#Even if his brother seemed to move more on instinct with the curiosity of a ten year old despite technically being the same age as him

[radiance1]

Damian: [brushing his teeth]

The shadow hanging over his shoulder: [Gets its teeth dangerously close to Damian's shoulder]

Damian: [Shoves a toothbrush into said shadow move and starts brush]

The shadow: [Pauses before starting to let out a contented purr]

Damian then spits out the foam and washes out his mouth, then makes the shadow do the same and then picks out pjs.

Damian: [Currently decided if he should go with the cat, dog, or knife imprinted one]

The shadow: [Starts getting dangerously close to Damian with, toxic green spirals it calls eyes]

Damian: [Throws the dog imprinted one behind him at the shadow and takes the cat imprinted one for himself and tells the shadow to put it on]

The shadow: [Stares at the clothes before hesitantly putting them on before letting out a noise of distress]

Damian: [Turning around to find the shadow somehow stuck in the pjs, lets out a sigh, then starts to help them fit]

Damian then moves over to the bed, he points to one side and tells the shadow to go there. The shadow listens, laying down as Damian also lays down, grabbing the sheets and covering them both.

It barely took a few seconds for the shadow to fall asleep, and Damian stared at it. Damian wasn't quite sure why the shadow of his dead twin was following him, nor why it was even able to and seemed to hide itself from anyone who isn't Damian.

Nobody besides him knew about it, and Damian decided that he liked it. This could have been his younger brother, if the other had survived, and they would have probably been told to fight to the death to decide an heir.

At the very least, that won't ever happen.

Even if his brother was slightly unusual.

===

Danny did not remember much of the before, he remembered people with blurred faces and features, blurred colors. He remembered a lot of colors, then red, then white, then pain.

He doesn't like pain, he believes.

Then he remembered going to sleep, and then he woke up. It was dark and slimy and cramped when he woke up, especially when he realized someone else was in their with him.

Then he fell asleep again, then woke up to that same dark and slimy place, then fell asleep again, all in some weird cycle. Then, moving, and pain.

It hurt, and he was sluggish when it eventually stopped. Then came pain again, and he was asleep.

Then he woke up, again.

He didn't know what was happening, wasn't really aware of too. But he woke up next to the other who was in that dark and slimy with him, and decided he wanted to stay with them.

He wasn't aware enough for most of the things that happened when Damian grew up, but he still stayed regardless, and hide from everyone else.

Danny loves his brother, and he thinks his brother loves him too. Even if he was slightly unusual.

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEGGS AND PREGNANCY * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Matt uses his loss on the egg challenge as an excuse to reveal Y/N's pregnancy to his brothers.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　pregnancy, crying.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Matt, Nick, and Chris had spent the morning engaged in their latest YouTube challenge; a seemingly simple task of caring for an egg as if it were their own child. What had started as a lighthearted competition quickly turned into something more meaningful, though none of them knew it yet.

Nick leaned back in his chair, his arms folded behind his head, exuding confidence as he glanced at the table. His egg sat intact in front of him, a proud reminder of his victory. He smirked at Matt, who sat across from him, his egg conspicuously absent, the pieces of it having already been swept into the trash.

"Well, Matt, it looks like you lost." Nick teased, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. His grin widened, knowing exactly how to get under his brother's skin.

Chris, sitting at the other end of the table, tried to suppress his laughter but failed, the sound escaping as a snort. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Seriously, dude, how did you even have the courage to throw your egg after knowing that it was already cracked?"

But instead of a witty comeback or a defensive retort, Matt remained silent. His usually quick tongue was stilled, and his shoulders slumped slightly as he stared at the table in front of him. His brothers’ laughter echoed around the kitchen, but Matt seemed miles away.

From her spot by the kitchen counter, Y/N observed the scene unfold, her smile soft and her eyes filled with affection as she watched the brothers banter. She had always loved these moments, the way they could turn the simplest tasks into something fun and full of life. But today, something was different. Matt wasn’t joining in the laughter, and the silence coming from him made her heart tighten with concern.

Matt’s eyes met Y/N’s across the room, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away. Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of curiosity and worry as she noticed the unspoken emotion in his gaze. It wasn’t defeat or frustration over the challenge; it was something deeper, something that made her heart skip a beat. What was he thinking? What was he hiding?

Nick’s voice cut through the tension, snapping Matt out of his thoughts.

"Come on, Matt, admit it. You’re just not cut out for fatherhood." Nick joked, his tone light but teasing.

Chris chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a playful grin.

"Yeah, maybe it’s a good thing you’re not a dad yet."

The words, meant in jest, struck Matt like a physical blow. He inhaled sharply, his gaze flickering to Y/N once more, and this time, her eyes widened in realization. Her hand instinctively moved to her stomach, a small, unconscious gesture that Matt had seen her do countless times since they discovered the news. It was a habit she had developed; whenever she felt nervous, excited, or overwhelmed, her hand would rest there, a protective touch that spoke of the new life growing inside her.

Matt took a deep breath, turning his gaze back to his brothers.

"My egg 'broke,' so technically, I lost-" Matt began, his voice quiet, almost detached as he tried to find the right words.

Nick interrupted him, raising an eyebrow in confusion as he imitated Matt’s air quotes.

"'Broke'? Motherfucker, it broke." His voice was full of bewilderment, unsure of why Matt was choosing to word it that way.

But Matt wasn’t paying attention to Nick’s teasing anymore. He pushed back his chair and stood up, the scraping of the legs against the floor breaking the comfortable rhythm of the morning. All eyes were on him as he walked over to the counter, where Y/N stood, her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him. He leaned against the counter, positioning himself next to her, his hand brushing against hers in a silent exchange of comfort and support.

Nick and Chris exchanged puzzled glances, the playful atmosphere from moments ago now replaced with a sense of anticipation. Matt was rarely this serious, especially during their videos, and the change in his demeanor left them both on edge.

"What’s going on, Matt?" Chris asked, his voice steady but laced with curiosity, his arms crossing over his chest as he studied his brother.

Matt took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He and Y/N had talked about how to break the news to Nick and Chris for days. They had planned it out, imagined different scenarios, and rehearsed how it might go. But now, standing here in the kitchen with the camera still rolling, Matt realized that all those plans didn’t matter. There was no perfect way to tell them; there was only the truth.

"I didn’t lose." Matt said, his voice stronger now, filled with emotion that he could no longer hide. He took a step closer to Y/N, his hand finding hers and squeezing it gently. His eyes never left his brothers as he spoke. "My baby is safe and sound... right in the oven."

The words hung in the air for a moment, the meaning not immediately sinking in for Nick and Chris. They blinked, their expressions mirroring each other’s confusion as they tried to make sense of what Matt had just said.

"The oven?" Nick repeated, glancing around the kitchen. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Chris frowned, his gaze following Nick’s to the actual oven, which was clearly off.

"Matt, what are you-"

But before Chris could finish, Matt shook his head and smiled softly, a smile that held all the love and anticipation he had been carrying for weeks. He gently guided Y/N’s hand to her stomach, the gesture so tender and full of meaning that it spoke louder than any words ever could.

"The oven," Matt repeated, his voice a whisper now, thick with emotion. "Right here."

It was as if time stopped. Nick and Chris froze, their eyes widening in sync as the realization finally hit them. The weight of Matt’s words, the significance of the gesture; it all came crashing down on them at once.

"Wait... are you saying...?" Nick’s voice trailed off, the disbelief evident in every syllable.

Y/N looked up at Matt, her eyes shining with tears that she had been holding back for days. She nodded, her voice trembling with joy and nerves as she finally let the words out, the truth she had been dying to share.

"We’re pregnant." She whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. "I’m pregnant."

For a heartbeat, the kitchen was silent. The camera continued to record, capturing every second of the moment that would change their lives forever.

And then, all at once, the emotions erupted.

Chris was the first to react. His eyes filled with tears that spilled over the rims, his face a mix of shock, joy, and overwhelming love. He stood up so abruptly that his chair almost fell, forgotten as he crossed the room in two long strides. Without a word, he pulled Matt and Y/N into a tight embrace, his arms encircling them both as he buried his face in Matt’s shoulder, his body trembling with sobs.

"Oh my God." Chris whispered, his voice cracking with the force of his emotions. "I can’t believe it. You’re going to be a dad, Matt. And Y/N... you’re going to be a mom."

Y/N found herself laughing through her own tears, the sound mixing with her soft sobs as she wrapped her arms around Chris, resting her head against his. She could feel Matt’s warm hand on her back, holding her close, grounding her in the moment.

"We were going to tell you guys differently, but..." Y/N’s voice faltered, the words catching in her throat as she tried to speak. Her lip quivered as she bit down on it, trying to hold back the fresh wave of tears that threatened to spill over.

Nick, who had been frozen in shock, finally seemed to snap out of it. He looked at Matt, then at Y/N, and back to Matt again, as if needing to confirm that this was real. His eyes were wide, his jaw slack, but then, slowly, a wide, joyous grin spread across his face.

"Holy shit!" Nick exclaimed, his voice full of excitement as he jumped up from his chair, his movements so sudden that it clattered to the floor. He didn’t care. All he could focus on was the fact that his brother was going to be a father. That they were going to be uncles.

Nick rushed over to join the group hug, wrapping his arms around the three of them and squeezing as hard as he could, his voice cracking with the intensity of his emotions.

"This is insane! I can’t believe we’re going to be uncles. Oh my God, Chris, we’re going to be uncles!"

Chris pulled back just enough to look at Nick, their faces mirroring the same shock and joy.

"Yes, you are." Y/N whispered, her voice filled with warmth and love. "You and Chris are going to be the best uncles in the world."

Matt couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He let them fall freely as he wrapped his arms around his brothers, holding them tight, feeling a surge of love and gratitude that left him breathless. This wasn’t the way they had planned it, but it felt right. It felt perfect. He could feel Chris’s shoulders shaking as he cried, and when he finally pulled back to look at his brothers, he saw the same tears in Nick’s eyes.

Chris wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, a huge, teary grin spreading across his face.

"You sneaky bastards." He said, his voice still thick with his crying. "You kept this from us!"

"We wanted to surprise you." Matt said, finally finding her voice again, though it was still shaky with laughter and tears. "But I just couldn’t wait."

Nick looked at him, his grin turning mischievous.

"So, technically, you didn’t lose the challenge, huh?"

Matt chuckled, shrugging as he looked at the Y/N glued to his side.

"Nope, I didn’t lose. I think I actually won something even better."

Chris wiped at his eyes again, sniffling as he looked at Y/N, his expression soft and full of love.

"You two are going to be amazing parents. This little one is so lucky to have you."

Y/N reached out and took Chris’s hand, squeezing it tightly as she smiled through her tears.

"Thank you, Chris. That means the world to us."

Nick clapped his hands together, the grin never leaving his face.

"Well, I guess this calls for a celebration, huh? Let’s order some food and make this the best day ever."

They all agreed, the room filling with the sound of their joy, and as they gathered around the kitchen table, Matt couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

He looked at Y/N, who was beaming at him, her eyes still sparkling with tears, and ge couldn’t help but think that this was the best video they’d ever made; not because of the challenge, but because it captured a moment that would change their lives forever.

Extra - comments

"this has to be the best twist ever 😭😭 I was NOT expecting Matt to drop that bombshell at ALLLL"

"omg, they're going to be such amazing parents 🥺"

"chris’s reaction had me in TEARS!!! the way he just broke down crying when he realized he’s going to be an uncle… this is why I love them so much, they're so genuine 😞"

"nick’s face when he finally understood what matt meant by ‘the oven’ LMAOOO"

"FUCK NO, I was laughing so hard during the egg challenge, and then I ended up crying when matt revealed Y/N is pregnant 🤧"

"matt is going to be the greatest dad out there, I just know it 🙏🏻"

"who cares about a fucking broken egg when you’ve got a real baby on the way 😩"

"when matt said the baby was in the oven, I thought he was joking about the egg, I did NOT see that coming 🤡"

"please guys, let me in the group hug 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻"

© vanteguccir

[rottenfyre]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃: 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯.

The Red Keep was alive with the sounds of children at play. Laughter echoed through the corridors, and the warm afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow over the stone floors. In one of the keep’s quieter corners, you sat in the nursery, surrounded by your beloved children.

Aegon and Aemond were playfully sparring with wooden swords, their faces lit with excitement as they practiced the moves Ser Criston had shown them. Helaena, ever the gentle soul, sat by the window, enraptured by a butterfly that had fluttered in and settled on her hand. And then there was Daeron, the youngest of the brood, who was currently cradled in your lap.

At just over a year old, Daeron was the apple of your eye—a sweet, cherubic child with a smile that could melt even the hardest of hearts. His bright violet eyes, so much like his father’s, sparkled with curiosity as he reached up to grasp at a lock of your golden hair. You laughed softly, letting him tug at it gently.

“You’re getting so big, little one,” you murmured, brushing your fingers over his soft, silver hair. “Soon you’ll be chasing after your brothers and sister.”

Daeron cooed in response, his tiny hand gripping your finger with surprising strength. You smiled down at him, your heart swelling with love. He was the last of your brood, the youngest of the children you had come to adore with every fiber of your being. You had loved him from the moment you first held him in your arms, and that love only grew stronger with each passing day.

You were softly humming a lullaby to him, your voice soothing and sweet, when you heard a sound that made your heart skip a beat.

“Ma…”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Had you imagined it? You looked down at Daeron, who was staring up at you with wide, innocent eyes, his mouth slightly open as though he was about to speak again.

“Daeron?” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “Did you say something, sweetling?”

“Ma… Ma…” Daeron repeated, his little voice clear and earnest.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart overflowing with joy and love so intense it nearly overwhelmed you. Daeron’s first word—his very first word—was “Ma.” He had chosen you, called for you, recognized you as his mother.

The tears spilled over, and you clutched him to your chest, pressing kisses to his soft hair as the emotions you had held in check finally broke free. “Oh, Daeron, my sweet boy,” you whispered through your tears.

Your voice was thick with emotion, and you couldn’t stop the tears from falling. They weren’t tears of sadness, but of pure, unadulterated happiness. You had always known you were their mother in every way that mattered, but hearing it from Daeron’s own lips made it all the more real, all the more profound.

Across the room, Aegon and Aemond paused in their play, their wooden swords lowered as they noticed your tears. Aegon, always the more straightforward of the two, frowned in confusion. “Mother?” he called out hesitantly. “Why are you crying?”

Aemond, though younger, shared his brother’s concern. His sharp eyes, always so perceptive, were wide with worry as he watched you. “Is something wrong, Mother?” he asked, his small voice tinged with fear. The sight of your tears had shaken them, their protective instincts kicking in.

But before you could respond, Helaena spoke up from her spot by the window, her soft voice carrying a certainty that belied her years. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the butterfly, but she seemed completely aware of what had just transpired. “Don’t worry, she’s not sad,” Helaena said, her tone as gentle and serene as ever. “She’s just happy.”

Aegon and Aemond exchanged confused looks, but they trusted Helaena’s judgment. If she said Mother was happy, then it must be true. They relaxed, though they kept a close eye on you, just in case.

You managed to compose yourself enough to smile at your sons, though the tears continued to stream down your cheeks. “Helaena is right,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m just so very happy.”

You shifted Daeron slightly so you could look at all your children, your heart bursting with love for them. “Your brother,” you explained, your eyes shining with joy, “just said his first word.”

Aegon’s face lit up with a grin. “What did he say?”

“He said ‘Ma,’” you replied, your voice soft with wonder. “He called me ‘Ma.’”

Aemond’s eyes widened in awe, and even Aegon, who often tried to appear more mature than his years, couldn’t hide his excitement. “He did? That’s wonderful, Mother!”

Helaena, who had finally let the butterfly go, turned to you with a smile of her own. “He knows you love him,” she said simply, her words filled with a quiet wisdom that always amazed you. “That’s why he said it.”

You felt a fresh wave of tears threaten to spill over, but this time, you laughed through them, a sound full of joy and contentment. “Yes,” you agreed, looking down at Daeron, who was now gurgling happily in your arms. “I love all of you so very much.”

You reached out to Aegon and Aemond, pulling them into a tight embrace, and Helaena quickly joined them, her small arms wrapping around your waist. They stayed like that for a while, a tangle of limbs and love, a mother and her children finding comfort and joy in each other.

Part 2 ♡ Part 3 ♡ Part 4 ♡ Part 5 ♡ Part 6

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[idkyetxoxo]

Aemond Targaryen - Stay With Me

Summary - Aemond Targaryen meets a woman who challenges his emotional detachment. As their unexpected connection deepens, they must navigate love's risks amidst the ruthless games of court, discovering that vulnerability may be their greatest strength.

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x Lannister reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2035

Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

Think I like you best when you're just with me and no one else.

Aemond had never believed in love—not the kind that could consume a person, leaving them weak and vulnerable, making them forget their duties or worse, compromise their power. 

His life had been shaped by the rigid expectations of his family, by the cold steel of his Targaryen legacy. To him, emotions were a weakness, and love, the ultimate folly.

Marriage, to him, was nothing more than a transaction. A means to secure alliances, to gain favour or military strength for his family. 

It was an essential duty, a necessity that ensured the survival and advancement of the Targaryen name. It was not something that stirred the heart or made one yearn for something more. 

For him, love had no place in the grand scheme of things.

But then, everything changed the moment I entered his life.

I was the younger sister of Tyland and Jason Lannister, born into a family that thrived on ambition, a family that knew how to play the game of politics better than most. 

My brothers were shrewd, clever, always scheming. They were a reflection of the Lannister legacy—hungry for power, willing to step over anyone who stood in their way. 

I was expected to be just like them, to understand the intricacies of court politics, to know my place in the delicate dance of power and influence.

And yet, I was different. From the very beginning, I had been different. 

I wasn't a pawn to be moved at will, and I certainly wasn't someone to be used as a mere tool in some political game. I wasn't a pawn at all. Aemond had noticed that too, and it unsettled him.

Our first meeting had been formal, nothing more than an introduction at one of the many grand feasts held within the Red Keep. I curtsied as was expected, he bowed in return. A polite, businesslike exchange, no more, no less. 

But something in his gaze lingered, just a moment too long. 

It wasn't curiosity or casual interest—it was something deeper, something that caught my attention and held it far longer than it should have.

I felt it. That strange, unspoken recognition. It was as if, in that brief moment, we had already known each other for years, even though we hadn't shared more than a few words. 

His eye—his singular violet eye—seemed to see through me, past the facade I wore, past the walls I'd carefully built around myself. 

And though I had been raised to mask my true thoughts, I knew instinctively that Aemond saw through my defences as easily as if they were made of paper.

At first, Aemond fought it, as if trying to convince himself that I was just another piece in the game—a piece to be moved, to be discarded when no longer needed. 

He told himself it was nothing. I was just another Lannister. Another political pawn, another tool to be used for a greater purpose. 

But even then, beneath his cold, calculated exterior, I could feel the tension between us, like the taut string of a bow waiting to snap.

There were moments when I would catch him staring from across the room, his eye— sharp and searching—locked on me. 

When he thought no one was watching, his gaze would linger, as if he were trying to understand something about me, something that unsettled him. 

And despite his best efforts to remain indifferent, I could sense that he was drawn to me. 

I could see it in the way his hand would hesitate before picking up a drink, in the way his voice would falter when we spoke. He was trying, desperately trying, to remain detached, but there was something inside him he couldn't control.

The shift between us had been subtle at first. A brief conversation here, an exchange of glances there. 

Small moments that seemed insignificant but carried far more weight than either of us cared to admit. Even our silence spoke volumes.

We had learned to navigate the complexities of court together—me, with my mask of indifference, and Aemond, with his icy control. 

But what neither of us had expected was that the more we spoke, the more we learned about one another, the more the lines between political strategy and personal feeling blurred.

I had always been careful with my emotions. My entire life had been spent hiding behind a veil of composure, learning how to protect myself in a world that was always watching, always calculating. 

But with Aemond, it was different. 

There was no pretension, no need for the masks we wore in public. He saw me for who I really was, and strangely, I saw him as well. 

I saw past the cold prince, past the hardened Targaryen exterior, to the man who was just as lost as I was in the web of duty and expectations.

