Bruised To The Bone: (Sans x Reader)

I stretch, yawning. Though I'm aware I'm in Sans' bed, I don't feel awkward or anything.. Probably the crush. Speaking of which.. I look down to see a familiar comedic skeleton. He's stripped his hoodie, and is laying in bed donned in a simple, white t-shirt. It has an orangey stain on it right by his mouth. I notice myself staring, and mentally scold myself. Sans begins to stir. I get up, putting my hoodie on. He sits up, yawning. Sans' eyes meet mine. He freezes, dropping his arms. A lazy smile forces itself onto his skull.

"Hey. Sleep well?" He asks.

"Great. You?" I ask back.

"Decent. So.. Let's grab some Grillby's, then do the little rematch, shall we?" Sans offers.

"We shall. Race you there." I smirk, well aware that Sans isn't decent.

"First off, you got a head start, second.." Sans smirks. "Throw me a bone, I just got up."

"You've had a skeleton of time to get your boney butt up. Besides, it's not my fault you've got a thick skull." I retort, smirking as well. Sans pulls on his hoodie, struggling as the strings get caught on his skull.

"Welp," Sans winks, standing up. I realize what he's about to do, and quickly teleport to Grillby's, positioning myself in a barstool. Grillby jumps slightly, dropping his rag. Sans soon materializes as well, glaring playfully.

"What?" I feign innocence.

"C'mon, I was gonna do a whole thing there!" Sans whines.

"Not my fault you couldn't ketchup. Speaking of which," I turn to Grillby. "We're here for breakfast."

"I don't se-" Grillby trails off, looking behind him. I turn around to see fading blue sparks that look to be arranged in letters. They fall too quickly to be readable. I look at Sans, who glances away, smirking. He turns to Grillby.

"I'll have some non alcoholic ketchup, and some of your delicious scrambled eggs." Sans beams. Grillby shakes his head.

"Well, I for one would rather see some action than play along with your game." The flame elemental states, a smirk creeping onto his face. "(Y/N)," Grillby glances at Sans before focussing on me. "The sign said, 'Play along'. And the reason that those Sans chose to portray those words were because he wants you little hangout to go perfect. The reason being is his cru-" Before Grillby can finish, Sans grabs my arm. Soon enough, we're standing in his kitchen. Sans turns blue.

"We'll just make something ourselves." He mutters. "That backstabbing matchstick-headed cigarette.." I hear him mutter. I stifle a snicker, hiding my smirk with my hand.

"I can make pancakes." I offer. Sans immediately shakes his head.

"No. I'll make eggs. Simple enough. You're staying over, you aren't cooking." Sans affirms. He smirks, looking at me. "Besides, wouldn't want to ruin your pretty face." He flicks my nose, leaving me momentarily speechless. I regain my composition.

"First off, my face is anything but pretty. Second," I put my hands on my hips and glare a him, trying to keep a straight face. "Alright, sexist."

"N-No, I-" Sans stutters. He then double checks my expression, his face visibly relaxing. "Nah, I'm just tryna impress you with my cooking skills. They'd have Gordan Ramsey shook." Sans says the last part in a James Charles voice. I laugh unattractively, smirking.

"I'm sure they would." I agree, teasingly. "I mean, what you lack in battle skill you must make up in something, right?"

"Tha-" Sans pauses. "Nah, I'm more of a well rounded sorta guy." He grins, cracking two eggs into a dented metal bowl. He stirs them with a fork, adding salt and pepper. The fork isn't very effective. Without fully mixing the eggs, he puts them onto a pan. Sans pours some oil overtop, heating up the stove. I watch, curious. He leaves it for a good two minutes before starting to mix it around. There are some brown bits, but overall it looks pretty good. Until he flips it again. There's an uneven balance of yellow and white swirling around each other. Sans flips it back.