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Dark - Y.JH

🌲Who: Gender-neutral reader x Jeonghan 🌲What: Horror. Human reader. Monster Jeonghan. 🌲Wordcount: 3.2k 🌲Warnings: Mental manipulation/control. Some blood and injury. Gradual loss of humanity. Biting. I truly do not know how to tag/warn this but basically, Jeonghan is some kind of eldritch horror who wants reader and morals do not exist for him 

Summary: There’s something watching you. It feels old, feels evil, feels dark. You can feel its eyes on you when you pass the woods to get home.  It feels hungry.

-2024 Masterlist-

AN- @ourdawnishotterthanourday , thank you for reading through this for me, little one 💗

It’s dark. The kind of dark that isn’t just seen but felt. The kind of dark that seeps into your skin, wraps its cold fingers around your veins and travels through your veins. The kind of dark that makes a home of the deepest corners within you and steals the warmth from your soul. The kind of dark that hardens your heart and refuses to let go.

It’s dark and you don’t know if you can find the light again.

You’re the last to leave. Again. It doesn’t surprise anyone anymore. You’ve been leaving later and later with every passing week.

The sun had set long ago by the time you leave work and start the walk home. 

A walk that you shouldn’t really take. The way is dimly lit, the neighbourhood too old for modern security cameras to be commonplace.

It’s dark and not safe. You know this. You had been scared about this when you moved here all those months back. Back when you used to get lifts home from colleagues who worried for your safety too. Back before you lied about being okay to walk home alone.

Something changed. You don’t know what it is, but something in you isn’t the same as it was then. You don’t know if you miss it. 

It’s dark and you’re walking home the same route you take every night after work. Far too late into the night. 

A cool breeze flutters your hair, presses against your back urging you onwards. Closer to home. Closer to the darkness waiting for you. 

An empty house, no one to come home to. No one to wait up and scold you for being so late and reckless, yet relieved to see you home safe. No life within the walls until you return. No one. Just the dark.

It’s a calm night. Like the world has decided to take a break and let the nightcrawlers go about their business with nothing to disturb them. It’s nice. Soothing almost.

You take a deep breath, let the night air chill your lungs, send prickles over the back of your neck. 

You almost pause as you realise the shiver running its fingers up your spine isn’t from the lungful of cool air. But you don’t dare.

You know something is watching you. Something is always watching you as you pass the opening to the deep old woods near your home. The only companion you know on these nights. 

It used to scare you; cause your heart to race and your lungs to shudder in your chest, expand and deflate erratically and leave no room for anything else. But now. Now there’s something else in your chest, spreading and winding around every inch of you, filling all the gaps and limiting how your lungs expand, forcing them to behave. 

It used to scare you; it doesn’t any more.

Still, you don’t dare slow, you don’t dare look because you know with everything in you, you know that the moment you show weakness, show interest, whatever is lurking in the dark will be upon you and you will be helpless to stop it.

It’s dark and cold and…soft. The world is cold around you, burrowing under your skin and spilling ice into your heart, but there is softness underfoot. It’s a little damp and something small tickles over your bare skin, but it’s soft underfoot. 

It’s soft and it’s not as bad as you thought it would be.

When you open your eyes on a new day, the curtains are pulled open allowing the morning sun to stream into your bedroom. You remember closing them last night before climbing into bed. You remember locking the window securely. 

There’s a gentle breeze against your face, birdsong reaching your ears. 

You’re not surprised to find the window open when you look over.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” One of your co-workers, a friendly young man who seems to light up any room he enters checks, even as others call for him to hurry. 

“I’m sure, I’m not much of a drinker,” you assure, smiling at him in a way that you hope is assuring. Really, you just want him to leave. You used to like him, when you first met you thought he was the kind of man you would love to have by your side in any capacity, but especially as a romantic partner. But now. Now his sunshine hurts your eyes and makes the fire burn cold at the back of your neck.

