Eric Draven X Reader - Blog Posts

Way Home is Through You

Chapter 3: Do Or Die, You'll Never Make Me

AO3 link here

First Chapter here

Second Chapter here

“Okay, so if you're technically dead, do you eat or drink?”

“I don't need to, but I can.”

“Do you want something to drink?” She said, walking into the tiny kitchen. ‘Going to need coffee to get through this’.

“I’m good, thanks.” He replied as he took a seat on her worn, brown couch.

She nodded, flicking the kettle on to make her cheap instant coffee. Bringing down one of her favourite mugs, she poured out what she needed. Entirely entranced by the complexities of making it, she was trying to get her mind to form a semblance of thought on approaching this. It’s not like there is a how-to on helping a dead guy go back to being dead. 

The click of the boiled kettle broke her from her thoughts. Pouring it out and stirring, she reached the armchair across from the broody man.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about what happened to you. Reading what I did, you’ve been through hell. That being said, how are you here?” She asked.

“Would tell you if I had a clue, all I know is that both times I’ve come back the crow is there. Last time I was here when the bird got hurt, I’d get hurt. I think it's my connection to the land of the living, but I don’t think it’s what brought me back this time.” He stated, gazing at the crow that had made itself comfortable perched on an old oak bookshelf in the cramped living room. The bird was transfixed on the woman, its eyes bore into her soul.

“Crows represent many things in many cultures. I guess it's not too far-fetched to say that someone was right about them.  In ancient cultures, some say they were revered for their association with death and beyond; they often felt they were guides for people through their journey to life after death.”  She replied, sipping her drink while maintaining eye contact with the bird.

“And you know this because..?” He asked, snapping her out of her cross-species staring contest.

“I enjoy mythology and am a fan of spiritualism.” She shrugged dismissively, feeling embarrassed about her answer. 

“Ah.”

There was a long silence between them, neither knowing where to go from here. She gazed over at Eric, trying to wrack her brain on what to do. Their only clue was a cloaked figure, which wasn’t much to go on. Her heart felt for him; so much happened to him, and he was lost and alone. 

The flapping of wings brought both of them out of their own minds and back to the present. The crow had made its way back to the window, looking over at the two and letting out a caw before motioning outside.

“I think your friend knows where we can start.” She laughed, rising to her feet to start gathering her things. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting ready? I am not about to go exploring the city in nothing but sleep shorts and a tee.” She quipped, throwing a pair of boots out from her closet. 

“Right, I’ll wait outside for you.” He moved briskly to the window, opening it wide as he started to raise a leg out of it. 

“Wait! You can use the front..!” She ran to the window as he dropped himself out of it, ignoring her exclamation. Sticking her head out, she gave him a look of concern. He raised from his landing and grinned up at her, almost amused by her concern. 

“Alright! I'll be down soon. You know, having to take the long way and all that!” She called down, pulling herself back inside to dress herself. 

After throwing on her jeans and a loose top, she grabbed her phone and keys to lock up. On the way down the stairs her mind reeled, just the other day she was working her mundane barista job and tonight she is wandering the city with a guy and his crow. How life takes us to unexpected places. 

Leaving the building, she saw him leaning against the opposite building, crow on his arm, almost looking like they were talking. Walking over, she clapped her hands together.

“So, where are we off to?” She asked, not sure if she was asking him or the bird. 

The bird cawed, taking initiative in leading the group. She looked over at Eric for answers, to which he cocked his head.

“This way.” Short and determined came the statement. 

As they made their way across the city. The woman tried to get to know more about him.

“So… That was a pretty big drop from my window. How are you, like not a moaning mess on the pavement right now?” She questioned.

“As long as the bird stays alive, I do too. Undeath gave me a few inhuman abilities. I can take quite a few hits and heal within seconds, which makes life easier. The scars, however, stay.” He replied, avoiding eye contact with her.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” She apologised, feeling like she had stepped over a line.

“It’s fine.”

The walk continued on with not much more said between the two, the night was quiet, save for the hurried footfalls and flapping of wings. After half an hour of following the crow, Eric came to an abrupt halt. His breath caught in his lungs as he gazed upon where the crow had stopped. The woman looked at him with an air of surprise. 

“Eric?” She pushed, worried.

His haunted green eyes never left the building before them, dilapidated and covered in graffiti. Boards that once barred the door had been ripped from their place and strewn carelessly onto the pavement. 

As if by the speed of light, he had taken off into the building, leaving her dumbfounded. She called after him as she bolted after him. Making her way up the twisting stairs, she called out to him. 

“Eric! You don’t know what’s… up here…” her voice faded as she caught up with him. Pushing her way into the run-down loft, she was alarmed at what was before her. The cloaked figure. Their voice broke the silence.

“I was hoping you’d arrive, but I do wish you hadn’t brought your pesky little mortal with you.” Her voice was deep and feminine, with a condescending tone that chilled you to the bone.

 The figure turned to face the pair, pushing back her hood to reveal long, curled black hair. Her features were as sharp as they were dark, contrasting her porcelain skin. She was elegantly dressed in a purple deep-cut slit dress, corset painfully cinching her waist.

“Why are you here?” Eric gritted through his teeth.

“Eric, my dear, is that any way to talk to the person who brought you back?”  She approached him, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek. He threw himself backwards as if her touch were electric, screwing his eyes shut and clutching his head as he groaned painfully.

“Hey! Get away from him!” His ally made her way towards him, only to hit an invisible barrier. 

“Now, that is quite enough from you.” Spoke the cloaked woman and, with a flick of her wrist, sent the other woman flying backwards into a wooden collum in the middle of the room. Her head bounced off the oak, dotting her vision and disorientating her. She ran her fingers through her hair and felt a slick sensation coating the tips; eliciting panicked,  hurried breaths from her lungs. The pain seared harshly through her body.

A loud, grating caw was heard with the vicious flap of wings.  Through slow blinks, she could see the woman flailing her arms to shoo the bird as it continued its assault on her. 

“Leave me, beast.” She sneered, backing towards the fractured stained glass window. The bird was relentless in its attack, the woman was frustrated with this and called out to Eric.

“I will be back for you, my love. We will not be interrupted next time we meet!” She promised as her form disappeared in a thick black cloud. 

Vision slowly left the woman on the floor; she saw the crow land beside Eric. Squawking to get his attention and once it had it, it hurriedly hopped towards her as if to lead Eric to her. Her eyes met his, concern covered his features as he slowly made his way over to her. Tears slowly filling her eyes, she softly whispered.

“It hurts.”

He didn’t respond, only reached his hand behind her head and closed her eyes. A warm feeling stemming from her head before flowing through her whole body made her hum in comfort; the pain slowly dissipated from her head and brought her back to reality. Staring up at him, she touched the wound to find it wasn’t to be found. 

“How..?” 

“I took it.” He said softly as if not to scare her more than she already was. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, concerned. He chuckled gently.

“You certainly are a strange one. You just took a header into a thick wooden collum, and you’re asking me if I’m okay? I’ll be fine. Right now, though, we need to leave. Are you okay to walk?”

She attempted to push herself up from the ground, but her arms gave out, and she slammed back onto the ground. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” He huffed, wrapping her arm over his shoulders and hoisting her to her feet.

The action blushed her face. Her body was pressed up against his toned form, and she couldn't help but feel nervous at the sudden closeness. She chastised herself internally for thinking this way. 

‘This guy lost his fiancee. Don't get all hot and bothered because he’s helping you, ' she silently scolded herself. She needed to focus on helping him.

As they left the loft, she vowed to herself to put her feelings aside and not let them grow into something tragic.

Hey yall,

Sorry for the lack of updates, been super sick and had things happen in my personal life. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter, if you do please show it some love. Here is hoping I can get on a posting schedule.

With Love,

BlissfulCrow <3

Way Home is Through You

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60094282/chapters/153862384

Link to first part: https://www.tumblr.com/blissfulcrow/765505943344693248/way-home-is-through-you-chapter-1-blissfulcrow?source=share

Hey yall! An update!! Let me know if you guys are enjoying this series. I am considering a beta reader so hit me with a DM if you're interested.

Chapter 2: Give Me A Reason To Believe

A hurried shuffling could be heard through the streets. Once white sneakers were desperately fumbling over sidewalks, hoping to escape this freakishly strange night's events. The glass of a long broken streetlamp crunched under her footfalls, eliciting a curse from her shaky lips. “Fucking shit!” she choked out. “Just my fucking luck, narrowly escaped a grave-robbing mime just to bust up my last pair of decent shoes. Fuck!”

She skidded around the corner, narrowly missing drunken patrons from the bar down the road. She didn't care; she needed to go home to sleep off this bad dream. When she woke up in the morning, it would all be okay. Finally, she arrived in front of her less-than-perfect apartment building. Steading her hand, she punched in the passcode, and as soon as the door lock clicked, she was in the building like lightning. Climbing up the five-set staircase on any regular day was an unpleasant struggle, but the adrenaline making its way through her body made her barge through her apartment door before anyone could see her. She didn't want to answer any questions from concerned neighbours; manners don't matter in dreams, right?

Hurling her bag in a haphazard direction, she couldn't be bothered to see where it landed. Her focus was on the bed. As she stripped down, all she could think was:

‘You're fine, you'll be fine. Just a bad dream.’Pulling back the covers of her bed, she threw herself into it, wrapping the blankets around her head, protecting herself from the outside world. A mantra over in her head like a stuck record, ‘You're okay, just sleep. You're okay; just sleep. You're okay, just sleep.’

Scenes flashing, A couple, tenderly embracing.

Happiness. Comfort. Love.

A soft gold engagement ring emerges from a box, soft gasps and bright laughter.

Shock. Euphoria. Love.

The man entering his home witnessing his partner being pinned and assaulted. Next thing he knows, he’s plummeting out the window.

Rage. Injustice. Love.

His partner, battered and bruised, still holding onto life. Thirty hours pass before she dies.

Anguish. Pain. Love.

He claws his way out of his supposedly final resting place. 

Hatred. Grief… Vengeance.

Jolting awake, her eyes wild with confusion, she tries to breathe. So much sorrow, so many thoughts and feelings, flood through her mind. Clawing at her chest to self-soothe, she weakly attempts to ground herself. Her heart was heavily thumping through her ears, and she barely registered the taps from the window. Scrambling out of bed, she throws on an old shirt and some shirts. Making her way over, she rips open the curtain. A black crow sits on the damp window cill, surely not the one from before? She heaved the heavy pane open to shoo the bird away, but it had other ideas, quickly ducking past her flailing hands and hopping its way into the apartment. Her eyes meet the birds, and the flashes start again.

The leather trench coat.

Crow symbols alight.Knives.Needles.Cars.

“Tell them Eric Draven sends his regards.”

 A name beating in her head like a violent drum. ‘Eric Draven’ 

She mutters that name as she pushes papers away, ignoring the bird that followed close behind her as she scrambles to find her laptop on the cluttered dining table.

Her hands tremble as she opens up her jacked computer, anxiously tapping the on button. Despite that, the laptop takes its sweet time loading up. As soon as the browser opens, she begins furiously typing the name.

The first article to pop up:

‘Recently Engaged Couple Murdered on Devils Night’

Young couple Eric Draven (member of the band ‘Hangman’s Joke’) and his fiancee Shelly Webster were found on the infamous holiday ‘Devils Night’ dead at their apartment. Eric was found with multiple gunshot and stab wounds, but the coroner reports that his official cause of death was the drop from their top-floor apartment. Shelly was taken into intensive care and 30 hours later died from her injuries. 

Her stomach dropped to the floor as she read the rest of the article. All this happened 19 years ago? 

As she skimmed through her browser, she came across a picture with this ‘Eric’. It was him! The lurker from the cemetery, with less make-up, but it was him. How? The article was almost 20 years old, but he looked no older than his late 20s! This is beyond crazy; people don't come back from the dead.

‘Maybe it's just some poser who read about the article and thought it would be a cool way to prank people. That doesn’t explain the visions, though. Maybe it is just a mental break’

A banging on her door pulled her from her downward spiral. Oh no…

Slowly, she inched towards the door, trying to get a glimpse through the peephole without making any noise. Peering through, it was him, the living dead guy. She began to back away slowly; maybe he would assume she wasn't there if she didn't answer. That was the idea before an obnoxious cawing sounded behind her, throwing away any chance of her avoiding the interaction. She opened the door, trying not to show her fear outwardly. For a moment, neither said anything, letting the suspense linger in the musty hallway air. Finally as if a gift from some higher power, he held something out to her. “You dropped this.” He stated, face unreadable. 

“Oh.” It was her license, making it entirely less creepy that he knew where she lived. She took the tiny card from him, a small smile forming. “I appreciate that I didn't have to pay for a whole new one, thank you. You really didn't need to come all the way here for this, though,” she chuckled awkwardly. “It’s not the reason I came, " he said bluntly. His eyes bore into hers, but she couldn't read him. “May I come in?”

“No offence, but I don’t actually know you and I don't have a habit of letting every person who rocks up into my humble abode.”

“The documents on your table tell me otherwise; you’ve been investigating.” Referring to the open tab with a picture of Eric. “How did yo-” She turned away from him to gaze back at her laptop to find he was already there in front of it.

“What the fuck! How did you..? You were just..?” She frantically pointed between the laptop and the hallway, trying to rationalise the fact that this apparently dead guy made it from one point to another in 0.5 seconds. 

Her reactions, to an extent, amused him; it's a lot better than being shot at or stabbed. He understood her fear but was desperate for help; she seemed someone who could help him navigate this world. 

“Your scepticism is warranted but pointless. I don’t know why I am here; all I know is I am stuck in this shithole again and have no clue how to return.” His voice raised at the end, his hopelessness slipping through. He had returned without Shelly before; what cruel world would do this to him again?

“Do you think that person in the cape had anything to do with it?” “I haven't the faintest idea. The last time I came back was because of the crow.” He shared, pointing to his feathered friend. “And she assures me this wasn’t her doing.”

“You talk to the bird?”  

“In a sense, not like you and I are now. It is like we are connected on a deep level.” He stated as he made his way around the apartment, taking in the decorations. It was an admittedly small apartment, realistically only needing to house one person. The wall was unsystematically plastered with odds and ends, photos, concert stubs, and anything that made it feel like home. The furniture was a juxtaposition of different styles. Red-stained wood chairs that looked antique were slid under a white chipped particleboard table. The state of her home reflected her innermost feelings: neglected and cluttered. 

He seemed to be trying to figure something out from the decorations; eyes furrowed in concentration as he poked and prodded at a poster. 

“I like your decor. Reminds me of mine and Shelly’s place.”

Her stance softened, and she felt pity for him. From what she read, they really seemed infatuated with each other, and in this case, that love was undying. She always had a soft spot for a tragic romance and felt compelled to try at least to help him get back home.

“Alright, man, sit down and explain it. I’ll see what help I can be.” She said, walking over to the couch to straighten it up for the present company. For the first time since he returned, Eric’s gloomy face held a small, although genuine, smile.

“Thank you.”

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Crow 1994 Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Eric Draven/Reader, Eric Draven/Shelly Webster, Eric Draven/You Characters: Eric Draven, Shelly Webster, Reader, Sarah Mohr Additional Tags: Reader-Insert, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Eventual Fluff, Inspired by Music, Post-Canon, Post-MCR, Love, Falling In Love, Canon-Typical Violence Summary:

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she could see a crouched man dressed in all black, rips and tears covering his attire, squatting on the sides of the mausoleum as if he were a fierce stone protector right at home with the gargoyles. His clown-like face paint was framed by deep black hair and intense brown eyes that seemed to pull you deep into them. There was something almost ethereal about him, nearly as if he glowed in the pale moonlight engulfing them both.

