Summary: vampire!jungkook x reader (M) (smut, just smut)
Warning: kind of kinky, blood kink, vampire stuff, this is honestly the first decent smut I’ve ever written, I seriously can’t even see the word penis without giggling so this was an accomplishment. Enjoy.
Word count: 751
You remembered the color red, red like the embers of a burning flame, not quite deep enough to be considered red, as orange flecks made themselves known, and it was a beautiful dance between two colors, a fight to the death.
Red like the satin sheets upon the bed in which you rest your weary eyes, red like a blood moon, fervent, winsomely hanging there in the night sky.
Red like his eyes, both beautiful and devoid of all life.
Red, the only color flooding your hooded gaze as his pearly white fangs whispered lust onto your neck.
Trails of crimson drip down your breast, burning as they go, and with each drop of blood his tongue was sure to follow.
Like a puppet master, fondling the strings of its puppet, your body submitted to his touch, the core of you emitting a beat as steady as the heart, clenching repeatedly around nothing as he painfully, slowly made his way down your body,
“Jungkook…” Escaping your lips in a breathless, whisper of a moan.
He was always quick to silence you, digging his nails into your hips in an attempt to hold you still, as you unconsciously grinded into the air in anticipation.
“Patience, my love…” He whispered against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you craved him the most.
The familiar color red once again staining your thoughts as he pierced your skin, sucking gently, moaning into the mess he made, splayed across your thigh, a beautiful masterpiece created by him, because you were his canvas.
Your fingers tangled into his midnight black locks as his tongue teased at your essence, sinking into your core like quick sand, slowly and all at once.
And then you were no longer seeing red, but stars, as if you were being exorcized for the first time, the very soul in you on the verge of leaving your body.
Delicately he tasted you, every last drop, a pleasant mixture of everything you had to offer, strewn across his lips, over and over again he brought you to cloud nine and then dropped you to your death.
“Jungkook… Let me fucking cum.” You growled at him, as he smirked into the heat radiating from you.
“Oh no, no baby, not yet.” His words wove like velvet into your ears, intoxicating, and you realized then that he never had to touch you for you to reach the stars, he simply had to deny you of what you wanted most.
He kissed his way up the length of your body, his lips leaving faint prints of red as they went, until they came crashing into yours, hard enough to break you into pieces beneath him, but he would find a way to put you back together again, he always did.
“Y/N…should I continue? Or should I make you suffer..” He sighed into your neck, retracing the wounds he inflicted, moaning in delight.
You winced at the sudden contact, as he grinded into your core with no remorse.
“Jungkook…” You nibbled on the skin of your bottom lip, moaning quitely between each breath. “I need you, now.”
He hovered over you, his eyes pierced through yours like daggers laced with honey, as he gave into your plea, sheathing himself fully within you.
Your nails instinctively dug into the pale skin of his back, dragging wounds up and down, healing as fast as they appear.
A low, throaty chuckle escapes his lips as he watches you writhe beneath him,
“claw me to pieces baby, show me how good it feels.” His thrusts began to harden, as if he was desperately searching for something deep within you, and with each precise impact upon your sweet spot, he was closer and closer to finding it.
“F-fuck…I’m going to—” your desperate moans became muffled as you burried your face into the crook of his neck, riding our your high, and he was following pursuit.
The air was tinged with the smell of iron, and lust, breathlessly and lazily he pulled away from you, and you had never felt so empty.
Red was the color of passion, love, fire.
Red was the blood in your veins, giving life to your dark prince,
Red was the color of lips moving gently together, as the taste of metal ligered upon your tongue.
Red was the dawn that shone through the tinted glass windows,
You remembered red like the darkness remembers light,
And he was your darkness.
“Baby girl you gotta…get outta here…” Roman forced the words with a pained whine as he fell to his knees. His nails dug into the dirt as his blood dripped to the ground. He’d bit his lip so much that he’d tore through and the crimson liquid trailed down his jaw, pooling in his mouth and staining his teeth. Roman had been wound up this whole week and you suggested a stroll thinking it would help.
Roman yelled and you winced as you heard his bones cracking, changing, breaking and remolding.
It was absolutely terrifying.
“N-no…” you stood your ground though as you knelt before him and cradled his face. “I’m not gonna just leave you, okay? I’m right here, baby. I’m staying right here…”
“No, no-!” his head bowed as another crack echoed and you gasped, seeing his back arch. Tufts of black fur started to appear and spread along his body as Roman’s shift commenced. His groans and yells soon turned into growls and snarls but as his bright gold eyes snapped to yours, you froze.
