#bill skarsgard fanfiction

[kingkat12]

pretty (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: mentions of sex, angst, hurt/hurt, dark!Roman

summary: don't you just hate it when people turn out to be different than what you thought they were? Roman was certainly not who you thought he was when you started sleeping with him, either.

word count: 2,041

a/n: author is in a situationship, so you best believe I'm dragging y'all down with me<333 MWAH, enjoy;)

All I had ever wanted in life, was for Roman to be pretty.

Quiet, compliant, and pretty.

But keeping a dog chained to a flagpole was a bad idea-- it would always strive to claw its way out of its prison, tugging at its restraints till the pole came crashing down to the ground with unimaginable weight. 

Not that one could ever restrain Roman Godfrey, though. I figured that'd be impossible. How could anyone tie down someone so restless? 

Which is why I wished he would simply be pretty.

Pretty, and only pretty.

Pretty, and not a person.

The more I got to know Roman, the more I suffered with the weight of his sudden personification. But the more he came over, the longer he stayed through the night, the more I'd notice the small things-- he loved asking about the pictures of my friends on my nightstand. I had no idea why. He loved picking up the shirt he had earlier wried over my head, pressing it to his body to laugh about how small it was compared to him. He loved digging through my jewelry box, too, to try to fit the rings over his fingers-- every time, with the same notion that it could maybe, maybe work. 

Spoilers; it never did.

The more he laughed, the more I got used to the sound of it.

The more he smiled, the more I missed the sight of it.

And the more he looked at me, the more I missed him.

Roman had a scar on his right cheek. Right beneath his cheekbone, grazing his skin. At first, I could only dare to trace it when he slept soundly next to me, but now, it had become a habit. He allowed me to reach over and touch it any time now, gently stroking my thumb over it whenever I wanted-- his eyes would flutter shut, and his chest would slowly raise with his next inhale every single time without fail. It calmed him. 

I wish I didn't know it. I wish I had never found out. I wish he hadn't let me. 

I wish I still thought about Roman as just a pretty face.

I hated that he was suddenly a person.

It would've been easier to bear, had he not been-- that his focus wandered, that is. It would've been easier to stomach the fact that I knew he was still sleeping with Ashley Valentine, that he usually took a smoke break behind the school with Veronica Walters when I had physics class, and it would've been much easier to stomach that I walked in on him going down on Jennie Martin-Poulter in the girls' bathroom the other day. I had only seen the bottom of his shoes, and his other hand which shot down to steady his body as Jennie's leg quivered just within sight, but I knew. I knew immediately. 

I also knew that Roman was no longer just some pretty guy I occasionally hooked up with when I needed release. Roman had become someone to me.

It made me nauseous to think that Jennie could've reached down and stroked her thumb over the scar on his right cheek while he was busy between her legs-- did she know that he never failed to make the same sound if you touched it when he was aroused? It was like a soft purr, a mix between a sigh and a groan. I wondered whether any of the other girls knew about similar buttons to push on his body, whether they knew secrets about him that I didn't.

It wasn't surprising that everything would simmer and come to a boil for me; this wasn't my first time falling for a recreational hookup. So, when I laid on his chest that same night and burst into tears, I knew I should've expected it.

Roman didn't say anything. I had allowed him to smoke in my room, so he was busy savoring the nicotine seeping into his lungs. He simply put his hand on my hair, lazily stroking through it as I spilled my silent tears down onto his skin. Was it that he didn't need to ask to know what I was feeling? Or was it that he had perhaps been through this before? Eventually, he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of my head; the simplest of gestures, yet the sweetest of many previous ones. "What's going on?" he asked, voice soft. "Did I go too hard on you tonight?"

I shook my head, sniffling as I shifted. 

Roman sighed, pulling the covers over us a little higher. "Do you need to just let it out, or do you wanna talk about it?--"

"Stop being sweet," My words were quick, biting.

"... Oh," he breathed, nodding to himself. It didn't take long before he put out his cigarette. "Look, I know that this is mostly sex and whatnot, but if you need to talk about something, this is usually the moment where--"

"No," 

"No?"

"No, I don't want to talk about it," If I did, he'd never come over ever again. But maybe that was what I needed? I blinked away my tears, hoping to clear my vision; "Or... I don't know."

Roman remained quiet for about a minute. The beating of his heart was steady against my ear as he resumed playing with my hair, twirling it around his middle finger in the silence. "This is a very typical girl thing, believe it or not," he mumbled. "I don't get why you girls don't just say what you want straight away. I know you'll tell me eventually."

"Maybe I enjoy dragging it out?" 

"Why?"

"Because I get more time, that way,"

Roman hummed, glancing up at my ceiling. "Time with me?"

Fucking hell. Did he read thoughts now, too? "Yeah," I breathed, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. I knew he could feel it too.

"I'm not going anywhere, though," Roman pulled his fingers away from my hair, laying his hand flat against my head, stroking me with his thumb in a gentle motion. "I can stay the night if you want? I don't have anywhere I need to be in the morning."

It was too inviting, too tempting. If I could fall asleep like this, I wouldn't deny myself the pleasure. "Okay," I mumbled, nuzzling up against his warmth. "Just be gone in the morning, please."

Thankfully, Roman didn't seem to mind my bluntness. I felt his quiet laugh against my cheek, luring itself into the depths of my mind. "No problem,"

My heart ached; I knew what my next words were, I knew I wanted to say them, yet I struggled to let them out from the pit in my chest. This was for the best. I needed to say it. This was for the best, this was for the best, it was, it really, really was-- "And... don't answer my calls anymore,"

I could feel Roman's confusion. The way his breath remained steady, yet how his shoulders tensed. His hand laid calmly against my hair, yet I could feel the unease in his fingers. "Can I, uh..." He cleared his throat. "Can I ask why?"

How was I supposed to explain this in a way that made sense? I had no idea. I just wanted to ball myself up into the fetal position and sob. Would he hold me if I did? Knowing Roman, I knew he would, but mostly cause he'd feel bad-- I hated that I knew he had a conscience. "You've become too real to me," I breathed. "My heart can't take it."

"... Oh," 

My tears welled in my eyes again, and they rolled down the side of my face and joined the dried ones on Roman's bare chest. "You're so warm," I whispered, letting my voice break as I nuzzled into him. "I hate that you harbor warmth."

Silence laid itself over us like a blanket. Roman glanced around my room-- was he maybe memorizing it, just in case this was the last time he'd be here? I wondered whether he cared, or whether he was bored. But then, he spoke; "So... okay, I won't answer your calls anymore, but will you answer mine?"

I squeezed my eyes shut. Why was he making this harder? "I don't think so,"

Roman's hand stilled, no longer drawing circles into my hair. I could hear him swallow. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Why did he care? I needed him to stop if he did.

"I wasn't even clingy this time," he mumbled, heartbreakingly fragile. "I didn't do anything."

"I know--"

"Am I really that unbearable?"

... What?

I raised myself off of Roman's chest to get a proper look at him-- my brows were drawn together in confusion as I watched the insecurity coating his every breath. My mind felt like it was caving in on itself; this made him so much more real. When would it end? Who could've guessed Roman Godfrey had abandonment issues? It was clear as day, now. "You're not," I tried. "And that's the problem."

"That I'm... bearable?"

"Yes,"

"That you like me?"

My words were bitten down like I was fighting them back-- "Yes," 

Roman's green eyes hit me like a punch to my gut. They were so unbelievably pretty, just like the rest of him, where he looked up at me with his hair messed up by post-coital rapture. His next words were painfully soft andvulnerable; "Thank you for liking me, then. Not many people do,"

My vision became blurry with the incoming rush of tears. Everything about that was heartbreaking. "Everyone adores you, Roman,"

"No," he breathed. "But that's fine. At least I'm pretty, right?" 

What followed, was the most thought-wracking moment of the evening; the corners of Roman's mouth pulled into a small smile, yet it hit me how rehearsed it was. How quick he was with it, how easy it was for him to mask everything in an instant. The realization crashed down on me like a blow to the back of my head, like a flagpole crushing me with its whole weight.

Keeping a dog chained to a flagpole was a bad idea-- it would always strive to claw its way out of its prison, tugging at its restraints till the pole came crashing down to the ground with unimaginable weight. 

I was the dog. 

I was the dog.

I was the one chained up, not Roman.

Chained to my fear, chained to the restrictions I had set up for myself to protect my heart. Because here he was, laying out his.

"Fuck," I breathed, shifting-- I sat up, watching his green eyes round out. Roman's fingers came to rest on my hips, softly laying against my skin while I propped my hands on his chest for support. "You're going to be the death of me."

Roman let out a soft laugh; "I am?"

"Oh, certainly," I muttered. "Because I'm about to say something very, very stupid."

Beyond amused, Roman bit down on his growing smirk. "Shoot,"

I had to claw myself out of my prison-- I tugged at my restraints, letting it all fall down on me as the words escaped past my lips; "I'll take it back if you dump the other girls,"

Silence.

I held my breath.

Roman's brows drew together, confused, and he stared up at me like I had said something unbelievably outrageous, like he could've never imagined I had thought something so shocking in the first place. "You'll... keep me around if I dump the rest?"

"Yes," I breathed. My heart thumped painfully in my chest as I laid it out for him to take.

... And Roman took it, alright.

It was this moment he had waited for all along, since the moment we started sleeping together. He knew he could get me here, break me down, and get these words out of me. He knew I would be perfect for his usual schemes. He knew, he knew, that it would all be worth it in exchange for the look of heartbreak flashing before my eyes and my admission of feelings.

That was the thrill, after all. The validation.

Every girl he had ever been, had ended up right here-- ready to be eaten alive.

Roman took my heart into the palm of his hand, and with his next condescending laugh, he crushed it to pieces with the most beautiful, cruel smile; "Oh, sweet, sweet girl," he purred, letting the blood run down between his fingers with complete and utter glee--

"You're delusional."

[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.

[klipkillakai]

is this a safe space?

the crow 2024

[bloodibambiidoll]

Pussy Liquor (Eric Draven x Stripper!Reader)

Summary: It’s a slow, boring night at the club until he walks through the door.

Warnings: Eric is implied to have a lot of money(he’s in the music industry), unprotected public sex, lust at first sight, choking 18+MDNI

✰ I think this one has been a long time coming for me. I’ve never written stripper!reader but I was a stripper for several years so this is v personal to me. The songs reader dances to used to be my favorite set. thank u for always encouraging me pookie @babygorewhore ✰

It was a dreary, slow night. There were bodies in the club but no money to go along with them. A few dudes you can tell just turned 21 and are here for the experience, they’ll definitely spend the entire evening at the same table drinking cheap beer while they whistle at the dancers with their wallets closed. A few of the girls regulars are here, either in the back or cozied up at a table. If you were lucky they’d ask you to come sit with them and at the very least buy you drinks but you didn’t feel like entertaining someone for nothing more than a few ones and some shots. There was a couple in the corner arguing and a few older men with their eyes practically glued to the slot machines. Classic.

But there was one individual that caught your eye. He wasn’t someone you would usually see in a place like this. He was more like a pretty face you saw on the street and thought about for the rest of the week. He’s tucked away in a back corner booth drinking what looks like shots of crown royal, the whole bottle, always a good sign. He’s approached the stage and tipped each girl generously but hasn’t stayed for a set. You’ve noticed a few girls go offer him dances but he declines, offering them a tip anyway. You couldn’t blame them for trying. He was gorgeous. He’s extremely tall, still towering over even the tallest dancers in their heels. His toned arms are covered in tattoos and the white tee he’s wearing sits taunt against his chest. His distressed black jeans are tucked into beat up leather boots and his face is otherworldly. Those bright green eyes shine in the flashing lights of the club, the way they dance around his face accentuating different parts of his statuesque bone structure. He has full lips and a perfect pointed nose and you’ve never wanted to ride a customer right in the middle of the club until right now. You haven’t felt nervous to go on stage since you were just starting out dancing but the way his viridescent eyes raked over your body as you climbed the stairs to the stage had your heart pounding.

Your first song starts to play and you grab onto the pole lightly as you prance around it to the beat. You press the tip of your healed boot against the bottom of the pole and spin your body around it with your other leg pointed before pressing your back against it. You nearly trip when you see the man you’ve been fantasizing about all night sitting at your stage with a $20 bill sitting on the bar. You regain your composure, smiling at him sweetly as you slide down the pole onto your knees so you can crawl to him. The sound of Rob Zombie’s “Pussy Liquor” thrums through your body, making you feel like a succubus. You stop on your knees in front of the top bar, never breaking eye contact with him as you pluck it with your manicured fingers and stuff it into the band of your black bikini top.

“Thank you, that’s so sweet of you.” You press your tits together as you lean over and stick your ass out behind you. “I’m Bunny, what’s your name?”

