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Monster F☆cker! [NSFW]

Summary: Happy Halloween! In celebration of the end of spooky season, here’s some stories on how monster!skz would get down and dirty with you <3

Warnings: switch!vampire!Felix, switch!reader, penetration (reader!receiving), blood drinking, bondage (Felix!receiving), oral sex (reader and Felix!receiving) ghost!Jeongin, dom!reader, sub!Jeongin, exhibitionism, voyeurism (consensual), penetration (reader!receiving), oral sex (reader!receiving), angst oops, swearing

w.c.: 6.2K (Felix), 7.2K (Jeongin)

[Total: 13.4K]

– – –

Happy Halloween everyone!! My first double fic, so please let me know what we think! It was supposed to be the whole 00s line (Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin), but Seungmin's fic is only like. Half done and I wanted this to get out before all the drunk college kids on campus go crazy style and I can't fall asleep. If we want the Seungmin one finished let me know!! I definitely will :) The best way to celebrate my favorite holiday is with a fic, of course. I hope you enjoy <3

Cross-posted on my AO3 and broken into chapters by character for easier reading.

Lee Felix - Once Bitten...

Your neighbor had always been a bit of an enigma.

When he had moved it, you made cookies (as a good neighbor does) and brought them over, eager to have a new face around the neighborhood. You had caught a glance of him the night before, when he was moving in. Your first red flag was at that moment, because who in the right mind schedules to move in at night? The sun had already long been set, and he had pulled up in a sleek black car with the darkest tinted windows you’ve ever seen. You weren’t quite sure how it was possible he could even see out of them, but any thoughts or judgement you were trying to form faded away when he stepped out of the car.

Because oh. He was just the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Golden hair against pale skin, eyes sharp but cheekbones sharper, mouth a soft, pretty line. Freckles spotted his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and the low lights of the streetlamps made him look almost ethereal. You were drawn to him instantly, and you almost had to force yourself away from the window so you weren’t staring like a total creep.

So, of course, you baked cookies in a flurry to still your beating heart and shut your mind up for a moment. He probably has a wife, you had thought to yourself woefully, the beautiful ones always have beautiful things surrounding them.

You had rapped on the door twice the next day, sharp and loud, cookies balanced precariously in one hand. It was right around noon, and the sun was high in the sky, and the warmth of the rays sunk under your skin and made you feel alive. It was your favorite kind of day, and the perfect day, you hoped, to meet your new (extremely beautiful) neighbor.

…or so you had thought, but after a couple long moments of bouncing on the balls of your feet awkwardly on his porch, you realized that it was definitely a possibility that he wasn’t going to answer. He had moved in awfully late, and maybe it had been on purpose, to avoid nosey neighbors like you.

You dig around in your bag, fishing out a slightly crumpled pack of post-it notes, writing him a little note and leaving the cookies right outside the door.

“Hey neighbor! Excited to have a new face in the neighborhood. These are for you - a little welcome gift from me :) If you need any help or someone to show you around the neighborhood, give me a call (or just knock on my door).”

You had scrawled your phone number in little letters in the corner, and bustled off his porch, a little mortified. Was giving him your number too forward? Did a pretty man like him even have time to text someone like you?

You had gone to bed that night without seeing him even step out once, your cookies sitting untouched on the porch. You had sighed, but let it be. The tinted windows, the late arrival time, the heavy velvet curtains he had drawn tightly shut…your new neighbor probably wasn’t fond of socializing.

Your next red flag (although it felt very green at the time) was the note you found slid under your door the next morning. It’s on a gorgeous piece of paper, off-white with red, shiny trim, looking very out of place in your entryway. You approach it with caution, but when you pick it up, you can’t help the warm smile it brings to your face.

“Hello darling.

Thank you so much for the cookies, and my apologies for not coming to get them when you knocked. I work strange hours, so I’m only really up at nighttime. They were quite delicious - I might just have to message you for the recipe. I can’t wait to truly meet you soon.

Your neighbor,

Felix”

At the time, this immediately explained all his oddities to you - tinted windows to protect him from the sun he’s not used to, heavy curtains so that he can sleep well during the day, not seeing your cookies until he woke up…He was just on a different schedule than everyone else.

It hadn’t taken long for you to grow closer to Felix. Despite his weird hours, he made time to see you, and you made time to see him. Sure, your drive to work in the mornings was getting a little more tired every day, but the beautiful boy next door made the sleepy early mornings worth it.

The rest of the neighborhood had very different opinions about him. The old lady across the street swore up and down that she had seen him bring a coffin inside the night he arrived, and also insisted that Felix was the reason that she had found her old outdoor cat dead the other night (no one had the heart to tell her that the old thing probably just died in its sleep). Other people were weirded out by the fact that they never saw him during the day, calling him “standoffish” and “creepy”. You bit your tongue and listened, mostly because the weird neighborhood was probably the most interesting thing you got to hear every week in this sleepy town, but also because you didn’t understand. He was like sunshine in a bottle to you, all smiles and stolen laughter and inside jokes.

And that’s when the disappearances started.

It began with the animals. The lone coyote that had eaten at least three small dogs last year was found with puncture wounds on its neck, but completely unharmed otherwise. Its body was laying at the edge of the forest, where two kids, in typical bored teenager fashion, found it and dragged it back. No one thought much of that one, not at first. Predators fight other predators all the time. A scuffle must’ve happened, surely.

Other small animals kept dying, birds and racoons and deer, all with the same eerie puncture wounds on their jugulars. The littered local trails, looking so completely unharmed that, if not for the little red dots on their necks, you would think they were just asleep.

This was, of course, the most interesting thing that had happened in this town in years, so the local police force and news were on it in an instant. The usual theories popped up, about a new apex predator after the coyote died or a diseased animal passing something on to other animals in the woods, but for some reason half the town seemed to believe there to be a supernatural force behind this. The old lady, whose name you had only recently learned was Margaret, insisted that this was a creature of the night - a vampire.

No one listened to her, not until late last month, when she had stumbled onto someone else’s porch, pale as paper with two sharp puncture holes right on her neck. Babbling on and on about a vampire, latching right onto her neck when she had gone out to retrieve a stray piece of clothing that had blown off the line the night before.

When you had asked her about that night, she had looked at you as if possessed, mouth forming around words she couldn’t say. She had only managed to coherently tell you one thing:

“Stay away from him! Stay away, stay away, he’s no good for you!”

Everything after that had devolved into broken wails and hiccups, eyes losing their focus and falling back into mania. You had stumbled away from her, too frightened to understand what she meant.

Margaret was the last attack that had happened. It had been almost two months now, the crisp bite of autumn wind bristling your skin and forcing you into heavier clothes. The sun barely had time to peek out anymore, covered by a wave of thick grey clouds nearly 24/7. The police claimed to have “scared off the damned beast for good”, but the strongly enforced curfew and the patrol cars around every corner made you certain that even they were still nervous of what could be out there. There had been no evidence to suggest what this “beast” could even be, minus the puncture wounds. No pawprints, no loose hair, no signs of struggle other than the eerie red dots at the neck of every victim.

With the new curfew, you and Felix barely had time to see each other. Even without it, Felix had been slipping out of your life, skin somehow paler than before and cheeks becoming nearly gaunt (your third red flag, though you didn’t know it yet). You hadn’t seen him since last week, when he insisted that he had just caught a little cold, and that he would be fine soon. His texts became sparse and short, one word responses hours later from when he used to respond. You didn’t want to seem clingy at first, so you left him alone, but after three days of no response, you were starting to get worried.

We’re friends, you think to yourself, fiddling nervously with your fingers, if I were sick, he would come check on me, too.

