#Bill Skarsgård smut

[taintandviolent]

sin creeps in ; Nosferatu x Reader

summary: You're plagued by heinous nightmares of a mysterious monster, but you can't help but feel drawn to he who plagues you.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.5K | female reader, monster fucking, vampires, vampire sex, bloodplay, biting, drinking blood / blood loss, mentions of death, making out, smut, unprotected sex, mentions of accents, shadow play (fingering)????.

a/n: MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR NOSFERATU 2024! this is just.... listen, I'm not even going to try to justisfy myself. rack up yet another hear me out moment for me. you either understand or you don't. shorter than I wanted it to be, but I needed to get this out and sate my hunger. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

You awake with a strangled gasp, your hands flying to your throat as your breath gradually returns. The nightmares had roused you, as they had every night, but this time, something lingered. Your room was frigid; the gauzy curtains fluttered in front of the open window like misplaced ghosts, allowing the chill of the night to penetrate your quarters. Everything looks terrifying at night; familiar shapes are transformed into horrible spectres, and your very room feels unknown. Unsafe. 

He is here. For the first time in several nights, you weren’t dreaming – he has come for you.

“I know that you are here with me,” you bravely whisper into the emptiness of your own bedroom. The wind whistled, a familiar sound, but something growled – growled in a language you didn’t speak, but understood. The voice was low, gravelly, and heavily accented. 

Hurriedly, you kick the sheets from your legs. The moonlight pales your skin, washing you in its blanch, bluish tone. Gripping your gown with both hands, you gather it up your thighs, exposing them to the cold. The chill of the wind hits your center, and you hiss through your teeth. Your head drops to your chest, and so does your gaze, watching patiently. At the edge of your bed, a large, slender shadow manifests. Him. 

You dare not look up. The feeling of his presence petrifies you, but also arouses you – letting a slick warmth pool deeply between your legs. 

The shadows continue to creep further up your bed, until they reach your feet, which twitch in response. Up, up, up… along your shins. Your skin prickles, and you shiver, doing your best to remain calm. Though he doesn’t touch you, you feel him. You feel every pass of his large hand as it makes its way up your body. His shadow glides over your hip, to your stomach and finally between your plump breasts, coming to a stop over your beating heart. It thumps away like a rabbit’s heart underneath the blackness of his form, and you hear a ragged, strained groan.

Then, with no warning, it moves down, leaving a cold, lifeless chill in its path like a gust of winter wind. You pant, desperately clinging to what breath you have. All at once, the shadow envelopes the soft, warm mound between your legs and your hands fall to the bed, bracing yourself. You have felt his ghostly touches for countless nights, tasting your body as a lover would, but each time your body climbed the peak, the sensations disappeared.  He comes to you in dreams, always leaving you unsatisfied. Your chest heaves in the night, cold droplets of sweat peppering your decollete and breasts. Your hands claw the sheets while you dream, but never reach euphoria.

Tonight, there are new sensations. The phantom wisp of his middle finger runs along the length of your slit. Grazing it. Somehow, you feel his finger part your wet folds, toying with your most sensitive areas. The nonexistent pads of his fingers sweep back and forth over your swelling clit, bringing a spasmodic twitch from each of your muscles. Wanting. Craving. While the sensation lacks the familiar warmth of a living man, it is bountiful with pleasurable feelings – your body responds embarrassingly; your shoulders shudder violently. 

He inhales, a deeply hollow sound. “You desire this… thine own body craves it….” 

The accent seems to fill his entire mouth, rumbling in his throat as he speaks slowly, drawing out each word like an incantation. You let out a plaintive moan, throwing your head back against the pillows, the down feathers crackling underneath you. As though he’s still pleasuring you, your hips writhe back and forth, practically convulsing with need. The shadow of his hand is gone from your body, replaced by the looming darkness of his physical form. After a moment of trepidation, you finally lift your head, and stare into the dark, terrifying eyes that watch you. 

You swallow hard. “I do.” 

A moment passes before you continue. “Take me as you will, for I am yours.” You consent again, desperate to convey your own insatiable hunger, your unimaginable need. 

Another intake of breath from him – it almost sounds labored, painful. His footsteps are dreadful as he moves around to the side of your bed. He’s tall, his form stretching towards the ceilings and towering over you, consuming your atmosphere as he had in your nightmares. His silhouette is large; enhanced by the countless furs he has on.

Weightlessly, his lithe, ghastly fingers reach for you and make contact with your form. They are cold, and the icy feeling of them penetrate the thin fabric of your nightgown. He moves gradually, but hungrily, feeling the curves of your body beneath the cotton. As he moves southward, his fingers skim over the peak of your breast, a nail catching on the swollen nipple. It hurts, but your chest jerks forward still, craving more of his touch. 

Pulling a breathy moan from deep within your throat, his long, sharp nails rake across the tender flesh of your thigh. It’s bathed in the silvery moonlight, which casts horrible, elongated shadows of his fingers down towards your center. He scrapes downward, his middle finger digging into the flesh enough to leave a reddened streak behind, but not so much to break the skin.

“P-please…” you mewl, looking up into his horrifying visage. The sight of him fills you with dread and disgust, but like a single drop of blood in water, it’s tainted with something else, something else that has been lingering in your system for days. 

He’s above you now, though you don’t remember seeing him move atop of you. Still, he’s there. The bed creaks as you push yourself into the mattress, whimpering underneath him. He lowers himself down onto you, the brush of his mustache tickles your face as he lingers above you. A second passes and his waiting mouth envelops yours. He tastes damp and cold, faintly of ash and earth. His tongue slips out and it too is cold, slipping wetly along your own and along your bottom lip. His kiss is dreadful, but possessive, and he inhales each time you exhale, as though he’s trying to suck the very warmth out of you. No man has kissed you the way Count Orlok kisses you, and the chill of the room disappears, snuffed out by the fire that rages in your lower abdomen. 

Your tongues collide with each other; you tasting his lifelessness, and him tasting your utterly intoxicating, vibrant liveliness. For a moment, the two of you stay intertwined at the mouth until he separates himself, smearing his mouth over the warmth of your neck. He hovers, pausing over your pulse. It thrums under his lips, and his hips urge into yours, indicating his hunger.

There is a shuffle, a rustling of clothing. You try to lift your head up to gaze between your bodies, but his hand holds you fast, pressing you against the pillow. The size of his hand is staggering; his palm underneath your chin, while the fingertips extend past your hairline, into the strands. You shudder again and whisper his name. He inhales as though he plans to speak, but doesn’t. 

The front of your nightgown falls apart, revealing your chest to him. With one hand covetously clutching your breast, his mouth opens between your breasts, the slithery coolness of his tongue gliding down along the length of your sternum. As the teeth puncture your flesh, your hands make fists on either side of your body, pulling the sheets into the confines of your palms. He enters you, in more ways than one, and you feel the steady tug of his mouth as he sucks the blood from your veins. Warmth pools in the cave of your stomach.

The fingers of his other hand crawl up your shoulder, and like a quill in ink, he dips the pads of his fingers into the hollow of your chest, coating them in your crimson essence. He smears the blood along your decollete, along the hem of your nightgown, tugging it harshly over your shoulder. The blood coats you in a flash of warmth, and then chill as it meets the cold air. 

His hips rut against yours as he drinks, the pulse of your blood matching the thrust of his hips. An ache starts in your neck, a slow pulling sensation that has your eyelids fluttering. He moves within you, his length penetrating as deeply as his sharpened teeth have. Your release is found amongst blood and groans and that same language which you understand, but do not speak. His tongue scrubs at your soft skin, lapping up the blood as it comes… as you do. 

The darkness is ever-looming, and as your aching cunt ebbs its throbbing, it settles down upon you. You let yourself fall backwards into the abyss, freely. It takes you, wrapping its arms around your tiny frame which is dwarfed by his stature. His mouth breaks free of your bloodied skin with a slick pop.  Into the softness of your skin, you hear him growl, ‘Mine.’ The feeling vibrates against your neck, and your lids flutter shut.

[raewritesfiction]

Overqualified [Bill Skarsgard]

A/N: based on an anon ask to use the line “you’re fucking overqualified”. I started writing and it wrote itself. Enjoy!

Plot: PWP.

Pairing: Bill Skarsgard X Female!Reader

Warnings: Smut. Sloppy head. Pussy eating. Fingering. Unprotected P in V (use a condom!!)

[[ Lemme know if you wanna be added or removed from tags; no questions asked ♥️ likes are amazing however I really appreciate Reblogs to help spread my writing further! Thank you 🌈😘]]

Tag List: @thegreatlarryfisherman @iraniq @snewsome756 @vikkikrash @amelia-in-w0nderland @pandaliciouz @crispyimagines17 @marie-is-blogging @bonniebird @nutinanutshell @louise-buchan @differentcatcat @madsadgenius @sycochick @1-800-imagines @venusbabysblog

—

You moan loudly as Bill holds your pussy against his mouth; the man is eating as if it’s his last meal. The sheets are pulled off from every corner of the bed due to your writhing and pulling while the man between your legs makes you cum over and over until you’re sure you’ve forgotten what day of the week it is.

He pulls away after your fifth, or is it sixth, orgasm. Your head is swimming and that old cliche about seeing stars is making more sense to you now.

Bill isn’t done with you yet and his fingers slide into you and curl; you gasp and arch off the bed when he starts moving them quickly inside you. The pads of his fingertips press and rub against that sensitive spot inside you making you squirm. You can hear your arousal; the sounds are fit for a porn movie. Even laid on your back your thighs are soaked in your juices. You try to get away but grind your hips down for more and just as that intense moment of bliss is ready to explode inside of you… Bill withdraws his fingers.

You let out a long whine and lay panting; Bill is moving but your eyes won’t open right now so you have no clue what he’s doing. You feel your legs being spread wider and his hands gliding up your thighs to your hips, you twitch a little as something pushes against your very sensitive opening then let out a loud moan as his cock easily slips into you fully.

Bill groans roughly and positions himself for a deep pace; you’re barely breathing properly again before his hips are moving into you. He grunts and moans, fingers digging into your soft flesh leaving bruises and the mix of that slight pain mixed with how full you feel, his cock reaching every part of you and stretching you with a warm ache is a whole new pleasure.

The pillow under your head is all but rags and loose feathers from the way you pull at it. Your throat is raw and rough from your moans and screams of Bill’s name but somehow you manage to call out “Don’t stop!!”

Growling low, Bill pulls you onto his thrusting hips and pants harshly; he watches you through half closed eyes, his gaze roaming over every part of your sweat covered form beneath him. He doesn’t care about the torn pillows and ruined bed sheets - he’s happy to buy new ones as many times as he needs to.

You gasp and whine again “Fuck…. Fuck oh god!” It’s all you can manage as the climax you’d been chasing since he’d removed his fingers, crashes over you. Your hips lift and tremble, your legs turn to jell-o and you definitely can’t remember what day of the week it is or if it’s morning or night. Your scream is silent and your body tenses under Bill before going limp.

Laying on the bed panting you swallow thickly and realise there was no final moans of pleasure from Bill, instead he’s leaning down over you kissing your skin and stroking over the bruises on your hips. He’s asking if you’re okay, whispering sweet things to you and after what he had done to you there was no way you were leaving him unsatisfied.

It takes a few moments but you use what strength you have left to flip your positions and lift off of his solid cock. You smirk at him and shuffle down the bed; grazing your teeth over his defined abs and hips.

“Baby… you don’t have to..” he smiles softly but watches you intently.

“Oh I do..” you nod and lick along his cock, tasting yourself for the first time. You moan and relax your throat before taking as much of his length into your mouth as you were able. The man was endowed and he quickly fills your mouth and hits your throat. You groan around him and let your saliva mix with your juices on his cock, sucking as you slowly pull away and bob your head.

On each pull back you take a little more of his impressive size and as you get more comfortable your nose hits the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. Bill groans loudly and runs a hand into your messy hair, he grips lightly but doesn’t add any pressure - he wants to let you do what you want.

You groan around him and bob your head quickly; keeping your teeth covered and your tongue out. Looking up under your lashes you see his chest heaving with every one of your movements and he moans louder.

“Fuck..!!” He pants quickly and grips the edge of the bed until his knuckles are white.

You watch his stomach muscles and feel his cock twitch a moment before he calls out; you swallow around him and instead of stopping and pulling away, you continue. A new resolve fills you and you keep sucking along his cock. Bill gasps and sputters on the bed and you hold his hips down with an arm across his lower stomach, your free hand moves to his balls and massage him firmly.

“God damnit!! Fuck!!”

You hum and moan, his cock is still twitching against your tongue and his balls seem to be doing the same thing. Bill can’t keep himself still and claws at the blankets and sheets that are now a complete mess around you both.

“Babe!!” He yells and pulls at the bed.

Holding him down a little harder you work his cock, you know you’re drooling and the sounds coming from your mouth around him are a symphony of disgraceful lust.

“You’re fucking overqualified!!” He calls out and strains against the sheets as he practically roars with his climax. You once again dutifully swallow around him and tease with a few more light sucks in pulses around the head of his cock, making Bill let out a strangled whine before you pull away and watch him lay panting on the bed.

You smirk at the sight of him laying spent from your ministrations and wipe at your mouth, crawling up to lay beside him.

Bill opens his eyes lazily and looks at you through half-lidded eyes, he opens his mouth to say something but shakes his head and chuckles instead.

You smile and kiss his cheek, laying your head down on his chest, it takes little time before you hear his deep steady breathing of sleep and less time for you to join him.

