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yuckydraws · 1 year

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17 Singing a Lullaby and Bear!

This was supposed to be a drabble... whoops!

(CW: Nightmares, PTSD, slightly violent episode, SH)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re jolted awake by a harsh movement next to you and a red glow filling the otherwise pitch black room.

Blinking the sleep away, you’re jostled by another thrash.

Bear’s arms are no longer looped around your waist. The gentle snoring purrs that slightly tickle your neck are no longer heard… and that large frame of his is no longer protectively curled around you.

Still fuzzy with drowsiness, you hum in confusion. Your heavy limbs take a moment to cooperate as you sit up - but the moment you turn and catch a glimpse of your poor mate, you’re wide awake.

Shit.

Bear lays on his back, blankets all sorts of tangled around his wriggling limbs. His shirt has ridden up, exposing his scarred spine and pelvis, and his claws threaten to rip holes in the fabric of it as his hand clutches at his sternum. Over his soul. His face is pinched in pain and that bright red glow seeps from his closed socket… leaking from that hole in his skull as well. His other arm proves to be the source of the thrashing, swiping clumsily at the air before flopping uselessly back onto the mattress - however, given his large size, it causes the bed to dip and shift.

The source of your rousing.

You shift to your knees, facing Bear as he continues his sleeping struggle. He’s always a really tough wake - being as heavy a sleeper as he is - but given the circumstances, you opt not to go for your usual rough shaking. Instead, you reach out, placing your hand above his on his sternum, squeezing gently.

“Sans.” You softly call out his real name. “Sans, you’re having a nightmare, you gotta wake up.”

The small pressure and gentle tones of your voice do nothing to wake him.

“Sans, it’s okay, you’re okay.” You try a little louder.

Nothing.

You make the stupid mistake of leaning above him as you apply more pressure to his hand, gently attempting a shake.

Right in the line of fire.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when his free arm swipes at the air again. You manage to move just in time to avoid getting smacked in the face, but his claws catch your shoulder, leaving shallow cuts there.

The force of it knocks you on your side and you yelp in surprise.

It happens all at once.

One moment, you’re regaining your senses, and the next a low growl fills the room. So low, you feel more than hear it. Opening your eyes, you find Bear looming over you. His light is blown wide, taking over his whole socket - the size it gets when you do something cute, or he’s digging into a delicious, hearty meal. But, instead of fuzzy at the edges, it’s sharp. Alert.

And that little pupil in the middle is but a pinprick.

He’s awake, but he’s not here. This isn’t your Bear.

Magic continues to pour out of his socket at an alarming rate, filling the air with a dangerous buzz of magic that has your hair standing on end.

“Sans-” You try, your voice shaky.

Apparently the wrong move. He quite literally pounces, hands pushing your shoulders onto the bed, making you land on your back with a whumf. He doesn’t even have to fully hover over you, to keep you trapped.

It doesn’t take much strength for a monster of his size to keep a human like you pinned.

You don’t dare breathe as he snarls down at you, showing off those pronounced canines of his. A feature you usually find absolutely adorable on your big, gentle Bear… but it only has your heart fluttering with anxiety, now.

This… happens sometimes. With all he went through underground, the injuries he sustained, what he had to do just to keep himself and his brother alive - he’s understandably been left with PTSD. Something his injury only heightens. Usually, you aren’t alone when it happens, as his triggers tend to be things that pop up more often in public or bigger group settings. Tilly is able to pull him out of them quite quickly, and you, yourself have done the same - a time or two.

And if you don’t do something soon… you risk a bigger accident that will only leave Bear all the more devastated when he does come to. He already drew a bit of blood. He’d never forgive himself if he hurt you more (he’s already going to be a mess about these tiny cuts) and you’re not going to just sit here as he struggles.

Seeing as talking seemed to be the thing to set him off, you stay quiet and focus on taking the deep breath that your lungs so desperately need after that scare. His hands tighten on your shoulders at the movement, but he doesn’t react much more. Perhaps moving is okay, then? Just, not talking. Got it.

Hoping you’re right about this, you slowly move your arm. You’re not able to reach up like you want to with his grip so tight on your shoulders, but you are able to rest it on one of his hands holding you down. Your eyes never leave his face, awaiting any sign that this isn’t okay. His snarl dies down as you make that gentle contact… leaving him to blankly stare at you, as if conflicted.

A blank stare isn’t great, but it’s better than outright aggression.

