Chapter Text
Your heart is pounding like a drum as you sneak out of the house that night. The straps of your backpack dig into your shoulders, but it isn’t the weight of the bag that’s crushing you—it’s the weight of your decision. You don’t want to leave like this, but what the hell else can you do?
You overheard them talking, your parents, plotting your future like you’re just some pawn on their stupid chessboard. An arranged marriage? To some filthy rich, crusty old guy you’ve never even seen? All because it fits perfectly with their uptight, holier-than-thou worldview. At 23, you thought you’d at least have a say in your own damn life. Guess not.
To your parents, your age doesn’t mean jack, and the law? Yeah, that’s just a suggestion. You know damn well that if you so much as raised your voice about it, they’d kick you out faster than you could blink. So, screw it—you decide to beat them to it. Better to leave on your own terms than stick around waiting to be shoved out.
That was a month ago, and now you’re feeling the cold, hard slap of reality. At first, you thought you’d swiped enough cash to keep yourself afloat for a while. You took what you could from your parents—money stashed in drawers, wallets, and even that old safe they thought no one knew about. It was your silent middle finger to the life they tried to shove down your throat. But the city? It chews through cash like a goddamn meat grinder.
You stayed a few nights at your secret boyfriend’s place, thinking it’d be a break from the chaos. But he wasn’t exactly the charming partner you thought he was. His "true colors" came out in the ugliest way possible. One night, over something as stupid as you not realizing you’d apparently "agreed" to serve him food whenever he got home, he snapped. The asshole slammed your head against the wall and nearly choked the life out of you.
The sheer audacity of it leaves you stunned, but the real kicker? He acts like you’re the problem. And escaping? Yeah, not so easy. This guy practically knows the entire town like the back of his hand—like some creepy local tour guide but way less friendly. To make things worse, he’d planted tracking devices in your stuff and on you. Let that sink in.
But you’re not going down without a fight. After what feels like hours of carefully removing every tracker he sneakily attached to your things—and yourself—you make your move. And when I say "make your move," I mean you literally jump out of a second-story window.
You’d think that kind of escape plan would end with a broken leg, a twisted ankle—hell, even a scrape. But no. Somehow, you stick the landing like you’re Simone Biles at the Olympics. Perfectly on your feet. Not even a scratch. Like a cat. It doesn’t make sense, but you don’t have time to question it. You just know you have to get as far away as possible.
You escape, running as far as you can manage without looking back, eventually making your way to the mainland of the city. It’s not exactly far—just far enough that you figure it’ll be a pain in the ass for him to track you down. The mainland is a completely different vibe anyway. The streets here are darker, quieter, and unsettlingly empty, with far fewer humans and a lot more... monsters.
That’s part of your plan, though. No way in hell would your psycho ex think you’d run straight into a part of the city where creatures like that roam freely. It’s dangerous, sure, but at least it feels safer than being under his thumb. Monsters, as terrifying as they are, don’t have that sick, twisted look in their eyes like he does.
Now, a month later, with the bruises on your body healed but the ones in your mind still raw, you’re stuck. You have no clue where to go next. Every day feels like an eternity, stretched thin by the weight of what you’ve been through.
Most days, you roam the streets, eyes scanning for anything that screams opportunity. Bulletin boards, café windows, hell, even the back alleys—you need something. Anything. Problem is, you’re not exactly swimming in qualifications. No fancy degree, no clean work history. The kind of gigs you stumble across are the bottom of the barrel. A cashier job that wouldn’t even cover a rat-infested studio. Waitressing for peanuts and shifts that bleed into the night. And some of them? No pay at all, just a "chance to build experience." What a joke. You can’t eat eXpErIeNcE.
You tell yourself you’ll take whatever you can get. Money doesn’t matter. As long as it comes with four walls and a lock on the door, you’re in. Somewhere you can crash without wondering if tonight’s the night your luck runs out. Somewhere you’re not just another mouth to feed.
But every lead dries up. "We’re not hiring anymore." "Sorry, shifts are full." Or worse, jobs with conditions that make your stomach churn—dodgy managers, impossible hours, vibes that scream trouble. You try not to let it get to you, but it’s creeping in. The frustration. The helplessness. The city is squeezing you, and for the first time, you realize just how sharp its teeth can be.
One afternoon, after another long day of getting nowhere, you find yourself wandering through a park. The sun is sinking behind you, casting long shadows, and you feel like crap—mentally drained, physically wrecked, and starving after skipping lunch again. As you trudge past a rusted light post, something bright snags your attention: a poster. It pops out from the usual mess of missing pet notices and tacky community flyers. In bold, almost obnoxious letters, it reads:
HIRING: Single Human Maid.
You freeze, your eyes glued to the words. Human. That word is underlined, like they’re making damn sure everyone knows they want your kind. Your gut twists. Monsters and humans coexisting isn’t exactly news anymore, but the world isn’t all kumbaya yet. The monsters have only been topside for a few years, and even though people like to act like things are fine, there’s still that invisible line between them. Humans avoiding monster jobs, monsters steering clear of humans—it’s a thing. And this? A human-specific ad? It feels... off. Desperate.