-fin-

[x-prettyboy-x]

I need this man until that shit h u r t s. Till I feel that shit when I try to walk the next day. I need bro to leave bruises on me and shit. pLEASE

[littlemelaninfics]

Hi! I see you write for Bill Skarsgard and characters. I was wondering if I could request Eric Draven being a complete and totally pleasure Dom and he ends up putting you into subspace for the first time.

Excuse me, I need a moment 🥴

“Kneel for me.” 

You obediently sank to your knees in front of your dom, your head tilting back as your hair was harshly yanked by the god above you before he filled your pretty mouth with his cock. 

That had been hours ago. Now, you were spread out with your wrists and ankles bound to your metal bed frame. Your back arched, a strained cry leaving your lips as Eric landed a slap to your abused cunt. 

“Hold it. I didn’t say you could come again.” He snarled, feeling you get close for the fourth time that night. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whimpered softly, trying to keep yourself from coming as his deep thrusts nailed your cervix, making your vision spark with pain and pleasure. You yanked on the bonds that held your wrists, desperate to grab him and drag your nails down his back or pull him close to you. 

“Shh, just relax and take it, baby,” Eric nipped at your shoulder, disapproving of your attempts to struggle against his ties. You tried to still, and as you looked up at your Master, you felt the familiar haze wash over you that blurred the lines between your fantasy and reality. 

He saw it in your eyes, the all-too-familiar look he loved to see. You were teetering on the edge of slipping into subspace, and he knew you were hesitant. 

He's proven himself time and time again, so you trusted Eric with your life and you knew that he would never let you fall or abandon you while you were in that mindset. You were constantly in charge of managing every aspect of your life both at work and school, and you so badly wanted to give yourself to him in the bedroom, but you always needed a little push.

“Don’t fight it. I'm right here.” His swollen pink lips grazed yours.

The dangerous tone that had occupied his voice all night was gone as his lips brushed your ear, coaxing you into subspace. Your fourth orgasm rocked through you like a tidal wave, Eric’s skilled fingers gently rubbing circles on your clit as he kept his forceful thrusts. 

Euphoria flooded your body as you went stiff as stone. Somehow making you feel weightless as pleasure overwhelmed your senses. He knew by the glassy look in your eyes that you were so far gone, floating around in subspace. When you're in subspace, you strive to be the best girl you can be for him. You had already stopped yanking against the bonds, and your body had gone almost limp below his massive frame as you relaxed.

He detached himself from your throbbing cunt, earning a small whine at not feeling full. “Don't worry. I’m not done. Hang on for me.”

He kissed your lips, softening up now that you were in a different headspace. You weren’t very good at communicating when you were like this, and it made him hesitant to be rough with you. 

“That’s my good girl,” He murmured, kissing up your chest to leave a mark on your neck for you to blush at in the morning, and him to admire. 

“I know that you have one more for me, Y/N. You’ve been so good tonight, just give me another, then you can be done.” Eric urged you, gently fingering you while stroking your g-spot and lightly pulling your clit between his teeth. 

A silent scream caught in your throat and you arched your back, your thighs trembling erratically, your muscles sore and aching from how many times you’d cum that night. You barely heard his praises, only processing your own mind-numbing pleasure. You tried to retreat your hips, but to no avail,

“Y/N, you’ve got to learn to quit fighting these.” He hummed, touching the light red marks around your wrists, and you looked up at him with pathetic doe eyes,

“M’sorry, Daddy.” You whispered, your voice barely audible. He kissed both your thighs before roughly fingering you until you were soaking his massive forearm. He leaned his head down once again and greedily slurped his favorite drink.

That's five tonight.

Once he saw the tears streaming down your face, he climbed back up your body and kissed your lips tenderly. You murmured incoherently, and he slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you heavily. When you were yourself, you’d reach up to his hair and pull him in deeper, but now you were too fucked-out to think straight. 

He untied your limbs and sat you up enough to get behind you. You rested your head on his still damp chest. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the once chilled water and the face towel next to it. He dipped the towel and covered your forehead while telling you how good you were for him.

"I never thought I'd have the blessing of meeting someone like you and yet, here you are."

He pulled you to sit up, lifting the glass of water to your lips and supporting your head with his other hand. You opened your eyes, your gaze connecting with the deep green eyes that were full of love and adoration for you. You obediently swallowed the water he helped you drink, rehydrating your body.

Once you were relaxed enough to be moved, he lifted you off the bed and into the bathroom. He sat you on the pillow he placed on the stool before going to fill up the tub. You winced as the warm water swallowed your aching body as Eric sank down into the tub with you. You laid your head against his shoulder,

“I love you, Y/N” he said, kissing your temple as he rubbed soap over your body with his cool hands, gently massaging your sore muscles. 

“Love you,” you breathed, making him smile. 

“Can you drink some more for me, baby?” He held the glass, not quite trusting your muscle control yet. You finished the glass before he washed your hair, rubbing your scalp and pulling a pleased moan from your lips.

“Does that feel nice?” He laughed lightly, his chest vibrating against your back. You nodded, squirming as the bath water began to cool, becoming uncomfortable. 

Soon, you were wrapped in a fluffy towel and sat in front of the mirror, Eric standing behind you. He carefully ran your product through your mane, knowing you adored when he did so. It was intimate and tender, and he loved to comb through your tresses to show he loved you. This small gesture eased you back into reality so subtlety that it was a little ritual after a night like this.

“Was I good for you?” You spoke, making his eyes snap up to meet yours in the mirror. 

“Always.” He kissed the crown of your head. 

“Nice to have you back.” He spoke after several moments, his heart nearly bursting as you giggled softly. 

[m4nspr34d]

CRAVE | Eric Draven x M!reader

Contents: Established relationship, Anal (R!receiving)

💌 : Smut dabble! This is my first time writing smut so please keep that in mind, enjoy 🤍

Nobody touched you like Eric Draven.

His hands clamped down on your waist, his head pushing against you neck, red splotches dotted along your jaw. Heavy breaths, desperate pants as you two pushed against eachother. His cock slid against your own, the pre-cum leaving for sloppy sounds as his hips rolled back and forth against you, almost like he couldn’t have you, like he was trying to impress you, like he didn’t have you wrapped around his finger.

The way Eric Draven thrusted into you, the way he whimpered no less than you each time he slid in and out of you. The way his hands desperately traveled your body, yearned for more of your touch each time. His heavy pants against your body, dampened each time by your own noises.

“You feel so good.“

“Is it good—?

You couldn’t respond to him, truly you couldn’t. Nobody handled your body like he did, with such care and perfection, but nobody fucked you like him either, so full of lust, so intimate. His movement halted, a whine escaping as he paused, straightening his back, pulling you down the bed slightly, sitting completely upright as he pushed his cock in again—

“Fuck—.. Eric.”

Pre-cum stuck to your abdomen as he slammed into you, your cock dripping, each thrust feeling like it was inching you closer and closer to your limit. The way his shoulder broadened as he hammered inside of you, his grunts and moans— all of it, the way his fingers gripped your body. “Fuck it’s so good, it’s so good.” He muttered to himself as his head fell back, limp almost.

His thrusts had little to no rhythm, occasionally he’d slow down, grinding his cock in your ass his lips sucked marks into the skin of your jaw. Just as quick he’d speed up again, his balls slamming against your ass as his cock squelched in your hole.

“I’m gonna cum.”

“Please.”

His forehead rested against yours, his thrusts so sloppy yet so vigorous, the way he slammed his cock inside of you, it was like a ravenous hunger. Your hand gripped your cock as you felt it coming— but his hand grabbed yours in retaliation, holding your cock in place around your own hand.

Your moans mixed with his, your whined practically with his deep grunts each time he moved in and out. His eyes pinched shut, his hand suddenly sliding down to your balls as he jerked your cock. He slammed inside of you, pistoning in and out as he whined against you.

Your back arched off the bed as Eric Draven shot his load inside you, your hands gripped on his stomach as he tried to push his cock deeper and deeper with each last thrust. His moans pushed through you, the way he whined, the way he whimpered when he pumped a load into you.

He looked down in awe as cum shot out of your cock, thick white ropes shooting up for torso, guttural moans ripping from your throat as you pulled you hand up and down your cock. His finger gripped your thighs as he watched, lust in his eyes even still.

[homiesexuallaj]

Hands

Pairing: Eric Draven x reader

Genre/Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, nondescript smut, hands, possible hand kink, possible hand fetish

Request: A piece about Eric Draven’s hands

A/N: For @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler !! I also used one of their gifs from their gifset.

———

Eric is so gentle with his hands. He always has been, no matter the situation.

He’s handsy too. He loves to be touching you at all times, no matter what’s going on. If you’re out and about, he’s either asked you to wrap a hand around his bicep or hold his hand. Or when he’s guiding you somewhere, there’s always a hand on your lower back.

When you’re out at a bar or in a club dancing, he’s always got his hands on you. He’s either in front of you and holding your hands while you mirror each other’s dance moves or got his hands on your hips while you both sway to whatever beat is on. When he’s behind you, there’s a guarantee he’s either hugged himself around your waist or crowding into your personal space with arms wrapped all around you and a head on your shoulder.

Eric never doesn’t not have his hands on you.

When you’re alone and domestic, you’re never not within arms reach, if Eric even lets you sit away that far. When you’re relaxing in bed or on the couch, Eric is swirling patterns into your skin with his fingertips or following the curves and dips of your skin. When it’s your turn to make dinner, Eric likes to watch with either a hand on your lower back or hugging himself into you from behind. Or when Eric is playing piano, he insists that you’re sitting and pressed up beside him. There’s no way you’re in the way of his playing. You’re right where you’re supposed to be.

When you’re in bed, it really shows how gentle Eric is.

Eric loves to grope and grab. He’s not one to slap or leave bruises or throw you around. He loves to help you get in position though. And his hands are always touching you, all over. He covers as much area as he can in the moment.

The man never pressed to hard or tugged to harsh, just enough to make it feel good. He only ever grabs hard enough to leave temporary indents in your flesh, something that’ll last for a few minutes at the least.

Whenever or wherever Eric is trailing kisses, his hands aren’t far behind. They always smooth down goosebumps or grab at any excess flesh.

When the deed is done with, Eric insists that you lay on chest bare chest. Both of your bare bodies are pressed into each other. Your hand traces over the black ink that’s etched into his skin and his trace shapes and swirls into yours.

Eventually, Eric ends up lulling you to sleep with his hands. And he rubs you back until Eric is off to dreamland himself.

———

A/N: The request v v

[hozierbabymomma]

Me when i reach the end of the oneshot/blurb/fanfic:

[enchantresss97]

Dark Gravity-Part four

Characters: Au!Eric Draven (Bill Skarsgård) x reader

Description: This is a Au!Eric Draven, no Shelly involved(although is another girl involved), no Roeg and no powers, other than that is still the Eric we know. He is powerful, dangerous, and infamous for his violent reputation, he’s someone people know to stay away from. A man whose name strikes fear in the hearts of many. His presence is commanding, intimidating. He’s not the type to open up, but when he locks eyes with you, there’s an undeniable tension that pulses in the air between you two. It’s hard to ignore the way he looks at you, the subtle flirting, and the dangerous charm that seems to surround him. You never imagined to meet him, but here you are, caught in a web of questions. Where will this lead? Can there be something more between you two? Will you end up friends, or is there something darker, more complicated in store? You can’t deny the tension, the attraction, it’s palpable. Could something truly happen between you and him? Only time will tell, but you can’t help but wonder: where will this take you?

Warning: (the warnings are for the whole story, not just this chapter) language, angst, drugs, alcohol, blood, guns, sex (at this point you know me), cheating.

Word count: 8577 (buckle up fellas)

THIS PART IS NOT EDITED, so don’t come after me.

Dark Gravity

Back in the cabin laughter rolls through the room, drinks are poured, a joint passes from one set of fingers to the next.

It’s easy. Loud. Alive.

And across from you, sprawled in his chair like he owns the whole damn room is Eric.

He’s relaxed, one arm slung over the back of his chair, the other wrapped loosely around his glass.

There’s a slow, lazy amusement in his eyes, something sharp at the edges, something that makes your pulse tick just a little bit faster.

It doesn’t take long before the conversation shifts. Before it turns to you. Before he turns to you.

“Didn’t think you’d come out here,” he muses, fingers tapping idly against the rim of his glass.

His gaze flickers over you, slow and deliberate.

“Thought you were the kind of girl who stayed away from bad decisions.”

“You saying you’re a bad decision?” you counter, leaning back just enough to feign ease.

His smirk is immediate. Sharp. Filthy. “The worst.”

The table erupts in laughter, but you’re barely hearing it, barely processing the voices around you because his attention is still locked onto you, and suddenly, the air feels too thick. Too hot. Too charged.

“That so?” You arch a brow, keeping your voice smooth, keeping your expression carefully neutral.

Eric takes a slow sip of his drink, watching you over the rim of his glass. Then he sets it down, tilting his head just slightly, that damn smirk never faltering.

“You tell me,” he murmurs.

It’s not fair. The way he says it. The way his voice dips just a little lower, rough around the edges. The way it makes something in your stomach twist, tighten, heat.

“You two gonna fuck or what?” someone cuts in, laughing, and the table breaks into more noise, more teasing, more laughter.

You feel the heat rush to your face, but Eric? Completely unfazed. In fact he grins.

“Ask her,” he says smoothly, tipping his chin toward you.

“Fuck off,” you mutter, reaching for your drink, but your fingers aren’t entirely steady. And Eric? He just watches you. Like he’s already won.

And then, somewhere in the noise, between the teasing and the easy flow of conversation, someone offhandedly mentions the cabin. Something about how it’s a good spot for weekends like this. Something about how Eric always brings the best liquor when he invites people up. And just like that, everything stops. Eric. Invites people up. Because this is his place. The cabin is his. Not some random friend’s, not a borrowed getaway—his.

