Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8438863.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/F, M/M
  Fandom:
      방탄소년단_|_Bangtan_Boys_|_BTS
  Relationship:
      Kim_Namjoon_|_Rap_Monster/Park_Jimin, Jeon_Jungkook/Min_Yoongi_|_Suga
  Character:
      Min_Yoongi_|_Suga, Jeon_Jungkook, Kim_Taehyung_|_V, Jung_Hoseok_|_J-Hope,
      Park_Jimin_(BTS), Kim_Namjoon_|_Rap_Monster, Kim_Seokjin_|_Jin
  Additional Tags:
      Vampire_Sex, Alternate_Universe_-_Vampire, Bloodplay, Blood_Drinking,
      Attempted_Rape/Non-Con, Violence, Underage_Drinking, I'm_Going_to_Hell,
      Hand_Jobs, Blood_As_Lube, Anal_Sex, Feels, just_a_little, Don't_Ask, are
      you_calling_me_a_sinner, yes_-_Freeform, Swearing
  Collections:
      2016_Spellbound_Halloween_Fic_Exchange
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-01 Chapters: 1/2 Words: 6911
****** To Catch a Predator ******
by idyllicblue
Summary
     He's a little too young for his taste.
     aka sexually frustrated and oblivious young vampire bartender and
     underage repressed kinky college student get it on. Happy Halloween.
Notes
     BLOOD. THERE'S BLOOD. LOTS OF IT. AND PEOPLE GETTING BEAT UP IN THIS
     FIC. AND KOOKIE GETTING SLOSHED.
      
     DID YOU HEAR ME
      
     Please read at your own risk. If you are offended by any of the tags
     above, do not read. I repeat, do not read if you could get triggered
     by any of the tags.
     Written for bug's prompt, hope it's ok.
     I have no male nether regions, experience with sexual abuse, or usual
     interest in vampires or blood play, so please excuse me if this is a
     horrible mess.
     Also its halloween so its unbetad, tell me if anything is screwy. my
     phone likes to eff with the spacing and breaks so if you see it,
     holla
See the end of the work for more notes
Fingers comb through his hair, the feeling soft and soothing to his wrung out
mind. God, that feels good. He really deserves a rest from his paper, what kind
of inhuman professor assigns such a difficult topic first thing in the year? He
curses at himself for being such a keener. It’s nice to just relax into this
floating feeling: he's probably drooling, but it's not like anyone can-
He startles awake, eyes wide and wiping frantically across his mouth in case
any classmates see. Slowly, his room comes into focus. Across from him,
Taehyung is staring, his hands hanging in midair, before he collapses into
chuckles.
 "Aww, Kookie you are just too cute! Look at you! "
With a sigh of dismay, Jungkook looks down at the little puddle of drool slowly
blurring his already barely legible engineering notes.
"How long was I out?"
Taehyung thinks, finger on chin.
"Well, your neighbour's poodle pup hasn't started welcoming him home yet but
the nice kid from two doors down is still murdering his violin concerto so I'd
say it's 9:45."
Jungkook groans, looks at his notes, and makes a face as he starts shuffling
through them to see if he can salvage anything.
"Come on Kookie... this is no way to start a weekend. You've got me now! A real
friend! And a friend doesn't let their friend spend it like this. Let's go do
something fun!"
Jungkook lines up his notes neatly with a clack and peeks over the edge at
Taehyung with an eyebrow raised.
"What do you mean?"
"Tonight is the night I take you out to town, brother." Taehyung shoots finger
guns then winks while tilting his head back, fingers making a circle. His boxy
smile is in full effect. Jungkook cringes.
"Why do I get the feeling this has something to do with alcohol?"
"Of course, yolo man, we gotta live like we're young cuz we're young. Let's go
out!"
"I'm not legal yet."
Taehyung pats him on the head, ruffling his hair a bit.
"Psssh, don't worry your little bunny ears Kookie. I've got a present for you."
He twists to scrimmage through his bag. Bunny ears? Jungkook reaches up to feel
his hair, and yes, there are indeed two tiny loopy ponytails on top of his
head. They slide off easily, leaving him with two rainbow ouchless elastics.
Where did Tae-
"Mine."
His friend plucks them out of his hand, replacing it with what looks
suspiciously like a driving license with Jungkook's sleep, no makeup face all
over it.
"Tae, that's illegal," he says, but the edges of his mouth are curling as he
takes a closer look. It's an almost perfect replica, down to the holographic
laminate. Jungkook, age 19, adult. He likes the ring of it.
"Illegal is just another name for a little risky frisky fun. Come on let's go!
There's this awwwwwesome place, you gotta meet my friends, loosen up Kookieeee"
Taehyung whines a little, bouncing his knee on the bed and making it thump
against the wall. He acts like such a puppy: sometimes Jungkook wonders if he
really is older than him. He ruffles the puppy boy's hair.
"Alright alright."
Taehyung lets out a whoop so loud the neighbour’s dog starts barking and leaps
up, dragging Jungkook to his closet. "I'm gonna make you look smoking hot!
Let’s party! TURN UP!!! "
----------Yoongi POV---------
"Wheein! Don't look now but that guy coming up the path is totally your type."
Solar stands up straighter and brushes a leaf out of her hair. It flutters to
the ground, one of many dead leaves underfoot that crackle unmistakably as she
shuffles, trying to look casual.
"Omg how do I look?? What do I do?"
"Girl I got you." With one manicured hand, they reach into their purse and
hands her their gorgeous limited edition Tarte
compact. "Take a peek in the reflection and tell me what you think of him."
"Oh my god, my eyeliner is all smudged! Why didn't you tell me?"
"No you vain hussy, look at the guy not your selfie!"
Her groomed eyebrows knit together . " I don't see any guy..."
"Shush! He's right next to you, he's going to hear us! Just aim it right-"
"I know how mirrors and magnets work just fine!"
The two squabble, nails scrabbling against the pink plastic compact.
"Oh shit, he's gone. What the heck, that was fast, I didn't even hear him
leave."
 