Your first instinct is to walk away, but then you see it. The magic words. Free housing. You blink and step closer, your brain grinding to a halt. Free. Housing. That alone makes your heart skip. You lean in to scan the details. The gig is for someone named Papyrus Gaster. Weird name. You don’t know him, but something about it sends a chill down your spine. The job requirements are oddly specific, but nothing screams danger. Not yet, anyway.
Still, you can’t shake the unease. What kind of person—or monster—needs a human maid so badly they have to spell it out? And why offer free housing? It smells fishy. But desperation doesn’t care about gut feelings, and right now, you’re drowning in it.
Your fingers tremble as you pull out your phone and punch in the number scrawled at the bottom of the poster. Each ring feels like a countdown, your stomach twisting into knots. This is stupid. Risky as hell. Your instincts are screaming at you to back out. But at this point? You don’t have anything left to lose.
The phone barely rings twice before a booming, over-the-top voice practically explodes through the speaker.
"WHO IS THIS?!"
You flinched so hard you nearly dropped the phone. Yanking it away from your ear, your heart pounded as you blinked at the device like it had just come alive. Whoever this guy was, subtlety clearly wasn't in his vocabulary. Gritting your teeth, you steadied yourself and brought the phone back up.
"Uh... hi! I'm calling about the maid job? I saw your poster," you said, trying to sound confident even though your voice wavered slightly.
There was a beat of silence on the other end, followed by a suspicious but still ear-splitting response.
"AH, YES! YOU ARE HUMAN, ARE YOU NOT? A MOST PECULIAR APPLICANT, BUT FEAR NOT! I, THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS, AM GRACIOUS ENOUGH TO CONSIDER YOU FOR THIS POSITION... IF YOU CAN PROVE YOUR WORTH!"
Your eyebrow twitched at the sheer volume, but you focused on his words. Whoever this Papyrus was, he spoke like he was announcing his candidacy for world leader—pompous, dramatic, and utterly convinced of his own importance.
"I'm ready to prove myself," you replied, forcing your voice to stay steady despite the bizarre situation. "I'm looking for something stable, and I really need this job."
"HMPH! STABLE, YOU SAY? WELL, THIS IS NO MERE PART-TIME GIG FOR SOMEONE LACKING COMMITMENT!" he declared, his voice filled with theatrical indignation. "AS A BUSINESS MAN IN ACTION, I AM OFTEN AWAY ON IMPORTANT MISSIONS. MY LAZY EXCUSE FOR A BROTHER DOES NOTHING TO MAINTAIN OUR GLORIOUS HOME, SO YOU MUST KEEP IT IN IMMACULATE CONDITION IN MY ABSENCE!"
Your brows shot up. Business Man in action? Lazy brother? Before you could process any of that, his tone shifted, almost as if he'd puffed up even more.
"OUR RESIDENCE IS THE MOST SPLENDID HOUSE NEAR CITY PARK—A PROPERTY FIT FOR A FAMILY AS ESTEEMED AS THE GASTERS! SURELY YOU KNOW OF IT!"
You blinked, your head snapping toward the park you'd been wandering through. You were practically standing right next to it. Relief flooded you. No transport, no wasted time. It was so close, it almost felt like fate. But before you could dwell on it, Papyrus' voice barreled through again.
“BE WARNED, HUMAN! THIS JOB REQUIRES UNMATCHED DEDICATION AND PERFECTION. FAILURE WILL NOT BE TOLERATED! BUT IF YOU IMPRESS ME, YOU MAY PROVE YOURSELF WORTHY OF SERVING THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"
Your grip tightened on your phone as you swallowed hard. His voice was overwhelming, and his words were as ridiculous as they were intimidating. But there was something about him—beneath all the bluster, you sensed he was dead serious. He needed someone reliable, and for some reason, you felt a strange urge to meet his expectations.
"I understand," you said firmly. "I can handle it."
"EXCELLENT!" he bellowed. "THEN WE SHALL MEET TODAY AT FIVE PM SHARP! AND REMEMBER—TARDINESS IS UNACCEPTABLE! THE GREAT PAPYRUS DEMANDS PUNCTUALITY!"
"Five PM works perfectly!" you blurted, relief washing over you. You weren't about to waste any more time. You needed this.
"HMPH! VERY WELL. PREPARE YOURSELF, HUMAN, FOR YOU ARE ABOUT TO FACE THE MOST GLORIOUS JOB OF YOUR LIFE!"
And with that, the line went dead.
You stood there for a moment, phone still pressed to your ear, staring at nothing like a damn idiot. You were trying to wrap your head around the whirlwind of words that had just smacked you in the face. Papyrus—whoever the hell this guy was—was loud enough to burst an eardrum, dramatic enough to belong in a soap opera, and obnoxious in a way that could make you want to throw your phone. But under all the arrogance and theatrics, there was something... different. A weird kind of sincerity. Like he wasn't just looking for someone to boss around—he actually needed someone to handle his chaos.