You glance toward Lily, but she’s caught up in another conversation, laughing at something Mark just said, like this is completely normal. Like it was never something to mention. Like she knew and just didn’t bother to tell you.

Your gaze flicks back to Eric, and maybe it’s in your head, but he’s watching you.

Glass in hand, relaxed, unreadable, waiting. And you don’t know what unsettles you more. The fact that Lily never told you. Or the fact that he didn’t, either.

After a while, the group drifts upstairs.

The cabin’s upper floor is more open, the warmth of wood and dim lighting giving it an inviting feel despite the size of the room. It’s a game space, a pool table sits at the center, a ping-pong table pushed off to the side, a dartboard mounted on the far wall. There’s a couch in the corner, low and wide, already littered with drinks, jackets, and the careless sprawl of people settling in.

The energy more louder, messier, more reckless now that the alcohol has settled into everyone’s bloodstream. People pick up games in lazy competition, others linger by the couch, still drinking, still laughing.

Eric’s already playing billiards, his body leaning over the table with that effortless confidence, the cue stick gripped in his hand like he’s done it a thousand times. His focus is sharp, but you notice the way his eyes flicker toward you the moment you step closer. There’s that thing between you two, the tension that’s always been there, thicker tonight than ever before.

You watch the way he sinks the ball into the corner pocket, the smooth, controlled movement of his hands as he sets up his next shot. It’s hypnotic, the way he moves, like he’s in complete control of everything. But when he looks back at you, that familiar smirk returns to his lips.

He turns to you, lifting the stick slightly, then nods toward the table. An invitation.

“Go ahead,” he says, his voice smooth, amused. “Make it count.”

You blink at him. “What?”

Eric smirks. “You heard me. Take my shot.”

You take the cue stick from his hands, the warmth of his touch still lingering on the wood. Stepping forward, you line up the shot, aware of him behind you, watching. His presence is a weight you feel along your spine, solid, unshakable.

You take a breath, steady yourself, and strike.

The ball rolls, bounces—barely misses the pocket.

Eric hums behind you, stepping close enough that you can feel the heat of him.

“Not bad,” he murmurs, voice low. “But not great.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, rolling your eyes. “You let me take the shot. Don’t complain about the result.”

Eric’s smirk deepens, and then, as if just because he can, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice just for you.

“I let you take it,” he says, “but I didn’t say I’d let you win.”

You shift, tilting your head at him. “Is that how you always play?”

Eric quirks a brow. “How’s that?”

“Stacking the odds in your favor,” you say.

His eyes flicker. Something amused, something darker. Then he lets out a short laugh, shaking his head before looking back at the table.

“Maybe,” he muses. “Or maybe I just know how to win.”

You huff, shaking your head as you step back, leaning against the edge of the table while he lines up his shot.

It’s only when he moves, fluid, effortless, completely at ease, that you say it.

“How come this is your cabin, here, all the way out in the woods?” you ask, not sure why you’re asking but feeling the need to understand more about the man in front of you.

Eric’s shot is precise, the ball sinking into the pocket with a satisfying click. He doesn’t even look up.

“Oh, this?” he says lazily. “This is where I cook all my drugs. The stash is in the basement.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, but before you can respond, he steps in closer, his body just a fraction away from yours. The space between you both feels electric, charged, as though he’s daring you to say something, anything.

His presence is overwhelming, pulling you deeper into this tension that’s been simmering since you walked through the door.

“And I bring people here, too,” he adds, his lips curling up in that same wicked grin. “You know, for a little… soul-searching or... redemption. Depending on what they did.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of what he’s saying, and for a second, the air between you thickens, no longer playful. Eric takes a step closer, and the casual teasing fades from his voice, replaced by something darker, something more intense.

“But yeah,” he adds with a smirk, his lips curling just slightly, “it’s all very private. In the middle of nowhere? No one around?” He leans in slightly, tapping his cue stick against the table. No one knows what goes on here? Perfect.”

Your mouth opens, then closes.

Eric watches you, the glint of humor in his eyes is undeniable. You pause for a second, then, realizing he’s just messing with you.

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “You’re an idiot.”

Eric raises an eyebrow, giving a half smile. “Oh, I was just about to tell you the truth,” he teases, his tone lightening. “I run an underground spa business here. All about that relaxation vibe, y’know?”

Your laugh comes a little louder now, a mix of relief and amusement. “Right, sure,” you say, shaking your head, still grinning. “Next, you’ll tell me you’re a philanthropist.”

Eric chuckles, the mockery softening into something else. “Only for the right people,” he responds, voice quieter now, with just a hint of seriousness.

You linger there, locked in that moment where sarcasm mixes with something less clear, but then you shrug, deciding to move on.

“Alright, I’m going to go find Lily,” you say with a wink, slipping away toward the others.

_____________

You head off, feeling a little lighter, the buzz of the alcohol making you feel bold, more confident. The music is loud, the bass vibrating through the room, and you feel it in your body. Without thinking too much, you begin to move, letting the rhythm take over. It feels good, the freedom of it, the easy flow of the night, and the heat that builds as you sway your hips.

You spin, your movements now bold, sexual, eyes never leaving Eric as you sway your hips. Every step, every turn, it’s all for him, and you know he’s watching, just as you want him to. It’s almost like a game, a dance for his attention, and you relish in it.

The song comes to an end, and you’re breathing heavily, flushed, feeling the heat of the room in your chest. You don’t even realize how much you’ve moved until it stops. But the vibe’s still there, that electric tension. You head toward the couch and slide down, glass of wine still in hand.

Your phone’s nearly dead. You take a sip of your wine, letting the taste settle on your tongue, but the buzz still lingers, your body still warm and buzzing from the dance. The moment feels easy, but there’s that feeling. Eric’s still watching, his gaze never leaving.

You have to head down the stairs to take your charger, your steps a little slower than usual, you feel that familiar sway in your body. You’re tipsy, sure, but you still know what you’re doing. You drank wine all night. Just wine. Not like most of them who combined whisky and vodka and other drinks. Not to talk about the pills and weed. A glass of wine never killed nobody. You said to yourself taking another sip from your glas.

Passing through the hallway, you spot the kitchen. Then the fridge, your stepping towards it and open the door, and there it is, in front of you, an entire cake.

Without thinking twice, you pull it out, grabbing a spoon. You’re not going to cut a piece, you’re taking the whole cake, exactly what you want.

The frosting’s sweet, the cake rich, and it’s the best thing you’ve tasted in a while.

You dig in, savoring every bite, your eyes wandering lazily over the room.

That’s when you hear the footsteps, slow and deliberate.

“Now, this is an interesting way to finish the night,” Eric’s voice rumbles behind you, a smirk in his tone.

You’re laughing, giggling more than you intended, feeling light and carefree. The wine in your hand is a warm comfort as the cake melts on your tongue, its sweetness matching your mood. You’re not exactly sure why you’re having so much fun, but you just are. The night has a way of feeling endless, and every movement feels like it’s a little more bold, a little more playful.

Eric steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he’s already tasting the scene. His smile curls into something that’s far too knowing, too dangerous. “You got a thing for sugar, or you just like to indulge?”

You laugh again, more playful this time, not caring that he’s getting closer, towering over you.

You look up from your cake, eyes twinkling with mischief, trying to act unaffected by his presence. “What?” you ask, your voice laced with a playful tone. “You’ve never seen someone enjoy cake this much before?”

He doesn’t say anything right away, but you can feel the heat between you, the tension thickening as his gaze moves down to your lips, then back to your eyes.

You bite your lip, fighting the rush of warmth that spreads through you. You’re not sure if you should laugh it off or challenge him, but before you can decide, you catch that look again, the one that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

Eric steps closer, his body nearly touching yours. His eyes are dark, focused, and his breath is warm against your skin as he murmurs, “I’m not so sure. You’ve got a real sweet tooth… I bet you enjoy all kinds of things, don’t you?”

The air feels heavier as you take a step back, suddenly aware of the tension crackling between you two. You keep your composure, even as his words linger, making your pulse race. “Oh, you know. Cake. Life. That’s about it.”

Eric smirks, his expression amused, but his eyes are hungry. “Yeah, sure,” he drawls, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm. “And here I thought you were a woman of secrets.”

You laugh again, your voice a little lighter now, but his gaze still holds you, unflinching, like he sees right through you. There’s something thrilling about it, like you’re in the middle of a game that you didn’t even know you were playing.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Then, you remember—your charger. You freeze, suddenly aware that you’ve wandered off track. Your purse is in your room, and the thought pulls you out of the moment.

“Oh, crap,” you mutter, taking a step back, still holding the cake in one hand, spoon in the other. “I forgot my charger. It’s in my room.”

As you turn to leave, you feel him follow.

You enter the room with the cake still in hand, the sweet scent lingering in the air as you sit on the bed. You quickly search through your purse, pulling out the charger and plugging your phone in.

The quiet hum of the room is broken only by the sound of your movements. You feel his gaze on you, sharp, like a predator sizing up its prey. There’s something in his eyes, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t say a word, but the tension between you is palpable.

The silence between you two is thick, the kind that feels charged with anticipation, like you’re both waiting for something to break it. And when you rise, cake still in hand, you turn toward him with a teasing smile.

“Want some cake?” you ask, the words light, but they carry a meaning neither of you can ignore. It’s playful, but the tension between you two pulses through the air, thick and almost suffocating.

He smirks, stepping closer, eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. “Sure,” he says, voice low, “I’ll take some cake.” But the look in his eyes says it all. He’s not talking about the cake anymore.

You let out a breath, knowing full well what he means, but you don’t back down.

“Go grab a spoon,” you tease, but it’s more of an invitation than an order. His grin widens, and you know, you feel it, that dark pull between you two. There’s no escaping it.

Instead of walking away, he closes the distance, slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. He doesn’t hurry, doesn’t need to. The way he moves is calculated, his gaze never leaving you, reading you, testing you.

“I think I’ll just use your spoon,” he says, voice low and dripping with innuendo.

The words are simple, but the way he says them sends a shiver down your spine.

You laugh softly, trying to keep it casual, but your heart is racing in your chest.

You hand him the spoonful of cake, your fingers brushing his in a fleeting touch. The second your skin meets his, it’s like electricity surging through you, your body responding in ways you can’t control.

He takes the spoon from your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm, and then he eats the cake slowly, deliberately, his lips curling around the bite like it’s the most sensual thing he’s ever tasted.

His eyes stay on you the entire time, never breaking contact, and you can’t help but feel like he’s savoring more than just the cake.

There’s something about the way he eats it, something dangerous in the way he looks at you, that makes you feel like you’re burning alive.

The room feels smaller with every passing second, and you can’t tell where the cake ends and the tension between you two begins.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, and the word hangs in the air, heavy with meaning.

The way he looks at you, the way he moves, the way he eats that cake.

You know exactly what’s going to happen, but the anticipation is making it feel even more electric, even more intense.

He steps closer, his body brushing against yours as he leans down. His lips hover just above yours, and your body reacts without thinking, your lips parting slightly as you feel the heat of his presence.

And then, he kisses you.

The moment his lips touch yours, everything else disappears.

It’s soft at first, just a brush of contact, testing, exploring. But it doesn’t stay gentle for long. It deepens quickly, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer as his mouth claims yours with an intensity you weren’t prepared for.

His lips are warm and demanding, his kiss hungry, but there’s a tenderness to it, a quiet promise of something more.

Your heart is pounding, each beat syncing with his. The kiss is everything you imagined, and yet, it’s more.

It’s urgent and fiery, like he’s trying to consume you whole, and you let him.

Your body responds before your mind even catches up, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt, the heat of him radiating against your skin.

His touch is possessive, and you can’t help but melt into it, your body leaning into him, pressing closer, craving more.

His hands roam down your back, pulling you even closer, until there’s no space left between you. You can feel his heartbeat, the solid strength of him, and it makes you dizzy.

The kiss deepens again, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing with you. Everything feels raw, electric, dangerous, and all you can do is let go and feel.

And then, he pulls back slightly, his lips grazing yours as he whispers against your skin.

“You taste better than cake.” His voice is rough, filled with hunger, and you can feel the heat spreading between you two, the desire crackling in the air.

You laugh breathlessly, but it’s more of a gasp than anything, the sound caught in your throat as you try to process the intensity of everything happening around you.

Before you can speak, he takes the cake from your hand, the spoon still resting in your fingers, and places it gently on the desk, as though it doesn’t matter anymore.

His lips return to yours, and this time, they’re even hungrier, more demanding, more desperate.

You’re not sure when your back hits the wall, but it happens in a blur.

His body presses against yours, the heat between you both undeniable. His hands grip your waist, and you feel his fingers dig into your skin, pulling you tighter against him, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

The kiss is wild, raw, passionate. It’s everything you’ve wanted and more.

You feel him everywhere, every inch of your body alive with the touch of his hands, the heat of his mouth. His lips are insistent, bruising, and you can’t help but give in, your body responding to him in ways you didn’t know it could.

Everything else fades into the background. There’s just the two of you, tangled up in the heat of the kiss, lost in each other.

This is more than you ever imagined. This is everything.

Eric breaks the kiss slowly, he doesn’t say a word. He just stands there, looking at you, his green eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable. The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of everything unspoken.

Your breath is uneven, your pulse hammering against your ribs, and you know he hears it, knows exactly what he’s doing to you just by looking. The air in the room feels hotter, heavier, wrapping around you like something alive, something pulsing with the same tension that’s been there from the very first time your eyes met.

He watches you for another beat, his jaw clenching slightly, like he’s making a decision. Then, without breaking eye contact, he turns, walks to the door, and locks it.

A soft click.

Final. Unshakable.

The sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You should stop this. You should say something, do something, anything to slow this down before it goes too far. Because if this happens, there’s no turning back.

He’s bad. This is bad.

But the way he’s looking at you right now? Like you’re something he’s been waiting to sink his teeth into? God, it makes it hard to think.

You want to be good. You want to be careful.

But more than that, you want him.

And then he’s moving.

Slow, deliberate steps, like a panther stalking its prey, muscles coiled, eyes sharp, fully aware of the effect he has on you.

The breath catches in your throat, your whole body tensing in anticipation as he reaches you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. He lifts a hand, fingers grazing your cheek, tracing down the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up toward his. His touch is rough, calloused, but the way he handles you, like he’s memorizing you, like he’s savoring this moment—makes your stomach tighten with something hot and deep.

He’s so close now, you can smell the whiskey on his breath, can see the way his lips part just slightly as he looks down at you. The moment stretches, unbearable in its intensity, until finally…finally he moves.

His lips crash against yours.

The kiss is fire, raw and consuming. It’s everything you imagined it could be and more.

Eric kisses like he owns, like he takes, like he doesn’t ask for permission. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in, pulling you against him. You gasp into his mouth, your body pressing into his instinctively, craving the solid heat of him.

His hands roam, trailing up your back, slipping under your shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin. Every touch sends a spark through you, makes you arch closer, makes you whimper against his lips.

He groans at the sound, deep and rough, like it’s being dragged from somewhere deep in his chest. And God, it makes something inside you snap.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping against the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, needing more. The kiss grows messier, hungrier, his teeth catching on your bottom lip, his tongue pressing past your lips.

You moan into his mouth, your body burning, every nerve ending alive with the sensation of him—his heat, his strength, the way his hands move over you like he already knows exactly what you like, exactly what you need.

And then he moves.

His hands slide down, gripping your hips, guiding you backward. You don’t even realize he’s pushing you until your back meets the wall, his body pressing into you, caging you in.

Your head tilts back, lips parting in a soft gasp as his mouth moves to your neck, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. His teeth scrape against your skin, just enough to make you shudder, to make your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, barely even realizing you said it.

Eric exhales a rough chuckle against your skin, his breath warm and teasing. “Yeah?”

But you don’t answer. You can’t. Not when his hands are sliding lower, gripping the hem of your skirt, fingers playing with the fabric.

Your mind is hazy, lost in the way he feels, the way he tastes, the way every single touch seems to melt away any last bit of hesitation you had.

You should stop. You should slow down.

Eric kneels before you, eyes dark, locked onto yours with an intensity that sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body. His hands are firm as they slide up your thighs, his fingers pressing into your skin, rough and unyielding. You shudder beneath his touch, your body betraying you, reacting before your mind can catch up.

You don’t want to stop.

You don’t want to slow down.

You want this.

Your mind is a mess, a battlefield between reason and desire. This is a mistake. Every warning you’ve ever told yourself about him screams in your head. He’s bad. This is dangerous. If you do this, there’s no going back.

Your breath is a mess, shallow, frantic, like you can’t get enough air. But maybe it’s not air you need. Maybe it’s him.

He doesn’t rush.

He wants you to feel this.

Your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths as he gathers the fabric of your skirt, pulling it up, exposing you, dragging the moment out until you’re shaking. The air feels too cold against your bare skin compared to the heat of his hands. His breath, hot, teasing, ghosts over your inner core, and a small, helpless sound slips past your lips.

His eyes flick up to yours, and the smirk that tugs at his lips is pure sin. He likes this. He likes the way your body reacts to him, the way you’re coming undone before he’s even really touched you.

His fingers, rough, calloused, experienced, drag along the inside of your thigh, slow, deliberate. His touch burns, leaves behind a trail of fire that makes your stomach tighten, makes your breathing come faster. Every part of you is tense, strung so tightly that you feel like you might snap.

“Eric—”

His name is barely a whisper, a breathless gasp that you hate yourself for letting out.

But he loves it.

A low chuckle vibrates against your pussy. He pushes your underwear to the side.

And then—

His mouth.

His tongue.

Hot. Slow. Devastating.

His lips press against your clit, warm, firm. A kiss, soft, almost sweet, before he ruins it, biting down just hard enough to make your breath stutter.

A gasp rips from your lips, and his grip tightens, fingers pressing deeper into your skin.

A low chuckle rumbles from him, wicked, sinful. His tongue follows the bite, soothing the sting, tracing messy, open-mouthed kisses, teasing, playing, making you ache for more.

Your whole body jerks, a strangled sound escaping your throat. Your grip in his hair tightens, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you breathe.

His fingers tracing over your inner thigh, over places no one else has ever touched like this. It’s too much and somehow not enough, your body a live wire beneath his hands, his mouth.

It’s intoxicating.

Then you feel his finger opening you up. One finger, slow and smooth, stretching you open in a way that makes your breath break. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your legs trembling, and when he curls his finger inside you, just right, just perfect…a ragged moan rips from your lips.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice thick, rough, like he’s barely holding on. “So fucking tight.”

And then another finger joins the first, pushing deeper, moving in slow, deliberate strokes. His mouth follows, his tongue flicking, circling, devouring your clit and you swear you can’t take it.

It’s maddening.

His fingers move, slow, deliberate circles, teasing, pressing, stroking, his tongue move up and down, just barely enough to keep you from losing your mind. You want more, you need more, and you’re not even thinking when your hips move, chasing his touch, desperate for anything he’ll give you.

A broken moan spills from your lips, and he chuckles. He actually chuckles—like he enjoys watching you fall apart, like he lives for this.

His fingers move faster, pushing, stretching, his mouth working in perfect rhythm, and all you can do is feel.

Feel the way he ruins you.

Feel the way your body bucks against him, the way your moans get louder, sharper, more desperate with every stroke.

Feel the moment you shatter.

And the pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, when your body trembles, your breath breaks, your mind blanks, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let go.

He holds you through it, he keeps his mouth on your cunt, his fingers inside you, drawing every last pulse, every last shake, dragging it out of you until you’re limp, until you can’t even stand without his hands holding you up.

And when he finally pulls back, when his lips are on your thigh again, when his voice, low, husky, dripping with amusement, murmurs, “Fuck, you taste good.” His lips are wet, when his fingers slip out of you, slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. You can barely keep your eyes open.

Slowly, he stands up, you see the way his green eyes burn. See the way he licks his lips, like he wants more, like he’s not done with you yet.

Without saying anything, he grabs your waist and lifts you like you weigh nothing and carries you to the bed.

For a moment, the world is still.

Eric hovers over you, his green eyes locked onto yours, his breath slow and heavy, chest rising and falling as he just watches you. You swear you can feel the way he’s looking at you, like he’s drinking you in, memorizing every inch of you before he ruins you completely.

His hands move first. Rough palms sliding down your arms, gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head as he leans in, his lips brushing against yours, barely touching, just enough to tease.

“You sure about this?” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something dark, something dangerous.

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

That’s all it takes.

Eric moves.

His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and hunger, his hands gripping your waist, dragging you closer as his body presses down, caging you beneath him. You feel the sharp tug of his fingers at the hem of your top, feel the desperation in the way he pushes it up, exposing more and more skin, until he’s yanking it over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him.

A breath catches in his throat. His eyes flick down, over your bare skin, and his jaw tightens.

“You are so fucking beautiful.”

The word is low, guttural, like he’s fighting somethin, some last thread of restraint snapping inside him.

Then his hands are back on you.

Sliding down your sides, gripping your thighs, then up again, slowly, teasingly, until his fingers hook into the waistband of your skirt.

There’s a beat of silence. His gaze flicks up, meets yours. And then—

He pulls.

Not rough. Not rushed. He drags the fabric down, inch by inch, his fingers skimming over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. And when he finally pushes the material past your legs, all the way up to your feet, letting your skirt to fall down. His smirk is pure sin.

Green eyes raking over every inch of exposed skin, his gaze dark, heated, possessive.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mutters, almost to himself, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading them apart. His touch is rough, firm, controlling. “Better than I ever imagined.”

A gasp escapes your lips, your body reacting before your mind can, hips bucking up just slightly and Eric sees.

His smirk deepens.

His hands go lower, trailing down your stomach, your hips, fingers tracing the waistband of your underwear before take it down. His finger dipping inside you, just a single stroke, light, teasing, before he pulls away entirely.

Slow. Deliberate. His fingers gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up inch by inch, revealing toned muscle, tattoos stretching over sharp lines, shadows dipping into the ridges of his stomach. He pulls it over his head, tossing it aside, and your mouth goes dry, your fingers twitching with the need to touch him.

He leans in, guiding your hands to his stomach, letting you feel every inch as he shoves his jeans down, the sound of denim hitting the floor filling the space between you.

And then he’s back.

Caging you beneath him. His lips find your throat, his hands gripping your breast, grinding against you, letting you feel exactly how much he wants this, wants you.

“You still want this?” he murmurs against your skin, his fingers dipping between your thighs, teasing, torturing.

A whimper slips past your lips, your nails digging into his back.

“Yes.”

That’s all he needs.

You gasp, your back arching, your body betraying you completely, as without hesitation he touches your wet pussy, introducing one finger inside you teasing, as he watches every reaction you give him.

“So fucking wet, just for me,” Eric mutters, smirking, pushing another finger and dragging them lower, deeper, drawing another strangled sound from your throat.

He leans down, his mouth at your ear, his fingers still working you, still teasing, still pushing you higher and higher.

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

A sharp, helpless moan rips from your throat as he presses harder, deeper, his thumb circling your clit in a way that makes your vision blur.

“Come on,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down your neck, biting at your skin, owning every inch of you. “Tell me, baby.”

You can barely think. You can barely breathe.

“I—I need you,” you gasp, voice breaking, hands gripping his arms, his shoulders, anything to ground yourself.

Eric groans, deep and satisfied, dragging his mouth back to yours.

“That’s my girl.” He said in a raspy low voice, removing his fingers slowly.

And with the same hand he grabs his hard, thick cock, stroking himself, spreading your juices all over, a soft moan rips from his throat as he's moving his hand from the tip to the base.

Your both are looking down at his movements, moaning softly. You can't believe that you couldn't be more aroused but yet, seeing him in this position, made you shiver.

His gaze turn up to you, a smirk on his lips, making you to turn your eyes into his. His green eyes are half-lidded, heavy with something unreadable as he looks at you.

And slowly he pressed himself between your legs, between your folds.

You moan in harmony as his cock slide inside. You can feel him stretching you, inch by inch as he takes the time for you to adjust.

Your breath is ragged, your skin burning, every inch of you pulsing with need. He’s everywhere. The heat of his bare body pressing into you, the weight of him heavy, solid, overpowering.

Eric smirks against your lips, catching the sound of your hitched breath, the way your fingers grip his shoulders, digging into the inked skin as he presses you deeper into the mattress.

His body presses against yours, warm and firm, every movement deliberate, slow yet desperate, like he’s savoring every second but also losing control. His hands trace your skin, fingers pressing, exploring, claiming, setting off shivers that leave you gasping against his lips.

Your voice breaks off into a moan when he’s start moving, hard, fast, making your head fall back.

“You feel so good,” he mutters against your skin, voice rough, thick with something dark and pleased. His hands grip your hips, while his pushing deeper inside you, his hold unrelenting, possessive, like he’s savoring every second.

His mouth finds yours again, desperate, greedy, swallowing every sound you make, every shaky breath.

Eric moves like he was made for this, like he was made to ruin you. Every touch, every shift of his cock inside your pussy sends another wave of pleasure crashing through you, stealing your breath, making your fingers dig into his skin, needing to hold onto something—onto him.

Fuck, you feel good,” he groans, the words hot against your ear, his breath uneven, thick with pleasure.

Your hands roam over him. His shoulders, his back, nails sinking in when the pressure becomes too much, when the fire coils too tight, threatening to snap.

You don’t think, you don’t speak. You just feel.

The tension builds, sharp and relentless, every sensation heightened, every touch sending you spiraling closer. Your breath hitches, your body arching into him, chasing that breaking point, knowing it’s right there, knowing you’re seconds away from falling over the edge.

Eric’s grip tightens on your waist, his movements growing more intense, more urgent, like he’s chasing it too, like he’s right there with you, holding on just long enough to watch you come undone first.

And then—

It crashes over you all at once.

A gasp, a moan, your body trembling beneath him as pleasure rips through you, overwhelming, unstoppable, drowning out everything but him, the way he holds you through it, the way he watches you, eyes dark, heated, devouring every reaction.

And then he follows, his body tensing, his breath catching as he lets go, as his own pleasure overtakes him, raw and unrestrained.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Your chest rises and falls in sync, your skin flushed, sweat-dampened, your limbs tangled together. You’re weightless, floating somewhere between reality and the aftermath of everything that just happened.

Eric exhales a deep, almost disbelieving breath, his fingers still lazily tracing your hip, his body still heavy against yours, his cock still inside you.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, for a hundred time this night, his voice a low rasp, teasing, satisfied. “I think I might be addicted.”

And God help you

Because you think you might be, too.

———————————

You lie there, your head resting against Eric’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin grounding you. The air around you is thick with the lingering weight of what you both just shared, but there’s a calmness to it, a softness you don’t often see with him. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, his touch gentle but lingering, as if he’s not quite ready to let go.

His chest rises and falls beneath your head, steady and comforting. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, the heat from his body wrapping you up in a way that both relaxes and excites you.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, the aftereffects of the night still thick in it.

You feel his lips brush against your hair, a soft, fleeting kiss that sends a jolt through you, reminding you just how close you are to him.

You shift slightly, pressing a little more of your body into his side, but still not quite meeting his gaze.