Yoongi pulls his leather jacket closer around his shoulders against the cold.
It's dangerous to go out like this, he knows. The sun sets sooner and sooner,
but it still doesn't mean he should be out and about during daytime.
Still, it's worth the little risk for a change of pace before work, he thinks,
as he takes in the vibrant colours of the mid autumn afternoon. The sun glints
through the trees, cascades of leaves golden and red rushing to lay before his
feet like an undead red carpet.
He hunches lower into his hoodie away from its light, trying to shrug off the
feeling of annoyance from being scrutinized. He probably lost a few brain cells
listening to that inane chatter earlier. The gate squeaks shrilly as he
reenters, breaking the brittle silence in the back alley where his boss is
having a smoke, the smell acrid and exotic as he taps his cigarette against the
lightly frosted fence. They exchange brisk nods. Inside, he hears the heater
warming up. He hangs up his jacket and approaches the bar, ready to begin his
routine once again.
He doesn't really need to work. With no real need for food or water, he could
be free to live life on the edge as long as he had a place to stay. But Yoongi
likes his creature comforts, a soft bed and heavy dark curtains that shield him
as the sun rises. So he works, getting compensated for his efforts with a
little apartment in the suites above the bar, his rent directly deducted from
his pay.
He senses the senior bartender approaching, his bracelets faintly clinking to
any human ears; to Yoongi, it’s like cymbals clanging and he dodges, the man's
casual shoulder punch falls flat.
"Hey short stuff." Yoongi gives him a look of derision. "Hey fuckface."
His coworker just laughs. He's in his late forties, and nothing much phases
him. "You're lucky you're so cute. Can't get mad at that face. You working
stage bar today?"
Glass clinking and heavy thumps fill the air as they fall into companionably
silence to set up the bar for the night. This is his 34th time starting a new
job. His small stature and youthful features lets him recreate himself as a
young man in whatever town and country he pleases when people start to ask
questions. It's still irritating to be reminded of his shortness every time:
it's not his fault his growth was halted prematurely after all. At least this
era, he can forgo hair dyes: it's worth the price for being called a hipster
with his silvery locks. Fortunately, he doesn't get a reminder of his height or
his babyface these days. The wine glass in his hands, now freshly polished,
reflects only the ambient lights glinting off the wine racks behind him.
As he goes to the back of the company van to grab some stock, he sees the long
line of party-goers lounging in front of the club and makes a face. Eternal
life isn't all it's cut out to be. Not that clubbing and getting smashed wasn't
fun; He had that wild phase already, right after he was bitten. Waking up after
the flash of a landmine in a pit of bullet ridden corpses was not the best
welcome back party. On the battlegrounds between life and death, his fate had
landed smack in the middle. It took some time before he realized what he was, a
few accidents and hungry nights later. When he finally met his maker, he'd
tried to rip his throat out. Didn't go so well. He got told to just accept it,
another fucked up situation in the huge pile of fuck ups that was the war.
Stunned with his new powers, Yoongi left that miserable town feeling both
invincible and devastated. Everyone he once knew was dead and gone. Nothing
would kill him even if he wanted to join them. He hopped from city to city,
partied, took drugs, did everything that seemed fun and dangerous, trying to
escape his fate and the memories of bloodshed.
Eventually, it all blurred into one big clusterfuck. He realized there was no
running from his own mind: he would have an eternity to sit with his memories
and pain. Best face it and move forwards, try to do something useful with his
life.
 
