Would That Make You Happy?

Frisk is your child, the result of a teen pregnancy, but they've always been told that you're their older sister. In an effort to get away from your own abusive mother, the two of you end up falling into the Underground, where Sans is startled by this abrupt change in what had become a predictable pattern of events. Maybe your presence is what is needed to stop the endless cycle of Resets.

After many struggles, both internal and external, you and your found family reach the surface, only to face even more difficulties from the society you weren't sure you'd ever see again. You meet new friends and encounter people from your past, though for good or ill, you're not sure. Sometimes it's difficult to tell kindness from cunning.


186. A Moment of Peace

It’s been a month since you’ve had the chance to just sit and spend time with Deacon, and you realize now how much you missed him. Each time he and Bo go on a trip, either during summer vacation or other school holidays, you’re reminded of just how deeply ingrained he is in your life. His absence is noticed, each and every time.

You get the feeling he enjoys being missed.

But of course he would. Needing to be reminded that he’s wanted is something he’s never quite managed to shake, and you’re more than happy to oblige in that regard. You don’t ever want him to doubt that he belongs here in your eclectic little family. Not that it’s easy to tell that he’d ever feel out of place just by looking at him —he’s got his shoes off and his socked feet kicked up on the coffee table, slouched on the sofa next to you with his arms crossed behind his head. Your house is the only place you’ve ever seen him this relaxed, other than his own home. You can’t imagine him being quite so cavalier with Bo’s parents, no matter how much they adore him.

(And they do. You’ve met them on more than one occasion, including at Deacon and Bo’s wedding, and you’d never seen a pair of parents more happy to see their child marry anyone before.)

“It’s so good to be home,” Deacon says, and you’re not sure if he’s talking about Ebott in general or here with you. Either way, you can’t help but smile. His eyelids are heavy with contentment as he lets out a long, slow breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I love taking trips with Bo, but there’s nothing like coming back here after we’re done.”

“I’m glad you’re back. I wish I could have gone with you,” you say, your smile slipping a bit.

“From the sound of it, seems like all those worries over Frisk’s training were kind of pointless.” He gives you an apologetic look, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “In hindsight, it wouldn’t have changed much on this end if you’d come with us.”

“Yeah, well, hindsight is twenty twenty,” you say, sighing and settling back against the arm of the couch as you sit sideways, facing Deacon. Hesitating, your lips curve into a mischievous smile as you burrow yourself into the cushions. “And, well, this might have been your last trip just the two of you. Maybe it’s for the best.”

Deacon’s eyes widen for just a second before he lets out a pitiful groan and tips his head back. Looking at you sideways, he shoves your knee. “Hope, please,” he whines. “Don’t start.”

“What, been hearing a lot of that at home?” you tease gently, nudging him with your foot. “How was she after seeing the twins yesterday?”

He lets you do it, a low grumble of protest his only defense. “We didn’t really talk about it too much. I managed to avoid it for the time being.”

“Deacon…” you say, in a tone that sounds suspiciously like your ‘mom voice’.

He winces, looking away. “I know, I just… I still don’t know. Look, this isn’t really the pressing issue. What’s the deal with Frisk’s training? I would have expected a lot more by the time we got back, all things considered.”

As far as changing the subject goes, he’s almost as good as Sans at avoiding things. You notice, of course, but you let it slide. This time. “I’m not exactly a mage, Deacon, I don’t know what the problem is. Though that’s not really helping Morwenna either…” You sigh, what little amusement gained by teasing Deacon suddenly lost.  “She called me, after I dropped Frisk off at Asriel’s. They lost their temper with her.”

Deacon’s eyebrows shoot up and he turns a little to face you. He rests his arm on your leg. “What happened?”

“She’s not angry,” you say, cupping your cheek with your hand and tipping your head to the side. “From what she said, Frisk is getting frustrated about their magic not working right. And about her keeping Asriel away. The only time Frisk was able to use their magic to do anything smaller than a Load was when he was with them on their first day of practice, so maybe they have a point.”

His brow furrows as he reaches up to rub his neck. “But the magic is all Frisk’s. Whenever they use it, their Soul is the only one affected. It doesn’t make any sense that Asriel would need to be there.”

“Nothing about their situation makes any sense,” you say with a sigh.

“Heh, well, that’s certainly true.” Deacon hesitates, momentarily lost in thought. His expression turns somber. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, getting them to do this. I thought maybe it might help them understand their whole situation better, maybe make things safer…”

“I understand why you suggested it to us,” you tell him, reaching out to take his hand. He lets you, and you give his fingers a squeeze. “It’s just… complicated, I guess. I don’t…” You cringe, closing your eyes and letting out a frustrated sound. All of this magic, everything about it, it keeps affecting your family in ways that you never imagined possible. You wish you could understand it better. In a group of mages and monsters, sometimes you feel like the singular mundane human in the mix. Though none of them would ever claim you were the odd man out, you can’t help but feel it just the same. It’s a part of their lives you’ll never be able to truly understand. “I don’t know. How could I? I don’t know magic.”

