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internalsealpanic · 2 years

Text

Contract

Summary:

"You summoned me," the hissing voice that comes out from the vaguely defined mouth is skittering but sweet, like the sound of rustling. It echoes in your ear, registering more as a thought than sound. Its claw finger draws a line on your cheek. "What is your wish, little princess?"

a/n: See, the true horror here is me turning the idea of butler!Dick into a Kuroshitsuji based au. I know it has a problematic reputation now but it was one of my favorite animes as a young teen and it permanently altered my brain. If you know the anime, you may see which part I took from it. If not, you are blessed. warnings: Body horror, mild sexual imagery (the incubus continues to be cockblocked), demons, demonic possession, contracts, murder, torture, and other fun stuff that I may have missed. Also, fembodied reader

The soles of your shoes are light on the hardwood floor of the VIP room. Your eyes meet with the girl you hired. She's nervous but ok, so you nod for her to go. She pauses and flicks her eyes back to the table—to the man's wallet. You shrug.

This man isn't leaving tonight.

Hesitantly, she takes the wallet and scurries out of the room, giving you one last look before she goes. You don't return it. You're focused on the rise and fall of the man's chest as he sleeps.

You seat yourself on the table by him and press the knife to his neck, your heart beating through the steel as it touches skin. The cold bite of steel reels him back from sleep and his eyes flash wide as he looks into your eyes. You press a finger to your lips. "Scream and I'll flay you."

The man swallows but his mouth closes. You stifle a sigh of relief. "You're Ronald Bragg, right?" you ask, the tip of your blade tapping against his adam's apple.

"I-I have money. I can get you some."

Your face twitches and you try your best to suppress the click of your teeth. It's too indicative of who you are. You press the blade a little harder and the man goes entirely stiff. "Answer the question. Please," you say, face still perfectly placid.

"I am."

Good. You lift the blade slightly. Braggs sucks in a breath.

"Keep answering my questions and we'll both walk out of here." you keep your voice flat to hide its pitch. It's already amazing he doesn't recognize you but the more clues you give him the less leverage you have.

Don’t lie. Lying is a sin, it laughs.

Braggs nods, giving no indication of recognizing you.

"Where are the records for Rose Valley Auctions?"

His brows scrunch up. You narrow your eyes and put the barest hint of pressure on the blade. You can feel his throat convulse beneath the steel. It would be so easy just to cut his throat. It’s what he deserves.

"They're not here," he says, body squirming away from the blade.

Your teeth strain, wanting to grind or gnash or click—anything, but you've come this far. Instead, you sigh sharply and dig the blade in more, sinking into flesh. The tiniest hint of red begins to swell by the tip. He swallows again. "We keep those records in one of the Granada's mattress stores," he pauses. Of course, it was with the Granada's. That's another stop to your list. Your face twitches again and you try to muffle the click of your teeth with the erratic tapping of your foot.

"I could take you there."

Why? He could just give you the address, you think and you’re about to tell him as such when your gut turns and your heartbeat picks up. It's your turn to pause. You look at his face only to find that he's staring into yours, really staring at you. The expression on his face has changed.

You watch his mouth form around your name and your blood turns cold as he begins to smile. You should press the blade in now. You have what you needed. End him.

Oh dear.

Before you can dig the blade into his neck, Braggs grabs your wrist and pushes his weight off of the couch, using the momentum to topple both you and the table to the floor. Your body crashes into the hardwood, the fall punctuated by the shattering of glass. You hiss as the back of your head throbs, but you have no time to dwell in the pain as you recognize the weight over you.

Braggs wraps his hand around your neck, forcing you to look up at him. You narrow your eyes, sharpening the soft edges of your eyes into hard lines.

“I was wondering what they did with you,” he says, leering down to you. “Told them you would turn out pretty. You just have to smile more.”

“Let me go and you’ll walk away with testicles,” you snarl. He lets out a breath like laughter. He tightens his grip around your neck and he does the same with the hand around your wrist. “With that little toothpick of a knife? You couldn’t peel an apple with it.”

You bare your teeth. “Luckily, I’m peeling something very small, huh?” You regret the insult mere seconds later when Braggs slams your head against the ground. The throbbing worsens. The hand on your neck goes tighter still. It’s getting very hard to breathe. You fight to keep your grip on the blade.

He looks at your hand and scoffs, "You kept that little thing? That's adorable."

Your eyes harden. He had given you the knife back when he was just another lacky lapping at your father's table for scrap. Even back then, you knew it was a cheap blade meant for show rather than utility but you kept it because of that. A small useless thing among the sea of utility; A blip in your father's practical world.

He betrayed you and left you for dead

"Did you get any better with it?"

"Yeah. I got better at a lot of things," you say, slamming the side of your fist into his temple. His grip loosens and you use your legs to topple his balance, his body dropping onto the shards of glass as you scramble away.

If you put distance between the two of you, you can use the pistol hidden beneath your jacket.

That would be too easy, wouldn't it?

It would, you think. You could shoot him in the legs but he might be able to fight through the adrenaline. You have no choice but to make it easy.

You push yourself on your knees only for a sharp tug to send you crumpling into the floor. You look back into the angry face of Braggs. Shit, that should have stunned him.

"You little bitch." He hauls you towards him as you try to kick him off. The composure ebbs out of your limbs and a scream finds itself trapped in your throat. Braggs is on top of you again, straddling your hips and keeping you pinned.

"I can't die here," you think as you flail.

A voice chuckles in the back of your mind, the sound curling like smoke: "You're doing fine with that so far."

Braggs takes your arms, digging nails into the meat of your wrist, straight into the tendon. You gasp in pain.

"I'm not done yet. I'm not even halfway through." It is a desperate thought, but it's true.

Without seeing it, you know the person speaking is tilting their head curiously. "Oh that's right. You haven't even found out who's behind all this. It would be a shame if you never did."

It tilts its head to the other side. "Unless..."

"Unless?"

"I could tell you everything… Everything you need or wish to know," something cold and sharp traces up the side of your face, "Or I could help you out of this, if you summon me."

"Summon you?" The momentary slip almost cost you an artery.

"Come now, you've done it before."

The whistle of cold wind whispers in the back of your mind. "Then come," you hiss, putting all your strength into your arms.

The creature tsks, "There is a teeny tiny price to pay for summoning me."

You harden your gaze, scowling at Braggs when truly you were directing your ire at the creature whispering in your ear. "My soul, that's what you want." The creature's laughter in your ear seems to pause making you scoff. "Please, how stupid do you think I am."

"Oh darling," the creature clucks, "I will require more than that."

"How much more?"

It purrs. A strange affectation that is supposed to make it harmless but makes you feel a sense of foreboding. "I see you're willing to negotiate."

Anger boils inside you as you continue to struggle for your life. "Name. Your. Price."

"Are you sure, little one?"

"Yes."

It chuckles again in smoke-like laughter. "This is irreversible."

You look into Braggs's eyes. "What they did was irreversible."

"Oh?"

Is this thing's strategy to annoy you into overpowering Braggs? Because it might be working as you pour your frustration into your limbs.

"But is it enough to damn him and his men to hell?"

Your heart pauses.

"A toll must be paid for me to cross," it explains further. It sighs when you do not reply. "Let me repeat my question. Are you willing to sacrifice this man?" The voice like hissing leaves asks. The delight is woven into the words and the playful tone catches you off guard, their weight like a cleaver on your concentration. Your hand slips and the knife glances over your cheek, marking a shallow cut into your cheek.

You look up at Braggs. Really look at him. This man is going to kill you. This man had betrayed not only you but also your family. This man deserves hell. But what of the other men just outside the door. They had not wronged you personally.

You look into Braggs's eyes. You know the answer.

"Yes, take them." The words leave your lips, easy like trickling water.

And impossibly, you hear your blood drip onto the floor like a pin dropping in a room.

The man on top of you goes still.

His mouth falls open into a gape, thin lips stretched to a yawn. His bulging eyes filled with horror as they roll into the back of his head, the blood vessels throbbing. Instinctively, you take your chance to crawl away as the smell of sulfur starts to hang thick, the sensation almost palpable. The man leans back, arms outstretched to the sky in supplicance, the wheeze that escapes him is uncomfortable. He falls back slowly, the creak of his bones echoing above your harsh breaths as you press your back flat into the wall. His skin, all sheet white and smooth, starts to writhe and gouge. Something sharp almost pierces through the gouges of his cheek and the body begins to buck and howl.