So he moved, and moved on.
 
He's still new to this city, relatively. The first thing he'd done was look for
work. He was done sleazing off people and living in the cracks of society. With
his limited real life experience, odd work hours, and fabricated background, he
winds up finding a job scrubbing bar tops and cleaning glasses at a club. The
boss finds out he has an aptitude for mixing drinks one slow evening, and after
a bit of training, he finds himself working behind the bar. It's much better
than manual labour, and the artistry of it is calming to him.
He's finished setting up now, limes and ice all ready to go. Just in time: the
lights switch off as the DJ starts preparing his mixes on the spot. The doors
will be opening soon. With a sigh, Yoongi places his hands on the countertop
and closes his eyes. Beneath his fingers, the whole place feels alive: the wood
vibrates and sings beneath his fingers, steady and low. Being in the dark,
enclosed space, the walls throbbing as the music shakes the glasses above the
bar, makes
him feel like his heart isn't dead to the world, the bass thumping low in his
chest like a heartbeat.
The first patrons begin trickling across to him, and the night begins. Yoongi
works efficiently as it wears on, his focused sensed never failing to hear each
slurred order. The air is thick with adrenaline, bodies swirling in front of
him in a whirlwind of pleasure and seduction that swept him along, his senses
instinctively heightening for the hunt.
 
He smells it then.
 
The martini glass he was holding slips from his grasp and he catches it quickly
before it crashes, the little trickle of rum running through his fingers the
only indication. His save is so quick no one even bats an eye.
Sex and drugs, perfume and alcohol, nothing can quite compare to it. His mind
reels, trying to pin down what exactly it smells like, but it's complicated,
both fresh and energizing, yet deep and sophisticated. It’s like nothing he's
ever encountered before in all his drawn-out decades of living.  The closest
scent to it brings to mind a moment long forgotten: his father's woodsy
aftershave smell mingling with the promising aroma of mother's secret recipe
stew cooking downstairs as he sat in his lap at the open window, the sweet
scent of ozone sharp in the air as he waited for the first fat raindrops to
fall. The moment flashes through his mind in a blink and leaves a nostalgic
hole in his soul, aching and raw. He splays his fingers against the counter top
to steady himself, narrowed eyes roving for its source, because he needs it,
wants it, aches to feel that again.
Nostrils flaring, he feels his skin prickle with excitement as he remembers the
other reason why he decided to work at a club. Because he's lazy, and it's so
easy, here where hundreds of strangers lay waste to their bodies before him and
no one would notice one or two slipping away. It's easy to feed, easy to follow
in the drunken steps undetected, sink his teeth into their supple necks and
drinking his fill before leaving them slumped on a bench. The alcoholic
aftertaste only adds to the excitement, his own personalized mixed drink. He
surreptitiously scans through the throng for his next prey as he slides a Tom
Collins over the counter.
Two young men stumble through the darkness onto the dance floor, their feet
uncoordinated in the way that only predrinking can do. The blond one hangs off
his friend, lanky arms sweeping in the air with a lazy smirk like a sultan
introducing his harem. Loud and boisterous, he's already drawing the attention
of those around him, a few coming up to clap his back companionably. A taller
man walks right up to him and pulls him in for a kiss, and the blond squeals
and reciprocates, though one arm remains slung around his friend's shoulder,
who looks vaguely uncomfortable at the proximity of their dancing tongues.
Yoongi lets his focus shift to him, and yes, that's it. Warm blooded and fiery,
he smells like home. His shoes scuff shyly as he bows, introductions being made
in their little gathering. Yoongi's eyes trail up the thick column of his neck,
almost able to see the tempting throb of blood pumping through his aorta,
before finally taking in his face.
 
He's just a boy.
 
Decades of living with humans has made him a better deducer of age than any
underpaid club bouncer. Yoongi knows instinctively. This young man doesn't
belong in this bar. Baby fat lingers in the curves of his cheeks, contrasting
with the toned muscles that stretch his shirt sleeves. He's dressed to kill in
sinfully skinny leather pants, a studded vest draped over his shoulders, going
for the tough and mature look, but he seems awkward in it, crossing his arms
over the front like he’s hiding something, his backside tense as he fidgets
with the vest. Still, he blends in well, and few humans would probably notice.
It must be his first time here: his eyes are wide with boyish charm as he takes
in the dancing lights and gyrating bodies, before landing on the exotic
dancers. Adorably, those eyes get even wider, before a strange expression flits
across his face. His friends jostle his shoulders, shouting at him to get
drinks, and they're headed towards Yoongi now. They're goading him on, telling
him to get laid, but the boy just shrugs. They take their shots and weave back
into the ocean of humans.
 