“Just thinking,” you whisper, your voice softer than you intended, but it feels right in the moment.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating in his chest beneath your ear.

“About what?” he asks, his hand moving to gently slide through your hair, fingers threading through the strands, massaging your scalp.

The touch is tender, but there’s that same underlying heat in the way his fingers curl into your hair, a reminder of who he is.

You shift a little, looking up at him now, your eyes meeting his with a quiet challenge in them. His gaze is dark, predatory, but there’s something else there too—something that feels like… something you can’t quite name. His fingers trace your jaw, lightly, before skimming your neck, and the touch sends a small shiver down your spine.

He gave you a small kiss on the lips.

You feel the heat of his breath against your skin, his lips brushing over your and he murmurs,

“ I’m not letting you off the hook that easily, baby. I’m not done with you.”

Your heart races, a quiet ache pooling in your stomach as his words sink in. He’s right, though. You are still here, wrapped up in everything he is. That pull, that irresistible force, is always there, lingering in the space between your bodies. Even now, with his hand gently resting on your waist, his fingers splayed over your skin, you can feel it—the tension building, ever-present.

Then you take a deep breath.

This is it. The moment you’ve been waiting for, when everything you’ve been wondering about him, about this whole thing, finally has to come out.

“Eric,” you start, your voice quiet but firm, your body slightly tensing against his chest. He looks down at you, his dark eyes softening just enough to show you that he’s listening. “I’ve been thinking…”

You pause, unsure how to begin, but you know you need to ask the questions, to understand why he is the way he is. “About the explosion. Who were those people? And why’d you burn the car?”

For a second, he goes still. You can almost feel the weight of his thoughts, but he doesn’t pull away from you. He lets out a slow breath, his fingers gently tracing the back of your neck, like he’s deciding just how much of the truth he can give you.

“You really wanna know?” he finally asks, his voice low and guarded, but there’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel like it’s not just a question, it’s a challenge.

You nod, your eyes meeting his, and he lets out another breath, this time with a dark edge to it.

“They weren’t just anyone.” His voice is rougher now, like he’s telling you something he’s buried deep. “They were abducting kids. Using them to sell their drugs. I found out about it, they came to me to ended and I made sure I will ended it, not them.”

You don’t know what you expected, but this… it hits you harder than you thought it would. Your chest tightens as you process his words. His touch hasn’t stopped, his fingers still trailing along your skin, but his eyes are distant now, like he’s back in that moment, reliving the anger.

“Usually I don’t give a fuck how the others run their business, but this? I couldn’t let that go,” he adds, almost to himself. “I couldn’t just let them get away with it.”

There’s a pause, a heavy silence where you try to digest everything he’s just told you. It makes sense in a twisted way, but there’s still something lingering, the things he’s done, things you’ve heard.

You swallow, suddenly feeling the need to ask the question that’s been haunting you for days. The story your friend told you, the one you couldn’t quite shake, the one that kept echoing in your mind whenever you saw him.

“Eric,” you say quietly, lifting your head just enough to look into his eyes. “I heard a story, from a friend of mine. About… about you. About a place. You went there and beat them, tortured them. Tied them to chairs and left them out in the cold, on the balcony. Why? Why did you do that?”

The question feels like a heavy weight in the air, but you need to know. Your voice is almost a whisper, but it’s firm, determined. You need him to answer, to tell you why he did something so brutal.

Eric’s gaze hardens, his expression darkening in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t look angry, but there’s a coldness in his eyes now, a hardness you hadn’t seen before. But then his voice comes out, low, almost like he’s speaking through clenched teeth.

“I did it because I saw them,” he says, his words slow, deliberate. “I saw them that day, in the park. They were beating their dogs to death. Not just killing them… they were torturing them. And they were laughing about it. Their own fucking dogs. The poor souls.”

You shudder involuntarily, the weight of his words hitting you harder than anything you could’ve imagined. But then, just like that, a memory flashes in your mind, the dog tattoo on his back. You’d seen it earlier, the black ink etched into his skin, the outline of a dog, a symbol of something deeper.

And then, you remember something Lily had told you, something you had pushed away until now: “He had a dog,” she had said. “He loved it. But he had to leave it with someone, and when he came back, it was dead.” It stuck with you then, and it sticks with you now. It connects, the anger in his eyes, the brutality of his actions, and the pain that’s hiding underneath all of it.

You look back at him, your gaze searching, trying to piece it all together. “The dog,” you whisper, almost to yourself. “Your tattoo… “

For a moment, Eric’s face softens, his gaze flicking away, as if the memory is too much for him to bear. But then he exhales slowly, like he’s releasing something heavy.

“It was… everything to me,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost distant.

“I left it—” He pauses, like he’s searching for the right words.

“I left it with my girlfriend when I had to leave for a while. When I came back, it was gone. Dead. I never forgave myself for it.”

The room grows still. You can feel the weight of his words, the heaviness in his chest that he’s trying to keep buried, and in that moment, it’s like you understand him a little more, why he is the way he is. There’s pain there, deep and raw, and it’s not just about what he’s done. It’s about the things he’s lost, the things he couldn’t protect.

He stands up suddenly, his back to you as he reaches for his pants, rummaging through the pockets for a cigarette. The silence stretches out between you as he lights it, and the sound of the lighter flicking in the quiet room seems louder than it should be. He inhales deeply, the smoke swirling around him as he turns his back to you, facing the window.

His silhouette is framed against the dim light of the room, and his back is fully exposed to you.

That’s when you see it. You blink, your stomach twisting slightly. You’ve noticed it before, but only in glimpses. Now, with him standing still, with the low light tracing every bold letter inked into his skin, you can see it clearly, it’s not just a climbs the name, now you see clear the bold letters etched into his skin on his shoulder. Aurora

The word leaves your lips before you think about it.

“Aurora.” You said

Eric exhales, dragging smoke from his lips.

“Yeah.” His voice is flat, uninterested, like it’s just another word, another detail that doesn’t matter anymore.

“Your girlfriend?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a long moment, Eric doesn’t answer. He takes another drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him like a veil. Then, when he speaks, his voice is low, almost too soft to hear.

A strange tightness builds in your chest. You don’t know why.

You should drop it. You should act like it doesn’t matter either, just like he does. But instead, the question slips out. “What happened between you two?”

Eric takes another slow drag, then tilts his head slightly, exhaling toward the ceiling. “I loved her.” The words are simple, like they don’t carry any weight, like he’s just stating a fact. “A lot, actually.”

That tightness in your chest deepens.

He pauses, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, flicking the ash away. “But while I was gone, she was with someone else.”

It’s blunt. No hesitation, no emotion in his voice. He takes another drag. His posture remains the same, loose, unconcerned, like the story doesn’t really matter anymore. “People told me. Everyone around me knew. I didn’t want to believe it, though. Thought it was bullshit.”

His voice is steady, but his hand lingers near his cigarette longer than necessary, like he’s using it as a distraction.

“Then one day, I came home.” He lets out a slow breath. “And I saw them together.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t give details. He just lets the sentence sit between you, as if there’s nothing more to say.

Your stomach twists again, but for a different reason now.

He doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t even sound bitter. He sounds… done.

Like it happened, and he accepted it, and that was that. Like Aurora was nothing more than another part of his past. But you know that’s not true. Because people don’t just tattoo names on their skin for nothing. Because he said it—he loved her.

And you hate it.

You hate the way he said it so easily. The way he let those words roll off his tongue like they meant nothing now, like she meant nothing now. But at some point, she meant everything. At some point, she had all of him.

“She was supposed to take care of my dog,” he says after a while, his tone still indifferent, still distant. “But she was too busy doing other shit.”

You swallow, pressing your lips together.

She had everything. His love. His trust. And she threw it away.

“And you never tried to—” you start, but Eric cuts you off with a humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“Nah. Wasn’t worth it.” Another slow drag of his cigarette. Another exhale, thick smoke leaving his lips. “Shit happens.”

That’s all he says. Shit happens.

Like it didn’t break him. Like it didn’t matter. Like he didn’t matter.

And maybe that’s what stings the most. That after everything, he truly believes that.

That nobody stays. That nobody loves him. That he isn’t worth love.

And even though you hate the way Aurora’s name sits on his skin, even though jealousy burns in your stomach at the thought of her—you hate that more.

After finishing his cigarette, Eric exhales one last drag before stubbing it out, then shifts, moving back onto the bed.

Then, without warning, he shifts, crawling back onto the bed, his body looming over yours, all heat and weight and purpose.

His gaze drags down your face, sharp yet lazy, the way a predator watches prey before making a move. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips.

“Enough with my fucked-up past” His voice is low, thick with something darker.

One of his hands trails down, fingers ghosting over your bare skin, deliberate, teasing. “Let’s talk about you instead.” He said while his hand finds your pussy and push it, slowly, one of his finger inside.

You let out a slow gasp.

He leans in, mouth hovering just above yours, his breath hot, teasing, but he doesn’t kiss you—not yet. He lets the moment stretch, lets the tension coil so tight it’s suffocating.

“Tell me,” he drawls, voice pure sin, “how do you want me to please you?”

————————

Part one Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

@paraficwriter @clairesblouse here we go ☺️

I know, I know… this took longer than I expected, longer than you expected, buuut in my defense, I had already written it once, and when I was almost finished, I don’t know what happened, but it got deleted. So you can imagine how frustrated I was, and it took me a while to pull myself together and rewrite it.

I hope you like it! This part is longer because the next one will be the last. I know most of you voted for me to extend the story, but for my sanity and for yours too, I’ll keep it at five parts. However, I’ll make up for it with longer parts—much longer than the previous three.

Now, I have one more question. When I started writing this story, I wanted it to be darker—I still do. The next part will be very dark: blood, fear, death, etc. My question is: would you want it to have a sad ending? Or we’ll stick with the good one?

I’ll leave a poll below.

Thank you so much for waiting this long.

I love you, and happy reading!

[crowsofdarkness]

Cock drunk for Eric Draven.

18+ CW’s BELOW THE CUT(unprotected p in v, Eric claiming what’s his with his cum, Eric cleaning up his own mess).

*wrote this on my phone so I apologize for any mistakes*

My mewls of exhausted pleasure were drowned out by the sounds of skin slapping against skin and a shared wetness between us. My body was drained of all energy but I continued to pull Eric closer to me, needing his warmth to bring life back into my soul. I scratched at the tattoos littering his chest, trying to grab onto anything I could and I felt the vibrations of his laugh underneath my palms.

“What’s the matter, crow? Can’t take it anymore?” He taunted while dragging his cock all the way out of my cunt, expect for the head as he began fucking me with it.

I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, but I didn’t want it to stop.

“Please, Eric,” I mustered. “Need your cum.”

“Again? I’ve already marked you all over; these perfect tits.”

His fingers pinched and pulled at my nipples.

“All over this neck,” his fingers now dragged over the dried cum that covered my throat.

Eric slipped his cock out of me and I whined while reaching for him only for him to smack my hands away. Through slits, I watched as his face hovered over my cunt, swollen with need, and his warm breath fanned over it as he spoke.

“I covered this pretty pussy with my cum,” his tongue darted out to lick up the dried cum that was mixed with our fresh arousal.

The entire scene he was bathed in a glow of muted yellows from the lights of our loft apartment, the busy city life all but white noise outside. Eric looked down right disgusting as he devoured me, not caring he was tasting himself. Anything to bring me pleasure.

And I loved him even more for it.

“Think you have one more for me?” He asked while lining his cock up with my pussy again.

I shook my head but that didn’t seem to please him because he laid a swift smack to my clit and I cried out.

“You will give me one more beautiful orgasm and let me cover that tight asshole with my cum,” Eric demanded as he fully seated himself inside of me again.

I couldn’t. There was no way I’d be able to give him a fifth orgasm. My body physically couldn’t. Eric had fucked me in every position possible, his stamina stronger than mine. The last orgasm, I was ordered to sit on his cock and use it as my own personal toy while he lounged against the couch smoking a cigarette. That one had taken everything out of me so I didn’t have hopes I’d be able to cum again.

Yet when Eric’s thumb pressed against my clit, I felt the all too familiar burn at the back of my neck and my body began to lock up underneath his large form. He continued to piston his cock into me, hitting the spot he’d become so familiar with tonight.

“Eric,” I choked out. “I’m gonna-.”

“That’s right, baby. Cum all over my cock,” his voice was muffled as he burried his face deep in the crook of my neck. “Make a mess all over me.”

This time I didn’t cry out in ecstasy. It was silent, throat gone raw from all the times before, and Eric fucked me through ever single shock to my body. Then hastily, he pulled himself out to fold my lower half over me and grabbed his cock with a tight grip. Three long strokes was all it took for him to cover the lining of my asshole with his warm cum; finally marking everything that was his.

[slut4megantheestallion]

I need Bill skarsgård x reader asap please someone make fanfic of him I swear to god,He's so fine. I need more fanfics of this man in real life and his characters that he plays like I'm begging 😭 😩 😫 🙏

[taintandviolent]

new tattoo ; Eric Draven x Reader

summary: You’re visiting your friend, Chance, for a new tattoo; a chest piece. While he's working, one of his friends comes over to chill; someone you've never seen before. His name is Eric Draven. [PART TWO HERE]

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.5K | female reader, smut, unprotected sex, kissing, canon divergence/alternate universe (technically), neck kissing, tattoo needle mention, sex in someone else's apartment, hook-ups.

a/n: Shelly doesn't exist in this -- all in the name of reader getting fucked good n' hard. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

It’s been about an hour since Chance started on your newest tattoo; a beautiful chest piece of a bat, nestled perfectly below your breasts. The room is filled with the hypnotic buzzing of the tattoo gun, and whatever music is playing on his speakers. You tap your fingers on the table beneath you, a staccato rhythm against the smooth leather.