“Well, that’s kind of forward, isn’t it?” His voice is much softer than you expected as he returns your smile with one of his own, it’s not condescending though, it’s almost playful. “I’m Eric.”

“Well, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. You can just watch me dance.” You wink at him before leaning back on your knees and pulling the string on your top so it falls down your body, your tits spilling free. Eric’s eyes sparkle and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he looks up at you like he hasn’t seen multiple pairs of boobs just within the last hour.

You pull the bottom string free and then toss it to the side as you push yourself up on your 8 inch heels. You sway toward the pole, running your fingers through your hair as you purposefully wiggle the fat of your ass. You grab onto the metal and roll your body before swinging your foot around it so you can climb up. You lock your legs together and lean backward, suspending yourself in the air. You watch as Eric pulls out a roll of cash and throws a huge stack of ones followed by several twenty’s. You grab onto your tits and jiggle them for him before titling yourself back up to grab onto the pole. You timed it perfectly so when the beat dropped so did you, right from the top onto the ground in the splits. Eric claps, which you find absolutely adorable because who the fuck claps in a strip club? And then he throws a literal hundred dollar bill onto your stage right as your first song ends. You tease him all through the next song, “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails and when you’re leaning over to press your tits into his face he gives you this dopey smile and tells you that he loves the songs you choose. After your set is done you offer him a dance, and he insists on a private room.

You pull the thick red curtain back so you can lead him into the sectioned off area of the club. There’s walls on all three sides and an open face that’s completely blocked by curtains. You can’t help but giggle at the way he stands there awkwardly surveying the room. You can tell he’s never done this before.

“This your first time?” You grab onto a piece of your hair and twirl it, looking up at him through your lashes. He’s even taller than you thought he was and you have to stop yourself from clenching your thighs when how easily he could toss you around crosses your mind. You have no idea how you’re going to get through the next thirty minutes without getting turned on. You already are.

“Yeah. I’m just not sure how it works.” He chuckles lightly as he rubs the back of his neck but there’s this glint in his eye that tells you he isn’t going to make this any easier on you or your tiny thong.

“Well, why don’t you just sit down on the couch and I can dance for you?” You grab his hand and guide him to the couch, encouraging him to sit down. He obliges you and you lower yourself into his lap with your legs hanging over his. You’re back in your top now, but it leaves little to be desired and you feel your body heat as his eyes rake over you. One of his large hands lands on your thigh and he gives you a questioning look, instead of answering him verbally you swing your leg over his to straddle him and grab onto both of his hands, resting them on your hips. You throw your arms over his shoulders and grind down on him lightly and it has his grip on you tightening.

“I don’t know the rules and you’re making it really hard for me to control myself already.” Eric’s voice is a deep rumble that runs straight to your core and god you don’t usually let customers touch you like this but you’re starting to wonder if you can stop yourself from fucking him right here.

“Wanna know a little secret, Eric?” You ghost your lips across his pierced ear and you can feel his skin break out into goosebumps.

“Yeah.” He groans when you grind down on him harder this time, his grip on you turning almost bruising.

“I don’t usually let guys touch me, even for money, but you? You can touch me as much as you want.” You run your nose down his jaw before pulling away from him, flipping around on his lap and pushing yourself onto your feet. You roll your body and shake your ass for him while pulling your top off again. You shimmy back onto his lap with your back pressed to his chest and grind against his now hard bulge. You can’t help the little whine that escapes you. His large tattooed hands grip onto your tits and that’s when you lose all sense of reality.

“I really liked your songs, ya know?” Eric’s breath tingles against your neck, his lips just barely brushing your skin. “You’re the only girl here I wanted to talk to.”

“Yeah? You’re the only guy I’ve ever seen in here that I actually wanted to dance for.” You throw your hands behind your back so you can lace them behind his head as you continue to wind on his lap. “And it’s so fucking against the rules but I’d let you fuck me right here.” You lean your head back so you can look up into his eyes and his expression has changed drastically, it was like your words flipped a switch inside of him and he wants nothing more to eat you alive.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble, bunny.” He chuckles and brings a finger up to your cheek. He runs it down your face to your jaw before ghosting it over your lips and you can’t help but dart your tongue out to lick the pad of his finger. “Let me take you home with me.”

“Well, I’m not really supposed to do that either. But I really feel like breaking some fucking rules tonight.” You wind your hips in a circle and his cock slides perfectly between your thong covered ass.

“They can’t be too mad if I pay them off, right?” He squeezes your boob, rolling your nipple between his fingertips.

“That would cost a lot. You’re hot enough to lose my job over. There’s other clubs. I want you to fuck me.” You whine and pull the strings of your bottoms so they fall down your hips. You never thought you’d be here, sitting on a customers lap begging him to fuck you like a bitch in heat. But something about this man was making you lose all rationality.

“Money isn’t an issue for me baby. Hell, I’ll get you out of here permanently if you want.” He runs that perfect nose along the column of your throat, inhaling the expensive perfume one of your regulars bought you a few months back. “And you don’t need to beg, the minute I saw you I knew I’d give you anything you asked for.”

“Fuck, Those are some big promises, honey.” You giggle, sugary sweet, and it makes him melt. He grabs onto your hips and pushes you to stand, your tiny thong falling at your feet, leaving you exposed to him. Eric grabs onto the globes of your ass and spreads them open, your pussy lips coming apart with a click from how wet you are.

“Would you look at that? So fucking perfect.” He grips onto your hips to turn you around, making sure to steady you when you stumble in your heels. You watch with wide eyes as he reaches for his playboy bunny belt buckle and your jaw practically drops to the floor when he pulls his cock out. It’s fucking huge and pierced. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep, bunny. Come sit on it.”

Eric pulls you forward and you straddle him, your knees sinking into the leather of the couch. He grips onto his shaft and runs it through your wetness, the balls of his piercing bumping against your clit. He taps the head against your sensitive bud before lining up with your entrance and slowly pushing inside your wet walls. But it’s not enough, you want to feel the burn of the stretch while he splits you open so you slam your hips down onto his, taking him to the hilt in one thrust. It nearly knocks the wind out of you and a moan so loud that the music barely drowns it out.

“Oh fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” Eric grips onto your ass and bounces you up and down on his cock as he stares into your eyes deeply. “You sure nobody is gonna come in here?”

“Nobody will, they’re definitely watching on the cameras and I’m definitely fucked as soon as we walk out of here but they’ll let it play out.” It’s like you gave him the green light because he plants his feet firmly on the ground and starts to fuck up into you. He grips onto your throat so he can pull your lips to his in a filthy kiss, not wasting any time intertwining your tongues together. The metal bar in his cock caresses your walls as his thick head bullies your g-spot and your toes curl in your boots. “Choke me harder.”

“Yeah? You like it rough, bunny? I’m going to have so much fun with you.” Eric squeezes your throat tighter and his free hand comes to run circles on your clit with his thumb. The way he’s talking about you like he already owns you combined with the pleasure he’s giving you has you already teetering towards the edge. “I’m gonna keep you, make you my pretty little fuck doll. You want that?”

“Yes, fuck yes.” You whine, drool starting to drip down your chin as your eyes roll back. Your manicured fingers scratch at his back through his shirt and you wouldn’t be surprised if it has tiny rips in it by the end of this.

“Look at me when you fall apart on my cock.” Eric grunts as he shifts his hips so he’s fucking into you even deeper and it has euphoria washing over your entire body the minute your eyes lock with his. Your pussy clenches around his cock like a vise grip and you moan so loudly there’s no way it can’t be heard outside of this room. But you’re way past giving a fuck. “Oh, that’s a good bunny, come for me.”

“Oh my f-fucking god! Fuckkkk me!” Eric’s thrusts don’t let up as he chases his own high, his hands grip onto your ass again and he’s practically folded in half on the couch as he bounces you like a fuck toy on his dick.

“I’m gonna fucking come.” Eric grunts before he’s pressing your hips flush against yours with his cock twitching inside you. You watch as he throws his head back, exposing his tattooed neck and you can’t help but lean forward and bite down on it. “Fuck yes, fucking bite me.”

You suck and bite on his skin until he goes limp underneath you, panting as he tries to catch his breath. He pushes himself up with his cock still nestled inside of you before pulling you close so he can kiss you with a passion no man ever has before. Who was this guy? And why did you never want to leave him?

“Alright, we should get out of here so I can go lose my job.” You chuckle as you stand up and grab your bikini, tying it back on while Eric tucks himself back into his pants. He comes to stand in front of you, taking your face into his hands.

“I meant that shit I said. I know we don’t know each other, hell, I don’t even know your real name. But come home with me, I’ll pay off these assholes and buy you whatever you want.” Eric smiles at you so sweetly you feel like you’re going to melt into the beer soaked carpet and how can you say no?

“Fuck it. Let’s go.” You giggle and push yourself up on your tiptoes to kiss him before pulling him out to face the music.

You definitely lost your job that night. But Eric fucked you so good you couldn’t even bring it in yourself to care. And he kept his promise. He kept you as his little doll and gave you everything your heart could ever desire.

Tagging a few moots who might be interested: @nailbatanddungeon @myspacebrat @ghoul-friendz @taintandviolent

Divider is by @cafekitsune

[writermani4c]

Me and the Devil | Count Orlok x Reader

summary: You're a nun at an isolated convent. He is in your mind, eating away your mind bit by bit, soon destroying the pillars of your faith. Until you have no choice but to surrender to him, he will destroy all that is necessary.

warnings: He's a vampire. Of course he doesn't have to play fair, does he? There is mind control and there are some rather bloody deaths. I don't think I'm really good with that, I don't think it's too heavy, but it's good that there's a warning.

:: We girls can't bear to see a vampire who is completely obsessed with a woman, who will spill as much blood as it takes to get her, and who has already fallen in love with her. I'm completely obsessed by Nosferatu, even though I couldn't get a screening where I live. This is basically my brain being eaten away by Bill Skarsgard's hunger… I'm always hungry for Bill, but at this point in time I could be kept in a secluded castle to give birth to all of his babies, and I mean that. I hope you enjoy this. By the way, good luck in 2024!

The high-pitched squeak penetrated the stones of the convent, seeping like moss into the soft, bumpy cracks in the porosity, and imitated the soft voice of a wanderer saying a prayer in a dead language, older than time. His understanding was forgotten by men, but that didn't silence him. That voice was still preserved in the air that surrounded you like a thick mantle covering a thick cotton habit, as light as the coat of a holy lamb, which covered you from head to toe in a sacred enclosure. 

Through the narrow window of his room, all that showed were the orange Carpathian mountain ranges in the middle of a mild autumn, with the taste of hot tea and the smell of a fire burning in the evening, when the temperature dropped at night.

The mountain ranges and that stone fortress, far from the convent and yet terribly close.

Every day, the castle seemed to move. When you weren't watching it with your stoic expression, it seemed to grow tentacles over its foundation and creep up slowly. Depending on the day, it seemed further away, with only the tip of its towers appearing between the hills. But when you were getting ready for bed, tucked up in the modest comfort of your little room and wrapped in the soft blanket of your nightgown, the castle seemed terribly close to you, so close that you could feel its evil aura as you raised your hand in a vain attempt to touch it. 

He was calling you. A strength, a terror, a hungry longing.

Come to me, my eternal beloved. 

Tormented, you choked on your own breath. The deep, seductive sound of that voice crept under your blankets at night, and under the modest garments of your nightgown, finding your soft, easy-to-creep skin. His touch was physical, even if you often groped your skin in search of those hands and found nothing but loneliness, and intimacy. So intimate that not even the devil himself, cruel and cunning, could emulate such evil in his attempt to corrupt the Lord Jesus in his trial in the desert.

It scared you.

The feeling of intimacy that belongs to something, that is lost until it is regained. That invisible hand, as well as the voice that only you heard, shook your sense of self and made you feel the narrow mattress slipping off your back, the thin blanket sliding off your body and your fear of dissolving as you floated above the bed. A demonic, ghostly vision, with your eyes rolled back in a trance that nothing and no one could stop.

You felt it, more intimately than you felt anything else, and that was scarier than any of the other traps in hell.

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— My child — greeted the voice on the other side of the wooden confessional booth. The only voice you could turn to in times of extreme need. Father Lengyel was an elderly authority in the convent, as was Mother Superior Illés. If it hadn't been for that, you wouldn't have had the courage to confide in him your greatest fears, seeking the reassurance of his gentle voice. — In your praiseworthy stillness, I can see that something is troubling you. You owe me your ordeal, child.