As a rule, Yoongi doesn't feed from anyone younger than he was when he was
turned. It just felt strange, an uninvited reminder of a time before. When he
looks at the youngsters, so full of potential, it makes his chest ache with
bitter nostalgia. Working at a club means most of his customers are of age, and
he’s grateful for that. And yet, he can't take his eyes off the dark haired
youth. Hypothetically, anyway: he has a job to do. But he can feel himself
angled towards that corner, senses honed to the boy. Jungkook. His friends
prefer to scream Kookie at him though, and the mix of mild irritation and
affection on his face at the nickname is amusing to watch.
Like any other night, Yoongi remains cool and professional. After a few close
calls with his meals at the beginning, he's learned discretion. It's a bad idea
to approach humans in groups, and this one is no exception: in fact, it always
seems like he always has someone latched onto him, petting his hair and babying
the boy. So he turns his back, and returns to his routine, fingers flying
across the taps, throwing his senses over the crowd in search for an easier
target. It doesn't matter. It’s just another dark and stormy night.
 
It's a dangerous night to be out. Yoongi alights on the edge of an abandoned
building, breath coming in ragged gasps. His clothes are dark with blood, his
third course propped up in the fluorescent glow of the streetlight below. He
wipes his mouth uselessly, his lips curdling as he only manages to smear more
in his cheek. Three perfectly fine meals, and yet the pangs of hunger remain,
clutching at his stomach like he's being roasted alive from the inside. Do
vampires get indigestion? Was one of them poisoned? Is he going insane? Maybe
he needs a vampire therapist. Yoongi's mouth twitches at the thought as he
watches his hands, waiting for the long claws to shrink back to small, blunt
human nails. His dinner cakes thick and black beneath them, and he wrinkles his
nose in disgust at the mess. It's not like him: he's neat, discreet, and only
takes as much as he needs, never really enjoying it. It must be the coming full
moon, wreaking havoc with his system again. For god’s sake, he isn't a woman,
and yet he, like most of the supernatural kind, has these annoying monthly
woes. The vampire grumbles his way home as the first tendrils of sunlight creep
over the rooftops, taking care not to be seen in his bloody state.
 
When Friday rolls around, the boy is back with his little gang. And yet again
on the next one. With each visit, his shoulders stand taller, his shy smile
growing into a smirk. Yoongi can't tell if he's flirting or not. The sly looks
the boy sends when he thinks Yoongi is busy with other customers, the little
thank yous paired with a cheeky grin: that’s flirting, right? To be fair, he
acts similarly with his friends. Perhaps he's just an unintentional playboy.
It’s been too long. Yoongi keeps an eye on him, though he makes no move to
disturb their professional relationship, as the boy wins drinking contest after
contest. For a beginner, he appears to drink surprisingly well… until he
reaches the alley or a toilet, where he pukes as silently as he can so no one
can hear: It seems the boy will go a long way to win. From the stories he hears
his friends swap over the counter, Jungkook has become a bit of an adrenaline
junkie. Reckless and dangerous. What a kid. Yoongi makes a point to serve his
alcohol watered down. As the night rolls on, he reminds one of his caring
friends to drink water so that they can offer some to the boy, and when
everyone is somehow smashed and incoherent, they always find a taxi magically
waiting for them when the bar closes, ready to take them home. He just doesn't
want to have to scoop up the boy's body from the gutter outside. That's all.
 
