Dick Grayson loves to fuck you until you cry. I'm not talking watery eyes or a tear or two. I'm talking fully sobbing, fully babbling, fully whimpering, fully and completely wrecked off his dick. Loves the salty tears, the snot and drool loves each broken moan, and especially loves fucking you through it. And then, when it's all done, he loves holding you and petting your hair and soothing a hand down your back while you cry and babble. It's nothing in particular, you're just a crybaby crying about how much you love him, how good it felt, and just crying because it's what you do during sex. It freaked him ALLLL the way out the first time, killed the mood and everything, he thought he'd hurt you. It had never happened to you before because you'd never orgasmed so hard during sex with other guys, so you were equally confused but only mildly concerned. A quick Google search said it was kinda common and it's just due to all the feel good hormones being released and the body not knowing what else to do but to cry about it. And alas, the Dick Grayson: Crybaby Whisperer was born. Now he gages how good the sex was by how hard you're sobbing and shaking in his arms. If the pillow isn't totally soaked through, he hasn't don't his job right lol.
OMG YES!!! 😭 this is so him, and you're so right for this. like, the first time it happened? he was SPIRALING ✋🏻fully sitting there, wide eyed, holding you like "did I—are you hurt? did I do something??" and you're just a sniffling puddle trying to go "no, it was s'good, I love you so much" between hiccups and he's like 🧍🏻♂️ buffering...
but now? now this man is cockily measuring success by how hard you're crying 😭 smug as hell afterwards while rubbing your back like "aww, baby. that good, huh?" kissing your temple like that's my girl while you're still recovering and leaking tears onto the pillow 😩
"Dick Grayson: Crybaby Whisperer" is the perfect job title for him. he takes it so seriously too 😭 has tissues, water, and a freshly laundered cuddle blanket ready like he's running a luxury crying spa after blowing your back out lmao 😭
Week 62 - TB to that Crossmare Royalty Au I made in 2020 lol
creator: me :))
word count: 2,573
Notes:
It had been years since Cross abandoned Dream's kingdom to serve under Nightmare.
Though, despite the years, Cross still remembers the day he won his rightful place beside Nightmare as his right-hand man.
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This fic lives in my head rent free purely for the fact that I have Killer call Cross a "Dreamer" because he's from Dream's kingdom and I thought I was so smart.
Anyway, this is a fic from 2020 when I accidentally turned a one-shot into my own Crossmare Royalty AU but didn't have enough written content to let it see the light of day. That is, until today. This was really fun, but difficult, to revamp and rewrite. I enjoyed looking back and seeing what I wrote and compare it to what I changed it to and why. I had to cut and change some things, I left out an entire section of "A day and a life of Cross in Dream's Kingdom" and Nightmare convincing Cross to stay because it was such BS and of its time, but everything is basically the same. Just with a more updated flare!!
Enjoy, I was really proud of this one, and I still am!! Like a collaboration with past and present me :))
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“Cross.”
“Your Majesty?”
Nightmare sat more relaxed as the visitors left his throne room, leaning against his hand. “Do you remember the first day I recruited you?”
Cross thought for a moment, before the slightest bit of a smile shone through his stoic expression. “Yes, I do.”
Nightmare hid his own smile, a subconscious response to seeing the other’s mask break. “You were quite stubborn.”
“In my defense, if I may.”
“You may.”
“You did kidnap me.”
Nightmare scoffed. “I saved you from the mundane, boring routine you were trapped in.”
“I was content.” Cross reminiscent. “Of course, however, like you had said, it was a place for a perfect life, not a perfect place to live.”
“You remember?” Nightmare turned slightly to Cross, mused at his knight’s memory from years ago.
“Of course.” Cross answered simply.
“What else do you remember?” Nightmare tilted their head ever so slightly, a genuine curiosity in their voice.
“I remember becoming your personal guard and, excuse my informalities, beating Killer’s ass.”