Lowering your phone, you let out a long, shaky breath. Your gaze shifted to City Park, just a stone's throw away. It felt like fate was throwing you a lifeline, like this insane opportunity had been waiting for you to stumble across it. You checked the time—plenty of room to pull yourself together before you had to face whatever this was.
By 4:45 PM, you found yourself awkwardly tucked into the corner of a dingy café, standing in front of a cracked mirror. The place smelled like burnt coffee and desperation, but you weren't paying attention. You were too busy nitpicking your reflection, adjusting your outfit for the hundredth time. You had dug out the one decent blazer you owned—a hand-me-down from your mom that still looked shockingly good despite years of wear. It wasn't fancy, but it made you look like you had your shit together, which was all you needed. You paired it with a dark skirt you hated but kept for situations exactly like this.
Your hands were trembling as you straightened your sleeves, trying to mask the nerves creeping up your spine. This was your shot—your way out of the mess your life had become. You couldn't afford to screw it up. You gave your reflection a once-over. Not bad. Not great. But decent enough to fake confidence.
"Alright, Y/N," you muttered under your breath. "Suck it up. You've dealt with worse."
With one last deep breath, you stepped out into the cool evening air and started toward City Park. Papyrus had been annoyingly vague about where exactly this "glorious home" was, but the way he'd bragged about it being "THE GRANDEST HOUSE THERE" made it clear it wouldn't be hard to spot.
Your heart was pounding by the time you reached the park. The setting sun cast long shadows across the path as you scanned the area, your nerves ratcheting higher with every step. And then you saw it.
Holy shit.
He wasn’t lying. Nestled at the edge of the park was a mansion that practically screamed, "You’re poor for looking at this." It was enormous, towering over every other building around it, like it had been built to remind people exactly who was in charge. The dark, elegant architecture oozed wealth and power, a stark contrast to the dingy little café you’d just come from.
Your jaw almost hit the ground, but you quickly snapped it shut. Awe and dread twisted together in your chest. This wasn’t just some house—it was a goddamn fortress. The kind of place where the wrong move could get you tossed out on your ass—or worse.
You swallowed hard and took a steadying breath. "No turning back now," you thought, forcing yourself forward. If you wanted a chance at survival, this was it. Whatever waited behind those towering doors, you’d figure it out.
The wrought-iron gate was already cracked open, practically inviting you in—or daring you to chicken out. You cautiously stepped onto the stone walkway, a stretch of pristine cobblestone that screamed money and power. Each step felt heavier than the last, your nerves buzzing with every echo of your shoes against the path. By the time you made it to the massive oak door, your stomach was doing full somersaults.
You raised a shaky fist and knocked, the sound sharp against the silence.
Moments later, the door creaked open, and standing there was... well, a fucking skeleton. But not just any skeleton—this guy oozed "don’t fuck with me” energy. He was tall, around six feet, wearing a dark red long-sleeve shirt rolled up to his bony elbows, the fabric looking expensive enough to cost more than your rent. The shirt was tucked neatly into black slacks, the kind that looked custom-made, and his sleeves were marked with subtle, faintly embossed patterns, like bloodstains that had dried ages ago. A loosened tie hung lazily around his neck, the perfect mix of casual and "I could kill you without breaking a sweat" vibe.
His eye sockets were half-lidded, one faintly glowing red, like a warning light. His grin was wide and smug, hands stuffed casually into his pockets as he leaned against the frame.
"the fuck ya want?" His voice was low and rough, tinged with a lazy, cocky accent that hit your ears like gravel in a blender.
You blinked, completely thrown. This wasn’t the voice you’d heard over the phone. Hell, this guy didn’t sound like he’d ever make a phone call unless it was to threaten someone. Did you show up at the wrong house?
"Uh, hi, I—uh—" you stammered, taking a cautious step back. "I think I might’ve made a mistake—"
"ya think?" His grin widened as if your discomfort was the highlight of his day.
Before you could bolt, a familiar booming voice thundered from somewhere deeper inside.
"SANS! WHO IS IT?! DON’T JUST LINGER AT THE DOOR LIKE SOME HOODLUM!"
Your spine went rigid. You knew that voice.
Sans didn’t bother to move, just turned his head and yelled back lazily, "just some chick. kinda rare to see a human knockin’ here, ain’t it?" He looked back at you, his grin twisting into something that felt like a challenge. "gotta say, though, she’s got guts."
Your eyes narrowed. You didn’t know what kind of game this guy was playing, but you weren’t about to let him intimidate you. Not when this job might be your last chance.
Heavy footsteps approached, echoing like gunshots against marble floors, and then he appeared—Papyrus. Tall, proud, and dressed like someone who thought subtle was for peasants. His pinstripe suit was crisp, black with faint gold threads catching the light as he strode forward.
