eyecontvct - Tumblr blog

eyecontvct · 7 years

Text

burn the wede

Problem child, problem child. Problem children are a burden on the parents, they’re the middle children, they’re the ones who cause trouble just because Mommy didn’t hold them enough as babies.

18 didn’t want attention. Not particularly. Maybe he did, deep down, but it was way down and he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t need the attention from anyone because he was perfectly happy doing his own thing. He was fine reading around the back of the school, in his little spidery alcove behind the bike sheds, waving his magic lighter over the pages for warmth. His library fines were pretty bad. He’d have to explain one day where the books went.

One day, he did get attention.

One day, he’d had enough of hiding around the back of buildings, fighting back tears because he’d had attention from his mother (just not the kind he wanted). He didn’t want to look, but he was sure he’d have burn marks the size of her hands on his skin, sensitive and raw, further below his belt than even he dared venture. It boiled his blood from the inside out, frothy anger and adrenaline racing through him.

Cigarette between his lips, fingers shaking, he sunk, finally letting the tears come, onto the grass behind the school. He’d found a little safe space where nobody seemed to come, a little alcove of trees he could hide and try his hardest to resist the urge to burn off his own lips.

The little weed in front of him stared back at him, even when he lifted his lighter to the leaves and it shrivelled. Not so lucky.

It was easier to cry when he knew he was alone. Though, perhaps, some small part of him wished someone would show up and tell him everything would be all right, he also just wanted the world to burn away around him until he was the only thing left and he could finally live like he wanted, alone and free to break down.

This time was different.

“E-excuse me,” said a timid, small voice.

18 immediately dried off his tears and stumbled to his feet, looking around, his heart racing. She was small, but he couldn’t look at her face. Caught.

“You- you shouldn’t, um... Burn the... It’s in pain.”

It was a plant. More than that, it was a weed. Nothing special. He stared at her boots.

She rushed over, patting out the fire, worrying over the grass - as he watched, the fire went out and, in her hands, the weed unfurled, unshrivelled. It was alive.

“How-”

“Don’t burn them like that,” she said, sounding almost on the verge of tears. “They don’t like it.”

18′s feet were frozen in place. “Wh-”

“Why did you burn it?”

The shrug that came to him suddenly seemed like such an impotent gesture. He could barely feel his body any more, staring numbly at her. “I... It...”

#18 tera #coven verse #unfinished but i hate it so

0 notes

eyecontvct · 7 years

Text

old clothes

Her hand was on his knee. He’d seen this situation in movies, where the girl or the guy put a hand on the other person’s knee and it led to sex or making out or something. He wondered if that was really what she wanted to happen or she just wanted to put her hand on his knee. There was a hole in his jeans there.

“You need new jeans,” she said, like she was reading his mind.

18 nodded. He did need new jeans. He couldn’t afford them, but that couldn’t be helped. She was looking at his knees.

“I could get you some,” she said quietly, one finger tracing a little pattern into his bare skin, just where the fabric had torn some years ago and only got worse.

His clothes were like his anger issues, which he’d been told countless times he needed to fix. They’d been worn out many years before, but he still wore them because they were home to him.

“I could get you some,” he repeated, voice higher to badly imitate hers - he regretted it almost immediately, recalling his mother telling him off for being rude. “N- ’M okay,” he said quietly, voice almost inaudible, snuggled into her shoulder where it was warm. He did feel a little light, a little warm, maybe a bit turned on, but he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t really felt it before. This was new, but with her, sitting comfortably on her bed, it might be okay.

“Hey, um, Marcus,” she said softly, “my- my parents are out.”

He nodded. Cool. He already knew that. Her fingers slid under the denim of his jeans, tickling heated skin and giving him tingles. Hands shifting upwards, he found her blouse squished in a little when he pressed on her side, squeezing her closer. She didn’t seem to mind. There was something on her little TV but he had totally forgotten what it was - he was breathing in perfume and heat and losing his hand between soft thighs, warm and peaceful.

She didn’t say anything this time, only leaned back a little and parted her knees slightly, just enough that he could fit his hand comfortably and rest there a moment, brushing his thumb over smooth, sensitive skin.

“You smell good,” she said quietly, one hand finding his and resting on his wrist. She gripped a little tighter. “Did you wash your hair?”

He nodded again, managing a little proud smile. “Mhm. Mhm.”

He couldn’t resist just nuzzling her neck, brushing his nose over her jaw happily, touching her side with his other hand - she flinched, and for a horrible second he thought he’d crossed a line.

He paused, frozen in time.

Then she giggled - if he did it again, she laughed, and again he tried it until she was struggling and laughing and falling over. He found himself sitting over her on his knees, tickling her until she was begging him to stop through teary giggles. He couldn’t think of any sound he’d rather hear. His whole body was filled up with the sound of her giggling, happy, content with him and loving him and his company. He wanted to be filled up with it until he overflowed.

“M- M- Marcus, I’m serious- please-”

He wondered if he could catch those giggles and hold them and share them, so he kissed her - instead of giggling, however, she stopped, suddenly distracted. Not even running his hands up and down her sides made her laugh when he kissed her, quietly enraptured with the tingling, buzzing, fizzing feeling of lightly touching lips to lips.

