Save Point (Sans x Reader)

Extra #4: Easter Sunday

As a heads up, the following extra does not follow the current storyline, but it does take place sometime after the custody trail. The results of the trail's final judgement are left undetermined here due to the current progression of the main plot.

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"So you like your partners with a bit of baggage, huh? It's usually the other way around."

"Whaddya mean by that?"

Family drama.

That was something you could never avoid when having your family over for holidays. Easter, especially, was an infamous time for nosy aunts and uncles to dish out their strongest arguments at someone labeled as a threat through their eyes.

Today, it was your aunt and more-than platonic relationship with Sans.

"Well, you had a. . . thing for Ms. Toriel too, no?" your aunt prods, narrowing her eyes at the monster in front of her. "And now you're dating my (niece/nephew), with a son and a divorce in their bag!"

"I don't think those two things really go together, ma'am," Sans objects, trying to ease the growing pressure of the conversation by letting out a rough, constricted laugh. "Toriel's just a friend, and it doesn't matter if (Y/N)'s divorced or not. I just like them for who they are."

You gain a better hearing and view of their conversation by inching a bit close to the door, not knowing when it would be most prudent to interrupt, or if was simply better to wait until they finished talking. Everyone else was already gathered at your backyard, yet the pair were still engaged in a heated conversation at your living room.

"That's sweet and all, but I don't think you should go after someone with an ex and a kid in the picture. You should seek someone else and let (Y/N) fix things with-"

"I don't think I can agree with you on this one," your date interrupts, a hint of annoyance cutting through his words. "I get that you liked the other person (Y/N) used to date, but-"

"Hey, guys!" you exclaim, heart pounding in your chest as you burst through the door of the living room. "Mind if I borrow Sans for a bit, auntie?"

Tension is almost palpable between them as they exchange a look, though your aunt relents. She sighs and gives another warning glance at Sans before you take him by the wrist and bring him out of the living room. Your hands interlock as you rush in your steps and make your way to the kitchen.

You both enter the room and stay silent. You're more than certain he had to know you were eavesdropping in his conversation with your aunt with how flustered and soul-drained you looked right now. Before he can bring that up, however, you take the tray of marshmallow treats from the refrigerator, place them on the kitchen island, and take one from the batch.

"This may sound silly, but I'd like you to try one first before anyone else," you explain, approaching his side. "First, because you're honest, and second. . . 'Cuz, well. . . we're kinda-sorta dating now."

Sans nods as you sit down next to him on the kitchen island, though an idea interrupts your actions right as you're about to give him the treat. Carefully, you place the marshmallow bunny between your lips and urge him to get closer to your side. Then, you take him by the wrist and close off the distance as soon as he leans into you.

You intend not to touch his teeth, but he thinks contrarily of it. His teeth press against your lips the second after he bites down on half of the marshmallow treat.

"What. . . What do you think?" you ask, trying with all your might at maintaining eye contact with him despite how on-edge you felt right now.

"It's nice," he replies, backing away into his seat. "A lil' too sweet for my taste, but it's good. The design's pretty cute-lookin', too."

You smile at his review, though it doesn't last when you remember the main reason you pulled him all the way here. Although you did want him to try the marshmallows first, it wasn't until five more hours that you would actually start handing them out to everyone attending the Easter dinner.

"Sans?" you speak up, placing a hand on his lap.

"What's up?" he asks, looking away from your hand to face you.

"Listen, I. . . I'm sorry about my aunt -- I really shouldn't have pushed you to attend. She means well most of the time, but she doesn't have a filter when it comes to this kind of stuff." You spare him a look before continuing, not quite ready to bring up the next subject yet. "I. . . I told her I was through with Jessie ten times already, and she even knows about what happened in court. But she still thinks I should get back with them."

The droning of the kitchen filter grows louder when you finish talking, silence falling like a rock on ocean water. You feel the urge to speak again, but hold back your tongue with the sheer force of willpower.

"I came 'cuz I wanted to. Nobody said it'd be easy gettin' in a relationship, so I was ready for backlash when I had your aunt say she wanted to talk with me in private."

You're relieved for Sans's response, though you're not convinced by his level of preparedness. "Are you sure, though? I know she brought up some personal stuff. You don't have to keep quiet if something's bothering you."

"I'm fine," he insists, chuckling. "Didn't ya say I was honest?"

"You are. But I don't think you are when it comes to being honest with yourself."

He seems taken off guard by your statement, a surprise which is exchanged for curiosity when you take another marshmallow from the tray -- choosing a chick this time around. "If you think otherwise, you can reject this marshmallow." You place it between your lips, gesturing for him to do the same as before. "If not, you can take it."

Your last sentence is muffled by the sweet, but the message still comes across. You observe him for a while before he settles on an answer.

Slowly, he starts to lean in again, stopping once he's about to bite into the second marshmallow. You wait, not wanting to encourage or discourage either of the two choices he had available for himself.

An answer is given when he grabs your face with both hands, cold fingers digging lightly onto the warm, (s/t) skin of your cheeks as he brings you forward enough to oblige you to leave your stool and suspend yourself over him. You lean down a bit more to match his height and return the kiss with the same amount of -- if not more -- adherence, onset on not being caught off balance in your own game.

The kiss is broken when you let go, shaky breaths leveling down when you sit back on your stool. You face forward, expecting to see him looking back at you. Instead, you see him staring at the tray of marshmallows, two empty spots on each row now that the game had come to an end.

"I won't deny I felt angry at what happened back there, but I can take it, (Y/N). If there's one thing I like going by, it's that I don't like empty promises." Sans pauses to hold your hand, making eye contact with you now that the adrenaline of the moment cooled down. "When I accepted that invite for a first date, I meant it. That 'sure' I sent through text is the one damned thing I've been really sure about in a long while."