Nightmare snorted, Cross burying his face in his scarf as he stifled his own laughter.
“Tell me about it.” Nightmare spoke after clearing his throat. “The memory seems to be escaping me at the moment. Remind me what you recall.”
“Well…”
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It had been a couple months since Cross finally agreed to leave Dream’s kingdom behind and serve under Nightmare. It wasn’t easy, but at least most of the guards and some of the castle servants were nice.
They weren’t nice like people were in Dream’s kingdom, they played rough and made fun of each other, but after the first couple weeks with them, he could tell it came from a place of mutual respect and no offense was meant.
He met some new faces like Error, Horror, and Fell who were guards like him. And Lust, Mafia, and Reaper who were some of the first staff and servants he met. They were welcoming… in their own ways.
But then,
There was Killer.
Killer was the best of the best. Nightmare's right hand man. Highest guard. The chosen knight.
They were smart and fast and funny. A perfect fit for Nightmare. That's why Cross was confused when a tournament was held to see who could replace Killer. It was even opened up to the villagers if any wanted to step up.
No one did.
And no guard did.
All but Cross.
Cross didn't know what to expect. He's never seen Killer in action, so he didn't have any advantages or fear of what was to come. He just stepped up when no one else did.
"Oh! A challenger?” Killer sung, clearly not expecting anyone to challenge them. No one has for years, considering the state of the last person who tried. “And it's the Dreamer from our opposing kingdom, what a treat!”
“Well then,” Killer pointed a knife in Cross’s direction. “Step right up.”
“Magic is allowed, weapons are allowed, you know the rules. Oh wait,” Killer acted innocent, toying with the knife, before the facade dropped, and they smirked at Cross. “You don't.”
Uneasy, nervous, anxious. Those were an understatement, as the crowd laughed and roared at Cross, a new face for many of the people in the audience. With the added mentioning of the fact he was a “Dreamer,” he was certain that made it easier for the crowd to dissociate their pity for him and trade it for fuel to ridicule and mock him from the stands.
Cross had an inkling they all thought because he was a Dreamer, he would have no fighting chance. Literally and metaphorically.
Though, that wasn’t true seeing as Dream, too, had a royal guard and offered their training to those in the kingdom if they so wished. But not just that, Cross and his father had some… interesting father-son bonding time.
Despite it all though, he wasn’t sure if it would be enough to defeat the best of the best.
He closed his eyes and tried to think back to those days, so long ago. When he was just a kid, loyalty tied to no kingdom but his father’s expectations. What lessons he learned, what techniques were burned into him, what magic he could access. He was under his father’s watch for so long, something must’ve stuck.
“Ready!"
He heard out of his thoughts.
"Set!"
He opened his eyes, sharing a gaze with Killer.
"FIGHT!"
Immediately, Killer charged towards him, knife in hand. Cross quickly dodged and kicked up into Killer’s gut, sending the other tumbling backward. But everyone could tell it wasn’t all Cross had to offer as Killer was easily able to land on their feet again.
"Surprising for a Dreamer." Killer smirked, straightening up as Cross summoned knives of his own.
Killer charged again, rapidly closing the distance between them. But, just as quickly, when Killer was close enough, Cross jumped, letting them run underneath him. And when the other was perfectly under Cross, he fell and sunk his knife into Killer.
At the impact, Killer cried out, clearly not expecting to be hit. The crowd fell silent as Cross pulled his knife out and jumped off of Killer.
Killer growled as he stood up and looked at Cross. Looking at the bloody skeleton, there was a moment where Cross’s face fell, guilt washing over him. That stab must've hurt.
Noticing the other in his own thoughts, Killer ran at him, a look of understanding that Cross could be a threat to them in this moment.
Cross remained frozen, staring off into nothing, debating if he wanted to keep fighting. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like fighting. He didn’t like-
"Mistake number one."
A knife to his chest, Cross blinked.