Note: My fic inspired by Brandon Lee’s portrayal, posted both here and on AO3. Please feel free to leave a like and comment so I know I'm not just throwing this fic into the abyss

Chapter One: Can’t Find My Way Home.

Blinding… That is the only way to describe her rage's effect on her… Blinding… like a flashlight clumsily pointed in your direction or a train rapidly approaching, unwavering in its journey and uncaring what was in the way. She was inconsolable after they told her the news. Her closest friend suddenly and unexpectedly passed away after having no signs of deterioration whatsoever. When she remembers, she feels like she's still there in that hospital room. Her ears ring as doctors ask a flurry of questions that she can’t answer, not because she doesn't know the answers but because her mouth just refuses to form the words. The bubbling of emotions threatening to boil over is unbearable; she thought she had prepared for this… “Stupid fucking idiot!” She reprimands aloud, boots slogging through the dense, earthy surrounds of the cemetery just outside the city. She walked straight back into the emotional turmoil of losing her mother; she promised herself she wouldn't work herself up, today of all days especially. Today marked one year since her friend's death, a whole year. One year without her closest confidant, a year of benders ending with her curled up next to a toilet, calling her friend's voice mail despite knowing it was futile. She would never get the answer she sought at the end of that dial tone, no matter how many tears were shed… The dead can't come back.

Every week, she would bring flowers to her grave. No matter how much it hurt, she pushed herself; she knew her companion's biggest fear was being forgotten, and she couldn't bear the thought of her being right. Every week, she had to put herself through the same bitter cycle of grief, and she knew she couldn't keep going like this. She just didn't know how else to cope. She trudged closer to her destination, fists whitening from her stone grip on the wilted pink Chrysanthemums. It happened to every flower that made its way to the grave; no matter how hard she tried, they always ended up crushed, and in that regard, she could relate to the poor flora withering in her palms.

The headstone slowly entered her view, the night's fog limiting it momentarily. The pot of emotions she thought she had under control started to boil wildly and without warning. Tears erupted ungraciously, blinding her vision as she approached, unaware of the crow mounted atop the grey stone watching her intently.

A grating caw pulled her from her mourning. Startled by the black bird as she kneeled, she looked up at it, and its eyes were hypnotising. It cocked its head as if almost to ask, “What's wrong?” and that's when laughter burst from her mouth. “I must be going nuts if I think a bird is concerned for me!” She manically exclaimed, running her hands through her hair to soothe herself. It wasn't working, not this time. “Sometimes, seeing truly is believing.” a bleak voice beside her called, snapping her back. Dropping her bag and flowers, she scurried away, hyper-aware of the reality of being in a cemetery alone with a stranger in the late hours of the night. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she could see a crouched man dressed in all black, rips and tears covering his attire, squatting on the sides of the mausoleum as if he were a fierce stone protector right at home with the gargoyles. His clown-like face paint was framed by deep black hair and intense brown eyes that seemed to pull you deep into them. There was something almost ethereal about him, nearly as if he glowed in the pale moonlight engulfing them both. Seeing her reaction to his presence, he shot his hands up, seemingly to say, “I’m no threat to you.” It was comforting in a strange way. Despite his ghostly exterior, she felt that there was something more to him, something tragic. His eyes held sorrow and grief, just as hers did. ‘Probably just another poor grieving soul.’ She speculated, feeling foolish for her initial reaction to his presence. “What do you mean?” She quizzed, referring to his opening line. She hadn't said anything, yet he had read her mind. “The bird, you thought you were going crazy because it could understand you. If you see it, believe it,” The leather-clad man stated as if it were something everyone would know.  

“That's an odd icebreaker” She quipped, straightening herself up. “Got a name, Mr Lurker?” Stretching out her hand to formally introduce herself to the man. She's done stranger things.

He stared at her hand as if contemplating the minor gesture. After a moment, he shook his head. ' Oh,’ she thought.

“Don’t do physical contact” Fell bluntly from his blackened lips as he looked away. Her hand wavered for a moment before returning to its place beside her. “Hey, fair enough, man, the chick you just met in a graveyard probably has heaps of diseases. I don’t blame you.” She chuckled, turning her head towards a grave, any of them to not face the embarrassment of her word vomit.

Eyes flicking from graves to the man, the woman sucked in a breath as if to build the courage to ask.

“So, what brings you this neck of the woods?” He stared again, trying to read her face.

“Only two types of people come to these places at such an hour: criminals and mourners.” He laughed, a haunting laugh that almost echoed off the surrounding statutes and monuments. She was entranced in how alluringly beautiful he looked as the smile spread across his monochromatic features. The crow landing on her shoulder broke her out of her daze. “So which are you? We friend or foe?” She jested, bringing her hand up to her shoulder, stroking the feathered creature with her pointer finger. 

Her eyes moved from his face to the disturbing sight beside him: an overturned grave. She couldn’t make out the deceased's name but could do the math. Sketchy stranger plus disrupted grave equals criminal, a thought that caused anxiety to rise to the surface despite his good looks. 

She slowly rose to make a quick escape, seeing as though she had just interrupted a looter, and she didn't want to end up in that empty grave. He saw her alarm and quickly cried out as she turned to run, crow flapping away from the perch on her shoulder.

“It's my grave!” Well, that certainly is a good way to stun someone. Ever so gently, she turned to face the unknown clown-covered man, contemplating how even to address the statement he so brazenly blurted out. ‘What the fuck does that mean?!’

Before she could verbalise her confusion, he was suddenly in front of her as if by magic. His hand flew to her mouth as he pulled her towards the mausoleum, keeping her from screaming. Her arms and legs flailed wildly in vain as he pinned her to the wall inside. “Hush now; no harm will come to you.” He whispered curtly. “There is someone here; they are responsible for the grave. If I take my hand away, do you promise to be good?”

All she could do was nod, eyes wide in fear and confusion. He eyed her carefully, steadily removing his hand, testing if she would keep her word. She did.

“Thank you. If your kindness could extend a tad longer, that would be appreciated. We have a visitor, " he said, crouching at the tomb's gated entrance to get a better look at who was approaching. She joined, slightly behind him.

It was a cloaked figure, steadily encroaching on the mangled grave. A heavily bangled arm outstretched to pick up the wilted chrysanthemums, crouching as they grabbed them. Low, angry muttering could barely be heard by the shrouded pair when suddenly, the flowers set ablaze in the figure's hands. More curses left the form as they clapped their hands over the empty grave, shaking the remaining cinders from their skin with the loud clangs of their bracelets that echoed through the graveyard. Visibly frustrated, the figure turned to leave quickly as if on a mission.

She didn't realise she had been holding her breath until her body reminded her of her oh-so-important need for oxygen. Spluttering as she attempted to regain a semblance of control of her body, the man before her turned to meet her gaze as if almost to say, “You mind?”

“Sorry”, She started, “I’m not accustomed to hiding from hooded figures.” If the joke landed, his face did not show it. 

“What happened to the whole ‘Don't do physical contact thing’?”

He peeked out to ensure the coast was clear, ignoring her before straightening up and extending his arm. Rapid flaps could be heard as the forgotten crow took its place upon his arm before turning to its owner; when they locked eyes, it seemed almost as if they were communicating with each other telepathically. ‘What the fuck is happening?’ The woman thought. “Go home, it’s not safe here.” Well, that much was apparent. Hastily, she skirted around the man to begin scooping up the contents of her bag back into its home. This had been creepy enough to last her a lifetime. 

The man watched her fumble and tumble out of the cemetery, not moving until she was out of sight. He made his way back to the decrepit grave, wracking his mind: ‘Why am I here? I thought this was over with. How am I back? Who was that figure?’ His eyes slowly drifted from the carved-out words ‘Eric Draven’ to the name on the adjacent grave, ‘Shelly Webster’, his heart rapidly thumping, threatening to leave his chest.

“I tried to come home, Shelly; why can't I return to you?” He wept, kneeling beside her headstone. His head met his hands as he unleashed his sorrow and frustration. ‘It’s not fair; what cruel being keeps us apart?’

Next to his grieving form, he could hear tiny taps of scale-like feet. Pulling him from his pity, the crow had dropped something beside him. Reaching out, he picked up the object, a driver's license. Seemingly, it belonged to the woman who had mistaken him for a thug. Gazing towards his feathered companion, he muttered,

“Suppose it’s time for a formal introduction.”

Alright, folks lemme know what you all think With Love, Blissful Crow <3

Eric Draven Fic

“Only two types of people that come to these places at such an hour: criminals and mourners.” He laughed, a haunting laugh that almost echoed off the surrounding statues and monuments. She was entirely entranced in how alluringly beautiful he looked as the smile spread across his monochromatic features. The crow landing on her shoulder broke her out of her trance.

*Here is a lil sneak peak on the upcoming fic I am working on. Hoping to make about ten chapters. Can't wait to post!* With Love, Blissful Crow <3

I don’t understand how they make slashers so fucking hot and expect us, mentally ill hoes to not wanting to get railed by them until we can’t walk and talk??? Like sorry some of us have mask kink and wanna get degraded?????

How the hell did this get more likes than the actual writing. Smh

might cook up Vampire!Eric Draven x Reader soon..

Ugh I love my husband

(HERE!!!)

i finally finished my Vampire! Eric Draven x Reader thing... are you guys proud of me......(its been like 2 months)

HERE!!!!

might cook up Vampire!Eric Draven x Reader soon..

Ugh I love my husband

(HERE!!!)

Bite Me - Eric Draven (AU) x Reader | Part. 8 (+18)

(The gif above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Summary:

They were childhood rivals who hadn’t spoken in years, until a wedding reunion throws them back into each other’s orbit. With tension simmering beneath every glance, one weekend turns into a series of unexpected moments, sharp words, and almosts that linger long after the party ends. But when fate keeps bringing them back together, the line between hate and something far more irresistible begins to blur.

Author’s note:

Heeyy dears!!! I’m finally back from making one of my dreams come true and, as promised, here’s the continuation of the story!!!

I wrote this next part entirely listening to “Dangerous” by Sleep Token because it fits so much in my head, so if you want to listen to something while reading, this is my suggestion for you.

I hope you like this next part, I tried to bring up his perspective like @a-differentbrandof-beans suggested (thank you so much, beautiful)...

This is AU Eric Draven!!!

If you enjoy this, please let me know your thoughts and suggestions, your feedback is precious for me 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Tags: @malenoradgn @muchwita @witchofozz @wiseyouthinfluencer @a-differentbrandof-beans @laniirackssss

Masterlist

End of Author’s note.

Y/N blinked into the soft morning light streaming through unfamiliar curtains, as she laid naked and half-covered by a black duvet she didn’t recognize. The only thing familiar was his smell, clinging to the pillow, the sheets and the still warm imprint of where he’d slept beside her.

She sat up slowly, the duvet tugged over her chest, and immediately felt it, the soreness between her legs as her body reminded her of the night before even if her mind hadn’t caught up yet.

Last night was… Well, she couldn’t think of a word strong enough to describe it, but it was like she could still feel it, her body tingling with the memory of all the places he’d touched her, all the places he’d been in her.

Their so-called truce should’ve never gone that far. 

What the hell had she done?

But she knew exactly what she’d done. What they’d done. Over and over again. Bent over the couch, pinned against the wall, in his bed.

She was supposed to hate him, to despise him. That was always the whole point. Hating him was easy and made sense.

But as much as she hated to admit, he had fucked it out of her. And now, she was in trouble.

It wasn’t just a wild night of sex, she knew that. She’d had those before and none got slightly close to the turmoil Eric had stirred inside her.

Fuck. She wanted more. She craved for more.

Her gaze drifted around his bedroom. It was tidier than she’d expected but it did match his annoying personality.

She rubbed at her temple as she tried to process her thoughts. This wasn’t who she was, she needed to get up, get dressed and leave, that’s all. She’d done that before, no big deal.

But still, her body didn’t move.

Not until the sound of water running reached her ears from across the room. The door was slightly open, he was in the shower.

A flicker of memory surfaced, their small feud back at the lake house and how mad she was at him at that moment.

A small smile tugged at her lips and without fully thinking her legs carried her out of bed, one quiet step after another towards the bathroom.

She opened the door slowly, warm steam fogging her vision and the mirror on her left as she narrowed her eyes to catch a glimpse of him, his back turned to her, head bowed under the water spray as he just let it run over his body. 

Eric seemed to be so deep in thought he didn’t hear her getting close, not even opening the glass door to join him.

He was too busy trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to let her go now.

He’d spent years pretending this thing with Y/N wasn’t real. Since high school, he’d written it off as boredom, as a way to kill time. Teasing her, provoking her, pushing every button she had just to get a reaction out of her.

He’d told himself it was a game. That the way his heart kicked whenever she snapped back at him, whenever she rolled her eyes or smirked like she had him figured out, that it didn’t mean anything.

But even then, he’d known better.

There’d always been a spark in her eyes that didn’t quite match the hate in her voice. And maybe that was what kept him hooked. Delusional or not, he saw something there.

As life happened and they followed their own paths, he convinced himself she was just a weird high school obsession.

But that was before the wedding.

Before she waltzed back into his life like a knife twisting in his chest. 

She still had the same smile, the same sassiness in her eyes, and still blushed every time he stole a glance. She was still the same, and yet entirely new.

She was a woman now. A fucking gorgeous one.

And suddenly it wasn’t a high school obsession anymore. It was worse, deeper. She’d carved herself into the space behind his ribs without even trying.

He’d barely slept for weeks after that night and their weekend together at the lake house. He kept replaying every second of her, how she looked, how she smiled, how she flushed every time she caught him watching her, how she failed to pretend he didn’t also affect her somehow.

He told himself it was just a phase. Just nostalgia. 

But then he saw her again at that bar, with a date.

And it was like something primal had taken over: rage, jealousy, possessiveness. He didn’t even see the girl on his own arm anymore. All he could see was Y/N with someone else. Laughing at someone else’s jokes. 

And now, after everything, after last night, after finally touching and tasting and feeling everything he’d dreamed about for years, he was frozen.

Because he didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. He didn’t want it to be just a one-night-only truce. He wanted more. But wanting her the way he did meant cracking himself wide open. It meant giving her the power to destroy him. 

And that scared the shit out of him.

Eric had never felt anything like this before. Not even close. And now he was lost, completely and helplessly lost, like a ship in thick fog, chasing the faint glow of a lighthouse he wasn’t sure he deserved to reach.

He exhaled, chest tight under the stream of hot water, letting it pound against the back of his neck like it could wash away the mess in his head. He didn’t hear the door behind him open. Didn’t register the shift in air or the extra steam curling around him.

Not until he felt the warmth of her body pressing against his back, the soft brush of her hands running over his abs as she hugged him from behind.

His breath caught and suddenly all that noise in his head, the panic, the doubts, the what-the-fuck-am-I-doing, just stopped. She was here, with him, it wasn’t just a dream.

He spun around. His hands immediately found the curve of her waist and her arms snaked around his neck. She tilted her chin up and he met her halfway, crashing his mouth against hers with a hunger that hadn't cooled overnight. It was messy and deep, all tongue and heat, her lips parting easily beneath his as he pulled her impossibly closer.

His fingers dug into her waist, and her nails grazed the back of his neck, sending a tremor straight through him. There was no space left between them, just wet skin and steam and the electric pulse oozing out of them.

He kissed her like he was drowning in her. Like the only way to breathe was to taste every inch of her.

When she finally pulled back, lips red and kiss-swollen, she whispered against his lips:

“I hope our truce isn’t over yet.”

