Toriel [Surprise invitation]

“Ugh.” A sharp snort escaped Toriel’s snout, her bushy tail giving an irritated flick as she pulled the carton of eggs closer to her face. Of course, today was the day she left her glasses at home, thinking she wouldn’t need them. Squinting, she barely made out the price tag, and her ears twitched in disbelief.

“These eggs used to be three dollars… now they’re six?” she scoffed, her voice laced with exasperation. Prices had been ridiculous lately, but this? This was outright robbery. With a sigh, she reached up, scratching the familiar spot between her two horns, a habit she’d picked up whenever something annoyed her.

Reluctantly, she placed the eggs into her cart and let out a soft hum, an old tune from her younger days slipping past her lips. As she strolled down the aisle, her eyes landed on a box of Nilla Wafers—her favorite snack to enjoy while reading. Without hesitation, she grabbed one and set it alongside the rest of her groceries.

A quick glance at her cart revealed its usual contents—juice, the necessary ingredients for butterscotch-cinnamon pie, and a few other essentials. Baking had become her go-to distraction, a way to keep her hands busy when the loneliness crept in. She told herself she just liked the taste, that she baked out of habit. But deep down, she knew the truth.

Some nights, the silence in her home stretched too long, the warmth of company nothing more than a distant memory. And on those nights, the scent of freshly baked pie filling the air was the closest she could get to comfort.

Shaking her head, Toriel pushed forward, her cart gliding smoothly along the polished floor. Her floppy goat ears twitched slightly as she sighed, adjusting her grip on the handle. As she moved through the aisle, she unknowingly passed by you, also lost in your own shopping. Noticing her approach, you instinctively stepped aside to let her through.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, her voice warm and gentle, offering you a soft smile. Her short, white hair framed her face beautifully, a few loose strands swaying as she moved. The deep purple dress she wore hugged her form, the fabric clinging effortlessly to her curves. She seemed completely unaware of how it accentuated her plush, full breasts, the deep neckline doing little to hide their softness as they bounced subtly with each step.

As she passed, your gaze drifted lower, following the way her wide hips swayed effortlessly, each movement smooth and fluid, like water. The snug fit of her dress highlighted the generous curve of her ample backside, the fabric stretching over her soft form, subtly revealing the dimples along her rear. The faint outline of her panty line peeked through, a teasing detail that only added to the mesmerizing sight.

For a moment, time seemed to slow, the sounds of the grocery store fading into the background as she walked away—completely unaware of the attention she so effortlessly commanded. external image: pbs.twimg.com Coughing awkwardly, you quickly avert your gaze, realizing someone caught you staring at Toriel’s curvaceous backside as she walked away. Clearing your throat, you try to refocus, returning to your grocery shopping. But as you reach for another item, your eyes catch something on the floor—a soft brown leather wallet.

Curious, you pick it up and glance around, searching for its owner. When no one immediately claims it, you decide to check inside for an ID. Flipping it open, your eyes land on a neatly printed name:

“Toriel Dreemurr.”

Your breath hitches slightly—her wallet. The woman who had just walked past you. The woman who had unknowingly stolen your attention moments ago. A closer look reveals her listed age: 45. As you process this, a small photo slips from the wallet, fluttering toward the floor. You kneel to retrieve it, eyes scanning the image—Toriel, smiling warmly with what appears to be her three children beside her. Carefully, you tuck it back into place and close the wallet, determination settling in.

Gripping your cart, you push forward, scanning the aisles, hoping to find her. But the beautiful goat woman is nowhere in sight. A small pang of worry creeps in until an idea sparks.

You rush to the front of the store, heart beating just a little faster than usual. As you approach the checkout lanes, your eyes lock onto her—Toriel, standing at the register, holding up the line as she frantically pats down the pockets of her dress. Her floppy ears twitch with frustration, her brows furrowed in concern.

You step forward, tapping her gently on the shoulder. She turns, looking down at you with confusion—until you extend the wallet toward her.

“Oh, thank the GODS!” she exclaims, her face lighting up with pure relief. She reaches out, her soft, plush paws brushing against your hands for a brief moment. Her fur is warm, impossibly smooth, and the simple touch lingers longer than it should.

“I thought I left it at home… You’re such a sweetheart!” she coos, her voice rich with gratitude.

As she quickly pays for her groceries, she casts you a small, knowing smile, her golden eyes twinkling with something unreadable. Then, as if on impulse, she tilts her head slightly and asks,

“Say… do you like pie?”

——————

After a few minutes of back-and-forth, Toriel had insisted on paying for your groceries, waving off any protests with a dismissive flick of her fluffy paw. There was no winning against her motherly stubbornness. As if that wasn’t enough, she then extended an invitation—one you couldn’t exactly refuse.

“At least let me bake you a pie as a proper thank you, dear. It’s the yeast I can do!” she had said with a cheeky grin, her floppy ears twitching with amusement.

Now, here you were, pulling into her driveway, following her lead as she unlocked the front door. As the garage door slid up, you caught a glimpse inside—neatly stacked boxes, old keepsakes, and an impressive collection of cleaning supplies. A bit cluttered, but still well-organized, just like you’d expect from her.

Stepping out of your car, you quickly moved to help carry her groceries inside. The garage led straight into the kitchen, a warm, cozy space that smelled faintly of cinnamon and vanilla. The two of you worked in quiet efficiency, placing items in their proper places, the only sounds being the soft rustling of bags and the faint hum of the fridge.

That silence was soon broken when Toriel suddenly stepped closer, her soft, plush paw finding the small of your back in a gentle but guiding touch.

“Alright, sweetheart, go sit down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right out with that pie!” she said warmly, giving you a gentle nudge toward the living room.

“Can I get you anything to drink? A snack?” she added, her golden eyes watching you with her ever-present hospitality.

You took a seat on the couch, immediately sinking into the soft, plush brown cushions, the material practically hugging your form. Before you could respond, she leaned down slightly, her paws resting on her knees, giving you an unintentional—but distracting—view as her ample chest hung low, the fabric of her dress doing little to conceal her natural softness.

Unbothered, she simply handed you the remote. “Feel free to watch anything you’d like, dear. Make yourself at home.”

With that, she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you alone in her warm, inviting home—while the scent of fresh ingredients and something far sweeter than pie lingered in the air.