Oh Yeah? Yeah? (makes Your Meruem Human)

oh yeah? yeah? (makes your meruem human)

The tattoo sleeve designs represent stuff :) it's kinda silly but I will elaborate on them if asked

Freeloader

Content Contains: NSFW, fem reader, 1st person, size difference (it’s Uvogin), Uvogin is a freeloader, dub-con, somno(?? mentions grinding and groping reader while sleeping), creampie, uhh a little possessive? barely any proofreading.

Word Count: 6.9k (shit is LONG srry)

The sound of a crash jolted me from my sleep. My eyes tiredly scanned the room before my feet slowly slipped onto the floor. The sound didn’t seem to come from inside, but it surely wasn’t far.

I made my way down the steps, careful to avoid the areas of the wood that whined under my weight. Nothing, or no one, was inside the house. A sigh of relief escaped my lips. However, that meant it came from outside.

Still cautious, I peered through the peephole, gazing around every angle before finally looking down. The sight of something large on my porch made me jump, the light barely allowing me to make out torn, white fabric. I quickly undid the lock on the knob, leaving the chain lock until I knew for sure everything was safe. I peeked through the crack, gasping at the image displayed on my front porch.

‘He’s fucking huge?? How can a human being be that… large?’ It took me a second to fully register that there wasn’t just a large man in front of my house, but that he was unconscious. His white shirt was bloody and torn almost completely off of him. I squatted and threw one of his arms over my shoulder, the weight causing me to exhaustively exhale. His arm was almost as long as I was tall, and nearly weighed as much as I fucking did. ‘You’re one heavy-‘ my knees almost buckling under me caused me to focus on the task at hand.

Slowly, with as much strength as possible, I dragged the abnormally large male into my house, letting him go with just the thought of getting his weight off of me. The sound of the crash and my house slightly shaking from the impact alerted me to how roughly he fell. “Sorry,” I said to him before realizing he was unconscious, and the fall probably was the least of his worries.

I quickly ran up to get my cheap first aid kit; it’ll have to do until the morning when I could call the doctor. I also decided to grab a bowl of water and a rag before I made my way back to the living room.

My hands gingerly tore the rest of his shirt off. My eyes widened in shock at the state of his wounds. Deep cuts, bruises in various shades, and other miscellaneous scrapes took their turns littering his body. I didn’t have nearly enough band-aids to cover everything, especially considering how large some of them wore. I didn’t even consider turning him over to check for anything on his back.

I cleaned the wounds and additional dirt as best as possible before placing the few bandages I had on the ones that seemed the worst.

I backed away and took the time to examine him. His chest rose steadily, his face looked as if he were peacefully sleeping. My eyes lingered on the bruise on his left cheek and gash above his right eye.

“What did you do to make them that mad?” I chuckled to myself as my back hit the front of the couch. I realized he was too close to me when I tried to uncross my legs. The thought of pushing myself on the couch created even more exhaustion.

Blink.

Blink. The morning sun was shining harshly on my face. Did I not close the blinds yesterday?

I sat up, the blanket sliding off of me as I stretched.

‘Wait…’ I looked at the floor. He was still there, but on his side now, one arm underneath his head as he snored. ‘Did he?…’ He couldn’t have, there’s no way someone with his injuries could even stand to be awake.

I slid over the arm of the couch, careful to make the same movements as I did last night to avoid any creaking.

Once in my room, my hands pawed over my bed eagerly, searching for my phone. I wasted no time in dialing the nearest traveling doctor; there was no way I could carry him out to my car, and I didn’t believe they even made ambulances that big. I relayed the information of the extent of the man’s injuries to the secretary on the phone after giving her my address.

I made my way back downstairs to check on the stranger on my living room floor. With how hurt he is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he slept all d-

“Ah, you’re awake,” a deep voice stopped me in my tracks.

He was sitting up with his legs crossed, both of his arms stretched behind his back while he yawned. He started pushing himself up to stand.

“W-wait!” I ran over to him to stop him, wondering if he hit his head so hard that he couldn’t feel anything. However, when I stopped in front of him I noticed that the bruise was gone, the gash almost completely healed too. My eyes trailed down his chest and abdomen; it was the same story, all minor injuries were gone while the bigger ones were well on their way of being healed.

“Oh, thanks for the bandages, hope you don’t mind that I took them off though,” his voice was gruff and deep with the reminiscence of sleep. He slid on a new white shirt. Where did he get that?

I just stared at him with shock. He was acting as just a couple of hours ago he wasn’t knocked out cold on my front doorstep. And how did everything heal?

“What am I going to tell the doctor?” I thought out loud.

He looked at me with a raised eyebrow before yawning again. “Doctor?”

My head snapped back up so I could meet his eyes, “Well last night you were out cold and you had so many wounds all over,” I began to ramble, “so I brought you in and patched you up as best as I could. I couldn’t do the best work, but I used what I had. Obviously I had the intention of calling a doctor first thing in the morning, that was the only thing on my mind when I woke up. I mean, I thought you were dying or something. Anyone else-“

He let out a loud laugh, stopping me dead in my speech. “I forgot how worrisome regular folk are,” he let out another chuckle. Regular people? I guess I couldn’t argue with him on that; hell, I’m still not convinced he’s fully human. “You should probably call off that doctor, don’t wanna waste his time.”

“No, you need to get checked at the very least,” I protested, “you took multiple blows to the head and were out for hours.”

His figure towered over me, shadowing me from the sun. The gash on his head was even smaller now, had it been healing the whole time we were talking? “If it makes you feel better, then sure,” his voice was surprisingly more gentle than his appearance. “But I ain’t lettin’ a doctor poke and prod me all day. He’s checkin’ my head and that’s it,” he said playfully.

I nodded in agreement. “Just a small checkup is all I’m asking for.” I gave him a small smile, and he returned it with a big grin. His canines were sharp as hell…

Even with the man, whose name is Uvogin, sitting down on the couch, the doctor still had to pull up a chair to get a proper look at him. I cringed at every creak my poor couch made under the massive man’s weight, my jaw tightened even more when I caught a glimpse at the way it bent at the bottom. The thought of having to buy new furniture because of a bear-like stranger was enough to make tears begin to prick at my eyes.

“Everything looks… normal,” the doctor spoke, breaking me out of my couch trance, “his response times are perfectly fine, everything seems to be working correctly, and his wounds don’t seem in nearly as bad of shape as I heard. I think he’ll be alright Mrs…”

“Miss,” I simply corrected as I showed him to the door, “thank you so much doctor for taking a look at him.” I closed the door and stood there for a minute with my forehead pressed against the door.

“Told ya,” the gruff voice made me jump. For a big guy, he was quiet when he wanted to be.

“You must be hungry,” I exclaimed while looking at the clock by the kitchen entrance, “it’s already well past one!” I squeezed my way around him and walked towards the kitchen. “I have uh, eggs, meat….” I felt silly listing everything in my fridge, “What are you in the mood for?” I finally asked.

When I looked over the door of the fridge to the entryway where he was first standing, I was met with empty space. “Huh?..”

“You don’t got a lot…” My eyes widened as I felt his breath on the back of my neck. Why was he so close? It suddenly sunk in that I just have some stranger in my house… hovering over me.

Wait… I don’t have a lot? “I just stocked my fridge yesterday, but if you don’t see anything, we can always order something?” ‘No, he should be leaving, if he wants food then he can get it himself,’ the thought popped up.

Before I could debate my hospitality, his breath brushed against my ear, “You payin’?” A sense of dread hit my stomach, and my wallet.

After apologizing to the third delivery guy for the egregious amount of food, I shut the door. I slid my back down and prepared to walk into my living room-turned-buffet.

My eyes widened as I walked into the scene; there were literal piles of takeout boxes lined around my coffee table as well on the floor next to it. And he was already eating?! He couldn’t even wait for me to sit down?

“Are you gonna eat?” His mouth was full while he asked the question.

Exhale. I sat down on the other side of the couch, once again tensing at the sound of my poor furniture earnestly trying to keep us both up. ‘I should write a review for this brand,’ the thought made me chuckle a little.

He finished it. He finished it all. He even finished my fucking leftovers. I sat there with my back against the couch as he rubbed his stomach lazily beside me, the mess of takeout packages littered around my living space. The thought of cleaning up after he left nearly brought me to tears once again.

The main issue was, he wasn’t making any moves to go. “So…” I began, “where are you from?” My question earned me a raised eyebrow from the man as he stared at me.

“Why do you care?” Okay, rude.

“Simply trying to make conversation. I mean, you are kind of a stranger just… in my house.” This seemed to humor him.

“Alright alright, I’m from Meteor City,” my eyes widened in surprise. I’ve heard stories about the place, but I’ve never met someone from there. It’s also quite a distance from here.

“What brings you so far from home?” And who is beating you so badly you landed on my porch?

His brow furrowed like he was figuring out what to say, “Just passing through.” Okay, now I’m more curious.

“Any destination?” I pulled my legs onto the couch, leaning forward to try and meet his avoidant gaze.

He scratched the back of his neck, “Damn you ask a lot of questions. No, I’m just roamin’.”

When I realized he wouldn’t meet my eyes, I began to look past him, outside of the window. The sun was starting to set, painting the skies various blues and oranges. I would’ve taken in its beauty if it weren’t serving as a reminder that Uvogin is still in my house.

We sat in silence for a few additional minutes as I pondered on how to ask him to leave. ‘He could stay one more night,’ was a possibility, ‘but think of all the money he’ll eat and break,’ another possibility.

Before I could really make a decision, Uvogin was already spreading himself out on the couch, feet pushing off three piles of takeout containers onto the floor. He yawned obnoxiously loud, letting me know I should stop with the questions.

But the question of where he was gonna sleep pushed against my lips.

The image of him breaking the twin bed in the guest bedroom sent shivers down my spine, and I wanted to give my couch a break but I couldn’t just ask him to sleep on the floor. The image of when I first woke up replayed in my head, how peaceful he seemed curled up on my rug.

‘Like a puppy,’ I tried to force down the smile that played on my lips.

“Mr. Uvogin,” I turned to look at him. My face flattened when I saw his mouth wide open and his eyes shut, drool already beginning to drop from his lips.

A defeated sigh filled the air before the creaking of the couch followed it. It barely lifted after I stood up. My arms felt heavy as I pried myself away from the scene.

Shower and then bed. I didn’t realize how heavy my muscles were until I sprawled out all of my limbs across my bed. My bed was quite large, but I don’t think it could even hold Uvogin-

‘Who cares if a stranger can fit in my bed????’ I rolled around my bed despite having no energy, hoping that tiring myself out more would help my mind focus on something else.

I rolled around several times before finally settling into my blankets. The rising and falling of my chest slowed as I began to drift into sleep.

I woke up to my room rocking back and forth and my shoulder jolting around. “W-what?” The rocking stopped and my eyes landed on a blurry figure. As the room finally began to steady and my vision focused, I recognized Uvogin.

