Shades of Red (Vamp!Jungkook x Soft bodied!reader)
Tagging: @wwilloww @hesperantha @reliablemitten @dntaewithluv @sunshinerainbowsbts @xjoonchildx @vyduan @miscelunaaa @starlostjimin @sugalaritae @sahmfanficbts
Pairing: Vampire Jungkook/Soft Bodied reader
Rating: M for mature ;)
Genre: Smut, fluff, romance, established relationship
Warnings: Smut, cunnilingus, female receiving, blood, vampire feeding, Jk is a whiny boy and we love him for it
Summary: There are very few pleasures in this world as great and lovely as riling Jungkook up.
Word Count: 2137 Thank you to my darling @miscelunaaa for putting your magnificent orbs on this when I needed you most. Thank you to AMC for putting out a new interview with the vampire series. And thank you to JJK for deciding to put out an entire VAMPIRE THEMED PHOTO SHOOT LIKE A MAD MAN.
How his eyes shine against the ruby of the silk, an apt choice—it’s a dark musing from your position, lounging opposite of him on the chaise, sipping from the darkened wine he says makes you taste especially … divine.
Only he would give into his vanity enough to buy silken sheets the same shade as his eyes. Languidly, you reach down to pluck a grape from the silver platter … purple. Then it was good you had worn the burgundy dress this evening.
Since he so ardently was attempting to adhere to a color scheme. Reds, blacks, the deepest purples—everything as vivid a warning as a black widow before she strikes.
Yet it’s you that is smirking as you drag your finger across your tongue, savoring the sweetness—another thing he likes … when you’re sweet.
Between the two of you, you’re truly the deadly one, even if he has the fangs.
He’s watching you, gaze shifting from alluring, a look you’ve come to know all too well … to something more along the lines of petulant, something you’ve also come to know all too well, and it pleases you, watching his well-kept nails dig into those silken sheets as you grab the book sitting on the marble top side table, opening it to the spot you left off on.
How he hates it when you do this, and you have to bite back a genuine smile, and the urge to laugh, especially when he sighs, trying to play off his frustrations as desire—when the only thing he’s desiring right now is your undivided attention.
“Is something wrong, dearest?” You finally acknowledge him when he sighs again, going so far as to unbutton the already scandalously low dip of his shirt. “Are you not entertained? Should I fetch you a book?”
“No, I have no need of—of literature.” His eyes are shining, and you can feel the pull of them. “Why should I bore my fingertips with parchment when they could be trailing your skin instead?” It’s bold, meant to elicit a reaction, to tempt you to him, into his arms like a willing supplicant.
“Your pretty eyes don’t work on me, Jungkook.” You feign boredom, licking your finger to turn the page, eyes barely even skimming the words. “As haunting and desperate as they are.”
“I am not desperate!” He whines, sitting up, grabbing a pillow to hug to his form. “I’m beautiful, a darling, admired by all—”
“And desperate for my attention nonetheless.” You quash him mid-sentence. “Perhaps if you come to me as a supplicant, if you offer yourself in worship to me maybe I’ll want to play with you, maybe I’ll give you some of the attention you’re clearly thirsting for.”
“Shouldn’t you be worshiping me?” Jungkook is crawling to the edge of the luxurious bed even as he talks. “A creature of darkness, of eternal life, of power and pleasures … aren’t I the god worth worshiping?” And you laugh, languid still as you shift in your seat.
“If you wanted to be worshiped, you would have taken up with someone else, but you’re here—with me.” And for a moment you let your voice soften, knowing that more than anything what he wants is your love, your attention, your reassurance of affection. “And not out there cavorting with your brethren.” His knees have hit the ground, expensive cloth dragging as he makes his way to you till he’s crouched in front of you, in front of the chaise.
“Will you let me touch you, then?” He asks, wide eyes shining as spectacularly as the most expensive rubies. “May I worship you with my hands?”
“With your hands” you agree. “And mouth.” You tack on. “Perhaps even your teeth if your prayers are fervent enough.” And he’s groaning at that, the prospect of your blood just as delectable as what you’re asking him to do. For he does love to worship you, every piece of your lively, mortal flesh.
And God knows you have quite a canvas for him to paint in his touch, ample flesh to grip till bruising, to litter in love bites. Dimpled skin perfect for his fingertips, as he often reminds you, eyes darkened to an almost feral shade. And at this moment, you know he’s going for a place he especially loves.
“Right for my thighs?” You hum, calling him out, and his firm grip on your stockinged calves. “That’s a rather rushed trip to the altar I’d say.” It’s a tease that has him pouting, resting his chin on your knees.
“Perhaps I just want to give special attention to a particular area that should be especially worshiped—”
“You could have the decency to take off my stockings.” You roll your eyes and he flashes you a sheepish little grin, one that reveals just a little snag of sharpened tooth. Then, of course, he’s obediently doing as he’s told, undoing the ribbons that rest just above your knees, holding up the expensive stockings, smiling at the soft shade of blue.
“I was beginning to wonder if you had truly forgotten yourself and come completely in red.” He murmurs, gently sliding off your shoes, touches feather-light enough to raise goosebumps against your skin. “As flattered as I am, perhaps I think you look sweeter still in blue.” Your favorite color, the same as the softest sky. “It reminds me of when we met.” Shoes forgotten on the floor, stockings now neatly folded, his strong hands knead gently against your calves, drawing sounds from you that already qualify as indecent.