No, not howl—cry.

There is a phantom sensation of a clawed hand cupping your cheek gently. "You can stop this, you know," the skittering voice laughs, tucking a strand of your hair out of your face. You watch the man on the floor twitch and buck and claw at his own flesh. His voice cracks and the bile inside you rises as you watch fingers draw jagged red lines down his face, trying to gouge out the thing swimming under his skin. The mark on your face throbs. You open your mouth to protest then stop.

Isn't this what you wanted?

Isn't this why you were here?

Why does this thing deserve to be saved?

"Keep going," you whisper. Lips against your ear smile with approval, but the hand on your cheek does not go away.

The body goes still. Its face is still frozen, blown open with fear. Then something begins to press through the flesh. Pristine bone begins to sprout through its face, twisting like tree branches up into the sky. The thing shrieks, or maybe you do. It begins to shake. Its mangled lips thrash against the floor, colliding with the cement with a sickening splat of flesh. Each impact grows in intensity until the limbs become bloodied and mangled as a network of bone begins to poke through the skin of his torso.

But it isn't enough.

Its jaw unhinges and a black taloned hand creeps up from the wreckage of its ruined mouth. It is then joined by another, then another, then another, then another, until the face is elongated and unrecognizable. Golden claws begin to tear at flesh, carving out chunks of muscle. The screams die down, leaving only your breaths and the terrible squelching to fill the room.

The bones rise in broken fragments, reaching for the sickening neon lights as something wretched and beautiful and impossible begins to coalesce amidst the pristine canopy.

What have you welcomed into this world?

The shapeless inky mass froths as it spills forth from the steaming heap of flesh. The shadows slowly solidify into a form. A human-like figure is inside the veil of golden shadow. The suggestion of a smile on its face.

It steps closer and the edges of its veil flutter and writhe. You focus on it rather than the wreckage it left behind. It cups your chin, its touch familiar, and tilts your face to look it in the eye.

You hesitate. The strong scent of sulfur wrapping your mind and winding you back in time to what was once a house, its wall still ashen and fire-licked even as ribbons of moonlight cast them white. They could never look clean. The winter wind winds and worms through your skin and the blood dripping from your torn palm raises its acrid taste as it drips, drips, drips down to the crudely drawn circle laden with icons and shapes. In your other hand, you hold a butterfly knife, the same one that pierced through your flesh, and a book.

They said this could bring them back.

They said the creature that froths from your blood will grant you what you want.

They said it could make you whole.

But you stand there in the middle of the night, the wound in your palm throbbing and your chest boiling with hatred being met with nothing but the smell of sulfur and the whisper of wind.

Your chest is still boiling. It hasn't stopped for a moment even now that your entire body is numb from incomprehension. The thing you summoned. The thing you called for now stands in front of you golden and grinning. It doesn't feel real. Your mind buzzes. You open your dry mouth and force the word out: "Retribution."

Its face ripples and the hint of a mouth curls into a smile. "Oh?" It says, cupping a hand over its mouth to stifle a laugh. "Justice? How noble," It coos, leaning down to you.

The word rings wrong as it rattles in your chest. You shake your head. "I don't want things to break even. I don't want to balance the books. I want them to suffer and I want them completely annihilated by my own hands. Justice won't give me that satisfaction."

Its face ripples again and it tilts its head thoughtfully. A frighteningly human gesture. "I see," it pulls its hand back and taps a taloned finger against its chin.

Will it deny your request?

"You understand that your soul is mine when you achieve this, yes?" It asks. There is a bird-like quality to its voice. The soft notes of an owl.

You stand up, nodding mutely. The action feels automatic. Rehearsed. You had spent weeks dreaming up what you would say to the demon. How you would phrase your desires so you would get exactly what you want. Your feelings on the matter have not changed and your conviction has only grown.

The creature trills and thrusts its hand in front of you. "Bind me as your servant and name me."

You stare into the creature's eyes, they burn electric blue, and you are breathless. You take its hand. "Richard," you whisper. Golden talons dig into your skin, blood swells then drips then begins to flow, wrapping around your arm. They reshape into golden chains and burrow beneath your skin as they travel up your arm. You bite back a scream as you feel them coil around something deep inside your chest. The pain punches through your lungs, your knees buckling from the intensity.

The shadows start to peel away, disintegrating into petals of gold revealing a person. A painfully beautiful person, lithe and immaculate. Full lips draw into a smile, fangs glinting against tanned skin. His hair is black like the suit he fills; it's combed back clearing the black curls from his eyes. Live-wire blue eyes stare back at you framed by thick lashes. Nothing about them remotely mortal. The pain surging through you is overwhelmed by fear of this person now standing before you.

A hand on your back steadies you, pulling you in closer to him. "Richard? Powerful leader. Quite ironic for a servant, isn't it?" He huffs, the laughter trailing his voice. It still sounds bird-like. Still too musical to be fully human.

You try to push yourself away but your legs fail you, so you let yourself lean on him. "Yes, my Richard is very powerful," you say and the man above you is smiling, looking pleased. You return the smile. "He could haul a sleigh with two people on it when I was younger. Of course, you had to reward him with a treat. "

He blinks at your smug grin melting away and leaving room for confusion to sweep in. "You named me," he says pointing to his chest with a black-gloved hand, "After a dog?"

You push yourself off of him and the smile on your face curls into something cruel. "You are a servant, are you not?" You tilt your head to punctuate the meaning. There's a small twitch on his face. He wasn't actually expecting you to be nice, was he?

The pout on his face answers your question.

It's a good look on him.

He shrugs off irritation like dust and tilts your chin. "Well, when you phrase it like that." The corners of his mouth lift in sheer petulance as if to punctuate how inconsequential your little barb is, but something in the corner of your eye moves.

"I think it suits you," you say, and that thing, his tail, flickers in annoyance.

Dick sighs, "Whatever you say, my lady. Shall we?"

Your eyes slide over his shoulder, the floor still slick with gore. If this creates enough of a fuss, someone might connect this incident to you and however improbable the situation looks, it wouldn't matter if your cover is blown. "Clean up your mess."

"As you wish my lady." Placing his hand on his chest, Dick bows deeply, the gesture and tone dripping with mockery. You have probably managed to get the most annoying servant possible.

Your brow twitches. "Stop calling me that."

"I am a mere servant after all. I would not deign to disrespect my lady," Dick says with a flash of teeth.

You click your own in annoyance.

He straightens up and tilts his head to the side. "Unless my lady would like to be called something else."

You pivot on your heel. "I have a name and you will use it."

"As you wish."

—----------

"(Y/n)."

Hands and lips drag across your skin, caressing soft winter morning flesh. You turn from it trying to catch the remnants of sleep. When the touches persist and the spike of adrenaline from your dream rears its head, you reach under your pillow as the hand reaches under your nightgown.

Your pistol finds its place against Dick's forehead. He smiles against your shoulder and grazes his canine on your skin. "Did I wake you?" he hums, continuing his motions from before, the pads of his fingers tracing over the curves of your body. You press the gun even harder in response to the question. He in turn blows a petulant breath but lets up.

He flops back to his side of the bed, pouting at you.

You don't dignify it, instead, you place the gun back under your pillow for safekeeping.

"I still don't understand why you need that thing when I'm sleeping right next to you," he says, toying with the fabric of your nightgown.

You shrug. "It makes me feel secure."

That seems to be the wrong answer given the crinkle of mischief in the corner of his eyes. "Like your favorite pillow."

You scowl at him. "It's—" You clamp your mouth shut and smooth your features. You weren't going to win this argument by participating. Besides, you had better things to focus your attention on.

Paws pad against the tile accompanied by the clinking of a collar. Richard takes his place by the side of your bed dutifully, his bright blue eyes wide with attention. You run your hand through his soft fur. The edge fades and a smile finds its way to your eyes.

"You spoil him," Dick huffs, propping his head on in one hand.

"I do not," you say, smooshing the huskies face. Dick rolls his eyes, watching you happily spoil the mutt, his own tail flicking in annoyance. "You do spoil him."

"Do not," you say, kissing Richard's nose.

Dick's tail flicks with interest this time. "That reminds me. You seem to be forgetting something."

