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enchantresss97 · 4 months ago

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Dark Gravity-Part four

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

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

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

Word count: 8577 (buckle up fellas)

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

Dark Gravity

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

It’s easy. Loud. Alive.

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

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

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

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

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

His gaze flickers over you, slow and deliberate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You tell me,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a while, the group drifts upstairs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him. “What?”

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

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

You take a breath, steady yourself, and strike.

The ball rolls, bounces—barely misses the pocket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eric quirks a brow. “How’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mouth opens, then closes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As you turn to leave, you feel him follow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, he kisses you.

The moment his lips touch yours, everything else disappears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A soft click.

Final. Unshakable.

The sound sends a shiver down your spine.

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

He’s bad. This is bad.

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

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

But more than that, you want him.

And then he’s moving.

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

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

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

His lips crash against yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he moves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should stop. You should slow down.

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

You don’t want to stop.

You don’t want to slow down.

You want this.

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

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

He doesn’t rush.

He wants you to feel this.

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

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

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

“Eric—”

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

But he loves it.

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

And then—

His mouth.

His tongue.

Hot. Slow. Devastating.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s intoxicating.

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

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

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

It’s maddening.

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

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

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

Feel the way he ruins you.

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

Feel the moment you shatter.

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, the world is still.

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

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

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

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

That’s all it takes.

Eric moves.

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

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

“You are so fucking beautiful.”

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

Then his hands are back on you.

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

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

He pulls.

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

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

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

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

His smirk deepens.

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

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

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

And then he’s back.

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

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

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

“Yes.”

That’s all he needs.

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

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

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

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

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

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

You can barely think. You can barely breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—

It crashes over you all at once.

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

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

For a moment, neither of you move.

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

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

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

And God help you

Because you think you might be, too.

———————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gave you a small kiss on the lips.

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

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

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

Then you take a deep breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The word leaves your lips before you think about it.

“Aurora.” You said

Eric exhales, dragging smoke from his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That tightness in your chest deepens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you hate it.

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

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

You swallow, pressing your lips together.

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

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

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

That’s all he says. Shit happens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a slow gasp.

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

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

————————

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

@paraficwriter @clairesblouse here we go ☺️

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

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

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

I’ll leave a poll below.

Thank you so much for waiting this long.

I love you, and happy reading!

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård x reader #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgård imagine #bill skarsgård smut #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgård fanfiction #eric draven x you #eric draven x reader #eric draven imagines #eric draven smut #eric draven #dark gravity #dark gravity fan fic

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enchantresss97 · 4 months ago

Text

I know I am late with this...

I was contemplating if I should make this a one shot or not, but it's too much so it will be two parts, three at best. Let's see...

Hope y'all will like.

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

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

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

Word count: 4794

Dark Gravity

It was a beautiful summer evening, the kind where the air felt warm and light, and the city hummed with the sounds of people enjoying the night. You and your friend Lily walked down the bustling streets, laughing and chatting, ice cream in hand. The evening felt easy, like everything was just right.

As you walked, Lily pulled out her phone, checking a message. “Mark just texted me,” she said, her tone bright. “He invited us over to his place tonight. You wanna come?”

You nodded without hesitation. “Sure, sounds good.”

The two of you made your way toward Mark’s place, the night unfolding in a natural rhythm.

Your friend was absorbed in her phone, typing a response, and you continued to chat casually, the conversation flowing without interruption. It wasn’t long before you found yourselves just a few blocks away from Mark’s apartment.

Your friend’s phone buzzed again, and she glanced down at it. “Mark’s not home yet,” she said, tapping out a reply. “He’ll be there in about five minutes. He said we should just go ahead and go up to his apartment. He gave me the intercom number, so we can get in and wait for him.” You both turned toward the building, the moment of hesitation passing quickly.

Just as you entered the building, the soft sound of rain began tapping on the pavement outside. It started slow, but quickly grew into a steady drizzle.

The air cooled, and the city’s usual sounds grew softer, muffled by the rain. Your friend led the way, pressing the intercom button and announcing your arrival. As the door clicked open, you stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the building as the cool rain fell outside.

