising a few of his expressions, and the one he was wearing at that moment was a scowl sharp enough to cut glass, jagged and scarred face shadowed heavily by his hat. The whole time you’d been watching them, waiting for the right moment to come in and ask for their order, the human men had been exclusively the ones talking- Sans had barely moved from his slightly slouched position, and he hadn’t said a single word. He usually chose the seat closest to the wall, but today, he’d chosen the seat closest to the edge. You momentarily considered that he might want to be closer to you... but you disregarded the thought. It was probably because he wanted to leave.
“What an ugly bar, Sans. Why did you make us come here?” said the guy directly opposite Sans. You were half offended, half inclined to agree, it probably just wasn’t the kind of place he was used to visiting. “It’s out of the way, I’ll give you that. But it’s dark, and it stinks.”
... He turned to you. You didn’t like the way his moustache moved when he grinned at you. You could smell smoke on his breath, your hair prickled.
His voice was patronising. “Took yer damn time gettin’ over here. Get us a few beers, yeah, girl? And try to pick up the pace a little.”
He leaned over... and smacked your ass.
You barely had time for the disgust to hit you.
Sans reached across the table and slammed the guy’s head, face first, into the table’s surface. Full force. The slam was so loud you felt it in your chest, and the force of the impact sent the little ashtray flying and spitting cigarette butts into the air. You let out a tiny scream of terror and jumped back, dropping your notepad- the two other men at the table startled like spooked horses, the one sitting closest to the offending human swore loudly and moved in his seat like he wanted to jump up and run.
The man sat up, clutching his nose, blood trailing from between his fingers. You staggered away. But Sans wasn’t done, he stood, suddenly at his full height, looming over the human men like the goliath he was... his face was obscured by shadow, but you had never seen his eyelight that bright or small, constricted in total fury. He reached over again, grabbing the guy by the collar of his expensive shirt, dragging the struggling human up with him as he left the table.
He cleared the bar floor in a few moments, he walked like he was carrying little more than a bag of groceries; moving like he wasn’t thinking. He threw the guy up against the counter, grabbed a loose beer glass in his offhand, and crashed it hard around his head- glass shards sprayed out at all angles, showering the countertop. Everyone was watching Sans throw this guy around like a ragdoll.
...
Sans paused. He looked over his shoulder; his eyelight landed on you. Your back was against a table, hands twisted in your apron in fear. When he looked at you, you flinched.
...
He exhaled sharply through his nasal cavity. He turned back to the battered, bleeding human- but now, something was missing from his massive body. You didn’t know what it was. He unceremoniously dragged the guy away from the counter, to the doorway.
... Sans kicked open the door, and literally threw him out. Lobbing the human out into the street, as if just tossing the trash. The miniscule amount of effort he needed to (one-handedly) toss a fully grown man a significant distance was a terrifying visual testament to the strength the whole bar had just witnessed.
Turning around, he probably knew the everyone’s eyes were on him. The total silence said everything. But he didn’t seem to care... he made his way back to the table, passing you wordlessly.
He sat heavily into his seat.
...
He wouldn’t make eye contact with you. He suddenly looked like a child, caught in a lie, hunched and avoidant.
...
You didn’t know what to say.
...
One of the two men shuffled in his seat. You glanced over at him- looked at you, and spoke.
“I’ll, uhm... just get a water. Please.” He said, quietly. “ ...Miss.”
AHHHH I love Aka’s and yours HMF Sans he’s a BIG BOY omgg. I was wondering if we could see the latest drabble you wrote about him from his perspective? I’d love to see what he was thinking when that guy touched MC.
Aka always has such banger ideas. She's very sweet to let me write for this au so much skdjfsf
---
how dare you.
... When Sans was angry, usually, tunnel vision set in.
He would feel like he wasn't in control of his own body. He'd be numb, but in a good way, disconnected from the world. Sometimes he heard the screams of the people he attacked, sometimes everything was just a faint ringing sound. Time slipped away from him in those moments... it merged into one deep, deep lake that swallowed him whole. Though he was somewhat there, seeing everything from under the water's rippling surface, his ability to think was switched off. He didn't care about the damage he caused, and he liked that. He liked the silence.
... He would 'wake up' later with foggy memory, blood on his claws, blood in his mouth. And he wouldn't be himself again for hours.
...
... This was not like one of those times.
His eyelight burned, so constricted he felt the magic inside it writhing and spitting. There was fire in his bones. He was standing, seething, the guy in front of him at the table was clutching his nose, blood seeping out from between his fingers. Sans knew the taste of fear all too well, and the room was suddenly thick with the scent- fear was seeping off of you, too, and normally that would diffuse him.
But it didn't. All he could feel in that moment was dark, murderous rage.
... Words boiled inside him. Words that would never leave his mouth. she's so good. so sweet. her presence in this room is the only thing stopping me from cutting all of you from throat to navel. and you treat her like meat.
(He had really felt like he was doing well. Sitting there, good and quiet, your proximity made him feel more sane. He had felt like he was getting a grip on his patience.
... Then the fucker touched you. And said patience snapped, like a thin elastic under the summer sun.)
Feeling the human's nose crunch against the table had been satisfying, definitely. Especially since he was fully in his own body. But that wasn't enough, the rage wasn't dissipating. Sans wasn't satiated. You were already afraid of him, weren't you? What was one more thing to fear, on top of that?
i'll fucking kill you.
He grabbed the guy by the collar, turning and dragging him across the room. He threw him up against the counter, he grabbed a bottle and brought it down over his head so hard it shattered, everything he could do to him was flashing through his mind. Break a chair over him. Slam his head against the bar until it cracks like an egg. Hold him down and kick his legs the wrong way. Cut off his hands, cut off the hand that touched her. Eat the hand. For once, Sans was perfectly, absolutely aware of what he was doing. He felt every spark of magic in his system, and all of it wanted to kill that fucking rat. All of it was telling him to destroy.
she shouldn't have to see it.
...
He paused.
... For a split second, the thought was clear as a bell. His desire to look at your face pierced through his horrible burning anger, like a single star in the night sky.
... He looked over his shoulder at you. Tiny, soft, pressed into a corner. You flinched.
Another thought, clear and quick. Blue against the hot black and red.
don't let her see death. she doesn't need to see it.
...
He turned back to the human, pinned against the bar counter, battered and bleeding. Stars, Sans wanted to kill him so badly. A strained breath escaped him- he wanted to kill him more than he'd wanted to kill anyone ever before, he could envision the life leaving the man's eyes and the vision scratched an itch in his Soul.
...
But those thoughts were right. He gritted his teeth... he couldn't let you see something so gruesome.
The fire inside him began to die. He threw the idiot out the door, into the street, before he could change his mind. The walk back to his seat felt like a thousand miles.
...
... Sans sank into his seat. By that point, the fire was completely gone. He could feel your eyes on him.
...
... Suddenly, he almost... wanted to cry. A horrible bitter taste in his throat.
look at what you showed her.
a perfect display of what an ugly, violent thug you are.
well done. hope you're proud of yourself.
i'd say 'she'll never love you now'... but it's not like there was a chance of that before.
The bitter taste worsened. The repercussions started to weigh on him- he hated that he'd subjected you to that. He hated that he had no control over himself. He hated the look you were giving him, so he kept his eyelight trained on the table.
