snippet sunday
hi friends, i'm gonna share something i've shared before because i LIKE it a lot + buck being a demanding bossy bottom is sooo good (but pls dw eddie gets his turn at being a sloppy silly bottom too and he's SO hot for it)
anyway this is nsfw
“Buck, baby. I want to ask you something.”
Buck nods wildly, knocking his nose against Eddie’s in his fervor. “Fuck and talk at the same time.” He reaches down and grabs hold of Eddie’s ass with both hands, squeezing and pinching as he lifts his hips up to fuck himself on Eddie’s cock. “C’mon, Eds. Be a—a good boy for me. Fuck me—fuck me please.”
Bubbles of static electricity swarm Eddie, springing from each point of contact between them and ricocheting to every untouched inch of his body. He drops down heavily, blanketing Buck’s body with his own, and fucks hard and sloppy and eager. Buck muffles a hiccuped moan against the scruff of Eddie’s cheek, breathy and pitched high. Eddie grins, mollified.
“Like that, baby?”
“Yeah,” Buck grunts, panting against Eddie’s cheek. He wraps his legs around Eddie’s waist, kicking him closer and deeper with his heels, and meets Eddie’s thrusts with little ones of his own. “Yeah, fuck, like that. Just like that.”
Eddie finds Buck’s lips, eating the mewls that fall from Buck’s mouth. It’s little sobs of too-good, too-sharp pleasure; a staccato of breaths that get stuck in his chest on each withdraw and shoved out on every thrust forward. Eddie’s so deep inside Buck—he can feel himself, right up in Buck’s guts, beneath the muscle and fat of Buck’s tummy where his prick’s at, twitching from friction and sensation.
“Buck,” he says, smearing Buck’s name all along Buck’s cheek and throat and chin. They’re so wet, so sweaty, that Buck can’t get a good grip on his back to scratch his nails in without slipping. “Buck, baby. Marry me. Please marry me.”
Beneath him, Buck’s body jolts. “Goddamn, Eddie,” Buck swears, but it kind of feels like a benediction, a prayer sweeter than any he’s every heard. Buck cradles his cheeks in both hands and sucks on his tongue, loud and free in his pleasure. He laughs like sunshine. “No.”
i was tagged by @hippolotamus, @try-set-me-on-fire, @callaplums, @thewolvesof1998, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @exhuastedpigeon, @honestlydarkprincess, @jesuisici33, @wikiangela, and @daffi-990 mwaH MWAH
and i'm tagging @watchyourbuck, @eddiediaztho, @fortheloveofbuddie, @callmenewbie, and whoever else wants to share consider yourself tagged 🫶🏼
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Perturabo was silent for a long time, his attention completely focused on the disassembled objects spread out before him.
"No, Fulgrim," he said eventually. "I am not fun at parties. Why do you ask?"
The Primarch of the III Legion smiled. "No reason in particular. I merely wondered if you'd like to take advantage of so many of the family being close by."
Fulgrim stepped away from Perturabo's worktable, elegantly avoiding the discarded parchments and empty grey plastek sprues littering the room.
"Goodnight then, brother. I shall leave you to your..." he paused briefly, for once unable to find the right word. "Figurines," he finished.
"They're miniatures," the Lord of Iron said bitterly. Fulgrim gave the briefest of shrugs and left the room.
Oh, Perturabo, he thought fondly as his brother's door slid closed. Don't ever change.
"I told you he'd say no," a rough, low voice called from further down the hallway. "If it was anyone but you he would've started throwing things."
"Very comforting, Ferrus." The two primarchs walked together for a few moments in a close, pleasant silence. With anyone else Fulgrim would have found the quiet oppressive, felt the need to speak, to act, to perform in some way.
It had never been like that with Ferrus, and in his introspective moments he treasured that quiet as something uniquely theirs.
"How goes the process of civilising our newest brother?" Ferrus asked.