— Father, help me! — Tired and sleepless after a night awake, with your knees against the floor praying to ward off the tentacles of evil, you felt your eyes grow heavy as you saw the low, hunchbacked shadow of the priest. — I'm cursed. I didn't do anything about it, but I know that the shadow that haunts me was born with me, wrapped around me like an umbilical cord that has never been amputated. I feel it and sometimes I hear its impatience calling my name.

— Fear not, my child. No shadow of a curse is stronger than our Lord's mercy on your spirit, waking you up every morning with a breath of life.

But maybe it's not our Lord, you thought bitterly. You almost disbelieved that God would even work in your cause, probably deciding to wash his hands of you and leave you alone on your ordeal. This thought angered you, wondering how God, your holy God to whom you dedicated your time and efforts to serve with blind devotion, could leave one of his daughters helpless when the claws of the nefarious one threatened to entangle her? 

And anger, even though it was blasphemy with your Father, was easier to manage in your restless spirit than the fear that perhaps God hadn't let go of your hand. Perhaps he was there, following in your footsteps not long ago, weeping blood for not being able to do anything to prevent the evils that awaited you. Maybe there were forces greater than the salvation you blindly tried to reach like a child afraid of the dark.

That thought you swept from your mind, because if that thing was stronger than the Savior you were turning to, there would be no reason to be reluctant in its evil call.

— I beg you, Father, with all the infinite goodness of your being, pray for my soul. 

— I will, my child. You too, pray for wisdom and that the Lord, in his infinite love, will bring you comfort. 

When you left the confessional, you got down on your knees in front of the proudly erected altar. The suffering face of that poor man in his moment of greatest difficulty never comforted you, but inspired you. If even he, the son and Messiah, found the purpose to remain firm on the narrow road of faith, you too would find the strength to stay in the light. You would have to pass through that tortuous valley to have your healing.

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You weren't the youngest in the convent, but you weren't the oldest either. When you arrived, with your only bag with a few belongings and a photo of the home you grew up in, the home that always seemed unworthy of your torments about the terror that was trying to get its claws into you, there were older girls who took you in as a younger sister, teaching you the trade so that you could also teach those who came to the convent after you. This was the mission: you didn't serve God's pure purpose alone, but learned from your sisters so that you could teach others in a cycle that stretched out like an infinite patchwork quilt. 

Among his protégés, the young Agnes was the most cherished. So young and intelligent, she was your faithful dog in the convent corridors. Agnes, who came from a poorer and more literate family than yours, found comfort in listening to you read the Psalms, the book they were given to study. Agnes' chubby cheeks and earthy brown eyes reminded you of the child you would never have, the one you could never run your hand through and love. The Lord was merciful to you in giving you a sister to fill that void and you gave her all the attention you could. Your beloved Agnes sat next to you while you ate your lunch in silence. The soup was thinner, to save supplies for the harsh winter, and the bread was smaller. All deposits were saved and all fasting was done in summer and fall, because in winter your bodies' strength was tested by the ice that seemed to be trying to infiltrate your bones. They would have to eat better to survive until spring.

Next to him, young Agnes choked on her bread.

— Eat slowly. 

— Pardon me, sister! — She stopped eating, lowering her head as if she expected to be punished. You smiled, running your hand over your protégé's head. 

— Don't be like that. I'm talking for your own good, chew better, it also helps to fill your stomach.

The girl turned her face towards you with a soft, youthful smile. 

A low, loud sound caught their attention. It was as if the ceiling had broken, so you looked up in doubt, but it seemed as firm as ever. Surprised gasps and the sound of footsteps moving across the stone floor made you stand up and look around, at the shocked faces of your sisters. 

— Stay behind me, Agnes. — You stood in front of the girl, shielding her with your body, while you searched for the cause of the commotion among the others. 

Another thud made you find the source of the terror. Your older sister, a girl so genuinely kind that she wouldn't mind giving up her own shoes and going barefoot if she had to. Olga. Olga, who was so generous that she always presented the others with little embroideries on old linen handkerchiefs, making them priceless pieces. Olga who hugged you as soon as you arrived, immensely happy as if you were a relative she hadn't seen for years and who was returning home. Your beloved sister Olga's nose was covered in blood and her front teeth were in an equally miserable state. Her blue eyes were completely covered by dark pupils, making them animalistic as she looked around at the familiar faces until she stopped at you. 

She gritted her teeth painfully, teasing the veins in her neck. Olga no longer knew you. She didn't look at you like her younger sister, but with anger.

— Ungrateful! Damn you! — She pointed her slender, cocked forefinger, the knuckles seeming to ache with the effort. — Ungrateful and  damned, unfortunate creature! Look what I do to what you love so much, look what I do to the object of your efforts!

Olga moved her face away from the table enough to almost fall backwards, gripping the edge of the table with her fingers tightly, before putting all her strength forward and, with a hollow sound of something breaking, smashing her nose against the wooden table. The noise tore you apart. Young Agnes' arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you pushed her back. 

Mother Illés rushed into the dining hall. 

She gave you an appeasing look and you understood. With agility, you gathered all the younger girls, totally terrified, and asked them to follow you out while Olga, surrounded and supported by her older sisters, screamed:

— Love me! Devote yourself to me! Command me if you wish, but don't ignore me, my beloved, don't deny me, for I am your lord and savior! I am the master of your pure and tormented soul, my beloved! 

But you, terrified, denied his call once again. You covered your ears as you led the girls into the courtyard outside. The dry autumn wind enveloped you, your voices, but did nothing to muffle the terror in your minds. Little Agnes was still wrapped tightly in your body and soon the others followed suit, seeking warmth in your shivering, freezing body. Concentrating on them, on reassuring them, took your mind off the torturous thought that, yes, he was impatient.

All those years of “tranquility” were his gift, his way of making you surrender voluntarily. But he was lonely. He was hungry. 

Now he controlled Olga's body. 

But not just her. 

That same night, while Olga was tied to her bed under the watchful eye of Mother Illés, Annabeth began to dance as she blew out the candles. You didn't see it, you were busy with your chores, but the others saw it and told you about it in sad, frightened voices. Annabeth, so young and playful, began to twirl around and the others thought she was just playing. The girl liked to play games, hiding pine cones under her pillows and little flowers in the sleeves of her habits. 

She spun around mesmerized, spinning faster and faster and more violently. Her feet seemed bewitched and she suffered without even being able to move her mouth to do so, her teeth clenched in a painful grind as her jaw unhinged. The candles on the altar grew, fueled by something supernatural and unworthy, dancing along with young Annabeth.

That macabre dance ended in a tableau and the flames touching the young woman's habit. The fire consumed her without anyone being able to put it out; no amount of water could stop the flames. They consumed Annabeth until there was nothing left. In her death, she said nothing, but tearing her clothes to get rid of the fire, her name was torn into the soft skin of my body. Her name was everywhere, written with love, sorrow and anger. Like a love-hate letter, he wrote to you through the skin of an innocent girl. 

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You hadn't slept a wink for three nights. 

At the slightest sign of unconsciousness, as you blinked your eyes a little more slowly, it was as if he was lurking there waiting to take you, and this made you resist even though your body could barely stand.

The mother didn't let you take part in the funeral, allowing you only a brief farewell before you were taken to your chambers to rest. 

You didn't want to rest.

Even so, you didn't have the strength to move. Perhaps it was tiredness or apathy, the feeling that all your efforts were useless.You lay there in your narrow bed, watching the day fade away through the shadows on the wall.

The night was his territory. 

Night was when he hid in the wind and entered his room.

Even though he wanted to, there was no voice in his throat to scream and a hot tear ran down his left eye. 

The door to his room opened and, to his relief, Father Lengyel entered his room. The black cloak swirled solemnly around him, like something divine coming to his rescue.

— What ails you, my dear!

— A large, slender hand, smelling of scrubbed earth, touched his face. There was a certain softness to it, even though the ice in your palms made you sigh with the thermal shock. — My poor little lamb! 

The man held your face lovingly, with such care that you simply let go, allowing yourself to cry in dismay at his attentive care. Father Lengyel, so small and twisted, sat on the edge of your bed. A candle burned on the chair on the other side of the room, the glow of the fire casting shadows on the wall next to your bed and leaving you cloaked in that lonely corner. Father Lengyel kissed your cheek, with those closed, dead lips, so cold they made you shiver.

— Father!

— Poor creature!

— My shadow is growing. — You confessed, leaning your face on the old man's hand. — My shadow consumed poor Olga and Annabeth, casting them into the valley of the storm. 

Father Lengyel pulled the blanket away from your body and, in the narrow space that barely fit a body, he lay down with you. Your eyes widened as the man pressed himself against your body. The man you had always seen as a loving and attentive father, a listener incapable of the slightest judgment, lay beside you with the warmth of a lover. 

— You curse us all, my sweet. — His mouth curved into a smile that only reflected darkness. — Everyone, everyone, everyone. My eyes, so blessed with the beauty of your soft skin and childish eyes, your sweet mouth and the shaggy strands of your eyebrows, became the object of his dark admirer's envy and, look, what he did to me.

In the short distance between your faces, that distance you wanted to increase at all costs, you could make out the old man's wrinkled features. His withered cheeks, the corners of his eyes creased by years and years of study and service to the church. His thinning hair was pearly white on his straight head, with little spots like freckles. The eyes, previously blue, weren't there. 

In their place, there was the emptiness of two hollow holes whose darkness seemed to feed with pleasure. 

The priest smiled in her direction.

— Smile, my dear. Who else in the world would be as adored and cherished as you? What other soul would be as worthy of all the fascination of eyes that have seen the rise and fall of empires as the rising and setting of the sun? There are worse ways to live. In complete ignorance, never seen and never remembered, gradually rotting away like this old man. 

In an unknown breath, you felt the instinct to fight with the same strength as the archangels as you sat up in bed, your body trembling from the effort. The priest continued to lie there, moaning with satisfaction as he enjoyed the smell of your hair against the pillow where you had shed your tears. 

He was totally possessed. The evil had taken hold of the most benevolent man you've ever had the pleasure of knowing, save only his own father, a man so generous that he gave up his beloved daughter to the care of a convent without ever doubting his desires to follow a holy life. All was lost.

You got out of bed, your legs wobbly as you dragged yourself out of the room. There were few lit candles and a long corridor. Carefully, you hugged your body and left your quarters, dreading the next demonic sight you would encounter on your way.

The convent seemed more alive than ever. A complete organism. The walls moved as it breathed and guided you in silence, the cold accompanying you like a guardian, a raven on your sullen shoulders. The moon was high in the sky, its pearly glow illuminating what not even candle flames could touch. And you walked, leaning on the walls, groping for balance. In the dining hall, where Olga's blood was embedded in the wood of one of the tables, you saw the shadows of the feet of all your beloved sisters and your devoted mother.

They all floated solemnly, with ropes around their necks. They all looked at you with pupils consumed by darkness and wide smiles, so big that they seemed to rejoice in your presence. 

— My beloved! — cried Clara. 

— Beacon of my darkness! — said Lucia. 

— Don't you see, my beloved? 

With dread, you walked around the tables, looking into their faces. Every single one of them. The rope wasn't taut, they were floating under the invisible force that kept them alive only for a brief moment. Just long enough for you to see them, to remember their names and their faces, their voices, their lives and their untouchable faith. Because they, like your Savior, had no power to stop the terrors you were cursed with at birth.

As soon as your cry marked his arrival in this rotten, petty and cheap world, he also felt the pain in his chest, where his lungs were supposed to work. Your soft cry marked the raw, lifeless gasp of the thing that woke up to take in its big, slender hands what was rightfully its: that poor soul, which had never found a single day's peace, shrouded in the melancholy of that fateful encounter. 

Nothing could stop her soul from touching him, much less his emptiness from possessing her soul.

It was a perfect fit, an unspoken agreement between heaven and hell. God, all merciful, gave you up for the greater good. You were eternally linked. 

And your sisters, mother and father paid the price for coming between the two of you, for taking you away from your true home and your true master. They filled your days with their miserable little lives, with miserable knowledge, with miserable privations for such... miserable glory. 

— I have set you free, my beloved. I have loosened the nails that bound you to your cross. — Murmured the mother, with jubilant eyes, cheeks streaked with sweet tears. Your stern and beneficent mother. — My obsession is the key to this filthy, worthless prison. Come, darling, and enjoy with me all the pleasures you've been denied. Come quickly, my beloved, put an end to my loneliness.

His shadow has grown over you, outside in the courtyard.

— Spare them! I beg you! — Her voice roared over the tearful smiles of her sisters. Young Agnes wiggled her legs, looking at you with that untouched childish gaze, as if she were throwing herself into dense fluffy clouds and not into the abyss of death, into the blackness of darkness. — Spare them and I'll follow you without looking back. I will never desire anything other than your company, nor will I follow any other path than the one your feet once trod.

