Last night was amazing: You danced with your friends, no one got too drunk, you played games, laughed you ass off, and you took your crush home for the night. It could not have been better.

As you woke up you noticed your bed was emptier than it was. Toriel was gone. You were a little scared she had left only to be hit with the sweet and delightful smell of something baking.

You made your way down and saw Toriel pulling a pie out of the oven (butter scotch cinnamon pie, obviously)—and wearing one of your shirts.

“Morning.” She said as she placed the pie on the stove to cool off.

She took off her mittens and made her way to you, giving you warm hug, pressing you against her supple curves.