”You’re finally awake,” he grunted, scratching the top of his head, “your room is kinda nice; lots of little trinkets.” He looked around nervously, causing me to jump up.

“You haven’t broken an-“

“No no, nothing’s broken, everything’s fine,” he eased. “Where’s the menu for that take-out place? Unless you’re plannin’ to cook again?” My eyes widened at the audacity. He’s still here in my home and he’s got the guts to ask me for food? I studied his face for a moment, noticing that there wasn’t even a scar above his right eye.

I huffed and threw my legs over the edge of my bed, sliding my feet onto the floor. “I’ll cook something, but it probably won’t be enough to satisfy you until you leave.” My eyes met him at the last two words.

His eyes briefly widened before he slowly broke out a smirk, his eyes lowering, “I’m sure you’ll find some way to solve that.”

My face began to grow hot, the sudden feeling of my chest tightening caused my body to turn away. I tried to hide my uneven breathing on my way to the kitchen, trying to stay a couple steps ahead of Uvogin. ‘He didn’t mean anything other than he’s going to eat all the shit in my fridge.’

My arms were sore and I nearly fainted after placing the last plate on my kitchen table. There were 2 leftover stews on the table, 9 cups of rice on the table, around 30 eggs, and a stack of at least 26 pancakes.

By the time I sat down at the table and had a sufficient amount of water, Uvogin was already finishing his third bowl of stew and rice. ‘Greedy bastard,’ I cursed him in my head, my eyes burning into him. If he was concerned about my gaze, he didn’t show it. He continued almost mindlessly shoveling food into his mouth. Did he even chew?

I had finished half a pancake and a few spoonfuls of scrambled eggs before the sight of the freeloader completely ruined my appetite.

The deep sigh from Uvogin caused me to start rapidly blinking in surprise, “You were right, but it should be enough for the start of the day.”

I felt my right eye start to twitch, my hands grasping on to the table as I fought back the outburst threatening to spill out.

“Huh? What’s wrong with you?”

“Are you…”

“Hm?” My head shot up and my eyes met Uvogin’s.

“Are you fucking serious?” My words started coming out faster than I could think, “You wake up in someone else’s fucking home, unconscious and beaten up, then you offer them no explanation to what happen. Okay, that’s fine. But then you stay the whole first day despite being perfectly fine, and hell, you didn’t even thank me for the meal you had yesterday, you just took your ass right to sleep on my couch!”

“Whoa what’s-“

“Then to have the fucking audacity to wake me up in my bed, without even knocking first, by SHAKING me? To ask me to either cook or order you food? Are you a goddamn toddler? Both your legs and mouth work just fine, you could’ve mosied your ass right outta here and got your fill somewhere else. And oh my god the fucking nerve to complain that there wasn’t enough food to satisfy you? You’re a fucking unbelievable, self centered, freeloading lee-“

The bottom of Uvogin’s hand covered my mouth. My breath hitched as I felt his fingers reach the back of my head; his hand was huge. And the speed of which he crossed the room, I didn’t even register him leaving his seat.

My body began to tremble. Suddenly, I no longer wanted to meet Uvogin’s gaze.

I felt his warm breath brush against the top of my head as he let out a low exhale, I trembled harder in response.

“You’re so tiny… no wonder you couldn’t bottle your feelings up for so long,” he was teasing me. If I wasn’t so scared at the sheer size of this man and his sudden control over me, I could’ve been mad at how he wasn’t taking me seriously. “Look at me.” My eyes didn’t move, my vision unfocused. “Look at me,” his tone was more stern.

My eyes slowly moved to meet his. His eyelids were low and he didn’t have a tint of animosity on his face, but the small grin he had was unnerving; he knew he was truly in control right now.

“Good girl. Now, I’m gonna remove my hand from your mouth, and I don’t wanna hear anything unless I speak to you, understood?” I slowly nodded my head yes in compliance.

His hand slowly backed away from my lips and I let out a shaky breath. “You’re so good at following instructions,” the condescending tone in his voice filled my ears.

“I think your bed is much better suited for me, I’ll sleep there tonight,” Uvogin stated after a long drawn out silence. It had been a couple hours since we last spoke. After the shaky encounter at breakfast, I simply washed the dishes and continued to sit on the opposite end of the couch from him in silence. My eyes stared at the TV blankly, not registering what show was currently on while my mind replayed the scenario.

“M-my bed?” I hated how meek my voice sounded in my own home. He invaded my living room, fridge, and now my room?

“Mhm, it’s big enough. Besides, I can’t sleep on the floor all the time,” he chuckled as if it was truly funny.

‘All the time…’ as if he was staying…

My heart began thumping in my chest at the thought of Uvogin staying for another week, then weeks, then months… Surely he wouldn’t stay for that long though, he’s a drifter who’s place of origin is days travel away. Someone like him wouldn’t find a place like this suitable for settling anyway. It’s too quiet, and I’ve never even heard of people arguing with malicious intent around here before. A brute like Uvogin would get bored soon.

“Uvogin… I have work tomorrow,” I drew out each word, frightened that something would be seen as combative and gain a negative response. “I don’t think you can stay here.”

He laughed at my attempt to get him to leave, “I’m not a pet you have to supervise, I’ll be fine on my own.”

‘Why can’t you just leave?’ I wanted to get down on my knees and break down, beg him to go somewhere else. “Well, I’ll have to go to the grocery store tomorrow as well, so I’ll be gone all day. Besides, you’ve already said I didn’t have enough to feed you.”

“So I’ll go with you. I can stop by your job when you’re done and we can pick up the stuff I like.” It’s like he just couldn’t hear the parts where I was asking him to leave.

I couldn’t imagine Uvogin realistically walking through a store, pushing a cart and having me grab what he was interested in. The image could’ve earned a laugh from me yesterday.

I didn’t say much else until it grew late. I tried putting off going to sleep as much as possible, my eyes darted from the clock to Uvogin and back again. It was now 11:24, the rhythmic ticking slowly lulling me to sleep. I tried fighting it, I didn’t want to allow Uvogin in my room, I wanted to at least put up some kind of resistance.

Eventually my eyes blinked one last time.

The soft buzzing of my phone under my pillow pulled me out of the blank void of sleep. My eyes lazily opened as I let out a stretch, my hands gently pushing against Uvogin’s chest. I closed my eyes once again, being invited back to sleep at the knowledge that this was one of three alarms.

‘Uvogin’s chest?’ My eyes bolted open and I was confronted by Uvogin’s tan skin filling my vision, the hair on his body brushed against my face. My whole body tensed. I stayed still for what felt like hours as I listened to the surprisingly soft snores from the giant man. At one point, he mumbled something in his sleep before tightening his arms around me, pulling me more into his chest.

My alarm buzzed once again under my pillow, but this time I had to use a little more force to pull away from Uvogin to turn it off. I paused at the lack of snoring before my head slowly turned to face him.

His eyes were lazily gazing at me, blinking slowly as if he were fighting off the threat of more sleep. “Is someone calling you?” His voice was low and groggy, the words almost slurred.

I slowly shook my head no, “It’s my alarm. I have to start getting ready for work.” I slowly began pushing my body away from him, sitting up. It felt like a weight was taken off my chest as his hands loosened their grip.

“Can’t you miss it?” Why was he begging me to stay home?

“If I miss work, how am I gonna afford these huge grocery trips?” I retorted before my mind could catch up. I don’t need to afford huge grocery trips in the first place. He’s not staying.

Uvogin chuckled as the hand resting on my hip started moving back and forth, “Just take the stuff you want.”

“Like… steal?” I now turned my head back towards him with a confused look, “You’re wanting me to steal copious amounts of food from a grocery store?”

Uvogin simply nodded and shrugged his shoulders before he made a lazy effort to sit up. My bed creaked, causing me to cringe; the sound was much less abrasive than my poor couch though.

I sighed before shaking my head, “Uvogin, unlike you I live here, I like living here. If I stole something, I’d be banned from the store and arrested. I’m not some drifter unable to settle in one place. I’m here, I’m settled, I’m not risking everything for you to get a couple hours of satisfaction.” My tone was much softer than yesterday, and I tried to choose my words more carefully this time.

Uvogin was scratching the side of his head now in obvious annoyance, “I got it, I got it. You don’t need to keep going on these long rants.”

I felt a wave of relief wash over me at the lack of aggression that my rant earned; I figured the fact that he was sleepy along with my gentle tone played hugely.

My phone buzzed once again. I let out a breath before sliding completely out of Uvogin’s grip and off the bed. I got dressed in the bathroom, locking the door. I mentally prepared myself for another shift, this time there was a positive besides money; I got away from Uvogin.

I left the house without a word; Uvogin was already back asleep by the time I got out of the bathroom so I was already feeling lighter by the lack of interaction.

Within two hours of my shift, I felt my phone buzz. I checked it on my lunch break, finding three additional notifications.

>You didn’t say what time you got off.

>Can you send me the number to that restaurant?

>Your neighbors are fucking annoying, do they not have jobs?

>Can’t you respond?

The contact was already labeled ‘Uvogin’. When did he get into my phone?

I furiously texted responses to each question.

>7:30. There’s a flier on the fridge. The ones on my left work nights and the ones on my right have an unemployed son. I have a job to do.

My head fell between my arms. I didn’t even have enough to pack my lunch today, my mood grew more sour by the minute.

Seeing my coworkers duck and whisper as they exited the building let me know Uvogin was there before my eyes even landed on him.

“Hey,” he held up a hand but didn’t wave.

I simply nodded in acknowledgment while walking to my car. Uvogin followed close behind until I reached the driver’s door. He made his way to the passenger side but blinked in confusion at me from atop the roof.

I slid into the car without acknowledging him further. My eyes widened as it leaned into Uvogin’s weight as he sat in. The car gave a little shake at almost every movement he made. I groaned knowing that my gas was gonna burn even faster, and who knows what other problems this will bring.

I drove to the store, simply nodding or giving Uvogin short answers as he pointed out the window, asking questions about this or that, have I been here or there.

Never had I felt so watched in my life as I had when walking with Uvogin. From the parking lot through ever isle, there was at least one pair of eyes that trailed our movements. I wanted to shrink and throw myself in the cart under the mountain of food that Uvogin was freely picking. He looked at me in surprise when I told him he had 10 final items.

He wordlessly loaded the groceries into the car, out of the car, and into the house. I was finally grateful for him; it was finally only one trip from the car to the house. I began prepping dinner as the man started putting things away, asking where this, this, and this went, or if this had to go in the fridge.

By the time dinner was done, I couldn’t bring myself to eat more than half of my plate, pure exhaustion taking over my body. I felt Uvogin’s eyes on me before I heard the clinking of dishes as he walked around the table, then their clatter as he threw them into the sink. My eyes were fighting to stay open.

Uvogin pushed his hands under my armpits before hoisting me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as far as they could go. My head rested on his shoulder. I wanted to protest, I wanted to tell him to put me down, but I was far too tired.