“I thought you were on rather intimate terms with magic,” Deacon says, and he says it in such a casual way that it takes you a moment to register what he just said.

Spluttering, you erupt into embarrassed laughter, doing your best to hide your face.

“I think magic would be rather offended if you said you didn’t even know it,” he continues, and you’re not sure how he’s doing this with a straight face. “It must be under the impression that you’re in a committed relationship.”

“Oh my god. Stop,” you blurt out, shoulders shaking. It only gets worse as you fail to muffle an undignified snort. “You know what I mean!”

He’s laughing now too, unable to maintain his composure. “Okay, okay, but really. ” Deacon forces himself to speak, swallowing his laughter as he sucks in a slow, deep breath to try to steady himself. “I know you and Sans had some mixed feelings about this in the first place. Maybe I should talk to Morwenna, I’d hate for Frisk to just get more frustrated. I didn’t want to make things harder on them…”

“We know,” you say, squeezing his hand again. He squeezes back. “And Frisk wants to learn. It’s not your fault that nobody seems to know how their magic works…”

“If it even does, honestly,” he says, sighing. “They’re ridiculously powerful for a red mage, impossibly so… It’s like… a blunt, brute force for them. Like swinging a cudgel. They might not be capable of fine, detailed magic. At least not easily.”

“Maybe… I guess all I can do is wait and see,” you say. You give him a weak smile. “I’m sure you and Morwenna will come up with something.”

Sans’s phone is ringing.

You arch a brow as he looks down at you, teeth parted, blue swirling in his left eye socket, tongue slipping back into his mouth. Sprawled out beneath him, naked, you feel that fuzzy haze of desire quickly dissipate, swept away by the peppy ringtone you know is assigned to a singular person. Papyrus.

“Sans,” you warn, hooking your hand on the back of his neck, doing your best to keep him focused with a teasing swipe of your fingertips along his vertebrae.

No such luck. The magic in his eye dims a little, and he turns his head to look towards the nightstand. “he’s gonna worry if i don’t answer,” he says weakly.

“It’s late, he probably forgot about the time difference again,” you say. This isn’t the first time he’s called at nearly midnight, then didn’t understand why he couldn’t talk to Frisk (who was already in bed, asleep by this time). He’s three hours behind you, in Hawaii. “And we’re sort of in the middle of something here.”

“i know, babe, but…” He gives you a pleading look, and you know you can’t say no to that.

Sighing, you let him go and purse your lips, your hands flopping against the bed on either side of your head.

The swirl of blue disappears from his eye socket and is quickly replaced by those white lights. He bends down to nip at your neck, but doesn’t linger. “i’ll make it quick, i promise,” he says, then scoots over so he can reach for his phone.

As he reaches for it and answers the call, you push up into a sitting position. He’s sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, naked and giving you a full view of his bones. You feel anxious and a little frustrated, all wound up with no release. Shifting closer to Sans, he gives you a quick glance as he feels the bed move under your weight.

“yeah, it’s a little late, bro,” he says, covering the back of his neck with his free hand.

“OH, SANS, I’M SORRY! WERE YOU SLEEPING?” Papyrus asks, his loud voice easy enough to hear with you sitting right behind Sans.

“uh, no. not sleeping.” For a moment you hope that will get the point across, until Sans keeps speaking. “but it’s ok, bro. what’s up?”

You frown. You love Papyrus, you really do, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t annoy you sometimes. Well, you can’t get back at your brother-in-law for interrupting your alone time with your husband, but there is something you can do...

Give Sans a reason to stick to his word and make this a brief call.

As Papyrus recounts some conversation with Mettaton about another talk with their manager (something about another movie, not a horror one this time) you trace your fingers down the bumps and ridges of Sans’s spine. He jerks under your touch, biting back a sharp gasp as his head snaps to look at you. His eyes are wide, a sudden flush spreading across his cheekbones, and you just give him a coy smile in return.


Sans stares at you, studying your face as he tries to find his voice. “yeah, everything’s fine. go on,” he says, a little clipped as he stares.

Biting your bottom lip, you’re satisfied with the way his eyes dip down to watch. Good. Trailing your fingers down even lower along his spine, you brush deliberately over the spot where it meets his pelvis, one of the most sensitive places on him and you know it. He shudders and squeezes his eyes shut, and you hear the barest, faintest hint of a strangled groan. It’s quiet enough that Papyrus doesn’t even notice.

His pupils are bright as he opens his eyes again, and the look he gives you is full of hunger. Also, you’re pleased to note, a distinct frustration as his hand tightens on his phone. Slowly, purposefully, you trace along the wing of his pelvis and he jerks away, catching your hand and twisting to shove you back against the bed. You let out a self-satisfied laugh as he throws his leg over your hips, straddling you and pinning you with his weight. That blue glow is in his eye again, quickly enveloping his phone. He uses his magic to hold it in place while he leans forward to pin your hands to the mattress over your head.

“hey, bro?” Sans says, his mouth curving into a wicked grin. “i gotta get going, ok? we’ll talk more soon.”