Oh, Konrad, Fulgrim thought. Please change, even just a bit.
"He has been a challenge," Fulgrim admitted. "More so than I expected."
"Really?" Ferrus asked, amused. "I thought you relished a challenge."
"Not this one," Fulgrim answered. "Have you ever considered the logistics of bathing a fellow Primarch?"
"I could be persuaded," Ferrus said.
Fulgrim gave him a pointed look. "Not like that. I mean someone of our size and strength who adamantly refuses to even consider basic hygiene. And our father wants me to turn this... being into a capable leader of his own Legion."
Fulgrim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"At the moment it's a miracle if he sleeps through the night without some kind of outburst. His latest development is wandering the corridors to scream at every mortal he sees about the exact time and nature of their deaths."
"You must be tired."
Fulgrim laughed bleakly. "Tired," he said, as if it were some arcane alien concept. "Yes, I suppose I am."
"Come in, then." Seemingly without intending to, they'd arrived in the hallway outside Ferrus's chambers.
"The Gorgon of Medusa invites me to his quarters," Fulgrim said archly. "People will talk. What scurrilous rumours they might spread."
Ferrus shrugged. "Let them."
The room was cool, sparsely lit and, with the exception of Forgebreaker in pride of place on a wall rack, minimally furnished. The opposite of his own in every possible way, but at times like this Fulgrim found the contrast refreshing.
Ferrus flung himself down onto a primarch-scaled couch as Fulgrim's gaze was drawn to the incongruous sight of a rectangular open-topped frigerator unit containing ice and several glass vessels.
"And what might this be?"
"Oh, that," Ferrus said. "One of the latest archaeo-tech recreations based on analysing residues from ancient Terran artefacts. It's an alcoholic drink somehow brewed with crystals."
Fulgrim took a single delicate sip and wrinkled his nose slightly.
"Apparently it was extremely popular on old Earth, but only for a very short time before something else replaced it. Magnus would be able to tell you more."
"I imagine he would," Fulgrim said, turning his attention back to Ferrus. "But with the greatest of respect to the Primarch of the Fifteenth, I don't particularly care about Magnus just now."
For a long moment neither of them said anything. Then Ferrus slid back on the couch, legs parted, and patted a hand on the seat just in front of him.
"Come on, sit down."
Fulgrim quirked an eyebrow.
"Did I stutter, Phoenician? Sit down. You need to relax."
"If you insist," Fulgrim said. He moved to sit cross-legged in the space between Ferrus's legs. After a moment's hesitation, he leaned his full weight back against Ferrus.
"There you go," Ferrus said, starting to run his hands through Fulgrim's long hair. "You don't have to be perfect every single moment of the day."
"Perhaps," Fulgrim replied, closing his eyes. "But then what would I be instead?"
What is this called, he wondered, sudden and cold. What are we doing? The idea threatened to ruin everything if he dwelt on it. To ruin this, whatever it was that he and Ferrus had.
We're Primarchs, he thought. There isn't any existing human word or concept for what we are or choose to be, other than what we decide for ourselves. Like the first ancients naming the stars.
A single cool metal finger poked him gently in the back of the head. "You're thinking," Ferrus said. "I can tell."
"Congratulations. I knew if you saw other people do it you'd eventually start to recognise the signs," Fulgrim replied without any real malice, tilting his head back as Ferrus's hands resumed their movement through his hair.
He felt Ferrus's chest move behind him as he laughed. "You wound me, Fulgrim. I'll withdraw from society to weep and write poetry."
"Anything but your poetry, I beg of you," Fulgrim said quietly. "The galaxy isn't ready for that level of pain and suffering."