The light is angled over your chest, illuminating the nakedness of your torso for Chance – who is completely unfazed by the lack of clothing. He’s working, and despite doing tattoos out of his apartment, he is ever the professional. You, on the other hand, enjoyed flashing your tits whenever you got the opportunity. You could’ve brought pasties, sure, but why bother? He’s already tattooed spiderwebs around your nipples, it’s not like this is something new.

Knock knock knock. Your eyes move first, but your head follows stiffly, careful not to move your torso too much and cause an error. 

“Do you wanna’ get that…?” You ask. Chance shakes his head. 

“It’s open!” He shouts without pulling his attention from your tattoo. A thrill runs through you; whoever is about to open the door is going to get an eyeful. 

The man that walks through the door stuns you. Literally. It takes everything in you not to let your jaw hang slack like a fool, like a teenage girl who has just seen the hot new guy. He’s tall, easily surpassing six feet, wears a black jeans, and a sheer tank top that allows you to see through the fabric, letting you see all the ink that decorates his toned torso. Your eyes dance over his tattoos, wondering passively which ones Chance did. You recognize his style in quite a few pieces. Your gaze holds a weighted bias; you do love an inked up man. But even if he weren’t, you think your reaction would be the same. 

“What’s up, man?” 

“Nothing,” he says casually, his voice low and smooth. There’s a sadness there, something that you want to reach your fingers into and pull out, but you refrain, watching him quietly as he approaches the couch to your left. 

Chance pauses, pulling the gun from your chest, to introduce you to the nameless friend.  He fist bumps him and nods to you. “This is Eric.” 

“Hi Eric,” you say with an obvious, enticing smile in your voice, extending your hand nonchalantly upwards to him. You don’t seem to shy away from the fact that your tits are just… out, but Eric seems daunted by the visuals – god, is he shy? Your stomach clenches at the thought. The way he’s desperately trying to avoid looking at them is cute, and you feel your smile widen further. You let out a tittering laugh, and push your hand closer to him, urging him to take it.

“It’s okay, they’re kind of unavoidable right now…” you confess, assuring him that any glances won’t be met with a smack across the face. Secretly, you welcome them, wanting his pretty green eyes to trail over every inch of your body until he has it memorized, or can’t resist touching you. Either or. He chuckles, breathily, and takes your hand, giving it a gentle shake. Like the rest of his body, his hand is covered in tattoos, and you can’t help but play with his long fingers as he pulls away. As your hands break apart, you suppress the urge to reach for it again, pulling it back to you. Eric takes his place on the sofa, grabbing a cigarette from the pack that lies on the table. You hear the flick of the lighter, and the familiar scent fills the room.

Chance’s hands return to your chest, laying carefully atop your skin. The hypnotic puncturing of the tattoo needle lulls you into a relaxed state, but every time you look over, Eric’s enchanting green eyes dart away, feigning innocence. He looks at the window, Chance’s bookcase, anything that isn’t you. Each time, you smile, feeling like the butterflies in your stomach are going to rupture through the layers of your skin.

When you finally catch him, his eyes are sweeping along your body, watching as your chest rises and falls with each breath, watching as Chance draws on your skin, creating a permanent piece of artwork to be admired, though you gather that he’d rather admire the artwork that was your body. After painting your form with his gaze, his eyes finally meet yours, and as though by supernatural force, you hold him there, squeezing as tightly as you possibly can. He doesn’t look away, and you blink your eyes slowly, affectionately, like a cat. Eric’s full, pink lips pull up in a crooked smile, and he looks down at his hands, nodding softly. You wonder what he just agreed to in his head. There’s an undeniable draw to him, a pulling sensation deep in your stomach, and you think, with the way his eyes dance over your face, he feels it too. 

Chance interrupts the staring contest going on between the two of you. “Alright, I think we’re finished. There’s a full length mirror in the bathroom.” 

Carefully, you sit up and scurry to said bathroom. There’s a few moments of silence until it’s shattered by a high-pitched squeal; your reaction can be heard throughout the apartment. The bat is hanging perfectly between your breasts, clinging to a crescent moon, and looking so real that it might just flap away at any moment. 

“Chance!” You rush back into the living room, and clap your hand over your mouth for a moment before speaking. “Chance, oh my god, I love it! Thank you so much!” 

“What do you think?” You turn around, bouncing on your heels excitedly. Eric’s pupils dilate, black amongst the green. He watches as your ample cleavage jiggles with your enthused little steps, and makes a fist on his knee. You can see the wheels turning as he coaches himself to focus on the tattoo, to stop staring at your tits and actually comment something useful. 

“It’s really sick, man. Nice work.” 

Chance thanks him with a handshake before tapping the table again. He has a piece of Saniderm on his lap, cut to size and ready to cover up your new ink. Eric watches, knowing the process well. 

Once you’re sealed up, you hop off the table and reach for your shirt and the wad of cash that’s tucked in your pocket. You pass the cash to Chance, and shake out the tank top. Eric almost seems sad to see you get dressed, watching silently as you pull the sheer grey tank top over your head – as though it really covers anything. It’s sheer enough to see the tattoo through, and your nipples are two peaks in the fabric. 

“Hey, I’ll be back. I gotta do a tattoo downtown. You guys gonna chill here?” 

You both exchange a glance, and seeing nothing wrong with that proposal, you shrug. Eric nods his head. “Sure, we’ll hang here.” 

“Cool, cool. I’ll be back in a couple hours.” 

And just like that, you two are alone. The silence hangs heavy between you two, an adolescent awkwardness crackling in the space between your bodies. You clear your throat. He raises his attention to you, brows lifted on his forehead. 

“So… how about a tattoo tour?” 

“A… tattoo tour?” He asks, confused. 

‘Yeah, y’know. I show you mine, you show me yours.” You pause, looking into his eyes, letting the innuendo land as heavy as he allows it to. “What they mean, where we got them, so on and so forth.” 

“I get tattoos because I like them… a lot of mine are just…” 

“I don’t care,” you say, standing up. “I want to see them.” 

He stands up, and you crane your neck to look up at him. Now that you’re next to him, the size difference is staggering. “Holy fuck, you’re tall.” 

He chuckles, and tosses his shirt on the sofa. You mimic the action, tossing your own shirt over to join his. Taking it a step further, you pull your grey sweats down your hips and step out of the circles. You take a step closer, fingers outstretched to touch him. You start at his hairline. 

“Face tattoos... crazy. Commitment is off the charts.” 

Again, he laughs. 

“To someone?” Bold. Your fingers continue their path over his shoulders.

He shakes his head solemnly, fingers trailing over a quote on your forearm. “No. Not to anyone.” 

So he’s single. Good. His hands scan over your tattooed arms, ghosting over the flesh like a nervous lover. His thumb rubs over the tattoo just before the crook of your arm – a portrait of a cat. 

“My cat. She died.”

He furrows his brows, knowing the staggering sensation of loss. You hum, and continue your exploration of his body, digits gently raking over each piece of artwork that decorates his toned physique. Your fingers trail over the giant eye that stares at you from his sternum, trailing over the rays that come off it. You ghost over his biceps and his highly-inked forearms, your fingertips tasting each tattoo. 

Finally, you reach his torso, his abdomen. All taut skin and muscles. He reaches between your breasts, lightly tracing the new addition. It’s still tender and warm underneath the plastic. He smiles.

“Why is good crossed out?”

“Hm?” He looks down. Your finger hovers over the GOOD BOY tattoo.

“Are you not a good boy?” You ask, dropping the pad of your finger to his skin, and outline the words carefully. “Why’s it crossed out?” 

His cock stirs in his jeans at your delicate touch. It doesn’t help that you’re so close to him. “I don’t think I am, no. Not with all the shit I’ve done.”

A laugh tumbles from your lips and your hand trails farther down, caressing the centipede that curves past the waistband of his jeans. You long to go deeper, but in a shocking act of good behavior, you start to let your hand drop to your side. Eric’s large hand catches it at the wrist, encircling it with ease.

“Don’t… stop… please?” 

Your eyes light up with a tantalizing mixture of lust and disbelief. 

“Eric,” you mutter almost tauntingly, tasting his name on your tongue. “I can’t see the rest. You’ve got clothes on…” 

The statement is a weighted one, but it’s also factual; the clothes are impeding you from seeing the inevitable ink that decorates his lower body. His gaze drifts from yours to the couch again, before he takes long, careful steps, dragging you with him. His grip is soft but stern, his fingers circling your wrist like a shackle. 

“Sit with me.” His voice is soft, subdued, barely above a whisper and dripping with an eroticism that you want to wrap yourself in. Instead of pulling him next to you, he pulls you harshly down on top of him. Your legs spread on either side of his hips, straddling him. Between your legs, pressed against the fabric of your jeans is a growing stiffness. You look at your bodies, pressed together and spot the bulge in his jeans, considerably more prominent than before. You laugh through your nose – it’s a giddy chuckle, one that tumbles out of your mouth with an elation behind it. Hearing your laugh, Eric looks up, his brows pulling together. 

“I don’t usually do this,” he confesses. You can tell, he’s worried you’re laughing at him, poking fun at his desperation – which couldn’t be farther from the truth. To remedy that, you lean down and press your mouth against his pouted one, feeling the firmness of his chin against yours. It takes a moment, but eventually, his soft, pink lips relinquish and press back against yours. You nip at his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He grants it, and your tongue swipes along his, teasingly. 

He’s warm against you, the heat comes off his skin in waves. You wrap your arms around his neck and tug your body closer like you’re trying to melt together. His hands find your ribcage and sink downwards, trailing over the curve of your waist, and the gentle flare of your hips. You shudder into his touch, contentedly. His hips twitch up into you, pressing his hardening cock into your heat. 

“Eric,” you breathe into his open mouth. “I think you’re really hot.” 

He nods against your lips, wordlessly agreeing that the feeling is mutual. You inhale his scent as it mingles with your own and pull back, resting your forehead on his. 

“I wanna’ see the rest of your tattoos…” you whisper. Your fingers play with his hair at the nape of his neck, twirling the dark strands gently.

Eric separates from you, just enough to bring his hand up between your bodies, to cup your cheek, completely enveloping it with its size. He looks at you, memorizing all the features of your face. He seems satisfied with whatever he sees, and pulls you back in for a fiery kiss, his tongue slipping out to wrestle with yours. 

Your hands are the ones that are wandering now, finding the button of his jeans. Breaking the kiss to free his cock, you pause to admire it. Framed by a thatch of dark hair, it’s long like the rest of him, and the head already weeps with anticipation. You pull his jeans down his hips and underneath his ass, tugging until they’re pooled at his ankles, over top his combat boots. His legs are heavily tattooed too, but your attention is elsewhere. Greedy to feel the warmth in the palm of your hand, you reach forward, wrapping your fingers around his shaft, your thumb swiping over the tip. Just as you expected; throbbing, velvet warmth. As your thumb spreads the bead of precum down the head, down the length of it, Eric’s breath hitches. 

You look up. 

He’s watching you. Intently. His eyes are locked on your hand as it moves, teasing him. Like he feels your gaze on him, without moving his head, he looks up at you. There’s a deep, deep longing in his eyes, a desperation and a plea to continue… he’s begging without saying a word. He longs for the comfort of pleasure, of knowing someone intimately. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s been with someone, how long his apparent loneliness has consumed him.

Taking a breath, you let go of his dick and straighten up. Your fingertips scrape along your own hips, dipping underneath the elastic of your underwear, catching them on your hand. You continue sliding your hands down your legs, taking your underwear with them. Once you're free of them, Eric’s eyes flicker from tattoo to tattoo, but come to rest on your face, looking deep into your eyes. You suck your bottom lip, catching it between your teeth and return to the couch, straddling him once more. Tenderly, he kisses a heated line from your neck down to your breasts. His lips press against one of the aching, swollen peaks before drawing it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around your sensitive nipple. You look down, watching him and let out a particularly pornographic whimper. It feels so fucking good… he’s so attentive.

You’re on your knees, but he’s big enough to reach you, even there. Eric’s dick twitches against your aching center, twitches up between your folds. You whimper, nodding, granting him whatever permission he needs. It’s enough, because he reaches down, taking himself into his hand, and after a few strokes, he lines it up with your wet slit. He kisses you as he pushes himself into you, as though it lessens the shock of his thick cock as it breaches your slick heat. Your jaw comes down, poised in a silent scream as he splits you open, finding comfort within your clenching walls. 

He jerks his hips once, burying himself all the way inside. A deep, throaty groan erupts between you two, and you wrap yourself around him tight, supporting yourself on his neck. You raise yourself off his cock slowly, feeling the slick tug as it slides out. Your walls clench around it like they’re desperately trying to pull it back in, and you grant them their wish, slamming yourself back down on his cock with a high-pitched whine. You find a quick rhythm of bouncing on his cock, and Eric tenses underneath you, his cock twitching deep inside you.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Oh my god.” 

You nod, already breathless. Though you’re in control of the speed, his cock is bullying, and the tip kisses your cervix every time you lower down onto it. Your breaths are replaced by moans as you ride him, bouncing on his length with reckless abandon. 

Mid-movement, Eric suddenly grips your hips tight, freezing you in place. You look down at him, pupils blown wide with lust, but perplexed. He’s focused on your cunt with his debauched expression; slack-jacked and heavy lidded with lust. He bucks his hips up hard, slamming into you with a renewed fervor. You jerk forward, collapsing into his shoulder. Silently, you thank god for the music that’s cutting the heavy sound of his hips as they slam against you and the wet squelch of your cunt as it swallows him whole, otherwise, you’d be almost embarrassed. You hold yourself up on your knees, letting Eric do the work. 

