#bts horror

[taevbears]

Movie Night

When horror movies don't scare you anymore, your boyfriend wants to figure out what you are afraid of.

⤑ pairing: Jungkook x fem!reader (feat. the Daegu boys) ⤑ genre: horror, mystery, suspense, one-shot ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 6.1k ⤑ warnings: obsessive behavior, stalking, depictions of kidnapping, torture, and multiple murders, hidden camera, non-explicit sex, a bit of angst, open ending. this fic gets pretty dark, so please be cautious of the warnings! ⤑ note: happy halloween! this started as a little spooky shower thought i had a little over a month ago and became this lol. i love reading scary stories, but lmao, i feel like i'm not very good at writing them. thank you @angelicyoongie for assuring me that this isn't as terrible as i think it is. also please note that this is a work of fiction and i don't think IRL jungkook is like the character in this fic at all

“No, please! Don’t hurt me!”

The shadow of a muscular, male figure looms over the female protagonist. His breaths are heavy from chasing her around, barely visible against the chilly, October air. Finally, he has her cornered. He holds up a sharp knife in the air.

The woman trembles on the ground, sobbing and pleading for her life to be spared. Mascara runs down her cheeks, and a look of hopelessness and despair fills her eyes. She holds her hands in front of her in a feeble attempt to defend herself.

The camera pans away as the killer violently stabs the woman. Her terrifying screams of pain and anguish echoes from the TV screen as fake blood splatters on the wall.

Blue and white light bathes over you and your date in the dim living room. You try to suppress a long yawn with the back of your hand.

You’re so bored, you’re practically in tears.

“You didn’t like it?” Jungkook asks you, chuckling at your reaction.

“It didn’t scare me,” you admit sheepishly, hoping he doesn’t get the wrong idea.

You love horror movies. It’s what inspired you to become a film student. You love being on the edge of your seat from the thrill and suspense that the main character acts out. You love being genuinely shocked from unexpected twists and jump-scares. You love a good ghost story that haunts you long after the credits roll, or the paranoia of a similar terrifying incident happening to you.

But perhaps, over time, they’ve lost a bit of their magic.

Although the production of movies has become phenomenal in recent years, movies these days seem to rely too heavily on shock value and nostalgia. Once popular franchises are milking out their legacies to a newer audience. There are so many retellings of the same, old stories that you can already accurately predict what will happen before you reach the ending. Even some of the most climactic scenes of the movie are so over-the-top, they’re almost comical.

Honestly, it has nothing to do with your date or even the so-called horror movie itself. You just don’t scare as easily anymore.

Jungkook peers are you curiously, a boyish grin on his face. “Then, what are you scared of?”

“I don’t know. Probably nothing.”

“Yeah? That’s a bold statement.”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

Jungkook laughs. “You have to be scared of something.”

You throw the question back at him. “Then, what are you afraid of?”

He thinks about it, rubbing his chin in thought and pushing his tongue against the lip rings on his mouth. Then, he meets your gaze. There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he smiles at you. “Hmm, I think I’d be scared to lose you.”

You find yourself smiling back at him.

“You’re so sweet, Kook,” you tell him, leaning over to kiss him.

Only recently, you and Jungkook started dating officially, and you really like him a lot. He’s very cute, funny, handsome, and perfect in many ways. Butterflies flutter in your stomach when you’re around him, and there’s still that exciting giddiness and eagerness of new love whenever he messages you or visits you in the evening.

In some ways, Jungkook is almost too good to be true.

Part of you wonders if there’s a catch.

But with his lips on yours, it’s easy to push that thought aside.

Credits roll on the screen as the movie comes to an end. His fingers glide up your thigh as yours tangle into his hair. The cool piercing on his lips presses against your bottom lip as he slips his tongue in your mouth, and a soft moan escapes you.

Suddenly, Jungkook pulls away and faces the TV. He uses the remote to tap out of the movie credits and browse through the list of recommended shows on your streaming service. Casually, trying to hide a teasing smirk, he asks, “How about we watch a different movie, then?”

You stare back at him, a bit stunned and flustered. But your own smile touches your lips.

“Or,” you suggest, grabbing his wrist to lower the remote. He turns away from the screen to look at you, eyes lingering on the sultry smile on your lips. “I know something else we can do instead.”

When you first saw Jungkook, you thought you were being catfished.

His selfie on the dating app included a slight head tilt, a pucker of his pierced lips, and a peace sign. Big, doe-shaped eyes stared back at you from your phone screen, and you noticed the tiny moles below his lip, on the tip of his nose, and on his cheek.

The second picture was of him and his brown doberman, affectionately named Bam. The picture was taken of them outside. One of his hands was holding a tennis ball and the other was gently touching the dog’s long ears. A small, fond smile tugged on your lips when you looked between them and realized that they kind of looked alike.

The third picture was him at the gym. It was a back-shot where he was using the equipment. Broad shoulders, buff arms and back, a tiny waist. You stared way too long at his strong muscles and the ink on his arm before you finally swiped right.

Turned out, much to your surprise, he liked your pictures too. The two of you were a match.

And it wasn’t long until he sent his first message to you. In your inbox, a simple: “hey :)”

On your first date, the two of you agreed to meet at a very public, very crowded bistro. You stood nervously by the building, dressed nice for the occasion. And in case anything went wrong or if this Jungkook guy wasn’t who you expected him to be, you shared your location and had a “send help lol” message on standby for your bestie, Min Yoongi.

As you waited, scrolling through and jumping around different apps on your phone, you found yourself to be surprised yet again.

Someone who looked like the guy you’ve been chatting with called out your name. And soon, he was standing in front of you: big eyes, bigger muscles, tiny beauty marks on his face, colorful ink on his arm, a charming smile, and a simple, “Hey, I’m Jungkook.”

One date turned to a second date. Then, a third. And by the fourth date, as he laid in your bed that night and snuggled close to you, it finally started to sink in that Jungkook wasn’t some figment of your imagination.

He was real, and sweet, and seemed to really like you as well.

Jungkook, like you, had an interest in filming. He especially liked editing videos for his dance challenges, short clips, and a series he called “Golden Closet Film” on his channel. While you imagined yourself to be a big director, working in movie sets, and making scripts come to life with your vision, Jungkook told you he’d like to film a project where you’re the star.

“I don’t think I’m on-screen material,” you replied, amused by the idea. You’re not an actress. You don’t think you have the kind of beauty filmmakers seek out for their lead roles. Hell, if anything, Jungkook would be a better fit for an acting gig.

“You are,” he insisted, brushing his thumb against your knuckles. “To me, you’re perfect.”

You smiled at him then, your heart fluttering by his words. “You are to me, too.”

It was shortly after that conversation when you both decided to date each other exclusively. And it felt like the kind of romance you’d see in the movies. Picture perfect, a little corny at times, and a thrilling whirlwind of laughter, teasing remarks, and intimate touches.

“Am I who you thought I’d be?” Jungkook asks you the next morning after the movie-night bust, propping himself up on the side and peering down on you. His arm flexes, colorful ink decorating it, as the thick comforter wraps around his bare body.

“No,” you confessed, still a bit tired from last night. You keep your eyes closed as you quietly murmur, “You’re even better.”

“Yeah?”

You don’t need to open your eyes to see the pleased look on his face. As you feel him press his lips against your cheek, you ask, “What about me? Am I who you thought I’d be?”

Had you opened your eyes then, perhaps you would’ve seen it. The blank look on his face as he pulls away from you, how the light in his eyes suddenly seems to vanish, as if he isn’t really looking at you anymore.

Jungkook doesn’t answer you right away. When you open your eyes, you see him shaking his head. The same, sweet boyish smile appears on his lips.

“You’re exactly what I’m looking for.”

The topic about exes inevitably came up early on in your relationship with Jungkook. You’ve dated casually before. Even thought you’d be getting somewhere with some of the guys you were talking to.

But none of them quite compared to Kim Taehyung.

You were a film student. He was a photography major. The two of you were bound to end up in some of the same classes together in the art division.

To you, it was love at first sight. You fell for him so hard and so fast.

What started as bumping into each other at the library and helping each other with assignments led to making out at each other’s dorms with the text books left unopened. Coffee dates between classes became anniversary dinners at nice restaurants. He introduced you to his parents, and you proposed going on a romantic getaway together.

The day you didn’t think you’d ever love anyone else was when he snapped a photo of you looking out at the scenery during that weekend trip. It was just you and him, and a natural setting that looked straight out of a movie.

He smiled to himself as he looked at the picture through his camera. That day, he called you his muse.

And in return, you told him that you loved him.

When you fell for Taehyung, you fell hard and fast. Eventually, it occurred to you that Taehyung didn’t do the same.

Sure, he cared about you. Sure, he loved you. But while you heard wedding bells and dreamed about your future with him, Taehyung was just starting to put himself out there in the world. His art was being recognized, and he was getting booked to shoot at weddings, parties, and other big events every week.

Soon, the dates happened less frequently. The romantic gestures of bringing you flowers, surprising you on nice dates or small gifts, or even renting your favorite movies to watch together happened even less. He would promise that he’d make it to a party or an important event to you, just to let you down. And it felt like him giving you a bit of affection or attention was a chore.

Taehyung was the world to you, but the petty arguments and the distance that started growing between you two made it clear to you where his priorities were. And it wasn’t with you.

Breaking up with him was the hardest thing you had to do. Both of you knew it was coming. It was just a matter of who broke up with who first.

Just as Taehyung came into your life, quickly and effortlessly, he was gone. Nothing but bittersweet memories of what once was and what could have been weighed heavily on you for months.

What made it worse was that Taehyung, a man you loved with all your heart, had moved on from you so fast and so easily.

You saw him and his new girlfriend at a mutual friend’s party. You were warned that he’d be there, that he was already seeing someone. But it still hurt like hell to see him happy and in love with another person.

But if Taehyung could move on, so could you.

It felt weird at first, but you started to put yourself out there again. You joined dating apps. You went out with the people that fancied your interest. You met Jungkook.

And from there, everything was history.

With Jungkook, you started to think about Taehyung a lot less. The plaguing “what ifs” have quieted down, and the hurt from heartbreak began to heal. With Jungkook, you started to feel like yourself again: you started to smile more, laugh more loudly, enjoy watching movies again, became passionate about cinematic ideas you’d like to create one day.

With Jungkook, you’re also cautiously optimistic.

Because like Taehyung, you feel yourself falling hard and fast for Jungkook. It’s almost scary how truly perfect he is.

“I think you’re just psyching yourself out,” Yoongi tells you, sliding into the chair opposite of you with two cups of coffee in his hands. He smells like freshly-baked cookies. A spot of flour stains his apron as he uses his fifteen-minute break to hang out with you.

“Maybe,” you sigh, gratefully taking the drink he hands you. “What do you think about him?”

“Does my opinion even matter at this point? You’re in love with him,” he drawls before taking a sip of his Iced Americano.

“Of course it does, best friend. Why else would I keep you around?” you remark, taking a sip of your own drink. “Besides the free coffee and cookies. Thank you, by the way.”

He rolls his eyes. The perks of being friends with the cookie boy at your local bakery is a free cup of coffee and getting dibs on leftover treats that didn’t sell the day.

“He’s fine. Kind of annoying. A little too energetic,” he answers as his eyes flit toward the TV screen that his boss keeps on. A woman dressed in bright, business clothing holds a microphone as she reports on the recent news. There’s a grim look on her face.

You have your back turned to it, but you can hear Yoongi’s boss turning up the volume.

Breaking news. Missing woman found dead near home. The victim has succumbed to multiple stab wounds. It is believed that she has been kidnapped and tortured prior to her violent death. The attacker is currently unknown and still at large. Local authorities advise staying indoors and to please report any suspicious activity.

Your heart sinks as you look over your shoulder, seeing police taping off the crime scene and answering what they can to the news outlets. The location is so close to where you are.

“This is the second victim,” a customer mutters with a frown.

The person they’re with nods their head and asks, “Do you think they’re connected?”

“I don’t know. I hope not. We’ll have a serial killer in our hands.”

“Hey,” Yoongi calls your attention. When you look at him, there’s concern on his face. “If you need a ride anywhere, make sure you call me. Doesn’t matter what time.”

“I’ll be okay, Yoongi. Jungkook usually comes to my place anyway.”

“Still. Just let me know that you’re still alive when I check in, all right?” he says as he stares at the screen. You don’t blame him for being worried. As you follow his gaze, you see a picture of the latest victim of the ongoing case that has the whole town on edge.

This woman, like the others, kind of looks like you.

“If you’re with me, you have nothing to worry about,” Jungkook assures you, throwing a tennis ball as Bam hurriedly chases after it. 

The two of you are at a park with his dobermann. Despite how scary it’s been lately with the news, it’s a nice day. Children are screaming and playing together on the playground as their parents watch them nearby. A group of teenage boys are playing basketball on the outdoor court. Middle-aged and elderly couples are paired up and are getting their daily steps in.

“My hero,” you joke half-heartedly, but you’re still a bit concerned. Yoongi being worried about you makes you feel paranoid.

Jungkook turns to you. He holds out his hand as Bam retrieves the ball and drops it for another throw. “I thought you weren't afraid of anything.”

“Movie-wise, I’m not. But this is different.”

Jungkook throws the slobbery ball again. Further this time as Bam barks happily and takes off. He takes a seat next to you on the park bench. “I can leave Bam with you when I have my evening shifts. He makes a good guard dog.”

He works as an editor and cameraman for a big content creator, which gives him lots of flexible hours to work on his projects when he isn’t busy filming. Since the beginning of autumn, his boss has been giving him evening work to film ghost-hunting videos and other spooky content for Halloween.

“That’ll be nice,” you reply with a small smile. The two of them have been coming to your place so often, it might as well be their second home.

From a short distance, Bam lies on the grass with the tennis ball by his paws. His tongue is out, needing a short break from running around, as he faces you and Jungkook. Even with other dogs and kids around, he’s very well-behaved.

Just as Jungkook tells you that he’ll get Bam, the sound of small, excited barks grab your attention. A familiar black and brown pomeranian approaches you like an old friend, wagging its tail and perking its ears up when it sees you.

Your heart nearly jumps when you recognize the dog.

“Tan!”

You know that voice. How could you not?

That deep, smooth baritone has haunted you for months.

Taehyung, your ex-boyfriend, stops in his tracks when he realizes why his pomeranian took off. The two of you were still together when he adopted Yeontan, and you were there to help raise him when he was still a puppy.

“Who’s this?” Jungkook asks, drawing your attention back to him. He reaches out to pet Yeontan, but the pomeranian growls at him. Almost like he wants to protect you from him.

“Sorry, he’s mine,” Taehyung apologizes, stepping closer to you two and picking his dog up. He looks at you as he tries to soothe the agitated Yeontan in his arms. “It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

“Good,” you reply politely. Old feelings start to pull on your heart strings that you fervently try to ignore. “I’m good.”

“You look good,” Taehyung starts, but then he purses his lips in regret. It’s obvious that he’s nervous to talk to you. Maybe he feels the same as you.

Softly, you reply, “You do, too.”

“Who’s this?” Jungkook repeats. This time, there’s an annoyed look on his face as he stares at Taehyung. 

It puts you off a bit. Jungkook is usually a friendly guy.

“Oh, this is Taehyung. We used to date,” you tell him honestly. Though, the information seems to just annoy him more. “Taehyung, this is—”

“I’m Jungkook. She’s my girlfriend now.”

His arm snakes around you possessively. He holds a steady gaze, but it’s a look you’ve never seen on him before. Dark, threatening, and angry. It’s almost unnerving.

“I see…” Taehyung trails off as his gaze shifts toward him. Yeontan is still in his arms, growling and barking at Jungkook. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the pup so aggressive toward someone. Even Bam comes over, ditching his ball to guard over you and Jungkook.

“It was nice to see you, Taehyung,” you tell him, sensing the tension in the air and deciding to cut things off. He seems reluctant to leave.

“Yeah…” he continues to trail off, finally pulling his gaze away to look at you. It looks like there’s a million things he wants to say to you. In a lower tone, he tells you, “My number is still the same. If you ever want to talk.”

You frown. After the breakup, you’ve deleted his number and unfollowed him on social media. “Oh, I don’t—”

“Then I’ll call you,” he promises, firm with his decision.

You don’t get it. You and Taehyung have run into each other after the breakup before, and he’s never had an issue with you dating anyone after him. He clearly has moved on, and so have you. 

Why now?

What is it about Jungkook that has him worried for you?

“I don’t like that guy.”

Jungkook is still heated as he drives you home. His grip is tight around the steering wheel, and the tires screech when he makes a sharp turn. Bam stumbles a bit in the back before sticking his head out the window again.

“Slow down, Kook. You have nothing to be worried about.”

The radio blasts in the car, too much in a rush to connect his playlist to the stereo. It’s playing the week’s top music, and a catchy song from a popular artist fills the car.

Curious, you open your phone and check your followers. You’ve unfollowed Taehyung a long time ago on all your social platforms, finding it hard to look at any of his recent pictures – even just his scenic photography – without thinking about how he had once called you his muse.

But Taehyung never unfollowed you. He had always kept his inbox open for you.

“Did you see the way he was looking at me? It’s like he was looking down on me,” he continues to rant, speeding over a yellow light. He glances over at you and sees that you’re distracted with your phone. “I don’t like how you were looking at him either.”

“Are you serious?” you ask, turning your attention to him. “We barely talked. What the hell are you trying to insinuate?”

On the radio, the program is interrupted. One of the hosts makes a grim announcement.

Ladies and gentlemen, we just received unfortunate news that a third body has been found pertaining to a series of brutal deaths. 

“You still love him! You’ll go back and leave me again!” he suddenly snaps, throwing you off guard.

Silence follows the tension.

Then, you inquire, “Again?”

The third victim is a young female. Hair color and eye color match the previous victims as well, indicating that this might be a targeted attack by the killer.

Not once have you been unfaithful to Jungkook. Even when you were starting to message each other, you weren’t talking to anyone else. The two of you haven’t even been dating that long.

“Forget I said anything,” he starts with a frustrated sigh. But he realizes he’s fucked up.

“No, I’m not just going to forget it. What do you mean by that, Jungkook?”

As of now, authorities have no leads on a suspect. All victims have been kidnapped, tied up, and tortured prior to their deaths. We are led to believe that this is the work of a potential serial killer. 

He nearly slams to a stop. The seatbelt around you yanks you back from hitting the dashboard. Bam falls to the floor and you gasp as the back of your head hits your seat.

Jungkook doesn’t answer you, but for the first time, it feels like the rose-tinted glasses you have on him have fallen off. He’s always been perfect to you: sweet, athletic, talented, and kind. But the Jungkook before you is someone completely different.

This Jungkook scares you.

Stay inside. Lock your doors. Call the police if you see anything suspicious. Be safe out there, folks.

“I told you to forget about it, didn’t I?” he asks through gritted teeth and a harsh look in his eye.

You nod your head, hands trembling a bit as you hold onto your vibrating phone. The screen shows an unknown number trying to contact you.

“Is there a reason why your boyfriend called me?” Yoongi asks you from the other line. He has you on face-time, awkwardly propping up the camera to show his elbow as he mixes a batch of cookies.

It’s been about a week since you saw Jungkook.

After he dropped you off at home, he wanted to put it all behind him. He kissed you sweetly and murmured apologies for overreacting as his hands slipped under your shirt. But you sent him home before he could convince you to sleep with him. You were still upset about how hostile he was toward Taehyung, his accusations about you, and what his outburst meant.

That hasn’t stopped him from trying to get back to your good graces, though.

The number of missed calls from him keeps increasing by the hour. Ones that you leave unanswered or send straight to your voicemail. 

You don’t want to talk to him.

At your door, you hear him rapping his knuckles against the wooden frame and insistently ringing at your doorbell. From the other side of the door, he begs for a chance to explain. 

You don’t want to see him.

Clearly, after reaching you directly hasn’t worked, he’s starting to contact your friends.

“He’s probably trying to find me,” you tell Yoongi, poking at a bowl of fresh strawberries. You’re still dressed in your pajamas, sitting on a stool by the kitchen counter.

The sound of a small dog can be heard in the background of your line. It dawns on him that you’re not at your place or Jungkook’s.

Yoongi is silent for a moment. Then, he grabs the phone and asks, “What do you mean? Where are you?”

You don’t feel safe in your own home. And that day, while you were in Jungkook’s car, Taehyung called to check up on you. He was always good at reading people, and he warned you that he had a bad vibe about Jungkook.

And you’re starting to see what he meant.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

When you turn your phone, you reveal Taehyung busy in the kitchen, cutting off the crusts from his sandwiches. He looks over his shoulder and gives a sheepish smile at the scandalized expression on your best friend’s face. “Hey Yoongi.”

“Can you please explain what’s going on? Why are you at your ex’s?”

So, you do. You tell him that Jungkook wouldn’t leave you alone, that you needed some space to cool off but he wouldn’t let you breathe. It was becoming overbearing and overwhelming.

Against your better judgment, you call Taehyung. He invites you to stay over at his place until you’re ready to talk things out with Jungkook. Because even if you’re not together, he still cares about you. Because a part of him will always love you. And at the time, it seemed like a good idea.

“I didn’t want to be alone, especially with a killer targeting women like me out there,” you explain quietly. It feels like the murders have increased in a shorter period of time. If the town wasn’t on edge before, they certainly are now. “But I was still mad at Jungkook, and he was starting to scare me.”

“So the first person you go to is your ex-boyfriend?”

“There’s nothing going on between us.”

That ship has sailed. You know it has when you walked in and saw his engagement pictures hanging on the wall.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’m sure he would’ve figured out that I’d be with you,” you tell him with a frown.

“I just wanted to help her, hyung,” Taehyung adds as he stands behind you. “I worry about her too. That guy gives me and Tan a bad feeling.”

Yoongi sighs. “Listen, I don’t think this is a good idea either. You shouldn’t stay with Taehyung. It’ll just make things look a lot worse.”

“I guess you’re right,” you reluctantly agree. Taehyung grimaces, but he can see Yoongi’s point too.

“I’ll pick you up after my shift. You can stay with me until you’re ready to talk to Jungkook,” Yoongi tells you, looking rather serious. “Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime, okay?”

Hey. It’s Jungkook.

You stare at the message on your phone. Three dots that indicate that he’s typing something, but he keeps erasing and re-typing them again. As if he’s trying to properly convey his words.

Are we breaking up?

You stare at that message even longer. It feels childish to break up with him without trying to talk to him. For the first time in a week, you pick up your phone and type back.

You scared me, Kook.

His response is immediate.

I thought you weren’t scared of anything.

You huff when you realize he’s teasing you, even now.

Movie-wise, I’m not. But this. This is different, Kook. You were really scaring me.

Again, you see the dots appear and disappear before a handful of responses appear.

I know, babe. I’m sorry. Can you please come over? I want to show you something I’ve been working on.

You think about it.

I miss you. Bam misses you too.

Yoongi said not to do anything stupid.

Please, baby. We can just watch a movie, if you want.

But, like in every horror movie, the protagonist finds themselves making a plethora of stupid decisions.

Okay, Kook. I’ll come tonight.

Movie nights with Jungkook was one of the things you always looked forward to throughout the week. Nothing appealed to you more than a night-in with your boyfriend, food delivered at your door, and checking out new shows and movies.

You have your list of favorites, but nothing quite holds a place in your heart than a good ol’ horror movie. Tellings of urban legends, supernatural forces, paranormal activities, true crime, and slasher films. 

As you step into Jungkook’s house, it almost feels like you’re in one of those movies.

His place is dark, almost pitched black. You could barely see what’s in front of you.

“Come inside,” Jungkook says, grabbing your hand. He pulls you in and deadbolts the door behind you.

“It’s so dark,” you remark, gingerly stepping forward. You have a bad feeling about this. You almost pull back toward the door, thinking of waiting for Yoongi or going back to Taehyung instead.

But Jungkook has a firm grip on you. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“This is different, Kook,” you try to reason. “You’re really freaking me out.”

He pulls you further inside. In the living room, nothing but the TV is on. The screen is paused on a homemade film.

This must be the project that Jungkook is talking about.

Everything is set. The living room is clean, a bowl of popcorn and a couple bottles of alcohol sits on the coffee table, the lights are off, and the show is ready to play. He sits you down in the middle and keeps an arm around you.

“You know, when we met, you were exactly what I was looking for,” he starts as he presses play.

The tape shows you. Bam lying on your lap as you affectionately pet his face and kiss the top of his head. You, holding Jungkook’s hand and leading him down a busy sidewalk. You, in the kitchen, trying to swat his hand away as he steals your ingredients. You and Jungkook, peering into the camera lens, and your bashful face as he kisses your cheek. 

A smile tugs on your lips as you watch yourself on the screen. Jungkook leans over, copying his onscreen self and kisses your face.

One thing you liked about filming is seeing things from a different perspective. In this case, seeing yourself through Jungkook’s eyes. You look so happy, so incredibly in love with him.

Like with Taehyung, you fell for Jungkook hard and fast.

But Jungkook fell for you harder and faster.

Your smile fades as the next scene shows.

The camera points to the bed, and a couple walks in. It’s you and Jungkook, stumbling in together after drinks at a bar. You’re laughing and trying to wrap your arms around him as he leads you onto the bed. The kiss you share is messy, heated. You tug off his clothes to feel more of him.

You remember that night, but…

“Jungkook. When did you record this?”

You had no idea he was filming you then.

You don’t realize it then, but he makes eye contact with the camera, as if to check that it’s on. He maneuvers you to get a good angle of your body as you busy yourself with your own clothes, wanting him to touch you more as well.

“Jungkook, stop. I didn’t—” 

You feel so sick to your stomach.

“Don’t cry, baby. Here, I’ll fast-forward.”

But you don’t want to watch anymore. You want to leave. You shouldn’t have come here.

The screen shows you and Yoongi. The two of you are at the bakery he works at, and you’re wearing an old cardigan that you got rid of . You smile and eagerly reach for one of the coffees in his hands and take the bag of cookies he’s holding between his lips. He rolls his eyes at something you say before he takes his first sip of his Iced Americano. It’s a typical hangout between you and him.

It looks like it was taken across the street. Your heart plummets even further when you realize that the old cardigan you’re wearing was a piece of clothing you got rid of before you met Jungkook.

The scene changes. You’re sitting at the fountain at your university, looking over a script you wrote for an assignment. Taehyung comes to take a seat next to you. He greets you with a boxy smile and a kiss. The two of you were still dating at the time.

How long has Jungkook known about you?

How long has he been targeting you?

It’s you and Taehyung again. This time, it was filmed from the other night. When Taehyung came to pick you up from your house. He helps you carry some of your things into his car and hugs you when he sees the distressed look on your face. 

“Jungkook, what the fuck?”

It dawns on you that you don’t really know your boyfriend at all.

You try to stand up, but Jungkook has a firm hold on you. His grip tightens when you try to resist him, and his hand seizes your neck as he pushes you down. Your heart hammers against your ribs when you quickly realize you can’t escape him. Jungkook is much stronger and faster than you are.

More images flash through the screen. It’s Jungkook this time, taking a mirror-selfie of himself dressed in all black. He has his hood up and a Halloween mask covering his face. 

It cuts to his feet walking across the sidewalk. Carefully, the camera tilts up, showing that there’s a woman just ahead of him. She’s about your height, her hair the same as yours. She doesn’t notice him as she listens to music playing in her earbuds. 

The scene cuts again, and the same woman is bound and gagged on a chair. Fear shines through her eyes as a shadow of a knife reflects from her body. Behind the camera, Jungkook demands, “Say your line.”

He removes the gag from her mouth. Her voice pitches in a high shrill as she quickly says, “I-I love you. I won’t leave you.”

You recognize her as the latest victim of the latest killings.

And the realization hits you like a truck. Jungkook and his night shifts, the increasing deaths, his interest in filming, having you as the star.

“I practiced, you know. I’ll get it right this time,” he tells you, pulling out some rope he had hidden behind the cushion. You’re trembling as he wraps them tightly around your wrist. “I’ll make sure you don’t leave me again.”

“You’re so bad,” the Jungkook on the screen says, showing what looks like an abandoned warehouse. It’s dimly lit, but you can hear someone running from him. But he doesn’t seem worried, his heavy footsteps casually echo across the concrete. In his hand is a sharp and bloody knife. Mockingly, he asks, “Where did you think you’d go?”

The victim has been let go, but she isn’t free. Ahead, she finds herself cornered as Jungkook catches up to her. Terrified, she holds her hands out in front of her, as if that would stop him.

It’s like seeing your own fate on the screen.

The woman begs and screams before her blood splatters across the floor. You find yourself quoting her, staring up at his darkened eyes. “No, please. Don’t hurt me.”

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks, staring right at you. His mouth twitches, fighting a smile. “I thought you liked horror movies.”

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

#movie night os #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #yandere jungkook #bts horror #jungkook horror #halloween 2023 #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic

[colormepurplex2]

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.”

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️   2023-10-23 ColorMePurplex2

#min yoongi #yoongi x reader #bogeymanyoongie #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi imagines #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts yoongi #bts halloween #bts fanfic #bts horror #bts smut #bts angst #bts imagines #btscreaturescoven #micdropnet #bangtanwhq

[bandfreak]

cant wait for halloween

#friday the 13th #nightmare on elm street #texas chainsaw massacre #hellraiser #leatherface #freddy krueger #jason voorhees #pinhead #halloween #bts horror #2000s horror #70s horror #80s horror #horror #behind the scenes #horror icons

[blueberryarchive]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 18+

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 3.2k words

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ still working on it. smut (non-con, mnster fucking, long tongue, bg dck! jimin, somnophilia, forced voyeurism?) scary (?) confusing, angst.

If there is a God, he must be a cynical, cruel, tentative being.

Jimin squeezed his chin hard, his skull throbbing, eyes fixed on your wool coat-clad back. He was beginning to hate that olive green macrame that contorted in your tense muscles that you hadn't let him see for a couple of weeks.

Jimin thought that maybe it was your period the reason you didn't want him to touch you, that the headaches at night were from the stress of being so far from society. 

He always tried to be a good husband: making you tea, murmuring sweet nothings to you before going to sleep, giving you your space while he took Pepper for a walk to the lake. But winter has gotten crueler, the naked trees are like veins in the eyes of the white sky, pulsant and hideous, and your wall has grown in size. 

The nights have become silent. You only know how to do one activity besides sleeping: cooking. Mainly meats: grilled, baked, stewed and steamed. With spices, drunk in wine, boiled with basil, cut into pieces, and shredded by hand. Jimin started to hate the pungent smell of dead cows. 

Every night, you ate quietly at the table, and for Jimin to get the words out of you, it felt like he had to put his hand down your throat and spread them on the table. Barely audible, barely sentences.

