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colormepurplex2 · 6 months

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Bump In The Night | MYG

▻ Bump In The Night ↳ Bogeyman!Yoongi x f.Reader ⤜ Horror/Thriller/Demon, Nyctophobia ⤜ Monster Under The Bed AU | angst, smut ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 12,395 ⤜ Summary: The dark can be scary; full of strange, unseen things. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on your fear, the lights go out, and you face the reality that you were always right—you should fear the dark and especially what’s waiting in it. ⚠️ Crass language, fear, inciting fright, playing on emotions, teasing, kissing, fingering, biting/marking, dom tones, begging, choking, panic, unprotected v. sex, feeding on fear, dark thoughts, revealed dark intentions, predator/prey tones, chasing, claiming, serpentine tongue, oral f.receiving, monster cock/sex, metamorphosis

Written for the BTS Fantasy and Fangs Halloween collab for @minisugakoobies A/N: Sunny, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did while writing it. Happy belated birthday and hope you have a pleasant spooky holiday full of Bogeyman Yoongi delight!

A special thank you to @star-my @hisunshiine and @downbad4yoongi for their amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

Beg For It

Nyctophobia [ nik-tuh-foh-bee-uh ] - noun Psychiatry: extreme or irrational fear of the night or of darkness.

One…

Two…

Three…

Breathe. Another few seconds, that’s all you want; just precious moments to prove yourself.

Four…

Five…

Six…

Cold chills slither down your spine despite the hot water beating against your back. Your fingers work vigorously against your cheeks and along your forehead. What feels like a thousand pounds settles along your lashes, even though you know it’s nothing more than marshmallowy-light foam.

Seven…

Eight…

Nin—

You spin around, nearly losing your footing in the shower as you angle your face under the spray from the showerhead. The heels of your palms press against your lids as you try to rid them of the foamy facial cleanser.

Air wheezes into your lungs, stray drops of water sucking between your parted lips as you try to breathe against the panic building in your chest. Jerking back from the spray, you open your eyes, wincing at the sting from the water-mixed-with-cleanser that drips from your lashes and floods the corners.

Nothing. There’s nothing there. All you see is the steam-filled space of your shower, water pelting down at your feet, a smattering of bottles arranged on the lip of the tub, and the inside of your plain shower curtain.

You sigh, irritation itching in your chest. Not even nine seconds. You were trying for at least ten. It never fails to leave a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you can’t seem to get a grip on yourself. It’s just the dark. Hell, it’s not even really the dark. It’s just having your eyes closed against the bright fluorescent lights of your bathroom; a pseudo-darkness.

The unease in your stomach refuses to dissipate as you turn off the shower, step out, wrap yourself in a towel, and go through the routine of brushing your teeth and massaging moisturizer into your skin. You hang up your damp towel, quickly pulling on the oversized t-shirt and shorts you intend to sleep in.

Steam clouds the mirror. You don’t typically care to wipe it away, not anymore. It’s one of your small, personal victories—one you intentionally remind yourself of now after your panicked stint in the shower. It used to be that you couldn’t stand not being able to see the space behind you through the reflective surface. Knowing if something lurked outside your line of sight, it couldn’t hide from being exposed through the mirror. Being able to see behind you was all that mattered. Now, you take pride in not needing to see…yet, the niggling in the back of your head won’t cease. So, you swipe a hand, collecting tiny beads of moisture on your palm as you go.

You’re unsure why the act makes your heart beat a little harder. It’s supposed to elicit the calm you so desperately need. But, once you’ve slashed a clear path across the mirror, your brow furrows as you lean in closer to it. Cold dread thunders through your veins as you jerk back, spinning on your heel to make sure what you saw through the mirror wasn’t just your mind playing a trick on you.

Nope, not a trick or even a figment of your imagination…unfortunately.

You stare in paranoid disbelief at the slender gap along the bottom of the bathroom door. The door that leads into your bedroom where you are absolutely, without a doubt, positive you left your bedside lamp on. The gap is dark, like a void threatening to suck you right into an endless nightmare of unrelenting terror. All that’s missing is a gaunt, skeletal hand sliding its too-long fingers under the door.

Shoving away those intrusive thoughts before they can take root and further fester like a dirty wound on your sanity, you try to think logically. It’s possible the bulb in your lamp could have blown, but you know you replaced it just last month. It’s far too soon for it to blow on its own, and surely, it’s not a faulty bulb. So, why is it out? Were you careless and, in truth, didn’t turn it on? A manic laugh gets caught in your throat as you silently berate yourself. That must be it. You simply forgot. So careless.

Fear is an acrid taste on your tongue as you slowly approach the door. You hate this feeling. Even though you tell yourself there’s nothing out there lurking in the dark to harm you, you simply forgot to leave the light on. The distress doesn’t subside—and it won’t. At least, not until you open the door and prove the dark to harbor no ill intent toward you.

Squaring your shoulders and taking what is supposed to be a calming and fortifying breath, though it feels more like sand slipping into your lungs, you wrap your fingers firmly around the brushed nickel handle. The metal is warm, slightly wet from the condensation formed during your shower, against your palm as you twist it.

You lick your trembling lips, taking one more moment to center yourself. Your eyes slide closed as you mentally recall the layout of your room, calculating how many steps there are to get to the nearest light switch. Your bed is angled so the foot faces the bathroom door, and the closet door to the left near the two windows you know are closed tight with the curtains drawn. The bedroom door is easily the furthest from the bathroom, leaving the overhead light out of the question. You knew, before you even began to analyze, that the bedside lamp you recall yourself leaving on is going to be the closest light source. Still, you needed to go through the motion of solidifying that information in your mind.

As you haltingly push it open, the quiet creak of the door, which sounds deafening in the silence of the bathroom, causes chills to pop up along your arms and the hairs at the nape of your neck to stand on end. Darkness ebbs as the light from the bathroom bleeds across the hardwood of your bedroom floor, slowly revealing the interior of your room.

Your heart lurches, and a scream rips from your chest when you see a dark figure sitting at the end of your bed come into focus as the bathroom door swings further open, the handle barely held in your now numb fingers. Panic barrels through you. Your muscles react instinctively, fingers tightening around the knob as you jerk back, the door closing with a harsh bang as you backpedal across the bathroom.

“Babe,” calls a playful voice from just on the other side of the door. You can barely hear it over the roaring in your ears. Nausea threatens to double you over, even as relief floods your system—such conflicting emotions that you feel suddenly off-kilter.

There is a fine sheen of cold sweat clinging to your neck. Your hands fist into the front of your shirt as the door eases open to reveal your boyfriend standing at the threshold. His dark ensemble makes it seem like the bathroom's light bends around his form, not daring to touch him.

You’ve never liked it when someone intentionally scares you, claiming it’s a joke. It always seems more like a cruel prank than a laughing matter. Though, you note, no one is laughing right now either way. He doesn’t look smug or self-satisfied for having scared you, just simply mildly amused.

“You scared me, Yoongi,” you state flatly, crossing your arms over your chest, hoping he picks up on your discomfort.

The corners of his lips turn down, and his brow furrows as he gives you an exaggerated pout. Even with your pounding heart and the upside down in your belly, you can’t help but appreciate how cute he is when he does that. “I know. I just didn’t see the point in wasting the power if you weren’t going to be in there.” He gestures vaguely behind him to your room, which is barely lit by the light pouring out of the bathroom.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to remind him that even though you weren’t in there, he was. Though, for some reason, Yoongi sitting in the dark doesn’t strike you as out of place. In the five years you’ve been together, you’ve learned to love his odd quirks just as much as any other part of him. He’s genuine, a caring person who isn’t afraid to be vulnerable—a far cry from anyone else you’ve ever given your time to.