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what is the forbidden harry and jean lore
cracking my knuckles before preparing to type the most deranged post in the history of the world
okay so listen. harry and jean are so unbelievably fucked up. their relationship is TERRIBLE for them both. it's toxic, it's abusive, it's deeply codependent and it's also the only thing either of them has.
here's the thing. the partnership starts off fairly normal- yes, harry is a shithead, he's not a good person, but neither is jean and harry doesn't treat him like shit right off the bat. harry starts off on his best behavior, because here's a new guy who's much younger and who he outranks: this is fresh meat, thrown into his enclosure. another can for him to open. someone new to help him bear his burdens until he inevitably throws them away. he's gotta be let in first, though, so he's playing the role of mentor or chill superior officer or whatever until jean relaxes around him and starts to let his guard down. because despite jean's apprehensions- he's heard about gool ol' dick mullen, after all- harry can be funny, kind, and very good at his job. so maybe everyone was wrong- maybe, to him, harry will be good. maybe this partnership will work out. jean finds himself liking harry and caring about him. harry catches onto this, because of course he does, and the backslide begins.
it starts off minor. more hangovers at work, a little speed off the bathroom mirror. but it's fine because they're still getting work done. harry snaps at him a little, but it's just a rough patch. it's okay. they're not just work partners anymore, they're friends. maybe they're more, although they'd never put a name to it. they go to each other's places and they talk and smoke and drink and shoot the shit about anything they can think of: the world, the pale, the cases. it's an easy thing. a dangerous routine. if jean starts drinking more, to match harry- it's fine. at least it's in company. and all the while harry is getting openly worse, getting completely hammered at work, having more outbursts than actual conversations, lashing out at everyone. jean is no longer safe from it. jean no longer abstains from it either. and it's still jean's responsibility as his partner to take care of him, to keep him going. harry does not usually seem to care about reciprocating, but that's not the point. it's jean's job and, unfortunately, he cares. he's not sure what he would do without harry, now. he's not sure what harry would do without *him*.
harry the can-opener realizes what they've become- codependent, inseparable- and starts spiraling rapidly. he has the freedom to, now. jean talks to him about the drinking, and harry tries to kick it, and jean really believes in him. believes in him when he fails, when he tries again a few weeks later. over and over again until harry stops trying. says he wants to get worse. and jean gets it, at first. only at first. he's depressed too, he understands the suicidal thoughts and tendencies, understands how easy it is to get trapped in an addiction. he knows how important his support is to harry's continued survival.
but it's like everything harry does is to hurt him. screams at him and threatens him and leverages anything he can against him, including very personal things he's pried out of him, then shows up at his door with tears in his eyes and a gun in his hand telling jean that he's sorry, he's never going to do it again, he's going to make sure of it. and jean, still raw and angry from their fights, invites him in, takes the gun from his hand and talks him down and drinks with him, because what else is there to do? jean will never lay down and take it, has no interest in being the better person anymore- he knows every little nasty detail of harry's life by now, and he's not shy about digging his nails into harry's scars- but when everything is said and done, when all the punches have been thrown, he's still going to be there. he's going to be around to bandage the knuckles harry just hit him with because this is it. there's nothing else for either of them.
it doesn't matter that harry lies to him- about what he's been doing, how he's feeling, about where their belongings end up or where the money went, about things he did on a case. it doesn't matter that harry provokes the shit out of him until he's screaming himself raw, then lays down and cries about it until *he's* the one apologizing. it doesn't matter that harry only gets worse, and that somehow he's the one blamed for it. every day they rip each other apart because at least that way they can feel something. it's easy to scream at someone knowing they'll scream back, and then come sleep in your bed anyway. neither of them is going to leave except by death, and they both know it.
there's a complete erosion of boundaries between them. luiga himself confirmed their codependency. if something was jean's, it was harry's too, and vice versa. everything was each other's business. there was nothing kept apart between them. harry cracked jean open and gutted him, so jean did the same to him. they understood each other *too* well, so they knew exactly how to hurt each other, and they did just that. and that's the sad part, that they were so completely exposed with one another- it could have been so good for them. harry could have been a better person and so could jean. they might have been able to heal together. but we see jean's ableist hostility towards harry in the ending: jean has lost all patience for harry. there is no sympathy left.