Your sisters' laughter exploded through the high ceiling, laden with a mockery that didn't belong to them.

Bewitched, they all looked down at you with equal dark amusement, their voices blending together like a spiral that drained the strength from your legs. 

— Don't you understand yet, my holy lamb? — Smiled sweet Agnes. — There's no bargaining. Whether they live or die, you will still be mine.Even in death, I will pull you back and chain you to me. I myself have suffered many years of being bound to the prison of my desires for you, waiting for you for countless years, feeling the weight of your rejection, cruel lover. 

— But you love me, don't you?

— Every part of me to every part of you, my sweetness. 

— So give me these gifts. Spare my beloved sisters, my fellow human beings, those sweet women with pure hearts who have guarded me long enough for you to come and take your rightful possession. They are not guilty, but guardians. — On your knees, you clasped your hands to your chest, begging the devil for mercy. — I know I wasn't good to you, I was insensitive to your call, but they are not to blame.You'll have all my devotion if you spare them, but if you kill them, even though you have my body and my spirit, you'll never have a drop of my attention. 

The silence of the souls hanging from the ceiling of the convent refectory echoed their inconsolable weeping.Thick tears and a plea so strong that it could make the souls turn over in their graves. 

The doors opened in a rush, letting the cold wind enter the dining hall. 

For the first time, under the ethereal light of the moon, as if in a macabre mixture of dream and nightmare intertwined by the thin veil of unconsciousness, you saw it.Not its aura or its agonized call, you saw the creature with your own eyes. 

You, who know so little about men, had never seen such a figure. 

So tall that you had to stoop to pass through the door that you would walk through without any difficulty.Eyes so deep that no light could reach them. A face hardened by the spectre of death, with a long nose and a thick moustache of a deep shade of black.He entered the sacred ground with equal parts ease and pain, each step a necessary torture to reach the object of his desire. The soul he so coveted in his millennial solitude, forgotten by the world, completely abandoned under the promise of a single soul that the heavens did not claim, a soul he could corrupt at will. 

Yours to devour, he thought at first, perhaps resentful that he was also chained to a lowly mortal, a wandering and very basic creature. Yours to torment, he thought, when you were very young and saw his shadow in your room for the first time. Yours to worship, he realized now, pulling her by her bare arms to stand up.

The creature, hungry for something, for some compensation for its endless loneliness, brought its face close to his and, with a touch of malice, stuck out its tongue, licking the length of his tears with its cold, inhuman breath. 

— I thought you'd wait for me in your habit, my beloved.I was particularly looking forward to it. — He lowered his cold, vile gaze, delving into the shape of your body beneath the nightgown with which you were forced to rest, a fabric so thin of light cotton that it hung down your body, revealing through the worn nature of the fabric the color of your stiff nipples against the fabric. He gasped with pleasure. — But what unparalleled pleasure it is to see you in such intimate attire, my eternal obsession. 

His hands, holding her face, were huge, with large, aged nails. Nails that would have dug into the earth to escape the grave. Their coldness was uncomfortable, but, given the horrors in your mind, you found yourself accepting their touch as a shred of comfort.

It destroyed your sanity, that it would at least give you the soothing balm of a caress.

— Please! — you sighed with a breath, a breath as anguished as it was tired. 

Your hands touched his, your eyes full of life and fear threatened his darkness with such a benevolent request, something the creature had never witnessed. 

Those like you, mortals, used to beg for mercy on your own life, on your knees and with the greatest promises of riches and pleasures.And here you were, a soul who would never reach heaven, asking for mercy for others when it was your fate that was at stake.

How he loved you! How he hated you!

— Treating it as my personal gift and demonstration of my esteem, these women live by my ability to have mercy on the requests of your heart. — He approached your warmth, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, the salt of your feverish skin. All his vitality was more than banal desire, he was madly fissured by every cell of his anatomy, every rudimentary bit of his mortal Anatomy, and so doomed to the horrors of putrefaction. — My eternal living flame, how it tormented me not to be able to touch it. How it torments me right now to feel the softness of your skin. 

The creature's eyes mapped your face, his eyes so vivid and striking in color, the visage on your skin, the softness of his mouth as you breathed audibly, so bruised by fatigue that you didn't even budge when he wrapped you in his arms like a bruised little bird. Her soft sigh, nesting her head against his shoulder, was the fuel for him to release the women from their ropes, gently lowering them until their feet touched the ground.

— As long as you live, my ladies, be the witness of my triumph in having my sweet beloved in my arms for eternity.

He lowered his face in your direction, the ancient smell on his clothes made you scratch your nose. 

The texture of his mustache was thick. When his funeral lips touched yours, you tried to resist. Never before have you felt the pleasure of a passionate kiss or a love that took your breath away. But he knew what he'd been waiting for, holding you tightly by the back of your head, wrapping himself around you menacingly as his mustache scratched and skin immaculate from his face. His lips were hard, demanding and hungry.

His mouth ate you as his last hope, the last of pleasures and torments, a feast for a dying man.

The exchange, life and death, touching each other for the first time ignited an impulse in you. The impulse that matched his kiss, because that was the deal. You gave in, letting your lips submit to the kiss. Your body was surprised as you gasped with pleasure at corresponding with him, stimulated by the passion with which he held you. The human body is capable of many bargains to continue resisting.

And you, who had resisted for so long, gave in to that bittersweet feeling of surrender, feeling it take against your body.

Her body gradually sank into the feeling of being supported. As her dark lover's lips devoured hers, the world became a darker and darker place, the hiss of the wind seeping into her ears like spilled poison.  Between soft gasps, feeling the creature suck on his lips, unable to be completely satiated, his body gave in to the strain, falling into a powerful sleep. Realizing that you no longer corresponded with him, he walked away, looking at her with apprehension. His right hand, large and bony, rested on his chest. 

The beating of his heart was quiet, yet powerful. Each beat rumbling softly against the bones of his chest. 

Under the gaze of the bewitched nuns, he disappeared with the night, carrying with him the only one with whom he could share his eternal night.

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[hauntedfawnn]

Candy Girl ⟡˖ Roman Godfrey x Reader ⟡˖

Warnings: Pervy/obsessive reader, blood kink(duh), period sex, Roman eats reader out on her period, blood drinking(just a whole lot of blood), choking, perverted acts involving panties, unprotected sex, male masturbation, a tiny dash of daddy kink, pet names, fluff. 18+MDNI!

You are driving Roman insane. No matter how hard he tries to evade you, shut you down, you remain persistent. He met you outside the ice cream shop a few weeks ago. You were standing there in these tiny, little shorts with a tube top while you ate your cotton candy cone. Some dripped down the side and onto your hand and he couldn’t help but stare at the way you licked it off. You caught him and called him out, asking if he had a staring problem before walking over to him. And into his life. Then you never walked out. You had this sassy attitude that had a lightness behind it and he immediately knew he couldn’t muck it up with his darkness. You smelled like bubblegum and cinnamon and he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into the curve of your neck and taste your candy-sweet blood.

Then he found out why you were in town, you’re Peter’s childhood bestfriend, of course you fucking were. It meant you knew where he lived, where he worked, and you took advantage of that. He would come out of meetings to you sitting in his office, or he’d find little notes on pink paper that weren’t there when he left. You’d leave baked goods that were way too sweet for him on his doorstep. But if he imagined it was the way you tasted he could stomach it, and even sometimes you’d be waiting there when he got home.

He gave you the cold shoulder at every turn. Hardly speaking to you, rolling his eyes, scoffing. He even plain told you to “fuck off” a few times but none of it discouraged you. You’d just smile and let out this cute little giggle, like you knew he didn’t mean it. Your persistence flatters him, that bright smile on your face never faltering when your pretty eyes are on him. Roman was strong at first. But his resolve is slipping, especially since you started getting more scandalous with your little gifts.

It started with the Polaroids. The first one was innocent enough, just a picture of your sweet face. But the camera was tilted down for him to see the cleavage in your low cut top. They just got dirtier from there. Pictures of you sucking on your fingers. Body shots in little lingerie that he hopes nobody else sees you in. The thought makes him murderous. Your tits. Your perfect ass. You even started getting bold with pussy shots. And you always signed them with naughty little notes.

What really sent him over the edge though? You started leaving him your panties. The first pair was in the drawer in his office. You’d leave them on the rear view mirror of his car. Any random little spot you could find.

He was barely holding onto his resolve. The only thing holding him back is Peter’s threat to snap his neck if he didn’t stay away from you, and the fact that he didn’t trust himself not to drain every drop of blood from your perfect body. But now he’s sitting on his bed with a pair of your panties in his hand, and it’s not just any pair, they’re bloody. The note you left with them was you practically begging for him to be your boyfriend and for him to let you suck his dick. And somehow you got into his house to leave them right on his pillow. If it was anyone else he would be fucking pissed, he’d find them for breaking into his space, and wring their neck. But something about you going to that length to be close to him makes his heart beat faster, and his cock twitch.

Roman also wonders how you knew he’d want these. Did Peter tell you about him? Do you know what Peter is? If so, is this your way of telling him you don’t care? His thoughts are spiraling, but he keeps going back to the idea that this was you offering your blood to him. And who was he to turn down the offer of the century? He brings the crotch of your panties to his nose and inhales deeply, the scent of your candy sweet blood causing him to groan deeply in his chest. He brings them to his lips and runs his tongue along the sticky middle, his eyes rolling back from the taste of you. His cock feels like it’s going to burst out of his jeans and he practically growls as he undoes his belt and pulls it from his slacks. He pumps his cock while the taste of you lights up his system like a drug.

You really should’ve thought this through more. Not only did you have no idea when Roman would be home, you also didn’t bring an extra pair of panties. So you’re currently huddled in his bathroom behind the shower curtain, trying not to bleed on your little white mini skirt. Wearing it was definitely a choice, all of this was. You wouldn’t say you’ve been stalking Roman, it’s more that you’re persistent and know what you want. Some might call it stalking though.

You can’t help it. He’s just so fucking beautiful and mysterious. He’s so closed off and cold but you can tell there’s a softness underneath it, a desperation to be loved. You want to crack him open at the very center and consume every drop of sweetness he has to offer. You want to know everything about him.

Peter says you’re obsessed, and he’s not wrong. He also told you to give it up, he even told you Roman’s deepest secret in hope that it would deter you. But all it did was make you want him more. You’ve known about Peter since you were kids, so finding out vampires, or upirs are real, wasn’t the biggest shock to you. It just made you want to expose your neck to him and let him drink from you until he was drunk off your taste. You know leaving him little love notes, your panties, and nudes might come off desperate. But if he really cared he would’ve told you to stop by now. And it’s not like you’ve tried very hard, or at all, to hide it was you. Now you’re hiding in his fucking bathroom because you literally broke into his house. You’re so fucked.

You’re ripped from your thoughts on how to escape by the sound of a loud groan, followed by ragged breathing. At first you thought he was pissed but as you continued to listen you could hear the slight sound of skin slicking on skin. Was he fucking someone? Suddenly murder was starting to sound appealing. Then you heard it, the sound of your name and that’s when it clicked. He’s jerking off, hopefully with your panties, or at least because of them. Did he taste them? God, you hope he did.

Your mind is reeling with the possibilities of what is happening just on the other side of this wall, the door isn’t even shut. Your curiosity ends up outweighing your desire to stay hidden. You pull back the shower curtain and slip quietly out of the shower, being extra careful to make sure your pink platform heels don’t click against the expensive marble tiles on the floor. You tiptoe to the door and peer through the crack and the sight in front of you nearly brings you to your knees.

Roman is sitting on the edge of his bed with his thick, hard cock in his hand as he pumps himself. His large legs are spread wide and his hips raise off the bed to meet his hand. Best of all though? The crotch of your panties is entirely in his mouth. His eyes are rolled back as he eagerly sucks your bloody juices from the soft silk. Your nipples harden in your little top at the sight and you feel wet, hot liquid drip down the side of your thigh before you look down just in time to see a splat of your blood drop down onto the white marble below you. It causes a little gasp to sound low in your chest and Roman whips his head in your direction the second he hears it.

You take a few shaky, nervous steps back and your heel catches on the corner on the bathmat, causing you to fall flat on your ass. Your skirt pools around your hips and your pussy is on full display as the cool air hits your slick center. You barely have time to realize you fell before Roman is pushing the bathroom door open so hard it slams against the wall. His eyes are crazed as he takes in the sight in front of him. He has his slacks and boxers pulled up now but his pants and belt are still undone. His usually meticulously styled hair is out of place, like he was running his fingers through it. His perfectly pressed black button up has the top three buttons undone and he’s clutching your panties in his large hand. He looks like a wet fucking dream.