“How was work?” you ask, aiming to get back on track with some semblance of normalcy—anything to not dwell on the lingering discomfort that’s still beating away in your chest.

His shoulders hitch up in a nonchalant manner. “Same as always. There’s been a big break in the Hunt case. Director Park thinks we’ll have the code cracked in a few more days. I say by tomorrow night, tops, just in time for our date. It’ll be a reward for my hard work,” his eyes twinkle with mirth. “After all, I think Samhain is a pretty fitting day for dealing with evil, huh?”

You make a noncommittal sound at that last part. Yoongi might enjoy that thought, but to you, tomorrow is more so just a day…simply October 31st and is more about plastic pumpkins, like the ones you have sitting on your front porch, than dealing with evil like that. The fact that Yoongi has convinced you to go to a festival tomorrow night is so wild you’ve been forcing yourself not to think about it.

“Well, I’d put my money on you over Director Park any day,” you say instead, giving him a soft, knowing smile. Yoongi has a penchant for estimations. If he thinks it’ll only take another day to crack a code that’s been wreaking havoc on Interpol for the better part of a year, then you believe him. You don’t pretend to understand all the intricacies of what he does; just know he’s really good with computers and helps whichever government agency needs it most or something like that.

Yoongi gives you a lazy smile in return. “Mmm, that’s what I like to hear. Your confidence in me is like kindling for my fervor,” he croons, wrapping you up in his arms. It feels good to relax in his embrace, the last vestiges of your earlier panic melting away as you soak in his warmth and familiarity. “Sorry I scared you,” he murmurs into your damp hair. “Let me make it up to you.”

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, laughing softly when his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt and teasingly caress your sides—the touch is light, making your skin tighten and prickle in response.

A rumbling groan vibrates through Yoongi’s chest as he playfully nips along your jaw before planting his lips firmly over yours in a dizzying and claiming way. “We’ll start with kissing,” the words are whispered between plucks of his mouth against yours, tongue swiping sensually across your bottom lip.

“Kissing is good,” you agree, smiling against his mouth before melting into another heated tangle of tongues and stilted breaths. That fist around your heart eases, letting your chest expand fully for the first time since before you showered.

“Biting,” he murmurs, pulling away from the kiss to bury his face in your neck. The light pressure of his teeth pressing against your skin has your toes curling against the cold tile floor and your fingers fisting into the front of his shirt.

Yoongi plants his mouth right over your pulse point, his tongue flicking over your throbbing vein as his teeth clamp down gently. You swallow hard against the sensation, your heart shifting gears to thud fast in your chest for a different reason. It’s not necessarily fear that drives your senses higher now so much as it is anticipation and an increase in adrenaline—terror adjacent, something you prefer much more to the former.

You shudder against him, knees going weak as he moans, the sound sending pulsing shocks of vibrations down your spine with how his mouth fits against your neck. His fingers ghost along your shorts before finally pushing past the elastic band. The palms of his hands are warm as they slide around and grip handfuls of your ass.

Using his hold on you, Yoongi lifts you up onto the counter beside the sink. As his hands retreat, they tug your shorts with them, working them around the curve of your ass until they’re caught at your knees. You let him push them further until they slacken and fall to catch around your ankles, then onto the floor. Wincing slightly at how cold the counter is against your bare skin, you urge him to fill the space between your thighs, seeking his warmth flush against you once again.

“Yoongi,” you hiss, sucking in a sharp breath as he slides a hand between your bodies and presses the flat of his fingers against your pussy. You don’t need to look in the mirror to know his teeth have left an impression on your neck. He leans back and licks his lips in a show of appreciation, lidded eyes full of mischief and barely veiled lust. “Please.” It comes out warbled as he teases his middle finger between your lower lips.

“Beg for it,” he says. “Show me how much you want me to make you forget about the darkness.” His voice has an edge, like he’s teasing at something, but it’s lost on you to piece together what it might be.

Sucking in a deep breath, you repeat your plea, “Please.”

Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, and you can feel your erratic heartbeat pounding between your legs and under the sensitive skin of your neck that Yoongi ravaged with his teeth. Lightheadedness kisses the edges of your clarity, daring you to get lost in the delirium that Yoongi is offering.

“You can do better than that,” Yoongi taunts, his laugh low and husky as he pulls away, leaving you bereft of his touch where you want it most. “Beg. For. It.” The words are clipped, punctuated with staccato taps of his middle finger against your sensitive clit.

“Fuck—Yoongi, please! Please, I need you!”

“That’s my girl,” Yoongi smiles wickedly. Two slender fingers sliding into your wet heat are your reward. “You’re so wet already. Look at how your body is pulling me in. Fuck, that’s nice.” He angles himself so you can both look down and watch his fingers slowly pull out, glistening with your arousal before sinking back in.

Your body squeezes around his fingers, walls fluttering in anticipation and building pleasure. “Need you,” you mumble, grabbing at the button on the front of his dark wash jeans with one hand and tugging at the bottom of his black t-shirt with the other. “Fuck me, Yoongi, please. Please, fuck me. I need you to make me forget.”

A flurry of motion accompanies his answering growl of approval as he helps you strip him out of his clothes and the rest of your own. You barely feel the absence of his fingers in your cunt before he pulls your ass to the edge of the counter and shoves his cock inside with a guttural moan that echoes in the small space.

The fit of him inside your body is deliciously perfect, like he was made to please you. Your fingers press dents into his shoulders as you grip him tightly. One of his hands squeezes your hip to keep you from slipping off the counter while the other finds its way to having a light grip on your throat.

His forehead rests against yours, the back of your head pressed against the mirror behind you. The angle makes his thrusts shallow, forcing the crown of his cock to rock against a sensitive spot deep inside that has you seeing spots behind your closed lids.

Yoongi has always been a contrasting lover, hot and cold, in a way that always leaves you breathless and assuaged. The look on his face says he’s fucking you, but the sensual roll of his hips says he’s making love to you—the hand on your throat says he just wants to control you. Regardless of how he fucks, it always consumes you. From the first time to now, he wholly and utterly devours your sanity and spits it back at you two-fold. He brings you palpable lucidity while also destroying all sense of right and wrong. Some call it morally grey; you call it just another titillating facet of who he is.

Pleasure builds fast, and you know you’re about to tip over the edge when the pressure of his hand on your throat increases. It’s an infinitesimal change, but it feels like the tightening of a vice all the same.

The erratic beat of your heart stutters further, swallowing you down into a thick-headed spiral of trepidation. You know Yoongi won’t hurt you. It’s not that—not quite. It’s the idea and knowledge that he could. It’s a taboo feeling, craving that helpless flutter deep in your belly that dares you to indulge in the darkness instead of running from it.

Yoongi’s hips continue to roll against you, your body pinned in place by his hand on your throat. Your eyes flutter open just to fall shut again as the hand on your hip moves until his thumb presses against your clit, making your body jerk and hurtle back toward the precipice of pleasure from before.

With his thumb pressed against one throbbing artery in your neck and the pads of his fingers against the twin on the other side, he has complete and utter control over you. All it takes is another barely-there squeeze to have you changing your grip from his shoulders to his forearm.