And he could only hope she didn’t feel the way his heart skipped a beat.

He couldn’t speak at first. All he did was stare at her, into her eyes that still held that sharp fire, now softened by steam and sleep, into the gentle flush on her cheeks, the way her wet lashes clung together, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

“Not a chance,” he finally said, voice rough.

He kissed her again, but slower this time. Less desperation, more passion. He trailed his mouth down her jaw, over her neck, letting his hands roam over her slick, perfect body as he pressed her gently against the shower wall.

She sighed into his mouth, her fingers sliding into his damp hair, tugging lightly, grounding him even as he felt himself slipping, losing all sense of reason where she was concerned.

He wanted her again. God, he was already so hard for her again.

His hand slid down between them, between her thighs, fingers brushing lightly against her heat, until she hissed softly, her reaction making him stop and pull back an inch.

Her eyes fluttered open, brows drawing slightly together even as she tried to pull him closer again.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured, voice thick with want, her hips rolling subtly into his hand despite the wince.

But he shook his head gently, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“You’re sore,” he said softly, lips brushing her skin. “I don’t wanna hurt you just to have more of you. I can wait.”

He pulled her into his arms instead, resting his forehead against hers again, letting the water wash over them both.

Because as much as he wanted her, he realized now that having her meant a lot more than just taking. They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, letting the hot water cascade over their bodies.

Eric dipped his head to press a kiss to her temple, then reached for the small bottle of shampoo on the ledge. Without a word, he gently nudged her back a little and tipped her chin up so the water could dampen her hair. She looked at him, soft and curious, but didn’t resist, just let him take care of her.

His fingers threaded into her scalp, slow and tender, massaging the suds into her hair like she was something breakable. Like she deserved to be worshipped, not just desired.

Y/N closed her eyes with a small sigh, leaning into his touch, and he watched her, the way her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, the faint smile playing on her lips. He’d never done this before. Not like this. Not for anyone. And definitely not without an ulterior motive.

But this wasn’t about seduction. This was just… Her.

Eventually, he kissed her again, soft and unhurried, and whispered, “I’ll get out first. Let you finish. Take how long you want and use whatever you want.”

She gave a small nod, lips still pink and wet from his, eyes barely open and a soft blush tinting her cheeks.

Eric stepped out of the shower, running a hand through his damp hair as he reached for a towel. He dried off quickly, his mind still buzzing with everything she made him feel, the quiet ache of wanting to hold onto whatever this was for a little longer.

It was too good. Terrifyingly good.

As he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and padded barefoot into the kitchen, his phone buzzed from the counter. He glanced at the screen.

Liam (2) missed calls. Incoming.

He sighed and answered, even though something in his gut warned him not to.

“Took you long enough!” his brother’s voice crackled through the speaker, light and teasing, yanking him out of the soft fog he was still wrapped in from the shower.

“I was busy.” Eric muttered, already regretting picking up.

“Damn. You sound like shit. Rough night or good night?” Liam laughed.

Eric smirked automatically, muscle memory taking over like a reflex. His guard snapping back up before his mind could catch up with what his heart was still feeling. “What do you think?”

“Ohhh.” Liam’s tone turned playful. “So who’s this? Anyone I know?”

And then it happened. That familiar, awful instinct. The old armor sliding back into place. The default setting, the one that kept everyone out, the one that told him to minimize, deflect, hide. The one that didn’t let anyone in, that couldn’t let anyone know she means something.

He leaned against the counter, voice cold and easy. “No one important. Just another hook-up.”

Silence. Even Liam didn’t laugh this time, he could sense his brother’s uneasiness through the phone. 

“Are you sure?” his brother asked carefully, like he could hear the lie in his tone. Like he already knew.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because that’s when he turned and saw her, standing frozen in the doorway, hair damp, wrapped in one of his towels. And she’d heard every word.

Her eyes weren’t wide with shock or narrowed with anger. They were blank.

Completely, terrifyingly blank, and that gutted him more than if she’d screamed.

Like something had snapped clean inside her. Like he’d finally managed to cut whatever thread had been holding her close, whatever fragile, unexpected connection had started to form between them in the last twelve hours.

“Shit,” he muttered, lowering the phone, voice hollow now. “Wait, Y/N, it’s not what…”

But she was already moving fast, like touching the floor burned her feet.

She yanked the towel off her head and began grabbing her clothes, the skirt crumpled on the floor next to her heels, her inside-out top on the counter. She moved like she couldn’t get out of his space fast enough.

Eric started towards her, heart punching against his ribs, but stopped cold when she finally looked at him.

There was no fire in her eyes. No anger. No witty jab.

Just hurt. Raw, unfiltered hurt.

And it was the worst fucking thing he’d ever seen.

She slipped her skirt on and the top over her head before she bent to grab her shoes.

“Y/N…” he tried again, but she straightened, stopping him in his tracks.

“Thanks for the reminder,” she said, voice low but steady. “I almost forgot who you really were.”

Eric flinched like she’d hit him, but she wasn’t done. She slipped her heels on, ran a hand through her damp hair, and looked at him one last time.

“You know…” she added, her voice cracking just slightly at the edges, “you almost had me.”

A bitter smile curved on her lips, the kind people wear when they’re trying to keep themselves from falling apart.

“Almost.”

Bite Me - Eric Draven (AU) x Reader | Part. 7 (+18)

(The gif above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Summary:

They were childhood rivals who hadn’t spoken in years, until a wedding reunion throws them back into each other’s orbit. With tension simmering beneath every glance, one weekend turns into a series of unexpected moments, sharp words, and almosts that linger long after the party ends. But when fate keeps bringing them back together, the line between hate and something far more irresistible begins to blur.

Author’s note:

Good evening everyone, I hope you like this next part! It's very late here so I didn't proof read it, so I'm sorry if anything is off or misspelled.

WARNING: this chapter has SMUT! All the way through! So if you don't like it, skip it. You've been warned. Unprotected p in v. Oral (f! receiving).

This is AU Eric Draven!!!

If you enjoy this, please let me know if I should continue this, your feedback is precious for me 🫶🏻

Tags: @malenoradgn @muchwita @witchofozz @wiseyouthinfluencer @a-differentbrandof-beans @laniirackssss

Masterlist

End of Author’s note.

The ride to his place is a blur. Wind in her hair, his body solid in front of her, arms wrapped tightly around his waist like she’s afraid to let go now that she’s finally allowed herself to hold on.

They don’t speak. Not when he parks the bike. Not when she follows him upstairs, her heels echoing softly on the stairwell. And definitely not when he unlocks the door to a dim, barely-lit apartment and lets her step inside first.

It smells like him. Leather, smoke and something irresistibly masculine she can’t place, but feels like addiction in a bottle.

He tossed his keys onto the counter and the door clicked shut behind them.

Still, no words. Just that pull between them, thick and electric.

“You sure you wanna do this?” His voice was low and rough. “Last chance to make me stop.”

She turned to face him, her chest rising and falling fast, lipstick smudged from their kiss outside the club, her eyes wild and pupils blown wide.

“I think we’re a little past that question,” she replied with a sly smirk.

Eric was on her in a second, mouth crushing hers, hands everywhere. The kiss was intense, consuming, like he was starving for her. She met him with equal hunger, fingers running through his hair as they dove into each other’s mouths.

She pressed closer without thinking, her body moving on instinct alone, and when her hips brushed against his, a low, guttural growl rumbled from deep in his chest, the sound, filled with so much need, her knees nearly buckled. 

His hands clamped down on her waist, fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp as she felt the barely-leashed tension vibrating from him through both of them, like a wire pulled tight and ready to snap.

His hands then slid down to her thighs and with one firm grip he lifted her up on his lap, causing her legs to wrap tight around his waist instinctively as her back hit the wall next to the door. 

She gasped into his mouth as his hips pressed into hers, already hard through his jeans, already needing more. 

Her gasp barely left her mouth before he kissed her again, even deeper, rougher. His hands roamed up the back of her thighs and under her skirt, squeezing, feeling, pulling her tighter against him like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between them. 

She could feel him, hard and insistent through his jeans, pressing exactly where she needed him most. It was maddening, the friction, the heat, the way their bodies just fit even though they hadn’t really started yet.

His mouth tore from hers, trailing hot, desperate kisses along her jaw and down her neck, making her whimper as her head tipped back against the wall. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her throat making her shiver.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming about this,” he rasped against her skin, voice strained, like he was barely holding himself back. 

His hands slid up under her top, rough palms burning a path along her ribs until he found her breasts, squeezing just hard enough to make her moan softly, arching into him shamelessly as he teased and rolled her nipples between his fingers.

She clawed at the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel him, to see him, and he must have felt the same because he leaned back just enough to yank the fabric over his head and toss it somewhere behind him.

She barely registered when he carried her away, the apartment a blur around her, until he placed her onto the cool surface of the kitchen counter. 

Y/N sat there, breathing hard, hands clutching the counter’s edge for balance as she finally allowed herself to take a good look at him.

Her eyes raked over him greedily as he stood there, chest heaving, watching her with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, like he was giving her a moment to memorize him before he claimed her. 

The sculpted chest, the tattoos inked across hard muscle, the faint dusting of dark hair trailing down from his navel and disappearing beneath the low-slung jeans. Her palms slid up his stomach first, feeling the rigid abs tense under her touch, then higher, up the planes of his chest, then sweeping down his strong, veiny arms. The muscles in his forearms twitched subtly, like he was fighting the urge to grab her, to pin her down and devour her.

His jeans clung low on his hips, the sharp V of his lower abs pointing straight into the denim, like the devil himself had left a road map designed to ruin her.

And still, he waited, giving her the space to touch, to look, to want him.

He was beautiful in that rugged, dangerous way that should’ve come with a warning label. And he was looking at her like he was about to tear her apart, slowly and completely.

They locked eyes as her hands slid back down, nails scraping lightly over his abs until her fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, tugging him closer. She crashed her mouth against his in a desperate, searing kiss.

Eric caught her easily, stepping between her legs, one hand tangling in the hair at the back of her head, the other gripping her thigh, holding her open, grounding her to him. He didn’t rush, he savored.

Y/N broke the kiss just long enough to pull her top over her head, baring her upper-half fully without a second of hesitation, dropping the piece of fabric blindly on the counter beside them, never taking her eyes off him.

His gaze darkened instantly, dropping to her exposed breasts like he couldn't help himself. His hands found her chest again, cupping her, weighing her in his palms. He kissed her again, slower this time and then let his mouth travel lower, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, tasting her, marking her.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby,” he muttered against her skin, the rough scrape of his teeth dragging heat across her breasts as he palmed them and thumbed over her nipples, watching her arch into his touch, craving for more. His mouth closed around one peak, sucking, grazing it with his teeth just enough to make her cry out softly, her nails digging into his shoulders.

He played her like he knew her body better than she did, his mouth worshipping her while his hands wandered lower, tracing the curves of her waist, her hips, memorizing her shape like it was sacred. His fingers caught at the waistband of her skirt.

Without needing words, she lifted her hips for him. His teeth clamped gently around her nipple, a teasing warning, just enough to make her whimper as he dragged her skirt and panties down her legs, baring her completely to him.

Eric’s hands came down on her knees, spreading her wider with slow, unhurried pressure, until she felt fully exposed and at his mercy, entirely his.

The look he gave her made her shiver from head to toe. Raw and hungry, like he couldn’t believe she was real... and he was about to ruin her for anyone else.

"Perfect," he said, voice wrecked, eyes lingering shamelessly on her glistening core before dragging slowly back up to meet hers.

He crouched down, fingers deft as he unbuckled her heels, the soft thud of them hitting the floor echoing in the thick, charged air. Her heart pounded harder, breath catching as he rose back over her, tall, powerful, utterly focused. 

His hands slid up the delicate curve of her calves, gliding over the sensitive skin of her thighs, lingering just enough to make her shiver, before traveling higher, tracing her hips, her ribs, the sides of her body, until he reached her shoulders. With a slow, deliberate touch, he urged her back, laying her down.

She laid flat on the counter with a shuddering breath, the coolness of the marble against her heated skin making her arch slightly, helplessly.

Eric hooked her legs over his broad shoulders, pulling her to the very edge of the counter, until she felt the hot fan of his breath exactly where she needed him most.

She choked on a gasp, thighs instinctively trying to close around him, but his hands gripped her hips, firm and unrelenting, holding her wide open for him.

“These stay open for me,” he murmured, voice rough velvet.

He kissed the inside of one of her thighs first, slow and maddening, teeth scraping lightly over her sensitive skin, then the other, avoiding on purpose exactly where she was aching for him, making her squirm, making her beg without a word.

The anticipation was unbearable. Every nerve ending in her body strained toward him, desperate and frantic. Until his mouth finally brushed over the edge of her folds, so light it barely counted as a touch, a tease that made her hips jerk and a broken whimper come out of her lips.

"God, you're already so wet for me," he growled against her skin, his breath hot and sinful.

Then, with a deliberate and devastating slowness, he licked a long, firm stripe up her slit, pausing to circle her clit with the tip of his tongue in lazy, featherlight strokes that made her thighs tremble against his shoulders.

She whimpered, writhing under him, the feel of her tongue against her so good she could barely breathe, but he just chuckled low against her, teasing, drawing it out and dragging her higher.

He moved with devastating patience, his mouth skillful and relentless, alternating between slow, maddening flicks of his tongue and deep, languid strokes that made her spine arch clean off the counter.

Y/N fisted the edge of the marble beneath her, the cold, smooth surface grounding her against the pleasure he was unraveling from her body with humiliating ease. It was too much, but it was not enough, she needed him fully.

Her childhood nemesis, the boy who used to make her grit her teeth in fury, now had her legs thrown over his shoulders, her body trembling and desperate, coming apart from nothing but his mouth.

She shouldn’t be letting him do this. She shouldn’t be loving it this much. She shouldn’t be teetering on the edge of begging him to ruin her completely, to never let her forget the way he made her feel right now, stretched out, helpless, adored and wrecked all at once.

His hands gripped her hips harder as she writhed underneath him, holding her down easily, like he could feel her slipping, like he wanted to drag every last moan out of her.

His tongue circled her clit in slow, tantalizing spirals before flattening against her, pressing and teasing until her thighs quaked around him. Every flick, every slow stroke sent sparks shooting through her bloodstream, a pressure building so fast and sharp she could barely form coherent thoughts anymore.

"Eric..." she gasped out, her voice hoarse and trembling.

He growled against her at the sound of his name coming out in such a lustful way from her lips, and she felt him smile wickedly against her skin. That man knew exactly how close she was, and had no intention of making it easy for her.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes from the sheer force of how good it felt, from the way he pushed her closer and closer to the edge only to ease back, teasing, tormenting, savoring every second of her unraveling.

"I can't…" She choked out, head tossing back against the counter. "I need… I need your cock, please…”

The words tore out of her raw and shameless. Eric lifted his head at her broken plea, and the moment their eyes met, it was like a punch to her chest. The look he gave her, dark, hungry, full of so much raw possession, nearly shattered her right there.

Her body jerked involuntarily, another wave of desperate need crashing through her. Before she could even catch her breath, he hooked his arms under her thighs, lifting her off the counter like she weighed nothing.

She gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, clinging to him as he carried her across the open space of his apartment. The room spun around her, the dim lights blurring, until he lowered her carefully onto a thick, soft rug that stretched across his living room floor.

Eric knelt over her, caging her in with his body, and crashed his mouth down onto hers. She could taste herself on his lips, slick and sweet, the taste of her own wrecked arousal making her moan into the kiss.

He kissed her like he wanted to consume her, messy and wild and so damn filthy it made her toes curl into the rug.

