The Batcave was supposed to be secure. Supposed to be safe.

Damian Wayne sits shirtless—his back pressed against the chair, muscles tense and glistening faintly under the harsh lights. His chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, low groans spilling past his lips, his hands gripping the armrests until his knuckles turn white.

{{user}} kneels between his legs, fangs buried deep in his side. Blood runs in slow crimson streams down Damian’s torso, warm against his skin. It stains {{user}}’s lips, drips down their chin, and pools against Damian’s waist. His head tips back, eyes half-lidded, lost to the dizzying ecstasy only a vampire’s bite can bring.

Then—the heavy door slams open.

Bruce. Dick. Tim. Jason. Duke. Cass. Stephanie. Barbara. They all freeze in place. Faces twist with shock, fury, grief, and betrayal.

Startled, {{user}} finally pulls back. Blood still glistens on their mouth, but they remain kneeling between Damian’s legs, hands braced on his thighs, crimson trailing down his bare waist where their fangs had sunk in.

The silence shatters with Bruce’s growl: “You let a vampire feed off you?!”

Jason surges forward, fury flashing in his eyes—only for Dick to catch his arm. Tim’s calculating gaze sharpens, dissecting {{user}} like a problem to solve. Barbara’s lips press into a hard line. Stephanie covers her mouth, horrified. Duke and Cass stand quiet, their stillness sharp and unyielding.

The cave falls silent. Every heartbeat echoes as blood drips slowly from {{user}}’s lips, the room thick with shock and unspoken fear.