One evening, after a particularly tiresome banquet, we found ourselves alone in the garden. 

The night air was cool, a relief after the stifling heat of the feast hall. The laughter and chatter of the court felt distant now, a low hum from behind the walls of the Red Keep. 

The stars above us were bright, casting a soft, silvery glow across the garden, illuminating the trees and the flowers in a way that made everything feel almost unreal, as if time had slowed just for us.

Aemond stood by the stone fountain, his back to me, silent. He had always been a man of few words, preferring to keep his thoughts hidden behind layers of distance. 

But tonight, there was something about him that was different. 

He was still, contemplative as if wrestling with something he couldn't quite express. I stepped closer, my steps muffled by the grass beneath my feet, and broke the silence.

"These feasts always feel like a battlefield," I remarked my voice light, attempting to break through the tension that had built between us.

"They are," Aemond replied, his voice low and measured. "A battle of words instead of swords. Sometimes I think I'd prefer the latter."

I smiled at his words, the corners of my lips lifting slightly. "You never seem out of place, though. It's as if the games of court don't affect you."

Aemond turned to look at me then, his single violet eye sharp, but there was something there that hadn't been there before—something soft, something human. 

A vulnerability that I hadn't seen before. "They don't," he admitted quietly. "Not until recently."

I felt my heart tighten, a rush of emotions I couldn't quite name flooding through me. There was a pause, a moment where neither of us spoke. 

The air between us was heavy, filled with unspoken words. I looked down at my hands, unsure of what to say, but before I could think of a response, Aemond closed the distance between us.

"Do you know why I watch you?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

My breath caught in my throat. I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "I thought you watched everyone."

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, almost imperceptible smile. 

It was not the smile of a prince, but of a man who was, for the first time in his life, revealing something real, something unguarded. 

"No," he murmured. "Not like I watch you."

His words hung in the air between us, heavier than any sword. I could feel the weight of them, the meaning behind them. 

And I realized, with a start, that he had been drawn to me in a way he hadn't been able to deny, even though he had tried.

There was a part of him that was vulnerable, and he was allowing me to see it.

"I've tried to ignore it," Aemond continued, his voice growing deeper, more intense. "Tried to tell myself it was nothing, that you were just another Lannister, just another tool in this endless game of power. But you're not. You're nothing like them."

I turned to face him fully, my pulse quickening. "And what am I, then?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile connection between us.

Aemond's gaze softened, the icy walls around him crumbling bit by bit. He took a step closer, closing the distance between us until we were standing inches apart. 

The air between us seemed to thrum with electricity, charged with something neither of us could deny anymore.

"You're..." he started, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "Everything I didn't know I wanted. Everything I didn't think I could have."

His words struck me like a blow, knocking the breath out of me. 

Aemond Targaryen—the cold, calculating prince who had spent his life building walls around his heart—was standing in front of me, revealing the truth that had been hiding beneath the surface all along.

"I don't know how this happened," I said quietly, my voice unsteady as I stared into his eye. "But it feels... like it's always been this way like we were meant to find each other."

Aemond's gaze deepened, the intensity of it making me feel exposed, yet safe, in a way I had never felt before. 

"I've never felt this way before," he confessed, his hand twitching at his side, as though he wanted to reach for me but was unsure if he should. "I don't know if it's right, but I can't stop it."

I took a small, cautious step toward him, my heart pounding. "And if it's not right?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond met my gaze, his lips parting slightly as if weighing his words carefully. "Then I'll make it right."

His words sent a shiver through me, and in that moment, the world outside the garden seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of us standing there, bound by something we had no words for—something neither of us could deny.

Something we were both afraid to lose.

I stared at him, searching his face for a hint of doubt, but there was none. There was only certainty, a quiet but undeniable truth that I hadn't expected to find.

"I think I like you best when you're just with me," Aemond murmured, his voice so soft, so intimate, as though he were sharing a secret he had never told anyone. "And no one else."

His words wrapped around me like a blanket, comforting yet heavy with meaning. It was strange, how simple they sounded, and yet how much weight they carried. 

In a world where we were both surrounded by people with ulterior motives, where every word was calculated and every action carried meaning, this—what we had—felt real. 

It felt pure, and for the first time, I allowed myself to believe in it. It was only the beginning.

"Aemond," I whispered, his name escaping my lips without thought, without pretence. It was a simple acknowledgement, but it held everything—my uncertainty, my longing, my desire to stay.

"Stay with me," Aemond said, his hand reaching out to find mine, his fingers threading through mine with a tenderness that was almost foreign to him. "I don't ever want you to leave."

The vulnerability in his voice, in his touch, was something I had never expected from him. 

Aemond had always been so controlled, so composed. But here, in the moonlit garden, he was just Aemond—a man who was afraid of being alone, a man who was afraid of losing me.

I stepped closer, feeling the warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart beneath his armour of stoicism. 

"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of the moment. "Not unless you send me away."

He held my gaze, his grip tightening ever so slightly, as though he feared I might disappear. "I won't," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "Not ever."

And in that moment, I knew it was true. 

Whatever happened next, whatever the world tried to throw at us, we had this—this fragile, beautiful connection that neither of us had expected but both of us needed. 

Aemond Targaryen, the cold, calculating prince, had fallen—just as I had. 

And there was no turning back.

Stay with me, I don't want you to leave.

A/n - Cigarettes After Sex >>

Aemond tag list - @darylandbethfanforever9 @lessdepressy @veesuguru

[lilangelbud]

just thinking about story ideas rn and had an idea about brother that pulls out his cock in front of his sister but doesnt say anything just seeing her reaction and what she does with it, at first shes repulsed but eventually decides to touch it

I love it when I get requests. Keep them coming <333

"Look at it."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken, as he stepped closer. His fingers fumbled with the zipper of his jeans, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet room. She froze, her breath catching in her throat, her eyes darting between his face and his hand. What is he doing? Her mind raced, but she couldn’t look away. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out the hum of the ceiling fan above them.

No, she thought, her stomach churning. This isn’t happening. But it was. His jeans slid down his hips, pooling at his feet, and there it was—thick, hard, and unmistakable. Her face flushed, a mix of confusion and embarrassment flooding her senses. She took a step back, her hands instinctively rising to cover her mouth.

“Why… why are you—“ she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer. His expression was unreadable, calm even, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. He just stood there, his cock fully exposed, his gaze fixed on her. Waiting.

They’d always been close, sharing secrets and late-night conversations that no one else in the family seemed to understand. He was her protector, her confidant. But lately, something had shifted. His touches lingered a little too long. His stares felt heavier, more intentional. She’d catch him watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite place.

Tonight had been no different. She’d been sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through her phone, when he walked in. The house was empty, their parents gone for the weekend, and the silence between them felt charged, like the air before a storm.

“You’re always on that thing,” he’d said, nodding toward her phone. His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it that made her glance up.

“So?” she’d replied, defensive. “What else is there to do?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat down beside her, close enough that their legs brushed. The contact sent a jolt through her, and she shifted slightly, trying to create some distance. But he didn’t move.

“Maybe… we can find something else to do,” he’d said, his tone low, almost teasing.

She’d laughed then, nervous and unsure. “Like what?”

He’d just smiled, a slow, deliberate smile that made her stomach twist. And then he’d stood, extending a hand toward her.

“Come on,” he’d said. “Trust me.”

She’d hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. But she’d taken his hand, letting him lead her down the hall to his room. The door had clicked shut behind them, and the air had felt thicker, harder to breathe.

“What are we doing?” she’d asked, her voice trembling.

He’d turned to her, his eyes locking onto hers. “Just… relax. Okay?”

And then he’d started to undress.

She just stared at him, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. This is wrong. This is so wrong. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she couldn’t deny the curiosity gnawing at her. Her eyes drifted back to his cock, the sight both foreign and fascinating. She’d never seen one before, not like this, not up close. It was… bigger than she’d expected, the veins stark against the smooth skin.

“I… I don’t—“ she started, but her voice faltered.

He didn’t rush her. He just stood there, giving her time, letting her process. His breathing was steady, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow made the whole thing feel less… wrong. Why isn’t he saying anything? she wondered. His silence was unnerving, but also… comforting, in a way. It was like he was letting her take control, letting her decide what happened next.

Her hands trembled as she lowered them from her face. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do, but something inside her demanded it. She took a small step forward, then another, until she was close enough to reach out and touch him. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst.

“Stay still,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Her fingers brushed against his cock tentatively, the warmth of it startling her. It was softer than she’d imagined, the skin smooth and yielding. She hesitated for a moment, her breath hitching, before wrapping her hand around it. The weight of it in her palm sent a shiver through her, a mix of fear and something else she couldn’t name.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

The sound of his approval made her cheeks burn, but it also spurred her on. She tightened her grip slightly, her fingers exploring the length of him. Her movements were awkward, unsure, but he didn’t seem to mind. His breathing deepened, his chest rising and falling more quickly now, and she could feel him pulse in her hand.

Is this… normal? she wondered, her thoughts a jumbled mess. But it didn’t matter. She was here now, and there was no turning back. Her thumb traced the ridge of his tip, and he let out a low, guttural groan that made her stomach flip.

“Keep going,” he said, his voice rough with need.

She didn’t need to be told twice. Her hand moved faster now, her strokes more confident. She watched him intently, mesmerized by the way his body reacted to her touch. His hips bucked slightly, pushing himself deeper into her hand, and she could feel the heat radiating from him.

This is… she thought, her own body beginning to respond in ways she didn’t understand. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her heart racing as she continued to stroke him. She could feel him growing harder, thicker, in her hand, and the sensation sent a thrill through her.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Just like that.”

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, her hand moving steadily, his breathing growing more ragged with each passing second. But then, just as she felt him tense, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist tightly.

“Stop,” he said, his voice hoarse.

She froze, her eyes widening in concern. Did I do something wrong?

But then he pulled her closer, his other hand cupping the back of her neck. His lips crashed onto hers, his kiss desperate and hungry. She gasped against his mouth, her free hand clutching at his shoulder for support. The kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with hers, and she felt herself melting into him.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark, his breathing uneven. “Let me show you something better,” he said, his voice low and husky.

Before she could respond, he dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands reaching for the hem of her shorts. Her heart skipped a beat, her mind racing as she realized what was about to happen. But there was no time to protest, no time to think. He was already pulling her shorts down, his fingers brushing against her skin, and all she could do was stand there, her body trembling with anticipation.

“Just relax,” he said, his voice soft, reassuring. “I’ll take care of you.”

[lisalamona]

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 - XV

Chapter XV: Wouldn't You Like

. Summary: Despite your brother's insistence, you stubbornly decided to join him and his men in the war. Now, are you prepared to face the consequences of your actions? . Pairing: Various x Fem! Reader . Warnings: drugs (holy moly!), non-sexual nudity (barely described) . Notes: Sorry it took so long 🥺

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Masterlist

The palace halls stretched far beyond what you could have imagined, a seemingly endless expanse of elegance and mystery. Vines wove their way up marble columns, their emerald tendrils twisting like delicate fingers, while flowers you had never seen before bloomed in breathtaking displays of colour. They extended through the halls as though they had grown naturally, yet at the same time, their arrangement seemed deliberate, as if the palace itself had designed them with purpose.

Every turn you took left you more and more disoriented than the last. You could only wonder how those who lived here managed to navigate it so effortlessly—it felt less like a palace and more like a labyrinth. Not even the winding corridors of the palace you had once called home could compare to the intricate twists and turns you were forced to weave through now.

Occasionally, you passed other nymphs moving gracefully through the halls, their ethereal presence only adding to the dreamlike atmosphere. Some carried woven baskets in the crooks of their arms, filled with items unknown to you, while others strolled in pairs or small groups, lost in quiet conversation. Regardless of their activity, their reaction to you remained the same: a fleeting look of curiosity, followed by a polite smile and a nod of acknowledgment before they continued on their way.

Choosing to ignore the stares, you focused on the nymph leading you. You kept a careful distance, staying far enough behind that you could bolt if necessary. Trust did not come easily to you, not here, not yet. From your vantage point, you could only see her back, but that alone told you plenty. Her hair was a cascading mass of curls, an orangey-red hue that shimmered like embers in the soft light filtering through the palace. The sheer length of it was impressive, reaching all the way down to her waist, and it was thick—voluminous in a way that made you wonder how long it had taken to grow. Nestled within her curls were flowers, some woven into tiny braids that were sparsely scattered throughout her hair, while others appeared to be placed at random, yet somehow remained perfectly in place, untouched by movement. Even as she walked, her steps light and almost bouncing, not a single petal fell.

Her attire was just as intricate. She wore a finely crafted chiton, its fabric flowing like liquid with every movement. The bottom edges were embroidered with swirling golden patterns, shimmering each time the material shifted. She was barefoot, though by now, you had come to suspect that where you were, shoes were not a necessity. Perhaps this was meant to be a sanctuary—a safe haven at best, or a cult at worst. Either way, you weren't letting your guard down.

Every so often, she glanced back over her shoulder at you, as if checking to make sure you were still following. These quick glances allowed you brief glimpses of her face—soft freckles dusting her cheeks, her delicate features framed by her fiery curls, and striking baby-blue eyes that locked onto yours for a fleeting moment before turning forward again. You were sure she could navigate these halls blindfolded.

Eventually, you arrived at a room. She opened the door with ease, holding it ajar as she waited for you to step inside. Hesitation settled in your gut like a heavy stone. Your fight-or-flight instincts flared, and gods, how you wished you had your sword right now. Still, you forced yourself to enter.

The room was narrow but cozy, bathed in the soft glow of natural light from a large, arched window directly ahead. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with neatly folded fabrics in a breathtaking spectrum of colors. Some gleamed with a silk-like sheen, while others were thicker, woven from coarser materials. Opposite the shelves, baskets overflowed with clothing—some wrinkled and in need of care, others draped haphazardly, as if recently discarded. The air carried the faintest hint of lavender, mixing with the subtle scent of linen and aged wood.

"Choose one." The nymph said behind you, propping the door open to prevent it from shutting completely.

You turned to look at her, confusion knitting your brows.

"I'm sorry?" Your eyes followed her as she moved effortlessly into the room, almost gliding. You studied her movements, trying to decipher her meaning.

She chuckled softly, bringing a hand to her mouth. Embarrassment prickled at your skin. You weren't sure what she was expecting you to do, but it felt like something obvious—like you had somehow missed an unspoken rule. Heat bubbled in your chest and quickly crept up your neck to your face.

She gestured with both hands toward the shelves of fabric. "You can choose whichever one you'd like."

You glanced at the shelves, then back at her.

"...Why?"

She tilted her head slightly, as if the answer should have been apparent. "You can't tell me that wearing that is comfortable. It looks like it's been through Hades itself."

Oh. That made sense now. She wanted you to pick something to wear.

And what was it with everyone insulting your clothing today?

Noticing your silence, she arched an eyebrow. "You do know what clothes are... don't you?"

"Yes!" The word came out far too quickly, and you cleared your throat, trying to salvage your dignity. "Yes, I know what clothes are."

"Well then, pick one."

Turning your full attention to the fabric, you hesitated. The sheer variety was overwhelming. After years of wearing the same few options, how were you supposed to decide now?

Blue? No, it reminded you too much of the sea, the wound still raw and aching.

Red? No, that damned eye still plagued your dreams.

So, instead, you reached for the one closest to you without thinking. It was a soft, barely-there shade of pink, the color so delicate it seemed to fade into the light. Your fingers brushed over the fabric, and it was softer than you expected, light yet durable. It felt... right. Safe. Familiar, in a way you couldn't quite place.

Perhaps that was enough.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes?"

"You don't sound sure."

"I was until you asked me."

She just chuckled, clearly amused, and walked over to one of the baskets filled with clothes waiting to be washed. She lifted it effortlessly into her arms, moving with the kind of practiced ease that suggested she had done this a thousand times before.

"Come." She said simply before turning on her heel and heading toward the door, fully expecting you to follow without question.

You stood frozen for a second, processing the sudden shift, before realizing she was already halfway down the hall. Letting out a breath, you quickly trotted after her, catching up in just a few strides. Even though some part of you still urged you to stay behind her, to keep a safe distance, you ignored it completely and matched her pace, walking beside her instead.

"I'm sorry, um..." You trailed off, suddenly aware that you didn't know her name.

"Aora." She answered without even glancing at you.

"Aora..." You repeated, testing the name on your tongue. You hesitated before continuing, "Could I know where you're taking me?"

"Well, you need a bath, and since I have things to wash, I figured I might as well take care of that too."

She led you through the palace, down a hallway that seemed to stretch longer than it should have, until finally, you reached the back of the structure. Enormous open doors led to the outside, where the sight before you made you stop in your tracks.

The place was breathtaking.

A natural spring stretched out before you, its water so clear it looked almost unreal. The surface shimmered under the sunlight, reflecting the towering trees that surrounded it like a protective barrier. Their branches intertwined above, forming a loose canopy that filtered the light into dappled golden patches across the grass and water. Wildflowers of every color bloomed in clusters along the water's edge, their petals dancing in the soft breeze. The air smelled fresh—earthy, yet faintly floral, with a trace of salt carried from the distant sea. It was secluded, untouched, and for the first time since you arrived, you felt the smallest sense of peace.

There was no one else here. No hidden figures lurking in the shadows, no watching eyes. Just you, Aora, and the gentle sound of rippling water.

Aora made her way toward a large rock to the right, setting her basket down. When she didn't hear your footsteps on the grass behind her, she turned to look at you, one brow raised.

"Well? What are you waiting for? I won't look, I promise."

You swallowed, mustering the courage to step closer to the water. Anxiety bubbled in your chest, a lingering hesitation you couldn't quite shake. Slowly, you set the article of clothing down on a nearby rock near where you planned to bathe. Your gaze flickered to Aora once more, checking to see if she was watching. She wasn't—completely lost in her own world, preparing everything for her own task.

Still, you hesitated, scanning the treeline, searching for anyone you might have missed. But there was no one.

Taking a deep breath, you stripped, pausing briefly to test the lake's bottom with your foot. The smooth stones beneath the surface felt firm, undisturbed. Assured that nothing lurked unseen, you placed your discarded clothes beside your new ones and stepped in, submerging yourself in one swift motion.

The water enveloped you instantly, a warmth that caught you off guard. It wasn't scalding, nor unnaturally hot—just pleasantly, soothingly warm, the perfect contrast to the tension coiled in your muscles. As you sank deeper, letting the water reach your shoulders, the tightness in your body gradually melted away. A breath you hadn't realized you were holding slipped from your lips. For the first time since you arrived, your mind felt quiet.

You floated there for a moment, staring up at the canopy of trees above, processing everything.

How had a group of people survived here, on an island in the middle of nowhere? How long had they lived like this? Why were they here?

And what was the deal with Circe?

The questions nagged at you, but one stood out above the rest.

Turning your head slightly, you called out. "Aora?"

"Hm?" she responded without looking up, focused on scrubbing one of the garments from her basket.

"This place... what exactly is it?" You hesitated before clarifying. "How is there a whole group of you out here? Why?"

Aora didn't answer right away. Instead, she wrung out the fabric in her hands, watching as the water dripped back into the lake. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, assured.

"It's a safe haven." she said simply. "Lady Circe gave us a home when we had nowhere else to go. She helped us through things no one else would. We trust her. I'm sure you will too."

There was no doubt in her tone. No hesitation.

A safe haven.

You weren't sure how to feel about that.

Some part of you wanted to believe her, to let your guard down just a little. But another part, the part that had kept you alive for this long, still whispered warnings in the back of your mind.

A slight unease settled in your stomach. Once you were finished, you'd have to talk to her—thank her, clear up the misunderstanding, and then regroup with the rest.

You said nothing, only sinking a little deeper into the water, letting the warmth soothe the questions that still lingered.

For now, that answer would have to be enough.

──────🐷──────

Odysseus felt a storm brewing inside him, emotions clashing and tangling in a way he couldn't fully comprehend. They swelled, pressing against his ribs, ready to explode and send him crumbling.

