#Vampire’s Army | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

runariya · 2 months ago

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Part 2 of this | shout out to @sleepingzzzimp who made this happen lol part of the prompt game pairing: vampire!Jungkook x f!reader genre: vampire!AU, yandere, dark romance warnings: compulsion and being held captive, obsessive and possessive JK, OC’s rather…special in regards of what JK did to her, allusion to dubcon/noncon, blood drinking, foul language, explicit sexual content, smut, OC’s ovulating, oral (m. receiving), ‘good girl’, a lot of saliva, deep throating, size difference, a lil bit of fingering, doggy, unprotected seggs, a lil bit of aftercare, a lil bit of fluff, lmk if I forgot smth pls word count: 2.573

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Jungkook didn’t think much further than keeping you by his side, using you not only as his personal blood bag but also as a warm, perfectly suited pleasure-giver for his dead soul. It’s not like you have much of a choice, with the compulsion firmly in place to stop your fragile self from doing anything that might harm your mortal, precious life.

He knows, though, that even under compulsion, humans tend to remain aware of what’s going on. He’s seen that subtle flicker of consciousness more times than he can count. But with you, he never finds resentment, hatred, or sadness—none of the things he might expect, even when he himself would admit he’s gone too far.

It’s impressive, really, and makes it all the more fun and fulfilling to have you around. You’re like the perfect doll, tailor-made just for him. Amazing.

Weeks have passed—maybe months? Jungkook doesn’t know anymore, nor does he care to keep track of mortal time. What he does know is that a routine has formed. And part of that routine is watching you make breakfast in the old kitchen of his mansion. Because despite everything, you’re still human, and you need nutrition to keep being his personal supply.

Jungkook’s noticed for days now that something about you has changed, though he’s not entirely sure what it is. It’s like the compulsion has worn off, not working on you the way it used to. But that shouldn’t be possible. At least, not in his understanding of things.

Sometimes, as he watches you humming around the kitchen, occasionally singing along to the crackling radio on the top shelf, he daydreams of you being here by choice, not because of compulsion. It must be nice, he thinks, to have someone who loves him.

Could he even love? If it was with you, he might try. Or maybe this possessiveness is love, the only kind he’s capable of feeling.

Like every morning, Jungkook sits at the nearby table, watching you prepare a high-protein breakfast, as if you’re willingly keeping yourself strong for him. Then, it happens. Your eyes meet his, and for the first time, they’re crystal clear, fully conscious, without any trace of the haze he’s used to see in them.

His face would go pale if he weren’t already deadly white. Carefully, he stands up, every sense on high alert. The kitchen knives are just within your reach, which he’s absolutely not a fan of.

“What’s wrong, Kook?” Your voice is soft, melodic, and he can’t tell if you’re playing games or if he’s dreaming.

“You tell me.”

“I’m fine. But you’re not. You’re scaring me, Kook.”

He knows why you’re scared. He’s never acted this wary with you before, never approached you like you might be his literal downfall. But he can’t help it. Even though he knows you can’t really harm him, he refuses to let his guard down.

“I know the compulsion’s worn off. Stop pretending.” His voice is dangerously cold, stepping closer, eyes flicking between you and every potential threat—the knives, the hot pan, even the salt that could burn his eyes.

“I’m not pretending, I know it’s worn off.” You smile up at him, brighter than ever, like you’re happy to be free—though not from him, specifically.

“And why aren’t you running? Or fighting?”

Jungkook doesn’t want to indulge in some fantasy where you’ve magically fallen in love with your captor. But despite his caution, your words make him feel something—a fuzziness he hasn’t felt in centuries.

“Why would I?” You sigh, turning off the stove and setting down the spatula. “Jungkook, you’ve treated me well. It’s not like I would—”

“Cut the bullshit. I know you’re lying.”

“But I’m not, Kook. There’s no one out there waiting for me. And if there is, they’re only out to hurt me.”

Your eyes are glassy now, almost pleading, and he’s not sure what to make of it.

“And now, you’ve suddenly fallen in love with the one person who’s used you in every evil way imaginable?”

“It was never evil, and you know it.”

Your confidence throws him off. He’s always seen himself as the monster he is. He’s used your body, fed off you—blood and arousal—without ever asking for consent. How could that not be evil?

“But it was.”

You purse your lips, shaking your head disapprovingly as you turn back to the stove, reigniting it to finish your breakfast.