"I remember I have a meeting at 9."

"Not that," he says, leaning closer and pressing his muscles against your back. He hears your breath hitch and feels your pulse kick up. Gently, he cups your face, turning it to face him, lips brushing against yours. "I think you've forgotten to feed me."

Your skin flushes and the naked surprise on your face makes him preen. "You aren’t going to let me starve, are you?" he purrs against your lips, forehead pressed against yours and eyes glowing electric as he stares into yours. "I’ve been waiting so... patiently," he says, stroking your thigh. The husky scrape of his voice creates flickers of static along your spine. You can't tell if he's using magic or if it's just your body’s reaction to the way he touches you.

He's done this a few times. You should be desensitized but here you are fighting for control. "You didn't say please." You had intended for it to be teasing, even mocking, but it comes out breathy as you swallow back another reaction to his hand sliding further up your leg.

"You're always so picky," he says, sounding more amused than annoyed. He flutters his lashes and his face slides into boyish shyness that looks obscene on him. "May I kiss you, please?"

You don't laugh only because the exhalation would likely carry another sound. "Since you asked so nicely," you say, nudging your nose with his and pressing your lips to his so delicately. The movement is slow and the pressure is light enough just to barely qualify as a kiss but you can feel your lust being taken along with your breath. Dick hums delightedly, his tails wrapping around your ankle.

His kisses always leave you breathless, but today he also decided to make your lips sensitive with his teeth. "Better?"

"One more please," he whines, stroking your cheek, nipping your bottom lip.

"You're being greedy," you scold.

Dick pouts.

You shake your head and lean in, kissing him again and threading your fingers through his hair. Dick hums as he pushes you down onto the bed, scooting you away from the edge.

You gasp softly and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pinning you down with one hand on your hips and the other wrapped around your wrists. He slots himself between your legs, moving his body against yours, reminding you that he sleeps naked. He'd once given you the excuse that it stimulates your dreams. You'd taken it only to prevent another incident where he kisses you during a meeting. Giving him little snacks while you were asleep made sure that didn't happen, but he's greedy so he'll still ask for snacks while you're at work.

You flush all over, squirming beneath him as he kisses you hungrily. You murmur against his lips, "Dick…Dick—I have that meeting."

Dick nibbles on your lip. "They can wait, I promise."

"They really can't." You wriggle.

"They can," he repeats, lips traveling down to your jaw then your neck. He breathes in the lust he's inducing. The want radiating from you is palpable and oh so savory. Licking his lips, Dick plants warm sucking kisses on your neck, the flesh moving as you swallow back a moan. You're so stubborn, Dick thinks, smiling to himself and lapping up the little whimpers that escape.

You gasp when his teeth catch on your pulse. "Leave a mark and I will punish you."

Dick grins up at you meeting your scowl. "Is that supposed to discourage me?" His teeth scrape along your neck. He feels your throat move to swallow another embarrassing sound.

"Dick, please," you breathe as evenly as possible.

"Again, is that supposed to discourage me?" he chuckles.

You stare at him flatly, unamused. "I said enough." The command rings true in his head and he withdraws. "Stop being greedy and let me dress."

"Fine," he huffs.

Dick watches you closely as you start to dress. Even in more provincial cities like yours (or even more because of this fact), you dress elaborately under several layers of silken garb woven with metallic threads. Befitting your post, the cuffs of your suit jacket are a blinding marigold orange, embroidered with royal blue threads shaping the crest of your house.

"Need help?" Dick asks, threading his hand through Richard's thick fur. "Normally, Butlers help their masters dress."

"Most butlers don't sleep in their master's beds."

"How lucky I am then?" He grins.

You look away from the mirror, smoothing your hands over the crisp silk shirt. "And most butlers don't have to be told to do their jobs."

Dick laughs, pushing himself off of the bed. "Most masters are a little more polite than that," he says, walking over to you, still incredibly naked.

You glance at your large floor-to-ceiling windows.

"There's no point in lecturing you about modesty, is there?"

"You can if you want," he says, tilting his head and working on your tie.

Dick is a good butler when he wants to be, but that is in fact, very rare.

"We're attending a dinner party tonight. Make sure to be on your best behavior."

"Will I get a reward if I do?"

You let yourself snort because it's Dick and you two don't really owe each other any sort of false politeness. "We'll see."

He frowns. "Who else will be there? Anyone of interest?" he asks, checking the silk fabric for any wrinkles or creases on your suit.

"A couple," you say, checking his work in the mirror. He perks up at your answer. He loves wringing answers out of people since you give him more license just so long as they can't connect it to you. "I'm not going to have you try and charm them." Dick deflates. You feel a little bad. "Not this time at least," you add and this seems to soothe him.

"What do you want me to do then?"

You pause, not wanting to tell him that he's there to make you feel safe. You decide to reword it instead. "Security."

"Ah, like the pistol under your pillow," he hums, clearly not convinced by your little ploy.

You refuse to dignify that.

—--------

It never occurred to you that Dick might die from boredom, but the thick glaze over his eyes and his wandering gaze are pretty good indications that he wants to tap out.

You ask Senator Price about his vineyard and Dick has to press his lips together to muffle a groan bubbling in his throat. He's going to murder you.

An aristocrat from across the room winks at him flirtatiously. Dick returns it with a sly smile that only reaches a curl of his lips. It's a strange rule you'd drilled into him when communicating with aristocrats.

With the Senator's departure, you glance over your shoulder. "You know you're allowed to eat people at this party, right?" You whisper.

"I know," he says, waving at another aristocrat trying to get him to leave your side.

"And you're not treating this as a buffet because…?"

Dick slides his eyes back to you. "I don't want to spoil my appetite," he says, leaning into your ear, making sure to brush his lips against your ear to emphasize his point.

You let your breath out slow, hoping the blush fades with it. "Your manners have gotten better."

"You say that like you gave me a choice," he laughs, sharply.

"I can't have an incompetent butler." You smile with your eyes and your lips but only long enough for Dick.

"Of course not." He pats your hand. "Besides, why would I eat cheap meat when I have a steak at home?" He has the audacity to smirk and wink.

You roll your eyes and cough away the blush creeping up your face. It's not that hard though. You feel a little guilty about only being able to give him snacks in the form of kisses and dreams. You're not starving him intentionally but it's just hard to be vulnerable like that even if he is under contract to keep you safe until you achieve your goals.

"Aren't you hungry?"

Dick chomps on his dessert. It's called a Marzipan you think. "I'm actually snacking on your embarrassment."

You startle and your eyes go uncharacteristically wide. "How many emotions can you eat?" He's amused by the way you try to flatten the shock in your tone.

"All of them," he says around his spoon, "but I prefer certain emotions."

You can see a sparkle in his eyes that makes you hesitate, but you ask anyway, "Explain."

Dick grins and you regret it already. "Emotions are like…flavors."

Ok, not bad so far. You tilt your head, coaxing him to go on.

"Happiness is sweet, tangy like fresh raspberries. Anger can be quite… sour. It's an acquired taste."

You narrow your eyes. "And lust?"

"Lust?" he asks innocently.

"Yes, the one you woke me up for."

Dick leans in conspiratorially, dipping down to your lips. "It’s like the finest chocolate you’ve ever tasted. Thick, rich, and delicious. Savory if you tease your prey enough." He winks, pulling away.

You pinch your nose trying to suppress any emotion but failing miserably.

Dick slips his arm away from yours, pulling you closer by the waist. "It leaves the most wonderful aftertaste and lingers for days," he says, making sure you see the way his tongue drags over his lips.

You're flustered all over again. "Are you always this..." You twirl your hand. "...with all your contractors?"

"Only the fun ones."

Nope, you take it back. He can starve.

You chuff, "Go get a drink before I strangle you."

"How'd you know I like being choked?"

"Go."

Dick cackles as he peels away from you.

Lemon Meringue Pie.

Raspberry Ripple.

Billionaires Shortbread.

Tiramisu.

Triple Chocolate Gateau

Those are only a few of the desserts Dick sampled from the definitely not liquor table. He grins, licking the chocolate syrup from his lips. He hates these parties because of all the extremely handsy humans who have nothing better to do but the food is fantastic.

