Chapter Text
It wasn’t often Nightmare felt the urge to…take care of himself. He spent so much time looking after the idiots and enacting his overly convoluted nefarious plans to spread his influence throughout the Multiverse that really, he often had little time to even think about attending to his own needs. So when he found himself with the prospect of a rare few hours in which he had no training planned, no missions to monitor, Nightmare was at a loss what to do with himself.
That lasted all of ten minutes. Nightmare had reclined back in his chair, letting himself sink into the cushions and was staring up at the ceiling, when he felt it. His magic, unused to lying idle so long, had started to slowly drift down until it settled into the outlet of his pelvis with a tempting pressure he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Nightmare shifted position; the motion made his magic brush against his sacrum and the jolt it sent through him made up his mind for him. He glanced furtively around him, just to make sure none of the gremlins had snuck into his study when he was zoned out, then with a wave of his hand, locked the door to the study. The dark skeleton cautiously edged his shorts down, inch by inch in fear of being caught mid-act, slowly revealing his pelvis dripping with his corruption and the cloud of semisolid magic coalescing in his outlet. The cool air hit his magic and he shivered.
Well. This was happening.
What did he normally form for this manner of self indulgence? Nightmare paused, then scowled when he realized he truly couldn’t remember.
No matter. He muttered to himself as he decided to form a classic: a brilliantly shining aquamarine cock, jutting proudly from his pelvis with the same imperious, haughty air as Nightmare himself. Nightmare took a moment to admire his work. There was no denying that his magic was on par with no other being in the Multiverse—truly, it would be an honor for one to even behold his cock, let alone be graced with its touch.
He hissed as he tentatively ran a phalange down his length, testing the firmness of his solidified magic. It was soft and spongy, yet unyieldingly hard. The perfect dick. Nightmare wrapped his hand around his cock and gave it a pump—fuck that felt better than he remembered. His hand was quick to repeat the motion, and soon Nightmare found himself lost in a haze as he mindlessly fucked his hand.
Thank the stars he had ensured he was alone and had locked the door, because he soon filled the empty quiet of the room with the slick sounds of his hand rapidly stroking his cock and his increasingly heavy breathing. If any of the others chose to burst through the door, it would take only one quick glance to know that the God of Nightmares was jacking off like a horny teenager.
No time to ponder over the perfect technique—that would have to wait for round two. Right now, Nightmare just wanted to keep stroking and stroking madly until he felt all his pent-up magic explode out of him. Damn the mess it would make. It had been so long; he was almost embarrassed at how quickly he approached his peak, but he couldn’t find the restraint to slow down and hold off his orgasm.
His back arched, hips lifting just a bit off the chair as he felt the spasming through his magic. He was close, so close, if he just squeezed the base of his cock one more time—
There was a crash, several shouts, and the unmistakable sound of something priceless shattering somewhere in the castle.
Nightmare froze, hand still wrapped around his dick and pelvis thrust in the air shamelessly as he listened. The castle was deathly quiet. Then, he heard footsteps pounding down the hall to his study.
“Boss!”
“Don’t you fucking squeal, Cross, I swear to fucking—”
“Boss!”
The aforementioned boss swore quietly. He couldn’t just finish himself off and open the door when he was done; if any of the boys—especially Killer—came across a locked door, it was as if they made it their life mission to figure out why they were being kept out. Displaying self control that would make even a saint jealous, Nightmare dispelled his magic with a frustrated hiss and irritably waved the lock away from the door.
Wait—shit! His shorts were still at his fucking knees.
Cross and Killer burst through the door just as Nightmare yanked his shorts over his iliac crests; thankfully the movement went unnoticed due to his tentacles swarming around him to shield him from view for just the second he needed.
With a thunderous glare that had even Killer shrinking back, Nightmare turned his furious gaze to the two cowering skeletons standing before him.
“That better not have been what I think I heard.”
~~ ~~
If the boys noticed Nightmare’s unusually foul mood the rest of that day, they simply chalked it up to having broken a priceless artifact and moved on with their lives. Nightmare, unfortunately, found it a bit harder to move on—namely because his magic still roiled in his pelvis restlessly, having been brought to the brink of release and thwarted so mercilessly. It refused to settle down, despite how adamantly he ignored it.