The hallway was narrow, dimly lit, and quiet. Lily stepped to the side, holding her phone up to her ear as she began speaking to Mark. You didn’t catch most of the conversation, something about him being close and running late, but when she came back to you, she looked a little distracted. “He’ll be here in a minute,” she said, with a slight smile. “He’s almost here, but he’s coming with Eric and a few other friends.”

You froze.

The name Eric sent a chill down your spine. You knew Mark and Eric were friends, everyone knew that, but you never thought it would actually happen that you’d meet him in person. Sure, you’d heard the rumors.

Everyone had.

But hearing that Eric would be coming back with Mark… it wasn’t a surprise, but it still felt like a punch to the stomach.

“I don’t want to be around him,” you said quickly, your voice catching. Lily looked at you, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I just don’t want to be near him,” you said, your voice softer now. “He’s… dangerous, you know?”

Your friend seemed to take it lightly, shrugging as she continued to chat with Mark on the phone. But you couldn’t shake the unease in your chest.

You didn’t want to be here, not with Eric showing up.

“I’m going to leave,” you said, stepping back toward the stairs.

Your friend didn’t try to stop you. She went back to her phone, talking quietly to Mark, as you made your way toward the stairs.

You hurried down, eager to leave, but as you reached the door to the building suddenly opened and you collided with something—or rather, someone.

A sharp jolt of impact shot through you as you bumped into him, the force almost knocking you off balance.

“Boo!” he said with a smirk on his face.

The sudden sound, sharp and unexpected, made your heart skip a beat. You looked up to see him standing in the doorway, filling it entirely with his presence.

There,

There he was.

A tall figure, broad shouldered, cloaked in shadow, his presence looming in the doorway like a dark omen. He stepped forward, the faint light from the hallway revealing just enough, his hoodie pulled low over his face, his frame solid and imposing. The air seemed to thicken around him, the kind of tension you could feel deep in your chest. And in that moment, you knew.

This was Eric.

The stories were true.

He wasn’t a rumor or a name anymore.

He was standing right in front of you, filling the hallway with his silent, almost predatory presence.

The rain had picked up outside, and his figure stood there, drenched, dark water dripping from his hoodie.

You froze, unable to move, unable to even breathe.

The cold air from outside followed him in, a stark contrast to the warmth of the building. Your heart raced, your breath caught and for a second, his eyes met yours for the briefest second, piercing through the dark, and the world seemed to stop.

Then, with a casual shift, he moved past you, his gaze flickering away as he returned to the group. The spell was broken, but the weight of it still lingered. All you could do was watch him as he moved forward, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside of you.

From the hallway, everyone moved into Mark’s apartment, a huge, modern space with sleek furniture and dim lighting.

The living room was spacious, with a large couch in the center, a coffee table in front of it, and a TV on the wall.

Without missing a beat, the group gathered around the table, placing bags of alcohol and other substances down. The air was immediately thick with the smell of smoke as they started pouring drinks and pulling out the cocaine and joints.

Lines of white powder appeared on the table, a few joints rolled and ready to go.

Eric sat down on the couch, removing his wet hoodie with a nonchalant motion. He was shirtless beneath, and as the fabric slid off, the tattoos covering his chest, back and arms were revealed.

The ink was dark and intricate, each design telling its own story.

He had two rings on his fingers, glinting in the low light, and a necklace around his neck that rested on his skin. You could see a piercing in his ear, the glint of metal catching your eye.

He grabbed a joint, lighting it and taking a long drag before exhaling slowly, the smoke curling around him as he leaned back into the couch.

You sat on the opposite side of the couch from him, not far but still not close.

Lily sat beside you, and the others filled in the space between Eric and the rest of the group, the U form shaped couch made you stay in front of each other.

Everyone was crowded together, but you could still feel the distance. You kept yourself involved in the conversation, laughing and joking with the others, but never engaging directly with Eric.

You didn’t want to draw his attention, but somehow, despite your best efforts, he was always looking your way.

Every now and then, when someone said something funny or the laughter peaked, you caught a brief moment when Eric’s eyes flicked toward you.

It wasn’t long, just a second, a fleeting glance, but it was there. And sometimes, when he laughed or something caught his interest, you could feel his gaze lingering on you for a few seconds. Then, as quickly as it came, his attention shifted away, and he was back in the conversation, as if nothing had happened.