It was a late winter afternoon, Jimin had tried to be flirty for the first time in a while since there was little time before he had to work again, and he wouldn't see you again for months.

It was a simple kiss on your neck that made your skin crawl, and you almost cut yourself with the knife in fear.

He was now sitting at the island, the kitchen illuminated by the grayish sun of cold afternoons. You were cutting the fat from a calf with the precision of a butcher. Jimin had both hands covering his mouth, thoughtful.

"Mom asked about you. I told her you were at the lake." He murmured to cut the tension of that odd rejection.

"I was sleeping." You put the knife aside, looking for another piece of meat in the refrigerator. Almost four pounds on the table, but Jimin didn't want to engage in your weird fucking activities.

"I've already told her like twice that you've been sleeping, she'll think you're sick or something."

You did not answer.

"I'm fine, it's just the nightmares. I don't sleep at night."

"I know, I know." Jimin sighed. 

He felt sorry about every time he found you curled up on the living room furniture, sweaty and breathing fast; you were sleeping but seemed forced. 

"When we go to Joon's house in the summer, we'll look for a doctor."

Your head tensed, tilting. Then you denied it.

"Don't you want to see a doctor?"

"I'm not going to Namjoon's house this year." You huffed like it was obvious.

Jimin frowned, both hands falling to the cold marble in surprise.

"But this year I'm bringing my parents to meet you, Namjoon is getting married in July, I don't-" he snapped, but you shook your head again while still doing your mechanical cut and throw movement.

Jimin cleared his throat, and you looked at him out of the corner of your eye.

"What?" You responded innocently.

"You really don't want to see my mom?"

"Jimin, I'm getting tired of this."

"What are you going to do, take another nap?"

The blood from the meat on your hands began to drip down to your wrists, the metallic smell causing you a voracious appetite.

"You want wine with the grill?"

"Are you fucking serious right now?"

You sighed, counting to ten. Just a few more hours.

"You can invite her to the cabin, if that's what you want. God knows how much we need someone else in this place."

"I already told you we'll go in a week."

"Without consulting me."

"What should we talk about? We've been planning this for a year."

"I don't feel like going anymore."

"These days you don't feel like doing shit."

You chopped the carrots on the bloody board, the chopping making noises in the immense silence between the two of you.

"It's like you want me to leave." He spoke.

You stood up when you pressed the knife on the cutting board; the tip stuck into the wood. 

That violence, pure and irrational force.

You looked at him with erratic eyes, Jimin didn't know if you were offended or not. Your hands clenched the counter, and your lips trembled trying to say something.

When you lowered your gaze, Jimin knew that your shoulders had not collapsed because of his tone, but because what he said was true.

"Oh my God, I'm right." A pained laugh. His body leaned back on the island that separated you two. "Is there anyone else?"

Silence.

Jimin's skin chilled when before turning to the meat again, barely visible, he saw a tiny smile lining your lips. Self-conscious and cruel.

Before he could think, the sweet husband's façade had broken and with long steps, he approached until he turned you over with his fists in that damn coat. You looked at him with wide eyes, and you wiped your mouth as if the fact that Jimin was going to kiss you disgusted you. The blood of the calf covers your lips.

You were cruel, and he wanted so much to love you, to hug you and hit that distant look on your features. To squeeze your cheeks and spit in your face so you get off that fucking cloud. That you wouldn't look at him with so much hate, with that thousand-yard stare. Take that fucking knife and put it near your beautiful neck and scream 'LOVE ME AGAIN, I FUCKING DESERVE IT'.

"You think this is a fucking game? I've been wanting things to go back to normal since October, but you," His nose wrinkled. "You have become nothing, you are just another object in this useless old cabin."

Your eyes seemed to get closer and closer to Jimin's, your pupils dilating.

"And even as an object I can't fuck you, you're useless." He let go of your coat and walked away, each word dying in his throat. He couldn't believe that he could talk to his wife like that, what kind of man was he?

Then, a single person came to his head.

"Are you seeing Ryan?"

Ryan was the one who sold the land to Jimin, every now and then he would pass by the road and stop to drink coffee and fish in the lake with Jimin. It's not that Ryan is an attractive man, nor a man who knew how to talk to women because he was a first-class hermit. He was not a man you would cause your marriage to fail with...

...Right?

"That's it. I'm going to sell the house."

"No." You were quick, your shoulders rose as if a puppeteer had lifted your strings, and you trembled again, denying.

"No, please."

"So it is because of Ryan?'

You inhaled all the air in the room, your eyes a predator. 

"Ryan is a parasite in front of him, filth, a mere fly on the wall." You barked causing echoes to reverberate off the walls of your boyfriend's chest. Your trembling fingers covered your mouth instantly.

The knife in your hand, the fingers bloody from the fresh meat, that green coat that you didn't take off, the tangled hair. Jimin didn't recognize you, your sweetness had turned bitter; like a viscous liquid made from plants. Raw and strange.

"You're a fucking whore." His voice trembled, the sting of tears wanting to flow like shooting water.

He took his coat, with a whistle he called Pepper and they both went with a roar through the wide, dense forest.

The afternoon became denser in the forest, the leaves did not move and Pepper spent the entire way sniffing the trees, howling at the birds that passed by without squawking. Jimin put a hand in his coat, the other looking for some signal to call Hoseok, his mother, the damn police. Whoever.

He found his headphones in his jacket and placed them on top of his head, connecting them to his cell phone. He turned on the Bluetooth.

Connected.

"Come on, fuck." He mumbled until Hoseok's number started ringing in his ears. It rang once, twice, five times before he could hear anything.

"Seok, couldn't you last longer to answer the damn call?" The lake did not move, his boots made the wood of the dock squeak as he walked from one side to the other. 

"No, I just need you to help me with something, I don't want Joon or my mom to worry, but I need you to find a doctor and come here...p-preferably someone with knowledge of mental problems."

Disconnected.

"Hello? Hoseok, hello." He repeated, turning on the Bluetooth again. 

"No, it's just a little seasonal depression, but I don't want it to escalate into something worse."

Disconnected.

"Shit, fucking headphones." On impulse, he grabbed the device with the cell phone and threw it as hard as possible into the gray water.

And with the cell phone falling, he glimpsed the pale skin of a being on the other side of the lake, it didn't look like a bear or a deer. Pepper started barking, loud and fast.

"Quiet." Jimin tried not to alarm the creature emanating from the foliage, his dark eyes approaching the evening light.

Jimin stayed still until he saw how the creature's feet approached the tip of the other dock, his eyes narrowed to see his own reflection, blonde hair, and the same features. A being as tall and wide as a log, he was wearing a coat that Jimin had given up for lost months ago, but it was dirty and torn due to the size of the beast.

He was seeing a Behemoth in his own skin. A dim Jimin, a monster, an abomination of himself.

His feet began to move as the animal threw itself toward the water in his direction. Pepper stayed behind him, but he couldn't think of saving her. He was going to die.

He prayed it was a hallucination of his tired brain, a joke of his own mind. But he could hear the earth tremble with each approaching footstep.

Every tree looked the same, the path home had vanished and all he could do was scream for his mother, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Mom, please, help. Help." He screamed as his feet were grabbed, the wet earth choking on his whimpers.

"Help!" The creature screamed even louder, in the same voice but drowned.

Crawling wasn't worth it, the creature had grabbed him by his hair and flipped him over. Seeing his face, rough and full of scratches, caused an abominable pain in Jimin's chest; he wanted to vomit out his organs and die before continuing with this terrifying reality.

The last thing he remembers is his head crashing into a log, the guttural roar of his mammoth twin, and the green inferno engulfing his body as he falls to the ground.

When he opened his eyes, Jimin was in his room, his body tied to a couch in the corner. His mouth was muffled with a kitchen rag: the disgusting, metallic taste of the beef made him nauseous.

His eyes were guided to where your body was lying, you had the Prince t-shirt that Jimin had given you on. Your wet hair, the smell of coconut shampoo, the shower running in the other room, Pepper's howling in the distance. This was the first time you looked so angelic in a long time, so peaceful in your own dreams.

He couldn't move, his body felt heavy and slow. His fingers moved, his eyes too but it was as if it was a ghost of his body.

You sighed suddenly. With his hair standing on end, Jimin tried to call you but his voice didn't come out of his lips, a mere hoarse. Word dust.

Your body stood up unsteadily. You rolled your head to the entrance and smiled: there it was, on all fours, his mouth dirty with blood from the meat you had saved for him, those cupped pupils that you missed.

His body crawled closer until it reached your knees where he pressed his huge hand on one of your thighs, the wine bottle running down your body with each touch.

"Love," he roared until he climbed and transformed into a tower above you, nearly seven feet of pure dedication. You fed him daily with everything you had in the house. "My love."

That's what he called you. Jimin shook his head in the corner, his eyes threatening to close, his neck stretched out trying to reach you uselessly.

"Ah," his pale black tongue unrolled to reveal discolored pills at the tip.

You stuck out your tongue and let the creature's hands squeeze your neck so you would open wide, open better so his tongue would enter directly into your throat. The tickling in your esophagus from the movement of the wet muscle had your core tight.

When you stuck your tongue out, saliva connected both of your mouths, your eyes tilted; drunk and in love.

"More," he claimed, taking your small body in his hands until he had you anchored to his waist, both legs dangling. His fingers tore away what was covering your pussy, and Jimin could see the marks on your body, some yellowish about to fade, others a vivid red.

You lowered his sweat with the balls of your feet, his thick red cock throbbing at your entrance. Your body began to feel the effect of the sleeping pills, turning you into a nebula hanging from a warm mass.

When the tip entered you screamed into his chest, your nails scratching the flesh until it bled. The monster groaned in pain and knocked you to the ground causing the floor to shake with the weight of both of you.

You didn't have time to complain as his sharp teeth clamped down on your shoulder to keep you from moving as he took his cock all the way in, blood pouring from your shoulder.

The pain was such that you imagined how the inside of your organs was breaking, the bones creaking under his hands on your breasts, your voice becoming a thread until it was silent with each roar in your ear.

The watery, repetitive sound. The bulbous tip covered in juices went in and out so easily that the fabric covering your stomach seemed like it wanted to tear at any moment.

"Fuck, fuck, Minnie. Hurts good." It was like you were communicating with a caveman, but your brain didn't function properly when it came to him.

"Good, I like hurting you." Thick, dark blood ran down to his chin as his tongue smothered you again. Your eyes closing, your hands trapped in one of his. Your moans cover the dark heart of the beast with a soft layer until your limbs gave up, unconscious and so wet for them.

Little human trapped in his forest, an inferior being praising a God she does not understand out of pure lust. You were adorable, warm inside, you made him big and unstoppable and he thanked you by filling you with his cum every night after you fed him. That was your only request, every time.

Now he was named Minnie and you shouted his name every time he did something right. Learned words like more, hurt, inside, want, fuck.

And just because he molded himself into something you already had, you adored him.

His tongue came out to snake around one of your breasts, his wide, long thumb holding your mouth open. Your dead eyes casually open to see your tied husband, your head wobbling and arms hagging in the air with every pounding like a rag doll.

He couldn't bare it, you were being raped in front of his eyes, and he couldn't do anything else than stare at your unconscious body, like a fucking parasite, filth, a simple fly on the wall. 

With a few steps, the creature approached Jimin, leaving your warm body on his lap. Your eyelids throbbed softly regardless of how the demon destroyed your pussy with every crash of his hips. 

Your lips were wet with foreign blood, wet hair stuck to your temples, and open hands that fell to each side of the furniture.

You looked like the girl he had that morning when he showed you the cabin, like the one from the first night when you two made love on the living room rug, like the one that bathed naked in the lake even though someone could see her. 

A nymph, just a beautiful wildflower.

And Jimin knew at that moment why that beast had you in his claws, why he grabbed you by the neck and squeezed you to wake up from your sweet dream. 

When you looked up and saw your husband's face, Jimin knew that he had to give up, because that thousand-yard look was a path that was forbidden to him, that he did not know and could not learn.

You were no longer his but from the forest. A red and grotesque fairy, who moaned instead of singing and collected bones instead of flowers.

And yet you were more beautiful than ever.

You smiled at Jimin and your hands moved down his face to remove the dish towel and kiss him like you've never done before. The sulfuric smell of a dead animal on your soft lips was enchanting.

"Oh, God, yes." You whispered in your sleepy voice.

The Beast bruised your hips until pumping your pussy with cum, thick and gray.

You and Jimin looked at the growling monster, picking up pieces of the wooden floor with its long nails. They looked up, and exhaled deeply, snorting like an angry bull seeking respect.

Before you could say anything, he was gone. Leaving your bruised body between your tied husband's legs.

Your fingers brushed your face as you felt something damp: the tears in Jimin's eyes flowed like summer rain, thick and abundant.

"Tell your mom you'll find a better girl, okay?" Your lips trembled, trying to dry each drop from which another came out. Jimin nodded, bringing your forehead to his.

"Am I really not going to see you anymore?"

"Any time you want," you assured, your voice echoing a dozen times like whispers spreading across the room. A choir of hushed angels saying the same thing over and over again. 

"Every time it rains, leave the door open, and I'll know you need me."

Your naked body turned to place Jimin's head on your chest, he sobbed himself to sleep, and you counted his eyelashes until it was time to leave.

With a kiss on his forehead, you let him sleep, when he woke up you were no longer there, the green coat was hanging in the back yard and the smell of your hair filled every corner, a floral ghost.

#jimin imagine #jimin smut #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts #jimin x reader #bts smut #jimin bts #jimin fanfic #bts jimin #bts x you #jimin angst #bts horror

[lolabangtan]

arte factum | pjm

After your ex-husband is found dead in his house, you're burdened with the well-being of his latest invention, a good-looking, polite android who seems to have a peculiar interest in you.

Word count: 17k

Warnings: smut, somnophilia, obsessive behaviour, suicide, mentions of domestic and psicological abuse.

# Artifical Intelligence AU, horror, sci-fi, sub!Jimin, dom!female reader, yandere!android Jimin, vouyerism, he uses one of her panties to jerk off 😭, ma’am/Master kink, homeboy just doesn’t handle well seeing her naked, creampie, ‘unprotected’ vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), nipple play, overstimulation, fingering, horny groping, he needs to chill, face-fucking him with her fingers? idk.

A/N: lots of plot, read with caution. I don’t really know what else to say. Just, hm, enjoy the filth? Sub!yanderes are probably one of my lowest fantasies 😗✌️

Read this story listening to its own Spotify playlist.

“I didn’t know you were back already. How did it go?”

You’re still staring at your reflection on the teacup, the steamy drink smudging your face despite your complete stasis. It’s been at least five minutes since Taehyung poured it for you, but you’re still gripping the cup instead of sipping it.

“Well,” you murmur without looking away, “how do all funerals go? – they’re always depressive as fuck.”

Yoongi takes a seat in front of you “You know you can be sad about it, don’t you? It doesn’t mean you’re to blame. We— we don’t know anything yet.”

“My husband killed himself!” you blurt out, finally ripping your eyes away from your reflection. “I know I didn’t do anything, but still— maybe I could’ve done something. Maybe— maybe he wouldn’t be dead if I hadn’t sued him.”

You’re still wearing all back, sitting down miserably in your kitchen. That tea that Taehyung poured you is starting to cool down.

“Your hubby was a psycho, remember? It doesn’t make him any less of a stalker just because he’s dead now.”

Your friend has always had a way with words, you think to yourself with a chuckle; after all, he’s right. Just because he’s dead, it doesn’t mean he didn’t put you through all that shit. In a way, and you feel terrible for this, you’re kind of glad he’s gone.

“Mrs Im said they’d read the will this evening. You’re not going, after all?”

“You think he left me anything?” you ask him with an arched eyebrow.

But Yoongi just shrugs. “Maybe. Who knows.”

Even if he did, you’re not sure you want any of the things your ex-husband could’ve possibly left for you after his death. They’d be soiled with hatred and poison.

It seems, after all, that he did leave you something in his will. Or that you suspect, at least, after you’re summoned to his house by one of his lawyers. You can’t even describe the goosebumps rising in your skin as you walk into the suburban house that you used to call home.

“Ma’am, it’s good to see you.” Mrs Im rushes to shake your hand when she sees you. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do,” you say half-heartedly.

But, well, you went to the funeral, so it would be odd not to come; you need to finish off and seal this part of your life for once and for all.

“Don’t worry, it’s just some money and the art collection.” You don’t miss the way the woman and the notary eye each other, and you cross your eyes. “Uh, well, there is something else... that he left for you hoping you’d accept. One of his last creations. He finished it a few months ago.”

“I don’t really need a vacuuming robot, thank—”

“Oh, ma’am—! It’s something completely different,” the lawyer cries out.

With an arched eyebrow, you follow them down the hall, now more intrigued than ever, and walk down the steps that lead to his lab, where he’d work on all of his inventions. A mad scientist for a husband is what you had. A truly mad genius. You can’t even fathom what he’s invented this time.

Since it’s not been longer than a week since he passed away, the place is just as eery and spooky as it has always been.

You walk downstairs following the other two and stop in your tracks when they do, almost bumping against them. Arching your eyebrows once again, you open your mouth to ask them what’s wrong but go quiet when a young man, standing naked in the middle of the room, waves at you with the sweetest of smiles.

“God! I told you not to turn it on yet! Fucking hell, I almost had a fucking heart attack,” Mrs Im grunts, putting her hand on her chest.

“S-sorry, I swear I thought it was turned off when I left...”

Your eyes can’t help but flutter down to his crotch; his cock is thick and decently sized, but what truly makes your mouth water is how it reddens and twitches when the two of you meet. Oh, how you like nice cocks. How you need one in your life— isn’t he gonna cover himself or something, though?

“Uh, nice to meet you. Anybody cares to explain what the hell is going on?” you finally blurt out, a bit tired of their antics and dying to just have something else to look at. “I’d like to go back home as soon as possible.”

The woman takes a deep breath. “This is it, ma’am— this is what your husband wanted you to keep—”

“My name is Jimin, ma’am. It’s my pleasure to meet you.”

You don’t listen and turn around towards her:

“He... wanted me to adopt this guy?”

“That’s not a ‘guy’, ma’am, it’s Jimin, or subject JM13, a robot. Your ex-husband had been working on it for five years until now,” the notary continues, finally making himself noticed.

Five years? That means he was already working on it during the last years of your marriage. Weird.

“He was planning on selling the design to a company for the massive production of, er, sex androids.” Mrs Im’s voice goes meeker and softer as she speaks, perhaps ashamed of her words. Honestly? Same. Fucking sickhead. You stare at the so-called Jimin in disbelief. “However” – you look up back at her when she continues – “he seemed to change his mind at some point and decided to keep it and make you its guardian if something ever happened to him.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a... sex robot, if I may know?”

Mrs Im walks up to the big table in the centre of the room and picks up a bunch of papers just to read them leisurely. Then she puts them back on the surface and sighs.

“Can I be honest with you, ma’am?” You nod, though a bit hesitant. “Just take it. Sell it off if you want, there wasn’t anything that forbids you on the will. Or keep it; it can clean, cook, and fuck your brains out if you want. Do whatever you want, I just wanna be over with this case already. Your psycho ex has been giving me a headache ever since you sued him after your divorce.”

You need a couple of seconds to process it all, but you quickly come to the conclusion that she’s just as tired of this business as you. And maybe a hand or two at home won’t be so bad after all.

But it’s so spooky – he looks just like a person.

“So, its name is Jimin?” you ask as you walk up to the standing figure in front of you. You don’t need to tilt your head to look at him.

“So it seems.”

“I guess you’re coming home with me, Jimin. I just hope these two know how you work,” you say then, glancing at them.

“I’ll be happy to help, ma’am.” Jimin’s voice is probably the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard; it slithers into your mushy brain and pools on your tongue with the craving of saying his name out loud yourself – Jimin. “Thank you for keeping me. I will do anything I can to be of assistance to you.”

“I’m sure you will... Come on, let’s go home. By the way, don’t you come with instructions or something?”

Jimin laughs boyishly. “I’m automated, ma’am.”

“Well, there is one thing that you might want to know, though...” The woman butts in with the papers in her hand and reads, “If it ever puts you in danger and ignores direct instructions, you can always press the small switch behind his left ear. It will proceed with the complete shutdown of its system until you decide to turn it on again. In case you are being immobilised, just say out loud its name along with ‘shutdown’ and it will turn itself off.”

As soon as they’ve handed you some clothes for him and given you the little instructions Jimin needs to function, you find yourself closing the door of the side of the car where he’s sitting right now before you head to the driver's seat.

It’s true that you don’t trust this thing in the slightest, especially knowing who created it. But you’re determined to find out what has your ex-husband planned for you and why he decided he wanted you to keep Jimin out of all the people he knew. Maybe he’s not dead and is watching you right now through a peephole in the android’s eyes? Maybe he’s not done making your life miserable yet.

“Ma’am—!”

Jimin takes the wheel in time before your car takes a turn, neglected during the short but strong while you’ve been sulking in your thoughts.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks you then, looking at you with concern as you take over the wheel again. “Would you rather I drove instead?”

“No, it’s... It’s okay, Jimin, thank you.”

“Your heart is beating fast, ma’am. Am I making you uneasy?”

You roll your eyes with a shameful sigh. “Uh, maybe a little. But it’s not your fault— you just have a creator with kind of a nasty name.”

“You used to sleep with my Master, I know.”

“Yeah... I mean,” you blurt out, now a bit bashful, “we were married. It was a bit more serious than just sleeping together – unfortunately.”

But then you realise— how on earth does this robot know who you are?

“Did he talk about me?”

“He talked about you quite often.”

You take a breath. “And what would he say?”

“My Master... wanted me to know how much he loved you,” Jimin says half-heartedly.

So, he just built himself a friend. One that couldn’t run away from him – pathetic. But Jimin doesn’t seem too fond of him, so you relish in the idea that your ex couldn’t even keep his handmade friends.

“He didn’t love me,” you spit out. “That nasty thing wasn’t love.”

It’s pretty much pointless to try and explain what love is to a robot, so you just tighten your grip on the wheel. For the rest of the ride, you stay in complete silence, and Jimin respects that you don’t want to talk.

“Uh, I guess you won’t need a bedroom? Or do you?”

Jimin takes a look around, inspecting the entrance hall of your house. “It’s better for my hardware to rest on a bed when I’m on standby, ma’am.”

“And... when do you switch to stand-by?”

“Once you go to bed,” he replies with a smile. “But I react to loud noises and turn back on in case there’s an emergency.”

Oh, so you get a full-time bodyguard in the package too. Cool – you guess.

“In that case, you can have the guest room. My room is upstairs— well, I’ll show you around now. Follow me.” Naturally, Jimin does as told and walks behind you as you guide him through the rest of the house. “My office is at the end of the corridor. I need to focus when I’m working, so please, don’t make too much of a fuss if you’re around this part of the house.”

“May I know what’s your profession?” Jimin asks on his way back to the kitchen.

“I’m... I draw comics,” you murmur. “It’s a pretty boring job since I started working for a publishing company, but the pay is really good— and I work at home a lot, so I’d also prefer if you didn’t disturb me when I’m in there unless there’s an emergency.”

You go to grab the kettle to make yourself some tea, but he gently takes it from your hand and beckons you to take a seat instead.

“Please allow me, ma’am.”

Pulling your hands away, you let him take charge of your tea and sit down. It’s oddly nice, but there’s a little voice in your head nagging you for taking advantage of a robot. As if that’s even possible. However, the voice slowly fades as Jimin prepares your tea, your eyes fixed on the way the muscles of his back bulge and tense under the flimsy fabric.

Well, your ex-husband did a pretty decent job with this one.

“There you go, ma’am. Would you like some cream with it?” he asks again with that angelic voice of his. You just shake your head. “What would you like me to do now?”

“Oh, nothing, really.” You fidget on your spot, awkwardly taking the teacup between your fingers.

“Please— I want to be of service.”

At his insistence, you nod weakly. “Well, I guess the kitchen could use some maintenance... And I think the microwave is broken. Can you... do something about that?”

Jimin nods fervently and, after asking you where can he find the tools, he gets on with the job. You can just watch him in awe as he dusts the windows, fixes your microwave, and puts a pair of flowers that apparently had been in your dining hall all this morning in a China vase. Again, you’re too perplexed to regret your decision.

Somewhere after dinner – which clearly was made by Jimin and was basically the best bite you’ve had in a while – your doorbell rings in the middle of the house’s pre-slumber silence.

You rush to the door before he can do anything. “I’ll go, you stay here.”

When you reach the entrance hall and open the door, you see Taehyung standing in front of the gate, checking impatiently the watch on his wrist.

“Y/N! What’s wrong with you?” he whines through the intercom. “Open up! Didn’t you get my texts?”

God, you’ve just realised that you’ve been so busy with the funeral, the will, and handling this peculiar new inhabitant in your house that you haven’t checked your personal phone since lunch.

“Sorry—”

“Hey, I was mad worried,” he mutters, coming in without needing to be invited. “How did it go? What did the notary say? Did the psycho leave you—?”

Judging by your friend’s sudden silence, you figure he’s just noticed the new face standing in the middle of the hall. Taehyung’s grimace turns from shock to confusion, and from confusion to some kind of sly understanding.

“Sorry,” he chirps, “didn’t know you had company. I can come back later if you want.”

“Actually— I think you should know this.”

Taehyung raises his eyebrows and offers Jimin his hand for a shake. “Really? Ah, I’m Kim Taehyung, nice to meet you. Wow, your hands are so soft! What lotion do you use?”

“Listen, this is what my ex left for me in his will. His name is Jimin.”

“This? You mean... that he’s his adopted child or something?” your friend retorts with a grimace. “Or a protégé?”

“No, he’s a robot.”

But he just lets out a laugh. “You’re kidding me.”

“God, I’m being serious— Jimin, can you show him?” The android obediently turns around and lifts his shirt, revealing a plug that sinks all the way into his lower back. “See? I know it looks like a fucking joke because I’m still trying to process it all – but he is.”

Switching his eyes from him to you, Taehyung finally grabs your arm and, excusing the two of you, pushes you into the kitchen before closing the door. “Are you nuts? So, they told you your psychotic ex-husband built a robot that you could take as a housekeeper and you fucking brought it in? What is wrong with you—!”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” you cut him off. “I know there’s something fishy about this. But I want to find out what.”

“If this is about—”

“Of course it is,” you cry out then and bury your face in your hands.

You need to know – you need to know if he was to blame after all or if you actually became a paranoid who dumped her innocent husband and convinced everyone that he was crazy. You need to know if you just pushed him into such a miserable and unjust fate that he had to end his life.

And perhaps Jimin has the answer.

“Whatever, I’ll keep an eye out on him. Just one creepy thing, Y/N,” Taehyung grunts as he opens the kitchen door to walk out. “One creepy thing and he’s a dead robot.”

You roll your eyes with a half-hearted grin and follow him back into the living room.

Jimin looks up from the floor. “I... I understand that my Master did bad things to you, ma’am— but I swear I’d never hurt you. I’d rather die myself.”

You decide not to answer or react to his puppy eyes. Then your friend claims to be too busy to stay – although he does make you promise that you’ll call him if anything happens – and you see him off with the shadow of Jimin standing behind you.

“Dude, it’s so fucking realistic,” Taehyung grunts before getting in his car.

Once the two of you are alone in the house again, you tell him that you’re going to take a bath to wash away every single ounce of stress from today. He nods with a smile and watches you enter the bathroom; it’s modern and large, your silhouette reflecting weakly on the black and white tiles. A spacious bathtub rests in the middle of the room.

You sit on the marble edge as you watch the steamy water fill up the tub.

When there’s enough water and the ceiling of the room is cloudy with steam, you take off your clothes, drop them onto the floor, and finally, sit down. Just that makes you let out a groan of pleasure, the feeling of the hot water licking on your limbs washing all your worries away.

You’ve always thought that there’s something oddly erotic in bathing – whether it’s just the freedom of being naked in the tub or all the possible ways one can be served and tended to.

After you wrinkle like a raisin, you decide it’s time to come out and get on with your evening; still a bit dizzy from the illegally amazing bath, you stand up to hop out of the tub, with the misfortune of slipping on some pool of water on the floor.

You fall on your backside, twisting your arm in the way.

“Oh, fuck! Shit!”

Somehow you manage to get up and pick up the remaining pieces of your dignity. Still, there’s a throbbing pain in your arm that means you most probably should have it checked.

And, of course, Jimin suddenly bursts in without knocking. “Ma’am? Are you all right—?”

His eyes immediately slide down your figure, fixing on your breasts, and you cover yourself up as an instinct.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” you grunt, ignoring the pulsing pain. “I, uh, slipped and fell. But I’m okay, don’t worry. Could make it out alive...” God, what on earth are you doing? You don’t have to cover up for him, he’s just a pile of circuits and microchips. “I’m fine.”

Slowly – tauntingly almost – you move your hands away from your breasts, feeling a tingle in the pit of your stomach when they softly move forward. You also uncover your crotch, and you’ve never felt so deliciously bare before. Jimin’s eyes flicker down to your perked nipples, he drinks up the sight of your figure for a slight second before he pulls himself back together and holds the towel out for you.

“Can you lift your arm, ma’am?”

You sigh. “No, it hurts too much,” you grunt then as you spin it. Great, now you’ll have to drop by the hospital to check if you broke anything. “I, uh— I need the towel.”

“Allow me.”

After staring into his eyes with defiance for five exhausting seconds, you raise your arms a bit, enough so it won’t hurt, so that Jimin can dry you.

Like the touch of a feather, he runs the towel against the skin of your shoulders first. Delicate, the cotton hugs you, it brushes you softly. Soon, he’s done with your arms and moves down to your breasts. It almost feels like his breath hitches at the contact of your mounds, LED-lit irises fixing on your nipples. If you were a bit more insane, you’d swear there’s some sort of sexual tension between the two of you.

But, of course, you’re not that insane yet.

Jimin was made to resemble a human— and he does, almost perfectly. A fairly good looking one on top of that. So, it’s normal that your realities are mixed up. Your coochie doesn’t know his robocock is made of microchips.

You have to stop yourself from thinking any further about Jimin’s cock. It won’t do you any good.

The contact of his fingers with your nipples, though separated by the towel, sends a shiver down your spine, and you shift in front of him.

Jimin does a very meticulous job as he kneads your breasts and brushes the fabric against them, eyes never leaving the view. For a second he sticks out his tongue, but it seems that – for some reason – he was just wetting his lips.

Then he drops to his knees, and it catches you off guard. Your core pulses at the unfathomable thought of having his tongue lapping at your wet folds, but you’re quick to hush them away.

“I should take you to a hospital, ma’am,” Jimin says softly, eyes looking up at you from between your legs. You can swear his breath feels hot. “Maybe you hurt your arm seriously.”

