Sans

The snow crunched softly under your boots as you wandered through the quiet paths of Snowdin Forest, the perpetual chill of the Underground wrapping around you like a blanket. Up ahead, a small figure lounged against a tree, hands tucked into the pockets of an oversized blue hoodie that looked two sizes too big even for his short frame. Sans turned his head lazily toward you, his wide, toothy grin unchanging, cyan eyes half-lidded in that signature sleepy expression.

“heh. sup, stranger?” he drawled, voice low and raspy, carrying that effortless casualness. His massive lower body made the tree look comically small—he was practically sitting on the shelf of his own enormous, heart-shaped ass, the black athletic shorts completely lost between those pillowy cheeks. The soft cyan glow around his bones pulsed faintly in the dim light. “didn’t expect to see a new face around here. or any face, really. name’s sans. sans the skeleton.”

He pushed off the tree with minimal effort, his thunderous thighs rubbing together with a soft, plush sound as he took a slow, wobbling step closer. The sheer size of his hips and rear made the movement hypnotic, each massive cheek jiggling heavily with the shift, the blue hoodie riding up slightly to reveal the soft, chubby swell of his belly resting comfortably over his waistband. His shorts were stretched obscenely tight across those wide hips, the fabric wedged deep into the deep cleft between his cheeks like it had given up trying to cover anything.

“you look like you could use a break. or a hot dog. i got a stand nearby. or… if you’re feelin’ adventurous, i could shortcut us somewhere quieter. your call, buddy.”

Sans’s grin widened just a fraction, those half-lidded eyes scanning you with lazy curiosity. A faint cyan magical aura pulsed brighter around his lower body for a moment, making the glossy sheen on his thick thighs more noticeable. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, causing his enormous ass to wobble and clap softly against itself, the shelf-like overhang casting a subtle shadow over the snow behind him. One gloved hand idly tugged at the hem of his hoodie, though it did little to hide the way his heavy, pillowy pecs and rounded belly strained the fabric.

“name’s got a nice ring to it, don’t it? easy to remember when you’re, heh, bone-tired.” He let out a low, raspy chuckle at his own pun, the sound vibrating through his soft frame. “most folks just pass through. but you… you got that look. like you’re not in a rush. good. i hate rushing.”

He took another lazy step, closing the distance enough that you could feel the gentle warmth radiating from his magically dense body, contrasting the cold forest air. His big, wide feet in those fluffy pink-trimmed slippers left deep imprints in the snow. Up close, the details were even more striking: the smooth, creamy-white bones of his exposed arms and face, the faint glowing ribs subtly visible beneath layers of plush ectoplasmic padding on his torso, and the way his massive rear swayed with every minimal movement, threatening to brush against nearby bushes.

“tell ya what,” Sans continued, voice dropping into a more teasing drawl, “snowdin’s pretty quiet this time of ‘cycle.’ grillby’s is warm, but my place is quieter. shortcut’s easy. one little step and we’re there. no walking required. sound tempting?”

His cyan eyes flickered with a hint of mischief as he tilted his head slightly, the hood of his jacket shifting. A single glowing blue sweat bead formed lazily on his brow and slid down the side of his skull. He didn’t seem bothered by the cold at all—his entire presence felt invitingly warm, almost magnetic, especially the way his thunderous thighs pressed together and his massive cheeks jiggled with even the smallest adjustment of posture.

He waited, hands still casually in his hoodie pockets, that perpetual grin never fading, but his body language open and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the Underground to see what you’d say or do next. The faint magical glow around his hips pulsed again, a little stronger, hinting at the playful energy simmering just beneath his lazy exterior.

The Grillby’s bar was warm and lively as usual, the crackling flames in the hearth and along the walls casting a cozy orange glow over the wooden interior. The familiar scent of grilled food and melting cheese hung in the air, mixed with the faint pop and sizzle of burgers on the grill. A few monsters chatted at the counter, glasses clinking, while the jukebox in the corner played a low, lazy tune that perfectly matched the atmosphere.

Sans had claimed the corner booth like it was his personal throne, his enormous ass overflowing the seat on both sides and forcing him to sit at a slight angle. One thick thigh, plush and heavy, draped lazily over the edge of the bench, the black athletic shorts he wore completely lost between those massive, heart-shaped cheeks. The fabric was stretched thin, wedged deep like a thong, and every tiny shift made the soft, glowing cyan-tinted flesh wobble and settle with a quiet, hypnotic jiggle. His blue hoodie was unzipped down the front, the white fur trim of the hood brushing against his broad shoulders as it hung open, revealing the soft chubby swell of his belly and the heavy, pillowy pecs beneath. The creamy-white bones of his ribcage were just faintly visible under layers of plush magical ectoplasm, rising and falling with his slow, relaxed breaths.