Roman could say the same about you though. You’re sitting on his bathroom floor in a tank top that’s so see through he can practically see your nipples and he can tell you’re not wearing a bra. Your hair is in these cute little braids with ribbons tied on the ends and your pretty, pouty lips shine in the iridescent white light of the bathroom. But what’s driving him to the point of insanity? Your little white skirt is bunched up at your hips, revealing your bare pussy to him. Which means the only pair of panties you had were the ones you gave him. Silly girl. You’re pussy glistens with your wet, bloody juices and your white skirt is streaked with blood.

If he believed in heaven, he’s sure this is what it would look like. Except for the way his stomach growls at the smell of you suddenly makes him feel like he’s in hell. He thought the smell of you on your panties was just really strong, he didn’t realize the source was just behind the door. You smell so fucking good. Like someone blended cotton candy and blood and mixed it with your arousal and he’s never smelled anything better in his life. He wants to rip your skin open and drink every drop of saccharine liquid from your body and that’s exactly why he’s stayed away. But now? He’s not sure he can trust himself, but how can he resist just a taste?

“Roman, I’m - I’m so sorry! I really shouldn’t have - fuck I’m just so sorry.” Your voice is squeaky and you trip over your words while you talk awkwardly with your hands.

“No. You shouldn’t have.” Roman’s nostrils flare and he clenches his hands into tight fists at his sides. He looks fucking pissed and you can’t help the way your pussy clenches at the sight. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Broke into your house and left my blood panties on your pillow?” You state the obvious with an awkward smile and close your legs when you realize you’re still flashing him your entire pussy. Even though you don’t really care. He’s already seen it all.

“You think I’m mad you broke in?” Roman chuckles darkly as he takes a few steps toward you, he’s absolutely massive from this angle and it makes your head spin. He holds your panties up and rolls them between his fingers before holding them out toward you. “I don’t give a fuck about that. Do you realize how dangerous what you’re doing is?! Do you realize that - that I could fucking hurt you?!”

“I’m not scared of you, Roman. If you’re mad because you think you’re going to hurt me, good. I want you to.” You lick your lips and smirk up at him, baiting him. If he isn’t mad that you broke in, you’re going to shoot your shot. You didn’t come all this way, practically stalking him, for nothing.

“You should be.” Roman grits as he glares down at you. He knows if you offer yourself to him, it’s over. He can’t resist you anymore. Not like this. “You can’t just - you can’t just fucking walk in here dressed like that, smelling like blood and shit.” He takes another step forward and points down at you accusingly. “Why can’t you just give it up, huh?! No matter what I do, you don’t stop!”

“Because I can tell you want me! And you think you’re some big, bad scary monster but, newsflash, Roman I’m not afraid of you! I want you to fuck the shit out of me and feed off me. I want to be the only person you’re nice to because I can tell you’re sweet underneath that mountain of ice. I can tell you just want to be loved.” You look up at him through your lashes as you get onto all fours and crawl until you’re knelt directly in front of him. “Let me feed you, let me love you.”

“You’re fucked in the head, you know that?” Roman chuckles and smirks down at you devilishly, his words holding less malace now. “But I guess that makes us both fucked because all this crazy shit you’ve been doing gets me so hard. I’m gonna fucking ruin you, princess.”

“Do it.” It was like you said the magic words with how quickly Roman gets onto his knees and manhandles you onto your back. He roughly grabs your thighs, spreading them apart as he shoves his face between your legs. He lickes a long stripe along your folds before slipping his tongue between them and licking up your juices. Every nerve on Roman’s body lights up at your taste and he growls into your pussy as he shoves his tongue into your hole and swirls it.

“Oh fuck, that’s so fucking good.” You whine and it spurs Roman on, his cock twitching in his jeans. You taste better than he could have ever imagined. Like metallic candy and desire. He doesn’t know how he will settle for the taste of anything else ever again. Roman grabs onto your ass and lifts your lower half off the ground, his tongue never letting up. He flattens it inside of you and practically scoops your blood into his mouth as he drinks it down. His thumb comes up to rub circles on your clit and it has you close to coming already. “Oh god, I’m going to come.”

Roman moans into your pussy as he looks up at you with his big, green eyes that are almost entirely black from the dilation of his pupils. He hasn’t come up for air once, he can suffocate and drown between your legs with your blood on his tongue for all he cares. He circles his tongue around your hole before thrusting it back inside you and it has white hot pleasure burning through you. You grip onto his hair and your hips rut against his face as you ride out your high. You start to come back down to earth but Roman doesn’t stop until you’ve come on his mouth two more times. He finally pulls off of you and you pant as you try to focus your blurry eyes on the way your blood coats his lips.

“You taste so much fucking better than I could’ve ever imagined.” Roman moans as he brings his finger to gather the blood on his chin and cheeks before sucking it into his mouth. He licks his lips, savoring your taste like it's the finest meal he’s ever eaten, because it was. “I don’t know how I’m going to come back from that. Nothing will ever taste as good as that. Fuck! I shouldn’t have -”

“ROMAN!” You shout as you lean forward and take his face in your hands. “Don’t spiral. I’ll be your personal fucking blood bag, for all I care.” You smile at him adoringly as your thumbs brush his cheeks. “Will you kiss me?”

“You want me to kiss you?” Roman cocks his head to the side as his eyes roam your sweet face. He can’t believe such a weird fucking girl resides inside your angelic form. “You’re not real.”

“Real as they come, shut up and kiss me.” Roman surges forward, crushing his lips against yours. They’re so plush and soft and he tastes like your blood but you don’t even care because he’s finally kissing you. You slip your tongue into his mouth and tangle it with yours as you lean up to wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your chest against his own. You want to be closer to him. Roman groans as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you up as he stands with ease. His other hand grips onto your ass and you lock your legs around his waist, your lips never ceasing to touch each other. He walks into his bedroom and throws you down on the bed, standing at the edge of it as he looks down at you hungrily.

“I want you to fuck me.” You smile up at him with mock innocence as you spread your thighs for him. “Use me, Roman.”

“If you think you’re ever escaping me now, you’re wrong. I’ll tie you to my fucking bed if I have to. You’re mine now.” Roman groans as he leans down and licks the length of your pussy, tasting your blood again.

“Well, I like the sound of that, I just might have to run away, afterall…” You sigh dramatically and it's cut off with a squeak when Roman lands a smack on your pussy. “Hey!”

“You’re a fucking, brat, aren’t you, an angel in desguise?” Roman smacks your pussy again and you’re so wet it echoes off the walls. “I won’t hesitate to punish you in the future. But right now I need to feel that tight fucking pussy wrapped around my cock.”

Roman pushes his pants and boxers down his hips, freeing his hard, thick cock. He grabs onto the sides of his shirt, ripping the buttons open and shoving it off his shoulders. He leans down and wraps his hand around your throat, his mouth watering at the feeling of your blood pumping against his palm. He takes his cock in his other hand and taps it on your clit a few times before lining up with your entrance and slamming deep inside you. There’s no build up, no time to think with the way he brutally fucks into you.

“Oh my fucking god.” You moan and wrap your legs around romans hips, using your heel clad feet to push him deeper. Roman continues to squeeze your throat, addicted to the feeling of your pumping blood as your pussy practically constricts his cock.

“You’re so fucking tight, fuck. Let me see these tits, baby.” Roman’s free hand reaches down to pull your tank top down below your chest. Your tits bounce free and he roughly takes one in his hand, pinching your nipple hard. “Even more perfect than your little pictures.”

He leans down to take one in his mouth and he lets his grip on your throat fall so he can twist your opposite nipple. Your back arches off the bed as your hands grip onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh. Roman continues to pound into your pussy, this new angle has him hitting deeper and his pelvis bumps against your clit deliciously.

“God, Roman, you feel so fucking good.” Breathy moans leave your lips as you try to meet his erratic thrusts. His mouth moves onto your other tit and he bites down on your nipple surprisingly gently. “Bite me harder. Drink from me.”

“I don’t think you know what you’re asking, doll.” Roman plants sloppy kisses on your chest and up your neck before running his perfect, pointed nose along your jugular. He kisses along the column of your neck and nips at your skin. “What if I can't stop?”

“I trust you.” You sigh dreamily as you run your fingers through his hair. “I want it, please?”

Roman pushes himself up on his hands so he can look down at you with his shiny, viridescent eyes, he searches your face for doubt but all he sees is lust and a look of trust that he hasn’t seen anyone give him in a long time. Everyone in his life fears him, aside from Peter, that is. But this is different, you’re almost looking at him like you love him or something. Then you do it, you crane your head to the side, exposing your neck further to him and Roman thinks he might be in love with you.

“Fuck it.” Roman slams his hips against yours roughly and grabs onto the back of your head as he leans down and licks across your neck. He plants a few sloppy kisses there, inhaling your taste and savoring the way your heart beats against his lips before sinking his teeth into your delicate skin. He isn’t sure if this or your pussy tasted better but something about you trusting him with your life makes this different. It makes him fucking crazy. You make him fucking crazy.

“Shit, that feels amazing.” Your eyes roll back at the feeling of Roman’s teeth puncturing your skin as he pulls your blood from your body. He’s still fucking you like a man posessed and it’s all you’ve ever wanted. “Take as much as you need, daddy.”

Roman straight up growls into your throat at that, his thrusts somehow becoming even rougher. His free hand travels between your legs to rub circles on your clit and it sends you over the edge. You see stars as your orgasm wracks through your entire body. Once you come down, Roman pulls his teeth from your neck and licks the bloody wound they left behind.

“That’s my good girl, fucking come for me.” Roman takes your jaw in his big hand and pulls your lips against his in a filthy kiss, filling your mouth with that metallic taste mixed with something that’s purely Roman. When he pulls away, he licks the blood that smeared on your lips from his own. “Fucking addicted to your taste, you’re so sweet, like candy. My little candy girl.”

“I’m fucking obsessed with you.” You admit it with your full chest, as if it wasn’t already obvious. You bring your nails up and run them down his chest, leaving lines of scratch marks. “You can taste me whenever you want.”

“You’re so fucking hot.” Roman pushes up on his knees and grips onto your thighs, tossing them over his shoulder. It has his cock hitting places you didn’t even know were there. Roman grips onto your throat again, leaning down and nearly folding you in half. He shoves his face into your neck and licks the blood still gathered where his teeth pierced your skin and that’s all it takes to have his cock twitches inside of you, filling you with ropes of his cum.

“Fuck yes, milk my dick, angel.” Roman doesn’t stop fucking you until his cock starts to soften inside you and then he collapses on top of you. His weight crushes you into the mattress but it feels good and you bring your fingers up to tickle across his back and into his silky hair. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Roman chuckles into your neck and it fills your tummy with a million butterflies.

“Yeah? How so?” Roman pushes himself up on his hands so he can look down at you with a smile you’ve never seen before. It’s warm and sweet and you never want it to go away.

“Well, first of all, you practically stalked me. You broke into my house, and then you offered me your blood as if me killing you wasn’t a very real possibility. You’re kinda crazy” Roman chuckles as his hand comes up to cup your cheek and you swear you’re going to melt. “It’s pretty sexy though. You really gonna be my little blood bag?”

“Oh! So he does have a sense of humor!” You giggle and Roman rolls his eyes and flips onto his back. You take the opportunity to straddle him and look down at him like he hung the stars and it makes his heart beat weird. You’re so fucking pretty sitting on him with your hair all mused and your tits out, your pretty little neck decorated with his bite mark. “Jokes aside though, I meant that.”

“Well shiiit, who am I to say no to that?” Roman laughs, like for real laughs and it lights up his entire face. Now that you’ve accomplished your goal of getting him, your new one is to make him laugh like that, everyday.

“Does this mean your boyfriend now?” Roman grabs onto your braids, pulling your face down so it’s only an inch away from his while he gives you that bright smile you want to bottle up and save for a rainy day.

“Yeah, I’ll be your boyfriend or whatever, blood bag.” You giggle and Roman kisses you lovingly and way more gently than before. You knew you could break him. And now he’s yours.

Some of you might recognize my writing and aesthetic, if you do, hello! This is where I’ll be writing from now on. I’ll be writing for several different characters and I hope you enjoy the ride!✨

Tagging my Bill babes: @rafescorpsebride @taintandviolent (<- shout out to you pookie for shaking my Roman brain worm that never sleeps) @eerielamb @that-sarcastic-writer 🤍

Divider by @anitalenia

[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.

[morbidollette]

the crow fics

✧ i think i could love you.

✧ beautifully broken.

✧ you're my drug.

✧ trouble.

✧ borrowed bites

✧ pornography.

✧ pussy liquor.

✧ nightmare.

✧ his pet.

✧ in the dead of night.

✧ art on art.

✧ something sweet.

