#vampire nightwing

[allineedisonedream]

some Vampire Wally and Dick

Wally accidentally got turned too. Turns out vampires don’t actually need that much blood to survive — so he didn’t have to wipe out half of humanity after all. Yippee!

REF:

[saintnoctis]

vampire!dick showing up late to male!readers house, begging him to let him in because he os so hungry, 🚃

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒

dick grayson x m!reader

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒 ! ── 1.1k words. a familiar and needy vampire, dick, shows up at your door craving his favorite kind of warm, sweet blood. yours.

There’s a frantic, uneven knock at your door—too fast, too desperate to be polite.

It drags you out of your thoughts instantly.

“Please—” A voice you know. It’s strained, breathless, like it’s being dragged out of him. “I know you’re in there. I can hear your heartbeat..”

You freeze, hand tightening around the edge of the counter. Of course he can hear you.

Another knock—more like he’s leaning his whole weight against the wood now. “C’mon, don’t do this,” he pleads, softer this time, forehead probably pressed to the door. “Just… just let me in. I won’t hurt you. I swear.” His voice breaks again, sharper, almost a whine.

You shouldn’t.

You know you shouldn’t.

But your feet move anyway. The second you crack the door open, he’s there—eyes blown wide, pupils swallowing what little blue is left, lips parted like he forgot how to breathe properly.

His hair’s a mess, his clothes rumpled, and he looks… wrecked. Like something starving.

“Hey,” you murmur, cautious.

Dick swallows hard, gaze locking onto your throat immediately. His hand comes up, gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “Hi,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “You smell— God, you smell so good.”

You hesitate, trying to keep your tone steady. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I won’t.” He nods quickly. “I won’t, I won’t. I just—please, just let me in. Your heartbeat is driving me insane.”

Another beat of silence.

Then you open the door wider. He stumbles in like he’s been holding himself together by threads, immediately turning away from you, hands gripping his head.

“Shit— okay, okay—” he mutters to himself. “I can do this—”

“You don’t look like you can,” you say quietly.

“I can if you help me.” He turns back to you, eyes glassy now.

He takes a step closer.

Then another.

Slow, careful.

“Please,” Dick whispers, softer than before. “I tried not to come. I did. I tried to find anything else, anyone else, but it’s not the same. It’s never the same.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to just grab you.

“I need you,” he admits, voice shaking. “Your blood— it’s… it’s sweet. It’s warm. It—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. “I can hear it. Every second. It’s all I can think about.”

You swallow, pulse jumping under his gaze. That definitely doesn’t help. Dick lets out a broken sound, stepping closer until you can feel the cold radiating off him.

“Don’t do that,” he pleads. “Don’t— don’t make it faster. I’m trying so hard not to lose it.”

“You’re the one staring,” you point out, though your voice isn’t as steady as you want.

“I can’t not stare,” he breathes. “It’s you.”

His hand finally lifts, hovering near your wrist but he doesn’t touch. Not yet. “Say I can,” he whispers.

“Please. Just say I can have a little. I’ll be good.. I promise. I’ll be so good for you.” His voice dips, almost frantic now.

“I’ll stop the second you tell me to. I swear it. Just don’t make me leave like this.”

You stare at him for a long second, taking in the way his hands are shaking, the way he’s trying to keep himself together as his lips tremble. “…God, you’re a mess,” you mutter under your breath.

Dick huffs out something that might be a laugh, but it’s thin, strained. “Yeah.. Your mess, though, right?”

You roll your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose before finally giving in. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

Relief hits his face instantly, almost overwhelming. “I won’t,” he promises quickly, already stepping closer. “I’ll be a good boy. Such a good boy, I—”

“Yeah, yeah, move,” you cut him off, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the couch.

He follows without resistance—more than that, he clings a little, like he needs the direction.

His fingers tighten around yours, his breathing uneven again as soon as you sit. You barely have a second to get comfortable before Dick moves.

One second he’s standing in front of you, the next he’s climbing over you, knees on either side of your hips as he straddles you on the couch.

The sudden shift makes you blink, caught off guard.

“…Dick?”

He freezes for half a second, like he just realized what he did.

“Sorry— sorry,” he rushes out, even though he doesn’t actually move away. If anything, his grip on you tightens slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll push him off. “I just— this is easier. I won’t take more than you give, I promise.”

You hesitate, a little confused by the position, by how close he suddenly is again—but you don’t tell him to get off.

Instead, your hand comes up almost on its own, fingers threading lightly into his hair. “C’mere,” you murmur.