That’s what you keep telling yourself, but when you slip outside past curfew tonight, you’re on edge. There’s something in the air, and you’ve got nerves so sharp that you can feel them at your neck, cold air clawing at your lungs and your body with intent. Something is deeply wrong tonight, and you consider, if only for a moment, returning to the safety of your home. Alarm bells were sounding in your head - nothing should possibly be making you feel so small in your own neighborhood, barely halfway out the front door.

But you see Felix’s face in your head, eyes hollow and skin sickly, and you’re slipping the door closed behind you with quiet determination. You pause, skin prickling as your eyes search for police patrol cars, but nothing comes, so you tiptoe over to Felix’s porch, wincing when your porch creaks heavily under your feet. There’s urgency in your feet as they gently press into the grass, socks getting damp from the dew already coating the yard.

You knock as quietly as you can, hoping it's loud enough for the man inside to hear you. You’re thrown back to the first time you did this as you bounce on your heels, shivering as the wind bites through the thin fabric of your sleepwear. Why didn’t you grab your coat? The door creaks open just a crack, just enough for Felix to see you through the opening. Even from the thin sliver you can see of him, he looks like shit - eyes red and hair matted like you’ve never seen it before. He doesn’t say a word, simply peering at you, so you take matters into your own hands, shoving your way inside. He weakly protests, but it falls on deaf ears, and you’re in his entryway before you can think about the consequences.

It’s dark in his house, all lights completely out and curtains still drawn tight, despite him being awake. You squint to see him in the darkness, and what you can make out in the pale light from the distant streetlamps has you frowning.

“Felix,” you chastise, eyebrows furrowing, “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

You’re pushing the door shut behind you without thinking twice, and he’s protesting again, words mumbled and incoherent.

You guide him through his own home, peeking around corners to find a living room or a kitchen so you can force him to sit down. At the end of the hall there’s a room on your right straight out of an antique fantasy, but you don’t have time to ponder it, not when Felix is shaking and his skin feels like ice under your touch.

You shove him to the couch gracelessly, leaning over to help him sit up. His head lolls, eyes glassy and red, as he looks up at you, mouth chewing on words but never spitting them out. There’s something like fear in his eyes, but you can’t think about that now.

“I’m going to make you something to eat, and you’re going to actually eat some of it, okay?” Something akin to a whine drags out of his throat, head shaking slowly side to side to tell you no, but you shush him, mouth drawn in a firm line.

“No buts. I’m going to find the kitchen, and you are going to lie here and wait.”

You’re guiding him to sink into the couch, propping his legs up so that he’s lying down. His eyes flutter shut as his head hits the pillow, whimpering weakly as your warmth pulls away. There’s a heavy blanket draped over a nearby armchair, and you grab it, throwing it over him in an attempt to warm him up.

You’re padding off back into the hall again, peeking in rooms until you find the kitchen. Everything in this house looks straight out of a fantasy novel - all velvet and dark wood and antique items you’re not even sure you could name - and the loud ticking of a grandfather clock rings through the house. It makes you feel like you’re running out of time, sound echoing in the back of your skull, and your pace picks up despite itself.

The kitchen is coated in a layer of dust and shockingly sparse, like no one’s ever been in here before. The dust is so thick you’re coughing as you stir it up with your movement, tears pricking your eyes as the dust swirls into the air. You make your way to the fridge, pulling it open, only to stop dead when you see what’s inside.

Or rather, what’s not inside. The fridge isn’t even on, and it smells like new plastic and nothing. There’s clearly never been food in here, and you turn your head to the cupboards, hoping for better.

You don’t find it. There’s not even a can of food anywhere, cupboards completely bare. No food, no silverware, no anything.

“Don’t…won’ find anything.” you hear from behind you, slurred and broken.

You spin around to find Felix leaning against the doorframe, whole body shaking from the effort of keeping himself standing. You feel something like fear start to creep up your spine, unease settling into every cell of your body, but you move forward anyways, coming to support him against you. He tries to struggle away from you, but it’s futile, and his forehead comes to rest against your shoulder instead.

He doesn’t say anything at first, swaying back and forth. He starts nosing at your neck, inhaling deeply. Your whole body stiffens, and that strange feeling of fear shoots up your spine again. Every nerve in your body is telling you to run, run, run. But it’s like your feet are planted to the ground, held here by the weak man in front of you. Your breath becomes shallow, your skin feels like it’s on fire, and the cold claws of fear wrap around your neck, a stark contrast to the warm rush of adrenaline flowing through your veins.

“Felix…?” you murmur, testing the waters, your tongue like lead in your mouth.

He just groans against your neck, but there’s something carnal about it. Like he’s losing a battle with himself. You don’t understand until his mouth opens, and he drags his teeth along the juncture where your shoulder meets your neck.

Your head falls back, tilting to give him more access despite the terror in every fibre of your body, two sharp points not quite piercing your skin, but stinging nonetheless. He lets out a breath against the sensitive skin and you whimper weakly, and the sound makes him stiffen.

“Shit, shit, sorry, s-sorry.” he hisses, stumbling back from you.

He can’t keep himself upright without you, though, and his knees buckle under his own weight. You rush forwards to catch him, but he struggles against you, trying to get away.

“Can’t…go ‘way, please, please, won’t-can’t hold back if you’re this close,” he pants out, wild eyes looking up at you, “Don’t want to hurt you, please.”

You drag him back to the living room, fighting him the whole way. He’s thrashing around like a caged animal in your grasp, all sharp eyes and bared teeth, but the way he’s subtly trembling with fear gives him away. You bring him to the couch again, shoving him far less kindly than before to make him sit down. He collapses, looking up at you with glassy eyes.

“You’ve got two seconds to explain what’s going on,” you start, crossing your arms across your chest, “so I know what I need to do to help.”

“You can’t help someone like me,” he says with contempt, “You should go. You’re-ngh-you’re in danger if you stay any longer.”

It’s the most coherent he’s sounded all night, and you try and take advantage of it, pressing closer into his space, until you’re standing in between his parted legs. He freezes, lower lip catching in his teeth (fangs?).

“You’re the thing that’s been killing all of the local animals, right?” He jolts, eyes a swirl of emotions, but you keep going, “You need to feed. Do you need me to catch something? I’m probably not your best bet for catching an animal, but I can figure it out. Ask Tom down the street to teach me a snare. He’s flirty, he would do it.”

“Animal blood won’t do.” He winces as you lean in closer, shrinking as far away as he can from you in his position.

“It only holds you over until your next…next human feed. I can’t-I need human blood. That’s why you-hah-you have to go. Don’t you understand? I’ll hurt you!”

His last sentence comes out sharper than he meant it to, a harsh yell that has you flinching. He shrinks impossibly further into himself, making him look incredibly small in the low candlelight.

“No you won’t.”

You say it with such confidence that it has his head snapping up, mouth agape.

“You don’t know that-”

“You don’t even like Margaret, and you let her live. We’re friends, right?” He nods. “Friends help each other out. Let me help you.”

“You don’t know what you’re offering.” He says with an incredulous laugh, but his eyes don’t leave the soft skin of your neck. He can feel your pulse thrumming under your skin, a skittish beat. It makes him lick his lips.

“I do.”

“I’ll hurt you!”

“Is there a way for me to guarantee you won’t?”

He pauses for a moment, thinking, and nods shakily. “In the bedroom.”

You step back, letting him try and stand. He seems more back to himself after the incident in the kitchen, and he walks all on his own to the bedroom on trembling legs. He stops once or twice to lean against the wall, but the look he gives you when you move to try and support him is enough to make you fall back, hands raised in mock defeat.

His bedroom is just as gothic as the rest of the house - red silken sheets covering a beautiful canopy bed, dark velvet curtains pulled shut, and every piece of furniture a beautiful dark mahogany. There’s no light in this room, the candlelight from the living room not quite reaching into the room, and he can tell it makes you nervous, you think, because he fumbles first to pull open the curtains just enough to let the moonlight peek into the room. It casts long shadows across the room, and the pale light makes him look even paler. In this light, you can see that his eyes glow a dull red, and your body reacts like prey, strung up and ready to bolt.