It's mid autumn now. Hallows eve is just around the corner, the call of the
rising moon an uncomfortable reminder of what he's become. It creeps along his
veins, down his spine, skews his judgment at the worst of times. Yoongi paces
behind the small counter, feeling restless, almost feral. His senses are
sharper, his body on edge as the darker powers bleed through into this world.
It's more difficult to control himself as the moon ripens, with every passing
night. Everyone is extra aggravating: Yoongi finds himself snapping even at the
boss, who asks him if he's on his period. He feeds but he never feels full,
runs but never feels the satisfaction of being knock-out tired. Worst of all,
the kid just keeps showing up. Tonight, the fucking little brat looks good
enough to eat. He's grown completely into his skin now, acting like the bar is
his home turf. He wears his clothes comfortably, and somehow that makes him
seem even more attractive than when Yoongi had first laid eyes on him in those
cursed skinny jeans. The mere slant of his shoulders is confident, full of
bravado. His eyes glittery in the darkness, mischief and mayhem as he laughs
with his friends. His dancing is graceful, his hands sliding over his body as
if he's so irresistible he can't even help himself. He's sin incarnate, his
hips
grinding in slow circles , a slave to the beat. If Yoongi had been full on
fresh blood, he'd definitely be popping a boner by now. As it is, all he feels
is an itch he cannot scratch, his desire foaming at the bit with no way to
satisfy it. If he sets drinks down with a little more force than necessary, he
can't be blamed. When Jungkook saunters over and orders an Amber Moon, their
hands brush as he picks up his mixed whiskey.
"Thank you, you're- ", he leans in closer, eyes hooded as he mouths through his
nametag, "-Yoongi... delicious." His throat bobs as he drinks, bliss washing
over his features. Lips glazed with alcohol, he salutes Yoongi with the glass.
Yoongi is hit with a pang of hunger so strong his fangs drop. Mortified, he
spins on his heel and pretends he's engrossed in liquor labels, hands shaking
as he numbly shuffles things around until his signs of interest start to fade.
When he turns back, forcibly calmer, the boy has already blended back into the
crowd. Their eyes lock across the room. In the neon diaspora of disco lights,
Jungkook tilts his neck back, red lights streaking the pale column of his neck
crimson. Fucking vixen...Yoongi feels his nails lengthen to dig deep trenches
into the wooden counter, blood singing in his veins as the boy's hands trickle
down his torso to hook into the v of his trousers, thumbs caught in the loops
as he thrusts his hips forward lewdly. He laughs at something, white teething
flashing in the dark, and Yoongi watches his lips, the sensual slide of his
canines over plush pink flesh. 
"Okay, let's get out of here." Like a whisper in his ear, and then he's gone,
the swaying shadows swallowing him whole, Yoongi's knuckles stark white against
the countertop.
A second later, and the bar stands empty, nothing but a ghost in its wake.
-----------jungkook pov--------
Laughter is bubbling from his chest as he stumbles over the threshold of the
bar, his hand resting on Jimin's back for support.
"Wait wait let me tie- I gotta- "
Jimin doesn't seem to hear him; he's halfway down the alley already, giggling
breathlessly as he plasters himself against Namjoon's shoulders, and Jungkook
can see how their hips are bumping together, Namjoon's hand resting in the
small of his back before slipping through the thin ribbon of skin between
threadbare shirt and sinfully tight jeans.
And then he's looking at silver, pale white, and there's a body pressed full
length against him except he's not in the club anymore and they're not dancing.
It's the hot bartender from before. His name... Yoon... Yoon... his thoughts
derail to scream danger at him, because the man is looking positively
murderous, silver hair slicked and eyes sharp as knives,
piercing through Jungkook's drunken haze like ice to the face. Okay, Jungkook
had been skeptical of the hipster grey hair trend but it looks so effortlessly
natural and elegant on him. The air between them zips of electric tension, and
he feels like he's going to burn to a crisp under the intensity of that soul
penetrating gaze, everything stripped bare for the man to see, clothes be
damned. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as he's pinned to
the wall like a butterfly specimen. Hands cup at his chin, ghost over his
waist, trail down his chest, and suddenly Jungkook realizes no one is holding
him down: it's just him and the wall, his back breaking into cold sweat but he
can't. Fucking. Move. His heart starts to jackrabbit in his chest. What the
fuck? 
 
The bartender leans in closer, close enough that Jungkook gets a little cross
eyed trying to keep him in his sights. Every nerve in Jungkook's body screams
silently for him to do something, panicking in its paralyzed state, but the
only thing he can do is stare, mouth agape, as the man smiles, slow and
sultry. 
"Tease.."
He catches the glint of sharp teeth before the man licks his lips slowly, like
he's about to savour a splendid meal, and then one slim finger lifts Jungkook's
chin and tilts it away. Eyes wide, Jungkook stares into the red brick of the
club building, and imagines he sees death looming before his eyes. What a
stupid way to go. Hot breath trails along his neck, lips brushing against his
adam’s apple as he swallows, just as the man's thigh slips between legs, and
Jungkook hisses as his knee brushes against the growing erection in his jeans.
Wait, he's hard, how is he hard and how is he this hard? Now? He inhales
sharply as the thigh continues to slide against him, tantalizing and slow like
they have all the time in the world.
 
"Jungkook! Where did that kid go, why can't- Jungkook!"
 
He stumbles forwards, gasping. Seokjin, who came to pick them up, stands at the
end of the alley, his broad shoulders tiny compared to the looming skyscrapers
above him. The alley stretches, dark and empty between them, save for a
scattering of puddles and a mouse, squeaking as it runs free across the
asphalt. And then there's Jungkook, his eyes red and chest heaving in the
reflection of a giant puddle of shit water, timberlands splashing ripples
through the despondent image of him standing in the damp, stinking alley,
alone.
What was that??
 
