im sorry to bother but can you just write something about the uf/ut sans and sf papyrus cuddling me and telling me that everything is going to be okay? I really need something to help I'm sorry
(*No need for apologies! I’m sorry that you’re feeling down, and I really hope this does help.)
“hey, kiddo, what’s wrong?”
Sans is quick to wrap an arm around you, drawing you against his chest, his back resting against the couch cushions. He tucks your head beneath his chin, his phalanges threading through your hair, lightly massaging the nape of your neck. He’s patient–he’s always been patient–so he doesn’t need an answer right away.
While he waits, he draws you closer, close enough to feel your heart beating in your chest against his ribs. His body is always thrumming with magic, feeling vibrant despite being unyielding bone, and suddenly, your chest feels a little lighter.
His magic has gripped your SOUL, just barely touching it–yet trying to alleviate the heaviness you’re feeling. The touch doesn’t last long, but it’s soothing, and if you close your eyes, you can imagine you’re floating with Sans as your anchor to the world. "it’s going to be ok, kid. i promise.“ He chuckles lightly, his fingers rubbing little circles along your back. "and you know how i feel about promises.”
When it comes to Red, the moment he sees what kind of day you’re having, he acts.
One moment, you’re standing in the living room, trying to hold it together while he’s on the couch… and then, he blinks in front of you, his arms around you. You lose your balance and start to topple backwards, but instead of your back hitting the floor… it hits his mattress. He rolls to the side, dragging you against his chest, his large, fluffy jacket halfway engulfing you with the motion.
His mouth is at your ear, his breath warm as it fans along your neck. "sweetheart, don’t cry. i can’t take your tears.“
It’s a genuine admission, one that’s murmured raw and lacking the usual growl. His arms tighten around you. "i’m gonna take care of it, ok? just tell me what’s wrong.” He doesn’t really expect you to–he’s used to keeping secrets buried beneath secrets himself–but if it’s something he can help with, he’s more than willing.
He presses skeleton kisses against your cheek and forehead, before he changes position to hold you halfway across his chest, your cheek against his sternum. "it’s gonna be ok, sweetheart,“ he assures as he pulls the covers over both of you, content to stay in his bedroom and lie in bed until you feel better. "i’ll make sure of it.”
Papyrus spoons you in bed, one leg thrown over yours and his arms tight around you, your back pressed against his chest. It’s better this way, where he can’t see your face–and you can’t see his. That usual lazy smirk is gone, pulled into a grim line; he hates seeing you feel so stressed and so down. "darlin’, it’s gonna be ok,“ he mumbles into your hair, nuzzling his nasal ridge against the top of your head. "everything’s gonna be ok.”
Words can be empty; no one realizes that more than him. But these are words that he always wanted–no, needed–to hear. Words that he’s begun to believe, ever since you showed up in his life.
“just stay with me, right here,” he says, tightening his grip. His phalanges find your hands and lace with your fingers, and he brings one of your hands up past your shoulder so he can press his teeth to the back. "as long as you’re with me, everything’s ok.“
He ends up rocking you gently, his body curled protectively around yours. He doesn’t let go for the rest of the night, not even when Sans bangs on the locked door and threatens to kick it down.