After refusing to acknowledge it for the next few days, his magic finally seemed to get the memo that it wasn’t being released any time soon and reluctantly dispersed from his pelvis. Which made it easier for Nightmare to hide his frustrated arousal, since he didn’t feel the uncontrollable urge to rock his hips to get friction every time he sat down now, but it didn’t do anything for the incessant pressure that kept building up in his bones.
His next chance came on one of his missions. Nightmare was overseeing the boys in wrecking a happy-go-lucky pacifist timeline. There were no nuances to their orders, no subterfuge or scheming; it was just three murderous skeletons going absolutely hogwild, one monochrome skeleton on the lookout for the Star Sans, and one very sexually frustrated demigod watching it all.
Nightmare was holed up on some random rooftop, as was his custom, reveling in the despair and horror filtering to him from all corners of the world. His tentacles were bloated as they filled with the negative sustenance, and he could feel his magic swelling within him. It pushed against the constraints of his bones, filling up his ribcage until there was no more room and it moved in the direction of the next empty space—namely, his neglected pelvis.
That familiar heaviness settled in his outlet, and Nightmare groaned. One hand was already rubbing at his pubic symphysis before he even realized it. He swore, then looked around furtively. The boys were all miles away and sufficiently distracted with their own fun…and usually the Star Sans, when they appeared, would go straight for the boys to stop their chaos before turning their attention to the dark mastermind. He had time. Yes.
But he would have to be a bit more subtle than last time. Something he could hide more effectively if he were to be discovered.
The master of subterfuge that he was, Nightmare easily guided his magic into forming a pussy this time. The prettiest of vaginas, fit for a queen, with soft, tender folds that dripped invitingly and a womb that dared any to even think about spilling their unworthy seed within it. Its shimmering cyan glow was muted by his corruption-stained shorts, but Nightmare didn’t have to see it to know it was the most perfect pussy in all of the Multiverse.
Now, if anyone came across him, a hand in his shorts was a bit easier to wave off than a cock sticking out of his pants.
Without further ado, Nightmare slid his hand under his waistband. His phalanges brushed over his folds, teasing up and down his slit as he reacquainted himself with his own magic. A bit-off moan left him when he grazed his clit, already hard and throbbing as it begged for his attention, and the spark it sent through his magic reminded Nightmare that he was on a time crunch. Time was not a luxury—better get to it.
Nightmare plunged two phalanges into his slit, letting out a full-on moan this time at how good just those two slender digits felt in his neglected hole. He didn’t give himself time to adjust to the intrusion, instead quickly shoving them as far as they would go within him before pulling out. He repeated the motion, over and over, rapidly fucking himself with his fingers.
Ever responsive, his magic was soon slicking his fingers, mixing with the oily sludge of his corruption until his dark phalanges glistened a pretty cyan whenever they emerged. Nightmare added another digit, refusing to acknowledge the mewl that came out of him at how much just one more finger stretched his tight walls.
Before he even knew it his other hand had also dived into his shorts, rubbing endless circles around his clit as his other hand was occupied with jamming itself into him over and over and over. His shorts were soon damp with more than just his corruption, and his fingers made vivid squelching sounds each time they pressed in.
A tentacle nudged him; Nightmare’s hips twitched at the thought of how good one—or more—of his tentacles would feel stuffed into his tight pussy. But he couldn’t—there was no way he’d be able to explain a tentacle shoved down his shorts as anything other than the shameless masturbation that it was.
Next time, he told himself. Next time.
It was so hard to contain his breathy moans, but as the paragon of self-control that he was, Nightmare managed it somehow. He was largely silent as he fucked himself, his pleasure magnified by the negativity he was still absorbing throughout the whole ordeal. He could feel his tentacles swelling with all the negative emotions; the bigger they grew, the more he was tempted to throw caution to the wind and shove one of them into his cunt—feel it grow inside him, wriggling and slick, reaching all the way up to his womb—Nightmare couldn’t hold back the plaintive, high-pitched cry at the thought of being stuffed full.
“Did you hear that?”
Nightmare’s eye snapped open at the sound of Blue’s voice horrifyingly close by. Both of his hands stopped their motion, and his tentacles stiffened when he heard Dream answer.