He stumbles to a tall wardrobe and yanks it open, digging out a box that he accidentally knocks to the floor. He swears, low and deep in his throat, shakily leaning down to pick up the fallen object.

You can feel the shift in the air the moment the object is out in the air. The stillness of the room is replaced with movement, something swirling in the air that you can’t name. He tosses the tangled thing to you and you catch it, and it’s like the knowledge of a thousand suns fills your brain. You stumble back for a moment, but your grasp on the object - a binding mechanism, your muddled brain informs you - doesn’t cease, and you come back to Earth.

Felix is splayed across the red sheets when you find yourself again, loose shirt tugged up just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his toned stomach. He’s panting as he watches you, fangs long and teasing his lower lip. The mechanism in your hands responds to your energy, and as you walk over the bed, you’re overcome with feelings you can’t understand. Your hands move on their own, mouth murmuring in a language you’ve never heard before, unfamiliar and weighty on your tongue. He thrashes and the bindings wrap his body, winding and winding before they tie themselves together. You’re still murmuring something, eyes falling closed instinctively, until the pulse of whatever overtook you (magic, perhaps?) ceases, and you let out a little sigh.

When your eyes peel open again, Felix is a sight to see. He’s kneeling in the middle of the bed, ropes making a pretty pattern against his skin but fully restricting his movement. His arms are pressed behind his back, and his wrists are tied to his ankles, immobilizing him. You’re biting your lip before you can stop yourself, eyes raking up and down his body appreciatively. You wish that you had him like this for you for different reasons, but when Felix whimpers under your gaze, you remind yourself why you’re here.

“What do you even have something like this?” you mutter, fingers coming to trace the magical(?) bindings. They hum in response to your touch, like they’re bound to your will. You file that away for later.

“‘s one of the few things that can restrain vampires without hurting them,” he says, though his words are starting to slur again, “Only responds to humans.”

“Kinky freak,” you murmur, though it holds no heat, “How do you want me?”

You catch the way his cock stirs in his pants when you say that, hips subtly trying to lift off the bed. You almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation - your beautiful neighbor, tied and bound and hard because of you - but you bite your tongue. Now’s not the time, after all.

“Need-need your consent,” he pants, groaning as you come to kneel in front of him on the sheets, “Please please please, can’t-can’t do this if you don’t-if you don’t-”

“You can drink from me, Felix,” you say, tilting your head to present your neck, “I give you my permission.”

He’s on you before you can even blink, body bowing forward to press his fangs into your neck. You feel them prick your skin, and a flash of searing pain runs through you. You hiss, the pain trying to pull a scream out of your throat, but the burn quickly morphs into heat, your body going lax against him. You’re both leaning into each other at this point, bodies pressed together, and your heat starts to seep into his skin. He feels less and less cold against you as he drinks, and you’re floating, mind clouded from the loss of blood but also the sick swirl of arousal that’s flooding your system. You faintly hear whimpers and moans, pitchy and breathy, and realize with startling clarity that those sounds are coming from you.

You don’t know how long he drinks. The only thing you know in the moments in between is the feeling of his fangs digging into your neck and the way you’re clenching around nothing, soaked and shaking under his bite. You think you may have come at one point, pants slick with so much arousal it’s almost uncomfortable, body twitching weakly in what could be aftershocks. The pleasure is so deep-seated that you feel it everywhere, pressing and beating under your skin like it’s trying to explode out of you.

When his fangs do leave your neck, tongue coming to lap at the open wound greedily, you feel yourself floating back down, limbs becoming your own again. Your fingers flex weakly, and you can feel your pulse everywhere, weak and fast, like a caged bird against the bars of its enclosure. It flutters inconsistently as you pant, trying to find yourself again. You realize that, even restrained, you couldn’t have done anything to stop Felix from taking until you had nothing left to give. You were unabashedly his in those moments where his mouth was latched onto your skin, joining you into one.

“F-feel better?” you say, though you can even hear how weak you sound.

“Much better,” he says, head coming to rest against your shoulder, “Thank you angel.”

“‘Angel’ probably isn’t the right thing to call me after that,” you murmur, cheeks flushing, “I just offered myself to a vampire. Willingly.”

“You’re my angel,” he insists, nuzzling further into your neck, “Swooped in and saved me when I thought it was over. My pretty angel.”

You feel heat crawling up your neck, surprised by the way he called you pretty like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, despite being a creature of the night. You let your head come to rest against his shoulder, leaning into him heavily. Your body is feeling lighter and lighter again, no longer as heavy as lead. There’s still a floatiness in your mind, but you’re hyperaware again of the arousal coating your pants, the heat in your core still swirling.

“Let me take care of you,” he says suddenly, pulling back from you with wide, crazed eyes, “Made me feel better, let me make you feel good. Please? Let me?”

You freeze, unsure if he’s aware of what he’s offering. He sees your hesitancy and keeps going, frantic now.

“This isn’t just because I drank,” he starts, tongue flicking out to wet his lips, “Wanted this before, too. Please? Can smell how badly you want it.”

Heat floods your cheeks. He can smell your arousal? Has he smelled your arousal before, when the two of you were hanging out and he looked just a little too good? You’ll have to be more self-aware in the future if that’s the case.

“You’re still tied up, Felix,” you respond, faux confidence seeping into your words, “I’m not sure you’re in a position to make commands.”

“Then use me.” He says, cock properly straining against his trousers now.

“Yeah? You’d let me?” You say, hand coming up to cup his cheek.

He presses into your touch, nodding desperately. “I’d let you do anything.”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you say, leaning into so close your breaths mingle, “And then I’m going to fuck you, just like this. Does that sound good, vampire?”

You say it with contempt, and he’s embarrassed by how your tone, borderline mean, turns him on even more. He barely gets out a breathy yes before your lips are on his, messy and desperate. It’s sloppy and downright dirty, his mouth tasting like copper and sin as your tongues swirl together. You can feel his muscles flexing under the restraints, trying so hard to just reach out and touch you, but you don’t let him. Your fingers dance down his body, featherlight and teasing, avoiding where he needs you the most.

You pull away to thumb at the rope, and it seems to listen to you. You crouch back on your haunches, watching in delight as the rope flexes and rewinds itself so that Felix is only bound by the chest and arms, wrists now tied to the headboard. It gives you easy access to his pants, which you make quick work of yanking down. You toss them off to the side, leaving his underwear on as you strip yourself down. In an ideal world you would use this time to tease him more, but you’re so aroused it’s starting to hurt, body buzzing and on edge. You sit fully bare before him, revelling in the way his eyes can’t help but wander, taking in every curve of your skin in the moonlight. The way the moonlight catches your hair makes you look like you’re glowing, framing your face like a halo. He takes a shuddery inhale, eyes trapped on your face as come to straddle him.

Your bare arousal comes to press against the sticky fabric of his boxers, wetting it with your slick. You grind down, slow and sensual, letting out a pleased hum when it catches your heat just right. He feels so big through the thin fabric, and you salivate at the thought of how big he’s going to be when his cock is pressing inside of you.

“...please.”

You tilt your head at him, making sure your hair falls away to reveal the bite marks on your neck, loving the way his eyes immediately find them. He pleads again, but you keep your pace, moving just fast enough to make him feel it but it’s not enough. He’s climbing upwards, closer and closer, but the end isn’t in sight, not like this. There’s tears pricking at his eyes now, his hips grinding up into you, headboard creaking as he pulls against the restraints.

“Have to tell me what you want, pretty thing.” you say, but you’re starting to get desperate too, hips pressing down a little harder every time.