Before she could even think to move, he sat back on his heels, standing up between her spread thighs, his eyes dark with need as he looked down at her sprawled out, completely at his mercy.

His chest heaved with ragged breaths as his hands went to the button of his jeans, fingers working slowly, deliberately, popping the button free and dragging the zipper down with a slow, agonizing rasp. He shoved his jeans and boxer briefs down in one fluid motion.

Her mouth went dry and her heart stuttered violently in her chest.

Her jaw actually dropped, eyes wide, fixed on the thick, heavy length of him standing hard and proud between his hips, long and thick. Veins running along the shaft, the flushed head leaking a bead of precome that made her walls clench around nothing, desperate and aching.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips unconsciously, her whole body pulsed with need, every nerve ending screaming to feel him stretch her open, to fill her so deep she’d forget her own damn name.

A slow, devious smirk curled on Eric’s lips as he watched her reaction, pride and raw hunger flashing across his face.

He finished kicking off the last of his clothes, never once taking his eyes off her, letting her see everything, every inch of him that was about to take her.

He sank back down, bracing himself above her, the heat of his body bleeding into hers.

“There’s a reason I brought you here,” he rasped, his voice thick, the tip of his nose brushing against hers in an intimate touch. “Why I want you here,” he muttered again, his gaze dragging down the flushed, trembling length of her body. 

Then his eyes flicked upward.

“Look up,” he ordered, voice dropping even lower.

Y/N’s head tipped back, and when her eyes found the ceiling, she gasped. A massive mirror stared back at her, angled perfectly above the rug where she laid spread out beneath him, naked and flushed. Her breath hitched, a flush of raw, shameless heat rushing through her.

Eric's mouth brushed against her ear, voice dark and full of promises that made her entire body tense with anticipation.

“You’re gonna take every fucking inch of me,” he said, low and merciless, one hand wrapping around himself, dragging the thick head of his cock slowly through her folds, teasing her clit as he coated himself in her arousal. “And you’re going to watch every second of it.”

Eric kept teasing her, sliding his cock through her folds again and again, getting himself even wetter with her arousal, until she was trembling under him, breathless and aching. Then, with a deliberate slowness that bordered on cruelty, he aligned himself at her entrance.

Their eyes locked, molten heat meeting frantic need, and he pushed forward, breaching her with a slow, steady roll of his hips. The thick, flushed head of his cock stretched her open, stealing the breath straight from her lungs.

She gasped, her back arching off the rug, nails digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor her against the overwhelming pleasure flooding her system.

“Eyes on me,” Eric growled low, his forehead pressing to hers for a beat as her eyes met his beautiful green ones, his hand sliding under one of her thighs to hitch it higher against his side, opening her even wider for him.

She whimpered, chest heaving, forcing herself to meet his gaze as he sank deeper, inch by inch, her body stretching to accommodate him.

His own eyes moved down to where their bodies met and she followed him. A new found wave of pleasure flooded through her as she watched him disappearing inside her, raw, how impossibly thick he looked sliding between her folds, how her skin flushed and her stomach fluttered with every slow, claiming thrust.

She saw Eric too, the hard cut of his muscles flexing, the tattoos spread across his arms and chest as he held himself over her, his face twisted in a feral mix of pleasure and possession as he drove into her.

And then his hand slid up to her jaw, tilting her face up.

"Now watch," he ordered, voice wrecked and shaking with restraint.

Y/N’s gaze lifted to the mirror and the sight stole what little breath she had left. 

The sight of their tangled, naked bodies laid out on the floor made something inside her coil tight. Eric’s tattooed frame above hers, muscles flexing with every movement. Her own body, legs wide open as he pushed into her, flushed and gorgeous beneath him, hair fanned out like a crown, lips parted in bliss. She looked devoured. She looked divine.

Her eyes locked on the mirror again. She watched, panting, as his hips rolled into hers with a fluid rhythm, deep and devastating. His muscles shifted beneath inked skin, and when her manicured nails raked down his back, the sight of red trails across his tattoos made her whimper.

She was losing her mind in the best possible way.

Her fingers clenched into his arms, the need coming back sharp and unstoppable. She arched into him, pulling him down again, their mouths crashing with renewed hunger.

A loud, broken moan ripped from her lips the moment he bottomed out, the head of his cock nudging that devastating spot inside her that made her entire body quake. She felt so full it was almost unbearable, stretched so wide around his thickness she could feel every vein, every throb, every wicked inch claiming her from the inside out.

"Fuck, baby," Eric hissed through gritted teeth, rocking his hips slowly, deliberately, making sure she felt every inch of him dragging against her hypersensitive walls. "You were fucking made for me."

Y/N could only whimper, eyes glazing as she watched herself take him, the mirror showing every desperate, obscene reactions of everything she felt, the heavy drag of his cock, the way her body clung to him, the pink streaks marking his skin where her nails had clawed him, the way her toes curled and her thighs trembled with each slow, grinding thrust.

She didn't even realize she was moaning his name over and over, pleading without words for more, for him to go harder, for everything.

He buried his face in her neck, cursing under his breath, hips jerking forward again like he couldn’t help it, like bottoming her out wasn’t near enough. His hips started to move harder, faster and desperate.

Each thrust drove a filthy sound from her lips, the slick slide of his cock inside her growing louder, wetter, with every relentless push. Her body jolted under each thrust, helpless against the way he pounded into her, hips grinding into hers, his pelvis hitting her clit just right, making sparks shoot through her belly.

She could barely catch a breath between moans, whimpers, cries of his name that sounded wrecked and raw.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” Eric rasped, his voice shattering into a low, broken groan as her walls squeezed around him, sucking him deeper and tighter.

Eric's mouth found hers again, crushing their lips together, messy and hungry, all teeth and tongue and desperation. He kissed her like he needed her to breathe, stealing the broken little moans from her mouth and giving her more in return.

Then he tore his mouth away with a rough curse and flipped them over without warning, dragging her on top of him.

Y/N gasped, dizzy from the sudden shift, her thighs now straddling his hips, his cock dragging against her overstimulated entrance. She felt him, thick and heavy against her, glistening with her arousal.

Eric’s hands gripped her hips hard, guiding her.

"Ride me," he growled, voice so deep and filthy it vibrated against her ribs. "Show me how bad you need it."

Her hands splayed on his chest, feeling the wild pound of his heart under her palms, feeling the flex of his muscles as he held himself in check, just for her. The look in his eyes was dark, ravenous, devoted, and it made her clench around nothing, aching to be full again.

She rose up on trembling thighs and reached between them, wrapping her fingers around the thick base of his cock, guiding him back to her entrance. Eric’s jaw locked tight, a vein bulging in his forehead, as he fought for control when she teased the head against herself, circling, teasing.

"Don't fuckin' tease, baby," he gritted out, his fingers digging bruises into her hips. "Sit. Down."

And she did.

With a shuddering cry, she sank down onto him all at once, feeling herself stretch impossibly wide all over again as she slid him in completely. Her head dropped back, mouth falling open in a silent moan as she felt his cock buried to the hilt inside her, the new position allowing a new depth she wasn’t aware she could handle.

Eric’s head thudded back against the floor, his eyes squeezed shut, a broken sound ripping from his throat like she had just snapped something deep inside him as she started to ride him in a maddening rhythm.

Y/N gazed up to the ceiling again and the mirror gave her front-row seats to her own desire,  the way she moved on him, hips circling slow and deliberate every now and then, the way she ground herself down against him, the bounce of her breasts, the way his hands gripped her thighs like he was holding onto sanity, she almost came right then and there.

She leaned back, bracing her hands on his thighs, the angle adding to their pleasure, making his cock rub against the sensitive spot inside her again. Her mouth fell open, a low moan leaving her throat.

"Fuck, look at you," he groaned, one hand sliding up her belly, between her breasts, gripping her throat lightly, not to hurt, but to hold her there, to make her feel everything.

"Look at yourself, baby," he growled. "Look how perfect you are, riding my cock like you were born to."

He tugged her forward by her neck as he sat up, muscles rippling beneath her. His eyes locked onto hers, intense and dark and so damn gone for her. And then he kissed her, but this time slower and claiming, as if to savor her as she sensually rolled her hips against him. Like they had all night, and no one else in the world existed but them.

Y/N’s body felt like it was on fire, the rhythm of her movements starting to blur, mind lost in the haze of pleasure. Her thighs burned, trembling as she bounced harder, faster, the pace increasing until she felt dizzy from the effort.

Every time she slid down, she felt the thick, burning stretch of him filling her, pushing deeper, making her whole body jerk from the force of it. Her nails dug into his chest, then his shoulders, anything she could grab to steady herself as her breaths turned into desperate gasps.

She was drunk on him. Cockdrunk. Her vision blurred, hips rolling, back arching, chasing the high, every nerve in her body strung out, too much, but never enough. She needed more.

Her eyes locked with his, every ounce of control slipping through her fingers, and still, she couldn’t stop. Her hips rocked harder, desperate.

"Fuck," Eric groaned, his fingers digging into her waist, helping her push down faster, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. “You fuck me so fucking good, baby. Can’t get enough of you.”

His voice was raw, rough, and she nearly came at the sound of it, and the way he looked at her, made her feel even more out of control. She was dripping, her body so sensitive it was torture.

Y/N gasped, her body jerking as she tried to keep her rhythm, but she was so close, her walls were fluttering, her body was trembling, ready to snap.

“Come on, baby,” Eric growled, voice rough and coaxing as his hands gripped her hips harder, guiding her. “Give it to me. Let me feel you.”

That was all it took.

With a sharp, broken sob of his name, her body finally gave in. The orgasm ripped through her like a violent wave, her thighs clamping around his waist, nails raking down his chest as she shattered. Her vision went white around the edges, her whole body convulsing as she sobbed through it, hips grinding desperately against him even as she came undone.

Eric cursed low and vicious under his breath as he jerked up his hips to meet hers, fucking her through it, dragging her higher and keeping her there, drawing every last tremor from her body before he caught her, arms wrapping around her body before she could collapse completely.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped and spread kisses from her jaw and along her neck as flipped them over again with effortless strength, laying her out beneath him. 

Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before he grabbed her legs, lifting both and hooking them over his shoulders, folding her in half.

The new angle made her cry out, raw and overstimulated, as he slid back into her in one deep, devastating thrust. She could feel him everywhere, filling her even deeper than before, hitting spots inside her that made her vision blur with pleasure.

“God, you feel like heaven,” he groaned against her skin, his arms wrapping over her thighs to lock her in place, holding her against him. His thrusts were brutal now, hips snapping against hers, desperate, dragging out wet, broken sounds from both of them.

She clutched at the rug beneath her, sobbing his name, every stroke driving her higher again, even though she was still shaking from the first orgasm.

Eric’s mouth found the inside of her calf, pressing fevered kisses up her trembling leg, his voice a wrecked whisper against her skin. “You’re mine. Fuck, baby, you’re mine.”

She couldn't speak, couldn't think, only feel the way he took over her body, the way he worshiped it with every rough, punishing thrust, the way he was unraveling right alongside her.

His rhythm grew frantic, erratic, and Y/N felt him throbbing deep inside her, hips stuttering. His teeth scraped lightly against her skin as he groaned low and savage, pulling out at the last second.

She whimpered at the sudden loss, and then gasped when the first hot, thick rope of his release splattered across her belly and breasts.

Eric’s head dropped between her legs for a moment, breath heaving, forehead pressed against her thigh as he tried to pull himself together. His hand stroked up her trembling side, almost reverently.

When he finally looked up at her, his green eyes were softer now, full of something almost tender she couldn’t quite read through at that moment.

"You’re fucking perfect," he rasped, his voice wrecked.

Eric stayed there for a beat longer, forehead resting against her thigh, his hand still smoothing over her sensitive skin like he couldn't stop touching her. Like he wouldn't stop.

Neither of them spoke, the only sound in the room was their shattered breathing, the heavy, pulsing aftermath of everything they'd just done. Of everything they still wanted.

Y/N blinked up at the ceiling, at the mirror above them, seeing the wrecked, wanton version of herself sprawled out, glistening, legs still trembling, marked by him in every way. And Eric,fuck, Eric looked even worse. Wild, untamed, beautiful in the most devastating way.

When he finally lifted his head, his gaze pinned her in place. There was no teasing in his eyes now, no smug grin. Just a dark, burning possession that made her whole body tighten again in response, even though she was still trembling from the first round.

Something had shifted. Irrevocably. And it scared the hell out of her, but not enough to run.

Eric leaned over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head, caging her in with his body.

"You’re staying the night," he rasped, voice still ragged and low from what they’d just done. His forehead pressed to hers, his breath hot against her mouth. "Not done with you yet."

She gave a breathless, wrecked little laugh, her fingers curling into his hair as she whispered back. "Good. I’m not done with you either."

The look he gave her in that moment, wild, hungry and almost relieved, made her heart stutter violently in her chest. 

And as he kissed her again, this time differently, slower and full of emotion, like he was imprinting her onto his very soul, Y/N knew one thing for certain: whatever this was between them, it was just getting started.

Bite Me - Eric Draven (AU) x Reader | Part. 6

(The gif above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Summary:

They were childhood rivals who hadn’t spoken in years, until a wedding reunion throws them back into each other’s orbit. With tension simmering beneath every glance, one weekend turns into a series of unexpected moments, sharp words, and almosts that linger long after the party ends. But when fate keeps bringing them back together, the line between hate and something far more irresistible begins to blur.

Author’s note:

I have a few random ideas for this chapter, but the song "Southbound" by Artemas just stuck to my head and I followed down that path... If you're into listeting to something while reading, that's the song I recommend.

That chapter is a little longer, I hope you all enjoy it (let me know in the comments).

Tags: @malenoradgn @muchwita @a-differentbrandof-beans @laniirackssss

Masterlist

Disclaimers:

As the story progresses I’ll let you know if the chapters have any sensitive topics beforehand.

This story will have smut scenes in the future, but you’ll be warned!

English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes I eventually skipped while proof-reading it.

This is AU Eric Draven!!!

If you enjoy this, please let me know if I should continue this, your feedback is precious for me 🫶🏻

End of Author’s note

The engine growled beneath her, the vibration rattled through her bones and settled somewhere low in her stomach. Eric revved it once, and she knew he did it just to make her grip him tighter.

Her arms instinctively locked around his torso, and god, he felt solid. Her palms slid across his chest and abs, the muscle beneath his t-shirt hard and chiseled, radiating heat as she held on tighter.

She pressed closer, not because she had to, but because she wanted to. Another rev, this one louder and sharper. He leaned into a turn and she clung to him, hands fisting his t-shirt and legs tightening on either side of the bike.

“Asshole,” she muttered under her breath, it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear, but she could swear she felt him smirk even though she couldn’t see it.

A few minutes later Eric parked in front of a building that looked like it should’ve been condemned years ago. No lights in the windows, no signs. Just black-painted brick and a nondescript steel door set into the wall.

She yanked the helmet off, brow furrowing. “What is this place?’”

Eric didn’t answer. He was already at the door, knocking twice, then once more with a rhythm that made her raise an eyebrow. It creaked open and a man on the other side glanced at Eric, then stepped aside to let them in.

The inside of the building told a totally different story from its outside.

Golden lights bathed the space in warmth, casting a glow over shelves lined with colorful bottles of liquor behind the bar. In the far corner, a pool table sat under a single swinging bulb. A few people lingered by the bar, but it was far from packed.

She stepped in cautiously, eyes adjusting. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting this.”

“I knew you’d be surprised.” He said, already heading towards the bar. “Pick your poison.”

