Grillby never expected to find a human he'd want to bond with on the Surface, and then he met you. Life hasn't always been easy but it's looking up more and more every day. He takes it as a good sign you're baking in the middle of a snow storm, and decides to take advantage of how good you look in that apron, until you tell him something that rocks his world.

Outside your window, snow falls gently, but forecasts warned of several more inches to coat the ground before sunrise. Coated to the eblows in flour, you smile absently, your hands staying busy with the dough on the kitchen counter. You love nights like this. The warning to stay indoors was never a curse; you treasure the time you spend at home.

Unbeknownst to you, Grillby can see you work from the window outside where he stands with Sans.

"gonna be open tomorrow, buddy?" the skeleton asks, taking another drag from his cigarette. The snow falling on his skull melts almost immediately.

"Not until later than normal, because of the weather," Grillby says.

There's a halo of steam around him as he raises his temperature enough to melt the snow before it can hit his skin. It's not enough to hurt him, but if he stands out for too long he would be sore for weeks.

"then i'll see you around, grillbz," Sans says, snuffing out the end of his cigarette before carelessly tossing it through the void to stars know where. Grillby gave up scolding him for that years ago. "promised paps we'd hang with tori and frisk for a board game night. ride out the storm there."

Grillby's mouth flickers. "Sure that will be the only thing you're riding, Sans?"

Under the furry hood of his jacket, pulled up in preparation to shortcut home, Grillby can see the soft cyan glow of the skeleton's blush. So that new human would be there, too. Interesting. The skeleton only gets truly flustered when he has feelings he hasn't acted on yet. Grillby remembers the way Sans skirted around a small crush on him at one point underground. He pockets that information away for teasing later, but for now, he needs to get inside.

He needs you.

Life on the Surface started rocky, which is an understatement, but there are enough years between the initial tension and now that Grillby catches himself hoping things will only get better from here. So long as you're here, he knows he can keep believing that. If anyone Underground told him he'd be bonded to a human within four years going topside, he would have cut them off and removed them from his bar. So much had changed. For the good, of course.

He locks the door behind him, the kitchen to his Surface restaurant quiet. Light from the stairwell and his body illuminates the space enough for him to maneuver easily towards the living space he shares with you above it all. With the cold shut out, the smells coming from the room above start to fill his senses. If the draw of your Soul wasn't so strong, anyway, he'd be powerless against the heavenly smells pulling him to you.

You're so focused on your task, you don't hear him coming up the stairs until he speaks.

"Darling? I can smell something delicious and I can only assume it's you."

Oh yes. This is exactly why you don't mind these nights shut in at home.

"Ah, there you are." Grillby stands behind you, his much taller frame allowing him the room to look over your shoulder and make you feel surrounded, but not restrained. Not yet. "Covered in flour and sugar, I see. What are you up to?"

You turn your head enough to smile up at him, some of the hair you pulled from your face falling out of the clever knot and curling from sweat at your temples. It's a clear invitation for a kiss, and he takes it, but it's chaster than he'd like. Plenty of time for that.

"Just baking," you say as you pull away and refocus on your work. "The weather inspired me, and I want to practice for the holidays."

"Haven't seen you bake in ages."

He pitches his voice close to the exact timbre he knows makes your Soul hum. It's already started to respond to his closeness. Nothing can compare to the bonded connection between you. He can feel it in the energy of your skin, in the tempo of your breath. You've been working so much lately, the end of the year one of the busiest times for your company, so he hasn't felt you this relaxed in weeks.

Not only is work keeping you on edge, but you didn't feel well for a few days before now. He hates to see you sick. It's not something he's encountered often, and only outside of the Underground. You'd given him a very stern look against his suggestion that he would close the bar for a couple days and that you call off work, so he could take care of you, just insisting it's a bug and will pass.

Hands on your shoulders, he rubs them absently, paying more attention to what your hands are doing. "What are you making?"

"Pie, dear," you explain, breathless from working the dough into a workable texture.

You're focusing on pinching the crust just so, measuring each divot and wave with precision. That won't do. He has other plans for tonight.

"What kind? You know I can't resist any of your sweets, but pie, that's my absolute favorite. But you knew that, didn't you, darling?"