“Okay,” he agrees, though he looks disappointed and very bad at hiding it. You pretend not to notice and turn your focus back to your work, tilting your head down in a clear sign of dismissal. 

“Come on, Seokmin!” One of your colleagues yells.

“Alright!” He calls back yet hovers a moment longer before abruptly grabbing a pen from the pot and leaning over to take your left hand and scrawl numbers down on your skin. “If you change your mind, here’s my number, I’ll keep my phone on loud. Or if you want someone to walk you home, I’m happy to! It scares me thinking about you walking-” 

“There are post-it notes right there,” you comment, looking between his phone number written hastily against your skin and the little stack of bright yellow squares of paper. They’re impossible to miss. 

“Oh, right, sorry.” He quickly puts the pen down and backs up with an embarrassed, apologetic smile when you raise your eyes to look at him. “I just-” 

“Seokmin!” The loudest of the group almost screeches impatiently, making Seokmin jolt and look at them. “Flirt on company time, not mine!” 

“I’m not flirting!” Seokmin shrieks, whirling around to look at you with wide eyes of alarm. “I-I’m not flirting!” 

“You should go because they drag you,” you suggest, raising an amused eyebrow. 

Seokmin opens his mouth to respond yet just closes it again and nods rapidly before turning and rushing off, zipping his coat as he goes. 

You hear him whispering madly, sternly to his friends when he reaches them but you don’t care to discern the words. You’re already looking at the numbers on your hand and wondering if he purposely picked the permanent marker to stain your skin with.

It’s dark, and cold, and soft, and you’re not alone. The ground is still damp and soft under your bare feet, the gentle breeze cool against your skin and you can’t see. But there’s something against your left hand that feels almost tender. 

A touch. An icy finger tracing over your skin. Admiring.

Until it’s not. 

The gentle touch turns sharp, a piercing burn in a purposeful line across your skin. Warmth spills out, trickling over your skin, dripping off your fingers to the soft ground you stand on. 

Your breath catches as your lips press together firmly. You want to cry out, but there is something telling you not to open your mouth. You can’t let the dark spill onto your tongue and slip down your throat. 

There’s a sound, something you don’t understand. Something that rattles the very core of you, something indescribable even if you were to try. But it feels old, it feels powerful. And it’s talking to you.

You don’t know what it’s saying but it’s talking to you, voice vibrating in your bones for only a few seconds yet it feels like those few seconds have changed you irreversibly. 

Something wet touches your hand. The icy touch of slender fingers hold your palm, leading it closer to the soft wetness. It’s almost warm, but not quite. 

The cool wet traces over the warm trails that spilled your hand. 

A tongue. Whatever is with you is tracing its tongue over the trail of your spilled blood. 

There’s a sound, it sounds pleased. 

The tongue passes over the back of your hand. It burns.

You want to cry out.

You keep your mouth shut.

“What happened?” One of your colleagues asks, eyeing the bandage wrapped around your left hand as you take your mug from the coffee machine. 

“Just wasn’t paying attention,” you reply with a lighthearted little laugh and shrug. She accepts your words just like that and starts to prattle on about something as she puts her mug where yours was moments before and places a fresh pod into the machine. 

Your gaze slides to the white gauze hiding the raised line of a fresh wound on your hand, cutting straight through the stained ink you couldn’t scrub off before bed.

“Did you hear?” Another colleague walks in, his hands holding his oversized empty mug ready to refill, and his eyes are wide.

“Be more specific, Seungkwan, you catch so much gossip it’s impossible to know what you’re talking about at any given time,” the woman on your right scoffs, rolling her eyes but her lips are turned up a little in amusement. 

You glance at her and suddenly wonder why you don’t know her name. Have you ever known it? Surely. You must’ve. But you can’t for the life of you remember what it is. 

You look at Seungkwan as he moves closer and you realise that you had forgotten his name until the woman spoke it. You wonder what else you’ve forgotten lately; you get the feeling it’s a lot. Yet you find that you don’t care, not really. It’s all meaningless.

