Mean!Eddie making you hump his boot like the dirty little slut you are. Not only is he making you get off on his boot, he’s tied a belt around your neck as a makeshift collar which he will tighten every time you so much as beg him to give you his cock, his mouth, anything other than this.
“You’re gonna cum just like this or not at all. Got it, bitch?” Eddie warns, before delivering a harsh slap to your left cheek.
Eddie calling you a bitch and slapping you has surprisingly made your core throb with desire and you instinctively grind your swollen clit against the metal bits of his laces. Your clit has been rubbed raw and your cunt is so sensitive from grinding against the leather of his boot, but you’re determined to show him that no matter how mean he’s being, you can take whatever he decides to give you.
“Gonna cum” you whisper, eyes rolling back in your head as you feel yourself falling apart for him.
“Oh you stupid girl, you really think I was gonna let you cum?” He questions, tugging the almost forgotten belt even tighter around your neck. Not enough to cut off your air supply, Eddie isn’t that mean; but just enough to temporarily make you dizzy and delirious from how degrading he’s been tonight.
Fat salty tears roll down your cheeks, you really did think he was gonna be nice enough to let you cum this time. When his hands come up to your face, you assume Eddie is going to show you at least the tiniest bit of kindness. Instead he just slaps you again and mocks your tears before pulling you away from his boot and pushing you down onto your stomach while simultaneously attempting undo or at least loosen the belt that’s tied around your neck. He managed to successfully undo the belt, but instead he wraps his own hand around your neck.
“No, don’t want it” you try to protest when you feel his thick cock enter you ruthlessly, slamming into you with the most animalistic brutal pace that makes your walls clench around him and has your cunt just dripping all over his cock.
“Then why the fuck are you so wet, then?” He groans, his free thumb coming down to briefly rub your clit. You try to answer him, but your mind is already so empty from being tortured that the only thing that comes out of your mouth are whimpers that are so quiet that Eddie can barely hear them.
He knows you wanted this, so he continues to use you. When he feels himself about to cum, he pulls out and makes you lie on your back so he can cum on your chest while still roughly gripping your neck.
207 notes
·
View notes
zip's tid bits | wednesday, april 24, 2024
i woke up late but this was still earlier than i've been waking up so it was a win!!!
went to class which was really fun because we just dunked on the journal paper we all read for a bit, lmao
i got some help with a homework problem and worked on the next one
had seminar and ate a quick dinner
had a mandatory staff meeting at 7pm that turned out to just be a chance for us all to "bond" and play switch games (this would've been more fun if it wasn't finals week ;-;)
worked out for 10 minutes (!!!!)
did some arts and crafts as a life break and screen break, lmao
i am going to bed late because i have this post to write and a couple of habits to do before my day ends 😬
the to-do list:
✔️take notes on quantum
✔️work on quantum problem 3
✔️exercise
✖️fold laundry + clean shoes
〰️look for apartments
✖️submit insurance claim (i really, really need to get on this, omg)
currently:
📚 the black hand by will thomas (i haven't read anything in like a week though, whoopsies)
🎧 coffee break spanish podcast // sherlock & co
credit:
image
divider
12 notes
·
View notes
Blood Bank
[One-shot - 935 words]
Originally posted on AO3 in May 2022 [Click here]
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: AiShin
Rating: T
CW: Blood? (no wounds)
Context: AiShin Week 2022 (Day 4 - Vampires)
It's two levels down and to the left, down a narrow, brightly lit corridor—that's the main access. For you, there's a staircase on the outside of the building, tucked discreetly in a corner where two walls meet, that goes down deep into the ground. It's convenient. When you go down the steps, your feet make a quiet, scraping sound against the concrete. This part of the building isn't as polished as the rest—it's not meant to be used much, after all. Once past the door at the bottom, things become clinically white—but even then, it's still not the part meant to be seen, with a broom cabinet to your right and the room you're headed to on your left.
You step into the room.
"Hey there, Sōsuke."
"Hey," you say.
You quietly close the door behind you and join him by the desk, holding your arms close to avoid knocking papers off the tables. The room next door is even worse, with its equipment all over the counters. It's the one he spends the most time in, and it shows. The one you're in is tidier—emptier—with clean tabletops and a couple of freezers and shelves. It's a place frozen in time—a storage room that people dip in and out of, never to stay.
You contemplate going up to him to look over his shoulder at the book he's reading. In this quiet, still place, the two of you could stay for a bit, basking in each other's quiet company as you read the same pages.
He turns, shutting the book.
"The plasma and cryo still need to thaw a bit," he says.
"Okay."
You look around, and pull yourself a chair. He can tell you're tenser than usual, but doesn't say anything.
You miss when he used to talk. You know why he doesn't.
The two of you used to chat about so many interesting things. Since the day you barged in, squinting tears out of your eyes, head light and breath heavy, since he accepted to give you blood for the first time—since then, you'd become quite close. Closer than anything you'd ever had—in a very long time, anyway.
It'd been fine for a while. Your nights were more productive, your days more serene. Then one night, it occurred to you that perhaps, it could be more than just a warmth inside. That night, you hoped to have someone of your own, for once, if only for a couple of decades.
