FANDOM JUMP ONESHOTS

Sans x Merciful! Reader

Eh eh eh eh eh eh eh

So another fandom jump, and the victim is no other than the Tumbler Sexyman himself, Sans the skeleton. His 'x reader' books were okay but they never wrote his character right. He was always depressed and shit, which was very annoying in some circumstances.

I tried to look at the AU books. They were a bit better but still more fanon than canon. Nightmare sans was hot though.

But anyways, I hope you enjoy this oneshot.

And Happy Belated Mothers Day :]
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Sans POV:

412.

412 resets.

I'm surprised I remember most of them, but then again. . . Most were mercyless genocide.

I awoke in my bed again. Same sock on the floor, same blank, dark room, and same gray ceiling I stared at. Another reset and to be completely honest, I'm not fazed. I had got used to waking up in this room. I get up and stretch, I'm made out of bones so I have no idea why I do that in the first place. Walking to the door, I await my brother's call, the one I heard over 400 times over.

"BROTHER! YOU OVERSLEPT, AGAIN!" Papyrus said, slamming the door open. "OH, YOU'RE UP." He looked down at his younger brother. "GOOD! NOW YOU CAN MAKE IT TO YOUR POST BRIGHT AND EARLY!" Papyrus pointed towards the sky as his red, unwashed cape flew behind him. "Heh, can't bro." He once again looked down, this time in worry. "WHY NOT? ARE YOU ILL?" "Nope, I just have no body to go with." I winked at him. My brother began to explode at my stupid and unfunny puns to which I ignored.

I turned around to head downstairs. "Alright buddy, see ya' in a few." "WAIT, SANS." I turn around. He's about to ask if I picked up the sock on the floor- "Are you alright?"

I froze. 'Am I alright? He's never said that before.' A voice cut my thoughts short. "Sans?" "O-Oh yeah bro. Just tired, I guess." Sans smiles. "Thanks for asking though." Papyrus looks down at me in sympathy. "Alright brother. . . SINCE YOU ARE SO TIRED TODAY, YOU GET A DAY OFF. HAVE A GOOD DAY BROTHER!"

He walked out the door leaving me in shock. 'This- This is. . .'

"Different."

On the Surface

Narrator's POV:

(Name).

A well known artist and creator. They are quiet and to themselves and rarely interact with anyone, not in a shy way though. They just hate people. Monstrous, angry, grotesque, numb, cheating, untrustworthy; the list goes on. Their parents never warned them about the dangers of life so they sadly learned the hard way.

(Name) was working on a large piece of art. Colors and images swissed and swerved in such magnificent ways. From plain to pastel, the waves and scenes appeased the brain and eye, calming it in such a glorious way. This eyecandy was going to be their masterpiece.

Finishing the painting, they called for some of their most trustworthy employees to put it on display in the local museum. It was not going to be sold, for no price could take this away from them.

They took off their terracotta apron and hung it on their cream-colored wall. Going to the bathroom, they washed their hands while watching the paint and ink run down the sink. The bright colors wash away in the blackhole, disappearing to never be seen again. (Name) sighs loudly while looking at themselves in the mirror.

They turn off the sink, not even bothering to dry their hands, and they turn away from the bathroom. (Name) walks aimlessly unsure of what to do. They suddenly stop and tap their fingers on the wall in a rhythmic pattern. Six taps turning to five. Five taps turning to four.