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Hi I know this isn’t what I usually post but man, I’m so heated rn. If you didn’t know, wayv took to expose their sasaeng (stalker fan) recently who was trying to take pictures of the boys going to the bathroom. She’s been stalking mark since he was 16 before he even debuted and you can read the tweets I found (creds to op on Twitter). I’m sharing to bring more awareness to the issue and to ask y’all to please email and tweet sm to protect our boys. It’s time to put this b!tch a$$ clown in jail

i’ve been traveling and have no access to information on twitter and won’t until i’m back. i cannot speak on anything until i have all the information. it’s the most responsible thing to do in this situation. however, using this opportunity to further spread hate, harassment and even send more death threats is such a disgrace and i will continue blocking ANYONE who thinks it’s ever ok to do these things to another human being.

i have not blocked anyone who wasn’t saying something unkind or untrue. i’ve reported EVERYONE sending death threats and you should too. to use recent events to justify spreading more hate and wishing for more death is the most vile thing i’ve ever seen. what a disrespect to the very serious issue of online harassment. wishing for harm is ALWAYS UNACCEPTABLE. and i still wouldn’t hold those people responsible for their whole community. its simply not fair.

these people will not stop because they aren’t doing it for me and won’t listen to me. this isn’t about communities. it isn’t about me. it’s about spreading hate. hating my abuser doesn’t align someone with me or make them representative of what i’ve spent years teaching. be kind. have compassion. be there for those struggling. take care of yourselves and put your mental health first. i’ll speak more on stream when i’m back.

Minty… your dark romances are everything. 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 If I may, can I ask for a King of Vampires Dick Grayson dark romance? And can it be a soulmate AU? Like, everybody eventually has the name of their soulmate etched into their skin at some point in their life (humans and vampires), and human reader finds out that hers is the King of the Vampires. Everyone isolates from her, and she tries to hide away while Dick looks for her.

WRITTEN WITH BLOOD | vampire! dick grayson x reader

DC MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: manipulation

You thought it was just a myth.

A cautionary tale told around dying campfires and passed in whispers between generations. A story for children and foolish romantics—about the Vampire King who once ruled in silence, hidden beneath moonlight and shadow. Beautiful. Cruel. Eternal.

They called him Richard Grayson. The man with eyes like dusk and a smile sharp enough to cut your heart out. A ghost story.

So when his name appeared over your ribs—etched in dark crimson, as if written in dried blood—you laughed. Panicked. Scrubbed at it until your skin went raw.

Because that couldn’t be real. Soulmate marks were real—everyone had one eventually, human or not—but this? This had to be a mistake. Still, the name pulsed like it knew you. And the people around you noticed.

They stopped speaking to you. Avoided your touch. You overheard them muttering about the omen—about him. You heard someone say you were tainted, that your bond would bring death to the village.

You were scared. So you left.

You make it to Gotham by nightfall, half-frozen and heartsick, praying to any god left that Zatanna is home.

She’s the only one who might know what this is. Who might fix it.

She takes one look at your ribs when you pull your shirt aside and goes deathly still. Her breath hitches. Her gloved hand trembles when it hovers above your skin.

“This isn’t a trick,” she says softly. “This is real.”

“No, it can’t be,” you whisper. “He’s not—he’s not even real. He’s just some fairy tale—”

Zatanna’s eyes, full of old magic, meet yours. “He’s real. Or… he was. Long ago. A vampire king who disappeared centuries back. I thought he was just a story too—but this…” She gestures to the name. “This mark is a soulbound seal. You don’t get these unless the bond is true.”

You collapse onto the couch, dizzy. “What do I do? Can I reject it? Can I break it?”

She hesitates. “Zee,” you beg. “Please.”

Her voice drops. “The bond was written in blood and power. It predates language. You can’t undo it. If he still exists, he’ll be looking for you.” You feel like the air is being crushed out of your lungs. “I never asked for this.”

Zatanna kneels beside you and takes your hand. “I know. But you’re his soulmate now, whether you want to be or not.” Then, after a long pause: “You need to hide.”

But he is already awake.

Stirred from centuries of slumber the moment his name seared itself into your skin. The bond rattled through his bones like lightning—dragging his consciousness out of the dark crypt he called home.

Richard Grayson rises.

The first thing he tastes is your fear. The panic in your blood. The sorrow in your heartbeat. He smiles. You’re alive. You’re his. And you’re running from him. He can feel it. The bond pulling tight. Like a leash made of stars.

He stretches his wings beneath the moonlight and opens his eyes, glowing with cold desire. “Found you.”

They came at dusk. Not with fire, but with fear.

A group of locals who’d once waved at you in the market—now armed with holy symbols and harsh voices. They shouted that you were cursed. That the name on your skin would damn the city.