Her hands reached for his back, flat, pulling him closer a little, almost encouraging him to hold the kiss for a while longer. He wished he knew how to kiss sometimes, but for some reason, with her, it didn’t seem to matter. She forgave him for being clumsy and awkward, because she was no better, and he couldn’t have asked for anyone more perfect.

“Marcus,” she said in between kisses, as he pulled back and watched her lips, “do you want to... Uh...”

He had no idea what she was asking, so he touched her stomach with one light hand and interrupted. “C-can I- can I touch you?”

Tera nodded, suddenly beaming as though she was proud, reaching to guide his wrist and take his hand upwards, resting it on her small breast and letting him adjust to the fact he was finally touching a girl.

“You okay there, champ?” she asked, interrupting his staring with a giggle. “You can mmh-”

Her words were lost in another kiss, a little more aggressive than the first, pushing her back and touching her tongue with his - when he pulled back to breathe, her own breaths were coming out so shaky and quick and hot he was shocked. Her heart was racing. Was she okay?

“You wanna slow down?” she panted, one hand tangling in his hair. It felt good for a moment, sending little happy shivers down his spine.

Maybe it was because he actually heard himself make a purring noise that made her laugh, but maybe it was the rubbing onto her hand that did the trick. Either way, the sound of her laughter was like music to him.

If he put his ear to her chest, he could even feel her laughing, making a noise he didn’t do himself all that often, thus fascinating him. Undoing the buttons of her blouse helped him feel the heat, especially when he put his lips to her skin to feel how soft she was. His lips were sensitive - he knew that from years of putting things in his mouth, pressing his lips to glass and things when he didn’t want to use his hands, feeling surfaces and textures. This was no different, feeling the bumps of her ribs and the soft squishiness of her breasts, brushing past her nipple and downwards.

Her fingers continued to make circles in his hair, lulling him into peace, hypnotising him with her warmth and her smell and her inviting arms. She seemed to want to ask him something, but paused when he’d managed to shrink into his old, ratty jumper a little and was just absently running his fingers over the side of her breast, watching the way her skin turned white to follow his fingers and faded back to a blushing pink.

It made him wonder what being a child was like, really - his mind was gone, down its own paths, considering what she would say if he kissed her nipple, because they seemed sensitive, and considering what she would do if he just buried himself into her chest and lived there, safe and warm.

“Marcus?” she whispered, touching his face, running soft fingers over the little cut on his eyebrow. “You been fighting again?”

He nodded, unable to say anything much beside a mewl of an apology or an agreement, kissing her fingers.

“Don’t wanna talk?”

Mildly afraid she would be annoyed, he looked up at her mouth and frowned - he just couldn’t find the words and nothing was coming out sound-wise. He shook his head tentatively, wiggling a little to secure his place at her side.

“You okay?”

He nodded, this time happier because she hadn’t snapped at him, mumbling a little ‘ee’ noise to let her know just how happy he was, snuggled into her side, and counted himself as safe and comfortable.

#fic #18 tera

1 note · View note

eyecontvct · 7 years

Text

He must have fallen asleep. It was hard to say these days, when the line between consciousness and sleep was blurred so much. Normally, he made it back to his bed, and managed to at least get somewhere sort of soft before he slipped into nightmares.

Had it really been a nightmare? Nightmare implied that he hadn’t enjoyed it on some level.

Weighty, substantial, heavy. He’d never held a gun before, but it felt so natural. It dangled from one hand, a semi-automatic, pulsing power through his veins. He could take on the world, slowly walking the currently empty corridors with purpose and a mission. It felt good. He felt taller.

It was like a dream, floating through nothingness, kicking open the classroom door, taking the cigarette from behind his ear and unleashing hell. He was powerful, breath coming hard and hands buzzing with the vibrations from the gun and the adrenaline. He couldn’t hear anything, headphones beautifully obscuring the too-loud noises.

Blood painted the floor, the walls, the flag at the front, desks were upturned, and bodies slumped over chairs. Everyone who’d ever so much as looked at him wrong, meeting an appropriate end. Finally, he was the king; a god.

It continued, over and over, the massacre carrying over until he was numb inside, just holding down the heavy trigger. Slow motion bullet cases flew, and his mind couldn’t see anything any more.

It was too easy, far too simple.

“M-Marcus-”

His blood froze.

He knew that voice. It was the same voice he woke up to, the same voice he wanted to hear for the rest of his life, the same voice that told him it was okay, that everything would be all right. Everything would be okay.

He looked down, and nothing would be okay.

Big, watery blue eyes pleaded with him, the light fading, dark red stains consuming her pristine white shirt.

“Marcus,” she said again, blood bubbling over her lips like panic rising in his chest. He hadn’t meant to- he didn’t mean to get her… Her expression was unfamiliar to him. He’d never seen her look like that. It was the same look teachers gave him, that his mother gave him, that people who hated him gave him. “Marcus, I’m- I’m d-disappointed…”

His heart stopped. The gun clattered to the floor, and he was standing in the midst of destruction, tears coming before he knew they were happening.

