SCARED OF THE DARK? ──── choi soobin.
── .✦ (🍂) you didn’t expect your halloween sleepover with soobin to end in terror just like the movies, but when his mask comes off and he’s inside you, the real surprise is who ghostface really was.
pairing: ghostface!soobin x fwb!reader
"content warning 18+ [ MDNI! ], switch!soobin, fem reader, big dick ghostface!soobin, fearplay?, reader gets chased by soobin, fwb!soobin, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, riding, rough sex,”
the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and melted caramel, your tiny apartment lit up in soft, flickering oranges from the lights you’d stuck to every surface. halloween had always been your favorite.
not for the costumes, not for the candy, but for the excuse to be warm with someone else under dim lights and horror movie noise, the night curling in around you like a blanket, thick and humming with the possibility of something else.
and tonight, that something else was soobin.
he’d texted he was arriving to your place soon, so you slipped the popcorn into the microwave and adjusted your too-big hoodie down your thighs. it was his. not gifted—stolen. months ago.
maybe the first night you two crossed the line between sleepover friends and people who knew what the other looked like bare in low light, skin flushed, breathy, and too quiet from holding back sounds you weren’t supposed to make.
it was always like that with him. quiet. tender. confusing.
you never asked if he stayed the night because he wanted to or because it was just easier. but he never rushed to leave, and he always looked at you a second longer than necessary when he thought you weren’t watching.
a knock on your door interuptted your train of thought. you quickly padded over, unlocked the door, and there he was.
soobin was standing there, messy hair falling over his eyes and a plastic bag swinging from one wrist. he had on that big black jacket you liked, zipped only halfway, revealing a stupid shirt that said “otaku.”
you grinned. “you look dumb.”
“you look like you’re about to fall asleep in the middle of our movie,” he shot back, stepping in, eyes dragging down your body just briefly enough to notice you were in his hoodie. he didn’t say anything, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
you rolled your eyes and took the bag he was holding. “what is this?”
“junk,” he said, toeing off his shoes. “red vines. ghost peeps. sour bats. and, uh—” he glanced at you sheepishly, “that weird popcorn flavour you like.”
you paused and turned to look at him. “you remembered?” soobin shrugged. “you talk a lot.” still, your cheeks warmed as you moved to the couch, dumping the snacks onto the table and clicking the tv on.
he settled in beside you, just like always. legs slightly parted, arms loose on either side, never touching unless you leaned first. his presence filled the room even when he was quiet. especially then.
you sat close. not enough to draw attention to it, but enough that you could feel the warmth of his thigh against yours. you pretended to be focused on the opening credits, on the flickering flashes of a retro horror title card and the hum of a synth-heavy score.
but it was hard to focus, because he was here. and he smelled sweet. he always looked good in soft light. and something about tonight felt different, even if neither of you had said anything.
halfway through the movie, your head drifted onto his shoulder. soobin didn’t flinch. didn’t say anything. he just breathed a little deeper, then tilted his head slightly until it rested on yours.
“you okay?” he murmured, voice soft. “just comfy,” you whispered back, sighing softly in contentment.
his shoulder was warm. you could feel the faint thud of his heartbeat beneath the hoodie fabric. the tv kept playing—some masked killer chasing a girl through the woods—but the only thing you noticed was how his fingers brushed your knee as he reached for the popcorn.
you don’t know how long you stayed like that, warm and quiet, lulled by the sound of soft screaming and the weight of his presence beside you.
until soobin stretched suddenly, yawning into his sleeve. “going to the bathroom,” he muttered, already pushing himself up. the blanket fell away from both of you as he stood.
he scratched at his neck, his hoodie riding up just slightly, exposing a sliver of pale skin and the waistband of his sweats. you looked away before he caught you staring.
the hallway light clicked on for a second, then off again. the bathroom door shut with a quiet thud. and then it was just you.
the room felt colder without him, even though the blanket still covered your legs and the tv still played, flickering shadows against the far wall. you shifted in your seat, wrapping the blanket tighter around your body, trying not to feel weird about being alone in your own home.
but the feeling settled in anyway. like something was off.
a few minutes of almost complete silence passed by, save for the tv playing faintly in the background. you look around the room, waiting impaitently as a feeling of anxiety bloomed in your chest.