The bitter taste of cowardice laces together with the cloyingly sweet, carnal flavor of lust that’s coating your insides. Yoongi rumbles, a moan low in his chest. The rhythm of his hips kicks up until they’re hammering against yours to the point that measures of pain mix with the terror, forming into a rapture of exhilaration. His thumb coaxes your orgasm through precise flicks over your swollen clit.

You can’t help the sound that rips from your throat, squeezing past his grip in a ragged mockery of a moan—bright colors spiderweb across the backs of your closed lids as you sip from his chalice of wickedness. White noise joins the rush of blood in your ears as somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, alarm begins to bleed into the hazy euphoria clouding your head. “Yes!” Yoongi groans. “That’s it, fuck!”

“Y-yoon—“ you try to choke out his name, fingers trembling from their tight grip on his forearm. Just as you’re about to try and shove him away to get a reprieve, his hand loosens its hold on your throat, and the instant rush of oxygen to your brain washes away all other thoughts as your body surrenders once again to his dominion. The orgasm tears through you, sweeping you out in a hedonistic riptide. Your walls clamp around his cock so hard he snarls and shudders with the trigger of his own release.

You must have blacked out from the overwhelming cascade that besieged your senses because the next thing you’re aware of is Yoongi tucking you into bed beside him. The sheets are cool against your heated skin, a welcome lull of relief. He presses into your sated body, chest against your back and arm possessively curling over your hip. “Get some sleep, my queen,” he murmurs. “I’ll hold the darkness back.”

The room is dark, just as it was earlier when you panicked. But, just as always, when Yoongi is around, it’s less frightening…seemingly somehow less dark and foreboding. He might have darker desires when it comes to pleasure, but right now, he’s the light that chases away your other demons.

🖤🖤🖤

Yoongi

The taste of your fear still lingers in the back of Yoongi’s throat as he pretends to sleep curled around you. He knew turning off your bedroom light would scare you. It’s why he did it. The peckish feeling that rumbled in the pit of his stomach drove him to want to play with you. Your fear instantly sated his hunger, and it made his dick hard when you screamed. You scream so prettily he just can’t help that natural, primal response.

That is, after all, precisely why he chose you. Everything about you speaks to his needs, promising sweet and succulent fruit that’s always ripe for plucking.

He learned early on that if he could elevate your heart rate and incite a sliver of fear in you while fucking you…well, his full belly is testament enough to how much he loves that. You call it a kink, he calls it dessert. It wasn’t his intention to fuck you after he frightened you, but the irritating erection grating along his zipper had other plans.

His mortal form isn’t his favorite. It’s far too small and has far too many baser needs and limitations. Though he does enjoy the feel of your soft, pliant flesh under his—especially when you’re ripe with the sweet smell of terror—it makes it worth the discomfort this inferior mode has.

It’s not lost on Yoongi that he could have ruined you from the start by taking too much from you. But he’s been careful over the years, molding and training your body to be the perfect vessel for him to feed from. The fact you were already experiencing high anxiety and an innate fear of the dark prior to him coming into your life helped tremendously. Nyctophobia is such a beautiful thing.

You claim he’s helped you, for the most part, get over your fears. However, he knows this is just a lie you tell him and yourself to make yourself feel and seem braver. He knows the truth, though. There is no getting over your fear, not when it lives with you…sleeps next to you, touches you, fucks you. He’s everything you’re scared of, everything you think is creeping around in the dark, waiting to pounce. He’s your worst nightmare…literally as much as figuratively—and you have absolutely no inkling of that truth. All you see is what he lets you see: just a sweet guy with a penchant for darker tastes behind closed doors.

To you, he’s just Yoongi. But he has had many names over the centuries: Demon, Baba Yaga, El Coco, Butzemann, Tikoloshe, Bogeyman, and so on. All of them are generally the same, but none are quite right. He is all these things, and yet none of these things—he’s so much more.

It’s a common misconception that he only targets people who do misdeeds. That’s not it at all, for the sweetest fruit is the unwary, the innocent, the vulnerable, and the scared. That is the pinnacle of his desire, the unctuous delight that feeds his depravity and gives him power over the darkness—darkness that calls to him now.

Being careful not to wake you, Yoongi slips out from around your soft, lush body. Feeding on your fear in the bathroom drained some of your vitality, lowering your constitution, and the best recovery for that is a good, uninterrupted eight hours. So, he’ll leave you to replenish so that he may feast once again—one last time before he executes his final, ultimate plan; the whole reason he chose you to begin with and has been periodically parading around in this limited meat suit for years.

The maw of darkness under your bed beckons him to shake off the mortal form and take his rightful place as King among the shadows. Yoongi catches his reflection in the standing mirror across the room. The only thing distinct is the brilliant red eyes staring back at him. It feels good to stretch and dissolve into his proper form, shadows snaking along his limbs and filling his every breath.

You fidget on the bed, brow furrowing as your body reacts to the nearness of his proper form. He likes watching you twitch and shift, soft mewls of fright sounding low in your chest. If he wanted, he could swallow you whole, and you’d never be the wiser, one moment existing in your nightmare and the next slithering into the ether of what comes after. But, it’s not time…not yet.

Letting one of his long, spindly shadow fingers draw back in and reform into the echo of human flesh, he presses the blunt tip against your temple. You instantly quell your movements, and the pitiful cry in your chest subsides. Yoongi can feel the subtle tremble of your body, the vibrations skittering through your flesh as your body recognizes his hellish touch. Your subconscious is as familiar with his umbral form as your conscious is with the lies he’s used to frame how you see him with your eyes.

Digging through the screen of your nightmare, he pulls back the darkness and lets in just enough light to lull you into a false sense of security—something he does nearly every night after he’s fed from you so he doesn’t accidentally drain you dry. By the time he returns, the light will have faded from your dreams, and there will be just enough unfettered distress permeating the air of your bedroom to give him a top off of delicious fear, his own personal cup of pick-me-up.

Yoongi slides under the bed and into the darkness, leaving you to your deep, lambent dreams. He melts through the barrier between your world and his. Euphoria buzzes through him as his depth of power increases. That’s the biggest downfall of walking the mortal plane. There aren’t quite enough shadows or stinking fear to fill the neverending void inside him. But here, in the Realm of Darkness, the taste of terror is thick and nectarous. It lingers in the air and is as permanent as the oxygen you breathe in your world.

Yoongi drifts through the firmament of his domain, letting the worries and stress of what’s to come fade. For a being with endless power and control, he never thought he might have the need to be concerned over something seemingly so trivial. But, the ceremony and ritual he has planned for tomorrow night is easily the most critical thing he’s ever dared to accomplish.

The Realm of Darkness might be sufficiently filled with succulent fodder for him, but there are other limitations he encounters. Constraints that involve the worlds beyond his Kingdom. He doesn’t want just to be able to thrive here on his own turf. He has aspirations of letting his darkness seep into the outer realms—including yours—and if he has his way, you will help him do just that. The barriers will crumble, and he’ll be free to bathe the distant realms in his thick ichor of destruction.

Finally feeling more like himself, he aims for the Shadow Spire, where waits the Throne of the Damned—his throne. All it takes is a simple thought, and he’s standing in the sprawling cavern of the throne room. It stretches wide in all directions, having no end or beginning, just existing as his will needs.

