Hold Me Without Hurting Me (Bill Skarsgård! Eric Draven x Female Reader) (18+) (AU)
Read chapter 6 here // Series Masterlist
Chapter 7
Summary : Eric gives you a peek into his killer life.
Warning: 18+, Physical abuse, sexual abuse, coercion, serial killer, murder, mention of child abuse, non consensual sexual degradation statutory rape, read accordingly
Note: Fair warning, this chapter is fairly boring ..
In the past almost three decades that you had spent on this earth, you had never felt a man's touch that didn't make you shrink. You had never felt a touch that didn't disgust you to the bone deep.
Even with John, even when he pretended to be nice to you in the beginning, the moment he had kissed you the first time, you recoiled. You didn't like it, it was as if your body already knew the threat even before your mind caught up to it.
It resisted his touch, the taste of his mouth, his hands on your body.
But right now? You didn't even know how to describe the feeling you had at the moment. It was like an angel had flown down and had chosen to bless you.
Your arms curled around him instantly when you realised he had his mouth on you, that he was finally kissing you.
You kissed him back like it was instinct, like your body had been waiting for this specific moment all along and finally recognized it. There was no revulsion, no urge to shrink yourself, no tightening panic in your chest.
Just him and his sweet essence surrounding your senses.
His mouth moved against yours gently, he didn't push his tongue in, he didn't try to make it ugly. You were safe enough to breathe, safe enough to feel. Your knees almost gave out, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of how overwhelming it was to be touched without bracing for something to hurt you.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. It was reluctant, like he was forcing himself to give you space. He didn’t say a word. Not a single one.
His thumb lifted and brushed along your cheek, wiping at the tear that had slipped free without you noticing. Your eyes were shining now, lashes wet, chest rising too fast as you tried to steady yourself. You looked at him like you were afraid the moment would vanish if you blinked.
He stayed close. Forehead nearly touching yours. Thumb still tracing the curve of your cheek as if memorizing it. And for the first time in your life, a man’s touch didn’t make you feel used, it made you feel safe and secure.
“Happy now?” He asked as he pulled away a little. You shrugged faintly.
He studied your face for a moment after that, really looked at you like he was making a decision he had already made a long time ago. Then his hand slipped into the inner pocket of his coat.
He pulled out a small glass vial. It caught the yellow light of the room when he held it up between you. Dark, rich red, sealed tight.
It was Blood. Someone's blood.
He held it out to you without hesitation. You didn’t flinch before taking it.
That, more than anything else, seemed to surprise him. Your fingers closed around the glass easily, naturally, like it was just another thing he had given you to hold. You turned it once in your hand, watching the liquid shift.
“Why are you giving me this?” you asked quietly. There was no fear, no repulsion, just curiosity. His eyes stayed on you, steady and unreadable as he tilted his head.
“A gift” he said simply.
That was all he said so you nodded once, accepting it as you had accepted his kiss, without question, without shrinking, without trying to understand all of it at once. Your fingers closed more firmly around the vial, holding it close to your chest.
“Is it John?”
You asked then, you had to. You knew he was the man terrorising the city, you knew he was the one to make your uncle disappear and you knew he had looked into your bag for information because he didn't keep the photos in the order you always did.
He didn’t answer right away.
Your question hung between you, fragile like a glass held too close to the edge of a table.
“No.. it's Larry’s” he said finally, his voice remained calm “I didn't think of keeping John's blood for you when I killed him” He watched your face when he said it. Not for fear, he already knew you wouldn’t flinch but for something that looked like regret or judgement.
There was none.
You absorbed the words slowly, like you did everything lately. Your fingers tightened around the vial.
“Oh..it's okay..as long as he's dead” you said, breathing in relief. That was all. Eric’s brow creased, just slightly, he wasn't really surprised by the nonchalant response.
“That’s it?” he asked so you nodded.
“I don’t want his blood” you said softly. “I just needed to know that i wasn't wrong about my assumptions” his mouth curved at that. He looked really dangerous at that moment, with the black smudgy eyes and blood stains on his skin, but not to you.