Then you guide him closer, pulling his head toward your neck. The effect is immediate. A shaky breath leaves him, something between relief and disbelief. “You sure?” he whispers, voice already thinning at the edges.

You don’t answer with words this time—just tilt your head slightly, giving him better access.

That’s all the permission he needs.

He presses in, closer than before, his grip tightening as if he’s afraid you might change your mind. His lips brush your skin again, softer this time, almost reverent—

Then he bites.

The sting is brief, quickly melting into that same warm, heavy feeling as he settles in properly this time. A quiet sound slips out of him. Not just relief.

His shoulders tense, then relax all at once as he leans into you, holding you a little tighter. His breathing turns uneven again, but not from restraint this time—from how intensely he’s reacting. He lets out a soft, involuntary whimper, like he didn’t mean to make the sound at all.

Your fingers tighten slightly in his hair.

That only makes it worse.

Another muffled sound escapes him, low and needy, his body pressing closer without thinking.

He’s still careful—still not taking too much—but he’s clearly struggling to keep himself composed now. “You taste—” he tries again, voice breaking into a breathy laugh. “You have no idea what you do to me…”

His hand shifts, gripping a little tighter at your side, grounding himself as he continues—slow, lingering, like he’s savoring every second.

“Aaah— yes..”

The small noises he makes don’t stop—quiet, unfiltered, slipping out every time he breathes, every time he swallows.

“M- Mmh..”

Eventually, he pulls back just enough to breathe properly, but he doesn’t go far.

His forehead nearly rests against you, his grip still firm, like he needs to stay close. “…I meant it,” he murmurs, voice softer now, a little wrecked. “I’ll be good. I’ll behave.”

A small pause. Then, quieter—

“Just… don’t stop me, okay?”

© 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐬 — do not copy my work.

[silvaaart]

dink vampire 🌌🦇🧛🏻

[carnicer01]

Midnight thirst

[edi-storm]

Hi! i love your Damijon arts! not sure if you still take requests or not but ii was wondering if you could draw a vampire Damian protecting a human Jon from the evil vampire king (Dick Grayson)?

Sorry for doing this so late🤧🤧

Senior year is KILLING ME

[nagiishigh]

Vampire nightwing yall

And yes I did reuse my own art

[killabirdflash]

Birdflash Week - Day 2

"Vampire!Dick"

@birdflashweek

[darkestnight-yandere]

Bloodletting (you should drink)

Yandere!Vampire!Rouges x Gn!Vampire Slayer!Reader x Yandere!Vampire!Batfam

Masterlist━━╋━

Part 1 ━━╋━ Part 2 (you're here) Part 3 ━━╋━

Characters: You (2nd POV), Tim Drake/Red Robin, Batman/Bruce Wayne, Poison Ivy, Barbra Gordon/Oracle (Mentioned), Dick Grayson/Nightwing.

Warnings: Infantilizing language, blood, canon-typical violence, medical procedures, forced feeding/drinking blood. I'm making up the Vampires as I go, so they might not be traditional to "normal" Vampires.

THIS WORK WAS ***NOT*** WRITTEN WITH THE HELP OF AI, AND MAY NOT BE SCRAPED FOR THE TRAINING OF AI AND/OR OTHER TECHNOLOGY. TAG LIST, AND IMAGE RIGHTS ARE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE POST. Ask box is open for any questions! MDNI.

Your worst fears were real. You were going to die. Your blood wouldn't be drained, but you doubted that Batman would allow you to live after all of this. All of your missions out, all of the Vampires you helped kill. It would all be for nothing. Your party would not know what happened to you, you hoped that they would mourn you.

Batman stood slowly, his cape billowing out around him like a shadow. You couldn't see his face, too obscured by his tall cowl, but you could see his eyes.

Curiously, they were blue. You had been told that all Vampire's eyes turned red, but Batman's eyes were like ice over rushing water. They pinned you down where you stood, analyzing you with a critical gaze.

You were shaking now, blood loss starting to make you dizzy. You took a stumbling step back, which Batman matched with a sort of slow glide that made nary a sound. He was in no hurry to chase you down, as he knew that you would not be able to run far.

Perhaps he was toying with you. Like a lion following after a gazelle it had already torn into, bloodied and limping and moving only out of instinct.

You hadn't realized how tall Batman was until you were face to face with him. You had to crane your neck to look up, tears pooling in your eyes as death stared you down. Neither of you moved, your labored breathing filling the silence of the inches between you. You could smell him, he was so close.

"That isn't your blood," he stated, leather glove-clad hand pinching your cheek and tilting your head from side to side. He paused when he saw your injury, still sluggishly bleeding. The dried blood felt tight against your skin as he moved your chin further upward, stopping only when you gasped in pain at the stretch. His frown deepened into a scowl.