It was subtle, the way his eyes moved back and forth from the group to you. And while you tried not to acknowledge it, you couldn’t help but notice. You couldn’t shake the tension, the quiet pull that seemed to hang in the air whenever his eyes found yours.

The night continued with the group drinking and passing around the joints and the cocaine and God knows what else was on that table, but not him, he was just smoking his weed. Eric remained mostly quiet, but every now and then, he’d make a sarcastic remark, a dry laugh cutting through the conversation. His presence felt like a weight, subtle but undeniable.

In this kind of moments, the weight of that realization settled in your chest, you were sitting in the same room as Eric.

The infamous, notorious Eric. You had heard the stories, everyone had. Some were vague whispers, others detailed accounts of things too brutal to be fiction.

One story, in particular, surfaced now, clawing its way to the front of your mind.

A friend once told you about some guys she knew, someone who had seen Eric’s temper firsthand.

He and his friends had been hanging out at someone’s apartment when Eric showed up, uninvited.

He broke in, door swinging open like it was his own home. He wasn’t alone, his friends were with him, but it was Eric who took control of the room. He made himself comfortable, drinking from their bottles, smoking their cigarettes, acting as if he belonged there. Sarcastic, mocking, testing the limits of how far he could push them. And they played along, laughing nervously, nodding, offering him whatever he wanted. Because what else could they do?

But it didn’t matter. By the end of the night, those guys were beaten, bruised, and tied to chairs on the balcony, left out in the freezing winter air until morning. No one called the police. No one dared. And now, here you were. Sitting on the same couch as him.

You glanced at Eric. He was leaning back, relaxed, smilig at one of his friend joke, a joint between his fingers, the glow of it flickering in the dim light. Rings glinted on his hands, tattoos shifting over his skin as he moved. He wasn’t paying attention to you. He wasn’t doing anything threatening. But still, that story sat heavy in your mind, like a warning you couldn’t unhear. You took a slow breath, trying to push it away. A guy like him, with a reputation like his, should look different somehow.

Meaner.

Crueler.

But he didn’t.

You kept your expression neutral, stayed in the flow of the conversation, didn’t let your gaze linger too long. He couldn’t know that, for even a second, because no matter how normal he seemed now, you knew exactly who he was.

As the night wore on, the group’s energy grew, drinks were refilled, and more lines of cocaine appeared. Yet, you remained on the opposite side of the couch from Eric, aware of him, but not willing to give in to whatever strange pull was between you.

Every there and there your eyes would occasionally meet, just for a moment, he never acknowledged it, and neither did you.

The apartment had quieted down.

Lily and Mark had disappeared into his bedroom, drunk and already tangled up in each other before they even shut the door. Their laughter fading behind a closed door.

The guy on the couch—Lucas, maybe?—had knocked out, one arm dangling over the side, mouth slightly open.

The other guy and the girl grabbed their jackets, deciding to run out for more alcohol since they had burned through nearly everything they had brought, saying they’d be back soon with more drinks, though you weren’t sure how soon soon actually was.

And just like that, you were alone with him.

You hadn’t spoken a word to him all night, and he hadn’t spoken to you.

It had been easy enough to blend into the group, laughing at the right moments, nodding along, making sure your gaze didn’t linger too long on him. But now, with only the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath shifting weight, the silence between you felt pointed.

You felt it immediately.

The shift.

You could feel him watching you. The weight of his gaze settling on you, unhurried and deliberate. Still pretending like you weren’t hyper-aware of him.

But when his voice finally cut through the quiet, it was like he had been waiting for the exact moment to speak. “You don’t talk much.”

It wasn’t really a question.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “I do.”

He tilted his head slightly, amused. “Not to me"

“I’ve been talking to everyone.”

“Exactly.”

You exhaled, keeping your expression neutral. “I didn’t realize that not throwing myself at you meant I was avoiding you.”

Hesitated, choosing your words carefully next. “You didn’t talk to me either.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “You don’t even look at me.” He said ignoring your reply.

You held his gaze this time, refusing to break it.

“I’m looking at you now.”

A slow smirk pulled at his lips.

“Yeah,” he murmured, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. “You are.”