Over the next three weeks I began to develop a routine with Uvogin; wake up after the second alarm and try to find my phone before it wakes up Uvogin, remind Uvogin why I work, go to work, come home to see he’s got most of dinner already cooked before helping him finish, shower, and watch TV before Uvogin carries me to bed. It was almost like he wasn’t some stranger who crashed in here, but instead a partner of multiple years.

My body began to relax over Uvogin as I felt the beginning of sleep, my limbs sprawled over top of him while we laid on the couch. Over the last week, Uvogin had moved past just cuddling me while I slept; he would hover over me with his hands on my shoulders while I cooked or washed dishes, he would pull me into his lap whenever we were sitting in the same room, or he would pull me over top of him when he wanted to lay down on the couch like now.

An almost purring noise coming from under me is what pulled me out of the entrance of slumber. Then I felt something hard rubbing between my legs.

‘There’s no way-‘ a soft grunt before Uvogin’s hips bucked into me ever so slightly confirmed my suspension.

“U-Uvogin!” I rose up as much as I could under his hand, his grip on my waist wasn’t tight but it didn’t need to be, he was strong even when he wasn’t trying.

“Ah shit-“ he let out a low groan, “you’re awake.” I wiggled more under his grip now. He pushed his hand down on my lower back, pushing out a soft yelp from me.

“What are… what are you doing?” My chest felt tight as my stomach twisted into knots.

He pushed harder into my crotch, a shiver traveled up my spine. My body began to tremble, “I thought- ah, I thought you were sleeping already.” His breath brushed against my ear and I felt my body beginning to shake.

“Uvogin s-stop. What are you talking about?”

“Stop squirming so damn much,” his breath was picking up as his movements became harsher. One of his hands toyed with the waist of my pants. “I usually wait, mmm, until you’re out cold. You’re usually so receptive too, your little hips move back and forth like you couldn’t wait for me to touch you,” he let out a low chuckle before his hand dipped into my underwear to fondle my ass.

His cock was rigid under my body, threatening to break through the fabric of both of our shorts. His hand was tough against my ass, the squeezing nearly bringing tears to my eyes. “Please… p-please be gentler!” I cried out. Uvogin grinned widely and I can already tell that it was because I didn’t ask him to stop.

My lips wouldn’t form the words ‘stop’ or ‘no’. The only sounds that came out of my mouth were moans or whimpers, which he took as an invitation to go further. His hand pushed further into my panties, reaching around to my clit. I screwed my eyes shut and buried my face deep into his chest.

His chest bounced up and down as he let out a loud laugh, “So wet for me, I knew that whole ‘I hate you’ act was a farce.” I could only shake my head back and forth to show my disagreement, still not being able to face him. “Oh?” I felt his finger tips brush against my clit lightly, causing my hips to buck against his hand while pressing further down on his cock. “Your body seems to disagree.” I could see the shit eating grin he definitely had in the darkness of my closed eyes.

“Might as well go all the way tonight since you know now.” Before I could even question what he meant, I was flipped onto my back, his large frame caging me on the couch. He did in fact have a shit eating grin planted on his lips. He pulled my shirt off of my body, then snapped off my bra; he whistled before his lips latched onto one of my nipples.

My back arched, pushing my breast further towards him. I felt his hands pushing down my pants and my underwear before he threw them across the room. My thighs pressed closely together at the sudden cool breeze.

He chuckled, “You’ve already grown comfortable with me, don’t pretend to be shy now,” he spoke like we had had sex a thousand times before. With little effort, he pushed my legs apart with one hand.

First he took over my living room, my kitchen, my room and bed, and now Uvogin feels entitled enough to take over my body. I should be angry, the tightness in my stomach should be built from anger, not from the pleasure from his tongue playing with my nipples as his finger traced circles over my clit.

My heart raced as his fingers rubbed suddenly faster. I looked down to see Uvogin grinding into the couch, his free hand palming his rock hard erection through his shorts. My face grew warmer in the shame of being the only one naked.

The shame didn’t last for long as my mind began growing quiet save for the thoughts of reaching my orgasm. “U-Uvogin, Uvogin I’m gonna,” I couldn’t think of a complete sentence as Uvogin’s fingers worked harder, his mouth sucking more aggressively on my hard nipples. The licking, sucking, and the biting made my head swirl, mixing light pain with intense pleasure.

Without much warning I came undone under Uvogin. My fingers wrapped tuffs of his hair and pulled, his head didn’t budge an inch. He wouldn’t stop, his fingers only slightly slowed anc his tongue only lightly brushing over my nipples as I rode out my orgasm on his hand.

“T-too much,” I meekly whimpered as I quickly entered overstim terrority. Uvogin just chuckled, his fingers steadily slowed down, but they didn’t stop as he made eye contact.

“You’re pretty when the only shit coming out of your mouth is the sound of wanting me.” I snapped my half lidded eyes at him, glaring to let him know I disapproved despite the moans slipping through my lips.

He pushed himself up a little, putting one hand above my head on the couch’s arm. The length of his cock pressed against my outer labia; I shuddered under the weight of it. There was no way it was gonna fit. As if he read my mind, “I’ll take it as slow as I can, but it will fit,” he growled lowly before rocking his hips back and forth.

I began to clench around nothing, whining quietly in anticipation. Uvogin’s sudden call to patience created a painful ache in my core; he was the one that couldn’t wait until I was truly asleep before fondling my ass, but now he decided to put years of discipline to use to stop himself from fucking me?

My jaw clenched, desperate to try to hold back any sounds in order to draw out his egotistical side, the side that needed me to let all the neighbors know how good he was making me feel. How the freeloading bastard was now laying claim to my body.

I shivered at the thought, the fact that the tip of his cock was now pressing at my opening was not helping me keep still nor quiet. If Uvogin was in a more stable mind, he probably would’ve held out longer, recognizing my attempts to frustrate him. He wasn’t in a more stable mind though. The annoyance from my silent treatment was evident on his face. I couldn’t refrain from smiling a little at my small victory.

Uvogin’s own grin wiped my smile away. I sharply inhaled, grasping desperately onto the couch’s cushions as the burly man began pressing the tip of his cock into me. His movements were slow, but not slow enough for me to get used to the current length before he pressed in further.

He bottomed out, stilling as his cock twitched. I tried to steady my breathing, tried to refocus my eyes, tried to stop my whimpering and whines at the sensation of his entire dick deep inside me, stretching me open. I heard his own breath hitch, “Fuck fuck fuck, relax!” he begged; it sounded like the wood in the couch arm was crushing.

It felt like hours before I could even breathe relatively normal, much less relax my cunt. Uvogin’s fingers rubbed lazily on my clit in an attempt to aid my issue. “It all fits,” he once cooed during the adjustment.

Uvogin took my calmer breathing as a sign to start moving. His hips slowly pulled backwards, my cunt clenched after it, desperate to refill the now empty inches inside of me. The desperation didn’t last long, he had only pulled out half way before the length of him pushed back in. He repeated this motion; half out, all in, half out, all in, antagonistically slow.

“F-faster please,” I begged, my mind couldn’t completely comprehend what I was requesting.

Uvogin’s lips cracked into a snarky grin before his hips snapped into me. I felt like I was gonna break at any second, his sudden increase in speed gave me no time to think. It wasn’t just his cock that sped up, his fingers hungrily went to work on my clit. My mind felt numb as my body rocked up and down while my moans and cries for Uvogin drowned out the aggressive creaking of the couch.

My arms wrapped tightly around Uvogin’s neck, he humored me and came closer as if I could actually pull him. His forehead pressed against mine with a gentleness I couldn’t imagine he had, my name left his lips with a sense of urgency, like at any moment I could break out of his grip.

My knees pressed against Uvogin’s hips in an unneeded effort to keep him inside of me. I felt every muscle in my body tighten as I clamped down on his cock, “U-Uvogin,” I choked out, “cum.. soon…” My mind could barely come together enough to form a string of words..

Uvogin’s thrusts were steady and harsh. “Cum, cum for me while I take you.” The words practically set fire to my pelvis as I shook under him, crying out the man’s name as I finally broke, my climax coating his cock.

His hips snapped more eratically, “Ah, fucking-, fuck!” His voice was so loud, I’m surprised the neighbors weren’t banging on my door already. I mewled at the unstopping feeling of his skin slapping against mine, his cock bashing my body, overwhelming my pussy.

I pawed helplessly at his chest, attempting to get away before the pain of overstimulation grew. The hand not gripping the couch was now pressed onto my stomach to keep me in place, also pushing down harder every time his cock pushed in. I couldn’t form words at this point, couldn’t beg him to stop or at least slow down.

He was pushing down more aggressively now, I felt his muscles tense. “Close, so fucking close to claiming you, finally claiming you,” his voice was low and guttural. My eyes rolled back, the words made me waver in excitement, in that moment I could’ve begged him for it. I didn’t want anything more than for him to fill me completely.

I whined loudly as I felt a second orgasm approaching. Drool was rolling down the side of my cheek, I was being fucked dumb. Usually calm and level headed, all it took was a couple thrusts from a guy who refused to leave to break me.

The thought drove me over the edge, I couldn’t hold back. Uvogin groaned as I came once again around his cock without warning. I felt limp for only a moment as my body tensed at the merciless thrusting.

This time, his body slammed against me roughly, causing me to cry out. His cock twitched eagerly as the length of his movements shortened.

Without warning, he pulled out one last time before burying his cock as deep as it could go, spilling his own orgasm out with a loud and deep groan.

I laid there, regulating my breath and regaining my thoughts as I felt his cum slowly leaking down my ass. My eyes blinked a couple of times, threatening to stay shut before I pushed them back open. My body finally lay limp, not a single muscle seemed to contain enough energy to perform.

It took a couple seconds for me to realize that Uvogin was stroking my head, that I was back on top of him in the same position as before we started all of this. My eyelids won the fight and finally shut as the calm rhythm of Uvogin’s heart lulled me to sleep.

‘Fucking freeloader,’ I thought with a little less malice.

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lilahlovesyou

11 months ago

I want to get into writing but im so embarrassed at my lack of skill😭 i tend to ramble so bad its crazy

Tags

fanfic writing scary beginner writer yandere fic

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lilahlovesyou

1 month ago

Christine - A Yandere Short Story

Based on Christine by Stephen King After your boyfriend's death, you're eager to sell his vintage Mustang. The car reminds you far too much of him and worse than that, it feels oddly alive. The only problem? Your dead boyfriend isn't ready to let go. Tags: Male Yanderes x Fem Reader, Horror, Character Death, 12k words Taglist: @mel-vaz

When your boyfriend died, you and Christine were the only witnesses.

All through his funeral, you kept thinking of ways to get rid of her. You were being paranoid and you knew it - she couldn't speak even if she wanted to. But having her around put you on edge, made you grit your teeth until your jaw ached.

After the wake, you approached your boyfriend's parents and asked if you could have her. They were pale and shaken, reeling from the suddeness of death just as much as from grief. His father nodded like a sleep walker, his voice older than his years.

"He would have wanted you to have her. She's yours."