"Mmm. Apple."

Grillby doesn't resist the wicked smirk pulling at his mouth, since you're facing the other way. Oh, this will be fun.

His lips get a little closer to your ear to say, "Apple. There is nothing in this world like your apple pie."

Was that your ass pressing against him as you leaned to grab the apples you'd sliced? And the way you make sure to rub against him more than necessary as you bake. He could cry out in relief. You want this, too.

"How about a little taste test, darling," Grillby says, moving his head lower, eyes on your face and the line of your jaw tilted towards him. "Something to tempt me while I wait for the main course?"

"Grillby-" you start to say, the end of his name hitching up as you suck in a breath.

The smirk on his face is nothing less than smug. "Let me help, at least."

You flash him a look when he pulls away from behind you, moving backwards with momentum after pressing yourself against him. A wink is his only response as he makes good on his offer. The dance is as much fun as the reward, and he wants to be sure you're feeling better before he pounces.

The time he spent closing the bar downstairs and talking to Sans outside was enough for you to almost finish your task, anyway, but he stands by to help where he can. Besides, the flush to your cheeks that isn't from a fever, but from his teasing, that gives him enough to work with for now.

Falling into a gentle routine, you swap stories about your days, and he makes sure to let his hand linger on yours whenever possible. Your shoulders press together, and he runs his hands along your neck when he walks by to make a kettle of tea. Each time he does he can tell the tension from stress dissipates a little more. The feeling of you Soul at the contact tells him a different sort of tension is building in you at his deliberate actions.

Perfect.

Outside the kitchen window, which is fogging from his presence and the oven warming up, shows the storm is gaining strength as promised. It helps you're getting more flushed, too.

"Do you know what seeing you in that apron does to me darling?"

Your cheeks get redder. Either you didn't notice the way he'd leaned against the counter to watch you finish putting the pie in the oven, taking in the sight of your ass in the air as you bent over, or you purposefully were ignoring his gaze. It's definitely deliberate, the way you set the timer for just under an hour for the pie to bake.

That done, you make the first move of the evening to match his, walking over to stand in front of him, putting yourself between his outstretched legs. He puts his hands on your waist and pulls you closer, leaning down to kiss you. You respond, but push away before it gets past a point of no return. Nuzzling your head in his neck, he presses his face into the top of your head, the flyaway hairs tickling the place his nose would be.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, most of the husky promise removed from his voice. He's genuinely concerned, and doesn't want you to feel like he's only asking to see if it's okay to keep seducing you.

"Much better," you say, one hand on his chest.

The touch of your hand over his Soul is tender, automatic. When you sit alone it's a common position to find you two. You're a human and don't have the same acuity he does to the threads tying you together through your bond. Placing your hand over his chest above his Soul lets you play with them. He puts his hand over yours and strokes his thumb over the back of it.

Stars, he can't help but push his other hand on the small of your back, warmth flowing from him into your muscles. The action is soothing for you, and was something that brought you relief during your sickness, but it helps ground him as well. Something in his Soul is begging him to take you. To stop being patient.

But if he is anything, he is patient, endlessly so for you.

"Grillby," you say. It's almost a question.

Your voice pulls him away from the battle between his Soul and his brain. When you don't respond, he hums under his breath, a prompt that he's listening.

"Remember...what we talked about after my family visited?"

He chuckles. "We talk often, my love. Which part?"

"You're terrible," you say, not meaning it. Pulling away to look up at him, he can see something like worry in your gaze, but all he can feel radiating off of you is anticipation. "The part about our future, together. Now that we've bonded."

Grillby's brain is moving a mile a minute but all he can remember is a conversation about...oh! Every thought screeches to a halt faster than he can turn water to steam.

"Darling?" His voice sounds far away.

"Well, what if I told you we had more than just a pie in the oven?"

That throws him. What are you talking about? "A...but you didn't make anything else, what-?"

You start to giggle, a half-manic sound, your arms trembling. Your Soul is only emanating happiness, though, so he doesn't panic. Not yet. He was just fighting his needy Soul into submission a few minutes ago and he thought he understood you for a second until you threw him for a loop.