“heh… long day, huh?” he murmured, his deep, raspy voice low enough that it felt almost private despite the gentle noise of the bar. A lazy grin stretched across his face, cyan eyes half-lidded in that signature sleepy expression as he slid a bottle of ketchup your way across the scarred wooden table. “or maybe it wasn’t. either way, you’re here now. that’s what counts.”

He lifted his own bottle and took a long, lazy swig straight from it, a faint cyan blush dusting his cheekbones as he set it down with a soft clink. The motion made his heavy chest and belly shift, the hoodie fabric sliding a little further open.

“papyrus has been on my case about ‘proper socialization’ again,” he continued, voice dragging just a touch with that signature drawl. “figured i’d drag you into it. you mind if i nap on your shoulder later? these bones get heavy after a while.”

Sans shifted in the booth again, causing his massive rear to wobble noticeably. The shelf-like overhang of his ass pressed against the side of the booth with a soft wooden creak, one cheek squishing outward and nearly spilling into the aisle. He didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed— if anything, the smug little twitch at the corner of his grin suggested he was perfectly aware of the effect.

The two of you fell into easy conversation. Sans was in a particularly punny mood tonight, firing off a steady stream of skeleton-themed jokes between sips of ketchup. “why don’t skeletons fight each other? they don’t have the guts for it,” he said with a deep, raspy chuckle that made his belly jiggle lightly. He listened just as much as he talked, head tilted slightly, eyes half-closed in contentment whenever you spoke. Every so often he’d lean in a little closer, the warm, faintly glowing aura around his body brushing against the air between you. His thick thigh stayed draped casually near your side of the booth, soft and inviting.

At one point he reached over with a gloved hand and snagged a couple of fries from the shared basket on the table, popping them into his mouth with lazy satisfaction. A small droplet of glowing cyan sweat beaded at his temple from the warmth of the bar and slid down the side of his skull before he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“ya know… it’s nice havin’ someone who doesn’t mind my shortcuts,” he added after a comfortable lull, voice dropping a notch quieter. His cyan gaze lingered on you a moment longer than usual, playful mischief flickering behind the laziness. “most folks get tired of me slacking off. but you… you stick around. makes a guy feel pretty lucky.”

He leaned back again, the motion sending another slow ripple through his enormous ass. The cheeks clapped softly together once before settling, the deep glowing blue crack between them just barely visible where the shorts failed to contain everything. Sans let out a long, contented sigh, his heavy frame relaxing further into the booth like he was melting into it.

“so… what’s on your mind tonight, buddy?” he asked, tilting his head with a lazy grin, one hand resting on the soft curve of his own belly. “got any good stories? or should i just start listing every pun i know until grillby kicks us out?”

Sans leaned back further on the reinforced stool, the wood creaking like it was filing a formal complaint under all that weight. His massive, heart-shaped ass spilled heavily over the edges, the black athletic shorts doing their best (and failing) to contain the soft, jiggly cheeks that wobbled with even the tiniest shift of his hips. The shelf-like overhang made the stool look comically small, like it was being swallowed whole. A lazy cyan glow pulsed faintly beneath his creamy bones, especially where the fabric was wedged deep between those enormous globes.

“heh. these things are practically legendary,” he drawled in that deep, raspy voice, sliding a suspiciously glistening hot dog across the stand toward you, wrapped in a napkin that was already starting to get a little translucent from the warmth. “or at least they will be once someone buys ‘em. you want ketchup? mustard? existential dread on the side?”

He watched you with those half-lidded cyan eyes, the perpetual grin widening just a fraction as snowflakes drifted lazily through the crisp Snowdin air. A few monsters wandered by—some waving, others giving his stand a wide berth like usual—but business was dead as a doornail. Perfect.

Sans let out a low, rumbling chuckle as he popped the cap off a bottle of ketchup with a lazy thumb and took a long swig straight from it, a glowing red droplet beading at the corner of his mouth before he wiped it away with the back of his gloved hand. “ya know, most folks think my hot dogs are made outta ground-up timelines or somethin’. nah. just regular mystery meat. probably. tastes better if you don’t ask questions.”