His mother squeezed your shoulder. "I can't imagine what you're going through, dear. Whatever his faults, my boy loved you. I know that."

You managed a smile, managed to thank them through the tears that were suddenly falling. But your mind was on Christine. Always on Christine.

You were the last to leave the funeral parlour. You tried to tell yourself it was a coincidence, but deep down you knew the truth. You were scared. Scared of Christine, scared of your too quiet townhouse, scared of the dreams that would come when you closed your eyes.

It was early evening and the streetlights were coming on in the narrow tree lined avenue outside the funeral parlour. When you stepped out, goosebumps crawled across your arms.

She was waiting for you.

Christine. Your boyfriend's 1969 Mustang, cherry red and entirely rebuilt.

She was directly under a streetlight and her paint gleamed. The light reflected off her windshield so you couldn't see inside, but for a second it seemed like someone was already sitting behind the wheel.

You squeezed your eyes shut. When you opened them, the shadow driver was gone.

Christine. For most of your relationship, you loved her just as much as your boyfriend did. She was a labour of love and you felt it every time you sat in her passenger seat.

But things were different now.

You walked towards her cautiously. It was ridiculous to be scared of a car, but you were.

When you opened the driver side door, you almost expected to see your boyfriend. Despite the funeral, the wake, the late morning call to please come and identify a body down at the morgue, you still expected to see him. Light green eyes looking up at you, half smile that was half teasing and half lecherous.

The seats were empty.

You slid behind the wheel, your breathing shaky. You almost never drove Christine. Not that your boyfriend didn't offer. It was just that you liked riding passenger - liked looking over and seeing your man with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, liked seeing the muscles flex in his forearm when he steered.

The car still smelled like him. That was the first thing you noticed. Despite being impounded for a week while the cops did forensics, despite the valet scrubbing and steaming the seats to get the blood out, it still smelled like him.

You rested your head against the steering wheel, closed your eyes and sobbed for the first time since the night you killed your boyfriend.

When you put Christine up for sale, the calls started coming in almost immediately. It wasn't surprising - she was in incredible shape, she ran like a dream, and her white leather upholstery was original.

At first, you thought you'd be able to sell her before the month was up. The buyers would look under the hood and whistle in admiration.

But something always changed when they took her for a test drive. You couldn't understand it - she would drive perfectly but by the time you got home, the buyers were almost always frowning at you, or worse - not looking at you at all.

No matter how fanatic they were at first, no one wanted Christine.

You dropped the price and then dropped it again, but still no takers. The car spent all winter in the garage. You'd turn her on to idle every few days, clean off any dust and check that the mice weren't nibbling at the wiring, but you never stuck around for long.

It hurt to leave her locked away - your boyfriend poured so much of himself into her - but it hurt even worse to drive her. Whenever you were behind the wheel, you could feel the gaping emptiness of the passenger seat, could still see the bloodstains.

It was on the first warm day of spring when someone finally bought her.

Colt Guilder called you when you were just about ready to give up on selling her. You were literally about to take down the ad when your phone rang. The voice on the other end was deep, with a slight southern drawl that immediately reminded you of your boyfriend.

"Can I come and take a look today? I wouldn't want to impose ma'am, but I'm in a hurry to see her before anyone else gets a chance to buy her."

Her. Even the older buyers didn't really call cars 'her' anymore.

"Sure. You can come by this afternoon."

You were sitting on the porch steps when he pulled up, a jug of iced tea and your novel abandoned next to you. He stepped out of his Jeep, a tall man in blue jeans and boots, and you felt your heart lurch. Something deep inside you told you that this was the man who would finally take her off your hands.

He smiled at you as he approached and for a second you wanted to warn him away. Wanted to tell him the truth about Christine.

"Howdy ma'am. I'm real happy you agreed to meet me so last minute."

You smiled at him and shook his hand and bit back the truth. Oh, how you would come to hate that decision.

When he pulled up, Colt wasn't expecting the Mustang's owner to be a pretty little thing in a sundress. He was a gentleman, his mama raised him right, but even he had trouble keeping his eyes on your face and not letting them wander lower.

His hand swallowed yours when he shook it and it was hard not to notice the softness of your skin. Whoever rebuilt the Mustang, it wasn't you. You had the hands of a lady, not a mechanic.

"The car is out back. Keys are waiting for you. She's been serviced pretty regularly and my... my boyfriend built her up himself."

You started for the garage and he fell into step behind you. You were so much shorter than him - it was kind of cute to see your head bobbing in front of him. Like a pixie in a sundress.

"How come your man ain't the one to sell it?"

He wasn't surprised you had a boyfriend. Hell, he'd have tried his luck if he could. No doubt other men had the same idea.

"He... he passed away a few moths ago."

He cringed. Nice going, Colt. Bringing up painful memories only three sentences into conversation. Must be a world record.

"I'm so sorry ma'am. I had no idea."

You shrugged. "It's fine."

He was about to say something else when Christine came into view. Her grille was a newly buffed silver and her deep red paint caught the spring sun.

He gave a low whistle. "Pictures don't do her justice."

You smiled at that, but edged out of the car's direct line of sight. Neither of you consciously noticed it, but you approached the car like you would an animal. Slightly from the side so it couldn't charge at you.

"Mind if I take a look under the hood?"

"Be my guest."

He popped the hood and let out another low whistle. Without even looking past the surface level stuff, it was clear your boyfriend knew how to build an engine. The Mustang looked almost new.

"How long did this take?"

You leaned against the garage door and crossed your arms.

"A long time. He bought her a few months after we started dating. She was gonna be scrapped - looked like a total rust bucket."

He raised his eyebrows. If that was true, the body restoration alone must have cost a fortune. Did you realise how valuable a vintage ride like this was worth?

"Y'know, just from looking under the hood, I can tell you could get at least three times as much as you're asking."

If his uncle heard him sabotaging himself like that, he'd have given Colt a whack on the head. Truth was, he wanted the car. Wanted her so bad he would have taken out three separate loans to afford her.

But he wasn't a monster. It wasn't fair to buy something so fine from a girl who might not understand its true worth.

You raised your brows, more surprised at his honesty than at his statement.

"I know she's worth more. But I'm in a hurry to get rid of her. And well..."

You looked away. "People find the car a bit strange."

It was his turn to be surprised. He couldn't see any red flags in her upkeep or her paintwork. Maybe it was a deeper issue.

You pushed yourself away from the wall and nodded at the door.

"Keys are waiting for you. Take her for a drive and decide for yourself."

The interior was just as well taken care of as he expected - a tough job when the upholstery was mostly white. The keys had a tag attached with a name engraved in metal.

"Christine?"

"It's what we call her. It was a joke at first but the name sort of stuck."

You slid into the passenger seat and tugged your seat belt across your chest. He glanced at you out the corner of his eye and -

'Silly thing, doesn't she know better than to get into a car with a stranger twice her size?'

He shook his head, like that could dislodge the idea. He wasn't that sort of man, wasn't some kind predator with a mind full of filth.

'It would be so easy. You're so much bigger than her, so much stronger. You want her. Why not just take what you want?'

Where the hell was this coming from? He might have a guilty thought every once in a while, but he was always quick to squash it down. It wasn't like him to think something so...forceful about a girl.

He turned the key and the engine roared to life. And it really was a roar. V8 engine growling so loud he could feel the vibration through the steering wheel.

Oh baby, he was sold on her right then and there. The devil himself couldn't have outbid him. What little boy didn't dream of a car like this? Didn't spend his childhood looking through magazines and brawling over matchbox versions?

The clutch was smooth as butter as he cruised down your driveway and turned onto the main road.

God, he wanted to gun it. Floor the gas and find out for himself just how powerful old school muscle was.

He looked over at you, about to ask if you knew exactly what your boyfriend did to the engine. You were looking out at the passing trees, your hair stirring in the slight breeze from his open window.

'She looks like she belongs here, with you.'

It was another foreign thought, something he wouldn't expect of himself. But it was true. The Mustang would have felt empty without you - in your sundress and white sneakers, you completed the picture. Your boyfriend must have rebuilt the car just for you, as a way to keep you next to him. Colt wasn't sure why he thought that, but somehow he knew it was true. Whoever your man was, he put so much of himself into this car that Colt almost felt like he was right next to the guy.

You turned to him, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

"What do you think?"

"She runs sweet as apple pie."

You felt your heart stutter. Your boyfriend used to say the exact same thing.

"You alright there sweetheart? You look a little pale."

"Sorry. Just a little car sick."

Car sick was right - you were sick to hell of this damn car and the way it played with your emotions.

"C'mon, I know a diner just off the highway. We can stop for some fresh air and a bite to eat. You'll feel better in no time."

You didn't have time to protest before he switched lanes and turned onto the highway.

The diner he took you to really was just off the highway, a retro looking spot railed off from a steep cliff.

"How did you know about this place?"

He shrugged. "I must have heard about it from someone."

Strange. Colt didn't think he'd ever seen the place before, much less heard about it. But when you looked at him with that slight hint of panic, that sudden fear, somehow he knew this was the place to bring you.

He climbed out and opened your door for you before you had a chance to do it yourself.

"You know this place?" he asked.

If anything, you looked even paler than before. "Yeah. My boyfriend and I used to come up here pretty often."

He frowned, annoyed at himself for somehow making this even worse. "We can go somewhere else if you want."

"No!" You took a deep breath. "No, this is fine. I just need a moment away from the car, that's all."

He led you to a picnic table near the edge of the cliff. Far below you, the main road clung to the cliffside and disappeared into the trees.

"You just sit pretty and I'll grab us some chow."

You smiled up at him. "Thanks Colt. Really. I know this is probably eating into your day."

He waved it away. "Trust me, this is a much better way to spend the weekend than what I had planned."

It was true. He'd wanted to see the car and somehow that turned into lunch with a pretty girl at a table with one hell of a view. Maybe Christine had some good luck about her. Maybe all of this was just meant to be.

When he stepped into the diner, he was greeted by jukebox country music and the smell of good, strong coffee. He didn't bother to look at the menu. Somehow, he knew exactly what to order.

"I'll have a banana spilt, some fries and a toasted sandwich." He smiled at the elderly waitress. "Please and thank you Agnes."

"Sure thing sugar."

He frowned. How the hell did he know the waitress's name?

Must have seen her name tag, right? That made sense. Must have been a half second, subconscious glance.

When she handed him his change, he dropped his eyes to her lapel. No name tag. No label. Not even a necklace with her initials on it.

It was a warm spring day but he still shivered. Something strange was going on.

No, don't be ridiculous. Agnes was a common name, a vintage diner kind of name. That was probably why he said it. His mind must have just made a lucky guess. There's no way he could know her name when he didn't even know about the diner until he pulled up.

Unless... it wasn't him that knew her name. Maybe it was someone else, something else speaking through him.

"C'mon Colt, don't be an idiot," he muttered to himself.

"You say something sugar?"

He jerked his head to the side, his heart lurching. Just the waitress, just Agnes, looking at him with raised brows.