“Touch me? Need-hngh! Need more.”

You slip off his lap, a whine slipping out of your throat at the loss of contact, moving to slip his boxers down his legs. He lifts his hips to help you, and you freeze for a moment when his cock springs out of his boxers, slapping against his chest wetly.

“Oh.” you say dumbly, blinking up at him. “Oh.”

He squirms under your gaze, embarrassed as you stare at his cock.

He’s just so much bigger than he felt earlier, long and thick in all the right way. There’s a bit of an upwards curve to it, and it’s flushed red, sticky with a copious amount of pre-cum. You want to - you need to have your mouth on it.

The boxers in your hand are quickly discarded and you’re almost falling into his lap, tongue peeking out to lick a fat stripe up the side of his cock. He squeaks, legs coming to clamp together, but you press in between them, not letting him close you out. He tastes perfect, a little salty on your tongue, and you’re sinking to take as much of him as you can down your throat immediately, entranced by his reactions. He’s so sensitive, body jolting at every little twirl of your tongue, and your mouth is so hot and-

He’s not even sure what he’s saying anymore. He knows he’s babbling, incoherent nonsense as you swallow as much of him as you can. He’s too big for you to take all the way, and you gag, your mouth constraining around him, and that’s all it takes. He’s already so on the edge, the warm pleasure of your blood in his body and his desperation bleeding into one. He’s coming down your throat with a cry of your name, so soon it startles you and you choke again, but your head doesn’t move. You actually press deeper, tears trailing down your cheeks as you swallow his cum, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs to keep him from bucking up into you.

You pull back with a wet cough once he’s done twitching, length softening in your mouth. You blink the tears out of your eyes to look at him, and you’re pretty sure that if a vampire could blush, Felix would be doing so right now.

“Sorry,” he says, eyes downcast, “That was so…”

“So?” You prompt, tone teasing.

“Quick.” he says with a grimace, face scrunching up cutely.

“‘s okay,” you say, leaning forward to press your fingers into the rope, guiding it to free him.

He flexes his arms, rolling his wrists to release the tension from holding that position for so long. He shifts so that his head is laying on a pillow, laying flat on his back. He crooks a finger at you, and you raise an eyebrow.

“My turn.”

You grin, wobbly legs sliding up to straddle his chest. Your arousal leaves a wet patch right on the plane of his chest, staining his shirt, but he couldn’t care less.

Shockingly strong arms haul you up so that you’re positioned above his head now, dripping heat right above his mouth. You gasp, fingers coming to grasp the headboard, and he brings you down, lapping first at the arousal coating your thighs. He follows it up, up, up until he’s teasing at your entrance, tongue swirling around the rim, collecting your arousal as it drips out. You twitch in his hold, a moan dragging itself out of your throat. One hand leaves its post on the headboard to tangle with his hair, using it as leverage to grind yourself down. He groans into you, sending vibrations through your core, and it makes you leak even more against him.

“Use me to get off, please, I can take it.” He pleads, and it’s the last thing he gets out of his mouth before you’re really pressing down, letting your weight settle on his face.

His teeth drag down the sensitive skin of your arousal, and it has you crying out his name, fingers digging further into his hair. You’re pulling on it so hard it would hurt a normal person, but to Felix, the pain feels like pleasure, and if he wasn’t so worn, he’s sure his cock would start stirring up again.

“More, Felix, more!” You wail, mouth falling open as he doubles his efforts.

The sounds are obscene, wet and slick and messy as he eats you out like his life depends on it. His fingers are digging into your thighs now, holding you against his face so tightly you’re not sure he can breathe. His tongue dips and teases, pressing and curling into you just right, and you can feel yourself nearing the edge, body taut and straining to press further into him and to pull away. It’s almost too much, the pleasure so sharp that the world starts to blur at the edges. His fangs peek out and he draaags them down your sensitive skin, and you’re coming like there’s no tomorrow, calling his name over and over again as you ride it out. He lets you use his face, grinding shallowly as your orgasm just keeps going, body giving him everything you have. He helps you off of him, and you flush as you catch a glimpse of his face. There’s arousal coating his chin, dripping down and wetting his neck, and you watch in horror (and arousal) as he brings a finger up to collect as much of it as he can, sucking it into his mouth. His eyes roll back in his head as he tastes you and you cover your face, embarrassed.

“No need to be embarrassed, angel,” he says, grinning at you with hooded eyes, “You taste amazing.”

“Let me taste, then.”

You lean forward and press your lips to his, holding back a grin at the way he presses into you so sweetly. He still tastes faintly of copper, but there’s something sweeter and a little tangy now in his taste, and you realize that it’s your cum. His hand comes to cup the back of your head, tongue swirling and dipping into your mouth to let you taste yourself on him.

You just kiss like that for a while, bodies intertwined, until the kiss become more gentle and sweet. The heat between the two of you dissipates naturally, and you’re left with just the two of you, pressed into the sheets of his ridiculously large bed.

“Thank you.” He says it so quietly you barely catch it, but you press your forehead to his anyways.

“Of course,” you murmur, “Any time.”

Your body is starting to feel the weight of everything, the adrenaline and arousal fading into fatigue from the blood loss, and you sink further into his sheets with a sigh. He pulls away from you and you whine, but he shushes you, moving quickly to close the blinds. The room is cast in darkness again, but you’re back in his arms again before you can be scared. He slips onto the bed behind you, shifting the sheets so that they come to cover the both of you. He pulls you back into his chest, arms cradling you close. You lean into him, and despite his cold temperature, your body feels warmer with him near.

“Sleep.” He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, and you listen, falling asleep in the arms of your beautiful, vampire neighbor. You think vaguely, as you’re slipping, that you ought to have a conversation with him in the morning, but that’s a morning problem. For now, you let yourself melt into him, warm human skin mixing with cold vampire touch until all that’s left is the warmth between you, melding you into one.

Yang Jeongin - Help! My House is Haunted by...a Sexy Ghost?!

You should’ve known something was wrong when the realtor showed you around the house.

The price had been insanely low for a cute little house like this. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a cute little kitchen, a basement, and a porch. It made you feel old to be excited by something like a porch, but you supposed that if you were old enough to be buying a house for yourself that you might actually be a bit old. The only trouble was that the dining room and the living room seemed to be one space, but you were looking to live alone, and you figured you could handle making the space work.

The house sat at the end of a dead end street, right near a creak that bubbled sweetly. There was a wooded area across the water, where trees were colored all sorts of reds, oranges, and browns, swirling into the prettiest picture. You could see yourself getting up here every morning, drinking your coffee on the porch and watching the sun rise. The neighborhood didn’t seem busy, and the realtor seemed very, very friendly. When you had expressed interest in making an offer he almost seemed…relieved? You brushed it off, and excitedly sat down and filled out paperwork with her in the dining-living room.

A couple days (and a quick credit and background check) later, you were signing the mortgage. The realtor couldn’t stop thanking you, talking on and on about how you were just so lucky and that the housing market was just “perfect” right now, and that you got the house for such a steal. At the time, you were grateful for all her help (she had been willing to let you bargain the price even lower, much to your surprise), but you should’ve seen the signs that something might just be wrong with this house.

It started with the lights.

First, the lights in the second bedroom would be on when you get up in the morning. You thought that maybe you left them on while you were cleaning, so you’d just go over and shut them off in the morning, huffing about how you’re wasting your own electricity.

Then they’d turn back on.

You saw it happen, once, the light flicking on under the door after you had turned it off maybe ten minutes before. You blinked, rubbing at your eyes, but the light stayed on. You creeped over to the door, anxiety crawling up your spine, and threw open the door to find-

Nothing.

The room is just as bare as you left it, sad dresser and neatly made bed perfectly intact. You frown, peeking into the closet and checking the lock on the window, but there was still, infuriatingly, nothing. You suppose a cute house like this can’t be perfect, so you think there must be some sort of faulty circuitry.