Everything seemed to slow as Killer’s knife lingered just in front of his chest. Cross couldn’t breathe, seeing a sharpened weapon so close to his core, hearing a voice he couldn’t repress, no matter how hard he tried.
The knife in Killer’s hand turned into a hand with a spike in the middle, stopping right at his soul. He looked up, feeling younger.
"Don't let your emotions get to your head in battle." He looked up and saw his father's scowling face.
Suddenly, everything went back to normal, and Cross ducked, holding his arm out, as Killer thrusted forward and tripped over his arm.
The whole crowd cheered as Killer rolled over Cross and landed swiftly on the ground. Cross held his hand out and felt deep within his soul, using his magic to summon a bunch of knives.
The crowd let out “Ooo" and "Woah" at the amount of weapons Cross had summoned, but Cross hesitated to send the knives at Killer.
He tried his best to keep his emotions at bay, but Killer had gotten up off their hands and knees and stared him down. Cross’s hands shook as Killer’s empty sockets bore into his soul, they had skidded far away and he hadn’t practiced his aim in years. What if he missed? With the distance, Killer could easily dodge, would this attack even be worth it? What was the best course of action?
Time was running out as he decided to fire his knives, but not before Killer let out a battle cry, sinking their knife into the ground, making the arena crack, red pulses of magic shooting up.
Flinching, Cross started to move out of the way when yet again, everything went slow. He could hear his father's voice again.
"Mistake number two.
The red magic was replaced by bones emerging from the ground, his father present on the other side.
“Don't hesitate in a moment of life or death." He could remember the look of disappointment on his father’s, burning an image in his mind as time sped up again.
Stumbling backward, he evaded Killer’s magic, before he felt something fly past him
"Toying with his enemy, similar attire, same tactics, reminds me of someone." He snapped his head towards Killer, dodging a knife they sent his way. But he winced, falling to the ground, a knife slashing his chest.
"How pathetic.” Coughing out blood, Cross looked up to see Killer walking his way.
“I must say I was impressed you could even hit me, Dreamer. But alas,” Killer smiled, raising a knife over their head. “It’s over for you.”
“Like a certain someone I know." Cross panted, closing his eyes as he accepted his defeat
"What was his name again? Ah!” Smirking, Killer made sure to catch Cross’s gaze.
“XGaster.”
“You are just like him."
Killer brought their knife down, but before they could get any closer, his arm was stopped by something. Looking back at Cross, they flinched back.
"I AM NOT MY FATHER!" Red targets met Killer’s as they were kicked in the non-existent gut, sending them flying up.
Ripping the knife out of his chest, Cross threw it to the side and summoned a Gaster Blaster. Aiming it towards the other, he fired with no remorse or hesitation.
Killer was barely able to dodge the blast, teleporting away just in time.
"Look, bud.” Killer spoke softly, trying to even their breaths. “Maybe we could work something out."
"I'll let you win, then, I can walk you over back to your home in Dream’s kingdom. Huh?" Cross tilted his head, eye lights following Killer’s movements.
“I’m good with the King, he likes you, but I know it’s tough here, it was for me too.” Killer walked closer to Cross, almost limping, holding a hand out. “But I had nowhere else to go. You have a place, a home, people who miss you, I’m sure.
It was their signature move.
They summoned a knife behind their back and the audience grew silent. Everyone knew the tales of Killer’s silver tongue. Their silver blade was dangerous enough, but their voice was a siren call. Pleasing to the ears, offers so tempting, voice so smooth. It was nothing like their King, true manipulation at its finest, but it was rumored the knight even had their ways to get through to their King.
And for a measly, untrained soul like Cross, an offer so tempting, a tone so reassuring, he stood no chance. But, even in the rare case he were to refuse, this had all been a warm up for the highest guard, their real skill was sure to shine through to ensure and remind everyone their rightful place.
“C’mon, kid. This is no place for someone like you. You’re good. You fight well, I admit, but you don’t deserve to be in a place that forces you to.”
