Chapter 1: Rhythm
Summary:
How you got into the world
Dinner with the skeletons
Notes:
Hello!
The story's inspiration comes from a lot of Undertale writers in this website, I'm putting my own spin and twist into it by using my personal headcanon preferences!
It might take me a while, but I'll try to look up my history and bookmarks later so I can credit them properly <3
Feel free to reach me out on:
https://www.tumblr.com/smolciestar
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
You’ve always been a fan of something.
Not the kind who just casually observe, consume, and move on. No. You dissect every crumb of content, dive deep to theories and headcanons, live and breathe through your favorite characters for emotional and mental support.
Right at the top of your list of hyperfixations, Undertale.
Ever since you stumble upon the game, your whole life change. You know everything by heart, could quote the game lines from memory, distinguish the AUs, spending countless hours of browsing fan arts, fanfics, and forums.
It's not only a game, it become a part of your life.
All for fun. Fiction.
Safe behind the screen where your imagination could run wild without consequences, pretending to be part of the world without actually be in it.
Not like it would happen anyway.
You curl up in bed with phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling through AO3 before switching to browse other things. That's when a post catches your eye. You examine it for a while, something about it piqued your curiosity. It's practically hidden in the search results that you almost skip right past it. Hardly any likes. Zero comments.
Travel Machine for Sale.
The title is weirdly cryptic yet also oddly specific at the same time. You dig deeper only to find nothing noteworthy other than the fact that the user, TimeTwister, is a complete mystery. You hesitate for a moment—then click.
The page that load is straight out old, almost nostalgic. An outdated layout accompanied with clunky text—basic even, something you’d expect from a long-forgotten site than anything remotely modern. The text is barely legible due to the formatting, although the message is clear enough to make out.
'For those who wish to cross the boundaries of time and space. No refunds.'
You giggle at the absurdity of it, yet something about it tug you. Against all reason, you continue on to read the instructions even though you have no intention of buying it in the first place.
The guide is cryptic at best, barely making any sense. Pull this lever, twist that dial, press this exact button, and right at the bottom of it is a coordinate to be input.
You find it ridiculous though your fingers move on their own, following along typing the coordinate without thinking twice or second-guessing anything.
The final instruction is strangely simple.
'Step outside, and you’ll know what to do.'
You barely question it and complied.
That's a mistake.
The next few moments were a blur. The world seemed to shift under your feet. A hum, a pull, something intangible yet so strong as if you were being sucked into the very fabric of reality itself. Your phone screen flickered, the next thing you see—
Darkness.
Your eyes snap open. Frantically look around, only to find yourself in an unrecognizable room.
The first thing you notice is the sheer size of the place and the change in the atmosphere. The room is massive, the high ceilings create an almost overwhelming sense of space. It's some sort of basement, but not the kind that you’d see in a modern house.
You look in front of you and see a jarring revelation.
A machine.
The machine.
Different, familiar, and foreign all at once.
You stagger backwards, heart racing as your breath hitches.
“No. No. No. Did I actually— Where… am I?” you murmur, barely a whisper.
You step back until your spine hit the wall, your chest feels heavy, breath shallow. You close your eyes as you try to ground yourself.
"In."
You carefully took a deep breath.
"Out."
You let out a shaky exhale.
“hey kid, you alright?”
You froze.
Someone is here.
You turn slowly.
Standing casually on the other side with arms tucked into the hoodie, you find yourself face-to-face with none other than—
Sans?
His iconic blue hoodie and pink slippers is exactly the same, his stance seems relaxed as one of his eye glow.
“I- I don’t know how I got here,” you stutter, still processing the fact that the skeleton you’d seen countless times in every media you consumed is right there.
“I was… clicking and now—”
“yeah, sounds about right,” he interrupts, his tone oddly casual. “happens all the time around here.”
He takes a few lazy steps towards you. Slow, unbothered, as if there's not a total stranger in his house.
“i'm classic. classic the skeleton. anyways, you’re not from around here, right?”
You shake your head, too stunned to answer. Your legs tremble as you try to stand steady. Despite the situation, you didn't miss the fact that he calls himself Classic.
“y’know, we get a lot of… unexpected drop-ins. don’t sweat it, kid,” he continues, his grin never faltering.
You knew it. You don't say anything.
“you’re probably wondering where you are and thinkin' about how to get back. this is not your world. me, my bro, and some other folks lives here. some call it home, a madhouse, depends on who you ask. i know you must really wanna go home, but you’re most likely stuck with us.”
The weight of his words hit you like a ton of bricks, you couldn’t move. The reality of it all is crashing down on you as numerous questions race through your mind.
He notices your silence and gives a small shrug. “hey. i’d offer you a seat, though we don’t exactly do the ‘fancy’ thing around here. you’ll get used to it.” he pauses, observing you. “you hungry? it’s about time for dinner.”
You awkwardly laugh at the surreality of everything. Dinner? The feeling of dread is still presence in you, but there's something oddly comforting about his calm demeanor.
Without fully understanding why, you nod. “Yeah... yeah. I guess I could eat."
Classic motions you to follow. “well, if you insist... come over here. let’s meet the rest.”
You never imagine you'd end up here. One by one, they appear.
Papyrus kindly greets you first. Smile impossibly wide, loud and enthusiastic. “HELLO THERE HUMAN! I AM THE GREAT CREAMPUFF! YOU MUST BE THE NEW FRIEND CLASSIC TOLD US ABOUT!”
Your eyes widen. Pap- Creampuff is a whole two heads taller than you, and you're of average height. You have to peer up to see his face and not just his chest plate. Despite the whirlwind of emotions that you currently have, his presence is so lively that you couldn’t help giving a small smile back.
“Uh… hi,” you manage, voice softer than planned. “Nice to meet you?”
He seems to not notice your hesitation, "I HAVE TO SAY, YOU'RE NOT EXACTLY HOW I IMAGINE YOU WOULD BE!”
Another voice pierce the moment. “YES, CHIEF, I’M ON SHIFT TONIGHT. NO, I GOT EYES ON IT—”
Blue blurry zooms past you, practically buzzing with energy and halfway through a phone call, barely glancing at you. “OH, A HUMAN!” he exclaims between sentences. “SORRY, REALLY BUSY, BUT HELLO! BYE!”
And just like that, he's gone.
"that's my bro blue." a sudden dry voice drawls behind you. "you'll hear him before you see him."
You flinch.
Stretch slouching figure appear at your side, you didn't even hear him. Even with his posture, he's still really tall, at least comparable to Creampuff.
"yo. stretch." he simply says. "welcome to the circus."
You go along with it. "does it come with a clown too?"
Stretch snorts softly, “for someone new, honestly expected you to ask a few more questions by now. nice surprise.” with a yawning stretch, he disappears—half-lit cigarette already nestled between his fingers.
You're unsure if he meant it as a compliment, a warning, or both. Your fingers twitch at your side, but all you do is stand there. He didn’t ask a question. So you don’t give an answer.
From the shadows of the hallway you hear a groan accompanied with a gruff. “this is dumb. i don’t care who the runt is.”
Classic doesn’t even look. “red, be nice.”
“i am nice,” Red proclaims, scanning you once before smirking. “they’ll live.”
You fold your arms. You get the idea that he means 'live' in more ways than one.
Red gaze lingered a little too long, his eye flicker for a moment. “ya the one classic won't shut up about?”
You avoid his eye contact, giving him just a nod in response.
"figures." he clicks his tongue.
“...ANOTHER ONE?” a seperate voice boom from the kitchen, shortly after Edge comes out.
You stare at him, not because he looks like a general returning from war with his signature scarlet red scarf trailing behind him. It's just that Creampuff and Stretch are way taller than you imagined them to be, but with his proud perfect posture, Edge completely towers over both of them.
You take a mental note to yourself, Papyrus—Papyruses—Papyri? You don't even know anymore. They're just giants.
He looks at you from the kitchen doorway, gaze narrowing with a sharp and cold huff. “HMPH. SO THIS IS THE HUMAN.”
Rather than a greeting, he declares. “TOUCH MY KITCHEN AND YOU DIE.”
You move yourself and accidentally bump into the table, giving out a low yelp. Edge didn’t budge, not even when Creampuff wave him over.
“DO NOT MIND EDGE, HE'S JUST GRUMPY!” Creampuff reassures you, still with a smile on his face, but you're beginning to doubt how much you can take his words at face value.
Thuds of heavy heeled boots, louder than necessary, head into the dining room.
There's more? Underswap and Underfell is here, how many AUs are in this... mansion.
Black storms past you, not even acknowledging your existence. A scowl on his face, one hand resting on his belt with Rus trailing behind him. You never expect his presence would overwhelm you this much.
When he glowers your way, he only lets out a scoff. “TCH.”
Rus just silently stays beside him and offers what you can only describe as a blank smile.
"black," Classic sighs as he points out. "and that's rus. don't take it personal. they're always like that."
Dinner passed by quickly that day.
The longer you stay, the more you notice a rhythm. Aside from lunch, breakfast and dinner always stays the same, almost everyone gathered around the large dining table each with their own eccentricity.
There's an unspoken tradition that no one explicitly mentions here: breakfast and dinner; together, every single day, without fail. Even with your unexpected addition, that custom didn’t change. In fact, when a permanent extra seat, yours, join the table. No one seems to question or argue about it.
You're still unsure on what to do.
On a passing conversation, Classic brings up a suggestion that sound more like an afterthought. “if you’re stickin’ around kid, might as well help out a bit. things around here are can get a little… messy. most of us aren't exactly suited for cleaning.”
Looking around the house—more like the mansion—you do notice there's small tasks that needs to be done; wiping tables, sweeping floors, folding laundry. Everyday life things that made everything feel more real.
Alive.
You are actually living here.
With them.
"Okay..."
Slowly, you find yourself falling into the rhythm, wanting to be as helpful as you could.
Notes:
Undertale by TobyFox
Sans: Classic
Papyrus: Creampuff
-
Underswap by popcornpr1nce
Sans: Blue (Not Blueberry)
Papyrus: Stretch
-
Underfell by vic the underfella
Sans: Red
Papyrus: Edge
-
Swapfell Red by jot (blackggggum) with my own interpretation of them
Sans: Black (m'lord)
Papyrus: Rus (Mutt)
Chapter 2: Routine
Summary:
Your observation of the skeletons daily lifes
'Family' Hangout
Notes:
Feel free to reach me out on:
https://www.tumblr.com/smolciestar
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first few days blurred together in a dreamlike haze.
You spend a lot of time trying not to look too awestruck at anything and everything, every single moment of being here feels like living inside a story you never meant to be in, to be a part of. A fragile rushed arrangement at best.
No one really trust you—that much is obvious. You're not stupid. But you aren't offended. You couldn’t be. After all, in a world where some or even all of them could have suffered resets, betrayals, deaths, and sometimes even worse because of humans... trust is not something handed out freely.
You start to take notes, the ways of living here.
Mornings starts really early in this household.
Too early.
Edge is always the first one awake, like clockwork. You don’t have to check the time anymore. His heavy steps echo down the hallway long before anyone else does.
You catch the soft clattering from the kitchen as he brew his black coffee, the rich scent linger into the hallways like a wake-up call. No words. Only sounds of scraping utensils as he prepares breakfast.
