This fic contains sexual content, mature themes, strong language, dominance/submission dynamics, pet names, and references to kink. It is intended for readers 18+ only. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Let’s dive into the story:
It was a quiet, peaceful Saturday afternoon. You and Heeseung were curled up on the living room couch, watching Scream together. After months of begging him to watch it with you, finally having him agree filled you with a quiet satisfaction.
His hand rested on your waist, brushing close to your chest, while your head leaned against his shoulder. The steady thump of his heartbeat under your ear was comforting, grounding you in the moment. And yet… your thighs tingled for a different reason. Not just from being close to him—though that played a part—but because your mind was imagining Heeseung wearing that mask and fucking you raw.
You let out a small, needy sigh while biting your lip softly—he noticed, of course; he noticed everything about you. He could tell you were getting more and more aroused, but he didn’t move.
Neither of you were really paying attention to the movie anymore.
It had been a while, and you couldn’t take it anymore. You pulled away, lifting your gaze to meet his dark, intense eyes. He looked like a predator sizing up his prey, every movement deliberate, every glance sharp and hungry.
You felt his hand inching closer to your inner thighs. He didn’t need to be told; one single look from you was enough for him to understand exactly what you meant. A sinful smirk tugged at the very corner of his lips, sharp and knowing.
His hand hovered near the edge of your shorts, but you stopped him—not because you didn’t want him, but because you wanted him in a different way.
You swallowed, your pulse racing, and finally whispered, “Heeseung… I want you to wear it.”
His eyebrows rose slightly, just enough to show surprise, though the smirk never left his lips. “Wear what?” he asked, his voice low, teasing, as if already guessing.
You felt your cheeks heat up, but your eyes didn’t leave his. “That mask… the one from Scream,” you murmured, voice trembling just enough to make him lean in closer.
“Beg for it,” Heeseung murmured, his voice low and edged with that teasing command.
Please,” you gasped, your voice trembling with need.
“Beg properly for me, daddy,” Heeseung murmured softly, his tone commanding yet intimate, making your pulse race even faster.
Suddenly, your voice grew more desperate, your body trembling with need as every nerve seemed to hum with anticipation.
Heeseung’s dark eyes roamed over you, taking in every shiver, every small gasp. A small, knowing smirk tugged at his lips, like he was enjoying the show far more than he should. He leaned closer, letting the heat of his presence wash over you, making it impossible to think straight.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “Do you want me to wear it now?”
Your breath hitched, and you nodded, unable to form words. The thought of him in that mask made your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t expected.
Heeseung chuckled softly, almost a growl, as his smirk widened. “That’s what I thought,” he whispered, his hand brushing your hair from your face. “You’ve wanted this for a long time, haven’t you?”
You bit your lip, nodding again, the need and anticipation pooling in your stomach like electricity. His hand traced gentle circles along your side, just enough to make you shiver, his gaze never leaving yours.
The tension between you thickened, heavy and electric, each second stretching into an eternity. You could feel that moment—the moment before fantasy became reality—humming with its own dangerous, thrilling energy.
Heeseung’s smirk never wavered as he studied you, like he could see right into your thoughts. Every shiver, every desperate glance, every tiny quiver of your lips only seemed to amuse him more.
“You’ve imagined this, haven’t you?” he murmured, his voice a mix of teasing and curiosity. “All those times you thought no one was watching…”
You swallowed hard, heat rising to your cheeks, but you didn’t deny it. There was no need—he could tell anyway. That quiet confidence, the way he could read you so effortlessly, made your chest tighten.
He leaned closer, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. “And now… you want me to make it real,” he whispered, letting his words hang heavy in the air. “Is that it?”
Your lips parted, a soft, needy gasp escaping before you could stop it. Nodding slightly, you let your desire speak for you, because words weren’t enough anymore.
A slow, deliberate chuckle rumbled from him. “Good girl,” he murmured, tracing a finger along your jawline. “I love it when you tell me exactly what you want.”