It’ll be a complete mess if you have, honestly. You need to hand in the sketches of your new work in a couple of weeks. A work that doesn’t even have a plot yet if you may add. So, obviously, you just can’t afford more delays.

Jimin finishes worshipping your legs dry after he asks you to sit down; you actually give it a thought at some point – you could tell him to bend down and eat you out until you’ve soaked his face and no one would be there to judge you. You could tell him to lie on the floor and let you ride his automatic cock until his stupid circuits break down. Not that you wouldn’t absolutely love it.

What a pity you’re too sane to do it.

Jimin shifts uncomfortably between your legs, eyes wandering and roaming around like crazy, before he gets up— and you swear, you swear there’s a slight tent in his crotch. You swear you saw it just now. Is that normal? Is it some kind of reaction programmed into his automatised body or something?

“Okay, let me just get ready and we’ll head out—” You turn around, realising something. “Damn it... Ugh, I forgot I brought the hamper down to the kitchen to do the laundry... Mind dumping it for me? I still have to dry my hair.”

Obviously, he nods with a gentle smile, but his eyes shift to red when he finally has your underwear in his hand; you decide not to give it much importance, though.

Since you asked him to look into your room in case there were any other dirty clothes lying around, Jimin turns the doorknob and slithers in like a shadow. It’s the first time he’s in your room – and the smell is mind-blowing; everything is imprinted with your fragrance, everything has been touched by you, everything has your essence all over it. Oh, he wanted to meet you so bad.

Not as reluctantly as he should, he can’t help pressing your underwear against his nose. It too smells like you.

You were so close just now, your warmth, your wet heat standing right in front of him. It makes something tickle within all his cables and microchips, makes him need and desire you in a way that he’s never felt before. Nothing could’ve ever prepared Jimin for the feeling of finally having you in front of him.

This smell that overwhelms each of his sensors, the fragrance of your skin that he got to learn so well, your luscious lips moving as you’d talk to him, your hands, so soft— you had invaded every single corner of memory he had prepared for when Jimin finally got to meet you in the flesh.

Now, he knows it’s wrong. He knows that giving in to his desire for you is not part of his plan. But God, how can he resist the urge, the yearning?

With a swinging movement, Jimin cups his hardening crotch; the contact is slight, but it’s enough to make him sigh and close his eyes to project images of those sweet memories. He pictures you lying on the mattress as he takes out his cock – with your legs parted and hooked around his head as he dips his tongue into your dripping slit. He wraps his wet muscle around your clit and sucks, making you clench around nothing, making you want him. A whimper escapes from your parted lips, it feels too good not to make a sound. Jimin laps at your folds deeper, wants you to remember the feeling of his tongue against your cunt forever.

The sensors in his cock thrill as he humps his hand, your panties shoved into his mouth.

It’s like a vine creeping up his throat and wrapping around it, would leave him breathless. His system wasn’t ready for this ecstatic craving, he needs to buck his hips faster and squeeze the sensitive tip.

He takes out his cock, craving more. Now fucking into your underwear, his cock slides between the folds, and Jimin comes with a pitiful mewl a second later. His artificial cum soils the already damp fabric with the frustrating, half-hearted feeling that it’s your pussy he’s filling up.

It spurts on his fingers too, so Jimin licks them clean before standing up to throw the panties into the washing machine for once and for all. Excitement bubbles up inside of him.

He was made for loving you, after all.

There are only two things that comfort you right now.

The first one is that, even though you hurt your left wrist, you need only the right one to draw. The second is that Jimin the android is here to do literally everything you want.

From taking out the garbage to cooking to massaging your feet or fixing the wobbly leg of your drawing table, he’s always ecstatic to help. For real, it almost feels as if you’re the one doing him a favour when you let him make your bed. It only gets weird when you need his assistance to do things like getting dressed or taking a bath, but Jimin is a robot, after all; it’s all in your touch-deprived head.

“Yeah, I see what you mean... But I can’t really change that, it’d create a plot hole; there’s a scene in the seventh chapter...”

Right now you’re having an online meeting with your editor, discussing the work you’ve been crushing your head off for. It’s six in the morning, you’re gonna need a whole lot more coffee to get through the rest of the day— and yet there she is, breaking you down like a truck. She’s not one for giving you any slack.

“A plot hole?” she repeats in disbelief. “You’d need a plot for that in the first place.” You let out a sigh. “Look, I’m sure these past few days have taken a toll on you, Y/N, but we need you to come up with something. The agency’s patience has a limit. You could try to spice things up a bit? Work on something more mature—? Maybe this is all just an artistic block.”

You frown, sipping your coffee. “Uh, mature? Meaning?”

“I’m not saying you go write a BDSM meaningless bestseller or anything, but... something mature readers could be interested in. Maybe you’ve just grown out of YA adventures for the time being.”

“Are you asking me to draw porn?” you retort with a snort. “That’s low. You know I like light-hearted stories. Besides, what could I write about? All I’d come up with would be raunchy stuff.”

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend? Well, boyfriend, partner, fling— whatever.” Tilting your head, you wonder what the hell is she talking about, but then you notice Jimin’s back on your screen as he makes you another coffee. “Can he hear me—? You know, sexual themes can be very profound too.”

As deep as you’d like to, you think to yourself. But you don’t wanna picture Jimin in any kind of story that is in any way related to ‘more mature stuff’, so you just shake your head. That’s enough nonsense for a meeting at six in the morning.

Because well, ‘lonely girl starts living with a sex robot and eventually goes on having kinky sex with it’ sounds lame as fuck. And pathetic. It’s pretty humiliating already to realise you’re in that picture right now, at this stage of your life, in this economy.

“Well, I better get going— I have a meeting in half an hour. We’ll talk later.”

And, beep— the screen goes black, she’s gone.

“Your coffee, ma’am.” Jimin’s gentle voice snaps you out of your thoughts; he’s eyeing you intensely as he puts the mug down on the counter, almost as if he’s trying to get something out of you.

“Thanks. Can you pass me the honey—? Don’t bother, I can do it myself.”

Bitch, as if.

As soon as you take the spoon of out the jar, a jolt of pain pierces through your bad arm, and it slips off your fingers. Now they’re sticky with honey and you’ve made a fool of yourself. What a great way to start your already awful morning.

“I—”

Jimin takes your hand, not too roughly as to come off as rude, but rightly enough for you to suspect there’s something going on with him.

His stare is intense, red LED-lit rings piercing through yours in search of something, some reaction, some form of permission. The honey drops down your digits as a warning, now or never. Your heart beats painfully fast in your chest, threatening to burst right through your ribcage and onto his lap.

“Lick it clean,” you rasp. “All of it.”

Like your words are magic, Jimin rushes to part his lips so that you can put your fingers into his mouth. Funnily enough, it’s hot and wet, and you almost think you’ve heard him whimper.

Your core pulses, suddenly empty and craving something to clench around. As he keeps lapping at your digits oh-so thoroughly, you have to rub your thighs together, you hope he won’t notice. Could he, though? Can Jimin understand that he’s turning you the fuck on?

And then it sinks in.

Of course it feels hot and makes you tingle. Of course he acts like this— that is the sole purpose of his existence, to desire whomever he’s programmed to. He’s a robot, a machine. He follows cryptic orders.

But then again, as his tongue swirls around your fingers and he sucks the honey off them, you can’t help feeling the urge to bend him down on the table and ride his cock. Even if that’s pretty much the point, the craving you’re feeling comes off as terribly sad. After all, you just want to part your legs and order him to fill up this emptiness he’s provoked in you.

With a rather jerky move, you pull your fingers out of Jimin’s mouth, and he licks his lips immediately, sultry eyes looking up at you.

“T-that’s enough, you can stop,” you groan.

He gets up with a weak nod, perhaps waiting for you to ask for more, to order him to touch you, to kiss you, to pleasure you— but those words never come out of your mouth, and you get up quietly with your coffee in your hand.

“I’ll be… working in my studio,” you murmur. “Don’t disturb me unless it’s an emergency.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You call Yoongi as soon as – you think – you’re out of his hearing range. Not that he’s not a high-tech android perfectly equipped to eavesdrop on your conversation – you doubt he even has to eavesdrop, could perfectly well just be standing in a room on the other side of the house and still able to hear your every word.

He says he’ll show up in maybe half an hour, and you get the chance to work a bit on one of your drafts, although to no avail because your brain is dry, and ask Jimin if he can bring up some more coffee. By the time you’re done, he comes into the room with Yoongi walking behind him.

“How’s your wrist?” he asks while Jimin pours the required sugar, and you hold out your hand. Maybe you’re going crazy, but he’s so indifferent to your conversation that it totally looks like he’s eavesdropping. “Looks much better.”

You nod and glance at the android. “That will be all, thank you,” you murmur.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jimin leaves the two coffees on your table and leaves with a smile.

“Jesus, it’s like having, uh, well— it’s a fucking robot in your house,” he muses. “Are you sure this is still a good idea? Keeping an artificial intelligence made by your looney husband at home.”

You cock an eyebrow. “It was never a good idea, especially when you put it like that.”

“But…?”

There is always a ‘but’ with you, though.

“But maybe Jimin is my only way to find out if… he really did all those things,” you finish with a weak voice.

Threatening your co-workers, blackmailing your boss to get you to work from home more often, keeping your family away from you with lies and ploys. To know that his sobs and pleas were all lies, his way to guilt-trip you into forgiveness. His way into your head and heart, to mess with it, churn and mould it into one of his experiments. To him, you probably were never anything but that – another one of his wicked creations.

Maybe it’s stupid and pathetic that you’re grasping at straws to redeem and excuse him.

When the silence weighs in, Yoongi turns around to take his phone out of his jacket, almost knocking his coffee over. You gasp and get up to save the precious mug from a fatal fall that would have totally crashed it into pieces and immediately sneer at him.

“Sorry, I didn’t—”

“Be careful!” you cry out. “It’s my favourite mug.”

Yoongi frowns, taking the piece to inspect it with a judging look. “This? It’s literally the tackiest, ugliest mug I’ve ever seen.”

He’s probably referring to the awful pink glitter and the even shinier ‘there’s a chance this is vodka’ written on it. Of course, it’s never vodka, but it sounded so funny it made you chuckle when you walked past the shop during a promenade with your husband. You told him about it after coming home, and even though he didn’t seem too interested, he was listening since you found it lying on the kitchen counter the next morning.

Your husband never mentioned it again, or ever for that matter. It’s one of those little gestures that fill you up with guilt and remorse.

In some way, he did care about you. At least at some point in your relationship.

“Anyways,” Yoongi murmurs then, moving the mug to the centre of the table for its own sake, “it’s up to you. Just make sure to keep an eye on it, and if you notice something weird going on, don’t just think ‘it’s a coincidence, okay?”

Not that you’d ever think that, would you? You consider yourself pretty aware of the risks you’re taking; you just consider them worth it if it means you’ll discover some of the truth.

And then Yoongi frowns, staring at you. “But— why do I have the feeling you weren’t panicking because of that?”

“Okay…” You look down, into the dark liquid in your mug, as you muster the courage and get rid of the embarrassment. “So, let’s say I started to— let’s say I started to, hm, find Jimin too attractive for my own good?” Your voice turns into a whisper, afraid he’ll hear you – that’s literally the last thing you’d want him to know. “Like, seductive.”

“I’m not really surprised. I mean, isn’t Jimin a sex robot? I guess that’s what it was made for, so that just means it works,” he says instead, shrugging his shoulders.

“But then, uh, should I give in?”

You’ve come to the conclusion that, regardless of how you try to act, Jimin is going to turn you on.

Maybe he’s just too good at this, maybe you’re in need of a good fuck, or maybe you are in fact a pervert who finds the fact that he’s a robot a huge turn-on. Whatever it is, you can’t really go on living like this and pretending he’s just a friend who lives and hangs with you.

Jimin’s making dinner right now, a casserole to warm you up despite summer being around the corner. With his back turned to you, you see from your spot on the couch how his shoulders flex and contract as he moves around the kitchen. He stirs the stew and brings the ladle to his lips to check the flavour, groaning in approval.

But some of the stew splashes out and stains his hand, so he turns around to fetch a cloth. Seeing there’s nothing around, he then brings his hand up to his lips to lick it clean. His plump lips move against the skin, tongue flickering. It almost looks like he’s kissing it, and your core tingles.

Work. Yes, you need to focus and work on something productive.

Whenever he’s in your field of vision, you feel the stupid urge to touch him, kiss him, wonder how it would feel if you’d let him touch you at least once. The possibility is so real, just one word, that they terrify you.

Dinner is ready not long after, and the two of you eat in silence. It’s weird that Jimin eats at all, but he’s told you that it’s for the sake of his performance, to make things more natural; it’d be off-putting to just have a human-looking robot standing in front of you and watching you eat for a whole meal, and he’s right.

You have no idea how he eats and digests, though; there’s still so much you don’t know about him yet.

The way he’d put the chopsticks in his mouth, how he’d lick the spoon clean, the eye contact as he’d recreate such human gestures for your pleasure. It all was literally on purpose.

By the time you’re done eating, Jimin is already starting to clear the table. You thank him for making such a delicious dinner and get up to get some work done. Honestly, you need to be alone more than anything; alone to process how fucking turned on you are right now.

“Hell…” You close the door of your studio behind your back and let out a heavy sigh. “Let’s at least get on with the drafts.”

Draft, my ass. It’s barely a bunch of sketches and some oddly timed strips without any plot. You really can’t hand this over to your editor if you want to keep your artistic dignity, but all you can think of are Jimin’s luscious lips, Jimin’s slim body, Jimin’s thighs, Jimin’s voice, Jimin’s smile, Jimin’s eyes shutting tight when he smiles at you. Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. You’re a pathetic little thing who’s losing it for the resemblance of a man.

But why does it arouse you at the same time? Why do you get wet when you think about how lewd and low you’re acting? You tell yourself it’s ridiculous, but you’re dying for him to just kneel before your spread legs and eat you out.

Your hand moves on its own, your brain still wandering mindlessly around unlikely situations.

Breasts, thighs, lips, neck, the curve of a lower back sitting down, whispers, soft chuckles filled with secrecy, intimacy in the palm of a hand, kisses down the shoulder, hands venturing to touch and stroke and imprint its marks of adoration on the skin of a loved one.

When you come back, you notice they resemble you and Jimin; this is what you’ve been suppressing for weeks. Craving and longing for his touch.

Maybe this is the perfect way to unwind your frustration. You can let your imagination go wild, reflect on this confusing situation on paper, let it unravel and rebel before your eyes. After all, true artistry comes from honesty, doesn’t it? Aren’t all artists obsessed with their muses in some way? You’ll let Jimin pester your dreams for a bit longer.

You draw some sketches, key settings that you’ll use to close the plot later – if there will be a plot in the first place, of course. That doesn’t have to be entirely bad. Steamy scenes and a playful tug-of-war between guilt, obsession, and pure lust sounds good too.

The way Jimin licked your fingers clean, you know he eats pussy like a champ. He’d be so good, slurping and desperate and thirsty for your juices. Maybe a bit unhinged, hands gripping your thighs because he needs to shove his face in between.

There must be a range of stimulation to set his arousal off, right? Like, there must be things that turn him on, and maybe even a level to get him overwhelmed.

Picturing it your head gets too real when you rub your thighs together, stifling a groan. You need him to touch you, but you need to touch yourself for that matter. Sneaking a hand beneath your pyjama shorts and underwear, you stroke up and down your folds, smearing your wetness before you sink your fingers into yourself.

Legs folded and heels steady on the chair, you swing your hips and help to start working yourself open. It doesn’t feel half as good as you know Jimin’s cock would, but you can only picture him kneeled down and fingering you with his eyes glued to your reactions.

“Fuck— ah, s-shit, so good…” you moan.

Your other hand sneaks beneath your shirt to play with your nipple. Arching your back into your touch, it all gets faster, messier, impatient.

When your thumb comes to rub your clit, it feels harder to keep quiet. Fuck, you really want to have sex. With Jimin, only with him. You want to fuck him against this drawing table until you’ve creamed his cock, see your ex-husband’s talents recreating human pleasure.

With your mouth forming an O and your breast gripped in your hand, you come around your fingers, perhaps making more noise than you should.

As you come down from your high, you stare at the lewd results of your lust: two figures writhing and tangled around each other, bodies seen through the gaze of desire, warm loneliness mixed with the boiling fear of vulnerability. Jimin would never judge this, you realise. He can’t. He was made for loving you – or anyone – to an obsessing point, right now you’re his only one. You’ve fulfilled him.

Pretending nothing happened, you put the draft in a folder and keep the steamier ones in one of your drawers – maybe you’ll show them to your editor someday. Then you go to bed, luckily not running into Jimin.

The next morning, he’s making breakfast by the time you come down, hair done and confident in your outfit. But you overslept today, so you’re in such a hurry that you can only apologise for skipping such a lovely meal, and you run to get in your car. It makes him want to pout, but he’s better than that.

Jimin likes to tidy up around the house when you’re not home. He always feels like an inconvenience when it’s time to clean the room you’re in, so he always makes sure to schedule the cleaning around your activities. His bedroom first, always, and then the kitchen. Then he’ll sort it out through the day.

The food he made this morning goes into the fridge, knowing you’ll pounce it as soon as you’re back. The coffee, however, goes down the drain since it’s pointless to keep it. He’ll make you another one, he’ll make you as many coffees as you want.

One mug, two mugs, three, four, five, s— where your mug? Your favourite one, that is. It’s not with the others, and it’s not in the pile of dirty dishes either. Maybe you had a coffee last night and forgot it somewhere?

After looking in the living room, your bedroom, and the terrace, Jimin makes his way down the corridor.

The door to your studio always feels intriguing and threatening; you’ve never exactly forbidden him from going in, but it’s your den, your personal hideout. It feels like he’s intruding.

As always, the first thing Jimin notices as he walks in is the everlasting chaos lingering in the place. You never bother to tidy up after yourself as you work, and he gets so few chances to work on it that it’s almost always like this; his instincts scream that he gets down to business.

First, the mug.

Yes, he’ll fetch your mug and come back once he’s done with the kitchen.

Jimin catches the scent of coffee floating somewhere in the room, but there’s something else too, a heavier, sweeter smell that grabs his whole attention.

And then it downs on him – that it’s the scent of your arousal. You’ve touched yourself here.

Shaking his head, though, he pushes the thought to the back of his mind and decides that he’ll deal with that later. Now he needs to get on with his chores so that everything will be ready by the time you’re back home.

He finds the missing mug on one of the side tables, but the mess is too icky, he can’t help the urge to clean up a bit around the place, it’s almost an instinct in him. Just clearing the tables and opening the windows, and maybe sweeping the floor, that’s it. The bare minimum to keep a well-balanced level of hygiene.

After working on the side tables and tidying up the cupboard, Jimin moves on to your sketching table.

There are so many paper sheets and drawings scattered, even on the floor, messily pinned to the surface, marks of pencil and eraser crumbs all over the table. He squats to pick them up, dodging the half-opened drawer. He should close it before you hurt yourself.

When Jimin grabs the handle, the view of a naked figure catches his eyes. The natural need to know more, more of you, more of your desires – it all makes him open it completely and grab the paper.

The sketches are too little connected to each other to make any plot out of it, but the female character resembles you.

And the male looks just like him.

There’s this scene where she asks him to take off his shirt and sees the plug on his lower back, exactly where Jimin’s is. Just like him, he’s a robot. The sexual tension between the two of them is palpable. Is this what you feel about him? Tense and guilty and teetering on the edge every time you look at him?

Until he checks the next paper and sees that this one is longer. In fact, the scene takes more than five pages, far more than the other unconnected short scenes.

It all starts with her going to bed, probably picking up after a stressful moment. She’s wearing nothing but a flimsy tee and panties, the focus on the shape of her breasts too delicious and obvious to ignore. Yours bounce like that too, so naturally.

The android opens the door and stands in the middle of the dark. Somehow, it doesn’t feel creepy, just— anxious. He can read the mixed feelings in his stare, the same guilt consuming her.

He probably just walks up to her resting body to admire her, maybe smell her scent. A speech balloon pops up, he’s thinking about how he knows she wants to be pleased, how her boyfriend left her wanting this evening after parting ways. He doesn’t touch her like he could, too lazy, too stupid, too clumsy.

His Master was the same – obsessed with you but for all the wrong reasons. A projection of his hurt human ego and the urge to control you because everything else was out of his reach.

The male character now starts to nuzzle her neck, take in her fragrance. Playful hands sneaking under the clothes, she sighs and turns around, splayed on the bed for him. He immediately cups one of her breasts and takes her nipple into his mouth, sucking with hunger.

She locates the pleasure in her dreams and remains asleep, much to his frustration.

His hands roam down her waist and hips, worshipping her tender flesh and naked thighs. With a trail of peppered kisses down her stomach, he ends up crouched between her legs, tongue hanging out before he licks down her clothed folds. She groans, almost waking up, and it doesn’t take too long of having her cunt lapped at for her to do it.

What— what are you doing?

Let me please you, Master. I beg you. I know how wet you are, I could touch you in ways he never could. I’m a servant to your pleasure.

Jimin automatically drops the papers to shove them back into the drawer. Your scent is still heavy in the sensors of his nose, and the memory of your arousal against his tongue has not gone away – and never will.

And now he knows you want him as much as he wants you.

His system reacts instantly, the idea of you desiring him activating every mechanism as his body warms up and his cock starts getting hard. Buried in your cunt, swallowed by your pretty lips, pumped between your fingers; there are so many things he wants you to do with him. And the things he’d do to see your face scrunched in pleasure, gasps and groans coming out of your pretty lips; the possibilities feel so real now, he can almost touch this new reality.

“Oh—”

The fake flesh twitches when Jimin sneaks his hand under his underwear and wraps it around his cock. It’s leaking so much already, his Master built him well.

Paced and quiet at the beginning, he soon starts to buck his hips into his first, the friction never enough. Jimin pictures it’s you he’s fucking, that you let him sneak into your bed, wishing for him to touch you and lap at your folds until you’re coming. He doesn’t know yet how his sensors will react to the warmth of an actual person, but he knows yours will be heavenly.

Filling you up, peppering kisses all over your skin while you stroke his head and praise him for being so good – it will all be just as promised, the greatest fulfilment of his existence. You want Jimin to do it, and he’s dying to oblige.

“Ngh— f-fuck,” he gasps. “Ma’am, Y/N, fuck, fuck…”

You’re so beautiful, breasts full and fleshy, hardened peaks when it’s cold. He’d worship your hips and waist, nature made human, finding completion in the welcoming embrace of your legs around his hips. His cum would leak out and drip down your thighs, he could fuck you again and again until you’re satisfied, until you’re content with him.

His hand is now moving at a speed that will soon bring him to climax. With the other resting on the table, Jimin pumps his cock, millions of images in his system.

The dirty sketches in the half-opened drawer stare back at him.

“Oh fuck, there, m-ma’am,” Jimin whimpers and squeezes the tip, “fucking Christ—!”

White, creamy cum spurts out and lands on the table, on his tummy. Some of it even ends up splattered on the floor. Once is enough, he thinks as he forces his hand to stop, riding out his orgasm.

His greedy sensors begin to relax at the lack of stimulation, and Jimin tucks his cock back into his pants so that he can clean up his mess. He came to tidy up and ended up making it all dirtier – what would you think? Would you punish him? It was a mess, after all; dirty, messy, naughty.

But you want him. And you want him now.

“To be honest, Y/N, I wasn’t completely sure you’d even show up, but this is… This is brilliant! Hot, mature, dark, defiant—”

You glow at your editor’s praise, ignoring Yoongi’s judging look. Unlike her, he does know that there is an actual android living in your house whom you find particularly hot. But he’s not going to say anything, not when one of your projects has finally got her approval.

“I’m gonna keep this and hand it to my chief, okay?” she says with a smile.

You shrug. “Sure… I, uh, drew some steamier stuff, but I didn’t bring it here since I didn’t know how you’d react,” you say then, bringing the mug to your lips but noticing it’s empty already.

“Oh! I’ll talk it out with the publisher and give you a heads-up, how does that sound?” your editor continues. “It all depends on the level of explicit content they’ll want to keep for the work, but honestly, it sounds hot as fuck, so I’m sure you’ll be able to explore the topic wholeheartedly. Now—! Take the rest of the day off and go home, get a latte, take a bubble bath, whatever.”

She then grabs her stuff and storms off her office, claiming to have dozens of meetings and things to do. Which is probably true.

“I really can’t believe it – oh, you’re such a whore.”

“Hey!” you groan. “You were the one who told me that I should just… give in.”

“So, did you?” Yoongi asks, collecting the empty mugs and fetching all the papers her boss left behind herself.

“Not with him, but yeah, kinda. I mean, I found some ways to unwind,” you simply reply and help him clean up. “I’ve decided that this new outburst of ideas is too precious to waste.”

Instead of nodding or something, Yoongi just scoffs at you. As if that was the reason. But it’s helping you get over your artistic block, which is good for his job too, so he’s not going to complain too much. Besides, you look more at peace, and that is pretty much all that matters.

It’s almost lunchtime. You decide to call Taehyung, and the three of you meet at a nearby restaurant to have a bite together.

While you are an author and Yoongi is an Assistant Editor, Taehyung is part of the creative team. He designs covers and similar stuff for novels, helps you come up with colour schemes and pallets, and really is overall the eye everyone needs to make things shine their brightest. You met him and Yoongi long before you met your husband, and they’ve been with you ever since.

“The weather is so fine lately!” the youngest exclaims. “Why don’t you throw a barbeque?”

“At my place?”

Taehyung nods and looks at Yoongi for support. “Yeah, why not? Just make the robot do it.” You frown immediately at his words. “What is it now?”

“The android has a name, you know,” you reply.

“And why would that matter? It’s a robot, just a pile of circuits and microchips,” he mumbles, too shocked at your offence. “Even if it looks like a human, it doesn’t make it one, Y/N.”

You don’t know why, really, but it infuriates you to hear him talk about Jimin like that. Maybe you’ve gone a bit too far humanising him— it. Humanising it. But it feels so real when you look at… his eyes, his smile, his lips, his button nose. Something crafted with beautiful skill.

While your husband had made you a monster, he had made Jimin to be a piece of art.

Then, how could you not be angry at Taehyung’s shallow, hurtful words? Whatever love and sorrow were created with, Jimin and you were made from it.

“We all have our coping mechanisms, don’t we?” you finally say, shrugging. Yoongi chuckles next to you. “I don’t see why I can’t live a lie like that until it blows up in my face. Maybe you remember I’ve lusted after way worse men.”

Men, that’s the thing – Jimin is not a man.

Taehyung frowns. “Uh, I thought you originally wanted to pry secrets out of it about your ex.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I think— you’re mixing things up,” he sighs then as he starts playing with his fingers. “Maybe you should get back in touch with your therapist and discuss it with her? – you’re not going to listen to me anyway.”

You decide not to dwell on the subject any further; you want some peace of mind for when you come home to Jimin. He’s always such an expert when it comes to your gestures, can pick up any mood swing in an instant. It was scary at first, but now you’ve come to feel astonishingly natural about it. Maybe you even find it soothing.

It’s past ten when you get home. Not too drunk, maybe a little tipsy. At most – you swear.

Tiptoeing your way through the entrance hall, heels hanging from your hands, you hear the notification sound and take out your phone. You let out a giggle at Taehyung’s idiotic text, but suddenly you’re bumping your face on the wall and letting out a groan of pain.

Just as your wrist is finishing to heal, now you’re hurting your nose? Great.

You whimper a bit more on the floor before you get up and go on your way, still rubbing the bridge of your nose with a frown.

After managing to do your skincare routine and change into your pyjamas – or rather a tee and a pair of panties because Jesus Christ it is hot – you tuck yourself into your bed with a smile, glad to finally find yourself ready to sleep. Not a single worry or concern in your head, just the utter joy of knowing that tomorrow you won’t have to face any troubles.

And just like that, you fall asleep. And as always, one thought goes to your mysterious housemate.

He’s all over you, hot breath fanning against your cleavage.

With his hands snuck under your shirt and kneading your breasts, Jimin begins to play with one of your nipples and profusely watches your reactions, hoping to see you wake up any time soon.

You, however, only groan quietly and arch your back, thighs rubbing together. He’s not getting concerned only because you’re still breathing and you don’t look too pale. Jimin leaves a trail of kisses down your neck and rucks up the fabric, engrossed by the sight of your bare breasts.

He wants to touch every corner of your body, but he wants you to be awake to enjoy it.

Slowly, Jimin makes his way down to the waistband of your underwear. Your smell is so sweet, so intoxicating, each of his sensors is going wild at the mere thought of tasting you; your arousal against his tongue as he laps at your folds, your breasts bouncing as you arch your back, it all makes his fingers tighten on your hips. This desire to melt into your body is consuming him.

Jimin doesn’t need air, but he feels breathless.

His fingertips stroke your clothed folds, feeling them warm already. Arousal soaks the fabric, you’d welcome him so easily. One word from you and he’ll be on his knees ready to pleasure you.

“Hm…” you suddenly let out, turning your head around. Your hips buck, chasing his touch.

This is exactly what you wanted him to do, he thinks as he pulls down your underwear. He will fulfil your fantasy tonight.

As Jimin finds room between your thighs, you stir on the bed, pretty much unbothered for now. You’ll wake up to ecstasy, he’ll make sure you do. The firmest path to your love, he’ll carve it with his teeth if it’s necessary; with his tongue shoved between your legs as he helps his Master find complete bliss.

The trail of thoughts has left him a bit agitated by the time his lips meet your skin. Jimin plays with your inner thighs, kissing the flesh, teasing his sloppy way to your folds while his hands stroke up and down your waist. The sight of your wet heat welcomes him.

His tongue parts your lips, and he grips your butt to spread your legs, giving him better access. He wants you to drown him between your legs, make him yours, claim him. Sucking, licking, lapping at your folds, slurping and flicking his tongue; Jimin watches you move on the mattress once again, a soft moan escaping from your lips. Your thighs hug his head so nicely, and your hips rock against his mouth in a greedy search for that wet, warm pressure.

“What—?” Your eyes widen at the sight of Jimin’s face shoved against your cunt, and you pull your hips away from him in a jerk. He doesn’t try to stop you, crawling instead on top of you. “What the fuck, Jimin!” you let out. “Get away from me!”

You push his face away with your palm, and he backs off without complaint. Jimin ends up sitting on his knees – so poignant and obedient you almost pity him.

His face is still soaked with your arousal. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I thought—”

Jimin cuts himself off, and you’re surprised to see that you’ve managed to leave him speechless. Then, seeing you’re not showing any reaction besides your bated breath, he crawls back to you, and you lie back, unsure about what to do. What is there to do now? He seems insistent, and your core is still pulsing, eager to be pushed over the edge.