and that’s when you noticed it.
the hallway light that had flicked on earlier, soft yellow bleeding out from beneath the bathroom door—was off. no glow, no hum, just darkness. you squinted toward it, waiting for the sound of running water or the scrape of the sink turning on. but there was nothing. no footsteps, no flush, no creak of the door opening again. just stillness, thick and pressing, like the walls were holding their breath.
you checked the time. it had only been a few minutes. maybe he was just taking his time. maybe he’d gotten distracted. maybe he was scrolling on his phone like he always did, mindlessly watching videos with the sound off. you stared at the dark hallway anyway, your stomach tightening without reason.
and then your phone lit up. you jumped without realizing, wondering why you suddenly felt so afraid. the screen glared back at you in the dim room. unknown caller.
no contact photo. no number. just those words glowing in stark white, perfectly centered like it was meant to be seen. you hesitated. your thumb hovered above the red decline button, heart thudding now for reasons you didn’t understand yet. but something made you answer. curiosity, impulse, maybe something deeper.
the call connected, and at first there was simple silence. not the kind that comes from a bad signal. not the awkward kind from someone unsure of what to say. this silence felt intentional, like someone was waiting for you to speak first.
“…hello?” your voice came out too small, barely above a whisper. you cleared your throat again. “uhh...hello?”
then, a breath started, long and steady. your mouth went dry.
“soobin, if this is some stupid joke, it’s not funny.” you tried to laugh, but it didn’t come out right. the air around you felt thinner somehow. the sound of the movie blurred behind you into white noise, too loud, too distorted.
the voice that finally answered wasn’t his. “what’s your favorite scary movie?”
you went still. this was such a stupid joke.
the voice was strange—mechanical but not robotic, filtered like it had been dragged through static and stitched back together. it wasn’t monotone. it had inflection. playfulness. like whoever was on the other end enjoyed asking the question.
your fingers tightened around the blanket. “not funny,” you said again, firmer this time, even though your body had already started to betray you—goosebumps rising along your arms, heartbeat skipping. “seriously, stop.”
“he left you alone.” the words slid through the speaker like oil. slow. deliberate. they didn’t sound like a question.
you stood without realizing it, your legs moving before your brain caught up. the blanket fell from your lap and pooled around your ankles. the tv screen flickered behind you, washing the walls in dull blue.
“who is this?” you asked. your voice was shaking now. you didn’t try to fix it.
“he’s not in the bathroom anymore.” the voice on the other line said, and you stopped breathing.
your gaze snapped toward the hallway. the darkness there suddenly looked heavier, as if something could be standing just beyond the threshold, watching. you took a step forward, then back, unsure.
“you should check,” the voice purred. “go ahead. i’ll wait.” and your throat closed up at that.
“no,” you whispered. “fuck off.” and the line went dead. your phone screen returned to black.
you stared at your own reflection in the glossy glass for a second, heart pounding so hard it felt like it was echoing through your ribcage. then, almost without thinking, you began walking—slow, barefoot, the sound of the floor creaking under your weight far too loud in the suffocating silence.
you reached the bathroom door. there was no light, and no sound. your fingers curled around the doorknob. it was cold against your fingertips.
darkness met you inside, complete and total. you reached in with one hand, fumbling for the light switch, but your fingers brushed only cold tile and empty air.
the room was empty, and soobin wasn’t there anymore.
you stepped back fast, your shoulder hitting the hallway wall. your breath came quick and uneven now, panic crawling up the back of your neck. you turned in a slow circle, scanning the space—the closed windows, the locked door, the empty corners of your living room. everything looked the same, and yet, nothing felt right.
then the tv shut off behind you. it didn’t fade or flicker or buzz like a loose connection—it cut, like someone had ripped the cord from the wall. a sudden, bone-deep silence collapsed over the room. you sat frozen in its wake, blinking into the darkness that followed, your eyes struggling to adjust as the faint, familiar glow that had lit the space just seconds ago vanished.
the apartment was plunged into thick, suffocating quiet. no hum of static. no echoing screams. no soft music cues that had made the horror feel manageable, fake, contained. now it was just you and the dark.