The room seemed to shrink around the two of you, the movie long forgotten on the screen. All that existed was the quiet tension between you—the pull of anticipation, the unspoken understanding, and the thrill of what was coming next.
Heeseung’s smirk never wavered as he studied you, like he could see right into your thoughts. Every shiver, every desperate glance, every tiny quiver of your lips only seemed to amuse him more.
“You’ve imagined this, haven’t you?” he murmured, his voice a mix of teasing and curiosity. “All those times you thought no one was watching…”
You swallowed hard, heat rising to your cheeks, but you didn’t deny it. There was no need—he could tell anyway. That quiet confidence, the way he could read you so effortlessly, made your chest tighten.
He leaned closer, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. “And now… you want me to make it real,” he whispered, letting his words hang heavy in the air. “Is that it?”
Your lips parted, a soft, needy gasp escaping before you could stop it. Nodding slightly, you let your desire speak for you, because words weren’t enough anymore.
A slow, deliberate chuckle rumbled from him. “Good girl,” he murmured, tracing a finger along your jawline. “I love it when you tell me exactly what you want.”
The room seemed to shrink around the two of you, the movie long forgotten on the screen. All that existed was the quiet tension between you—the pull of anticipation, the unspoken understanding, and the thrill of what was coming next.
A sharp gasp tore from your lips before you could stop it. Fear shot through you, sudden and overwhelming, and your instincts kicked in before your mind could catch up. You turned on your heel and started running, bare feet slapping softly against the floor as your heart pounded wildly in your chest.
“Wait—” his voice came from behind the mask, distorted and low, but panic drowned it out.
You rushed down the hallway, breath uneven, pulse roaring in your ears. Every shadow felt like it was moving, every sound making you flinch. You could hear footsteps behind you—slow, unhurried, like he wasn’t chasing you… but letting you run.
That realization sent another shiver down your spine.
You reached the end of the hallway and stopped abruptly, realizing there was nowhere left to go. The lights flickered faintly, casting eerie shapes on the walls as you turned around, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Standing a few steps away, tall and still, the Ghostface mask tilted slightly to the side as if he were studying you—watching every shaky breath, every nervous movement.
Your fear mixed with anticipation in a way that made your knees feel weak, the tension so thick it felt like the air itself was holding its breath.
You stood frozen in place, back pressed lightly against the wall, your breath coming out in shallow gasps. Your heart was racing so loudly you were sure he could hear it through the mask. Every instinct told you to move, to do something—but your body refused to listen.
He took a slow step forward.
Each step was deliberate, unhurried, like he knew you had nowhere left to go. The mask tilted slightly again, almost curious, and that familiar chill ran down your spine. What unsettled you most wasn’t the darkness or the mask—it was the fact that this was your own husband standing in front of you, watching you like this.
“Your own husband scares you now, baby?” his voice came through the mask, low and calm, sending another shiver through you.
You swallowed hard, nodding despite yourself. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt as you tried to steady your breathing. “You— you didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, though there was no real accusation in your tone.
He stopped just a step away, close enough that you could feel his presence, his warmth, grounding you even in the dark. “You asked for it,” he murmured softly. “Didn’t you?”
The words settled between you, heavy and intimate. Slowly, the fear began to melt into anticipation, your pulse still racing—but now for a different reason.
The mask wasn’t just a mask anymore.
And he was exactly where you wanted him to be.
Your breathing slowly began to steady as you stood there, eyes locked on the hollow stare of the mask. The initial fear lingered, but it softened, melting into something warmer, heavier. You knew that presence. You knew him. Even like this.
He lifted a hand slowly, deliberately, giving you time—time to pull away if you wanted to. You didn’t.
“Look at you,” he murmured through the mask, voice quieter now, almost reassuring. “Still standing. Still right here.”
His thumb brushed lightly against your wrist, grounding, familiar. That simple touch was enough to remind you that this wasn’t danger—it was control, chosen and shared.
Your shoulders relaxed just a little. “You scared me,” you whispered, not accusing—just honest.
A soft exhale left him, almost a chuckle. “I know,” he said. “But you trusted me anyway.”
