(Sans x Reader) When Two Souls Meet

Souls and Spaghetti

You freeze like a deer in the headlights, and you unintentionally hold the pose that you'd adopted moments before. You'd wanted to see what your own soul looks like, and so you'd decided to mimic Frisk in hopes that it would appear—complete with the puffed out chest and over-confident stance. Obviously, you had no such luck, and so now you just look plain ridiculous. In the stretch of silence that follows, your face has ample time to turn beet red.

"U-uh... I... I'm, uh..." you stammer. You quickly go back to your laptop, trying to hide your embarrassment behind its screen. "Nothing! Nothing at all!"

"Let me guess," Sans says, casually leaning over and gently forcing your laptop closed. "You're curious what your soul looks like."

"...Yeah," you admit, blushing profusely. "But I can't seem to get it to show up."

"Well, posing dramatically isn't gonna do anything," he says. Then he seems to rethink his previous statement, and chuckles. "Your face though—that was priceless."

You groan and shove your face into a conveniently located pillow.

"If you wanna see your soul so badly, I could help you out," Sans offers. You don't respond, as you're valiantly trying to salvage whatever's left of your pride.

"Hello?" Sans asks. "You alive in there, Buttercup?"

"No," you mutter, your voice muffled. "I died of embarrassment."

"Hmm," Sans hums thoughtfully. The room goes unnervingly silent, and then... he pokes you. You instantly extract yourself from the pillow, gasping for air as you're forced to laugh. He got you right in the ribs, almost as if he'd already known it was your weak spot.

"Heh," he says. He pokes you again, sending you into near hysterics. "Knew it."

"Sans!" you squeak, trying to protest as he does it again. "Quit it!"

After one final, defiant poke, he stops his assault and casually leans back on the sofa, closing his eyes as if nothing happened.

Oh no, you think, a smile snaking its way across your face. You're not just going to get away with it.

You examine his jacket to make sure you know where his ribs are, and take careful aim...

"So, about your soul—"

Sans makes a sound not unlike a strangled goose as you drive your finger forward, and make contact with... bone? No. No, it's definitely not bone—it's too squishy. Whatever you're touching, it has a consistency not unlike jello. It's really warm, too. The instant you made contact with it, a strange warmth spread all throughout your body, as though you're some kind of heating lamp that's just been plugged in. It's a nice feeling.

Wow. What... what is this?

You take a breath to ask Sans, but when you catch sight of his face, the words die in your throat. He's staring at you in absolute shock, his eye sockets wide and his irises as big as full moons. His cheekbones are colored such a deep blue that they're practically indigo, and his body is so tense that you're afraid that he could snap in half if he moves too suddenly. As his irises dart down to his chest and back up to you, you slowly start to realize that you're apparently touching something that you shouldn't be.

Your brow furrows in confusion, and you look back down at your own hand—you'd missed his ribs completely. In fact, whatever you're touching it apparently a good two or three inches inside his rib cage... right where a heart would be on a human.

"U-uh... Buttercup?" he ask shakily, putting a hand over his mouth and looking away. "Could you, uh... back up a little? Please?"

Your finger twitches, drawing a quiet moan from Sans. He tries to bite it back, but he's largely unsuccessful—you shudder a little at the sound of it, and his deepening indigo blush is matched shade for shade by your red one. You quickly snatch your hand away, breaking the strange warm connection that had formed between the two of you.