Just as Dick is about to spoon more of the lava cake, a hush falls over the room. The air in the room thins. A familiar shock travels up Dick's spine as a heavy pressure settles over the room. From the west entrance, a tall brick wall of a man saunters in with a poise of a king. Silver hair in a fishtail braid over one of his broad shoulders, an eye patch decorated with a vaguely familiar crest, and a smug smile that makes Dick's mouth suddenly very sour.

It's best to slink away before he notices Dick.

Well, it would be if he hadn't immediately zeroed-in on Dick the moment he entered the room. Sometimes Dick hates being an archdemon. Truly tragic.

"You've never been in a room you didn't want to command," Dick says, putting another square of chocolate on his plate.

Slade grins, taking one of his chocolates and popping it into his mouth. "I'm just powerful enough for even inferior humans to sense. You, on the other hand, are letting yourself go."

Dick's face crumples in displeasure, tasting the sourness on his tongue again. "Have you considered that it might just be that you're the size of a brick wall?"

Slade scoffs but then decides to rake his eye over Dick's body. "I haven't seen you in that form in quite a while."

Dick looks down at his plate. It's true. It has been over two hundred years since he's been in a contract. He hasn't really needed to and it's been a while since someone was willing to pay the toll to bring him here.

Slade snatches another piece of chocolate. Dick doesn't even blink. Not thrilled with being ignored by the most interesting person in the party, Slade snaps his fingers in front of Dick's face. "Cat got your tongue?"

"I just realized I prefer using my mouth to eat these desserts," Dick says, brushing his hand away.

Slade grins, leaning down and into Dick's space. "I vaguely recall you liking to use your mouth for something else."

Dick rolls his eyes, unamused by the attempts at intimidation and slightly sympathetic for the headaches he causes you. Sure, Slade is practically twice his size and possibly slightly more powerful than him given his current state but he's not going to wither and play along.

A snide remark is resting on his lips when his tongue is filled with the metallic taste of your fear. His head snaps towards your direction only for the taste to shift towards mild irritation. Dick lets out a breath, quiet enough that only he could hear.

Theoretically.

Slade whistles and Dick's entire body seizes up. "Well, well, well," Slade says with the rhythm and depth of a very slow round of applause. The smile stretching wide on his face is full of teeth and keen interest. A hungry predator looking at a meal.

Dick bites his lip, feeling flush with pride. He knows Slade can sense it too. Any demon could. Unfortunately for them, Dick had already ear-marked your soul for himself. "Yes, that's my contractor." Dick grins devilishly, preening a little too much.

Slade is visibly annoyed by this fact but given he's also here in the very unfortunate flesh, he should have a contractor of his own. "Is that all?"

Dick's grin fades into a frown.

"Just a contractor?" Slade clarifies and Dick knows exactly where this is going, so he pivots the conversation. "Why are you here?"

Slade allows the conversation to change its current because the effort itself is amusing enough. "What’s it to you?"

"It'll make you go away faster."

"Oh no, not at all, " he says, smiling indulgently into his wine glass. "I want to be introduced to your new contractor." The hungry look on his face no longer fills Dick with pride but a prickly sort of anger. "I don't think I would mind having a taste."

Dick flicks his tail angrily.

The grin on Slade's face only broadens. Dick hates this man.

Dick and Slade are too busy glaring at each other to notice your approach.

"I can't leave you alone for five seconds, can I?" You say arms crossed over your chest, head cocked to the side in disapproval but to Dick's surprise and delight, your ire isn't on him. Your narrow gaze is directed at Slade. He suspects if Slade had been human on the receiving end of that scowl he'd have withered to ash. Sadly, Slade is made of tougher stuff than that and stands up to his full height when greeting you.

"May I ask for your name?" There is still the flimsiest veneer of civility in your tone but only serves to make you sound more hostile.

"Quite direct," Slade chuckles, cupping his chin. Dick winces, knowing just how condescending that gesture is considered in this region.

All patience is stripped from your face. "Sorry let me rephrase that, why are you bothering my butler?"

Slade huffs an amused breath and, like a fool, does not let up on the gesture. He simply doubles down with a combination of his tone and his words. "Be careful who you challenge, little girl, they might bite back."

You tip your head back to look him in the eye. "Are you sure your dentures won't fall out?"

Dick snorts loudly enough for some guests to be scandalized.

Slade laughs, deep and full enough to fill the room. "I can see why he likes being your pet."

"He isn’t my pet, he works for me," you say, keeping your nose upturned. If Dick was an outside observer, he'd be convinced that you couldn't breathe without doing it imperiously.

Slade doesn't seem to mind this, only shaking his head as he says, "Sure, kitten, sure… whatever you want to tell yourself." He looks to Dick then looks to you. The slow curl of his lips annoy you and he has the audacity to put his hand on your shoulder. "When you want something meatier to play with, you know where to find me." The motion of his head brandishes the house seal on his eye patch.

You chuff and wave for him to go away, nails digging into your arms.

Once Slade is safely out of sight, Dick brackets your side, holding his arm out for you to take. "House Monir," you grumble angrily. That's where he recognized the sigil from, but Dick couldn't puzzle out why anyone from that particular house would need a demon, let alone a demon of that caliber. He can ask you later once you're not in the mood to tear anyone's face off.

"How do you know that jackass?"

"We've... worked together."

You snap your head. "That was a demon?"

Dick returns the expression of surprise. "Can't you sense him? He's quite high up the food chain."

Your brain does some algorithm that Dick would really like to see only to land on the words "Are we screwed?"

Dick shrugs, a peel of laughter trickling from his lips. "No, he's quite fond of brats."

The shape of your eyes softens. "He must be quite fond of you then."

"Not as such," Dick laughs bitterly, but it sounds a little triumphant. You suppose it would be a little exhilarating to be hated by someone that powerful instead of them just steamrolling past you.

You lean into Dick a little, watching Slade's back as he weaves through the crowd. "Maybe I should have summoned him."

Dick makes an annoyed squawk of protest and you almost let yourself laugh in public.

You push past it as if he hadn't heard you. "I’d have enjoyed bringing him down a peg or two."

"He’d probably enjoy that too much for it to be punishment," Dick grumbles pulling you closer, skirting the edges of what was considered appropriate distance.

"I'm kidding, you big baby," you say, pinching his arm lightly.

"You just insulted me," Dick snaps.

"I'm sorry," you say insincerely, "how can I make it up?"

Dick bulldozes past the insincerity and perks up at the offer knowing your pride won't let you take it back. "Dessert?"

You flush then point to the dessert table.

Dick leans into your ear, his breaths ghosting over the skin. "You know what I mean."

—-------

Dick nuzzles into your neck, clouds of your hair tickling his face. He curves his body to yours, arms wrapped around your midsection, his chest pressed to your back, feeling the steady rise and fall as you dream. Dick might have gotten greedy again and absorbed too much, so tonight he'll leave your dreams alone. He angles his head down, pressing his ear to your pulse. It calms him to hear the steady beat.

Maybe Dick will let himself indulge and attempt to sleep.

Distantly, Dick hears hushed footsteps. 5. No, maybe 10 men. He sighs. Your guests can be so rude. Dick clicks his tongue, blue eyes searching for your alarm clock. 3:23 AM. He peels himself away from you slowly, hesitantly unraveling his arms around you.

Fingers twine with Dick's, keeping his hand on your stomach. He smiles down at you softly. It's a frighteningly vulnerable gesture you're only capable of in this dream-like state. Dick kisses your back where your heart should be. "I'll be right back, I promise," he whispers. The fingers twined with his, hesitate, squeeze, then let go.

Dick whistles only high enough for Richard to hear. Dutifully, Richard gets up on the bed, using his body to shield yours. His ears are pinned back, teeth bared in a snarl. You bury your face in the big lug's fur.

Dick chuckles and gets up from the bed. Shadowy feathers petal together, assembling his butler suit. He fixes his hair, pinning one the side down in the capital's fashion. You'll never admit it, but Dick looks stunning every time he's like this. But he doesn't need you to say it, he can see it in the way you look at him.

Dick adjusts the lapels of his suit, looking over his shoulder. "I won't be long."

You whine in your half-sleep state and Richard barks in acknowledgment.

Dick huffs at how cute you are.

He picks them off, one by one. He's careful to do it silently. Dick wouldn't want you to wake up and have you try to take care of this yourself. It would be troublesome if you hurt yourself. Dick's not really sure how he would react if you did.