The air between you felt thick again, not with fear this time, but anticipation. His presence was steady, confident, wrapping around you without needing to touch you any further.
“Come here,” he said gently.
And you did—one careful step at a time—because even with the mask on, even with your heart still racing, you knew exactly who was waiting for you underneath it.
Before you could even process what was happening, he scooped you up effortlessly, tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing at all and he slapped your ass. A surprised gasp left your lips as he started toward the bedroom, ignoring your half-hearted protests and the small slaps you landed against his back—doing absolutely nothing to slow him down.
If anything, they only made him chuckle softly through the mask as he carried you away.
He swung the bedroom door open and gave it a sharp kick closed with his foot. Before you could even react, he tossed you onto the bed, landing with a soft thud. Within seconds, he was hovering over you, his presence pressing down, magnetic and impossible to ignore.
The mask hid his expression, but the weight of his gaze and the deliberate control in his movements made your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t expected.
He leaned closer, the mask mere inches from your face. You could feel his warmth, the faint brush of air as he breathed, and your pulse raced uncontrollably.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “all of this… and you still can’t take your eyes off me.”
You shivered, a mix of nerves and anticipation twisting in your chest. The mask made him look untouchable, yet familiar, dangerous yet undeniably him. Every instinct screamed at you—run, resist, but you couldn’t move.
His hand hovered near yours, not touching, just letting you feel the proximity. “I could leave you here,” he whispered, “or I could stay… your choice, if you’re brave enough to tell me.”
Your breath hitched, caught somewhere between excitement and the lingering remnants of fear. The room felt smaller, the tension heavier, every second stretching endlessly as you waited for him to make the next move.
Suddenly, he tossed the mask aside, revealing his face, glistening with sweat, and it hit you—he looked hotter than ever. Your stomach twisted, and your thighs clenched almost instinctively, your body betraying you despite your attempt to stay composed.
His lips and yours colliding and your tongues fighting. His hands were in all the right places, the lighting just low enough. He was so sexy in everything he did. From his looks to the way he just carried himself. His hands on your hips and his lips against yours put you in some kind of trance, made you feel a way about him you never felt before. He pulls back, his tongue licking up the bit of your saliva off his bottom lip. He looks you up and down as if taking in what he's got to work with.
He kisses down your neck, hands rising under your shirt to the sensitive area where your ribs are. Assertive. Just like you've always craved. You feel his tongue and teeth occasionally scrape across your neck as his lips trailed. You give him totally control, control to kiss, to guide, undress, move, arrange you. He ditches your top, leaving it on his floor. His hands grope your chest, squeezing and admiring the cute bra you'd had on.
You were utterly flustered, taken over with attraction. He tosses your bra aside to join the spot with your shirt in the floor. You felt vulnerable under his presence, like you can sense his want for you, his hunger. His lips are quickly at your tits, sucking and kissing one while his fingers work the other. This really was the first time you'd felt something like this, you couldn't help but slip a small whimper.
He was so much bigger than you, not just height but frame wise. It was overwhelming in the hottest way. He leaves small purple marks on your boobs, his mouth putting in work. He even had technique, spitting and swirling with his tongue. He rises, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your nipple splitting as he does.
His voice was so addicting, the smoothness of it sending pulses of pleasure straight to your pussy. You nod with a pathetic whine, your hips subtly stuttering. He bites his lip seeing you barely able to keep yourself together. He grips his cock through his sweats, the outline undeniable. He was showing off, displaying his delicious size to you.
Your eyes dart from his bulge to back his face and you nodded eagerly.
“You…I want it.” You said in a low stuttering tone.
He flips his shirt off to reveal his toned chest and abs, a dark and trimmed trail of hair leading to his pants that was a contrast from the soft maroon red locks on his head. He moves forward to guide you back onto the bed, his frame completely covering yours from above. His skilled hands slip into your pj shorts, feeling you ruined panties. You were wet to an absurd amount, unable to control your attraction to him. He felt how puffy and soaked it all was, grinning slightly with pride knowing he's the one making you feel this way.