He was pissed. Furious that Eurylochus had the audacity to defy the only direct order that truly mattered to him. It had been simple—do not let his sister out of his sight. Do not let her get hurt. And yet, here they were. Eurylochus had failed something so basic, so vital, and now you were missing. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. The more he thought about it, the more memories surfaced—how you had been even as a child, always slipping away, always pushing boundaries. Maybe he should've known better. Maybe, deep down, he had.

He was exhausted. It wasn't just the kind of exhaustion that weighed on his limbs, slowing his every step—it was bone-deep, soul-deep, a weariness that blurred his thoughts and made his muscles feel like lead. His body ached from endless battles, from sleepless nights, from carrying the weight of too many losses. But more than anything, he was tired of fighting battles he wasn't sure he could win.

How did he even think he would defeat this woman?

All he had was his sword and his wit. And what use was a sword against someone who could turn men into pigs? Who knew what else she could do? As for his wit—well, it had failed him more than once lately. Once, his words had been his greatest weapon, a tool sharper than any blade, capable of bending even the most stubborn minds to his will. But ever since that happened, his silver tongue seemed to do nothing but twist the knife further. Every attempt at reasoning with an enemy had only led to more disaster.

All he wanted was to reach Ithaca. To hold his son in his arms, press his forehead to his wife's, and finally—finally—collapse into their bed, safe and whole. But fate seemed determined to pull him further and further from home.

He was frustrated—frustrated with you.

You had been stubborn and reckless since the moment he first laid eyes on you. As a child, it had been adorable, the way you would cause mischief and grin your way out of trouble. But you weren't a child anymore. You were a soldier, one of his men, and it was time you started acting like it. You needed to learn to take orders, to respect him as more than just your brother. He wouldn't always be there to save you. How many times had he told you that? How many times had you ignored him? It was infuriating. When he found you, he was going to make damn sure you understood—whether you liked it or not.

If he found you.

And that was the worst part of all. Because underneath the anger, the frustration, the exhaustion—he was scared.

Gods, he hated admitting it, even to himself, but fear was curling in his gut like a snake. He was terrified of what he would find when he reached this so-called palace. Were his men hurt? Were they even alive? Were you alive?

His breath came unevenly at the thought.

What if something had happened to you? What if he was too late? What if—No. Enough.

You were alive. You had to be. He repeated it like a mantra, like a prayer, forcing himself to believe it. You were alive, and when he found you, you were going to get the scolding of a lifetime.

He had made a decision. He needed to be sterner with you. If you wanted to be treated as an equal to his men, then that was exactly how he would treat you. If you refused to follow orders, you were out. He wasn't about to let you cause more casualties just because you couldn't control yourself.

...And yet, a whisper of doubt slithered into his mind.

That's what you wanted, wasn't it? To be treated as an equal?

Then so be it.

Odysseus exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His mind wandered back to Eurylochus' words—how that woman had taken down half his men in mere seconds. Through trickery, sure, but still. It was unsettling. She had magic, something he had no defense against. How was he supposed to defeat her?

He supposed he could try charm, but that was risky. Considering what she had done to his men, he wasn't about to tempt fate. He had no desire to end up as a pig himself. That thought alone had him gritting his teeth. His men were idiots. What kind of respectable man fell for a woman's flattery so easily? He coul dunderstand why she had seen them as pigs in the first place.

His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rustling above him.

Leaves shuddered, and something that sounded almost like a bird's cackle echoed through the trees.

Normally, he wouldn't have given it a second thought—just the wilderness being the wilderness. But something about this sound was off. It was unnatural, something he couldn't quite place, and his instincts screamed at him not to trust it.

He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes snapping to the towering trees above, scanning for movement. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

Silence.

Then—the sound again. This time, from behind him.

He turned sharply, but there was nothing.

A slow, creeping unease settled over him. He knew he wasn't imagining it. Something was there, moving, circling. Watching.

Then, it came again, this time from his right.

Odysseus moved faster now, his head snapping toward the sound, but still, he saw nothing.

A voice sliced through the air, smooth and amused.

"I must say, what a brilliant speech you gave back there. Truly admirable."

His body tensed, every muscle coiled like a drawn bowstring. The voice—it was coming from everywhere. Nowhere?. It filled the air around him, slipping through the trees, slithering into his ears as if the very wind carried it.

His grip on his sword tightened.

"Who goes there?" His voice was firm, demanding.

"Don't worry, I'm just a friend wanting to help."

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they had the opposite effect. Odysseus only tensed further, his grip on his sword tightening. If anything, that cryptic response put him more on edge. His brows knitted together as he remained silent, waiting for the voice to reveal more.

"You know, Circe's not a foe easily beaten. You'll need help. A blessing, if you will. Divine intervention. And who better to lend a hand than a certain god?"

At the mention of a higher being, Odysseus' body went rigid. A god.

That single word sent a shiver down his spine, and not in a good way. The last time he had encountered a god, it had gone horribly wrong. Poseidon had ensured his life became a waking nightmare, and the thought of another divine figure meddling in his fate was... unnerving, to say the least. His lips pressed into a tight line, his mind racing.

"Someone who's not afraid to... send a message."

The voice now came from directly beside his left ear. Too close.

Odysseus whipped his head around, eyes darting wildly, only to find nothing. His pulse quickened. The unseen presence toyed with him, shifting, flitting out of reach. Then—a tap.

Right shoulder.

He spun sharply, this time ready for a fight.

Instead, he came face to face with a man.

No, not just a man.

The figure hovered inches above the ground, clad in the garb of a traveler—flowing robes in warm hues of gold and burnt orange, a satchel slung across his chest, its contents impossibly heavy yet carried with effortless grace. His hat, tilted just enough to obscure his eyes, bore two small, feathered wings, identical to those adorning the sandals on his feet.

"Hermes." Odysseus exhaled sharply, realization dawning like a heavy weight upon him. His stomach twisted.

Even after all these years, after all he had seen—gods still unsettled him.

You'd think he would have grown accustomed to their sudden appearances, to the way they materialized out of nowhere, uninvited and all-knowing. But he hadn't. And deep down, he knew he never would.

Hermes took in Odysseus' stunned expression and threw his head back in laughter—a sharp, cackling sound, identical to the one that had followed him through the woods. A chill ran down the back of Odysseus' neck. So that had been him all along.

The god was entertained. Amused.

That, more than anything, put Odysseus on edge.

Still chuckling, Hermes draped an arm around Odysseus' shoulder, his grip far too casual for someone discussing life or death matters. "Now tell me, darling, " He began smoothly, "wouldn't you like a taste of power? To wield more than mere words? To beat her at her own game?"

Odysseus remained stiff beneath the god's touch, his mind spinning. He hated being played with, and this felt an awful lot like a game.

Hermes extended his free hand, as if striking a deal. "Trust me, you'll want my help."

Odysseus narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Hermes let out an exaggerated sigh, as if Odysseus was being impossibly slow. Then, in a voice laced with mischief, he began listing off horrors like they were items on a menu.

"Well, for starters, she can turn you into an animal. One that'll end up on her plate if she's feeling particularly hungry."

Odysseus stiffened.

"She can make you fall hopelessly, helplessly in love with her—have you worshipping the very ground she walks on, as if she were the love of your life."

Odysseus' blood ran cold. Was that what had happened to his men? Was it magic that had lured them inside the palace? Not just temptation—but enchantment?

"And worst of all," Hermes continued, his voice dipping into something almost dark. "she can conjure up a monster—a three-headed beast that will rip you apart before you even have a chance to scream."

A heavy silence settled between them.

Odysseus swallowed hard.

He had known this would be difficult. He had known Circe was no ordinary woman. But this? If Hermes was telling the truth, then he was truly outmatched.

Hermes, sensing the shift, leaned in, his voice honeyed. "So, I'll ask again—would you like my help?"

The god extended his hand once more, fingers outstretched. Waiting.

Odysseus stared at it.

Everything in him screamed not to trust Hermes. The god was a trickster, a deceiver. His very existence revolved around twisting words and warping truths. But at the same time...

What other choice did he have?

He could not afford to fail here. His men—you—were counting on him.

His pride warred with his logic. His instinct told him to refuse, to rely on his own cunning, as he always had. But this was not a battle of blades. It was magic against man.

And he was only a man.

Slowly, Odysseus exhaled. He weighed his options, searched for an alternative, found none.

He reached out and clasped Hermes' hand.

"Yes."

The moment the word left his lips, Hermes' grin stretched impossibly wide.

Not once had the god stopped smiling, but now? Now, his delight was palpable, almost unsettling. If Odysseus wasn't already rattled by what Circe was capable of, he might have found it downright unnerving.

But there was no turning back now.

──────🐷──────

Once your bath was over, you slipped into the newly acquired chiton. The fabric was softer than anything you had worn in years, its airy weave allowing it to drape effortlessly over your skin. It moved with you, flowing freely rather than constricting, a stark contrast to the garments you had worn before—thicker, sturdier fabric built for battle, meant to endure rough training, long marches, and the ever-present threat of war.

This one was different. Gentle. Elegant.

You ran your fingers over the golden embroidery woven delicately into the hem, small intricate details that shimmered under the light. It was the kind of craftsmanship you would expect to see of a queen. It almost felt undeserved.

A simple rope, tied neatly around your waist, was the final touch.

Your hair, still damp, clung lightly to the back of your neck. You let it fall naturally over your shoulders, the cool air refreshing against your skin.

It had been so long since you'd had a bath like this—peaceful, unhurried. No shouts of men echoing around you, no need to rush before the next battle, no stale smell of sea salt and sweat clinging to your skin. You hadn't realized just how much you'd missed this.

Aora, who had been quietly finishing her task, glanced over and gave you a nod, gesturing for you to follow. She gathered the rest of the garments she had been washing and led you back into the depths of the palace.

You tried to memorize the twists and turns of the halls as you walked, noting the carved archways, the way ivy seemed to grow unchecked in some corners of the corridors, as if the palace itself was alive. But the effort was futile—Circe's home felt like a labyrinth, shifting and endless, refusing to be understood.

By the time you arrived at the courtyard, Aora turned to you.

"Stay here." She instructed. "Circe will be with you shortly."

And just like that, she disappeared into the palace once more.

You did as you were told, not daring to wander.

Instead, your gaze drifted, exploring in silence.

A flowering vine curled up one of the marble pillars beside you, its twisting tendrils creeping toward your height. The deep green leaves shimmered under the golden light, and nestled among them was a single bloom—a soft purple hue, petals unfurling like silk. You reached out without thinking, fingertips grazing the air just before touching—

A sudden chorus of squeals shattered the quiet.

You jerked back instinctively as a flurry of movement burst through the doors you had entered from.

A herd of pigs came rushing in, stumbling over one another, their distressed cries filling the air. At first, you thought they had simply escaped from a pen, but something about their movements—frantic, panicked—made your stomach twist.

Nymphs guided them across the courtyard, ensuring none broke away from the group. But as they passed, one of the pigs—small, trembling—locked eyes with you.

It stopped abruptly, squealing louder than the rest, its gaze wide and desperate.

And for a fleeting moment, your breath caught in your throat.

Because something was wrong.

It wasn't just an animal's cry. There was something in its eyes. Something... almost human.

The thought sent a chill down your spine.

Before you could process it further, a figure slid into place beside you.

A hand reached out—not harshly, but with a practiced, effortless motion—and with a simple nudge of her foot, Circe redirected the pig.

The creature hesitated, glancing between you and the sorceress before reluctantly rejoining the rest of the group, ushered along by the nymphs.

You stood frozen, watching them disappear into another chamber, heart still hammering.

Why had that pig looked at you like that?

Before you could ask, Circe plucked the flower you had been admiring earlier—the soft purple bloom, vibrant against her fingers. Without a word, she reached up and tucked it behind your ear, brushing a strand of damp hair from your face in the process.

Her touch was featherlight. Almost... gentle.

"I trust the bath was to your liking?" She mused, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

You blinked, forcing yourself to refocus. "Yes," You managed. "thank you. And for the clothing as well."

Circe waved a hand dismissively, as if the gratitude was unnecessary.

"But," You continued, shifting your weight, "I should probably head back. My brother must be worried."

Circe's expression didn't change, but there was something in her gaze that sharpened. "Your brother?"

"Yes," You nodded, straightening. "I came to this island with him and his men. He sent half of us to scout it while the others remained back. You see, we got stranded after—"

"Half of you?"

Something in her tone made you pause.

"Yes," You confirmed, though her reaction unsettled you. "I can say on behalf of all the men you took in, as well as myself, that we'd be indebted to you. We appreciate your generosity. I wish I could stay longer, but my brother—"

"We are your family now."

The words were said smoothly, effortlessly. As if they were simply true.

You stiffened. "You need to understand—those men weren't a danger to me. I chose to travel with them. All those years ago, I made that decision."

Circe tilted her head slightly. "Sometimes we think we choose things," She said, voice calm, "but in reality, we have no other option. We do it to survive."

You frowned, the weight of her words sinking into your chest.

"I understand what you're saying," You admitted, "but it doesn't apply to me. Not in this case, anyway." Your voice grew steadier. "Those men are under my brother's command. And he—"

Your lips curled slightly, determined.

"My brother would never let me get hurt. Not that I would let myself get hurt. Especially by them."

Circe regarded you carefully. "How?"

You gave her a small, almost teasing smile. "A sword and strongly worded replies are a lady's best friend."

She chuckled, a quiet, amused sound. Then, after a pause, she glanced at you, as if considering something.

"Say, dear," Circe murmured. "while you're here, would you mind teaching us some of your skills?"

Your brow arched. "Who says I'm staying?"

"You said you were hungry before, yes?" She ignored your question.

The words were casual. But there was something else underneath them, something that made your breath hitch for just a moment.

Circe smiled.

You swallowed.

Oh.

You were playing a game you hadn't even realized had begun.

──────🐷──────

Hermes rummaged through his satchel with a vigor that bordered on theatrical, his entire arm disappearing into its depths. The bag seemed bottomless, endless, filled with trinkets, scrolls, and gods only knew what else. Odysseus' patience wore thinner with each passing second.

His mind was already racing ahead, anticipating what he might find at Circe's palace.He knew he had to act fast, but here he was—waiting for a god to dig through his belongings like some absentminded merchant at the bottom of a chest.

Just as he opened his mouth to snap something impatient, Hermes let out an excited gasp.

"Here we are!" The god's voice rang with triumph.

He yanked out a delicate white flower, its thin stem arching between his fingers. The petals glowed softly, reminiscent of moonlight caught on still water. Odysseus stared, watching as Hermes turned it this way and that way, inspecting it like a jeweler assessing a fine gem.

Despite being buried under a ridiculous amount of other things, the flower remained pristine, untouched—as if the satchel itself had known to protect it.

"Behold!" Hermes declared, extending it toward Odysseus with an exaggerated flourish.

Odysseus took it, rolling it between his calloused fingers. It was... just a flower.

His brow furrowed. How was this supposed to help him?

"How is this going to—?"

"Oh, darling." Hermes chuckled, clearly amused by his confusion. "You ask, yet you hold the answer." He pointed to the root of the plant, tapping it lightly. "Here lies the power you'll need to take her on."

Odysseus frowned, bringing the plant closer to his face, inspecting the thick, knotted roots. What kind of magic did this thing hold? Was it poisonous? Was he supposed to rub it on his skin? Burn it?

Seeing his clear lack of understanding, Hermes sighed and elaborated. "Once you consume and digest it, you'll be able to manifest a being of your own creation."

Odysseus snapped his gaze back to the god, baffled. "You're bluffing."

Hermes smirked and tapped his forehead— a little too hard, causing Odysseus to flinch.

"You lack imagination, darling."

Odysseus' mind reeled. A being of his own creation? That was impossible.

Before he could voice his doubts, Hermes cut him off. "It's only for a moment, though. Until you've beaten her."

Odysseus didn't know whether to be relieved or more unnerved. This felt... too convenient. The gods never offered help for free. There was always a price.

His grip on the flower tightened. "And what do I give you in return?"

At that, Hermes cackled, his laughter echoing through the trees. "Oh, please. Just using it is enough. Believe me, darling."

That was hardly comforting.

Odysseus stared at the plant, weighing his options. This could easily be a trick—a cruel one. But at this point, what other choice did he have?

Hermes clapped his hands together, startling him from his thoughts.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Eat it."

Odysseus hesitated. "...Now?"

Hermes gave him a look. "Well, yes. You need to fully digest it, darling."

There was no point in dragging this out. Odysseus inhaled sharply, then took a bite.

Instant regret.

The moment his teeth sank into the root, a harsh bitterness flooded his mouth. It was earthy, like chewing on damp soil and tree bark, but somehow worse. The texture was fibrous, stringy, almost rubbery, forcing him to work his jaw painfully just to break it down.

His stomach immediately recoiled, his gag reflex kicking in as his throat threatened to reject the vile thing altogether. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to swallow.

His eyes watered.

Hermes grinned.

"You might want to sit down for this."

Odysseus barely processed the words, but his body was already feeling... strange. His limbs felt lighter and heavier all at once, like he was floating but also being pulled downward by an unseen force.

Hermes, ever the entertainer, leaned in conspiratorially.

"Oh! And you won't guess what it's called."

Odysseus, struggling to chew a second bite, shot him a glare.

With visible effort to keep from laughing, Hermes blurted—

"Holy Moly!"

Odysseus froze mid-chew.

"...Ah?"

The absurdity of the moment was almost enough to snap him out of what was happening—almost.

Because then, the effects started to hit.

The world around him began to tilt, as if the earth itself had suddenly decided to move beneath him. Colors sharpened, sounds stretched, the rustling of leaves and the crackling of Hermes' laughter stretching unnaturally long before snapping back into place.

His body felt both detached and hyper-aware, like his nerves were vibrating under his skin. The cool evening air against his face turned to warmth, then cold again, then warm.

Hermes, now looking far too entertained, crouched beside him, resting his chin on one hand.

"Oh, this is going to be fun."

Odysseus barely registered him. His vision blurred at the edges, his mind both racing and slowing at the same time.

It was going to be a long few hours.

BONUS: A little high Ody for the road :)

. Taglist: @permanently-nothere @lemonberryberry @supernatural-bangtanboys @doodle-with-rhy @yonkersworld @pookiezme @keikeiluvyou @hornehlittleweeblet2

[jd-loves-fiction]

congrats on the milestone!!! your event looks so cute!! can i request leona first meeting?

💐catman menace ❤️ 

Second-born prince, whom you come upon, sleeping by a river and decide to recruit him to help you loot the royal palace. He agrees, solely out of spite for his brother… and hopefully to delay his arranged marriage. Which becomes even more of a problem the more time he spends with you…

❧ Wc: 1.3k

❧ A predator's gaze

❧ Water is scarce in Sunset Savanna, everywhere but close to the Royal Palace, built to take advantage of the biggest river in the kingdom to keep its noble denizens cool. But even such a palace, impressive as it is in size, can be large enough to monopolize all the water.

Water collecting is a daily activity in some parts of the kingdom, for you it's only weekly. This week, collecting day fell close to the day of your mission and so you decided you pass by one of the streams that breaks off from the main river relatively close to the palace to watch your prey.

When you set off towards somewhere cool and with a good view of the palace, you didn’t expect to get company. It’s a fairly out-of-the-way place you scouted some time before, higher than average athletic abilities are necessary to reach it. Though from what you can see, this company of yours did not struggle to reach the place.

It’s mostly quiet, save for the sound of the running water and the buzzing of bugs, so even your carefully measured steps are heard by the man resting in the sun, ears twitching in your direction as you approach.

The man opens one of his eyes, green like fresh grass, something very rare around these parts, to focus on you as you bend down to gather water.

He lays on his back atop a rock in the middle of the river, glowing, skin like the mighty cliffs of Pride Rock, dark and earthy. Hair long, brown and braided, somewhat ruffled but still soft-looking. You can tell he’s watching you just as you watch him, a hint of predatory instinct in his gaze. 

"Need something?" He asks you, somewhat hostile from the scowl on his lips. Though, that just seems to be his default expression.

“Just… getting water.” You make yourself seem innocent and unthreatening, motioning to your bucket with your eyes cast low. There’s… something familiar about him.

“Is all that staring necessary? It’s getting on my nerves.”

“If that’s all it takes…” His eyes turn venomous upon your features, so you purposely trail off.