Or so you thought, but as you turn around to leave the guest bedroom, you see the lightswitch. The lightswitch, that’s flipped upwards. No faulty circuitry could move the lightswitch, surely.

You call an electrician the next day, and the light, of course, stays off all day. Even after messing with all the circuitry in your house and trying to explain to you how it all works (you appreciate the thought, but it all flew over your head), the electrician had insisted that there was nothing wrong with the electrical circuit in your home. You had frowned, paid him way too much money for just an electrical check-up, and moved on, sure you must be going crazy.

The thing with the light never stopped, you found, unless another person was there. You invited friends and family out to visit the home, hoping that they perhaps would see it too, but never once did the light in the guest room come on when they were there. All of them, though, complained about a “draft” in your house, like a cold breeze drifting past their neck, at multiple points. Strange, mostly, because you had never felt a draft in your home before.

Next was the objects.

Things in your home would be slightly out of place in a way that seemed unnatural. The book you were reading had the bookmark placed a couple pages off of where you left it. The leftmost chair around the tiny dining table in your dining-living room would be pushed in just a little too far, like someone was trying to put it back in the right place but didn’t quite know where it went. The blanket would be in the right place but folded wrong, and the nearby pillows would be out of order - the red one in the middle when it should be on the left. It was like someone was pulling a prank on you, moving your things just enough to drive you insane.

You start putting things in weird places to see where they would land. A pencil on the dining room table would find its way back into the junk drawer all on its own. A loose bill wedged in the couch would end back up on the counter with the other ones. You left your underwear out once, just to see, but that one didn’t move. Whoever was messing with you, it seems, at least had some amount of decency.

The final straw was at night.

You would wake up in the dead of night in a cold sweat, and you would feel a presence. Something inexplicable would tell your body that something was watching, lurking in the dark. You started sleeping with your bedside lamp on, at first, and eventually sleeping with the overhead light on when it wasn’t enough.

Even then, you still found yourself awakening, sweating and nervous, the heavy weight of eyes burning into your skin. You swore, sometimes, that you would feel the empty half of the bed dip next to you, like someone was sitting there, watching you.

You started playing music and podcasts at night. Burning sage outside your window, buying crystals…but nothing did the trick. There was still that piercing feeling. The hairs on the back of your neck standing up, telling you to run. You didn’t know what it was, and you were starting to worry your friends. Dark circles rimmed your eyes, and your hands would shake uncontrollably sometimes.

It came to a head one night when you started to sob, freshly woken up and just so tired. You loved your house. It was everything you wanted, and whatever was moving stuff around your house had begun to feel almost endearing to you. But this? This was suffocating, and you just wanted to feel normal again.

The bed feels like it dips next to you again, and you just sob harder, too tired to even look up.

“Hey, hey, I’m…I’m sorry!” A panicked voice rings next to you, and you shriek, flying off the bed in the opposite direction.

There’s a boy sitting on your bed where you felt the dip, but there’s something…off about him. You can’t quite place it yet, but you know for a fact he wasn’t there when you fell asleep, and that’s enough to frighten you.

You’re tearing out the bedroom door as quickly as you can, beelining for the kitchen. Your phone is still on the bedside table, so you can’t call the police, but you can defend yourself. You throw open a drawer, fumbling for the sharpest knife you can find, and brandish it at him as he rounds the corner, chest heaving.

Now that you’re getting a real look at him, he’s adorable. He’s got messy hair and a gorgeous face, and he’s wearing a cute sweater and a baggy pair of corduroy pants. If he hadn’t broken into your home, you would say he was just your type, all shy and sweet and dressed like he thought about his outfit in the morning.

“What-what are you doing in my house?!” you yelp, knife still precariously held in front of you.

He moves to take a step forward, hands raised in defeat, but you swing the knife wildly when he moves.

“Don’t move!”

He raises his hands higher, but doesn’t move a step closer. You’re panting, and he looks like he might cry, eyes wide and nervous.

“I’m not here to hurt you!” he exclaims, “I know this might sound crazy, but I can’t leave this house. I literally can’t.”

You freeze, looking at him curiously. The knife lowers just a fraction.

“You can’t?? What does that even mean?” you huff, but there’s something so sincere about him that makes you want to believe him.

“I’m-I’m not…I’m not alive?” he says nervously, hand coming to rub at the back of his neck.

“You’re not alive,” you say incredulously, raking your eyes up and down him, “So what, you’re some sort of-some sort of ghost?”

“Yes!” he says, almost jumping from how excited he sounds, “Ah, I knew you would get it!”

“I was joking.” You deadpan, unamused.

“Well I…I can prove it!” He says, nodding his head frantically.

“Yeah! I can prove it to you.”

You don’t think this boy is going to hurt you, so you lower the knife, but you keep it tightly gripped at your side, unwilling to toss it away completely just yet.

“Okay. Prove it then.” You motion at him, eyebrows raised.

He nods again, and his eyebrows furrow in concentration. And suddenly, he’s gone. As if he was never there. You’re just staring at the empty space in your kitchen, blinking like a fool. Damn, you think to yourself when he doesn’t immediately reappear, I need to get more sleep.

“Boo.”

A voice comes from right beside you and you flail, knife still tight in your hands. You swipe through the air next to you cleanly with it, and he yelps too, but all you feel is cool air, like the room dropped a couple degrees right there.

Looking next to you, you see that you’ve got your arm through him, as if he’s not even there. He’s looking down at where your hand is, almost looking offended that you tried to stab him after he scared you.

“Ouch. If I hadn’t made myself non-corporeal, that would’ve hurt, you know.”

“Oh my god,” you say, mouth agape, looking at where your arm is going through his body, “Oh my god.”

“Not a god, certainly, or I would’ve figured out how to leave by now,” he says, pouting at you like your arm wasn’t sticking out his back, “I can be uh-Icanbeyoursthough!”

Wow. That would've been smooth, had he not immediately turned tomato red and stumbled over his words. Damn, who knew the ghost haunting your house could be so cute?

Now that you were over your initial shock, you pull your arm back, sliding the knife back into its drawer numbly. Your brain feels like it’s three steps behind right now, reeling to understand what just happened.

“You’re a ghost.”

“Yep!”

“You’re haunting my house.”

“That’s right.”

“Did you die here?”

He shook his head, frowning. “This was my childhood house. I died while I was back visiting, but it wasn’t actually here. I don’t know why I’m stuck here, actually. I just know that people don’t tend to stay very long, and I think it’s my fault.”

He sounded almost sad about it, and you would pity him, but-

“Because you watch them sleep!” you seethe, throwing your hands up in the air in defeat.

“Do you know how creepy that is?? I’ve been trying to figure out what could possibly be watching me every night and I keep waking up in a cold sweat and I could feel your eyes on my skin and-”

“I’m sorry,” he said, head drooping, “I didn’t know how else to tell you I was here.”

“You can clearly touch things, you’ve been moving things around in my house forever.” You say, going to shove him in the chest only for your hands to sink through him again. Weird.

“You could’ve like…written a note. I left writing stuff out on purpose a couple of times, you know.”

He blinks, tilting his head. “Huh. Never thought of that.”

“You’re a stupid ghost, Casper,” you say with a snort, already charmed by this silly (and extremely attractive) ghost in your kitchen, “Didn’t know ghosts could be idiots.”

“Hey, ‘m not stupid,” he says with a pout, which just makes you snicker, “‘m not! I’m a very smart ghost, thank you very much! And my name is Jeongin, not Casper.”

“Okay Casper, so why are you haunting my house?” You say, peeking up at him curiously.