"No ma'am. Just thinking out loud."

"Alrighty then. Here's your order. Be careful not to spill the chocolate sauce. It's hell to clean up."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am. Have a good day."

He was stupidly happy to step out of the restaurant. The place must have been getting to him. Why else was he suddenly so superstitious?

"You doing okay Colt?" you asked.

He grinned at you. "Just dandy sweetheart. I got you a banana split and some French fries."

"Oh! That's perfect, thank you."

See? Nothing strange at all. He had a sweet ride and a sweeter girl waiting for him. Why worry about some weird diner?

He sat down across from you and unwrapped his sandwich. Behind you, Christine looked at him with a shining chrome smile.

"Listen, you can get a whole lot more for a car that fine. But if you're willing to let her go for the price in the ad, I'll buy her today," he said.

You froze, a fry halfway to your mouth. He really wanted her? He wasn't coming up with some lame excuse or hurrying off with a mumbled apology?

"Done," you said, a bit too quickly.

You were finally getting rid of Christine. No more nightmares, no more tip toeing around the garage like you were scared she might notice you, no more unwanted memories every time you laid eyes on her.

You were burying your past like it should have been buried on the day of your boyfriend's funeral.

He offered you his hand and you shook it, a genuine smile on your face.

"She's all yours." And thank God for that.

Colt drove you home and followed you into the house to collect the car registration papers.

You frowned at your empty desk drawer. You could have sworn you left the documents right here...

You popped your head into the living room where Colt was waiting.

"Give me a second. I think I left them upstairs."

"Sure. I'm in no hurry."

He wandered around your living room while you were gone, too keyed up to sit still. It was a neat, modern room with art on the walls. The big bay windows opened onto the front yard and the driveway where Christine sat waiting for him.

Part of him still couldn't believe it. She really was his dream car. The sort of ride all his work buddies would be green with envy over.

He leaned against the windowsil and then quickly looked down when his hand brushed something metallic.

Picture frames, the small kind that usually sat on a desk. He picked one up, the frame cool against his skin. It was a picture of you and someone he guessed to be your boyfriend. Both of you were in formal wear - you in a deep red evening gown and him in a tailored tux. Christine was parked in the background, her red a compliment to your dress.

Your boyfriend was handsome in a rough cut sort of way, his hair swept back and a tattoo just peeking out of his shirt. He was looking directly at the camera while you looked up at him, his arm curled tightly around your waist.

Colt frowned. There was something about the man's expression... a kind of possessive meanness. He seemed the type of guy to start a fight and then finish it no matter what, a real tough customer.

And the way he held you... some might call it loving but Colt found it more proprietary than anything else.

'Mine. My girl, no matter what. Try and take her from me and I'll show you a world of hurt.'

Colt put the picture down with a frown and scanned the others. Out hiking on the mountains, at the beach, holding a huge bouquet while he kissed you. A perfect couple except... except for the way he looked at you. Sweet, yes. But somehow dangerous, in the way rattlesnakes and cougars were. Fine if they weren't disturbed, but tread on their territory and there'd be hell to pay.

He moved away when he heard you coming down the stairs. You were a little flushed, a little out of breath, but you grinned at him and waved a stack of papers.

"Finally found them! Just need to sign the change of ownership forms and she's all yours."

He watched you as you searched for a pen, your sundress swishing 'round your thighs. He didn't like your boyfriend - dead or not, he seemed like one mean bastard - but seeing you so happy, so flushed with life and hope and joy, Colt found he could almost understand the other man. If you were his girl, he'd hold you just as tight.

You finally found a pen and he scribbled his signature on the dotted line.

"Well, seems like you're the proud new owner of a 1969 Ford Mustang. Congratulations."

He carefully took the papers from you, his fingers brushing yours. "Real good doing business with you sweetheart."

You lead him out to the car, going through the list of things he'd need to do to properly register the car as his. Real cute of you, to think he didn't know it all already.

He slid into the driver's seat and when he touched the wheel, he felt that same sense of power. And under it, a strange feeling of being not quiet alone in the car.

You stood outside his window, running through a catalogue of spares and repairs that he might want to check out. If he had to guess, you seemed nervous.

He leaned back and smiled at you. "It's alright y/n. I ain't changing my mind. Deals done, remember?"

It was the first time using your name and it sent a small bolt of electricity jolting through him.

'Her name is mighty sweet, ain't it? Meant to be said oh so softly, meant to be savoured.'

You looked at him like you felt it too, your cheeks just a little warmer than before.

Oh Lord, what sort of bastard was he? Feeling this way about you when your boyfriend was in the ground for scarcely half a year? You were probably still mourning, still nursing your broken heart. He should be a gentleman and leave you alone, shouldn't take advantage of your vulnerability. He should be a good man.

'You'd be an idiot to let her go.'

The thought streaked through his mind. It almost didn't feel like his own idea. Wherever the thought came from, it wasn't wrong. He really would be an idiot to not ask you out when he had a chance. He got lucky with the car - prize piece like this would have been snatched up in a matter of hours. If he didn't ask you out, if he didn't push his luck for the second time, the same thing might happen with you.

"How 'bout I take you out to dinner later this week? As a thank you."

You looked unsure, your eyes jumping down to the car keys like you were expecting an objection.

"Please? I know Christine must mean a lot to you. I'd feel a whole lot better taking her off your hands if I could thank you properly."

You bit your lower lip and he found his eyes drawn to the sight of it. Please say yes please say-

"Yes, I think I'd like that. But no later than eight, okay?"

YES! He rubbed a palm across his jaw to hide his smile.

"I'll bring you home early, promise."

"I'll hold you to that, cowboy."

Oh god, he wanted to melt when you called him that. It was so silly - big guy like him getting butterflies over a sort-of kind-of date.

'Atta boy. You ain't gonna regret it.'

He was too distracted watching you walk away to realise the thought wasn't his own.

That night, you slept without dreaming. For the first time since your boyfriend's death, you didn't see his face when you closed your eyes.

You woke up the next morning expecting to be relieved. Christine was gone, wasn't that exactly what you wanted?

Yes, but...but what happens next? You weren't an idiot nor were you unduly superstitious, but Christine didn't feel like a normal car. Maybe that's what happens after a violent death - things change, the blood seeps through the fabric and poisons the aura, or the energy, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it.

You made yourself breakfast but couldn't eat more than a few bites.

Okay, try and be logical. It was probably just your guilt playing tricks on you. You loved Christine and you loved your boyfriend, so it was only natural that you'd feel terrible about selling her. That's all. Blood and death can't change the nature of an inanimate object, no matter how violent or grisly it might have been.

Right. Just your guilty conscience. No need to work yourself up.

Across town, Colt slept through his alarm. He was dreaming, a sweet little fantasy of cruising down the highway on a brilliant summer day. You were next to him, your sundress even shorter than before, smiling at him and running your hand up his thigh.

You were his girl. His and his alone. He could feel the certainty of it in every part of him. You loved him, you stood by him, you did everything you could to support him, you were his.

Christine purred through her gears and he pushed the gas a little more, eager to get home. He would show you exactly how much he appreciated you - inch by inch and kiss by kiss.

"I love you darlin'. I need you to know that," he said. His voice didn't sound like his own. It was raspier, with an edge of meanness that not even love could soften.

You looked at him, smiling all soft and sweet. "I know. I've always known."

Colt jerked awake, smiling and shivering at the same time. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, disoriented and feeling like a stranger in his own body.

"One hell of a dream," he muttered.

'Not a dream cowboy. A memory from someone long dead.'

He ignored the thought, his mind already focused on the day ahead. He'd driven Christine home yesterday, but left his Jeep parked outside your house. He could either get one of his buddies pick it up or take a taxi over and get it himself.

Was it even a choice? He wanted to see you again. If he had to pay an ungodly amount for an Uber, he would.

Should he call you before showing up at your door? What would be a good time to see you? He didn't want to show up too late and catch you in a rush to leave.

'She'll be awake by now. But she'll only leave for work after twelve.'

How did he know that? Did you mention it yesterday?

He climbed out of bed and half stumbled to the bathroom. As the steam clouded up the mirror, he thought of his dream. And what might have happened if he'd stayed asleep longer. Maybe your hand would wander further up his thigh, and then...

He lathered up his fist and took hold of himself. He was already hard from just the thought of you. Your sundress looked so damn flimsy. He could probably yank it off you with just one hand.

He groaned, his forehead pressed against the tile. Picturing your hand dwarfed by his when you shook on the sale; how soft your skin was, how good it would feel if you touched him just like this.

'Fucking yourself like a dog at the thought of her.'

He agreed. You really were turning him into a dog.

You were sitting in your living room, trying and failing to read your novel, when he knocked on your front window. You struggled to smooth down your hair while you scrambled for the door.

"Hi Colt! Came to pick up your Jeep?"

He was wearing blue jeans again today, with a tight wife beater that showed off arms thick with muscle.

"Yes ma'am. Thought I'd stop by and see if you needed anything."

That made you smile. How often does someone go out of their way to check up on a stranger?

"I don't think so. But I've got some fresh orange juice and donuts, if you'd like to come in."

He smiled at you and for a second his gaze dipped down past your chin. "There's nothing I'd like better."

He took up a lot of space at your kitchen table, but you found it comforting. The room felt too big without your boyfriend to fill it.

You flipped open the box of donuts and he picked out the mint chocolate one.

"Never really liked the mint ones," he told you, "But I've got an awful craving for one right now."

"Oh I never liked them much either. It was my boyfriend who was the die-hard mint fan."

He looked away from you, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "It must be hard for you. Losing him so suddenly."

"It was. It is. Everyone keeps telling me it gets easier, but it hasn't. Up until last night, I dreamt about him everynight."

"Dreamt of him?" he asked you suddenly, his eyes intense.

"Yep. Every single night. It was like I was reliving my memories again and again."

He looked a bit perturbed at your statement, but you put it down to him feeling awkward about the conversation. Death is never a fun or casual topic.

"So how's Christine treating you?"

"Like a dream. I was thinking of taking her down the coast next weekend. All open road and sea air." He paused, seeming to weigh something up in his mind. "Why don't you join me? The morning after I take you out to dinner. We can pack a picnic and have lunch at the cape."

"That sounds incredible." You looked down at your hands, slightly uneasy but not sure why. Your boyfriend spoke about doing that once. A mini road trip with the windows down and the sea breeze in your hair.

It's not that strange that Colt had the same idea, right? Everyone knew the coast road was a long, quiet stretch. Perfect for putting Christine to the test.

"You're gonna love it," he said. "I'll even make my world famous tiramisu."

You raised a brow. "You know how to make tiramisu?" Big guy like him didn't really seem the patisserie type. Did he have a cute apron with bows on it too?

He pointed his donut at you, blue eyes twinkling. "Not just any tiramisu. World famous."

You snorted out a laugh and for the first time in months, you kitchen felt like a happy place.