Suddenly, as if you’ve caught his eye somehow, his gaze turns calculating, tail moving thoughtfully slowly instead of the agitated quickness of before. He’s observing you closely and you can't help but feel sweat building at your hairline, from more than the heat in the air.

“What’re you really up to? This place is quite out of the way…” he sits up, facing you with the grace of a predator.

Keeping silent ceases to be an option in your mind when he doesn't seem to lose interest as you thought he would.

Damn it, no scouting for you now, not while he's around.

“Oh, the views here are just–” Boring. Dry, empty and dirty. He sees through it easily, raising a dark brow at your unconvincing answer. Your expression sours as you put down your bucket.

“Why do you care so much anyway? You know what they say about curiosity and cats, don't you?”

His sneer is so cat-like you have to hold your tongue instead of berating him for being offended when it’s just an obvious connection.

He suddenly looks around himself, ears twitching every which way, before your breath catches as his gaze settles on the view of the castle. The only thing worth looking at around here.

Lips curve deviously, expression as smug as can be all of a sudden, “I think I understand now…” he almost seems to purr in delight.

The water between you is shallow, hardly a deterrent if he truly wants to approach you. Your breath seems to quicken suddenly; what if he’s figured you out? Takes you in for treason?

No no no, your plan hasn't even been put into motion and yet you feel it coming down around you beneath this stranger’s knowing gaze.

Your lips part to speak before you can stop them, desperation and frustration bending you to the point of breaking, “Listen, ok? I’m sick and tired of that rotten family getting to live lavishly just because they were born while we have to toil about and crawl our way through each day, some of us barely surviving. How is that fair?!”

His ears twitch up in attentive listening, but you barely notice, so caught up in your passionate rant that you forget entirely that you’re not supposed to be saying this to anyone at all.

“It’s not fair! Argh! I wish someone would just do something about it, instead of just accepting it.” 

It’s as if a spark from the fire burning inside you lights up the long slumbering embers in his heart. ‘Why doesn't anyone do anything about it?’ He thinks to himself, ‘When did I stop fighting it?’

“And that person would be you?” He asks lowly, suddenly a mere three steps in front of you, calculating, fanning the flames on purpose. You can be useful to him – you and your fire.

“Yes– I mean–” Realizing your mistake too late, you flinch back at his proximity, warm-faced and lightly sweating. Shit.

“What could you possibly do? The castle’s no playground – it’s the most heavily guarded place around.” His amused tone sounds condescending to your ears, further fueling your frustration.

You’ve been planning this for months! What does he know?

“Why do you care? Who are you, anyway?” Your finger digs into his (surprisingly sturdy) exposed chest – he doesn't even flinch. You might as well be a stray fly buzzing around him with the reaction you get, or rather don't get out of him.

“I care because I’d hate to know some idiot got themselves captured doing something so stupid– I mean, brave.” With the way he says it, you’re sure he meant for you to hear that. “And you may call me whatever you like. Take your pick, I truly could not care less.”

You look him over skeptically, a myriad of questions swirling around in your skull, like a terrible potion in the making. Who is he really? What’s he doing here? Why does he care so much?

Why did you just admit all that to him?

Shame and suspicion melt around in your core, along with a sprinkle of dread. What if he’s a spy? Is your plan about to fall apart before it’s even started?

The mysterious man sighs deeply, as if employing a great effort, “Look, I’m not about to rat you out. That’d do me no good. And I care because if you plan on doing what I think you are – I could be of some use to you.”

His words make it seem as if he’s unsure of his value, but the way he says them communicates the exact opposite. You have never in your life seen someone make an offer quite so smugly as him.

Skepticism colors the gaze that sweeps over him, ”...how?”

“I know the palace better than anyone you could find.”

“Why’s that?”

“My mother’s part of the royal guard.” The lie passes smoothly through his smirking lips.

“So, what? You wanna stick it to her, or something?”

“Something like that.” You’re unsure if his words sound unconvincing because he’s lying or because he just sounds like that naturally.

A million reasons to refuse his aid enter your mind, but then again, having a guide would be immensely helpful and if he wanted to arrest you for treason he easily could – those muscles are hard to miss.

Then again also, he could just be waiting to catch you in the act…

“Fine, you’re in.” If he so much as breathes suspiciously, you’ll leave him behind. Shouldn't be too difficult with the laziness he seems to practically embody. “And I’m calling you… Scar, since you apparently don't mind.”

The eye covered by said scar seems to twitch in annoyance but he holds his tongue – you could be a chance for him to get back at them in a way that both hurts them, helps his people and, hopefully, makes them call off that fucking wedding of his. He won't throw it all away because of a stupid nickname.

Though if your plan is anywhere near as creative as your name-calling, you might both be in trouble.

[danielgold-16]

The Forest

Daniel tightened his grip on the strap of his water bottle as he moved through the forest. The dense fog curled around him like a living thing, clinging to his skin and obscuring the uneven ground beneath his feet. His breath came out in steady, disciplined rhythms, a habit ingrained from years of athletic training. The dark trees seemed to press inward, their twisted branches clawing at the blackness of the sky where no moonlight dared shine.

The only color in the darkness was his jersey—a shimmering gold Milan AC shirt with the number "16" emblazoned on the back. It had been a gift from one of his brothers, one he wore often during his evening runs. Daniel didn’t scare easily; his confidence, both physical and mental, had always been his shield. But tonight, something felt… off.

His golden eyes, almost otherworldly in their luminosity, scanned the mist ahead. He pushed his light brown undercut hair back absently, trying to shake off the unease creeping along his spine. The stillness of the forest was unnatural; no chirping insects, no rustling leaves, only the muffled sound of his footsteps against the damp earth.

Suddenly, a faint sound broke the silence—a mechanical whir, distant but unmistakable. He paused, cocking his head, trying to locate the source. The sound grew louder, a low hum that seemed to reverberate through the fog. Daniel’s pulse quickened. His instincts told him to move, but curiosity rooted him in place.

From the haze, a figure emerged.

It was human-shaped, but wrong in every conceivable way. The body was clad entirely in glossy black rubber that reflected the faint ambient light like a mirror. A gasmask obscured the face, the large circular lenses giving the figure a sinister appearance. Tubes protruded from the mask, hissing faintly as if alive.

Daniel’s breath caught. His body tensed, the urge to run surging through his veins. But he hesitated for just a moment too long, and the drone tilted its head toward him as if sensing his presence.

Its movement was deliberate now, purposeful. It began to walk toward him.

Daniel bolted.

He sprinted through the fog, adrenaline surging through his body as he pushed himself to his limit. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground as he weaved between trees, leaping over roots and ducking under low-hanging branches. The hum grew louder, and soon he realized why.

More drones.

They emerged from the fog like phantoms, dozens of them, their glossy forms blending seamlessly with the darkness. Their gasmasks glinted in the faint light as they moved with eerie synchronization. The forest seemed to close in around him, the trees now a labyrinth of twisted shadows.

Daniel’s chest burned, his lungs screaming for air, but he didn’t slow. He was an athlete, conditioned for endurance, and he knew he could outrun them—if only he could find a clear path. But the drones were everywhere, closing in like a noose.

A root snagged his foot, and he went down hard. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment, stars danced in his vision. He scrambled to his feet, but it was too late. The drones were upon him.

Rubber-clad hands gripped his arms and legs, their strength inhuman. He thrashed and kicked; his golden eyes wide with panic as he fought against their unyielding hold. But it was no use. They moved with mechanical precision, their grips like iron.

"No!" he shouted, his voice echoing into the void. "Let me go!"

The drones didn’t respond. They simply carried him deeper into the forest, their movements synchronized as if controlled by a single mind. The hum grew louder, a chorus of mechanical whispers that seemed to seep into his very bones.

Daniel’s struggles weakened as they brought him to a clearing. In the center was an object he couldn’t quite comprehend—a monolithic structure, black and glossy like the drones, pulsating with a faint, otherworldly light. It seemed alive, a heart beating in the center of this strange, fog-shrouded forest.

One of the drones stepped forward, holding an object in its hands. Daniel’s eyes widened as he recognized it—a black rubber polo shirt, identical to the ones the drones wore. His heart pounded as he realized their intent.

“No,” he said, his voice trembling. “You’re not putting that on me!”

But they were relentless. The drones worked in eerie silence, stripping him of his golden jersey and forcing the rubber garment over his head. The material clung to his skin like a second layer, cold and unyielding. He struggled, but their strength was overwhelming.

Next came the gasmask.

Daniel thrashed as they brought it toward his face, but the drones held him still. The mask was slid over his head, the straps tightened until it was snug against his skin. His breathing became labored as the rubber sealed around him, the sound of his own breath echoing inside the mask.

When they released him, he staggered back, gasping for air through the filters. The world seemed distorted through the lenses of the mask, the fog thicker, the drones more menacing. He raised his hands to rip the mask off, but they didn’t obey. His body felt… wrong, as if it no longer belonged to him.

He tried to speak, but his voice came out as a muffled whisper. The drones stood around him, silent and still, watching. And then, as one, they turned and began to walk.

Daniel hesitated, his mind screaming at him to run, but his legs moved of their own accord. Step by step, he followed them, his body obeying a command he couldn’t hear. The fog swallowed them as they marched deeper into the forest, the hum growing louder with each step.

As they walked, Daniel felt his resistance fading, his thoughts growing dim. The rubber seemed to merge with his skin, the gasmask a part of him now. He didn’t feel fear anymore, or panic, or even curiosity. Only a strange, detached calm.

By the time they reached the edge of the forest, Daniel was no longer himself. He moved in perfect harmony with the drones, his golden eyes now dull behind the mask’s lenses. The number "016" on his back glinted faintly in the darkness, the last remnant of the man he had been.

Together, they disappeared into the night, their footsteps silent, their purpose unknown.

[sugudoe]

　⁽　༒　⁾　 ── 𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄 !

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⎯ the common occurrence of seeking refugee in the cold is to be stopped by the burning presence of him, ryōmen sukuna. sharing your secrets amongst the night and the heat, you both learn more of each-other.

𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬 ⎯ modern world!sukuna ╱ change of his plot ╱ characters are aged up ╱ mention of anxiety and blood ╱ reader is a killer ╱ actually fluff ╱ reader has no gender ╱ swearing ╱ suggestive at the end.

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⎯ this was supposed to be smut but i got too involved in sukuna’s plot, so the smut is delayed. sukuna is less of a menace and more of a pissed off twin/older brother. there is a curse!sukuna in my drafts that i’m yet to finish, so if you don’t like ooc you can wait a bit, but give this a chance, ‘cause he was actually nice to write and develop. @emilyywhyy ♡

𝐰𝐜 ⎯ 2.8k

Burning chest is a common symptom you have in the presence of Ryōmen Sukuna. One could admit his red eyes shifting intensely to whatever movements you make are the cause to the warm.

The man had always been hidden away in his own place whenever you stayed over. You didn’t blame him, you didn’t tried to make him stay. If anything, you understood. Having his home flooded with four newly adults, all talking loud and laughing like their lives are on the last minute could be difficult — you had always gone away after a few hours, squeezing through the apartment window to reach the terrace and get your energy back.

It’s a routine by now, to laugh and talk and to have you retiring towards the cold breeze of the evening. Dull eyes getting enchanted by the city’s light, soft sighs scaping your lungs, opening space for new energies.

Behind you the window displayed, like an old television, your friends sitting on the sofa, Yuji throwing popcorn at Megumi, accidentally hitting Nobara and soon, he is to approach her and remove the food from her orange hair. It’s makes you smile to see them happy.

Still, you can’t return just yet.

This feeling it’s like miscalculating the steps of a stair while walking down, when you expect to have one more and somehow, the floor greets you. You close your eyes, tense shoulders and gripping the edge, feeling eeire and…burning.

You sense him before his strong scent is brought to you by the wind — car leather seats, expensive whiskey and iron. There is, also, that smell you can never recognize, maybe it’s just something in him, his whole belonging.

Sukuna’s hum makes you look at him, and the male is already by your side, cigarette in his lips and eyes avoiding yours, he stares ahead. The lights in the night, yellow and white from apartments and neon colorful from stores mix perfectly to his face, to his spiked recently dyed red hair. He hums again before shifting his face to you.

“What are you doing here?” It always takes you by surprise how deep his voice can go, but it never scares you. In fact, for you, Sukuna sounds like music. “It’s cold.”

“It’s not cold anymore.” You bite your tongue after saying this, while his face turns into curiosity. “It’s getting warmer now.”

“It’s not.” Sukuna throws the cigarette down from the roof, not caring for any passerby. “It’s still cold, and you’re just freezing as well.”

“I’m not going inside, Sukuna.” You shake your head letting a sigh scape again. “I need more…recharging?” He stares at you as if he is about to tell you how pathetic you are, but goes against it.

“Makes sense.” He moves nearer the edge, resting his arms and closing his eyes, much like you were earlier.

“You don’t have to stay.” You catch yourself saying. It’s seems that in Sukuna’s presence you have no filter for the words leaving your mouth, your attention much more occupied admiring him.

“I’m not staying for you,” liar. “they also drain me.”

Like instinct, you look back at the window, catching the sight of your friends all eyeing the two of you with curious eyes and knowing smirks.

“How can we drain you, if you always stay in your room?” You follow his movements, resting your arms and being by his side. Too close that any more and you’ll find what’s the scent of Sukuna you can’t point out.

“Just the knowledge that I have four assholes in my living room gives me headache.” There is a hint of humor in his voice that makes you smile. “And your voices, laugh, everything it’s so loud. Even if you whisper, is like I can hear.”

“Then, I’m never talking shit of you again.” Sukuna snorts at that. “Or any secrets, for that matter.”

“Your secrets are safe with me.” You both are even more closer, you come to realize, when he moves his head away from the view and into your personal space, you can’t help but move a bit closer. He smiles and open his mouth.

“HEY LOSERS!” A shout comes from the living room, making you both jump apart and stare behind, where Yuji’s upper body is on the roof, already trembling with the cold. “GET INSIDE, WE WANT PIZZA.”

“How is that my — our problem??” Sukuna asks, voice much calmer than his brother, still he is clearly annoyed.

“It’s your money we are using, dipshit.” Yuji yelps when Nobara pushes him back, saying something along the lines of “you’re ruining their moment.”

Sukuna sighs, fingers on his nose bridge.

“C’mon, I can tell you my secrets later.” You grab his hot hands, intertwining with your cold ones, and both of you walk inside the warm apartment. Back to your giggling friends and his short words filled with a bit of stress.

Many hours later, you leave the warm of Nobara’s arm under the fluffy covers on the floor you both shared, standing up quietly and moving to the kitchen with quick steps. It’s a lie to say you are just going to grab a midnight snack and go back to Yuji’s room, instead, you stay on the couch hugging your knees and staring at the window.

Today, of all normal days, you had been more drained than before. Maybe is the past coming to greet you and bringing along their company, anxiety.

You remember the first time you met your friends and Sukuna, how he was nothing more than a boy cursed to be a second vessel to the same monster that shared him and his brother. Unlike Yuji, Ryōmen had less of a control, and his grumbling and short temper had come from his hate towards the past and what he did.

Sukuna has tainted hands with blood, and though most people don’t blame him anymore, some still do and they have tried to get their revenge, or simply take his life, fearing the evil might come back. The monster is long gone, but the aftermath remains touching all of you unwillingly, and Sukuna might act as if nothing happened, but you see the effects.

Sometimes, like the beginning of this week, you are send in special and secret missions regarding Sukuna’s safety, he doesn’t need to know that there is two groups of people trying to come for him — one that wants the curse back and those who want him dead. It’s something you, Geto and Gojo agreed on. It’s scary, it paints your own hands in blood, but it does feel good to look at him going inside his room and know that for one more day he is safe.

This week you almost lost both your life and his ─ they were too close. You managed though, but the fallout was this constant fear, the longing to be outside the apartment and being hugged by the cold of the night.

As soon as you got up and opened the window, you heard quick steps behind you, a large hand coming and closing it. You turned around, and Sukuna’s red eyes looked pissed.

“It’s even colder at dawn, are you dumb in the head?” He goes away, towards the kitchen, while you sighed already missing the view and breeze behind you. Knowing it’s not worth a fight, you moved to the couch.

“I just needed some air.” You mumble.

“Listen, I get it, but the only thing you would get it’s not air or solution to whatever you’re going through, instead hypothermia would bite you in the ass with those pajamas.” At his words, you stare down at your hello kitty pajamas, the soft material would had you freezing the second you stepped outside, even inside the living room you started to tremble a bit.

“You’re right, I wasn’t thinking.” You whisper back, staring ahead at the turn off television. You could look anywhere, minus him.

Sukuna, though, seemed to not want that. More minutes of pure silence and he came near, in his hands two mugs, he gave you one and sat by your side. The steam reaching your cold face was nothing compared to his body heat by your side, it was soothing and it made you want to crawl inside his arms and sleep.

It was no secret of you affection to him, but it was also not something anyone dare to talk about, him much less. Besides, the only time this devotion ever come to the surface, was with Nobara a few days ago, in this same place, on the couch, exactly 4am.

“Do you—“ Your words die when you drown them with the hot chocolate, the burn numbing your tongue for a few seconds of silence where his eyes are on you, solely. “—do you really listen to anything said here?”

“Sometimes.” Sukuna answers, sipping from his own drink. “It’s not on my control, it just happens. Like right now, I heard your breathing and moving to the window, and that’s how I came.” He closes his eyes for a second, before drinking again. “Very rude, by the way, I was about to sleep and you walked like a horse galloping.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper back, avoiding the constant need to look at him.

“You own me a secret.” He says out of nowhere, making you nearly choke on your beverage. You face him, confused. “You told me that you would give me a secret later, remember? I want one.”

“No.” You answer right away, moving to set your empty mug on the coffee table before incredulously laughing at him. “What’s in it for me? I don’t trust you.” It’s a lie, you do trust him, but your secrets as of recently had been paired with his name in red ink, he could never know.

“I tell you one of my secrets.” That’s something.

Sukuna has always been a secretive guy, although he had no control of the curse possessing him, the male still hide it better than his brother. What you could say about Sukuna was his favorite color (red), his disdain for your friend group and that he one day planed to go on a years long road trip that you have kept him away from. Until everyone that wanted him was six feet under, at least.

“What secret?” You ask, body turning on the couch to face him, your knees resting on his thigh and instantly burning up all the way to your cheeks.

“No, you tell me first, and I’ll tell you right after.” He shakes his head, a smile forming on his lips.

“How can I trust you?” Are you seriously debating it?

“You just have to.”

Your options are few, you are an open book, there is only two secrets you hide from Sukuna. The one that you became a killer because of him, and the one that you are in love with him. He could hate you, could be offended by both. The always so prideful Sukuna would burn this building with rage if he knew what you do, as if he was an unprotected person.

Should you take this opportunity to know him more, one you sense no one has ever come closer, or that he wouldn’t grant you ever again. It was in the cold living room with his warm burning eyes and presence you weighted your options.

“I might have a romantic affection for someone we know.” You half tell him one of your secrets.

“Who?” He asks right away, soft eyes replaced by sharp ones.

“Doesn’t matter, you tell me now.” You tap his thigh.

“Fine, if you’re breaking the rules, I’ll do it as well.” Sukuna clicks his tongue, a sarcastic smile plastering his face. “I know something about you, that you have been hiding.”

Fuck.

“Was it what I just told you?” Couldn’t be, he just asked who, but he could also be playing a game. Sukuna can get cruel like that.

“Can’t say,” the smile grows larger. “give me one more secret, a full one.”

“Promise me you won’t burn anyone in this building.” Your voice catches you by surprise, you couldn’t be seriously accepting to lay your bare self to him, could you?

“Is it that weird neighbor that gives you his morning papers puzzles?” Sukuna disgusted face makes you laugh, and he follows with a snort. “Or is it my brother? Sorry, love, you should know he is already invested in Megumi.”

“Is none of them, Kuna!” The nickname slips from your lips before you can bite it, if he notices he doesn’t show, but the point of his ears are growing red. So cute, sometimes he reminds you he is not an old grumpy cat, but just a boy, from your age, who has been through too much. Sure, if he wants, he can bring the whole city to the ground, but in this moment, finishing his hot chocolate in a spider-man mug and leaving it next to yours, he is just your Kuna. “It’s—you, I like you.”