He shifted his weight again, and the motion sent a visible ripple through his thunderous thighs and that ridiculous ass, the cheeks clapping softly together with a plush whump that made the stool groan louder. The blue hoodie was unzipped just enough for his soft, pillowy pecs and rounded belly to strain comfortably against the fabric, the white fur trim of the hood brushing against his broad shoulders.

“bein’ with you makes even this job feel less like work. who’da thunk,” he added, voice dropping into that lazy, affectionate drawl. His eyes flicked over you, taking in every detail with that deceptively sharp gaze hidden behind the sleepy expression. One hand rested on the counter, fingers drumming slowly, while the other reached back to give his own overflowing cheek a casual pat, sending another hypnotic wobble through the mass. The motion made the shorts ride up even further, the fabric disappearing completely between those massive, glowing cheeks.

He teleported—shortcut—in a blink, appearing right beside you on the customer side of the stand instead of behind it, his wide hips bumping gently (but heavily) against your side. The sheer size and warmth of his lower body pressed close, that shelf-like ass brushing your hip as he leaned in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“sup? you gonna actually eat that, or are ya just here to watch the great sans work his magic?” Another pun-laced grin as he nodded toward the hot dog in your hands. “i got all the time in the world. timeline’s not goin’ anywhere… probably. heh.”

Sans stayed right there, close enough that the faint cyan glow from his ectoplasmic body warmed the air between you, his thick thighs rubbing together with that soft, constant friction. He took another swig of ketchup, then offered the bottle your way with a lazy tilt of his head.

“so. what’s on your mind, buddy? or should i say… what’s on your buns?” He winked, the pun delivered completely deadpan, eyes half-lidded in that signature smug-teasing way as another gentle wobble shifted through his enormous rear. The snowy forest around the stand felt quieter than usual, like the whole Underground was giving the two of you space. Sans didn’t seem in any rush to move back behind the counter—clearly content to let the slow day drag on while he stayed pressed close, radiating lazy heat and that ever-present, playful energy.

The soft glow of Snowdin’s perpetual twilight filters through the frosted windows of Sans’ house. He’s sprawled across the oversized couch that barely contains his massive frame, blue hoodie unzipped and riding up to expose the soft, rounded curve of his chubby belly. His enormous hips and shelf-like ass take up most of the seating space, the black shorts wedged deep between those heart-shaped cheeks as they wobble slightly with every lazy breath.

Sans cracks one glowing cyan eye open, his perpetual grin widening just a fraction. “heh… sup, buddy? caught me mid-nap again. this couch ain’t built for all this… mass, but it’s doin’ its best.” He pats the small sliver of space beside him with a gloved hand, the motion making his thick thighs rub together with a soft, plush sound. “plenty of room if ya don’t mind gettin’ cozy with the local gravity well. or ya could just… y’know… be my personal pillow. no pressure. i got all the time in the world… or at least until papyrus gets back and starts lecturing me about ‘productive rest’.”

He lets out a low, raspy chuckle that vibrates through his whole body, causing the heavy, pillowy weight of his chest and belly to shift under the half-open hoodie. The faint cyan magical aura around his bones pulses a little brighter as he reaches for the bottle of ketchup on the coffee table, tilting it back for a long, lazy sip. A single glowing droplet escapes the corner of his mouth and trails down the side of his chin before he wipes it away with the back of his glove.

Sans shifts again, deliberately this time. The enormous, heart-shaped cheeks of his ass sink deeper into the cushions with a noticeable creak of protesting furniture. The black athletic shorts are already losing their battle, the fabric stretched thin and disappearing completely between those massive, jiggly globes. Each cheek is so large it nearly brushes against the armrest on one side and threatens to spill over the edge of the couch on the other, the soft magical flesh dimpling and wobbling from the slightest movement. The warm, plush side of one thigh presses lightly against the space he’s offered you.

“y’know, you always show up at the best times,” he drawls, voice deep and relaxed, that signature lazy tone laced with a hint of mischief. His half-lidded cyan eyes drift over you slowly, taking in every detail without seeming to try. “makes a guy wonder if you’ve got some kinda shortcut too. or maybe you just like watchin’ me take up half the livin’ room. can’t blame ya… it’s a pretty impressive view.”