He dreamt about you again that night. Christine was parked in a dark corner on the edge of a cliffside hiking trail. He could hear waves crashing far below. It was nighttime, with the full moon outlining your face in silver and shadow.

He was in the driver's seat and you were straddling his lap. You were wearing a sweater and a cute pleated skirt that seemed oh so short with the way you leaned over him.

"You've been ignoring me," you accused him. You were pouting in an adorably petulant way. He looked at your lips - red and slightly swollen - and knew that he'd just been kissing you.

"I haven't been ignorin' you sugar. I've just been busy."

He spoke with that same raspy voice that somehow wasn't his.

"Too busy to say hello or drop by for dinner?"

You shifted in his lap and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. Oh, you damn tease.

"I'm filthy and tired after work sweetheart. You wouldn't want me."

You frowned, going from slightly annoyed to full blown angry.

"I always want you, you idiot. I'm not scared of a few stains. I like it when you come home smelling like the workshop. I like it when you're dirty from work." You tugged at his collar. "I like you. Why don't you get that?"

'Because you're too good for me.' He almost said it. It was on the tip of his tongue and it was only some dull instinct that kept him quiet. How couldn't you see it? You were everything he wasn't. You were educated and kind and selfless. He was just some bastard from the wrong side of the tracks.

He wanted to impress you. He wanted to be worthy of you. Fixing up the Mustang was just the start of it. He didn't care that it took him all summer and pretty much all of his pay cheque to do. He wanted a ride that he would be proud to pick you up in.

And it still didn't feel like enough. Nothing ever felt like enough.

He looked away from you and stayed silent.

You sighed and brought your palms up to his cheeks, gently turned his face back to yours. "I like you. I'm dating you. I want to spend time with you, no matter how grouchy you are. Okay?"

He should be a gentleman and let you go, shouldn't take advantage of your kindness. He should be a good man.

"Okay," he said and leaned forward to kiss you.

He wasn't a good man. He wasn't a gentleman. He was going to hold onto you for as long as he could.

Colt woke up with a snarl, slamming his fist on his alarm so hard the clock face cracked.

"I didn't want it to end, goddammit."

He rubbed his hand over his face. The dream felt so real. He could feel the late fall chill, could smell your shampoo and taste your cherry lip gloss. He wanted to go right back to sleep and fall back into that wonderful fantasy.

He scowled and threw the covers off. Dreams could wait, work couldn't.

All through the day he was snappish and irritable. One of the apprentices messed up an order and he snarled at them to stop being so fucking useless and fix it. His coworkers shot each other looks behind his back. He was behaving entirely out of character but both him and his buddies were helpless to stop it. It was only when he got home at the end of his shift that he realised why.

He wanted to dream about you again.

There wasn't any guarantee that he would. Dreams weren't exactly scheduled network programming. But somehow he knew it would happen.

He ended up going to bed before eight, a world record for someone who usually only considered sleeping when it was well past midnight.

He was right. He did dream of you.

You were in a bikini this time, lounging on a lawn chair in the backyard. You had sunglasses on and there was a slight sheen of baby oil on your skin. Your phone was on shuffle and pop music was blaring from the speakers.

You weren't expecting him and he kept his steps real quiet as he approached you. He kept expecting you to hear him and shoot up, and he was slightly annoyed when you didn't. What if he was a serial killer or some sick pervert, sneaking up on you while you were so vulnerable? Did you have no spatial awareness?

He made it all the way to the back of your chair and you were still totally oblivious. There was a magazine and a glass of ice tea on a small table next to you. You were softly humming along to the music.

He took a minute to just admire you. Your body stretched out and entirely at his mercy. His girl, his gorgeous girl.

He leaned down until his lips were right next to your ear.

"Hey there sugar. You miss me?"

You shot up with a shriek, your sunglasses flying. You whirled on him, grabbing your magazine like thirty pages of glossy Cosmo was going to help you fight off an attacker.

Your eyes narrowed when you recognised him and you smacked his chest, hard.

"You asshole! You gave me a heart attack!"

He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of you so riled up.

"You're lucky it was me and not someone else. Not everyone has such noble intentions."

"Yeah right. Was it your noble intention to scare the living daylights out of me?"

He held up his palms in a placating gesture. "Just teachin' you a lesson sweetheart. I was standing there for a good few minutes and you didn't notice a damn thing."

He cast a critical eye across your backyard. "I reckon some high wooden fencing would do the trick. 'Bout seven feet high, sunken flowerbeds on either side like trenches to make it even harder to get a leg up."

"I don't want a fence."

He ignored you, already mentally calculating how much lumber he'd need. "A nice light coloured wood. Pine maybe. Will match your house much better."

You sat back down, the fight draining out of you as your adrenaline dissipated. "What are you doing here? Did you get off work early?"

He narrowed his eyes but you didn't seem to notice. "Why? Don't want me around?"

That shocked you enough that you twisted around in your chair to look at him.

"Of course I want you around! Don't ever imply otherwise. This is a lovely surprise." You paused. "Near heart attack aside of course."

It was funny how easily you could calm him down. One sentence was all it took to get him smiling again. He leaned forward and hooked one finger under the strap of your bikini top.

"I haven't seen this one before. New?"

You blushed and looked down. "Mm-hmm."

"It's cute. But..."

You glanced up at him, suddenly self conscious. "But what?"

He grinned wolfishly. "But...you would look so much better without it."

He tugged at the bow holding your top up. The strings unravelled and fell down your back. The bra cups started to slip down too, and his eyes were glued to their steady fall.

He was going to teach you a whole 'nother lesson about wearing such a skimpy outfit where anyone could see you. Show you exactly what sick, twisted bastards would do to your body. Teach you a lesson you won't forget, so maybe, just maybe... you'd learn to be more cautious around men like him.

Colt woke up with a hunger like death. His cock so hard it was actually throbbing. He didn't feel well rested, despite having slept more than he had in two weeks.

It played over and over again in his mind. The strings unravelling, your bikini top sliding off... Always stopping right at the good part, the part he most wanted to see.

He got ready for the day with a savage efficiency. Bolting back his protein shake without even tasting it. He didn't realise it, but he'd started counting down the days until he could see you again. Just two more days. Two more nights of dreams and then you'd be there in the flesh and he could finally - finally what? He shook his head to clear away the dirty thoughts that were crowding him.

He was being a real bastard. Thinking about you, dreaming about you, when he had no right to. You hadn't shown any romantic or physical interest in him. You were clearly still grieving your man. He needed to get himself under control - what you needed in your life was a friend, not another man to obsess over you.

He forced himself to take a cold shower. Forced himself to avoid thinking about you. And to especially avoid thinking about the you from his dream.

'Good luck with that buddy. I used to be so tired I was falling asleep on my feet and I still couldn't get her out of my head.'

Work was thankfully busy that day and he threw himself into it with every feverish ounce of energy he had. Whenever his thoughts wandered towards you, he would find something else to do. He didn't eat anything at all and he didn't even notice getting hungry. He took on an extra shift and finished long after the sun went down, his muscles a hurting mess and his head not much better.

Christine was the last car left in the parking lot, sitting under a streetlight like she was waiting for him. He found his steps unintentionally getting slower the closer he came to her.

In the dark and lonely emptiness of the parking lot, she didn't feel like a normal car. If anything, she seemed to be watching him. Her headlights like eyes and her grille a silvery gash of a smile.

If he had to guess, he'd say the car was almost unhappy with him.

"Because I'm thinking about her?" He asked as he climbed behind the wheel. Immediately, he felt stupid and superstitious for talking out loud.

'Because you aren't thinking about her.'

He'd driven Christine to work the last few days despite not wanting to cause unnecessary wear and tear. Being in the car, driving it, was still a thrill.

Not tonight though.

He felt on edge, wanting to get out as soon as possible. She purred to life with the same thrumming power as always but his throat was tight with a nervousness he couldn't explain.

The inside of the car was suffocatingly quiet. He turned on the radio and old school rock 'n roll poured out.

'Just the sort of thing her boyfriend used to listen to,' he thought to himself. And then he laughed a stuttering, barking sort of laugh because there was no logical way he could have known that.

'Take it easy big guy. You and I are just gonna cruise. That's all.'

A nice cruise. Yeah, that sounded good. Calm his nerves, get rid of the nameless dread that was building all day. He relaxed into his seat, the streetlights crawling past in a hypnotic line of bright and dark.

He didn't notice when the radio dial moved on its own and the station changed from rock 'n roll to country. The singer sounded awfully familiar. His voice a kind of husky rasp. He was singing about his girl, his pretty woman, and he was singing about the grave and he was singing about the dark that waited.

'Oh,' he thought to himself dully, 'That's the voice I keep hearing in my dreams.'

When he finally reached home, it was two in the morning and the petrol gauge showed an empty tank. He'd somehow driven enough to eat through a full tank of gas. A drive that should have taken twenty minutes took five hours.

He got out of the car on legs that felt numb and cold. He couldn't remember driving. He couldn't remember the strange music or the even stranger passenger that rode with him. In his mind, there existed the clear cut memory of leaving work and climbing into Christine. Then there was nothing but a long, grey blankness that was tinged with a muted terror.

He collapsed into bed still in his work clothes. By morning, his mind would have stitched over all those things too terrible to contemplate. He would wake up feeling groggy and confused, and probably put it down to the strain of a long day.

Colt slept after driving with the dead and didn't dream.

On the day before your date, he found an engagement ring under the passenger side carpet.

He had no reason to look there, no reason to pull the carpet up by its seams. But he did it anyway and his reward was a silver and diamond band with blood dried in the crevices. There was an engraving on the inside and he had to take it out into the sun to try and read it.

'Mine. Forever and always.'

He shivered despite standing in the bright midmorming sun. Most rings would say 'yours' instead of 'mine.' He had no doubt that the change was entirely intentional. Your boyfriend was staking his claim on you - not just with the ring but with the intention behind it.

He looked at the brownish red stains and knew in his heart they were blood. Your boyfriend's blood.

Colt didn't know how the man died, but looking at the ring, he felt sure that it was bloody and far from natural. How would a blood stained ring end up in Christine? If the guy had been in accident sure. But the car was in perfect condition. The ring shouldn't have been there.

Unless he was murdered. Soaked in blood and tossed around during the struggle, the ring probably got pushed under the seam of the carpet. It was a sealed off spot and even a forensics team might miss something that small.

It was an outlandish and macabre theory to be basing entirely off one mysterious engagement ring. If he stopped to think about it, he would no doubt be able to poke a dozen separate holes into his theory.

Somehow, he knew it was true. The same way he suddenly knew Christine wasn't just an ordinary car and that his dreams about you were far from natural.

He felt a queer prickling all across his nape. He wasn't the type to scare easily, but this... This frightened him. He didn't feel alone anymore. He felt like if he looked up at the rear view mirror, he'd see someone in the back seat. No, not just someone. He'd see the dead man who owned the car before him.

He'd see the man who wanted to marry you.

He sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to let it out slowly. He wasn't a superstitious man. He didn't let fancies of ghosts and ghouls affect him. But even he couldn't deny the way he felt. His gut was telling him something was terribly, terribly wrong.