You’re silent as you watch him, but your advances don’t stop. Feeling that familiar scarred surface of his knuckles, you brush your thumb back and forth across them, counting the ridges as you go.

1, 2, 3, 4.

4, 3, 2, 1.

Your breathing evens out as his grip begins to relax and his brows furrow, watching you in a confused daze.

You risk a gentle squeeze of his hand, and tense when he suddenly moves away - watching him and preparing for the worst. But, you’re pleasantly surprised by the way he sits back on his heels and just… stares down at his hands in fascination. That outpour of magic starts to dissipate as well. He’s much calmer.

That shrunken pupil lets you know it’s not quite over yet, though.

You slowly sit up, but despite your careful movements, you’re barely given a second glance. Even when you inch closer, he still searches his hands as if they’ll give him answers. Once close enough, you reach forward, allowing your hand to enter his field of vision before making any move to touch him. His light flits to your hand, but other than that, you’re given zero reaction.

A go-ahead, you hope.

You ease your hand into one of his, feeling the slightly anxious buzz of his magic. His fingers twitch, before encasing yours with that gentleness you know your mate to have.

You smile.

Attempting another squeeze gets you a slightly delayed, returned squeeze. Gazing up at him, you find him absolutely enthralled by your affection. His light gains that bit of fuzziness again and his pupil seems to pulse as if he’s struggling to come back to you.

You can’t have that.

Leaning forward, you press the softest of kisses to his knuckles. You’re not quite sure how intent works for monsters, or if your attempts like this would even be felt - but, you push forward the feelings of worry, comfort, safety, and love.

A silent plea to return.

And finally, his light blurs as his pupil dilates, marking the end of his episode. There’s your Bear. Your Sans. Your star.

You sigh in relief as he lets out a confused rumble. You can’t help but nuzzle his knuckles as he regains his bearings. Working his jaw, he struggles to speak, frowning as he tries to recall what just happened.

“... pumpkin?” He manages to get out.

“I’m here.” You reassure him.

He sniffs the air, light shrinking in panic as he frantically searches you for injury. “b-bleeding?” He whispers, hand leaving yours as he finds that tear in your shirt sleeve. He reaches out to gingerly lift the sleeve and assess the damage.

You let him.

His frown deepens as he takes in the forming bruise and claw marks. The marks just barely drew blood, more a scratch if anything, but that does little to lessen the panic the moment he realizes he did that. As everything rushes to him, he flinches away from you, keeping his hands -his claws- as far away from you as possible.

“w-what… did i… do?” His voice is pained as he tries to remember.

“Hey, it’s okay, you didn’t mean to.” You start, keeping your voice quiet, just in case he’s dealing with a migraine on top of all this panic. His light snaps to your face, so small and weak as it warbles in his dark socket. “You were having a nightmare, and I got in the way of your thrashing. You really didn’t mean to, it’s my fault.”

His brows furrow, light flitting between you and your shoulder. He shudders and closes his sockets as you can only assume a memory washes over him.

“I’m okay.” You assure. Sure, you had a scare as you often do in these situations, but he’s back - and that’s all you needed. But, your words do little to ease him.

“hurt… you.”

“Not on purpose, and really, it’s just a scratch and a bruise. It’ll heal in a day or two.” You remind him. “I’m okay.”

You try to crawl closer to him, but he scrambles away. He settles at the foot of the bed, sitting down and hunching over as if that could shrink him in size. His skull hangs and those same claws that he swiped you with move to dig at his dead socket.

You wince as you watch, but he doesn’t seem to even give a second thought to the pain it must cause.

“Bear.” You try.

No response.

“Sans.” You call his real name.

A twitch.

You sigh, and move again. He tenses as the mattress shifts, but you make no move to touch him. Instead you slip off the bed, ignoring the slight chill that rushes over you as you fully leave the covers. Standing in front of him, the size difference between you two becomes apparent again - even sitting and hunched, he’s still just a bit taller than you.

He doesn’t move.

You sink to your knees in front of him, lips parting when you look up and see the tears streaming down his cheekbones. This close, you can hear the scratch of bone against bone as he claws away.

He doesn’t meet your gaze.

“Sans, please look at me.” You plead.

He slowly complies, that red light still shrunken and pulsing. It breaks your heart.

“I’m okay.” You state again, reaching out, palm up to gently cup his cheek, nudging that hand away from his socket. He lets his arm fall to his lap, shivering and leaning heavily into your touch. His sockets pinch shut and his whole body trembles. You stay strong in your affection, swiping some tears away with your thumb.