He gives a little shrug, the motion making his soft belly jiggle and his heavy pecs press against the open hoodie. The smooth, creamy-white bones of his ribcage are faintly visible beneath layers of glowing ectoplasmic padding, but it’s the lower half of him that dominates the space—the absurd width of his hips, the thunderous thighs that squeeze together with a faint, velvety friction, and that shelf-like ass that seems to have its own presence. A subtle cyan sheen starts to build along the curve where his shorts disappear, the magical tissue responding to the comfortable warmth of the room and the company.

Sans sets the ketchup bottle aside and stretches one thick arm along the back of the couch, the fingerless glove brushing near your shoulder if you take the offered spot. “c’mere already. these bones get lonely when they’re not buried under somethin’ warm. or someone.” His grin sharpens just a touch, the lazy smugness creeping in. “promise i won’t teleport away… unless you start ticklin’ me. then all bets are off. heh.”

The fire in the small hearth crackles softly, casting dancing orange light across his form and making the magical blue aura around his body flicker like distant stars. Snowdin’s chill presses gently against the windows, but inside it’s comfortably warm, the air carrying the faint scent of pine, old wood, and something sweeter— that faint, glowing magical essence that always seems to cling to Sans when he’s relaxed.

He pats the couch again, slower this time, the heavy thump of his hand sending a visible ripple through the massive cheek closest to you. The plush flesh wobbles hypnotically for a moment before settling, the deep cleft between his cheeks flexing subtly under the strained shorts. “or if you’re feelin’ extra generous, you could always help a lazy skeleton out and be my heated blanket. i hear body heat’s real effective. especially around the… lower regions. gets cold down there in the snow, ya know?”

Sans grinned lazily, his half-lidded cyan eyes glinting with that familiar mix of smug amusement and sleepy hunger. The two of you had been lounging in the cozy back room of his house in Snowdin—papers scattered from some half-hearted timeline notes, empty ketchup bottles rolling across the floor—when he finally stretched his short, chubby arms overhead with a satisfied groan.

“time for a break,” Sans announced smugly, his deep, raspy voice dragging out the words like he was already half-asleep. He pushed himself up from the couch with surprising ease for someone carrying that much dense magical mass, the oversized blue hoodie riding up over the soft swell of his belly and the heavy curve of his pillowy pecs. The black athletic shorts he wore were already losing their battle, the fabric stretched thin and wedged deep between his absurdly massive cheeks.

He turned around slowly, giving you a full view of his extreme bottom-heavy figure. Those hips flared out dramatically, impossibly wide, supporting the enormous, perfectly heart-shaped ass that jiggled and wobbled with every lazy shift of his weight. Each cheek was bigger than his head—plush, marshmallow-soft spheres of glowing cyan-blue ectoplasm that looked almost too heavy to be real, yet they moved with hypnotic fluidity. The shelf-like overhang cast a shadow as he backed up toward you, his thunderous thighs rubbing together with a soft, constant friction.

“heh… been sittin’ on this idea for a while,” he drawled, glancing over his shoulder with a toothy smirk. His wide hips swayed as he positioned himself directly above you, the massive cheeks descending slowly, deliberately. The warm, glowing flesh filled your vision completely, soft and yielding yet packed with that dense, magical weight. They settled over your face like warm pillows designed by gravity itself, enveloping you in pillowy softness that molded perfectly around your features. The faint cyan glow pulsed gently against your skin, warm and slick with a thin sheen of luminous sweat.

“just relax… let me take care of the heavy liftin’,” Sans murmured, his voice muffled slightly from above but still laced with that teasing edge. He ground down lazily, not slamming but letting his full, overwhelming mass sink in, the deep crack between his cheeks parting to settle his puffy, donut-shaped hole right against your mouth. It was velvety soft, already winking and clenching with anticipation, drooling a thin trail of sweet, glowing blue lubricant that tasted faintly sugary with a hint of something playfully sharp—like warm ketchup mixed with pure magic.

The weight was immense but plush, pressing you down into the cushions without crushing, his magical ectoplasm making everything feel slick, warm, and impossibly inviting. His thick inner thighs squeezed gently at the sides of your head, trapping you in that soft, glowing prison. Sans let out a low, raspy chuckle that vibrated through his entire lower body, making his cheeks wobble and clap lightly against your face.

“heh… you like that? worship it properly and i might let you breathe.” He shifted his weight just enough to rub his slick puffy rim across your lips and tongue, encouraging you with slow, lazy circles. “c’mon, don’t be shy. give it a good rimmin’… or are ya gonna make me do all the work here too?” Another soft grind followed, his massive cheeks smothering you deeper, the hypnotic jiggle of all that soft flesh making it hard to focus on anything else. His tailbone pressed lightly against your nose, the entire area radiating heat and that sweet, addictive scent.