[nerdy-novelist017]

Trouble (Eric Draven x Rebel!Reader)

Bill Skarsgard, covered in blood and acting feral as he violently kills people to avenge the woman he loves?? Yeah, that really did a number on me….but I couldn’t help but fall in love with Eric’s quiet character in the first act so pls enjoy my ramblings! 💕

Eric Draven Masterlist

Word Count- 1.5k+

Summary- Eric's carefully guarded solitude is disrupted by a bold newcomer who seems to be trouble incarnate.

“I wanna get in trouble.”

A voice, sudden and electric, broke Eric from his reverie as a figure’s shadow fell across the intricate lines and shadows of his drawing. He glanced up hesitantly, shielding his eyes from the harsh sunlight behind you. His eyes were met with the sight of you – a tempestuous spirit with wild, untamed hair that cascaded around your face like a mane, defying the order and discipline of this facility. There was a glint in your eyes, mischievous and daring, that seemed to challenge the very atmosphere around you. You loomed above him, a figure of restless energy, waiting for a response that he was unprepared to give. 

“What?” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to the boldness of your intrusion. 

You grinned cheekily, and with an audacity that left him momentarily stunned, you stepped up onto the picnic bench he was perched at, planting yourself so that you were sitting on the table as if it was your own personal stage. Your feet, clad in worn, oversized sneakers rested casually on the seat in a silent declaration of your disregard for rules. “Don’t you?”

Eric blinked at you, his brows furrowed as he hastily pulled his papers closer, as if to shield them from your encroaching presence. “No.”

“No?” you parroted, a suggestive playfulness tone to your voice. “But this place is so boring.” 

He glanced around the yard, taking in the stark reality of the rehab facility, his eyes lingering on the chain link fence with its towering barbed wire glinting menacingly in the afternoon sun. “It’s supposed to be,” he said with cold detachment. “And you’re not supposed to be fraternizing with me.”

You followed his gaze, casting a sly look to the guards who stood at the back door, and a smirk danced on your lips. “Uh oh, I wonder what the consequences for that will be.”

Eric wanted to roll his eyes at your attitude. This was how all the newbies were when they came in: brash, defiant and convinced they could outwit the system. They came in with fire in their eyes only for it to be extinguished within days by the crushing reality of their situation. Nobody stayed trouble for long. He watched as their bravado withered, soon to be replaced by resignation. And the ones like you – those who pushed the boundaries with reckless abandon – often found themselves confined to solitary confinement, their spirits slowly eroded by the wright of their own demons. 

“You think I could seduce one of these guards to sneak us in some contraband?” you asked, raising your brow in a conspiratorial way as you nodded toward a pair of male guards standing near the backdoor, idly chatting and sharing a cigarette. 

Eric’s gaze traveled over you, from the oversized, ugly pink sweatshirt that swamped your frame to the untamed hair that framed your face like a wild halo. You spoke of “us” as if any semblance of companionship existed between you too. There wasn’t. It was just him and his solitary existence. He had no need for friends, no desire for connections – especially not from someone like you. 

“No,” he said finally as he returned to his sketch, hoping his blatant disinterest would be enough to drive you away. “You need to get off the table.”

He could feel your eyes on him, your gaze almost too intense. When you tilted your head, studying him in amused disbelief, he knew what was coming. Another newbie thinking they could crack him open like some sort of nut, put together the broken pieces like a puzzle. He kept his attention on the drawing, hoping you’d take the hint and leave him alone. 

“C’mon, you don’t look like someone who’s this much of a stick in the mud.” Your voice was playful, teasing but Eric could sense the challenge beneath it. His silence seemed to fuel you, as if his resistance was exactly what you were hoping for. “What’s your name anyway?”

He hesitated, hating how you were forcing him to interact with you like some needy puppy. “Eric,” he muttered, keeping his gaze locked on the drawing.

“Eric,” you tasted his name on your lips quietly. It grated on him, the way you spoke as if you already knew him, already had him all figured out. “You’re an artist, huh? I bet you’re all dark and broody, right? The strong, silent type?”

His jaw tightened, his pencil pressing a little too hard against the paper. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him, but he could feel your words digging right under his skin. Dark and brooding? Strong and silent? You didn’t know anything about him, didnt understand the darkness that lingered in the corners of his mind, the weight of the silence he carried, yet here you were, already trying to pin him down with labels. And typically, Eric didn’t care what anyone else here labeled him with, but your unnervingly amicable voice was something he wasn’t used to. It was almost laughable, except it wasn’t. It was annoying. 

Your words struck a nerve. He remained quiet, instead choosing to focus on the shading in the corner of his page, tried to drown out the sound of your voice, but he knew his silence was betraying him. The tension in his jaw, the way his grip on the pencil tightened – it all gave him away, and he could almost feel you noticing it, filing it away for later. God, why couldn’t you just leave him alone? 

Then you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper for only his ears to hear. “You know, I think you want to get into trouble. You’re just too scared to admit it.”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours before he could stop himself, his heart racing at the sudden intensity in your eyes. And there was something in your gaze that unsettled him. Annoyance flared up first, hot and defensive. But beneath that, he felt a flicker of . . . curiosity. And he hated that too – hated that you were getting under his skin. What the hell did you even know about him? What gave you the right to pry into his life, his thoughts.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he retorted, his voice sharper than he intended, the words escaping in a rush of defensiveness. 

You shrugged, unbothered by his tone, a playful smile tugging on your lips. “Maybe not yet, but I’m good at figuring people out. And I think you’re bored out of your mind here, just like me. You’re dying for something – anything – to happen.”

Eric shook his head, forcing himself to look back down at his sketch. “You’re wrong.” 

Even to his own ears, the denial sounded weak, and that only served to deepen his irritation. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, stretching your arms overhead, and Eric resisted the urge to glance up. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I’m always up for a little fun.”

“Fun,” he echoed, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He wasn’t even sure why he bothered to respond, but something about your persistence was unraveling him bit by bit. “That's what got us in here in the first place. 

You paused, and for a second, Eric thought maybe he had finally shut you up. He looked up and caught a flicker of something else in your expression, something serious that made his chest tighten with a feeling he couldn’t quite name. But just like that, it was gone, replaced by that infuriating grin. 

“Maybe,” you said, your voice softer, thoughtful in a way that made him uneasy. “But maybe that’s what will get us out of here too.”

Eric watched as you slid off the table, landing lightly on the ground. For a moment, he thought you might actually leave him alone, and the relief that washed over him was sweet. But then you turned back, hands stuffed into the pocket of that oversized sweatshirt, your grin still in place – though it didn’t seem to reach your eyes quite the same as before. 

“See you around, Eric,” you said before sauntering off, as if you didn’t just turn his whole world upside down in a matter of a few minutes. 

He stared after you, watching as you kicked at the feet of another unsuspecting patient who grumbled at you as you passed. His mind raced, his drawing forgotten, the lines and shadows now blurring together in an indistinct mess. He hated how you so easily managed to disrupt his carefully-constructed isolation, how you made him think about things he thought he’d buried a long time ago. He wanted to believe you were just another reckless newbie, just another faceless patient in a sea of addicts who would burn out soon enough. But something in the pit of his gut told him you were different – something he couldn’t shake. 

In the silence that followed your departure, Eric was left to grapple with the realization that the trouble you brought was not just a disruption, but a catalyst for change, a challenge to his solitude. And now as he returned to his meaningless drawing, he wondered briefly if perhaps your indelible, chaotic presence was exactly what he needed to rewrite his own story in the hell hole. 

And that scared him more than he’d like to admit.

Tagging some of you who seemed interested!

@apolloanddaphnis @one-of-thewalkingdead @m00npjm @maimai-0603 @redwitchbitch1 @at-midnight @fandom-fanatix @spoiled-bat13 @alinahdee @mrsalwayswrite

[twistedbloodstain]

I have two ideas for the marquis de framing that I think you’d do great writing!

1: where the reader is interrogating the marquis (meaning she kidnapped him) and through there, they start to get feelings for each other

2: reader (who had a relationship of some sort with the marquis) fakes their death because they couldn’t take the assassin world. The marquis is devastated (lots of angst hehehe). They meet again while the reader is trying to help someone (maybe John, lol)

3: reader who is part of the high table meets the marquis for the first time. Sorta like live at first sight.

vincent de gramont x reader: i could never give you peace | what’s meant to be is supposed to be

plot: the one where he finds you again.

warnings: the reader’s a medic/healer in here SORRYYY…, she knew john from before, he rats her out lolz, kidnapping except vincent doesn’t do it this time..(yay! cuz he forced someone else to do it!!!), anon im so sorry i focused too hard on one part, i will do an extra (i swear)

masterlist

“stay still.” you mumble.

mr. wick lets out a small grunt while you sew his wound back together, nothing too fatal (at least in his standards) but without the help of any anesthesia or alcohol to soothe the pain, the assassin had no choice but to follow.

“don’t worry, it's almost done.” you whisper almost finished with patching up the flesh on his back. “and..there..”

he immediately gets off his seat and reaches for his shirt stationed on a random desk scattered with medical supplies. he digs into his suit jacket and fishes out a coin and hands it over to you, you accept it eagerly and begin cleaning up.

“you need any help with transport?” you inquire while you discard your bloodied gloves and utensils.

“yeah.”

“on your way out turn left and find the guy with a gray jacket. he’s one of winston’s men, he’ll help you out. where are you headed?” you inquire while washing your hands. he hesitantly answers before offering a reply.

“paris.”

“oh.” you stop in your movements and look at him. he stands near the door way all dressed up with blood caking his temples, he still looks rugged and in no shape to do what he has to do in pairs but your opinion likely doesn’t matter to him.

“good luck, i guess.” you mutter.

“you’ve been there.” he says.

“i..have.” you hope he doesn’t press any further.

“what’s in paris?” he questions but doesn’t take a step further.

“for you?” you uneasily say, he doesn’t reply.

“a dangerous man. i..think you’ll die trying just to get what you want, mr. wick. but hey, who knows? maybe, it’s now him.” you explain.

“the guy who had the continental demolished, was it him?” he sternly asks.

“..yes, i think it was him.” you confess, avoiding his eyes.

it had been almost three years since you left that country.

three years since you left him.

you can’t even bear to say his name because if you do, all of it will spill out. how he met you, how kept you and how he loved you. 

he nods, “and for you?”

“an even more dangerous man.”

 ever since mr. wick entered and left your clinic. you've been in a constant state of anxiety. the mere thought and mention of him had you nervous, especially when you heard that he was in new york a few days ago. you thought it was all over, that he found you and was going to rip you from your freedom in this city.

the following news shocked you to your core, the new york continental being demolished was not in your bingo card as to why he’d be here. all because of an excommunicated assassin which you had tended to almost a day after the bombing.

although you’re horrified with the state of events, relief flooded you when you realized he wasn’t there for you. you’d still be safe from him.

but you can’t help but think what all of this means for him. at some point, you know that john wick will kill him, and you somehow played a part in it. you feel a tinge of regret for him but it’s quickly overshadowed with the horrors he’s done and you don’t feel as bad.

he did like you though, when you still worked at france for him as his estate medic. whenever he found himself wounded in the line of fire in an ambush attack, you were the one who tended to his wounds and saw him at his weakest. you don’t know why but a strong sense of trust was established between the two of you.

you thought it to be a friendship but fleeting glances of affection would seep through when you talked or when a large bouquet of flowers suddenly appeared in your clinic after patching him up. 

you toyed with a pin he gave you, his insignia. only he wore it proudly on his coat and truly, it warmed you to him. he did make you feel appreciated, small touches on your back and sometimes fiddling with your hands whenever you sewed his wounds, gave you butterflies in your stomach.

with you he was just…vincent.

soft words and touches with soulful eyes looking into yours, just gentleness and affection present in him. it made you indulge into it too, that he isn’t the cruel man people made him out to be. he isn’t heartless, that’s just how the world is.

a naive perspective.

a perspective that was easily shattered when you’d hear a bloodcurdling scream from the barn, and he walks out with blood on his hands and a disgusted look on his face from his clothes being stained. gunshots echoing beneath the servant’s staircases and thudding bodies being dragged into the secluded forests of the estate. you whisper to yourself those very same words even if all his actions sent chills on your spine.

but the truth of it is that, he is heartless. he is the man people made him out to be and you’re a fool thinking he could be better for you but at the end of the day, he is still the marquis.

it made you think. what if this is all a game to him? what if the moment he finds you uninteresting you become another stain on his suit? 

it’s not a secret that men like him love having delicate pretty things only to break them apart. that’s all you are his current delicate and pretty thing.

you decided to leave. you weren’t staying long enough to find out what would happen to you, feelings be damned when you’re easily replacable to him. you knew that the marquis was like a dog to a bone when he didn’t get the things he wanted, which only pooled fears into your stomach should he find you in new york.

he cannot have you.

you stare at the pin before chucking the pin somewhere in the room, you get up from your chair and begin closing the windows from your clinic.

a knock comes from the door, you chuck the remaining medical materials into a random desk and walk up to the door. wounded assassins aren’t a strange occurrence at this time of the evening but something…felt different.

your gut was telling you to ignore the person on the other side and stay still. you thought that maybe if you didn’t answer the person would go away. wanting to play things safe you don’t mutter a word that would alert them of your presence. it usually worked in some cases.

the knocking persists, much harder and louder now. your hands begins to shake and your eyes start looking around for an emergency firearm to help defend yourself, your actions frantically halt when you hear a voice through the door.

