Dusttale Sans x F!Reader
cw: suggestive, stalking, obsession, watching and taking pictures of reader while she sleeps but she is implied to already know about him visiting at night, he also steals her underwear lol
Note: Sooooooo we’re getting pretty freaky over here!! Mature content, mdni. This takes place somewhere later in my fic, Break My Cycle Of Normalcy, which you can find on ao3. No spoilers ofc.
The sound of misplaced air fills the quaint bedroom before Dust rubs a hand over his face. It was late, maybe around 3AM? Dust wasn't sure, it was more than a few hours since he walked her home, he knew that for sure.
He quietly walked into her bedroom with the grace of a stalking cat, he didn't want to wake her after all. It was a long day for her, it was obvious on her face when he escorted her home. And he knows he could've just teleported her to her apartment doorstep, but he enjoyed hearing her rant on about how tiring her day was.
Dust stops walking once he reaches her bedside, his eyelights getting softer in its glow as his gaze finds her sleeping face half hidden under the blankets. With a quiet sigh, he stuffs his hands in his pockets to just... watch.
It's his favorite hobby when it comes to her at this point, and he's damn good at it. Dust has perfected the craft of making sure she wasn't aware of his presence—unless he wanted to give her a scare anyway. He was sure she knew that he was popping into her home late into the night now.
He leans forward and turns on the small desk fan sitting on her nightstand. The blades whirs to life, a quiet hum that cuts through the stillness of the room. A faint current of air ruffles the loose strands of hair splayed across her pillow, and he watches as a tiny, unconscious sigh escapes her lips.
Her brow, which had been slightly creased, smooths out.
good.
Dust shoves his hands back into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. The fan's soft drone fills the silence, a backdrop to the gentle rhythm of her breathing. It's almost hypnotic, the way her chest rises and falls beneath the rumpled blanket. She's curled on her side, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other clutching the edge of the sheet to her chin like it's a security blanket.
A quiet fondness settles in his ribcage, warm and familiar after starting this watching hobby.
He knows he shouldn't be here. It's late, he's exhausted, and he has a mission debrief with Nightmare in a few hours. But his feet refuse to move. The pull to stay, to watch, and to memorize the way the shadows from the window play across the curve of her cheek—it's stronger than any sense of reason he has left.
Dust isn't sure what it is about her that's got him like this. Sure, there was a curiosity when they first met but he wasn't this obsessed with…
The skeleton turns his head away to stare at one of her walls before turning back to look at her when his mind steers away from his train of thought.
There's just something in the way she breathes, the way she talks with her hands when she's excited, the way she looked up at him when he walked her home tonight with those tired, trusting eyes—
Dust shakes his skull, dislodging the thought. His phone feels heavy in his pocket.
He lowers himself into a crouch, the knee joints popping softly in the quiet. At eye level with the mattress now, Dust can see her more clearly. The fan's breeze catches the fine hairs at her temples, making them dance. Her lips are slightly parted, a faint sheen of moisture catching the moonlight filtering through the curtain.
She's beautiful like this, unaware and unguarded.
A small sound escapes her—a tiny, grumbly thing, almost like a whine. Her nose scrunches, her brow furrowing for a second before her lips push out into the faintest pout. The expression is so carefree, so defenseless, that something painful and sweet twists in his chest.
Dust's hand moves before he can think. The knuckles brush against her cheekbone, featherlight. She doesn't stir. If anything, she leans into the touch slightly, her pout easing.
Dust quickly pulls his hand back like he was burned.
He shouldn't be doing this. Getting attached to a human, to anyone. The people he cares about have a tendency to end up dead. Still, it's much too late to distance himself now, way too late. He's not sure why he hesitates anymore.
So, he stays crouched there, his forearms resting on his knees, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. The blanket has slipped down a little, bunching around her ribs. She's curled around something—a stuffed animal, Dust realizes. A worn, plush deer with one button eye missing, clutched against her sternum like a lifeline.
Something about that detail makes his chest tight.
She shifts in her sleep, a soft, unhappy grunt escaping her. Her legs kick out once, tangling in the sheets. Her pout deepens, a tiny crease forming between her brows again.
She looks like an upset puppy.
A quiet, humorless chuckle escapes him. Dust shakes his head, eyelights fixed on her face. She has no idea he's here. No idea that a monster, figuratively and literally, is crouched beside her bed, watching her dream and feeling something he has no business feeling.
Dust reaches into his pocket and slides his phone out.
The screen's glow is blinding in the dim room, and he quickly dims the brightness. Opening the camera app, he focuses on her face.
It wouldn't hurt, would it?
She's just sleeping, he reasons with himself. One or two pictures to keep for later—a little piece of this peace to hold onto when the world gets loud again. He frames the shot, capturing the adorable pout on her lips.
Click.
The sound is barely a whisper, but he freezes, eyelights flickering. She stirs, a soft, grunting noise vibrating in her throat, but thankfully she stays under. Dust breathes out a sigh of relief and takes another. Then another.
Dust shifts his angle, pulling the covers down just a fraction to see her better. That's when he notices it. She's wearing something different tonight. She's always wearing something different of course, but this... this is a lot less than usual.
A loose black t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder and a pair of white ankle socks. That's it…?
He looks closer and the sight makes his magic spark at his fingertips. There's no bra underneath. The silhouette of her breasts is clear, the soft curves pressing against the cotton. Dust finds himself staring, gaze drifting lower, wondering if she's wearing anything at all beneath the hem of that shirt.