"AH, YOU MUST BE THE ONE WHO CALLED!" he boomed, his voice filling every corner of the entryway. "WELCOME, TINY HUMAN! I AM THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS, AND YOU ARE HERE FOR THE INTERVIEW!"
His energy was overwhelming, but you managed a smile. "Yeah... that’s me."
Papyrus didn’t waste a second, stepping aside and gesturing grandly for you to enter. "THEN COME IN! WE HAVE MUCH TO DISCUSS, AND TIME IS MONEY!"
You hesitated, shooting Sans one last look. He winked at you, clearly enjoying your unease, but said nothing as you stepped inside.
The sitting room was as grand as the rest of the mansion—vaulted ceilings, leather furniture, and a chandelier big enough to crush someone. You perched nervously on the edge of an oversized couch, trying not to sink into it too much. Across from you sat Papyrus, his posture straight and commanding as if he were holding court.
In the corner, sprawled out like he owned the place, was Sans. He'd swapped the doorframe for a sleek armchair, one arm draped over the back and a cigarette lazily hanging between his fingers. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke in a thin, deliberate stream that cut through the room's tense air.
"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY SMOKING IN HERE?!" Papyrus snapped, slamming a fist on the coffee table between them.
Sans didn't even flinch. "relax, bro. just one. ain't gonna burn the place down."
"WE HAVE A VISITOR!" Papyrus bellowed, glaring daggers at his brother. "THIS IS A RESPECTABLE HOME, NOT A DAMN ALLEYWAY!"
Sans shrugged, flicking ash into a tray. "ok. respectable. got it."
How is he this lowkey…
You shifted uncomfortably, your eyes darting between the two. You weren't sure if they were about to kill each other or if this was just... normal for them.
Papyrus let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing his temples before turning back to you. "FORGIVE MY BROTHER. HE LACKS DECORUM, BUT WE HAVE MORE IMPORTANT MATTERS TO DISCUSS!" His voice regained its commanding tone as he leaned forward, locking eyes with you. "NOW, WHERE WERE WE? AH, YES! THE INTERVIEW! LET US BEGIN PROPERLY."
You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying not to let the suffocating tension of the room get to you. Your hands were clasped so tightly in your lap that your knuckles turned white. Papyrus' hollow sockets bore into you, sharp and unwavering, like he could peel away every layer you were trying to hide with just a look.
"SO, HUMAN," Papyrus began, his booming voice slicing through the silence but with a strange mix of intensity and curiosity. "WHY ARE YOU HERE? WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU DESERVE A PLACE IN THIS FAMILY?"
You swallowed hard. The weight of his words hung heavy, but you pushed through it. "I... need stability," you said, your voice steady despite the storm brewing in your chest. "When I saw the flyer, it seemed like a real shot. A job, a roof—just something solid."
Papyrus leaned back slightly, one bony hand stroking his nonexistent chin in a gesture that would've been funny if it weren't for the intensity radiating from him. "A PRACTICAL ANSWER," he said with a slow nod. "BUT TELL ME, HUMAN, WHAT CAN YOU OFFER? DO YOU COOK? CLEAN? HANDLE THE... COMPLEXITIES OF A HOME SUCH AS THIS?"
"I can clean," you answered quickly, the confidence in your voice surprising even yourself. "I'm organized, I learn fast, and if you need a cook, I'll figure it out. Whatever you need, I'll handle it."
Papyrus seemed to weigh your words carefully, nodding as if ticking off an invisible checklist. But his next question came like a punch to the gut.
"AND YOUR FAMILY?" His tone sharpened, losing some of its theatrical flair. "WHY LEAVE THEM BEHIND TO COME HERE? WHAT CIRCUMSTANCES LED YOU TO MY DOOR?"
Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you thought you might choke on your own words. "It's... complicated," you finally said, your voice quieter now. "My parents wanted me to marry someone I didn't know. So I left. I don't really have anyone else." You skipped the psycho ex part.
Your cheeks flushed as you finished, embarrassment clawing at you. This wasn't supposed to be a therapy session. You weren't looking for pity, and you sure as hell didn't want Papyrus—or anyone in this house—to see you as weak.
Papyrus was silent for a moment, his sockets locked on you like he was processing your every word. You braced yourself for judgment or dismissal, but what came next surprised you.
"HMM. A HUMAN OF... UNFORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCE," he said, his voice softer but still carrying that commanding edge. "BUT THE GREAT PAPYRUS DOES NOT DWELL ON ONE'S PAST! WHAT MATTERS IS WHAT YOU CAN BRING NOW."
Relief washed over you like a wave, thankful that the topic immediately got back to the job, and you gave a small nod.