The air between you felt charged, like a slow-burning fuse waiting to reach its end. His lips quirked at that, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes.

“You’re trying really hard to act like you’re not affected, are you scared of me?” Your pulse spiked, but you didn’t let it show.

“Should I be?”

That made him smile. Not a full one, just the ghost of amusement curling at the edge of his lips.

Your breath hitched. You didn’t let it show. You wouldn’t. But the look in his eyes told you he already knew. He had known from the second you walked in.

He let the silence stretch just long enough to make you uneasy before he spoke again.

“You’ve heard things about me,” he continued, his voice casual, but his gaze was anything but.

You swallowed, keeping your composure.

“I’ve heard things about everyone in this room.”

“But you don’t avoid them the way you avoid me.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe you’re just imagining things.”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re not as subtle as you think.”

Your fingers curled slightly against your lap, but you didn’t let yourself react. His voice dropped, quieter now.

“Tell me… what exactly did you hear?”

You hesitated.

He leaned in slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Go on,” he prompted, almost teasing. “I wanna hear it.”

You exhaled slowly. “That you’re dangerous.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something dark, unreadable. And then he smirked. “That’s it?”

You hesitated.

He leaned back again, stretching his arms out along the couch. “And? Do I look dangerous to you?”

Yes. But you didn’t say it. Instead, you held your ground. “I don’t know what you look like.”

He let out another quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Liar.”

It was dangerous, the way he looked at you. Like he was already pulling you into something you wouldn’t be able to escape from.

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, he leaned back, stretching his arms along the couch.

“Alright,” he said suddenly.

“Tell me a song.”

You glanced at him. “Huh?”

“A song,” he repeated, nodding toward the speaker.

“Your favorite. Let’s put it on.” You thought for a second, then told him. He searched for it on his phone, and soon, the song filled the room. He nodded along.

“Oh, this song is amazing,” he said with a low nod, almost to himself, clearly entertained. “You’re a lot more interesting than I thought.”

You let it slide, not biting, and leaned back, glancing at him.

“I like this.” He said giving you a smile.

“Yeah? You raised an eyebrow, surprised. Thought you’d be more of a… I don’t know, louder kind of guy.”

He smirked. “I’ve got layers.”

Before you could reply, he picked up his phone and switched the track. The new song started, a slower, smoother melody, but with a beat that got under your skin.

“This one. Tell me what you think.” He said.

The beat dropped, and you felt a subtle shift in the air, the way the music filled the space around you, giving a strange warmth to the room.

You smiled. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” He leaned back, hands behind his head.

“It’s got that vibe, right? Kinda makes you want to just… let go.” There it was again, another layer, a little deeper. He wasn’t just talking about the music.

You tapped your fingers along with it, nodding your approval.

“You know,” you said, shifting slightly on the couch,

“This actually isn’t so bad. I thought you’d be the type to only play heavy stuff, but… this is good.”

Eric grinned, clearly pleased with your response.

“Told you, I’m full of surprises.”

You laughed, leaning back.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. You’ve got a good taste in music.”

“Right? Told you we’d get along,” he said, nudging you slightly, almost like he was testing the waters.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Hmm, maybe… You just might be redeeming yourself.”

Eric smirked, eyes locking with yours for just a moment. “Well, I’m always up for a little redemption, if you’re offering.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head, but you couldn’t deny that little rush that came with his words. “We’ll see about that.”

The conversation shifted as you both started talking about other things, light and easy. Music turned into movies, and then somehow into food. “So, what’s your go-to food? I’m all about pizza or burgers,” you said, arms crossed comfortably.

Eric shrugged, looking at you with that lazy, charming smile. “I can’t say no to pizza. But I’m more of a burger guy. Don’t mind a good steak either.” His voice dropped a little, teasing. “I’d invite you to join me for one sometime, but I’m not sure you could handle it.”

You smirked, leaning closer just slightly. “Oh, I’m sure I can handle it. I’m pretty good with a burger… or whatever else you might have in mind.”

His eyes glinted. “Looking forward to” he said, shooting you a glance, with a smirk on his lips.

The conversation flowing easily, finding common ground. Small details about life, things you enjoyed, places you’d been, and for once, there was no tension, no hidden agenda. Just two people talking, finding little things in common, things that made you realize maybe he wasn’t so different from anyone else.