“I-I…uhm…”

It’s clearly a bit of a touchy subject, his cheeks flushing that cute, deep red again as he fiddles with his fingers nervously. He becomes more visible, more solid, and you think he must be corporeal now as his feet come to rest on the ground (you hadn’t even realized he was hovering in the air in the first place).

“Do you have like a…a regret, or something? Isn’t that why ghosts usually haunt places? That might just be a myth, though, I guess…”

“No that’s-that’s a true one.” He says, trailing off. He won’t look at you properly now, and you can see him shifting from opaque to translucent, like he’s so nervous he can’t hold one form only.

“Okay? So do you need like, help with your regret? So you can pass on? I mean, I don’t necessarily mind you haunting my house, as long as you stop watching me while I sleep. It’s making it hard for me to sleep at night.”

He looks at you, surprise written across his features.

“You don’t…mind that I’m here? Really?”

“Not at all,” you say, grinning at him, “Who could complain about a cute ghost haunting their house? Plus, you keep doing chores. For free. It’s been great to get home and the dishes are just magically done, or the book I left out earlier is back in its spot on the shelf.”

He flushes again, less this time. “I didn’t realize you noticed.”

“My full sink of dishes is just magically gone? Hon, it was pretty obvious.”

“Okay, so I’ll just be your new roommate, then! Problem solved.”

You squint at him, curiosity still buzzing under your skin.

“You’re deflecting. What’s your regret?”

He shakes his head, eyes looking anywhere from you.

“I-I’m not! I’m not deflecting.”

“You so are.”

You crowd into his space not that he’s corporeal, grinning as he backs up until he runs into the counter. Your arms cage him in immediately, and you bat your eyelashes at him, trying your best to give him a sweet, pleading look.

“Tell me? Please?”

His resolve wavers, and it’s not like he could go anywhere without going noncorporeal again (which he could do, but he likes the brush of your skin against him too much). He bites his lip, thinking, before he sighs, a resigned thing.

“You’re not gonna judge me?”

You shake your head and he exhales through his nose, nodding to himself.

“My regret is uh. I-it’s that-that I…”

“Uh huh?” You say, prompting him to continue.

He groans, and then says it so fast you almost missed it.

“IregretthatIdiedavirgin!”

You have to sit there for a moment and disentangle what he said in your head, but when you do, you try really, really hard not to laugh.

“That’s-snk-that’s it? That’s your biggest regret??”

His cheeks burn red, and he crosses his arms across his chest, lower lip jutting out dramatically.

“You said you weren’t gonna judge!” He whines, cheekbones rosy.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you wheeze, trying to catch your breath. “But you’re serious? You died a virgin?”

His eyes are locked onto something behind your head, trying so incredibly hard to look anywhere but you.

“Yeah…And I regret it. A lot.”

“Clearly,” you say, leaning a bit further back out of his space, “Though I’m surprised.”

“Surprised?” He says, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” you say, poking at his cheek, “You’re awfully cute. If you were, well, alive, you’d be just my type.”

“I-I would?” He says, flustered.

You nod, pulling away from him further.

“Well. If you ever need help with the-” you gesture at him vaguely “-virgin thing, you know where to find me. I’m going to bed, please just go to sleep in the guest room. I want to actually get some sleep tonight.”

You leave him there in the kitchen, mouth agape, blinking at you like you’re crazy. You’re suppressing your grin as you spin around, walking off towards your bedroom.

Every day from then on out, Jeongin is waiting for you when you get home. He’s oddly pleasant for a ghost, though you find that his physical form is cold to the touch and the fact that he still breathes is really confusing to you. He says it’s just a habit, a remnant of when he was alive, but it’s still strange to you, to breathe without a heartbeat to go with it.

You find yourself looking forward to going home to find your own personal Casper waiting for you, sprawled across the couch or perched at the dining-living room table. You start making excuses to not hang out with your friends so you can go back home to him, claiming that you’re “too tired” to go out or that you need to “do your chores”. Your friends all boo at you, complaining about how they never see you anymore, but you couldn’t care less, not when you had the sweetest little poltergeist waiting for you at home.

He hadn’t brought up the whole “regret” thing after that first night, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it. You felt like a dirty pervert, imagining being the one to take his virginity, but you couldn’t help it, not when he looked at you with those big pleading eyes during movie night so you would watch his favorite movie with him. All you could think about was him looking at you with those eyes while on his knees for you, pleading for a taste. You hadn’t been this horny since you were a teenager overrun with hormones, and it didn’t help that you couldn’t even take time to relieve yourself, not when you knew that Jeongin could float through the walls between your rooms whenever he wanted.

It didn’t mean you couldn’t tease him, though. Your sleepwear started getting skimpier and skimpier despite the cooling weather, and you started walking back to your room after a shower wrapped only in a towel, showing off your glistening skin, still damp from the shower. You leaned in extra close during movie nights, snuggling into his side just to watch him stutter and flush. You’d feel heat curl through your stomach when he had to cover his crotch with a pillow “subtly” (it was not subtle at all), or when he would simply fade out of sight sometimes when he caught you out of the shower.

“Do you watch me shower or change?” You asked one day, curious.

You had realized recently that he could, and you wouldn’t even know. Now that you weren’t as frightened by him, you found yourself noticing his invisible eyes far less often, even when he would appear in the same room minutes later. It should be scary, but instead you found it hot. He could watch you in a compromising position, and you wouldn’t even know it until it was too late - or, better yet, you wouldn’t even know it at all.

“W-what?” He says, coughing. “No?? Yah, why would I do that?!”

“I was just curious!” You defended. “You totally could, and I wouldn’t know! I was just wondering, is all.”

Two days later, as you’re getting into the shower, you feel it. The light prick of eyes on your neck as you’re stepping under the water. You suppress your smile, knowing you planted this seed. You can picture his face now, bright red and mouth parted in quiet surprise, but you don’t move to let him know that you’re aware of his presence. You slide the thin shower curtain closed, the shadow of your naked frame reflecting through it clearly.

You start the shower off normally, soaping your hair and your body, humming quietly to yourself. You can’t have him suspecting that you can feel his eyes on you, after all.

But after you’re all clean, you trail your fingers down your body, dragging down your navel until they come to tease at your arousal. The shower is washing away the evidence of your arousal, but his eyes on you this whole time, even through the curtain, has you leaking pathetically.

You dip your fingers into your mouth with a sigh, getting two of them wet with spit. You hear him gasp, but you don’t stop your movements, acting like you were too focused on your own arousal to hear him. He can’t really see you, but the outline of you drags your now slick fingers down to your entrance, shoving two fingers in at once. It tears the air out of your lungs, the sudden intrusion a pleasant burn, and you quickly start moving your fingers, head falling back to thump against the shower wall. Your body arches into your touch, desperate after so long of depriving yourself of sweet pleasure, and you keep your moans reserved but loud enough that you know he can hear it. The room is filled with steam now, the hot water still running down your body in rivulets, but all you can think about is how you know he’s watching. He’s watching you get yourself off, and knowing that has you clenching around your digits, nearing the edge embarrassingly fast.

A third finger presses in dry, your arousal so thick and heavy that the shower can’t wash it away fast enough anymore, and you whimper, high and keening. If you were doing this with the intention of him not knowing, you’d panic, but right now, you know that he’s enjoying the show.

You’re scissoring and stretching your fingers, picking up the pace of your thrusting, and the quiet hitch of his breath again when you moan quietly, biting your lip to feign that you’re trying to be quiet, you crumble.

And, just to tease, you whimper out, breathy and sweet:

“Jeongin…”

That pulls a real gasp out of him, loud enough that you almost react, but instead you just let your head loll against the steamy shower wall, panting as you twitch through your orgasm. You pull your fingers out of yourself, wincing at the drag of them through your sensitive walls, the wet pop! of them slipping out of your tight heat almost embarrassingly loud.