“T-Tera, I-”

“I hate you.”

There was a pistol in his hand - she closed her eyes, which made it a little easier to raise it to his temple and fire.

18 woke up with a jolt, hands flying to his hair, tugging until he was numb. He couldn’t think straight - his brains were scrambled, splattered over the school wall. He couldn’t feel a thing, and yet somehow his whole body was shaking.

She hated him. How could she love something like him anyway? How could she love someone who had dreams about murdering her and everyone she loved?

“M- Marcus?” she mumbled, turning over in bed and wiping away sleep from her beautiful eyes.

He nodded, unable to stop himself crying - he’d been crying since he left his house, thinking of nothing but her.

“What time is it?” she asked, still confused and half-asleep. “Did you- Did you climb the wall?”

He didn’t know what to say - he was still trying to fathom that she was indeed real.

She sat up in bed, wearing a little night dress, shifting over a little. “You have a test tomorrow. You need to study.”

Test? Fuck it.

“Are you- Are you crying? P-puppy, come here-”

He, still with his shoes on, muddy and soaked with tears, fell into Tera’s bed, and sunk forever.

“I’m sorry-”

“Sh,” she whispered, almost into his ear as he settled down in front of her, safer than he’d ever been. “Tomorrow, we should skip. We’ll go to the zoo. You gotta take a shower though.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“You need to,” she giggled, brushing back greasy strands of hair. “I’ll help.”

He paused. Closed his eyes, warm again. “Okay.”

#bad

1 note · View note

eyecontvct · 7 years

Text

18 never really felt this way - it was rare that he looked at his own girlfriend and thought about touching her and feeling her curves, her gentle sides, the slight give in her skin and the tiny squish when he put his hands on her stomach, her thighs or her breasts.

“What’s up, puppy,” she mumbled, turning over in bed, sleepily pushing her hair out of her face - she still looked beautiful even with eyes groggy and dull from sleep and no makeup on her baby face. Her hair was all over the place, sticking up and out, and she managed to smile despite the fact she looked like she’d been dragged through a rosebush backwards.

18 realised his hand was on her waist when she shifted and her waist curved in - he shifted closer, gripping a little tighter. Her lips parted and his fingers dipped, pressing soft flesh and gliding over little freckles and old scars. His lips were at her neck before he could think, hypnotised by the inviting softness.

“Uh, um, Marcus,” she whispered, fingers edging under his shirt, warm and gentle, kissing his own old scars and gently moving the fabric upwards, and he could have sworn he heard a little shaky breath leave her lips. “Can I take off your shirt? It’s too hot.”

With hesitation, he nodded, and they both sat up in bed to take off his shirt and put it to the side. Her shirt came off too, slipping off the bed, and 18 was exposed in front of her for a horrible moment before she pulled him back into a kiss. She pulled him back and he felt as though he could be falling, conscious of nothing but her hands and her lips and the way her body felt under his own touch.

“Better?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet, kissing his fingers and his wrist, blurring over white lines and damaged veins, and shuffled out of her own sleep shorts. Nothing underneath. Too hot.

18 nodded again, letting her shuffle a bit, lying down next to her and pressing careful fingers to her thighs, which parted until he could press into her, working further in until she was gasping and holding on to his wrist with both hands, one even sliding down to lie on the back of his hand as he pulled out and pushed back in, watching carefully the way she reacted. It was made all the more beautiful when she breathed out a stuttering whine and looked up at him.

“M- Marcus,” she whispered, “don’t you- don’t you wanna, uh... I thought-”

He shrugged a little, shifting to sit up and trail one finger down her stomach in curiosity, happily surprised when she shivered. Two fingers, in warm, moist sensory heaven, was enough really to make him happy, but it made him even happier when she whispered his name again, eyes squeezing shut. Maybe it was because they didn’t do this so often that it felt so exciting when it did happen.

The hand she was still resting on the back of his hand grew a little stronger and her fingers wrapped around him, taking a little control, and this new pace, a little slower and a little harder, made her body twitch and whatever was happening inside her melt a little more.

“Puppy, come on, I don’t- Don’t want you to be left out.”

He was enjoying himself, but he saw her point. Gently pulling his fingers from her, and making a face at the sticky texture he now felt when they hit air, he shuffled down his own trousers and fell into the same hypnotised state until he came to with relief washing over his whole body to the sound of her hushed gasps. Focus poured from his mind and clung to her words.

“Marcus, h- can you- a little slower?”

He obliged her, though it felt like a downgrade. He’d learnt he had to take it slow, at least, and give her time to adjust. What did he know about sex? Next to nothing. He just knew it was A Lot to take in, being so close to someone and touching and breathing together. “Sorry,” he said quietly, and this time when he rolled his hips closer to her she let out a beautiful sigh that made him think of a little bird taking flight.

“Okay. Faster now.”

They both knew nothing. It was more or less new territory in both sides, but something about the way she said things like that made 18 feel comforted, at home - even if her confidence was a lie, or it was gained from some theory like reading about it, it made him feel warm and loved. Wanted.

