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Denji’s life was simple. Wake up at dawn, haul bricks and steel beams under the blistering sun, collect his paycheck, and blow the extra cash on cheap beer and cheaper women. His apartment was a shithole—peeling paint, a mattress that creaked like it was begging for mercy, and a fridge that only ever held instant noodles and the occasional leftover takeout. But Denji didn’t care. He didn’t need much.
His one claim to fame, the thing that kept the girls screaming his name in those fleeting, sweaty nights, was the one gift God—or maybe the devil—had given him: a dick that was anything but average.He wasn’t proud of it, not really. It was just a fact, like the calluses on his hands or the scars crisscrossing his knuckles. The girls he paid never complained, and the way they’d moan and claw at the sheets made him feel like he was doing something right in this otherwise pointless existence. Life was good enough—until the dreams started.It began a few weeks ago. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, sheets soaked, cock throbbing like it had a mind of its own.
The dreams were always the same: a shadowy figure, lean and sharp-edged, with dark eyes that glinted like polished obsidian. The figure never spoke, just knelt between Denji’s legs, lips wrapping around him with a skill that made his toes curl and his breath hitch. He’d wake up gasping, alone, with nothing but the sticky evidence of his release and a lingering sense of wrongness.He tried to shrug it off. Dreams were just dreams, right? Maybe he was just pent-up, working too hard, not getting laid enough. But the dreams kept coming, night after night, until he was waking up every morning with a raging hard-on and a growing sense of unease. He stopped going to the brothels, too paranoid that whatever was haunting his sleep might follow him there. The girls didn’t deserve that, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the embarrassment.Tonight, though, was different.
Denji jolted awake, his body slick with sweat, the familiar ache pulsing between his legs. The dream had been more vivid than ever—those lips, that tongue, the heat of a mouth that felt too real. He groaned, ready to curse his brain for tormenting him, when he felt it: a weight on the bed, a faint brush of cold air against his skin. His eyes snapped open, and there, in the dim moonlight filtering through his cracked window, was a figure.A man—pale, almost translucent, with dark hair falling into sharp, predatory eyes.
He was straddling Denji’s thighs, one hand wrapped around Denji’s cock, stroking with a lazy, deliberate rhythm. Denji’s brain short-circuited.“What the fuck?!” he yelped, scrambling back until his head hit the wall. The figure didn’t flinch, just tilted his head, a smirk curling his lips.
“Finally awake, huh?” the man said, voice low and smooth, like velvet laced with poison. “Took you long enough.”Denji’s heart hammered in his chest. He grabbed the nearest thing—a pillow—and chucked it at the figure, but it passed right through, hitting the wall with a pathetic thump. The man laughed, a sound that sent a shiver down Denji’s spine.“Who the hell are you?!” Denji demanded, yanking the sheet up to cover himself, though it did little to hide his still-hard cock. “And why the fuck are you—doing that?!”The man leaked closer, his form flickering like a bad TV signal.
“Name’s Yoshida Hirofumi,” he said, eyes glinting with something dangerous. “And I’m not exactly... alive. Ghost, iblis, call it what you want. I’ve been having fun with you, Denji.”Denji’s jaw dropped.
“You’re—what? You’re the one fucking with my dreams?!”Yoshida’s smirk widened. “Guilty. You’re fun to play with. So responsive.” His gaze dropped pointedly to Denji’s lap, and Denji felt his face burn.“Get the hell off me!” Denji lunged, expecting his hands to pass through like the pillow, but to his surprise, he grabbed something solid.
Yoshida’s eyes widened as Denji tackled him, pinning him to the mattress. The ghost—or demon,or whatever the fuck he was—felt real under Denji’s hands, all lean muscle and cool skin.“Interesting,” Yoshida murmured, not sounding the least bit bothered by being pinned.
“You’ve got some fight in you.”Denji glared, his hands tightening on Yoshida’s wrists. “Why me? Why the fuck are you haunting my dick?!”Yoshida laughed again, the sound vibrating through Denji’s chest.
“Because you’re easy,” he said simply. “Lonely, desperate, and so damn pent-up it’s practically a beacon. Plus...” His eyes flicked downward again, and Denji swore he felt the ghost’s gaze like a physical touch.
“You’re not exactly hard to look at.”Denji’s brain stalled. Was this thing... flirting with him? He shook his head, trying to focus. “So what, you just get off on screwing with me? Literally?”“Something like that,” Yoshida said, his tone teasing.
“But I can make it worth your while. You’ve been enjoying it, haven’t you? Those dreams weren’t all me.”Denji’s face flushed hotter. He wanted to deny it, to punch this smug bastard into next week, but his body was betraying him, still hard and aching from the dream—and from the way Yoshida was looking at him now, like he was something to be devoured.“Fuck you,” Denji growled, but his grip on Yoshida’s wrists loosened slightly.Yoshida’s smirk turned wicked. “Oh, I’d let you. But you’d have to ask nicely.”
Denji’s breath caught. This was insane. He was arguing with a ghost who’d been giving him wet dreams for weeks, and now he was half-tempted to—what? Fuck a ghost? His life was officially off the rails.But then Yoshida shifted, pressing himself closer, and Denji felt that cool, solid weight against him, the friction sparking something raw and desperate in his gut.
He didn’t know if it was the dreams, the frustration, or just the fact that he hadn’t been touched in weeks, but he was losing the battle against his own body.“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” Denji muttered, but his voice was rough, unsteady.
Yoshida’s eyes gleamed. “And you’re not saying no.”Denji’s grip tightened again, but this time it wasn’t to hold Yoshida down—it was to keep himself grounded. “If you’re gonna haunt me,” he said, voice low, “you’d better make it good.”Yoshida’s laugh was dark, triumphant. “Oh, Denji,” he purred, leaning up until their lips were a breath apart. “You have no idea what I can do."