you stayed still for too long. too scared to move. too scared not to.
you shifted slightly, the couch cushions creaking beneath you, and it was in that movement that you realized how loud everything had become. the fabric brushing your skin. the faint tremble in your breath. even the clock on the wall, ticking away with each second like a countdown.
you reached for your phone with shaking fingers. the screen lit your face in a harsh blue glow, and for a moment, the light felt like salvation. but as you looked down—your breath caught.
you had a new text. “still scared of the dark?”
you didn’t think. you didn’t breathe. your fingers trembled over the screen. the message wasn’t from a contact. no number. just those words.
then your phone vibrated again. this time, a call, unknown caller.
you stared. the ringing cut through the quiet like a blade. you shouldn’t answer, every part of your body told you not to. and yet—your thumb moved.
at first, only silence. but not empty. it was the kind of silence that felt watched. like something was on the line, close enough to hear your breath.
your voice cracked. “who the fuck is this?” you managed.
“you look cute when you’re scared.” the voice said. you stood up too fast. the coffee table knocked into your shin, and you barely noticed.
“soobin, if this is you—” your voice shook. you hated how it shook. “i swear to god—”
a distorted chuckle started through the phone, like a laugh through broken glass.
“he’s not here anymore.” you turned to the hallway. still no light. still no sound.
the call then dropped and your phone screen went dark once again.
a soft knock started, but not from the front door, from inside. somewhere deeper in the apartment.
you stepped backward, slowly, your legs numb. the sound hadn’t come from the hallway. it had come from behind you. the kitchen. the closet. the space by the bookshelf—places you weren’t looking. places you never feared until now.
you turned toward the front door, and it was open. not wide, just slightly. a breath of cold air seeping through the gap. and that's when you saw him.
a man-shaped shadow swathed in black, tall and motionless beneath the dim ceiling light, the only thing that moved was the soft sway of fabric at his sides, robes trailing near his boots, like he had just stepped out from behind a curtain.
your breath stopped mid-inhale. your eyes—wide, burning, unblinking—fixed on the mask.
he tilted his head. just a little. slow and deliberate, and that’s when your body remembered what fear was.
a bolt of panic shot through your legs, nerves sparking to life like wires soaked in gasoline. you turned so fast your shoulder cracked against the wall, but you didn’t stop, didn’t breathe—only ran, feet slapping the hardwood, lungs scraping for air as you barreled toward the front door with blind desperation.
the room warped around you, your vision tunneling, the walls stretching like you were sprinting through a nightmare that refused to end.
you didn’t look back. you didn’t dare.
because some primitive part of you already knew—he was behind you. not from the sound of footsteps, because there were none. not from a breath or a whisper. just that feeling, like gravity had changed direction, like you were being pulled backwards by something heavy and unseen.
your fingers grazed the door handle—and then they were gone.
you barely registered the impact before your back was slammed into something solid, your breath knocked out of you like a punch to the chest.
arms locked around your waist, strong and fast, dragging you back with the efficiency of someone who knew exactly how to catch something running.
you screamed. it came out hoarse and ragged, your throat already raw with terror. your legs kicked uselessly, feet scrambling for traction as he yanked you away from the door, away from the one exit, away from everything you thought was safe.
your fingers clawed at anything—air, furniture, the wall—but he didn’t falter. he moved with purpose, with confidence, like he’d done this before, like he had planned this moment down to the breath.
you were thrown back onto the couch.
the cushions caught your fall but not gently—it was jarring, your limbs folding under you, hair falling in your eyes, heart slamming against your ribs like it was trying to escape your body entirely.
before you could recover, he was on top of you.
his knees bracketed your hips, one gloved hand pinning both your wrists above your head with ease. you thrashed beneath him, but it was useless, he didn’t move an inch.
the mask hovered over you. closer now.
your chest heaved under him, panic coming in shallow, gasping waves, as if the air was no longer yours to take.
he didn’t speak, he didn’t need to. every second stretched unbearably long, each heartbeat loud and sharp like a countdown to something you didn’t understand.
and then—he leaned in. just a few inches closer.
you could still feel his hand around your wrists, pinning them against the couch cushion like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. not violent, not rushed. just firm and confident, like he knew exactly how you’d move, how your body would react, what part of you would give in first.