 
 
 
When he wakes up in the morning to the worst alarm in the world, head pounding,
eyes shot red, it's the furthest thing from his mind. He feels sick as he rolls
out of bed in his sweatshirt and trudges to class. By the time his brain
actually wakes up with his third venti at 2 in the afternoon, the bizarro seems
more like a weird wet dream than reality. As if he'd ever get laid with that
hot guy. He's got more pressing issues to focus on other than his dreams. The
weekdays roll on, and on, endlessly droning filling his days and scribbling
through the nights.
Finally. Friday night, he's waiting outside of the club in line, like their
usual plan of action, but not a high pitched scream or adorable giggle can be
heard. Well, Hoseok had already said he couldn't make it, but where was Tae and
Jimin?He's starting to feel self conscious about lurking outside alone like
this: he lets a couple pass in front of him, shrugging, when his phone finally
rings.
"Kookieeee" Taehyung's whine is so loud the people next to him shoot him a
weird look. Jungkook turns down the volume.
"Where are you?"
"My mom dropped in for a surprise visit and she killed me and Jimin about how
messy our dorm is. So we're stuck here cleaning and she insists we make some
proper kimchi... "
Jungkook can hear the faint clangs of long unused pots and pans coming from the
speaker.
"Lucky you, I'd kill for some of my Mom's cooking right now."
"She's a tyrant. A tyrant! She made me throw out all my holey clothes! You know
how much I love my holes!"
God, Tae will be the death of him. For a second he imagines Tae- nope, not
going to pop a broner here.
"You have plenty of other clothes. I'm sure they'll have holes too
eventually.."
"Hmmm... guess so. Or I could cut my own! you're a genius Kookie, that's why I
love you~ okay mom wants me to take care of the cabbage now. She says hi by the
way."
"Tell him I want to meet him!" The Auntie's faraway voice makes Jungkook smile.
"Alright, I'll come help out next time."
"Sorry again Kookie, I'll make it up to you tomorrow. Okay?"
"Sure. Bye Tae."
The call ends and he tucks his hands back into his pockets awkwardly. He checks
the time on his watch: it's only fourteen minutes past nine, since he'd been on
time and waited. The red entrance stamp is still fresh on the back of his hand.
Why waste it? He might as well dance a little since he paid and all.
The hours pass by in a blur. Jungkook makes some new friends, takes a hit or
two, gets a free shot... three shots... he loses count because hey, free shots.
The hot bartender is working again, but without his band of bros he can't
summon the courage to approach him. It's a busy night anyway. What was the
theme, Italian night or something? Whatever it is, he dances to it like he just
doesn't care, until the stress of school melts off his mind into an alcoholic
haze. When he finally stumbles out of the bar, he has to brace himself against
the brick walls, fighting the urge to heave or fall asleep.
"Hey there." An arm wraps around his waist and a hot breath against his collar,
reeking of alcohol and piss.
"Do I know you?" He tries to push him away to get a good look, and all he sees
is unkempt hair and wild eyes. The man's body slumps into his arms, heavy and
"Fuck if I know, but I know you, slut."
Before Jungkook has time to react, he's shoving him into an alcove, his smarmy
lips landing somewhere near jungkooks ear. Jungkook wants to hurl.
"What the fuck?"
"Been watching you, slut. Dancing like a fuckboy, you want it, don't deny it-"
His eyes focus on the leering mouth.
Jungkook finally grabs hold of his collar and shoves him off, disgusted, but
suddenly he's seeing white and slumped on the floor, his cheek aching, his body
pinned under the heavy weight of the drunk.
"You're not getting away sssslut! I'm gonna-" he starts yanking at Jungkook's
belt as he mouths at his neck, leaving slobber to pool at his collarbone, "FUCK
-" failing that, he tries to squirm his hand into his jeans, panting, "-that
sweet ass, and you're gonna love it-"
Oh hell no.
Jungkook struggles, and bites down on the guy's ear.
"Fuck! Fuckin dirty slut, you're gonna get it-"
The man is pissed, reeling his fist back to punch him in the gut or something,
but Jungkook is faster and there's just enough time to hook him in the jaw.
Blood splatters onto the wall next to them, the rings on his fist gouging into
his attacker's face. The man is livid.
"You bitch!!"
He fumbles back, hand in his pants, and suddenly there's flash of silver
arching towards him and Jungkook barely has enough sense to fling his arms up
to push it away. He feels it cut into his arm, splattering his shirt red as it
starts to bleed. He manages to kick up and out.
The drunkard soars through the air backwards and hits the wall with a grunt.
Okay, he works out, but he didn't know he was that strong. Confused, Jungkook
shuffles back until he's pressed against the wall and looks up. A figure
dressed in black standing in front of him now, blocking his view of the
attacker. Sadly, there is no cape or bat ears, but Jungkook isn't going to look
a gift horse in the mouth. Backup is still backup, Batman's probably just busy
busting burglars or something. He wheezes, trying to regain his breath. The
ugly cow does the same, staggering against the wall.
"Who the- what are you, a fuckin superhero? mind your own fucking business!"
The scum spits at the still figure. It lands on the toe of his shoe, gross.
The man doesn't say a word. Instead he strides forward, grabbing the man by the
scruff of his jacket, and starts dragging him backwards with alarming speed
down the alley. Jungkook watches, feeling a kind of vindicated satisfaction as
the man's heels kick uselessly against the gravel, his arms flailing.
"What? Lemme go sunnovabitch! What the fuck are you doing?"
He gets dropped unceremoniously, before getting a vicious rib splintering kick
