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los-santos-carspotting · 11 days

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Declasse Mamba

#declasse #executives and other criminals #gta online #gta 5 #gta v

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pegassi-toreador · 4 months

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Benefactor Schafter V12

#gta online #gtao #benefactor #schafter v12 #executives and other criminals

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uss-edsall · 5 months

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Ridley Scott, regarding his new Napoleon movie, is being aggressively defensive about its inaccuracies with historians. He's gone on record saying "When I have issues with historians, I ask: ‘Excuse me, mate, were you there? No? Well, shut the fuck up then.’" This is a classic argument of people with no idea how historians do their work, how historical accuracy is determined and evaluated, and - in Ridley Scott's case in particular - how important it is to properly portray historical accuracy in other media.

The reason why Ridley Scott is being so aggressively dismissive of complaints about historical accuracy is due to past beef leading to a problem he likely has.

This is a movie that, by din of being touted as a 'nonfiction' movie about a historical figure, is basing much of its marketing on historical accuracy by default. The trailers show it's not, and reviews by historians say it is riddled with dozens if not hundreds of inaccuracies. Napoleon's portrayal is frankly a surface level depiction and nowhere near the nuance that historians were hoping for.

Scott's defensive about it. He need not be. If he had a historical consultant then he could go "I'm not an expert on the time period, but I have someone who is, ask them about it" and fob them off on his movie's historical consultant. It's a whole Thing. He doesn't have one, however, so he has to defend it personally.

You see, Ridley Scott probably didn't hire a historical consultant for Napoleon. The last time he had one - Kathleen Coleman for Gladiator - she was so upset over the inaccuracies he pushed through and how little her work affected the film, she requested her name be taken off of it.

Why this is important is because so many more people will watch a movie made by Ridley Scott than I or any other person could write. More people will watch Scott's Napoleon in the States than five hundred books about Napoleon combined worldwide.

More people watched Dunkirk than ever read a book about the Evacuation of Dunkirk. The movie Breaker Morant did so much for public perception about the execution of a genuine war criminal people in Australia still on occasion call for a pardon for Morant.

Fundamentally, mass media like movies will always have more impact of a popular perception about somebody, a time period, an event. That's why Ridley Scott making an inaccurate movie and going 'oh, you weren't there, you didn't see it with your own eyes, so how could you know, I don't have to listen to you' is a problem.

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copperbadge · 2 months

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I'm getting depressingly good at identifying the formula for Pop Academic Books About ADHD.

Regardless of their philosophy it pretty much goes like this:

1. Emotionally sensitive essay about the struggle of ADHD and the author's personal experience with it as both a person with ADHD and a healthcare professional.

2. Either during or directly following this, a lightly explicated catalogue of symptoms, illustrated by anecdotes from patient case studies. Optional: frequent, heavy use of metaphor to explain ADHD-driven behavior.

3. Several chapters follow, each dedicated to a symptom; these have a mini-formula of their own. They open with a patient case study, discuss the highly relatable aspects of the specific symptom or behavior, then offer some lightweight examples of a treatment for the symptom, usually accompanied by follow up results from the earlier case studies.

4. Somewhere around halfway-to-two-thirds through the book, the author introduces the more in-depth explication of the treatment system (often their own homebrew) they are advocating. These are generally both personally-driven (as opposed to suggested cultural changes, which makes sense given these books' target audience, more on this later) and composed of an elaborate system of either behavior alteration or mental reframing. Whether this system is actually implementable by the average reader varies wildly.

5. A brief optional section on how to make use of ADHD as a tool (usually referring to ADHD or some of its symptoms as a superpower at least once). Sometimes this section restates the importance of using the systems from part 4 to harness that superpower. Frequently, if present, it feels like an afterthought.

6. Summation and list of further resources, often including other books which follow this formula.

I know I'm being a little sarcastic, but realistically there's nothing inherently wrong about the formula, like in itself it's not a red flag. It's just hilariously recognizable once you've noticed it.

It makes sense that these books advocate for the Reader With ADHD undertaking personal responsibility for their treatment, since these are in the tradition of self-help publishing. They're aimed at people who are already interested in doing their own research on their disability and possible ways to handle it. It's not really fair to ask them to be policy manuals, but I do find it interesting that even books which advocate stuff like volunteering (for whatever reason, usually to do with socialization issues and isolation, often DBT-adjacent) never suggest disability activism either generally or with an ADHD-specific bent.