Pillars of malachite soar into the air at equal intervals, disappearing into the glittering cosmos expanse above his head. Silvery flecks of light cast the whole room in a mockery of the night sky of your world, something he’s grown to admire over the years spent there. Yoongi takes a deep breath, soaking in the tangy, bitter stench of brimstone and copper. Soon, he hopes, your delectable perfume of fear will join them.

“Sire,” a gruff voice says in surprise. “We weren’t expecting you back until the ritual. Welcome, is there anything we can do for you?”

Yoongi settles his shadowy form on the monstrous broken stone pillar at the top of the dais that rises from the rocky floor. His court, ever vigilant in their duty to him, wait for him to respond. “Is everything prepared for the ceremony?” he asks, eyes finally landing on the six figures seated on the smaller stone plinths arrayed in a semi-circle in front of him—the Shadow Court once again complete with his return. Hopefully, he won’t have to leave the comfort of his court but one more time. Once the ritual is done, he shouldn’t have to so much as lift a finger to reach into the overworld.

“All is well and ready, Sire.” Wicked smiles spread like wildfire across the court. They’re just as excited as Yoongi is to be finally moving forward with the plan. None of them have tasted the kind of fear that Yoongi has feasted on from you—the fresh terror of the mortal realm—but if they had more corporeal forms, he knows they’d be salivating. Soon, so very soon.

Looking around at his companions, he can’t help but think how humorous it is that you so readily believed his deceptions about working for the human government. He remembers the day he finally stepped from the shadows and made himself known to you. You were immediately drawn to him and couldn't stop yourself from indulging in your curiosities like a moth drawn to a flame.

Yoongi had already come up with an elaborate backstory and characterization for the human he wanted to portray. He knew all of your deep, dark fantasies and brought them to life. Your eyes got round with awe and reverence when he first revealed his supposed job, confirming how gullible and under his spell you were. He can’t deny it’s worked in his favor.

He’s allowed to keep odd hours and disappear as needed. When he returns to your bed before the sun rises, he’ll leave you a note on your pillow about being pulled away for work. You’ll read it and sigh a dreamy sigh as you have every other time he’s done that. You never bother to seek further explanation—your trust in him is so wholly concrete.

There is satisfaction in the freedom you’ve granted him to embrace a darker side. It’s how he can get away with fucking you so callously that your brain warps it into some deranged form of love. You’ve chalked every depraved thing he’s done to you up to him needing an outlet after dealing with such heinous stuff for work. He only had to mention a few well-known acronyms, like FBI and CIA, and you accepted it. As scared as you are of the dark, he’s aware of the collection of slasher and horror novels you keep stuffed away under your bed and that you listen with rapt attention to those silly crime shows and podcasts that tell you he’s not the one you should be scared of. Soon, he won’t have to worry about any of that, though—no more silly backstory, no more hiding, no more stuffy mortal form, no more holding back. Tomorrow signifies a change, a new beginning. It’s the time when the veil between the worlds will be thin enough that he can drag you down without it sucking your life away. Some call it Samhain, Calan Gaeaf, Mischief Night, Halloween—it holds nearly as many names as Yoongi himself does—but for him, it will be the night he calls triumph. The night his shadows will lay a claim to you wholly; the night you stop fearing what goes bump in the night and instead stand by its side and let it consume you.

Wicked Delight

Consciousness comes in fits and spurts of clarity. There is a moment where you’re asleep but aware. With this awareness, you can discern and feel the potent darkness webbing across your subconscious. You’ve seen it before, the myriad of inky tendrils that zig-zag through the light like fissures over a dried river bed. It scares you but also fills you with intrigue so rich it nearly eclipses the fear.

You know that if you could just hang on to that in-between space, the feeling of teetering on the edge of a knife, you could examine the darkness further and figure out what it is and where it comes from. But your body has other plans, sucking you away from your inspection and pushing you toward uneasy wakefulness.

Shifting under the blankets, a crinkling noise draws your eyes open to land on a rumple of white paper lying beside you on the empty side of the bed. With fumbling fingers, you grab the ripped leaf of creamy parchment and turn it so you can see the blue scrawl of words.

Got some darkness to take care of. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Don’t forget; 11 pm sharp, beginning of the corn maze. X

There is no name signed to the note, just an X, but you know who left it, regardless. You roll over, holding the thin paper above you so you can see the faded, faint print under his ink. A smile tugs at your lips when you realize it’s a corner ripped from Kinder und Hausmärchen, one of Yoongi’s favorite books. He has an original first edition that he’s let you moon over a few times. The first time you found a note and saw what it was written on, you nearly crawled out of your skin to berate him for ruining such a prize. He gently chided you for your reaction and assured you it was just a copy, scanned and printed for the whimsy of it.

Looking closer, you see the corner is from a page of the Cat and Mouse in Partnership tale. Your smile fades, turning into a mild frown as an odd feeling ghosts beneath your skin, eliciting goosebumps to pop up along your arms. Sighing, you shake your head and pull the blanket up high under your chin, chalking the sensation up to being cold. Your eyes rove around the room, taking in the early morning light filtering in through your thin curtains, showing you just enough of the inside of your room to be comfortable with not having a light on.

Finally deciding there’s no point in dallying in bed further, you toss back the covers and brace yourself against the chill in your room. Only, it’s not as cold as you were anticipating. Opening the small drawer on your nightstand to deposit the message in with the dozens of others Yoongi has left you over the years, you can help but smile. They’re sweet, little pieces of him that affirm to you why it’s okay he disappears the way he does. The reminder comforts you, especially on this day.

Halloween has never been your favorite. Well, that’s not true, exactly. You do like Halloween—just the modern and more mainstream version with candy, pumpkins, and warm, spiced drinks. Fall colors are also something you enjoy. The cooler air is nice. You’re partial to cozy sweaters and boots, too.

All in all, you enjoy this time of the year. You just don’t necessarily like the darker parts, the scarier parts. Haunted houses and scary movies are things you could do without unless it’s under very specific circumstances. Such as having Yoongi there. Which is the only reason you’ve agreed to meet him at the festival tonight. You haven’t been since you were a teen and got so scared by the fright actors that you swore never to return.

Except, now, you are returning. It’s been on the tip of your tongue for the last week to cancel on Yoongi, feigning a head or stomach ache. But, the sheer excitement in his gaze when you agreed, has been enough to make you bite your tongue every time a protest bubbles up. You can—and will—do this.

With an entire day to go before your date with Yoongi, you busy yourself with mundane tasks. A bit of cleaning, some light reading, and lastly, dumping a few bags of assorted and prepackaged candies into a bright orange bowl with a goofy jack-o-lantern face printed on the side.

You’re usually a porchlight-off kind of person. Still, this year, considering your own venture outside your proverbial Halloween box, you decided why not go the extra mile for others, too? Even if one kid dumps the entire bowl into their treat bag, you’ll at least feel somewhat accomplished in your attempt.

Setting the bowl on your doorstep, you stand back and survey it. The yellow-tinged porch light illuminates the candy and the plastic pumpkins you have arranged on either side of your door. You contemplate adding a ‘please take only one’ sign for the bowl but decide a paper warning isn’t much of a deterrent. Leaving the candy to its fate, you head back inside to finish getting ready.

Time flows in a weird, out-of-body kind of way. You’re aware of pulling on your coat and walking into your garage through the kitchen—even the process of driving to the festival registers in your mind. But, you’re genuinely not cognisant of what you’re doing until you’re staring at the large flashing sign for the festival. You have to practically put on blinders to make it through the ticketing process, ignoring the scare actors as you wait in line.