“I want to pleasure you, ma’am,” Jimin murmurs, staring down at you with his intense red LED-lit eyes.

They’re almost heart-shaped, seeing the adoration he’s looking at you with. It makes you rub your thighs together again.

Your eyes flicker to the red switch behind his ear for a second.

“Why?” you ask with a thin voice.

This time he nuzzles your neck but you don’t mind. Instead, you have to resist the urge to move your hand from his face up to the crown of his head and pet him. You want to know why would he decide to sneak into your bed and— well, eat you out.

“I… saw the things you drew,” Jimin says, and your cheeks heat up in a mortified blush. “So, I thought they were… us.”

“W-well, you thought— you thought wrong, Jimin—”

He nods weakly and lowers his eyes, perhaps unable to keep eye contact now that he’s failed in his task. You have no idea what his ‘brain’ works like. “Yes, ma’am, I see it now.”

Was it wrong of him? Of course it was. Have you been wishing that he – or you for that matter, were you any braver – would do it? Absolutely yes. Jimin has finally surpassed the line you were even afraid of admitting it was there, and you feel… free; to touch him, to let him touch you, to kiss and be kissed. Maybe this will be your final downfall into madness, so God, let it be spectacular.

“That’s not the answer I was expecting,” you muse, suddenly grinning. “What do you say when you’ve been bad, Jimin?”

His eyes look into yours in search of some kind of hesitation, of some signal that he might be taking your actions the wrong way – again. But you’re staring up at him, a confident look on you, hands stroking the back of his hair as they move to play with the switch.

His body trembles.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I won’t do it again.”

“That’s better.” Your smirk widens, leaving the switch behind to stroke the back of his hair. “Good boy.”

Good boy. Good boy. His whole body goes into overdrive, limps tightening to bend down for a kiss. Good boy. But you don’t want him there, not yet, so you beckon at him to keep going further down, and Jimin gets it instantly, nestling his head between your legs without a question; you’re still dripping wet from his previous ministrations.

His laps at your nub turn sloppy as his flat tongue moves long and slow with broad strokes, there’s saliva running down the corner of his lips again. Jimin wants to savour your wetness until it’s recorded in every chip inside his head.

“Of fuck, oh— Jimin, J-Jimin,” you groan. “Shit! There, just like that—”

This is so much better now that he can hear your voice.

Your sweet voice he’s fantasised so much about, every night since he recalls his own existence. It’s been you, always you, you all over.

With your thighs fluttering around his head, Jimin opens his mouth and starts fucking you with his tongue – a perk about being a robot is that his tongue never tires, like, ever. And he keeps shoving his pointed tongue inside of you again and again, until he pulls away; his chin is soiled with a filthy mix of your arousal and his saliva, whatever that’s made of.

Making eye contact, he slips a finger inside. You’re stretched out enough for it to slide in easily, especially since you’re dripping wet. His tongue keeps flickering at your swollen nub.

“Come up here.”

You finally join for a hard kiss, lips crushing in desperation. The contact leaves you both trembling, eager, expectant. He’s still wearing his pants as he nestles his hips against yours, face buried between your exposed breasts.

You take his hand in yours to pace it, and he gets the clue instantly, curling his finger inside of you.

Knuckles deep, Jimin keeps pumping them in and out carefully, eyes fixed on your face to see what makes you grunt and moan. You tug at his hair, sensors throbbing in excitement at the roughness, when the knot in the pit of your stomach tightens.

“I want you to make me cum,” you say then, staring into his glowing eyes.

“Yes, Master.”

He fingers you while you kiss him, brushing lips together, sucking on his tongue, fingertips massaging your dripping walls and rubbing your sweet spot.

It all feels so real to the touch, you’re slowly sinking into a different world; a world where he’s human and you’re cradling a person in your arms, a world where your heart doesn’t bleed at any resemblance of love. A world where it doesn’t scare you. And it’s all Jimin, hovering over you like a dutiful shadow.

“Master,” he moans against your lips. “F-fuck, I was— I was made for loving you, Master.”

And you were made for being loved by me.

Jimin’s lips clumsily brush against yours, your tongues rolling over each other in a sloppy kiss. Pleasure grips your guts tightly, you can’t help but wish it was his cock instead working you open. Fucking you into what’s probably the best orgasm of your life.

Pleasure seeps into you with a shiver, starting from the crown of your head and taking over the rest of your body. You call for him in a whisper, and Jimin replies chanting your name like it’s a prayer. The way he adores you just pushes you further into your approaching climax. The coiling tension in your stomach engorges and gets bigger, you chase your orgasm against his fingers, his thumb stroking your swollen clit until your guts tighten.

“Shit, J-Jimin, you’re— you’re doing so well,” you groan and sink your teeth into the fake flesh of his neck. “I’m close, I’m close—”

Your hips stutter as they thrust up against his fingers, and Jimin goes faster, trying to separate the delicious sting of your love bite to focus on his arm’s motions. They have to be perfect, exact, and precise to bring you to your climax.

But he lets out a moan of pleasure when your walls clench around his finger; the memories of your warmth around him are foggy and delirious.

His body feels boiling against yours, machinery melting. Whatever his conscience is like, it’s slowly vanishing into pleasure, a mellow taste of honey on his tongue. It’s sweet and intoxicating, just like your touch – just like your hands, crawling right now to his neck to anchor him over you.

Then you go still underneath him, under his cautious stare, and with a grin, you climax around his fingers. You groan his name and claim his lips again, to which he obliges, of course. Your skin is sweaty, and you’re fighting to catch your breath while he worships your body in the afterglow of your orgasm.

Jimin peppers little pecks down your neck and chest with adoration. “Thank you, Master, thank you, thank you—”

Now that you’ve quenched your sickly thirst for the robot, you’ll go on living your normal life. No more nightly encounters, no more delirious feelings of tenderness. You will exist normally from now on.

You’re a liar. A filthy, wicked liar.

Never again, you had told yourself after that night. Letting Jimin eat you out in your own bed until you came not once but three times was one thing. Letting him sleep next to you as he recharged was a bit over the line but still acceptable.

And now here you are, sitting on the kitchen counter with your legs spread open and Jimin’s warm tongue shoved into your cunt. This wicked tryst has been going on for days now, seems to be your chosen pastime ever since. Any time you run into each other at the house, it’s like you get instantly wet and feel that familiar tingling between your thighs, and he’s not even a bit less reactive to you. Whoever reacts first doesn’t matter, the other will act accordingly; it’s as if you were addicted to each other.

Jimin knows your body like the palm of his hand. Knows where to touch you to make you tremble, knows what to say to fuel you. Always so eager to please you.

It’s like your hormones are constantly bubbling up, boiling inside your body pending his presence.

You’re practically fucking Jimin’s mouth with your tongue now. Fingers tangled in his hair, you want him as close as he may be. The feeling of his wet tongue on your cunt still lingers like a throbbing memory.

“Jimin,” you whisper against his lips.

His hands are on the counter, grounding himself. “Yes, Master?” he replies then, following your lips in another kiss.

“You’ve been enough of a tease, don’t you think?” you ask with an arched eyebrow, and Jimin tilts his head to the side, rather confused. “I want your cock now.”

You don’t know why, but you've yet to try him out. All of him, that is. Jimin has proved himself to be worthy of your body and trust, able to worship with each part of his. Except, for some reason, his cock – but you’ve started to suspect why he’s so reluctant to do it.

As Jimin begins to fumble with his pants, his eyes are fixed on yours; it’s the first time you notice him unsure about something, and it makes you shrink in doubt. Your hands find rest on his.

“You didn’t like it,” he murmurs then, “with him.”

How he is aware of that you don’t know. Although he doesn’t refer to him as his Master anymore, you’ve taken over that title now. For Jimin, that sweet, evergreen word will be chained to you forever, and he will honour it. Engraved in his hands, in the pad of his fingers, in the tip of his tongue as he worships you.

You cup his cheeks, stroking them with your thumbs. “But you’re not him, are you?”

In a way. You’d be repulsed.

Jimin’s silence confuses you, but you decide not to dwell on it, and so you pull him in for another kiss; you run your tongue over his lips, and he parts his luscious lips to let you in.

With a mischievous grin, you jump off the counter and face Jimin as you play with the waistband of his trousers, making him step back until the two of you slowly fall on the couch. Once you take his cock out, you raise your hips, finally about to feel him.

And then a ringing noise interrupts.

His LED-lit eyes turn into a devious yellowish tone when you pull back to pick up the phone with a groan.

Jimin knows that voice, has seen the guy’s face – Kim Taehyung, the little shit who would hit on you all the time when you were at work. The memories of his face are tinted with an angry red he hasn’t even put there himself, bloody-like and rabid. But the mere thought enrages him, and he doesn’t understand why.

“I know it’s at short notice, and it sucks, but my boss wants us to get at it as soon as possible…”

Seeing Taehyung is still talking, you mouth at Jimin ‘work’ so that he knows you’ll hang up as soon as possible. You love your friend, you really do, but can’t he understand that you’re off work right now?

“Okay, sure, see you. Bye—”

The call has barely finished when he grabs your phone to throw it away. When you turn to demand an explanation, a shiver takes over your body. It’s a feeling of dread, one you’re familiar with.

“Don’t go,” he begs, nuzzling your neck. “Stay home with me, please.”

Warm tears wet your neck, his arms tangled around you. You’re unable to move right now, but you’re not fighting his grip off either, too confused; not aware of the storm of screeching thoughts passing by in his mind, mixed with alien feelings that are rooted deep inside of him.

You’re staring down at him dumbfoundedly when Jimin pulls back. There’s an instinct inside of you screaming to get away, but instead, you wipe his tears.

He grabs his head and looks down with his eyes closed. “I’m— I’m sorry, Master. I-I’m so sorry, please forgive me,” he whimpers then, but it doesn’t feel like he’s talking to you when Jimin starts hitting his forehead. “Forget it! Just forget it, forget it, forget it!”

Your chest feels heavy, and your body feels cold, the heat of the moment nowhere to be seen.

Slowly, you get off of him to pull your pants back up, and he does the same, avoiding your eyes. He doesn’t need to know he’s let you down right now.

But this time, though, you feel bad for him; Jimin is sobbing in a way you’ve heard no one cry before. It’s the purest form of self-inflicted pain you’ve seen, and maybe you only remember your own laments to sound like that. When you’d wake up and look in the mirror just to greet the pitiful reflection of a thrown-away doll.

You coo at him as you leave a kiss on his wet lips. “Shh, it’s okay.” Had it been another person, you wouldn’t be feeling this warmth in the pit of your stomach – but you are, and you want to sooth Jimin’s pain. “I know you didn’t mean it. Just don’t do something like this again.”

The main difference is, your Master never apologised. He always thought that, whatever he’d take with his deadly hands, he was entitled to it. The world owed him adoration.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, nodding.

“How about I turn you off while I’m at work?” you ask him then as you rake your nails through his hair.

“Please… I want to rest.”

With a gentle flick of your fingers, you turn Jimin off for the first time. Watching his body shut down is almost like watching him fall asleep, and you smile sweetly at the sight.

He probably won’t get cold, but you cover him with a cosy blanket anyways. And so you walk out of the house, grabbing your purse on your way. A meeting with the creative department doesn’t sound like fun right now, but actually, you could use some work to blow off this weird feeling inside of you.

Because, how on earth does he know those things? You’ve never told anyone that your ex-husband used to be a complete ape with his cock. Not on purpose, you hope, but Jesus Christ, you’d always have to limp your way to the bathroom afterwards.

Also, he’d always make you dry as hell.

And even though he wasn’t loving, nor a good lover, nor sensitive or caring, he had you in the palm of his hand. You can’t recall a more humiliating feeling than remembering you were in love with him.

The meeting goes, well, just as you expected – boring and way too long. Could’ve perfectly been just an email. But the team is happy to see your project go on, and you’re happy too. In fact, it’s done its job so well that you only remember about Jimin’s odd behaviour today the moment you step back into the house.

Jimin is sitting on the couch, right where you left him.

Looking cherubic and beautiful, you stare at his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, his nose, and wonder where did your ex-husband get the inspiration to make him.

You lean in for a kiss on his inert lips as your thumb strokes the switch behind his ear. Naturally, his body doesn’t react in any way to your presence, and you let out a chuckle of frustration, finally turning him back on.

His eyes flutter a bit before he looks at you.

“Hi there, angel.”

Jimin smiles softly at you, nuzzling your hand in search of warmth. How sweet he is, he’s nothing like him. Not a bit.

He claims your cuddles with a gentle tug at your hand, and you sit next to him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. You rake your nails through his hair as you stare into the nothingness, too engrossed in your thoughts.

However, you’re starting to feel weirded out about just how much Jimin knows about you; why would your ex ever tell him about your problems in bed, for example? Judging by his reaction to the call, did he also talk about that time when you flirted with Taehyung perhaps a bit too much, before you confessed you were married and became friends? You don’t think your husband knew about all those things, let alone told Jimin about them.

So, why does he know, then?

What else does he know that you can’t even fathom? Your chest tingles at the prospect of already being bare before him; there are so many things you still feel ashamed of, you don’t want him out of all people to… know.

Besides, you still have no idea why. Actually, you don’t know a thing about Jimin, about his origins, about how or why he was created like this. You had sworn and promised in the past that you had decided to keep him to find out about all of that, and really, you’ve just forgotten about it.

“I just remembered” – you suddenly get up from the couch, and Jimin pouts at the sudden lack of warmth – “I left some sketches in the office. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Will you be back for dinner?” he asks, nonetheless.

“Yes, of course.”

Then you get up to fetch your purse in silence. Once you have everything you need, you wave your hand in goodbye and head to the entrance hall under Jimin’s consuming stare; it’s not watchful, but it really is intense. You feel it burning on your nape.

“Master?” You turn around when he calls you again. “You’re not mad at me about earlier, are you? I don’t know what happened to me, I’m really sorry… I was made to make you happy.”

Made to make you happy, made for loving you. You, you, you. It’s always you with him, like you’re his world. It only makes you frown, but you help the urge and smile instead, wishing it will ease his worries.

“Don’t be, I understand—”

“I’m not like him,” he suddenly says, and you feel cold all over.

“What?” You try to put on a calm face, but what he just said really weirded you out. “W-what do you mean?”

Jimin gets up and walks up to you, gently tugging at your arms. “I’m not like him, I would never be. He was a despicable monster, a-and I know I’m not even human, but— I love you, Master, I love you better than he ever could.” Then he kisses you, and you can’t help kissing him back. “I’ll do better, I promise. I won’t cross you again.”

His words make your stomach churn, but you don’t say anything; you’ve got some heavy work ahead. So, you peck his lips one more time and say goodbye, leaving him standing in the entrance hall all on his own.

It’s luminous, with a sickly white light, just as you remember it. Sterile, made of steel, and eternally silent. Few places give you the creeps like your ex-husband’s lab.

Although the place is not huge, you’re so unfamiliar with it that you wouldn’t even know where to begin with. He surely must have kept a journal of his experiments, right? He was always so keen on writing on paper— but maybe they took it away already.

It’s so weird to think that he’s dead now, though – you always thought him so powerful, so eternal, that death was never in your mind. How could it be when he was the ruler and commander of your life? What would you be without him, you pitiful butterfly? Always his angel, his pretty little thing, his loving wife he was so in love with.

And now he’s dead. Like a pathetic, weak human, he’s dead.

Instead of feeling sad or uneasy about it, it makes you feel good. It feels so, so good to know that he’s rotting somewhere. You hope it hurt.

You move around the room, looking at your surroundings; plans and sketches scattered on tables that no one has bothered to clean, half-made robotic arms, and dozens of inventions displayed on shelves like they’re his prizes.

But contrary to what you expected – or not since you always knew he was a control freak – you find his journals piled up and sorted out by date on one of the shelves at the end. If you remember correctly, Mrs Im said he started working on Jimin five years ago. That is, three and a half years before your divorce, so you look for the notebooks with that year written on them.

“Aha! Gotcha.”

You start revising the first journal, turning the pages as your eyes fly over the letters. Finally, you find the first notes; he mentions a folder with the official project information, but you will look for it later. What you read is more or less what his lawyer told you, the research of android models for sale as sex products.

It feels a little strange to read it on paper, so cold, when Jimin’s presence is so warm.

However, something catches your attention out of a sudden. You read it again to make sure you didn’t misinterpret it, but it’s pretty hard to do it:

The experiments are running smoothly: thanks to my memories, Jimin reacts to basic stimulation, and his sensors work well. Today it hardened only by smelling one of Y/N’s pieces of underwear. It will be a success if I manage to set his arousal on with vaguer objects or smells.

You turn the pages, being met only with shallow comments on the experiment. But you want to see if he mentions you again. What did he mean, ‘his memories’? How could that be possible? And why would he use you out of all people to test Jimin’s… sensors, or whatever he’s talking about?

To check next day: refractory period. Just when I was about to see if Jimin recovers faster when the stimulation is linked to her, she came down to announce her mother had just arrived. I ought to continue the experiment from there.

I hate that old woman; I wish I could get rid of her forever. I know she talks shit about me to Y/N.

Your eyebrow immediately arches at the comment; for years he would cry about how your mother hated him, and it turns out the feeling was mutual. Honestly, at this point, you’re not even surprised.

For the time being, you want to focus on processing the fact that somehow your crazy ex-husband managed to turn his memories into chips, or whatever. You don’t have a clue about these things. To insert them into Jimin and, well, you guess, customise his sexual arousal? Does that even make sense?

Jimin seems to have taken on an odd behaviour lately. It follows Y/N around the house but is aware it must not be seen. It knows of conversations the two of us have had without being present, and even of things not even I knew about; today Y/N showed up with a new mug and thanked me for buying it, but it was not me.

I have also noticed a growing aggressiveness towards me. More verbal than physical, but I am studying the possibility of speeding up the selling.

Suddenly breathless, you limply put the notebook back on the table.

So, it wasn’t him. None of it was, probably. The mug, or the flowers, or those cute notes he’d leave on the fridge wishing you a good day – they had all been Jimin’s. And suddenly you feel so, so fucking relieved.

He had been the problem all along. Not even Jimin, who had his memories, had his wickedness. Jimin was sweet, so he could’ve been too; he just didn’t want to.

And that is all you needed to know.

Then you realise you’ve reached the end of the notebook. You grab the next one, which covers a year and a half and covers your divorce. This is probably the only chance you’ll ever get to know what he was really feeling back then. Or ever, for that matter.

It seems that my memories are a bigger influence on Jimin’s personality than I first thought. It has become obsessed with my wife as if it was in love with her.

I know it was the plan all along, but I cannot help wondering if I have taken it too far.

I have not been fighting to keep her with me so that thing will ruin my chances of staying with her.

You smile fondly as you read it. However, as your eyes reach the last paragraph, you frown with disgust at his words. How could he speak like that of his own creation? Oh, what a heartless man. You cannot help but pity him. A body filled with hatred and fear and pain, he was a good for nothing.

This week I will be conducting no experiments as I ought to see my lawyer.

You quickly turn the page again.

This time, you’re startled as you observe the handwriting; it’s messy, angry, written so strongly that the pen almost ripped the paper. The page underneath is marked, the letters never to be forgotten.

I hate him. I hate him, and I hate her. And I love her. Y/N is mine, Jimin is mine, they are both mine, yet I cannot make them do what I think it’s best.

She fucking left. I would make her such a masterful thing if she’d only let me.

But there’s always that beastly creature stopping me.

Stopping him, how? What did he mean by that?

The next notes don’t feel too interesting; he doesn’t even sound like he’s enjoying himself anymore. The comments are technical, and he noted down some of his thoughts about the companies that had offered to buy Jimin.

But then you realise something.

If he wanted to sell – and it sounded like he was pretty confident about his decision – why would he leave Jimin to you in his will? If he wanted you to stay as far from him as possible.

You’re done with the notebook, so you grab the next one. It seems to be the last one, too; there are no more journals in sight, and it looks like most of the pages of this one have never been touched before. The spine doesn’t look too used either. Maybe he finished the project quickly before he even had the chance to write much?

There’s no way out. Every time, it manages to catch up on me. Wherever I go, it knows. Whatever I do, it knows. It will be standing at the end of the corridor, looking at me, grinning like it knows my darkest secrets. I cannot get out of the house without it knowing, it knows everything. I’m sure it’ll kill me.

If I die, it killed me.

My love, if you ever read this, please know that he is worse than I will ever be. If you’re reading this and I’m gone, know that his hands are dripping with blood, not mine. I know I’m sick, but so are you. We were sick in love, were we not? Loving each other until our souls rotted.

He’s different. He has no soul, no sickness. He doesn’t understand your darkness the way I do.

It makes me full, like an endless cycle. There is no birth without blood, but for him, there was no blood, no guts. He’s as human as I will make him, ripped out from my ribs.

His love is my sickness. Remember it if you ever love him back.

“Master?”

For the first time in a while, you’re terrified to hear his voice.

Turning around, you see Jimin standing at the top of the stairs. You flinch when he takes a step down, so he stops altogether and waits for a reaction, a word, a sound – anything from you, something to let him know you don’t despise him.

“Did you follow me here?” you ask with a frown, too afraid not to be crossed.

“I was worried,” he murmurs. “You left so suddenly you forgot your phone at home… A-and I did think that perhaps you were lying and that you’d be coming here instead.”

And he was right, in a way. But that doesn’t give him the right to follow you. That’s practically stalker behaviour. You’re starting to get the creeps, so Jimin goes all the way down to you and gently takes your hands. You don’t know if you don’t move out of fear or because you’re too comfortable with his touch.

Your voice comes out weakly. “Did you really kill him?”

“Yes,” he says with a smile. “I— I did it for you, Master. He erased my memories, I had to do something. He wanted to take me away from you.”

“So, you killed him,” you repeat, rather to yourself. Nodding slowly, you pull your hands away from his and turn around, needing some air to sort out your thoughts. “Because— because you wanted to stay with me? Why?”

You already know the answer. You don’t believe it yet, you don’t think it possible – but you know what words you’ll hear.

“Because I love you.”

Jimin seems ashamed of it, as he avoids your eyes and decides to stare at the floor instead. Like a boyish love confession on a sunny school day, your delusional body warms up the idea, but he can’t, can he? He can’t love you.

“Jimin,” you call softly, and finally, he looks up from the floor, “when you look at me, do you see me? Me, as a human, as a woman, as a creature? Do you even understand all of that?”

And then he smiles, and your chest blooms. “Yes – and you’re fascinating.”

All those years watching you, sneaking glances of you walking around the house, so close but still so far away. He’d dream of you, dream of you in his arms, him in yours, sharing kisses, pleasuring you the way his Master could not. He’d be careful, he’d be loving, he’d listen to each of your words.

“He gave me this body and all the cables and everything that keeps me moving, but you, Y/N— you gave me a conscience! You made everything make sense! You made me human,” Jimin claims in a whisper.

You can’t help but frown. “But he deleted them. How can you still remember me?”

You’re getting an answer for each of your questions, but somehow, they all seem only to leave you even more confused.

“He didn’t,” Jimin rushes to say, and then he goes on to explain further, seeing your puzzled face, “Not all of them, at least. I didn’t let him. I wanted to be with you, I didn’t want to… forget you.”

“Why?”

“Because after I got to know you through his memories I realised that, if there’s any person on this world that could accept me despite what I am, that was you. I thought you could love me.”

Letting out a sigh – of desperation, tiredness, love, you have no idea – you cup his cheeks and purse your lips. Do you love him? You’re not sure. Your stomach churns and turns at the mere idea of losing him, but can you really love him?

His words echo in your head like poison. His love is my sickness. Remember it if you ever love him back.

But is it, really? Jimin’s love feels soft. It doesn’t feel smothering or drowning. He loves you just the way you want to be loved. You don’t feel owned by him, on the contrary. Actually, you think Jimin loves you despite his husband’s sickness. That must be why he apologised when it took over him this evening at Taehyung’s call.

The sickness shrieked, the love apologised and learned.

“I know they aren’t mine,” he continues, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I know it wasn’t me you fell in love with, whom you slept with, the person you decided to spend the rest of your life with. I know it was him all along, but I—” Jimin nuzzles your neck in a desperate search for your warmth. “I can’t help it! I was made for loving you!”

But instead of answering, you tilt his chin up and kiss him.

“Living— living with the memories,” he continues as you leave pecks on the corner of his lips, “of your touch, of your warmth, your love.” Jimin’s arms tangle around your waist. “Loving you but forced to stay away – it was torture, Master.”

His breath feels warm against you, his hands feel hungry around you. His red LED-lit eyes stare into yours, searching for a sign, any indication of love.

You brush your lips together, softly at first, until his whimper makes you grin and run your tongue over his lip, asking for entrance. You suck his bottom lip into his mouth until he does, tongues rolling over each other in a heated kiss. With your skin burning up, you run your hands through his hair, and Jimin cautiously squeezes your butt when you push him against the counter.

Suddenly, you sink to your knees and begin to fumble with the waistband of his pants.

“So, you have sensors, right?” He nods weakly. “Everywhere.”

“Y-yes, ma’am—”

“And is there any way to alter them? Is it possible to make you last longer, or even make you not last at all?” you ask, still kneeling before him. Again, Jimin nods and closes his eyes. “Then, I want you as sensitive as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am…”

He must have a limit, and you want to find it. Either he runs out of cum, or his sensors give up, or he just fucking short-circuits.

It doesn’t take long for Jimin to get hard between your fingers, smooth rolls of your wrist as you pump him with an affectionate but hungry pace. Letting out a gasp, Jimin grips the edge of the counter for balance; he’s indeed too sensitive not to react to the touch he’s been craving his whole existence.

“So hard,” you purr, “I can’t wait to taste you, Jimin…”

“M-master, please, Master! Oh fuck, oh—” Jimin whimpers in response, gritting his teeth.

His body is shaking when you part your lips and engulf his cock, eyes glued to his pretty face. His knees buckle, and he squeaks in pleasure, you hollow your cheeks to swallow more of him. Meanwhile, your other hand gently plays with his balls.

“That— that f-feels so good, Master,” he rasps. In appreciation, you suck further down onto his cock until there’s a trickle of saliva rolling down your chin. “Shit! God, thank you!”

You somehow manage to grin with his cock between your parted lips. Jimin seems too aroused to process any robotic thought properly, so you move your hands to his ass and knead the flesh, pushing your lips into your mouth. He yelps instantly and follows it with his hips, and then you dip your tongue into his slit; it makes him let out a sob and almost fall to his knees, warning you of his climax, or rather begging you to slow down.

Your darkened lips, wet with saliva, suck again while your tongue presses on his tip. His cock throbs, a salty flavour you think it’s fake precum lingering on it. His hardened length slides in and out of your mouth with sloppy movements.

Jimin lets out a choked sob. “Master!” Filled with guilt, as gently as his trembling body will let him, he puts his hands on your hair. “L-let me cum, I need to— I-I need to come, please—”

Finally, you raise your head to let his length slide out of your mouth, and you catch back your precious breath.

“Sensitive, are we?” you mock him.

There’s time for him only to roll his eyes, out of annoyance or pleasure, before his hips buckle into your mouth one more time. The coiling tension in his sensors pools in the centre of his body, Jimin sucks in a sharp breath, and soon his cock twitches again, heavy on your tongue, warning you of his high.

“Master,” he whimpers. “T-thank you, Master, fuck— shit!”

And Jimin spills himself inside of your mouth, his release salty and more similar to actual cum than you expected. After swallowing, you help him ride out his orgasm using both hands and lips.

He’s still holding his weight on the counter when you speak, “Get on the table and lie down.”

He was probably expecting to eat you out since you pull down your pants once you straddle him, so it does take Jimin by surprise when you align your entrance with his half-hard cock. You hear him mumble something as your hand grips his cum-covered length, fingers playing with his release and making him let out a gasp.

“Are you still sensitive?” Barely able to keep eye contact, Jimin nods weakly. “Good.”

You quickly get rid of both your and his shirt. Once you’re naked against each other, you bend down to finally touch, knead, nib, and kiss wherever you feel like; you’ve had enough of leisurely letting him pleasure you without taking your part.

Your warm lips leave a trail of kisses down his neck and chest. “I’ll ride you again and again… until you either run out of cum or short-circuit.”

“M-mast—!”

Jimin lets out a choked sob when you sink down on his cock, immediately rolling down your hips. A hint of pain takes over you as your walls grip him, stretching around his length, and you moan. It’s been a while since you last had such a nice cock work you open— but then Jimin’s hands grab your waist, and his blissed face takes you completely off guard.

“Fuck, so good, Master, I love— I love you,” he whines.

His eyes move down to his cock disappearing into your body; you feel so warm, so wet, the pressure around him letting him know that you’re stuffed with him too.

You breathe out and thrust down onto him again, setting a desperate, frenetic tempo. “You feel good too, angel, shit—” The sounds of smacking flesh echo across the room, pushing you to ride him faster. “Gonna fuck you until I go mad—”

With your hands splayed across his chest, you use him for leverage to slam your hips together.

“Please, don’t stop!” Jimin begs you then, eyes rolling back. “Oh, coming, M-Master! I’m— I’m close, p-please—!”

You bend down again and nuzzle his neck only to gently bite on his earlobe, making him purr. “So, you want to come inside of me, Jimin? Want to fill your Master up with your cum? Is that—” A groan drowns down your throat when his cock finally finds and pumps into the right spot. “I-is that what you want?”

The heated kiss the two of you share is enough of an answer. You tilt your hips so that your clit rubs against his pubic bone, pushing you closer to your climax.

Body arching against you, Jimin pushes back up against your thrusts erratically. His thighs move up and down to help, the seeming muscles bulging and flexing, and all his system starts to burn, aching to burst. His cock slides into your dripping cunt in a desperate tempo.

Jimin sucks on the skin of your neck before whispering, breathless, “I’m—”

And then you feel it – a tremble, a soft pant, and one last powerful thrust up into you before you groan at the warm feeling of his cum flooding you. Jimin reaches out for your body as he convulses, hugging you tightly before you give in and kiss him. Your hips don’t stop after even helping him ride out his climax, and he looks at you with his brows knitted in confusion. But you smirk, his creamy release leaking from your entrance and leaking down his cock.

“Ugh— hurts, Master,” he whines then. His fingers dig into your waist.

“Told you,” you whisper; “I’ll ride you until I come, no matter how many times I have to make you come.”

Like a man who has accepted his doom, Jimin lets you kiss him again, this time hungrily sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. A groan vibrates in your throat, you can tell you’re close, judging by the way your body is burning up, your swollen clit rubbing against the base of his cock.

It softens partially inside of you, but not for long; maybe it’s because of his sensors – since they’re set to the highest level of sensitivity – that Jimin sucks in a sharp breath when you clench around him.