Before he knew it, Tera was gasping and moaning the way he’d only remembered in dreams, and he was gripping her hand like his life depended on it. Grasping hands and heavy breaths all made him feel like he could trust Tera with anything, whether it emotional or physical. She’d keep his secrets for him, and even if she didn’t she would be polite about it and let him know. She knew more about him than anyone did, let alone his family, let alone Jade’s uncle, sleeping in the apartment above theirs, or even Jade. Tera was special, and that was all he really needed.

“You’re- a little- rough,” she laughed breathlessly, wiggling until his vice-grip on her wrist had loosened. 18′s mind was struggling with the sensations, the thoughts whirling around and the texture of the bedsheets, the heat from her core... It was too much sometimes, but sometimes it was just enough. Maybe he needed to relax a little. “Just breathe, puppy.”

Just breathe. He sunk onto her a little further, trying not to crush her but also trying to focus on not letting the sensations going on distract him. “Hey, Tera,” he murmured, close to her ear, wondering idly why that made her body shiver and tense. “I love you.”

“I love you- you too, Pup,” she giggled, fingers tangling in her hair, her back tensing and arching off the bed as the sleep left her body and was replaced with ecstasy like a sea wave. She tightened around him, pulling, almost swallowing him in more with every movement of his hips, and before he knew it he was pushing as hard as he could up into her, body clenching and curving over hers until nothing was left but a buzzing energy.

It was over soon. Too soon, maybe, but it was six in the morning.

Tera breathed out as he pulled out of her, clinging to his shoulders and giving him soft, gentle praise. Words of love spilt out of her, and they didn’t stop until he kissed her to make her shut up. Maybe he could swallow them all down and make them stick.

“Shower time, Pup. You go, and I’ll make Jade some breakfast. Okay?”

He nodded, ducking out of the way when she ruffled his hair with a little breath of a laugh.

#18 tera

2 notes · View notes

eyecontvct · 7 years

Text

"Yeah, I've fucked dudes. It's kinda like... Well, you know what it's like."

Ophelia snorted something like a laugh from where she was, slumped against his chest and comfortable with him on the sofa in his house. "Wow. I mean, I kind of have a vagina, so that's different."

Felix shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm just sayin' it's a guy, so there's not exactly... Okay, so it's hot, but there is something, like, awkward about two dicks rubbing together, you know? And you know about the male g-spot."

"I do," Ophelia smirked confidently, thumb rubbing little circles into his thigh. He didn't think about why she sounded like she knew more than she let on.

"Yeah. It's a little work to get there, but it's so worth it. Feels fucking amazing. Honestly, best sex I've ever had with a guy was some blood witch who, like, got off on getting vampires worked up. There was blood everywhere. I was high out of my mind, too, and the smell of blood was just... Fuck."

"Best sex you've ever had?"

"Not with a girl. Aren't you a girl?"

"Shut up," she giggled, though he could feel the heat of a blush off her face. He also couldn't help but notice the way her fingers shifted up his thigh a little more, brushing his belt. That familiar scent was coming off her, the one he knew too well the same one that lifted off her when they were absorbed purely in each other. He allowed himself a little smirk. "Tell me more."

"What about?"

"Just... I don't know," she murmured, shifting so she could sit with her lips at his shoulder and her hand just lightly dipping between his legs, palm resting on his inner thigh. As her hand slid upwards, Felix generously opening his legs for her as usual, her lips also parted a little at his ear and just pressed to the top of his jaw. "Any stories. I like the way you tell them."

Felix pretended not to notice when she squeezed and pulled up just a little, but he'd never really be able to help the way his body reacted, sliding down into his seat and brushing his hand through her hair, the part at the back of her neck which was soft and fluffy. His breathing slowed, became heavier, and he tried his absolute best not to push up into her hand. "Genre?"

"Fuck's sake, Felix. Whatever your jack-off material is."

He finally relented, unable to really resist her when she was giving him the exact kind of attention he wanted. He couldn't think of anything at all, as though all the experiences he'd ever had were just gone from his mind, replaced by trying not to push up into her hand and piss her off. "Uh... Uh, there's the time these two tied me up-"

She squeezed him again, tighter, just enough of a hint of friction that he bit into his lip. Don't give her the satisfaction. "Ugh, next."

"Okay, fine," he chuckled, despite the fact he'd suddenly forgotten every single story that had ever happened to him. His entire body was buzzing with the pressure, shifting with it as he just pushed a little into her hand, desperate for that kind of friction. Just easy, quick, painless. "Shit, I can't..."

"You're such a fucking whore, I'm sure you'll think of something."

It was like an electric shock.

Felix's smirk disappeared. Somehow, that one cut kind of deep. He was, really, and it wasn't that it was a shameful thing at all, it was more along the lines of the fact he liked the negative attention it got him. He liked the way girls looked at him. He liked the way his fingers felt when they were shivering, clenched down hard on someone's flesh, gripping and pulling like his life depended on getting the person beneath him to relent and let him feed off them, off their energy, and getting them to see just how disgusting he really was.

He liked it, and Ophelia noticed when the fullness beneath her hand got just that much harder.

"Oh," she said, sounding pleasantly surprised and confused at the same time. "I was kidding."