“I did—I can feel my brother close by as well. I fear he’s attacking someone!”
No. Oh hell no.
Nightmare didn’t even give himself time to dismiss his magic, instead whipping his hands out of his shorts and hastily teleporting to where he could feel Cross was.
Cross gave a start at the sudden appearance of his superior. He took one look at the agitated expression on Nightmare’s face, and the restless frenzy with which his tentacles were whipping the air, and came to the only logical conclusion: Nightmare was feeling the bloodlust that sometimes overcame him when he absorbed too many chaotic emotions.
As observant as the ex-soldier was, somehow he missed the sweet, tempting scent wafting from Nightmare’s shorts, and the muted cyan glow from within same shorts.
“Pull the others back,” Nightmare said shortly. “We’re leaving.”
Cross blinked. “You don’t want to—”
“I want a lot of things, Cross, but they aren’t happening today. Do not question me.”
When Nightmare’s voice went flat like that, it was a sure sign that the next person to anger him was receiving a tentacle through the soul. Cross babbled out some affirmative nonsense and disappeared into a hasty portal, away from his murderous boss.
~~ ~~
It was as if the Multiverse had decided that Nightmare would never have another orgasm, and put every obstacle into his path to ensure his endless sexual frustration.
Nightmare locked himself in his bedroom. He was in the midst of furiously stroking his cock when he heard a shrill scream, manic laughter, and in the next minute he found himself having to hold Cross back from dusting a cackling Killer while Axe and Dust watched with glee.
He went for a classic: jerking himself off in the shower, his hushed panting masterfully hidden under the stream of the scalding water. His magic was hot and throbbing in his hand; Nightmare squeezed the base of it and his hips bucked. Yesssss he was close, so close—
“Boss, we’re out of bread.”
Nightmare screeched and launched the contents of half the bathroom over the glass door of the shower, raining down bottles of soap on a bewildered Axe. When the hulking beast of a skeleton still didn’t get the hint that his presence was not welcome in Nightmare’s bathroom, Nightmare ripped the fucking door from its foundation and hurled it. Fortunately for Nightmare, Axe was a bit too occupied with dodging the five foot projectile to catch a glimpse of the angry cyan cock bouncing from Nightmare’s pelvis.
A rare moment of repose in his study found his hand buried to the metacarpals in his pussy, biting down on a tentacle to muffle his moans as he curled his fingers, hitting that sweet spot just right—only for Error of all monsters to drop out of nowhere into Nightmare’s favorite armchair. The Destroyer was oblivious to how Nightmare wrenched his hand out of his shorts with an angry curse, instead preoccupied with loudly letting Nightmare know how much Ink was pissing him off today and why wouldn’t Nightmare get off his goopy ass to help Error kill Ink once and for all?
The dark god could only bury his skull in his hands and contemplate murdering an entire Multiverse as Error droned on in the background.
Ink himself had an unsettlingly knowing look on his skull the next time he and Nightmare clashed. He grinned as he dodged a particularly vicious swipe from Nightmare’s tentacles. “You seem a bit tense, Nighty, whazza matter?”
“Why don’t you hold still for a moment and find out?” Nightmare sneered. His tentacles writhed behind him, eager to crush Ink’s skull.
“No thanks, I see how, uh, focused your magic seems to be. Wouldn’t want to give you the wrong idea by letting you get your hands on my sweet ass.”
Nightmare blanched. The horrified expression on his face must have confirmed whatever disgusting suspicions Ink had, because his own skull twisted into a maliciously gleeful grin. “Holy shit, really? That’s why you’ve been so pissy lately?”
“I will destroy you,” Nightmare hissed.
Ink cackled. “More like you wish you could destroy this pussy.”
With an unearthly screech that had even Error stopping in his tracks, Nightmare’s tentacles shot out and enveloped an unsuspecting Axe in their grasp. The cannibal was then launched toward Nightmare’s new mortal enemy.
Axe wasn’t sure what was happening, but all he knew was Nightmare was screaming bloody murder behind him, and Ink was standing before him with a rare look of shock. Ever faithful to his boss, Axe dutifully crashed into Ink, taking both of them down to the ground. The two of them wrestled for a bit, Axe trying to get his teeth around Ink’s skull and Ink babbling something about octopus dicks while he scrabbled furiously away from Axe’s chomping incisors.