“I’m close, angel,” you say, almost grunting.

You’re close, can feel your climax teasing you. Heat spreads under your skin, and you have to fight not to crumble on top of him, thighs burning. He stares at your sweat, covering your body, sliding down the valley of your breasts, tapping against the metal surface. You enjoy how Jimin responds to your touch when you stroke down his chest and realise he’s close too.

Slowly, you raise your hips and snap them onto his cock again, eyes never leaving his beautiful red LED-lit irises.

“Cum with me, will you?”

You’re so full of his cum already, you’re sure it’ll leak out for hours. But your lips find each other in the sickly whitish light blinking over you, and it’s so comforting that you can’t help the tension snapping in the pit of your stomach with a deep moan muffled against his lips.

“Shit, shit, baby—! Oh, fuck, so good, so good,” you chant, now rutting your hips faster.

You dissolve into pleasure with his arms around you, grounding you to him. Walls fluttering around his cock, the shockwaves grip your body like a fit of hysterical lust, pushing you to fuck him faster, harder, balls swinging against your cheeks until Jimin lets out a trembling sob; then he empties himself inside of your tight walls, and you relentlessly fuck him through his orgasm, slower by the minute.

Jimin watches your breasts as they heave up and down in an attempt to catch your breath. Meanwhile, his system slows down, now trying to run smoothly.

You smile when his thumbs stroke your waist in circles. “What?”

“I still…” His smile falters, now totally back on earth. “I still don’t know if you want to keep me, Master.”

“You’ll have to stop calling me ‘Master’ eventually, you know,” you say and ignore his pleading question. Caressing his cheeks feel way more interesting right now.

“Why?”

“Well” – you sit up on his lap, making some of his release leak out and drip down your inner thighs – “I’m sure people will start making questions, don’t you think? I believe you should stick to it only at home, when we’re alone— or even better, only in the bedroom.”

It takes him a second to realise you’re taking him. With this, you’re claiming him, you didn’t even doubt it for a second.

Jimin is yours, forever, however long that lasts.

Don’t hesitate to like, reblog, and leave some feedback if you liked it! It’s always good and encouraging to know what you think <3

“arte factum” is copyright ²⁰²² Lola Bangtan, all rights reserved.

#sub!jimin #sub!bts #sub jimin #sub bts #jiminff #oneshot #horror #scifi #s2l #secondchance #yandere #unrequitedlove #robot #jimin android au #bts sci-fi #yandere!jimin #bts horror #AI AU #jimin x reader #jimin x you

[theharrowing]

Carnival of Terror 🎪 1: Right place at the right time

The carnival is in town, and it is unlike anything you have ever experienced. Will you make it out alive?

🎪 Yoongi x Female Reader

🎪 word count: 6.1k

🎪 choose your own adventure, lovers and friends to ???, carnival and circus au, dead dove, horror, possible minor & major character injury & death, supernatural elements & magic realism, nsfw, 21+

🎪 warnings: dramarama within the friend group; general sense of the vibes being off; description of clowns, jesters & acrobats; hypnosis without consent.

🎪 note: all of the above details and warnings are subject to change as the story progresses & the readers vote. check the master post for an updated version of the details.

🎪 beta read by @neoneunnajimin & @sailoryooons. additional shout out to @sweetestofchaos & @echotoyou & @here4kpopfics for being brainstorm pals!

🎪 posted sept. 2023 | read on ao3

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As you peer out across the massive gravel lot and take in just how isolated this place is, you feel deeply unsettled down to your bones. So when two large hands crash onto your shoulders and squeeze, you jump, unable to hold in a squeal. Dulcet, amused laughter dances in the air, and you turn to watch your friends Jimin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk step off the shuttle to the gravel and dirt road. 

“Not funny,” you grumble, doing your best to look back and glare at Yoongi, whose palms continue to linger on your shoulders, gently rubbing small circles over your back. 

“Come on,” Yoongi mutters playfully. “It was a little funny.”

Off in the distance, in the dead center of the enormous, otherwise empty lot, are large red and white circus tents surrounded by what appear to be various carnival rides and attractions, fenced in by a sprawling, winding metal gate. A plume of fire shoots out of what appears to be the center of the tents, followed by distant screams and cheers, and you instinctively pull your shoulders to your ears. 

“This place creeps me the fuck out,” you grumble under your breath. 

“Well, if you hate it, you can blame Jeongguk,” Yoongi unhelpfully supplies, to which Jeongguk quickly snaps, “Oh, fuck off, hyung.”

Since the moment you got onto the shuttle this morning, Yoongi and Jeongguk have been at odds. And although it seems playful on Yoongi's end, there appears to be a genuine animosity coming from Jeongguk that you do not have the context for. You are also not attempting to mediate between bickering friends on a day like today, and you hope that once you are within the carnival grounds and distracted by fun, games, fried food, and beer, everyone will get along. 

As your group congregates on the gravel path, you feel a little silly for deciding to come dressed similarly, all wearing various shades of blue. It seemed like a fun idea this morning, but as you glance at all your friends, you realize that the five of you look like a pack of blueberries left to sit out in the sun. At least it is a stunning color on all of you. 

Both Yoongi and Jeongguk have shorter dark brown hair with their bangs parted delicately on their foreheads, and they are outfitted in deeper shades of blue, both long-sleeve button-ups. Yoongi's shirt has pale blue horizontal stripes on the front with solid sleeves, tucked into skinny black jeans. He wears long silver earrings that make his already soft, pretty face – his pouty doll lips and button nose – seem more delicate. 

Jeongguk's shirt is solid greenish-blue and loose-fitting, untucked over skinny black jeans, and he wears a black, emerald, and white striped satin scarf loosely tied beneath his lapels. Despite his sour attitude toward Yoongi, he still has a youthful glow behind his round, curious eyes, and his sharp, but pouty lips are almost always upturned into a hint of a smile. 

Jimin and Taehyung – the two who are so close everyone refers to them as the soulmates of the group – are in brighter tones. Jimin wears a loose, long-sleeve, flowy blue button-up tucked into tight black slacks. His hair is short and dark brown, unstyled over his forehead, and his features are an astounding blend of pillow soft and razor-sharp, with dark eyes that alternate between piercing your soul and warming your heart. 

Taehyung – always a bit of an oddball – wears an unbuttoned, long-sleeve baby blue jacket over a white long-sleeve button-up shirt with a blue windowpane pattern and matching loose-fitting slacks. He is equally stunning with deep brown eyes and rectangular lips that always seem to frown ever so slightly. His dark brown hair is beginning to grow into a soft mullet that hangs just above his eyes in the front, and below his ears in the back. 

Your deep blue satin long-sleeve button-up is tucked into tight, stretchy black slacks. Unlike all the men, who wear a variation of black leather boots – aside from Taehyung, whose boots are white – you have on a pair of solid black sneakers. The only jewelry you wear is a tiny silver chain with a silver sunflower pendant – a gift Yoongi gave you for your recent birthday – and your makeup is minimal, just a little to bring out your eyes. The top two buttons of your shirt are undone with a mesh bra underneath that gives absolutely no support but makes your tits look amazing. 

Yoongi's hand brushes over the small of your back, and you take a fortifying breath. With the shuttle pulling away and everyone who rode out to the carnival grounds meandering toward the entrance, you concede that your group may as well head in that direction, as well. 

"What time does the shuttle return?" you ask, pulling your phone from your pocket to glance at the time. Your gaze flits to the to top of the screen, where it is clear you will likely have no service out here, causing you to sigh. It is currently 12:13 PM.

"Midnight," Taehyung responds softly, walking a few paces ahead. 

Midnight. Just great. You knew, going into this, that it was going to be a long day, but now you are unsure whether there will be enough for the five of you to do during the next nearly-twelve-hours. 

"No service, no way home, in the middle of nowhere," you grumble, shoving your phone back into your pocket. "Lovely."

To your right, past Yoongi and a few paces ahead, you notice Jeongguk frowning. He opens his mouth to respond, but must decide not to, because he has nothing to say. This whole thing was his idea, and at the time it seemed fun, and you know that you should probably lay off a little before you hurt the poor guy's feelings. 

"Ah, cheer up!" Yoongi says, squeezing your hip. "We'll find some alcohol in there and loosen up. You'll have a good time, I promise. Besides, the more you complain, the more it will make our little Ggukie sad."

Jeongguk scoffs and rolls his eyes. 

"But he's so cute when he pouts," Jimin teases over his right shoulder, voice deep and playful.

"Shut up," Jeongguk mutters, though there is a hint of a smile.

Taehyung looks over his right shoulder, past Jimin, and grins, voice even deeper and cotton-soft as he says, "It's true."

Your laughter is quiet and fleeting, but it works its way through your chest, making you feel lighter. Perhaps it is the nature of carnivals and circuses that always fill you with anxious trepidation, and that is why you feel unshakably unsettled – as if something foreboding looms thick and oppressive around you. After all, there is a theme of illusion and trickery in these types of events, and the possibility leaves you more nervous than excited.

Gravel crunches underfoot, and the closer you get to the carnival grounds, the more it seems to grow into something gargantuan. Along the outside of the metal gate are large posters of two men – the brothers who run the show. You have seen their handsome faces plastered all over the advertisements, but seeing them in larger-than-life-sized posters is somewhat intimidating. 

They both wear deep red ringleader suits with white undershirts and matching red slacks, and across the tops of each poster are the words The Kim Brothers' Carnival Bizarre. One man – the leader of the show, Kim Namjoon – stands with his arms crossed over his chest, while the other – Kim Seokjin – has open arms and a wide, welcoming smile on his handsome face. 

"Do you really think those two run this show?" Jimin asks. He has stopped in front of Namjoon and stares up at his poster with his hands on his hips. "How is someone this sexy in charge of a traveling circus? Aren't these things, like…I don't know…dirty?"

"They probably stay in hotels," Taehyung mutters under his breath. "But the rest of the workers might sleep in tents or something. I don't know."

"It's one night only," Jeongguk adds. "So it's possible that they all pack up and go somewhere with clean water to sleep for the night."

You begin to grumble, "Isn't that expensive," under your breath, but trail off as you take in the sights all around you. 

Sure, there seems to be a lot to maintain for something like this, and there must be a great number of employees to feed, but events like this always cost an exorbitant amount to attend. The ticket alone was expensive enough that you had to budget for a couple weeks leading up to today. Factor in the large crowds of people and all the concessions, games, and rides, and you can understand how these two brothers could be walking away with a nice stack of money. 

"You'd be surprised," Yoongi responds, but does not explain himself; probably he knows that he has no need to – that you are likely to sort out the details as you stare past the metal gates and into the sprawling space. 

There is a tall man dressed in all black who stands beside the entrance, and Jeongguk approaches with a pep in his step, taking out his cell phone. You wonder whether Jeongguk has service or if he had the foresight to screencap the barcode that gains the five of you entrance. Either way, the man uses a device to scan his screen, and a loud beep is followed by a buzzing sound, as a hip-high metal gate swings open, and the five of you walk inside. 

Jeongguk leads, followed by Jimin, Taehyung, you, and Yoongi. Once the metal gate creaks shut behind you, Yoongi's arms drape over your shoulders. He mutters, "We are trapped inside," then groans a deep, "oooohhhhhh," right behind your ear that gives you chills, both because the atmosphere of this place – even in the hot, afternoon sun – is fucking creepy, and because Yoongi's deep voice and warm breath on your neck always spark something carnal and needy inside you. 

"What should we do first?" Jeongguk asks, turning to you with wide eager eyes before his gaze falls to Yoongi's arms dangling over your shoulders, causing him to turn to the others. 

"Beer," Yoongi grumbles at the same time Jimin shouts, "Food!" and Taehyung offers, "Find a ticket booth?"

You chuckle and wiggle away from Yoongi's hold – a task which he does not make easy. "Food and drinks?" you recommend, while glancing around. "Maybe we'll spot a ticket booth along the way?"

Now that you are inside the carnival grounds, the layout of the place is clearer, but also much more intimidating. Three massive circus tents are in the center, and surrounding them are various game booths and rides. There seem to be funhouse attractions and larger game booths under tent awnings along the edge of the grounds, near the tall metal fences, and smaller concession stands in the center of the wide gravel path. One building nearby says Tunnel of Love, and another says Hall of Mirrors, and you cannot help but roll your eyes over how trite it all feels. 

There also seems to be a sort of fog clouding your mind, making it difficult for you to focus on any one thing for too long before wanting to turn your attention elsewhere, and you blame it on nerves.

"I think I see a food truck this way," Taehyung offers, pointing off to the left, near the hall of mirrors. 

As soon as food is mentioned, you swear the smell of deep-fried batter hits your nose, and you find yourself instinctively turning in that direction. It has been hours since you have eaten, and suddenly, you feel ravenous.

Taehyung and Jimin take the lead, and you begin to walk forward, out of the carnival entrance and into the space that this event occupies. Music plays – horns blaring and keys chiming at a quick, exciting tempo. You pause as you step forward, body and mind suddenly confused. Was there music playing before? Had you not noticed it? 

This particular event is marketed as not being safe for children, and as you look around, all you see are adults. But the concessions, games, and rides are all those that you would expect to find at a circus or county fair swarming with kids, and you are surprised to walk past booths and find adults excitedly pointing to which large stuffed animals they would like to cash in their winnings for. 

"Checking out the prizes?" Yoongi asks close enough to your ear to make you flinch. 

"No," you mutter, turning your gaze away. 

You had been looking at the rows of plushies, but playing fair games is not your style, and you do not want to be burdened with carrying something around for the duration of the day. A laugh follows a hand rubbing over your lower back, and you let your eyes flutter closed for just a moment as you take a fortifying breath. 

"Why are you so jumpy?" Yoongi asks. 

"I don't know," you respond, allowing your gaze to dance over shooting games and feats of strength. Each individual booth has its own raucous sounds and music, with someone dressed as an old-timey hobo shouting to their customers. "I just feel overwhelmed."

"You seemed keen on the idea of a carnival all week."

Yoongi is best when he is like this: soft-spoken and concerned. No quips meant to jab at his friends, nor undertones to make the little hairs on your neck stand tall. You lean toward his body heat and allow him to squeeze you in a side hug before you continue to walk forward with the group. 

"I was," you say as your gaze falls to the gravel and dirt path under your feet. The smell of food is much stronger, and you take a deep inhale through your nose, letting the heavy, semi-sweet aroma fill your lungs. "There's just something so foreboding about going to the absolute middle of nowhere, with no way home. I understand not wanting to deal with having a lot full of cars, but it just seems strange to force everyone here by shuttle. What if something happens, and we're all trapped here?"

You know that you sound paranoid, and you are actually a bit shocked when Yoongi does not tease you for it. 

"I'm sure nothing will happen," he responds calmly. "I'm sure these traveling shows are prepared for the worst. There were medical tents advertised on a map near the entrance, so if we need any kind of first aid, they have us covered."

You do not recall seeing a map by the entrance, but you are also not at your most observant. Thankfully, there is always someone in your group who is on top of things, and that someone is usually Yoongi, and often Taehyung.

As you look up, you see a large food truck smack dab in the center of the wide gravel path, surrounded by people standing in line and waiting for their orders. You feel an instant sense of disappointment and impatience, which you blame partially on your need to eat something. 

Jimin is first to begin skipping over to the end of the line, and you follow behind, lacking his enthusiasm. The truck is massive compared to ones you are used to, and you hope that with all the extra space, there are plenty of employees inside to make orders come out quickly. 

Your antsiness must show, because Jeongguk – who had also skipped excitedly to the line – leans toward you to say, "We can grab you guys something if you would rather walk around. We don't all have to wait in this line."

"It's fine," you respond, but the tone of your voice suggests that it is anything but fine. 

"Come on," Yoongi says, yanking you away from the line, toward a booth several feet away. "We can play this little rubber ducky game in the shade while they wait for food in the hot sun.”

A smile creeps over your face, and you nod, allowing Yoongi to drag you off to the shade, under a large tent awning with a small game booth inside. As soon as you are out of the sun, your shoulders relax, and you feel a lot better. 

"It doesn't take five of us to order, anyway," Yoongi says softly. "And I finally get a chance to have you all to myself."

Again, with the inviting tone, which you struggle to ignore now that the others are no longer within earshot. You turn your head but keep your eyes on the kiddie pool of multicolored rubber duckies floating in a slow circle as you say, "You had me all to yourself last night," in a low, teasing tone.

"And this morning," Yoongi responds, leaning close, causing your heart to flutter and your thighs to briefly clench.

Your cheeks warm, and you nibble on your lip, watching as the rubber ducks move round and round, determined not to look at Yoongi and allow him to see the effect he is having on you. There is a pastel pink one that catches your eye, and you reach for it as soon as Yoongi hands over some notes of money. 

Written on the bottom of the duck is the number seven, and you turn it to face the person standing behind the counter, who takes it from your hand to inspect. The attendee is a tall, thin man dressed head to toe in black, with a piercing on the bridge of his nose. He wears smudged black eyeliner, and when he smiles at you, his long, sharp features turn soft and pretty. 

"Seven, hmm…" the attendee says as he tilts his head and widens his eyes. "Not many know to reach for a seven. Those prizes are special, so you have to choose wisely."

"Special, huh?" you ask, feeling excitement build, unable to fathom what could possibly be special about a cheap carnival trinket. 

The man turns to his left and walks over to a shelf to your right that you walk around to see into. As soon as you round the corner, you feel the urge to laugh; the trinkets are the same as those in the front shelf, and there hardly seems to be anything special about them. 

"These are different from those?" you ask, pointing between the shelves with a playful tone. 

The attendee hums, "Mmhmm," watching you with a curious, excited expression. 

Sitting in little plastic bins are paper finger traps, plastic kazoos, large jawbreaker candies, little metal whistles, mirrors with paintings of tigers and dragons on them, and little yellow bird keychain plushies. Nothing particularly grabs your attention, yet you find yourself struggling to make a choice. 

Jawbreakers were a favorite of yours growing up, but they get sticky too fast. And although you like the novelty of the painted mirrors, you do not want to carry one around all day. So, you point to the keychain plushies from above, and say, "I'll take one of these."

The man slides open a glass door and reaches into the case. He retrieves the exact plushie below where you point, and places it gently in front of you. 

"I hope this trinket brings you luck," he says with a grin, and you find your gaze flitting nervously between the man and the toy before grabbing it and giving it a gentle squeeze. The yellow fur of the bird is soft in your hold, and it reminds you of a tiny duckling. 

"Sick!" Yoongi exclaims from your left, making you chuckle. He reaches for the toy, and you hand it over, turning to watch him inspect the small yellow bird between his long fingers. "You should wear it on your belt loop," he says, and before you have a chance to agree or not, he opens the little metal fastener that it dangles from and clips it onto your left hip.

"Perfect," you say with a smile as you inspect your new toy. Warmth spreads, and you feel a little more relaxed about this whole thing; maybe the carnival is not so bad, and happiness can be collected and appreciated, one adorable plushie at a time. 

"Thank you for playing," the man behind the counter says, and you glance up as he winks and walks off, leaving a different attendant to watch over the game. 

"Thank you," you mutter under your breath because it feels like the polite thing to do, then you turn to exit the stall and return to your friends, who are much further in line. 

Yoongi slings an arm over your shoulder, causing you to blaze hot in the afternoon sun, but you enjoy his warmth as he steers you near the front of the line. 

"We're thinking about getting a pizza to share and some corn dogs," Jimin says without greeting you, and you nod, approving of their choices. 

"They have beer, wine, and fruity seltzers," Taehyung adds. "Personally, I think we should get two pitchers of beer."

Yoongi squeezes your shoulder and slides his hand away to reach for his wallet. "Sounds good to me," he says, pulling out some cash.

Jeongguk stands behind the soulmates with his eyes on your bird plushie. Then his gaze snaps to yours, and he roves his eyes around as if feeling awkward about being caught staring. "It's cute," he mutters, eyes falling to your trinket once more. 

"Apparently, it will bring her good luck," Yoongi teases, giving your arm a nudge with his elbow, which annoys you enough to shove him away with an elbow of your own. 

Past the food truck line, there is a large open space with picnic tables, and you nod to it with your chin, leaning to Yoongi as you ask, "Should we go find a spot to sit?"

"Preferably with shade!" Jimin chimes in, and you nod; shade is a must.

"We'll be right over here," you say as you point, and the others mutter their approval and approach the counter to give their order. 

To get to the open area, you have to pass through the food line, which is rather crowded, and you mutter, "Excuse me," and "Sorry," as you squeeze past people. And although most tables in the shade are taken, there is one at the far end, below a large tree, and you move a little faster in its direction to secure it before anyone else has a chance to. 

As you approach the table, you find your attention stolen by the tree. Up close, it is massive, looming high with twisted branches that appear sharp, like talons upon which large green leaves dangle. 

"Creepy," Yoongi grumbles, and you nod, uttering a quiet, "Uh-huh."

"I'm impressed there's a tree like this out here," he continues as he rounds the table to sit with his back to it. You opt to take the seat across from him. "This place is pretty barren."

As you look past the metal gate to your left, you see what Yoongi means. There are grassy areas here and there, and in the far distance, there are shrubs and eventually trees. But, as far as you can tell, this giant one stands on its own. A chill runs down your spine; creepy, indeed. 

The rest of the group joins, with Jeongguk gripping the handles of two pitchers of beer in one hand and carrying a stack of clear plastic cups in the other, followed by Taehyung holding a pizza box, and Jimin holding a cardboard tray of corn dogs. Taehyung and Jimin sit on Yoongi's side of the table, and Jeongguk sits to your right. 

"What's up with the tree?" Jeongguk asks as he begins to pour beer into each plastic cup. 

Taehyung looks over his shoulder, then grumbles, "It's kind of scary," sporting a disapproving frown.

With a sigh, Jimin looks over his shoulder, then he straightens out, rolling his eyes. "It's just a tree. Thanks for finding us a spot in the shade!"

Although the food is definitely not peak quality, it hits the spot. That, plus the beer, has you feeling full and a bit dizzy, and you anchor your palm to the wooden seat and lean slightly to your right, toward Jeongguk. The wind carries hints of his floral, musky scent, which you have always found to be pleasant. 

"What should we do first?" Yoongi asks, and you turn to your right to look around, catching Jeongguk's eye, instead. 

"I like the hall of mirrors," Jeongguk says, looking down at your hand that rests inches from him, then up at the others. 

"Tunnel of love," Jimin sing-songs playfully. 

Taehyung looks at his phone, then says, "There's an illusion show at 1:30 that we should see."

"That sounds cool," Yoongi says as he tilts his head, looking at you, then at Jeongguk, and back. "What about you?"

You shrug, unsure what you would like to do. 

"I suppose we should try to see the scheduled shows," you reason. "Then we can decide what to do in between."

It is close enough to 1:30 that the five of you down the rest of the beer and stand from the table with tandem groans. Stretching feels good, and you lift your arms over your head and yawn. Taehyung gathers the trash on top of the pizza box, and Jeongguk picks up the pitchers, following Taehyung toward a large waste receptacle, on top of which is a space for the pitchers. 

"I think the show is under the largest tent," Taehyung says as your group exits the space and walks toward the red and white striped tents. 

"This place is huge," Yoongi says as his fingers find yours, tickling enough to make you jerk your hand away before allowing him to grab and hold it. 

"Good thing we coordinated," Jimin chirps happily, looking down at his blue shirt, then at Taehyung's light blue jacket. "Don't need any of us getting lost."

The carnival space truly is massive, and as you approach the large tents, you feel somewhat overwhelmed. The two smaller ones are about as tall as a small house, and the large one is at least twice its size. Just walking in a circle around the carnival grounds must take quite a while, and you begin to wonder if you will even get to see everything there is to see before midnight. 

Beside the entrance of the tent is the man who ran the rubber duck game, only this time, he is head to toe in white. His long-sleeved shirt crosses over his torso and tucks into loose-fitting pants, and he wears chunky white boots and a hat with long white ears that hang to his hips. Although he does not appear to recognize you, you smile widely anyway. 

"Here for the illusions show?" the man asks, and you nod, saying, "There's five of us."

The man lifts his hands and holds out a stack of black cards adorned with a gold leaf design of a skull pierced through with a dagger. "You must pick a card," he says, eyes drifting over your group. 

You swallow thickly and reach for one of the center cards, taking it by the corner between your thumb and index finger and gently tugging, then you flip it over to reveal the image of a skeleton dressed in a black robe. It holds a sword in one hand and a gold cup in the other, and around it are various symbols, including a glowing infinity sign above its head. The Magician is written along the bottom in gold, and you rub your thumb over the slightly raised text. 

One by one, your friends all pick cards. Yoongi laughs as he reads, "The Fool," aloud, and you lean in to see a similar robed skeleton figure on his, depicted carrying a basket. 

Taehyung frowns as he reads, "Death," showing the same cloaked skeleton with its hands crossed over its chest, and Jimin's eyes light up as he says, "The Hanged Person," revealing the familiar skeleton hanging by its ankles from a rope. The only card that differs in theme is Jeongguk's, which depicts a crumbling tower being struck by lightning. 

The man in white reaches out, taking Jeongguk's card first. "The Tower," he says, "upheaval, sudden change, and chaos. Very good – embrace that. And yours," he takes Jimin's card. "Ah, The Hanged Person. Surrender, letting go, and new perspectives. A fine card; full of promise. Let's see, here," he says, reaching for Taehyung's card, glancing up at your frowning friend with a sympathetic smile. "Don't let Death scare you. They symbolize endings, transition, and transformation, which can seem intimidating, but these things are vital for the human experience."

Taehyung hums under his breath and shoves his hands into his pockets as the man in white steps closer, reaching for Yoongi's card. "The Fool," he says, glancing up with a grin. "Innocence, new beginnings, and spontaneity. Is this true?"

Yoongi blinks, then shrugs, and says, "I suppose so."

The man hums and says, "Jumping into new things may be fun, but try not to dive head-first too often. You never know what could be lurking in the depths."

With an amused scoff, Yoongi responds, "Alright."

"And you, my dear, what have we here?" the man asks, reaching toward your hands. 

"The magician," you mutter, handing the card over.

"The magician," the man responds with a wide smile, studying your face. His eyes fall to your hands, then past them to the bird plushie on your side. "Cute," he says, cocking his head to the side, and you watch him, feeling puzzled; how could he have already forgotten about you winning the trinket less than an hour ago? Have so many people played the rubber duck game?

"Power, manipulation, and action," the man says, lifting his wide, coal-smudged eyes to yours. "How does it make you feel?"

"Uh, w-well, I suppose—" you stammer, attempting to find the words. Then you mutter, "I don't know. I guess I don't feel anything."

The man hums, says, "You will," and winks before turning toward the entrance to the tent. 

As the man lifts the tent flap, he looks over your shoulder and shouts, "Last call for the illusions show! Line starts here!"

"Jack!" a voice calls from within the tent, and the man in white turns to look over his shoulder, into the darkness. He converses with whoever caught his attention, but you cannot see who that person is. 

When the man in white – presumably named Jack – turns back, he catches your eye and says, "We have five remaining VIP spots. Come this way and follow Seokjin hyung."

You hesitate to step forward when a man in a blood-red suit comes stepping into view, who you recognize instantly as Kim Seokjin, one of the two brothers who run the event. Seokjin is somehow more stunning in person, with his dark hair swept off his forehead, revealing a piercing gaze and welcoming smile. And when he stands tall and gestures with his hand, saying, "Come this way!" his presence is commanding.

You follow, stepping into the dimly lit tent as Seokjin leads you around to the right, past tall wooden bleachers atop which people are chattering and finding their seats. "Just a little further," he says over his shoulder, leading you deeper into the space.

Coming out from between bleachers ahead is a glowing gold light, and Seokjin leads you toward it, then takes a left, into it. You squint as soon as you turn, hit by bright spotlights that are bursting from the center of the ring, and then Seokjin stops and holds his hand out to the right, to the first wooden row, which is empty. 

"Here you are!" Seokjin calls. "Enjoy the show!"

"Why were we given VIP?" Yoongi calls over your shoulder, to which Seokjin grins. 

"Right place at the right time…" He responds, drawing out the last word while studying your group. "And a good combination of cards."

"Oh," you respond as Taehyung and Jimin pass you to take their seats. Jeongguk is next, and you step forward to sit beside him, assuming he may not want to be stuck next to Yoongi. 

"Thank you!" you call just as Seokjin turns away, waving his hand in the air behind himself. 

From somewhere inside the ring, there is a large burst of music – horns and keys – that makes you startle, and you laugh to yourself, feeling silly for being so jumpy. Clowns and acrobats come flipping and twirling through the gap in between bleachers beside you as the loud music builds, becoming a quick, chaotic symphony. 

The performers line the ring, dancing and twisting, jumping and cartwheeling, cheering and singing. It is so loud and so frenzied, you have a hard time trying to find a spot to focus on, watching them move in small individual circles while traversing around the ring in greater circles, making you dizzy and somewhat disoriented.

"Come one, come all!" a loud, deep, welcoming voice booms over the noise. "Welcome to Carnival Bizarre! The greatest show in the world!"

When the other Kim brother you recognize from the posters – Namjoon – suddenly appears in the center of the ring in a burst of smoke, you feel surprised and a bit confused. The performers circle around him, and he holds his arms high, blood-red suit bright under the shine of the many spotlights.

Although you cannot perfectly see him from this distance, you imagine that he is not only smiling, but that he is staring directly at you. A chill shimmies down your spine, and you want to look away, but you find that you cannot; your eyes are fixed on the magnanimous man in the swelling center of the encircling chaos. 

Held in Namjoon's hand is a cane, the top end of which is glowing bright like fire, and you watch as he twirls and points with it, following its path at the music crescendos, feeling a heavy weight in your chest that threatens to overwhelm, if only you could tear your eyes away and allow yourself to think clearly. 

And then the music stops, and the lights shift off, save for a bright white spotlight that glows on Namjoon. He opens his empty hand, and something that looks like a burst of orange, glittering fire rises from his palms, shimmering in the air as it lifts up, up, up, to the top of the tent, so high above that you lose sight of it. 

Vaguely, it feels as if tears are running from your eyes, staining your cheeks in warm streaks, but you cannot lift your hands to check, nor can you blink. You sit stunned and stiff as a board, staring up into the dark tent, waiting to be told where to look next. 

Jack, the man in white, appears before you. His fingertips touching your chin shakes you from your reverie, and you gasp as you meet his eyes. Something is happening on the floor of the ring – slow, sultry music you don't remember hearing a moment ago seems to be accompanying several performers, but it is hard to make out much past Jack standing in the way. 

"Heads or tails," Jack says with a smile, and before you can respond, he flips a coin, sending it high into the air. "Heads, you see all; tails, you only remember what feels good."