"I found them sneaking around the park." Red Robin's hand was suddenly grasping your arm, pulling you up. You hadn't even noticed you were starting to slump, or that he had caught up to you. "They almost fell for the lamp Jason put up, I didn't smell them until they started to run."

Batman grunted.

"They don't have a Sire," Red Robin continued, his voice lowering in pity, "I doubt they have a clan either. They're soaked in human blood, they had a vial-"

The vial which still hung from your neck limply, mostly emptied of blood. Batman's eyes narrowed a fraction, then raised to meet yours again.

"Why didn't you drink?" He demanded, "why did you run?"

"It's blood?" You argued, "I, I don't drink blood?"

Batman's face twitched, the corner of his lip twitching. His eyes scanned the blood that covered your front, drying against your clothes tacky and dark.

"That's another thing. I don't think they know that they've been turned." Red Robin saddled up next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist again. Before, his grasp had been a cage. Now, it was a crutch. Your eyelids fluttered and you let out a little groan, slumping against him as your knees trembled and threatened to give out.

"No time." Batman pulled away from you, and your head bowed forward as your vision swam with black dots. "Get to the nearest cave. Oracle," he turned away from you and Red Robin, starting to walk away, "prepare the medbay and alert Alfred."

Red Robin held tightly onto your arm, squeezing tightly as Batman shot a grappling bolt into the air and was thrust up into the night with a loud snap of his cape flattening against his back.

Then, you and Red Robin were alone. Gotham's night was oppressive all around you as the moon continued its sluggish climb up into the sky. Storm clouds gathered, but they did not obscure the moon's glow.

Adrenaline sapped from your veins and left you feeling hollow and over-warm. The pain in your neck thudded in an echo in the back of your mind, and your eyelids fluttered feverishly. Red Robin's breath was cold against your forehead as he spoke quickly, but all you could hear was a sharp ringing as you stared up at the bloody moon. The moon stared back at you, a single open eye.

Awareness came back to you slowly, like molasses being poured from a jar. Your body was heavy, every muscle warm and lax from where you were snuggled against another body. Whoever it was, they were like a furnace. Blackgate had always been so cold, the blankets thin and moth-bitten.

Cold was familiar, and it was safe. It meant you were alive another day. Warmth though...It reminded you of what safety meant before the blood moon. When you were a child and your father would put your blanket into the dryer for a few minutes to heat it up, and then tuck you in on a cold winter night. Kissing your forehead, and whispering that he loved you.

A hand pets over your hair, a slow and soothing stroke that stops just at the edge of your skull and restarts at your hairline. The hands aren't cold, cool maybe, and you let out a small noise at the disturbance on your little world of warmth and calm.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" A male voice whispers, and the hand pauses on your hairline. His thumb makes slow circles against your temple as your eyes fight to open, "it's okay, winglet. You don't need to be getting up yet."

You grunt in reply, the last drags of sleep clearing from your mind. You force your eyes open, blinking against the bleariness that coats your eyeballs. When you vision clears, and your mind finally catches up with your body, you realize that something is horribly wrong.

You're in some kind of med bay, you remember Batman saying something about that before you passed out. The walls are brick concrete and painted a light blue with a darker blue trim. There's one window, but the blinds are firmly pulled over it. The floor is linoleum white, and the only door is shut.

An IV bag dangles from a metal frame next to the bed, the thin tube connected to your wrist. Why would Vampires still have those, if they drank blood? Surely, it would've been a waste to keep perfectly good human blood for something as benign to them as a blood transfusion.

The man snuggled behind you seems to sense that you're going to bolt, because as you try to roll out of his arms and off of the bed you've found yourself in a pair of strong arms wrap around your middle.

"No, no, don't fight," he says calmly, arms not moving from their place as you firmly push and shove at his arms. It's as if they're made of lead and barely budge despite you putting all of the strength you can manage. "You were shivering in here, I needed to make sure that you were okay. It's cold out there now that it's fall, B-man would have my fangs if you ended up getting cold-blooded."

His voice is so familiar it aches, and turns into a thudding under your skin at the base of your skull. You've heard it before, but where?

"I'll let you go now, but don't roll off the bed. You're plugged in, and I don't want to have to reset your line again." The man slowly uncurls his arms from your middle, and pulls them out from under you before his front is gone from being flush against your back.

He gets off of the bed, and you shuffle to put yourself against the wall as Nightwing, the vigilante from Bludhaven, slides off of the bed and comes to a stopping crouch in front of your bed.