Whether it was Ink’s normal forgetfulness, or perhaps the artist’s faulty memory losing that moment in time as an attempt at self-preservation—or even the new crack in his skull where Axe had managed to bite down before Blue had pulled him off that was slow to heal—Nightmare couldn’t tell. But thankfully, Ink seemed to have no recollection of the incident when they next met on the battlefield.
Which led to the artist being very confused why Nightmare seemed to have a particular bloodlust directed at him, and why Axe kept looking at his skull while licking his chops.
~~ ~~
It was the dead of night. All the boys were tucked away in their beds, snoring away.
All save for Nightmare, who found himself in the kitchen originally looking for a light snack and instead was holding onto the counter for dear life as he stroked his cock furiously. He didn’t even know how or when his magic had insisted on manifesting itself—one minute he was digging through the fridge for that last slice of red velvet cake Axe was so proud of, and the next minute he was yanking his shorts down to fist his cock.
The fridge door was still open, but Nightmare didn’t even notice apart from the cold air that hit his sensitive magic. His thumb brushed over his slit and Nightmare swore quietly.
It was happening, he could feel it, his magic coiling excitedly below the base of his dick. His magic was roaring to life, and almost every single of one of his joints was lit up with the pent-up energy finally seeking an outlet.
He heard the pantry door close, and his world crumbled around him. Nightmare froze, his eye slowly moving up to behold an equally frozen Dust standing in the door. Apparently—using Nightmare’s unparalleled powers of deduction—the schizophrenic skeleton had shortcut directly into the pantry for his own midnight snack, heard the noises in the kitchen, and opened the door to investigate. A bag of chips clutched in Dust’s slack hand confirmed Nightmare’s theory.
Curses—Nightmare should have taken into account Dust’s insomniac nature. The fridge door closed, plunging the both of them into darkness.
The silence stretched on for a solid minute. Dust’s eyelights slid down, down, until to Nightmare’s mortification they landed on the ramrod cock still in Nightmare’s hand. In the pitch black of the kitchen, Nightmare’s dick acted almost as a demented nightlight, illuminating the space around him with an unearthly cyan glow.
Dust looked back up to meet Nightmare’s eye again. His grin was as blank as Nightmare had ever seen it, and his voice was curiously flat. “Nice cock.”
“…wha—”
Dust made his hasty escape before Nightmare could address that bewildering statement. It was a testament to how flustered Dust must have been at the unexpected sight of his boss furiously jerking himself off in the middle of the kitchen that Dust didn’t even shortcut to the safety of his room. Instead, Dust sprinted off into the darkness of the night, a ghost of a “yeet” making its way to Nightmare’s ear.
Briefly, Nightmare considered finishing the job. But he had a very solid suspicion that Dust’s shadow was lingering behind to watch him, and the thought of those empty sockets watching him masturbate killed his erection. Knowing Dust’s brother, Papyrus would report to him later with several critiques on Nightmare’s technique, and Nightmare didn’t need that kind of criticism in his life.
With a sigh, Nightmare returned to his search for the elusive cake. At least he could find some comfort tonight.
~~ ~~
As dumb as his subordinates were, even they quickly caught on to Nightmare’s increasingly bad mood. And as the weeks stretched on with nary an orgasm in sight, even his oblivious brother noticed that Nightmare was slightly more murderous than normal.
Dust refused to join in on the others’ speculations as to Nightmare’s growing irritability, which only peaked everyone’s interest. When questioned, Dust would develop a thousand-yard stare worthy of the most shellshocked of veterans and mumble something about yearning for the oblivion that death would bring.
So naturally, the boys had to get to the bottom of the matter.
Nightmare was less than pleased that his precious free time became almost nonexistent as the boys made it their mission to search out the source of his frustration. Briefly, he considered telling them the source: the fact that no one would leave him alone for ten goddamn minutes. But then that would lead to a conversation about why he needed ten minutes alone, because Nightmare knew Killer wouldn’t just leave it at that, and then that would lead to a very uncomfortable conversation that Nightmare did not want to have.