“Roman?” you asked as the giant wolf stared you down. He took a tentative step forward as his features softened, making you release the breath you didn’t know you’d taken. With his tail tucked between his legs, he trot forward and bowed his head, making you smile. Gently running your hand over his head and across his spine, you kissed the wolf’s nose. “You’re alright, love. I’m right here…”
There it was. The sickeningly sweet voice you knew all too well. It was Stiles, but he wasn’t standing in front of you, the Nogitsune was.
You shuddered as he reached up, bloody knuckle ghosting over your cheek, leaving a crimson trail on your flushed skin. “I’ve missed you dove.”
“Let him go.” You spat, dodging his touch. He let out a dark chuckle, before burying his face into your neck.
“Mmm. I’ve forgotten how sweet you smell baby.” He mumbled into your skin. “You haven’t suffered in a while. I’ll have to change that.”
You bit your lip, tears forming as shut your eyes tightly, trying to block out all feeling, knowing it was useless to try to escape him. This couldn’t be happening. You’d fallen into the clutch of the Nogitsune once before. He’d left scars you were still recovering from. You weren’t sure if you could stand going through with it again.
A sharp knife to you neck brought you back to reality with a yelp. You opened your eyes as he grabbed you face, pulling you up to face him.
“Now you know I can’t have you going back, telling Scott about me.” He slid the blade across your skin with idle fascination. “But you’re too precious to kill baby. I guess I’m just gonna have to steal you away again.”
An overtly feminine young man stands before you, crimson hair trailing down to his waist as he seems distracted by his own reflection. His features are heavily dusted with a mask of makeup, relinquishing his face of any discolorations or imperfections, his thick pouting lips always painted a bold color, usually one just as red as his dark strands.
First going from top to bottom, you would take note of his fair skin, a pristine surface scarce of any flaws. You note that he must have lived a sheltered life far from any physical labor. His eyes are framed with thick lashes that add to the innocent gaze that he looks on with. He has a slender nose, providing him with a seemingly perfect silhouette. He has a chiseled jaw, though the rest of his face appears fluid and soft. Thick, ruby tresses are a mop framing his face, sunlight radiating from its thin strands. It billows down his back in gentle waves.
Looking down, you note that he is rather scrawny, the only muscles adorning his body being those expected of an average Joe that goes without typically exerting physical effort. His shoulders are narrow compared to the rest of his gender, though still broad enough to accentuate his masculinity. His waist dips in at a nice curve before extending back to his narrow waist. Legs: thin with minimal tone.
What words that are heard spilling from his perfectly pink lips are condescending and sassy. In spite of their reckless nature, times when he attempts to be sincere his true intent is lost and misconstrued.
For now, you can’t seem to tell anything else just by looking over him, though it crosses your mind to approach him to indulge yourself further into his character.
The blood dripping from his left hand left a slight crimson trail beside him, even after Jughead had washed it in someone’s backyard swimming pool. He could feel that some shards of glass lingered, still there to remind him of the incident that had just taken place in a crummy blue house, in the Sunny Side trailer park. Jughead hoped that he still had that first aid kit inside one of the boxes in his storage unit turned home. That was the only way he’d be able to remove the small bits and pieces of glass from beneath his skin, to prevent it from infection. And so, he paced quickly, trough the forsaken streets of Riverwood, toward an U-Haul self-storage building right across the street from Pop’s diner. The town was mostly dark, the townsfolk, most certainly asleep by then, and so, Jughead needn’t worry about anyone seeing him. Anyone besides, the ghost mask-wearing maniac. Or so he thought… When he made turn and started walking across the street where his friends Betty and Archie lived. One familiar house had its porch light on, he noticed… Archie. He was already halfway through the street when he saw the illuminated porch, and it was already too late, because whoever sat by the porch, either Fred Andrews, or Jughead’s best friend, had noticed that someone was just about to walk past their home. Jughead took a deep breath and continued on walking. He’d deal with whoever that was. And that who, was Archie. It would have been easier if that were Fred Andrews, as he could just wave past him and wish him a good night, whereas Archie required a little more interaction. Jughead’s pace became faster, as though he were in a hurry. He turned right to face the redhead, “Hey pal.” He said quickly, maintaining a steady pace. “Gotta get home quick, sort of in a hurry.” He nodded and kept walking, But then he noticed it. His house. His old house, the one Archie thought he still lived in, was the other way…
Any average night, a trail of blood meant a cooling (or long-cold) body, somewhere in Gotham’s many side streets and filthy alleys. Muggings gone wrong, violent assaults, and other unspeakable acts that drew blood meant that Finn-rather, Hellhound-was busy on any given night trying to crack down on crime. He could remember whole shifts in the GCPD that were full of scenes just like this one: a trail of crimson on grimy stone.
