Summary

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"How rude, not even gonna ask for a name??" He teased. "Why are you here?" You glowered, raising the whisk. The skeleton scoffed: "Well, glad you asked sweetums! Name's Sans, Sans the skeleton." - Y/N, a ritzy waitress at Grillby's is plucked from her world of pancakes and Orange juice into the gun-slinging, smoke-breathing lap of one of the most fearsome dons in the city. Escape from him- let alone the King's Service that now hunts her down? I don't think so. **SMUT WARNING TO ALL THE UNDERAGE POTATO PATCH CHILDREN!!** - TRANSLATIONS WELCOME, JUST ASK MY PERMISSION FIRST - #1 in: sansxreader. 10th of May.

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Will there be romance?                                                                                                                     
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/"Player does that a lot too. I know when someone is making a dramatic monologue, but don't worry. I can't actually read your mind."/
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They already knew before starting...
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Ashm realising he was swatted down, kept his mouth shut and obediently started eating. Mahir too zipped his curious mind and concentrated on the food.
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Being strangely persuasive has always been one of my few redeeming features, according to my stiff and beautiful oneesan. Though she seems to find my kind of humor disgusting. What's wrong with liking the human body and it's 'night-time rituals'?!
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