"SO," Papyrus continued, leaning forward slightly, his glowing sockets narrowing with focus. "WHEN CAN YOU BEGIN? THIS HOUSE DEMANDS ATTENTION IMMEDIATELY. MY MANY DUTIES OFTEN PULL ME AWAY, AND MY BROTHER..." His gaze flicked toward Sans, lounging in the corner, a cigarette balanced lazily between his fingers. "...WELL, HE IS USELESS WHEN IT COMES TO HOUSEHOLD MATTERS. OR ANYTHING AT ALL!"
Sans smirked, his eye sockets half-lidded. "hey now, don't sell me short, bro. i've got plenty of talents—just not the domestic kind." He blew out a thin stream of smoke, flicking ash carelessly into a tray.
You ignored the lazy banter and straightened your spine. "I can start tonight," you said firmly. "Right now, if you need me."
Papyrus's sockets lit up, and he rose to his full, imposing height. "TONIGHT? EXCELLENT!" he declared, extending a bony hand toward you. "YOU HAVE THE SPIRIT THE GREAT PAPYRUS DEMANDS! WELCOME TO THE FAMILY!"
You shook his hand, your grip firm despite the whirlwind of nerves still buzzing inside you. This was real. You had a job. A place to stay. It was all happening so fast, but for the first time in what felt like forever, something clicked into place.
As you released hands, you cleared your throat. "Could I... grab my things first? I won't take long."
Papyrus gave a dramatic nod, clapping his hands together so loudly the sound echoed off the high ceilings. "OF COURSE! BUT BE SWIFT, HUMAN. THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS DOES NOT WAIT FOR ANYONE!"
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as you turned for the door.
Before you could leave, Papyrus's voice boomed again. "AND REMEMBER, HUMAN! UNDER MY WATCHFUL EYE, YOU SHALL FIND NOT ONLY WORK BUT PURPOSE! YOU SHALL RISE TO GREATNESS!"
You glanced back, and for all his theatrics, there was something... genuine about him. You gave a quick nod and stepped outside, determination burning in your chest.
This wasn't just a job. It was the start of something new—and you weren't about to screw it up.
Your backpack was tucked away in a grimy alley, wedged between dented trash cans and the faint stench of rotting leftovers. Relief washed over you as you spotted it, untouched and just where you'd left it. Slinging it over your shoulder, you stepped back into the dimly lit streets, keeping your head low and your pace steady.
Yet, something felt... off.
It wasn't the flickering streetlights or the occasional shuffle of rats scurrying through the gutters. It was the heavy, gnawing sensation crawling up your spine, screaming that someone—or something—was tailing you.
You threw a quick glance over your shoulder. A few figures loitered nearby: a group of smokers leaning against a graffiti-tagged wall, couples whispering—or fighting—in hushed tones. Nobody seemed out of place. But the feeling didn't go away.
Your pulse quickened. You picked up your pace, your worn boots hitting the pavement harder than before. The streets felt narrower, darker, like the shadows themselves were closing in. Only when you reached the looming door of the Gaster Family's estate did you dare to exhale, the thick wood offering a strange, almost suffocating sense of safety.
Inside, the oppressive chill of the night gave way to the house's warmth, and you let out an unintentional sigh of relief.
From across the foyer, Papyrus's towering frame emerged, his glowing sockets narrowing in on you. "TINY HUMAN, YOU SEEM... TROUBLED. IS SOMETHING AMISS?" His deep, booming voice carried a genuine concern wrapped in his usual dramatic flair.
You straightened up, your hands clenching tightly around the strap of your bag. "It's nothing," you said, forcing a smile that barely reached your eyes. "Just a long walk, that's all. So, uh... where should I start?"
Papyrus's sockets widened, his bony chest puffing out in exaggerated offense. "WHAT?! NONSENSE! YOU HAVE TRAVELED FAR, AND IT WOULD BE UTTERLY UNBECOMING OF ME TO MAKE YOU WORK IN SUCH A STATE!"
Your mouth opened to argue, but before you could get a word in, Papyrus swept forward with a dramatic wave of his hand. "NO! FIRST, YOU MUST SEE YOUR QUARTERS! AS A MEMBER OF THIS HOUSEHOLD, YOU DESERVE NOTHING BUT THE BEST!"
He led you upstairs with a grand, almost theatrical strut, like a host unveiling the pièce de résistance of an elaborate dinner party. The door creaked open, revealing a room far larger and fancier than you'd ever expected. The polished wood floors gleamed under the light of a chandelier, and the massive window bathed the space in the golden hues of evening.
For a moment, you were speechless.
"AH, I SEE YOU ARE AWESTRUCK!" Papyrus declared, practically glowing with pride. "OF COURSE YOU ARE! THIS ROOM WAS PREPARED BY NONE OTHER THAN THE GREAT PAPYRUS HIMSELF! GO ON, TINY HUMAN WOMAN—UNPACK YOUR BELONGINGS AND MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME!"
You managed a genuine smile, your earlier unease melting away for just a moment. "Thanks, Papyrus. This... this is amazing."