“You know how Seokmin didn’t turn up today, right?” Seungkwan whispers as he leans closer to yourself and the nameless woman. 

You didn’t ask to be included in this and you almost walk away, but he’s half blocking you in and you don’t really want to go back to your desk and stare at a screen that hurts your eyes even with the brightness turned down. So you remain and just watch the conversation happen as you sip your drink.

“Hungover, he went out with Mingyu and Soonyoung last night and you know how those three get,” the woman muses, plucking her mug from the machine and turning to lean back against the counter and leave space for Seungkwan to access the machine if he wants to. But he doesn’t and continues to clutch his empty mug with wide eyes.

“We all thought that too but he didn’t answer anyone’s texts or calls and you know he’s too nice to do that.” The woman hums in agreement. You don’t have any input yourself but nod a little when Seungkwan looks at you. 

It seems right for Seokmin’s character at least, to never intentionally avoid others like that. He always seems too…warm. 

Your nose turns up a little at the thought of that warmth. You used to like it. But now. Now even the thought feels suffocating.

“Exactly,” Seungkwan continues, entirely missing your unimpressed turn of expression. “So Mingyu went around there on lunch break to check on him and he’s not there.” 

“What?” 

“Seokmin isn’t there.” 

“Then where is he?” 

“Nobody knows. They’re trying to find out. It’s not like Seokmin to do this. They’re worried something happened to him.” 

It’s dark, and cold, and soft underfoot and you’re not alone. It’s dark and there’s a cold trail of a gentle touch over your cheek. 

There’s that sound, that noise you know means that whatever is with you is talking to you. You don’t understand, but you think you’re starting to.

It’s dark and you’re not alone anymore. You’re not sure you ever were. 

There’s a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, a hamper of unwashed clothes in the bathroom. None of it matters. It’s all meaningless.

You’re waiting. Though you’re not sure what for. 

But you think you’re starting to understand. Every morning you wake with a breeze on your skin and you think you understand more. 

You feel it in you. 

Whatever it is, it’s almost ready.

A gasp of your name makes you look up from the display of apples before you. You know the approaching man, he’s familiar. You work with him.

He gets closer, plastic disposable coffee cup in hand and he’s already talking away, gossiping. You lift your eyes from his cup and to his face. He always has a cup. You know that. But you don’t know his name. It doesn’t matter. 

“It’s so sad, isn’t it?” The man finishes, frowning at you as if he truly is upset by whatever he had just said to you. You blink at him, not sure what was said but willing to agree to be left in peace already. “About Seokmin?” 

You don’t know who Seokmin is. You think you should know, but you don’t. You don’t care either. 

“Were you listening?” He frowns further and reaches out towards you. You take a step back out of his reach before his palm can touch your forehead. “Are you okay? You look pale, you feel cold.” 

“I’m fine,” you assure. It’s the truth. You are fine. He’s the one emanating a disturbing amount of warmth. 

“You’ve been strange lately. Not yourself.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Right.” Genuine concern twists his mouth as he curls his hand back around his cup. “You should text Seokmin, let him know that you’re thinking about him, it’ll cheer him up.” 

“I have groceries to buy,” you point out. He opens his mouth to say something but you’re already turning and walking away with your basket in hand. 

Those apples didn’t seem fresh enough to you anyway.

There’s a man standing on the path as you walk home, a grocery bag swinging from your hand and guided by the gentle moonlight. He’s not moving, just standing, staring into the dark of the woods transfixed. 

You know better than that. 

As you near the man-shaped obstacle in the path you make an attempt to give him a wide berth but suddenly he turns to face you with wide eyes void of any light. You recognise him, even without his normal warmth. 

“Come for a walk with me,” he speaks to you in a voice layered with sounds you can’t describe. Though there is his natural voice and another one there, one you don’t know by ear but you know it. Whatever is in your chest knows it. 

You almost falter in your steps but remain steady. You ignore him and walk around his form to continue on your walk.