His fingers teasingly go up and down your slit over your panties, not giving you the exact friction or relief you need. His name rolls off your tongue in pleads. He pulls his hand out to tug down your shorts. He keeps your soaked underwear on for now, liking the sight of it. He spits on it just to make a further mess, using it to rub your clit. His fingers were so long and thick compared to you, the pad of his pinky would've been enough. He preferred his index and middle.
"You gonna be able to handle me, pretty?" he chuckles breathlessly, tucking some hair behind your ear.
You nodded eagerly, after all you have been waiting for this moment.
“Yea? You gonna be a good girl and take me, hmm?”
His hands go to the waistband of his sweats as he takes them off. His boxers looked tight in the groin, his huge outline tenting them to an absurd degree. He looks himself up and down, then you, comparing the sizes.
He slides down your panties, taking in your wetness with a groan. Your pussy was drooling and throbbing, begging for his attention. He tugs down his boxers now, his length hard as steel and standing upright. It slapped against his hard abs as it came out. It was long and thick, prominent veins running up the shaft to his tip that was red with need and weeping precum.
The base had more trimmed raven hairs. Its size looked comical next to you. He puts your legs on his shoulders, putting himself up against you. He lets a glob of saliva run off his tongue onto his cock, stroking it to spread it around. He runs the head up and down your slit, making you gasp.
Despite the fact that he does fit inside you very well, you still can’t help and wonder what if he doesn’t fit inside?
“It…it will f-fit?” You asked him stuttering desperately
“Yeah, it will fit like always. You’ll have to adjust, baby.”
He slides in slightly, even the subtle inch he put in already felt like a lot. Just a lot more of those to go. He goes in another two, making you gasp again but this time louder. He groans at the tight and hot feeling. Hes not looking at where you connect, not your tits or your spread legs. His eyes stare directly into yours, his brows furrowed and jaw locked. Another hip roll shoves more of himself in you. He starts moving back and forth now, the slick of your pussy helping him fit.
He cursed under his breath because the stretch was delicious.
He buries the rest in. A moan is drawn from your throat at the intrusion. You can feel your canal being dilated to let him stay. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breath stolen by the helpless noises you made. Little by little he starts to move again, his hips rolling rather than just pounding. The curve of his dick hits every sweet spot inside you. You already knew you wouldn’t be able to walk by tomorrow.
He has one foot planted and the other on the bed for a deeper angle. You swear you can feel him in your stomach, his body taking over yours. He entered this consistent rhythm that made you feel amazing. You could feel yourself throbbing around him, pulling him in deeper and deeper like a trap. Your legs twitch on his shoulders, his hand gentle on your ankle. His other hand spread palm down on your tummy and adding small pressure.
You barely have the strength to look down at where you two connected. All you could see was a creamy and delicious mess between your legs where he was repeatedly thrusting like a machine, his length making a bulge in your stomach. The sight made you pulse harder, squeeze him tighter, give up the effort used in your neck to lift it up and placing your head back against the pillow.
His hand moves up from your stomach to your chest, his thumb circling your nipple absentmindedly. Your back arches off the bed at the sensitivity.
“Ahh…too much…hee.” You gasped desperately.
“No, baby. You will take it, you always do.”
You feel an ever so tightening knot inside you getting closer and closer to snapping. Goosebumps grew across your body, feeling hot and cold at the same time. You put a weak hand against his lower abs, not putting in any honest effort. He swats it away like nothing. The feeling continues to build and Heeseung won't let you stop it.
“Look at me in the eyes, sweetheart.” He commanded.
His voice made it clear that he expected you to obey him without hesitation.
Your eyes shoot up to his at his command. Just the connection like this made your resolve crumble. Your jaw dropped at this feeling in you, the feeling of that knot unwinding.
“Make a mess on my dick, hmm.”
And make a mess you do. You squeeze him tightly like your body wants him buried. Your toes curl and you're unable to stay quiet. He continues to look at you, his eyes filled with that same expression of power. Power he had over you.