“It wasn’t. Did I give you permission for all that? No. Would I have if you’d asked? Probably not. But—”

“See!”

“I’m talking now. Shut up.” You point the spatula at him, and it’s so cute that he genuinely smiles for the first time in what feels like forever. “All I’m saying is, even though your ways are… unorthodox, you were never harsh with me. It never hurt, and I could feel how much you cared for my wellbeing.”

A silence falls between you, and Jungkook isn’t sure what to say. You’re sort of right. He never wanted to truly break you. He wanted to keep you safe, keep you useful for as long as possible. You’re too precious to waste.

“All I’m saying is, now that I’m fully conscious and making my own choices, I’d rather stay with you than go back to the humans.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Oh, I can tell.” You giggle, and despite himself, despite every reason not to, Jungkook chuckles too.

“Eat up. You’ll need it.”

Jungkook turns to leave, still processing, his mind racing. He needs time to figure out what to do next.

“Can’t wait,” you call after him, your tone teasing, and he’s pretty sure that if he could blush, he would.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

There’s no way in hell he’s able to figure you out. No. Way. Why are you all smiles and happiness, sitting like always on his giant bed, offering your neck to him like you always did?

He’s standing a good distance away, arms crossed over his sturdy chest, head tilted to the side. It’s not like he isn’t hungry—he’s starving, actually—because he’s never had his full fill of your blood, always making sure you’re alright after, leaving his hunger partially satisfied but never completely.

Saliva is collecting relentlessly in his mouth, his fangs protruding without much effort. Yet, he can’t make a move. What if it’s a trap? What if there’s a hidden dagger in your clothes, something that’ll kill him?

Should he just make you leave and find someone new? But he doesn’t want to. You’re just too sweet, too perfect for him to resist.

“Strip bare,” he commands, and the words alone make your thighs rub together as you immediately comply. Odd.

You waste no time, each piece of clothing falling soundlessly to the floor, your nipples hardening in the cold.

“Turn around.”

You do. And he finds no threat on you. Odd again.

“Sit.”

You comply again, and he’s kind of aroused by your eager obedience. It’s refreshing, and he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to resist you if this keeps up—willingly walking into whatever doom you might be for him.

But still, he’s unable to move, even though the pulse of your neck is tempting him beyond reason.

“Kook,” you mewl softly, and he’s gone. Jungkook’s gone in the sweetness of you. He lets his arms fall, strides towards you, and practically tackles you to the bed, licking and breathing against your neck.

“So good,” he murmurs, saliva dripping from his lips onto your skin as you grind your hips against him. He’s not sure why you’re this eager—he hasn’t bitten you yet, so his bite’s usual effect can’t be coursing through your blood making you horny.

“Why so eager?” he muses, grazing his fangs along your artery.

“Ovulating,” you moan, your hands threading through his hair.

“Hmmm… I can smell it on you.” The intoxicating scent of your body wraps around him like a vice, and he can’t resist any longer. “Gonna make you feel good, doll.”

You only moan his name as Jungkook finally sinks his fangs into your delicate skin, your blood flooding his mouth, his entire being. It makes him feel high, high in a way that tells him he’ll never want anything or anyone else. He’s addicted to you.

Jungkook feels your arousal intensify, your dopamine and oxytocin levels skyrocketing as your juices drip from your perfect little hole, soaking his clothed thigh with a dark wetness.

“Yes, Kook, need more, please.”

Jungkook pulls back in surprise, the confirmation so new he’s unsure if he heard you right. But you grab his head, pushing him back to your neck while your other hand fumbles with his chest, trailing down to his abs.

“Please, Kook. I’ve been a good girl. Please.”

Jungkook feels like he’s in heaven—a demon allowed into paradise. He’s fully sated, despite not drinking much of your blood. He reckons it’s the awareness in you that magnifies the effect.

He licks the wound on your neck to help it heal, then leans back on his knees, admiring your flustered, tiny frame. You’re looking up at him with sparkly eyes, lips parted, neck still smeared with your blood—you’re a vision he’ll never get sick off.

“You’ve been a good girl?” There’s nothing more satisfying than seeing you this keen, and he plans to savour it.

“Yes, a good girl for you. Always for you.”

As Jungkook stands to strip off his own clothes, you’re watching him for the first time, drinking him in rather than lying there passively.