Not only for himself, but for everyone.
Sudden bright laughter burst out, loud enough to rattle the windows. Stretch wasn't kidding, you're able to hear Blue and Creampuff coming from a mile away.
“GOOD MORNING!!!” Creampuff bellow at full volume, as if the world need a reminder that if the sun is up, so is he.
“IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY TO HAVE TACOS!!!” Blue chimes in, always trying—and failing, to convince Edge of making mexican food every single day.
Edge lets out his signature reply: a long-suffering groan and the distinct sound of plates shove across the table. You peek around the corner in time to see him glower at both of them, face twisted in barely-contained morning rage enough to scoot the chairs.
Violence... in breakfast form?
“SO IS THAT A NO TO TACOS?” Blue looks confuse.
“A NO TO YOUR FACE,” Edge grumbles, pouring himself more coffee like it’s the only thing holding him back from a murder charge while shoving him a plate.
Blue just gives him a wide cheeky grin in return.
Black follows not long after, arms crossed tight like he expected the morning itself to pick a fight with him, still ignoring your existence.
Red and Rus are the last pair to wake.
Red often stumbles half-asleep, hoodie messy, mumbling "ugh... five more minutes."
Rus… well, Rus doesn’t walk in—he appears, suddenly already seated at the far end of the table when you glance up. One hand on a mug, the other near a cigarette that hasn’t been lit yet.
“OUTSIDE,” Edge barks without even looking.
Rus sighs like he heard this a hundred times, he flicks the cigarette and sips his drink instead.
Stretch's a wild card. Sometimes one of the first, other times late. Most days, he doesn't even say much, just a nod while groggily leans against anything. Hoodie pulled over his head with a cup of honey-tea that he always made himself.
And then there's Classic.
He never comes down on time. Most of the time he pops into the dining table through his 'shortcut', startling everyone when he appears midair and crashes into his chair with a groan. Someone—more like mostly Creampuff throws a bone at him.
"YOU LAZYBONES! JUST WALK THROUGH NORMALLY!"
Classic yawns with half lidded eyes. "c'mon puff, it was just a bone-afide joke."
A mix of chuckles and groans fills the room.
"THE ONLY JOKE HERE IS YOUR BAD PUNS!" Creampuff rolls his eyes, but you can see that he's smiling.
Their chaotic dynamics is amusing to see. If their current self aren't that far off from your knowledge of them, you have an idea why their morning routine are the way that they are, of course you will never admit and say it out loud.
You stay quiet most of the time.
Watching. Listening. Learning. Adapting.
It's like stepping into a living, breathing family, one that was rough around the edges but undeniably real. Each of them had carve out their own habit, a good balance of chaos and comfort.
And you… well, you are the outsider.
You don't want to disrupt that balance.
You start small—folding the laundry that’s been sitting in the living room too long, sweeping the hallways. You made sure not to ask if you could help, asking might give them a reason to say no.
So you just do it.
At first, they don't react. They watch you, wary, but say nothing.
While passing through the kitchen, you see sauce crusted onto the stovetop from lunch. You're thinking about it, you remembered what Edge said, sure. Maybe he didn’t mean it in a literal way.
You look around to see if the coast is clear and grab a cloth to wipe down the counter. Then another. You reach for the cleaner—
“WHAT. ARE. YOU. DOING.”
You're caught. You always mess up.
You turn to see Edge's rigid frame standing in the doorway.
You back up. “I—I wasn’t trying to mess anything up! I just— You cook for everyone all the time, and I thought—”
He stomps forward, and for a second, you thought he might grab the cloth out of your hands.
“I WARNED YOU,” he hiss.
“I know, I—” your fingers curl around the cloth. “I can—”
“I DON’T NEED HELP!”
He steps closer.
You shrink into yourself, hand instinctively jerk up. And for a long, painful second. You hear nothing.
You muster the courage to look up. He's not doing anything except glaring at you, the muscle in his jaw clench.
“...You Used The Wrong One,” he mutters with a low grumble now. He seems... insulted.
You blink.
“What?”
“THAT’S DISH SOAP,” he barks. “NOT SURFACE CLEANER. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW STREAKY THAT WILL DRY?”
You lower your gaze. “…Sorry.”
“UGH.”
Edge stands there for almost an uncomfortable long time, clenching and unclenching his fists, like he's weighing some invisible battle inside himself.
Finally, he turns his back to you, muttering curses under his breath as he marchs to the cabinet. He pulls out the proper bottle, slams it on the counter, and thrust it at your direction without looking.
“…IF YOU’RE GOING TO DO IT,” he grumbles, “AT LEAST DO IT RIGHT.”
A pause.
“…Don’t Touch The Knives. There Won't Be A Next Time.”
You're unsure if that meant you had permission. It's not an approval, exactly. Yet, it's not a rejection either.
Nights are harder than mornings, at least for you.
Everyone retreats to their room after dinner, leaving the mansion eerily silent.
You have been given a small guest room on the second floor—simple but cozy, with a bed, a dresser, and a window that overlooked the back gardens. It's way too big and pretty for you, still no matter how inviting the room is, sleep never comes easily.
You lay awake most nights, unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling, listening to the creaks and noises of the old mansion settling around you. Sometimes you hear footsteps, soft and cautious ones, as someone paces the halls restlessly. Other times, you catch the faint sounds of murmured conversations through the walls, or the distant rumble of laughter when they thought you're asleep.
The loneliness crept in during those hours.
The realization.
That you're alone.
You turn onto your side and clutch the pillow tighter.
You missed it. Your old life.
It wasn't much, nothing special. But at the back of your mind, there's a part of you that thinks you had never really belonged there either.
There's no use going back. Not that you have a choice anyway.
Here… here, maybe, you could have a chance to blossom something real, something important. If only they would let you...
A breakthrough came on a Saturday.
Family Hangout. Once a week. On the weekend.
Another one of their tradition, not that you've been living with them long enough to know.
You find yourself sitting awkwardly on the giant sectional couch in the movie room, hands tucked between your knees, as the skeletons argue over what movie to watch. You aren't even sure why you're here, why you need to be here.
“ACTION!” Black demands.
“comedy!” Red counters immediately.
“ROMANCE!” Creampuff shouts, throwing a handful of popcorn into the air dramatically.
“HORROR!” Edge insist.
Blue raises his hand enthusiastically. “SOMETHING WITH DOGS IN IT!!”
Classic, predictably, vote for anything involving bad puns. Meanwhile Stretch and Rus… well they lean back in their seat, staring at the ceiling, clearly planning to nap through whatever won.
No one ask for your opinion. You don’t offer it either.
You watch silently, smiling, taking in the sight of them together—their bickering, laughter, stubbornness. You will be lying if you said you never daydream about wanting to see these interactions. It's like watching personalities clash and blends into something imperfectly perfect.
Eventually, they settle on a ridiculously random action-comedy about a vigilante who disguises themself as a dog groomer. Everyone seems grudgingly satisfied, and the lights dimmed. You sat between Stretch and Creampuff, trying not to feel hyperaware of the fact that all your favorite skeletons flanking you on all sides.
Halfway through the movie, Creampuff fell asleep without warning, snoring loudly. You didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare to breathe too loudly either. Stretch shifts closer, one long arm draping along the back of the couch behind you, but not touching.
“so,” he mutters, “how’s livin’ in the bone zone?”
You glance at him. He’s watching the screen.
“...less terrifying than expected,” you reply softly, trying to keep your voice low.
Stretch hums. “you always this quiet?”
Your breath catches a little. You shift slightly, careful not to jostle Creampuff. “...most of the time.”
That makes him pause. You peek only to find him looking at you directly this time. His eye flicker towards you.
“huh," he continues. "that so.”
He’s measuring you. You can sense his doubts.
After a while, you brave yourself to speak up. “...do you always test people?”
Stretch doesn’t answer right away. He drags a hand over his face.
“depends,” he finally replies. “you’re quieter than i expected. either good or real inconvenient.”
You don't know what expression you're wearing. “Which one do you think I am?”
“most folks do or say somethin’ stupid right about now. you haven’t. yet.”
Another pause. As if on cue, Creampuff lets out another snore. You both stare at him, and for a moment you see Stretch’s demeanor softens.
“he always does this,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “gets all excited to hang out. passes out not long after.”
You take a small breath. “...do you guys really do this every week?”
“mhm. non-negotiable.” he taps two fingers on the arm of the couch in time with the movie’s soundtrack.
“Good to know.”
You curl up and bury yourself to your arms even more. You weren't really able to pay attention to the move and before you know it everyone is already on their way drifting off to their own rooms once the movie ended. You gather the scattered popcorn and empty soda bottles that are left behind, your eyes turn to the doorway only to catch the sight of Classic standing there. Hands shoved deep into the pockets, hoodie sagging lazily over his frame. His usual grin is softer now, almost hesitant.
"hey," he calls out. "listen…"
You ponder to yourself, confused. Since your first dinner with him, he hasn't made any effort to talk to you.
He rubs the back of his skull awkwardly. "you… uh… you're doin' good, kid. around here, i mean. just wanted ya to know."
Your heart skip a beat. You don't know if he really mean it. Maybe he said it to be polite, or out of pity. You're starting to doubt everything, mind wavering if you actually really know Sans as much as you thought you did. Nonetheless...
"Thank you," you whisper, and you meant it.
He chuckles under his breath and disappears with a pop of blue magic before you could say anything more.
You stand there for a long time, clutching the empty popcorn bowl to your chest, feeling the walls of this strange, impossible world, slowly starting to open up to you.
It isn't trust. At least, not yet.
But it's something. That's better than nothing.
You're willing to wait, no matter how long it takes, even if it took forever or possibly never.
Notes:
What will You do?
Chapter 3: Small Victories
Summary:
Knowing more about the skeletons
Overheard Edge and Black
Short time with Red and Stretch
Notes:
Feel free to reach me out on:
https://www.tumblr.com/smolciestar
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It has officially been a week since you start to live with them. You're starting to get the hang of it. Kind off.
It isn't perfect—far from it in fact—but steady in its own clumsy way.
You learn their moods and the way the atmosphere in the house change as easily as the weather depending on who was around and not.
You know this isn't be good enough in the long run, but for now, it's still progress. You're starting to feel quite proud of yourself. Slowly, but surely.
After your first 'Family' Hangout, you manage to learn something valuable. Surprisingly, these skeletons are busier than you expected them to be. Everyone has work to do, long hours of unpredictable schedules.
You spot Classic once through the corner of your window, flickering out of a shortcut mid-call, a bundle of papers tucked under one arm and a mug floating beside him. Jacket’s wrinkled, sockets dim, and when he notices you, his smile is hollow but still raises a hand before vanishing again.
He doesn’t come back that night.
What exactly each of them does for a living is still a mystery to you. Sometimes, you even wonder if any of the fandoms headcanon or fanon you've read was able to predict or guess them correctly.
Ever since you live here, you start to get up a little earlier than you usually do. You sneak into the kitchen after Edge finished cooking to clean up the mess and dishes he left behind—wiping the counters, washing the cookware and utensils.
You made sure to leave the knives alone.
You never tried and will never take over cooking. That's Edge’s domain, and even you weren't dumb enough to cross that line. When you reorganize his pantry, he glares at you like you had slap him.