“Fuck yeah, baby… you feel so fuckin’ good…” he growls, one hand slithering around to grip the firmness of your ass. He kneads the soft, pliable flesh with his massive hand, pulling a desperate, whimpering moan from your lips. He feels so good. Your senses are consumed with him; the way he looks at you, hungrily, deeply, like he’s trying to unravel you from the inside out. The way he smells, cologne, the faint lingering scent of cigarettes, and the heady mix of mutual sex and sweat as he continues his assault on your dripping cunt. The way he feels, fucking into you with an insatiable hunger, like he’s trying to get deeper than he actually can. Everything about him is consuming you and you quickly feel yourself growing obsessed with him. 

The coil in your stomach winds tight around itself, a building pressure deep in your core. Your breaths are ragged, broken with pleasurable whines and moans, as he buries himself inside you over and over again. 

“Fuck, Eric… fuck, don’t stop… don’t you dare stop…! Shit!” 

His hand abandons its place on your cheek and comes to rest between your legs. His middle and ring finger slide down to your entrance, feeling his own cock as it slides in and out; slick and coated in mutual arousal. He grits his teeth, bringing some of the slickness around to your clit, where he encircles it with tight movements with his thumb. Electricity courses through your veins, and you shudder at the explosion of white, hot  heat on your cunt, your eyelids fluttering shut in bliss. 

You feel his muscles draw up tight as he slams into you with one final, hard thrust. His cock twitches as he releases, pumping his essence deep inside your cunt. You feel it flood you and leak out the sides, running down your thighs and dripping heavily onto his. Languidly, Eric thrusts his cock up into you, feeling every clench, fucking the cum back up into you as it dribbles out. The feeling of that paired with his ministrations on your cunt makes you come. Hard. You let out a deafening moan as your spasming walls clamp down on his cock, milking it as your own orgasm washes over you. You seize up, back arching with pleasure, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red, indented crescent moons amongst the ink. 

“Fuck m-me… oh my god…. Oh my god, Eric!” 

Eric’s chest heaves as he catches his breath, still coming down off the high of the fuck. Sweat glistens on his forehead and chest, and you run your hands along the length of his torso, scraping your nails against the skin. 

“That was fuckin’ amazing,” he pants, his hands coming to rest atop your thighs. His cock softens inside you, and you almost don’t want to move. But… this isn’t your apartment and while Chase has seen your tits, he hasn’t seen you fully naked and it’s going to stay that way. 

You lift up, letting Eric’s heavy, flaccid cock fall from your cunt. You wince as you straighten up, backing off the couch carefully. Your lips are spread in a delighted smile, watching Eric as you dress yourself, pulling your clothes back onto your sweaty, fucked out body. Eric reaches down to pull his jeans back up, tucking himself into the confines of the fabric. 

You plop down next to him, laughing lightly. “That was really great. I don’t think I’ve gotten fucked like that in a long time. Maybe ever.” 

“Ever?” 

“Ever.”

By the time Chance gets home, you’re both asleep on the small sofa, back to chest, and Eric’s arm wrapped sleepily around your waist. Chance knows what’s happened, but he doesn’t mention it when you wake up.

[imjustagirl247]

Craving Daddy

The dim light of the room cast shadows that danced eerily on the walls, creating an atmosphere thick with tension and desire. Bill Skarsgård stood before you, clad in a fitted black suit that accentuated his tall, lean frame and gave him an air of undeniable authority. His sharp features were framed by his tousled hair, and his piercing gaze locked onto you, igniting a fire deep within.

“Come here, kitten,” he commanded, his voice smooth like velvet, sending shivers down your spine. 

You were instantly drawn to him, every part of your body responding to that sultry tone. As you approached, he took your hand, pulling you close until your bodies were mere inches apart. The intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with the heat radiating from his body made your head spin with desire.

“Want you to sit on my lap,” he said, guiding you to the edge of a plush armchair. You obliged, straddling him, feeling the pressure grow between you as the fabric of his suit brushed against you. 

“Daddy wants to see you,” he murmured, his eyes darkening. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Your heart raced as you began to grind against him, relishing the way his hands gripped your hips, helping you move. The friction between your bodies ignited every nerve ending, a sweet, slow burn that left you craving more. 

“Such a good kitten,” he praised, a wicked smile playing on his lips. Bill leaned in, pressing hot kisses along your neck, nipping playfully at your skin. 

The sensation sent a jolt of need through your body. “Bill…” you gasped, unable to keep the need out of your voice. “Please…”

With a predatory gleam in his eye, he captured your lips with his, kissing you deeply. His tongue slid against yours, exploring as his hand moved down your thigh, inching dangerously close to where you ached for him. 

“I want to taste you,” he growled against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. 

Before you could respond, he effortlessly lifted you, placing you back against the chair. You watched, breathless, as he knelt before you, the hunger in his eyes making you quiver with anticipation.

“Spread your legs for Daddy,” he commanded softly.

You didn’t hesitate, parting your thighs, exposing yourself to him. Bill smirked, resting his hands on your thighs, his fingers teasing your skin. He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your core before he finally pressed his mouth against you.

The sensation was electric. His warm tongue flicked against your sensitive clit, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. You gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on. 

He feasted on you, licking and sucking with an intensity that drove you wild. “You taste so sweet, kitten,” he murmured between licks, his eyes lifting to meet yours, filled with dark, primal hunger.

As he worked his magic on you, he slipped two of his fingers inside, curling them just right. You moaned loudly, feeling the pressure building, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm with the flicks of his tongue. Your body writhed beneath him, every ounce of your being focused on the exquisite pleasure he was giving you. 

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he pulled back, licking his lips, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Not yet, kitten. I want to feel you come on my fingers.”

With a quickness that left you breathless, he continued to thrust his fingers deeper, his gaze locked onto yours, watching as you crumbled under his touch. You could feel that familiar tension tightening in your belly, pulling you closer to the edge.

“Let go for me,” he coaxed, his voice low and demanding. “Come for Daddy.”

With a cry of his name, your world exploded into a dizzying kaleidoscope of pleasure. You came hard, your body shaking as waves of ecstasy washed over you, leaving you gasping for breath.

He didn’t stop there, though. As you rode out your high, he continued to thrust his fingers inside you, coaxing every last drop of your pleasure until you were trembling and whimpering.

When he finally withdrew, your body was left tingling, a delicious haze clouding your mind. He rose to his feet, his eyes dark with lust as he hovered over you, the outline of his impressive erection straining against his suit.

“Now it’s time for Daddy to feel good,” he said, voice thick with desire.

Quickly, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his zipper, revealing himself. The sight of his impressive length made your mouth go dry. He was big—bigger than you expected—and you could feel a thrill of excitement mixed with a hint of nervousness.

“Are you ready, kitten?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

You nodded, biting your lip as he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip resting against you. “Please, Bill…”

With one swift motion, he pushed inside, filling you completely. You gasped at the sensation, the stretch of him overwhelming in the best way possible. He paused for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size before he began to move.

He was relentless, thrusting deep and hard, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You feel so good,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re perfect, kitten.”

With every thrust, he claimed you more fiercely, the tension building between you until it felt like the world was just a blur of pleasure and sensation. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he drove deeper.

“Daddy, yes! Just like that,” you cried out, completely lost in the moment.

Bill responded by increasing his pace, his movements growing more intense, more primal. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixing with the symphony of your moans and pants. It was intoxicating—every thrust, every kiss sent you spiraling closer to yet another peak.

“Let go for me, kitten. I want to feel you come around me,” he urged, his voice a sultry growl that only heightened your pleasure.

And just like that, you found yourself teetering on the edge again, your breath hitching as you felt the pressure build within you. With a final thrust, you came undone, your body contracting around him as pleasure washed over you once more.

“Fuck, yes!” he groaned, his pace becoming frenzied as he chased his own release. With a few more deep thrusts, he spilled inside you, filling you completely as he groaned your name. 

You both stayed locked together, bodies intertwined, breathing heavily in the afterglow of your wild encounter. Bill gently pulled out, his fingers tracing your cheek as he gazed into your eyes, a soft smile replacing the earlier intensity. 

“You did so well, kitten,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead tenderly.

“You’re amazing,” you replied, still wrapped up in the bliss of the moment. 

After a few moments, he pulled you close, resting your head against his chest as you wrapped your arms around him. He began to softly finger you again, sending aftershocks of pleasure coursing through your body, before the exhaustion began to creep in. 

As he cradled you in his arms, the world around you faded away, and you drifted off to sleep, comforted by the warmth of the vampire who had just turned your world upside down.

[x-prettyboy-x]

I need his hands around my throat while he whispers the most foul shit in my ear

[fangirlblogger]

Fangirl Analysis Four: Bill Skarsgard's forehead wrinkles.

Girlies, the concept of this analysis is something that has been on mind since I've started evolving into a woman. I have developed this attraction of men's forehead wrinkles since last year and it's not because of my daddy issues (that's another conversation for another time), it's because of aging unfortunately. But I'm glad I'm aging because then I would not be here analyzing this beautiful and masterful craft on Daddy Bill Skarsgard's forehead. The man's got a heavenly forehead and girrrl, the things I want to do to that forehead are endless. With that being said, let's get into the analysis.

Listen girlies, if Bill looked at me the way he did in this image, I would instantly melt, evaporate and vanish. Girl, I don't know whether I want him to look at me that way forever or eat me and look at me like that till I pass out. I'm swooning over this look right now and the thing that makes this image more desirable and religiously worthy to be worshiped is his forehead wrinkles.

This image is from the Clark TV mini series and Bill played Clark Olofsson - a Swedish criminal in the 70s that prompted society to coined the term Stockholm Syndrome based on his relationships with his hostages or victims. Spoiler for those who did not watch the mini series yet, that's basically what the series is about. If you're a Bill Skarsgard fangirl like myself who has not watched this mini series yet, GIRL YOU HAVE TO (it's on Netflix if you're wondering). You will enjoy and devour every moment of it. Every sound of his voice, all of his body movements, all his angry, lustful, joyful, sad and confused glances and looks, his thick and rough Swedish accent, his manipulative smiles, his boisterous laughter and most importantly the way he devoured that oyster in Episode one, good Lord I came so hard, I almost thought I was giving birth to Bill's kid.

Now girlies, I am aware that there a numerous images of Bill displaying his godly forehead wrinkles. Some of them are so good, I don't know if it's my pussy that's wetter or it's my mouth.

Case study question: Why did I specifically select this image?

It's a no brainer really, my pussy gets wet instantly and I know this is the real deal, the masterpiece, my Salvatore Mundi.

Let's take a look at his hair. His hair looks so effortlessly perfect. The way the strand of hair draws down his forehead, just above his eye-brow is so immaculate. You can tell that he puts so much effort into taking care of his hair because of how effortlessly perfect it looks.

Now onto his jawline, cheeks and chin. He has the most flawless cheeks ever. When he doesn't smile, they lay back so perfectly and that brings out his perfect jawline, making it sharp enough to crack me open like a coconut. But when he does smile, they rise up so well and display his impeccable double chin. His chin is so well shaped that it smoothly keeps his immaculate facial structures intact and glorious.

His lips, they are a world of its own. I wouldn't mind being his lips, getting moistened and licked by his tongue every day. I will not delve into this anymore further because there will be an analysis on his lips soon. So I'll save all the goodness for later.

Let's look at his eyes. His eyes have the most unerring eye bags under them and in this image you can clearly see how perfect they are. We all know Bill has the world's most soulful eyes, so big and doe, they just make you want to cry in a sexual way. By the look in his eyes, and the lines on his face from his eyes to his forward, it clearly indicate that he is concerned but not in a good way. He is concerned about how he is going to manipulate his girlfriend. Also, you can see a little bit of impatience on his face in this image. If you watch the Clark film, you'll understand what I mean.

Now, finally to his wrinkles. They are so important in this image especially in this episode of the Clark mini series. Significance of it to this image is that it makes Bill look real. I've stated this before and I am saying it again, nothing is more attractive than a man with a natural face. His forehead wrinkles indicates to us that he is aging and that is the most beautiful thing in the world. Girl, his forehead wrinkles can wrinkle me up all the way to heaven.

The significance of this look in the image to the Clark mini series is that he perfectly displayed the look of a manipulative man. As already stated, his facial expressions displayed impatience, concern and irritability. My guy just came to see the girl and manipulate her to still love him. He did not come to see her and listen to what she has to say. And, Bill perfectly executes that in that scene.

Moreover, this image showed him in his natural state, meaning if he was not acting, this is what he would like on a daily basis, and that is super-hot! He looks scruffy, organic and humanly.

To conclude, wrinkles are beautiful and when they're on Bill Skarsgard's forehead, I go feral and insane. Those wrinkles makes him even more attractive. The Starry Night by Van Gogh might have you tripping but Bill's forehead wrinkles will have your pussy singing. So to the men that thinks women are rizzed by their overly masculine features, we're not. We like our men simple and comfortable like Bill Skarsgard.

Also, I would like to clarify that if you read this analysis as a body-shaming post, it is entirely the opposite. I love Bill Skarsgard and I find every bit of his body attractive, alluring and godly. I am aware of the social obsession with ageism but I actually prefer my man a bit older with a bit of grey hair, wrinkles, and 10 times more trauma from life than me.

[hoteldreamss]

Imagine || Bill Skarsgård

Предупреждение: момент 18+; связывание/бондаж.

Тебе ужасно хотелось вернуться поскорее домой. Твоя учёба сегодня затянулась, а затем ещё и твои дела, на которые ты потратила больше времени, чем хотела поэтому и была такой вымотанной.