She joined him, perching on the stool beside him as she ordered two shots of jägerbomb. When the bartender brought them over, she slid one towards Eric and held hers up in a silent toast.

“To the truce,” he said, eyes never leaving hers.

She hesitated a beat, then tapped her glass against his. “Temporary, so don’t get used to it.”

The shot burned in the best way and settled like heat in her chest.

“You play?” he asked, nodding toward the pool table.

“I’m decent,” she said, standing. “But if you’re looking for an ego boost, I can fake being worse.”

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that caught her off-guard. “You faking anything tonight wouldn’t be a first.”

She gave him a look but didn’t push back. Instead, she grabbed a cue and chalked it.

They started playing and he was good, like really good. But she held her own. There was something strangely intimate about it. The quiet moments between the shots, the way he watched her move around the table, the low chuckle he let out when she sank a difficult shot. 

Between turns, their conversation unfolded in pieces, little glimpses into the years they’d missed. She told him about the cities she’d lived in, the jobs that didn’t stick, the one that finally did. He mentioned his own adventures, his move back to town, the business he was starting with a friend. 

It wasn’t heavy or overly sentimental, just real and honest. She found herself laughing more than she expected, leaning into the way he spoke with his hands, how his expressions hadn’t changed much since they were teenagers. 

The tension was still there, always simmering, but now it wasn’t combative, it was easy, almost natural.

At one point, she leaned over the table to take a shot, body aligned with her target, hips angled just right. The air shifted behind her, she couldn’t see him, but she could feel him and the way his eyes traced her unapologetic. 

“You always bend like that when you’re trying to distract the competition?” His voice came low from behind her, nearly brushing her ear.

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t look back. “Only when the competition’s dumb enough to fall for it.”

“Hmm.” He was closer now. She could feel it in the way the hairs on her neck stood up. “Guess I’m losing, then.”

She made the shot clean, straight into the pocket, and stood slowly. Their eyes met, and everything between them tightened.

His hand brushed her hip as he stepped past her, his touch barely there, not enough to start something, just enough to remind her he could, and she didn’t move away.

“Lucky,” he said.

“Skilled,” she corrected.

The game wound down not long after, both of them trading points back and forth with silent, crackling focus. He won, but barely. One ball left on the table when he sank the eight.

She shook her head as he straightened up, smug. “Should’ve distracted you harder.”

Eric's grin turned wicked as he stepped in close, his voice a low murmur meant only for her.

“If you’d distracted me any harder,” he said, eyes dipping briefly to her lips as his knuckles caressed her cheeks, “the game wouldn’t have made it to the end.”

He let the implication hang in the air between them, heavy and charged. For a second, neither of them moved. Then, with a flick of his head, he broke the spell.

“Come on,” he said, already turning towards a door at the back of the bar. “There’s more.”

She followed, pulse quickening as the sound of the bar faded behind them. The hallway was narrow, the music thrumming louder with each step until they reached a staircase that curved down into the dark.

The descent was like stepping into another world. The bass hit her first, deep and pulsing, syncing with her heartbeat. The space below was darker, more intimate, washed in red and violet light. People moved on the floor like smoke, bodies pressed together, energy crackling in the air.

He led her through the crowd, his hand finding hers without asking. She let it. Let him pull her onto the floor as the beat shifted, slow and heavy.

She moved closer on instinct. He met her there, arms low on her hips, their bodies already swaying. The music soaked into her bones, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she stopped thinking.

They hadn’t even been dancing that long and she was already overheating. Not from the beat or the crowd or the alcohol. From him.

Her back pressed to his chest, and she could feel everything. The rhythm flowing through both of them like a shared heartbeat, every breath, every shift in his hips. His hands rested low on her waist, firm, possessive, thumbs hooked in her skirt’s belt loops keeping and pulling her closer.

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the beat pull her in. Her hips swayed side to side, slow and hypnotic, brushing against him in light, teasing passes. Each time she rolled back, she felt the slight hitch in his breath, the way his body tensed just a little tighter.

Until she did it on purpose. A slow, deliberate roll of her hips and her ass pressed flush against him, grinding back in a smooth, sinuous rhythm that made contact unavoidable.

His hands clamped down on her waist in a warning grip. His fingers dug into her sides, not painful, but enough to remind her of exactly who was behind her. She felt the shift in him instantly, how his restraint cracked, how his body responded before his brain could stop it. There was no space between them anymore. Just heat.

He leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear, breath hot and uneven.

“You keep doing that,” he rasped, voice rough with want, “and I’m forgetting we’re in public.” His grip tightened and her pulse stuttered. “And I’ve got a feeling you won’t stop me.”

His nose skimmed the curve of her jaw, lips ghosting over her skin without touching, like he was savoring how close he could get without crossing that final line. She swallowed hard, but didn’t stop moving. 

He was right, she wouldn’t stop him from doing whatever he had in mind, but she wasn’t going to say that out loud. Instead, she let her head fall back, her head resting on his chest, letting her weight settle against him in a silent dare as his hands slid up her sides.

He let out the softest groan, barely audible over the music, but she felt it, deep in his chest, vibrating through her spine. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Then he turned her around in one smooth pull, one of his hands still gripping her waist, keeping their bodies still flush as the other slid up her back as their eyes locked.

Their bodies fit too easily, too well. His thigh slotted between hers, her hands found his shoulders, then the back of his neck, fingers curling just enough to make him breathe a little harder.

Chest to chest, heat curled between them like it had a will of its own. She tilted her head up slightly, breath mingling in the narrow space between their mouths.

Eric’s gaze flicked down to her lips.“Don’t look at me like that…” 

“Like what?” She blinked up at him, all faux innocence, lashes low and mouth curving like she knew exactly what she was doing.

His voice dipped lower, rough with restraint. “Like you actually don’t give a damn who’s watching”

She tilted her chin, trying to steady herself, trying to keep some kind of upper hand as her pulse hammered beneath her skin. “You think I’m scared of you?”

“No,” he said, the hand on her spine pressing her even closer. “I think you’re scared of how bad you want me.”

Her breath caught and her lips parted on instinct. She hated that he was right and hated how easily his words slid beneath her skin, curling low and electric in her belly.

He dipped his head, slowly, like giving her a chance to pull away. She didn’t. Her eyes fell to his lips, drawn in by gravity and heat. His hand tightened at her back, anchoring her there as his mouth hovered just over hers, so close she could feel the shape of it in the air.

Her lashes fluttered. Her hands tightened at the back of his neck. He didn’t kiss her yet, he lingered, like he was savoring the anticipation. Like he wanted her to feel every second of it.

His nose brushed hers, soft and intimate. His thumb traced the curve of her spine in slow, grounding circles. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she leaned up into him, lips parting slightly, chasing contact she wasn’t even sure he’d give.

Her eyes drifted shut and she felt him breathe her in, until -

“Yo, Eric!”

A voice cut clean through the moment like a knife. 

Eric didn’t move for a beat, his breath caught between them, jaw clenched tight as if he were physically forcing himself not to finish what he started. He pulled back just a fraction, just enough to break the spell, but not enough to give her space.

Y/N blinked, heart slamming against her ribs. Her lips still tingled from a kiss that hadn’t even happened. The interruption felt almost indecent, like being yanked from a dream too fast.

Eric’s head turned slowly toward the voice, irritation sharp in the line of his jaw. She followed his gaze just in time to catch the guy who’d called him out, a tall, smirking figure pushing through the crowd, hand raised in a sheepish half-wave.

“Damn,” the guy said as he approached, eyes flicking between them with a grin. “Didn’t realize you were in the middle of something. My bad.”

Eric didn’t reply at first. His hand was still on Y/N’s waist, thumb resting in the dip just above her hip like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“You’re lucky I like you, Joe” he muttered to his friend, voice rough.

The friend just laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, man. We’re all over by the VIP booth. Everyone’s been asking for you.”

Eric’s eyes flicked back to Y/N, like he was silently checking if she’d come too.

She didn’t hesitate and smiled at him reassuringly. “Lead the way.”

Eric looked back at her, that same heat still burning in his eyes, like he hadn’t cooled off one damn degree, and then proceeded to follow his friend. He didn’t move his hand from her waist as they followed the guy across the floor, weaving through sweaty bodies.

The booth was crowded with his half-way drunk friends. Another guy and a girl were slouched into the red curved leather seating, drinks in hand and mid-laughter. But the second they spotted Eric, their energy shifted and a small buzz was made celebrating his arrival.

“Eric!” One of the guys called, eyebrows shooting up as he stood and pulled him into a hug. “What are you doing here man?” 

“The same as you,Tate, having fun.” Eric replied while hugging him back.

That’s when Tate noticed her. His gaze slid to Y/N, eyes flicking up and down with undisguised curiosity as the rest of the group perked up, clearly wondering who she was.

“Damn, dude,” Tate said with a slow grin, one that vanished the moment Eric arched a brow at him. A silent warning. Tate caught it just in time and threw up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”

Meanwhile, Eric’s hand shifted from her lower back to her waist, firmer now, his grip casual but unmistakably possessive.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce us to your girl?” The raven-haired girl added, half-laughing, but watching closely, curiosity oozing out of her eyes as she, along with the rest of their friends, were surprised to see Eric with someone that, at first, seemed to mean to him more than just one of his one night stands.

Y/N’s heart hammered hard in her chest. His girl. She’d usually deny and deadpan despise such label, especially regarding Eric, but at that very moment, neither of them corrected it.

Eric leaned back slightly, hand still resting on her hip, like he wasn’t in any rush to clarify. His eyes flicked to hers before he spoke.

“This is Y/N,” he said simply. No smirk. No explanation. Just her name. Then, after a beat, his arm tightened around her waist ever so slightly. “She’s off limits.” He stated as he glared daggers at his friends. “And that includes you, Jes.” 

He pointed at the only girl in the table and that earned them a new chorus of laughter as they tried to make room for them in the booth. Despite their efforts, there wasn’t enough space for two people.

Eric slid in taking his seat and spread his thighs open, patting his thigh as if to tell Y/N that that was her seat, and cocked his eyebrow at her as if he was daring her to do so. She stared at him for half a second and then rolled her eyes before finally settling onto his lap, like it wasn’t the worst idea ever.

His hands found her waist again immediately, grounding her against him and steadying her as she shifted on his lap to get comfortable. Her skirt rode up slightly, and she felt his fingers twitch against her hip as his other hand now settled on her thigh, tracing small absentminded patterns against her smooth skin, as if he was trying to distract himself from the fact that that position had her ass was dangerously close to his cock. 

Moments later a server approached their table and set down a tray containing a row of tequila shots, lime wedges, a small dish of salt and the bottle for extra refill.

“Oh hell yes!” Joe grinned, already reaching for a shot. “Now we’re getting started!”

They all grabbed a glass, pinched some salt and claimed their pieces of lime. The mood on the table shifted, instantly getting louder as they raised their glasses and let the warm chaos of alcohol fuel them.

Eric’s grip on Y/N’s waist tightened slightly as she bent forward to grab her own sho;t, her ass pressing back just enough to remind them both where she was sitting.

They downed their first shot and Joe, who’d already taken an extra shot by himself, pointed at Eric and Y/N with a devious grin on his face. “Alright, alright. I saw you on the dance floor, you two are overdue for a body shot.”

Y/N blinked and turned to face Eric with a ‘what now?’ look on her face, only to find an amused, and apparently very happy, Eric with his friend’s suggestion.

He didn’t answer right away, he just cocked his head, eyes glinting with interest as he studied her expression. “Too much for you?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, playing it cool even as her pulse jumped. “I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

“Yeah?” His lips curved, slow and wicked. “Then let me go first.”

The table whooped as Eric gently brushed her hair over one shoulder with one hand while the other stayed anchored to her waist. Then, he reached for a piece of lime and brought it to her lips, his eyes dark with mischief.

“Open.” Her pussy clenched at the way that one word came out of his mouth, wondering what it would be like to hear it in another, more intimate, context. She tried to ignore the images painted in her head and parted her lips, allowing him to place the lime between them. “Now hold still.”

He murmured and poured a small trail of salt along the curve of her exposed neck, just over her pulse.

She barely had time to process the heat in his eyes before he leaned in. His mouth pressed to her neck, tongue darting out slow and unhurried, licking the salt in a way that was far more sensual than it had any right to be. 

But he didn’t stop there, he lingered, his lips and tongue giving an extra attention to the sensitive area, making a visible shiver run down her spine. The table cheered, but it all sounded distant compared to the pounding in her ears.

She exhaled shakily and turned her head just enough to meet his eyes, breath catching as he held the shot glass up in a mock toast, and downed it in one smooth move, only to then lean in and take the lime straight from her lips with his own.

His mouth brushed hers deliberately, lips ghosting over the corner of her mouth in a near-kiss that felt far more dangerous than anything they'd done on the dance floor. The contact was brief, but the aftershock was immediate, and she was afraid she’d catch on fire at any moment.

“Your turn,” he said, voice gravelly with restraint.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. 

She slid off his lap and dropped to her knees between his legs like it was the most casual thing in the world. The table went feral.

“Shit,” someone muttered.

Eric’s smirk froze and his gaze dropped to her, stunned, like he hadn’t expected her to raise the stakes like that, his breath catching visibly as she knelt in front of him with fire in her eyes. 

She lifted her hand, poured a small trail of salt onto her skin, and licked it off slowly, eyes never leaving his. Then, she placed both hands on his thighs as she nodded towards the bottle.

“Give it to me.” She pleaded, voice soft, but loaded as she stuck her tongue out just slightly.

Eric’s brows lifted, but he recovered quickly, grabbing the bottle with a steady hand. His once green eyes darkened as he tilted it, pouring straight onto her waiting tongue in a slow stream. 

She tilted her head back just enough, tongue out, eyes locked on his as he let the tequila spill in a slow stream into her waiting mouth. She didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Drank every drop and didn’t move a muscle except to swallow the liquor with a slow, deliberate motion. The sight before Eric so erotic it was almost too much for him to handle.

“Holy hell,” Tate mumbled, not even trying to hide it.

She licked her lips and caught the last drop with the tip of her tongue, and only then reached for her lime, sinking her teeth into it while holding his gaze. A drop of juice slipped down her chin and she wiped it with the pad of her thumb, sucking the excess off her finger with a knowing smirk that had no business being that lethal towards him.

Eric stared at her, utterly speechless.

“Someone get him a glass of water,” Joe said, laughing. “My boy is done.”

Eric didn’t even hear him, his eyes were still locked on Y/N, who sat back on her heels like she hadn’t just set the entire table on fire. Like she hadn’t just melted his brain with a look and a slice of lime.

She tilted her head, smug and breathless all at once. “Something wrong?”

He blinked once, slowly, like he was waking from a dream. Then his tongue swept across his bottom lip and he exhaled sharply through his nose. Then he stood, slowly, and reached down offering his hand.

She took it and he pulled her up, his hand sliding down hers until his fingers caught hers, threading them together without asking.

“We’re getting some air,” he said over his shoulder. His voice was cool, final.

Eric guided her away from the booth, away from the table, away from the noise. They slipped out through the side door, unnoticed by most, but not by Joe, who raised his eyebrows at Tate like well damn.

They didn’t wait for a reply. They didn’t need one, they all knew very well they needed some privacy.

The second they stepped outside a chill ran up her skin, still hot from the inside of the club and from her small stunt. 

It was quieter here, except for the thump of bass leaking through the walls and the chaos in her chest.

Eric didn’t say a word. He just kept walking until they were far enough from the door, tucked in the dark beside the building, the world distant and irrelevant, he had only one thing in his mind.

Then he turned and looked at her, a look that made her forget how to breathe. 