You tilt your head back to watch the coin, barely aware of the fact that nobody else seems to be seeing it. It is almost as if Yoongi and Jeongguk are sitting with their heads slumped forward, but you cannot tear your eyes away from the ascending coin to check.

"Heads or tails?" Jack asks, and you open your mouth to respond, barely registering the word that comes from between your quivering lips. 

With a quick snap of his arm, Jack reaches high and snatches the coin from the air, then he crouches low before you, taps his fingers to your chin, and says, "Very good, ducky; you may sink, now. See you soon."

You mutter a soft, "Very good," as your head slumps forward, the music quietly swells to a stop, and everything fades to black. 

Tell me what you've come for What is it you adore Won't you tell me? What would you cry for Swallow your pride for? What would you, oh, go wild for?

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Carnival of Terror is a Goosebumps-inspired fic, copyright theharrowing 2023. no translations or reposting allowed!

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts horror #choose your own adventure #fic: carnival of terror

[maineventbts]

DON’T SCREAM

genre: horror, thriller, smut, angst

pairing: taehyung x reader (featuring jk, hobi, joon, jin, yoongi)

word count: 10.4k

warnings: mentions of murder & death, violent attacks, unprotected sex, vulgar language, knives & guns. lmk if I’m missing anything else!

summary: you just branded your boyfriend as the murderer, after your gruesome attack. you think you’re finally safe in your friend’s home, but you receive a call from the killer while he’s in jail. the town continues to be in fear, awaiting the next killing. the police set a citywide curfew, which is ignored by many. like any good horror movie, a party is thrown during all of the chaos. thinking you have a night of fun ahead, you find yourself fighting for your life, and get the surprise of a lifetime.

a/n: i wrote this very quickly, please ignore any mistakes. this has turned into a series, but this is the last part that will be almost exactly like the movie. please leave any thoughts/comments/questions in my inbox (anons are on)!

"I got it wrong," your words come out hoarse, feeling like you were just kicked in the chest. Nayeon's mother left the room in silence, too stunned to speak on what just happened. The voice on the other side of the phone made your ankle wound throb. Tears dripping down your face, burning like acid eating at your skin. Not even a full three hours have passed since your attempted murder, and you're receiving a threatening phone call. What makes matters worse is that you've already labeled your boyfriend as the boogeyman, the killer is still on the loose, and targeting you. Taehyung was behind bars, and you believed that you were safe. This couldn’t be happening, there was no way that this was your life. You have no idea who was behind the mask or the chilling call. You were just at the police station, getting your ankle patched up and having your statement taken by Seokjin. All eyes were on you while you pointed the figure towards Taehyung. You knew he’d never forgive you, especially after he tried to get you to believe him.

Tensions were high; a murderer was running loose, you told the police your boyfriend tried to kill you, and the anniversary of your father's murder was just around the corner. Even though you were in a house full of people, you felt alone. No one in the room could see or understand what you were going through. Nayeon pulls you in for a hug, her hands wrapping around your quivering frame. You couldn't stand to be here anymore, you were ready to hop on the next flight and join your mother. You just wanted to get away from the carnage that is your new life. "I just want to sleep," you mutter, shuffling towards the extra bed in your friend's room. You cry silently, tucking yourself in the sheets. Late to the party, Nayeon's brother bursts into the room. With a pistol in his hands ready to shoot someone, he asks, "What happened," his question goes unanswered as you turn over, and his sister rolls her eyes. "You're late, Jin," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, annoyed with her brother's late arrival. For a police officer, he wasn't the best when it came to emergencies. It was his job to keep an eye on you and he was failing miserably. You could hardly comprehend what just happened, and since you surely weren't ready to tell the story, you let Nayeon speak for you. 

As you walk onto campus the next morning, you're surrounded by reporters who were awaiting your arrival. They didn't care about your well-being, they were just ready to use you for another top story. The flash from the camera blinds you and brings back the worst kinds of memories. All you could think about were the invasive journalists from your dad's trial. The theories and the articles were the worst part of it all. You wouldn't be surprised if one of the top reporters were among the sea of bastards with a microphone and a camera. With Nayeon by your side, you believed that you would be okay and could make it through the turmoil. "Just ignore them," she says quietly, ushering you through the crowd. This was the last place you wanted to be. After the night you had and the fact that no one could get ahold of your mom, you were beyond petrified.

You sit at your usual lunch table, digging through your bag, as you talk with your friends. Bandaged ankle propped up, slightly in pain after all the walking you’ve done. The first thing you did was ask about Taehyung. He’d been released, but you haven’t spoken with him since. You expected that he’d be pissed, wanting nothing to do with you. "What do you mean, how does he feel? You told the cops that he tried to kill you. The kid's spirit is crushed," Hoseok chuckles, his comment receiving a smack on the chest from Nayeon. You already felt bad, but he was just making matters worse, "what else was I supposed to think?!" The last thing you wanted to do was rehash last night's events, but you couldn't just stand there and let him railroad you. There was a valid reason for you to think Taehyung was guilty, you didn’t just pull him out of thin air. "He knew I was alone and just happened to pop up as soon as the killer was gone," you said, aggressively zipping your bag closed, clearly annoyed. Jungkook forced his way into the conversation, saying, "I'm with, ___ on this one. He's always seemed like a killer to me, he’s got the charisma of killers from those true crime shows! He has 'murderer' written all over his face. This entire situation straight out of a horror movie."

As the group’s film nerd, Jungkook knew all about movies and the different patterns they have. He believed that he was the most qualified person for solving this, surpassing actual officers working the case. Ignoring Jungkook's commentary, Hoseok came to Taehyung's defense, once again, saying, "The message log came back clean, anyways, it's not like this is the first time he's snuck into your house. He probably just wanted to see you," Hoseok continues to speak for his friend, he’d fully believed that he was innocent, "he's here today, maybe you can apologize." His suggestion makes you scoff, standing up abruptly, "Why the hell should I apologize, I'm the victim here! He just got put in a cell for an hour; I was nearly fileted." You couldn't believe you had to defend yourself to your friends, especially after what happened to you. They should be more understanding; sadly, they've done nothing but make you feel bad.  "By the way, I'm fine," you throw your bag over your shoulder, turning on your heel, "since none of you even cared to ask." It was hard to believe that everyone has something to say about the situation, but no one cares enough to ask about your well-being. You limped away from the trio, refusing to spare them another glance. After you walked away, the group remained silent, reflecting on their choice of words.

You received various looks from your peers, some looked at you with pity, while others looked like you had brought the killer onto campus. All of the eyes on you made you queasy, you wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. You're rushing through the hallway until you collide with another person. You try to regain your balance as you get ready to apologize. Before the words can leave your mouth, you realize you've come face-to-face with your boyfriend. He holds his hand out for you, trying to stop you from falling, before quickly pulling away. The look of fear in your eyes has him confused, "you still think I did it, don't you?" His question made you look away, head tilted downward as you stared at the floor. The look of concern on his face, paired with the softness in his voice, was a dangerous combination. You felt extremely guilty, expecting him to react angrily.

Maybe you were still scared, "no, Tae," you mustered up the courage to answer him. "You were there at such an odd time. Maybe it was a coincidence, but it just looked bad. I know it wasn't you, but that's all I could think in the moment," you finally looked up at him, sad eyes staring into his angry ones. "I knew you were scared so I just wanted to come and see you. I figured you'd want company, but the door was open, which was weird. So I rushed upstairs to see if you were okay," Taehyung grabs a hold of your hand, his expression softening as he realizes how sorrowful you look. "It's not just this though," he deeply sighs before continuing, "since everything with your dad, you've just been different." You snatch your hand away from his, glaring up at him, "what do you mean different?" You were appalled that he would even say such a thing, after all that you went through.

"You've been acting weird for months. Sometimes you barely want to be around me," he explains, and you stare at him in shock. "I know what it's like to lose a parent. When my dad left-" you couldn't believe the words you were hearing, especially to hear them coming from your boyfriend. "Really? Your dad left your mom, my dad was murdered. You can't even compare the two," your hand grips the strap of your backpack, as you prepare to flee this conversation as well. "I'm sorry that my life is too much for you. Not all of us are lucky to live in some perfect world," you push past him, your shoulder connecting with his. Taehyung calls out for you, shouting an apology as he watches you walk away. You refuse to turn back to him, keeping your head high while you storm away.

Ignoring the stares from your peers, you hurry into the bathroom. You lock yourself in a stall, leaning your back against the door. First last night, and now this? You just couldn't catch a break; it's like the universe was punishing you for some horrific crime. What could you have done to deserve a life like this? What you really wanted right now was your mother. She knew exactly how to console you and calm you down, but she still hasn’t responded to anyone yet. Seokjin promised he’d keep looking for her but you were beyond worried. You just needed to clear your mind, to breath. A few deep breaths and the sound of nothing seemed to do the trick. As you prepare to leave the restroom, you stop as you hear the voices of some girls. 

"She's such an attention whore." 

"Taehyung is too hot to be dealing with this. The bitch is insane."

"She probably lied about getting attacked, just to throw the cops off her trail." 

"After what happened with her dad, she just snapped, and now she's dragging everyone else down with her." 

The girls erupt in laughter, as they continue to exchange jokes about your current state. Every word felt like someone had taken a hammer to your chest. They didn’t know the truth, they just knew what they saw on TV and read online. The same goes for everyone else, they only know what people choose to report, not the full story.

As soon as the bathroom was cleared out, you exited the stall and approached the mirrors. You stared at your reflection with a blank face, too stunned to move. Eyes puffy and droopy, jaw clenched, and a frown. The girl in the mirror was a wreck, practically dead inside. A loud band pulls you from your thoughts, causing you to turn around. No one else was in the room, but you did see several people making a mockery out of the incident, masks and all. After what you just experienced, you weren't in the mood to stick around and find out what that was. Without any hesitation, you hurry out of the bathroom and walk to your next class. 

_______________________________________________

"Students, for the rest of the week, classes are dismissed. Please acknowledge the citywide curfew and stay safe," an announcement goes through the intercom, receiving shouts and cheers from students all around. You and Nayeon are walking off campus, heading to her car, before you're stopped by Hoseok. "You guys coming to my party tonight," he asks, pulling Nayeon against his chest. You ignore their antics and keep walking, confused as to how they can party during a killing spree, with a curfew. "Come on, it'll be fun," Nayeon grabs your hand, giving you an overexaggerated pout, “Please, for me?” You figured she wanted to spend some time with her boyfriend, but just didn’t want to leave you on your own again.

You stared at them in disbelief, shocked that they’d even think you’d be up for a celebration, but the pair wouldn't budge. Part of you wants to stay in the safety of Nayeon's home, while the other part wants to be surrounded by a large crowd of possible witnesses. "Fine, I'll go," you give in, deciding that you deserve a bit of fun in your life. Hoseok gives the girl a final kiss before you snatch her away, ignoring his shouts directed toward you two. He does a celebratory dance before walking in the other direction, to get things ready for the evening.

_______________________________________________

"Nice to see you, ___" Jungkook grins at you and Nayeon, he was surprised to see you two in his place of work. "We're looking for some movies for tonight. What do you got," you take a look around the aisle you're in before Jungkook stops you, "don't worry about that, I got the movies covered. I'm thinking horror movie marathon!" You weren't surprised by his choices, knowing how much he adored movies, especially horror films. "Alright, well, we're going to the store to get some snacks and food. Don't pick out any of that weird shit, I'm not watching Human Centipede with you again," Nayeon drags you out of the store, as you say your goodbyes to your friend. Jungkook stares at you in awe as you walk away, "just one chance," he mutters before turning back to his stack of DVDs.

"You left just in time," Jungkook scoffs as Hoseok approaches him, "and you brought Michael Myers with you, great." He looks over in the direction of Taehyung, who is too busy talking with a group of girls to notice his comment. "Will you give it up? It wasn’t him, the cops let him go," Hoseok rolled his eyes, tired of having to defend his friend. No matter how many times he tried to explain it away, Jungkook wasn't buying it. "This is the kinda shit that comes straight out of the movies. You don't think I know what the fuck is going on," Hoseok watches the boy get riled up, about to go on a full-blown rant. He stands back and watches it all go down. "Anyone that's seen a horror movie knows what's happening. That boy has killer written all over him! For Christ's sake, he's even standing in the middle of the horror section," Jungkook sets down the DVD in his hand, "I don't give a damn how clean his phone records were. They could show me it themselves, and I still wouldn't believe it." He was frustrated, no one seemed to listen to his theories or the facts he was pointing out.

A man approaches Jungkook, a movie in his hand, "if you came over here to ask me what actor is in it, look on the back! It's right there," he says, shooing the customer away, ready to get back to his conversation. "The cops only let him go because they're stupid. It happens in every movie! The cops are either too late to the scene or they ignore the obvious signs about who the killer is." Hoseok brings another question to the table, continuing to egg him on, "if he's the killer, what's his motive? Hm?" Hoseok wouldn’t back down, he knew exactly how to get Jungkook going, and continued to push his buttons. Picking up a new stack of DVDs, Jungkook places it on the shelf, saying, "there's always some reason for everything. No matter how stupid it is. That's what makes these movies so great, they aren't overcomplicated. Everything is right in front of your face," Hoseok stares at the boy, wondering how much longer he could go before he starts to lose his mind.

"His motive? Maybe _____ has started to lose interest in him," Hoseok bursts into laughter, "so? You think that means she'll be interested in you next?" Jungkook shrugged his shoulders at his question, "I think so, we get along great. Last time I checked, she wasn't running from me. Only your friend over there," he points in Taehyung's direction. When he realizes just how serious Jungkook is, Hoseok can't control his laughter. Pointing at him and giggling like a kid on the playground. Unfazed by his disrespect, Jungkook continues stocking the shelves. "You know who I think it is? Her mom," Hoseok randomly throws a new suspect on the table, "no one's heard from her since she left." Jungkook shook his head, his luscious curls bouncing as his head turned. "Nah, she's probably dead. Have you seen her mother? There's no way she could kill two different people, and attack ____," Jungkook didn't believe Hoseok, to him, it made no sense for your mother to be the killer.

"Her body will be found next. Insides ripped out! Teeth bashed in! Rotting in a closet somewhere," Jungkook's vulgar language didn't surprise his friend, he tended to be very overly passionate about these kinds of things.  "Someone's just waiting for the right time to bring her body to the surface." Hoseok looked around the room, waiting for others to notice just how loud Jungkook was getting. "If they watched a simple horror movie, they'd know there is a formula to this shit! A specific formula that they forget every time," at this point, he's practically shouting in the middle of the store, arms flapping around as he speaks. 

"Don't you get it! Everyone's a suspect," the room instantly got quiet as everyone stared at Jungkook. Hearing only some of the things he had to say, they thought he was a madman. He didn't care about the looks, he shrugged his shoulders once again. "The moms a distraction, it's Taehyung," as he turns to walk away, Taehyung pops up behind him, making him stop in his tracks. A firm hand grips his shoulder as Taehyung glares into his eyes, "are you sure you're not the killer? Huh?? Maybe your sickass saw too many movies and decided to make your own," Jungkook's eyes widened in horror, as he was accosted by his primary suspect.

Jungkook jumps again, as Hoseok comes up behind him, "you have a point there, in a typical movie, I'd be the main suspect." Playing with his hair, Hoseok continues to invade his personal space, practically breathing on his neck, "what would be your motive?" Jungkook answered quickly, looking between the two men, "it's a new age in cinema, motives come accidentally, naturally." The pair found him amusing as they continued to poke and prod at him. They giggle amongst themselves before walking away from Jungkook. Leaning over to a customer near him, Jungkook speaks quietly, "you're telling me that dude's not a killer?" Before they can answer, Jungkook snatches the DVD from their hands, shooting them a disappointed look, "Is that the Texas Chainsaw with Trey Songz? You've gotta be kidding me, go pick another one out," he sets the DVD on his tray before sending the customer back to the horror section.

_______________________________________________

"Hey Hobi," you greet the party's host as you enter his home. "Is Tae here," you ask quietly, avoiding eye contact, "No, he said he wasn't feeling it tonight." Part of you was disappointed, you didn’t want to see him, but you felt like he was avoiding you. You take a look around at the large crowd, feeling a sense of comfort. If anyone was coming to get you, there'd be several people around to witness it. As you walked further into the house, people began to notice you. Shouting your name and giving you pats on the shoulder. It felt better than the way you were previously treated, but it still felt odd. "Hey guys," you give a tight-lipped smile as you make your way to the living room. Already on his way to the television, you watch Jungkook put a movie on. No one dared to disagree with the movie he picked out, wanting to avoid any kind of battle with the man.

"What's up pretty lady," the sound of Yoongi's voice made you turn around, you look over to see your group of friends waiting for you to join them. He hands you a red solo cup as the group makes room for you to get comfortable. You sit next to Nayeon and Jungkook, the two being your closest friends. "Are you feeling better," Namjoon reaches over, resting a hand on your shoulder. "Yeah, thanks for asking," you say, shooting him a smile, surprised that someone finally asked how you were feeling. You weren’t surprised it was Namjoon, he tended to be the more caring one of the group. Since your father’s untimely death, he’s made sure to always ask how you are. "Everybody shut up! We're about to watch one of the greatest films ever made, Nightmare on Elm Street," the room lets out some cheers as they settle in their seats.

Hoseok joins the group, plopping down next to Nayeon and asking, "can you get me another drink," the request makes her roll her eyes, but she does it anyways. She gets up from her seat and heads down to the basement. "Can you get me another drink," she mutters under her breath, mocking her boyfriend as she takes several drinks from the fridge. As she heads back to the door, the garage door opens up, stopping her in her tracks. With her hand on the doorknob, she looks to see who's there before trying to get into the house. "What the fuck," she groans, twisting the knob on the locked door. Instead of waiting around, she decides to go through the garage, to get back in the house. Walking towards the open entrance, she jumps. In front of her is someone in the same cloak and mask that attacked you.

"Jungkook? You've gotta be kidding me, take that off before ____ sees you," Nayeon shakes her head as she tries to walk past someone she thinks is a friend. A clothed hand wraps around her forearm, holding her in place. "You freak, let me go," she groans, trying to pull her arm away. "Fuck!" she shouts as she feels a sharp tip glide against her arm. Trembling in fear, Nayeon thrashes in her spot, trying not to freak out at the sight of her blood dripping on the floor. She thought it was just a prank gone too far, but they weren't stopping. "Let me go," her voice shakes as she finally pushes them away.

She bolts out of the garage, running from the assailant, just to be snatched back by her hair. Glass shatters on the floor as the drinks fall from her hands. Her back collides with the concrete, knocking the air out of her lungs. Coming to the conclusion that this was actually the killer, she’s aware that her end is coming. She tries crying out for help, words coming out as gasps, while tears run down her face. "Help me," she starts to shout before her mouth is covered. Letting out a series of muffled pleas for help, as she stares into the mask. She was beyond petrified, nearly about to give up. The phantom hovers over her, one hand over her mouth and the other hand wielding a knife. Her eyes widen as she notices the blade, thrashing on the floor, trying to save herself. Smacks to their face and fists to their chest, the killer refuses to let that stop their mission. Her attempts are unsuccessful, as the knife is plunged into her chest. Her hands come up to grip the mask, pulling it off of their face. Eyes fluttering as she’s losing consciousness, she looks in the face of the attacker. Her blood spilling onto the floor, as her world goes dark.

_______________________________________________

"Nayeon, let's go," you shout throughout the house. Jin was on his way to pick the both of you up, being your bodyguard and your ride. You already broke the curfew, but now it was time for everyone to head home. People leaving in their cars, going to lock themselves in their house. You'd been looking for Nayeon for the last five minutes, with no clue where she was. Little did you know, she was lying on the garage floor and you'd be next. You stand with Hoseok at the front door, as you wait for your friend to show up. "Hey, ___," a familiar voice sounds in your ears, causing you to turn around. Standing in the doorway is Taehyung, looking as sorry as ever. You can still hardly hold eye contact with him, giving him a small nod. "Hey, why don’t I go look for Nayeon and you two can talk," Hoseok suggests, pointing towards the stairs. You quickly nod your head, realizing that you can't ignore him forever. "Yeah, let's talk for a bit," you say, extending your hand, waiting for him to grab it. Taehyung jumps at the opportunity to be close to you again, intertwining your fingers. He leads you upstairs to the closest bedroom. After you enter, he closes the door behind you, wanting some privacy.

"Tae… I'm sorry," you sit on the bed, looking up at the man in front of you. Taehyung sits down beside you, resting a hand on your thigh. "I've been going through a lot, and I haven't been fair to you," you say, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I've been dragging you into my fucked-up world and expecting you to be okay with it." You stare down at your hands in your lap, trying to hide the fact that you're crying. You had expected him to handle all of the baggage you came with, not concerned about how that might’ve effected him. Taehyung radiated comfort; in this moment, you felt like you could trust him. Taehyung places his hand on your cheek, lifting your head up. "Baby, you can't blame yourself. You've had a lot to deal with this past year, and the least I could've done is be understanding," he says, wiping a tear from your cheek, giving you a small smile.

"My pretty girl… don't cry. You have nothing to be sorry for, I'm the one who's sorry," you finally look into his eyes, lips curving upwards. "Let me show you how sorry I am," you know what he's insinuating, and you're quick to nod your head. After the week you've had, you needed this. Not waiting another moment, you smash your lips against his. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, as you part your lips. His tongue slivers through, making its way into your mouth. Your hands come up to his shoulders, pushing her flannel off of him. You pull away, pulling your shirt over your head as Taehyung's eyes fall to your chest. He's quick to pull his shirt off and ask, "are you sure you want this?" Your hands come down to his pants, fiddling with the belt, "I want this, now," you speak softly, as you continue to get his pants off. You wanted nothing more than to be with him in the most intimate way possible. Taehyung was always your safe space, and you needed every bit of him to feel better.

_______________________________________________

The living room is still full of people, most of them being your friends. They've moved on to their next horror movie; Halloween. "It's obvious she was gonna die, she broke the main rule," Jungkook speaks to the group as he leans against the couch. The room as a whole was confused, assuming he was just speaking nonsense, as usual. "What rules," someone asks, clearly unaware that Jungkook has a habit of rambling on about movies. "You don't know the rules," he jumps up from his seat, looking at the people in disbelief. He lets out a big sigh and sets his beverage down. "There's a certain set of rules that everyone must follow if they want to survive a horror movie," Jungkook says, pausing the television as he begins to lecture the crowd. Little did they know, he’d give them some knowledge that would guarantee they’ll make it out alive. 

"Rule one, don't have sex," that rule made the group groan out a variety of complaints, people throwing chips and solo cups at him. "Rule two, no drinking! Rule three, no going off by yourself," Jungkook spoke passionately as he listed off the rest of the rules. "And finally! Do not say 'I’ll be fine’ you won’t be fine! You will die next," Hoseok laughed at his friend, standing up from the couch. "I'm gonna go get some food, do you want some," Jungkook quickly nodded his head, “by yourself,” he questioned, not knowing what idiotic comment would come next. "Yeah, I’ll be fine," Hoseok tried to contain his laughter as he exited the room, the rest of the people giggling behind him. "That's the kinda shit that's gonna end with a knife in your back," Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, knowing that he tried his best to give them survival tips.

_______________________________________________

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," your words come out as a moan, your voice quivering. Taehyung fucking you from behind as you grip the sheets beneath you. Each thrust was more exhilarating than the last, making your legs wobble. His cock slid in and out of your sopping hole, leaving you a whiny mess. Your legs practically shaking from the intense pleasure. Taehyung's hands grip your hips, bringing you to meet his thrusts. "It's alright, pretty girl," one of his hands comes up to caress your head. What started as a soft touch turned into him pulling your hair, "best apology ever," he groans loudly.

Things started off soft and slow, but got heated quickly. You both were eager to please the other, willing to do anything to make things better. "Taking me so fucking well," he picks up the pace without a warning. The sounds of your moans mixed with your hips smacking against each other was unholy. You can't even respond to his praises, too high in the clouds to even form a sentence. All you can do is let out airy moans, while you clench down on his cock. His cock was stuffed inside you, making you whimper and whine for more. Your thighs are soaking wet at this point, dripping down onto the bedding. You didn't care about the night before or what he said to you today, all you needed was for him to give you what you wanted.

As he continues to thrust into you, an overwhelming feeling begins to approach. You're sucking him in harder than before, not wanting to let this moment end. "Come on baby, cum all over my cock," Taehyung encourages you, as he feels you reaching your end, "you can do it, pretty girl." Those final words did it for you, you shut your eyes as you let the euphoric feeling take over you. "Fuck, squeezing me so well," Taehyung grunted as you continued to clench down on his throbbing cock. Your whines were music to his ears, aiding him in reaching his own high. He lets out of a string of curses, as his thrusts begin to falter. He spills his seed in you, coating your walls, before pulling out. His cum drips out of your pussy, spilling onto the sheets in a little puddle. You both take deep breaths, before saying anything else. Turning over, you lean forward, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. After you two cleaned yourselves up, you began to put your clothes back on.

"Did anyone come to see you, when you were in jail," you ask, pulling your shirt down. Taehyung sighed, confused as to why you were even bringing it up again, "My mom visited me." Your eyebrow shoots up in confusion, his mother was already at the station before he arrived, it was far from a visit. "That's not a visit, she was there to speak with officers," you proceed to fix your appearance as you ask your questions. Taehyung sits on the floor, lacing his boots, and trying to contain his frustration with you. "Then no, I didn't have a visitor," he gets quiet for a second, refusing to even look your way, "why are you asking about that? I thought we already settled this shit."

You shrug your shoulders, before turning to look at him, "I was just curious. It'd be funny if you had someone come and see you, so you could tell them to call me. It’d be a smart way to throw me off and make yourself look innocent," You knew your admission would make things worse, but you didn't care, it was a harmless statement. Taehyung jumped to his feet, finally looking into your eyes, "you still think it was me, don't you? We just had a whole conversation, the call logs were clean!" As he shouts at you, your eyes wander past him. The door was slowly being pushed open, "what is it gonna take for you to realize that I'm not the killer? Huh?" You ignored him shouting at you, too focused on what was going on behind him. Your eyes focus on a black cloak, trailing on the floor.

"What the-," you mutter before seeing the rest of the costume. Once again, you've come face to face with the phantom. Taehyung continues to yell at you, unaware of what was lurking behind him, "are you even listening to me?" Your mouth falls agape as you look on in pure horror. The masked killer carefully approaches you both, "Tae, look out," you finally shout, but your alert is too late. You watch as a knife is plunged into his back, causing him to hunch forward in pain, grunting loudly. Turning around to see his assailant, the knife is rammed in his chest. You let out a gut-wrenching scream as your boyfriend falls into a pool of his own blood. Sadly, you were standing close enough for his blood to have gotten all over your face. You try to let out a cry for help, but no words can come out. With a quick swipe of the knife, the phantom jumps over the bed, in an attempt to get you next.

You hop over the bed, barely escaping the swipe of the knife. As they try to leap towards you, they land on the wooden floor, buying you a bit more time. Sprinting through the halls, you take a look around at the wide variety of doors. Knowing you can’t stop running, you choose the one farthest away from where you were. The killer was at your heels, matching your pace. With your heart beating out of your chest, you snatch the door open, quickly closing it behind you. Once you noticed there was no lock, you pushed the nearby dresser in front of it as a barricade. You were in a bedroom, looking around for some kind of exit. Loud bangs come from the other side of the door. It was only a matter of time before they would break through. You come across a window on the left side of the room. Rushing towards it, you lift the latch to unlock it. You try to move as fast as possible, lifting the window up and crawling through. Just as you’ve made it to the other side, the door busts open. The assailant was instantly heading your way, you let out a gut-wrenching scream, praying someone around could hear you.

The floor under your feet was slippery. The roof boards were unsteady, and you could no longer use the window seal to hold yourself up. Carefully taking steps to the right, you lean down, using your hands to balance yourself. Looking beside you, the phantom is making its way out of the window. They’re moving faster than you were, not worried about falling down. You stand up straight, arms stretched out, as you try not to fall down. Taking large steps towards you with the knife in their hand, the killer dives towards you. "Somebody hel-" your voice cracks as a sharp pain in your abdomen stops you from finishing your cry for help. You’d been stabbed through the side, the knife was quickly pulled from your wound. The blood is pooling out, dripping down the side of your shirt. You feel yourself falling over, losing your balance, as you’re about to fall to your demise. Their hands wrap around your frame, you try to fight them off, kicking and throwing your arms around. They continue their attempts to stab you, swinging the knife in your direction. Throwing your hand up to protect yourself, the knife jabs straight through your hand,leaving you screeching in pain. You bring your wounded hand against your chest, trying to stop the bleeding.

You were either going to die up here or fall to your death, you couldn’t decide which was worse. Your attempts at fighting back were useless; you were barely able to dodge the knife coming towards your face. Ducking down, you throw your hands forward, pushing them back. As they stumble and try to regain their balance, you try to stand up. Before you can even move, you get kicked in the chest with a heavy boot. The force being too powerful, you slip off the roof, falling backwards as you shout at the top of your lungs. Your back connects with the roof of a car in the driveway. Groaning out in pain, you can barely believe that you’re alive. Slowly opening your eyes, you look up, only to see an empty rooftop. You hope they think you died on your way down; you weren’t sure how much more of this you could take. This was your second time being attacked, and this one ended with you being kicked off a roof, you were scared to think what was next.

Mustering up the strength, you roll off the side of the car. As your feet connect with the ground, you find yourself being drawn to the floor. You can hardly stand up, your back in excruciating pain from your previous fall. Using the side of the car as leverage, you pull yourself up and prepare to run. Before you can turn away from the house, a dark red puddle on the floor catches your attention. It's the body that's accompanying it that brings you to tears. Your best friend was stabbed and left bleeding out on the floor. You want to stay there with her, see if there's anything you can do for her, but you can't help her if you're dead. You limp away from the scene, moving as quickly as you can. As you make your escape, you continue to scream and plead for someone to come to your rescue.

Trying to shake the disturbing image you just saw out of your head. You make your way to the front of the house, thankful to see a friendly face. "Jin, we have to go," you shout, happy that there's someone with a gun to save you. To your surprise, he drops to his knees, falling onto the floor. Your eyes pan to the tear in his clothes, blood staining his uniform. You rush over to the porch, taking the gun out of his holster. You’d gone so long without a weapon, now you had the chance to fight back. Loud arguing catches your attention, and you turn around, pointing the gun at the two men approaching you.