Instead of yelling, he snarles, “DON’T TOUCH THE SPICES WITHOUT PERMISSION!”
Then, after a long beat, he mutters, "...But...Good Job." as he stomps off like you haven't witnessed the most vulnerable thing he had probably done in years.
Edge. The Edge. Gave you an actual praise. You smile to yourself for a long time after that.
Small victories. That's what you decide to call them from now on.
A grunt of approval from Rus. A doorway held open instead of being slammed in your face from Red.
Tiny, almost invisible moments... but they mean the whole world to you.
But it isn't all that easy.
Some of the skeletons are harder to crack than others. Black in particular made no effort to hide his doubts.
Every time you cross path with him in the halls, he square his shoulders like he's bracing for an attack. He growls when you got too close, bare his sharp teeth when you linger too long, glares at you like your mere existence is an offense.
You couldn’t really blame him. Underfell and Swapfell works on a complete different conventional ways. Even when living on the surface, seems like old habits die hard. You overhear them once, Black and Edge, arguing in hushed, furious whispers late night when they thought you're asleep.
“WE DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY WANT,” Black hiss.
“GIVING THEM A ROOM WAS A MISTAKE. THEY COULD BE SPYING ON US, THERE IS NO POINT TO THIS RISK. WHAT ON THE QUEEN'S NAME IS CLASSIC THINKING?”
Edge’s reply to his outburst is calmer, more measured.
“We Monitor Them. We Control The Situation. If They Try Anything... We'll Deal With Them.”
A cold pit settle in your stomach. Black is one thing, but to hear that directly from Edge? You thought he was starting to tolerate you. Still, you understood.
You aren't here to replace their caution—but to earn their trust. You try not to think about that conversation too much. You just have to be patient and work even harder for it.
It's raining.
The mansion creaked and rumbled under the weight of the storm, wind rattling the window frames. Most of the skeletons are out despite the horrible weather, but Stretch and Red is home.
You find Red first—holed up in the garage, tinkering with one of the beat-up old cars he likes to fix. His tools are scattered everywhere, oil all over staining the concrete floor like a crime scene.
Not like you're doing any better yourself, you hesitate in the doorway, soaking wet from a failed attempt to run, you were taking a walk to keep yourself sane before the storm completely took over.
The light in the garage is dim. A hanging bulb sway slightly from its cord, casting shadows across the room. Red looks up when he heard you, his sockets half-lit under the flicker of the lamp.
"...shit, sweetheart," he mutters, a crooked grin twitching in amusement. "ya look like a drowned rat."
You let out a breathless hollow laugh, can't believe all it took for him to use his infamous pet name were you dripping wet all over his workspace.
"Thanks. Always wanted to hear that from a guy."
You immediately shut your mouth. Too sarcastic. You've been careful, yet provoking Red out of all people?
You brace yourself, preparing to accept whatever happens next.
Something did. Although it wasn't something you were expecting.
Red snorts—an actual snort—before going back to fiddle with the engine.
A shocking rare moment.
"didn’t know ya had teeth," the glow in his socket flickers. "guess even the quiet ones bite if ya poke 'em right."
“I—” your voice cracks. “I didn’t mean it like that...”
Red drawn out his hum, almost purring. “sure ya didn’t.”
Your mouth went dry. He's baiting you. You choose to not take it.
Red smirks in victory, fingers already twisting a wrench. Well, at least he didn’t tell you to 'fuck off' or leave him alone.
"ya always thank guys who insult ya, or am i just special?"
Intending to excuse yourself, you step back. "Well—"
You feel your balance tilt.
You didn't realize there's already a puddle of water forming below you.
You gasp, closing your eyes with the faith of falling into the oily ground.
The contact sent a jolt through your body.
But you don't feel any pain.
You open your eyes to see a bony hand wrapped around your wrist. Your body freeze, heart pounding. You watch as he steady you and then immediately let go as if you're a live wire.
Red instinctively caught you—grabbing you fast and firm.
"watch it, doll," he mutters, almost gruffly. "no need ya crackin' yer skull open 'round here to be fallin' for me."
You blink. Did he just flirt with you?
Your eyes dart away nervously. "I’ll be more careful next time, thank you."
Red grumbles something that you weren't able to make out and turns back to the car, but his movements were a little less guarded after that.
You can tell he was testing you. Why did he decide to help?
Later that afternoon, you manage to find Stretch sprawl across the living room couch with the TV on.
A rundown notebook balanced on his chest, half-sliding off with each slow breath, his pen dangling loosely from his fingers. Even with every gust of rain and wind howling, he seems perfectly content to nap through the noises.
You hover awkwardly at the corner of the room, clutching a tray of teapot and two mugs in your hand. You’re torn between waking him up or leave him be. He cracks one eye open, fixing you with a look that was both unimpressed yet quite amused.
"yo," he drawls, his voice low from sleep. "you just gonna stand there or...?"
Your face flushed as you shuffle forward, twisting your fingers nervously around the handle.
"I- uh... I made some tea, with honey," you blurted some words by tumbling too fast. "Thought you might want some."
Stretch's eye socket glow for a moment, expression unreadable. Then slowly pushes himself upright, bones creaking dramatically like he's a grandpa, and pat the couch next to him without a word.
You set the tray down carefully and took the offer, hoping you don't look like you're panicking for no reason.
He holds the tea and sniffs it. “heh… you spike this, or just a bad steep?”
You raise an eyebrow at him, processing the pun with a slow realization. Considering he likes pranks more, you didn't expect he would make one.
"Unless you're allergic to golden flower, no. I can drink first."
“nah. just messin' with you," Stretch takes a sip, made a noise of approval, and slouch lower into the couch. "thanks. exactly my cup of tea."
Before you knew it, you feel a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. Damn it—he got you good.
"That’s tea-rific to hear."
For a second Stretch seems to look a bit taken back, he lets out a low chuckle. "…not bad. guess you’re startin’ to brew some puns of your own."
You shake your head and sit there in silence, watching the TV for a while. He didn’t seem to mind your presence and leans back a little, one of his arm draped over the back of the couch.
You glimpse at him, to see any change in his expression. If anything, he looks... content. It would be nice if this could become a regular thing, but you won't be greedy.
For the first time since you arrived, you didn’t feel quite so much like a stranger intruding in someone else’s home.
It almost... made you felt welcomed. Maybe, just maybe, you're starting to fit in.
One small victory at a time. You can do this.
Notes:
Although the story uses They/Them, the Reader's pronouns is up to you~
Chapter 4: Sunshines
Summary:
Breakfast with the skeletons
Creampuff knows more than he lets on
Notes:
Omg hits, kudos, and bookmarks already? Tysm for your support everyone!
Feel free to reach me out on:
https://www.tumblr.com/smolciestar
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Morning starts the same way it always does: with noises. Lots of them. You figure that’s what happens when eight skeletons share the same roof.
Door slams. Voices rumble. Something crash in the kitchen—probably Black throwing a mug again. No matter how tired or how grumpy you are, everyone is expected to show up.
The mansion itself wake you up as the floorboards creaks from heavy feet stomp down the hall. You blink dreadly at the ceiling, heart racing with the mix of nerves and anticipation that have become your best friend.
You had sat through a few, hovering awkwardly at the massive table, nibbling at food you barely taste, trying not to be too noisy, too weird, too obvious. Today is going to be different, you're determined to do better. You want—no, you need this.
As you round the corner into the dining room, you pause as all of them are on your eyesight. You suddenly feel uncertain, a need to be small again.
“CREAMPUFF, STOP PLAYING WITH THE UTENSILS!”
"BLACK, IF YOU THROW ONE MORE MUG, YOU'RE CLEANING UP THE KITCHEN YOURSELF!"
"RED, STOP TRYING TO STEAL THE BACON BEFORE IT’S DONE!”
Edge is yelling at everyone while already seated with a plate of perfectly portioned food in front of him. Black lounges beside him, sharp-eyed and scowling at his coffee while Rus slouchs comfortably at his side, twirling a fork lazily between his fingers.
Across from them, Red is halfway through shoveling bacon into his mouth with his beloved mustard bottle companion. Classic got ketchup stain on his shirt, hoodie drape over one shoulder, a bleary eyes on his face as he poked at his bacon. Stretch slumps at the very end of the table, head resting in one hand, barely awake—the other hand blindly reaching for a cup of honey-tea.
At the very center of it all, who shone as bright as the sun, Creampuff and Blue.
Bright. Loud. Full of life.
Creampuff waves his fork wildly as he recounted some of his great story, his voice filled with unfiltered enthusiasm, while Blue cackles with so much energy that his chair physically shook.
They are all there.
All eight of them.
Something about seeing together made your heartache.
Even with the 'mandatory' breakfast and dinner together rule, this is still a rare sight. Usually, at least some weren’t able to make it. You don't even know why you're invited to eat meals together with them in the first place.
Classic offered and Edge was strict about it—but still. No matter how much progress you’ve been making with some of them. You are still a nobody who happens to live in their house. What are you doing here?
You hesitate for a while, unsure if you are even suppose to sit down too or simply... stand around. Before you could overthink back into the hallway, Creampuff spots you.
"HUMAN!" he squeals with a wide grin. "COME SIT DOWN!"
Eight pairs of sockets are on you.
They don't say anything—just staring, sizing you up, waiting.
Some curious. Some guarded. Some suspicious.
You look down to avert their gaze.
You don't like being the center of attention.
When Blue notices you too—there are sparkles in their eyes. You try to put aside your nerves and give a small, awkward wave. "G-good morning."
"IT IS INDEED A MAGNIFICENT MORNING!" Blue responds, practically vibrating in his seat. "COME, WE HAVE SAVED YOU A SEAT!"
Creampuff thumps the empty chair between them proudly like it's some honored throne. You step forward slowly, you can feel your heart beat as you cross the room, feeling everyone’s gazes following you.
Stretch keeps an eye open long enough to lift his cup before sinking back. Classic didn't look up, but you catch the subtle twitch of his fingers.
As you slid into the seat between Creampuff and Blue carefully, you fold your hands in your lap to keep yourself from fidgeting. Immediately, they lean in closer. Their excitement are so apparent that you forgot you were nervous.
"HOW WAS YOUR MORNING, HUMAN?" Creampuff's voice boom with delight.
"YEAH, HUMAN, DID YOU SLEEP WELL?" Blue chimes in, practically bouncing.
You smile shyly at them both, picking up a fork from the neatly arranged cutlery in front of you.
"I slept great," you say softly. "Thank you."
They beam. It is blinding. Two sunshines smiling, looking at you with big hopeful eyes. You're not build for this.
Creampuff immediately begin piling your plate high with food like he's bestowing some sacred offerings. Blue tops it off by shoving a cup of orange juice toward you, waiting for you to take it.
You try to protest, but they both wave you off—working with each other to make sure you have everything you could possibly need. Creampuff and Blue keep chattering on either side of you, dragging you into their orbit.
Creampuff looks at you. “SO, HUMAN! TELL US, WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE KIND OF PUZZLE?”
Blue cuts in before you can answer, "COME ON, EVERYONE KNOWS RIDDLE TRAPS ARE THE BEST."
You glance down, feeling bad for what you're about to admit. “U-um... I don’t uh... I never really play any puzzles, actually..."