“You are not wrong” he murmured as he looked down at you. You shouldn't have to feel bad for the likes of Larry and John, in fact he'd have felt extremely pissed if you went onto some moral rant after what they had done to you.
“Is this like your trophy, like how the rest of them do it? The killers” you asked again, he shook his head once, not wanting to explain it further yet.
“Then why give this to me?” you asked again, softer this time. Not pressing. Just trying to understand how his mind worked, it was dark in there, that you knew with assurance, you just wanted to know how many steps you needed to take in order to reach for him there.
His gaze dropped not away from you but he looked down like he was choosing each word carefully.
“Because I wanted you to know that he's gone” he said. “And so are the videos, photos he took of you, the humiliation he put you through, every time he broke your skin, your face, your heart, none of that filth will ever touch you again”
He lifted his hand then, not to take the vial back, not to touch you right away but his hand hovered there, giving you the choice. When you didn’t step back, when you didn’t flinch, his fingers finally settled at your cheeks.
“They don’t get to own any part of you anymore” he said quietly. “Not your body. Not your memory. Not how they made you beg for kindness”
Your throat tightened at that. You hadn’t realized how much of your life had been spent bracing, getting punished for wanting something small and human.
“And the blood?” you asked, barely above a whisper. His thumb brushed over your skin
“It’s proof” he said. “In case the nights get loud again. In case doubt creeps in and tries to tell you it wasn’t that bad, or that you imagined it, that you didn't suffer enough, just look at this and remember it was bad enough that it made me want to kill them”
You nodded slowly. You understood the language he was speaking. The blood on his hands was now yours too.
He leaned closer then, not invading your space, just enough that his presence wrapped around you like a wall. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. You placed your head down on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart.
After a moment he pulled away and stepped back.
“I need to take care of a few things” he said to you so you gave a simple nod, not inviting to cross the lines he didn't want you to cross yet.
“I'll make breakfast..eggs?”
He hummed before turning to step outside, you heard the sound of his trunk slamming a minute later, then the creaking of the shed opening. You didn't try to peek though, he was letting you in already and you didn't want to scare him away.
After showering and eating, in the early morning both of you went back to bed. The sunlight was now peering through the curtains so he grabbed one of the blankets and hooked them in front of the window.
The blanket dulled the morning light, turning the room darker, the light that leaked through now was warm but not glaring. You laid back against the pillows and he settled beside you without a word, careful with the space between your bodies like it mattered. He didn’t touch you right away.
For a moment, he just laid there, one arm folded beneath his head, the other resting on the mattress near yours. Close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Your fingers slowly trailed towards his hand, fingers lacing with him.
Then you shifted, almost unconsciously, turning onto your side to look at him, he turned toward you. His gaze softened in the low light, something unguarded slipping through that you hadn’t seen before. He reached out then, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. When you didn’t, his hand settled at your waist as he pulled you closer.
His mouth latched onto you softly at first, and then it heated up.
His hand stayed at your waist, thumb brushing slow, absent minded circles through the fabric of your shirt. Nothing hurried or taken. Just the steady certainty of him there, of the way he kissed you. You let yourself melt into it.
There was a quiet sound that left you, more breath than noise, and he stilled for half a second at that just enough to remind you that he was paying attention.
“Whenever you want to stop, you tell me, okay? If I'm doing something you don't like you tell me, if I hurt you, you tell me” he murmured, voice low and rough from the lack of sleep.
You didn’t answer with words but by lifting your hand to his chest, fingers curling around the big curve of his shoulder like it always belonged there.
“You're so sexy, I have never been with a man like you” His eyes flickered for a moment at the comment before he kissed you again. It's been a while since anyone has commented on his looks, there was a time when women loved to be around him, now they flinched at the sight of him. The tattoos, piercing and the haircut, all of it made him look the type they felt wary of.
“You like how I look?” He asked as he pinned you underneath him, not roughly but not in a way that made you feel fragile or breakable either.
“I like it a lot” his mouth curved as he kissed down from your jaw to the throat, and then lower, his mouth hovered over your breasts for a moment, you didn't say anything but unbuttoned the top few buttons of the shirt you were wearing, his shirt.