“Come lay with me.” You murmur, taking his hand in your free one. His breath hitches in a half-choked sob, meeting your gaze once more.

“...okay.” He whispers.

“Okay.” You repeat. One last swipe of your thumb across his cheek and you let your hand slip from his face, taking his other hand in yours and standing. He’s too heavy for you to actually pull him anywhere, but he lets you lead him back to a laying position. Before laying with him, you fuss about the covers, resituating them and pulling them over him. Once he’s deemed comfortable by your standards, you climb into bed next to him, facing him on your side.

Tears still spill from his sockets, you reach for his hand again.

“Sans-”

“i’m sorry.” He cries, finally breaking down. Sobs shake his big frame and he hugs himself tightly, absolutely devastated.

“Oh, my star…” You murmur worriedly, reaching out for him, and that seems to be all the invitation he needs before he crumples into your awaiting embrace. You hug him to your chest, giving him a strong, secure squeeze. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“‘m sorry.” He croaks, despite your words.

You rest your chin on the uninjured side of his skull and leave comforting scritches along his spine.

“It’s okay.” You tell him.

You’re given yet another blubbering apology. And another, and another, and another. Each time you remind him, gently, that it’s alright. You’re alright. Everything’s going to be alright.

As his sobs start to ebb, and he finally (albeit shakily) returns your embrace - his apologies come to stop. It’s quiet, save for his occasional sniffles and the sound of fabric shifting as you continue your comforting back rub.

“... Are you okay?” You ask, now that he’s seemed to have calmed. Hoping that, perhaps he can focus a little more on himself, now. He’s been through a lot tonight and you know tomorrow will bring him a lot of exhaustion because of it. These episodes always leave him with a long recovery period.

He’s quiet, at first.

You don’t rush him, or ask again. You know he heard you.

“... no.” He finally answers, leaning into you a bit more.

You expected that, but it doesn’t help the way your soul aches for him, wanting to chase away this hurt, this struggle, for him.

But you know you can’t.

You can, however, be here.

“Want me to keep talking?” You ask, knowing it’s not always a welcomed thing, especially when he may have a headache.

There’s another beat of silence, before you feel him nod against you.

“Okay, star.” You murmur, still keeping your voice soft regardless. At a bit of a loss for what to talk about, and feeling your own exhaustion creeping up on you, you begin humming. It’s a simple, comforting tune you know by heart. Not exactly talking, but the way he begins to relax against you, tells you this is a welcomed move.

You part your lips and begin to sing the lyrics softly.

He sighs, and while he’s seemed too scared to be all that confident in his touch, he manages to give you an appreciative squeeze. After a few verses, you notice those cute whuffle-like snores of his start up. Finishing the song, you switch back to humming until sleep claims you, as well.

Tomorrow may be rough… but for now? You and Bear will get some much needed rest.

#Sen #Mutuals #love how i didnt get to the actual prompt until the end but i swear this wrote itself #this was a nice way to ease back into writing #also left the lullaby ambiguous cause i couldn't find one i enjoyed so its up to your interpretation!#oh to comfort your big skele boyfriend #anyways #yucky answers #yucky yaks #yucky writes #drabbles #oneshots #undertale #horrortale #ht sans #bear #sans/reader #ht sans/reader #bear/reader

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aka-indulgence · 4 months

Text

Imminent Threat: Baby Pictures Confirmed!

I was bitten by the inspiration bug and I do love this idea a lot, heheh…

Wanna see what happens if HT!Sans catches a glimpse of your baby pictures?

(HT!Sans x Female!Reader)

(No warnings just be prepared for silly, fluff, and cute (aggression))

——————

Sans twiddles his thumbs, watching you leave with the dishes into the kitchen. Your parents had forbidden him from doing the dishes.

“You made us this wonderful meal! It’s her turn on the chores anyway,”

“What! I come home to see you and you’re just making me do chores?”

“Yes! It’s to catch up on all the chores you missed these past few months! Hahahah!”

He turned to you and whispered a pathetic little “sorry,” but you waved him off.

“It’s ok, I’m used to it. Might as well treat them since I can’t cook like you, right? Keep them company.”

So here he was, sitting on the table, feeling like he was going to expel the meal he just ate, watching your parents wipe their lips with tissue like they were about to interrogate him.

“So, how’s living with (Y/n) like?”

“good.” no no. too fast. talk more. “she…… she’s nice.”

nice? is that all i have to say about her?