You're limp on the sheets as he continues, him chasing his own orgasm now. Your overstimulated pussy stayed clenched tight around him. Small hiccups left your body and you felt completely cock drunk.
You can see him start to sweat a little more now, his abs flexing harder. "Fuck... gonna make me cum..." he moans, his head falling back. His breathing gets heavier and his movements more eractic. With a grunt he buries himself halfway, spurting out his seed. He thrusts a few more times before pulling out and letting the liquid ooze.
You both are left panting and trying to catch your breath, but it was amazing.
The room slowly settled into silence, broken only by the sound of uneven breathing as you both lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Your body still felt warm, oversensitive, every nerve humming faintly beneath your skin. The intensity from earlier hadn’t fully faded—it lingered in the air, heavy and unmistakable, like it had soaked into the walls themselves.
Heeseung shifted beside you after a while. You felt the mattress dip as he sat up, then heard the quiet rustle of fabric as he pulled on his boxers. Something about the simple, ordinary sound made your chest tighten. It felt like a line being drawn—subtle, but definite.
You turned your head to look at him. “Where are you going?” you asked softly, your voice still a little breathless.
“In the kitchen,” he replied after a brief pause. His tone was calm, controlled—different from before. “I need to check something.”
There was no smile, no teasing remark. Before you could ask what he meant, or even say his name again, he was already walking away. His footsteps faded down the hallway, unhurried, deliberate. The door didn’t close loudly. Nothing about the way he left suggested anger or frustration.
And somehow, that made the silence worse.
You stayed there for a moment, unmoving, your gaze fixed on the spot where he’d disappeared. The shift in his behavior replayed in your mind, again and again. The warmth that had filled your chest earlier began to cool, replaced by a slow, creeping doubt.
The thought settled uncomfortably in your stomach. You told yourself you were overthinking—that there was no reason to feel like this—but the insecurity clung to you anyway, stubborn and unwelcome.
Minutes passed. Too many of them.
Eventually, the quiet became unbearable. You sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, and stepped into the hallway to look for him. The house felt oddly still, darker than it should have been. When you reached the living room, you flicked the light switch on instinct.
Your heart skipped. You tried again, slower this time. Still nothing. A faint unease curled in your chest. You’d never liked the dark—it made your thoughts run wild, made every shadow feel heavier than it was.
You exhaled slowly and moved toward the window, fingers brushing against the curtains. You figured if you could just open them a little, let the streetlights in, you’d feel better. More grounded.
Just as your hand tightened around the fabric, the lamp on the side table clicked on.
A sharp breath left your lips as you instinctively stepped back. The room was now dimly lit, shadows stretching long across the walls, unfamiliar and distorted. Your heart raced as your eyes scanned the space, searching for him.
But there was no sign of Heeseung.
The living room felt different now—smaller, tighter, like the air itself had grown heavier. The calm from earlier was completely gone, replaced by a quiet, unsettling tension that crawled beneath your skin. You swallowed, suddenly aware of every sound, every breath, every second that passed.
Something about this moment felt deliberate.
And deep down, you knew you weren’t alone.
You slowly turned around, your heart pounding as you searched the dimly lit room for any sign of him.
You barely had time to register the solid presence in front of you before you walked straight into it.
A broad chest blocked your path.
Your breath caught as you froze, eyes trailing upward—only to meet the hollow, white stare of the mask.
You flinched instinctively, stumbling back as fear spiked through you. He stepped forward at the same time, unhurried, deliberate. Your knees bumped into the edge of the couch, throwing you off balance, and for a split second you thought you were going to fall.
His hand shot out, firm and steady, gripping your waist and pulling you back against him before you could hit the cushions. The contact grounded you instantly, his hold unyielding, unmistakable.
“Did I tell you to leave the bedroom?” he asked darkly through the mask, his voice low and controlled.
You swallowed, heart racing, breath uneven.
“I didn’t,” he continued, tilting his head slightly as if studying you. “So what are you doing out here, baby?”