to the side. Yoongi tucks his hands into his pockets. The man groans and tries
to get up on his hands and knees, only get kicked in the face. He lands facing
Jungkook, and the boy can see the panicked fear before Yoongi's foot comes
down, grinding his face slowly into the gritty ground. The man's hands flail
desperately, trying to get him off, and he manages to grab at the torturing
ankle. A look of disgust crosses Yoongi's face, and the man freezes, eyes wild.
His hair is plastered with sweat from exertion, and . He looks even more
pathetic than before. Jungkook would feel sorry for him if he wasn't a fucking
rapist. Yoongi moves his foot to rest on top of the guy's wristwatch, casual as
you please like he's getting a shoeshine, and yet the man doesn't even twitch,
his ragged breathing filling the air. His eyes are still darting around though.
"What does it look like?"
With the other foot, he slams down on the trapped hand, the man's scream
echoing through the dark alley.
"I'm taking out the trash."
He does the same for the other hand, then moves on to his knees, leaving gritty
footprints in the creases of his slacks as he breaks both kneecaps amid the
man's sobs and shrieks. He's blabbering nonsense, apologies to Jungkook, the
world, his wife, but it only gets him a mouthful of bloody teeth and an
appetizer of alley dirt, and after that he can only whimper as the bartender
finally shoves his wreckage of a body into the heaped garbage bags so
forcefully that they spill their gory guts all over him, used condoms and
rotten takeout and god knows what else seeping into his already bloody tshirt.
"Don't fucking touch him."
Yoongi grimaces at his feet, splattered red with the guy's blood. It reeks,
even to him. He'll have to throw them out: he always hated garbage juice.
The switchknife lays, scattered to the side. The metal glints red as Yoongi
picks it up, a drop of blood trickling tantalizingly over his right hand. It's
fresh, its ruby hue glistening in the light of the waxing moon. It would be
such a waste to let it fall. Just a little drop, just a little taste..
In a trance, Yoongi brings his hand to his mouth, pressing his lips there
before gathering the drop on his tongue. The rich, indulgent flavour tides him
over with euphoria, his mind overcome with satisfaction after weeks of catching
whiffs of that delicious flavour. If Yoongi still believed in a god, he'd be
swearing by his name. He's in his own little world, pressing his lips against
the spine of the blade, revelling in each and every hint of flavour as he
sweeps his tongue along its side to gather up any remaining drops. His hindmind
is so focused on feeding that he almost misses the heady scent of lust that
suddenly spikes in the air. Eyes lidded, Yoongi looks down at the kid, euphoria
still swirling through his veins, his tongue tingling from the taste.
Jungkook is a mess, his shirt yanked open to expose his collarbone, his chest,
the faintest edge of a dusky nipple. He's sprawled in the corner, legs akimbo,
back hunched into himself as he cradles his arm, the picture of vulnerability.
He hears himself growl at the sight of the bloody handprints smudged over
surprisingly toned abs, feeling a surge of jealousy, before his eyes trail down
toward the significant bulge in those tight, tight jeans. The boy is turned on.
He's panting, color high in his cheeks, his body strung like a bow towards
Yoongi. That's... interesting. The sharp smell of fear weaves in with arousal,
a fresh wave pulsing through the air as the boy's eyes trail down to Yoongi's
lips. Instinctively, Yoongi licks them, smiling at the aftertaste. The boy
echoes his movement. Yoongi watches his throat bob as he swallows. He's never
seen this kind of response before: his prey is getting more and more
interesting by the minute. He wets his lips unconsciously before he speaks-
The kid takes off like a shot before Yoongi can say a word, leaving Yoongi
alone to deal with the slumped body. Cold rain drips down his shirt, and shit.
It's raining.
Yoongi's standing there at the back of his work, and it's raining, and he just
almost killed a guy. The bloodlust drains from him and horror and shame flood
in. He curses, nudges the guy to make sure he's still alive, and calls an
ambulance.
Jungkook hardly remembers the trip home. He claws at the door, his hands
shaking as he slides the key in. He doesn't even bother to take off his shoes
as he stumbles to the sofa and crashes, face up, to stare at the ceiling in a
stupor. Oh shit, the door. He jumps up and locks it before slumping back into
the comforting old couch. His breath is coming in so fast he's seeing sparks.
Hoping to calm himself, he covers his eyes with one arm, but it only makes it
worse as his lungs fill with the metallic tang of his injury, the intensity of
the bartender's stare burned into the darkness behind his eyelids. There was a
kind of raw hunger and desire in those flashing orbs that pierced Jungkook
right to the core, a complete reversal from the blank slate state he wore at
work. And he liked it, how he liked it. He can't be blamed for wanting to be
wanted. It was like the air crackled as he walked, no, slinked through the
alley towards him, sexy in an effortless manner that took Jungkook’s breath
away. Some niggling part makes the memory seem familiar, but he can't quite put
his thumb on when or how he could have experienced that before. 
He'd always been attracted to the guy, but now... now it felt like he'd become
imprinted to him, following and craving his attention like a sugar high child
after candy. And oh, he wanted it again . He wanted those eyes clawing over
him, segregating his body into individual portions and weighing them in his
heavy gaze like he was butchered meat, and then finally being swept over his
entire packaged person with a satisfied smirk.
 