Creampuff gasps as though you’ve confessed a terrible crime while Blue stares at you, his pupils dilate like you've gain a second head.
Your shoulders hunch slightly, starting to feel even more guilty. “Just never really got the chance... I guess.”
For a moment, there’s silence. It was brief, but Creampuff and Blue stare at each other like they just conversed through their eyes alone.
Then Creampuff dramatically declares. "WORRY NOT! BECAUSE WE'LL MAKE SURE YOU SHALL EXPERIENCE THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF PUZZLES!"
Blue grins with absolute thrill. “I ALREADY HAVE PLANS FOR THE RIDDLE TRAPS! THEY’RE THE BEST WAY TO LEARN AND SHOW REAL CHALLENGE!”
“That... would be fun,” you respond, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in you. You didn't even realize how tightly you were gripping your fork until Creampuff nudges you gently.
You look up to him.
His smile softens. It's less blinding, more genuine. Wait, did they—
"You’re Already Doing Great," he brings up, voice almost tender.
Blue nods fiercely. "Yeah! We're Grateful You’re Always Helping Us!"
You blink rapidly, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. You didn't even realize how much you need to hear that, vision starting to get blurry. No, not when all eight of them have their eyes on you.
"I- I need to go wash the dishes now."
You stand up and hurry your way towards the kitchen, balancing the plates as careful as possible in your arms not wanting to drop any. You haven't even made it halfway there before you heard footsteps following behind you. You look over your shoulder—
—and nearly collided into Creampuff.
He catchs the top plate before it topple off the stack, steadying it easily with one hand.
"HUMAN, LET ME HELP!" he offers earnestly.
A gasp slip past you, your heart tripping a little over the closeness. "I-I’m okay," you stammer, clutching the plates tighter, "you don’t have to-"
"I WANT TO!" Creampuff insist, and before you could argue further, he pluck half the stack effortlessly from your arms. You open your mouth, but one look at his bright, unwavering grin, you knew it’ll be useless. Once he already make up his mind, no one can dispute it. Not even Classic.
You weakly agree. "Alright.”
Side by side, you both carry the dishes into the kitchen. The kitchen itself was still warm from the morning’s cooking, the scent of butter and coffee thick in the air. You set your stack by the sink while he practically drop his with a clatter, laughing sheepishly when you jump.
"SORRY," he says, rubbing the back of his skull.
You manage to let out a giggle despite of everything. "It’s okay," you said warmly, reaching for the faucet.
Together, both of you fell into a rhythm.
You washed. He dried.
The silence in between wasn't uncomfortable, not at all. Occasionally, Creampuff would hum a melody under his breath, bright little bursts of sound that made your chest flutter, or make an exaggerated joke about your ‘SUPERIOR DISHWASHING TECHNIQUE’ earning your shy giggles in return.
Every so often, you notice him sneaking glances at you.
Not of judgement. Curiousity.
Halfway through a particularly stubborn plate, he finally spoke. Voice a little quieter this time, and rougher than usual.
"Well..." he leans his hip against the counter, towel dangling loosely from one hand. "We Don't… Really Know A Lot About You."
You almost drop your plate. You didn't realize you stop breathing and took a deep air in. You kinda half expecting this talk coming, but not this soon. Slowly, you set it back into the sink, your heart pounding.
You slowly turn, now facing him.
"Like what?"
"Where You Came From. About Yourself. What You Want To Do."
You bit your lip. Hard. You had practiced this, right? Playing dumb. Pretending you didn't know who they were. Pretending you haven't spent hours crying over them.
The way Creampuff looks at you now is different, softer yet it feels as if he could see right through your crafted lies made out of paper walls.
You drop your gaze, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. "I… really don't know what to say," you whisper, letting enough truth bleed into your voice. "I'm not an interesting person."
Creampuff is silent. You challenge yourself to glance at him. You swallow your own saliva.
"I don't have anywhere else to go..." you add, voice starting to crack.
Another long dread of silence. Then, to your utter surprise, Creampuff ruffles your hair. You stare up at him, stunned.
"Thank You For Being Brave," he says simply.
You're caught off guard. Still, you say nothing, letting the silence carry.
The last plate clink into the drying rack. You wipe your damp hands on a kitchen towel, exhaling a breath you don't realize you'd been holding. Creampuff toss his towel onto the counter with a triumphant smile.
"WE DID IT! MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!" he celebrates, puffing his chest out. He looks to you and held up his hand expectantly. "AHEM, QUICK! A VICTORY HAND TOSS!"
Creampuff lowers himself so you can reach his, you play along with a flair as you slap your hand into his. Exactly the way he would’ve wanted it. You can’t help but to let out a small laugh, the sound slipping out before you even realize it.
You forgot to be scared.
You are just... happy. You don't know what to do with this feeling.
Notes:
Hmm, what's Creampuff and Blue trying to do?
Chapter 5: Laundry
Summary:
Folding clothes with Edge
Notes:
Eyy Edge centered chapter hehe
Feel free to reach me out on:
https://www.tumblr.com/smolciestar
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Most of the skeletons retreat after breakfast, except for some obvious skeletons laying on the couch. You make yourself busy by wiping down the tableware when a sudden, low frustated grumble echoed from the kitchen doorway.
You turn around to find Edge standing there, arms crossed tightly over his chest along with the usual deep frown etched across his face. Except he seems… awkward this time—well more than usual. He's always stiff whenever you're around, but it’s even more obvious this time.
Edge wouldn't do that.
You set the last fork down on the drying rack, wiping your hands and set the towel neatly. When you peer up, he’s still staring at you with that bothered look. You straighten yourself up and offer your best smile.
"Is... something the matter, Edge?”
He huffs, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his boots squeaking faintly against the tile.
He still hasn't say anything.
You can almost feel your own sweat dripping, unsure if you’ve overstepped or did something wrong. Were you not supposed to ask?
After what seems like the most painful inner battle you have ever seen, he shouts. “I REQUIRE YOUR PRESENCE.”
You stop dead in your tracks, wondering if your ears were playing tricks on you.
Edge needs you... for something?
He grimaces, as if the words left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“I–uh. Sure,” you blurt out, not wanting to let go of this chance. "With what?"
Edge jerks his chin toward the hallway, silently telling you to follow him
“THE LAUNDRY.”
You perk up at the mention of it. Even when you've been cleaning every corner of the mansion for this past week and a half, you have never been allowed near their clothes. Too personal. Last time you did your own laundry—which isn’t much—you realize the room is something of a battlefield.
Is he... asking for your help?
He leads the way—back rigid, pace steady, fists clenched at his sides. His long strides cover the distance with ease, making you half-jog so you can keep up. You hurry along, heart tapping against your ribs as you walk behind him. When you finally reach the room, he pushes it open without a word. You're momentarily stunned as you took in the scene in front of you.
A complete utter disaster.
The laundry room is even worse than you remembered. Piles of clothes that used to be neat and tidy now collapsing under the sheer weight of itself. It's not a battlefield anymore, it's an active warzone.
Edge notices your reaction and clear his throat stiffly.
"YOU SAID YOU WOULD ASSIST IF I REQUIRED IT. WELL, CONSIDER YOURSELF SUMMONED." he spoke with a gruff.
In some way, Edge had faith in you.
You fight the urge to smile.
"I'll help," you nod. "We'll get it done properly in no time."
Edge frowns as he glares at you.
"I’M BEGINNING TO SUSPECT YOUR MEMORY IS PURELY DECORATIVE." he scoffs. "HOWEVER... I SUPPOSE THIS COULD BE AN OPPORTUNITY TO OBSERVE YOUR TECHNIQUE."
Your lips twitch. That's such an Edge thing to say.
“Okay, I’ll try not to get in your way.” you reply softly.
You set to work immediately, sorting colors, separating delicates, setting up folding stations. For the first time, you see the tension in Edge’s shoulders eased—just slightly. It wasn't much, but enough for you to notice.
You start to take a closer look at their clothes, going through them one by one.
There’s mostly Red’s grease and oil stained coveralls, along with three distinct types of hoodies that's pretty much multiple endless stashes of the same thing belonging to him, Classic, and Stretch. Then various types of scarves in different shades of red that you assume belonged to either Black, Edge, or both.
That actually explains a lot of their repetitive outfits...
Based on the lingering smell of smoke and BBQ, you manage to find Rus’ clothes tuck away in the corner, separate from the chaotic mess the others had contributed. There's also an abundance of mismatched socks, it amuses you how Classic even managed to get a ketchup stain there.
Unsurprisingly none from Creampuff and Blue, well they’ve always been the most neat and organized one in this group.
Edge hovers at your side, yelling corrections and nitpicking every little or big details of all the things you do or didn't do.
"UNACCEPTABLE! DO IT AGAIN."
"FOLD WITH PRECISION!"
"THAT IS NOT A REGULATION-APPROVED."
Slowly, as you match his pace and meet his standards without complaint. He begins to relax, even help. Side by side, the two of you fold the mountains of clothes in silence. You can hardly believe it yourself, almost shock to admit it. It's… strangely peaceful.
Yeah.
Peaceful.
With Edge.
You can't help but find yourself glancing at him from the corner of your eye from time to time. Watching the way his jaw unclench. The way his hands, usually so tense, move more fluidly now, mechanical at first but then grow softer with repetition.
He’s attractive, in a fierce almost regal way. Like a knight torn from the pages of some ancient, half-forgotten tale. All sharp angles and hard armor. The intense burning passion within him crack through, too bright to hide.
You admire him—more than you probably should have.
As you fold the last clothes and tucked it neatly into place, when you peek at Edge you notice that he's now looking at you.
Really looked at you.
You don't dare to look back.
Beneath the usual tension and calculation, his sharp gaze seems to be searching for something, as if trying to solve a puzzle he couldn’t quite name. There’s something else flickering in his sockets. Something uncertain.
He shifts his weight, visibly struggling, before clearing his throat in a rough, awkward way.
“YOU…" he finally lets out, forcing the words out through sheer stubborn willpower. "Did Well.”
The silence that follow felt heavier than any words could. You're caught off guard.
Praise? From Edge?
That's rarer than gold.
You're starting to wonder if he heard your conversation with Creampuff and Blue.
Edge is being soft to you.
This is the second small victory that you're able to get from him so far.
A small, sincere smile crept across your face.
"You too.”
He stiffens, like the very idea of receiving a compliment was foreign to him. His hands twitch at his sides as if he's not quite sure what to do with them. You have always known, though you choose to turn a blind eye.
"For Once, You're Not Entirely Hopeless...." he says. "Don't Let It Go To Your Head."
You didn’t tease him or made light of the awkwardness. You step a little closer, not enough to crowd him, enough space to close the gap between you two.
"...I won't, I'll keep that in mind."
Edge’s gaze lock into you. He furrows slightly. He looks like he's about to convey something, but before he could you hear footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Stretch’s lazy shuffle. Red’s heavy stomp.
Edge jolted and instantly snaps back. He slams back into place, crossing his arms once more as he turns away sharply like desperately trying to slam a door shut.
“HMPH. RESUME TO YOUR DUTIES, HUMAN!” he snarles, though his tone wasn’t harsh.
Is he embarrassed? You bit back a grin.
"Yes, sir," you lightly reply with a playful little salute.
Before he disappear around the corner. You caught it, the faintest glimpse of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It's barely visible and gone in a blink.