A flicker of something, guilt? Or hesitation hits him. Taking pictures of her while she's this exposed feels... wrong. Intrusive.
But as he looks at her, so soft and helpless in her sleep, the feeling vanishes. She'll never know, it's just for him.
Dust's thumb hovers over the button and presses down again. This time, he remembers to turn off the shutter sound beforehand.
The guilt is a flicker, quickly drowned out by the thrill of obsession. Dust spends the next few minutes moving in a slow, predatory circle around the bed, capturing her from every possible angle. Taking a top-down view of her curled up form, a close up of her sleeping face, and a few shots focused on the soft curve of her hip where the shirt rides up.
The screen's light casts a ghostly pallor over the room as Dust scrolls through the gallery. He zooms in on a shot of her face, noticing a tiny bit of drool leaking onto the pillow. It should be gross, but it's just... cute.
Dust stares at the empty space beside her… he can almost feel the warmth radiating off her skin.
Dust wonders what would happen if he just... slid in there. Would she instinctively snuggle closer, seeking his comfort? Or would she wake up and push him away?
The temptation is a physical ache in his ribs, making his soul hum.
He reaches out, slipping off his glove, and grazes the soft curve of her cheek with his thumb. Dust gently wipes away the small streak of drool, the movement slow and careful. He lets his thumb linger there for a heartbeat, tracing the line of her jaw.
She's so, so fragile. One wrong move, one surge of his magic, and he knows he could snap her like a dry twig. The thought sends a jolt of something strange through his skull, a possessive need to keep her exactly like this.
Just as he starts to pull his hand away, she lets out a snore. It's loud, shockingly loud it startles him and vibrates through the quiet room.
Dust freezes, his eyelights widening. He waits for her to bolt upright, to scream, to realize he was hovering over her bed at three in the morning.
Instead, she just smacks her lips and sinks deeper into the pillow, her breathing returning to that slow, heavy rhythm.
A grin spreads across his face, jagged and genuine. It's a ridiculous sound, completely ungraceful. It's just… really cute.
Dust stays there for a moment, just listening to her. The fan continues its steady hum, and the moonlight shifts, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. He feels a pull in his chest, a desire to just lay down and let her warmth seep into him, to block out the voices and the dust and the endless, looping memories of a world that died long ago.
But he knows the rules, and knows who he is. Sans would be deserving of that solace, that peace. Dust does not.
"you're a mess, moonbeam," he sighs under his breath.
The sound of his own voice, low and rough, feels too loud in the heavy silence of the room. Dust pulls his hand back, the distals of his phalanges still tingling from the warmth of her skin.
Staying in that crouch for a long time, his gaze drifts from her face to the phone still clutched in his grip. Dust scrolls through the images one more time. The angle of her hip, the slope of her shoulder, the way she looks so utterly enveloped by sleep. Each photo is a secret, a little piece of her that he's stolen without her knowing.
A strange, tight feeling settles in his chest again. It's a hunger, but not the kind that comes from LV spikes and the pull to satisfy that addiction. It's a slow, aching need to be the only thing she sees when she opens her eyes. To be the one she reaches for in the dark.
Dust leans in closer, eyelights flickering as he studies the rhythmic flutter of her eyelids. She's dreaming and he can't help but wonder what she sees. He wonders if he's the one in those dreams, or if he's just a shadow that vanishes when the sun comes up.
As the fan blows a stray lock of hair across her nose, she twitches, her face scrunching up in a tiny, annoyed grimace. Dust wants to feel her heart beating against his ribs, wants to hear that ridiculous snore right in his ear.
He closes his eyes for a second, forcing the manic energy to settle. i can't. not now. not like this.
Dust reaches out, phalanges catching the edge of the heavy fabric. With a slow, careful motion, he pulls the blanket up, draping it over her shoulders and tucking it firmly around her. Making sure the edges are snug, sealing her into a warm, soft cocoon.
The action brings him closer. Chest almost brushing her arm, and the scent of her—something like vanilla and warm skin fills his senses, making his skull swim.
She lets out a contented hum, shifting her weight to nestle deeper into the bedding. Dust keeps his hand resting on the fabric for a moment, feeling the heat of her body radiating through the cloth. He slides his phone back into his hoodie pocket, the screen clicking off. The images are safe and the memories are locked away.
Standing up slowly, Dust's joints let out a faint creak. He takes one last look at the scene—the humming fan, the moonlight, and the sleeping human who has somehow become the center of his gravity.
Stepping back toward the door, he moves with a silence that would make a ghost jealous. Dust's eyelights linger on her for a second longer than necessary.
He freezes.
Something catches his sight in the corner of the room as he turns. A small, stray piece of fabric resting on the floor, partially hidden by the shadow of the dresser. He walks back, steps soundless, until he's standing right over it.
Panties?
They definitely weren't there last night.
He stares at the small scrap of lace and fabric, a sudden, sharp tension tightening in his ribs. A moral dilemma flickers through his mind—a brief, useless reminder that this is theft, that it's an invasion of her privacy.
Dust sighs, the sound barely a breath.
He reaches down and snatches them up in one quick motion, stuffing the fabric deep into his hoodie pocket. Dust's soul hums with a dark, satisfied energy. She'll never notice they're gone. He hopes so, anyway.
With one final glance at the sleeping form under the blankets, the skeleton vanishes in a blink, leaving the room to the humming fan and the snores of the oblivious librarian.
dividers credit: https://www.tumblr.com/fae-and-wolf/787966121047359488/sky-dividers