— Привет. — Ты подходишь к Биллу, который продолжает играть в приставку сидя на диване. Оставив быстрый поцелуй на его макушке, направляешься в свою спальню.

— Привет. — Скарсгард не успевает ухватиться за тебя, ты слишком быстро отходишь. Он ставит игру на паузу, поднимаясь с дивана и направляясь за тобой. — Как прошёл день?

Зайдя в спальню, ты кидаешь сумку в её "личный угол", и начинаешь доставать свои домашние вещи из комода.

— Неплохо. — В твоём тоне слышится небольшое раздражение, что Билл сразу замечает.

—Уверенна? Ты кажешься расстроенной.

— Я не расстроена. Просто немного устала.

Скарсгард облокачивается на косяк, пока ты размышляешь и изучаешь своё нижнее бельё, думая, какое взять. Твой парень наблюдает за тобой, поджимает губы и думает над тем, стоит ли ему сделать то, что он планировал, или вечер пятницы стоило перенести на вечер субботы.

— Я в душ. Закажешь что-нибудь? — Взяв нижнее бельё, ты закрываешь ящик и смотришь на Билла.

— Я приготовил нам ужин, — произносит он. — Картошка с курицей. И ещё я купил вино. Сегодня пятница, и я подумал, мы могли бы немного выпить.

— Круто. Я быстро. — Ты уходишь в ванную, надеясь расслабиться под тёплым душем и смыть с себя этот ужасный день.

Тёплая вода и впрямь помогает тебе. Расслабляет твоё тело и успокаивает разум.

Билл надеялся, что всё пройдёт хорошо, в конце концов, вы уже говорили об этом раньше, несколько раз вскользь. Он решил, что ты желала того же, чего и он. Пока он жил у тебя, и его квартира восстанавливалась после небольшого потопа, вы сблизились ещё больше, и это заставило его думать о разнообразии в вашей сексуальной жизни. Выйдя из ванной, с мокрыми волосами и в домашней, удобной одежде, ты усаживаешься за стол. Еда пахнет прекрасно, а вино, кажется, ещё одним соблазнительным способом расслабиться.

— Выглядит вкусно, — произносишь ты, поправляя волосы и смотря на Билла уставшим взглядом.

— Я надеюсь тебе понравится. Это то вино, что мы пили на 14 февраля, я, наконец-то, нашёл его. Оно же понравилось тебе, верно?

— Да. — Ты кажешься совсем не в настроении.

Билл внимательно следит за тобой, немного расстроенный тем, что ты слегка грустная и злая. Поэтому он думает, что ваш ужин может пройти в тишине. Скарсгард уже знал, что лучше оставлять тебя в покое, когда ты в таком состоянии.

— Спасибо. Было вкусно, — произносишь ты. Встав со своего места, ты убираешь тарелку, а затем направляешься немного пьяная в спальню.

Ты быстро вырубаешься, пока Билл чувствует себя слегка обделённым. Но вымыв посуду, он возвращается к тебе, ложась рядом с тобой и слыша твоё тихое умиротворённое сопение во время сна.

***

Ты просыпаешься раньше Билла, чувствуя себя лучше, чем вчера вечером. Сходив в ванную, после ты направляешься на кухню, чтобы сделать завтрак для себя и Скарсгарда.

Он выглядит сонным, когда выползает на кухню.

— Доброе утро. — Тепло улыбаясь, ты быстро целуешь Билла, подходя к нему. — Я сделала завтрак.

— Ты сильно рано встала? — Билл обнимает тебя, и ты чувствуешь тепло его тела, ощущая уют рядом с ним. — Как ты сейчас?

— Хорошо. Может посмотрим сегодня что-нибудь? Не хочу никуда идти.

— Как скажешь, красавица.

Билл любил иногда лениво проводить время с тобой. Ему нравилось лежать на диване, обнимая тебя, обсуждать с тобой всё произошедшее на экране вашего телевизора. И сегодня к тому же был пасмурный день, планы Скарсгарда должны были воплотиться в жизнь. Он был уверен, что если ты расслабишься, то станешь немного податливее.

Поэтому, когда заканчивается очередная серия «Сообщества», Билл решается поднять одну тему. Он надеялся, что сможет сделать это правильно. Ему не хотелось давить на тебя, и он никогда бы не желал принуждать тебя к чем-либо.

— Знаешь, я тут подумал... Может мы попробуем что-нибудь новое? Немного разнообразим наши выходные?.. — Он чувствует себя слегка нелепо и неловко. Скарсгард понятия не имеет как подобраться к этой теме. Несмотря на ваше доверие в отношениях, уважение и принятие друг друга, Билл понимал, как может звучать.

— Например? — Ты кидаешь на него заинтересованный взгляд, пока тянешься за своей кружкой чая.

— Помнишь, мы говорили о разных вещах... Чтобы мы хотели попробовать друг с другом. — Скарсгард смотрит на тебя, внимательно стараясь изучить твои эмоции, но ты кажешься всё ещё спокойной. — И я тогда сказал про... — Билл думает о том, как назвать это, просто связыванием или более научным термином. — Связывание.

Ты явно задумываешься, Скарсгард пытается понять, как ты реагируешь на это и что думаешь. Но хотя бы ты не смотришь на него с испугом.

— Ты хочешь попробовать бондаж? — Твои брови слегка поднимаются, пока ты стараешься обдумать его слова. Билл кивает, на самом деле, чуть заметно, но ты всё равно это подмечаешь.

Теперь ты в лёгком замешательстве, раздумывая и анализируя свои мысли.

— Прости. Если я не должен был... — Скарсгард чувствует себя идиотом и даже немного извращенцем.

— Билл, — ты стараешься правильно сформировать свои мысли. — Я не против. — Меняя позу, ты накрываешь руку своего парня своей и ласково гладишь его. — Давай попробуем. — Поцеловав Билла, ты отрываешься от него с улыбкой и с явным предвкушением.

***

Билл, сидя на кровати, продолжает перевязывать твои запястья у тебя за спиной. Ты терпеливо ждёшь, слегка в предвкушении. Твоё тело сковано верёвкой, которая сковывает тебя почти везде.

— Не туго? — интересуется Билл, поднимая взгляд.

— Всё в порядке, — твои губы искажаются в милой улыбке, после чего ты тянешься к нему, немного отклоняясь назад, чуть не сталкиваясь спиной с грудью Скарсгарда, желая оставить быстрый поцелуй на его губах, но Билл отстраняется, отклонившись назад. Твои брови хмурятся, а в глазах мелькает непонимание и лёгкая обида.

— Мы закончили с верёвкой, а значит, теперь без разрешения... — Он смотрит на тебя немного строже, кажется, раньше ты видела этот взгляд всего пару раз за все ваши отношения. Хотя Билл всё ещё старается быть мягким. — Ты не можешь вести себя так, как хочешь, ясно?

— Да.

—Да?

—Да, сэр? — Ты прищуриваешься, делая предположения о том, как он хочет, чтобы ты к нему обращалась. — Я не уверена, Билли. Это слишком резко, может оставим прозвища на следующий раз?

— Хорошо. — Он оставляет поцелуй у тебя на плесе, нежно и так заботливо. Ты чувствуешь его тёплую ладонь на своей талии.

Отстранившись, он помогает тебе лечь на живот, пока сам садится перед тобой. Кровать под тобой и Биллом прогибается. Ладонь твоего парня скользит по твоим ногам, он гладит твою кожу, наслаждаясь её бархатистостью, которая на самом деле была результатом твоего пребывания в ванной дольше нужного.

— Ты такая красивая. Ты знаешь это? Так прекрасна. — Голос Билла спокойный и чуть тише обычного, но ты всё равно чувствуешь прилив возбуждения из-за него. Жар между твоих ног начинает медленно растекаться, а узел возбуждения внизу твоего живота начинает затягиваться.

Лёгкий шлепок по одной из твоих ягодиц заставляет тебя вздрогнуть и вобрать в лёгкие больше воздуха. Теперь его тёплые ладони поглаживает твой зад, будто стараясь успокоить слегка раскрасневшуюся кожу.

Скарсгард не пробовал этого раньше, хотя он много прочитал и ещё больше просмотрел, второе было сделано на протяжение большей части его жизни скорее по желанию, нежели ради изучения.

— Блять. — Казалось, что теперь ему нужно немного времени, чтобы осознать то, что с ним происходит. Билл на самом деле, не сильно надеялся когда-то попробовать это и уж тем более с девушкой, которая так любима им и дарит столько любви в ответ. Поэтому он чувствует возбуждение и даже задумывается, не просто ли насладиться этим видом передёргивая на тебя. Хотя может это могло бы быть частью вашего «время провождения».

Ты чувствуешь, как Билл склоняется к твоему заду. И тогда происходит то, что ты не ожидала, зубы Билла впиваются в твою плоть, пока твоя попа вздёрнута вверх. Скарсгард слышит от тебя слабый звук, кажется, ты стараешься контролировать свои стоны и ему это никогда не нравилось, поэтому он решает, что его задачей является сделать всё, что он хотел долго и не решался.

Ты получаешь ещё один шлепок, и снова поглаживание. Это продолжается недолго, заставляя тебя слегка поскуливать. Но твоё возбуждение нарастает, а его похвала заставляет тебя становиться более влажной, и твоя сердцевина сжимается вокруг пустоты.

— Такая влажная, — Билл проводит пальцами по твоей обнажённой сердцевине. — Эта киска только моя, да?

— Да, — твой голос слегка ломается, когда пальцы Скарсгарда скользят по тебе, погружаясь внутрь. — Только твоя.

— Такая хорошенькая. Прелесть. — Билл склоняется к твоим влажные складочкам, и ты чувствуешь его тёплый язык, который заставляет тебя толкнуться бёдрами ему в лицо. Смешок Скарсгарда доносится до тебя и заставляет покраснеть, хотя из-за твоей позы кровь наверняка и так прилила к твоим щекам.

Билл умел доставлять тебе удовольствие. Поэтому ему не нужно много времени, чтобы ты брызнула. Теперь одеяло под вами слегка влажное из-за тебя.

— Как ты? — интересуется он, поглаживая твои бёдра, расставленные широко для твоего парня. Верёвки впиваются в твою кожу, что на самом деле нравится Биллу.

— Хорошо. — Скарсгард склоняется к твоему лицу, он берёт тебя за подбородок, заставляя слегка выгнуться, чтобы ему было удобнее тебя поцеловать. Это немного слюняво, но тебе нравится, и ты чувствуешь, как он гладит тебя по спине, а затем спускается к твоей попе, также поглаживая её для успокоения, и вот, его пальцы проскальзывают в тебя снова. Ты стонешь во время поцелуя, и Билл не собирается отрываться от тебя. Он помогает тебе подняться, теперь ты также сидишь на кровати, как и Скарсгард.

— Скажи, что ты моя девочка.

— Я твоя девочка. Только твоя. — Его пальцы погружаются в тебя глубже, пока он доводит тебя до очередного оргазма и заставляет скакать и тереться о его пальцы. И когда ты сжимаешься вокруг него, утыкаясь в его шею, чувствуя, как напряжение покидает тебя.

Твоё дыхание тяжёлое и глубокое, пока ты смотришь на Билла затуманенным взглядом. Его возбуждённый член упирается тебе в бедро, пока его рука поглаживает твой зад. Его губы расплываются в улыбке. Билл хотел бы продолжить тебя мучить оргазмами, слышать, как ты будешь умолять его перестать, но его возбуждение не утихает.

Он оставляет влажные поцелуи на твоей щеке, шее, он покусывает твою кожу, пока помогает тебе медленно перевернуться на спину.

— Ты в порядке? — интересуется Билл, устраиваясь между твоих ног. Он склоняется над тобой, внимательно следя за твоим слегка потерянным состоянием. Ты всё ещё не отошла от оргазмов, но Скарсгард не собирается делать тебе поблажки.

— Да. — Кивая, ты с трудом можешь собраться с мыслями, когда чувствуешь, как влажная головка члена Билла скользит по твоим складочкам и вздрагиваешь от излишней чувствительности. — Билл.

Ты стараешься отпрянуть назад, чтобы избавиться от контакта, но твоё положение с трудом позволяет тебе сдвинуться с места.

Скарсгард же проскальзывает в тебя без особого труда, благодаря твоей влажности и своему возбуждению. Его толчки быстрые и резкие, он тяжело дышит, утыкаясь носом в изгиб твоей шее. Твои стоны разносятся по всей комнате, пока Билл дотрагивается до твоего пучка нервов средним пальцем. Он гладит его, заставляя твоё тело снова натягиваться как струна из-за предстоящего оргазма. И ты сжимаешься внутри, вся напрягаясь, когда твоё освобождение вытекает из тебя.

Билл останавливается, испытывая свой кайф, погружённый глубоко в тебя. Его сознание постепенно освобождается от тумана возбуждения. Оторвавшись от тебя, он оглядывает твоё тело и оценивает твои эмоции. Но ты кажешься полностью довольной.

— Я люблю тебя, — Билл оставляет нежный поцелуй на твоих губах, поглаживая тебя по волосам. Его рука проскальзывает тебе под спину, к узлам верёвки, которые он намерен развязать.

Освободив тебя, его ладони проходятся по следам от верёвки, надеясь утешить твою кожу.

— Я тоже люблю тебя, — произносишь ты, положив свои руки на его щёки и даря жадный и долгий поцелуй.

Влажные волосы Билла спадают ему на лоб, его губы чуть припухли от поцелуев, как и твои, его щёки раскраснелись от жара, который начинал постепенно спадать.

— Как насчёт ванны? — предлагаешь ты.

— Я наберу. — Билл подрывается с места и направляется в ванную комнату.

[klipkillakai]

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