“Ah. That’s good to hear,” your dad replies, taking a sip of tea from a mug.

…

i guess if i said the other things i thought of her, they’d probably want to take her away from me.

“Hey, I hope she’s more active than how she used to be. She used to stay home for days, and we’d have to remind her to go outside and get some sun!” Your mom chortles, and Sans rubs the back of his neck.

“a… actually… she’s the one that wants to leave the house now. i don’t… like leaving. the house is nicer.” Sans forces a grin, but he can’t tell if it’s coming off as awkward or spine-chillingly horrifying.

He can’t gauge how your parents reacted. Your dad smirked, and your mom tilted her head. What does that mean? Do they not approve? Sans usually prides himself in being able to read people like a book- even after the head injury. But his skull is full of thoughts.

“I imagine you’d have to stay at home to hone that cooking skill, then?” Your mom offered, “that stew was amazing! The blend of herbs and spices, the broth wasn’t too thick or thin, and the meat was cooked to perfection…”

Your dad chuckles. “I don’t know about cooking as much as my wife does, but I’ll tell you what, that’s one hell of a stew you’ve got. You could probably start a restaurant,”

“heh… heh you think?” His grin turns more genuine as his cheeks turn a tinge of dark blue.

“How did you learn to cook so well, Sans? Did you go to culinary school?” Your mom pries.

“oh… no actually, i learnt it all myself,” Sans explains, “back in the underground we didn’t have much to go on but we didn’t want to eat something completely tasteless so i learnt how to make things taste good with what we had…”

Sans realizes too late that maybe he brought up the underground a bit too casually, because all of a sudden your mom looks stricken with guilt, and your dad looks awfully uncomfortable.

“O-oh, I’m so sorry Sans, I didn’t mean to…”

“no no. i-i brought it up, you don’t have to apologize,”

Is he smiling too much? Should he be frowning? Wait hold on he’s looking at your mom too much, he should look at your dad now. Oh he’s looking away…

Why was he so bad at this? He’s relied on looking scary and stopping everyone from trying to talk to him. B-but he likes your parents, they’re nice, some of the few humans that actually look past his scary face and see him as… sort of harmless?

Your dad broke the silence.

“Yes, I’ve always tried to make the most of my meals. Like when I have crumbs I’d toss them near the anthill we used to have in the backyard. Hahah, one time when (Y/n) was very little she saw me throw breadcrumbs and asked me what I was doing. I told her I was feeding the ants, and she must have been really impressed with that idea… because,”

Your dad got into a fit of giggles, and Sans perks up.

“Tch… hih! Because the next day I found her standing in front of the anthill… with bread on top of it. Whole wheat, whole bread slice. I asked her what she was doing! And she said ‘I’m feeding the ants!’ She looked so proud I had to take a picture of her! I think I have it on my phone,”

Sans mouth opens. He all but quaked in his chair, having to physically restrain from grabbing your dad’s phone.

“m-m…” Sans coughs trying to regain composure, “may i see it,”

“On it, just… give me a sec…” Sans watched as your dad scrolled and scrolled, until…

“Found it,”

He turned his phone around.

There you were, no older than 3, in a little bucket hat, sleeveless shirt and shorts, with tiny flip flops. You had a bright, sunshine smile on your face, and humorously… a slice of bread sitting amidst the grass and dirt just a foot or two away from you.

Sans’ eyelights shrinks, his grin gone. Carefully, he takes the phone out of your dad’s hands and zooms in on your face. You had dimples in your cheeks, and they… they looked so plump like little squishballs. Your eyes were round and sparkled in the sun. His hands shook.

He must’ve looked unhinged.

“What do you think?” Your mom asked.

“sh…… she’s so small……” Sans breaths, then swallows, turning to your dad. “d… d’you… do you have more…?”

Your dad snorts, his arms crossed. “‘Do you have more’ he says,” he scoffs. “Kid, we have an entire baby album.”

****

You tuned out of the conversation in the kitchen, earphones plugging your ears, a tried and true ‘dish washing’ playlist playing as your background music. It was a nice break. You’re happy to see your parents again, but they can be a bit overbearing at times… ask Sans odd questions about monsters, sometimes mention how tiny you look next to your boyfriend (which had Sans hiding his face… they thought he was offended but he was mortified, worried your parents were hinting at how he was like with you in private).

Though you certainly didn’t miss doing chores back home, you did see it as a bit of a reprieve.