"OF COURSE IT IS!" Papyrus grinned, his bony hands resting on his hips. "NOW, YOU HAVE EXACTLY ONE HOUR TO SETTLE IN! I SHALL RETURN THEN TO DISCUSS YOUR DUTIES!" And with that, he turned on his heel and marched out, his cape—was that really a cape?—billowing behind him. Oh, Jesus, it was just his scarf.
You chuckled under your breath as the door clicked shut. Despite his over-the-top personality, there was something undeniably endearing about Papyrus.
You set your backpack on the bed and began unpacking, arranging your few belongings with care. Your clothes went into the oversized drawer, your notebook found a place on the nightstand, and you plugged your phone charger into the nearest socket. The room was far too big for your meager possessions, but the cozy touches—like your favorite plushies tossed on the bed—made it feel a little less intimidating.
But as you smoothed out the blankets, a sudden feeling crept over you, like you were being watched. Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly turned toward the door—and there he was.
Sans.
He was slouched against the doorframe, like he didn't have a single care in the world, but there was something off about him tonight. The usual laziness in his stance had a sharper edge, like he wasn't just passing through for kicks. His glowing red eye lights burned faintly, cutting through the room's soft glow, and you swore the air itself got heavier the moment he walked in.
Your heart lurched in your chest, a startled squeak slipping out before you could stop it. You straightened up quickly, trying to mask the sudden jolt of nerves. "Uh... is something wrong? Do I need to—"
He didn’t answer. Not right away, at least. Instead, he pushed himself off the doorframe, his steps slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to unnerve you. The sound of his boots against the floor was almost too loud in the stillness, and with every inch closer, your pulse picked up, hammering in your chest. Was it fear? No, not quite. But it wasn’t just unease, either.
By the time he stopped, he was standing close—too close—and you had to crane your neck to meet his gaze. His dark, hollow sockets seemed endless, those faint pinpricks of red light drawing you in like a warning you couldn’t quite heed.
His breath brushed your skin as he leaned in, the faint reek of cigarettes and booze hitting your nose like a punch. It was bitter and sharp, with some weird tang of mustard that made your stomach twist. You fought the urge to pull back, even as every instinct screamed at you to put some space between you and him.
Sans didn’t seem to care. Hell, he barely moved, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark red shirt. The fabric hung loosely off his bony frame, the sleeves casually rolled up past his elbows like he wasn’t about to intimidate you in your own goddamn room.
For a moment, the tension sat heavy in the air between you. Then, his gaze flicked down slightly before locking onto yours again, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough, and slow enough to make every word drag out like a tease.
"nah, doll. you don’t need to do shit," he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk that was more trouble than charm. "but me? guess i got somethin' on my mind.”
Your breath hitched, your heart pounding against your ribs. You weren’t sure if you wanted to deck him or take a step closer. Maybe both. One thing was clear, though—Sans wasn’t here for small talk.
"ya know, kid," Sans started, his voice low and smooth, like a lazy storm rolling in. That nickname made you cringe so hard it nearly hurt. Kid? Fuck’s sake. What’s next, was he going to pull out a belt and lecture you about the importance of doing your homework? Or maybe show up in a sweater holding a barbecue spatula?
Before you could decide whether to laugh or roll your eyes, he leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking to almost nothing. You felt the faintest brush of his breath against your skin, warm and unsettling in a way that left your pulse racing.
"yer wastin’ your time with Papyrus," he murmured, his voice smooth as velvet but dripping with a kind of dark amusement that made your throat tighten. His grin widened, lazy but sharp, like he already knew how his words were getting under your skin.
"i’m the one you oughta be thinkin’ about spendin’ your life with," he said, his gaze locking onto yours in a way that made your legs feel like jelly. Then, with a wicked smirk, he added, "not him."
It wasn’t just a statement. It was a promise—and a challenge.
Your blood ran cold, your brain scrambling to piece together what the hell was going on. Sans was too close—way too close—and you had to tilt your head just to meet his gaze. "What... what are you talking about?" you stammered, your voice barely more than a whisper.
Sans let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the kind that crawled under your skin and stayed there. "heh, ya think layin’ out some sob story’s gonna get ya a free pass with me? like you pulled with my little brother earlier?" He tilted his skull slightly, his smirk widening into something sharper, more mocking. "you’ve got him wrapped around those little fingers of yours, huh?"
You blinked, your mind catching on a single, confusing detail. "Wait... Papyrus is your little brother?" you asked, stunned. Papyrus was huge. How could Sans be the older one?
"yup," Sans replied casually, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "big guy, tiny brain. he eats your helpless little act like it’s spaghetti night. but me?" He leaned in closer, his grin widening into something almost predatory. "i ain’t buyin’ it, dollface."
That stupid nickname made something in you snapped. Dollface? Really? You jabbed your finger hard into his chest, glaring up at him. "Listen here, fucker," you hissed, your voice trembling with fury. "I’m not here to impress you, or to deal with whatever weird bullshit this is. I’m here to work. If you’ve got a problem with that, too fucking bad."