Time doesn’t stop like you expect it to, but Sukuna does stop moving, like a statue. Almost comical if it wasn’t terrible how simply you confessed. Fuck, you confessed. Reality drawn in you when you feel his thigh under your knee burning more and more, so you remove it and sits normally, staring again at the black television.

“Fuck.” He says, and you close your eyes for a second, fearing the inevitable rejection. “I thought it was going to be the other secret.” From your peripheral vision, you see his messy hair shaking. “I’m not complaining, but I needed you to say it.”

“What are you talking about, Ryōmen?” You look at him, elbows on his knees and head on his hands, he turns back to look at you.

“Ryōmen? Dumbass, I’m Kuna to you.” You nearly laugh with the shocked feeling he gave you. “I— Fuck, listen, I know.” He moves closer, burning you with his body heat, yet you adore the hotness of it, so you move closer as well, you both facing each other. “I heard you with Nobara, yet when you admitted now, it still took me by surprise, not much people can do that, but you keep trying and succeeding.”

Sukuna grabs your hands and move to his lap.

“I reciprocate your feelings. Weirdly, I can handle your loud voice and laugh, and I don’t mind spending my money buying food if it’s at least what you want.” He caress the back of your hand, sometimes grabbing it more. “I know of your little ritual to recharge on the roof, and I know it takes just minutes, but you stayed more and I had to see you, make sure you’re okay.” Sukuna moves his hands to cup your face, the heat in his eyes marking your soul. “And I know that it’s all because of me.”

You gulp the uncertain and fear of what he meant, instead of words, your scrunch your eyebrows at him. Please, you silently beg, don’t mean what I think you do.

“Don’t look at me like that, stupid.” He shakes his head, eyes quickly moving to your lips before going up again. “I know what you’re doing, trying to keep me safe. I admire you for it, but you can’t keep doing this, you understand? It’s my fight, has always been, you’re breaking yourself and your soul for me, and I can’t have it.”

“But…” you stop his rant while moving your hands up to his neck. “…it’s yours. My soul it’s not breaking, if it’s keeping you safe, then it’s only growing stronger, Kuna.”

“You’re stubborn.” He shakes your head softly, as if it can make you change your mind. “No more fighting alone for me, okay? I’ll be there, all the way, every time.”

At your nod, Sukuna lunges at you, moving his hands to your neck and kissing you roughly. It seems he was as starved as you, both craving the other in ways never once reached or talked about. Wether it was true or not, had you been bending and corrupting your soul for Sukuna, you would keep doing it, if only it meant this was always going to be the result in the end — be kissed by his hot lips, keeping away the cold of the night that once soothed you. You realized, in that moment, fire has always been more of your choice than ice.

He was perfection in the way he kissed you, with bites and the wetness of his tongue, Sukuna used his strength to move you both to his room. He had you now, exactly where you both are meant to be. You had loved Sukuna for being safe is his room, and soon realized that you were one more addition to his sacred space.

No one, no men with evil intentions or hearts filled with hate could ever come near him, you made sure of that, and glued to his body, being devoted like a saint, you knew your fears would vanish with the winter, for that one scent he had, always a secret to you, came to your senses after more hours under him — Sukuna smelled of ashes and smoke, ready to burn whatever stood in yours and his way.

[theprongspotter]

State - Jegulus - @stag-microfic - Day 27 - 810 words

When Sirius moved to the United States and begged Regulus to visit him, Regulus did not expect to find himself standing in front of a sprawling ranch. The main house, a charming yet rustic structure with a wide porch and peeling white paint, stood proudly amidst acres of rolling fields. Horses roamed in the distance, their silhouettes framed by a backdrop of towering mountains. It doesn’t seem like a place to find a Black. The Blacks belong in opulent manors, with manicured lawns and marble floors—not here, where the air smells of hay and the earth crunches underfoot. But his phone has no signal, so he stares ahead for only a moment longer before hesitantly walking closer, the gravel path shifting under his polished shoes.

He doesn’t even make it to the barn, a weathered structure with faded red paint, when a horse comes flying up behind him, kicking up dust in its wake. Regulus startles, instinctively taking a step back as a cloud of dirt settles over him, clinging to his tailored slacks. He makes a face, wiping at the smudges with a huff, thoroughly unimpressed by the situation.

The palomino, golden and gleaming in the late afternoon light, comes to a graceful stop in front of him. Regulus lifts his gaze to the rider, and damn if he isn’t gorgeous. Dark skin, rich like polished mahogany, hazel eyes that gleam with mischief, and brown hair that sticks out in unruly curls from beneath a weathered cowboy hat. The man’s stupidly bright smile is almost blinding, more dazzling than the sun that casts a golden halo around his figure.

“How can I help you?” the man asks, his voice carrying a thick southern accent that makes Regulus' stomach do an unexpected flip.

Regulus straightens his posture, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “I’m looking for my brother. Is he here?”

The man’s brows shoot up in surprise, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I’m not sure, darlin’. You sound an awfully far way from home, though. Are you new to the States?”

Regulus nods stiffly. “Yes, but I won’t be staying long. Just long enough to visit my brother.”

“That’s a shame.” The man’s eyes take their time as they rake over Regulus’ body, and there’s no mistaking the appreciative gleam in his gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Regulus,” he replies, crossing his arms defensively, though there’s a spark of curiosity in his own eyes now.

“I’m James. This is Leah.” James grins wider, patting the horse’s neck affectionately. Leah’s ears twitch in response, the horse shifting its weight as if pleased with the introduction.

James dismounts Leah with an effortless grace that makes Regulus’ heart skip a beat. The fluid motion is smooth, practiced, as if James has been riding horses his entire life. He dusts off his jeans as he walks toward Regulus, the dusty trail settling around his boots. "So, Regulus, you’re Sirius’ brother, huh?" he says, extending a hand, roughened from hard work but surprisingly gentle in its offer.

Regulus eyes the offered hand for a moment before taking it, surprised by the warmth of James’ grip, the way it feels solid, grounding. "Unfortunately," he replies dryly, though there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, betraying the humor beneath his stoic facade.

James chuckles, clearly amused. "Well, I think you’re in for a surprise. Sirius has really settled into this place."

Regulus raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Settled? My brother? In the middle of nowhere? I find that hard to believe."

"You’d be surprised what a bit of open sky can do to a person," James says, his tone gentle, as if he’s trying to make Regulus see something beyond the dusty ranch and endless fields. There’s a sincerity in his words that Regulus isn’t used to, something almost disarming. "But don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure you find him."

Regulus feels a flutter of something he can’t quite place as James leads him toward the barn, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. The barn doors creak slightly as they approach, the smell of hay and leather wafting through the air. There's a strange sense of ease around this man, despite the dirt on his clothes and the roughness of his hands—things that Regulus would usually turn his nose up at. But here, with the sun setting over the horizon, casting long shadows across the ranch, and the sound of Leah's hooves echoing softly in the background, everything seems... different. Almost like he belongs, though he’s not ready to admit that.

He pushes the thought away as quickly as it comes. He’s here for Sirius, nothing more. But as James walks beside him, that bright smile still on his face, Regulus can’t help but wonder if this trip might end up being more than just a family visit.

[osleeplessflowero]

I figured it's time to bring back Classic Sans for a oneshot. Haven't posted about him since Stargazing! My very first Sans oneshot and Undertale oneshot as a whole. - Reader is Gender Neutral as always! Their SOUL type is up to you. - This is a good way to tie these oneshots to another series of mine :)

It's quiet..before a breeze fills your ears. Your senses are overloaded with sound. Soon you can feel the breeze too, gently hitting your skin as you slowly open your eyes and move your hands over the grass beneath you.

How long had you been asleep? What happened? Did you miss anything? Your head is spinning..

A familiar voice pulls you out of your thoughts softly, calmly. Just like he always does.

"heya. glad to see you're back." He greets you with a smile once you look over, just as he always does. You can't help but smile too. Sitting up, you scoot a bit closer to him and abruptly drop your head on his shoulder, to his surprise. "woah there, what's this all about?" He raises a browbone as he looks down at you, feeling your arm move behind his back so you can awkwardly hug him.

"How long was I asleep?" You ask, getting straight to the point. He looks back up, focusing on the rising sun before the two of you. "not much time has passed here since you fell asleep. or, i guess you could say we fell asleep, huh?" He chuckles. "guessing you've had lots of opportunities to explore. i couldn't imagine doing all that."

"..Yeah." You think about places you've been, your consciousness moving about through different timelines and possibilities. It is only right here, in this space, that you can truly remember things..and where you originally came from. You've certainly seen a lot of interesting figures recently. All of them being different variants of Sans, and even his brother, Papyrus. The same two, just..in various different fonts.

"it's kinda weird, when i think about it." You turn to look at him. "how there's so many other mes just..hangin' around in other timelines. that even the smallest decision can make an entirely new form, a new me. up to the point where..it's like i'm a whole other person. they're sorta..physical "what if"s. aaand prove that the timeline theory is real..so..that's complicated. i guess i can see why you like to go see them all. curiosity."

"..Yeah..it's..like a new adventure each time." You earn a nod from him, before you sit up and move so you're in front of him, placing your hands at the sides of his legs. "But..just so we're clear, that doesn't mean I want to see you any less, Sans. You're still you, the original you, that..that I fell for in the beginning." Heat rises to your cheeks, burning even warmer as you watch a shade of blue make its way onto the skeleton's cheekbones to match.

"i mean, i understand if you prefer some variations of me more. i'm not gonna take it personally-" You cut him off, placing your hand on his left cheekbone. He freezes like a deer in the headlights, his eyesockets relaxing a little as he leans into your touch almost instinctively.

"Just because I like to see other outcomes it doesn't mean I'll love you any less. I refuse to leave you behind. I won't leave Paps behind either. I promise."

"seems like a pretty big promise. sure you can keep it?" "I'm absolutely sure." You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his own. "No matter what..you'll always remain in my heart, Sans. The true you, I mean." "why settle for me when you can have so many other mes?" He raises a browbone, a soft smile on his face. "At the end of the day it was the two of you that my heart belonged to first. Nothing will change that." His face is now a prettier, brighter shade of blue..you can't help but smile, seeing him like this.

"You're not making puns." "it's not the time for that." He averts his eyelights, earning a chuckle from you. You lightly tap his cheek. "C'mon..look at me." "i dunno.." "Please?" "what if i fall for you all over again?" You smile. "I'd be alright with that."

He turns his eyelights to you, unable to look away the moment he does. You can hear his breath hitch, the lights shifting into little heart shapes the moment he blinks. "..Can I?..Or would that be too forward?-" You mutter, your face heating up again at the thought. "just get over here, you." He puts his arms around your waist, pulling you a little closer so you can make contact yourself.

You lean forwards, pressing your lips against his teeth..feeling yourself becoming lost in the moment. Your heart pounds in your ears, your faces both madly flushed as you embrace each other's company. Eventually you have to break the kiss for air, softly regaining your breath as he stares at you with admiring eyes. He reaches up his hands, placing them on the sides of your face now. The cool feeling both calms your nerves and makes you even more flushed. "you alright being stuck with me? with us, even?" "Always. Don't ever question that." You smile, earning a grin from him in return as you hear footsteps approaching in the distance.

"There You Two Are! I've Been Looking Everywhere For You!" Papyrus comes to a stop before you, pressing his hands on his hips with his all-too-familiar grin. A few seconds pass before he takes in your states, a smug look crossing his face. "Am I Interrupting Something?"

"nah, you got here just in time. right?" Sans lightly nudges you, earning rapid nods from you in return. If you let him hear your voice tremble or crack you would quite literally die inside.

"so, what's up? something going on?" He asks, putting an arm around you. "I Thought You Might Want To See Our New Neighbors! They Are Quite The Interesting Bunch. And..Oddly Familiar Looking.."

You and Sans give each other a knowing look. "You don't think?.." "awfully convenient timing, universe." "Might as well make a good first impression, huh?"

[odyswap]

Intermission: The Wine God’s Farewell

Standing before Dionysus, Penelope and Ctimene struggled to stand eye-to-eye with him, but through their teamwork, they managed to corner him. After their victory, he lounged comfortably upon a great throne of vines, a goblet in hand, watching them with amusement in his eyes. The god of revelry seemed more entertained than anything else.

"You two are something else," he mused, taking a lazy sip from his cup. "You faced down a god of the pantheon and didn’t crumble, that's commendable, sweethearts."

Ctimene remained rigid beside Penelope, hands clenched into fists. Her wariness was justified—Dionysus had stolen members of their crew away with nothing but an offer. A temptation of drink, a simple offer. And yet, despite all he had done, there was no malice in his tone now, only curiosity and enjoyment.

"We didn’t come here to amuse you," Penelope said, her voice steady. "We need to find a way to evade the pursuit of Hades. If you truly want to be entertained, you could start by helping us."

Dionysus let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, I like you. But you’re asking the wrong god. I've not been in this pantheon for too long. New face on Olympus, you see. Not quite seated at the old family table. Whatever quarrel you’ve got with Hades—well, I’m afraid, that if I'd even consider it, I wouldn't have the pull to make him back off."

Penelope’s expression hardened. Another dead end. Another delay.

"But," Dionysus continued, raising a finger before she could speak, "that doesn’t mean I don’t have an idea. Hades and I, we’re not exactly close. But I have enjoyed some mighty fine Ambrosia with a brother of his!"

"Poseidon," Ctimene guessed, finally breaking her silence.

Dionysus grinned. "See? Sharp one, this one. Yes, his dear, dear brother. If there’s anyone who might know how to get you out of Hades’ sights, it’d be someone who's seen everything that has happened with him. That is, if he doesn’t decide to drown you first."

"Great," Penelope muttered. "Another god we have to negotiate with."

Dionysus rose from his throne, stepping toward them with an easy, fluid grace.

"Oh, you’ll be fine. Poseidon’s fickle, but he’s not unreasonable. Unless you've done something like, disrespected him or his family, you'll be fine. Either way, I’ll give you some of the wine I have here. Consider it a parting gift."

He extended his goblet toward them, as if in offering. Neither woman moved to take it. Dionysus chuckled.

"Good instincts. Fine, fine, be on your way and take whatever food you'd like off of this island. But before you go—remember this: Poseidon will not back down like I have, but even gods can kneel, no matter what. Keep that in mind when you deal with him."

And with that, the air seemed to shift. The vines that coiled around the throne loosened, the halls that once echoed with laughter and music quieted. The revelry was over.

Penelope and Ctimene shared a glance. They had won. The men, previously entranced, now had come back to their senses and they'd done it together. Their bond even stronger than before.

With one last look at the wine god, they turned and left his island, stepping into the uncertain tides ahead.

(So, the saga that will now take place is the "(Unrevealed God's Name) Saga". This will conclude, and afterwards the alternate AU version of the Thunder Saga will happen.

This means that there is infact, no Underworld Saga, RIP. After that, AU Wisdom happen. More details when we get there!)

[oliwrites]

Secrets

my masterlist <3

relationship: loki x reader

genre: smut

summary: you’ve been staying on asgard for some time now, secretly lusting for loki all whilst dating his older brother, thor. one day, you find him alone in the library…

warnings: SMUT (18+, minors dni), little plot, mostly porn (sorry not sorry), slight mention of cheating, slight degrading, fingers doing… things… (f receiving), mention of the devils tango,

word count: idk :(

NOT PROOFREAD— SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKES

p.s. hi guys i’m back :)

In the dimly lit library of Asgard, the scent of ancient books and the faint glow of enchanted lanterns set a mysterious atmosphere. Loki stood by a tall shelf, his fingers brushing over the spines of old tomes. He was deep in thought, his emerald eyes reflecting the flickering light.

You entered quietly, not wanting to disturb the prince. But the soft creak of the wooden floorboards betrayed your presence. Loki turned, a sly smile curling on his lips as he saw you.

"Couldn't stay away, could you?" he teased, his voice a silky whisper.

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks but stood your ground. "I was just curious about what you're reading."

Loki stepped closer, the air between you charged with an electric tension. "Curiosity can be dangerous," he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours. "But I suppose I could share a secret or two."

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hand. The contact sent a shiver down your spine. Loki's touch was cool, yet it burned with an intensity that left you breathless. He leaned in, his lips close to your ear.

"There's much more to these stories than meets the eye," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "But I'm more interested in unraveling the mysteries you hold."

Your heart raced as he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. The distance between you closed, and you could feel the magnetic pull of his presence. Loki's hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw.

"Tell me," he said softly, his voice like velvet. "What secrets do you hide?"

Loki's question hung in the air, the silence between you thick with anticipation. Your breath hitched as you struggled to find words. His touch was intoxicating, and the intensity of his gaze made it hard to think clearly.

"Secrets?" you echoed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know what you mean."

Loki's smile deepened, a mix of amusement and something darker.

"Oh, but I think you do," he replied.

"Everyone has secrets, things they hide even from themselves. It's what makes them intriguing."

He moved even closer, his body almost brushing against yours.

The heat from his presence was overwhelming, and you felt your resolve slipping. Loki's hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck. his finger tangling gently in your hair.

"I can see it in your eyes," he murmured, his lips inches from yours. "The longing, the desire. You try to hide it, but it's there. Tell me, what is it you want?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you knew there was no use in denying it any longer. "You," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I want you, Loki."

His eyes darkened with satisfaction, and he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and fierce. The world around you seemed to vanish as his kiss deepened, his hand tightening in your hair.

Loki's other hand found your waist, pulling you closer against him. You could feel the hard planes of his body through the thin fabric of your clothes, and it ignited a fire within you. Your hands instinctively moved to his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his tunic.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged, and rested his forehead against yours. "You have no idea how long l've wanted this," he confessed, his voice rough with emotion.

"Then don't stop," you whispered, your voice filled with urgency. "I need you, Loki."

With a growl of desire, Loki captured your lips again, his kiss more demanding this time. He lifted you effortlessly, pressing you against the bookshelf as his hands roamed over your body. You clung to him, your fingers tangled in his dark hair, lost in the sensation of his touch.

The library, with its ancient secrets and forgotten stories, became the backdrop to your passion. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you, intertwined in a dance of desire and longing.

The weight of Loki's body against yours pressed you firmly against the bookshelf, and the ancient wood creaked under the strain. His kisses trailed from your lips down your neck, each touch igniting a spark that spread warmth through your entire being.

Loki's hands roamed possessively, memorizing the curves and lines of your body as if he wanted to etch them into his memory forever.

His touch was both gentle and demanding, as though he was savoring every moment but couldn't get enough.

"You drive me mad," Loki breathed against your skin, his voice thick with desire. "I've tried to resist, but it's impossible when you're near."

You gasped as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your collarbone. "Then don't resist," you urged, your own hands exploring the lean muscles of his back. "Give in, Loki."

His response was a low, guttural sound of approval as he captured your lips once more in a searing kiss. His fingers deftly worked at the fastenings of your clothing, each piece falling away to reveal more of you. The cool air of the library contrasted sharply with the heat of his touch, making you shiver with anticipation.

Loki paused for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

There was something almost reverent in his gaze, as if he couldn't believe you were real.

"You're exquisite," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “No wonder my brother is with you”

You shake off that last comment, your mind set on having Loki, even if it is just one time. You reached out, your fingers tracing the sharp angles of his jaw before moving down to the laces of his tunic. "Let me see you," you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

With a smirk, Loki complied, shedding his clothes until he stood before you, every inch of him radiating power and allure. You marveled at the sight, your breath catching in your throat. His body was a masterpiece, every line and curve perfect.

“Like what you see?” He grins as he teases you.

“Yes…” You reply, running your dainty hands up his broad chest.

Loki closed the distance between you, his hands framing your face as he kissed you deeply. The hunger in his kiss matched your own, and you felt the last remnants of your self-control slip away. You wanted him, needed him, and nothing else mattered, not even your clueless boyfriend.

He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you to a nearby table that was cluttered with scrolls and books.