His eyes dropped from her eyes to her mouth, down the line of her throat, lingering at the way her chest rose and fell.

“You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?” He murmured, voice dangerously soft.

Y/N leaned against the brick wall, heart hammering. “What, the shot?”

He stepped closer. “No,” he said. “The way you looked at me when you did it.” His thumb dragged her bottom lip, “on your fucking knees like a good girl.”

The praise made her knees feel like jelly and her core tighten with an aching need. At that point she didn’t just want him, she needed him. Needed him to ruin her completely. To fuck away every trace of the so-called hate she felt for him all those years. To have her screaming his name over and over until her voice broke.

Her lips parted, dizzy with lust. The air between them felt tight, too electric.

“You didn’t like it?” She asked, half-teasing, half-breathless.

He didn’t smile. “No,” he said. “I loved it.” His face got dangerously closer to hers. “That’s the problem.”

Eric’s hand slid down, ghosting along her jaw, then her neck, stopping just before her collarbone. His other hand braced against the wall beside her head.

“I want you so. fucking. bad.” His words came out like a confession. “But if I kiss you,” he warned, leaning in just enough that his lips hovered beside hers, “it’s not gonna stop there.”

“And I won’t want you to stop,” she whispered, lifting one leg just enough to brush along his thigh, teasing him, coaxing him between her legs.

“You like teasing me, don’t you?” His jaw twitched.

She looked up at him, fire in her eyes. “Only because I know you’ll do something about it.”

And that was it.

Eric didn’t just kiss her, he claimed her. And her dreams didn’t get any close to how he felt in real life.

His mouth caught hers in a kiss that was hot and consuming, like a starved man. One hand tangled in her hair, the other gripped her hip hard, pulling her against him so hard that not even air fit between them. She gasped against his mouth and he swallowed it, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers in a slow, sinful rhythm that made her knees buckle.

A soft, desperate sound escaped her and he caught it, pressing her harder to the wall, his body molded to hers.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured.

She smirked, lips kiss-swollen, wild half-lidded eyes. “Then burn me.”

Bite Me - Eric Draven (AU) x Reader | Part. 5

(The gif above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Summary:

They were childhood rivals who hadn’t spoken in years, until a wedding reunion throws them back into each other’s orbit. With tension simmering beneath every glance, one weekend turns into a series of unexpected moments, sharp words, and almosts that linger long after the party ends. But when fate keeps bringing them back together, the line between hate and something far more irresistible begins to blur.

Author’s note:

I hope you like this next chapter, I had so much fun writing it, let me know your thoughts and guesses for the next one!

Tags: @malenoradgn @muchwita @a-differentbrandof-beans @laniirackssss

Masterlist

Disclaimers:

As the story progresses I’ll let you know if the chapters have any sensitive topics beforehand.

This story will have smut scenes in the future, but you’ll be warned!

English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes I eventually skipped while proof-reading it.

This is AU Eric Draven!!!

If you enjoy this, please let me know if I should continue this, your feedback is precious for me 🫶🏻

End of Author’s note.

It was getting embarrassing. The amount of first dates she’d been on since the lake house trip? Ridiculous.

All those weeks she told herself it was about moving on, shaking off the dream and the stupid, aching obsession that came with it. But deep down, she knew the truth: She was looking for a replacement.

Someone to make her feel something remotely close to what Eric had made her feel in that goddamn dream. Someone whose body could match the weight of his on top of hers, someone whose kiss could fog up her brain and leave her gasping awake and desperate.

Instead, she got fumbled touches, boring kisses, one guy who moaned during the first kiss and another who tried to dirty talk mid-undressing by quoting the 50 Shades of Grey. Absolutely terrible.

Nothing landed. Nothing stuck. Sex, when it happened, was mechanical at best. At worst, a disappointment she faked her way through just to make it end faster.

Her friends said she was just in a dry spell. She laughed and said maybe her standards were too high. But the truth? Her body was stuck on someone it had never even really had.

Once again she’d gone through the usual steps: makeup, outfit, mentally preparing to be underwhelmed, and was fully expecting this date to be like the others. Safe, forgettable, mildly disappointing. Another attempt to prove to herself that what happened at the lake was a fluke, that it hadn’t really left a dent.

But by the second drink, she found herself smiling. Actually smiling.

The guy, Mason, was charming in a low-effort kind of way. Confident without being cocky. Funny, not performative. He had kind blue eyes and a deep laugh that made her relax in her seat. He even caught her references without making it into a competition. And he didn’t try too hard to touch her. No constant hand on the small of her back. No hovering. Just… talking. Listening. Making her laugh.

She caught herself leaning in. This was nice. It was the first time in weeks she actually felt a spark.

Not fireworks, not chaos, but something warm and steady, something she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

And for once, she wasn’t thinking about what came next. She wasn’t wondering if he’d kiss her unexpectedly. She wasn’t comparing him to someone else. She was just there, enjoying the moment. Enjoying herself.

And across the room, Eric saw everything.

He’d only just walked in, a hand resting casually on the back of the woman beside him. They were mid-conversation, his smile halfway formed, when his gaze flicked toward the booth Y/N was and stopped cold.

There she was. Hair down, shoulders bare in some slinky top that made his throat go dry. Laughing like she didn't have a care in the world. Her hand on some guy’s arm. Her eyes shining.

The smile dropped from his face.

He hadn’t seen her since the lake house. Hadn’t heard from her. And maybe he’d thought she’d been just as mentally struck by that weekend as he was, tossing and turning, replaying moments that could have happened if they weren’t constantly worried about pissing each other off.

But this? This didn’t look struck.

He almost missed what the woman beside him was saying. She tugged at his arm, laughing, trying to pull him toward the bar. He let her, but his eyes didn’t leave Y/N.

Not until she turned.

She must’ve felt it, his stare. She looked up slowly, eyes scanning the room until they landed on him.

And then she froze. It hit her like a blow to the chest.

She hadn’t seen him come in. Hadn’t noticed the girl on his arm or the way he was watching her. She’d been too busy enjoying herself. Too caught off-guard by the rare possibility of something working.

Now all of that joy fizzled into static.

Their eyes locked and her smile slid from her lips. His gaze was unreadable, not angry, not smug, just… sharp. Too sharp. He looked at her date, then back at her, and something subtle shifted in his jaw.

Her pulse kicked. She tried to recover, smoothing her expression, even leaning slightly closer to Mason in a pathetic attempt to reclaim the easy moment she’d lost. But it was gone. He had taken it.

And then she noticed her. The woman next to Eric. Stunning. Effortlessly elegant. Touching his chest as she whispered something in his ear.

Y/N swallowed hard and turned back to Mason with a smile that felt like it was cracking down the middle.

She could feel his gaze on her from across the bar. Even when she wasn’t looking, her skin prickled with the weight of it. Mason was still talking, something about a trip to the coast, and she was nodding, laughing in the right places, playing her part like a pro. But her mind wasn’t in it anymore.

She tilted her body toward Mason again, nodded at something he said like she was still locked in, still present. And she was. Kind of.

Her date didn’t seem to notice the shift, thank god. Or maybe he was too caught up in the way she was laughing again, leaning forward just enough that her top dipped slightly. Her fingers brushed against his when he reached for another drink, and she let them linger.

She dared another glance towards Eric and she deeply regretted it.

One of his hands rested casually on the small of the woman’s back and Eric leaned in to say something close to her ear. Something that made her laugh and touch his chest like she owned him.

Y/N’s smile tightened.

The woman tipped her chin toward him, flirting in that quiet, practiced way. Eric said something else, slow and low, and then, just to really drive the knife in, he looked across the room at Y/N again. Met her eyes, held them and smirked.

She turned back to Mason quickly, laughing too hard at whatever he’d just said, her hand landing on his arm like muscle memory. If Eric wanted to make her jealous, fine. Two could play that game.

She leaned in again, close enough for Mason to catch the hint, and when he did, his hand brushed her thigh under the table, she let it happen.

But even as Mason leaned in like he might kiss her, her mind was already a few tables over, tracing every inch of Eric’s expression. That lazy smirk. That smug tilt of his head.

He knew exactly what he was doing. And damn it, it was working.

Mason’s hand brushed higher on her thigh. It wasn’t unwelcome, not really, but it wasn’t electric either. Just a growing restlessness in her chest.

Y/N leaned back slightly, smiled at him, and said, “I’ll be right back,” before slipping out of the booth and heading toward the bathroom.

Only she didn’t go to the bathroom.

The cool air outside hit against her flushed skin. She leaned against the brick walls, closing her eyes, letting herself breathe for the first time in what felt like hours.

God, she was unraveling. All it had taken was one look at him. One smug glance, one perfectly timed smirk, and she was spiraling.

The door creaked open next to her. She didn’t have to look. His presence pressed against her like gravity.

She heard the flick of the lighter first, then caught the faint scent of his cologne mixed with smoke. He stepped into her peripheral, leaned against the wall beside her, cigarette between his fingers.

“You stalking me now?” She asked, arms folding tightly across her chest like a shield.

“I know you’d love that.” He replied easily, not even looking at her as he exhaled a slow breath of smoke.

She glanced over at him. “Where’s your date?”

“In the bathroom, I think. Not really keeping track.” His voice was low, indifferent, but she heard the edge in it.

“How considerate of you.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him, humorless and dry.

“I could say the same about you,” he said, turning to look at her now. His eyes were darker in the dim light, flicking down her body before settling back on her face. “Your date’s still in there, while you’re out here. With me.”

“I’m not with you,” she snapped. “You followed me.”

Eric smirked and shrugged unbothered. “Didn’t hear you telling me to leave.”

The silence that followed was thick, tense, heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

She looked away, jaw tightening, then said, more quietly, “You ruin everything.”

“Yeah?” he stepped closer, voice softer, rougher. “Or maybe I just make it harder to pretend.”

She hated how true that sounded.

“I had a nice night,” she muttered. “I was having fun.”

“I saw that.” He took a slow drag of his cigarette. “Almost believed it.”

She turned to him then, heat rising in her cheeks. “Not everything’s about you, Eric.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said. Then, casually, he tossed the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot.

She scoffed, shaking her head. “You know what? Go back to your date.”

“I could,” he said, pulling something from behind him and tossing it her way.

She caught it midair, it was a helmet, one she hadn’t seen him holding up to that moment considering how on edge she was.

“What’s this?”

“Truce,” he said and nodded toward the street, where his motorbike sat gleaming under a flickering street lamp. “One night. No arguments. No games. Just fun. Unless you’re scared.”

She scoffed. “Of you? Please.”

He held her gaze. “Then get on.”

Y/N stared at him, helmet in hand, heart thudding. This was stupid. This was reckless. This was exactly the kind of night that would turn into a memory you wouldn’t know what to do with. But he was already waiting, already revving the engine like he knew she’d say yes.

She stared at him and before she could stop herself, she followed him. “You think riding off with you into the night is gonna fix whatever the hell this is?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer, voice dropping. “But it’ll feel good.”

She cursed under her breath, shoved the helmet on, and swung her leg over the bike.

“Where are we going?” she asked over the roar of the engine.

He glanced over his shoulder, grin audible in his voice. “Wherever you loosen up.”

Bite Me - Eric Draven (AU) x Reader | Part. 4

(The gif above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Summary:

They were childhood rivals who hadn’t spoken in years, until a wedding reunion throws them back into each other’s orbit. With tension simmering beneath every glance, one weekend turns into a series of unexpected moments, sharp words, and almosts that linger long after the party ends. But when fate keeps bringing them back together, the line between hate and something far more irresistible begins to blur.

Author’s note:

Two posts in a day, that’s a record for me! I hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know what you think it’s happening between them, I’ll see you in the next one!!

Tags: @malenoradgn @muchwita @a-differentbrandof-beans

Masterlist

Disclaimers:

As the story progresses I’ll let you know if the chapters have any sensitive topics beforehand.

This story will have smut scenes in the future, but you’ll be warned!

English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes I eventually skipped while proof-reading it.

This is AU Eric Draven!!!

End of Author’s note.

His lips were softer than she’d imagined, warm and impossibly slow at first, like he was learning her mouth one breath at a time. The moment she kissed him, the rest of the world blurred. Nothing else mattered except the taste of him and the way one of his hands slid into her hair pulling her closer.

His other hand slid from her waist to her lower back, pulling her under him with both tenderness and possession that made her breath catch. The mattress shifted, creaked beneath the slow, deliberate press of his body on top of hers.

His mouth claimed hers with a hunger she’d never imagined he’d show her. Not like this. Not to her. She gasped into the kiss, and he swallowed the sound, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to feel her soft skin under his touch. Her legs parted, welcoming the weight of him between them, and his hips sank lower, grinding slowly into hers like he wanted to give her a small taste of how he’d do it.

She moaned at the feeling of his bulge against her core and he kissed her harder. His teeth grazed her bottom lip. She arched beneath him, fingers twisting into his hair as the kiss turned desperate, messy, real. Way too real.

“Y/N.” 

Eric’s voice was distant, but then when he called her again it got clearer.

“Y/N.”

Her eyes snapped open and reality crashed over her. The room was still, quiet, lightly illuminated by the first shy rays of sun coming from behind the curtains. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her chest rose and fell too fast.

She turned her head and found him there. Propped up on one elbow beside her. His green eyes were filled with concern and his free hand rested on her waist just like in the beginning of her dream.

“You okay?” Eric whispered lowly, voice hoarse with sleep.

“W-what? Why?” Was all she could muster as she too was trying to understand what was real and what wasn’t.

“You were calling my name,” he said, voice lower now, gentle. “Kinda like… you were out of breath.”

She blinked and her eyes widened. Her lips still tingled and she could feel her cheeks getting beet-red at the realization that she was having a wet dream with Eric, and to make things even worse, she was calling for him in real life.

She tried to answer, but the words stuck somewhere between her chest and throat.

He watched her for a beat, brows drawing together. “Nightmare?”

No, she thought. Worse. She gave a small shake of her head and tugged at her blanket at the same time she squeezed her legs together, trying - and failing - to dull the ache between them. “No. Just… Weird dream.”

Eric was way too sleepy to read deeper into the situation, so he just gave up on pushing any further and laid back down, getting ready to sleep again.

Y/N laid frozen under the covers long after Eric’s breathing slowed again beside her.

The dream clung to her like smoke, curling into the corners of her mind no matter how hard she tried to shake it. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel the weight of him, the heat between their bodies, the way he kissed her like he wanted to devour her.

And god, at that very moment she wanted to be devoured by him.

The rest of the weekend blurred in a mess. She tried to act normal, or whatever that meant, but something had changed. In the way she didn’t get angry anymore when she caught him looking at her, in the way she now wanted to be seen by him and, specially, in the way she now waited eagerly for their next argument just to have him making a sassy, flirty remark towards her.

She was turning into what she swore, since high school, she’d never become: one of those Eric obsessed girls, and she hated herself when she realized that.

She’d laugh too loudly when someone else made a joke, just to fill the tension.

That dream made something shift inside of her. She was always aware that Eric affected her somehow, and she always thought it was some kind of negative and hurtful way, until that very fucking dream.

Now, she wasn’t so sure. 

And the worst part? He hadn’t changed. Not really. He was still cocky, infuriating, annoyingly charming. He still knew exactly how to push her buttons and smirk when she snapped back. But somewhere between their silent stares and the tight corners of shared space, something else had started to simmer.

Or maybe it had always been there. Maybe the hate was just smoke and this was the fire.

On the last morning, she packed her things in silence. Eric was in the kitchen with the others, half-listening to a story someone was telling, coffee mug in hand, hair still a mess from sleep. He laughed at something, and the sound twisted something low in her stomach. God, she hated him. She hated how good he looked when he was relaxed like that, completely unaware of the chaos he left behind in her head.