"Mhm," Felix mumbled, shame washing over him. He looked away, at the closed door, biting into his fist absently. The pain didn't help. "Yeah, I know."

"Do you... You really like that, don't you?" she laughed incredulously, pulling back a little to stare at him in amazement. "You're such a princess."

Felix closed his eyes, trying not to really react, though the hand in her hair tensed. He was a Princess. He was princess of the little lonely tower, hungry and horny, and he just wanted someone to come and tell him off. Well, that sounded silly, but it wasn't wrong.

"Would Princess like it if I helped her with this?" Ophelia cooed by his ear, still kind of joking but making him twitch all the same with another gentle squeeze. He was a mess, and he knew deep down that he really deserved to be talked down to. It made sense to him. Her lips pressed little kisses to his neck but they soon turned into little bites, her breath catching and her fingers just playing at his belt. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nodded, turning to her with a pleading frown, trying to catch her in a kiss, but she shook her head and leaned back. Felix whined.

"You know," she began, undoing his belt and pulling it off in one rough tug, "I always wonder, like, what people at school would think if they ever saw you like this. You know? Kind of hopeless. If that's the word. I think they're all scared of you."

"Scared, huh," he murmured, wanting to help tug down his jeans but refraining. His fingers scratched at the back of her neck instead, wondering what would happen if he just pulled her into a kiss anyway, just pushed her over and took what he wanted. His head was swimming, though, the familiar and yet unknown scent filling his brain like a weed high. "Never done this with anyone at school."

"No?" she hummed absently, shifting off the sofa to kneel between his legs, pulling his jeans away after fiddling with the button, tugging them down and off completely. "Surprising, since you're such a slut."

Felix tried not to whine any more, because the sounds he was making were annoying him already, but it felt so sinfully good to have the one person he was totally in love with tell him how worthless he was. Maybe it was embarrassing, shameful, humiliating and just a little fucked up, but it was all he wanted. His lips parted, breath coming up short around the knuckle that was pressed to his lips, and the second he sunk his teeth into it she, as though she'd planned it, pressed her own open mouth to his still clothed erection, tongue dotting lines into the fabric.

Blood seeped past his lips and over his tongue, his unnaturally sharp teeth, and though it didn't taste as beautiful as hers did it was still enough to make him moan, sending tingles through his body like cold rain.

"So... What is this, like... A fantasy or something? Being talked down to, Mr High-and-Mighty?"

Felix paused then, trying to think through the haze and figure out how to answer that. No, it wasn't a fantasy, because fantasies were normally things that you didn't think were real and you hadn't done. Maybe. No, it was more than just that, or a kink, or some weird blood fetish. He'd tried to analyse it many times and come up with only one conclusion.

That one conclusion was the only one he knew to be true, and it was the answer to her question, but he didn't know how to say it without upsetting her. Something deep and parasitic had lodged itself into Felix at some point, and had been feeding on him ever since, telling him a perspective on things that only fuelled those masochistic urges. The one truth, from which that little voice came, was the fact he deeply and truly hated himself.

"No," he said quietly, suddenly confused - he was still totally ready to fuck, but that little doubt had taken root now and it wouldn't stop until he drank until he blacked out or took something to escape.

Her soft eyes were trying to meet his. Delicate. How could he think of pushing her down and taking her when he'd been so horrible to her?

Crack. The sound of bones breaking snapped through his skull, just as it did every so often when it decided what little self-esteem he had needed to be put back in place. Crack, crunch. The snapping give of little hard things in his hand. The physical pain in his heart that ripped through when he heard her scream. This was why he didn't deserve it.

Ophelia sensed something was off. "Hey, look, I'm not- I'm not gonna make you do something you don't want to, okay? I would never. Baby?"

He didn't want to look at her now. His boner was still there, probably just symptomatic of the way he liked to metaphysically jerk himself off like this. Disgusting. Felix shook his head, taking a deep breath. Don't cry. It's stupid.

"Princess. Look at me."

Well, he had to then. Ophelia was still beautiful, no matter whether she was standing in front of him or kneeling with her head resting on his thigh, looking up at him with pure pity. Pity felt like a mould, the pungent kind that ate through things and infected people.

"You wanna stop?"

Felix wanted to say no, just to even rut against her hand until he came, but perhaps it was better for the both of them if he just said yes. Stop. He didn't deserve to feel good sometimes and now was one of those times. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, though she was frowning with worry, "kind of killed my boner... I just don't like that expression on you. Doesn't suit you."

"Thanks," he said, sarcasm lost in quiet regret. Felix drew his now bare legs up onto the sofa and leaned against the armrest.

She didn't move from the floor, just leaning on the edge of the cushions to look up at him. "Not your day, huh."

"It's fine," he said, managing a little smile. He didn't really know what to say. "What expression?"

She bit her lip and shook her head slightly. No? "It's like... You just looked, like, unsure. I don't know about all these kinky people, but that would be a sign to stop for me, you know? You wanna watch a movie instead?"

Boner successfully killed, Felix nodded. "Sorry. I just... Remembered, um... Don't wanna hurt you. Sorry. You were, uh..."