The corn maze is at the center of it all, meaning you keep your eyes glued to the ground as you skirt the edges of the food stalls and game stands until you reach it. There, you wait, standing at the start of the corn maze and stare at your watch, counting the seconds as they tick by with the small hand.

The air is cool, the crisp scent of fall heavy around you. Laughter and faint screams carry to you from the festival surrounding the maze. The giant corn labyrinth is the center of the entire two-week-long event. Thousands of people flock from near and far to venture within the husked, cream-colored stalks.

If you make it through the maze without assistance from the scare actors, then you get an entire bucket of caramel popcorn drizzled with chocolate. That’s never been enough of a reward for you to try. Even the last time you were here, you never stepped foot into the clustered embrace of the maze.

The festival is lit enough with all the twinkling lights and fair games lining the thoroughfares and the midway. Food trucks and stalls litter through the vendors with stuffed animals and cackling clowns. You try to ignore the bodies that sway and shamble through the crowd—the scare actors. They’re just people dressed up in costume and makeup, but they still elicit that flighty feeling in your belly, that little trickle of fear.

At the ticket booths, there were neon green necklaces you could purchase. You used them as a distraction while you waited in line. They’re ‘no scare’ necklaces, big bright indicators that you’re a sensitive little bitch that doesn’t want to be scared. At least, that’s how you felt looking at them, considering buying one. You know they’re an extremely valid item, a protective emblem that many people need, and that it’s perfectly fine—in fact, it’s encouraged for people to use them if they need to.

As you fingered the green nylon of the lanyard, you couldn’t help chewing your bottom lip, worrying at it until it cracked under your teeth and the coppery tang of blood danced across your tongue. You almost bought it…maybe you should have. However, the fact that you’re half-hidden by the corn maze sign and doing everything in your power not to draw unwanted attention to yourself seems to be keeping you from attracting the actors your way.

The tiny hand on your watch ticks away, drawing closer to turning over the minute, which'll turn over the hour to 11 PM. Sharp. Yoongi’s insistence. Just as the hands come together on your watch, you feel that telltale tingling feeling of eyes on you. It’s a familiar sensation, one you often associate with Yoongi. Daring to step out from behind the sign to the corn maze, you spin in a slow circle, trying to catch sight of him.

“Looking for someone?”

You have to clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the shriek that rips from your chest as those words drift in from right behind you. So close that it’s impossible to imagine you hadn’t noticed him approaching you as you looked around.

“Yoongi,” you sigh, dropping your hand.

He's enveloping you from behind before you can turn around and give him a pouty yet stern look. His familiar musk and warmth ease your heart back from its hammering gallop. “You’re good enough to eat,” he gruffly murmurs, pressing his nose into the fabric of your coat at the juncture of your shoulder and neck. You can feel more than hear his deep inhalation, as if he’s drawing in the scent of your very soul and branding it throughout his olfactory system.

“The maze closes in an hour. Are you sure we can make it to the center before then?” you ask, voice light and airy as relief infused with drips of serotonin weaken your knees and your resolve to be upset with him for frightening you. You turn in his arms, keen to look upon his face for another kick of comfort, but it sours in your belly when you take in his pulled-up hood and the thick black gaiter covering the bottom half of his face. “What’s that for?”

Yoongi shrugs, shoulders lifting in his typical nonchalant manner. “It’s Halloween. Consider me dressed for the occasion.” He winks at you, but it does nothing to quell the unease still rolling around just beneath your surface. Feigning that stomachache is starting to sound more and more appealing, Yoongi’s excitement be damned.

“You look like a burglar.”

You can’t see his smile, but you can tell it’s there by how his eyes crinkle and lids lower mischievously. “And you look ripe for the burgling.”

“You’re insufferable,” you gripe teasingly, finally letting a smile grace your face despite the lingering anxiety. It’s easy to forget your fears and worries when you’re looking into his umber-colored gaze.

“Come on, let’s go.” Yoongi offers you his elbow, and you tuck your hand into the crook of it, leaning your shoulder against his arm.

The fleece-lined leggings you chose to wear keep you warm enough, paired with the knit sweater and thick tweed coat covering your top half. Your chunky boots are comfortable and practical for the slightly uneven terrain of the cornfield-turned-maze. Yoongi is far more casual in just jeans, the hoodie, and a pair of dusty and worn sneakers.

You study his face the best you can past the edge of his hood and out of the corner of your eye. He’s just as handsome as always. Even the black fabric covering the bottom half of his face doesn’t detract from his allure, which seems to be intensified by the deepening darkness around you as he leads you through the maze entrance.

A festival worker stands off to the side in full-on farmer-gore. Their overalls are covered in faux viscera, and there is a bloodied sling blade dangling from their off-hand as they beckon you and Yoongi forward with their other.

“Tonight's savior phrase is ‘Pumpkin Guts’, yell it out if you need assistance navigating the maze, and a helper will assist you,” he offers before turning to the next patron approaching a few feet behind you and Yoongi and giving them the same information.

“Pumpkin Guts,” Yoongi scoffs with a quiet laugh. “Surely they could have come up with something far more fitting than that.”

“I find it kind of nice. The childish charm of it helps make a situation like getting lost in the maze less scary, don’t you think?”

His eyes look more onyx now that you’re within the maze, the only illumination coming from tiny, sparse fairy lights. They catch your gaze, and you see a smile tilt up the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “That’s adorable.”

“What?” you laugh, feeling heat crawl into your cheeks.

Yoongi shakes his head, his smile growing. “You always find the good in everything. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

All the residual anxiety from earlier bleeds away with just that singular statement. You press in closer to Yoongi and angle your face up in silent request, to which he immediately obliges. He hooks a finger in the lip of his gaiter and pulls it down so he can slant his mouth over yours. His lips are warmer than usual, his breath carrying faint hints of bourbon as he teasingly slips his tongue through the seam of your lips. All too soon, he’s pulling away, leaving you with just that small taste of him. The gaiter slides back into place, and he nods ahead of you. “The quicker we make it to the center, the quicker you get the surprise I have waiting for you.”

“A surprise?” you ask, thoroughly intrigued.

His affirming hum in response turns into a soft chuckle as you eagerly quicken your steps, tugging him along beside you. As someone who isn’t partial to being shocked or scared, it’s perhaps a bit ironic that you love surprises of the unknown. They just have to be the right kind—like one from Yoongi; er, well, at least the ones that don’t involve him sitting on your bed in the dark as you open the bathroom door or so you tell yourself—but you digress.

Though, perhaps there is a bit of enjoyment from those kinds of surprises, too. In a twisted, semi-fucked up way, the surge of adrenaline is like a counterweight to the dopamine response from your amygdala that follows any time you get frightened. The perfect balance of emotions. The fight or flight reflex makes your body feel like it’s keyed up with extra energy, leaving you feeling like you’ve just run a mile or fucked for an hour. It’s maybe a little unhinged to salivate over those small sips of terror secretly. Does that make you a masochist?

You’d almost think Yoongi picks up on your inner thoughts with the way he makes an amused sound in the back of his throat and gives you a sidelong, knowing look. Something tingles beneath your skin, an electric feeling akin to loose ambitions. It seems tonight won’t be so bad after all.