She said her goodbyes, lingering with Alex since it would be the last time in a long time they’d see each other, and then jumped into her car, eager to get away from that house, from him and the dream that still haunted her.

By the time she pulled into her apartment’s garage, she felt like she’d been holding her breath the whole way back.

She threw her bag in the corner of the room and collapsed onto her bed without changing. The sheets were cold. Nothing like the heat of that shared bed, or the ghost of a touch, or the promise of a kiss that had only existed in her mind, but felt more real than anything she’d known in a long time.

She must have been ovulating. It was the only plausible reason for her hyperfixation. The ovulation period did wonders to a woman’s mind and dignity so once it was gone she’d go back to normal, to despising his existence.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

But later that night, when she stepped out of the shower, hair dripping, skin flushed and warm, she caught herself doing another thing she swore she wouldn’t.

She checked her phone.

No messages. No missed calls. No Eric.

She didn’t even have his number and he didn’t have hers, so it was obviously an impossible scenario.

Still, her fingers hovered over her screen like she expected something to appear. Something impulsive. Like did you sleep better without me? Or next time, try not to moan my name so loud when you dream about me.

She dropped the phone face-down on the bed, cursed under her breath. This wasn’t her. She didn’t dream about boys who used to make her life hell. She didn’t want them to do it all over again.

And yet, when she closed her eyes that night, he was already there, behind her eyelids, waiting for her in her sheets, marking her skin.

Bite Me - Eric Draven (AU) x Reader | Part. 3

(The gif above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Summary:

They were childhood rivals who hadn’t spoken in years, until a wedding reunion throws them back into each other’s orbit. With tension simmering beneath every glance, one weekend turns into a series of unexpected moments, sharp words, and almosts that linger long after the party ends. But when fate keeps bringing them back together, the line between hate and something far more irresistible begins to blur.

Author’s note:

I’m grateful to everyone of you who have been supporting me along this story, I hope you like this next chapter 💖

Tags: @malenoradgn @muchwita @a-differentbrandof-beans

Masterlist

Disclaimers:

As the story progresses I’ll let you know if the chapters have any sensitive topics beforehand.

This story will have smut scenes in the future, but you’ll be warned!

English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes I eventually skipped while proof-reading it.

This is AU Eric Draven!!!

If you enjoy this, please let me know if I should continue this, your feedback is precious for me 🫶🏻

End of Author’s note.

The shower was still running when Y/N entered the bedroom, the faint hiss of water against tile trailing through a thin trail of steam curled its way into the cooler air of the room from under the door.

She dropped her towel on the chair by her side of the bed and dug into her bag, pulling out clean clothes. Her skin was sticky with lake water and dried sunscreen, and all she wanted was to rinse the day off and get ready for their wine night.

The water finally stopped and seconds later he stepped out of the bathroom.

Eric stood there, half a foot into the room, dripping wet and shirtless, towel slung low around his hips. Drops of water clung to his skin, racing down the sharp lines of his chest and the tattoos decorating his skin, and lower, too low for her eyes to linger without consequence.

Which, unfortunately, they did, staying two seconds too long on the happy trail traveling low. And of course he caught her looking.

He didn’t look at her right away. Instead, he ran a hand through his wet hair, the muscles in his arms flexing just slightly as he reached for his cologne on the dresser.

“Like what you see?” he asked, voice infuriatingly casual, as if she was just another fan in his personal audience.

She blinked, unimpressed. “This isn’t a whorehouse, you know. Put some clothes on before someone calls pest control.”

“Relax. If I knew you were this easy to scandalize, I’d have walked out dripping wet every day back in high school.”

She scoffed and turned her back, pretending to rummage through her bag. “I wouldn’t have noticed. I had better things to look at.”

“I doubt that.”

He left the room whistling, smug and shirtless, like a walking middle finger to her peace of mind.

She waited a beat or two to be sure until the hallway was quiet, then grabbed her towel and stepped into the bathroom.

Steam still clung to the mirror and the smell of his aftershave lingered in the air. She let the water run hotter than usual, hoping its hotness would soften the tension on her muscles. She hated that she could still feel - and smell - him everywhere, like he’d left fingerprints on her nerves just by existing.

When she finally finished her shower and stepped out into the bedroom, hair dripping and towel wrapped snug around her chest, she didn’t expect him to be lounging on the bed, black shirt on and gray sweats, flipping through his phone without a care in the world.

He looked up. His gaze didn’t drop, at least not obviously, but there was the flicker, the twitch of interest, that shift in posture that betrayed the second glance.

“Bitch stole my look”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She rolled her eyes and held the towel tighter around herself, fearing it would suddenly betray her and fall down to make things even worse.

“No, you have got to be kidding, this isn’t a whorehouse, remember?” Eric had a winning grin on his face as he let his phone down and folded both arms behind his head, amused by how red her cheeks got in her own embarrassment.

She didn’t say another word and just decided to avoid his eyes as she quickly dug through her clothes before she locked herself in the bathroom again to change.

She threw on a blue sundress and panties she managed to fish from her bag and quickly left the bedroom, not standing to be in his presence any longer.

“Took you long enough!” Alex exclaimed as she poured them some wine. “Thought I’d have to start without you.”

“I needed to rinse off the lake,” Alex handed her a glass half-full. “And of course my dear roommate.” Y/N only realized the double meaning behind those words when they were already out of her lips.

“Ah, so we’re talking about that kind of shower.” Alex had pure mischief in her eyes but Y/N corrected immediately.

“Oh my God, no. And don’t start.” She rolled her eyes as she leaned her back on the counter behind her.

“So how is it going? I’m impressed, somehow you haven’t killed each other yet. That’s some progress.”

Y/N shook her head, staring into the window on her right. “You knew what you were doing when you stuck us in the same room.”

Alex grinned. “Of course I did. Someone’s gotta entertain me this weekend.”

“Oh, I’m thrilled to be your circus act.”

There was a beat of silence, just the hum of the fridge and muffled music from outside. Then Alex tilted her head.

“So?” she said, nudging her. “What’s really going on there?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ll be here when you decide to open about it,” Alex started, “but just know that kind of ‘nothing’ gets people pregnant.”

Y/N choked on her sip. “Jesus, Alex.”

“What? I’ve seen the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you? I wish you too got over this stupid feud and just fucked it off…”

She scoffed, but her throat was suddenly dry at her friend’s brutal honesty.

“I’m sorry to ruin your fun but just a couple of hours ago he made sure to let me know I’m not his type, so…”

Alex had a “I’ll pretend I’ll believe you” expression on her face.

Y/N turned to her and deadpanned. “If you’re about to say something poetic, I will throw this wine at your face.”

Alex giggle. “Fine. No poetry. Just facts. You two have history. And tension. And apparently no common sense.”

“I’m not doing this with you.”

“Too late, you’re already doing it.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Remind me again why I’m friends with you?”

“Because I always bring the drinks, the gossip, and the painfully accurate observations.”

Y/N sighed. Alex looped her arm through hers.

“Come on. Bonfire’s starting. I want front-row seats when someone says something scandalous.”

“Great,” Y/N muttered. “Because that’s exactly what I need right now.”

“Sweetheart,” Alex said, pulling her toward the door, “what you need is to get laid or get over it. I’m rooting for the more entertaining one.”

Outside, the soft crackle of fire drifted in through the open back door, along with bursts of laughter and the low hum of conversation. The night was falling fast, the once violet sky turning to navy, with stars just starting to shine through the dark.

Her friend nudged her gently with her elbow.

“They’re starting the fire pit. Caroline brought marshmallows, and Matt mentioned truth or dare, so… prepare yourself.”

Y/N groaned softly into her wine glass.

“Come on. It’s tradition. Wine, fire, bad decisions.”

“You forgot ‘mild emotional trauma.’” Y/N snatched the bottle of wine as they made their way outside.

“That too.”

The fire cast long shadows across the lawn, flickering gold against faces flushed from wine and sun. Someone had dragged out a speaker, low music curling beneath the sound of crackling wood and clinking glasses. The scent of smoke mixed with toasted sugar as Caroline passed around sticks threaded with marshmallows.

Y/N settled onto one of the outdoor cushions beside Alex, tucking her knees in and wrapping her hands around her wine glass. Eric sat across the fire, bottle in hand, his legs stretched out like he owned the whole damn backyard. He hadn’t looked at her once, not since she stepped outside, but she felt him there all the same, lounging in her peripheral like a bruise she hadn’t meant to touch.

Matt raised his glass.

“Alright. Let’s do this. Truth or dare, house rules: No skipping your turn, no boring answers, if you lie, we get to roast you with facts. Fair?”

There was a scattered chorus of half-drunken agreements.

“I vote Matt goes first. He always starts chaos then pretends to be innocent.” Angelica, Matt’s girlfriend, threw him to the lions.

“Fine. Hit me.”

The game started and what seemed like tame questions at first, started to get wilder quickly. More bottles opened. Marshmallows burned. Someone added rum to the hot chocolate. The edges of conversation blurred.

The circle wasn’t safe anymore. Secrets hung in the smoke. People leaned in a little closer, grins turning sly, as the questions dug deeper.

The fire cracked, sending a spray of sparks into the dark as the bottle spun lazily between them. It pointed toward Eric.

“Alright, truth or dare, buddy? ” Matt said, grinning like he already had the perfect question.

“Truth”

“Who here seems the most boring in bed?”

A few people groaned at the cliché, but Eric didn’t hesitate. His gaze slid across the circle, not even pretending to think, before landing squarely on her.

“Y/N,” he said, too easily.

A chorus of playful gasps erupted. She blinked, wine glass halfway to her lips. “Excuse me?”

He smirked. “What? Let the record show she called me a walking pest just because I’d just got out of the shower and had a towel on.”

He turned to the group like he was presenting evidence. “That’s some Victorian-level prude behavior.”

She scoffed, but there was no mistaking the heat that flared in her cheeks.

“Maybe I just have standards,” she fired back. “Not everyone gets a front-row seat.”

He smiled, slow and knowing before taking a sip of his own wine. “Didn’t say everyone.”

The group groaned again, half-laughing, half-sensing the current passing between them. But it settled quickly, the next person spinning the bottle, the game rolling on, until a couple of rounds later it came back to her.

“Y/N” Caroline chimed sweetly, and by the look in her eyes Y/N knew she was up to no good. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Give something you’re wearing to the person here you think would know the least what to do with you”

The group leaned in, all eyes on her, and for a moment she thanked God for the liquid courage doing wonders.

She stood up slowly, no blush, no hesitation. She took a long sip of her wine, then making straight eye contact with Eric, she reached under the hem of her dress.

Eric’s posture got immediately stiff and his tongue briefly swiped the inside of his cheek as he watched her slide her panties down her legs slowly. Not playfully, not shy, but confident as hell.

She heard a few gasps and someone’s laugh in disbelief.

She stepped out of her lacy panties and bunched the fabric in her hand, before walking across the circle with that same confident expression.

Y/N threw them in Eric’s lap like a dare wrapped in silk and spoke:

“Try not to lose those. You strike me as the type who wouldn’t know what to do with them anyway.”

Then she turned and walked back to her seat, settling down like nothing just happened.

Someone choked on their drink. Caroline’s jaw dropped and collective “whoa” rippled around the fire like a shockwave and Sasha, her friend sitting on her left side tilted her own glass towards Y/N for a toast, silently congratulating her.

Y/N shrugged, deceptively calm, even as her cheeks flushed a little deeper under the glow of the firelight. Her wine glass hovered near her lips, the corner of her mouth twitching with amusement.

But Eric… He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. His jaw flexed once, and his eyes, those usually unreadable green eyes, were darker now. His fingers curled around the lace before he shoved them deep into his pocket, like that’d stop the storm brewing under his skin.

The game went on. The bottle spun, more truths and dares were thrown around, someone ran laps around the fire pit in their underwear, and someone gave a lap dance, none of it touched Y/N. Not really. Her mind was still stuck on him.

Eric hadn’t said a word since her dare. But every time she glanced his way, he was still watching her. Still quiet. Still dark-eyed.

By the time the fire was low and the wine was gone, the group started scattering. Some went to bed. A few lingered, cleaning up marshmallow sticks and tossing blankets over their shoulders.

Y/N stood up, brushing off her shorts. She didn’t expect him to follow. But he did.

She didn’t look at him as she stacked the last few wine glasses in the dishwasher, but she could feel him behind her, silent.

“What do you want?” She finally turned around to look at him.

“You surprise me,” he said finally.

Her shoulders tensed. “That a bad thing?”

“I just didn’t expect that move from a prude.”

And there it was.

Her eyes narrowed. “Prude?”

Eric shrugged, leaning against the counter. “You’ve got that whole ‘too good for the rest of us’ thing going on.”

She laughed, short and sharp. “So what, I’m supposed to be ashamed?”

He didn’t flinch. “Not at all. Just… didn’t think you had it in you.”

Y/N blinked, her smile flat. “You know what your problem is? You act like you’ve got me all figured out. Like you’re some expert on who I am just because I didn’t trip over myself to flirt with you in high school.”

He pushed off the counter. “I never needed you to flirt with me.”

“No? Then why are you always acting like some walking provocation?” She snapped.

“Because that’s the only way you ever fucking see me,” he said, quiet but in a serious tone. “Back then, now, you look right through me unless I’m giving you something to push against.”

She stared at him, lips parted.

“And you think that gets my attention?” she said. “By turning everything into a game? Making me feel like a joke in front of everyone?”

Eric’s jaw clenched. “Better to be a joke than invisible.”

“Why do you even care if I see you or don’t?”

They stood in silence, the air thick between them as they stared at each other. How could she not understand what he was implying?

Y/N’s stare was cold now, her arms folding across her chest like armor. “You know what? I think you like being the joke. It’s easier for you to play the part than risk being real for once.”

He didn’t bother replying to her, he’d already said too much and still she stomped on him once more. So he just turned and muttered, “I’ll find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

A couple of hours later, the bedroom was too quiet.

Y/N had flipped her pillow over three times. Stared at the ceiling. Kicked off the blanket, pulled it back up. The fight kept looping in her head, his voice, the things he and she said, the way he walked off.

She thought she finally had what she wanted - Eric to stay away from her - until the sheets felt way too cold without him.

Finally, she got up, tugging on a hoodie and walking barefoot down the hallway, the floorboards creaking under her weight. She told herself she just wanted water. Or maybe to turn off the porch light. But she didn’t head to the kitchen.

She stopped by the living room and there he was, slumped on the too-small couch, one arm crooked under his head, the other half-draped over his chest. His long legs dangled off the edge, one foot flat on the floor, the other twitching slightly as if his body was still restless, even in sleep.

He didn’t look peaceful. His jaw was tight even in sleep, one brow furrowed like whatever dream he was having wasn’t kind. The hoodie he’d pulled on earlier had slipped off one shoulder. His hand clenched around the fabric like he’d anchored himself to it.

She stepped forward slowly.

“Eric,” she whispered, but he didn’t wake up at first. “Eric.” She tried again, this time a little louder.

His eyes opened slowly, dizzy with sleep as he took in his surroundings and then her, crouched down beside him.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

“You look ridiculous on this tiny couch.”

He blinked up at her, unimpressed, voice deep with sleep. “Thanks.”

“You’re gonna have a crick in your neck by morning.”

“Better than dealing with you kicking me in your sleep.”

She rolled her eyes, but her voice softened just enough to slide beneath his defenses. “You’re too tall for that couch, Eric.”

“And you’re too stubborn to say sorry.” She bit her bottom lip as his cutting words.