For a second, it felt like your words actually hit home. The room went quiet, the tension thick enough to choke on. But then Sans tilted his head back and laughed, a low, gravelly sound that made your fists clench.
"heh, interested?" he drawled, his grin curling even further. "yer cute when yer all fired up like this. kinda fun, actually."
Before you could snap back, he reached out and—of all things—pinched your nose. His touch was freezing cold, and you jerked your head back, glaring at him.
"i usually ain’t into humans," Sans continued, his tone dark and teasing, each word dragging out like he was savoring them. "but ya might just be the exception. somethin’ tells me you’re gonna be a real…good…time."
Your anger surged again, your whole body tensing as your hands curled into fists at your sides. Every nerve screamed at you to throw him out, yell at him, something—but the smug, taunting look in his eye told you that was exactly what he wanted. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to exhale slowly and keep calm.
"Is there anything else," you said coldly, your voice steady despite the heat rising in your chest, "you’d like to say before I let you out of my room?"
Sans leaned back slightly, his grin unshaken. "ya mean my house, dollface. good luck claimin’ privacy when yer under my roof."
Your confidence flared. "Papyrus is the one in charge of me here," you snapped. "If he says this is my space, then it’s mine."
Sans chuckled again, the sound low and cutting, sending a shiver up your spine. "cute. but don’t forget—you’re stuck with me here. and for the record?" He stepped closer, so close you could feel the chill rolling off him. "yer even hotter when yer tryin’ so hard to play tough. but don’t worry. i’ll let it slide... for now."
Before you could shoot back, Papyrus’s booming voice echoed up the stairs, breaking the tension. "TINY HUMAN! YOU CAN COME DOWNSTAIRS NOW!"
Relief washed over you, though your annoyance lingered. Finally, some backup… you muttered under your breath.
You turned to leave, but Sans was suddenly in your space again, his hand reaching out to gently pinch your cheek this time. The casual, almost possessive gesture made your blood boil.
"just a little warning, doll," he said softly, his tone playful but edged with something darker. "don’t get too comfortable. i’ll be around."
And just like that, he was gone. Vanished into thin air, leaving you standing there, stunned and seething.
"What the hell?" you whispered, your chest heaving as your mind replayed the encounter. Memories of that uneasy feeling you'd had earlier, the sense of being watched outside, came rushing back. You shook your head, trying to shake off the lingering dread.
"Get it together," you muttered to yourself, steeling your nerves as you headed downstairs. You needed to focus—and more importantly, you needed to avoid him as much as possible.
You spent most of the evening tagging along behind Papyrus, watching him parade you through his meticulously clean house like he was hosting a goddamn museum tour. He spoke with so much grandeur you half-expected trumpets to sound every time he gestured toward something. Sure, his tone was dripping with this polite condescension, but you couldn’t even get annoyed. If anything, it was... endearing. Maybe it was the pure sincerity in his over-the-top personality, or maybe it was just a relief to focus on him instead of the other skeleton in this house.
Sans had been MIA all evening, which, honestly? Great. The tension from your earlier run-in still clung to your skin like smoke, and avoiding him had become your top-tier survival strategy. You thought you might even pull it off—until Papyrus declared bedtime at 8:45 PM sharp, like some kind of sleep-obsessed drill sergeant.
“AS A LIGHT SLEEPER, I REQUIRE THE QUIETEST CONDITIONS,” he’d boomed at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed like he was issuing a decree. “I TRUST YOU SHALL NOT DISTURB MY SLUMBER, TINY HUMAN.”
Before you could even stammer out a reply, he was gone, leaving you alone in the unnervingly quiet house. Sleep was out of the question—your mind was still too restless. So, naturally, you wandered, hoping the late-night exploration might calm the buzzing in your head.
The kitchen ended up pulling you in, and honestly, it was weirdly perfect. Rustic and functional, with just enough warmth to make it feel like the heart of the house. It was so easy to picture yourself here—late nights cooking, the soft glow of the stovetop, the peace that came with being alone.
That peace, of course, didn’t last.
A low whistle broke the quiet, and your whole body tensed as you spun toward the doorway. There he was—leaning casually against the frame, one glowing eye flickering faintly in the dim light. Sans. Of course. You immediately regretted letting your guard down for even a second.
“you lost, sweetheart?” he drawled, his voice like gravel, smug and way too amused for your liking.
Your arms crossed on instinct, trying to put up some kind of barrier between you and that unreasonably confident bastard. “Don’t call me that,” you snapped.
“aw, c’mon. gotta admit, it suits ya,” he teased, smirking like he thought he was the funniest guy in the room.
Your nose scrunched in disgust. “Seriously? ‘Dollface’? What are you, some kind of old man?”
He chuckled, stepping closer, his boots dragging lazily across the floor. “nah, kiddo, just got good taste. but if ya wanna keep callin’ me ‘old man,’ i’ll let it slide. kinda like the sound of it.”