the mask stayed in place as he hovered above you, chest rising and falling in deep, steady rhythm. your breath was jagged in contrast—fast, uneven, every inhale snagging in your throat as your brain tried to claw its way out of the chaos. but your body knew something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet.
because beneath the fear, beneath the adrenaline still roaring through your veins, you recognized him.
not all at once, but the way his hands fit around your wrists. the way his fingers flexed when they gripped you. the way he moved above you—not just with force, but familiarity. so familiar.
your legs shifted beneath him, your body arching slightly as you struggled—not to escape, but to get closer, and the second your hips pressed against his, the second you felt the way he rutted down, slow and instinctive, your whole world cracked open.
because you’d felt that before. countless times. in your bed. against your door. that one time in the backseat of his car. your mouth fell open, a strangled sound caught between disbelief and something darker, something needier.
you barely said it. just a whisper. a breath. like if you said it too loud, the illusion would shatter and something worse would replace it.
but then he laughed. not loud, just quiet, muffled behind the mask, like he couldn’t help it. “took you long enough.”
your blood ran cold and hot at once.
the pressure of his hips against yours returned in slow, rolling waves, like he was grinding down just to prove a point. and that point sank in fast—he wasn’t pretending. he wasn’t playing some prank. he knew what he was doing. all of it.
you could barely think. your heart slammed against your ribs, confusion and heat twisting inside you until your whole body trembled under him.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you breathed, but your voice betrayed you—too soft, too shaky, already melting beneath the weight of recognition.
he leaned in closer, gloved hand sliding down to your jaw, fingers brushing your cheek like he wanted to calm you. or claim you. maybe both.
you didn’t fully proccess that it was him until he pulled off his pants, and pushed into you, slowly, deeply, all the way. and your body went still beneath him.
it wasn’t just the stretch, though that alone made your breath catch, the way your walls gave around him inch by inch, like your body had been waiting for it. it was the way it felt familiar. achingly so. like your cunt knew exactly how to open for him, how to pulse and flutter as the thick weight of his cock sank deeper into you. there was no fumbling, no hesitation, just that perfect, measured slide, too big to take without gasping, too perfect to belong to anyone else.
you could feel the curve of it even before he bottomed out. it was him. it had to be him. that depth, that fullness — like he was splitting you open from the inside, filling every inch like he was meant to live there.
your back arched before you even realized it, thighs trembling as your cunt clenched tight around the stretch. he was barely moving, just letting you adjust, letting the weight of his cock settle deep inside like he was testing how much you could take.
his grip tightened at your waist, gloves discarded now, bare hands warm against your hips as he sank lower, pressing into you with the slow, devastating rhythm of someone who knew exactly what you needed. the mask stayed on. the hood had slipped back slightly, but that empty-eyed plastic face still stared down at you, unblinking, unreadable.
but his body gave him away.
the tension in his shoulders, the way he groaned low in his throat as your walls spasmed around him, the sound catching in the back of his throat like he wasn’t ready for how tight you were — it was all him. you knew that sound. you’d pulled it from him before, wrapped around him in the dark, making him sob against your neck as you squeezed him tight and whispered his name.
his hips began to move. not fast. not rough. just deep — unbearably deep — dragging out until only the swollen head remained inside, then sliding back in until your cunt hugged every thick inch of him, sucking him in like you never wanted him to leave.
you whimpered, overwhelmed.
he was so big it felt like too much, even though you’d had him before. but not like this. not masked. not anonymous. not while your heart was still racing from fear, your body still reeling from the adrenaline of being cornered and played with.
his breath stuttered above you.
“fuck,” he whispered, voice low and wrecked, muffled behind the mask. “you feel… f-fuck, you feel so good.”
his voice cracked at the end, like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. the pace didn’t change — still slow, still agonizing — but he was shaking now, the mask bumping lightly against your cheek as he pressed in deeper, impossibly deeper, like he was trying to fold himself into you.
“wanted this,” he whispered again, and you could feel his lips moving just behind the plastic. “wanted you… so fucking bad… you always mentioned that you liked things that give you adrenaline.”
the confession broke something open. your breath hitched, your body arching up to meet him, taking him deeper than you thought possible. his cock nudged a spot so far inside you it made your vision go white, made your mouth fall open without a sound, made your thighs quake around his waist.
he moaned again, higher this time, helpless. and his rhythm stuttered, just for a second. like he wasn’t sure if he could keep it together.