“Sit up. Open up.”

Obedient as ever, you do as told, opening your pretty mouth and sticking out your tongue, waiting impatiently.

Jungkook pumps his cold, rock-hard cock a few times, marvelling at the sight of you. He runs his thumb over his glans for an extra kick. And though he knows you can somehow take him, he’s always impressed by the sheer size difference. But you’re a good girl, letting him in, suppressing the gag as he hits the back of your throat, muscles pulsing violently around him.

A primal moan escapes his lips as his head falls back, savouring every second of you sucking him off like your life depends on it. He can’t help but thrust into your throat, his pace increasing with every push as you grab his hips to take him deeper, moaning around his cock. Your saliva drips down your chin, your eyes, aware, locking onto his as if to reassure him to give you all he's got.

He doesn’t hold back after that, pushing his hips flush against your face, your nose pressed into him until you can’t breathe anymore as he lets go, shooting his load down your throat. He stays there a moment longer, riding out his orgasm before pulling back.

It’s pleasing to see that, even though you haven’t climaxed yet, your skin glows ever so lovingly.

“You good?”

You’re still catching your breath, but the smile on your face disarms Jungkook completely. “Yes, of course.”

For some reason, his heart swells at your words and at the person you are, someone he hadn’t truly seen until now.

A trail of arousal drips down his sheets, ending in a pool on the floor, which he hadn’t noticed before. The sight reignites his hunger as he flips you over, pushing your face into the bed and kneeling between your legs.

“Should I reward you?” Jungkook runs his fingers over your cunt, circling your entrance before moving to your clit, giving it a few rough pets.

All you can do is moan into the sheets, your hips pushing back desperately.

Jungkook always thought you were perfect, made for him—the reason he captured you all that time ago—but seeing you now, more perfect and conscious than you ever were, is something else entirely. He loves it. He loves you. And he doesn’t care if it’s possible or not—he’s never felt like this before, and he’ll move heaven and earth to keep it that way.

“I think you’ve been such a good girl, you deserve the big reward, don’t you?” Jungkook drags his fangs down your ass, ending at your inner thigh before sinking them into your soft skin for a little sip, your arousal adding a tantalising spice.

“Yes, Kook, been so good for you,” you pant, and that’s all he needs to reward you properly as he gets to his feet after licking the bite closed, lining his still-hard cock up with your weeping cunt.

It’s a tight fit, so tight he feels like he might pass out, his vision doubling and tripling as your pulsing walls grip him mercilessly. “My beautiful doll, my beautiful, beautiful doll.”

Jungkook can’t stop praising you with every word he knows. You’re perfect, moaning, drooling, and pushing back against his hips just for him.

“You’re mine, doll.” He sets a brutal pace, needing the confirmation that no compulsion is required for you to want this as much as he does.

“Yours, Kook. Always,” you cry, fists clutching the sheets as you push back even more desperately.

“Fucking right, mine.”

Jungkook grabs your hair without slowing down, pulling you up against his chest while his other arm holds you steady not to collapse right back to the bed.

“Never gonna let you leave.”

“Don’t want to,” you moan, your glassy, love-drunk eyes locking onto his red ones.

“Never gonna stop fucking you.”

Your swollen, parted lips scream to be kissed.

“Never gonna want anybody else,” Jungkook confesses between pants, knowing and accepting there’s no turning back for either of you.

For the first time since he captured you, you kiss him back, sucking his tongue like you’ve been starved. It’s as if all this time, you’ve wanted to reciprocate, to give, not just receive.

And despite still tasting his cum on your tongue, there’s a newfound sweetness, making him wish the compulsion had worn off sooner.

“Kook, I’m close.”

He doesn’t need your words—he can feel it in your pulsing heat, your quickening heartbeat.

“Come for me, doll. Show me how much you want this.”

You scream his name as he fucks you through your orgasm, your walls clamping down on his cold cock. He doesn’t mind, wanting to feel every contraction, hear every scream, taste every rush of blood in your body.

His own orgasm builds, and he lets himself go, chanting your name as his thrusts grow irregular until he paints your walls bright white.

You both remain like that, catching your breath, though only your heart beats violently, only you are drenched in sweat, only you truly spent.

Jungkook eventually pulls out, cleaning you up with tissues from the nightstand, all while you watch, glowing ever so ethereal in your afterglow.