This one, however, had someone at the other end; with a mangled leg, and labored breathing. It took a moment for Hellhound to recognize the blue symbol gleaming back at him from the rapidly rising and falling chest of the victim, and then realize just who the injured man laying in the alley was, a man known by reputation alone:
“Nightwing? Holy moly, what the heck happened to you?”
how often do you clench your fists to every reminder of then, of before, of erasing parts of yourself to make room for what they want you to be until you let yourself slip through the cracks completely?
but what do you remember, before they took memories away and rebuilt you? names come to you in passing, faces in fleeting images like going through a photo album put together lifetimes apart. familiarity– you remember him, don’t you? of course you do. how do you forget hot, brooklyn summers and youthful laughter and discreet time-to-time glances like the secret is hanging from your tongue?
you have the present over for coffee at noon, and she is gentle and kind and asks if you take yours with milk. so why, then, do you invite flashback memories under your sheets like your intimate lover? her nails scratching over your back trail crimson marks on your skin and leave purpling bruises on your neck where she grips, but you don’t mind. in fact, you like it.
so when does it end, being pulled at from different directions until you are torn apart? you are tired. burnt out like a wick that once lit the dismal corners of your mind.
She remembered everything. The fire, the water. Smoke rising into a midnight sky filled with stars. Running, hunting. The taste of summer-ripe berries, picked with care. Fruit amongst thorns. The scent of familiar creatures, long-gone. The dying words of an old hunter, and the sharpest blade she’d ever seen. The many-pronged antlers of a deer at dawn. A trail of crimson, bright and beckoning through a dark wood. The folding wings of a pair of swans upon a lake at dusk. A tree hiding its bounties high in its branches. Flowers picked for graves of fallen strangers. Fingers tightly clasped, clinging like vines. A man’s hands, warm, so warm, in her own. And two souls, no longer alone. Two souls, lying down together upon the earth.
“A painful stab of recollection shot through Dan’s brain, as if forcing itself through a wall he had built to protect himself. He saw it again. The dead, lifeless eyes, the way it moved so swiftly out of the darkness, the blood. The blood was the most vivid memory of all. Dan had somehow found himself collapsed in a corner, unable to move, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the crimson trail of his friend’s life weaving around the cobbled stones of the street and down a drain. Dan saw his hand twitching, those last moments of resistance and hope that something, someone, would be able to save him. Then it stopped. That is the last time he saw Phil Lester alive.”
Luke slid a thick folder across the table to the two young FBI agents. Kevin James and Lily Fitzpatrick, two up and coming agents with something to gain from taking the case. Lily opened the folder and gazed at the crime scene photos from the different police files that were on top.
“What you see in front of you are photos of crime scenes across the country. All the victims killed in the same way, a double tap to the back of the head at close range. That makes it a federal matter. The victims are a mixture between criminals and innocent civilians, and that’s a problem. The local police forces have limited leads and resources to go on and find arrest the perp. We’ve been called in to do so, and the director thinks that this is your chance to prove what you can do.
“We got an anonymous tip yesterday about this guy. The tipper believes the perp to be an assassin gone off the bend. Full transcript’s in your folder. Director would like him brought in for questioning, if not, kill him. Get this done quickly. “
With that Luke nodded at the agents and left the room, leaving them to it. Lily looked from the photos to Kevin with a bewildered look. “This guy’s bloody psychotic.” She commented, shaking her head.
FEEDING FRENZY: It’s called Shark Bay for a reason. Drone video captures around 70 tiger sharks feasting on a dead humpback whale in Western Australia’s Shark Bay, leaving a trail of crimson water. CREDIT: Eco Abrolhos
Believe it or not, bleeding from the face is a common thing for him; somehow he is used to crimson trails lining his features. Still, the pain and the stinging is enough to drive away his focus, and he looks up–
“Dan had somehow found himself collapsed in a corner, unable to move, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the Crimson trail of his friend’s life weaving around the cobbled stones of the street and down a drain. Dan saw his hand twitching, those last moments of resistance and hope that something, someone, would be able to save him. Then it stopped. That is the last time he saw Phil Lester alive.”
My ameture drawing submission for Dan’s fic “The Urge”! I did this in less than a day right before the deadline so it’s pretty scribbled, and it’s not super pretty digital art like I’ve seen most peoples… but I think I did okay.