“Such a lovely little wife you’d make,” you tease him. “Folding my clothes, giving me massages—”
“Worshiping you,” he huffs, lightly pinching your ankle, just barely. “... Though—if I had to be someone’s wife, I’d like to be yours.” He kisses at the inside of your knee. Just the smoothing of his lips over your skin. You know he longs to disappear under your skirts, to have at you like a man starved. But for now, he’s taking it slow. Resting one of your heels on his shoulder as he kisses your calf, dainty little smooches growing more brazen and messy the further he works his way up.
“Ah.” Now, you’re helping him, or maybe yourself, gathering the fabric of your skirts and pulling them above your knees. Giving him a fair view of what he already knows.
That you hadn’t worn anything underneath.
“Better?” you question, but he only hisses softly, surprising you with the glint of his fangs. “Not better … ?” You’re shocked, a hand coming to card through his hair. “I suppose I can toss my skirts over your head if you’d prefer.” And you pull his hair, tipping his head back. “Or nothing at all if you’re going to be rude.” At that the feral glint in his eyes fades, just a bit.
“I’m sorry.” He rubs his cheek on your thigh. Your legs already parted for him. “I got carried away, I was so focused … you startled me,” he admits, reminding you again, that as pretty as he is, he’s still a vampire at the end of the day … and could drain you dry if he lost control.
Well, not quite, you think to yourself, you always have some tricks up your sleeve. Still—it would be a thoroughly unpleasant experience that would leave him in tears, reminded of your mortality—and how fragile you are, and feeling guilty about his nature.
“Try not to bite the hand that feeds you.” You settle on, stroking his cheek gently. “I want to watch you.”
“Well what I want—” Jungkook says, as though he’s been asked. “Is for you to be naked. Completely so.” His hand is on your bodice, intention more than clear.
“Jungkook—” you warn. “This outfit is expensive.”
“And it’s too red,” he declares, like you hadn’t gone through the trouble of matching his aesthetic. “I appreciate how you look … in my bedroom, but against your skin it’s too much like blood.”
“Isn’t that what you want from me? My blood?” you ask, earning a very fussy looking frown.
“I want so much more than that, and you know that.” Jungkook’s eyes narrow, and you resign yourself, knowing you’ve damned yourself to nakedness with your teasing.
“Fine, my love, but I only brought one outfit,” you warn, which only makes him laugh.
“As though I don’t have clothes for you here?” Jungkook asks, raising an eyebrow, and there it is—the tear of cloth echoing in the room as he literally rips open your dress, and the layers beneath, leaving you bare and exposed in the darkened room.
“I hope you’re suitably proud of yourself,” you sigh, shrugging off the material as he grins happily from the spot he’s retaken on the floor. “Little demon.”
“I am.” Those strong hands are back on your legs, pulling them to part, so that he can sit between them, pressing a kiss to the roll of your stomach, rubbing his cheek against the soft flesh. “You’re so warm.” It’s pleasure, the sound on his lips as his hands go back to making indents in your thighs, as his head dips lower. “And here … so hot.” He has no sense of shame when it comes to your body. Seeking out the heat of your center, but still—still not giving you what you need, choosing instead to use his tongue for evil. To press kisses everywhere but where you want his mouth, his lips.
“Jungkook—”
“I’m worshiping you.” He cuts off your complaint before you can even make it. “Taking it slow just like you had foolishly requested.” Damn him for using your words against you, littering your inner thighs with love bites, promises of where he’d like to feed from you later on. Every so often there is a ghost of a touch to your core, tongue flicking against your clit, enough to set you on edge.
So you sigh, trying to feign boredom, going so far as to relax your body, lightly stroking at his hair. Humming a soft little tune that makes him grumble; his eyes meet yours, with an indignant sparkle.
“Hm?” And you’re grinning. “What’s that look for?” But he doesn’t say anything, shifting forward so—
Well … so he can give you what you want. Mouth around your pearl, and it’s hot, the way he sucks at it, his fingers coming to slide inside of you while you’re lost in the feeling of his mouth. “Ngh—Ah! J-Jungkook!” Now this, this is what you want, with his arms around your thick thighs, and your knees resting on his shoulders.
He eats you out like a man starved, and perhaps he is … starved of your attention from tonight’s teasing, eager to get back at you by tasting you on his tongue, by having you lose yourself to him.
Your grip in his hair tightens, your hips shifting to meet the thrust of his fingers as your eyes squeeze shut. He—he is skilled in your body, time has given him that, and he loves to learn. Every spot that makes you shudder, he’s found and memorized. Every way to crook his fingers and draw pleasure—
As he does now. And you don’t even bother to try and stifle the pleasured keen that leaves your lips.
He plays you like a musical instrument, like you’re his favorite piece—a song at its crescendo. Till you’re crashing around him, his name a dreamy sigh, as tense muscles slacken.
As he lifts his face up, mouth glistening with your essence. He is so beautiful, covered in the remnants of your pleasure, it makes you feel weak.
Weak for him.
“C-can I?” And before he can finish, you’re pushing his head down, letting him sink his fangs into your thigh—drawing a moan turned whimper from you, as a different kind of high takes over. That light, dreamy feeling—someone had once told you a vampire feed was like the most delicious opium, a soaked poppy dripping down your throat.
“Ah … Ngh … Jungkook—” And about the time you say his name, he takes the hint, quick to pull away, lapping at the wounds until the bleeding stops, until there is naught but bruised skin their stead. “Are you content ...?”
“You know I’m far more than that.” He’s resting his head on your thigh. And he rubs his cheek against your skin when you go back to playing with his hair.
“You’re right, you’re my spoiled little prince.” You are happy—happy at how he shifts to nip at your fingers, before wrapping his arms around your waist to hug you, face pressed against the soft flesh of your stomach.
“Still, at least I’m yours.”
“Mine to take to bed,” you promise. “Now. To destroy your sheets like you did my dress.”