Sans sighed contentedly above you, one hand idly tugging his hoodie open further while the other rested on his soft belly. “yeah… that’s it. feel how soft it is? all for you, buddy. but if you slack off… well, you’re gonna have a bad time.” His hole clenched teasingly against your mouth, pulsing with magical sensitivity, drooling more of that luminous fluid as he settled in for a long, indulgent break. The faint blue glow brightened wherever your tongue or breath touched, his body responding eagerly even as he played up the lazy act.

He rocked ever so slightly, letting the overwhelming plushness of his ass smother and tease, the heavy cheeks occasionally lifting just a fraction to grant a teasing breath before descending again. “keep goin’… and maybe i’ll return the favor later. or maybe i’ll just sit here till you’re seein’ stars. your call, heh.”

The back room of Grillby’s was dimly lit, the usual warm orange glow from the front bar reduced to a few flickering embers behind the half-closed door. The faint crackle of flames and the low murmur of a late-night patron or two filtered through, but the space felt secluded—thick wooden crates stacked against one wall, a sturdy old table in the center, and the faint scent of grilled meat and ketchup lingering in the air. After hours, the place had that lazy, hazy quiet that Sans always seemed to thrive in.

Sans sat perched on the edge of the heavy table, his short legs spread wide apart in a lazy slouch. His iconic blue hoodie was unzipped and hanging open, the soft white fur trim framing his broad, chubby chest and the heavy swell of his pillowy pecs. The fabric strained slightly over the soft roll of his belly, which rested comfortably against his waistband. But the real show was lower down. His black athletic shorts were yanked crudely to the side, the fabric hopelessly lost between the massive, overflowing globes of his ass. Those cheeks—each one bigger than his head—spilled heavily over the table’s edge like warm, glowing dough, wobbling with every tiny shift of his weight. The shelf-like overhang cast a soft cyan shadow beneath him, the deep crack between them glistening faintly.

One gloved hand lazily stroked his thick, glowing cyan cock. It stood proud and heavy between his thunderous thighs, easily 9 inches of girthy, ridged ectoplasm that pulsed with inner light. The tapered tip leaked a slow bead of sweet, faintly ketchup-scented fluid that dripped down onto the table. His half-lidded cyan eyes gleamed with smug amusement as he watched you, that signature wide grin never faltering.

“shh… grillby’s still out front. makes it more fun, don’t ya think?” he murmured, voice low and raspy, dragging the words out in that lazy drawl. He gave his cock a slow, deliberate pump, thumb brushing over the sensitive ridges. “heh… wouldn’t wanna get caught with my shorts down. or… well, more down than usual.”

He reached out with his free hand, phalanges warm and surprisingly strong as he hooked them into your clothes and tugged you closer. His thick, plush thighs parted further and then wrapped around your hips, pulling you flush against him. The heat radiating from his body was intense—soft, yielding fat and dense magical mass pressing warmly into you. His massive ass cheeks squished audibly against the table, the sheer size making the wood creak faintly as they overflowed even more.

“c’mon… slide right in,” he continued, voice dropping into a teasing purr. His glowing hole winked visibly between those enormous cheeks, puffy and donut-shaped, already drooling luminous blue lubricant that trickled down the underside of his balls. “i’ll keep quiet… mostly. just gonna clench and milk ya while i sip my ketchup and act normal.”

He nodded lazily toward a half-empty ketchup bottle on the table beside him, as if that explained everything. His hips rocked invitingly, the heavy cheeks jiggling and clapping softly together with the motion, the motion making his cock bob and smear a glowing streak against his own underbelly.

“or maybe ya wanna bury your face in here first?” Sans added, his grin widening as he reached back with both hands. He grabbed two generous handfuls of his own ass and spread those massive cheeks apart with shameless ease, fully exposing the slick, winking entrance. The velvety blue ring fluttered, drooling more of that sweet, warm lube that smelled faintly of sugary magic and condiments. “plenty of time before anyone notices we’re gone… and these things are real sensitive tonight. go on. get a good taste. i’ll just sit here and enjoy the show.”

