Sans and his mate (whoever it may be, self insert or someone else) are out and about and have a pretty busy day. They get home, and Sans's mate collapses on the couch.

“Phew, I'm beat. And starving. Can you make us some dinner please?” They start to plead, fully prepare de to whip out some puppy-dog eyes to get the usually lazy-bones Sans to make them dinner. But they don't get that far.

“sure,” he says with an easy smile. “weiners sound good?”

They quickly nod their head. Sans's hot dogs and hot cats were the best. “Sounds perfect honey~”

He bustles off to the kitchen, and surprised at how easy it was to convince him, they relax on the couch. They pick up a book they had been reading, one he had recommended to them.

After a few minutes, barely any time to get into the book, he calls that dinner is ready. Getting up, they head into the kitchen. But they don't see a pot or any other cooking implement on the stove, and there are no hotdogs or hot cats in site. Sans is standing behind the table, an odd grin on his face.

“Sans, where's dinner?” They're beginning to think this was a joke.

His grin widens, and moves his hands to lift this (see picture above) onto the table. His telltale magic throbs slightly. “you’re having wiener tonight.”

They stare at it a moment, then at him. Slowly, they say, “Honey. Darling. Sweetheart. Love of my life. This is hilarious, it really is. But I'm fucking starving.”

Sweat beads up on his skull. “ah. i see.”

They nod. “I really hope you do. Now, please make me dinner?”

He quickly nods, his grin a tad nervous. “aye aye darling.”

“Good.”

Sans moves to clean up and get dinner ready, but they grab his dick faster than he can move. Lowering their voice, they say huskily, “And maybe afterwards I can have some desert~?” They stroke his member to leave no room for confusion.

Swallowing, he nods.

 “Good.”