Cross gave them a hard glare, before blinking, their gaze softening. A look of longing, reminiscing, nostalgia replacing the stoic expression he wore just moments ago.
Slowly reaching out for the other’s hand, Cross held Killer’s gaze, searching for any tricks, but he couldn’t find anything behind those empty sockets.
Killer smiled at him softly, Cross returning the gesture as he closed the distance between them, speaking lowly.
"Mistake number three. Never let your guard down."
A fist colliding with their skull, cracking the nasal bone before Killer could even process a word Cross had said.
Stumbling from the disorientation, Killer’s knife fell to the ground as Cross took the opportunity to kick the other half way across the arena. Skidding across the floor, Killer lay, squirming, on the ground as they tried to grab a hold of their magic, surroundings, anything as they literally got their senses kicked out of them.
Watching the other struggle from a far, Cross summoned a new group of red, glowing knives, surrounding Killer, aimed for the weakened skeleton on the ground.
With a flick of his hand, they fired.
To only stop before they could reach their target.
Looking to Nightmare who sat on a balcony, watching the battle, Cross waited for an agreement to kill his favorite guard.
Nightmare didn't make any movements, but the look on his face told Cross all he needed to know.
He tightened his fist and three knives pierced Killer's chest. Not enough to kill him, but enough to signal to those watching who the winner was.
Despawning all the other knives, Cross dropped his arms to his side. Head hanging, voided eye sockets looking at the skeleton in front of him.
There was a moment of stunned silence before the crowd cheered and clapped as Cross felt his arm being lifted up. The man who announced the fight was talking loudly into the microphone, but Cross couldn't hear him.
Fixated on the unconscious skeleton in front of him, he couldn't get the fact out of his head he did that.
He hurt them. He almost killed them. They did nothing to him. He brought this upon himself. He agreed to the challenge when he stepped up.
The next thing Cross remembers was being taken to the nurses room and getting healed. He stayed there for who knows how long, but he wasn’t as hurt as Killer, he did remember that. Because by the time he was told he could leave, he asked where his opponent's room was.
Killer was still unconscious.
The cracks were healed, but the nurse explained that Cross had a stronger punch than any of them had expected. That didn’t make Cross feel any better.
He remembers struggling against the other guards to get him out of Killer’s room after hours had passed. Cross couldn’t remember why he struggled so hard, he just felt so horrible. For doing this. For causing this. For being the reason Killer was currently unresponsive and worrying so many guards and nurses and disrupting everything. For possibly ruining Killer’s, rightful, reputation they tried so hard to build up.
At some point, Nightmare came in to talk to him. He couldn't remember what they said, something about Killer, then him being his something. Something about a room? He couldn't really make it out or remember it all. He just apologized.
He kept apologizing.
To Killer, Nightmare, himself, his father, Dream, anyone and everyone. He didn’t know why, he couldn’t remember. He remembers the guilt, the shame. There was no pride in this victory whatsoever.
At some point in his rambles and remorse, he felt arms wrap around him and he started crying. In this vulnerable state, he was certain the King used some sort of magic to get him to sleep, because he remembers waking up, still by Killer’s side.
“You’re one tough cookie.” Even with tears staining his cheek, half-awake, a guilty pit in his stomach, Cross did cringe at the statement Killer made, surprised as Killer started laughing at the reaction.
Killer winced at the movement, Cross apologized, Killer pushed him off, Cross joked, Killer joked back, they both laughed.
Cross couldn’t recall the exact conversation, but he was sure that was when they became friends. Talking in that recovery room until the nurse kicked him out, but Killer made sure to get a couple more laughs out as Cross left the room.
That was when everything changed for Cross. He rose in ranks, his magic was honed, his training was pushed, his responsibilities poured, his loyalty challenged.
But through it all, Cross remained number one. Killer, a close second. But all in friendly competition.
And despite how long ago that was, here Cross was, retelling the tale to his King in the throne room, as a loyal, faithful Dreamer who serves under his Nightmare.