Ophelia shrugged, smiling at him again. "I'm stronger than you, lover-boy, okay? I could rip you apart. Does that help you feel better?"

"Awesome."

#gays

2 notes · View notes

eyecontvct · 7 years

Text

Sexual deviant. Depraved. Disgusting. His own ex had called him all of those.

He enjoyed it. Some sick part of him enjoyed the attention, as perversely disgusted as it was, and sometimes he wanted nothing more than to just tear into himself and end it.

But, of course, he couldn't.

All he could do was indulge himself in humans, the weak ones, and bleed them for every last drop. Every single human he drank the blood from was the same; a little bland, lukewarm. Unsatisfying.

He gladly got fucked up with them, danced, flirted, happily entertained as a host or a guest, became the life of the party, but nobody who follows the most beautiful person at a party into the back room to do lines of coke and fuck is a content boy.

His fingers closed around his own throat, partly willing the torture to stop, but partly desperate for more. He knew it wouldn't kill him. Shit, he barely needed to breathe. He just enjoyed the way they looked at him.

He loved the way it felt, having two people, anyone, he couldn't remember their names, look at him with pity and shame, a little disgust. It sent a thrill through his whole body.

"Harder," he choked out hoarsely, nearly falling into the poor human below him. Harder. The thrust came harder, hitting him deeper, and the cord around his neck was going to slice it off. He wanted it to. Their reactions would be priceless.

A hoarse groan of utter pain and pleasure left his lips as stars dotted his vision, orgasm ripping through him and leaving him melted, shivering, twitching and gasping his little white flag.

The guy behind him breathed a long, steady 'fuck' into the sticky air, letting go of Felix and gently grinding to a halt. Felix's heart was racing still, so hard he could hear it, and it seemed that every time he moved his body twitched its protest.

The woman below him whined something about unfairness, and before he knew it he was fucking her like his life depended on it, the high still not worn off. The steel of a knife scraped his skin and he could do nothing but groan out a plea for more. He wanted them to destroy him.

It all felt better once they'd shared more lines and gone their separate ways, Felix a little sore but happy.

It was only when he got back to his dorm room that he realised how fucked up he was. He looked a mess, hair dishevelled, eyes wild, whole body twitching and excited. The whole world was slowed down, and he was wired, buzzing - he could do anything.

The comedown was horrible. The depression set in around 2am and sat like a haze on his night. He'd meant to go to a party but he couldn't bring himself to stand up. Friends came round, told him he needed to get some sleep and have a shower, but none stayed. More important shit to do.

3am. He'd been staring at the wall for the last hour.

He stood, stumbled to the bathroom, and wondered why seeing blood drip from his nose didn't shock him. He looked a mess, and he felt a mess. When his phone rang, however, the shock was so bad he nearly cried.

"Fuck," he breathed, wiping away tears and blood - of course he only made it worse. "Yeah? What."

"Oh," said the voice on the other end. Felix stared at his own reflection. Don't freak out on her. "Glad to hear your voice too. You gonna come to your own party?"

Shit, it was so hard. It was so, so hard to believe that she really wanted him there, that any of his friends really gave a shit about his health, that she actually cared. Why would they? He looked like shit - ugly, depraved, unkempt, disgusting. He wanted to put a hole through his reflection. Two fingers to his head. Bang.

"Felix?"

"Uh, yeah, what- what, uh, what're you doing? Right now."

She'd be able to hear the tremble in his voice. If she noticed, only her tone changed. "Oh, uh... Getting drinks. We were kind of late. It's gonna die without you."

Felix's back hit the wall. He slid down it, slowly, slowly, until he was on the floor, one hand in his matted hair. "Hey, O-Ophelia," he said quietly, "do you- do you think... You know what, fuck it."

"I'm sorry? Felix, are you okay? Are you crying?"

"No. Yeah. Shit. Listen. I'm- I'm sorry." "What for? What did you do?" "Shit, no, I'm fucked up. Right now."

"Stay on the line, yeah?"

His chest felt like it was going to cave in. Everything was pressing, holding him down.

His phone clattered to the side as he took a second to retch - somehow nothing coming up made it feel so much worse. A whine of a groan left his body, every pore of his skin itchy and uncomfortable.

"Felix? I'm coming upstairs."

"No, wait, please, nononono-" He scrambled to get his phone, pleading with her, begging, sounding pathetic even to himself. Tears welled up again, but this time they broke forth in sobs. "Please. Please. I'm so- don't want you to- please-"

“Tough, I'm here."

She hung up, and panic reared its nasty head. She couldn't see him like this. Nobody could. His door opened and he just covered his face, his head, wishing he could just be swallowed up. Maybe he should have just overdone it.

"Felix, shit, what happened?"

Ophelia stood at the door, and all Felix saw was an angel.

"Guys, go back downstairs."

"What's up with him?"

"Nothing, just go back downstairs, fuck."

The door shut, finally, and Felix was alone with the most beautiful being he'd ever seen. He didn't really deserve to be in her presence. Every curve was fantastic, every shadow and highlight perfect. He'd never wanted to see anyone less.

"Ophelia," he heard himself saying, "am I... Am I ugly?"