The question lingered in the air, heavy and unsettling, as his grip tightened just enough to remind you that he had you—completely.
When you didn’t respond right away, a low chuckle slipped from him—soft, dark, almost like a warning. His grip at your waist didn’t loosen.
“Didn’t I tell you,” he said, his voice rougher now, huskier beneath the mask, “that I hate it when you don’t answer me, baby?”
The nickname didn’t sound affectionate this time. It landed heavier—mocking, deliberate—sending a shiver down your spine.
You swallowed, your mind taking a moment to catch up with your racing heart. His presence was overwhelming this close, the mask making it harder to read him, harder to ground yourself.
“It… it had been a while,” you finally said, voice quieter than you intended. “You were gone, so I thought I’d check on you.”
He didn’t reply right away.
Instead, he studied you in silence, the dim light catching on the edges of the mask as his gaze lingered. The pause felt intentional, stretching just long enough to make you second-guess yourself.
You nodded slightly under his stare, as if confirming your own words, your breath still uneven as the tension between you thickened once again.
He leaned closer to your neck, and you felt the cold hardness of the mask brush lightly against your skin. His sharp inhale sent a shiver down your spine.
You tried to step back, but there was nowhere to go. He moved closer, and suddenly you were trapped—pinned between the couch behind you and him.
The space between you had vanished completely. Your hands instinctively pressed against his bare chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your palms. Every inhale, every movement, was magnified in the tight, tense space, leaving you acutely aware of his presence—and your own vulnerability.
His presence pressed down on you, unyielding and suffocating. The mask hovered over your neck, cold and unfeeling, every breath of his sending a shiver straight through your chest. You could feel the weight of him, the deliberate stillness that made it impossible to move.
Your hands remained on his chest, sensing the rhythm of his heartbeat, steady and insistent, a silent reminder that you were entirely within his control. The room felt smaller, darker, as if the walls themselves had closed in, leaving only the two of you.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The silence was deliberate, heavy, almost suffocating, each second stretching longer than the last. Your pulse raced, your breath caught, and every instinct screamed that you couldn’t escape—even if you wanted to.
You tried to pull away, your chest heaving, legs trembling as adrenaline coursed through your veins. Panic clawed at your throat, and your pulse thundered in your ears. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to escape, but even as you sprinted down the dim hallway, the space around you felt smaller, tighter, closing in with every step.
He followed silently, deliberately, his presence looming like a shadow that could never be shaken. The sound of your own hurried breaths mixed with the quiet creak of the floorboards beneath your feet, and it only made the tension worse. You twisted, darted, searching for a corner, anything that might give you room—but the house, the walls, the very air seemed to conspire against you.
Before you could even process it, strong arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you effortlessly over his shoulder. Your protests were muffled, weak, useless against his unyielding grip. For a brief, fleeting moment, fear and disbelief tangled in your chest—you realized there was no escape, no hiding, no out.
He carried you like that, every step purposeful, until the couch appeared before him. The motion was sudden, yet controlled—he set you down with precision, landing on the cushions, but you barely had time to catch your breath before he was above you.
Pinned beneath him, your body felt small and fragile, utterly exposed. His chest pressed against yours, his weight undeniable, his presence inescapable. Every beat of his heart beneath your palms, every measured breath, every subtle movement reminded you that this wasn’t just physical—it was complete dominance, a control you could neither fight nor flee.
The dim light traced the edges of the mask, cold and unfeeling, but it didn’t matter. You could feel the heat of him through it, the solidity of his form, the inevitability of his hold. Panic mixed with a strange, heavy tension in your chest, each breath shallow, each heartbeat loud in your ears.
It was just the two of you.
The world outside—the hallway, the lights, the air, even time itself—disappeared completely. There was no door, no light, no escape. Only him. Only this.
And beneath him, trapped and aware, you felt it fully: there was nothing that could save you.
You were entirely in his grasp.
And you knew… this was all there would ever be.
Author’s note: “Should there be a part two, hmm?”