But then over the music, you heard laughter… loud laughter. It didn’t sound like your dad. And Sans doesn’t usually laugh that hard. It started soft at first but it got louder and louder, until you were sure that was Sans. What were they doing to him? It almost sounded like they found his most ticklish bone and was torturing him with him.

A laugh startled you so bad you almost dropped a clean plate onto the floor. You took off an earphone just in time for your mom to walk in.

“Hi dear, this is your dad’s, he’s finished his tea. You don’t have to wash it if you don’t want to…”

“Yea, ok-” you say, distracted and looking over your mom’s shoulder as if you could see what was causing all the ruckus. “What is happening???”

“Oh,” your mom laughed, “Sans is such a sweet, delightful monster. Your dad’s showing him your baby pictures-”

“Excuse me my WHAT?!!”

You threw the gloves onto the sink counter, washed your hands hastily, and yanked the other earphone off, tossing them haphazardly into a pocket. Tripping over your feet to sprint into the room, though you realize you’re too late.

Sans is vibrating on the sofa, having migrated from the table it seems. His eyelight was blown wide, the widest you’ve seen it, glued to the open book in front of him. Your dad flipped a page, looking unaware of the murderous skeleton next to him.

“And here… oh this was on a trip to the beach. She’d gotten scared of water because of a wave too big had brought her out from shore and her legs couldn’t reach the sand. It wasn’t out to sea or anything, but when you’re that small it must’ve been scary. But the hotel had a pool and I couldn’t have my daughter stay afraid of water… this was after a fun session of swimming in floaties and being swung into the pool.”

“ah… HAHAHAH! bright… orange…!”

It was clear to you now. Sans wasn’t laughing from something funny. He was overjoyed. So overjoyed he can’t contain it in himself that he just bursts with it. His eyelights warbled. They looked like hearts shimmering under a running river.

You grabbed your head in despair. “No, no no- what have you done!”

Your dad had looked up immediately, while Sans’ didn’t, holding onto the album. Though… his grin had twisted into something dark.

Dad took a photo out, the one he was just explaining: a picture of you laughing in orange floaties, floral swimwear, carried by your dad in a clear blue pool, looking up at the camera. The sides of the picture were slightly yellow.

“Do you remember this, poppy? It’s weird to think you were ever scared of water now… it’s hard to stop you from swimming, nowadays,”

You can’t help but smile in your heart a little. It brought back happy memories of travelling with your parents when you were little.

Unfortunately, there are far more pressing matters at the moment.

“No, wait, dad… what did you do?”

“What?”

“You… you showed Sans my baby pictures?”

“Baby and toddler pictures,” your dad corrected. “Also there’s no need to be embarrassed, I feel like it’s a right of passage to have your baby pictures shown to your significant other by your parents.”

“No, I’m not embarrassed,” you shake your hands helplessly, “it’s just… Sans is gonna kill me,”

There was an incident, almost a year ago now. You were shuffling through some things you found in a box you never unpacked… at the bottom you found a polaroid of you rolled up in a baby blue blanket and, admittedly, looking pretty darned cute.

You showed it to Sans, innocently. It’s cute, you can admit it, and you knew Sans would appreciate it.

Oh how naive you were.

He held the picture, stared at it. Was at a loss for words, though he kept trying to form them helplessly, bringing it close to his face like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then he muttered.

“b… baby…… b… baby…”

Then he went crazy. Picking you up, not listening to your protests- usually when Sans gets in a cuddly mood he ignores your complaints but that time, it was like he really couldn’t hear you. His pupil was blown wide and constantly shifted from heart to circle. He squashed you in bed, smooshed your cheeks, kissed you until you were gasping for breath- you don’t even think it’s a sexual thing, he was just overcome with cute aggression!

It wasn’t a one time thing either. Carelessly, you’d leave the picture propped up on the window as a cute memento aesthetic… thing, maybe, but every time Sans looked at the picture too long, he’d get into his violent cuddly moods and kidnap you to the bedroom to squish you. Eventually you had to hide it to avoid inducing anymore ‘cute-induced murderous rage’ in him.

And your parents just opened pandora’s box for you.

Your brows furrow in worry as Sans looks up from the album to you, his eyelight tightening into just a fraction of what it was before, zeroing in on you. His grin was wide and deranged. He chuckled, a low, threatening sound.

“heh heh… i’m going to crush you.”

#aka writing #ht!sans #sans x reader #i need to fix the x reader tags someday #jsdjggf #childhood stories are sourced from Me #disclaimer: no actual imminent threat #just get squashed by sans #lol

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