He tosses one man's arm next to the other, debating on whether to end the one-armed man's suffering. He shrugs. He'll bleed out. Besides, he got one more little mouse to find.

Dick sends out shadows to locate him. His brow twitches when he senses the man near your bedroom.

His human form dissolves into shadows. He strides through the walls calmly until he spies the intruder, rope in his hands. A spike of irritation wells up in his chest.

Dick stands behind him, silent as he lets his body solidify again. So much for his excess energy.

"I do hope your business with my mistress is quite urgent for you to pay us a visit at such an ungodly hour."

Dick doesn't know why the man freezes. He said it as politely as he could. Then again, most humans don't quite appreciate the skittering quality of his true voice. Oh well. He wraps a gloved hand around the man's throat and puts another gloved hand over the man's mouth, dragging him away from the room, kicking and screaming uselessly.

Resting the man's head on his shoulder, Dick shushes him gently as they disappear into the dark.

He rubs the blood away from his cheek.

He sent the men back to their master and cleaned rooms they'd dirtied. He's in a very foul mood and would love nothing more than to take a nap.

Dick slips into bed, suit melting back into the shadows. He shoos Richard away with a flick of his wrist. Richard hops off the bed, blowing out an angry breath. He wraps his arms around you, kissing the back of your neck. You turn in his hold and wrap your arms around him, slotting your face into the hollow of his neck. You mumble a complaint about him taking too long.

Dick mumbles back an apology and presses his cheek to the top of your head.

You wrap your arms tightly around each other, Dick's body enveloping yours to hide you away from the world.

#dick grayson #incubus Dick Grayson #dark dick grayson #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader

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captainshadowgirllostfan · 1 year

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I'm sorry but the idea of a dark villainous Dick Grayson is hard for me to wrap my mind around

It's like...Sith Lord Obi-Wan Kenobi...and for some strange reason people actually think it's possible

Okay, I'll admit I did read an Obi-Wan Kenobi who sort of did cross the dark side raising baby Anakin (I mean 9-year-old Anakin)...but Obi-Wan seemed like a Grey Jedi to me...or just one that's struggling because he did touch the Dark Side...plus he's dealing with his grief of losing Qui-Gon by literally watching him die in front of his eyes.

But again I can't picture Obi-Wan being a villain anymore than Dick being a villain.

#Dick Grayson #dark Dick Grayson #i went off-topic #i just saw a fic where Dick becomes a villain just so his siblings will live good lives #and i am soo lost as to why Dick has to be a villain for his siblings to live a good life #especially since it's a freaking time-travel fic like whyyyy?

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jackie-q · 18 days

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note to self: write smth like this

#dick grayson #dark dick grayson #ao3 link

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redsray · 2 months

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Batfam AU where Jason never dies, so Tim doesn't join the family the standard way. Instead, he continues pouring most of his time and energy into his photography, eventually becoming known as a popular photographer for events and all that. So now, picture this: Tim gets hired to be a photographer for a Wayne gala. Obviously, he's ecstatic, because he can take pictures of Batman, Robin and Nightwing and be in their presence for a whole night. Since Tim is so naturally talented in stealth and taking pictures unnoticed, the second one of the fam realises this they're like: this kid is good. Tim manages to go unnoticed by all 3 of them (all bat-trained, one literally batman) multiple times during the night, and even when he is noticed, he disappears before they can manage to get a good look at him; to the sheer amazement of Dick and Jason.

Jason, (very discreetly putting snacks in his suit pocket): i know you're under the table, kid.

Tim: don't mind me, Mr. Todd-Wayne, sir, just taking a few pictures

Jason: right... Jason's fine, and what pictures were you taking from under the table?!

Tim, showing him perfectly good shots of him: these.

Jason: how did you get that. it looks like you took it from the rafters

Tim, nodding: I did.

Jason, glancing at the ceiling: ...what?

Tim, gone:

Jason: no fucking way.

Dick, hearing a very, very faint camera shutter from behind him:

Dick, turning around and finding no one there: what the actual...

Dick, getting the feeling of being watched and whirling around to find Tim staring at him from across the room: ... huh.

Jason, pulling Dick aside: you see that kid too, right?!

Dick, nodding: the camera kid, yeah?

Jason: who is that.

Dick: he's one of the hired photographers, apparently. one of the best in his field, despite his age.

Jason: he's good. like, really good. snuck up on me 4 times already, the little bastard.

Dick: you too? i swear he's constantly watching. it's creepy how well he can sneak past both of us.

Jason:

Dick:

Jason: you don't think...

Dick: no. B would've told us.

Jason:

Dick:

Dick: did he get another kid and not tell us somehow

Bruce: what do you mean another kid?

Jason: you heard us. did you adopt another kid and not tell us?!

Bruce: no?? how would I even?? ... what's this about?

Dick: one of the photographers has managed to sneak up on both me and Jay multiple times already

Bruce: what.

Jason: he also can't be more than like. 15 or 16. so forgive us for assuming you took another one in.

Bruce: do you know his name?

Dick:

Jason:

Bruce: really?

Dick: in our defence, he's very hard to catch. i wouldn't be surprised if he's snuck up on you, too.

[camera shutter noise]

All of them, whipping their heads toward the sound only to find nothing but air:

Tim, smiling from the other side of the room:

Jason: do you see what we mean?!

Cue an entire night of shenanigans where it's just Dick, Jason and Bruce trying to catch Tim and learn about him. Upon finding out who he is and where he lives, Dick immediately asks to keep him as an honorary member of the family. Jason is hesitant at first but at some point Tim calls Bruce Batman instead of Mr. Wayne on accident and Jason laughs so hard he's basically won over. Bruce can do nothing but watch as Tim proceeds to come over almost every night for sleepovers and is coddled by both of his sons. And he can't deny, the kid's investigation and stealth skills are top tier. By the time Dick and Jason both start referring to Tim as 'their younger brother' Bruce has just accepted his fate.

#batfam #batman #dc comics #tim drake #bruce wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #batfam au #dick: look he's even got the dark hair and blue eyes #jason: he fits the pattern. you gotta #dick to tim: you are ours now #tim who just wanted to spend time with his heroes: oh #they declare him as theirs so he is theirs #bruce does not get a choice #he is THEIR little stalker #when jason finds out that tim follows them as vigilantes too he falls over laughing #dick wiping a tear away: he's perfect

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daydreamerwonderkid · 10 months

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Genuinely love the fact that regardless of which Superfam/Batfam pairing (romantic or platonic) you're looking at, it's always some variation of:

Batfam member: They're so lucky I'm the normal one.

Superfam member: Holy shit, every single one of you is fucking insane!!!!

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flamingpudding · 5 months

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*hisssss* My comfort human!

Nightwing stared, he turned his head staring at Zatanna in a way that clearly spelled the question: Are you seeing what I am seeing?

Zatanna only gave him a shrug with a smile before focusing back on the meeting, leaving Nightwing to turn back and stare. He wasn't the only hero in the room with that reaction. There were a couple others too that reacted similarly. Only Batman appeared to be able to hold his pokerface.

Right before them was Constantine trying to explain to them all how their goverment basically fucked them over, while a 'ghost' teen was clinging to the man's shoulders glaring and hissing at them all. Worst of all Constantine was acting like the kid wasn't even there. Like there was no a white haired, black and white dressed teen hugging the man around his shoulders while glaring at them with glowing Lazarus green eyes.

"Uhm John? What's with the kid?" Green Lantern finally asked interrupting another one of the magicans rants about how screwed they were to which the Brite only glared at the hero.

"Ignore him."

"But..."

"IGNORE him."

"Maybe we should remove the child from this meeting before we continue?" Superman offered good naturally and Constantine looked pretty much done with them all, Nightwing noted. The blond waved with his hand as if telling them to 'go on try it'.

The heroes exchanged glances. Before Superman moved forward reaching out to remove the teen....

...and promptly got bitten. Nightwings eyes widened as he noticed the teen actually broke kryptonian skin!

The teen then proceeded to hiss at them while clutching onto Constantine protectively. The magican only let out a suffering sigh and muttered something about never touching a core again.

"My comfort human! Get your own!"