Could he just assert his dominance over them, and tell them straight up to fuck off so he could get his dick wet? Nightmare shuddered at the thought. No. He apparently could not. Not to mention those gremlins would never let the topic drop. There would be puns upon puns about his precious self-care time; Nightmare didn’t have the mental fortitude to deal with that assault on his sensibilities.
Not that he had much mental fortitude to speak of these days. Nightmare’s patience was wearing thin.
The final straw came on a quiet afternoon. All the boys were occupied in the living room with video games; the hooting and hollering echoing down the hallways confirmed their preoccupation. Nightmare locked the door to his bedroom and ensured all his wards were in place. No one could shortcut in, and not even Error could drop in on him.
He had made every preparation. He had earned this.
Nightmare was bent over the edge of his bed, one tentacle stuffed in his mouth to prevent any stray cries from betraying his afternoon pastime, and another tentacle buried in his dripping wet pussy. His hands fisted into the plush material of his comforter, and he was lifted onto his toes with the force of his tentacle’s thrusts.
Again and again he was rocked into the mattress. His cunt was stretched to the brim with the thick tendril, and Nightmare keened silently as it hit his womb. The tentacle pulsed and grew, stretching him out even more and bringing stars to his eyes.
The mocking calls of the idiots down the hall were mere background noise to him; all Nightmare could truly hear was the squelching and slurping noises as the tentacle ravaged him mercilessly and the creaking of the bedsprings as Nightmare was fucked into the mattress.
A flash of positivity had Nightmare teetering on the edge, a sickening warmth flooding through his pelvis before he realized what that flash meant.
Dream.
No, no, no, he couldn’t stop now, he was so close! Nightmare whimpered around the tendril in his mouth, but there was another flare even closer, and it was like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped on him.
Dream was in his castle.
~~ ~~
“Boss is gonna be super pissed you’re here,” Killer sneered, grinning like he wasn’t being crushed helplessly under Blue’s boot. “How did you even get in here?”
Dream effortlessly pinned a startled Axe to the wall with a few well-placed arrows. “I have my ways.”
“This is a mistake,” Dust’s voice was muffled from underneath the couch that had been overturned on top of him. “You have no idea what hell you have just wrought.”
Ink squatted down onto the couch, grinning at how Dust swore quietly at the added pressure. He squinted, then smiled even wider when he saw Cross’s feet sticking out from under the same couch. Guess he had caught more than one skeleton by surprise when he had appeared out of nowhere and flipped the couch they were sitting on. All they were missing was Error, but he and the glitch had worked out a truce that involved Error being allowed to watch Undernovela uninterrupted in exchange for the Star Sans having immunity when raiding Nightmare’s castle.
“And what, exactly, do you think you’re doing, Dream?” Nightmare’s voice was nothing more than a low hiss. The quiet nature of his question misled the Star Sans into thinking that he was his normal cool, collected self, but when they turned to regard the dark god’s entrance, they saw that was not the case.
Nightmare’s cyan eyelight was wild, blazing with furious magic in the dark depths of his corrupted skull. Behind him, his tentacles had doubled in number and now eight bloated tentacles swarmed behind him. His corruption was dripping off him in thick globules of sludge that splattered to the ground. Twitching phalanges clawed at the air, clearly itching to close around the spine of the first skeleton fool enough to enter his range. His clothes were askew, shirt tangled up in his ribs and shorts sagging below his iliac crests in a scandalous display of bones and swirling cyan magic.
Nightmare, to put it mildly, was a mess.
Silence answered his entrance, causing Nightmare’s eyelight to twitch. “I asked you a question, dear brother.”
Dream managed to close his gaping mouth long enough to muster up the reason he had raided Nightmare’s castle. “I—I am here to save you, brother!”
“….what.”
“You’ve been so scattered and unfocused lately, and I noticed that you’ve been having difficulty controlling your corruption,” Dream said confidently, thinking back to the last few encounters in which Nightmare’s tentacles had repeatedly attempted to wrap themselves around their master’s pelvis despite the dark god’s angry hisses and swatting them away. “That must mean you’re breaking free of its control—I can help you, Night!”
An empty laugh from under the couch told Nightmare that Dust was well aware of how wrong Dream was in his assumption. The rest of his gang glanced at him with concern—would he cast them aside if he was free of his corruption?