It had been a no. Oh well.
Things are quiet now. Sometimes, if it's a particularly uneventful evening, he still lets you brush his long, golden hair, or plays chess with you until morning. He humours you.
He stands—the plasma and cryoprecipitate have thawed, no doubt. As he grabs a beaker off the shelf, you shift in your seat.
It's not fair.
He asked you once why you settled for blood from a hospital—for separate frozen parts thawed and mixed back together. It'd be simpler to just find someone willing to give their blood, he said. Someone who likes you. Especially since you don't even need much blood. I'm sure you have someone like that.
For what it's worth, you tried. You used to find people like that—and then lost them. Again, and again, and again.
And then one night you stopped trying. It just wasn't worth it. You started getting blood from strangers.
Life is a cruel joke sometimes. If you hadn't miscalculated that one time, you wouldn't have stumbled in here, thoughts set on looking through the drawers and freezers for a drink of something—anything—you could digest, instead running into this guy as he retrieved a stack of blank sheets of paper from a drawer. It'd been so unlikely—that you'd both meet here, in this liminal space meant for objects to sit and wait until they are needed by people that hurt.
He pours the plasma and cryo into the beaker, holding it at eye-level to look at the marks on the side. Then he adds in the platelets and red fluid that he'd already measured on the side, stirs, and hands the mixture to you.
It tastes like blood. Somewhat. Nutritionally, it's probably the same. Although you've gotten used to the taste, you sip it slowly.
It's not—doesn't feel—fair. Even if you know he wouldn't do it for anyone else either—he's too careful, too wary, too cold. You've heard him on the phone before, and you've looked through his texts a couple of times—he keeps everyone at arm's length.
It's not fair. It could've been anybody else in here when you stumbled in, mind fuzzy, desperate. Or better yet, nobody at all—then you wouldn't have to go through this entire…thing.
The world is quiet.
The last drop goes down your throat, and you stare at the bottom of the beaker for a moment with a mix of anger and longing. You look up—he's not looking at you. He waves you away.
Slowly, you get up, putting the beaker down on the counter. Then you turn, and walk to the back door. You look back one last time—his head is lowered, his shoulders slumped. You want to turn back, go over to him, put your hands on his cheeks and lift his face to look into his eyes.
Instead, you push open the back door and go up the steps, your feet making a soft scraping sound against the concrete as you ascend back into the even quieter reality above.
7 notes
·
View notes
𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖊 𝖆𝖌𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘
ᴍᴇᴇɴᴀ ɴᴏᴛᴇs : i couldn't resist okay- anyway, my baby charlotte needs some recognition so pls accept these small crumbs
𖤝 after the incident with roxana's butterflies, charlotte despised the winged creatures even three years later. she's more cautious around them but she will have panic attacks should those red-colored butterflies come too near and she loathes that, seeing it as a weakness. and having a weakness in the agriche household means punishment or death. and she's an agriche, charlotte has to survive to make it here.
𖤝 charlotte's preference for weapons is her whips. and yes, she had named them. they were gifts from her father ( surprising, right? ) from his trip after she successfully tortured people in his stead. and she cherishes them. now she thinks the sentiments were useless but don't underestimate the girl and her whips. she can still knock people off their feet and place them under her easily.
𖤝 when younger, charlotte was much easier to manipulate out of all her siblings. because her mother spoiled her so much just so she can use her daughter to protect her when danger comes. eventually, charlotte was able to see past her mother's manipulation and break free from it. her father is nothing worth to her and her mother was just using her so isn't it fair if charlotte starts putting herself first?
𖤝 charlotte was also compared to roxana by her mother a lot because she was lante favorite daughter and a true agriche. she looked up to her older sister for all her accomplishments but deep down, she also resented her as she couldn't attain roxana achievements as her mother pressured her to. the constant comparison grew worse and after the butterfly incident, her feelings for the blonde went from bad to worse.
𖤝 charlotte used to hate her looks. she looked nothing like her father which her mother used to criticize a lot. and she wanted to please her mother a lot so she tried to resemble more of lante in terms of personality. though after charlotte left her mother's mind games behind, she learned to appreciate her emerald green eyes and fiery red hair. she may resemble her mother more here but she's starting to look at herself as just charlotte.
𖤝 charlotte holds grudges for a long time added to her anger issues and her prideful nature, it's a really bad mix. but after the house fell, she's learning how to work with her issues and try to be better. she's sixteen, of course, and she's gonna make mistakes and say things she won't be able to properly apologize for. but of there's one thing that makes it up for it, it's her persistence to be better. at least better than her parents.
𖤝 after the agriche manor fell, charlotte left the house and decided to become free of her family's wretched name. yes, she grew up as a standard agriche but as she grew older, she learned more about the world around her. and that came with a longing to experience it. and when the time came, charlotte escaped the manor with the money she obtained and jewelry she had 'borrowed' from her mother. she doesn't regret it. after all, her name means free and that's what she will be.
45 notes
·
View notes