“I didn’t come to apologize.”

“Didn’t think you did.”

She got up and shifted on her feet, exhaling hard as she nudged his foot with hers. “Come back.”

He didn’t move.

“Seriously, come back.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked anywhere else that wasn’t him, her pride being thoroughly hurt by her current proposal.

“That’s your version of an apology?”

“Don’t push it, Draven.”

A long beat passed. His eyes traced over her face, like he was still deciding. Still not sure if she meant it or if this was just damage control.

But then he sighed and sat up slowly, his fingers rolling circles on his temples as he seemed to consider what he should do.

“Please.” She stretched her hand out to him and he immediately grabbed it, his body faster than his own train of thought.

When she held out her hand, it caught him off guard. Not because of the gesture itself, but because of what it meant coming from her. She never offered softness easily. Never reached for him unless she absolutely had to. And now she was standing there, in the quiet half-dark of a lake house, asking him to come back. No apology. No promises. Just her hand.

“You kick me once, and I’m going back to the couch.”

“No promises,” she said, already turning back toward the bedroom.

He followed her upstairs and down the hallway, their hands still joined, neither of them speaking. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it was charged, brimming with everything they didn’t know how to say.

Back in the bedroom, she slid under the covers without looking at him. He hesitated for a moment, then laid down beside her, close but not touching.

The lights were off. The room was still. And just when she thought he’d fallen asleep, his voice cut through the dark.

“You keep surprising me.”

She smiled into her pillow, quiet and unbothered.

“Good.”

What felt like a few minutes had passed when she shifted, just slightly, and her thigh brushed his. But neither of them moved away.

And in the dark, with only the sound of their breathing between them, his hand found her waist, his touch soft as if testing the waters between them.

She turned to face him and he pressed on her lower back, pulling her closer as his eyes kept coming back to her beautiful lips.

She could feel his breath now, warm against her skin, the tension between them coiled tight. Maybe it was the quiet, or the darkness, or the way his fingers curled slightly at her spine like he needed more of her, but at that very moment she didn’t care anymore, all she could think about was how soft his lips must feel, so just this once she kissed him.

Bite Me - Eric Draven (AU) x Reader | Part. 2

(The image above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Summary:

They were childhood rivals who hadn’t spoken in years, until a wedding reunion throws them back into each other’s orbit. With tension simmering beneath every glance, one weekend turns into a series of unexpected moments, sharp words, and almosts that linger long after the party ends. But when fate keeps bringing them back together, the line between hate and something far more irresistible begins to blur.

Author’s note:

Thank you very much to everyone who liked, shared and commented on the first part, it makes me so so so happy and so hyped that I already got the second part down for you, have fun 🫶🏻

Tags: @malenoradgn @muchwita

Masterlist

Disclaimers:

As the story progresses I’ll let you know if the chapters has any sensitive topics beforehand.

This story will have smut scenes in the future, but you’ll be warned!

English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes I eventually skipped while proof-reading it.

This is a AU Eric Draven!!!

If you enjoy this, please let me know if I should continue this, your feedback is precious for me 🫶🏻

End of Author’s note.

The road stretched endlessly ahead, two narrow lanes cutting through forests dense enough to block out half the sun. Y/N tapped the steering wheel to the beat of whatever song was playing, though she hadn’t really heard a single note. Her focus had been splintered since the wedding. Or more accurately, since she saw him again after so many years.

She took another sip of her now watery iced coffee and sighed. She knew this weekend was a terrible idea, but still she couldn’t say no to one of her closest friends.

Alex, the bride from the wedding, would move abroad with her now husband Jeff in a couple of days so they set up a post-wedding getaway at a lake house with their closest and oldest friends. Y/N and Eric were part of that inner circle, she on Alex’s side and Eric on Jeff’s.

“Everyone’s coming,” her friend had said a few days before, eyes too bright, voice too innocent. “It’ll be a couples’ trip, kind of. You’ll have so much fun you won’t even remember he’s around”

That’s what she said, followed just by a winking and heart emoji in the bridesmaids group chat and a time to show up.

Y/N had wanted to go, truthfully. She liked the idea of quiet mornings, barbecue afternoons and wine nights by the lake, nostalgia with old friends. And she liked everyone who’d be there, except him, but she would survive, she’s been through worse moments in her life for sure. 

Two more miles and she’d be at the lake house. Stuck for a weekend with Eric. Possibly sleeping on a couch or, if she was unlucky, across the hall from him.

The house was beautiful. Lakeside, two stories, all wooden yet modern, huge windows and wrap-around porches. She pulled up behind three other cars, already recognizing a few from the wedding.

Laughter drifted from the back deck. Music hummed low and someone had already taken over the grill, the delicious smell of barbecue dancing in the air.

And when the front door creaked open, there Alex was, glowing as usual, barefoot and smug.

“You made it!” her friend beamed, running down the steps.

“Of course I did, anything for you” They hugged tightly “I’ll miss you so much”

“That’ll be just another reason for you to come visit us soon”

They laughed it off and for a second it was easy again. Easy to forget why her stomach was so tight on her way there.

Inside, the house was all warm lighting and rustic luxury. A candle burned faintly somewhere, citrus and cedar. People moved in and out of rooms with drinks in hand, and someone yelled from the kitchen asking if anyone wanted a beer.

“You’ve got the room upstairs at the end of the hall,” her friend said, grabbing her bag like a helpful angel. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Y/N followed without hesitation, until they reached the room and she saw another duffel bag already sitting by the bed.

She stopped by the door. “Wait… Whose stuff is that?”

Alex blinked innocently, but miserably failing to hide a devious smirk. “Oh. Eric’s.”

Y/N laughed. It was the kind of laugh you let out when you think someone’s joking but you’re already sweating. “No, seriously.”

“He’s your roommate,” Alex said sweetly. “We ran out of space. You’re the only two single ones… A weekend won’t kill you.”

Y/N stared, but her friend was already backing away, her smile unwavering. “Just don’t kill each other. Or do. I don’t care. Lunch’s in an hour!”

And with that, she was gone.

Y/N stood there for a full five seconds, willing herself not to lose it, until she felt a presence lingering around.

“Well,” a voice drawled from behind her, smooth as ever. “You didn’t think you’d have this huge bed all to yourself, did you?”

She turned slowly. Eric leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, the tattoos on his arms on full display. His shirt clung slightly from the heat outside, and his shit-eating grin made her want to throw something at him.

“I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you.”

He smirked. “What, afraid you’ll dream about me?”

“I’ve had worse nightmares”

“Fair,” he said, stepping past her and tossing himself onto the bed like he owned it. “I’ll take the left side. Unless that’s a problem, princess.”

She rolled her eyes at the situation and, mostly, at the ridiculous nickname. “Fine.”

“And don’t worry, I won’t tempt you by any means, you’re not my type”

She gritted her teeth, eyes flicking over him like he was a stain on otherwise perfect sheets. 

“Even if I was, I don’t waste my time with small dicks”

Eric stilled, then let out an amused chuckle.

“Sounds like someone’s had a string of disappointments.” He got up from the bed and stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough that it curled against her skin. “Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep.”

~0~

Lunch was loud, hazy with sun and summer air. People lounged with plates of grilled food, the smell of charred meat and spices curling around the deck. Glasses clinked, laughter bubbled, and someone was already half a bottle into tequila by the time she stepped outside.

She kept to the edge of the group, sipping slowly, sunglasses on. 

Eric wandered out of the kitchen, bottle of beer in hand, his voice easy and charming as he joked with someone behind him. And when he finally stepped onto the deck and shrugged off his shirt like it was nothing, her glass nearly slipped in her hand and her throat went dry.

As far as she remembered, he was just a tall skinny teenager back then. But now? His body had no business looking like that. 

Tattoos ran down his arms, chest and abs that were sharp enough to cut glass. But it was the one on his lower stomach that gave her pause, from afar it looked like a black centipede inked just above his waistband, its segmented body vanishing beneath his shorts.

He tipped the beer to his lips, throat working with each swallow. And then he looked at her. Straight at her and didn’t look away, a knowing smile curling up the corners of his lips.

She rolled her eyes immediately, pretending she hadn’t noticed. Pretending the blush across her chest was caused by a sunburn. She turned away, busying herself with whatever appetizer tray was closest.

As the afternoon went on the group moved toward the lake. Swimsuits on and clothes off, towels were slung over shoulders, and someone cranked the volume on the speaker. 

Y/N took off her clothes and revealed her white - and maybe a little too small - bikini, and headed toward the dock with her friends.

Eric had been mid-conversation when he spotted her and suddenly, he wasn’t saying a word. His eyes dragged over her like a starved man, shamelessly, not bothering to hide how stunned he was by her and her body.

His thoughts wandered over her curves and for a moment, he thought about all the ways he could fuck that sassiness out of her, before his friend brought him back to the conversation.

In the distance, Y/N smirked to herself, she could feel his gaze burning on her but she paid him no mind, after all, he could never and would never have her.

She laughed at something her friend said, slipping her feet into the cool water as she sat on the edge of the dock. The lake glowed gold beneath the setting sun, and for a while, the tension beneath her skin felt distant, almost forgettable.

Almost. She didn’t have to look to know he was still watching. She could feel it, thick as the heat in the air, dragging across her bare skin like a touch that hadn’t happened yet.

So she smiled. Just a little. Just for herself. Because the sun was dipping lower, the drinks were flowing, they still had a long night ahead, and something told her it was going to be a very interesting night.

Bite Me - Eric Draven (AU) x Reader | Part. 1

(The image above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Summary:

They were childhood rivals who hadn’t spoken in years, until a wedding reunion throws them back into each other’s orbit. With tension simmering beneath every glance, one weekend turns into a series of unexpected moments, sharp words, and almosts that linger long after the party ends. But when fate keeps bringing them back together, the line between hate and something far more irresistible begins to blur.

Author’s note:

Good evening everyone! This is a new story/project of mine, a little different of the ones in this blog, but I felt like trying something new and I hope y’all enjoy it.

I don’t know how many chapters this story will have, so we’ll find this detail out together hehe.

Tag list is open, let me know if you want to be tagged in this story!!!

Masterlist

Disclaimers:

As the story progresses I’ll let you know if the chapters has any sensitive topics beforehand.

This story will have smut scenes in the future (ofc I can’t change this part of me 👁️👄👁️), but you’ll be warned!

English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes I eventually skipped while proof-reading it.

This is a AU Eric Draven!!!

If you enjoy this, please let me know if I should continue this, your feedback is precious for me 🫶🏻

End of Author’s note.

Y/N hadn’t expected to see him. Eric.

Not here. Not today. Not with champagne in her hand and a practiced smile stretched across her face as she prepared to play the part of the perfectly put-together bridesmaid.

But there he was, leaning against the far side of the ceremony tent like he belonged in a different scene entirely. Dressed in a crisp black suit, hands in his pockets, head tilted just slightly like he’d already spotted her and was debating whether or not to wave.

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

She hadn’t seen him in what? Ten years? Long enough that she should’ve forgotten the exact shade of his beautiful green eyes or the way he always looked like he was either seconds from laughing or seconds from starting a fight with her. Long enough that she should’ve stopped feeling anything at all, even if every one of those feelings was negative. At least that’s what she always told herself.

And yet here she was, heart stuttering, stomach twisting, palms sweating, all because of a man who once ruined her thirteenth birthday party by telling everyone she still slept with a nightlight.

She swallowed hard and turned her gaze to the front of the aisle, pretending she hadn’t noticed him. Pretending it didn’t matter.

Y/N took a sip of her champagne. Bubbly, expensive, and exactly what she needed. She scanned the guests, counting how many familiar faces she could recognize and cling to before fate, or seating arrangements, forced them into the same conversation.

Because eventually, they’d have to have some sort of awkward unwanted contact. Smile. Pretend they hadn’t once declared mutual hatred under a high school gym roof after homecoming. Pretend they didn’t share a history littered with insults, grudging team projects, and one almost-kiss in the backseat of someone else’s car that neither of them ever mentioned again.

And the worst part?

He looked better now. Older. Taller. Small random tattoos over his face, neck as hands, and she could only wonder how many more he had under his suit.

Damn him.

She glanced toward him again, just once. This time, Eric was already looking at her and, unlike her, he didn’t look away.

He just smiled, slow and smug, like he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

Y/N rolled her eyes and turned back toward the aisle, catching a discreet glance from the wedding planner who was motioning for her to take her place. As one of the bridesmaids, she was meant to walk down the aisle paired with…

No. No, it couldn’t be.

But as the groomsmen began to line up, she saw those green eyes, the tattoos, the cocky posture and she realized exactly who her partner would be.

Of course. Of course they were paired together.

He walked up beside her without hesitation, adjusting his cufflinks like they weren’t standing inches apart for the first time in a decade.

“Still pretending you don’t like me.”

She turned just slightly, smiling for the cameras but letting her voice dip lower. “I don’t pretend.”

He smiled like he didn’t believe her.

Their cue came, and they began to walk.

Arm in arm, in front of a hundred people, smiles painted on like nothing was wrong, like her pulse wasn’t thudding in her throat, like his fingers weren’t warm where they touched the bare skin of her arm.

It was only when they reached the altar and took their places side by side that she dared to sneak another glance at him.

He looked maddeningly content. Cool and relaxed like this was fun for him.

Asshole.

The ceremony was beautiful, heartfelt, full of quiet laughter and teary-eyed vows. But Y/N barely heard a word, because he was standing right beside her, hands clasped in front of him, posture perfect, and every once in a while, when no one was looking, he’d glance at her out of the corner of his eye.

She held her own and ignored him as best as she could, all through the confetti toss and the photos, the toasts and the group pictures.

As the party went on, Y/N moved through the crowd of guests seamlessly, hugging friends, catching up, offering congratulations. She tried not to notice how often she felt him just out of her periphery. And yet, every time she turned, there he was. Talking to old classmates. Making people laugh. Always looking like he belonged.

She found herself near a group of friends from school, half of whom she hadn’t seen in years, and somehow, without realizing it, he ended up there too.

Someone handed her a drink.

Someone else made a joke.

And before she could step away, she was pulled into a story, their story, a memory from years ago, something chaotic and stupid that ended with her yelling at him in front of the whole class.

The group laughed, and someone added, “Honestly, I always thought you two were either going to kill each other or…”

“Don’t,” Y/N cut in quickly, but her half-drunken smile betrayed her amusement.

Eric leaned back lazily, resting his arms on the wooden seat rest. “Finish that sentence. I’m curious.”

Their friends howled again, cheers going up as drinks were raised. A few mock bets were placed. Old inside jokes were tossed back and forth like they’d never stopped being sixteen and reckless.

And though Y/N laughed with them, her eyes kept drifting across the circle. To him.

Because even now, after all these years, it still felt like a live wire buzzed between them. One wrong word. One too-long look. And something would spark. It had always been like that.

She stood up eventually, excusing herself with a polite smile, heading toward the bar for a refill she didn’t really want.

Behind her, she could still feel his gaze heavy on her back, travelling up and down her body.

Yet she didn’t turn around, not until she reached the bar and the bartender leaned in to ask what she wanted, only for someone to beat her to it.

“She’ll have the champagne,” Eric said smoothly, sliding up beside her.

She stared at him, unamused. “I can speak for myself.”

“I know,” he replied, handing her the glass the bartender had just poured. “I just wanted an excuse to stand here.”

She took it from him, lips brushing the rim but not drinking. “You don’t need an excuse to be a pain in the ass, Eric. You never did.”

He grinned, leaning in close enough for only her to hear. “No. But it’s more fun this way.” He clinked their glasses. “Cheers.”