#danny fenton #dp x dc #danny phantom #dpxdc #crossover #dcxdp #john constantine #nightwing #dick grayson #superman #justice league dark #Constantine is Danny's comfort human #Constantine just sort of regrets having picked up Danny's core thinking its an artifact #danny bites whoever tries to take him away from his comfort human #probably crackish #random ideas #sorta inspired by the comfort character principles

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nefarious-616-necromancer · 6 months

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chikaras-garden · 6 months

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Batboys as things that go bump in the night

So what if he’s not human?

Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne x fem!reader

Contains: Monsterfucking. Dubcon. Unprotected piv sex in Dick’s, Jason’s, and Damian’s. Blood in Bruce’s. Somnophilia and light breeding kink in Dick’s. Knotting in Jason’s. Oral sex (f!receiving) in Tim’s. Degradation in Damian’s.

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked. Happy Halloweekend angels!

BRUCE WAYNE 🦇

A loner. A constant shadow over Gotham. A collector of all things macabre. And now, he has his sights set on you. You’re a pretty thing, dressed in all black at a late-autumn gala, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze on you even when your back is turned.

So it’s no surprise that, when you tempt fate by rounding a corner into a deserted hallway, you are not alone.

Stepping out of the shadows, Bruce’s hand clamps around one side of your throat, leaving just one side—the side of your pulse—exposed for his lips. He kisses you there far more than he kisses your lips, nibbling and suckling the soft flesh over your pulse. Your heart beats faster and faster as your knees go weak, but his arm tightens around you.

“I have you, darling,” he husks. His skin is cold against yours, but perhaps that’s because the all-consuming presence of a man like this makes your blood run hot.

His other hand comes up to cup your flushed cheek, thumb dragging along the shape of your face as if he’s trying to memorize you.

“So warm. Such soft skin,” he murmurs, bending his head low and kissing your neck. “Such a beautiful creature.”

Something twists in your stomach when he says that—creature. An instinct tells you to run, but you quickly realize that the look in his eyes has you completely enthralled. He’s watching you with purpose, always keeping your eyes locked as if looking away from you will break the spell he has you under.

“I have to taste you,” he whispers, voice raw with a strain whose source you cannot place. He inhales deeply and lets out a low, feral noise before you feel a twinned shock of pain that makes you gasp: blood rushes to your neck and spills from your broken skin onto his waiting tongue, which greedily laps at the sweet nectar he just stole.

DICK GRAYSON 🦇

You never remember what happened the morning after your nights with your blue-eyed visitor in black, but you can’t stop the way your body aches for the mysterious stranger. At first, you thought he was a dream, but even you know that your unconscious can’t conjure up something as beautiful as him.

He wakes you by laying on top of you, pushing his hot-as-Hell flesh against yours. You didn’t go to sleep naked, but you’re naked now; your clothes are gone, but you’re covered with him, his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, one of his hands painfully squeezing the other, and his red-tipped cock already bullying its way into your slick folds.

It hurts, but the ache is so dizzying that you can’t bring yourself to care, especially when you’re aware that you won’t remember this by morning anyway. You feel as if you’re being burned alive and made new in just the way he wants you. And that feels good, doesn’t it? Why else would you have woken up with your pussy soaking wet?

He picks his head up just enough to watch you watch him while his tongue traces the outer edge of your areola and flicks your nipple in slow strokes, teasing it into hardness with just the tip of his tongue. He’s kneeling between your legs, and his free hand slides down to gently stroke your belly—which is when you notice that his fingers, like his cock, are tipped with blood-red skin.

Then comes his dark murmur, “Let me fill you, pretty thing. Let me give you a little gift to help you remember me.”

Your breath catches and, once again, he latches on—teeth first, this time.

At the same time, he thrusts into you, cock heavy and fire-hot, searing your skin and all but tearing you open while you keen and grasp at him, fingernails scraping down his back. His warmth is inescapable as he thrusts into you with inhuman force.

And you swear that, when he comes, filling you with his infernal seed, you catch a glimpse of a ruby glimmer in his once-blue eyes.

JASON TODD 🦇

Honestly, you handled finding out that your boyfriend is a werewolf remarkably well. But because you’re a human, he has one rule: no knotting. That is, until an October full moon has him more feral than usual, trapped in a rut that he’s powerless to fight against.

Jason has you hiked up against his chest, barely balanced on his thick thighs with your panties shoved aside. One finger is pressed firmly against your clit, the claws that come with his half-transformed state lightly grazing your sensitive skin. He’s already buried inside of you, thrusting so shallowly that he may as well be humping your innermost walls.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder. His skin rages with heat while his muscles tremble, lips mouthing along any inch of your skin that he can reach. Head heavy on your shoulder, he rasps out broken sentences, each cut off by animalistic whimpers and whines. “God, fuck— I can’t— I shouldn’t— You’re—”

You have one hand tangled in his hair, thumbing the soft black-and-white fur that crawls up along his hybrid ears. His cock, impossibly thick already, stretches you even more open than you already were, and you throw your head back to let out a moan of mixed pleasure-pain.

“Fuck,” he whispers, because he feels it too. “Baby, I’m— It’s—”

“Let it,” you gasp, feeling lightheaded with the pain of Jason filling you so completely, cockhead swelling so full that he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to. “Please, please, Jason, I need it.”

All that gets you is another guttural groan from him, a sound as close to a howl as he can make without being fully transformed. Still swelling, his cock is thick, heavy, hot—pulsing inside of you, begging to stay there, to fill you, to mark and mate with you. You can’t imagine what it must look like, but you know that the feeling is divine: this oneness, this wholeness, is something you’ve never felt before. It’s almost enough to dull how much your pussy aches.

“Jason,” you moan, tears filling your eyes.

“I know,” he soothes, trying to stay sturdy and stable for you even though his whole body is trembling. “Fuck, it— Baby, you feel so good. Such a good fucking girl, letting me mate with you. Gonna make you feel amazing, I promise.”

TIM DRAKE 🦇

“Stay still,” Tim teases, clawed fingers clamping down on your hip. “Or no rewards.”

Your back is pressed against the chilly, damp wall of the bat cave, and your clothes are shreds around your feet. You know this is all your fault, that you should have avoided the man who has only made his obsession with you painfully clear. As soon as the half-dragon spotted you—his treasure, his paramour, his little human love—he pounced.

Half changed with pewter green scales climbing up his skin and pupils narrowed into reptilian slits, Tim wastes no time in turning your clothes into ribbons of fabric in effort to get to you.

And then he drops to his knees, burying his face in between your legs.

The forked tongue laves up and down the folds of your pussy, skirting along the outside of your sopping hole until you’re shuddering, clinging to him. His hand digs in harder, talons piercing the soft skin of your ass, scaly palm forcing your cunt against his mouth until you feel the sting of sharpened teeth against your mound.

Even though his teeth sting your pulsing flesh, even though his licks are too fast to be completely pleasurable, you feel yourself grow slick around his tongue. Your head falls back against the wall and you begin to pant, heart beating so fast that you start to feel faint, teetering on the edge of consciousness.

His forked tongue reaches impossibly deep within you. The fleshy muscle feels wrong but also so good, skin fading from soft pink to greenish-black, its texture rough and bumpy, stimulating you from more directions than you have ever felt at once.

He licks all the way to your cervix—a thing no mere mortal man could ever do to you—greedily biting, sucking, and growling against your throbbing, abused pussy until finally you come with a pitiful, worn-out scream.

You feel his ice-cold lips pull into a smile as he breathes, “Good human. Now give me another—or three more. Maybe five.”

DAMIAN WAYNE 🦇

You go to the guardian of an ancient library for help but, poor you, the sphinx’s riddles prove too challenging for you. In accordance with the legends, you expect to be smited on the spot, or at least banished, but instead—the sphinx shifts to his human form and decides that you are his.

How lucky it is that Damian decides he likes you enough to keep you captive instead of simply killing you as punishment. How lucky it is that he is clever enough to find a use for your frail human form. How lucky it is that he doesn’t find mating with you as repulsive as he originally thought.

“At least work for it,” he drawls, stifling a yawn while he leans back on the emerald-green settee. His arms are spread, powerful shoulders and biceps making him look even bigger than he already is. No, he never touches you—that would be demeaning—but he does offer you the privilege of riding his cock until you make yourself come.