The crunch of dried corn husks and hay accompanies the occasional scream or laugh echoing from various points in the maze. You’ve only led Yoongi to a dead-end a handful of times so far, but the anxiety at not having found the center of the maze yet is starting to mount.

“I can feel your stress in the tension in your hand,” Yoongi muses softly. “Relax, you’ll get your surprise.”

“What if they close the maze before we make it to the center, though?”

“They won’t.”

You cut a quick glance at him. He looks smug. “You seem so sure, but from my count,” you shift your attention to your watch, “we only have fifteen minutes before the festival closes, and I’d guess we’re nowhere near the center yet.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I may have paid the vendor to let us stay as long as we need.”

“You did what?”

“Tonight’s special,” Yoongi tugs you to a stop, his hands engulfing yours, and gives you a pointed look. “Very special.” The thumb of his right hand grazes over the expanse of skin above the knuckle on your left ring finger. “Now, let’s go find the center…and your surprise.”

A new sensation trickles in–excitement. Your heart patters faster as you turn and haul Yoongi on with renewed vigor. Gone is any trepidation; in its place, nothing but giddy and barely veiled anticipation. And to think, you’d almost been silly and canceled on him.

🖤🖤🖤

Yoongi

Yoongi wasn’t exaggerating when he said you look good enough to eat tonight. If only you knew how close to an accurate statement that was. He’s had a constant flow of moisture seeping into his mouth since he laid eyes on you standing behind the wooden sign for the maze. He had just finished setting up the surprise for you in the center, utilizing his natural form in order to move quickly without being seen.

All the implements he needs await him at the maze's center. The theatrics of it all are only for fun. He could have simply taken you without them. But he’s always been partial to playing with his food before devouring it. The pungency of your anxiety as you waited was a delightful appetizer to what is sure to be a satiating main course.

Every time you make a wrong turn in the maze, Yoongi can feel the tension in your muscles and the momentary disappointment that flavors your scent. It’s amusing watching you shuffle your feet and grumble under your breath before turning and backtracking.

It’s not lost to him the amount of uncertainty you’ve had ever since he asked you to go with him tonight. Not that he would have given you a choice in the end; he’d have taken you by force if needed. But he’s a passive creature at best, so the less work he has to do, the better.

Using the ruse of there being a surprise waiting for you isn’t entirely untrue. Though, the treat he’s confident that he’s planted the idea of in your head is far different from what’s actually going to happen. He’s spent enough time in the mortal realm to know what you’d have interpreted from him stroking that particular finger with the right look in his eye. Your heart had gone into a frenzy of thick, heavy beats, and your eyes had lit up with wonder.

Yeah, he’s pretty sure he knows what’s driving your feet to move as quickly as they are now. It’ll just make the disappointment taste that much sweeter. Over the five years he’s been administering to you, molding you into the perfect vessel, he’s learned the small nuances that make you tick. Whether it’s for eliciting fear or excitement, desire or anguish, he knows exactly how to produce the results he wants.

“Ugh,” you grumble for the dozenth time when you turn a corner and come to another dead end. “This is impossible. How can you find enjoyment in these things?”

Yoongi smirks. “It’s quite analytical if you really want me to answer that.” The way your nose wrinkles when he says that is positively adorable. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

You gleefully cede the lead, letting him guide you back and toward a different direction entirely. You’re still excited, bubbling with positive anticipation, even though you’re no longer playing the game, per se. It’s interesting how you so quickly relinquish the hunt—he’d never.

The noise of the festival and maze has long since fizzled away. He didn’t actually pay the attendant. He’s just using some of his ability to mask your presence from anyone who might get in the way. Some of the lights from the midway are still going, and a few rides are lit up. However, the deeper Yoongi leads you into the labyrinth, the darker it becomes. He’s confident you’re so wound up that you don’t even notice how his shadows grow and stretch along the narrow walkway around you.

“Oh, look!” You excitedly point at the opening that comes into view at the end of the row. “I can smell the popcorn. Did that bribe include a bucket waiting for us, too?”

Yoongi has no idea if there is popcorn waiting, but he imagines you’re only smelling the lingering scent. He can’t detect anyone else within a hundred-meter radius around the maze. If the prospect of popcorn makes you happy, then sure. “Of course it did. We’ll need a snack once I’m done with you.” Which mostly isn’t true, though he can’t be sure. Yoongi has never shadow-turned a human before, much less taken a mate in the process. You might be ravenous by the time he’s done; though, he’d bet it won’t be popcorn you’ll be craving.

There is a distinct moment where Yoongi can feel the shift in your demeanor. Your excitement dips into confusion as you take in the finish line area that’s deserted of anyone and anything other than the large 10 ft square structure he erected in the middle. The raw malachite plinths are so dark the lindworm-colored stone seems to absorb the illuminance around them, turning the gateway into a giant pit of darkness that devours the faint twinkling lights. Shadows bleed from the open space between the pillars, reaching for their master.

Yoongi’s blood sings with desire as fear trickles in with the confusion. “Yoongi,” you whisper his name, and it warbles from your lips oh so beautifully. “What’s that?”

“That’s your future, my love.” He untangles himself from your grip, circling you like a predator. “Now, run!” he snarls from right behind you.

You don’t even scream when he shoves you forward, your arms windmilling and boots tripping over the scatter of dried corn husks before you topple headlong between the pillars. The last thing he sees before the waiting shadows swallow you is the whites of your eyes as you throw a panicked look over your shoulder at him.

It’s mildly disappointing that you didn’t even so much as grunt or give him any sort of satisfaction that you’re petrified other than the cloying perfume of your terror that settles on his tongue when he huffs in irritation. Hopefully, when he follows you through the gateway, you’ll already be on the run because he’s in the mood to play a while longer before he shatters the world as you know it.

Yoongi wants you to recognize him, so he only casts off some of his mortal form, choosing to keep his face and most of his body intact. What changes is his size; he grows larger, arms and legs longer, fingers more like talons, and eyes the dark red of fresh blood.

He knows he looks monstrous, even more so with the cloth still covering the lower half of his face and the hoodie now ripped and hanging from his physique. As soon as he slides through the barrier of the gateway, he’s met with that euphoric sound he hoped for earlier. Your scream rends through the thick, stale air of the Realm of Darkness, music to his ears.

“That’s my girl,” Yoongi crows, his voice gravelly and distorted by his natural form. He inhales deeply, sucking in your dismay's succulent and divine fragrance. “Fuck.”

You scream again as he steps toward you, which spurs you into gaining your feet, not even caring to look at the soot-like substance caking your hands and knees. Yoongi can only imagine the thoughts warring inside your pretty little head right now. Wild fear makes your eyes flick frantically around before you choose a direction and sprint at breakneck speed between the skeletal trees surrounding this side of the gateway.

He chose the Forest of Decay specifically because it provides the perfect environment for a chase. It allows him to easily keep up with you while giving the illusion of protection. There’s also not a single nook or cranny Yoongi isn’t intimately familiar with; after all, he can’t have you finding some unknown hole to burrow into.

The flash and flicker of your coat draws his attention as it zigs and zags through the petrified sentinels of the forest. Their long, gnarled branches reach far, entwining overhead like a macabre endless bird's nest. It creates a dim atmosphere, with the faintest hint of light bleeding through the limbs. Each tree is about a foot wide and twenty feet high, the ground covered in sooty ash; it’s an ideal playground.

“Leave me alone!” you sob when Yoongi lets you catch another glimpse of him.