“doc?” a gruff voice asks.

you sight and put a hand on your chest. it’s just john wick. you eagerly open the door to let him in.

“john.” you greet, “come inside.” you invite him as you walk inside.

john doesn’t follow you and a confused expression takes your face, until you take a good look at him. for the first time, john wick doesn’t look wounded to you, his face and hands void of any blood, a new bulletproof suit adorning his body, a french one you notice but it still leaves you questioning things.

“i’m assuming france went successful.” you say.

“…it’s close.” he pauses before replying, seeming as if he’s finding the right words to say.

“what do you need?” you question.

“it’s winston. he’s been shot.” you freeze.

oh dear. you never really approved of the things he did but a soft spot was always present for him and charon. they helped you settle here in new york, but winston took you in even when he knew of your history with vincent. you swore to always help him in ways you could and now the opportunity presented itself.

the car sped down the street with you and john in tow. you hold your medical kit close to your lap, feeling uneasy with the thought of losing the old man. charon had been so recent and you don’t think you bear to lose the friends you’ve made along the way.

you glance at john and he looks calm and composed as usual, eerily so. a week earlier he was calm but you could feel his anger and determination simmering underneath his skin. now it looked like he was taking a walk in a park. you eye him carefully, uneasiness seeping in your stomach.

“did they give it to you?” you ask, he looks at you before clearing his throat.

“just an extension.” he answers, knowing exactly what you were referring to.

“to do what?” you ask again, john doesn’t budge and continues driving, ignoring your question. your eyes stay on him but he doesn’t look at you.

silence settles into the car and you lean back in your seat. you really wish your brought your gun with you right now. you don’t know why but you have a feeling that something is wrong right now, especially with john. he’s not telling you something.

or maybe it really is none of your business. perhaps he wanted to spare the bloody details of how he’s going to win his freedom back. you relax and try to forget the uneasiness, trying to remember that winston is the priority right now, you shut your eyes. all of your fears are gathering together and it’s making you overthink your interaction with john, everything’s okay.

the loud sound of drilling makes you open your eyes, you look at the window and you see a familiar street. 

the new york continental was being rebuilt.

your apprehensiveness returns.

“john?” you look at him once again, “who shot winston?”

“he got hit during the line of fire.” this time he replies.

bullshit. winston would have an emergency plan before the shooting started.

“in new york?” you press.

“yeah.”

another bullshit. you could see through his lies, he’s clearly fresh out of france. what was he trying to do? 

“j-john.” you voice shakes almost as if you’re begging. something happened in france, something that saved both winston and john.

he looks at you with regret in his eyes. not enough to save you for what’s about to come.

“where are you taking me?” you sputter, your heart beating fast in anxiety, “i’ve done nothing but help you, please don’t do this!”

“he took winston with him and he found out.” he quietly defends.

“please help me, i don’t want to go back!” you begin crying, tears rolling down your face, “he’ll kill me!” 

he makes no reply and continues driving. with no hope left with him, you try to open your side of the door. he immediately notices this and grabs your arm trying to stop you from leaving, you begin hitting him with your other arm.

you know that he doesn’t want to do this but it feels so unfair. you’ve saved his life only to throw yours away.

“let go of me!” you scream.

“i’m sorry.” 

you feel a prick in your neck.

you feel a heavy sensation pulling at your leg, your eyes feeling groggy still wanting to keep your lids closed. however the sensation persists and this forces you to open your eyes and sit up.

a dark room welcomes you, only a small lamp helping you take a small look of where you are. specifically, on a plush bed and a decorated room. your body feels heavy  from exhaustion which makes you lean back to the pillow behind you.

pondering what made you feel so tired when you haven’t done much for the night, you’ve sewn back together…a pair of assassins for the night? or was it three? two austrians and…who?a french? no…no..it was winston. 

that’s right.

wait.

only you didn’t treat winston.

you bolt up, your body seemingly sobers from the realization.

john brought you here in exchange for his freedom. 

you look around to see some sort of presence in the room but with the darkness it was hard to tell, nevertheless you hopped off the bed and bolted to the wooden door nearby. no wonder the place looked familiar, only the marquis would have a place as frivolous as this.

you need to leave right now. your hand reaches for the door until you find your body being slammed on the floor. a groan leaves your throat, in pain you massage your forehead and look around.

oh goodness.

a gasp leaves your mouth when you see a chain wrapped around your ankle, you inspect your foot before tracing the lines of chains, which were sourced on the thick foot of the bed you were on.

you tug it to check its strength and to see how long it actually goes. it was long enough to walk around the room but not long enough to reach the door. this is basically your fully furnished torture chamber. 

fuck. fuck. fuck.

a loud creak echoes through the room.

you really hate how things are right now.

he’s going to kill you. kill you for leaving him, how you easily made him look humiliated for being abandoned.

feeling your knees weaken you sit back on the bed and your hands shake in trepidation. the marquis’ simple presence made you scared of him, you felt tears falling down once again and you lowered your head, not wanting to look weak right now.

his footsteps are heard through the room, the door loudly closes shut, a thud echoing. he doesn’t say a word.

you feel everything leave your body. hope,freedom and life mostly.

he walks up to you until you see his shoes on the floor, a blurry sight entering your eyes due to the tears, he touches you, tilting your chin upwards and you do everything not to flinch. was he going to snap your neck?

you look at him and he still looks the same, slightly more mature.

but the same man you met a few years ago, if you jumped back into your rose tinted glasses, you’d probably see the vincent you cherished at some point if you weren’t so frightened right now.

he inspects you, his eyes wandering through your face. searching for something that’s supposed to be there, his lips part almost as if he’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“i-i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” apologies spill out of your lips, wanting to take the chance of saving yourself, “i-i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean to.” you cry. your hand reaches up to his hand that held your chin and you grip it for mercy, his hold on you weakens.

he doesn’t say anything and leans forward to you. you need him to say something, anything, whether it meant he’d simply say he wants yuu dead.

“please forgive me, just please don’t kil-“ he cuts you off.

with a kiss.

not a firm one but a surprisingly soft kiss on your lips.

he takes your hands into his and fiddles with it, trying to find his place in them just like before, he halts the kiss and leans towards your face. the man right in front of you wasn’t the marquis, it was vincent. 

your vincent.

the one with soft eyes looking at you with relief and adoration. the gaze that looked at you as if you were the most precious thing on earth, he wipes the tears on your cheeks and the next thing he says dissolves all sense of worry out of you.

“i could never hurt you.” he whispers.

author’s note: this kinda doesn’t make sense bc im so braindead rn to expand things but basically vincent finds medic!reader through winston and in exchange for the continental and john’s freedom, john brings medic!reader back to vincent. so basically she got ratted out lolz. this would work better if i made a vincent pov would be fun but i have a bunch of prompts to work on…(tempting) + he literally chained her down to him (hshshsh marriage allegory…) i kinda want to be funky dynamic of obsessed man + “ngl what’s wrong with this guy but i vibe with it” woman

[imaginesig]

Couple of the Year

SMAU Blurb (twitter and interview)

Bill Skarsgård x Wife!Reader

Yn Skarsgård had an interesting reaction to Bill’s Count Orlok transformation and the Nosferatu cast spills. For the sake of this 1) Yn is casted and a producer that’s why she’s in the interviews and 2) there are several mistakes in the interview portion, please forgive my dyslexia Canva makes it really hard for me to root out problems and then to fix and replace slides individually was too risky.

The idea was sent to me by @ateliefloresdaprimavera

Twitter

Interview—

Lily-Rose Depp, Nicholas Hoult, Willem Dafoe, and Emma Corrin

Robert Eggers

Aaron Taylor Johnson and Yn Skarsgård

Instagram--

ynskarsgård

liked by aarontaylorjohnson, lilyrosedepp, user2, and 892,920 others

ynskarsgård is now a good time to say he was also cute as Pennywise?

tagged: billskarsgård

lilyrosedepp speak your truth queen 📢📢

aarontaylorjohnson nothing surprises me from you anymore

emmacorrin couple goals

user1 oh that one twitter user is living the life rn

user2 HE COOKS FOR HER TOO???

user3 Bill the man you are

user4 the way he's hunch in the second photo 😭

user5 he's too tall 💀

load more

[kingkat12]

can i watch? (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, masturbation, voyeurism, sub-ish!roman, praise-kink, fluff lol

summary: who would've thought Roman would be okay with you watching him jerk off?

word count: 1,050

a/n: celebrating 200 followers with this little drabble!! love u guys omg i'm screaming?? thank u thank u thank u!!!!!<33

When I finally caved and told Roman my deepest, most embarrassing wish in bed, I never dreamt that he would actually be into it.

Then again, this was Roman— I should’ve expected that he’d be up for absolutely everything.

He had one arm around me as he occasionally turned his head to press sweet kisses against my jaw. Roman’s green eyes sparkled with both intrigue and want, unable to take his eyes off the way my lips parted at the sight before me. There was no way to contain my astoundment— he was so pretty. Way too damn pretty.

It was damn near impossible not to revel in the sight; the way Roman worked his fingers around his cock, and the way small drops of pre-cum would gather at the pink tip and fall down along his length. I definitely never thought he’d say yes to this, but here he was, letting me watch him get off. It had always been a bit of a fantasy of mine, despite not being able to put my finger on exactly why. It was something about the way his lashes fluttered, heavy with the weight of pleasure, as his chest raised with small, almost inaudible gasps for air.

I reached out to run my fingers through his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. If I stared at it all for too long, I was afraid I’d not be able to let him finish alone as I had asked him to. My heart fluttered as I heard Roman groan softly against my lips, his breathing growing heavier and laboured.

“It’s cute that you— ah, wanted this,” Roman murmured, kissing my cheek in the process as I watched his cock twitch in his fist. “Unexpected.”

I hummed, my fingers ghosting over his chest in soothing motions. “I’ve thought about you like this many times,” I decided that I'd straight-up confess; there was no going back anymore. "Especially when we first started dating... It was always on my mind."

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Leaning down to leave several wet kisses against his neck, I could only smile as I heard Roman’s breath hitch; a rarity. “Always wondered what you’d look like when you were all alone.”

Roman had to slow down, letting out a shaky breath. It was intense to see him like this— it wasn’t always that I could get a proper look at him during sex. But now? Oh my. “I always think about you when I do this, y’know?” he said, pressing a kiss against the shell of my ear which had shivers running down my spine within seconds. 

I could already feel my blush creeping up my cheeks, turning to meet his keen, green gaze. “You do?”

“Always,” Roman's kisses trailed down, now softly nipping at my jaw. “How you moan when I fuck you… And the way you look when you cum, the way you feel around my cock... Shit, I— I could go on?”

Something about getting Roman talking was intriguing. He was always such a fucking enigma, so who was I to deny a little peek beyond his curtain of mysteries? “And how do I look when I cum?” I asked, suppressing a giggle; it was certainly not a question I thought I would be asking any time soon. Actually, everything about this situation made me want to squeal like a little girl and jump him, completely thrilled that he was doing this for me. 

The memory of my walls flutterings around his cock seemed to really do it for Roman— he closed his eyes, his grip around his length tightening as he threw his head back against the pillow. “So fucking hot,” he breathed, now rambling. “You— You always get a little louder, and then you usually cling to me a little harder… And your nails dig into my back as you moan my name, and— Oh, fuck!” He quickly let go of himself, panting as he glanced down to check whether he had been too late or not.

My eyes were wide with love and adoration, unable to look away from the sight of him completely and utterly unraveled. Hearing Roman say these things about me was making my heart flutter in ways it had never done before—The fact that he thought about me like this, that it made him this hot and bothered… I was afraid my brain would melt from the heat. “You’re doing so good,” I cooed, leaning forward to press a kiss against Roman’s forehead as my fingers stroked through his tousled hair.

With that, he let out a sound that sounded an awful lot like a whimper; “Don’t say it like that,” he breathed, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. “You’re killing me here.”