You cringed. “And kiddo? What is this, the 1950s? You my dad or some shit now?”
Sans stopped in his tracks, his grin spreading widely. “sure, but there’s usually a d and y at the end,” he shot back, his chuckle now turning into a suggestive laughter.
You froze, the words hitting you harder than you cared to admit. Heat crept up your neck, and you felt your face flush before you could stop it. Sans caught it—of course he did—and his grin turned downright wolfish.
“what’s the matter, sweetheart? cat got yer tongue?”
Nope. You were NOT playing this game. You took a slow, shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but it didn’t help. Sweat trickled down the side of your face, and for a second, you wondered—was the kitchen always this hot, or were you just scared shitless?
But think about it: you’re alone in a house with a big ass monster. The only other person here is asleep upstairs, and the house? Way too big. Nobody would hear you scream if something went wrong—not with how empty and isolated the land around the house was. That thought made you shiver.
You took a careful step forward, then another, moving like you were trying not to spook a wild animal. Sans was still leaning against the doorway, watching you with that unsettling casualness. His sockets looked empty, no trace of those eerie red lights that usually danced there.
You kept your head down as you moved past him, but you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and unrelenting. Every step felt like an eternity. Just as you thought you’d made it—just as your foot crossed the threshold—he let out a low chuckle.
It hit you like a jolt of electricity. You stopped dead in your tracks, frozen in place, your stomach doing backflips.
“seein’ that flyer ain’t no coincidence, y’know.”
His voice was low, dark, and for some reason, it sent a chill down your spine.
Your breath hitched.
What… Flyer? What flyer? What coincidence?
The words swirled in your head, but they made no sense. Slowly, you turned your head to glance back at him, your lips trembling slightly as you tried to say something—anything. But before you could, he was gone.
Your heart dropped.
What the actual FUCK? How does he always do that? Again with his disappearance bullshit… You turned back toward the hall, panic surging through you, and made a break for the stairs.
But before you could even take a full step forward, you slammed into something.
No…someone.
You stumbled back, eyes wide, and immediately lost your balance. You were falling—but then something grabbed your waist, steadying you.
You opened your eyes and realized with a start that Sans was standing in front of you. He was so close you could feel the faint chill radiating from him. His face was inches from yours, and his grin was faint—no smugness, no teasing, just... unreadable.
“careful, dollface,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost soft.
Your breath caught in your throat. You quickly pushed away from him, breaking free of his grip, and mumbled some barely coherent excuse as you headed for the stairs. You didn’t dare look back, but you could feel his sockets on you, following you all the way up.
By the time you reached the guest room, your hands were shaking so bad you could barely lock the door. It took three tries, but you finally managed it, leaning your back against the door as you let out a shaky breath. Your whole body was trembling, your lips quivering as you tried to calm down.
Sliding down to the floor, you buried your face in your knees, your mind racing. Why the hell am I so scared? You thought bitterly. He hasn’t done anything to me... yet.
And maybe that was the problem. It was the yet. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming, and it wasn’t going to be good. Your thoughts drifted to your past—the shitstorm of a relationship you’d just escaped from. Maybe that’s why you were so on edge. Maybe... maybe this was your own damn fault.
You closed your eyes, willing the thoughts away. No. You couldn’t go down that road right now. Instead, you forced yourself to stand, dragging your exhausted body to the bed and collapsing onto the mattress. Sleep didn’t come easy, but eventually, it came.
Your 4 a.m. alarm felt like a cruel joke. Groaning, you slapped your phone to shut it off, reminding yourself to get it together… You slid to the edge of the bed, grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and shuffled to the bathroom to wash up.
When you finally opened the door to leave your room, you noticed something on the floor. A note.
Picking it up, you recognized the bold handwriting immediately: FROM PAPYRUS. You unfolded it, a small smile forming as you read:
“DEAR HUMAN, I REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT MY DUTIES HAVE REQUIRED ME TO LEAVE EARLIER THAN EXPECTED THIS MORNING. HOWEVER, I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF PREPARING YOUR BREAKFAST IN ADVANCE—YOU WILL FIND IT READY IN THE KITCHEN. I HOPE THIS PROVIDES YOU WITH SOME COMFORT AS YOU ADJUST TO YOUR NEW HOME. PLEASE ENSURE THAT THE HOUSE REMAINS CLEAN AND WELL-KEPT DURING MY ABSENCE.”
Your grin widened. Papyrus might be intense, but at least he was sweet. Then your eyes caught the last line, scribbled at the bottom:
“OH! SANS HAS SUGGESTED THAT YOU WEAR A UNIFORM FOR YOUR NEW JOB. I DID NOT SEE IT MYSELF, BUT HE ASSURED ME IT WOULD BE READY FOR YOU. I TRUST YOU WILL DO YOUR BEST TO MAKE A GOOD IMPRESSION TODAY. I AM COUNTING ON YOU! NYE HEH HEH!”
Your smile disappeared.
Oh no…