and you wonder: why, now, does jean call it quits? why, after several years of mutual destruction, does jean draw a line in the sand here? well, obviously- he's been rejected. harry told him to fuck off in martinaise, which of course was not new behavior, but usually harry would come back to cry and beg and plead with him not to leave him. and harry's not doing that. harry doesn't even know who he *is*. harry is running around with this guy he barely knows, and he's functional and they're not having screaming matches, and when harry does finally approach him, he just twists the knife right in by insisting this new guy is cooler. he thinks jean is an asshole now, and not in the way he did before where he thought it was fun to fuck with him. jean is nothing to him, in the most thorough and all-consuming way possible. harry doesn't even know his *name*.
so, fine. harry dumped him. harry's not coming back to him, and he's sure as hell not going to put in the work to rebuild that bridge, not when he should have burned it years ago anyway. and if that's how it's going to be, he's got some things to say. he's going to make it hurt for harry as much as it hurts for him. maybe he doesn't believe every single thing he says in the ending, or not fully, but it doesn't matter. he's going to say everything he can to hurt harry because harry is leaving him, and they already failed each other a long time ago.
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SHADAHKNKAS saw u in the notes of some kuina posts and that made me realize that there is simply a bond with kuina and tashigi fans, who may even often be the same fan, because AOUGHHH KUINA I CARE HIM SO MUCH episode 19 literally changed me forever. swords + gender struggles are all you need to hook me on a character sometimes Maybe. the whole greatest swordsman promise... sob. also. something about zoro promising his name will reach the heavens and trans kuina. which made me think.. what if kuina and The trans fear of dying then having your deadname on your tombstone that you can't do anything about because you're dead. kuina dying before they even get to figure everything out and all of a sudden he's just known as kuina forever, and then zoro making a name for himself in kuina's honor or something idk (i like zoro's backstory) (KUINA )
THERE ISS. people who theorise that they are secretly related or the same person or direct parallels are so close to getting it but don't imo (no shade to those theories tho, I just personally find them narratively unsatisfying).
like they are parallels in that kuina is symbolic of the sexism people suffer and tashigi is an adult woman who has come out the other end sword swinging but ultimately so unsure of herself as a result. also the (trans)genderisms, we are all hand in hand 🤝.
MAN KUINAS STORY BROKE ME DOWN ON A BASE LEVEL AND REWIRED NY BRAIN. I had to take a break from reading just to let it soak in it's so good, a swordsmans promise indeed, that scene was beautiful, I love zoro the world's first a accidental feminist <3. zoro carrying on her dream with his will never not have me in hysterics.
FUCK YEA THATS SUCH A GOOD IDEA. I have soo many thoughts about baby!zoro and kuina and trangenderism. egg kuina cis zoro, egg kuina STEALTH TRANS ZORO ABSVDJFBKSHDKDN <333.
little baby zoro looking at his grave with the uncontrollable urge to carve out those letters. to carry and rearrange them and make sure they get back to him in the afterlife spelling 'worlds greatest swordsman'.
trans kuina makes me so emotional because ultimately I don't know if they were canonically trans but it's my FAVOURITE 'what if' for them. they never really got to be anyone outside the dojo masters daughter. the failure of a heir and the girl who beat zoro 2001 times. who would they have been if they got to grow up? come to terms with themselves and unlearned all that heavy, painful biases pushed onto them? as a transmasc who's studying into a (cis)male dominated field myself ik, the feelings of 'betrayal' and 'proving misogynists right' and imposter syndrome and inadequacy issues and perfectionism they might've gone through,,, sobbing my eyes out HE MEANS EVERYTHING TO MEE.
zoros backstory is genuinely one of my favourite parts of the manga idc how 'simple' it was it's still beautiful.
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