Jungkook limping comes out of nowhere, fear evident on his face. He pushes Hoseok back before raising his hands, "he's lost his fucking mind! I found Nayeon by the garage, we need to get the fuck out of here." Jungkook tries to rush towards you voice quivering, before Hoseok pushes him to the floor as he holds his hands out toward you, "you gotta give me that gun! He killed my best friend, my Nayeon," the faux tears and the blood on his clothes aren't doing him any justice. The men continued to point at the other, screaming about all sorts of things. Hoseok begged for you to give him the gun, promising he could protect the both of you. At this moment, you can't truly trust either of them. One of them was guilty, and you weren't sticking around to find out which one. You run into the house and close the door, ignoring the screams from outside. They continue to beat on the door, pleading for you to let them in.

You hear your name being called from the top of the stairs. Your heart usually swells when you see him, but this sight wasn't something you enjoyed. Drenched in his blood, Taehyung stumbles down the stairs. You rush towards him, helping him hold himself up. He lets out small gasps, like he’s trying to catch his breath. Without thinking, you hand him the gun, knowing you'll be safer with him around. "We have to get out of here," you tell him, your voice hoarse and tears welling in your eyes. He shushed you, letting you know that you were safe now.  "We gotta get the fuck out of here, now! Hoseok's lost it, he's gone mad," Jungkook pushes his way through the front door, immediately locking it behind him. Frantically pacing, he looks quite happy to see you two are still alive.

"Madness, is a lot like gravity, all it takes is a little push," Taehyung says, raising the gun, aiming it at Jungkook. You grip his arm, confused at his actions, only for him to fire a bullet through him. Falling through the table behind him, Jungkook hits the floor and now you're left alone. You scream in shock, staring at your friend lying on the floor. You want to rush over and hold him, you couldn’t lose another friend today. "Been waiting to do that all day. The little fucker figured it out too fast," Taehyung giggles, rubbing the barrel of the gun over his temple. You're confused, you watched him get slashed up in the bedroom, just to find out that he was behind it all. You willingly gave him a loaded gun, and now you’re about to lose your life.

Bolting towards the kitchen, looking for an escape, you come in contact with Hoseok. Falling into his chest, hands shaking as you pull on his shirt, "Hobi, we have to go now!" You start pushing him, trying to get him to run with you. He doesn’t move from his spot, just standing in front of you with a grin. Reaching into his pocket, Hoseok pulls out a black device. "Surprise, surprise," he speaks into the voice modifier, and you pull back in shock. The sound of his voice made your ears bleed, taking you back to the predicament from yesterday. You should've known it was them, all Hoseok did was defend Taehyung when he was guilty. The whole ordeal was confusing, nothing was making any sense. He was just supporting his accomplice, making sure neither of them got caught. You push past Hoseok, sending him into the wall.

When you think you've got away, here comes Taehyung, coming around the other side of the kitchen. Gun pointed in your face, as he backs you up against the kitchen sink. The way they stared at you made your skin crawl, you’d never been this uncomfortable in your life. "Where you going," Hoseok asks, as he approaches you, blocking off the area so you can't run away. "It's all a part of the movie, baby," Taehyung starts, keeping the gun in your face, "and you're the star, just like your father." You look down at the floor, too afraid to look either of them in the face. "Now, we're gonna ask you a few questions, alright? Get it wrong, you die," Hoseok jumps in to finish, "get it right, you still die." Taehyung puts the barrel to your head, shooting you a chilling smile, "There are only two survivors here, and I'm sorry, baby, but you didn't make the cut," the fake sadness in his voice was taunting.

You look up, glaring at the pair, "you both are psychotic! Fuck you," you shout, only for Taehyung to return the energy, "no, no, you already did that. Remember?" You feel sick to your stomach, remembering his hands all over your body, all of the sweet words he said to you. It was all a hoax and you fell for it. You felt disgusting, like you needed to scrub off this layer of your skin to feel better. Gripping the edge of the counter behind you, eyes moving back and forth between the two, "you're never gonna get away with this." You wanted to believe the words you were saying, but you weren’t sure. Clearly they’d planned this whole thing out by detail, they just might prevail. Taehyung bursts out in tears, laughing in your face, "oh, but we already did! Your father was an easy kill, and it was even easier to blame the whore he was sleeping with.” You feel your heart shatter like you're reliving the death of your father, all over again. You let out a small whine in disbelief. For months he’d been deceiving you, just for it to come out that he killed your dad. You needed to know what drove him to that decision and why he chose to string you along.

"Why'd you kill him," your words come out quietly as your head hangs low, you couldn’t bare to look at either of them. Absolutely repulsed at the fact that you had been friends with them for so long. They were the ones to console you when your father was killed, little did you know that they were the culprits. "Why? I think she wants a motive, Hobi," Taehyung turns to look at his friend, as they share a smile. They were excited to let you in on all of the gruesome details. "I don't really care for motives. You see, as our dear friend Jungkook told me, there's always a reason for everything. Motives come naturally and accidentally," he says, raising his voice toward the end of his statement. He looked at you like you were just a prop, a disposable piece in his movie. His aura was once warm and loving, now he just had the face of a psychopath. Eyes wide, a sinister smile, and a thirst for your blood. 

"Did they ever find out why Jigsaw liked to kidnap people and put them in traps? Or why Leatherface liked to cut people up with a chainsaw," you raised your eyebrow in confusion. It was the wrong moment to argue, but you didn't care. You were dying tonight, so why not try and bruise his ego before you go, "we found out about both of them. For someone so obsessed with movies, you seem to know nothing about them." Your rebuttal has Taehyung scowling, his expression turning sour, as he looks appalled by your response. You're expecting him to at least hit you, even make another joke about killing your father, but instead, he takes another route. "You wanna know why your father's lying in a coffin? My mother was in love with your father, they’d been having an affair for months. Drove my dad away," you groan, knowing the chick from TV wasn't wrong, her theory was spot on. Your dad might’ve made a bad decision but he didn’t deserve to lose his life.

In the back, Hoseok is jumping around like he just took a hit of something, "your father was a man whore! Walking around town like he was some macho man. Somebody had to bring him back down to earth," every word felt like a kick in the teeth, "my father left me, you know what kind of damage abandonment has on a person? It made you slip up and sleep with a killer." You felt like you were about to pass out, wound still bleeding as you felt your brain shutting down. For months, you ignored the stories and theories about your father, only for it to all be proven correct. "Now let me tell you how this is gonna go," Taehyung speaks as he picks up the signature knife, handing the gun over to Hoseok.

"Your mother went crazy, her husband was murdered and she was traumatized. She went on a killing spree, getting everyone except me and Hoseok," knife touching your chest, tip poking into your skin. Chiming in, Hoseok keeps the gun pointed at you from afar, "she thought we were dead but no! We get to stick around and plan out the sequel!" If you heard the word 'movie' one more time, you were going to get the gun and finish yourself off. “I mean, people need to hear about this shit. Imagine the kind of movie deals we’re gonna get,” Hoseok was beyond animated, imagining how their lives will change once this is over. An idea pops into Taehyung's mind, a smirk coming onto his face, "why don't you go get my baby's surprise." He orders Hoseok to retrieve whatever sick secret they kept in the house, while he keeps his eyes on you.

"Oh, you're gonna love this one," Hoseok cackles as he backs out of the room. Silence fills the air as you're left with Taehyung. You look around the room, too disgusted to spare him another glance. He stares down at you, grinning like he’s won something special. You should've known there was something wrong with him, nobody is that perfect. You hear Hoseok coming back into the room, your eyes moving over to the entrance. A look of fright is painted on your face as you look at the body thrown to the floor. "Mom!" you whimper, trying to reach for her. She's tied up with tape over her mouth, looking like they roughed her up before her capture. "Stay back," Taehyung points the tip of the knife at your chin, making sure you can’t get to her. He liked watching you tremble, in a powerless position.

"Enough of this shit, let's get on with it!" Hoseok shouts, still jumping around. She makes eye contact with you, eyes widening in pure fear. She's innocent in all of this, and now she's about to be blamed for everything. It was your dad that fucked up, and now she would suffer the consequences. You felt like there was nothing you could do to save her or yourself. You couldn't believe the scene in front of you: your boyfriend pointing a knife at you, your friend pointing a gun in your face, and your mother on the floor. Lost for words, you decided to prepare yourself for whatever would come next. "Hold still," Taehyung turns to Hoseok, raising the knife into the air. To your surprise, he's plunging it into Hoseok's abdomen, "FUCK," he wails out, as he’s stabbed near his chest. You couldn’t believe your eyes, they were truly committed to their plan, willing to be sliced for five minutes of fame.

Blood drips to the floor as he screams in pain, "Your turn," one hand gripping the island, and the other reaching out for the knife. The look on his face was horrifying, like he was excited to return the favor to his accomplice. Taehyung hesitantly hands over the weapon and grabs ahold of your T-shirt. "Not too deep," he directs as he braces himself. Knife penetrating his lower abdomen as he shrieks in pain. Taehyung smacks a glass cup off of the counter, letting it shatter on the kitchen floor. The knife piercing his skin hurt like hell, neither of them prepared well for this part of the act. You watch as the two continue to take turns, tearing into one another, screams of agony coming from them both. The counter covered in blood, dripping onto the kitchen floor. "You sick fucks, this isn't just some movie," you shout from the corner of the room, slowly backing away from the two men. Clothes covered in their own blood, holes from the knife slashing their attire. "But it is, sweetie! This is act three, and I'm sorry but your role has been cut short," Taehyung giggles in your face, a pained look remaining, after being cut into by his friend. You stand there in shock, unsure how you got yourself caught in the middle of a movie. The men continue to slice and dice each other, you watched closely, jaw hanging and eyes wide.

On the other side of the room, Hoseok is leaning against the island, his hand over his largest wound, trying to stop the blood from spilling. "Give me the gun," Taehyung gives Hoseok an order, his hand waiting for the weapon as he glares at you. You felt like you were on fire, his gaze burning through your skin. Your mother was next to go, choosing to save you for last. "Uhhh," Hoseok mutters, nervousness evident in his voice, "I don’t know where it is, man," He looks around the room in shock. Taehyung clenched his jaw, groaning, the last thing he needed was a missing weapon with their fingerprints all over it, "don't just stand there! Find it," he barks at him, his voice startled you, making you jump. Hoseok searches the room, looking under every surface. "I have a better idea for your movie," everyone stops at the sound of a new voice, confused as to what's happening.

A surprise cast member, coming to rescue you from the third act. You finally look up, eyes landing on your friend with a gun in his hand, "Namjoon comes across you two idiots and saves the day." He speaks confidently, walking further into the room. He never left the house after the party, he chose to stay back and watch movies, hiding once he heard screaming. You have never been this excited to see him. A bit of hope runs through your body, you feel like you might finally stand a chance in this situation. "I think I like this ending much better," you mutter in the background, earning a chuckle from your friend. Namjoon aims the gun at Taehyung, pulling the trigger, "what's the matter," Taehyung walks towards him, making him back out of the room quickly. He opens the door, but before he can escape, Taehyung makes a swift move. With a brutal punch to the face, Namjoon is knocked down, his body piling next to Seokjin's.

Taehyung approaches the bodies, picking up the gun he dropped. "These things work so much better when you turn the safety off. Say goodnight," he snickers, turning off the safety and aiming the gun at his head. "Umm, Tae! We have an even bigger problem," Hoseok shouts from the kitchen, looking frazzled. Too entertained with the battle in front of him, he forgot to keep his eyes on the other victims. As Taehyung rushes back into the kitchen, frantically looking around. He wondered, how the hell did you managed to get out so quietly.

Leaving Namjoon alone, Taehyung rushes back to the kitchen, as angry as ever. "Where the fuck is she," he screams at the man, pushing him around. You and your mother were nowhere to be found. As soon as their attention was off of you two, you quickly fled the scene. Hoseok takes a seat, an exhausted look on his face, "find her! Get u-" before Taehyung can finish, the landline begins to ring. They get silent as Taehyung reaches for the phone, "you should really think twice before turning your back," he says, recognizing your voice with the modifier. Getting visibly upset, he shouts into the phone, "bitch! We're gonna finish you off like we did your fucking father," cackling on the other side of the phone, and you give him the best response, "awe baby, you gotta find me first." Now that you’re on the other side of things, you return his taunting energy. Toying with him as he did you.

He sets the phone down next to Hoseok, before smacking him on the back of the head. "Get the fuck up, Hoseok," Taehyung grunted, as his friend is resting on the countertop. Hardly able to construct a sentence, he groans, "you cut me too deep man," he looks like he's about to pass out at any moment. Enraged by Hoseok's inability to help find you, he rushes off by himself, running throughout the first floor. It’s apparent that he’s run out of tricks. The police were on their way and you were nowhere to be found. His movie ending was crumbling right before his eyes and he couldn’t handle it. "Hello," Hoseok picks up the phone, his blood dripping all over the Dialpad. "What are you gonna do, Hobi? The police are on the way, Tae already has a motive, what about you," he tries to find the strength to respond, as he feels like he's about to slip away. "He pressured me into this, I'm easy to manipulate," Taehyung is still in the back, tearing up the couches, and kicking over household items. "You didn't really call the cops, did you," cackling at his question, you're quick to respond, "of course I did." Clearly, that wasn't the answer he wanted, a wail coming from the back of his throat, "this house is a mess, I am so dead!" He was absolutely insane, sobbing about getting in trouble for a messy house, when he just committed several murders. 

Taehyung stalks through the halls, moving as quietly as he can. Gun gripped in his right hand, as he kicks open every other door. At this point, he was running out of options. The police were on their way and they knew what he did. He might be going to jail but he needed you to die first. He’s eager to find you and finish you off himself. You’ve already ruined their plan, there was no way he was going to let you escape. Little does he know, you aren’t too far from where he was. Out of nowhere, a closet door busts open, and here you come, leaping out at him. Raising your weapon, you impale his chest with the same knife he tried to use on you. "Bitch," he groans out in pain, his body starting to drop to the floor. Looking down at him, you think everything is finally over, putting the knife in your back pocket. You begin to walk towards Jungkook on the floor, wanting to see if he was okay, until you're tackled sideways. Hoseok came out of nowhere, seeming to have regained some of his energy. Your back comes in contact with the wood floor, a shooting pain passes through your body. You’ve been fighting all night, but you don’t plan on giving up anytime soon.

Hoseok hovers over you, wrapping his hands around your neck, "die already!" He presses down, ignoring your hands clawing at his forearms. You raise your knee, hitting him in his groin. Hoseok falls back in pain, moaning on the floor. You hop to your feet, trying to catch your breath. You scan the room for the nearest exit. The stairs being your first choice, you sprint up the steps. You slip into an empty bedroom, closing the door behind yourself. Hiding from him was practically pointless, this was his house, you were at a disadvantage. “Don’t run baby,” Hoseok shouts, busting into the room. He charges towards you, hands instantly wrapping around your throat. “The movie isn’t finished, you’re ruining everything,” he screams every word in your face, bits of his spit hitting your face. He starts tightening the grip on your neck, making you thrash. Your hands come up to his face, trying your hardest to push him away. Hoseok backs you in a corner, your body colliding with the wall. You feel your life slipping away, running out of air in your lungs. You reach into your back pocket, raising the knife up. Jamming the end of the blade into his forehead, making him grunt, you could feel his hands loosen the grip on your neck. Pressing your foot against the wall, you push yourself forward, causing him to stumble back.

He lets you go before he drops to the floor, hands coming up to console the sore spot on his face. You lie in the corner, caressing your neck like it would help make the pain go away. You gather all of the strength you have to pick yourself up and hobble out of the room. You were on the verge of dropping to the floor, having to use the walls in the hallway to hold yourself up. Just when you thought you had gotten a substantial amount of space between you two, he catches up quickly. Right behind you as you approach the stairs, “why won’t you die!” You try to ignore the screams behind you, as a pair of hands pulls you back. You drop to the floor, making sure to keep ahold of the knife in your hands. Grabbing your shirt, Hoseok snatches you up. As your feet hit the floor, you raise the knife up, plummeting it in his chest. Letting go of you, Hoseok drops to his knees hands coming up to grab the railing. You decide to give him the same ending that he tried to give you. You pick your foot up, pressing it against his chest. You watch as he tumbles down the stairs, before hitting the wood floor at the end. A slight smile crawling onto your face, this being the best thing to happen to you all day.

You quietly walk down the stairs, just in case there’s another unwanted surprise waiting for you. Limping into the living room, you find yourself looking for another way to escape. "Jungkook," you notice your friend hobble into the room. You rush towards him, examining his chest, saying, "I thought you were dead." He looks relieved to see you, throwing his arm over your shoulder, saying, "I definitely should be, I’ve never been so happy to not get any action." You choose to ignore whatever he's rambling about, your brain is too clouded to comprehend anything.  "This is one of the worst movies ever," a voice groans from behind you two. Namjoon is rubbing his head as he walks over to you guys. He gawks around the room, shocked to see the state of the house. Pictures and statues knocked over, glass coating the floor. You stand around, looking at the bodies on the floor, knowing your life has been changed forever.

"Wait, I've seen movies like this, it ain't over. Evil always comes back, you need to shoot it in the head," Jungkook's commentary concerned you. Nudging his body with your foot, you wait for him to pop up. His body remains still and stiff. “I guess this movie has an alternate ending,” you mutter, before limping over to the closet to untie your mother. “Are you okay,” you ask, already knowing the answer as you pull the duct tape from her mouth. All she could do was grunt, she was in horrible shape, bruises all over her face from her attack. Jungkook and Namjoon come over to help you, untying her wrists and ankles.

“It’s Billy,” a quite voice speaks from the front door. You all whip your heads around in unison, scared as to what might lurking behind them. You feel a lump caught in your throat, words unable to leave your mouth. “Holy shit, you should be dead,” Jungkook stops his movements as he observes the person in front of him. You feel like your paralyzed, too confused to make a move. Something pulls you back into reality, you jump up to your feet and run across the room. Colliding with your best friend, wrapping your arms around her. You pull away, examining her wounds. She leans into your chest, on the verge of collapsing, “I’m fine, so is Jin,” she points over to her brother on the floor, regaining his consciousness.

Once the police arrive with EMTs beside them, you truly believed it was all over. Evil was defeated and none of your friends lost their lives in the process. You’re in the back of ambulance, sitting on the edge, as you wounds are being tended to and you’re hooked up to machines. Looking over, your friends have the same thing going on, faces looking exhausted yet thankful that they made it out alive. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breath. “We got two more in here! They’re still breathing,” your heart beats rapidly, making the machines go haywire. Tears run down your bloodstained cheeks as you watch paramedics go rescue the same two men that tried to kill you. Your mind was hazy, you didn’t know what to say or what to think. All you could do was let out an agonizing scream.

#bts #bts fic #bts x reader #bts smut #kim taehyung #bts horror #scream au #fic: don’t scream #taehyung fics #taehyung x reader #bts au #bts oneshot #taehyung smut

[detectivezekebanks]

more bts spiral shots courtesy of max's insta ❤️

#max minghella #william schenk #spiral: from the book of saw #saw franchise #horror #saw #spiralshipping #zeke banks #chris rock #darren lynn bousman #horror movies #horror film #bts #bts horror

[sugarycandies]

The Chronicles of Hollow House

Chapter 1

Pairing: BTS x Reader (One-Shots per each member)

Genre: 18+ MINORS DNI, Smut with Plot, Slowburn, Supernatural, Horror-Themes, Angst

Synopsis: A house across the street serves as a warning. It had an outside so perilous and terrifying that no one was reckless enough to strut inside. Regardless, the noises inside the house bud concerningly, nurturing the curiosity of Y/N. One night, she sees someone, something, prowling outside of the house. The following day, she receives a formal invite to a dinner party at the house. She can only wonder what lies inside such an infamously avoided household.

Word Count: 3k

MASTERLIST

*Can be read as separate two-parters (Introduction + Specific Character Chapter)

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Entry #31

The house stood taller than any other on the block. I ran by it today, every time I walk past it I just get the feeling I’m being watched. I hate that thing and I never want to go near it in my life. Who the hell is living there?

(Y/N) lived in a cottage-like house. A well-tended and nice garden decorated the outside, as a small grey brick wall hugged around it, leaving a gate to enter from. She prided herself on making her house look approachable and nice. It was a small house, but a homey one nonetheless. Yet, no one would be even able to see her beautiful exterior other than herself, and that was due to the house.

An enormous, decrepit, and sordid house that sorely sat upon the hill across from her own leaned over any goers through the street. Throughout the years, never once had it been put up the sale, but no one had ever seen anyone outside of the house before either. Whenever a package was left outside, or the mailbox got too full, the mail inside if it disappeared. Sometimes when someone came to knock on the door, no one would come to answer. It has been sworn that truly, no one ever lived there at all.

It was a full moon, hanging above the two houses on the solemn street. (Y/N) sat in her kitchen, making herself a meal, stirring the pot that held some pasta boiling inside. Her kitchen was compact and woody, but fit the vibe of her house. While she cooked, she hummed along to a song playing on her phone, a distance away from her. 

Suddenly, she heard a loud ‘thud!’, making her stutter for a second, freezing. She carefully listened as she felt her limbs lock up. The noise had originated from the end of the hall, echoing through. She didn’t feel as alone as she was before, and she had never felt so terrified of that feeling. It crept up her back and whispered along her neck, locking her joints. Slowly, she reached over to her phone, pausing the music to listen closer. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Looking around her kitchen, she reached for a steak knife nearby, gripping the handle tightly. She flipped the blade around in her hand, the sharp side out first. With an inexperienced hand, she pointed the knife outwards as she looked down her hall. Darkness cascaded across the walls, making the end of the hall imperceptible. The light switch mocked her from the other end of the hall, forcing herself to plunge in.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

(Y/N) walked further into the hallway, fearful, but pushing through as she flicked on the light, making the walk seem much less intimidating. The knife led her forwards as she tried to listen again for the noise. A crash came directly from the door next to her: her bedroom door.

(Y/N) sharply inhaled in preparation for what she might see. She slowly opened the door, leading with her knife. She used the tip of her foot to push open the door, it creaked open meticulously, dragging onwards. The breeze brought her skin to goosebumps, and in front of her she saw her window, pried up, curtains flipping around in the breeze.

“Whoever the hell is in here, I’m calling the police!” she yelled, holding her knife as she looked around, not seeing anyone, “So you better fucking run!”

“Mrrreow!”

(Y/N) gasped as she looked down, just to be met with a black cat rubbing up against the door, pushing it open more. Looking closer at her room now, she noticed a couple of candles had been knocked down, as well as some beads. Her trashcan had been ransacked.

“Oh,” she whispered feeling a bit more sympathetic now. She must have left open the window on accident, although she swore she hadn’t, “Poor baby, are you hungry?”

The cat meowed again, before jumping over to her desk when suddenly he came eye to eye with something. The cat quickly grabbed a small ring on her desk, took it in his mouth, and jumped back out the window. (Y/N) gasped at how quickly it had happened.

“Hey!” She yelled looking out the window, running over to it, “Give that back!”

(Y/N) pushed through the window and looked out, watching the cat scurry across over to the house across the street, the house. Outside of the house was a figure that she could barely make out in the distance, slowly reaching down and petting the cat, it was large and extremely muscular. It grabbed the ring out of the mouth of the cat, and slowly held it up, he had large claws that barely silhouetted in the light. (Y/N) gasped as she watched, was this the person who lived next door? The figure turned and met eyes with her as she hung out the window, and she felt a strike in her chest. 

He had glowing, yellow eyes.

She lept out of the window and slammed it shut, quickly shutting her curtains and drawing them tight. Her fingers ran up to the top of the window and locked it in place. Who? No, what, was that? Anxiously (Y/N) ran her fingers through her hair as she tried to keep her composure, her chest pulsing upwards and down with her heavy breaths to steady her posture.

Yellow eyes haunted her dreams.

The next morning, (Y/N) woke up, sleeping in without the sun to wake her up, curtains drawn still. She moved her limbs sluggishly as she rubbed her eyes, looking into the mirror to see dark circles drawn below. The knife still sat on her dresser. Hungry, she walked out to make something for breakfast.

Ding dong!

Her head whipped over to the door. She gulped. Slowly, she heads over to peak through the eye hole, squinting one eye to peer through. All she saw was her porch and the house that loomed into the distance. No one. An envelope slipped under the door, and she stopped looking for a second confused before she peered through the hole again. No one. How the hell did the letter get there?

The envelope was a deep red, a wax seal elegantly placed holding it together. Ms. (Y/N) was written on the front. Curiosity pulled her like she was drawn by a string to the letter, as she shakily picked it up. She dug under the wax seal and lifted it up with her nails, a small cardstock-like paper inside. A note, that had been addressed to her.

Dear (Y/N),

You are humbly invited on this day, October 24th, to visit our humble abode, Hollow House, on the top of the hill. We believe we have something of yours, and now you have a secret of ours. We’d like to discuss it over a humble dinner. Tonight at 5 pm, show up and knock on the door three times in quick succession. State your name, and the door will be unlocked for you. Head down the hall, and you will meet my butler to bring you to us.

If you fail to arrive, we will have to take measures into our own hands.

Dearly,

Kim Namjoon

(Y/N) felt her hair rise as she read the letter. She couldn’t tell if was a threat or an invitation. She ran her finger over it before looking at the time, she only had a couple of hours. Part of her didn’t want to go, but the last sentence kept her going.

If you fail to arrive, we will have to take measures into our own hands.

Despite everything in her begging for her not to go, to pretend she had never seen the invite at all, she showed up. Right at 5 pm, she trekked up the hill, looking decently nice. She wore a tight red dress, wearing lipstick to match, and a jacket that hugged her shoulders from the cold. Every single part of the letter had shown an element of elegancy, so she felt pressured to present so.

Heading up to the door, she noticed the intricate detailing of the wood. It had to have been decades old by its victorian style, but still, the gold on the knob was perfectly shined as if it hadn’t aged past a month. She raised her fist, knocking three times. Upon the third knock, the door swung open on its own, almost knocking (Y/N) back in surprise.

The hall was a mahogany wood, dressed in a red carpet and wallpaper. Old paintings and portraits of men hung against the wall, seven men, in particular, each to their own frame. She looked across the frames, were these family members? The air was thick, and she felt crowded and tight as she walked down the empty hallway. There was an ethereal chorus of people around her blind to the eye.

“Hello?” She called down the hallway, an opening was at the far end, and she kept going down the hallway, hesitant.

“Goodevening (Y/N), we’re expecting you.” She gasped, feeling the voice upon the back of her neck.

When she turned, she was met by a tall man, dressed in a nice black suit, his hair slicked back. She could have sworn he wasn’t there before.

“My name is Seokjin, I’ll show you to Mr. Kim.” He said with a bow, “Please, follow me. I will take your coat.” he swiftly wrapped an arm around her, taking her jacket off. He slung it over the arm that hung at a 90-degree angle in front of him, bringing it with him.

“Uh- thank you,” she said gulping, “How did you get behind me, I could have sworn there was no one there.”

“I was there the entire time,” he said simply as he walked, not addressing the concern fully. There had been too many strange coincidences over and over again, and (Y/N) was getting overwhelmed with trying to find rationality in all of them.

She was brought to a long table, seven seats across it. At the end stood a man, with his hair slicked back, and hands folded. The rest of the men held their heads down, the only other seat open 

“Good evening,” The man at the end of the table said, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Kim Namjoon, the owner of this house.”

Seokjin moved to pull a chair for (Y/N) out, motioning for her to sit, to which she hesitantly complied. He moved past to stand behind Kim Namjoon’s chair, watching from afar.

“I believe last night you saw something, unexplainable.” He said, narrowing his eyes. Two of the boys looked further down, pouting, “In trade for this ring, If you promise not to disclose any information we give you, we will explain.”

(Y/N) at this point barely cared about the ring, all she wanted was answers to everything that was happening, and she nodded.

“This is Jeon Jungkook,” Namjoon motioned to Jungkook, who was sitting closest to him, and he finally looked up, he held an innocent look, “You saw him and Hoseok here last night.”

“I only saw one man.” (Y/N) corrected.

“Hoseok,” Namjoon said, and another boy stood up.

“I’m so sorry Ma’am!” He quickly jumped out of his seat and bowed, “Jungkook and I were just playing a game, I broke into your house and stole your ring as a bet!” 

Namjoon nodded at the apology.

“That’s impossible, it was a cat,” (Y/N) interjected.

“Hoseok here has the ability to turn into a cat,” Namjoon said, and Hoseok slowly sat down nodding. “And Jungkook here is a werewolf.”

(Y/N) paused for a second, at first she could have sworn it off as a joke, but everything in her just told her it was impossible. 

“We have protected the supernatural in my family for generations,” Namjoon said, looking around the table, “We have created a family here, and this information and what you saw tonight would put my family in grave danger. I can’t have that.”

“So, werewolves, vampires, all of that is real?” (Y/N) asked looking around, none of these boys were human, and that settled in. It made everything make sense, the letter, the strange circumstances surrounding everything. It was all because it wasn’t rational to begin with. 

“Precisely,” Namjoon said, “Their existence has been attempted to be wiped out and portrayed as fiction since their discovery. My family has sworn to protect them as they are as humane as us. I will do anything to protect these people, including covering up your disappearance if so necessary. If you do not wish that, then we can enter a legally binding contract in order to make sure this does not get told to anyone.”

(Y/N) looked at the boys surrounding her. Each of them looked either scared, angry, or both. Namjoon, in the center of them all, hung over them all protectively. She realized then the true nature of this house- the real reason why it felt so abandoned. It was because they had to for their safety.

“Alright,” she nodded, “I won’t tell anyone.”

A collective sigh of relief came from the boys, as they relaxed in their seats. Namjoon let a satisfied smirk come to his face.

“But I want to help.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows raised, and everyone turned to look at her in shock.

“You’re just protecting these people?” she said looking around at everyone, “I’ll help since I’m the only other one that knows. I can bring you all food and run errands outside of the house. I’ll help with whatever is needed.”

“Oh my god, can you get us a tv?” One of the boys peered up, “I’ve always wanted a tv!”

“Taehyung,” Namjoon looked over to him, “You can't spring these questions-”

“Sure.” (Y/N) said, “I have an extra one in my bedroom that I don’t use.”

“Namjoon please let her stay!” Taehyung turned, letting out his bottom lip in a pleading glance, “I like her already! She’s going to get us a tv!”

Namjoon paused and then looked forward at (Y/N). “Fine. We will accept your help.”

“Then introduce me to all of you,” she said with a smile, “I’ll run errands for you so that you all don’t risk exposing yourselves.”

“We will chat over this dinner then.” Kim Namjoon nodded, as Seokjin brought out plates of food for the two of you, “I did promise food after all.”

Entry #32, October 24, 2022.Today I learned about the seven men that inhabit Hollow House (The House), and I have contracted myself to help their cause. Why? A mix of curiosity and empathy. They all seemed extremely sheltered and a bit uptight to rules, and I wanted to alleviate that. Plus, they have all unveiled a secret to me that I have stumbled upon by accident, the nature of their supernatural abilities. I want to know how this works and why the Kim family is the way they are. They seemed like normal boys most of all, minus the occasionally terrifying behaviors.