He was so used to seeing your naked body next to him so he wasn't really fazed but the intentions had changed now.
He sighed deeply before raising up on his palms, then his one hand came up to button up your shirt again with expertise.
It wasn't disinterest or that he wasn't attracted to you, he was, he just didn't want to do it right now and make you feel as if you owed him something or if you should pay him back for what he did by killing the men who had hurt you.
And well there was this other reason as well, personal reason that he didn't want to go into right now.
“How come you have so much patience even though you're a man?” you asked, you were genuinely curious. Why didn't he want to pounce on you even when you were readily available and consenting?
“That's the bare minimum you know that right?” he said as he laid back down next to you.
“Not for me” you murmured as you scooted closer to him “Can I ask questions?”
He stiffened for a moment before relaxing.
“Okay but I'll only answer what I can”
“Mmm.. when did you start doing this?” Your fingers traced over the hard lines of his torso as you spoke.
“It's been five years”
Five years. You were probably being fucked by some random man John brought up when he had set out to get his first victim.
Five years and the bodies had just begun discovering.
“Why did you do it for the first time?” You asked again. That's when his grip on your lower back tightened as if the memory alone made him want to do it all over again.
“There were these people, people with power and money, they hurt someone very important to me” his jaw clenched so you looked up at him.
Someone very important? The curly haired girl maybe?
“They should have rotted in a cell forever, that's how the law should have punished them, but one of them got out in six months on parole because of his connections, back into the society, living like he hadn't ruined someone's life”
You didn't say anything, you just listened. You knew how the mind worked at times, you had hurt someone once too when you feared your life, possibly killed him also, you never looked back to find out.
“Can I ask another question?” You mumbled as you rested your head on his chest again “There were reports of a woman's body..was she your victim?” You asked, this time he didn't stiffen or hesitate.
“Yeah she deserved it” he began “She was selling her kid to the monsters for money” You didn’t pull back. You didn’t flinch. If anything, you held him a little tighter, like you were anchoring him to the present.
His chest rose slowly beneath your cheek. Steady. Controlled. But his hand at your lower back was still tense, fingers dug in just enough to give him away.
“She wasn’t… high when she did it” he continued, voice flat but not detached. “She knew exactly what she was doing. Took the money. Looked the other way. More than once..that sweet child depended on her to keep her safe and protected-”
You could feel his jaw move as he swallowed “I don’t lose sleep over that one” he said quietly. “Some people don’t deserve mercy. They deserve to be stopped.”
You shifted, lifting your head just enough to look at him. His eyes weren’t wild or proud. They were tired. Heavy with the kind of resolve that comes from having crossed a line and deciding you’d do it again if you had to.
“Was it any different? Killing a woman?” you murmured.
He shook his head once, it was never different, even when he had people on the operating table with their chest open and sternum cracked in front of him. He treated every gender, every age equally. Killing has been the same for him.
When he fell asleep that morning, he slept for hours, but you knew that rest was temporary, that peace was temporary, you knew he'd go out there and see something that would trigger him again, Make him kill again and as much as you didn't mind him getting rid of these people, you feared what it meant for him.
He hadn't been caught yet but that doesn't mean he was immune for life.
And then that fear settled in your heart somewhere, you never had this feeling before, not after your parents died.
It was Fear.. fear of losing him.
****
Next day he was in the kitchen when you walked in.
“Morning Psycho”
It was a pet name wasn't it?
You walked behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, he stiffened for a moment, the touch felt too domestic and natural. You sensed it too so you stepped away and leaned against the counter instead.
“Can I ask a question?”
He hummed but didn't respond in words, pretending to be too busy with the whisking of the eggs.
“Do you find me attractive?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just poured the eggs against the edge of the pan, the motion practiced.
“Yes” he said eventually “But not sexually” he added.
Ouch.
“Not at first” he added as if he knew exactly where your mind would go if he didn’t clarify.
You tilted your head slightly. He kept his eyes on the stove.
“I recognize the damage” he said. “I was attracted to the trauma you had suffered when I saw you that night, the bruises, the abuse, it just made me want to-” he paused, jaw clenching in anger.
“Want what? To heal me?”