"What the fuck were you doing in my-" you swallow, and correct yourself, "the bed?"

Nightwing's expression is soft, pitying almost. "Just keeping you warm," he says slowly, palms facing up and towards you, "cold-blood is a very real condition for fledglings, like you."

"I'm human," you insist spitefully, sucking in a breath through your teeth at the flicker of frustration that passes by Nightwing's face, just a twitch of his brow and a tweak of his mouth. But you saw it. "I'm human," you repeat, softer this time, "I-I don't know why you think I'm not, but I am. I swear!"

Nightwing's face shifts back to pity, and he rocks back onto his heels and rests his hands on the bed, "but you're not," he whispers, his voice loud in the quiet of the medbay, "you're like us. I don't know who your sire is, or why they turned you and left you alone, or where you've been, but you need us. You need a sire."

You shook your head, tears of frustration starting to form in your eyes, "I'm not a Vampire! I'm human! Just like the rest of my-" you slap a hand over your mouth in horror as Nightwing's expression sharpens.

"Others?" He asks. You don't respond or give him any clarification, you have a feeling that he knows already. Batman and his gaggle of vigilantes are smart. They're detectives, trained to work out any bit of information they get. You can see the gears in Nightwing's head turning furiously as his face sets into firm neutrality.

You know what conclusion he's come to.

"Where are they?" His cutesy, playful, nature is gone and left behind is a brick wall. You shrink into yourself, hand cupped over your mouth to stop yourself from making any noise.

You should have never gone out, you should have begged someone to come along with you. To protect you. Now you were trapped with a monster.

"You can tell me," he leans forward, hand slowly moving across the bed as he reaches for you, "I won't be upset! I just want to help you." His hand brushes against the blanket and your toes curl.

Your eyes dart around the room and land on your backpack. A small coil of hope in your stomach gives you the foolish thought that maybe, just maybe, the tools you took out with you would still be there. Maybe you would have a chance.

"Hey."

Your eyes snap back to Nightwing, who shakes his head slightly, "don't even think about it. I know that you're scared, but if you do something stupid I'll have to react. I don't want to hurt you, but I will."

The stare down between the two of you lasts a few seconds longer. The eye contact is uncomfortable and settles under your skin in a way that feels like sandpaper scraping you from the inside out.

Sweat pools on your brow and your scalp, your pulse starting to beat so hard you can feel it in your fingers. You feel hot and flushed, your mouth is dry and your tongue is sticky.

Finally, Nightwing breaks his gaze. Not fully looking away from you, but at least freeing you from the hell that is this odd stare down. He reaches into a pocket on his utility belt and pulls out a small red bottle.

"It's time you stop behaving like this," he said, "I'm going to be as gentle as I can, but you need to drink."

You know what's in the bottle. You move to bolt but Nightwing is faster. He pounces on you like a wild animal and pins you down, his arm heavy on your neck. You choke and claw at his arm, but that's exactly the opening he's looking for.

With one hand he deftly pops open the bottles cork, and presses the bottle top to your lips. You try to struggle, to yank your head to the side, but Nightwing moves with a practice that tells you he's done this many, many, times.

He treats you like a misbehaving cat, softly shushing you as he tips the bottle forward and thin blood fills your mouth. You choke on it, trying to cough it out. Nightwing holds your chin steady, dropping the empty bottle next to your head.

He removes his arm from your neck and uses his other arm to gently stroke at your throat, mechanically forcing you to swallow. You moan at the taste before you can stop yourself, shaking as the blood coasts your tongue.

It's delicious.

The best thing you've ever tasted. Like a million of your favorite foods rolled into one, and it slides down your throat like mythical ambrosia. You cough out a tiny bit of the blood, and it flecks across Nightwing's face.

He's smiling, stroking your cheek and crooning as the blood settles heavy in your stomach. You can already feel your vision darkening, red gathering in the corners as your head starts to pound. Blood, your blood, wells up in your nose and up your throat and you choke as it spills out down your chin.

"I'll hurt for a bit," Nightwing whispers, patiently wiping away the blood as you writhe in agony, a gargling howl leaving your throat as your entire body is lit on fire. "It'll pass, and then we can get you your first proper meal."

He leans down and presses your lips together, swiping a tongue out and humming at the taste of your blood. You don't kiss back, you can only lay there and tremble as ice takes place of the fire. He kisses you until the ice leaves as well, and leaves you feeling empty.

It leaves you...Hungry.

Rights to the dividers goes to: @strangergraphics, @sisterucifergraphics, @cursed-carmine

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