Progress. Actual progress.
He's somewhat letting you in. You try to calm down your beating heart. You will treasure every slow, precious step, toward their guarded hearts. Even the ones hidden behind the sharpest, most unyielding armor.
Notes:
Was it obvious that I really adore Edge? 👉👈
What did he want to say?
Chapter 6: Quiet
Summary:
Short dinner moments with Rus and Blue
Notes:
Feel free to reach me out on:
https://www.tumblr.com/smolciestar
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sometimes, you caught them staring at you like a hawk when they thought you weren’t looking. A glance over a shoulder. A quick flick of an eye light. A tilt of the skull. They are starting to be more aware of you.
Dinner is as lively as ever. Jokes are hurled across the table like ping pongs, groans of ‘NYEH’, ‘MWAH’, and 'MWEH' ripple through the mansion’s wide dining hall like war cries of a very unserious army. Laughter bubbles up and overlaps, bouncing off the walls and carrying into the halls.
Despite everything, your attention keeps slipping to the same empty chair across the room. Far from you. Out of reach. Black isn’t here tonight—off due to a work shift problem, which he loudly grumbled about before he left.
You would be lying if you said you don't think about any of them everytime they're not able to make it for the usual tradition.
The Swapfell brothers in particular had always kept their distance, never interacting with you at all even during breakfast or dinner. And in turn, so did you. That’s why when Rus suddenly sits in front of you unlike any other day, it raises some flags, but you dismiss it.
You smile when you should, nod when you’re expected to, pick at your food like it’s a task rather than a meal. No one ever says anything, so you continue on. But someone does notice.
Rus doesn’t speak, still observing silently as he always does. His attention isn’t on the food.
It’s on you.
You only realize it when you finally glance up and catch him in the act.
He doesn’t look away.
Instead, his eyes glowing faintly beneath his hood soften. It’s subtle. A flicker of something. Something knowing. You’re not used to being seen. Not with that kind of weight behind it. You don’t want to wear your heart on your sleeve.
Rus stays still. He simply tilts his skull a little to the side, almost undetectable. You hesitate, but you offer him a half-apology, half-gratitude smile. He doesn’t smile back, not really, but he nudges his plate slightly toward you, the motion small enough that only you could notice.
“you didn’t eat much,” a low voice say, quiet enough that it didn’t rise above the rest of the chatter. “you okay?”
Your eyes widen when you realize. Rus, who rarely initiates conversation unless needed to or prompted. Rus, who usually only spoke in short, sharp syllables unless he was making puns.
That was a whole sentence. Voluntary, even.
Your mind stutters to a halt. You’re so used to everyone else filling the silence, not him. You've never even heard his voice before.
“Yeah! Just thinking. Long day, I guess. I’m tired,” you answer automatically, putting on your best cheerful and upbeat voice.
“don’t lie to make it easy, no need to do that shit with us.”
It’s not anger nor scolding. Honesty? Someone pointed out that your mask is slightly crooked. Rus has always been sharp-witted, if he knew how many secrets you’re holding, would he still act the way that he is now?
You look down at your plate.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” you murmur. “I… I’m not used to this.”
Rus hums. “i notice things,” he pauses for a moment, “especially quiet ones.”
You're uncertain which direction to determine what he exactly meant with that line. Every Sans' personalities is tricky to deal with. You can never be too sure.
But eventually, you smile—a genuine one—as you take a bite.
It’s not out of obligation or an order this time.
Someone cares enough.
Rus shifts slightly in his seat—satisfied and takes a bite of his own. He doesn’t say anything else. Not like he really needs to.
You stay behind to clean again. It’s your unofficial job now—the task no one ever fought on. Edge had acknowledge it. Creampuff even thanked you for it, it was him who mostly did the dishes before you came here. The others simply accept it.
“HELLO HUMAN!”
You jolt. You turn around to find Blue standing in the kitchen doorway, looking slightly troubled with his hands behind his back. An unusual posture for someone usually so confident.
He looks… nervous?
That surprises you. That's not what Blue does. He bounce from one room to the next, you’d gotten used to him being everywhere—but not here. Not alone. Not with you.
This is... new.
Blue skids to a dramatic halt, inches away. He holds out a gloved hand. “I KNOW YOU’VE BEEN KEEPING TO YOURSELF. BUT YOU LOOK LIKE YOU COULD USE… A BLUE-TIFUL COMPANY!"
Your mouth twitches. Blue is making puns at you, a breath escapes before you can stop it—a soft laugh.
You bury your face behind your sleeve, but it’s too late.
“HA! GOTCHA!” he grins, puffing out his chest. “I KNEW YOU HAD A SENSE OF HUMOR HIDING IN THERE!!”
His hand is still stretched mid air. Waiting.
You hesitate, but reach out to shake it. His grip is warm and firm, a little enthusiastic.
Okay, maybe too enthusiastic.
“H-hi Blue,” you try to recover your composure. “Did you need something?”
“NO. I MEAN… YES. MAYBE?”
His volume doesn’t waver, half of the skeletons in this house are always loud, but this time there was no tone in his voice. Just... energy. Like he’s trying to fill the room by making it up with his presence.
“I NOTICED YOU WERE… YOU KNOW. CLEANING. AGAIN.”
Well... that's an observation. A conversation starter to be sure.
“Yeah, uh… I want to help. Keeps me busy. It’s not like I have anything better to do…” you mumble the last sentence in particular, barely audible.
“I CAN SEE THAT YOU’RE VERY EFFICIENT. YOUR TECHNIQUE WITH THE DISHES IS… ADMIRABLE.”
He nods fast. Too intense. Way more awkward than intended.
A pause. Then he slaps a hand against his skull.
“I SOUND LIKE A TOTAL DORK, DON’T I?!”
…
You laugh. Not out of mockery—never that with Blue. It genuinely slipped out. He froze similar to a deer in headlights.
“I didn’t mean to laugh at you,” you quickly blurt out. “It’s just… that was kind of cute.”
Blue’s cheekbones flush with a faint blue hue.
“I MEANT TO SAY—YOU SEEMED A LITTLE DIFFERENT DURING DINNER.” he admits, still a little bashful from your statement. He fidgets with his scarf, fingers twisting the fabric.
Somebody else noticed. You didn't expect someone—Blue—would point it out.
He begins again, this time softer. “I Want To Talk To You.”
You're not fond of where this is going. That never means and ends well. You’ve heard it way too many times. Blue doesn’t seem to be the type, but... you can never get used to Papyrus’ personalities goes from booming to serious.
Blue steps forward—not too close, just enough to close the space.
"I See That You’re Really Trying. To Fit In.”
You flinch, his words hit way harder than you thought it would.
You’re trying.
You always do.
Desperately.
Blue inspects you—not in the usual energetic spark he had with traps, puns, patrol routes, or sparring matches.
“…You Remind Me Of Puff.” he adds, almost absentmindedly.
You stare at him.
In what way? You don’t know if you should be flattered or worried. Creampuff is earnest and dependable, but you’re not sure where and how you could be compared to him. You're doubting if you even deserve want to know.
“Creampuff…?”
The very idea sound absurd to you in any shape of way.
Blue's gaze linger on you before he admits.
“The Way You Take Care Of Things. How You Try To Make Everything Feel Better, Even When You’re Struggling Yourself.”
Papyrus? Struggling?
You want to know more, but you know the story isn't Blue's place to tell.
You let his statement hung in the air and look at Blue directly.
His starry eyes shimmered like the distant galaxies. A shooting star that shines brightly. He reaches out, hesitating for a moment… before placing his gloved hand lightly over your wrist. A simple, kind gesture.
“WOWZERS! LOOK AT THE TIME, MY DUTY HERE IS DONE! ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER SOUL LIGHTENED BY MY CHARISMATIC PRESENCE!” he declares, already turning with a sheepish laugh as he marches off toward the hallway as if nothing happened—arms swinging, head held high, his skull bright akin to a lightbulb.
You watch him go from hand over your wrist into your heart.
They know nothing about you. You don’t know everything about them. You don’t want to bite off more than you can chew
Notes:
What are Rus and Blue trying to prove? 【・ヘ・】
Chapter 7: Eavesdropping
Summary:
You listen to something you shouldn't have
Notes:
Dialogue heavy chapter, not very good at them but I tried my best.
I rewrite and added some small minor changes on previous chapters to help with the story clarity, if you're one of the people who immediately read them when it's first released, re-read them if you can! (If you don't it's also okay, it was nothing big so you're not missing out on anything).
I also finally updated the tags yippieee.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It starts with a forgotten laundry basket. You only meant to bring freshly folded towels. It’s well past midnight when your eye first caught notice of the glow of light from the first floor, returning from the laundry room when the low murmur of voices in the dining room brought you to a stop. The hallway is silent, way too silent.
You should’ve walked away.
You meant to walk away.
But when you hear your name—your real name—the one none of them ever says out loud.
Curiosity is a cruel, unrelenting thing.
So you crept closer, barefoot across the cold marble floor, stepping carefully. Your fingers gripped the staircase’s rail as you pressed yourself flat against the wall, shy away from the doorway where the voices grew clearer. This is wrong, you knew that, but a part of you couldn’t help but wonder what they really thought of you. Eight distinct and familiar voices. Serious and tired.
“…I’ve Been Saying It From The Start Classic, They’re Hiding Something!”
The longer you live in this mansion, you begin to recognize everyone by the sound of their tone and pitch alone. Aggressive. Hostile. It was Black.
“No One Has Shown Up From That Stupid Machine In Years. Not Knowing About Us. Says Nothing About Their World. And You Simply… Let Them Wander In Our Home?”
You cringed at his our. Them already being here for years is news to you. You still don’t know what triggered the machine, you hadn’t touched it again ever since you got here.
It’s true you’d been vague about your world, not because you want to hide and fool them on purpose—hell, you barely understood it yourself—but because how do you explain a world like yours to them?
Dirty liar.
You just need time.
Trespasser.
You didn’t ask to be here.
Excuses.
You clench your hands into fists at your sides, not in anger, but to stop them from shaking.
"take it easy Black, we’ve talked about this," Classic convinces. You practically hear him the sighing. “we’ve been keeping an eye socket on them. they haven't done anything.”
“Except For Cleaning The Entire Fucking Mansion That Some Of You Don’t Bother To,” Edge irritatedly snaps.
“Language!” Blue interjects, more gently. “But Classic And Edge Are Right, Helping With Chores Isn’t A Crime! They Said They Wanted To Contribute, We Don’t Have To Keep Looking For Something Wrong With Them!”
“but we should bro," Stretch’s firm voice came immediately. “when they already knew who was who. they never got our name wrong on day two. never mixed us up even once. too impressive if you ask me.”
You mentally curse to yourself, turns out you weren’t being as careful as you thought you were. You hadn’t thought that would be considered suspicious.
‘The Judge’.
A job that only Classic, Stretch, Red, and Rus could do.
A quick check to measure your stats. LV, HP, EXP, and most importantly, your real intention.
They can tell when you lie or being untruthful. The reason why you didn’t even talk much unless it was necessary in the first place. Monsters rely on intent, they're more in tune with their souls than humans do. But you technically didn’t lie, you really don’t know who they are as an actual living being.
Right...?