He climbed out of Christine like a man scared of waking a sleeping bear. He didn't even bother to grab the keys.

He couldn't explain any of it. Not the dreams, not the thoughts that felt like someone else, not the prickling certainty that a man died right where he'd been sitting.

He got into his his Jeep and pulled out of the driveway, his eyes on Christine the entire time. Like she'd somehow roar to life and slam into him.

He didn't know where he was driving to until he parked. A bar across town, a real rough spot that on most days even he wouldn't want to stop at. But today wasn't like most days.

The place was dark and the folk sitting around weren't exactly the friendly sort. He settled at the bar and ordered a tequila without really thinking about it.

Funny. He used to hate tequila.

It went down like fire, and he shuddered. He wanted to laugh. What else was a mam supposed to drink when the world didn't make a lick of sense anymore?

"Give me another one." His voice was raspier somehow. Even though that never happened when he drank vodka or whiskey.

There were mirrored shelves opposite him and he caught sight of his eyes. A pale green. He tossed back his second shot and tried to tell himself it was just a trick of the light.

He wasn't sure who to talk to. Not the Sheriff's Office. Yeah officer, there was a man murdered in my car and now I can't stop dreaming about his girlfriend didn't exactly scream unimpeachable sobriety.

And not the pastor either. Father, I'm being haunted by filthy thoughts and I'm not sure if they're my own. He doubted the old man at his mother's church was qualified to deal with that sort of thing.

But he couldn't keep quiet either. He had to tell someone about it. If they called him crazy at least it was an acknowledgement. At least it was better than being dead drunk and being scared of his own eyes in the mirror.

Who could possibly know anything about it? Oh. Of course.

He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and almost threw it across the room when it wouldn't turn on. He charged it every night, goddammit.

"There a pay phone somewhere 'round here?" he asked the bartender.

The man jerked his face at the side door that lead to the back parking lot. Colt stumbled out - swaying on his feet far worse than two drinks should warrant.

It was late afternoon. He shaded his eyes and tried looked at the sun like it was deliberately lying to him. He arrived at midday and he couldn't have been in there for more than twenty minutes. How the hell was it this late?

'Time moves differently when you're dead cowboy. You should know that by now.'

The payphone was in the shadow of the bar and he shivered when he stepped out of the sun. Wrong. It was all wrong and he didn't know how to fix it. Why was the voice still in his head when Christine was all the way across town? Why did he still feel life he wasn't quiet alone?

It was only when he had the receiver up against his ear that he realised he didn't know your number. Shit.

He leaned his forearm against the payphone and rested his forehead against it. Could he maybe get a taxi and show up at your house? He scoffed. Yeah, that would go well. Showing up dead drunk just to say he knew you liked short skirts in fall and that he dreamed of pulling off your bikini top. He'd be lucky if you only mildly tazed him.

Fuck. Okay. Home again. Sleep it off. Charge his phone. Call you in the morning and try not to sound too crazy. He could manage that.

He called the taxi company listed in the phone book. Half wondering if they were still in operation. When it finally connected, the call was thick with static.

"Yeah?" The man's voice was raspy and standoffish.

"Can I get a cab at Ronnie's on Westside?"

The man laughed. "Oh you must be a real tough customer to be drinking there. Didn't think you'd have the balls cowboy."

Colt wanted to cuss him out. What kind of fucker answers the phone and insults you less than two sentences in? He squeezed the receiver until he felt he could control his voice.

"Yeah. I'm a real mean guy. So can I get my cab or not?"

"Oh, I'll send you a ride alright." There was a mocking tilt to his voice. "Best fucking ride you'll ever take. Just sit pretty. You'll know when it's for you."

The skin on the back of his neck crawled. He hung up without another word.

The streetlights were coming on and the gold of sunset was giving way to the awful in-between greyness of twilight. He waited for his ride.

You came home to find flowers on your doorstep. A bouquet of white roses. You froze. There was only one man who sent you flowers and he was cold and dead for the better part of a year.

You picked the card up by the edge and flicked it open.

Hope you didn't forget our date. See you soon dollface.

-Colt

Oh. You laughed, ridiculously relieved. Of course.

Dinner tomorrow night with the cowboy. You took the roses inside and hunted around for a vase. Was it actually a date? He'd said it was a thank you dinner, but it wouldn't hurt to dress up a little. Do your makeup a bit fancy, maybe wear your new heels. It'd been months since you'd gone out, had a nice dinner with a friend. This could be good for you. Just one more step back into normalcy.

The clouds were starting to gather and as evening came on, they broke with a shudder of thunder.

You curled up on your couch, all the lights on. It was going to be a bad storm. The first really awful one in almost half a year. You tried not to, but it got you thinking about that night. The night your boyfriend proposed to you. The night you killed him.

You closed your eyes and tried not to see it, but the memories followed you even past the darkness. You couldn't run from them for long.

It was cold outside, rain drumming on Christine's roof. Sharp, constant. Your boyfriend was in the driver's seat, buckling his belt. A lazy, satisfied smirk on his face.

You liked it when he looked at you like that. Satisfied. Mellow. It never lasted long, but in the few minutes after fucking you, he would agree to just about anything.

"I'm drunk on you baby," he'd said once. "Heads all woozy. Would do anything for you. Fucking anything."

Christine's windows were all fogged up, and you traced little hearts on the glass. To be honest, you felt a little drunk on him too. Heart still pounding, head reeling. Cunt still fluttering and full. He was so good at reading you, at fucking you just how you needed it. No man before him could make you come so hard, or do it so easy.

"I got something to ask you, baby."

You turned to him, hand reaching out for his and pulling it into your lap.

"Yes?"

He rubbed a thumb across your knuckles. He wasn't looking at your face, just down at your interlinked hands.

"You're my girl, yeah?"

"Obviously. I love you."

"And you ain't going to leave me?"

"Never."

He sighed. Managed to raise his eyes to meet yours. You weren't used to seeing him nervous. Usually he'd just bull doze his way through a conversation, not stopping until he got what he wanted. This was...new. It made a whole new crop of butterflies start up in your stomach.

"Will you marry me?"

You froze. What? Where was this coming from? You loved him. You cared about him. But marriage? That was such a big step. Such a grown up thing.

"I've got money put away. And Christine. I can put a deposit down on a house by the end of the month. Can pay for a nice wedding too. All white and frilly, like you want."

"I..."

"You don't got to worry 'bout your student loans neither. We can pay 'em off a whole lot faster if we're together. You can even go back to school if you want. Get that second degree you're always talking about."

"I...can't."

You pulled your hands away from his. Looked away from him.

"I love you. I really do. But it's too...much. We're too young. I... I just don't want to rush into things and make a mistake."

He was quiet. Awfully, dangerously quiet. His hand was still in your lap and you could feel when he clenched it into a fist.

"Is there another man?"

"What?"

You whirled to face him, suddenly angry. How could he even suggest...

"I haven't touched another man since the day you asked me out."

He wasn't smiling anymore. His green eyes were narrowed, mean.

"Who are you fucking? Which bastard is it? Huh?"

"No one! There's no one else. I just don't want to get married and make a -"

"Mistake? You think I'm a fucking mistake?"

You flinched. His voice was even louder in the closeness of the car. It made your ears throb.

His fist uncurled and he grabbed your hand, hard. Yanked you towards him so your upper body was sprawled across the gear shift.

"Was it a mistake to fuck me? A mistake to say you loved me?"

"No! That's not what I-"

He cut you off with a hand around your throat.

"You want to leave me. That it? You're going to fucking leave me?"

You pulled at his fingers with your free hand but it was useless. His grip was getting tighter the angrier he got. Your head felt all swollen, your nose and throat burning.

"Please just -"

"No! No fucking please. No changing your mind at the last minute. You ain't gonna be my girl? Ain't gonna be my wife?"

He pulled you towards his face, his lips barely brushing yours.

"If you won't be mine, then you'll just have to fucking die. It's me or no one else, baby. I told you that, all those months ago."

You scrambled for some way to get loose, but you were in an awkward position and he had all the leverage.

"I fucking warned you. I told you that if you dated me you couldn't ever leave. I knew I was going to fall in love with you. Hell, I was half in love before you even said hello. I tried. But you just didn't listen, did you?"

Your hand brushed something cold and metallic in the centre console. His switch blade. He usually kept it in his back pocket to help with work. Oh, and he kept it sharp. You grabbed it, more on instinct than anything else.

Your head was pounding and your heartbeat was pulsing in your ears. But the rain was somehow worse. Falling so loud you thought you'd never get the sound out of your head.

You tried to plead with him again, reason, beg, whatever it took. But when you tried to speak he just closed his fist even tighter and your words died in your throat with a shudder.

Oh god, he was really going to do it. He's eyes were wild, mad with something beyond reason. He'd seen reason in the rearview mirror about a hundred miles ago and now he was headed straight down the highway of fucking insanity.

How? How could the man you loved be choking the breath out of you?

Because he loves you. Because he'd rather see you dead than lose you. Because you were too damn blind with love to notice how dangerous he is.

White starbursts bloomed across your vision. Little fireworks to celebrate your brain dying.

You stabbed him.

You didn't fully mean to. You were half mad with fear, half dead in his grip. Not sure what you were doing until you felt the blood.

The switchblade sunk straight into his neck.

You didn't even pull it out. Just left it there and scrambled back when his grip on you loosened, your chest heaving. You throat and eyes and nose all felt swollen. Your lungs burned like fire.

He reached up and touched his neck. Looked down at his fingers like he couldn't believe the blood was his.

You might have tried to save him then. Might have come to your senses and called the ambulance, might have stripped off your shirt and tried to stop the bleeding.

But a knife in his throat apparently wasn't enough to stop him. He looked at you and there wasn't anything rational left in him. He reached for you again, hands curled like claws. He was dying and all he wanted to do was take you with him.

You screamed. So loud that it made your own ears ring.

You grabbed the knife and pulled. You didn't realise it was acting like a stopper until his blood splashed on you. Hot, stinking of metal. It sprayed across your face, got into your mouth and nose, soaked the whole front of your shirt.

You scrambled for the door handle and fell backwards out of the Mustang. Landed on your ass and pushed yourself away.

He was halfway over the passenger seat by then, hands still reaching, mouth pulled into an ugly snarl.

You kicked the door shut.

It slammed with a bang and mercifully blocked him from view. Your turned onto your knees, pushed yourself to your feet and ran.

The rain was coming down so fast that it stung your skin. You didn't rightly know where you were going. Only that it was away.

You still don't know how you made it home. You were a twenty minute drive away and it was too dark to see more than three feet in front of you. Must have been luck. Must have been fate.

When you got home, you were shaking so hard you couldn't even open the door for a good five minutes.

You stripped off your clothes right there on the doorstep and threw them in the trash. Switch blade too. You don't know how you managed to hold onto it during that wild, reckless run.

You took a long shower. Sat under the hot water with your knees curled to your chest. Too scared to cry.