And he'd beaten up that jerk for him. Fuck, that was hot, knowing someone
wanted him so badly he couldn't let anyone else touch him. Not that he needed
saving, but he still feels tingly inside at the thought that mattered to him.
He tries to decipher through the mess of emotions: fear, lust, and flattery
that someone would actually do that for him like a bloody modern day fairytale
prince. 
Ugh... Jungkook just groans, pursing his lips to buzz them in frustration. He's
still tipsy and it's too painful to psychoanalyze. His arm drops to his side,
coming to rest on his tucked up t-shirt. Lazily, he drags his fingers across
his stomach. Memories of the strangers hands float into his consciousness:
nails dragging lightly across his chest, the edge of his teeth grazing against
his neck. Fuck it. His other hand slithers into his pants and wraps around his
erection, a weak groan frizzling from his lips.
His nails are a little long and he feels them leave little scratches on his way
down. Ops. But it's not a bad feeling: in fact, the pain sharpens the pleasure
spiralling through him. He wouldn't mind a little rougher, a little more. He
does it again, this time on propose, and then he doesn't stop, running his free
hand along his torso while he jerks ungainly with the other , gasping when he
accidentally scratches against his nipple. He's probably leaving marks all over
himself but he doesn't care: no one is going to see . There's no time for slow
leisurely wanks, not even time for him to find his dildo: he's seize by his
primal need to rut and fulfill his lust. 
He beats off urgently, biting his knuckles hard enough to bruise so his
neighbours can't hear him unravelling.  His hips rock against his fist, racing
towards the edge, he's so achingly close but it's not enough, it's too dry. He
fumbles for the hidden lube in the sofa, eye catching on the red smear on his
arm.
Oh, right. He's still bleeding. Distracted from his quest, he brings the wound
up to his face. It's much more shallow than he'd thought: the clot is already
forming, flecks drying down his elbow. He pictures the alleyway again, that
pink tongue stained red, the thrilling risk of Yoongi slicing himself open on
its sharp edge juxtaposed with the look of pure ecstasy on his pretty face. Did
his blood really taste that good? 
Curious, he lets his tongue peek out and gives it a tiny, tiny lick. It's not
bad. A little metallic, a little salty, but he was never one for sweets anyway.
His lips brush across the thin red line, imagining its his bowshaped lips, his
tongue flickering over it, his voice low in his ear. Yoongi. Jungkook feels
himself twitch in his grasp, and suddenly lube doesn't matter anymore, fingers
tightening as he cums and cums, milky strands streaking across his abdomen, the
taste of blood sharp on his tongue.
End Notes
     Section Two is where all the fun is. It needs a bit more polishing
     and plumping. whoopdedoo.
     Vampires in this fic have no heartbeat, but blood still runs through
     them, albeit slowly. Drinking blood is like having a fresh wave of it
     into their veins, and filling up with it is the only way they can
     have an erection, because that's how erections work. It's still
     somewhat of a choice though. Just because you can have one doesn't
     mean you get one for everyone, you know? This explains his apparent
     asexuality. Yoongi is sensitive to light, but it won't kill him
     unless he's standing in the sun all day. If he focuses, he can hone
     his supernatural hearing/smell/telekinesis/magical sparkly vampire
     powers. His saliva has healing powers so that he doesn't just kill
     everyone.
     i'll be in my grave
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!