You tried to reason. To plead. But the moment one of them reached for you—

He appeared.

A blur of motion and cold air, sharp and silent as the night. Before you could scream, the man who grabbed you was on the ground—pale and breathless, eyes wide in terror as he scrambled away.

The others backed off instantly.

They didn’t know who he was. But something in him—something unnatural—made them run.

And then he turned to you.

He looked… human.

Tall, handsome, with blue eyes and black hair curled slightly at his temples. Dressed in dark clothes that didn’t quite fit this century. He moved with precision, like someone who didn’t waste a single breath. Not a fang or claw in sight.

“…You alright?” he asked, voice low and smooth.

You nodded, throat dry. “I think so.”

“They were going to hurt you.” Your gaze dropped. You hated how your lip trembled. “They think I’m marked.”

He blinked slowly. “Are you?” You hesitated. “Does it matter?”

“…Not to me.”

You looked up sharply. He said it so simply. So honestly. As if he knew the weight you carried and chose to lift it anyway. “I’m Dick,” he offered. “Just passing through.”

Your ribs twitched. The bond burned, but—no. No, the name was Richard. Not Dick. You didn’t even make the connection. You were too shaken, too grateful, too exhausted.

“…Thank you, Dick,” you said softly. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stepped in.”

He shrugged, but didn’t move. “I can stay nearby. Just in case they come back.” You hesitated. Looked toward your apartment door. Then, with a quiet breath— “…Or you could come in.”

He followed you inside. Didn’t even blink when the protective wards flickered over the doorway. He didn’t force his way in. He waited until you gave permission. And the moment he crossed the threshold—something in the bond snapped taut, like a tether between your hearts had been yanked. But you didn’t know. You thought you’d invited a stranger.

He stood by the window, hands behind his back, letting the dim golden light of your kitchen spill across his features. You noticed the rings on his fingers. The way his voice lingered long after he spoke.

“Strange name,” you mused quietly from the couch. “Dick.” He smiled, head tilted. “It’s a nickname. Old family name.”

“Oh. I thought my soulmate’s name was Richard.” You gave a sad laugh. “But that’s just a myth, right?”

His smile didn’t falter. “Right.”

The tension in the air lingered long after the mob fled.

You sat curled up on the couch, knees tucked against your chest, fingers trembling as you held the steaming mug of tea. Across from you, he sat comfortably in the chair by the window, back straight, hands resting on his thighs, not quite relaxed but not tense either. He watched the rain trickle down the glass in silence, as if he had all the time in the world.

You weren’t sure what to make of him.

He was polite. Strangely kind. And terrifying in a way that didn’t come from what he did—but from what he didn’t do. The kind of quiet restraint that made you wonder how much power sat coiled beneath the surface.

You sipped your tea carefully, trying not to stare too long at the man who’d saved you. “…They’re not coming back, are they?”

His eyes shifted to you. Blue—almost violet in the low light. “No,” he said simply. “Not while I’m here.”

You nodded slowly, grateful, unsettled. “They think I’m dangerous. Or cursed.”

“They’re afraid,” he said. “Fear makes people cruel.”

“You don’t seem afraid.”

“I’m not.”

That answer should’ve scared you. But instead, it made something in your chest loosen. You sighed and looked down into your cup. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for a name I didn’t know carved into me forever.”

He hummed, just a quiet sound of acknowledgement. Then, after a pause: “Do you know anything about him?”

“…My soulmate?”

He nodded.

You gave a bitter laugh. “Just that his name is Richard. That he’s supposed to be some—some king or monster or ancient vampire who vanished centuries ago.” You glanced up at him, wry. “You’d think someone would’ve gotten rid of that fairy tale by now.”

“I’ve heard that story,” he said softly.

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “They say he was powerful. A leader. That he disappeared after losing something important. A war. Or a love. Depends on who you ask.”

You scoffed. “Soulmate bonds are supposed to bring people together, not ruin them.”

“What if it wasn’t the bond that ruined him?” he asked, voice quiet. “What if it was the world that couldn’t accept it?”

You blinked. That struck deeper than you expected. “…I don’t know. Maybe. Doesn’t matter. He’s not real.”

“No?”

“If he was, he would’ve shown up by now. Or… I don’t know. The bond would’ve done something. But it just hurts. Like a reminder that I’m alone.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “You’re not alone now.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

He had the kind of beauty that didn’t seem to belong to this era. Sharp cheekbones, shadowed eyes, a mouth that held secrets. His coat hung off him like it belonged to a prince. A fallen angel. Something old.

“…What do you think of him?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked again. “Who?”

“Your soulmate.”

You stared into your tea. “I think… I hate him. A little. Not because he exists. But because he’s real enough to ruin my life without being real enough to love me back.”