“You’re Right, Papy. They Don’t Ask Questions Either,” Blue’s tone is a little softer, confused. “About This World. About Us.”
Oh.
Red snickers, though it sounded strained. “heh. dunno ‘bout you babyblue, if they ain’t askin’ fer nothin’. what’s the big deal? doll’s suspicious, not gonna lie. they popped outta the machine, but they’ve been real helpful.”
You heard a stern ‘I’m Not A Babybones’.
"the machine we should’ve dismantled but never did." Classic points out.
“not like we’re a welcoming bunch anyway.” Rus mutters.
“Maybe They Just Need Time,” Creampuff hesitantly chimes in. “And Are Very Good At Remembering Names. Everyone Is A Great Person If They Try, And They Do!”
Black spats. “Tch. Take A Look At Yourselves. Can’t Believe The Peasant Is Corrupting You. They’re Just Playing The Long Game. And—”
“a n d?”
You flinch, holding the gasp that almost came out. You can't mess this up now. That was definitely Classic’s voice. Now you understand why it always says you 'felt sins crawling on your back'. For a second, you almost give yourself away.
“we’re all hiding something. doesn’t mean they’re less dangerous than any of us.”
That’s the first time you’d heard him talk like that to anyone, especially concerning you in particular, he usually watched you through half-lidded eyes like he knew something even you didn’t know.
“they’re lost, confused,” he says calmer this time. “and scared. we’ve all been there. look, i don’t trust them either. but i get that. there’s a difference.”
Scared is an understatement. You were terrified. You hate feeling exposed. No one answers for a while until finally, a chair creaks. It sounds louder than it should.
“they don't sleep much,” Stretch breaks the silence. “heard them crying middle of the night.”
…
When?
WHEN?
W H E N?
You’d worked so hard to keep it hidden, to keep everything hidden, to keep you hidden.
No use crying over spilled milk. So he’d heard. All that effort, and someone still knew.
“Why Didn’t You Say Anything?” you don't know why but Edge’s voice sounds softer, maybe your wishful imagination.
“wasn’t my business,” Stretch simply replies.
Another silence fell over them.
Edge sighs. “I Cannot Believe I'm Saying This… But Black Actually Use His Brain For Once. They May Not Be Trustworthy.”
You heard a ‘HEY!’ but it got cut off by Red.
“c’mon, boss,” he teases, you can almost imagine his stupid smirk. “they’ve been here for a while. if they gonna stab us in our sleep, pretty sure they’d’ve done it by now.”
“I Know That You Fool! I’m Not Saying They’re A Threat, I’m Saying We Don’t Know Who They Are.” Edge groans. You can’t see it, but he must have rolled his eyes.
“So?” Black says again as if it’s a matter of fact. “Let Them Stay—Or Not?”
You hear the clock ticking from the far wall. You hate this. You’re starting to regret all of this eavesdropping. This wasn’t a good idea. They will never be happy with you around.
“They Work Really Hard,” Creampuff’s voice enters, gentler than the others, “Patient. Cleans Up The Mess Our Lazybones Brother’s Made.”
A few chuckles. A few sighs.
“Not Doing Anything Wrong Doesn’t Mean They’re Safe. What If That’s An Act?” Black quickly growls defensively.
“I Don’t Think They’re Bad, They’re Nice!” Blue cheerfully adds, but there's something about the way he says it that makes you doubt it. “Even When Black Glares Or Edge Shouts For No Reason.”
You can hear him giggling, those two must have shoot daggers at him.
“…they haven’t hurt anyone,” Stretch eventually let out. “awkward, yeah. makes great tea.”
“…they’ve been taking care of everything since they’re here m’lord,” Rus finally speaks up after a while. “doesn’t bother anyone. doesn’t demand a thing. i don't think i’ve seen that ever since we—”
“MUTT…” Black’s tone is dripping with warning.
“sorry m’lord. my point still stands.”
That made the room fall still again. You wanted to leave, to walk away, give them the privacy they deserved, but you're not able to. Not when you're desperate to know more. What was Rus about to say? Why did Black cut him off? Was it something you already knew? What's with the secrecy and their reactions?
“Ugh. I Don’t Condone With Where This Is Heading,” Edge snarls. “Having A Need For Them To Stay Is-”
"They’re Under My Watch Until It’s Decided Then,” Black states. “If They’re A Threat, I’ll Know.”
Your jaw drop. You're not sure if your ears are playing tricks on you. The Black, who just snarls, never says any proper words to you, would rather suffer instead of interacting with you normally, now wants to keep an eye on you?
“they’re not a threat, Black” Classic emphasizes. “but we do need to talk to them. soon.”
“Finally Brother,” Creampuff agrees. “We Can’t Keep Pretending They’re Not Here.”
“I Hope We Won’t Scare Them…” Blue quietly says.
“then… we talk it out. normally.” Stretch reassures.
“Great Plan Ashtray, One Small Human Approached By Eight Monsters. How Delightful,” Edge scoffs.
Stretch lets out a dry laugh, “then come up with something better, edgelord.”
Collective grumble of scattered and messy discussions follow suits. You're not able to pay attention anymore. Your mind is too cloudy. You bit your lip. You aren’t sure whether the feeling in your chest was fear, shame, or something worse—HOPE.
Broken.
Pain. Guilt. Relief.
Attention seeker.
A quiet secret. A background helper. A good guest.
Nobody’s that well-behaved.
You heard footsteps coming near. Crap—with trembling hands, you bolt away, one step at a time. Walking quickly and quietly down the hall like you always do hadn’t heard anything.
The conversation keep going, but you didn’t dare to listen. Didn’t wait to hear anything else. Didn’t know what they’d finally decide. Didn't want to know either.
You want to show them who you really were. You want to know them better. But will the universe let you?
Notes:
Hope I delivered :D
What do You think the skeletons gonna do now?
Chapter 8: Shopping
Summary:
'Family' Hangout: Buying groceries
Buying clothes with Black and Rus
Notes:
This took me a while, got stuck for a bit on a few moments but on the bright side, enjoy ;)
Also, I'm surprised with how many of you are here, where did yall came from? ∑(; °Д°)Feel free to reach me out on:
https://www.tumblr.com/smolciestar
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tomorrow marks the fourteenth day of silent routines and performances. You’ve been living in their house for nearly two weeks now, thirteen days of pretending you don’t know every hallway, every creaking stairs, every locked drawers and rooms in the mansion. Of acting surprised when somebody mentioned things that you already know. Of playing dumb when they stare at you too long with lingering questions they never ask.
And you? The human with no ID, somehow have survive this far.
Right after breakfast on a Sunday, you hear someone knocking.
“Yes?”
You gaze at the door, intrigued. As long as you’ve been here, no one ever knocks—let alone approaches—your room unless it was for the usual tradition.
“you’re supposed to say who’s there.”
Classic. Oh stars, is he being serious right now? Knock knock jokes?
You give in. “Who’s there?”
“orange.”
You hold back a laugh. You already heard this one, but you play along. “Orange who?”
“orange you gonna open the door already?”
A groan escapes you before you can help it. “That’s awful.”
“nah, that’s classic,” he announces, clearly pleased with himself.
You hate to admit it, the last one is pretty clever.
“heh. anyway…. you’re coming with us, kid,” he continues, his tone unexpectedly more commanding. “we’re heading out for groceries, figured you oughta get some stuff that’s, y’know… actually yours.”
“What? Stuff of my own?” you're confused, still not fully processing what he said.
“clothes, basic necessities,” Classic adds, you can feel him shrug from the other side. “you can’t go around wearing and using our old stuff forever.”
If you weren’t awake, you’re definitely now.
In a rush of adrenaline, you immediately look around the guest room that you’ve been living in and open the wardrobe. You can’t even believe that you just realized this now. You’d been so focused on adjusting to their world that you hadn’t thought much about anything else. You really don’t have anything to wear of your own.
No other clothes. No footwear. No accessories. No electronics. No money.
You've been surviving off borrowed goodwill. You’ve been taking more than you want to. You glance down, currently wearing Creampuff’s old clothes. You feel a sudden warmth creep up your cheeks, face flushes. You were so caught up with everything that you didn't even let it sink in.
Another knock. Louder this time to the point where it breaks you out of your thoughts.
“CLASSIC, YOU’RE TAKING FOREVER. I KNOW YOU’RE AWAKE, HUMAN. IF YOU DON’T COME OUT, I’LL COME IN AND DRAG YOU OUT MYSELF.”
That was Edge. Definitely Edge.
You bolted upright.
The door creaks slowly, you peek out into the hallway. You hear voices downstairs, arguing over something muffled and fast as you move towards the stairwell. You step into the living room, they were already there. All of them. You didn’t realize that when Classic said 'us' he meant every single one of them.
“OH! PERFECT TIMING! HELLO HUMAN!” Creampuff marches up to you, hands full of reusable grocery bags, thrusting one of it into your hands with a dramatic flair. “SINCE WE'RE GOING TO STOCK UP. THIS IS YOUR BAG.”
You stare at it like it’s a foreign object.
“I can have my own bag…?”
Creampuff sockets blinking in visible confusion for a split second. “WHY WOULDN’T YOU?”
‘Because you don’t trust me,’ you almost say but you bite your tongue.
“I… didn’t think I need one,” you mumble.
Creampuff’s expression falters for a bit but his grin doesn’t fade. “BUT YOU DO NEED ONE. HOW ELSE WILL YOU CARRY YOUR SNACKS, YOUR FAVORITE FLAVORS OF PASTA SAUCE?”
A small, knowing smile shows on your lips, that sounds like something he would say.
You took the bag. “You’re right, thanks Creampuff.”
“EVERYBODY READY?” Edge asks, sounding more irritated than anything. He’s already standing by the front door.
Red is slouched on the couch with a bottle of mustard on his hand. He barely glances up as he speaks. “yeah, yeah, boss. what’s the plan again?”
Blue has his hands on his hips, a wide grin plaster across his face. “WE’RE BUYING GROCERIES TOGETHER AS OUR FAMILY HANGOUT.”
“someone have to keep my bro out of the candy aisle after all,” Stretch lets out a mischievous grin.
“...I’M RIGHT HERE.”
Blue's unimpressed expression was everything. You can’t help feeling content everytime you're able to see these moments.
"sweetheart, ya comin'?" Red glances back over his shoulder.
Your heart jumps, Red is striking a conversation with you?
You hesitate for a bit. “Yeah... Classic told me to.”
Red pauses, his eyes drop down, “…the hell ya wearin’?” he asks, no bite in his tone.
“What?”
“this all ya got?” he points to your outfit.
You glance down at your hoodie—washed, yes, but a little stretched and undeniably worn out. Not exactly your best look.
You give him an awkward smile, suddenly more self aware. “It’s… all I had on me. When I got here.”
“we gotta fix that...” Red murmurs, scratching his jaw.
“doll ain’t goin’ out like this again, someone’s hafta take ‘em clothes shoppin’.” he loudly announce for the other seven skeletons to have their eyes on you.
You stare at Red for his sudden outburst, flustered. “I can buy them on my own after we’re done with grocer—”
“PEASANT.”