With a sweep of his hand, he cleared the surface, sending papers fluttering to the floor. He laid you down gently, his body covering yours as he kissed you with a fervor that left you breathless.

Your hands roamed over his back, your nails digging into his skin as he trailed kisses down your neck and across your chest. Every touch sent waves of pleasure through you, and you arched into him, desperate for more.

Loki's hand slid down your body, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left you trembling.

Then his finger gently touches your clit, swiveling around the little bud, collecting all of your arousal at the same time. You could feel him grin against your neck when he slid a finger in, causing your back to arch, your chest pressing against his and an uncontrollable moan to fall from your lips.

“Fuck… so wet… so… tight…” he grunts to himself, “I wonder what you’d feel like around my cock…” he adds on, moving his finger at a slow— a painfully slow— pace all while curling his finger up in a “come hither” motion.

“Please…” you whine, wanting to feel more, wanting to feel him.

“So greedy… like a desperate whore…” He grunts as he adds a second finger, relishing in the feel of you clenching around him, “look at that… you’re practically sucking me in, darling…” he teases as he watches his fingers go in and out of your slick heat.

“Loki…” you whine, writhing around in his arms as your hips buck against his hand, causing the sound of slapping to ring throughout the archaic library in the most delicious way, “I’m… I’m close… please… please let me cum,” you plead him.

“Why would I stop?” He smirks wickedly as he pummels his fingers into your heat, all while curling his fingers— pressing into the right spot— causing you to fall apart around his fingers, soaking his hand.

Loki removes his hand, sucking his fingers clean— maintaining eye contact with you the entire time.

“Mmm… now I can see why Thor keeps you around…” he remarks.

“Wait— shit… Thor…” you go pale as you realize that you just cheated on your boyfriend… with his little brother, “Loki… I’m begging you…”

“No need to beg, pet. This is our dirty little secret…” He speaks in a low, rough voice.

“Thank you—”

“Only if you come by my chambers tonight… I fear I’m not done with you yet…”

——

@lokisgoodgirl @divine-knight-hand @asgards-princess-of-mischief

[orbital-inclination]

I requested more of the scenario Molt meeting og nightmare

I'm sorry for the wait anon! For a change of pace, you get a one-shot this time! word count: 3411 general content warning for canon typical violence and angst.

------------

Something grainy, like gravel and sand, crunched under the soles of his boots as he shuffled back a step. One looping tendril made contact with a roughly cut boulder behind him. The height of the stone reached his hip. Clumsily, he ran his phalanges along its surface. He stepped around it and stopped once he stood on the south side, uncertain of how to proceed from there.

It was rare that he found himself in a space so wide open without someone nearby. He’d like to think he was better at navigating now than he had been when he was younger. Yet, regardless of how much time passed, he could never seem to quite outgrow the sudden spike of anxiety he felt whenever he entered a space that seemed... empty.

 He didn’t know what he was walking towards or away from. He could be approaching a canyon for all he knew.

A steady, lonely wind howled above him. It caught the tail of his tunic and the fabric slapped against his side. Something rustled in the distance. 

The wind turned cold. 

Ley lines of magic, negative and positive, wrapped around this world in a vast net of ever-shifting ripe tides. Instinct had directed him to follow the nearest positive swell but now he felt it move again. Bending as though to make way. Just as suddenly as the air had turned cold, a well opened up, and negativity cascaded down the pit and condensed into a single point of black frost. 

A shiver ran down his spine. “Nightmare…?”

Something about Rem’s magic didn’t feel right—

“How unlike you to make the first move. Was it not enough for you to…” his brother’s voice trailed off. “You are not my brother.” 

No... no he was not. Rem’s magic felt cold, but not this cold. Though, the undercurrent of bitterness was painfully familiar. 

“… the sentiment is mutual,” Molt murmured. He steadied himself on the boulder behind him. Silently, he tried to gauge the other’s intent.

An air of suspicion and curiosity rolled underneath the cold. He had the sense he was also being appraised.

“And yet, you are Dream.”

He did not sound—did not feel happy about that.

“If it were not impossible, I would wager you were from a divergent timeline.”

“Our world had only one timeline,” Molt confirmed cautiously. His voice remained low. “… it’s tied to the multiverse itself. No resets. Just the one.”

“Ah, so you are informed,” his brother's voice mocked. “Your presence here suggests a paradox, then. For all my searching, I have never met another iteration of us who could breach the confines of their AU on their own. It seemed there was some law restricting the role of Guardian to Two.”

He nodded because that more or less described the situation back home. With a renewed sense of scrutiny, Nightmare said, “Can I assume then, that instead of your brother, you were the one who bit the apple?”

And Molt stalled. The question was so direct. It felt a bit like a verbal slap to the face. 

Nightmare hummed. “I see. That expression you’re making... It makes sense for my alternative self to have other motives if you are like this yourself.” He heard the grin in his tone, even if he could not see it. “Tell me, Dream. What do you say to adding to that collection of yours?” He— he couldn’t be serious. 

“In this multiverse, you have the opportunity to increase your power. If you collect the last apple from my brother, perhaps we can reach an agreement.”

His mouth felt suddenly dry. He had to consciously still his tentacles to keep them from lashing defensively.

“You… you want me to kill my counterpart.”

He struggled to wrap his mind around that. Less so the threat itself and more so that it was Nightmare who was asking him to do it. He felt sick.

His brother’s alternate rumbled a low laugh. “It would not be difficult for you. You dwarf him in raw power. I’m confident you could easily subdue him... Ah, but I see I cannot convince you. The thought distresses you. A pity.”

Gravel and sand crunched underfoot. The sound came quietly. “ … hmm just as I thought, you are blind.”

“...what are you doing?” 

Nightmare was amused by the question. Dread washed over him. Nightmare had been speaking to him civilly until that point, and while this mirror of his brother gave off an ambient feeling of danger, he had not taken the feeling as seriously as he should have. 

“I am considering what to do with you. Since it seems you are reluctant to cooperate. But you would be of a dull mind not to suspect that already. If you are anything like the thorn I have in my side now, I’m sure you will quickly surmise why I simply cannot let your existence go unchecked.” 

Molt slowly shuffled a step back. 

“… where do you think you will escape to? Are you even aware of what is behind you?”

Molt froze.

He sensed no one behind him but— the subtle rustle of fabric. A step was taken closer and it dawned on him that Nightmare had been trying to distract him.

Molt’s hearing was keen. It had to be. He learned to rely on it when sensing nearby emotions, and the flow of positive and negative wasn’t enough. But his haptic memory was better, and with one tentacle brushing against the boulder behind him, he knew which side he stood on and which direction he originally came from. 

He darted around the boulder, squarely placing it between himself and Nightmare. His brother’s alternate self stood still, contemplative and mildly surprised. 

“Hm. You cannot see, and yet you are able to pinpoint my position. Interesting.” 

Molt didn’t feel like providing a reply.

Nightmare didn’t move for a width of time that felt like years. And then, he vanished. The cold sucked out of the air in a blip of distorted space-time.

Alarm seized him. Given no time to think, he picked direction and distance at random and took a shortcut through. As he felt his bones materialize in reality again, a dense frame of cold magic solidified where he had stood seconds prior.

Displeasure radiated off of Nightmare in waves. “Come now. Don’t run. It’s unbecoming. We can discuss the terms of your departure from this world with maturity.”

Molt shivered. “Don’t. I would return to my reality if I knew how.”

“Then allow me to assist you,” Nightmare said, and the malice in his words sent needles crawling up his spine. He vanished again in a wash of cold. Molt leaped back, grasping at the nearest tide of positivity to carry him away.

He found his feet again on the sand. The sudden incline made him stumble. The seconds it took to catch his balance nearly cost him. A frustrated growl and the sensation of ice to his right was the only warning he had before a sharp object whistled past his skull. He teleported again and Nightmare followed. 

“Enough! Cease this childishness.” The burning cold struck his side. Molt tumbled to the ground. He rolled, gasping in pain, and launched himself to the side. “Stop! I don’t want to fight you.” A loud crack sounded where he’d just been. Gravel pelted his arm. 

“Then what happens next is your own fault,” His brother’s voice snarled.

He took another shortcut. Aiming north of the dense vortex of cold desperately trying to put some distance between himself and his brother’s counterpart. He needed that distance to escape this AU. If he attempted the jump too close to Nightmare he might unintentionally drag him along, or Nightmare would be able to sense where he went and this fight would never end. The temperature plummeted. In a split second, a cold tendril snapped around his middle. And then he was flung. His body hit the ground once, twice, and his skull was knocked against something hard. 

A hiss shuddered through his ribcage. Molt clenched his teeth as the world spun, attempting to swallow back the sound. 

“You brought this on yourself, Dream.” 

Gravel and sand crunched at a steady pace. Malice approached slowly. 

He struggled to push himself upright. The ground beneath him swayed dangerously. His tendrils lashed, writhing in defense of their host. But the ground beneath him lurched, his arms buckled, and the ground swung up to meet the side of his skull again. 

His soul pulsed so fast and hard in his chest, he thought he was going to be sick. 

“Poetic, isn’t it? I wonder... did the same desperation drive you?”

Cold wrapped around him and slammed his back into a hard, stone wall. 

Claws dug into his jaw, roughly pinning his skull to the stone slab behind him. A strained hiss tore from his bared teeth. He found the strength to wrestle one arm free and dug his claws into the wrist pinning his head down. Nightmare’s strength didn’t waver, but an involuntary noise rattled through him, a jolt that was close enough to a flinch to be nothing else. 

Faintly, Molt felt the phantom echo of a hot brand race up Nightmare’s arm, starting from where his claws dug into his wrist.

“W-why are you doing this? I am not from your timeline, so why?”

“The distinction is irrelevant,” the grip on his jaw tightened. “This fate, it’s the least you deserve. For everything you put me through. For every day I was left to defend myself while you selfishly basked in undeserved praise.” 

Exhaustion crept into his limbs. He felt weaker and heavier by the second.

“Would you have always resented me?” Molt gasped out. “If things had been different... If our lives had been better—”

Nightmare barked out a bitter laugh. “Even as you are now, you are naive. No. I cannot imagine a world where I did not hate you. For us, no other outcome was possible.” Molt flinched. “... you doubt me? Do you actually believe my alternate self doesn’t resent you?” 

The knife in his heart gave a sharp lurch. It would make sense... wouldn’t it. For all he hadn’t done, who wouldn’t resent him? 

“N-Night...”

“You neglected your responsibilities, Dream. You were selfish. I’ve always wondered if you had known what I stood to lose that day. If you had known what they had planned to do—” “Nightmare!” Molt snapped. He was terrified, his soul shook, and he was painfully cold. “That was my home too!” Something snapped. He felt the abrupt, quaking shift in Nightmare’s demeanor. Rage colored all rational thought. Molt didn’t know what he intended to do and he didn’t have time to think about it. That rage solidified into a single, sharp tool. Malice soaked the thing so vividly, he could almost see it. A serrated bone dagger.

Molt jerked his head to the side, the claws on his jaw slipped, and something sharp and blisteringly cold scraped the side of his skull.

He might have blacked out for a few seconds. He couldn’t be sure. One moment, his vision was black. Then it was white. He’d yanked a tentacle free in the next. A resounding crack thundered through the stone lab behind him. Nightmare’s grip on his head slipped, caught off guard. Molt kicked his shin, and as Nightmare staggered, snarling, he flash-stepped out of immediate reach. 

A safe distance away he sank to the ground. 

Head swimming, he lifted a shaky hand to the side of his skull. He felt bone. The dry, clean surface of a malar bone. The muddy, blurred shape of his palm swam in and out of focus. 

Nightmare stood very still for a long moment. His emotions felt stunted and Molt could not identify the feeling that had rendered him so still. Moments ago, Nightmare had been content to hurt him in every possible way.

“Get up,” Nightmare said. And he couldn’t identify the emotion behind that command either. It felt like anger but brittle. “I said get up!”

A tremble racked through his body. He felt a forbidden spark of anger ignite in his throat and shakily rose to his feet.

As he slowly lifted his gaze, palm still pressed to the side of his skull, he saw black tar and went still. 

It was one thing to guess the shape of the magic that had tossed him around the field like a rag doll, but it was another thing entirely, to see it.

The ground felt like it was tilting. Nightmare was taking too long to respond. And though he hid it well, he was clearly in pain. Head swimming. Pounding. Red-hot needles. Nausea pricked through his brother’s bones.

Nightmare took one step closer. Molt flinched back, and a bitter smile crawled over his brother’s teeth—

“NOT SO FAST!”

A sharp ping. His vision was eclipsed in hazy blue. Before Molt could blink, he found himself yanked to the side, several feet away.

He was released, gently at that, and stumbled once as gravity resumed its normal weight. The world erupted in a cacophony of noise. With color and light sloshing together, it was difficult to make out shape and form, but the stirring magic immediately in front of him was familiar.

“Blue?” Molt whispered, but like Nightmare his magic felt just slightly off. The hope in his soul withered. He was surrounded by strangers.

“MWEH HEH HEH FEAR NOT STRANGE INTERDIMENSIONAL CITIZEN! WE ARE HERE TO SAVE THE DAY. NIGHTMARE! YOU WILL NOT GET AWAY WITH THIS!”

Whatever his brother’s mirror said in reply it was drowned out by noise.

“Wait.”

But his voice was too low. Too quiet. And his plea went ignored.

Too much happened at once after that. The Swap Sans launched himself into the fight. Light. Movement. A flash of white. Bones summoned then shattered by the furious sweep of a black arm. Nightmare’s strength was weakening. The balance had tipped. And battling three by himself? Nightmare couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

Most of the fight happened too fast for his barely stable eyelight to track.

So he did what he always did when the world around him became too chaotic to follow. He reached for the cold pitch of his brother’s magic. 

He followed the current of cold as it funneled into a singular point. Pushed back, and back again by a burning white star. Hope. Concentration. Concern for the other, yet the courage to see his actions through to the end. The familiarity of the magic here was disconcerting. But his head already ached something awful and he didn't think his nausea could get much worse. The phantom lashes he’d endured at Nightmare’s hand still burned. But... Nightmare. He felt his twin’s exhaustion, felt the unsteady slip to his heel, and his alternate was closing in now and—

The shortcut was rough. Poorly executed. And finding his balance on the balls of his feet was not fun. He raised his arm defensively, anticipating the attack seconds before, and found his hand closing around the pole of a golden staff. It smacked into his palm with a solid clank. It hurt only a little bit. His own magic absorbed the brunt of the blow to feed itself. To lessen some of his own pain. And staring into the wide eyes of his own face was... 

Dizzying. 

Everything was dizzying. 

That startled look melted into one of fear, and it didn’t make sense. His own rib cage hitched, sharing that fear second hand and then it dawned on him how this might look. Oh. He thought. …oh.

He released his counterpart's weapon and yanked his hand back. The other skeleton flash stepped out of reach, his soul pulsing with the rhythm of a terrified rabbit.

Within the pool of frigid cold at his back, he felt a spark of something that felt suspiciously like gratitude. Nightmare struggled to stand for a moment, winded, then laughed. The sound was not pleasant. “Recklessness must be a universal trait.”

“That’s enough,” Molt rasped. “Please. Just stop…”

“You should have taken my offer when you had the chance,” Nightmare sneered, words bitting. But more than anything, they felt defensive. The darkness pinched into a small, black star, and then he was gone.

“I SEE. WAS I MISTAKEN THEN? ARE YOU AND NIGHTMARE ALLIES?” Blue had taken a defensive stance beside his teammate. His weapon was drawn, but he didn’t move yet. His soul hummed with grim focus. The suspicion hurt. 

Molt struggled to speak for several precious seconds. Unsettled. He was reeling from the fight, from everything he had learned about this reality and the cruelty of his brother's words and actions and he was trying ever so hard not to let a tremble snake its way into his voice. It was very hard... to hear someone say those awful things in Rem’s voice.

He shook his head and said softly. “We aren’t.”

Blue’s brow furrowed. “THEN, WHY DID YOU DEFEND HIM? 

The words ‘because he is my brother?’ were on the edge of his teeth but the hostile edge to Blue’s magic and tone made him pause. It was less a question and more of an accusation. And that answer wouldn’t have been exactly true besides. 

The tendril on his back coiled defensively. 

He hadn’t stopped to think before he leapt in front of Nightmare. It hadn’t been a “should I or shouldn’t I” situation in his mind. In that moment he was unable to look past the pain and hurt his brother’s mirror was experiencing. In that moment, the distinction didn’t matter. He had to put a stop to it, that’s all. He couldn’t fight his brother. In any form he took. He just couldn’t do it. It reminded him of too much. And he couldn’t stand to watch that either. 

But how could he possibly explain that? 

A step behind his teammate, Dream was trying to calm down. Blue’s presence helped but he was struggling. Molt took a step back. He was causing someone pain and distress. He didn’t want that. Blue’s stance shifted. Bracing.

That felt like betrayal too. Molt swallowed something bitter behind his teeth and tried not to think of it that way. Ignored that small part of him that hissed and felt a little bit angry. It didn’t make sense. He knew the person in front of him wasn’t his friend.

“FRIEND, I WANT TO GIVE YOU THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT BUT... YOU ARE ACTING SUSPICIOUSLY.”

“I’ll leave,” Molt said. His head was pounding, and the last thing he wanted was to be dragged into another fight. “Wait...” Dream took a breath. “You’re hurt. Stay for a minute, let’s talk.” “DREAM IS RIGHT, POTENTIAL ENEMY OR NOT, IT WOULDN’T BE RIGHT TO LEAVE YOU THIS WAY. NOT TO FEAR HOWEVER, I AM ALWAYS PREPARED!” “It’s okay. I don’t need candy,” Molt said and felt vaguely like he was reading the lines of a script. If Rem or any of the others were here, they’d be calling his bluff. “Then, what do you need?”

“Somewhere calm, with hope. That’s all.”

The two exchanged a look. Surprise, suspicion, resignation, dread. “I SEE. SO YOU ARE LIKE DREAM THEN. BUT SURELY THAT'S NOT ENOUGH. I... I CANNOT SEEM TO CHECK YOU FOR SOME REASON, BUT YOU DO NOT LOOK WELL.”

Blue seemed to ask to Dream something silently. Concern. Suspicion. Acceptance. Dream sighed. “I know somewhere. It’ll be okay. We’ll be keeping an eye on him together, right? The place I’m thinking of is isolated so...”

“IT’S SETTLED THEN.” he finally dismissed his weapon, and Molt felt the tendrils on his back slowly lower. “SO THEN, NEW FRIEND, WHAT DO YOU SAY TO A TRUCE? WILL YOU COME WITH US?”

He gauged their intent for a moment. Rem had sometimes remarked that his empathy made him gullible. But Molt was tired, and sore, and aching. The others weren’t here. And he let them make decisions for him too much anyway. He hated to admit it but Nightmare was right. Dream wasn’t a physical threat to him. He was scared and trying so hard to be brave, and Molt was trying equally hard not to feel rattled.

“Okay,” he said.

Blue made a noise, something between acknowledgment and mild confusion. Dream offered a strained smile. He supposed they had a lot of questions.

[ticklishshenanigansau]

LaughterLand - Chapter 6: Not Ticklish

(story by Mod Secret, art by Mod Kitty)

Sans could feel Papyrus's body jolt in surprise as he hid behind him. The enormous cat continued to stare at them. His eyes were intense and seemed to stare directly into their souls.

"S-Sans…," Papyrus stammered. "Did that cat just...?"

"Speak?" Sans finished his brother's sentence. "Yeah, it just spoke."

This prompted a low chuckle from the red, grinning cat. "But of course I can talk," he said, slinking closer to the pair. His voice was deep and he carried a posh kind of accent. "Look at the two of you, you look as though you've never come across a talking cat before."

"I mean … one or two maybe...?" Sans replied, the image of a group of Temmies invading his mind. "But … even where we're from it's not that common."

"I see … well how very droll," the cat mused. "And where exactly are the two of you from?"

"The Underground Realm of Monster-Kind!" Papyrus replied enthusiastically. Sans immediately shot him a look, causing him to pull back. Clearly, Papyrus hadn't learned his lesson about trying to make friends in this place.