“you’re so tight,” he breathed. “so warm… fuck… m-made for me, i swear—”
his voice cracked again and he lost the rest in a quiet, shaky gasp, burying himself to the hilt and just holding there, pulsing deep inside you.
you could feel how badly he was holding back — his cock twitching with every clench of your walls, his hands trembling as they gripped your thighs. he was babbling now, soft, frantic words that melted into each thrust like he couldn’t stop them if he tried.
“i love you,” he said, barely audible, like it hurt to admit. “i love you so much—i c-can’t—”
he choked on the words, voice shaking. your body squeezed around him without meaning to, and he gasped, thrusting in deeper again, like your cunt had just stolen the breath from his lungs.
his cock dragged along your walls with a thick, slick sound that made your spine shiver. every inch of him pressed in with precision.
you wrapped your legs around his waist, desperate now, pulling him closer. the mask was still on, but you could feel his desperation — the way his hips jerked just a little harder, the way his moans got softer and messier, the way his thrusts grew shallow and needy, like he was chasing something he didn’t want to catch yet.
your name slipped from his lips again, this time like a prayer, ragged and trembling.
“don’t wanna cum yet,” he whimpered. “wanna stay inside—wanna feel you… just like this… please—”
his pace faltered. you could feel his cock twitching, thick and heavy inside you, the tip pressing deep against that devastating spot again and again, and your cunt clenched tight in response.
his voice broke. “you make me feel—fuck—feel so full, so warm, so—fuck—” and then he came. it wasn’t loud. it wasn’t dramatic. just this soft, guttural whimper as his hips stilled, his cock buried deep, twitching with each thick pulse of cum that spilled into you.
his body collapsed against yours, trembling. the mask pressed against your cheek. his breath hitched and stuttered and broke against your skin, and you could feel the way he was trying not to cry.
he didn’t speak again. just held you there, still inside you, his cock softening only slightly, your cunt still clenching greedily around him like it didn’t want to let go.
and you didn’t either, but you were angry. you had been scared, really scared.
and now, looking up at the blank plastic of the mask still perched on his face, knowing the boy behind it loved you and still chose to scare you like this —
you felt something simmer under your skin.
his fingers hesitated, then lifted the mask.
soobin looked down at you — flushed, ruined, wet lashes and swollen lips, the most beautiful idiot you’d ever seen.
but he was still hard, still deep inside you, and you weren’t done with him, not even close.
“you think this is funny?” your voice was low, rough.
he blinked up at you, dazed and confused. still inside you, barely softening. still clinging to your hips like you might vanish.
“you scared me,” you snapped. his mouth opened, but no words came. just this little broken inhale, guilt dripping off of him in waves.
you shoved him, and his body hit the couch with a dull thud, limbs fumbling to brace himself as you climbed up over him, bare thighs straddling his hips before he could even process what was happening. the plastic costume was bunched around his waist now, cock flushed and wet with your slick and cum, sticking up against his stomach in the prettiest, filthiest curve.
still so hard, still so full. and you weren’t letting him waste it.
your hand wrapped around the base of him, fingers barely meeting as you guided him back between your thighs, watching his whole body jolt as the head brushed your soaked entrance. he was twitching already, hips trying to jerk up into your palm, but you pressed him flat against the cushions with a palm on his chest.
“no,” you said, voice sharp. “you don’t get to move. you’re gonna take it. just like i took your stupid little game.”
he whimpered — full body tremble, lashes fluttering, eyes already wet.