You flinch at the sudden ‘name’ call. You look at the source to see Black sitting on the couch, arms crossed, glares down at you with the intensity of a general barking orders.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT, I’LL BE TAKING YOU TO GET SOMETHING DECENT,” he announces, eyes narrowing, voice echoing through the room. “YOUR CLOTHES ARE OFFENSIVE. I'M NOT LETTING YOU AROUND IN THOSE RAGS.”
You blink. So does everyone else. Chairs creak as skulls turn toward him. Creampuff blinks so fast as he looks between Black and the others. Red’s face is a mix of bewilderment and amusement. Blue’s jaw drops, furrowing his brows. Stretch's demeanor falters for a moment. Even his own brother Rus tilts his head in curiosity, he never does that. The way Black said it was cruel, yes, but for him, it almost sounded… caring?
“…YOU?” Edge echoes in disbelief.
Black doesn’t even glance in his direction. “YEAH. PROBLEM?”
“you sure m’lord?” Rus' voice is low, you can't tell what he feels about this.
“DO I LOOK UNSURE TO YOU, MUTT? ARE YOU DOUBTING MY DECISIONS?” Black snaps, then clicks his teeth as he turns his eye lights on you.
Before you can answer, another voice cuts in near your ear. “he means you need more clothes that are yours, won’t kill ya to look cute.”
You jerk back instinctively. Rus teleported besides you, way too close for comfort. Your face heats up, the word cute lingers in the air like smoke.
Classic gives a long slow blink… then stand up. He doesn't say anything for a moment and taps your shoulder lightly.
“kid, walk with me for a sec.”
You follow him out into the hallway, heart thudding, unsure whether to be nervous or uncertain. Probably both. Once you are out of earshot, he leans back against the wall, arms on his hoodie, one foot braced lazily like this was a casual conversation.
His sockets say otherwise.
“let me know if black gives you any trouble, alright?”
You got caught off guard. “Huh?”
Classic shrugs, not in a careless way. It was deliberate.
“he’s rough around the edges,” he explains. “and doesn’t exactly volunteer for... anything. ever. so him offering to go shopping with you? i'm sure he’s got reasons, but…”
He pauses, then meets your eyes. “tell me if something feels off, yeah?”
Your throat tightens—a bittersweet feeling curls in your chest.
He’s worried.
About you.
In some way.
You nod, offering him a small smile. “I think he’s trying... in his own way.”
Classic studies you for a second longer, then exhales and ruffles your hair lightly as he mutters something under his breath you can’t catch.
You freeze—not because you mind, but because you didn't expect it. Your eyes lift in surprise.
“don’t go reading too much into it. go on, before he changes his mind.” he shortcut his way out of the conversation.
You’re not exactly sure what he meant by that.
Even though you live in almost the middle of nowhere, the drive itself is short, and you find yourself in front of the local mall.
Ebott Mall.
It seems Asgore isn’t the only one who’s bad at naming things.
It’s bigger than you imagined it would be, the entrance alone is massive with wide automatic doors. A large decorative fountain in the front of the plaza, colorful banners hang from overhead posts.
The moment you step outside the car with them, you immediately realize how little space you occupy in their world. They immediately split up into pairs. You walk a step behind the group. No one says anything about it, they don’t slow down either. They’re not doing it to antagonize or be cruel on purpose, they must have gotten used to walking with each other unconsciously.
The moment the glass doors opens and everyone goes inside, it’s like a silent alarm goes off. Head turns from both other humans and monsters. You expected the mall to be crowded since it’s a weekend. But you didn’t realize you’d be the center of attention. You hide yourself even more. You’ve got so used to living with them that you forgot you’re a human with eight boss monsters. Skeletons no less, subspecies of monster that’s considered rare.
When they get into the hypermarket, everyone scatters immediately, each one with a specific goal in mind.
Edge keeps a professional eye on the cart, scanning for anything on sale.
Classic goes straight to the condiment aisle taking a dozen ketchup, mustard, honey, and BBQ sauce into the cart.
Creampuff and Blue immediately ran off to rush straight for the snack aisle, tossing chips into the cart without a second thought.
Red is nearby, arguing with Blue about which cereal was the best.
Stretch eyes every single pastry in the bakery section as he tosses some into his cart.
Black goes straight to the seafood aisle with Rus following behind him, though he examines the sweets sections first with eyes scanning the shelves intensely.
“you don’t have much of your own, do you?” Rus' voice came from beside you.
You shake your head. “No, not really. I never bought anything for myself.”
“thought so,” he murmurs, pushing the cart a little faster. “you don’t have to rush and get everything now. we can always come back later.”
You nod in response.
Rus starts to talk more consistently now. Not in a full conversation type of way, but about little things. You don’t know what changed to make him act this way, but you refrain yourself and push back the topic for now.
You have no idea where to even start.
You're surprisingly left alone.
With your own bag.
Your own cart.
Your own list.
Which Classic immediately handed while saying “fill it with whatever you need, kid. whatever stuff that makes you feel the house ain’t a room you crash in.”
You start to wonder if last night’s conversation that they had was the reason for their current talkative behaviour.
You shake your head and try to focus your mind on shopping for now. You stare at the list—pen marks scribbled in lazy lowercase with a note at the bottom that says: *don’t pick anything lame or edge”ll throw it out.*
You laugh.
Actually laughed out loud.
Right there in the middle of the store.
If anyone sees you right now, they must have looked at you weirdly.
You put yourself back up as you start making your way through the aisles and keeping your purchases simple. Looking at the prize tag. Until you stop in front of the hygiene self care aisle.
You forgot another big crucial detail.
You never bought anything in this world.
Is the ingredients the same as it was back home?
Would they notice and make a comment if you picked something too expensive?
“you look overwhelmed.”
You jump and look at your right to see Stretch standing next to you. They're suspiciously being near you today. You didn’t even hear him approach. He’s so close—
“i get it,” he casually shares. “first time shopping here is a whole trip itself.”
As in the first time he gets out of the surface or this timeline?
“Yeah… I don’t know what to get.” you quickly answer, looking away from him.
He shrugs, glancing at the shelves. “grab what you like. don’t overthink. if you hate it, throw it out.”
You stare at him in shock. “But- what if it’s expensive?”
Stretch gives you a look as if you asked does gravity worked here. “you live with us now. that means you’re part of the house budget. edge will be mad either way.”
You huff a tiny laugh despite yourself. “…Thank you.”
“don’t mention it.” he gives you a wink.
You pretend you did not see that.
“by the way, what do you think of this one honey?” he holds the jar and shows it to you.
You don't even realize he had that.
You glance at it, trying to give your best poker face. “Never tried that brand, but you can never go wrong with honey.”
“good, i’ll grab it then. thanks.” he walks away with a wave.
As soon as he left, heat rushed to your face.
That was foul.
His body language is more expressive.
He's definitely messing with you.
With a weak attempt at recomposing yourself, you start to wander again.
You meet up with them at the checkout, Edge giving orders while the others load their bags. Classic tosses his card to the cashier as if it meant nothing.
“Classic, I- are you sure?” you mumble, unable to keep the hesitation out of your voice. “I don’t want to use your money. Or I didn’t even need—”
“you didn’t ask to come here,” Classic cuts in, his voice muffled beneath the shuffle of bags and beeping scanners. “so let us take care of you.”
His words are simple and logical, but you feel conflicted.
Maybe that’s what scared you most.
That they somewhat wanted to do this for you.
Everyone finishes loading their groceries with surprising efficiency. The checkout is clear, the carts emptied, and the cashier looks half dazed by the storm that passed through.
“PEASANT. COME.”
You turn to find Black standing at the automatic doors, one hand on his hip, the other motioning imperiously like some kind of royal summons. He doesn’t move until you start walking toward him.
You hesitate, glancing at the carts. “Wait, what about the groceries?”
Without missing a beat, Rus appears at your side, arms crossed, voice low. “already handled. in black’s car.”
“Already?”
That was fast.
“he ordered, i moved ‘em. what m’lord says goes,” Rus shrugs, almost bored, but there’s a small hint of pride, as if he enjoy showing off a little.
Black turns on his heel, cape fluttering dramatically. “HURRY UP PEASANT, I DON’T TOLERATE DAWDLING.”
You sigh, trailing after him for better or worse. It seems... you are being taken care of whether you know how to accept it or not.
The clothing store is big. Too trendy. Definitely expensive. The moment you walk in, you’re surrounded by tall racks and styled mannequins, you feel woefully underdressed and wildly out of place.
“I don't mind buying something from a thrift store,” you murmur, clutching your sleeves.
Black looks offended. “YOU’RE NOT DIGGING THROUGH SOME DUMPSTER. NOT WHILE YOU’RE UNDER MY ROOF.”
You're dumbfounded. Did Black just acknowledge that you're living with them?
Rus steps close with a low chuckle, “he means he wants you lookin’ good.”
Black turns, glaring. “I HEARD THAT.”
You hide your smile.
Black is beside you, one glove hand hovering near your back—never touching, but close enough to let anyone passing that you’re with them. Rus trails behind, hands in pockets with unlit cigarette on his mouth.
You wander through the aisles, fingers brushing over fabrics, overwhelmed by racks of blouses, jeans, jackets, cardigans, sweaters, dresses, and tops. You actually don’t need much—only a few changes enough to stop borrowing theirs. But the sheer freedom of it... the normality of shopping after everything they said yesterday, it’s uncanny.
Black pretends to browse but never moves far, he makes comments here and there, most of them blunt, occasionally rude, but... weirdly thoughtful.
“TOO THIN. YOU’LL FREEZE.”
“THAT COLOR’S TOO LOUD.” You have no idea what he meant by that.
“TOO TIGHT.”
"...THAT ONE’S... FINE."
The last comment made your ears perk out. You turn slightly. “Fine?”
“DON’T PUSH YOUR LUCK,” but his posture eases a little.
Rus, on the other hand…
“soft color suits ya. makes ya more gentle.”
"feels like ya. soft, warm, kinda messy."
"gonna need a warning label if ya wear that.”
Which got a big scolding from his brother.
“MUTT, STOP TRYING TO FLIRT WITH THE HUMAN.”
“not flirting,” Rus says, clearly lying. “just being honest.”
Your face heats up. "Th-thanks?"
You try to focus on finding something that fits your body, but it's impossible to ignore the presence of the two skeletons flanking you. Your eyes land on a display mannequin in a casual outfit—something simple, but flattering. You glance back at the two of them.
“grab what catches your eye,” Rus nudges you forward. “you don’t gotta ask.”
"NO SPARKLES OR NEON OR—"
“Something too flashy...”
"TCH."
Eventually, you manage to gather a small armful of everything that you need and you head toward the fitting rooms.
“So… I'll try them on?”
“YES. DO IT QUICKLY. DON'T WASTE MY TIME,” Black commands, looking visibly uncomfortable standing outside.
You give Rus a helpless look, but he only grins, slouching into a nearby chair.
You grip the doorframe for a while as you step inside. Today is your first real conversation you have with the two of them. No house duties, no one to hide behind. Your hands tremble as you put on the outfits.
You prepare yourself before looking at the mirror.
You haven't been looking at your own reflection lately. You don't know how to face yourself.
Each outfit that you tried felt more like you. Not the you from your world, or the lost human who got stranded into some basement—but the version you are starting to become here. You're doubting if it's something that can be considered a good thing.
Another long sigh escapes you, stepping out in one of the outfits.