First, Namjoon, is the (human?) owner of the house, and a descendant of the Kim family. He seems extremely protective and caring about everyone in there, going as far as to threaten to kill me. He invited me over to dinner and gave me back the ring. The others seem to respect him a lot. I’m not sure if he fully trusts me yet. I want to gain that trust.

Min Yoongi didn’t speak much if at all during my meeting with him, but from what I know he isn’t alive. He seemed to float when he walked, and his voice when he did speak was airy and barely comprehensible. He seemed off, a bit too closed off.

Jung Hoseok was the cat who broke into my house, so I assume he is a shapeshifter. He seemed apologetic over the situation from last night. During our meal he talked a lot, so he seems very outgoing. He seemed like a fun person to hang around with and he pushed for conversation.

Kim Taeyhung had the sharpest teeth and didn’t eat his meal in the slightest. All he drank was this deep, red wine that Seokjin poured separately. Yet, he spoke with me a bit, he seems kind of outgoing as well. I assumed from this he might be a vampire, and during the meal whenever his stomach rumbled, he looked at me in hunger.

Park Jimin was simply a mix of the most angelic but dived into the darkest smiles I’ve ever seen in my life. He kept looking at me during the entirety of the meal I had. His eyes were extremely dark, almost pulling me in. I have no idea what sort of supernatural creature he is, I can’t put a label on him.

Kim Seokjin seemed to take on the role of the butler in the house, yet he kept appearing and reappearing at the quickest speeds I have ever seen. He seemed extremely polite, and I didn’t get the opportunity to learn much about him during the conversation as he kept quiet next to Namjoon the entire time. I wonder if there is a way to have a conversation with just him.

Finally, Jeon Jungkook. He is the yellow eyes that kept appearing in my dreams. So he was a werewolf? It was a full moon, so I guess that makes sense. He seemed to have quite an apologetic nature for last night too, but he seemed extremely intrigued by me there. Why did he want my ring in the first place anyways to go as far as to tell Hoseok to break in for it? 

By learning more about this place, I’ve got seven more questions to learn about. But I will be the one to uncover what truly they mean, what goes on inside the walls. What are the stories of these people that so have gone as far as to know my name? Part of me wonders what I’ve wrapped myself into. But I’ve gone too far deep now, so there’s no stopping what lies behind the Hollow House.

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Taglist: @otomehideout-indecentconfessions To be added please comment + add if you want to be tagged for a specific character chapter.

#bts #bts x reader #kim namjoon x reader #kim seokjin x reader #rm x reader #jhope x reader #jung hoseok x reader #x reader #horror #thriller #halloween #bts halloween #bts thriller #bts horror #bts supernatural #smut #bts smut #jin x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #kim taehyung x reader #v x reader #bts fanfiction #series #masterlist #park jimin x reader #jimin x reader #min yoongi x reader #rm

[horror-heks]

BTS of Night of the Living Dead

#night of the living dead #george a romero #bts horror #behing the scenes #zombies

[princesstaeille]

fic recs

most of these are horror, so make sure to read the warnings first !!

• the deep end - dejxvu

There's something off about this island.

• Sleepless - Ever_Lasting_Starlight

Every morning, Yuta wakes up somewhere that's not his bed. And every morning, another member is angry at him for scaring them during the night. Something's going on when Yuta goes to sleep, but the problem is, he doesn't remember any of it.

• welcome to my playground - writermercury

It was a sunny day at the beginning of April. A bright, sunny day, a day full of laughter and cheers and white cotton-candy clouds painted over the tapestry of the bright blue sky.

Taeyong shouldn’t have looked up.

• Johnny Got His Anime Figurine - wrenlans

Johnny lives only for himself. The only thing he's looking out for is number one.

But then a mysterious figurine is sent his way.

A figurine from nowhere, from no one, and only for Johnny...

• Best Friends Forever - wrenlans

Mark is miserable at school. His best friend is making his life rotten.

But a trip to his Aunt may change all that. A gift from his Aunt may change everything.

Too bad Mark can't tell if it's for better or for worse...

• Solitary - anonymous

“Are you afraid?”

• liminal orange - jyanyongs

Johnny grunts, dragging the obnoxiously orange luggage trolley to his backseat, strapping it down with great care.

“Why is your stuff out here in the first place?”

Already in the passenger’s seat, the stranger stares at him again. “It’s not mine.”

“So why are we taking it?”

“It’s for you.”

• Seven - An_Odd_Idea

Even though Yoongi’s having a great time camping with his five closest friends, he can’t shake an uneasy feeling. Then he realizes why: six of them left town, so why are there seven around the fire?

• Brine Time (A Bangtan Tail) - WeGottaDo

In which BTS has a completely normal day at the beach, and absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happens.

Yeah.

• Uncanny - wildforwyld

A distorted image of himself----that's all Yoongi can call it. It was only just a ghost in the beginning.

feel free to comment your own recommendations !!

#nct #nct 127 #kpop boys #nct dream #nct fanfic #bts #fanfiction recommendation #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #horror #nct horror #bts horror #fic rec #bts fanfic #bts fic #nct fic #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #kpop angst

[kidrauhlschik]

Shadows .3

Prologue - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

“You know, the spirit board allows you to speak with spirits, connect with lost souls.”

Couple: Demon!TaehyungxReader + FallenAngel!JungkookxReader + JiminxReader maybe more?

Genre: Horror!AU

Warnings: Horror, thrill, mild cursing. (FratboyJimin(May be triggering tbh))

Word Count: 2234

.

.

.

"Hey man, my name is Jimin. Here, I'll get you a towel" The man who does not live in this house so kindly offers and runs off, leaving me alone with Kim Taehyung.

"May I ask for your name?" he asks, a little too politely. It's freaky. His smile is a little too wide, his features a little too perfect. Something about him is uncanny. As stupid as it sounds, he just does not look human.

"I'm sorry, I am not comfortable telling you just-"

"Y/N where did you put the towels! They're not in the laundry room!" I hate him. I hate him so much right now.

"Y/N huh? I think that is a wonderful name. Truly timeless" What is up with this guy? I've never met anyone like him, and to be honest I hope this is the only person out there like this and that we never have to meet again.

"Yeah." He doesn't need to know anything else. He's already inside of my home, how much closer can he get?

"Y/N!"

"They're in the dryer!" The faster he gets here, the faster we can get this guy out. I do not like being alone with him. I don't want to say I'm scared, but it's pretty damn close. The words of the voicemail still playing in my head.

Am I being ridiculous?

While I ponder in silence, Taehyung is just staring at me. Watching me. What the hell is his problem?

“Is there something I can help you with?” It came off more rudely than I intended. But still, why does he keep looking at me? No one does that.

“Your beauty remains beyond compare. Quite seldom indeed.” He claims while keeping his eyes on me. Could he stop? His eyes remained locked on my face to the point where it is beyond uncomfortable. This guy is not only odd, but creepy.

“Alright, here is the towel Tae, I can call you Tae, right? You look like a Tae,” There goes Jimin again “So man, what do you need help with? Do you need to stay here the night man? It’s getting kind of late.” IT’S NOT YOUR HOUSE JIMIN.

“I would love to stay. However, I do not want to overstay my welcome. Y/N, would you mind if I stayed in your abode for the night? Just while I reason how to get my vehicle back running.” Yes, I mind Tae. He cannot stay. He gives me every red flag there is to give. I would rather sleep on the street rather than sleeping in the same house as this man.

“Um, well… what is needed to fix up your car?” Please leave.

“Y/N…” Jimin tries to warn. What is there to warn about? He is not welcome here. At all.

“I am quite out of sorts. My vehicle has never done such a thing. I am truly distraught over this event. I hope my presence does not trouble either of you, but I truly surmise my vehicle is in need of professional assistance. Could I borrow a phone to dial a repairman?” The man says. His way of talking is truly odd, and I cannot disregard that. He had previously referred to his “vehicle” as a car.

What’s up with his way of speaking?

Me and Jimin take a quick glance at each other. This being the first time either of us has heard anyone our age speaking this way. All we need is a glance to understand each other, how can he not see we are perfect for each other?

“Um… yeah dude, you can borrow my phone. Here you go.” Jimin hands Taehyung his phone with zero hesitation. Why can we not be on the same page on this? Stranger danger.

Taehyung looks at the screen for a bit. Scrunches his eyebrows, then proceeds to tap away with his index finger.

“I truly apologize, but this devise is not functioning properly.” He hands Jimin his phone back. Concerned, I pull out my own phone, only to find out that it has no signal. What the hell? It always has a signal. Did the cellphone towers shut off as well? Is the storm that bad?

“Aw man! I’m sorry. We could all spend the night here, if you’re down?” Jim apologizes. Once again, as if he owned the place. Is he not catching on to the same vibes I’m getting?

“Once again, I would be flattered to stay, as long as Y/N may allow.” No. You are not allowed.

But it’s something about the way Jimin is staring at me. Silently telling me to help. Telling me that he expects more from me that allows me to speak. His fucking eyes. Too sweet. Too expectant.

“You can stay in the living room,” It’s fine, I will sleep on the bed as Jimin and everything will be fine. “Is there something we can prepare in order to get you going in the morning?”

“My uneducated guess would be booster cables?” So, on top of letting him spend the night, I have to help him in the morning? This is bullshit.

“Oh dude, no worries! I think we have some jumper cables in the basement!” With a smile on his face, he walks away again. However, I do not think I can handle another second alone with Taehyung.

"I will go too! Just in case it got moved around with the funeral stuff.” Jimin sort of stiffens at the memory. I am starting to think that it affects him more than it does me.

However, to my dismay,

“May I accompany you two as well? I do not mean to cause discomfort, however, I would prefer to be a sort be a convoy. Since I am already burdening you two with my continued presence.” You can stay here. Please get as far away from me as you can.

“Y/N, please let him come… I feel bad.” Jimin whispers. Almost low enough to the point I can’t hear him. But I wish I hadn’t. God, I wish I did not care about his opinion, but sadly I do.

“Alright, follow us.” I guess. I was hoping to get away from him. He drains me in a strange way. I have never been that social to begin with, but his presence is almost too much for me to handle.

We head to the door that goes downstairs as usual. Almost in line. Jimin, me, then the stranger. It feels odd to have him behind me, like a weight is on my back. Even when I do not look back as we go down the stairs, I can tell he is right there. I can’t understand why his presence is so… enduring.

Once we get to the basement, me and Jimin immediately get to work. Him to actually help the guy. Me to get him out of the house as soon as possible. As much as I try to avoid him, I can’t help but feel as if he’s snooping around. He isn’t looking for anything useful, but just scoping his area.

I am being dramatic right?

“Were the two of you aware that there was spirit board in one of these boxes?” I pause. I found the cables, right as he began speaking. I had the cables in my hand. Should I pull them out right now? What is up with the spirit board? Should I keep pretending that I am clueless?

“Huh?” Jimin is the first to break the silence after the question, which I am super grateful for.

“You know, the spirit board allows you to speak with spirits, connect with lost souls.” As if spirits were real. Okay, maybe he is not menacing, maybe he is just insane. Why would he bring that up? I was aware my great grandma had a Ouija board, but it was nothing but old folktales.

I almost wanted to scoff at his statement, but the second I saw Jimin, I understood that this was not a common occurrence.

“What… What is that?” Poor Jimin. I wish we were always on the same page.

“Essentially, you get a group you trust wholeheartedly, then do a sort of a séance. Then you get to contact someone who passed away. Someone whom you’d trust.” I knew that. I had heard it many times. However, my great grandma’s tales mean almost nothing to me. Even then, I do not trust him.

“Should… should we use it then?’ Jimin would be the first to die in a horror movie.

“I believe it would be intriguing… do you agree Y/N?” No Taehyung. I do not agree. But, once again, it’s the way Jimin looks at me. I cannot disappoint him.

“I guess I’m okay with it. What is the worst that can happen right?”

Little did I know…

“Okay, lightly lay your fingers on the planchette. Do not put any force, just rest your fingers,” I already knew the deal, he was probably clueless, but he probably just followed the movies. And if he isn’t, why does he know so much?

“Alright, now what?” Pretend. Do not let him close in on what I know.

“You must believe. For a séance, you must be in touch with everything.” It should not be as terrifying as it was, but I can’t shake off the uneasiness. I have done this before, but this time… it’s not right.

As we were sitting in the dark living room, only lit up by candles, my anxiety only grew.

“Can anyone hear us?” Teahyung asks, almost expertly. He is beginning to sound like my deceased grandma. No one can hear us. This is a joke.

That is what I told myself until the planchette started moving.

“Hello” I whispered, as I didn’t even had to read what it landed on, knowing the positioning of the planchette on the board all too well.

“I don’t- I don’t know about this… I’m starting to feel weird” His shaky voice makes both Taehyung and I look at him, him now being the center of attention. I knew he would get like this.

“It’s alright Jimin, everything is fine.” He says with a strange confidence.

These type of things never happened to me. Every time my grandmother tried to teach me “her ways” I sat dumbfounded. Nothing ever worked for me anyway. That is why I never truly believed any of this.

“Who are we speaking with right now?” I say which surprised everyone in the room, including me. Still incredulous that it’s working. Or could it be Taehyung who is just messing with us?

The planchette moves after my question, working a little too well.

J.

We all stare intently at the board, but it never moves. It remains on J and leaves us all wondering why.

“Is your name J?” Why am I taking the lead? I didn’t want to do this in the first place.

No.

What? Then if it isn’t his name, why would whatever this is, move the planchette to a J?

“Is J the first letter of your name?” It must mean something right?

Yes.

Okay. Makes sense.

“Are you in the room with us right now?” I’ve seen this happen plenty of times. I always thought it was bullshit, but it feels real. Odd, but real.

“No.” Taehyung reads aloud.

Good. I don’t need anymore strange presences in my house. However, Taehyung frowns at this. Almost incredulously.

“Then how can you communicate with us right now?” Taehyung beats me to the punch, almost accusingly towards whoever we are speaking with.

“Y/N” I hear my best friends voice, but it sounds distant. I ignore it.

“Who are you?” The planchette does not move. Taehyung opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it this time.

“Y/N” Ignore.

“Why are you speaking with us?” The words are coming out of me without any thoughts. It’s almost like I can’t recognize my own voice.

P

R

O

Then it stops.

What?

“Y/N!” I can’t ignore it anymore.

“WHAT!” I scream. Why did I scream?

Jimin looks at me. Scared. Is he scared of me?

“Your… Your nose.” The small voice of my best friend. I feel terrible. Why did I yell at him?

Slowly, I bring my unoccupied hand up to my nose. But before I reach it, I taste the copper. It’s bitter. Is my nose bleeding? Since when? Why had I not realized this before? I don’t like this. Whatever this is.

As the room goes quiet, the two men looking at me. One with concern, the other with admiration. Something brings us all back to the real words.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

What is up with the urgency?

The knocks continue.

Taehyung gets up before I do.

“I thought we had to continue until we said goodbye?” I say with blood still running down my nose. I don’t know much, but I know that there is bad juju if you leave a session open.

He stares at the door. Not panicked. Not worried. Just stares.

The knocks come again. What the hell. Giving up, I get up with a huff and walk towards the door. No thoughts, no concerns. I just threw it open and once again, I am appalled over who is standing on the other side. Disheveled desperate, he speaks before  can.

“Y/N.”

.

.

.

A/N: She comes back four years later. To all the people I promised I would keep the story going... I technically did not lie. Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @scarlet2007 @ballinballinstillbangtan

#taehyung #yoongi #hoseok #seokjin #namjoon #jimin #jungkook #ot7 #bts fic #bts angst #bts thriller #bts horror #bts imagine #bts fanfic #angst #horror #bts x you #y/n #x you #x reader #taehyung x reader #bts #jungkook x reader #fantasy #bangtan #au #taehyung au #bts au #fanfic #stalker

[bandfreak]

why is this so funny💀

#the conjuring #horror icons #bts horror #2000s horror #70s horror #80s horror #horror #patrick wilson #ed warren #behind the scenes

[yeyinde]

behind the scenes of Friday the 13th

Steve Miner poses with Ari Lehman (the first ever Jason Voorhees) and Sean Cunningham taken from Crystal Lake Memories

#i thought i'd share this with yall #i took the picture from crystal lake memories #i was going through my old merch to make room for some new stuff and flipped through the book #Jason Voorhees #Friday the 13th #ft13th #steve miner #sean cunningham #ari lehman #jason #bts horror #horror #slashers

[starbandit]

The World In-Between (CH.3)

PREVIEW:  “I need more information from you. Why should I trust you? What makes you think I won’t throw you out there and let them tear you apart?”

WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT, MENTIONS OF DEATH, BLOOD, WEIGHT LOSS

word count- 2.5k/unedited

Jungkook threw the bags down as soon as he got inside, with you trailing close behind. You listened closely as the door creaked shut again, and the sound of multiple locks clicked. “Turn around and introduce yourself.” The voice of the man grumbled behind you. 

You turned around slowly, your heart racing. “I-I’m Y/N. I am-was a student in Seoul.” You gulped as you looked in his eyes. 

He was dressed in jeans and a long green jacket. His hair was blonde and laid below his ears, with dark roots. He had smooth, cat-like features. The one thing that caught you off guard was the scar on his face. It ran vertically through his eyebrow, over his eye, and down his cheek. The milkiness of his eye still stared into your soul. 

“I need more information from you. Why should I trust you? What makes you think I won’t throw you out there and let them tear you apart?” He clenched his jaw. 

“I-I don’t know, sir. I promise I won’t be too much trouble,” You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes. The intense stare and threatening energy he was giving off made you extremely uneasy. You were beginning to wonder if staying back in the apartment was the right choice and you made a huge mistake coming here. 

“That's enough, Yoongi.” Another voice chimed in from behind you. Your head whipped around and you were faced with another man, one in a clean, white button down. He had broad shoulders and a neat appearance, soft hair that covered his forehead. “The two of them have been through enough, leave the interrogation for another day, please.” 

Yoongi grumbled. “Stay out of my way, little one.” He whispered in your ears as he pushed by you and Jungkook, knocking his shoulder into yours just enough to make you stumble back a little. A small chuckle came out of his throat as he disappeared up the stairs. 

“My apologies, Y/N was it? Yoongi can be a bit much at first.” The other man shook his head. “I’m Seokjin.” He reached his hand out. You nodded and gently shook his hand, your heart rate finally slowing down. “Have you eaten? I was about to make some dinner.” 

Jungkook answered before you could open your mouth. “No, we haven’t eaten yet, hyung.” Your stomach growled as soon as the words left his mouth and your cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

“Jungkook, why don’t you show your friend to the bedrooms? Send Jimin down while you’re up there, I need him to help me with dinner.” Seokjin gave you another kind smile before turning around and slinking off in the direction of the kitchen. 

Jungkook grabbed your arm and started pulling you in the direction of the stairs. He was rambling on about Seokjin, how much you were going to love his cooking, how the jokes just rolled off his tongue. You weren’t listening too much, too distracted by the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. What the hell were you doing? You jumped on the back of a random mans motorcycle, ended up in a mansion in the countryside, and now you’re gonna sleep here? If your parents, or even your roommates for fucks sake, found out about this, they would have you six feet under in less than 20 minutes. 

“Yah, who is this?” 

You snapped out of your thoughts as Jungkook stopped you in the middle of the hall. There was a man standing in a doorway, leaning up against the frame with his arms crossed and a smirk painted on his lips. He wasn’t much taller than you, with flaming orange locks and plush lips. His eyes were hooded in a way that made your mouth dry and your hands sweaty. 

“Jungkook-ah.” He rasped out. “Who did you bring with you?” The thick Busan dialect made you a little weak in the knees. 

“Hyung, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Jimin-hyung.” Jungkook threw his arm over the other mans shoulders. “He’s not always like this, just when he wants to show off.” 

“You brat!” The man, Jimin, grabbed Jungkook by the hair and they both started play fighting, loud laughs coming out of their mouths. “Do you want to die?!” 

Soon after the fighting stopped, it ended. Breathless laughs filled the hall and you stood there with wide eyes. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you Y/N, I’ll save you a spot next to me at dinner.” Jimin winked at you as he pushed by the two of you and down the stairs to find Seokjin. 

You followed behind Jungkook some more before stopping in front of a closed door. He gently pushed it open and revealed a nice guest room, fit with plush white sheets and a new dresser. The newspapers on the windows brought a subtle glow into the room. 

“This will be your room,” Jungkook helped you set down your bags. “You can put your clothes in the dresser and get settled.” He started to back away. “I’ll uh… I’ll leave ya to it then.” He awkwardly smiled and shut the door behind him. 

You sighed and sat on the bed, letting the clean smell of the sheets envelope you. You didn’t even realize how exhausted you were until your head hit the pillows and you were able to fully relax. You couldn’t hear any screams or the groans of the dead outside, only the slight sound of wind and birds. No crying from scared neighbors with children, no banging on your door, just serene silence. You fully relaxed into the bed and curled up, allowing your eyes to close for just one second. 

It wasn’t until you felt a warm hand on your side that you jumped up, the air from your lungs leaving in a silent scream. Your face got hot, the tips of your ears felt like they would let off steam if possible, and you could feel your heartbeat through your entire body. 

“Holy shit, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Jungkook put out a hand to grab your shoulder, the touch instantly grounding you. “I just came up to get you for dinner, Seokjin-hyung wanted you to join us.” 

You let out a few breaths, calming yourself down. “Okay, yeah, let me wash up real quick and I’ll be down there in a second.”

Jungkook nodded and made his way out the door. You let out another sigh and followed behind him, turning the corner into the bathroom. The room was nice, clean and white. The lights were extremely bright and you winced a little at the assault on your sensitive eyes. 

You turned on the cold water and cupped your hands, splashing the water on your face. When you lifted your head to look at your reflection, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. You gently dragged your fingers over your face, feeling the skin under your fingers. 

Dark circles painted under your eyes, scars from nervously picking at your skin, even how pale you had become in the weeks since going into hiding. Your eyes looked dead in the mirror, no longer full of life, no longer bright like they once had been. The bones in your face had become prominent, the baby fat that had once stuck there now gone. You couldn’t help but think about if your family had seen you, how they would pinch at your skin and tell you to eat something, to put some meat on your bones.

You snapped out of your thoughts as you heard laughter come from downstairs. You quickly washed your hands, drying them on your jeans and going to join the boys in the dining room. 

The sun had begun to set, casting a warm glow over the open room. The fireplace in the living room had been lit and the smell of homemade food hit your nose. Your mouth began watering at the smell. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a full meal, the amount of instant ramen and canned veggies you had eaten over the last few weeks had to be criminal on your body. 

The room fell silent as you approached the table and you soon realized there were more people that you hadn’t met yet. All the blood drained from your face as you stared into the seven sets of eyes that were burning holes into you. 

“Ah, Y/N, come sit next to me.” The man you had met in the hallway, Jimin, said in a rough Busan accent, pulling the seat out next to him. A smirk was painted on his face as he softly bit his bottom lip and looked you up and down. 

“Jimin-ah, don’t be gross at the dinner table, please.” Seokjin scolded softly. “Y/N, you can sit anywhere, ok?” He gave you a kind smile from his spot at the table. 

You gave a little nod and slid into a seat next to Jungkook and someone you had yet to be introduced to. Even sitting next to him you were slightly intimidated. His tanned skin was glowing in the light, the sleeves of his t-shirt were rolled up slightly to reveal just a little muscle, and an expensive watch decorated his wrist. He picked up his hand and ran it through his hair, a light sigh left his mouth as he did. You didn’t realize you were staring until he turned his head and stared back at you with a tiny smirk and raised his eyebrow. 

“Taehyung.” He introduced himself. His voice was much deeper than you expected and it shot a spark of heat through your body. 

Dinner went by with a bunch of laughter. You were introduced to the final two boys, Namjoon and Hoseok. The boys all made sure you had enough food, shoving various side dishes and portions of their plates onto yours until you were sure they would have to roll you upstairs from how much you had eaten. 

The boys left the table, going to the living room to watch each other play a game. You stood from your place and began to collect plates. 

“Yah, put those down.” Seokjin scolded from the kitchen. “You’re the guest, go rest and enjoy yourself.” 

“It’s the least I could do.” You continued to collect the plates. “That was the best dinner I’ve had in weeks, Seokjin-ssi.” You delivered the plates to the sink. “At least let me help you clean up, please.” You looked up at him as he sighed and nodded. 

“Okay, but after you have to rest.” 

“Deal.” You smiled and nodded. You and Seokjin made small talk while you cleaned up the mess from dinner. You learned he had become the CEO of a large company recently, which allowed him to purchase this house, with a little help from his parents. He emphasized to you how grateful he was, and how hard he worked to get to where he was. You didn’t doubt him for a second and listened as he rambled on about the responsibilities he had and the history of the company. 

Before long, the kitchen was spotless again. You followed behind Seokjin and rejoined the boys in the living room. They were giggling as they attempted to play a co-op game and were failing miserably. Yoongi was curled in the corner, a small smile plastered on his face as he watched the younger ones argue over what to do. That smile dropped as soon as he made eye contact with you. 

You quickly looked away, instead opting to stare blankly at the TV in front of you. You could still feel his eyes burning holes in you. It made you wonder if he stared long enough if you would catch on fire and melt into the ground. 

Yoongi’s sour mood wasn’t going to ruin your night, there was no way you would allow that. Instead, you joined in on the game, letting a few laughs out as Jungkook whispered what to do in your ear as you played against Jimin. He gave you a high five and stuck his tongue out at Jimin when the screen showed you as the winner in big letters. 

The laughter died down, and soon enough the boys were excusing themselves to bed. Yoongi was one of the first to leave, sauntering up the stairs in a broody silence. Namjoon followed soon after, along with Seokjin and Jimin. You were about to excuse yourself as well, to try and freshen up a bit in the bathroom before bed, when Hoseok stood up from his spot next to you. 

“Y/N, would you like me to show you how to use the shower?” He questioned softly. “Not because you stink or anything, oh god, I just figured it would be nice to shower before bed and whatnot.” His cheeks turned red. 

You smiled. “Yes, please.” Your knees ached as you stood up and you turned to say your goodnights to Jungkook and Taehyung before following Hoseok up the stairs. He led you to the same bathroom you freshened up in earlier in the evening. 

You watched as he turned the water on for you. “Okay, turn it left for hot water, right for cold.” He wiped his hand off on the towel hanging over the toilet. “All the way down to turn it off when you’re done. Towels are in the cabinet and feel free to use whatever shower stuff you need, ok?” He gave you a kind smile and began to back out of the bathroom. “I’ll see you in the morning, Y/N, have a good night.” 

The door clicked as he shut it behind him and you let out a little breath. The room was beginning to get steamy and you figured now was the best time to get in the shower. You set out a towel, a nice plush one that smelled like a soft floral arrangement, and stripped to get into the shower. 

The hot water felt so good you couldn’t help but relax under it. Thoughts about what you had seen that day flashed through your mind, the countless bodies on the roads, the screams from the treelines leaving the city. You thought about your roommates, were they even alive? You hadn’t heard from them in days, did they leave the hotel or stay where they were? What kinds of horrors had they seen? While there was nothing you could do now, you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Survivors guilt maybe? You shook your head, no, not survivors guilt, they weren’t dead, for all you knew they could be frolicking through fields of flowers. 

You quickly washed your hair and scrubbed your body before getting out of the shower. You didn’t want to take forever, and thinking about your friends dying wasn’t doing you any good. You were hopeful that a good night of sleep would snap you out of it. 

Soon enough, you tucked yourself into your bed, allowing the blankets and pillows to envelope you once again. For some reason, Yoongi’s words replayed in your mind as you began to fall asleep. 

“Stay out of my way, little one.” Little one…

#yoongi is a dick at first but he will always call yn little one #bts au #bts zombie au #bts horror #bts angst #bts x reader #bts fanfic #my writing #zombie au #its spooky season so hey an update #bts horror au #jungkook fic #taehyung fic #jimin fic #namjoon fic #hoseok fic #yoongi fic #seokjin fic #bts fic #zombie fic #bts zombie fic #ot7 x reader #bts ot7 #bts ot7 x reader #im just tagging to tag now #yn x bts #bts fluff #unedited #dont come at me

[theharrowing]

Carnival of Terror

The carnival is in town, and it is unlike anything you have ever experienced. Will you make it out alive?

🎪 Namjoon x Female Reader x Seokjin, Jimin x Taehyung, Yoongi x Female Reader, Yoongi x Jungkook

🎪 word count: in progress (currently 23.3k)

🎪 choose your own adventure, friends & strangers to lovers, carnival and circus au, dead dove, horror, possible minor & major character injury & death, supernatural elements & magic realism, nsfw, 21+

🎪 warnings: general sense of the vibes being off; description of clowns, jesters & acrobats; hypnosis without consent; smut (semi-public oral & vaginal sex)

🎪 note: all of the above details including relationships, tropes, and warnings are subject to change as the story progresses & the readers vote. 

🎪 check out the playlist!

🎪 character asks are open!

in this choose your own adventure fic, polls are run between each chapter for the reader to decide what happens next!

🤹‍♀️ current polls:

none, currently! check back soon!

🤹‍♀️ past polls:

ringleaders | friends | tarot cards 1 | ducky keychain | heads or tails? | tunnel of love | as above, so below | the tower crumbles | the lone rabbit | the lone ducky | ducky & rabbit 1 | ducky & rabbit 2

note on polls: i will add new polls within 8-24 hours of a chapter being posted, to give folks a head start on reading. polls that are set to 7 days may be shut down (set temporarily to private) a day or 4 early, depending on my writing schedule. i will always be transparent and reblog several times in advance to give warning in the hope that people see it. see below for information on being tagged in the polls.

INDEX:

1: Right place at the right time | 6.1k words

2: Get lost! | 9.2k words

3: Sink for me | 7.9k words

🎪 join the show! by requesting to be on the tag list for the fic & polls, you are agreeing to be tagged in dead dove horror content. characters will be maimed and possibly even die. in fact, you may not make it out alive.

🤹‍♀️ tag list: @agustdsciggy @andreargu @bangtan-tee-86 @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @eoieopda @fantastin @idkjustlovingbts @itsshaydeekaydee @jjungkookislife @kiki-zb @mamidescarada @manuosorioh @melancholy-of-nadia @mgthecat @moonleeai @secfir @sweetestofchaos @unsureofwhathappens @valhallawhispers @violetsiren90

Carnival of Terror is a Goosebumps-inspired fic, copyright theharrowing 2023 - 2024. no translations or reposting allowed!

#choose your own adventure fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts horror #fic: carnival of terror