As Jungkook reaches for your clothes to dress you as he always does, you stop him with a hand on his tattooed arm. The boyish look he gives you is oddly endearing, and he senses you’re gathering all your confidence for your next words.

“Please don’t send me away.”

Your honesty hits him hard, and he straightens, realising he’s truly hit the jackpot with you.

“I won’t,” Jungkook promises, and with that, you leap around his neck, legs wrapping around his tiny waist, thanking him over and over as if he's you're knight in shining armour.

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runariya · 2 months ago

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Vampire jk which abducted reader from a covenience store bc he thinks she's pretty and he won't share. Make it yandere and DARK pls pls

(yandere) part of the prompt game pairing: vampire!Jungkook x f!reader genre: vampire!AU, yandere, dark romance warnings: yandere, obsession, compulsion so kind of non-con, mentions of blood, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 1.775

a/n: hope it's dark enough lol

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There’s something about the way you move, something about the way you exist, something so breakable, so delicate, so utterly fragile in your very being, like a porcelain doll poised on the edge of a shelf, waiting for a hand, just one careless hand, to shatter you into a thousand tiny pieces—shards of glass, glittering remnants of what was once whole but could never be put back together again.

Jungkook watches you, has been watching you for months now, lurking like the monster he is, in the corners of the streets you walk down in the darkening evenings, in the dim alleyways of your naive routine, unnoticed but always there, lingering with an intent that borders on obsession. Your skin is pale, your eyes wide, innocent, doe-like, and your lips are so soft-looking he sometimes wonders what it would feel like to press his thumb against them, feel the warmth of your breath, see if you’d break under the slightest bit of pressure, just snap like a twig in winter, cold and brittle.

It’s funny, he thinks, how you walk through life so unaware, so untouched by the darkness that curls around you, the shadows that creep along the edges of your world, waiting to consume you, and he, of course, is one of those shadows, watching you, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment, the moment when he’ll take you, make you his.

You’re so beautiful in your naivety, so perfect in your ignorance, and there’s a strange satisfaction in knowing that he’ll be the one to break you, to take that innocence and twist it into something darker, something that belongs to him, something that can never escape him once he’s had his way with it.

It happens on a Tuesday, a drizzly, grey afternoon in the convenience store, where the fluorescent lights buzz incessantly overhead and the air smells faintly of damp vegetables and cheap cleaning products. You’re there, standing in front of a shelf filled with canned soup, your fingers trailing absentmindedly along the labels as you read them with that same curious intensity you seem to give everything else, as if choosing a can of soup could somehow change the course of your life.

He stands a few aisles down, pretending to be interested in some boxed pasta, but his eyes are on you, always on you, drawn to you like a moth to a flame, that simmering sense of possessiveness curling tighter and tighter in his chest while saliva collects in his mouth, fangs protruding just a little.

You’re wearing a light dress today, something floral and soft, something that makes you look even more delicate than usual, and it’s that sight, that perfect, breakable sight, that makes him decide that today is the day, that he’s done waiting, done watching, done hiding like some kind of forgotten nightmare. No, today he’ll take you, and you won’t even know it’s happening until it’s too late.

He approaches you slowly, casually, his footsteps silent on the linoleum floor, and when he’s close enough that you can feel his presence, you turn your head to look at him, those wide, innocent, beautiful eyes locking onto his, and for a moment, just a brief flicker of a moment, you look confused, like you don’t quite know what to make of him, but that’s okay. He’s not worried. He never worries. He knows what he is, knows what he can do, and humans are so terribly easy to manipulate, to control, to bend to his will without even realising it.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low, smooth, almost like velvet, as he steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and there’s a slight smile playing on his lips, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, because why would it? You’re just a fragile little thing, after all, and he knows exactly how fragile things can break.

You blink up at him, that confusion still clouding your gaze, but there’s something else there too, something that he recognises immediately—the fear, the instinctive fear that all prey feels when it senses a predator nearby. But you don’t run. You don’t even move. You’re frozen, like a deer caught in headlights, staring up at him with those wide, pretty eyes, and it’s almost too easy, almost too perfect.

“You’re coming with me,” he says, his voice still that same velvet tone, but there’s an edge to it now, a command, and as he says the words, he reaches out, his hand brushing against your arm, and he feels the spark, the connection, the compulsion sliding into place like a key turning in a lock.