Black looks you up and down… and says nothing.
“Um... What do you think?”
He didn't answer.
Rus let his eyes unashamedly wander and broke the silence. “damn… you look real good princess.”
You turn to face him, a bit taken aback. The pet name threw you off, but his tone didn’t carry the usual flirtatious teasing.
“…thanks,” you whisper, a warm flush spreads across your face.
Black finally spoke. “WE’LL GET THAT ONE.”
You smile. “This might be the only time I hear you two agreeing on something.”
“WE’RE NOT AGREEING,” Black grumbles, but he doesn’t argue when you pick up two more outfits, neither one 'acceptable' by his standards.
By the time the three of you walk out with bags full of clothing, the tension ease a little. Black walks a little closer to you while Rus carries the bags. You’re still trying to hide your flustered face when Black reappears with a new bag, a small one.
He shoves it into your hands. “WE’RE GOING HOME.”
You peek inside. It’s the jacket you stared at a few minutes earlier. A soft cream color, with embroidery along the sleeves and tiny star-shaped buttons. You didn’t even put it on. You couldn’t.
“You- how did—?”
“I’M NOT BLIND,” Black mutters, already storming toward the car. “AND STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT.”
Rus watches him go with a chuckle and taps your forehead gently.
“you keep makin’ that face, and he’s gonna explode.”
Black looks at you. His expression falters—not much, but enough. “WHATEVER… DON’T EXPECT THIS TO HAPPEN AGAIN.”
Rus lit his cigarette and bump your shoulder lightly with his. “you’re welcome, princess.”
You can feel the blush creeping up your cheeks. But you didn’t correct him.
Notes:
The amount of times I giggle to myself throughout this whole chapter is not healthy. Was this enjoyable? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
Chapter 9: Balcony
Summary:
Real talk with Rus late at night
Notes:
Rus dedicated chapter. Enjoy~
Feel free to reach me out on:
https://www.tumblr.com/smolciestar
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After getting home and eating dinner, everyone else retreated to their rooms preparing for the weekday. The mansion is quiet, the kind of silence that breathes after midnight settled into the walls. The wind whispers against the windows.
You’ve been lying in the dark for what felt like hours, eyes open, mind filled with things to say yet didn’t know the right words.
You slip out from the covers pulling your new hoodie tighter around you. The chill gently bite your feet as you silently move across the floor.
The guest room that they gave you is nice, much better and bigger than your old bedroom. But sometimes, it felt like a pretty cage instead.
A dim light leaked in through the hallway. You drift down the hall, not even thinking about where your feet are taking you, until you find the glass door to the upper balcony slightly open. You didn’t even mean to end up here, nonetheless the cold night air greets you as you step outside, brushing against your skin.
You need this space. The calm. The peace.
You lean against the iron railing, palms pressed to the cool metal. Above, the wide vast sky is out before you, stars beautifully scattered across. The moonlight bathes the balcony, illuminating the distant trees rustling in the breeze. The world feels far away, yet at the same time it's almost as if time has slowed down just for you.
You've always love the way stars sparkle and shine brightly.
You breathe, letting your shoulders relax.
The sound of footsteps behind you breaks the silence.
“…figured you’d be out here. couldn’t sleep either, huh,” a familiar voice asks.
You’re not sure if it was a question or a statement. Maybe it didn’t matter. His voice brushes your spine like velvet smoke. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is. Still, you did.
And there he is, Rus.
Standing in the open balcony doorway, framed by the dark shadow of the night and the hallway light. He has left his jacket somewhere—showing his sweater over his lean frame, exposing his collar even more. One socket lit faintly.
“You always hang around looking for people on balconies?” you joke lightly.
He huffs. Almost a laugh. Almost. “only when the heroine needs rescuing.”
“Not a damsel.”
“didn’t say ya were.” he steps forward, the door swinging shut behind him.
Rus joins you at the railing resting his elbows, a little closer than you expected. The balcony isn’t that big, his presence is faint, still noticeable. He doesn’t look at you, he doesn't ignore you either. You embrace it, the hush between you turns into something almost comfortable.
“…you did good,” he mentions after a while. “today.”
You turn your attention toward him. “Good?”
“keepin' up. holdin' your own. not losing your softness. that’s harder than it sounds. could tell it took effort.” he pauses. “especially around us.”
“Thank you.”
He glances at you. “wasn’t a compliment.”
You furrow an eyebrow. “Wasn’t an insult either.”
“…fair.”
The corner of your mouth lifts. He’s not smiling, not really, there’s a gentleness in his posture now, subtle as the wind. You wanted to ask more questions, personal ones, but you can’t bring yourself to do it.
Instead, you let out. “Why do you come out here every night?”
Rus and Stretch are the ones in the balcony most of the time, the former in particular. Sometimes together, sometimes separately. You still have a lot to learn about everyone's rhythm. You took a mental note of that.
Rus turns back to the sky.
“my thoughts don’t fight as loud out here.”
Your heart clenches a little. There’s so much beneath the surface. So much history. About them. About him. You could feel it like a second heartbeat.
“this place can be loud,” he eventually let out. “but night’s got its own voice. ya gotta know how to listen.”
You turn your head a little, watching him out of the corner of your eye. His eye lights were dim, half-lid. He looks tired, not worn down. As if he's used to it.
“…Is that why you’re out here? Listening?”
He gives a wry smile, barely. “mhm. somethin’ like that.”
Another long pause.
“not much to offer,” he murmurs, not even looking at you.
“What?”
“not like the others. they fill up the room.” he stops for a moment. “i’m just… there.”
You want to speak—he lifts a hand slightly.
“not to be pitied, the truth.” he turns his skull, finally meeting your eyes. “if ya ever need quiet—the kind that don’t feel empty… i’m around.”
Your chest tightens. He’s not asking for your reassurance.
“I like the quiet,” you whisper.
He doesn't answer at first. Instead, he exhales deeply, slow and steady. Then his hand slides slightly toward yours.
“…good.” is his only response.
It seems to imply more significance than it was supposed to.
In the stillness of the night, on a balcony bathed in moonlight, it becomes something that holds you both. No longer cold, no longer lonely. The view from the balcony revealed the grounds, the garden’s barely visible beneath.
It’s beautiful.
Your grip tightens slightly on the railing. You rub your hands together to warm them, then stuff them into your sleeves.
He glances at you briefly. Then, his gaze fully lingered.
Looking at you.
Not your secrets.
Not your mask.
You.
Slowly, he dragged on his cigarette, eyes never leaving yours, then exhaled smoke up into the sky.
“you always move like that when you're hidin' somethin’, like you’ll disappear if you don’t got somethin’ to hold.”
The words land softer than you expect. You freeze at the accuracy of it.
“Excuse me?”
He shrugs. “you’ve been holdin’ it together pretty well, considerin’.”
You stare at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“the others are waitin’ to see if you’ll crack, y’know.” he admits, his tone isn’t unkind. “ain’t easy bein’ dropped into a house full of monsters ya barely know. i’d be cautious too.”
You’re shocked with how upfront he’s being right now. You’re not expecting Rus to say that. Even Creampuff, as warm as he is, hasn't quite let his cheerfulness slip enough. You can feel the invisible glass wall. Including Blue who drowns his unease in pep talks, as if he's trying to convince himself.
“I... don’t blame them,” you finally open up. “I mean… I’m a stranger. I suddenly showed up in their lives.”
“hm.” he tilt his head back. “yer not wrong. but strangers don’t usually clean the house when nobody asks ’em to or try reorganize the spices in the pantry even when they can’t reach the top cabinets.”
The latter made you blush. You can't believe he saw that.
“I didn’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to get in the way”
“not in the way,” he echoes. “just outta place. bein’ here doesn't make you a burden.”
Your eyes meet his again. There’s something steady in his stare. As if he’d been to the edge of the world and back, founding a place to stand anyway.
You sigh in frustation. “…doesn’t that include you too?”
Rus’ eyes narrows slightly. “nah,” he comes clean. “already made up my mind.”
You take one more figurative step. “About what?”
...
"'bout you. i don’t think you will break.”
You can feel your heart pounding.
“’cause yer tired,” he adds. “not of us. of pretendin’ you don’t see more than you say.”
It's getting hard to breathe.
“i dunno what yer hidin’. ya don’t smell like a threat.”
You blink.
You hope he's not saying that because his name is ‘Mutt’.
“Smell?”
He huffs a soft laugh, gaze down. “not literally, princess.”
He said the nickname again. He doesn't seem to throw it out lightly, you weren’t able to find the rhythm yet.
You stood side by side. Two figures in the hush of a sleeping house. You glance at him. He’s looking out over the edge of the balcony, unreadable as usual, though something in his posture is open, unguarded in a way that feels almost… intimate. He’s always been hard to read, still you can’t help wanting to know him even more.
“you never ask.”
You pull out of your thoughts, startled. Did he CHECK you? He's being so direct yet cryptic at the same time.
“Ask what?”
“about Black,” his finger brush the edge of his collar. “and me.”
…?
Oh. Oh.
You roughly get the idea of what he means. The not for aesthetic collar and the way he didn’t call Black ‘m’lord’. You glance at him. One of his eye glow faintly in the shadows.
“why not?” the way his voice sounds is unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him before.
You turn your face toward the balcony rail. The wind catches your hair.
“…Because I didn’t know if it was my place.” you murmur.
“it is.”
That made you flinch. You search his face. He isn’t smiling. His expression hasn’t changed. His voice on the other hand...
“yer here. ya live here. ya saw it. felt it. that makes it yer place.” he pauses. “and i know ya noticed. most don’t.”
“…I figured you’d tell me if you wanted me to know,” you hate how it sounded more like a plea.
Rus darts his eyes away from you. One of his eye dims, flickers.
“maybe,” he mutters. “maybe i wanted to see if you cared enough to wonder.”
Ouch. But not cruel, plain old honesty.
“I did,” you admit. “I still do.”
Your voice is hushed, lower than before.
“I mean… yeah, I noticed. It stuck out like a sore thumb. But you didn’t seem ashamed, and Black didn’t say it like it was a joke or he hated you. I assume that’s just how things are naturally between you two.”
You try to explain yourself. You don't even know exactly what you're trying to prove.
You nervously glance at him. “I didn’t want to disrespect whatever that is by picking it apart. Do you want me to know?”
There’s a long silence after that. Rus stares at you, nothing changes—at least not right away, a small crease in his brow, the faintest tilt of his head behind his eye lights. Then he rests his arms beside yours, close—not touching.
“heh,” he breathes, almost more of a sigh than a laugh. “huh. you’re somethin’ else. it’s not a fun story, maybe another time.”
“Can I stay?”
He slowly looks over, searching for your intention. Then he reaches into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a small metal case, and offers it to you.
“don’t gotta smoke,” he explains. “company’s nice sometimes.”
You took the gesture for what it is: A peace offering.
“No thanks,” you give him a gentle smile. “But I’ll be here.”
He nods, once. You don’t move. You don’t pressure him either. You simply stay, and somehow, that’s enough for now. That night, you didn’t go back until the sky turned dawn. You left without a word. The next night, when another sleepless eluded you once more, you found yourself wandering to the balcony—only to find him already there, waiting.
Notes:
Did any of you expected this? 😶
What does this mean to the dynamics now? (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
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