None of these books suggest that perhaps life with ADHD could be made easier with increased accommodations or ease of medication access, and that it might be in a person's best interest to engage in political advocacy surrounding these and other disability-related issues. Or that activism related to ADHD might help to give someone with ADHD a stronger sense of ownership of their unique neurology. Or that if you have ADHD the idea of activism or even medical self-advocacy is crushingly stressful, and ways that stress might be dealt with.

It does make me want to write one of my own. "The Deviant Chaos Guide To Being A Miscreant With ADHD". Includes chapters on how to get an actual accurate assessment, tips for managing a prescription for a controlled substance, medical and psychiatric self-advocacy for people who are conditioned against confrontation, When To Lie About Being Neurodivergent, policy suggestions for ADHD-related legislation, tips for activism while executively dysfunked, and to close the book a biting satire of the pop media idea of self-care. ("Feeling sad? Make yourself a nice pot of chicken soup from scratch and you'll feel better in no time. Stay tuned after this rambling personal essay for the most mediocre chicken soup recipe you've ever seen!" "Have you considered planning and executing an overly elaborate criminal heist as a way to meet people and stay busy?")

Every case study or personal anecdote in the book will have a different name and demographics attached but will also make it obvious that they are all really just me, in the prose equivalent of a cheap wig, writing about my life. "Kelly, age seven, says she struggles to stay organized using the systems neurotypical children might find easy. I had to design my own accounting spreadsheet in order to make sure I always have enough in checking to cover the mortgage, she told me, fidgeting with the pop socket on her smartphone."

I feel a little bad making fun, because these books are often the best resource people can get (in itself concerning). It's like how despite my dislike of AA, I don't dunk on it in public because I don't want to offer people an excuse not to seek help. It feels like punching down to criticize these books, even though it's a swing at an industry that is mainly, it seems, here to profit from me. But one does get tired of skimming the hype for the real content only to find the real content isn't that useful either.

Les (not his real name) was diagnosed at the age of 236. Charming, well-read, and wealthy, he still spent much of his afterlife feeling deeply inadequate about his perceived shortcomings. "Vampire culture doesn't really acknowledge ADHD as a condition," he says. "My sire wouldn't understand, even though he probably has it as well. You should see the number of coffins containing the soil of his homeland that he's left lying forgotten all over Europe." A late diagnosis validated his feelings of difference, but on its own can't help when he hyperfocuses on seducing mortals who cross his path and forgets to get home before sunrise. "I have stock in sunburn gel companies," he jokes.

#sam has adhd #self help #satire

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esyra · 7 months

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Haven't heard from family in days. I feel like it's time to accept they're gone. I know in my heart Palestine will, one day, be free, but it wasn't supposed to be like this.

We feared another Nakba, and it happened. 700,000 pushed out of their homes in 1948 to 1 million being forced to leave their homes in 2023.

We thought it couldn't get worse or more deadly than the Israeli invasion in 2014, and it happened. We lost 2,251 people in 50 days then. Now we're past 2,300 in one week.

What I heard most from my grandmother the first days it's that "this time is different". And I feel like a rock is crushing my heart in pieces because i've been hoping that speaking out, teaching people about the historical oppresion of Palestine would help but it's not helping. Nothing is changing.

I feel like I'm screaming into a void. There's some sympathy from people online, until I see content documenting Palestinian oppresion being flagged as 'hate speech' or check the comments of any updates on Gaza and it's: "blame it on hamas", "tell them to give up hamas", "the hamas asked for it". They're not even among civilians!!!!!

My heart feels full seeing the manifestations in favor of Palestine, then I see police forces breaking protests apart and remember that the people that can actually save Gaza don't care.

If there's nothing left to do but to watch the extermination of my people, then I'm going to beg for anyone reading this to please don't forget. Please.

Israel is hiding behind Judaism to commit genocide against Gaza. Netanyahu supported the Hamas militant group to prevent the establishment of the Palestine State, and now he's using them to justify his agenda of ethnic cleansing. He abandoned Israelis and left them to die because he cares more about seeing Gazans dead!

Every single person and institution supporting and financing Israel is complicit. I hope the deaths of every Palestinian haunts you for the rest of your lives and that you never find an ounce of forgiveness, for you do not deserve it.

Just as in the Iraq War, the US government is financing and cheering for the slaughter of millions of innocent Arab lives. The media is complicit by engaging in biased propaganda and other nuclear powers, such as the UK and Germany, are complicit too. You are fascists and war criminals and every drop of Palestinian blood is in your hands. I hope every single day, for the rest of your lives, you look in the mirror and see nothing but the blood you've helped spill.