“OH BUT I DIDN’T GET THE CHANCE TO ASK ABOUT HOPE YET. HOW IS SHE DOING? ARE YOU BEING A GOOD HUSBAND? ARE YOU TAKING GOOD CARE OF HER?” he asks, and you bite your bottom lip again, this time to try and stop yourself from giggling.

You can feel Sans’s deep, satisfied chuckle rumble through your body as he presses in close. “yeah, don’t worry about that. i’m taking real goodcare of her.”

There’s a moment of silence over the phone. “I GET THE FEELING THAT WE AREN’T TALKING ABOUT THE SAME THING, SANS.”

“g’night papyrus. say hi to mettaton for us,” he says, and the note of finality sends a flutter of anticipation low in your stomach.


“bye,” he says, and lets go of one of your hands so he can reach up to end the call. Once that’s done he tosses the phone aside. You don’t even have time to appreciate your free arm before he has it pinned again, letting out a low growl. “what the hell, hope.”

“What?” you ask innocently, testing his grip on you. His fingers tighten, and he leans more weight on them to hold you in place.

“were you trying to drive me nuts?” he demands, heated as his face inches closer to yours.

“Maybe,” you murmur, taking what little movement you can to lean up and kiss his mouth. As you fall back against the bed you give him a mischievous smile. “Did it work?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he presses in closer, nipping at your lips just shy of too hard, ribcage dragging against your breasts in a way that leaves you wanting more, unsure if his teasing is purposeful or just an accident. Either way it makes you squirm, gasping, and when your mouth opens you feel his warm, soft tongue seek out yours.

He spreads your legs with his knees, shifting himself between them instead of straddling them, and you hook your legs behind his back with enthusiasm. This is what you wanted, after all. You wanted him, his attention, his desire focused entirely on you. The humming song of your Souls as you touch is a backdrop to your passion as you feel the faint tingle of magic rub against you, making you moan as he drags a slow stroke over your folds, just enough to tease.

Oh, you know that you asked for this, but you let out a frustrated whine just the same.

“i can’t even be mad at you, i just want you,” he says, his voice pitched in a low rumble. He rocks forward again, grinding against you, and you bite your lip as another whining moan builds up in your throat.

You arch your back, trying to rise to meet him. “Yes, please Sans…”

And that’s all he needs to press inside of you, slowly and carefully, holding your gaze as you grasp at his fingers still pinning your hands. He’s careful, letting your body adjust to taking him in, watching your face as you let out a soft, satisfied gasp. Sans bends over you to graze his teeth along your shoulder, making you shudder.

“i’m gonna make you come for me,” he says against your skin, then takes hold of you with his teeth. He bites down, for emphasis, and you gasp. “and then i’ll have my way with you.”

You can’t help but laugh, a soft, breathy sound as you turn your head to catch his eye. “That doesn’t sound like a punishment for teasing you,” you murmur, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down his jaw.

“who said i was punishing you?” he counters, and he grinds forward to press himself further into you, eliciting a quiet moan. Then he pulls away to start a slow, steady rhythm.

It’s tender, almost gentle, sweetened as you feel a small, familiar tendril of magic stroking at your clit, doing what his hands are too occupied to do themselves. And then there’s another, circling your waist, enveloping you as it reaches for your breast. He knows just how to please you, years of learning every inch of you, all your preferences, just the right way to tease and fondle and rub. How much magic is too much, too strange unless you’re feeling adventurous.

Sans knows you, and it doesn’t take him long to have that tension coiled tight in your belly, right on the brink of release, arching beneath him as he urges you over that point and you come undone with his gentle, practiced coaxing. Crying out, you squeeze your eyes shut, tipping your head to the side to press against his forearm because it’s the only thing you can do. You can’t reach for him, can’t hold him as you ride out the rush of pleasure that leaves you trembling and gasping.

He slows his pace just a little as the pressure against your clit is removed, the too-sensitive feeling making you whine and squirm until he finally stops. As your body starts to relax you peek up at him, and you’re greeted with a very smug looking skeleton. You roll your eyes and let out a soft laugh, and he leans down to nip at your lower lip in lieu of a kiss.

You let out a soft, satisfied groan.

“yeah?” he breathes, picking up the pace again, his strokes sending warm, heady pleasure through you.

“Yeah,” you agree.

It doesn’t take much for him to ‘have his way with you’, all things considered. He’s already close by the time he leaves you flushed and satisfied, and after a few more minutes of more purposeful thrusts he tenses, lets out a ragged cry, and buries his face into your shoulder. Your fingers stroke over the side of his skull as you free your hands from his grip, making him shudder as you brush along the vertebrae in his neck.

The room is plunged into darkness as he uses the last of his focus and magic to flip off the light before collapsing next to you, wrapping you up in his arms and curling around you. Like he can’t hold you tight enough. Fumbling for the covers with your free hand, you manage to pull them up around your waists.

Sans nuzzles against your throat, his fingers pressed against your back. “i love you,” he says, groggy and muffled.

“I love you too,” you answer, kissing him. “Get some sleep.”

You hope that this time it’s peaceful.

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