You reach to turn the shower off, water hissing as it stops, unceremoniously throwing the shower curtain open. You can’t act like he’s here, so you don’t, lazily reaching for your towel to dry yourself off like this never happened. You can still feel the burn of his eyes on you, and you “accidentally” drop your towel, cursing to yourself as you have to bend allll the way over to pick it up. Your ass is high in the air, and you sway it a little as you scoop your towel up, standing back up to dry your hair off like it never happened. You’re humming to yourself again, stretching languidly as you wrap yourself in your towel, padding out of the room. You make sure to close the door behind you like you normally would, not leaving it open for your surprise guest.

You get dressed in sleepwear, tiny shorts and a big, loose shirt that almost slips off your shoulder. You head to the living room, peeking around like you’re confused.

“Jeongin!” You holler, dragging out the ‘i’, “Where are you? Do you want to watch a movie with me tonight?”

“I’m here!” he says, words too fast, popping up into your periphery.

You spin around and smile at him, big and sweet, like he didn’t see you jerk yourself off just 20 minutes ago. You beckon him over to the couch, plopping into your usual corner. He sits himself next to you, further away than he would normally sit, and you pout at him, dramatic as you can muster.

“C’mere,” you huff, waving him over, “Wanna cuddle. What do you want to watch?”

You’re picking up the remote and clicking through your streaming services, as if you just expect him to come over, but you stop when he doesn’t move.

“Is something wrong? Do I smell?” You sniff yourself, tilting your head at him in faux confusion. “I just showered, you know. Now c’mon, get over here.”

He nods shyly, and even in the low light of your dining-living room you can see the blush painting his cheeks. You click through until you find something light and fluffy, a Ghibli movie you remember him saying he wanted to watch, leaning into his side like you always do.

“You good to watch this tonight?” You ask, not even looking over at him.

“Mhm.” He hums noncommittally, leaning into you, albeit very stiffly.

The movie starts without a hitch, though you’re not really watching it. You’re sneaking glances at him throughout it, looping your arm around his 15 minutes in so you can snuggle impossibly closer to him. He goes stiff again, body rigid, but you just keep acting like nothing’s wrong.

You only make it about 30 minutes into the movie before he says something, unable to hold it back anymore.

“I can’t do this!” he blurts, yanking out of your grasp, moving to sit at the opposite end of your couch.

“I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable? If you don’t want me to press into you, I’ll stop, I just thought-”

“No no no no no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he starts, eyes darting around the room, “It was me. I’m the one who messed up.”

“Messed up?” you echo, feigning like you didn’t understand. “Jeongin, whatever you did, I’m sure it’s fine-”

“I watched you in the shower earlier!” He yells, face bright red.

“Y-you what?” you exclaim, trying to act like you didn’t know, but there’s a smile trying to spread across your face.

“I watched you while you showered earlier,” he wailed, burying his head in your hands, “I’m a dirty pervert. I told you I would never do that and then you talked about it and I got curious-”

“Did you-how long did you stay?” you say nervously, blinking up at him with your biggest doe eyes.

“The whole time…” he says, curling his knees up against his chest, head coming to fall in between them, “I saw you-I saw you…”

“You saw me touch myself.”

He nods in despair, shrinking even further into himself.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffles, looking up at you with glassy eyes, “I’m such a bad friend.”

“I uh…I don’t mind,” you say, heat crawling up your neck, “I mean…you heard me, right?”

You’re seeking confirmation that he knows you want him, peering at him with hopeful eyes. He nods, lower lip drawn between his teeth.

“Words, baby.”

He whines at that, and you can see the way his pants are starting to tent at the petname. He takes a second to take a shaky breath before answering, words wobbling as he speaks.

“Y-yeah, yeah, I uhm-I heard you.”

“Yeah?” you say breathily, crawling towards him across the couch.

His breath hitches, stopping completely as you come to kneel in front of him, his legs pressing closer together to hide his erection. You reach for one of his flickering hands and he steadies himself into his solid form, cold fingers lacing with yours.

“What are you going to do about it?” You ask innocently, staring into his eyes.

He surges forward and presses his lips to yours, using your laced hands to yank you into him. It’s clumsy, and the cold of his mouth makes you shiver, but you sink into it, finally getting what you wanted after all this time. You start slow, letting him guide the kiss, just lips on lips. As he gets more confident, pressing into you harder, you let your tongue slip out to swipe at his lower lip, smiling gently at the way he whimpers when you do.

His lips part for you and your tongue dips into his icy mouth, burning hot compared to him. His tongue hesitates, but at one particular swipe of your tongue, it comes to tangle with yours, daring to push into your mouth. You let him explore, curious tongue pressing into every corner and crevice of your mouth. It’s unsure, and if he wasn’t so eager it would be a bad kiss, but it’s so cute just how hard he’s trying that you’re melting under his amateur kisses, letting him have his way.

He pulls back after a moment, panting despite not needing to breathe, forehead coming to rest against yours. His hand is still clenching yours tightly, fingers now warm in your grasp, and you lean forward to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. He wheezes and you laugh, pressing further into him, until you’re straddling his lap, peering down at him.

“Hey.” You say.

“Hey.”

“Will you disappear forever? If we do go further?” You ask, biting your lip. “I want to do this. With you. God, I want it so bad. But…I don’t…I don’t want you to…”

“I don’t know.” He says honestly. “I don’t…I don’t know how it works. But I don’t want to go, not when…not when you’re here.”

You flush, not ready for him to be so honest with you.

“Do you think you can switch your regret?” You murmur, pressing gentle kisses to his face between words to watch him squirm.

“To-hah-to what?”

“To not staying here, with me. So you never leave.”

Your hips start to roll lazily against him, your erection pressing up into you. He whimpers, free hand coming to hover over your hip. You roll your eyes, pressing his hand down onto your hip.

“You can touch me,” you say, a tiny whine slipping out of your throat as the friction catches your heat just right, “Please, touch me.”

He groans, lurching up to capture your lips again in a passionate kiss. It’s less awkward this time, his mouth more confident as it presses against yours. Your bodies rock together, your core and his cock desperately rutting together through layers of clothing. You whimper, because the friction is good, but it’s not enough, not for you.

You’re pulling off of him sooner than you’d like to, stumbling to your feet to rip your shorts and underwear down your legs. He gasps at the way your arousal stretches between your underwear and your entrance, snapping as it stretches too thin. He’s off the couch in an instant, dropping to his knees in front of your reverently, eyes locked on your dripping heat. He leans forward, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and you grab him by his hair to pull him back before he can lap at your slick. Your touch is a little mean, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he whimpers, eyes cloudy but intent clear. He wants a taste of you.

You hike a leg over his shoulder, your arousal a mere inches from his face, and he’s genuinely drooling, spit dribbling down his chin as he smells you, so close he can imagine your taste on his tongue. His glassy eyes peer up to find yours, silently asking for permission as his hands come to clench at your ass, hold firm but not pulling you closer. Not without your permission.

“Go ahead, sweet thing.” You say, and that’s all the permission he needs.

He dives into your heat without hesitation, tongue sloppy and uncoordinated, but he makes up for it tenfold in his hunger, so eager in his ministrations that you’re gasping right away, hips pressing into his face before you can stop yourself. A moan pulls past your lips, unabashed and loud, and it makes him press further into you, tongue dipping into your entrance with such precision that you forget that he’s a virgin for a moment. You forget everything but the pleasure he’s giving you and his name on the tip of your tongue, tearing out of your throat every time his tongue twists inside of you just right.

“I’m close, baby,” you pant out, “Close, ‘m close, I’m coming I’m-Jeongin!”

A finger slips inside of you, thick and perfect, and you’re flying over the edge as it crooks into your sweet spot like he already knew where it was. His name comes out as a wail, and you’re bowing over him, gripping his hair like a lifeline as you fold overtop him, arousal pressed so close to his face you’d be worried he couldn’t breath if he needed oxygen.