"It's an idiom, babe, I should have realized!" The hand not still pressed under his and over his Soul goes to your mouth to try to control the giggles. "Grillby, I'm pregnant."

The world stops. He isn't breathing.

It takes your hand on his face and your voice calling his name to help him find his voice. "It...it worked?"

There are tears in your eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, it did, it worked."

Grillby grabs you as gently as he can and lifts you, spinning around so he can set you on the counter he was leaning against. It gives you enough height that he can kiss you without bending too far. His hands on either side of your face, he can feel your tears hitting his skin and sizzling, but the minor pain doesn't register. He's too happy.

Your voice repeating the same litany into his ear brings him back to reality. He didn't know it but he was crying into your neck, kissing every inch of you he can, and you're soothing him with your hands and your words.

"I know, I know," you whisper, laughter interrupted by hiccups from crying. "I love you, too, babe."

"How long have you known?" he asks. He forces himself to slow to catch his breath.

"A week, I think. I wanted to be sure before I told you."

"So, when you were sick?"

You shrug and smile softly. "It happens to humans when we're pregnant."

He's silent, tracing your body with his hands while his eyes stare at the place your Soul is protected, beneath your sternum. Occasionally they flick down towards your stomach, one of the few things he understands about human pregnancy. You tip his chin up with a hand and get his gaze back on you, and pull him in for another kiss.

Sharp and obnoxious, the kitchen timer demands your attention, and you give him an apologetic smile as you try to get down from the counter.

"No, I got it," he says, turning to open the oven door.

He doesn't need mitts to grab the pie from the oven and set it in the spot you made ready for it to cool. When he turns around again, you've folded your arms and lifted one eyebrow at him. Shaking his hands to make sure the rest of the heat from the pie tin is gone, he is back to you in the space of a breath.

"What? Why the face?"

Your hands go back to him as soon as he's within reach, twining through his, pulling him closer. The saucy grin on your face is still there and he can't help but lean in and capture your lips before you can answer.

Pushing him back, you say, "I'm not suddenly fragile, babe, I can take a damned pie out of the oven."

"No," he says, taking his hands out of yours and resting them on your thighs. "You're far from fragile."

All the movement between you after he lifted you to the counter has pushed the hem of your dress up, revealing more of your leggings, and allowing you to feel even more of his heat.

His Soul is, literally, aflame with desire for you. The knowledge of what you're doing, who you're carrying...the pressure he's been feeling to keep you close and not out of his sight makes more sense now. He should have seen the signs in him, calling to protect and nurture the bond between you. Now that he knows, he's having a hard time ignoring exactly what his Soul wants.

Your apron is quick work, off with a flick of his wrist behind your back. There's a gap between your top and skirt that his fingers find with ease.

"Thinking with your head or your Soul, flame-boy?" you sigh against his lips.

When did he start kissing you again? "I'm not thinking anything right now, too happy. I love you."

Your giggle morphs into a sigh, then a moan, and he drags you closer, forcing your legs open around his hips. He's still a little too tall for this to work but right now all he wants is to touch you anywhere he can.

One hand traces up and down your thigh. Knee to hip and back again, following the swell of your muscles. The other moves up and in, pushing up the hem of your skirt to pool by your waist. His thumb grips into you with purpose, stopping before he reaches the apex of your thighs, but close enough you can feel the heat of him there .

"Darling." His voice comes out as a hiss, nearly a whine, and the responding shiver down your spine makes his hips buck forward. "Please."

Your head nods against his shoulder, your hands gripping into his shoulders hard enough that if he were human it could bruise. It's all he needs.

He can't help it as he lifts you from the counter, carrying you with your legs around his waist towards your bedroom. Your lips are on his neck and collarbone so he can see where he's walking, so his mouth is free for sass.

"I'll get a taste of your apple pie after all."

"Grillby!" you cry out, taking your mouth away so you can properly glare, slapping his chest lightly.

He doesn't reply, just presses you up against the doorframe to your bedroom so he can hold you up while he turns up the lights a bit.

"Need you," he says, setting you down on the bed towards the top.