“You can’t avoid it forever. He’s waiting for you,” he calls after you.

“Go home, Seokmin!” you reply yet don’t look back. 

You don’t see him take a step off of the path. You don’t see him slink off into the woods, drawn by something that has its cold fingers too deep in his chest for him to ever be free of again.

It’s dark, until it isn’t. No light comes yet shapes start to form in front of your eyes. Pale thin fingers reaching for you, tipped with short pointed nails. The sharpness of which you have proof of under the bandage on your hand.

A gentle caress on your cheek.

A blink of your eyes and a face appears. Or perhaps it was always there. You just didn’t see it before. 

It looks human, yet doesn’t. Too beautiful, too ghastly. A contradiction you are unable to remove your gaze from. You don’t want to remove your gaze from.

Dark wisps of hair fall over an even darker eye as its head tilts a little. To the left then to the right. 

Pretty lips stained red stretch wide, too wide. Sharp teeth put on display. Too many teeth. But so pretty. Dangerous. And beautiful. 

It’s smiling, eyes swirling with twisted pleasure as it stares at you, a cold, gentle thumb rubbing a tender pattern against your cheek. The smile grows as you tilt ever so slightly into the touch.

Teeth rescind before your eyes. They remain sharp yet fewer appear and are smaller than before. Leaving space for sounds to slip through. You catch sight of a pale tongue moving within its mouth as it forms sounds. Words. 

But you don’t understand. You don’t know the ancient language it speaks. 

Yet.

A soft touch to your bottom lip and your mouth falls open at the request of this horrifyingly beautiful creature before you. 

It smiles widely, pleased by your willing obedience as darkness spills onto your tongue and slips down your throat.

It’s dark when you open your eyes, no light streaming in from your window. The breeze is still on your face where you lay. 

It’s soft under your back, soft and cold and damp. 

“Welcome to your new life, little one.” You’ve never heard the voice before, not on its own, only blended with the man on the path. It’s velvet smooth yet crackles at the edge with a cold fire. Comfort and danger in one. You know the owner even without looking over. 

Still, you look.

Beauty and horror rolled into one haunting creature resembling a human male, yet far from it. 

He’s sitting on the damp forest ground a little to your right, smiling at you with those sharp teeth on show, his dark, dangerous eyes which hold no light or warmth locked on you. And yet you feel…adored. 

“What’s your name?” You ask, voice soft and calm, at peace here laid on the bed of moss beside the being that could tear you apart and swallow you whole if he so desired. You think he once wanted to. But now. Now you think he still might. But only to carry you with him always. 

You think you would let him, if he asked. 

“My name?” He repeats, leaning forward. You nod and then suddenly he’s slinking over the ground, crawling in a manner that should not be possible, his bones should not move in such a way if he were human. 

But he’s not. 

“Names hold power here, little one, do you think I would give a mere human power over me?” He taunts, placing each of his bony hands either side of your head as he leans over you, head tilting too far to the right for a human neck. 

“I don’t feel human anymore.” You reply and lift your hand to feather your fingers over his cheek. Perfectly smooth and cold, yet still soft. 

“I suppose you are not.” He chuckles and dips down to brush the tip of his nose over your neck, to breathe the scent of you in.

“What am I now?” 

“Mine.” Sharp teeth pierce your delicate skin, not deeply, just enough to draw blood that a cold, wet tongue laps up greedily. 

“Then tell me your name. If I’m yours, I will never want to do you harm.” 

He leans up. Peers at you as he licks blood stained teeth and swallows every drop. 

“You are mine.” He repeats.

“I am yours.”

“Prove it, let me have you.” 

“I am yours.” You repeat firmly, tugging him down to taste your blood on his tongue.

It’s dark, and cold, and soft under your bare back, and you are not alone. 

“My name is Jeonghan.” 

It’s dark and you don’t want to find the light again.

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Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie @variety-is-the-joy-of-life

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