She stood still for a moment. She was too bright to look at until she collapsed to her knees in next to him, grabbing a tissue from her purse and dabbing it to his eyes, his chin, his nose. "You're the most beautiful boy I've ever met," she said quietly, holding his face so gently all he could feel were tingles. Her eyes searched his, though he was sure she wouldn't like the snarling, wounded, angry monster she saw. He kind of wanted her to hate him, just so he could have something to cling to.

"I'm-" he began, though he bit his lip and drew blood. More he didn't want. He hadn't eaten properly in days, maybe a week, and wearing sunglasses in school and pretending it wasn't a big deal wasn't doing much. "Just say you hate me. I- need it."

"What? Felix, where is this coming from? This isn't you- are you hungry?" she asked desperately, dropping the straps of her dress and bra, shifting her hair until he could see her exposed flesh. It called to him, but his stomach turned and he felt like throwing up again. He made a face and pushed her aside gently, leaning over the toilet bowl and nearly throwing up more. Nothing.

"Sorry," he sniffed hoarsely, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and putting her dress straps back onto her shoulder. "Guess not."

She was looking at him with such pity it almost made him want to cry some more. "Come here," she said quietly, standing and gently pulling him to his feet. He stumbled after her, shuddering with each step - shit, he was freezing.

She sat on the bed and pulled a blanket around his shoulders, pulling him closer until his head was resting on her chest. "You're far from ugly, baby. You're beautiful. You're so beautiful."

She was stroking his hair, even as he felt the wave of shame rip through him and he gripped her dress, finally letting the sobs out, tears finally streaming like they'd never stop. "I'm a mess," he sobbed, pulling back to notice his nose was bleeding again, onto her dress, staining it forever. She was going to hate him for sure. "Shit, fuck, I'm so sorry, I-"

She shrugged. "Didn't like this dress. Friends said it made me look fuckable."

That made him laugh, at least. It came out like a little chuckle which turned into a sad, choked laugh. He kind of felt better for having someone there - why her, he didn't know, but it was nice. "Thanks for helping me out," he said quietly, hugging the blanket tighter around him and leaning back on her chest. "I, uh... Have days... Like this. Sometimes. Sorry. I'll be fine."

"What brought this on, though?"

She did seem genuinely concerned, which was nice. Strange, but nice.

1 note · View note

eyecontvct · 7 years

Photo

9 x avatars Max Thieriot

More [x]

685 notes · View notes

eyecontvct · 7 years

Text

gay

Tera’s sudden burst of strength took 18 by surprise. He couldn’t breathe for a second, instead letting her sink onto him and grind. It wasn’t intentional, but he felt it all the way through his body, and he was sure she did too because she gasped and dropped her hands directly onto his stomach, flat against muscle, pushing to help her pull herself up a little.

He could only stare at her for a moment, breathless and stunned, before coming more or less to his senses and reaching down to grip the tops of her thighs and help.

“W- wait,” she gasped, reaching forwards to put a hand heavily on his chest. It moved up to the pillow and then to the headboard, holding tight and pulling herself, moving slower than treacle, rolling her hips up and back onto him. “I got this.”

He’d never experienced this. 18′s mind was a garbled, mumbling mess, staring at her as she let out little huffs of effort and heat. He only realised he was doing the same when she looked up and her eyes met his, taking in his parted red lips and wide blue eyes, all open and drinking in the sight of her settling into a rhythm.

She increased the pace once she got the hang of it, both hands falling to his shoulders, pulling and pushing, harder and harder, until he was shaking and just about ready to lose his mind. His own hands found the headboard and her wrist, holding on tight with his nose buried in the crook of his elbow. He couldn’t look at her, preferred not to see as she worked him harder and faster, tighter, until he was nearly seeing stars and his back was arched with desperate, tense cries that wouldn’t come out. He wanted to bite the pillow.

It was only when she slid up off him and the torture stopped that he gasped out the loud, heated moan into the sticky air of the room. It came out almost like a frustrated cry, a noise he was sure he’d never made before, all his muscles tight with tension that needed to be released. Tera’s normally soft hands pressed to his cheeks as the groan trailed off into a kind of frustrated sobbing noise that he couldn’t quite believe he was making.

“Puppy,” she breathed into his ear, against his jaw, trailing to his neck, “you okay? Really?”

18 could barely feel anything but oversensitive nerves when she kissed his skin, waiting for him to cool down, sucking absently and probably giving him those little red marks his students liked to ask about.

He wanted to ask where Tera was and what she’d done with her, but he couldn’t form words with his mouth. He nodded, feeling her giggle against his skin, soft hands rubbing up and down his sides.

“You sure?”

“M- uh-huh,” he said hoarsely, wondering if it was possible for someone his age to have a heart attack from overstimulation. “Gimme a sec.”

She nodded, humming something idly and biting at his collar gently, though she began to position herself one more time and 18 felt himself melt again. “One more time, puppy?”

He nodded, unable to get rid of the frown, and breathed a long, weak ‘fu-uck’ as she sunk onto him once more.

Something had changed. She’d unlocked something deep inside him. 18′s moans this time spilled over, released from a cage, and heated the air between them. She came down to kiss him at one point but thought better of it, instead leaning back to watch him breathe and squirm, trying to push his hips up to meet her, pretending that she didn’t feel the same just so she could watch him try.