Something in his expression cracked—just for a second. A flicker of emotion too deep to name. He looked away again, back out the window, and when he spoke, it was almost to himself.

“He’d be a fool not to love you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you sat in silence, sipping your tea, the sound of rain filling the quiet between you.

Neither of you said it—but something passed between you. Heavy. Inevitable.

He would stay. To protect you. The town would leave you alone, if only because they were more afraid of him.

And you—despite yourself—would let him.

Because “Dick” didn’t feel like a monster. He felt like a shadow you could lean against. Like safety wearing the face of a stranger. You didn’t realize how your ribs burned beneath your shirt every time he looked at you. Or how the name marked on your skin had started to glow.

You didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

You curled up on the couch beneath a blanket, pretending the steady beat of rain against the window was enough to lull you into rest, but your mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the townsfolk’s faces twisted in fear. And behind them—him. The man now seated on the floor by your door, one knee raised, one hand resting lazily over it like a sentinel carved from dusk.

He didn’t need to sleep. That much was obvious.

Instead, he watched. Not in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in a way that felt… grounding. Present. Like no matter what storm knocked at your door, he’d be there to hold it shut with one hand and never break a sweat.

You shifted under the blanket and murmured, “…You don’t have to stay right there all night.”

“I know.”

“But you’re going to anyway.”

He didn’t respond. Just a small, knowing quirk of his lips.

You studied his profile in the dark. “You really believe in soulmates?”

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded once. “Yes.”

That surprised you. “Even after everything?”

“Especially after everything.”

You frowned. “You talk like you’ve… lost someone.”

“I did.”

You hesitated, chest tightening. “Was it your soulmate?”

He didn’t answer.

You almost didn’t expect him to. Maybe that was too much. Too personal.

But just when you were about to apologize, he said, quietly, “I spent years looking for her. Even before I knew her name. Even before the bond. I think… part of me always knew I was missing someone.”

You sat up a little. The fire in your living room crackled low, casting long shadows. “…And when you find her?”

He finally looked at you then. Really looked.

“I won’t let her be afraid. Not of me. Not of the bond. Not of what it means.”

Your breath hitched. You opened your mouth to speak—ask something, maybe thank him—but your chest burned.

It was sudden. Hot. Like a sun flaring beneath your ribs. You gasped and gripped your side instinctively, fingers curling over the brand of your soulmate’s name—Richard—as it flared to life under your skin.

The pain wasn’t unbearable. But it was undeniable.

You choked on a breath. “What the—?”

He was beside you in an instant, crouched at your side before you even heard him move. “Let me see it.”

You pulled back without meaning to. “What’s happening—?”

“It’s the bond,” he said softly. “It’s responding.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “That’s not possible. I haven’t met him—”

“Yes, you have.”

The words stopped you cold.

You stared at him. Really stared. And it was like your vision shifted. The angles of his face sharpened. The centuries in his eyes peeled back. Not just handsome. Not just strange.

Ancient.

“…What?”

His hand hovered near your wrist, not touching, waiting.

“My name,” he said, almost a whisper, “is Richard.”

You froze.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to frighten you,” he said. “You’ve been through enough. I thought… if I stayed close, if I helped, maybe you’d feel the bond before the world told you what I was.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

“No,” you whispered. “You can’t be—”

“Your ribs say otherwise.”

You gripped your chest, heart threatening to tear itself apart. “You’re the King. The one they say vanished—”

“I never vanished. I just… waited.” His voice cracked faintly. “I waited until I could feel you. Until I could find you. And now I have.”

Your hands trembled.

Part of you wanted to run. Part of you wanted to scream.

But deeper than that—beneath all the noise and fear—was the quiet, aching pull that had followed you your entire life. That same pull you’d felt the moment you let him inside.

“…You lied to me.”

“I protected you from the truth,” he said gently. “I would have told you. But I needed you to see me first. Not the stories. Not the fear. Just me.”

You swallowed hard, emotions crashing over you in waves. “…And what happens now?”

He held your gaze, soft but unyielding.

“Now I stay. Unless you ask me to leave.” You looked down at your ribs.

The name pulsed softly beneath your skin—like a heartbeat. Your heartbeat. You should have told him to go. Should have thrown him out. Should have feared him. But instead, you sat there, breathing in sync with his silence. And whispered: “…Stay.”

“So… what do we do now?” you asked, your voice small against the hum of the fire and the soft rain beyond the windows.

His eyes didn’t leave you, steady as ever. Watching. Waiting.

You hesitated, glancing at him—really looking at him. At the man who sat on your floor with such impossible patience, as though eternity itself could wait for your permission.

“And… this—” you gestured toward him, the coat, the softened lines of his face, the warmth in his eyes, “is this what you really look like?”