Nightmare stared at his naïve brother with an incredulously blank eyelight. “Are you truly that stupid?”
“I have my apple, brother, I can use it to—”
“I do not need saving,” Nightmare snarled. “What I need is—” he cut himself off before he finished that thought, teeth grinding on each other in frustration.
Dream stepped forward, a reassuring look of brotherly adoration on his skull that had Nightmare gagging. “It’s okay, Night. I’m here. I know you’ve been in pain, especially these last few weeks, and I can take it all away.”
“I am in pain because none of you idiots will let me masturbate in peace.”
Another silence fell over the room. Demented cackling rose from under the couch, only to be silenced by Ink shifting his weight to press the couch harder into Dust’s ribs. Even Killer was oddly silent at the sudden admission, sockets wide and blank as he stared at his boss.
“Um.” Dream opened and closed his mouth several times before he found the words. “Y-you…you what?”
Now that it was out in the open, Nightmare couldn’t stop himself. “ALL I have wanted in these past few months was just a few damn minutes to take care of myself, but every time one of you idiots has to drop in and interrupt me. Why is it we live in a Multiverse vast enough to encompass thousands of AUs, and yet you end up exactly where I am every time I have my dick out?”
Killer burst into wheezing laughter despite the boot digging into his spine, which had slackened its pressure as Blue stared with scandalized wide sockets at the horny guardian. His laughter was joined by Axe’s hoarse guffaws and Cross’s manic giggling; their cachinnations rose in volume to take up the shocked silence of the living room as the Star Sans continued to grapple with the realization that Nightmare was a horny creature.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Nightmare glowered at all of them. “I must get back to what I was doing. Dream, I trust you can see yourself out.”
He stalked out of the room, the cyan glow that was rising throughout his joints betraying what activity Nightmare had planned out for himself.
Dream looked around the room, dumbfounded. He thought he would have a heartfelt conversation with his brother, convince him to break free of the corruption that held his soul, and return home hand in hand with his long-lost twin. Instead, he had come to find that he was the source of his brother’s torment. His horny torment.
“Let’s…let’s just go,” he mumbled.
The Star Sans escaped through a portal, their retreat marked only by the howling jeers of the murderous skeletons who watched them leave.
“You knew, didn’t you, Dust?” Cross asked Dust, both of them still pinned underneath the couch. Dust’s eyelights were bright in the darkness that had enveloped them, and the haunted tint they took on told Cross all he needed to know.
~~ ~~
Nightmare emerged from his room looking years younger, somehow. His tentacles were back down to a reasonable number—four, of course—and his corruption had calmed itself into its normally dripping state.
He scowled at the knowing looks all four skeletons on the upright couch greeted him with. “What.”
“You know if you just needed to jerk off, all you had to do was ask, right?” Killer asked, grinning.
Nightmare fixed him with an incredulous glare. “What?”
“We’re not animals,” Axe’s husky baritone rumbled from the end of the couch. He gave Nightmare a sympathetic look that had Nightmare’s tentacles bristling. “We do it too. I just tell them to leave me alone so I can whack it once or twice.”
“Yeah,” Cross piped up. “Just let us know when you need to jerk off and we’ll leave you alone.”
“No need to jizz into the fridge,” Dust added, his PTSD apparently eased now that the others were aware of Nightmare’s transgressions. He flashed a smirk at Nightmare’s outraged scowl.
Killer giggled. “You can have all the time you need to flick your bean.”
Was it truly so simple? Nightmare took one look at the identical leers on each of their faces and knew. No. It wasn’t. No doubt they were going to hyperfixate on this for weeks to come, offering him a few minutes here and there to go “take care of business” with that same fucking leer on their skull, or replying to his reprimands with a concerned “are you taking care of yourself, boss?”
Not to mention, Ink had the biggest fucking mouth he had ever seen on a skeleton. It was a sad truth that within the week, the entire Multiverse would know the God of Nightmare gets cranky when he doesn’t jack off.
The lingering relief from his long delayed orgasm quickly dissipated as he came to grasp with the eternal hell that awaited him. But fuck, he thought dreamily to the climax that had wracked every bone in his body just minutes ago.
It had been worth it.