You close your eyes and drive your hips forward and down, trying to strike the spot inside you that only he can reach. No sooner than your eyes flutter closed, though, he snaps his fingers in front of you.

“Look at me, pet.” His head rests on the back of the chair, lips parted with every breath that makes his chest slowly rise and fall. His face looks warm and you wonder what it might feel like to kiss those plush lips—but you’re also coherent enough to realize that he’s measuring his breaths on purpose.

You’re getting to him. You think. You hope. Maybe if you please him, he’ll let you go.

He shifts his hips up and you cry out, nearly losing your balance on his powerful thighs, but a warm hand suddenly cups your ass to drag you back into place. He leans forward, stomach flexing, and murmurs in your ear, “Can’t even do this without help, can you? Useless little human.”

#batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader #🌸— mine.#🌸— bruce wayne.#🌸— dick grayson.#🌸— jason todd.#🌸— tim drake.#🌸— damian wayne.#🌕— dark content.

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ky-landfill · 24 days

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@dickgraysonweek

#Dick’s Undervalued Competency #Dick solving a hangman riddle before Bruce #Intellect #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #Batman dark victory number 12 #young dick grayson

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ghost-bxrd · 2 months

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Just rewatched the scene in Gotham Knights where Dick tries to have a heart-to-heart with Jason on a rooftop and Jason, true to character, shoves him lightly because he doesn’t do emotions, thank you.

And Dick, the dramatic queen, pretends to fall off the roof.

Honestly honey, you out of everyone should know not to scare people with that 😭😂

#some dark humor for the audience lol #also Jason’s panicked little Dick? DICK! had me in tears #sweet boy was terrified he accidentally killed Nightwing lmao #meanwhile Dick:#whoop de doo look at me walking on my hands!#jason todd #dick grayson #Gotham knights #batboys #ghost talks #ghost games

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mylifeingotham · 4 months

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catpriciousmarjara · 4 months

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DC x DP

Bruce finds out Dick is dating Dan(Dark Danny) Phantom

Bruce: You can't date an eldritch ghostly abomination!

Dick: Oh my god Bruce don't be so ectophobic

Bruce: He destroyed the world and killed us all!

Dick: ooooh come on that was like an entire timeline ago. Get over it already! Ghosts change! He even did community service.

Bruce: You still can't date someone that murderous!

Dick: You dated Khoa! I was there for that mess!

Bruce: That was different!

Dick: Oh it was? Then I guess I'll go and date Slade then! How about that huh?

Bruce: ......

Bruce: Eldritch abomination is fine. Bring him around for dinner.

The batsiblings watching this all happen from the sidelines - entertained as fuck

(Later)

Tim: So are you gonna tell Bruce you're seeing Jazz or?

Jason: oh hell no

#DC X DP #DP X DC #Dick Grayson #Bruce Wayne #Dan Phantom #Dark Danny #Dick Grayson/Dan Phantom #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Jazz Fenton #Jason/Jazz #Batfam #Batfamily #Batfamily shenanigans #ghostbat mention

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shallyouobeyme · 6 months

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From the Outside

Part 1 (you're here) | Part 2 (Coming soon)

Platonic!Yandere Batfam x Neglected Batsib!reader (GN)

Summary: You were living your life as a stranger in the house you were supposed to call home, an outsider in a group of people who were supposed to be your family. So you do your best to keep yourself distracted from your situation and go on with your life. But just how long will you be able to keep on with that?

! Minors Do Not Interact !

Requested by @sol565

TW: Not much in this one, neglect (obviously), loss of relatives, car crash (mentioned), cancer (mentioned), swearing, coming up to Yandereness in the next chapters. I'll try to proofread and edit once I finish the whole thing.

Last night you dreamed of your family again. It was a pleasant dream, one that had you wishing to keep on dreaming even after you were woken up by your alarm. All of you were sitting at the dinner table, enjoying Alfred’s excellent cooking. The room was filled with happiness and joy, the kind of atmosphere that has you reminiscing about that day for ages. In your dream you felt so weightless, Damian was sitting opposite you as he listened to you talk about your day, an anecdote of you leading to laughter filling the room. Your mother ruffled your hair from where she was sitting beside you and as you smiled up to her you felt filled with love. Around the table, the Waynes were actively interested in the conversation and Bruce was asking you a question leading to a cheeky comment from your left side. You knew what was said, but you couldn’t understand the voice. Confused you looked to where your father should be sitting but only a distorted shadow figure looked back at you.

It opened whatever would be most akin to a mouth and a blaring sound echoed out of it. Your eyes flew open as you slapped your bedside table to grab your phone. 7 A.M, time to get up. This dream had been haunting you for a few weeks now, the idyllic family dinner turning into an unpleasant reminder of your situation. At first, you had woken up in a cold sweat and slightly fearful from the end, but by now you had grown very accustomed to it. Just another part of your day to get through.

You accepted to pay the mental price for the opportunity to see your mother again, if only during the nights.

Another look at your phone to check the notifications and you got up and got dressed. Given the time you knew that you still had enough time to join your adopted siblings for breakfast, but even Alfred's amazing pancakes and french toast could to move you into the kitchen. Deciding to just nap something from your friends during lunch break at school, you grabbed your bag and jacket before quickly making your way through the manor. Like almost every morning you silently prayed that you wouldn’t come across anyone on your way to the front door. Eighty per cent of the time you were lucky, fifteen per cent you were just ignored and the other five per cent you found yourself stuck in painfully awkward small talk with the people who lived on the same floor as you. People who were supposed to be your closest friends and confidants. People who weren’t that. People who were more akin to strangers.

Today you were in luck as you managed to slip out of the giant house you hated to call home without having to talk to anyone. Getting onto your scooter, you made your way to the school, enjoying the air in your face through the helmet and the feeling of freedom that only came to you on rare occasions.

The school was still fairly empty when you arrived - as was expected - so you had the honour of walking through the empty halls like you owned the place. A sentiment that some of your schoolmates even believed. You wanted to tell them that you had no need for your Guardians money, no interest in his family’s name or his family’s reputation. Bitter thoughts filled your mind, leaving a taste of anger, of disappointment, of anguish on your tongue. They weren’t helped by what you saw when you stopped in front of the trophy showcase. There were pictures of some of the best former student-athletes that had attended the school, and the most recognizable was a picture that was proudly displayed right on eyesight. It was at a sporting event that had happened some twenty to thirty years earlier, one that was still held bi-annually. The winners of different disciplines were smiling proudly into the camera, arms around each other.

Taking the spotlight was a man that every proud Gothamite would recognize as a young Bruce Wayne on one side, a different boy who people tended to overlook based on his less noticeable features and the lack of fame he had, and in the middle of both of them stood Bruce’s former best friend. Your mother. Your late mother.

She had been a beautiful, stunning, talented woman. Everyone who had ever known her told you that. You tried to take some solace in the fact that they told you how alike the two of you were, both in looks and in personality. It did nothing to quell the underlying pain though, the pain still boiling inside you, pain that over the years had turned into anger. You weren’t angry with your mother, of course, you knew that she had not chosen to fall sick, that she had not chosen to succumb to cancer. She had loved you with all her heart and only ever wanted you to be happy. This is why, when your grandparents died in a shooting shortly after her diagnosis, she put it in her will that after her passing you were to be taken care of by her lifelong friend Bruce Wayne. After all, he already had kids and he was rich, just like she and her parents had been - money and estates that now waited on you to turn 18 to take charge of - and he’d be surely able to give you the life and the love she always wanted you to have.

Sadly, your mother had not known Bruce quite as well as she had believed she did. She had no idea that he spent his nights as the infamous Batman, or that the kids he adopted had been turned into fighting machines - sometimes even killers. She had no idea that he was not the amazing, loving and attentive father figure she had wanted you to have. Not even close.

You suppose he had tried at one point. When you were a young child, grieving the loss of your entire family and everything that you had known, he had taken you in like one of his own and assured you that from then on he’d protect you. Back then you had believed him. After all, your mother had told you so many great things about him, why should she lie. And with elder brothers and sisters, a Butler who made sure you had your favourite foods whenever you felt sad and a man who tried his best to be the father you never had. They did lots of work to spend time with you and to pay attention to you which would ensure you wouldn’t notice their weird habits and absences. But of course that couldn’t work forever. After a few months, you found out about their best (and somehow at the same time worst) kept secret and as you walked through the Batcave by Bruce’s side everything changed. He didn’t directly offer to train you, but he did insinuate that it was an option, though you declined. You couldn’t see yourself hurting others. You wanted to help like your mom had helped, by volunteering, bettering the world peacefully. Bruce had assured you that that was a completely acceptable decision and that it wouldn’t change anything. But he had lied. Perhaps knowingly, perhaps not. Maybe some of both.