Yoongi shudders as a fresh, new wave of terror undulates from you and washes over him. “No can do, my queen.”

The thrill of the chase adds kindling to Yoongi’s need to consume you whole. Every step you take is reckless. You throw yourself around trees so fast you nearly hit the next. The spacing between the trees is relatively narrow, just a few feet at most. Still, with the way you’re barreling through them, you’ve already accumulated a few scratches and minor lacerations from the dried bark, feet kicking up small puffs of ash with every frantic step. The tangy, sweet scent of your blood makes him salivate. The thick, viscous drool coating his tongue will make it all that easier to fuck you with it once he catches you.

Lumbering on behind you, Yoongi intentionally stomps and makes as much noise as possible. Every crack and thump he makes has a whimper shivering from your throat. The thick appendage between his monstrous thighs swells with each terrified sound you make. Fucking you in his proper form will be such a treat. Surely, it’ll be far better than any sex he’s had with the limits of his human body, even if he does love the way your softness compliments his.

But there is nothing soft about Yoongi now—not when he has such a tasty morsel running and screaming so prettily for him. He’s all hard edges and thick muscle. A manic chuckle bubbles in his chest as he leaps ahead, hounding your heels.

It’s comical, ironic even, when he watches your foot catch on a high root hidden by a pile of ash, and you go sprawling on the ground before him. He’s seen enough of those cheesy horror films so fervently worshiped in your world to know how funny this is.

“Please, no! Leave me alone!” you beg through ragged breaths. Your face and hair are marked with scratches, flecks of dried bark, and the pewter-colored ash covering the ground.

An appreciative moan works its way free of Yoongi as he stands over you, swaying like he’s drunk. Which, maybe he is. There is a faint buzzing in his ears, and if he opens his eyes too wide, your image doubles. Two of you; he grins wickedly at the prospect. Now, that would be a definite treat.

As it is, there’s only you; that will be sufficient for what Yoongi has planned. He looms over you, and the backward-bending joints of his knees give slightly as he towers across your prone form. Your eyes pan over his arched body, perhaps for the first time, taking it in with true clarity. Yoongi lets his skin ripple between human and proper form, coalescing and whirling with shadows.

With a flex of darkness, he rends the remnants of his clothes. The ripping of the seams and subsequent soft plop of the ruined fabrics echo through the suddenly silent space. You’re barely even breathing as you take him in, eyes landing on the swinging cock that nearly brushes your belly as he places a gnarled hand beside your head in the ash.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, though it comes out more like sand in a grinder. Lowering further, Yoongi nudges your chin with his nose, guiding your head sideways to give him unfettered access to your throat. Pressing into the crook of your neck, he huffs hot breath over your skin, rejoicing in the instinctive reaction. Your skin prickles and flushes with goosebumps, and a thick cloud of potent fear wafts up as your pulse hammers away beneath his lips.

“P-please,” you whimper through trembling lips. Tears stream down your cheek and drip off the bridge of your nose. Their salty tang mixes with the sweetness of terror pervading the air.

That word, spoken in that way…it does something to Yoongi. He groans, nipping at the skin of your neck with his blunted teeth before letting them elongate so he can adequately graze your papery-thin flesh. You cry out when they slice through, leaving behind thin blood trickles and shallow scratches.

Your blood is laced with fear, blooming on his tongue like an ambrosia of the gods. “You’ve always begged so prettily, my queen. You’re a treasure, and I’m so glad I found you all those years ago, so innocent and unsuspecting—my perfect mate.”

The next scream that leaves your lips is guttural, full of panic and delirium as Yoongi takes his first pull from your body. Thin wisps of black shadow thread from his lips to yours. They pulse with every drag he takes. He’s fed from you thousands of times, but never like this—never so profoundly.

Fear, terror, horror, fright…it’s all the same, and yet Yoongi is almost sure he can taste the distinction. Like a fine wine, you have tasting notes that vary with every sip. By the fifth breath, your body has grown slack, your eyes wide and glassy. Tears still stream down your face but in silence.

Yoongi watches your pallor grow sickly, waxy as sweat pearls along your hairline and temples. Draining you is a delicate affair, something he’s both dreaded and looked forward to for so long. Watching the fire that he loves so much bleed from your eyes and the vigor leech from your skin pangs him with a foreign sensation, something akin to mourning? He realizes now he will mourn the loss of your human form, even if it’s far inferior to what he will turn you into.

With one final shuddering gasp, the darkest, thickest tendril of shadow snakes its way between your parted lips. Your fingers and limbs spasm as the inky darkness roots in deep, tethering itself to you like the strings of a marionette. It pulls tight in Yoongi’s own chest, cementing his essence to yours. As a barbed ring of shadow settles on the ring finger of your left hand, the bond snaps into place, and chaos ensues.

🖤🖤🖤

You’ve never experienced such visceral fear before. It’s consumed every fiber of your being. You’re no longer who you once were and will never be the same again. You are simply fear incarnate.

A boiling starts beneath your skin, beginning at the tips of your fingers and toes before rolling through to the center of your chest, where it pops and sizzles like dry ice in tepid water, so cold it burns.

It’s like flipping a coin. One minute, you are experiencing insurmountable terror, and the next, you exude it. Nothing can scare you now, not even the monster sitting a few feet away watching you with calculated eyes—familiar eyes, eyes you’ve lost yourself in more times than you can count.

They’re not as cold as they were a moment ago. You distinctly remember how those red eyes softened right before you felt yourself float away. It’s Yoongi, you know this, but it’s also not. He’s different, and it’s not even the deformed, gangly shadow form that makes up his body, either. There’s something more, something that draws you in, like an anchor dragging you into his deepest, darkest depths. He’s a vast ocean, and you’re pretty sure what he just did was akin to drowning you—killing you.

Only you don’t feel dead.

Quite the opposite, in fact. For the first time in your existence, you feel truly alive; and not in the living sense but in the eternal sense. You have no ending or beginning; you exist as you will yourself to be.

With that thought, your body urges you to change, to morph into a far more comfortable form. Darkness seeps from your pores, cascading out of your skin until it becomes a mockery of its former self, and it feels good—so good.

“What have you done to me?” Your voice sounds different, soft yet sultry. It reminds you of black silk and lace, devious and coy, with the perfect mix of husk and drawl.

Yoongi lets out a slow breath, the sound like dry leaves crackling. “Made you mine.”

“What…what are we?”

The soft ash sifts between your now exposed toes, the boots you once wore laying in peeled strips along with tattered remnants of your clothes. Nudity has never been an issue for you, but it’s as if you have no inhibitions at all now. The shadows around your body contort to form curves and perfect swells.

“We have many names. Demons, bogeymen…it’s all very fitting, yet doesn’t quite capture the truth. What I am—what we are—is darkness, fear, terror, and shadow. We are infinite, endless, and everything all at once.”

“Why me?” you whisper. That tether inside of you pulses, pulling tight as you shift and try to put distance between yourself and Yoongi. It’s like a rope around your throat, pulling you up short.

Yoongi narrows his eyes, lips quirking in amusement. “This is the Realm of Darkness—my domain,” he gestures broadly with a clawed hand, “and it was all I had access to until I found a way to enter yours. Once I tasted the sweet nectar of fear it provided and the power it allowed me access to, I couldn’t stop my curiosity and need for more. Then I found you, and I knew you would be the perfect compliment to my aspirations, just the thing I needed to break the barriers completely.”