I looked down just in time to see his cock twitch once more, along with Roman’s hand immediately returning to his aching need. Something told me I had struck gold; I pressed my lips against his temple, giving his hair a gentle tug as I spoke; “You’re doing so good for me, Rome,”

Roman bit his lip, hoping to suppress his next shaky breath. “Shut up,”

“Such a good boy,” I didn’t even try to hide the smirk that spread across my lips as I watched Roman’s hips buck up into his hand, pre-cum dripping down all over his long fingers. 

“Yeah?” he whimpered, a grunt following as he surrendered. I knew Roman was close by the way he sped up, his body tensing with anticipation as his lips parted in pleasure.

This was almost too much for me as well, the hard beating of my heart giving away my own arousal. “You’re perfect,” I breathed, leaning down to press a kiss against his cheek.

I wasn’t sure whether it was a whimper or a groan that Roman let out, but as his hips bucked up into his fist once more, I pulled away to watch thick ropes of cum seep out of his cock, decorating his toned lower abdomen. Roman threw his head back, letting out a rather breathy moan as his cock twitched, the last remnants leaking down his shaft. 

I held my breath as I watched the scene before me, the whole image of it etching itself into my brain. “Rome, holy fuck,” I knew I was definitely going to replay this in my head in times of need. 

Definitely.

(a/n: cue the inspo lol)

[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.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Gif by @pennywises

https://pennywises.tumblr.com/?source=share

I saw this movie yesterday, and this idea came to me in a dream. Short fluff.

You jump up to plant a kiss on his cheek. With a playful glint in your eye, you make sure he can see your lips clearly as you ask, "Did you hang the laundry to dry?"

He purses his lips, glances at you sideways, and slowly nods his head.

You giggle, shaking your head. "No, you didn't."

His nodding becomes more animated, his eyes blinking innocently.

"Oh yeah?" You lift your chin, making sure your lips are visible. "So if I go check the wash basin, it will be empty?"

He pulls back, blinking rapidly as his mind races for a response. Then, he lifts his arm, cradling his wrist, and pouts, his shoulders slumping as he looks at you like a kicked puppy.

Your brows rise. You know what he's doing, but it doesn't mean you won't fall for it. "Your wrist? What's wrong? Did you hurt yourself?" you ask, exaggerating your lip movements.

He nods, still pouting.

"Aww," you coo. "Let me see."

His powerful frame and fierce demeanor melt away in these moments of intimacy, revealing how innocent and noble he really is. It's his favorite method of shutting you up, and you fall for it every time, unable to resist the tenderness behind his strength.

But instead of showing you his hand, he grabs both of yours, locking them together with a firm yet gentle grip and pulling you towards him to kiss you.

[bloodibambiidoll]

⟡˖ ࣪ A Dripping Inconvenience ⟡˖

✬ Kinktober Day 3 ⟢ Eric Draven ⟢ Squirting/Overstim ✬

Warnings: Brother’s bestfriend troupe, size difference, fingering, pussy eating, pet names, choking, overstimulation, squirting, cock piercings, hickies, possessiveness, AU(no Shelly/crow), biting, a tiny bit of blood, reader has nipple piercings 18+MDNI

You spent most of the day cleaning your brother’s dirty ass apartment while he was out of town so you had absolutely no reservations about helping yourself to a fat plate of nachos from his kitchen and a blunt, or two, from his stash. You were one blunt, half a plate of nachos, and two episodes into your show when abrupt banging on the door ripped you from your chill evening. You practically jump out of your skin at the amount of force behind the knocks, the weed in your system making you slightly paranoid until you hear the voice behind the door.

“Chance, come on, man!! I really need your fucking help!” You’d recognize your brother’s best friend’s voice anywhere. Considering you were just a little bit obsessed with him. And he sounds extremely stressed. Another round of knocks pulls you from your thoughts and has you shooting to your feet so you can walk the short distance between the couch and the door. You hastily unlock and open it to reveal a disheveled looking Eric Draven. His black mullet is even messier than usual and dripping wet from the storm raging outside. Which makes the fact that all he’s wearing is a distressed black tee and even more distressed black jeans borderline insane as the cloth covering his body drips onto the carpet in the hallway. He’s panting heavily and the look in his eyes is the one of someone running from something. Fear and urgency. “Oh, fuck. What’re you doing here? Where’s your brother?”

You’re not taken back by his brash tone, Eric had always been short and avoidant with you. You’re his best friend’s annoying little, kid sister that used to beg to play with them and that’s all you’ll ever be to him. Fucking unfortunately. But the way he towers over you makes you suddenly acutely aware of the fact that all you’re wearing is a tiny, white, Hello Kitty tank top, even tinier pink panties that hardly cover your hips or ass, and your black platform Uggs with white ruffle socks. You took a shower after you finished cleaning and despite the amount of time you spent vacuuming, your brother's floors were perpetually disgusting so you refused to walk around in his house without some kind of shoes.

“He’s out of town, I’m house sitting and watching the dogs.” You scoff and roll your eyes before tipping your head over your shoulder to gesture inside toward your brother’s two dogs standing guard behind you. If they hadn’t known Eric their whole lives they’d probably be barking their heads off right now. “What are you doing here? Are you good?”

“Not fucking really, no.” Eric sighs and throws his head back while running his tattooed hands down his face. He drops them to his side before locking eyes with you and you have to physically stop yourself from clenching your thighs from the way he is glowering down at you. When you were kids he was shorter than most of the other boys and now his body fills the entire length of the doorway he’s standing in. He was just so big. “I just really needed to talk to your brother, alright? And it’s just really inconvenient that you’re here right now.”

“Seriously? What is your fucking problem with me, Eric? We aren’t little kids anymore. It’s just immature at this point.” You stomp your foot for emphasis and glare up at him with your lips set into an ironic pout considering you just called him immature.

“My problem?” Eric crowds your space even further and you can nearly feel the dampness of his clothes against your body from his proximity. He leans down until his face is mere inches from yours, his green eyes ablaze as he breathes out deep through his nostrils. “Is that I’m in some deep shit. I have some fucked people after me. You being here, near me, puts you in harm's way and that isn’t going to work for me.”

“That isn’t going to work for you? You’re joking, right? You don’t give a fuck about me.” You laugh dryly and shake your head at the irony of this entire situation.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Eric closes the remaining distance between you, pressing his wet body against your barely covered skin. “I give too many fucks about you and now you’re here, looking up at me in that annoyed way you always do.” He chuckles and one of his large hands reaches up to cup the side of your face. “You think it hides how badly you want me, but it doesn’t.”

“W- What?” You gasp at the feeling of his skin on yours. He’s been close to you before, but never like this. “I don’t -“

“Shh. Let’s not waste time denying it. The fact that you want me is as clear as the sky being blue.” Eric’s thumb reaches out to trace along your bottom limp and you have to hold in a whimper. “It's only ever made it harder for me to be a good friend to your brother and stay away from you. I think my final restraint might be slipping. Fucking look at you.”

“You should… come in?” Your voice comes out a squeaky whisper and it makes you want to crawl in a hole and die. A slow smile spreads across Eric’s face, he places his hands on your hips and starts to back step you into the apartment before kicking the door shut behind him. The minute it’s shut his lips are on yours in a kiss that makes your entire body ignite with fire. His grip on your hips tightens as he pulls your much smaller frame taunt against his own. His tongue explores your mouth and you moan into him while you start to subconsciously grind down on his thigh. Eric kisses you for what feels like an eternity before grabbing onto your hair at the nape of your neck and using it to pull your head back.

“I won’t be gentle. I’m really stressed the fuck out right now and I don’t have it in me to take my time with you.” Eric’s free hand grips onto your ass so tight his finger nails dig into your flesh as he continues to yank your hair. The stinging pains make you moan and grind down on him harder. “Oh? Is that how you like it, brat?” The condescending nickname he called you growing up held an entirely different meaning as it fell from his lips now. It makes your pussy clench around nothing as the wetness in your underwear grows. “Answer me.”

“Yes, fuck. I like it rough.” At that Eric circles an arm around your waist and throws you over his shoulder. He carries you over to the couch and tosses you down on it onto your back. He stands over you with an almost carnivorous look in his eyes as he takes you in. You’re so fucking perfect that he can’t stand it. Your brother told him around the time you all hit puberty to stay the absolute fuck away from you but looking down at you in your tiny pink thong and tight little hello kitty tank top has him practically forgetting who your brother even is. Especially when you throw one of your legs over the back of the couch, revealing the large wet spot between them. “Take your stress out on me, I can take it.”

“Oh, I don’t think you know what you’re asking for princess, but your wish is my command.” Eric licks his lips before leaning down between your legs to kiss you like a man starved. His mouth tastes like cigarettes and rain and something almost sweet that must be naturally Eric. It’s everything you ever dreamed of as his big hands travel all over your body. He yanks your hair, grips onto your throat, runs his hands down your chest and grabs your tits and squeezes your nipples while he ruts his hard Jean covered cock against you. He bites down on your lip so hard you feel when the skin breaks and you can taste the crimson drip into both your mouths. Eric licks across your lips and down your chin to your pulse point where he sucks over and over again until your neck is covered in pretty purple and red bruises that will soon turn green and blue.

“You’re fucking, mine. Your blood is mine, your body is mine.” Eric kisses down your chest and pushes your shirt up to reveal your pretty pierced tits that make him groan at the sight. He tells you how pretty they are as he licks and sucks across them, marking them up just like your neck. He continues down your body until he gets to the band of your panties and he licks across it before kissing down your mound and running the flat of his tongue along your lace covered slit. “This pussy is fucking mine. Say it.”

“Fuck, my pussy is yours, Eric. I’ve always been yours.” He practically growls at that before pushing your panties to the side and smacking his hand down on your sopping cunt. “Shit!”

“Your pussy is so fucking pretty.” He lands a second smack on your clit before pressing the heel of his palm down on it and toying at your entrance with two of his thick fingers. “You look so tight though, we’re going to have to stretch you out, if you’re going to be able to take me.”

“I think I can take it - oh fuck!” Eric plunges his fingers knuckle deep inside you and your wet walls suck him in. Your back arches off the couch but his knee comes up to pin your thigh so you can’t move. His free hand reaches for his belt and undoes his pants enough to pull his cock free, the sight of it makes your jaw drop. It’s fucking huge. Thick, long and slightly curved, the head is perfect and dripping with precum, and best of all? The entire fucking length of his shaft is pierced. Maybe you do need him to stretch you out after all.

“Yeah, not so cocky now, huh?” Eric chuckles as he curls his fingers inside you and continues to grind his palm against your aching clit. He caresses your g-spot and rubs the tips of fingers along your walls before thrusting them in and out of you brutally quick. Your pussy is so wet it squelches and your juices start to drip down your thighs. Eric leans down and takes your clit in his mouth and it has your eyes rolling back. Your entire body stiffens as pleasure overtakes you. He keeps sucking your clit hard until your orgasm finally wavers but he doesn’t stop. The flat of his tongue licks your bud firmly as he twists his wrist and scissors his fingers inside you causing you to come again immediately.

He finally pulls his mouth off of you and you feel like you can breathe for a moment. That is until you look down at him. His hair is a disaster from you yanking on it and the entire bottom half of his face is covered in your creamy juices. Eric leans in to kiss you, giving you a taste of yourself. “You’re such a good girl for me. Give me another one.” He doesn’t pull his fingers from you and fuck you like you’d hoped he would but he resumes thrusting them in and out of you at a brutal pace and your pussy juices drip down his wrist and onto the couch.

“Oh my fucking god! I don’t think I can - fuck I just - I need a minute-“ Your sentence is cut short when Eric’s hand flies out to grip onto your throat.

“Oh, baby, no. You’re going to come for me as many times as I say and then I’ll finally give you my cock and you’ll come on that too.” Eric chuckles as squeezes your throat as he fucks you with his long fingers. His thumb reaches out to caress your clit and euphoria washes over you again. “Yeah, that’s it, you’re so good for me, Angel.”

“I - it’s so good, too good, I don’t think I can come again - oh fuck!” Eric’s grip leaves your throat and grips under your ass to tilt your hips up off the couch making his fingers hit deeper inside you.

“Shhh, just come for me.” He spreads them and twists his wrist before going back to the quick drive of his digits inside you. He spits on your clit before pressing hard on it with his thumb and your walls pulse around him as cum floods from your pussy. You squirt around his fingers and he doesn’t stop his assault on your pussy until you squirt two more times for him. Your chest is heaving and your entire body is shaking by the time he finally pulls his fingers from inside you and uses your juices to lube up his fat cock. “You were such a good girl for me, now lay back and take my cock like the good little fuck doll I always wanted.”

Tagging some fellow Eric lovers: @babygorewhore @cxrrodedcoffin @myherometalhead @that-sarcastic-writer @ghoul-friendz @taintandviolent 🖤

[powerpointpartygirl]