Once you were aware of their second life, they didn’t put in the effort to pay enough attention to you to make you unaware of their secret. At first, they still spent time with you, but over time it seemed like you were blending into obscurity like a special bottle of champagne that was planned to be open on a special occasion only. Just that the bottle was usually remembered after the occasion had passed in annoyance. You weren’t. And as you phased out of their minds and into oblivion, you made peace with your place in the family. An outsider, a stranger inside their house, just waiting until the time had come for you to finally live your own life.

Of course, you knew you could have it worse. You had enough money to fulfil every wish you had as long as it was material, always had something to wear, something to eat, and somewhere to sleep. The only thing you didn’t have was love. But especially in Gotham you knew that you got away rather luckily with that, so while you were deeply angry towards the people who had promised to treat you like family, to love you, you also tried to just get on with your life.

It would have been easier if it wasn’t just so hard to look at your so-called siblings as if you didn’t resent them for the way they treated you, compared to one another. Somehow showing any interest in you or attempting to spend any time with you was a chore, but somehow Jason and Cass could have a little book club, Jason and Dick could go out for lunch at a cat-cafe, Steph, Cass and Tim could have Spa-days and all of them could have an occasional movie night together. It wasn’t explicitly stated that you weren’t welcome, but you had seen how they acted when you were with them compared to how they acted when you were hiding behind the door listening in. They seemed so much happier without you. As if your mere presence ruined the mood. So you started rejecting their invitations to join and it only took one of two attempts of them to stop asking completely.

You might have been able to cope better with the obvious dismissal of your existence if it had been because you hadn’t been part of the family when they had forged their close bond, but somehow, even when Damian joined, acting like a complete asshole to everyone around him, they managed to include him and when he warmed up to them he joined their close group.

So your newness surely could not have been that big of an issue right? Even Damian, completely new to the family and surely aggressive towards all of his pseudo siblings, seemed to know you were less than the others since he didn’t even bother to insult you, instead opting to ignore you. Completely. A glance spared, looking you up and down, and he had decided you were not worth it and his opinion seemingly still hadn’t changed. Sure by now you had talked with him a few times, but you could say the same about the fucking mayor of Gotham so you were sure that did not really count.

Sometimes, you lay in your bed at night, wide awake, wondering just why you were worth so much less in their eyes. What you had done wrong. Two answers usually presented themselves before you. Either it was because you weren’t a vigilante, something that you might even have been willing to accept, or it was… you. Just you. And for some reason, that was the answer that seemed more plausible to you. Maybe you were just unpleasant to be around, not fitting enough for their family. Not interesting enough, not Wayne enough.

And so you were cursed to live your life like a ghost in what is supposed to be your home. Going in and out every day, just waiting for the day to come when you could move into the penthouse your grandparents had bought you before they died, which would become your legal property in just a few years. You’d start anew. Maybe one day, after a long time and probably a lot of therapy, you’ll be able to start your own family. One that you’d promise not to fuck up like Bruce had. Until then though, you’d go on like always, spend as little time in that Manor as possible and try to distract yourself from your reality.

You really did spend very little time at the manor. For one, no one in that house cared when you left or when you came back except maybe Alfred, but even he either knew that you could properly use the freedom or he was too busy to care. Probably a mix of both. And along with that, you had started a very active life outside of your family. You had a lot of friends, though you were not ready to call any of them close friends, always knowing about how many of them were after the publicity of your actual and current family name and the money and fame connected to it. But they were nice enough and they distracted you so you didn’t mind. Especially because you used said popularity to help the people in town. You managed to get a lot of your friends to volunteer alongside you in different homeless shelters, though a lot of them tended to post dozens of pictures which made you feel a bit icky about them trying to profit from helping others, but you knew you couldn’t complain because it did help the shelters. The shelters told you so themselves.

Most of your ‘pocket money’ was donated and the rest of the time was spent doing different activities, be it arts, sports, parties or just wasting the day away. You did your best to cram as much into your day-to-day life as you could to keep you from thinking too much. To stop you from thinking too much about how messed up you were now, how you couldn’t even confide in any of your friends, how you didn’t even really manage to call them your friends, because you couldn’t allow yourself to let anyone close to you anymore, because you knew you weren’t worth it, because you knew you’d be disappointed and hurt again.

These dark thoughts were kept inside, slowly eating at you like termites, while on the outside you kept on being the happy-go-lucky Gotham personality that people loved to follow. Though you didn’t post a lot on your own social media, your friends and people around you did, which the public loved for some reason. And so you kept up the act, because what else could you do? Let people know you’re hurting? So they could ridicule you for your rich people's problems? Or keep out of the public eye? And have to face the lonely darkness that was your life? No, you’d rather keep on pretending like you had been for years now. Even if it meant being a piece of entertainment for other people who could turn on you at any second.

The day at school was mostly uneventful, only a short moment of passing by Damian ruined your mood as your classmates did their usual shtick of asking if that wasn’t your brother and you trying to shrug them off, after all, how do you explain that your brother treated you like air not worth breathing? So you changed the topic by announcing that you’d go help out at a local shelter after school and asked if anyone wanted to join. Some excused themselves but a few agreed, which led to a group of five of you coming into the shelter a few hours later after some mandatory selfies so keep your friends placated. There was a bit more traffic inside than usual - a few people definitely not in need of help - which was probably because one of your friends posted your plans on their socials. That was something that you had to begrudgingly accept. You couldn’t afford their anger, so you made a compromise with them that they could post stuff like that, but that they couldn’t post the exact location (which in your opinion was just common sense, but it seemed not a lot of people shared that).

Ignoring the people only there to see you or be near a Wayne, you focused on helping those who needed your help, though aware of the effect you could have on the shelter business, you helped out in the kitchen where people couldn’t see you. You didn’t mind, you liked cooking and you and the fellow kitchen staff had a sort of harmonized rhythm. It even helped you get lost in thoughts that didn’t make you wanna cry, so when you got interrupted in your flow, you almost jumped in shock. One of the organizers had tapped on your shoulder.

“Y/N, there’s a man outside that wants to talk to you,” Marcus told you and nodded towards the door to the front.

“They still haven’t left? I’m really sorry Marc, if you think it’s better if I leave, then I will,” you sighed, annoyed by the turn of events.

“No, it’s not a fan. At least I think, he’s- well, he claims to have something really important to talk to you about. He gave me this to show to you, said it’ll show you he’s serious,” Marcus shrugged and held a picture out to you. It was an old Polaroid of a young couple smiling into the camera. Your breath hitched.

“Is he the guy in the picture?” you asked with a newly found seriousness.

“Yes, at least he looks like it. Is the woman-”

“Yeah, could we use the office? Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

“Sure, no problem, go ahead, I’ll bring him to you in a minute.”

“Thank you,” you earnestly smiled at Marcus as you made your way to the door that led to the office. You were used to being nervous, but not quite as nervous as you were then. This could change a lot of things, everything if it was what you imagined it to be. You looked at the picture in your hand again before sitting down behind the desk and putting it down on the desk. There were steps behind the door coming closer, so you took a deep breath as you wiped your hands on your pant legs. The door opened and in came a man who looked just like the guy from the Polaroid. He seemed familiar, not just from that snapshot of the past, but something in his face rang a bell in your memories. You mustered him, trying to keep a stern exterior as you didn’t know if this was going to be what you thought it would be.

Marcus gestured the man to sit down on the other side of the desk, before giving you an encouraging nod and closing the door as he left.

“Hello,” you greeted the man, hands intertwined before you on the desk.

“Hello,” he responded alike and you could feel his curiosity burning through you. Had you misinterpreted this? Was this just another weird fan?

“This picture,” you looked at it again before sliding it towards him, “how do you know my mom?”

A/N: So, what do y'all think? Let me know in the comments or in my inbox ❤️ Also, I'd appreciate feedback on the title as well, not sure if I should change it or keep it.

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