Your eyes glaze over slightly, your lips parting just a little, and you nod, so softly, so obediently, it makes his cold heart swell with something dark and possessive. You’re his now. You don’t even know it, but you’re his, and there’s no turning back.

A young grocery store employee approaches you then, a kid really, barely old enough to be working here, and he’s looking at you, not at Jungkook, with concern in his eyes, because even he can sense that something isn’t right, that something about this situation feels off, but Jungkook doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the boy. He only cares about you.

“Is everything okay?” the boy asks, his voice hesitant, unsure, and he takes a step closer, like he might try to intervene, might try to play the hero in this little scene, but Jungkook just looks at him, just gives him one look, one cold, dead-eyed look, and the boy stops in his tracks, the blood draining from his face, fear settling deep into his bones. He doesn’t say another word. He just turns around and walks away, too scared, too weak to do anything else, and Jungkook almost laughs, almost, but there’s no time for that, not now.

“Let’s go,” he whispers to you, and you nod again, that same obedient little nod, and he takes your small hand, cold fingers wrapping around yours, pulling you along behind him as you walk out of the store, out into the rain, out into the world where no one will stop him, where no one will even try, because no one ever does.

His house is dark, shadowed, the kind of place where nightmares are born and never quite die, and as he leads you inside, he watches you closely, watches the way you move, the way you follow him without question, without hesitation, and it’s almost laughable, because you’re so fragile, so tiny, so breakable, and he knows, deep down, that he could crush you in an instant, snap you in half without much effort, and you wouldn’t even fight back. You wouldn’t even scream.

He brings you to the living room, where the air reeks with the scent of old wood and something else, something metallic and dark, like blood that’s dried long ago, and he pushes you gently onto the couch, watching as you sit there, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your eyes still glazed over, still lost in that compulsion, and it’s so satisfying, so incredibly satisfying, to know that you’re his now, that you belong to him in every way that matters.

“Do you know how long I’ve watched you?” he asks you, his voice soft, almost tender, as he sits down beside you, his cold hand resting on your knee, his inked fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of your dress. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment?”

You don’t respond, of course. You can’t. Not while you’re under his control, not while his will is the only thing that matters in your mind. But that’s fine. He doesn’t need you to respond. He just needs you to listen.

“I’ve watched you for months,” he continues, his voice low, almost a whisper now, as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, inhaling deeply as his fangs come fully to life, “and I’ve thought about all the ways I could take you, all the ways I could make you mine. You’re so pretty, so perfect, so breakable… like a fucking doll. I could snap you in half if I wanted to, you know? I could break you, and you wouldn’t even know it until it was too late.”

His hand moves up your leg, cold fingers sliding under the hem of your dress, and you still don’t move, still don’t react, and it’s almost intoxicating, the power he holds over you, the way you’re completely at his mercy, completely and utterly his.

“But I won’t break you,” he purrs softly, his voice almost gentle now, as if he’s trying to soothe you, trying to make you believe that he’s not the monster you should fear. “I won’t break you because I’m not like that. I’m not like the others. I have a gold heart, you see… but my hands are cold. So cold.”

He lifts his hand, showing you his fingers, pale and icy, and he watches as your eyes follow the movement, as if you’re mesmerised by the sight of him, by the sight of something so inhuman, so otherworldly.

“I won’t break you,” he repeats, and this time, there’s something darker in his voice, something twisted and possessive and full of the kind of love that only monsters can feel. “I’ll keep you, instead. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you forever.”

And then he leans in, closer and closer, until his lips are inches from yours, and he can feel your breath on his skin, warm and soft, and it’s almost too much, almost too perfect, because he knows that in this moment, in this exact moment, you’re his, completely and utterly his, and nothing will ever change that.

“You belong to me now,” he whispers against your lips, and then, without waiting for a response, without giving you a chance to even think even if you tried, he kisses you.

His lips are cold, colder than ice, colder than death, and he feels you shudder beneath him, feels the way your body reacts to the touch, the way your skin prickles with goosebumps, and it’s so satisfying, so incredibly satisfying, to know that he’s the one causing it, that he’s the one who owns you now, body and soul.

And as he kisses you, as he feels you give in to him completely, he knows that this is just the beginning, just the start of something darker, something twisted, something that will never end, because you’re his now, and you’ll never be anything else.

Never.

PART 2

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