Eyes still alight with laughter, you bite your lip, scooching further up. So much teasing in the kitchen and the announcement have both of you high on endorphins and moving to get your clothes off as quickly as possible. When he came up the stairs tonight he planned on teasing you, playing a game, but he's lost all focus for that.

You're peeling off your sweater top as he unbuttons his work shirt, suspenders pushed to the side by you already. The tie around his neck is also undone courtesy of your fingers. His belt is pulled from his pants and thrown to the side as you shimmy out of your leggings, but he's getting impatient. There's a tugging on his Soul that moves him forward and over you.

He has to get closer.

Laying in just your bra and skirt below him, you're a vision. You'd taken your hair out of the bun for him, since you know how much he loves to run his fingers through it. Your thighs are rubbing together, betraying how turned on you are, which forces his resolve to crumble further.

He's shaking, the flames that make his body quivering in anticipation, but he takes a moment to run his hand slowly from your face and through your hair, your face leaning into his touch. You don't break eye contact. Not quite a challenge, no, the look is a promise.

Kneeling between your spread legs, he takes both hands and repeats the action from the kitchen countertop. This time instead of stopping before he touches where you want him most, he just slows more the further he gets. With a whine, you push your head back into the pillows beneath it as his thumb finally reaches your slit. The warmth of his hand is more effective than any lubricant or stimulant, and he carefully adjusts the temperature until he hears you panting.

His eyes are locked on your Soul. Yours is the only one he can sense without lifting it from your body. There's time for that later. For now, he's content sending your body into tremors and convulsions by his hand alone.

A little more pressure under your thigh with his free hand and you lift your leg to hook around his hip. The lack of fingernails doesn't mean he can't create a delicious biting pleasure-pain in that soft flesh. He knows there's a tiny mark of his fingertips from the first time he claimed you. It was a first for both of you, monster and human, but you'd never looked back.

Perfect, so perfect.

He doesn't realize he's speaking aloud until you respond with the same words of praise. You take a break between gulps of air to lightly nip at his neck, his hand jerking inside of you as he loses focus for a moment.

Everything about you intoxicates him. Your scent, your body, your voice, and most of all your Soul. You're pushing into his hand with your hips to get any sort of purchase he'll allow and your hands dig into any part of him you can reach. Right now it's his shoulders as he leans over you, planting kisses down your sternum and between your breasts, blowing on either one to provide extra sensation. He knows your body, so he knows you're close. You just need another nudge, already worked up and wet for him after his teasing in the kitchen.

Your eyes fly open when his tongue joins his finger's efforts.

"Grillby!" you pant above him, his name a plea to keep going.

Hands in his hair, you scrape your blunt fingernails along his scalp where the flames get too dense for your fingers to break through. The feeling, the fight for dominance, the push and pull. He lives for this.

"Yes yes yes yes yes ."

The chant grows higher until your hips lift to meet his mouth once more, a quiet sizzle on his lips as you come for him, rolling waves of tremors traveling along your skin and muscles. He backs away to avoid hurting you since you're so sensitive just after. There were nights where he'd made you scream and come again within seconds, but you're already so worked up, clutching your chest and gasping, that he wants to let you breathe for just a moment.

Your hands grab at him blindly, pulling him up towards you.

"Here," you whisper hoarsely, "come here."

Licking his lips, he obliges, drawing you close to him as you shiver. As you come down from your high in his arms, he can hear the way the wind picks up outside. He increases his temperature just enough to make sure the room is warm enough for you for what he has planned next but no where near hot enough to hurt you.

Your lips press into the spot above his Soul, and he groans at the feeling. So sensitive, especially now.

He can feel your smile as your lips move. "I love you."

"I love you," he replies ardently.

The hand he hasn't captured to press against his Soul, soaking up every tremor he can and transferring it to the most precious part of him, starts to mosey down his chest, his abs, to the hem of his pants. Rutting into the mattress as he ate you into oblivion worked him up to a solid tent in his pants. As if he weren't hard enough before that to begin with. You forego teasing him above the fabric and start to work the buttons out of their fastenings.

"Need you," you say against his chest. Your words echo his previous hunger as you look down at your hand to see what you're doing. It's practiced, quick work.

