Mr. Nightmare
Pairing → Vampire?Wonwoo x Human Reader
Genre → Fanasty, modern au
Warning → This article contains profanity, breaking into someone's apartment, and watching someone sleep. It also discusses medication and seeing doctors, and the reader is very curious.
Strongly inspired by that one scene in the J&W Last Night MV. **************************************************** 01
At first, I thought I was losing my mind. Night after night, I’d wake up drenched in sweat, my heart racing as if I’d been fleeing from some unseen terror. The memories of unsettling dreams lingered, fragmented and hazy like pieces of a puzzle I couldn’t quite assemble. Desperate for answers, I visited doctor after doctor. They all delivered the same verdict: “Night terrors.” They prescribed various medications, but nothing helped me sleep.
I began to notice the pattern a couple of months after the dreams started. It would come to me like a thief in the night—actually, it was a thief in the night. It came to rob me of my peaceful sleep and pleasant dreams. I felt what I assumed was its hand on my cheek, the touch icy yet oddly deliberate, gently stroking me. The sensation sent shivers down my spine, as though its touch carried a weight—an otherworldly presence pressing against my soul.
The moment it removed its hand from my cheek, I’d only have a few fleeting moments of calm. Sometimes, I could feel its eyes on my covered figure, watching me sleep—watching me shake and cry in fear—listening to my muffled screams. It felt as if I were paralyzed in my own body; I couldn’t even wake up.
It’s been almost a year now of this endless cycle. I’ve tried every medication on the market, but nothing seemed to help—except for completely exhausting myself. I forced myself to stay awake all week, consuming an unhealthy amount of energy drinks, hoping my body would shut down completely on its own. I had no other choice; I didn’t want to see those horrible things.
It’s been a week since I’ve had any good, uninterrupted sleep. I’ve been longing for it all week. A glance at my bedside clock reveals 1:00 a.m.—Saturday morning, my bedtime. I made sure to complete all the adulting tasks that people with normal sleep schedules would do over the weekend throughout the week. I planned for a big sleep—almost two days of nothing but peaceful, continuous slumber with occasional breaks for the bathroom and food.
As I settled into bed, the silk linens cooled my body from the oppressive summer heat. The faint hum of a distant air conditioner buzzed through the walls, punctuated by the occasional creak of old wooden floorboards beneath me. Outside, crickets chirped softly while leaves rustled gently in the breeze, creating a deceptive sense of calm in an otherwise stifling night.
Just as slumber transitioned into deep sleep, I heard it: the sound of my bedroom window opening. A light breeze swept through before it shut again. Then came the eerie sound of light footsteps on the hardwood floor—the bed dipping as something settled down beside me—and that cold feeling of its ‘hand’ on my cheek.
Its deep voice rasped softly: “You’re a smart one. You’ve adapted so quickly.”
I wanted to open my eyes; I wanted to see what it was. But my body had already surrendered to its desire for sleep—the only thing I craved more than anything else. Another week passed without a visit from the creature. I made sure to sneak in some sleep here and there—mostly at work or during commutes—opting for carpooling or taking the bus whenever possible. Evenings allowed for an hour or two of rest at night.
He had grown accustomed to my routine, watching and learning my every move. Timing his visits to coincide with my weakest moments ensured that I was always too tired to resist or react.
As the clock neared 2:30 a.m., it seemed like his usual time for ‘visits.’ He knew it wouldn’t take long for me to fall asleep; according to his calculations, I hadn’t slept all week—I was dead tired.
Snuggling into bed tonight, however, I opted to face away from him at my desk. A feeling nagged at me that he would be there watching me as I slept.
At exactly 3:00 a.m., just as expected, I heard my window creak open while pretending to be asleep. The familiar breeze brushed against me; then came that cold hand on my cheek again.
His deep voice murmured: “You’re the only one who’s ever found a way around my touch. I must say I've grown quite fond of you. Sleep peacefully tonight.”
That admission confirmed my suspicions; he settled into the chair at my desk facing me instead of watching me sleep like before. Crossing his long legs and resting his head on his hand, he breathed what could only be described as a tired sigh before his breathing slowed—he fell asleep.
From where I lay in bed, there wasn’t much to see except for moonlight filtering through the curtainless window across from him. He was tall—maybe 5’10”, perhaps even 6’. His pale skin contrasted sharply with long black hair framing sharp features that made him look human—attractive even.
For three hours, I watched him sleep while battling conflicting emotions within myself: fear mingled with curiosity as I studied how his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm—so human yet so alien. Questions swirled in my mind: What was he? Why was he here? And why did his presence feel oddly comforting despite its terrifying nature?
The stillness amplified his mystery’s weight; I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him sleeping at my desk after breaking into my apartment.
Suddenly his eyes shot open, locking onto mine with an intensity that startled me. “Why are you awake?” he asked with curiosity laced with quiet irritation.
“Good morning to you too, dear stranger who came through my window like a creep,” I replied as I sat up fully.
“Why are you awake? You should be asleep,” he stated more sternly this time.
“I wasn’t as tired tonight,” I admitted honestly while tilting my head slightly leftward.
“Wanted to know what?”
I moved over toward the window and stared out at the brightly illuminated scene below me. “I wanted to know what kind of intruder has been slipping through my window and turning my nights into a living hell for the past eight months.”
Turning back towards him now standing right above me gazing down intently—I continued: “Things like this are usually better left unknown.”
His voice carried weight hinting at ancient secrets beyond comprehension—a deep sorrow perhaps even regret—that made me wonder what horrors he had seen or caused.
“What can I say? I'm just curious,” I shrugged in response without breaking eye contact with those cat-like irises staring back at me intently.
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” he said suddenly moving faster than any human could react before vanishing out through the window without another word spoken.
“What the fuck is it?”
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