At some point, the better part of your brain must have taken over. You vaguely remember burning the bloodstained clothes. Remember taking a drive and throwing the bleached switchblade out the window.

And when the call came a few days later, to please come down and identify a body, you were calm enough to not give yourself away.

If it was anyone else, maybe the cops would have tried harder. But your boyfriend was a rough man from the rough side of town. They gave you looks of sympathy but shook their heads behind your back.

Guy like him had it coming.

When it was all said and done, you and Christine were the only ones who knew the truth.

Colt waited all evening for a cab that never came. And when the storm started, he was annoyed enough to consider driving home on his own. He'd only had two shots. And that was a few hours ago. He'd be fine. Folk got away with worse all the time.

He left the bar with his jacket over his head and his eyes darting down the road. The rain was sheeting and he had to scramble to make it to his Jeep without getting totally soaked.

Wet and hungry and still a little drunk, Christine didn't seem like quite so big an issue. He was just jumping at ghosts. Tequila got his thoughts all twisted up, that's all.

Driving was miserable. Even with his headlights on bright and his wipers cranked all the way up, he was having real trouble seeing the road. The yellow line was the only thing he could properly rely on.

When the headlights showed up behind him, it took him a while to notice them getting closer.

"Guy's got a death wish, driving so fast in this weather."

The driver behind him was gaining quickly. Colt expected them to try and overtake, but they didn't. Just got closer and closer. A car's length away. And then half. And then almost kissing his bumper.

"Why is this dude so up my ass?"

He hit the gas, but the guy behind him didn't care. Just picked up and kept coming. Revved it a little and Colt could hear the engine even through the rain. Some kind of muscle car. A loud, growling thing.

Almost like a...Mustang.

His whole back suddenly felt icy. It couldn't be. Christine was back home, keys still in the ignition. Even if someone did steal her, why the fuck would they track him down? Must be another muscle car, with some ego tripping asshole behind the wheel.

He told himself all that and more, but his foot pressed harder on the gas.

And still the Mustang kept coming.

The speedometer crept upwards. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty.

Too fast for the narrow roads, and sure as hell too fast for a rainy night like this one.

A curve was coming up soon, the road ringed off with guard rails. He could see the reflectors glinting orange at him. Shit.

He took it wide, drifting into the opposite lane. He could feel his tires slipping a little and he hit the breaks just enough to steady the Jeep.

The Mustang didn't have any trouble with the curve. Stayed in its lane and gained a little more speed, so that when they were straight again, its hood was in line with his trunk.

Good. Maybe now the fucker would finally overtake him.

He couldn't see the car clearly. The headlights were bouncing right off his side mirrors. He couldn't even make out the silhouette of the driver.

Screech.

The Mustang's hood scraped against the side of his Jeep. The whole car lurched to the side, tires slipping.

"Fuck!"

Colt gunned it again, trying to out race the mad man. But whoever was behind him had no intention of letting that happen. They kept pace with him, blocking him from getting back in his lane.

Lightning flashed and Colt looked in the mirror just in time to see the car properly.

The thunder was loud enough to drown out his scream.

The car trying to run him off the road was none other than the 1969 cherry red Mustang that should have been sitting in his yard. Maybe he could have accepted it as a coincidence. Someone else had the exact same car as him and just happened to be driving like an asshole. Maybe he could have accepted that.

But the car didn't have a driver.

He saw it clear as day. The lightning glared straight through all the windows and there wasn't a single person in that car.

Impossible. This can't be real. There's no fucking way.

He could almost hear the laugh.

'Do I got you scared cowboy?'

Colt didn't have time to answer. The road was merging into the cliffside, and the wall of rock kept him trapped. There were lights coming straight at him, the blaring of a horn as whoever it was tried to warn him.

He slammed hard on the brakes. Christine shot ahead and at the last second he managed to edge back into his lane. The headlights roared past, the huge semi exhaling a spray of water and smoke.

It would have flattened him, even in his Jeep.

Christine's tail lights were a pair of glaring red eyes in the rain, until suddenly they weren't. Gone.

Colt slowed the Jeep, parked on the shoulder.

The rain was drumming on the roof and his hands were shaking. He got out of the car, water soaking through his shirt almost immediately.

The paint on the back door was scratched off in huge swathes. The metal was dented.

He climbed back behind the wheel, mind teetering on the edge of something past sanity. The world wasn't sane anymore. Nothing was.

He heard the growl of the Mustang through the rain. No headlights this time, just the whine of tires on slick tar.

Where?! Where was she?!

Christine slammed into the Jeep head on. All Colt saw was her red face and silver smile in the glare of his headlights before his whole world was filled with the grinding of steel on steel. His head slammed backwards, the whole car shuddering.

The airbags came on, blinding him.

Christine didn't stop after hitting him. He yanked the hand break up but she kept pushing forward, edging his car closer and closer to the edge. He felt it when the guard rail scratched against his bumper.

An ugly scream of metal, but the rails held. Christine didn't seem to like that. She pulled back, her tires shrieking as she got ready to slam forward again.

Colt jumped just before she hit the Jeep. His seat belt was almost the death of him. It wouldn't release and he couldn't see the catch in the dark. He must have had at least one lucky star though, because the door wasn't too mangled and he managed to kick it open just in time.

He landed hard, on his hands and knees.

Metal shrieked. Christine slammed into the Jeep hard enough to send it through the rails. He turned just in time to see his car go tilting off the road and down into the dark.

For a second, he thought he might have made it. Maybe she didn't notice him. Maybe it was all over.

Christine pulled back and her headlights washed over him, still on his hands and knees. One of the lights was hanging loose from the crash, making her look lopsided. The rain was still coming down hard and the droplets were gold in the light between them.

She revved.

Colt scrambled to his feet and ran straight for the guard rail. He jumped.

It wasn't a sheer drop. It was instead a steep slope, thick with shale and slippery with water. His knees buckled under him and he ended up on his back, half rolling and half sliding down the embankment. His palms were bleeding and as he fell, the gravel lodged itself in his open skin.

He couldn't see where he was headed. Could only try and and protect his head and brace for impact.

His slide ended with a boulder. He slammed into it his ribs first. Heard a crack before all the air was knocked straight out of him.

He could see the headlights way up above him, cutting through the rain.

At least she can't follow me down here.

True. Christine couldn't follow him.

But that's when Colt saw him. The driver. Coming to stand in front of the headlights, the silhouette of a man.

The silhouette stepped through the gash in the railing left by the Jeep and dropped out of the light.

Colt knew he should run. He could hear the shale slipping as the other man came down. Controlled. Measured. Nothing like his own tumble.

But he couldn't move. Everything hurt. Breathing sent sharp spikes of pain all across his chest.

"Well, well cowboy. Look at you."

The voice was low and raspy, mean. He knew that voice. Had been hearing it in his head and in his dreams and was fool enough to think it was his own.

His eyes were getting used to the dark. He could just about see the stranger. Tall, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. There was dirt thick on his boots, in the folds of his clothes. Not the black shale of the slope, but a reddish clay.

Kind of like in the cemetery.

No, he realised as the stranger squated down in front of him. Exactly like the cemetery. It was grave dirt he was seeing.

He was looking at a dead man.

The stranger might have been handsome once, but now one cheek was filled with holes. Ugly, clustered together things that showed his teeth. His other cheek was a mass of white. Worms, tiny little worms wriggling in and out of his face.

Colt wanted to scream. And vomit. And then scream some more.

There was a dark hole in the stranger's neck and when he moved it oozed a sticky, thick kind of blood.

"You know why I'm here?"

Colt didn't really notice it at first, but his voice was different. Thicker somehow. Like his vocal cords were packed full of dirt and blood.

Colt coughed and his whole chest hurt so bad he thought he was dying. Something was definitely broken. He'd be lucky if there wasn't internal bleeding too.

"Let me guess. Came to punish me for my sins?"

The dead man laughed.

"Not yours, no. Don't give much of a damn about you. I'm here to get what's mine."

The pieces were clicking together in his head.

"Your girl."

"My girl," your boyfriend agreed.

He reached for him, the nails on his hand either blue or totally ripped off. His skin filled with holes that showed pale white tendons and ugly pink flesh.

That was when the adrenaline really kicked in. Colt shoved at the man with one hand and pushed himself up with the other. It was like touching a carcass at the butcher. Cold. Limp. Just a piece of meat. No human should ever have to feel a body in that state.

He made it to his knees before the bastard hit back. Your boyfriend kicked straight at his jaw and Colt's head flew backward, smashed into the rock behind him. He dropped back down like a stone.

"Why you gotta be so fucking difficult, hmm?"

Colt was too out of it to pull away. The man reached for him and the skin of his hand was crawling with bugs. He grabbed his collar and dragged him up.

"Just gonna go to sleep for a little while cowboy. Maybe you'll wake up. Maybe you won't. Either way, I've waited too fucking long to let this chance go."

The corpse kissed him. Or more accurately, pressed his open lips against his and breathed.

His lips were cold and stiff and utterly beyond human. The taste was rancid. Worse than the worst thing he'd ever had. Metallic like blood, sweet like rotted meat.

Colt fainted.

The rain drummed down. Christine sat on the roadside and waited, her hood and paintwork back to normal. In bed, you tossed and turned in the hands of a nightmare.

The thing that was Colt Guilder opened its eyes.

It was your phone that woke you up. Your ringtone blasting even through your dreams.

You fumbled for it, eyes squinted against the brightness.

"Hello?"

The call was thick with static. Still, you recognised the voice. Would know it even from beyond the grave.

"Hey beautiful. Did ya miss me?"

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lilahlovesyou

8 months ago

Need a man to look at me and say "cunt inspection whore, slide your panties down. And if you're even a little bit wet, I'm going to slam my cock into you until you scream. Understand?" I whimper and bend over, already knowing that just you saying cunt inspection made me a drippy wet mess. You don't even have to touch me to see how turned on I am. "Already baby? Aww, what a filthy little fucktoy. I didn't even have to do anything to you. Poor thing." I'm still bent over, trying not to moan as you talk down to me, when suddenly your dick is forced inside my hole, hard with no warning. You fuck me hard, deep, and fast. You grab me by the hair and straighten me up a little to push me against the wall, one hand harshly gripping my hip, and the one that was tangled in my hair slides down to caress my clit. You feel me shake. "Don't you fucking dare you cocksleeve. You don't cum until I tell you to." I whimper, trying not to orgasm, which is immediately made harder by being told I can't. You keep degrading me, calling me worthless, telling me my only purpose is to be a good little cum rag for anyone remotely interested in my body. Finally, after what feels like ages, you give the command: "cum on my cock you stupid fucking whore, and make it sound pretty for me." I gave in at whore, my body rocked with an intense orgasm, my moans so loud and passionate that you can't help but pump me full of your cum. We both stand there panting, your dick still twitching inside me.

"Now, fix your makeup and let's go to the club. No, you may not put your panties back on. Let's see if anyone notices shall we?"

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