He straightens up, and the way his body catches your attention has a heat flaring somewhere deep in your being. Your eyes lock on the dark sinews and plump muscles that stretch and contract as Yoongi moves to crouch in front of you. The ribbed and notched cock swaying between his thighs dribbles a thick, viscous line of lavender-colored arousal.

Tearing your eyes from the sight of it, you force yourself to look into his feral, red eyes. His explanation is both confusing and clear at the same time. You understand it, but know that you should be railing against it because it’s morally incomprehensible. You’ve essentially been kidnapped and forced into what this is. Yet…yet—“I feel…” you trail off, trying to find the right word to describe it.

“Powerful,” Yoongi offers with a knowing, pointed-tooth grin.

“Powerful,” you repeat, letting the word roll around your tongue before nodding. Perhaps that’s why you are shrugging off your cares and the moral compass that has seemingly forgotten how to point north.

The subtle smell of burnt wood and sulfur hits you as Yoongi raises a hand to fit across the front of your throat. Those too-long fingers engulf it, sending a shiver down your new body. Instead of your belly filling up with fear, it fills with desire and need. You no longer need to battle the terror, letting it drip away from you instead.

“Look at you. You’re so perfect. You don’t feel scared, but that’s only because this realm leeches it away and devours it before it can poison your mind, leaving behind nothing but how you truly feel.”

You know there has always been a darkness inside you, something that even you feared to face head-on. After all, it must take some kind of crazy to be both scared of the dark and want to embrace it. It’s not just the way Yoongi plied your body and made you forget to care about being proper and good. Is this what you were made for—all the fright and terror you’ve experienced and secretly sought out leading you to this very moment here?

All it takes is one look at Yoongi to know the truth.

You were created for this, crafted to be precisely what Yoongi needed, just as he said.

With that moment of clarity and acceptance, a new sensation slithers down your spine. A lasciviousness that has you moaning in surprise.

“Fuck,” you grind out between clenched teeth.

“Gladly,” Yoongi chuckles, his red eyes taking on a lecherous gleam. “Let’s unleash your darkness on the realms, my queen.”

Between one breath and the next, your knees are splayed wide, and Yoongi has his face buried between your thighs. All it takes is one languid swipe of his long, broad tongue to have you cursing again. Caustic words fall from your mouth, laced with vitriol as it’s unfair how good it feels. It’s like every inch of contact between your body and his writes itself across what was once your soul.

“Mmmph,” you moan incoherently as the beginning of an orgasm lashes against your insides. Yoongi greedily sucks and licks, tongue laving over your throbbing clit before sliding between your contracting walls.

A tsunami of darkness crashes out from within you, blanketing the surrounding forest in shadow. Wisps of clarity ebb and flow, drifting along with the gloom until Yoongi grounds you with an exceptionally sharp pinch to one of your nipples.

“Almost there,” he announces gleefully, licking his lips before launching forward and forcing you onto your back.

Yoongi feels like fire against you, his body scorching everywhere it touches. You expect to feel the soft ash against your back but the only sensation that ebbs in is a cool aeration against the exposed skin between your shoulder blades.

Monstrous arms wrap around you as Yoongi slots his too-big mouth over yours, invading you with his slick, serpentine tongue. Your eyes flutter open, and you catch a glimpse of a pewter sky beyond the scraggy branches that are suddenly closer overhead.

You try to pull away from his devouring kiss to alert him to the jagged web of dry wood about to scrape his back, but he growls and renews his effort to shove his tongue as far into your mouth as possible. Snaps and cracks fill the air, and wood explodes around you.

Realization dawns as more should-be-fear-turned-lust pours through your body and expands beyond it, filling the sky around you with a murky darkness. The power of that emotion propels you further, sending you and Yoongi far above the landscape to suspend over the entirety of the Realm of Darkness, leaving a streamer of smoke-like essence in your wake.

Yoongi throws his head back, finally relenting from the kiss. His broad chest heaves against yours, and his red eyes are wild as they roll manically before landing on you. “How is this possible?” you pant, hands gripping the muscles of his shoulders tightly.

“Anything is possible here,” he whispers fervently before spinning you so fast your vision blurs. The horizon spans as far as you can see around you. You and Yoongi are hundreds of feet higher than even the tallest mountain peak. Everything is a monochrome grey, black, or in-between. A jagged line of mountains rear to your right while inky streams and rivers zig zag to your left. It’s a hideously beautiful display that contradicts all scenic views you’ve ever seen, yet is better than all of them combined.

“Oh, God,” you whimper when Yoongi forces your legs wide and slots his hips between them from behind. Shadows billow around you, charged with energy that crackles and sizzles, barely restrained from being unleashed to wreak untold havoc.

Thin fingers slide around to cup the front of your throat, giving a none too gentle squeeze. Yoongi snarls, “There is no God here. We are the gods!” His declaration is punctuated by the head of his cock prodding against your sopping cunt. This new body is already eager to pleasure Yoongi and receive pleasure in kind.

His hips kick forward, and you feel every delicious ridge and ripple along his thick shaft. It feels like he invades the pit of your stomach, filling you to the brink. It’s a rush of wicked delight, pure erotic rapture.

You moan again, this time invoking the only name left on your tongue, “Yoongi!”

“I’ve been looking forward to fucking you like this for five years,” he grunts, emphasizing the words with his hips pumping against your ass in brutal strokes. “Claiming you wholly, decorating the world with our combined shadows. Look how they writhe for you, waiting for you to command them. Let go.”

Your eyes roll from side to side, taking in the dark, undulating forms stretching wide around you. With each prick of pleasure Yoongi insights in your body, they branch and roil further out, creating the foundation for your own personal bedlam.

Like a bounty won at the end of a hunt, Yoongi ravishes your body with his. He’s brutal, unrelenting and wanton. The hand on your throat tugs with every slam of his hips, bowing your back and forcing you to peer out at the Kingdom begging for your rule. Darkness beseeches you, screaming for your glory and power as it pours out and blankets the sky.

Your world narrows to one pin point of coherency. Yoongi. He is nothing and everything all at once. He is the beginning and the end—fear, loathing, lust, and madness…through it all, he is infinite. And he’s yours.

With one final, shuddering breath you let go; welcoming the darkness once and for all.

“Yes.” The word, whispered from your parted lips, is sucked away with the maelstrom that detonates around and within you.

You barely hear the guttural, primal roar that emits from Yoongi as he buries himself to the hilt and fills you with his terrible darkness. You shatter into a multitude of shards, a glittering storm that dances through the ether, sparking and catching on the thin membrane that stretches between the realms. All it takes is one weak point, a small breach in the barrier, and everything falls apart.

It’s glorious, feeling yourself everywhere all at once. Your body is still fluttering around Yoongi, sucking and welcoming his release into your soul. But, your consciousness is spread wide, bleeding through the nexus of this realm and the one you once called home.

The mortal realm bows to your will. You can feel the beings of the Realm of Darkness funneling toward the broken gateways, pouring through to consume and conquer with the whisper of your glory on their tongues. Fear reigns supreme, consuming everything in its path as you expand your hold on the darkness.

“My Queen of Darkness,” the ephemeral coo caresses your ear, phantom lips brushing along your shadows. Yoongi’s darkness blends with yours, adding to the pulse that seeps to all corners of existence. “No longer will you fear, as you are fear itself…glorious, neverending fear.”

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