He couldn’t help the noises, and they just got worse. He felt like he was going to cry as the heat and the coil wound up again, tighter and tighter until he thought he might snap, and the breathy gasps coming from deep inside him reflected that. He tried to swallow them, to bite his knuckles and stop them coming out, but it was hard.

“Stop that,” Tera said, her voice as breathy and spent as his. “I like the noises you- you make. Don’t s-stop.”

18′s hand went to his hair instead, tugging in frustration. “Tera,” he heard himself breathing, “fuck, Tera, f-faster, f-fu-ffff…”

It was like a sobbing groan, a crying boy desperate to just finish, frustrated hands gripping hair and sweaty skin far too hard, his brain supplying him with no words but one, and it was an excellent choice.

“F-f-fuck.”

The tension snapped.

Tera was taken by surprise as her boyfriend’s hips jerked up to meet hers, almost throwing off her balance, an almost pornographic moan leaking from him, oozing out more and more every time she rolled her hips, filling her up until she couldn’t feel anything but heat and waves of relief and warmth washing over her own body. He was almost writhing with the feeling, pushing her up though she bit her lip and clamped him down, holding in her own weak whimpers. Sometimes she had to be strong for him, and she wasn’t afraid to use her strength to hold him down when he needed it.

Maybe she’d broken him.

He didn’t move for a minute. He made a weak noise when she got off him, twitching up to follow her, and collapsed onto the bed beside him. “Puppy?” she asked, her voice almost afraid, “you really okay?”

He just nodded, tired blue eyes opening to give her a weak, short-lived smile, which disappeared instantly. His heart was racing still, and he found out that hers was too when he held her close, his forehead on her chest.

“Um,” she murmured, uncertain, stroking his hair, working out little knots and moving it into shapes. “I love you.”

“Mm love you too,” he slurred, arms wrapping around her little body and holding her tighter. “Gotta do that again.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she frowned, feeling a little bad. He’d looked so helpless, and sounded like he’d been going to cry at one point. Now he was stroking the back of her silk nightgown, stroking repetitive motions down, down, down, and then back up to repeat. She knew instinctively that he wasn’t going to say anything else; she’d overdone it, she knew, and now he was lost in the world she’d never understand, the one he withdrew into when he’d felt far too much.

“I love you, puppy,” she whispered, rubbing circles into his hair and hugging his buzzing head close to her chest, the glow still not leaving her body. “I love you.”

1 note · View note

eyecontvct · 7 years

Text

Cameron’s dorm room was quiet. He’d not been able to sleep well the past few nights, his mind occupied with other things - a phone call from his dad, no news from home, an old friend moving away. Sometimes it felt as though he were slowly being abandoned by everyone he knew.

It didn’t take too much imagination to wander away from that and to other things, wondering about James, and perhaps even Kate.

It was so hard not to let his thoughts run wild now. He’d give anything to have that cute, innocent face open and gasping for air as an orgasm ripped through her, or to just see what she looked like on her knees with her hair tangled in his fist. He got the feeling he’d never be satisfied with her - something about the way she denied him so much made him want to try harder to just hold her down and take her.

He was never this violent. He’d never forced anyone to do anything. She was different.

His fingers edged into his waistband, the porn magazines useless under his bed. If he had to force guilt aside, it couldn’t be good for him, surely? Sex shouldn’t make you want to apologise afterwards.

That said, and all things considered, he wanted to. He wanted to take Kate to his dorm room and rip up that cutesy uniform, to hold her down and push his fingers into her without waiting for a second. She’d cry, maybe, but eventually she’d beg for more just as loudly. Her lips would close around his fingers and he’d push into her, short uniform skirt bunching up around her waist, the pleats she’d ironed in completely ruined. She’d be tight around him, the first person to be in her, and he’d take full advantage, holding her tight and wasting no time in making her gasp and cry out.

He could even grip her throat and hold her down as she came, her virgin body quivering and her fingers clutching at his to try and breathe before she passed out. He’d let her go the moment her eyes fluttered, and she’d gasp for air as he pushed her over and took a handful of her hair, holding her back, looking into watery, exhausted eyes.

He came back to reality with a jolt, sudden and aggressive, arching his back and pulling a groan from his lips. His bottom lip was sore where he’d been biting it, and the shuddering relief that washed through him was almost too much.

Cameron felt awful; sick, almost, as though he hadn’t known he could be that depraved, to force her when she so clearly didn’t want him. She’d never even look at him if she knew the lengths he’d go to. His hand was sticky, hot now, cooling fast, and he suddenly wanted nothing to do with himself.

He stood, robotically washed his hands, and lowered himself with shaking arms into the empty bath tub to just sit in silence, isolated. He wouldn’t look at her the next day. Maybe not the day after.

If he could stop thinking about her, he would.

He could pretend he was ill. Maybe. James would see through it. Maybe it was the medication - he didn’t have the energy to get angry now. He just felt empty instead.

#oops i made it sad lmao #gg #my fic #writing #cameron and kate

0 notes