"Monster-Kind, you say?" The cat sat down in front of them, his intense green eyes looking them up and down. "Well you'll certainly find different kinds of monsters around these parts if you stick around long enough." The cat began licking its front paw nonchalantly.

"We don't plan to," Sans answered, sounding blunt. "I think Papyrus and I have had quite enough of this crazy place. So if you could just point us towards the CORRECT realm of monsters that would be great."

The cat scoffed as it switched its attention towards its other paw. "My dear fellow, I can assure you that I know not of any other realm but this one."

"Oh, well, that's just great." Sans rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Then what kind of monster are you supposed to be?"

"Me?" The cat stopped grooming himself momentarily to look back at the two of them, expression giving one of bemusement.

"Yeah, that's a big grin you got on your face, what are you, some kind of Cheshire Cat?" Sans noted. "I suppose you expect us to believe that we ended up in Wonderland?"

The Cat let out another low chuckle. "Oh, you could say that." He stood back up to stretch himself out. "It's certainly a KIND of Wonderland, if that makes sense."

"Oh wowie…," Papyrus quietly marveled. "Does this mean we can expect tea and croquet somewhere down the line?"

"I'm afraid not, dear skeleton." The Cheshire Cat moved to get a better look at Papyrus, it was difficult with Sans doing his best to stand directly between them.

"Whereas, that Wonderland relied on the power of wonder and curiosity to sustain itself…," he turned to look both skeletons in the eyes, his eternal grin seeming to widen even further, "the primary food source for this land is … laughter."

Something about the way the Cat had revealed that statement made both brothers shiver. Especially from the way he was intensely looking at the two of them.

"Every living creature here…," the Cat continued, "...gets its food source from drawing out the laughter of poor souls who find themselves trapped here."

Suddenly it all made sense. What the Ghost Children had meant by the two of them being their 'food', why the animals and even the plant-life was after them. All this time they were all feeding on their laughter by tickling it out of them, suddenly the Cheshire Cat was beginning to look even more intimidating than he was before.

"S-So…," Papyrus stuttered. "Everyone here … feeds on … laughter?"

"Why, yes," grinned the Cheshire Cat. "And you see, that is precisely what brings me here. I could hear the most delicious-sounding laughter I believe I have ever heard in my entire being."

The brothers instinctively took a step back as the Cheshire Cat started to move in closer, his stance becoming lower as he moved into a creeping position like he was getting ready to pounce.

"It has been so very long since I've had my last meal…." He arched his hips slightly, shoulders hiked up, and paws reaching forward. He was going to jump. "And I am just so … agonizingly … hungry."

Sans gripped onto Papyrus's hand, squeezing it tightly as a silent signal to be ready. The cat opened up its lips, Sans immediately grabbed onto his brother to turn tails and start running.

The cat began to whistle his eerie song again. Sans and Papyrus barely got out three steps before they felt themselves being grabbed from above by the all-too-familiar feather-vines.

"AAH!! NO! NOT AGAIN!!" Papyrus screamed once he felt their familiar tangle wrap around his arms pulling him back.

But this time the vines didn't move in to tickle, only to hold them in place. Nevertheless, the brothers pulled and struggled hard to break free, knowing full well that this could turn worse at any moment. The cat's whistling came to an end as it approached them once again. Once he had concluded his song, the vines slowed to a stop, but still kept the brothers restrained in place.

Sans stopped struggling to notice this. He realized that the vines hadn't just come out of nowhere, it was the Cheshire Cat's whistle that had called and commanded them.

"How.… How did you do that?" Sans couldn't help but stare in awe, in spite of his predicament. He had never heard of this kind of magic before, and his curiosity was peaked alongside his sense of dread.

"Ah yes, you're probably wondering just why all of the wildlife scampered away after hearing my little tune, aren't you?" The Cat moved to face the two of them as they dangled there, tied up by their torsos and wrists over their heads.

"Well let me tell you. It's not any kind of spell or magical incantation. But it's more or less an act of persuasion," the Cat explained, his grin starting to take a more malicious shape. "A formal mode of announcing my arrival. A means of letting them know to back away slowly … because this prey belongs to me."

It dawned on Sans just how powerful this Cat really was. The only reason the animals let them go at all was because they didn't want to get in his way. If he was powerful enough to command the plant-life to hold them down the way they were, Sans was beginning to realize just how careful they had to be. This creature was cunning, he wasn't going to let an outside force come to stop him once he had begun to feed on their laughter. So if there was any hope of getting out of this situation, Sans knew that he couldn't allow him to get started, he had to stall him somehow.

"Well … that's not very generous." Thinking on his toes, Sans thought up a plan. "I mean … don't you think you ought to save some for other starving creatures around here?"

The Cat blinked. Its grin never faltered, but his expression changed to one of slight confusion. "And just what do you mean by that?" he inquired. Even Papyrus had stopped struggling to hear where Sans was going with this.

"I mean, I can't even remember the last time me and Pap had a decent meal around here," Sans replied, trying to sound convincing. "That's why we're out here too! We came looking for the sound of that wild laughter, was hoping maybe you could help us out?"

Even Sans had to admit that this was going to be a stretch to pull off. But he figured if they could stall long enough to figure out how to get away, it would be worth playing along. The Cat eyed them, knowingly.

"Oh, really?" he mused. "And here I thought you had said you had come from the Underground Realm of Monsters."

Sans swallowed, but thankfully his quick thinking came up with a good answer. "What? Do you think your realm is the only one that chows down on a chuckle or two?" The Cat's intense eyes were still burning into him, Sans continued to try and roll with his lies. "The Underground's … laugh supply … was in pretty bad shape. So we went looking for food elsewhere … then somehow we ended up here!"

If Papyrus could face-palm right now, he would. Instead, he just stared blankly at his brother, jaw nearly on the floor. Still, Sans went on. "We had heard that hysterical laughter you were talking about and thought maybe those crazy monkeys might have something to do with it … but then you scared them away and … here we are."

The Cheshire Cat sat down, humoring Sans by hearing him out. But still, even he couldn't help but chuckle at this ridiculous idea. "Very, very interesting," the Cat sneered. "But I think we both know that you're lying through that … rather remarkable smile of yours."

"Wait, hang on a minute!" Sans tried to pull his arms loose with his hands open in surrender, but was again reminded of his predicament. "If you let us go, maybe we can help you find where it came from!"

He tensed up as the cat approached his feet with a big fluffy paw stretched wide open. "Oh, but I think I've already found it," the Cat raised its paw, splaying out Sans's toes. "Now it's time to enjoy a good meal."

"Wait! You're wasting your time anyways!" Sans spoke without thinking. "Paps and I aren't even ticklish!" Sans could feel Papyrus's body jolt in surprise right next to him. What is Asgore's name had he just gotten them into?

The cat looked up, his eyes widened with delight. "Not ticklish, you say?" his grin suddenly looked even more sinister to the brothers. "Well, that would certainly prove that you were beings such as myself, for monsters of LaughterLand cannot feed on their own laughter." He turned away from the trapped skeletons, gears starting to turn as he was thinking.

"Sans, what are you doing?!" Papyrus harshly whispered, once the Cat seemed to be out of earshot.

"I had to think of something!" Sans quietly shot back. "Now just keep it together. Maybe if we can convince him that we are who I say we are, he'll let us go and we can find a way out of here."

"Are you sure?" Papyrus asked nervously. "That didn't work the last time, what about your … y'know…." He tried leaning in as close as he could to try to whisper even quieter. "...your secret sweet spot?"

Papyrus had a point, it was hard enough holding it in when the animals were going for their usual spots. But Sans had not forgotten how one swipe against the grooves of his back had given them away. Somehow, Sans just had to keep the Cat away from that spot, find a way to draw him away from that area.

"Don't worry," Sans whispered. "I think I have an idea, just follow my lead."

"I … I don't know, Sans," Papyrus replied as he stared at the enormous cat. Everything about him made him the ideal tickling monster. From his overtly fluffy tail and paws, to his perfectly tufted ears and extra long whiskers. Even if he had managed to avoid the major tickle spots on Sans, Papyrus wasn't sure that he would be able to handle what the cat had to throw at him.

"Pap, listen to me," Sans tried to look his brother in the eye. "We had to deal with a whole group of animals back there, he's just one cat. We can do this."

The Cat finally turned back to them. "If you're not as ticklish as I perceive you both to be … well then how about a little wager?" He narrowed his eyes knowingly. "If you can prove to me that what you're saying is true, then I shall gladly release you. Then perhaps we can pursue the source of our nourishment together. However…."

He approached them again, his green eyes seeming to peer straight into the depths of their souls. "Should you both prove to be as ticklish as I KNOW the two of you to be … you will remain here as my main source of food … for all of time."

Sans and Papyrus gave each other worried glances. Although they tried to keep up the facade of not being nervous, they could both see it in each other just how terrified they were. They both knew that if either of them failed, there would be no escape. But if they refused to accept this challenge then there would still be no escape. As much as a lose-lose situation this was, both of them understood that at least if they accepted, there was a small glimmer of hope. Acknowledging this, they gave each other a small, hesitant nod of approval.

"It's a deal," Sans said coolly.

"Wonderful," replied the Cheshire Cat as he once again approached Sans's feet. "Shall we begin with you then?"

He used one paw to splay out Sans's toes and the other paw to gingerly glide down his left sole. Sans immediately sucked on his teeth trying to hold in his breath. His ribs already felt the familiar ache from trying to hold it in earlier, but he ignored it and tried to stay focused. 

With the animals, there was only an idea that they would let him and Papyrus go if they stayed quiet. With the cat, that promise was absolute. He just had to stay concentrated on that. But even he had to admit, staying concentrated on anything was proving to be difficult with the Cat's extra fluffy paws slowly dragging down his foot.

"I do so love starting from the bottom up," the Cat remarked as he started fluffing up towards the balls of Sans's feet. "Of course, when you're as close to the ground as I am, you can only go up from here."

Sans trembled slightly as he felt the ticklish contact on that part of his foot. It tickled, but he came to realize that harsher tickling seemed to be more effective on the balls of his feet rather than the light knismesis the Cat was presenting. He took small comfort in it being easier to hold in, despite his light trembling. However, it was quickly shattered once the cat had moved up to tickle his toes.

Light tickling was certainly more effective there. Sans gritted his teeth, eyes growing wide with panic and he froze in terror. He felt his fingers start to twitch and clench tightly as a means to distract himself. The Cat seemed to notice immediately as he let out a low chuckle.

"Ah, a bit sensitive around here are we?" He used both of his fluffy paws on Sans's poor toes. One tickling beneath and in between, while the other traced various shapes over the tops.

"N-Nope!" Sans stuttered quickly through gritted teeth. "J-Just.… Just don't … like being … t-touched there." It was so hard to speak, he could feel the laughter threatening to burst out of him with every syllable. "It…. I-It feels … c-creepy...!"

"Hmm … well I think it's a bit more than that." The Cat grinned as it dug a little further into his toes. Sans swallowed hard, he clenched his fists so tightly they started to hurt. He tried to overpower the ticklish sensations with the pain in his hands. It didn't do much to distract him, but it was enough to help him hold on until the cat stopped.

Sans breathed out slowly, careful not to make a big deal about catching his breath as the cat moved on to Papyrus. "Well, how about you?" The Cat walked behind Papyrus's legs and started brushing the back of his knees with his tail. "You wouldn't be sensitive around here would you?"

Papyrus quickly gasped, but composed himself enough to stop. This didn't go unnoticed as the Cat turned to face him. "What was that?" the Cat teased. "Are you ticklish here?"

"Oh-Oh, no! Not at all!" Papyrus stammered. "Y-You just startled me, that's all. Wasn't expecting … that."

"Hmm, we'll see." The Cat turned to brush the front of Papyrus's knees before moving towards the back again, noticing that Papyrus became more and more tense from the back.

With the Cat paying more attention to the back of Papyrus's knees, Papyrus was able to show more expression in his face when the feline turned away from him. He clenched his teeth as they were locked into a helpless grin, and he shut his eyes tightly. Just as he feared, the Cat's fluffy tail was horrendously ticklish, and Papyrus felt like he could detect every little wispy hair as it traveled back and forth across the pits of his knees. 

Papyrus opened his eyes enough to give Sans a helpless glance. Sans returned his brother's worried expression, remembering just how close Papyrus had come to breaking with the animals. Still, Sans tried to convey some amount of encouragement through his eyes, though it was unclear if it was received.

Papyrus let out a puff of air as the Cat returned to face him, momentarily halting the attack on his legs. He grinned up at Papyrus, head cocked slightly off to the side, as if trying to appear cute.

"Are you quite certain your legs aren't ticklish, dear fellow?" he mused. "You seemed to be quite tense back there."

"W-Well … you know…," Papyrus stammered. "I-I don't know of anyone who enjoys having the back of their legs brushed by a cat tail." Even Sans had to admit, that was a fair point. It was well-played.

"Indeed…," the Cat replied as he hoisted his front legs up to lean on the front of Papyrus's right leg. Lifting one paw up, a single claw protruded outwards as the Cat began eyeballing Papyrus's knee. "I'm truly sorry about this, then." A sharp shiver ran up Papyrus's leg as the Cat began tracing small circles around his knee with his claw.

Papyrus tensed up as hard as he could, trying not to make it look too obvious. But the horrible tingling of his knee was quickly becoming too much to simply ignore. He forced himself to stay so still that he could feel his eye and the lining of his jaw start to twitch. 

He tried Sans's method of clenching his fists together, but could still feel his breath come out in small bursts. He wanted so badly to kick his leg, or to at least pull on the vine restraining him, but he dared not move a metaphoric muscle.

"Are you quite certain that you're not ticklish 'round the knees?" the Cat teased. His suggestion, and mention of the dreaded 't' word nearly forcing a large huff of breath from Papyrus's throat. Papyrus didn't dare open his mouth to speak, so instead shook his head back and forth rapidly. Though he forced his mouth shut, his inside voice was begging and screaming for the Cat to move on.

At last after what seemed like forever, the Cat hopped back down on the ground releasing Papyrus's knee. "I have to say," the Cat said after checking the sharpness of his claw. "I'm impressed with your ability to hold back … truly I am." He moved back over to Sans. Sans's soul accelerated so quickly, he was afraid the Cat could hear it. "But … I'm afraid you're just prolonging the inevitable. I'll get you to crack … I always do."

"There's nothing to crack," Sans said adamantly, though Papyrus could still see the anxiety in his brother's expression.

The Cat began to whistle again. Sans and Papyrus jolted in fear as they felt the vines begin to shake. But the Cat wasn't commanding them to move, instead a separate vine descended from the trees. It carried a gigantic leaf amongst its feathers, almost as big as the Cheshire Cat. As he wrapped up his whistling, the Cat proceeded to step onto the leaf like a giant abnormal step ladder. The leaf raised itself very slightly with the Cat sitting on top of it.

Soon Sans found just where the Cat was going to target next … his hips. He curled his fingers in anticipation as the Cat reached out its paws and started mindlessly batting and tickling along his hip bones.

Sans shut his eyes tightly, fighting back the urge to throw his head back. He could feel his body starting to curl in on itself. He breathed out steadily, painfully forcing himself to stay still. It was so hard to ignore the soft bristling fur teasing along somewhere so sensitive. But at the very least, Sans was grateful that he was the one receiving the hip treatment rather than his brother. He was well aware of Papyrus's extra sensitive sweet spot where his hips met his spine, and he knew that if the Cat figured it out they would be goners.

Still, his ribs ached badly from the large swallows of air. It was painful, but no amount of discomfort could completely distract Sans from the agony of being tickled like this. 

"Why don't you breathe?" the Cat cooed. "Surely you must want to let it out by now … don't you?" Sans knew that he was just toying with him, he wasn't about to let it distract him. The Cat let up and stepped his front paws back onto the oversized leaf. Sans opened his eyes and let out a shallow and steady breath. But the feeling of dread once again picked up once Sans peered over at the Cat to see it holding up its claw.

"Your brother over there seemed to have quite a bit of fun with this." He grinned sinisterly. "Let's see how you enjoy it, hmm?"

He hopped back onto Sans's spine and began swirling his claw around Sans's hips. Making little circles and drawing back and forth across the bones.

The tingling sharpness was absolutely horrible, Sans could feel his ribs physically start to shake and he held his breath. He tried everything he could think of to distract from it. Grabbing onto the vine, curling and twisting his toes, looking around in every direction besides where the tickling was happening. Nothing would alleviate the horrible sensations on his hips. He couldn't even fully grasp how something too sharp could tickle him this much. Every twist and turn that the dreaded claw took served as a new kind of laughter for Sans to painfully hold back.

Until at last it was over, Sans's skull felt so heavy with stress that he couldn't stop it from dropping. He realized his face had grown hot and that meant he was probably blushing hard. Still he tried his best to shake it off.

"S-See...?" he breathed out. "I'm .. not … t-ticklish...." When Sans lifted his head he jolted in surprise, his soul nearly jumped into his throat. The Cheshire Cat was right there in his face, apparently he had moved the leaf to elevate himself closer to Sans without him noticing. His grin was still unwavering, Sans realized that he hadn't seen it drop, not once, and it was haunting.

"I do wish that you would give up this charade and give me what I want." 

The Cheshire Cat hopped off of the leaf back onto the ground. As he made his way back over to Papyrus, the vine with the leaf followed him like some kind of servant. Sans tensed, fearing for Papyrus and the possible discovery of his brother's sweet spot. The Cat hopped back onto the leaf as it lifted him off the ground once again. Sans held his breath as he stopped directly in front of Papyrus's midsection.

"Normally, I'm used to getting what I want out of a squishy belly," the Cat said after examining Papyrus. "But I suppose this bony spine will have to do, won't it?" Before waiting for Papyrus's response, the Cat turned and began brushing his tail against the front of his spine like a giant feather duster.

Sans breathed a quiet, yet anxious sigh of relief. He was grateful that the Cat had not intended on playing with his brother's hips in the same way he had done to him. But at the same time he knew that brushing along his spine was still dangerously close to that forbidden spot.

Papyrus's neck lurched forward, eyes bulging out of his head. Sans could see his hips starting to squirm as he fought the urge to twist them. His legs shook with tension and Sans could see him clamping down hard on his jaw trying to keep it all in. It may not have been his worst spot that the cat was going after, but it was still a bad spot nonetheless.

The cat began to switch up its brushing style. First by going back and forth, then by bristling up against one side then the other. By the time his tail was switching between quick flicks and slow agonizing strokes, Papyrus had tears in the corners of his sockets. He shut them tightly to keep them hidden away.

Despite his ever-growing anxiety, Sans marveled at how quiet Papyrus was forcing himself to be. Even with a spot as bad as his spine, his brother hadn't let out a single squeak or groan, no matter how badly he clearly wanted to. But even then he knew it was only a matter of time before the Cat would hit a spot that would break them, he had to really think hard about his next move.

"You might as well give in now." The Cat looked back at the brothers. "Nobody in LaughterLand can hold it all in … not forever." As Sans stared back at the Cat, he could sense just the tiniest fragment of tiredness in his expression. It was clear that the Cat was beginning to grow weary of this game he was playing with the two of them, and was getting frustrated for not being able to get what he wanted from them.

At last, he stopped brushing Papyrus's spine. Papyrus couldn't help it, he let out an exhausted breath of relief, the Cat turned to face him upon hearing this.

"Getting tired are we?" The Cat continued to grin wickedly. "Good. You'll be that much easier to break."

The Cat returned to Sans, and again the leaf followed and this time perched him up a little higher. Sans figured the next spot to go would be the ribcage. It was awful, but he knew that if he could just focus on trying to breathe through it, he would make it.

"Like I said," Sans replied lowly, "there's nothing to break. You're just wasting your time with us while the real source of food is getting away."

"Perhaps," the Cat purred. To Sans's surprise, the leaf had moved him to the back of the ribs rather than the front. Then it hit him, his soul started pulsating so fast he thought it would burst. It wasn't the ribs that the Cat was targeting next.

"I do wonder if the upper backbone would be more effective than the front of the spine,"

Sans gulped hard, it was time to put his impromptu plan into action. This unfortunately meant putting Papyrus back into the line of fire. Sans hated it, but he figured as long as it kept the Cat distracted from exploiting both of their sweet spots it would be worth it. He took in a breath, he had to choose his words carefully.