“i— i’m sorry,” he whispered, voice tight and wrecked. “please… please, i didn’t mean to—”
you sank down on his cock in one swift, brutal motion. his apology cut off into a broken cry.
his head tipped back against the couch, teeth biting into his bottom lip as your cunt took every inch, every thick, swollen ridge of him all at once. no slow easing this time. no softness. just the stretch — obscene and raw and full — swallowing him whole until your ass met his lap.
his body jerked under you. his hands scrambled for something to hold, one gripping the edge of the couch cushion, the other flying up to your waist like he was trying to steady himself.
you were too tight, too wet, too furious — clenching down on him like your body wanted to punish him for what your heart couldn’t say.
his cock stretched you open in a way that bordered on cruel, the girth of him hitting too deep, pressing too thick against the sore ache already blooming inside you. your pussy throbbed around him with every breath, fluttering and pulsing, and you could feel the slick sound of your arousal coating him, the wet heat of your bodies slapping together as you began to ride him.
you set the pace — a ruthless rhythm that made the couch creak beneath you, made the muscles in your thighs burn with the force of it. you bounced on him hard, hips slamming down with each thrust, taking him to the hilt again and again like your body wanted to prove something.
his moans were high and sharp, caught in his throat like sobs.
his head fell back against the armrest, jaw slack, lashes fluttering like he couldn’t hold on anymore. your cunt squeezed around him with every throb, fluttering from the sheer stretch, struggling to adjust even as you forced him deeper, and you could feel how it made him twitch. his cock pulsed inside you like it didn’t know how to handle the pressure, like his body was already bracing to break.
his hands twitched at his sides, like he wanted to hold you, maybe slow you down, but the moment he tried, you grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the cushion beside his head, grinding your hips in a slow, tight circle while his breath shuddered beneath you.
you didn’t stop moving. you kept the pace, riding him with a brutal rhythm that made his body jerk under yours, that made the wet sound of your cunt echo against the walls, thick and obscene and soaked.
every time you came down on him, he filled you too much — too full, too deep, the pressure of him nudged against something swollen inside you, bruised from the first round and throbbing now with every thrust.
it made your thighs tremble. made your breath shake. made your fingers dig into his wrists like you needed to hold him there — to keep him from slipping away, from making this anything other than what it was.
you were punishing him, and his body knew it.
“a-ah… fuck, too much— wait— wait—”
he cried out again as you sank down harder, grinding your hips in a slow, tight circle before lifting up and dropping down again, making sure he felt every inch of it.
he was babbling already. soft, helpless, desperate.
“feels so good— s-so good, please— i’m sorry, i’m sorry— oh my god—”
his fingers dug into your waist, not to guide you, but to ground himself.
you leaned forward, hands braced on the couch back behind his head, angling your hips to take him deeper. his body arched under you.
the new angle made him hit something devastating — a spot so deep, so swollen from the first round that it sent a shockwave up your spine. your walls clenched around him again, drawing out another sob.
“nngh— i-it’s too much— c-can’t—”
but you knew he could. and you were going to make sure of it.
his hands dropped uselessly to the sides of the couch, fingers fisting the fabric as you rode him without mercy. he was crying now. real tears spilling down his cheeks, mouth open in a desperate, trembling moan as your pussy milked his cock without pause.
“g-gonna cum—” he sobbed. “fuck, fuck, i c-can’t— i’m gonna—”
you dropped down one last time, hard, and he shattered.
his whole body arched off the couch, hands flying to your waist again like he could hold you there, like he didn’t want to lose a single inch of contact.
his cock pulsed inside you violently — once, twice, then again — spilling hot and thick, the heat of it flooding your cunt as his body bucked beneath you.
he cried out, not loud, but sharp and strangled, and his face crumpled.
you ground down slowly, easing him through it, watching his eyes flutter shut and his lips part in a silent moan. every little movement made him twitch.
he looked so pretty like this, so fucked out, so small beneath you.
his cock softened inside you, leaking into the mess already dripping down your thighs, and he was still crying. tiny tears at the corners of his eyes, cheeks flushed red.
you leaned down, your body still wrapped around his, and brushed his hair back gently.
his arms went limp, and his eyes stayed shut. his breath was still coming in soft little hiccups.
you kissed his cheek. then his lips.
he whispered it again. “i love you.”
"soobin, i love you too. okay? you got me good there."
and for now, you forgave him. and kissed him slowly, wiping his tears away from his soft, pretty face.
a/n: heyy... guess who finally posted a fic again after months hehe!! so yes this is really rushed, so I apologize for any mistakes or if I dragged the fear bit too much. please totally leave a comment or a reblog, I appreciate all feedback or comments!! 💗
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