"Yesssss," is all he manages to say as your hand finds its prize, the word ending in a crack of pure relief.

You have the rest of the night to take your time together, he thinks to himself, pulling away only to finish undressing himself. He's smug as hell that your fingers are still too shaky from your orgasm to undo your bra alone, so he reaches around to unhook it for you.

Like this, your Souls are as close together as they can be without him drawing them out for you. He wants to, oh he wants to so badly, but it's a war between his Soul and-

"Oh, shit !"

As he'd stared at your chest to watch the ultraviolet threads knit closer together, you'd lifted your leg over his hip and started working him against you. It's barely a tug for you to pull him on top of you and your legs fall open to greet him effortlessly. He wants to take his time but the way you squirm beneath his weight, the friction of your chest against his, and how so fucking wet you are, he knows he doesn't stand a chance. He'd have better luck going back outside naked in this blizzard.

Sinking into you is bliss. It's better than the first time he saw the stars. Knowing you're bonded to him and he is the only one who can do this to you, for you...his hips snap up with force at the thought.

"Ffffuck!" you exclaim, reaching behind you to grab the bars in the headboard.

Your skirt is still on, so he leans back on his knees and pulls you forward onto him using that for leverage. He thinks he hears a tear but he doesn't give a flying fuck about that right now. In and out, he can set a steady, strong pace at this angle, gripping your hips to pull you forward as your feet brace behind him on the bed. It's incredibly erotic for him this way: he can watch him disappear inside of you over and over again. Your back is arched beautifully, and he can't resist letting go with one hand once you find your rhythm to slowly drag his hand down from your Soul spot. He takes a moment to play with one of your breasts and is rewarded with a flutter along your inner walls against his dick.

Dragging the hand down further, he splays it out across your lower abdomen, marveling at how large his hands look against you like this. It's too early to see his child's Soul yet, but he knows they're there, and he wants to worship every part of you for that.

Stars, he could watch you until the sun burnt out in the sky. Even then, he'd be your sun. He'd be anything, do anything, everything for you. And now, you were giving him the world.

Soon it's less of a pistoning movement and more of your hips constantly grinding together. The temperature rises without his help and a sheen of sweat covers your body. Every time his hand runs along your thigh or stomach, a light hissing fills the air as his hand evaporates the droplets away.

"Close, so close, babe, please!"

Grillby sets his jaw and moves with purpose from your cries, a constant motion that rubs his pelvis against your clit over and over, leaving his hands free to dig into your hips and waist. He holds off until you stop speaking, reduced to keens and garbled expletives. Only when he's sure you've come again by the way you let go of the headboard does he lean forward.

A sure fire way to get him there is always to bring your Souls closer, and like two ends of a magnet your chests meet together. Your arms wrap around him in a tight hug and you kiss him with everything you have. He can feel your aftershocks everywhere. When he finally lets go, pumping into you with abandon, he's blinded by the brilliance of your Soul bond getting the satisfaction it was demanding for weeks.

He turns to avoid collapsing against you. You turn to face him instead of spooning, recognizing he needs to keep your Souls close. This is him at his most vulnerable, the ultraviolet connections he can see between you all he can focus on, and there's no one else he would trust in this moment than you.

"Hey."

Your voice draws his gaze from the connection between you to your face. His smile is easy, literally lighting up his face. "Hey."

"I'm...I'm so happy," you say, your eyes shining brightly from the light of his body. His favorite color is your irises reflecting his glow. "I'm so happy we get to have this together."

Pulling you close, he draws the sheets over the two of you to keep you warm. There are no words he could say to tell you without drawing out your Soul what this means to him, but you both need a moment before doing that. His mind is focused somewhere else as it is. A new life, one you've created together, helps him to understand for what feels like the first time that he's not in the Underground anymore. He pushes away any worries that could come of this, a new generation of children born of humans and monsters.

There would be time for that later. For now, he settles on whispering how much he adores you into your hair, your lips, your neck. He holds you as close as he can, riding the waves of the afterglow, and marveling at the wonder that you are to him.

The storm rages outside, but inside your home, there is nothing but warmth.