"Hey, Cheshire," Sans whispered as he felt his shirt being lifted up. "Just between you and me, I think my bro's been keeping a secret." The Cheshire Cat stopped and looked up at him with an intrigued stare.

"Go on…," the Cheshire Cat mused.

"I think his real sweet spot is the back of his skull." 

Sans wasn't actually sure if Papyrus was ticklish there or not. In fact, he wasn't sure if there even was a spot on him that wasn't ticklish. But it was his best guess on where Papyrus might be the least sensitive. At least that way his brother could sustain a break while drawing the Cat away from the grooves of his back.

"Really?" The Cat's curiosity was peaked. So he immediately jumped off of the leaf to return to Papyrus.

Papyrus was so busy catching his breath that he hadn't even noticed the interaction between the two of them, so he was rightfully confused upon seeing the Cat come back to him after not giving Sans another turn.

"Wh-What…. What are you doing?" Papyrus panted.

The Cat didn't answer but instead eagerly hopped back onto the leaf, which took him up to meet the back of his skull. The Cat turned his body to give Papyrus's head a quick brush. Papyrus jerked in surprise, but there was no laughter. Confused, the Cat brushed back and forth again and again. Sans looked on, hopeful that he had been right about his brother's so-called tickle spot.

Papyrus couldn't help but twitch with every stroke of the tail. It was ticklish, but not enough to make him want to burst out laughing like with his feet or spine. If anything, he was fighting back the urge to twist his head and neck around to relieve the irritation. 

But more than anything, Papyrus was still confused, and still exhausted from having to put up with the torture on his spine earlier. Why would the Cat skip over Sans completely? Why go to the very top, when he had been on a streak of working his way up their bodies?

Having had enough, the Cat stopped brushing and turned back to the younger skeleton. "Hmm … well that's interesting," he said as he laid his body down on the leaf. His green eyes looking Papyrus up and down suspiciously.

"What? What's going on?" Papyrus asked nervously.

"Your brother had mentioned something about your skull being the worst of your spots," the Cat replied, nonchalantly licking his paw.

"He did WHAT?!"

Papyrus looked over at Sans in anger. He had not seen the earlier interaction where the Cat had been so dangerously close to his brother's secret sweet spot. So to Papyrus it looked like Sans was trying to get out of his turn by pinning a different spot on him, that cheater! Sans stared wide-eyed at his brother's glare, honestly unaware if he was seriously upset or if this was still part of the act.

"Well, I can assure you that my skull is not ticklish!" Papyrus turned to the Cat, a mischievous smile forming on his face. "Unlike my brother's ribs that is!"

Sans jaw dropped. "Papyrus! What the heck, dude?!" Unlike Sans’s ploy, Papyrus absolutely KNEW that Sans's ribs were horrendously sensitive. He couldn't believe that Papyrus would betray him like that. Papyrus glared back at him.

"What? You sent him over here to me!" Papyrus accused. Sans groaned loudly, trying as quietly as he could to explain the plan. 

"Pap! Don't you get it?! I was trying to lure him away from my—AGGH!"

Sans let out a startled cry as he suddenly felt the cat's fluffy paws start digging into his ribs. As the brothers argued, the Cat had snuck up behind him with the leaf to get at his ribs.

"Ooh, that's the most reaction I've gotten out of either one of you boys," the Cat teased. He turned to wriggle his tail under Sans's shirt to brush the underside of the ribcage, making Sans squirm. "Got any more tips by chance?"

"Mnh...! Hnnh!! Y-Yeah...!" Sans struggled to speak as he felt his ribs being tickled from every side. At this point he couldn't help but jerk around, he lost the chance to gain his composure before being tickled again.

"Y.… Y-You missed out … on—Hrnk! P-Pahap's t-toes...!" Sans was upset with Papyrus, and with his judgment being clouded by anger and the ticklish sensations, he spat out a really bad spot on his brother.

He panted hard once the cat pulled out his tail and the rib-tickling had ceased. The Cat slinked its way back over to Papyrus and pawed at his toes in the same way he had done to Sans in the beginning.

Losing himself as well, Papyrus threw his head back, tugging at the vines that held up his arms.

"W-Well...!" he choked out through holding back laughter. "My-My brohother's u-underarms—AGH! Are-Are t-ten times as … t-ticklish!"

Before they knew it, both Sans and Papyrus were locked in a battle of confessions. As soon as the Cat started tickling one of them, they would confess a true tickle spot for the other.

"P-Papyrus … has a t-ticklish neheck!!"

"Sans h-hates it … behihind the … knees!!"

"Y-You thought m-my ribs were … bad yohou sh-should see his!!"

"Sans has t-ticklish … cheekbohones!!"

"P-Papyrus is t-ticklish thehere too!!"

Finally Papyrus had had enough, before the Cat even had a chance to come back his way, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"SANS'S WORST SPOT ARE THE GROOVES THAT RUN ALONG HIS BACKBONE!"

There was a moment of silence, Papyrus's voice seemed to echo through the forest. Sans's eye sockets widened to nearly the size of dinner plates. Papyrus looked at the unimaginable fear in his brother's face and realized just how bad of a mistake he had made. He gasped sharply.

"Oh … oh no! What have I done?" he muttered to himself.

The Cat gleefully returned to his leaf, and rose back up to Sans's upper backbone, chuckling lowly.

"So that's what started this little rift between the two of you," the Cat cooed as he lifted Sans's shirt once again. This time Sans couldn't help but whimper, this was it. His worst spot was going to give them away again! The worst part being that there was absolutely nothing he could do to protect it.

"I would say I'd make this quick, but well…." The Cat readied his tail, Sans shut his eyes and prepared for the worst. "...I'm just so hungry that I don't think I'll be able to control myself."

"WAIT!" Papyrus called out. The Cat froze, and Sans opened his eyes to look at his brother.

"There's a…." Papyrus gulped loudly. "An even worse spot than that."

"Oh?" the Cat let Sans's shirt slip back down as he turned to look at Papyrus. "And where might that be?"

"On me," Papyrus replied bravely.

"Pap...?" Sans began, fearing for what he was about to say next.

"My hips," Papyrus confessed, hanging his head. "The area where the spine meets the hips, that's my worst spot. So please, leave Sans alone."

"NO! PAPYRUS DON'T!" 

Sans's body tried to leap forward, as if he had forgotten all about being restrained.

The Cat let out a haughty laugh through his teeth as he leapt down to go after Papyrus. "I knew it," he sneered. "You familial types are all the same, you do whatever you can to help each other. But in reality … you've just doomed the both of you."

As the Cat leapt back onto the leaf, Papyrus looked at Sans with an expression that tried to convey comfort.

"It-It's okay, Sans," Papyrus stammered, trying to be brave. "It's fine … this is my fault so…." He winced as he felt the Cat's front paws land onto his hips, and start inching their way towards his spot.

"L-Let me be the one who gives us away … this time...!"

The Cat reached Papyrus's sweet spot, and the entire forest echoed with the sound of his screaming laughter.

***

As Gaster had turned his back to read off his lab worksheets, he looked back to see something peculiar. A special enemy Temmie was curled up between Sans and Papyrus' still-unconscious bodies. It was purring lightly as it was attempting to take a nap between the two of them.

"Hey! How did you get down here?!" Gaster bellowed, waking the little monster from its rest.

"Shoo! Shoo! Get out of here!" Gaster rolled up his worksheets and attempted to swat at it.

The Temmie leapt from the metal tables and scampered off towards the lab entrance with a shrill little, 

"Hooooooiiiiiiii!!"

Gaster sighed deeply. "Must have left the door open," he muttered. "Just fantastic, I'll never be able to get this Temmie fur out of anything."

If anything, Gaster was at least grateful that neither of his sons bore allergies to cat-like monsters.

[barksenji]

Déjà Vu. A Dusttale Dusttake.

A pawn.

Déjà Vu is a Dusttake take focused on Sans spiral into paranoia and psychosis as he starts losing himself to the resets. You can read the full thing on AO3.

Here's the link to the chapter:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63688507/chapters/165220540

I wanted to explore more of Papyrus' perspective. The characterization might be a little bit off, so forgive me for my crimes. Sans seems to be up to something, I sure wonder what it is.

---

Some might call Papyrus naive, immature or innocent. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if some thought he was stupid.

But beyond what others thought, Papyrus was clever enough to notice when something was wrong—especially when it came to his brother.

Sans no longer cracked puns. He barely slept. He didn't eat. He'd disappear for hours, and when he came back, he collapsed into his bed. The people of Snowdin whispered among themselves, murmuring that Sans was violent, that he was sick—that he wasn't the same.

Papyrus didn't like hearing them talk about his dear brother like that; only he was allowed to complain about Sans!

Of course, he had confronted him about it. But the conversations always ended the same way: with Sans assuring him that everything was fine, even though the exhaustion in his sockets betrayed his words.

Papyrus didn't want to meddle in his brother's business, but with each passing day, the question became more persistent: What was Sans doing in his workshop? What was he up to when he isolated himself all day?

The door was usually locked, so he could only wonder. But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the unease didn't go away. Especially after hearing Sans talking to... someone? It had been barely a whisper while he passed by to leave him some food.

Wasn't he alone there? Who was he talking to? Was someone hurting Sans? Obviously, that was something Papyrus couldn't allow.

That night, while tossing and turning in bed, curiosity took hold of him. He couldn't sleep without his bedtime story, and Sans wasn't there to read it for him.

Sure, he could read it on his own, but it wasn't the same as when Sans did it.

The faint sound of banging, scraping, and clinking filtered through the floor. Any other day, it would have been too weak to bother him. But this time, every noise felt like a prick in his skull. And the smell... a strong, penetrating scent of metal. That was the last straw.

Papyrus stumbled out of bed, and, as he feared, the house was empty. He probably shouldn't go out into the Snowdin cold in just his pajamas, but the urgency in his chest didn't even let him get dressed.

The cold cut through him to the bone as he made his way to the basement. He stopped when he saw a faint light shining through the slightly ajar door of the workshop. He guessed today was his lucky day; Sans usually locked himself in there.

For a moment, he thought about calling his brother. His mouth instinctively opened, the name "Sans" almost escaping his lips. But he stopped.

Was it so bad to spy a little?

He moved cautiously, holding his breath. He peeked through the crack in the door.

Papers scattered across the floor. Tools spread out. And in the center of it all, Sans, hunched over a machine, the flickering light of a screen reflecting in his sockets.

He wasn't moving. Papyrus couldn't see his expression, but... he looked disappointed? Surprised?

Then, Sans spoke.

"No way."

He crouched to the ground and picked up one of the many papers scattered around. His hands were shaking.

"I've figured it out." The words escaped Sans in a breathy sigh.

Papyrus looked again at the machine. From his position, he could barely make it out. It didn't seem special. And yet, the atmosphere in the workshop felt dense, suffocating.

His eyes drifted over the cluttered room, landing on the scattered pieces of machinery—twisted metal and wires tangled like forgotten scraps. His brow furrowed. How many things had Sans built here? And why had he kept it all hidden?

Surely, Papyrus—with his vast knowledge on puzzles—could have helped!

Papyrus took a step forward without realizing it. His hand brushed the door.

The creak echoed through the room.

Sans' eyes locked onto the entrance. Empty. Maniacal.

The world seemed to freeze.

Sans slowly straightened up. Damn, he should have locked the door. Had someone seen him? Was he being watched? With unsteady steps, he moved forward.

"Um... is someone there?"

No response.

"Heh, I feel like a cat at a dog parade."

Nothing.

Sans hesitated. Then, with a violent jerk, he opened the door.

But when he looked around, no one was outside.

Papyrus' breathing was erratic. His mind clouded. He didn't know he could run so fast, let alone in a robe and slippers.

His soul pounded in his chest. He wanted to know more. He needed to understand what was tormenting his brother. Maybe he could read his notes? Being his brother, he could surely understand something from them, right?

Papyrus shook his head: No! To intrude on his brother's privacy was totally unacceptable and irresponsible on his part. Besides, Sans only left his notes in his workshop...

A workshop that was closed most of the time.

There was no way he could steal the key! That went against the values of the great Papyrus!

Right?

━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─

The day went as expected. Sans barely passed by home, took a couple of bites of Papyrus' food, and then, with a notebook in hand, disappeared. What a way to discredit his amazing spaghetti!

...Surprisingly, Sans didn't spend all his time in his workshop.

Sometimes he went out to Snowdin or somewhere else to "take notes." Papyrus wasn't sure what that meant, but it was great because it meant Sans' workshop was left alone for a good while.

Papyrus waited. He counted the seconds. Made sure he was completely alone.

And then, everything was set in motion.

Wire. Glasses. A lot of patience. And a guilt expanding in his chest.

He said he wouldn't steal the key, but he never said anything about forcing the lock! Clearly, stealing is wrong, but if a door can be forced, maybe the owner should have bought a better one.

So, this was totally fine. It was for the well-being of his brother, after all, right? At times, it's necessary to invade someone's privacy! For, uh, the greater good.

Before summoning the courage to go to the workshop, he checked Sans' room. If he was going to snoop around, he had to fully commit to the role.

It was disgusting.

Dust had accumulated on the furniture. Mold grew in the corners. The smell of dampness made his stomach turn. It was clear he hadn't been there in a while.

Despite the smell, he gathered his determination and checked everything. Drawers. Under the bed. Under the mattress. Among the trash from the self-sustaining tornado.

Nothing.

No more options left. He had to go to the workshop.

Each step toward the basement felt heavier than the last. What if Sans found out? What if he arrived early? What if...

No.

He shook his head. Took a deep breath.

He was there. In front of the closed door. He couldn't be a royal guard if he was a coward; how could he help the monsters if he couldn't even help his brother?

He pulled the handle and wasn't surprised to see his suspicions confirmed: Sans had locked the door.

Papyrus looked left and right, hearing nothing but his own heartbeat. He swallowed and pulled out some wire.

Nervously, he bent it to turn it into a lock pick and a tension wrench.

"This is just for my brother."

He skillfully inserted the tools into the lock and pushed upward, pausing a second before counting the clicks.

With each click of the pins, Papyrus grew more anxious, his hands almost too shaky to continue. Finally, the bolt retracted from the frame with a satisfying clack.

The door swung open, and Papyrus could finally get a good look at Sans' workshop.

A massive machine stared back at him.

Its glow—a sickly, flickering blue light—spilled from the tangle of cables and metal in the center of the room. It seemed to be made of scraps, a skeletal structure barely holding up under the weight of exposed circuits and rusted panels.

Attached to it were a mess of loose screens, some cracked, all showing errors. Text scrolling, symbols twisting when he tried to read them. Maybe some kind of code? He didn’t feel smart enough to decipher it.

He tried to step forward and nearly slipped on one of the papers scattered across the floor. He frowned, curious, and picked it up.

«It isn't supposed to be seen. The numbers. The text...»

«But I can. When I focus, I see something underneath it all: lines of something, like a hidden layer beneath reality itself. At first, I thought it was a temporary hallucination. But then I interacted with it. There was a piece of my name written there. I reached for it and the characters twisted.»

«I erased my own name.»

«It came back, but for a fraction of a second, I didn't exist.»

«I have to test this more thoroughly.»

Papyrus frowned and took another of the pages from the floor. Overlaid formulas and... blueprints? Of different machines.

Alternative determination extractor. Code renderer. Save point anchor. He didn’t know much about this, but the blueprints were impressive, each drawn with a maddening attention to detail.

If Sans used this potential for puzzles, he’d surely catch a human in the blink of an eye!

The thought quickly faded as concern took hold of him.

Each page he picked up was more cryptic than the last. Meaningless diagrams. Overly complex graphs. Too much information, yet he felt like he wasn’t getting anywhere with it.

In a way, it hurt. He felt too stupid, too naive to help Sans.

A crumpled piece of paper caught his attention.

«Papyrus is still here. That’s good. That’s real. I think.»

«But what if he’s just another pawn? Another version? Could I lose him if I never had him in the first place?»

«What if I’m the one who’s different?»

«...No. It wouldn’t matter. He'd still smile at me as if nothing happened.»

«Maybe that’s worse.»

A pawn?

Papyrus' heart shattered. A mix of emotions flooded him: rage, helplessness, sadness. Of course, Sans wasn't going to say anything to him. He wasn't smart enough to understand it.

Reading Sans' notes was like trying to solve a Junior Jumble.

He sat there for a while, going over his brother's notes again and again, searching for something, anything that could help him.

However, even though he recognized the words and numbers written on the pages, he couldn't make any sense of them.

His eyes returned to the machine. The screens still displayed lines of nonsensical code. He stood up and walked slowly toward them, the text reflected on their surface hypnotizing him.

Maybe if he searched more, he could—

“…Bro?”

A chill ran down his spine.

Papyrus blinked, his focus scattering instantly. He turned slowly toward the entrance of the workshop.

Sans was at the door.

A knot formed in his throat. He had been so absorbed in the papers, so caught up in his worry, that he had forgotten Sans was coming back.

He opened his mouth, hesitant, searching for something to say, anything that would relieve the tension that had just settled in the room. But he fell silent.

“Papyrus.” His name hung in the air, heavy, immovable.

“I...” A drop of sweat slid down his forehead. “I'm sorry. I was just... worried. I didn't mean to... well, I did, but...” He interrupted himself, stumbling over his own words.

There was no excuse.

Sans looked down at the papers. Then at the machine. Then at Papyrus. His expression was unreadable. Dark sockets, a low voice, his body unnaturally stiff, in stark contrast to his usual relaxed demeanor.

“…How much have you read?” he whispered.

“Oh! Uh... not much! Or, well, I didn't understand much, nyeheh, but...” He forced a smile, trying to downplay it. “I'm sorry, Sans... really, I'm sorry.”

Silence.

“Shit, you were the one watching me yesterday.”

Papyrus felt his own pulse in his non-existent ears.

“Heh, of course it was you.”

His brother had never scared him. As long as he could remember, Sans had been lazy, kind, distant at times, but never threatening. Never like this.

But now... now there was something in his posture, in the way he looked at him. Something that told him he should leave. Sans, for the first time in years, was scaring him.

Papyrus swallowed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, buddy. You don't have to tell me twice, but he's not like that, he...”

“I— Who are you talking to?”

Sans didn't answer.

There was something in his gaze, in the way he seemed to be listening to something Papyrus couldn't hear. His brother looked like a shell of himself...

God, this had been a horrible idea.

“…Who are you really?”

Papyrus blinked.

“…What?”

“Because I think I know.”

“Sans...” His voice cracked. “I'm sorry. I— I just wanted to help! You weren't telling me anything and, as your brother, the great Papyrus... I... This was wrong. I'm sorry.”

Sans swallowed, and for a moment, a flicker of concern and sadness shone behind his usual mask—

then he let out a humorless laugh.

“Don't worry, Paps. Heh, if you found something embarrassing, pretend you didn't see it.” His voice was softer now, but empty. “Just, please, go.”

“Sans, we can talk about this. I don’t understand much, but—”

“Please, Papyrus.”

Papyrus swallowed his words and simply nodded. Sans had every right to be mad; he would be mad too if Sans went through his stuff without permission.

Not that he hid much from his brother, but still...

God, he wished Sans trusted him as much as he trusted Sans.

As soon as he left, the door slammed shut behind him.

The walk back to the house was miserable. Something was wrong with all the rambling and scribbles. He might not have understood much, but he noticed the urgency behind Sans’ writing.

Also, there was something familiar about it. Something uncomfortable amidst all the nonsense he had read. He didn’t understand, but it felt like he had seen this before.

Finally, he reached his room, immediately noticing how tired he was. He had been so worried about Sans that he hadn't slept. How careless!

He walked over to his bookshelf and grabbed his favorite book, shaking off the urge to cry. Tears didn’t belong on the face of someone as great as him!

He read to himself for hours. In any case, Sans wasn’t that great of a reader, and reading alone definitely sharpened his senses.

When he finally started nodding off, one question kept running through his mind: Had Sans always seen him as a pawn?

He’d show his brother that he was much more than that! Even more reasons to catch a human and join the royal guard!

Right?