You tremble above him, legs like jello, and he picks you up easily, muscles you didn’t even know he had making your weight almost nothing to him. He carries you to your bedroom, flicking on the lamp beside your bed.

“I want to see you,” he said bashfully, as if he hadn’t just eaten you out so good that you didn’t remember your own name, “Can I-uhm…Will you let me have you?”

You laugh breathlessly, eyeing him incredulously.

“After you ate me out like that? You can do anything you want to me, sweetheart.”

He flushes, hand coming to rub at the back of his neck.

“Sorry if I went overboard-”

“Shut up,” you say, cutting him off, “I’ve never felt like that ever. Ever. You hear me? It felt so good I thought I saw heaven for a second. Now are you going to fuck me, or am I going to have to do all the work?”

He shakes his head, mouth immediately opening to protest.

“No, no, you just uh…you just lie there, I’ll do all the work for you, okay? I can be good for you, I can do it.”

He’s rambling, and it’s so sweet, and you shift yourself to lie on your back in the center of the bed. You gesture at him vaguely, high of your orgasm fading into fresh arousal all over again.

“Take your clothes off, please,” you say, low and sultry, “I want to see you.”

He nods, taking a few steps back to yank off his clothes hastily. He gets stuck with the pants, swearing under his breath as he leg gets caught and he almost eats shit. You snort, giggling as he fights himself out of his pants.

“How do ghost clothes even work?” you ask, curious. “Can’t you just…go through them?”

“I wish I knew,” he said, frown tugging at his lips as he struggled with the last pant leg, “I’m always stuck in this outfit, though. I used to be a real fashionista, you know.”

“You could always wear my clothes,” you say, already picturing him in your baggier clothes, “Though I probably don’t have as good of a fashion sense as you did. I could buy you clothes, too, if you told me what you wanted.”

“You’d do that for me?” He said, eyes sparkling. “That means I wouldn’t be able to go through the walls in them, though…”

“I’d do anything for you,” you answer sincerely, “Now please hurry up and get out of those pants, I’m drying out over here.”

That wasn’t true at all, the planes of his muscles that he’s been hiding this whole time (damn you, cute baggy shirt) causing even more arousal to drip down between your legs, an embarrassing puddle of your own arousal starting to wet the sheets below your ass. He’s moving even quicker now though, and once he’s finally free of his boxers? You gape, taking in the sight of his cock.

It’s got a pretty vein trailing up the side, prominent and bulging, and the head is just the prettiest shade of pink. He’s leaking, though you’re not quite sure how ghost precum works (can you taste it? Is it cold?) but you suppose that’s a question for another time, because he’s coming over to you shyly, and all you can think about is how badly you want his length filling you up. He’s not very long or thick, but you can tell the gentle upwards curve is going to have him pressing into your sweet spot every time, and you’re clenching at the thought of it.

He crawls onto your bed, and it dips under his weight. His hands come to grab at your legs, pressing them up into you until he’s got you in a mating press. His eyes search yours for approval, and you bring a hand up to cup his face, smiling up at his softly. His body is like ice, despite the visible flush on his skin, and you shiver against him as he presses closer to you, cock brushing against where you need him most.

“Are you ready, baby?”

He nods, eyes determined and locked onto yours.

“Give yourself to me, then,” you say, looping a hand around to guide his cock until the head is pressed against your entrance, “C’mon. Make us feel so good, sweet boy.”

“Gonna-gonna make you feel shooo good,” he hiccups, tip pressing in ever so slow, “F-fuh-fuck! Shit, you feel so gooooood.”

He’s barely halfway into you and he thinks he’s already going to come. He’s felt so cold for so long, trapped in this god forsaken house, and inside of you is so warm it feels like he’s on fire. It burns, and stars are prickling behind his eyes, filling his vision with sparks and blurring everything but you. You, splayed out beneath him like something out of a dream, legs bent up to frame your body and hair tousled from your earlier activities. He’s never seen anything quite like you, not even when he was alive.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until you reach a hand to wipe the tears away. He can vaguely hear you asking him something, but he can’t hear you over the sound of his own breathing and the ringing in his ears. He’s floating, ascending into another realm already, and he’s not even all the way in yet.

You sigh, loving the position he has you in, but you can tell from the dazed look in his eyes that he’s not going to be able to move like this, not when he’s already shaking and he’s not even all the way in you yet. Your legs hook around him, and you take a moment to inhale deeply, then you throw your body weight, using all your force to flip the two of you over.

He hits the bed with an oomph, and you slip trying to catch yourself, pushing his length all the way inside of you in one go. He screams, a mix between a sob and a desperate call of your name, and oh, he’s coming, and it’s so, so much. It just keeps going, and you whimper as it fills you up, so much that it’s creating a creamy ring around the base of his cock. You move to slide off of him, but his hands fly to your hips, pulling you back down, cock pressing into your sweet spot in a way that has your eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Don’t get off, please, I can take more, I can be good,” he pants, blurry eyes peering up at you, “I can do it. Please, again, feels so fucking good. I want-I need more, please. Please? I’ll do anything-”

You cut him off with your mouth, pressing a long, hard kiss to his lips as your hips start moving slowly. You’re just grinding for now, not really lifting off of him, just moving your hips in languid circles and letting the fat head of his cock press into your sweet spot on every circle. You pull back so you can trail kisses down his jaw, continuing until you’re mouthing at his neck, hips picking up their pace. You’re really riding him now, and he moans, wanton and pitchy, hips bucking off the bed to chase your heat. You bite his neck harshly as he does - a warning - and he whines, but listens, hips keeping their place on your bed.

“Feels so good,” he mumbles, almost to himself, “I’m gonna…I’m gonna come again, ‘m sorry, it feels so good-”

You shush him, leaning back to ride him harder now. You brace your hands against his chest, and let yourself use him, hips circling in a way that has him dragging deliciously against that gummy spot inside of you. Your second orgasm comes crashing over you unexpectedly, the perfect roll of your hip and the choked sound that Jeongin makes when you clench around him enough to make you cry out, clamping around him as you come. You gush around him and he groans, eyes rolling back into his head and hips bucking off the bed again as he comes for the last time, still a copious amount but far less than the first time.

You were right - ghost cum was kind of cold, a stark contrast to the heat running through you - and you would laugh if it weren’t for how Jeongin was looking at you. His eyes were filled with something you couldn’t explain, and it washes over you as he starts to flicker.

“I’m so tired,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours, “I haven’t slept in so long.”

You slip him out of you, rolling next to him on the bed. You pull his head into your chest, not wanting him to see the tears pricking your eyes. His arms come to wrap around your middle and he nuzzles into you, but you feel it first. The way he’s fading away from you, weight becoming lighter and cold brush against your skin warming up.

“Go to sleep, baby,” you say wetly, choking back the sounds clawing at your throat, “I’ll be here when you wake up, okay? You can go to sleep. I’m right here, I’ll always be right here.”

A silent tear rolls down your cheek as he nods lazily, pressing further into you but somehow never feeling further away. You see the way that his clothes start to disappear on the floor, fading into nothing until there’s no evidence that they were there at all.

He flickers again, fading and becoming more transparent. You press a fleeting kiss to the crown of his head and he sighs, like he doesn’t even realize what’s happening. And just as you think it’s over, and that he's fully gone, he whispers quietly, breath cold against your chest.

“I love you.”

It’s spoken so quietly it’s almost a breath, and you wish you didn’t hear it, because that’s it, and you’re left in the warmth of your bed, all alone, in a house that suddenly feels too big for just one person. You fall asleep numbly, the weight of his touch and his love covering you like a blanket.

It’s a shame that you never got to tell him you loved him back.

I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3

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