You paused, realizing just how much you’d started to connect in a short time. Everything about this conversation felt almost… normal.

The door swings open, and the two who had gone out for more drinks finally return. The girl’s laughter precedes her, her eyes gleaming as she walks back into the room with the guy, both of them carrying bottles in hand.

She’s immediately drawn to Eric, like a moth to a flame. Without hesitation, she sidles up to him, sliding onto the couch beside him, pressing her knee against his as she settles in. Her eyes flick between him and you, as if deciding where to insert herself, but it doesn’t take long before she makes her move.

At first, she tries to ease into the conversation, laughing at the right moments, reacting to Eric’s words with bright, eager eyes. It’s subtle at first, the way she leans in when he speaks, how her fingers graze his arm as she laughs, how she shifts just a little closer with every passing minute. But soon, it becomes obvious.

Her hand drifts lower, brushing his leg, lingering a second too long. Eric doesn’t react, not in any obvious way, but he also doesn’t pull away. He just exhales slowly, his lips twitching in amusement as if to say, Not my fault, while still keeping his focus on you, maintaining the conversation as if nothing is happening.

The girl isn’t discouraged. If anything, she gets bolder, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns on the fabric of his pants before trailing up toward his cock. This time, Eric tilts his head slightly, acknowledging her touch, but he still doesn’t fully give in. Instead, he lifts his drink to his lips, smirking at you over the rim of the glass, as if this whole thing is some inside joke between the two of you.

You shift uncomfortably, trying not to let your gaze linger. It’s not your place to care, not your place to react. But the girl is insistent. She whispers something into Eric’s ear, her lips dangerously close to his skin, her hand still teasing at the waistband of his jeans.

Eric finally turns toward her, giving her just enough attention to keep her satisfied, a lazy smile on his lips. He doesn’t push her away, he enjoys the attention, that much is clear, but he’s not entirely lost in it either. His eyes flick back to you from time to time, as if still keeping you in the loop, still holding onto the thread of your conversation despite everything else happening around him.

You glance at your watch. Five in the morning. The time is a slap of reality, breaking the daze of the last few hours.

“I should go,” you say, clearing your throat, trying to make it sound casual. “It’s late.”

Eric looks at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, as if shaking off whatever spell he was under, he leans back against the couch, exhaling slowly. “Come on,” he says. “Stay a little longer.” The girl, still pressed against him, giggles, fingers playing, touching his tattoos, his muscles...

You hesitate, shifting from one foot to the other.

And then, she makes her next move.

Without hesitation, she turns to Eric, her fingers curling into his hair as she pulls him in, her lips crashing against his in a deep, hungry kiss. It’s raw, messy, full of heat. Her hands slide up his chest, nails dragging lightly as she presses her body against his.

Eric doesn’t pull away. He lets her kiss him, lets her mold herself against him, and after a moment, he responds, his lips parting just enough for him to slip his tongue into her mouth, deepening it. It’s slow, unhurried, his hands still resting lazily at his sides, but he lets her take what she wants, lets her press herself closer, lets her tongue slide against his, wet and eager.

A low sound escapes her, something between a sigh and a moan, and she shifts even closer, one of her hands sliding up to his jaw, tilting his head just the way she wants it. His fingers flex slightly against the couch, but he still doesn’t take control, just lets her work, lets her set the pace, his lips moving against hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

You feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a mix of secondhand embarrassment and something else you don’t want to name. This isn’t your place, not your scene.

And yet, you see the moment she decides that a kiss isn’t enough.

In the corner of your eye, you see her finally make her move. She swings a leg over his lap, straddling him, her hands resting on his chest as she leans in to whisper something in his ear.

Eric still doesn’t stop her. He doesn’t fully respond either, but he lets her be there, lets her settle against him, lets her hands roam as she pleases.

“I really have to go,” you say, your voice quieter now.

“You don’t have to go,” He said, his lips curving into that same amused smirk he’s worn all night. “Stay.”

“I can’t,” you insist, shaking your head.

He just exhales a soft chuckle, tilting his head as he looks at you. “Yeah, you can.”