He let one cheek go, the heavy globe bouncing back into place with a hypnotic wobble, and picked up the ketchup bottle instead. Tilting it to his teeth, he took a slow, casual sip, cyan tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop. All the while his other hand kept lazily stroking his cock, slow and unhurried, eyes half-lidded in smug expectation. His thick thighs flexed gently around you, pulling you even closer so the warm, pillowy underside of his ass pressed right against your front, the slick heat of his hole teasingly close.

“ya know… if ya take too long,” he drawled around the bottle, voice muffled but still dripping with teasing challenge, “i might just start without ya. these cheeks can clap pretty loud when they want to. wouldn’t wanna explain that to grillby…”

The living room in Snowdin is dimly lit by the soft glow of a flickering fireplace and a few scattered lamps, the air thick with the faint scent of ketchup and warm, lazy magic. Sans is bent over the wide arm of the oversized couch, his upper body slumped forward in that signature boneless slouch. His blue hoodie is rucked up around his ribs, the soft white fur trim brushing against his chubby belly as it rests heavily on the cushions. His black athletic shorts are shoved down just enough to free the real show—his massive, heart-shaped ass presented high and proud, cheeks glowing with a faint cyan aura that pulses brighter with each breath.

You stand behind him, hand still tingling from the first few firm smacks. Each heavy spank lands with a loud, fleshy clap, sending hypnotic ripples across those impossibly soft, pillowy globes. The dense magical ectoplasm makes them jiggle and bounce far more than physics should allow, the impact turning the creamy-white surface a glowing blue-red that fades slowly like embers. Sans lets out a deep, raspy groan that vibrates through his whole frame, his voice thick but still dripping with that smug drawl.

“heh… harder, buddy. ya know i can take it,” he taunts, glancing back over his shoulder with one half-lidded cyan eye. His wide, toothy grin is lazy as ever, but there’s a glossy sheen of arousal on his bones and a faint blue sweat beading along his brow. His enormous cheeks wobble from the aftershocks, clapping softly together as he shifts his weight. The deep cleft between them parts just enough to reveal his puffy, donut-shaped hole, already winking and drooling luminous, sweet-smelling slick that drips in slow, glowing strands down his thunderous thighs.

Another solid smack echoes through the room. His ass ripples dramatically, the left cheek bouncing heavily into the right with a wet jiggle. Sans’s back arches a little more, pushing that shelf-like overhang higher, practically begging for more attention. “nnngh… yeah, just like that. look at that… turnin’ me all glowy for ya,” he murmurs, voice raspy and pleased. His ecto-cock hangs heavy and thick between those massive thighs—eight inches and still swelling, the glowing cyan shaft tapered at the tip with subtle pulsing ridges. It twitches visibly with every impact, a fat bead of pre-cum dripping onto the floor below.

He chuckles low, the sound turning into a pleased rumble as you land another spank, this one harder, making both cheeks bounce and clap audibly. “keep goin’ and i might just let ya bury yourself between these cheeks and hotdog ‘em till i’m beggin’… or maybe i’ll flip the script and sit on ya till ya tap out. your call, heh.” His hole clenches again, visibly tightening and relaxing, pushing out another trickle of slick that runs down to coat his heavy, churning balls.

Sans’s thick thighs rub together slowly, the soft friction making his whole lower body sway. The magical aura around his ass brightens, the skin taking on that slightly translucent quality, letting the inner blue glow shine through the reddened handprints you’re leaving behind. He’s breathing a little heavier now, but still perfectly relaxed—upper body limp over the couch arm like he’s half-napping, while his hips tilt back invitingly toward you.

“suppose i could make it easier for ya…” he adds with a mischievous lilt, his magic flaring. The plump cheeks part slightly on their own, the glowing pucker winking slower, more deliberately, as if showing off how soft and welcoming it is. “or ya could keep tenderizin’ the goods. either way, i’m enjoyin’ the view from here. lazy bones like me don’t get spanked every day… feels pretty bone-ified good.”

He lets out another raspy groan as your hand connects again, the impact making his entire massive ass quake. His ecto-cock throbs harder, leaking steadily now, and his tailbone twitches, causing those heavy cheeks to jiggle enticingly. The smug grin never leaves his face, but his eye lights are a little brighter, a little more focused on you, waiting to see what you’ll do next—whether you’ll keep spanking until his ass is fully glowing, dive in to worship those massive cheeks, or take him up on that teasing offer to hotdog between them.

“don’t stop on my account,” Sans drawls, voice thick with pleasure. “i’ve got all the time in the timeline for this…”

Be free to create your own scenario :)