He was quiet for a breath. Then he shook his head.

“When I was human—yes. But now… no.”

You swallowed.

Part of you wasn’t sure why your heart beat faster. Fear? Curiosity? Or that pull—strange and ancient—that seemed to live in your veins now, whispering you were made for this.

“…Can you show me?” you asked.

He blinked.

“I mean…” You shifted in your seat, gripping your mug with both hands. “We’re soulmates, right? I should… see the real you. If we’re going to do this.”

The silence stretched long between you. Not cold—just heavy. Weighty with the kind of decision that couldn’t be taken back.

He watched you. Read your expression. Then gave a faint nod.

“All right.”

You held your breath.

And then—he began to change.

It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t monstrous. It was fluid—like shadows melting off his skin, like centuries unfurling from his bones. His coat whispered against itself as his shoulders straightened, stretched, his presence swelling to fill the room like a storm rolling in. His nails lengthened into sleek, obsidian points. His irises deepened into a luminous, predatory red, glowing softly beneath the dim firelight. The gentle lines of his face sharpened, high cheekbones cutting like marble, fangs glinting faintly beneath his parting lips.

He was beautiful. Inhuman. Ageless.

The embodiment of every myth whispered behind closed doors at midnight. Even in this form, they were still him.

Still Dick. You didn’t move. Didn’t scream. You only looked up at him, heart hammering, and whispered, “Oh.”

He stood still, watching you closely, not advancing. Not even breathing. “Does it frighten you?” he asked softly.

You looked into those gleaming eyes, into the eternity they held. “…A little,” you admitted, truth catching in your throat. “But not enough to make me look away.”

He closed his eyes—just for a second—and when he opened them again, the tension in his shoulders had loosened. Something in him broke. Quietly. Softly. Like a chain slipping loose.

You reached out—slow, deliberate—and brushed your fingers against his hand.

It was cold. But the moment your skin touched his, that heat in your chest bloomed again, golden and soft, warming your insides like sunlight through glass.

You looked up at him. And for the first time, he looked unsure. “I didn’t think…” he murmured, almost to himself. “That you’d ask to see me. Like this.”

“I didn’t think I’d want to,” you said quietly. He glanced down at your hands. “But here you are,” you added. His hand turned, slow and deliberate, until his fingers curled around yours. He bent slightly, bringing your knuckles to his lips—but he didn’t kiss them. He breathed you in.

And whispered, like a vow etched in stone: “Here I’ll stay.”

Your heart was a mess of thunder and soft ache, pounding so loud in your chest you were sure he could hear it—feel it—through the bond tethered between you. His breath still lingered on your skin, cool and reverent, like he was afraid that touching you too hard would break whatever fragile, impossible thing had taken root between you.

You looked at him. At all of him.

The glow of his eyes, the edges of him sharp with shadow, inhuman and terrifying—and still, somehow, heartbreakingly familiar. Still him. Still the man who’d stood at your door and asked for tea. Who stayed when the world didn’t. Who hadn’t let you fall.

Your hand shook slightly as you lifted it, fingers brushing up the side of his jaw. His head tilted ever so slightly into the touch, the gesture so gentle it made your chest ache.

“I don’t know what this means yet,” you whispered.

His lips parted, something uncertain flashing in his expression.

“But I know I feel it. The bond. The… pull.” You swallowed. “I’ve never felt anything like it. And I don’t think I’ll ever feel anything like it again.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t dare move. Just watched you with that centuries-old gaze—guarded, glowing, still.

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “But I think I’d regret it more if I didn’t.”

And then—before you could talk yourself out of it—you leaned in.

Your lips brushed his, tentative and trembling, nothing like a fairytale and everything like a beginning. For a second, he didn’t move. But then his hands rose to your waist, not pulling, not claiming—holding. Anchoring. As if you might vanish like smoke if he wasn’t careful.

He kissed you back.

It was soft at first. Reverent. Then deeper, fuller—like something unspoken was finally being answered. His fangs grazed your lip, but never bit. His cold breath shuddered against your skin as though even he couldn’t believe this was real.

You pulled back just an inch, breathless, eyes fluttering open.

He looked stunned.

Like centuries of waiting had just come to an end in the smallest, softest moment.

“…You kissed me,” he said, as if he hadn’t meant for the words to slip out.

You flushed. “Yeah. I—I did.”

He exhaled something that might’ve been a laugh, something that might’ve been the echo of relief. His hands remained on your waist, unsure whether to hold tighter or let go.

“I thought I’d have to wait a thousand years more before you’d want that.”

You smiled faintly, nervous but warm. “Well. I guess you got lucky.”

“No.” He leaned in again, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I think I finally found the one thing in this world worth being patient for.”

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