He finally looked at you then. Not your body. Your face.
He shook his head slightly, like he was annoyed that you'd assume that. He did want to protect you but heal you? His bloody hands were no longer capable of healing anyone.
“No” he said. “Not heal.”
You waited.
“I don’t get drawn to people anymore because they’re pretty” he continued. “I get drawn to things that are… wrong in a specific way”
That made your stomach tighten but you understood it. You didn't get into his car that night just because he was handsome, you did it because you had a feeling he'd put you out of your misery for good.
And he did, but not how you had expected.
“You looked like someone who’d been repeatedly hurt and yet learned how to keep moving anyway” he said as he finally glanced at you then “That kind of damage leaves marks you can’t see unless you’re used to noticing them”
“So that’s attractive to you?” you asked.
“Yes” he said. “Because it’s wrong”
You let out a small breath at that, there was a small tingling sensation tightening in your core.
“Still doesn’t sound sexual” you chuckled as if you were embarrassed he didn't want to jump you the moment he saw you.
He turned back to the stove, scraping the eggs together.
“Attraction doesn’t always start in the body” he said. “Sometimes it starts with recognition. With seeing something familiar and not looking away”
You absorbed that slowly, trying to make sense of his words.
He was so complicated.
Later that night he came back late from the garage, you didn't ask why. You were in his bed, naked, he saw you and crawled in to kiss you. You pressed into him like you were starving.
He didn’t hesitate this time, his mouth was on yours, firm, intent, like he’d been holding that back all day. His weight settled carefully, controlled even now, but the kiss wasn’t restrained. It was hungry in a way that made your breath stutter, your hands clutched at his shoulders like you needed something solid to hold onto.
You pressed into him without thinking, skin to skin, every nerve lit up and aching. There was no fear in it. For a few seconds, that was all there was.
Then he broke the kiss.
“Hey” he murmured. You blinked up at him, still a little dazed by the lack of oxygen
“What?”
His eyes searched your face, sharp and focused now, like he was making sure if he really wanted to do this because once he does there would be no coming back from this.
“I need to show you something” he said.
Your stomach fluttered as he said that.
“Okay…”
He leaned back slightly, giving you space.
“Put something on” he said firmly as he got off the bed.
You hesitated for half a second, then nodded. You reached for the shirt on the chair, pulling it over your head, then slipped on your underwear. When you were done, he stood and held out his hand.
“Come with me,” he said.
You didn’t ask where. You took his hand. The night air was cold against your bare legs as he led you out of the cottage and across the yard, gravel crunching softly under your shoes. The shed stood a little apart from the house, half swallowed by shadow. He stopped just short of the door, let go of your hand and pulled the keys out from the pocket of his jacket.
“You’re not scared” he said quietly. It wasn’t really a question. You searched for the feeling and found only curiosity.
“No” He exhaled through his nose, something like relief flickering across his face
“The blood” he said, eyes on the door now as he used the keys to open them “that wasn’t a trophy”
“Mhhm?” You crossed your arms.
“But I do keep trophies” he said, smiling as he pushed open the heavy wooden doors.
You had expected a stench, the smell of blood and death, and probably rotting bodies, that's what you expected when you thought about what he was keeping inside, but nothing hit you. The light snapped on with a dull hum.
At first, it looked… almost ordinary.
Shelves lined the walls in a neat and methodical manner. Rows of glass jars stacked neatly next to each other.
The pickle jars.
A medical apron hung from a hook in the corner, stiff and clean, like it hadn't been touched for years. Stainless steel surfaces gleamed, a medical stretcher was in one corner of the room, there were equipment tucked neatly in a box on the table, then there were containers of chemicals you couldn't read the name of. Everything smelled faintly of antiseptic like a hospital.
Your breath eased. You almost laughed at yourself but as you stepped closer to the shelf it dawned on you. This is what he wanted to show you.
The jars weren’t empty.
Your stomach dropped for a moment, a slow, sickening realization spreading as your eyes adjusted. Shapes floated inside the glass, suspended in clear fluid. They were his trophies.
Human Hearts. Jars filled with hearts of his victims.
👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀
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