He’s persistent, almost playful, and the longer he stares at you, the harder it is to ignore the strange pull of his presence.

You don’t want to argue.

You don’t even know why he wants you to stay when he’s clearly occupied with someone else. So you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’ll be back,” you murmur, shifting your weight. “I just need to go home for a bit. I need to do something, and then I’ll come back.”

Eric studies you for a second, his gaze flickering across your face. Then he nods, exhaling through his nose.

“Alright,” he says, leaning back. “Go home. But I’m expecting you back.” Eric said looking up at you again, and this time, there’s something different in his gaze, something unreadable, something fleeting.

You don’t respond.

He exhales through his nose, almost as if he’s about to say something else, but then the girl tilts his chin toward her, stealing his attention once more.

You take that as your cue to leave. As you turn toward the door, Eric’s voice cuts through the haze. “See you later,” he says, lazy and smooth, but there’s something else there, something lingering beneath the surface.

You don’t look back. You just step out, letting the door close behind you, leaving them to whatever the night — or morning had in store.

The walk home is quiet. The city is still half-asleep, the sky a muted shade of gray, the air crisp from the lingering night chill. You shove your hands into your pockets, trying to shake off the strange energy clinging to you.

It’s not like you care. You shouldn’t. Eric was never supposed to be part of your night, let alone someone who occupied your thoughts. And yet…

You exhale sharply, pushing the thought away as you reach your building. Inside, everything feels different, too quiet, too still compared to the apartment you just left. The scent of alcohol and smoke still lingers on your skin, and your body feels heavy with exhaustion as you make your way to your room.

You consider taking a shower, just to wash off the night, to clear your head but the weight of sleep is stronger. Your limbs feel too heavy, your eyelids too thick, and the idea of standing under hot water seems impossible right now.

The second your head hits the pillow, your mind starts replaying the night.

You met Eric.

The Eric.

The guy you only knew through rumors, through warnings, through hushed stories about things that shouldn’t have happened. And yet, the man you met tonight, the one who teased you, smirked at you, let his gaze linger just a little too long...felt like a contradiction.

He wasn’t supposed to be like that.

He wasn’t supposed to make you feel anything but unease.

And yet, you remember the way he leaned in when he spoke to you, the way his voice carried that low, teasing edge, the way he watched you even when someone else was touching him.

That girl.

You try to ignore the way something twisted in your chest at the memory of her on his lap, her hands on him, her mouth on his.

It shouldn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

But still, you feel that small sting of jealousy, not because you wanted him, but because of something else you can’t quite put a name to.

And then, another thought creeps in, something that doesn’t make sense.

Eric was supposed to be cruel. Cold. Unapproachable. That’s what everyone said.

But tonight, he wasn’t.

At least, not to you.

He was flirtatious, playful.

A little smug, sure, but not the monster people described. He looked at you like he was entertained, amused but never with malice. And yet, the things you’d heard about him, the warnings people had given you, they had to come from somewhere.

You don’t want to think about that either.

With a sigh, you roll onto your side, willing your thoughts to quiet. You don’t want to think about Eric anymore.

You don’t want to think about how he looked at you, how his attention flickered between you and her, how he let her have him while still keeping you tethered to the moment. You don’t want to think about him at all.

Eventually, exhaustion wins. Your body sinks deeper into the mattress, your thoughts fading into the heavy pull of sleep.

The next thing you know, your phone is buzzing against your cheek, vibrating underneath your pillow like an impatient reminder that the world still exists.

You groan, barely opening your eyes as you reach for it, fingers fumbling blindly.

Before you can answer, the buzzing stops.

You blink at the screen, trying to clear the sleep from your mind.

The time reads 2:07 PM.

And then you see the missed calls. Twelve of them. Two from Lily and the rest from an unknown number. The first call? 5:30 AM. The rest? Scattered throughout the day. 8:30, 11:12, 13:50…

Your stomach tenses as you swipe to your messages.

Four unread texts.

8:33 AM — Unknown Number: Pick up.

8:34 AM — Unknown Number: Pick up. It’s Eric.

11:42 AM — Eric: You said you’d be back.

13:09 PM — Eric: Don’t tell me you’re in bed. That’s disappointing.

__________________

Part two soon

Edit: Part One Part two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

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