This serves as yet another proof that not a single Western in a position of power, be it in the media or in government, sees Arabs as humans beings.

For decades, the US has comitted terrorism and crimes against humanity in the Middle East and has NEVER been held accountable. Over one million in Iraq; over 150,000 in Afghanistan; and now they'll turn Gaza into a graveyard. Punishing selected soldiers over the years does not erase the fact that the American military and its government validates their crimes during execution and are never punished for it.

Please never forget: Joe Biden is a genocidal terrorist, Rishi Sunak is a genocidal terrorist, the American Democrat Party and UK's Labour Party are led by genocidal terrorists, the European Union is led by genocidal terrorists, fuckass Walt Disney Company is led by genocidal terrorists; every celebrity that called for Palestinian death or stood by silently while ignoring our suffering is a genocidal terrorist.

May Allah protect the people in Palestine and grant the martyrs the highest level of Jannah. Wallah what keeps me here is knowing that the Akhirah is theirs. May Almighty Allah grant us imaan and Taqwa as high as the people of Gaza. Ameen.

#palestine #free palestine #may Allah protect our brothers and sisters

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pegassi-toreador · 11 months

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Benefactor Schafter V12

#gta online #gtao #benefactor #schafter v12 #executives and other criminals

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beesarekindaswag · 6 months

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Jazz says fuck the Joker

“To conclude, your honour, the defendant shows clear understanding of their crimes and the consequences of them as well as, no remorse coupled with a severe lack of empathy. Overall, I would conclude that the complex nature of the crimes committed along with behaviors displays suggest that the defendant is not psychotic and thus, capable of standing trial and facing the verdict.”

The red head delivered her analysis with devastating confidence, the glint in her eyes unwavering - a woman who knows she’s right and by god, you will know it too.

When was the last time anyone actually attempted to legally charge the Joker with his crimes? Honestly, most had forgotten it was even a possibility. The grandiose schemes and fights with the bats had elevated him beyond a mere criminal, more than a man and yet, that’s all he was - a man. A man who had been forcibly dragged back to reality by a determined Jasmine Fenton - budding psychologist and one of the newest idols for young Gothamites (the other being her brother who had been videod absolutely bodying the Joker on the street just a week prior - Joker was still nursing his wounds)

The deliberation of the court was unsurprisingly short - Miss Fenton had been clear with the facts and people were more than happy to utilize and opportunity to FINALLY punish the Joker. Joker’s lawyers couldn’t do much to stop the inevitable after all that the clown had done.

“The defendant is hereby found… guilty of all accused crimes & as such, sentenced to execution by the state.”

Gotham was free.

———

Based off of the idea that the Joker is only escaping proper legal punishment by being declared not guilty by reason of insanity. Jazz would not stand for that.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #rushed ending but hey ho #jazz Fenton is an icon #fuck the joker #Batman is having a crisis #he can’t stop this it’s legal #Jason is overjoyed #Danny is cheering in the gallery #he’s a gremlin #he’s proud of his sister

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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Netflix wants to chop down your family tree

Netflix has unveiled the details of its new anti-password-sharing policy, detailing a suite of complex gymnastics that customers will be expected to undergo if their living arrangements trigger Netflix’s automated enforcement mechanisms:

https://thestreamable.com/news/confirmed-netflix-unveils-first-details-of-new-anti-password-sharing-measures

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/02/nonbinary-families/#red-envelopes

Netflix says that its new policy allows members of the same “household” to share an account. This policy comes with an assumption: that there is a commonly understood, universal meaning of “household,” and that software can determine who is and is not a member of your household.

This is a very old corporate delusion in the world of technology. In the early 2000s, I spent years trying to bring some balance to an effort at DVB, whose digital television standards are used in most of the world (but not the USA) when they rolled out CPCM, a DRM system that was supposed to limit video-sharing to a single household.

Their term of art for this was the “authorized domain”: a software-defined family unit whose borders were privately negotiated by corporate executives from media companies, broadcasters, tech and consumer electronics companies in closed-door sessions all around the world, with no public minutes or proceedings.

https://onezero.medium.com/the-internet-heist-part-iii-8561f6d5a4dc

These guys (they were nearly all guys) were proud of how much “flexibility” they’d built into their definition of “household.” For example, if you owned a houseboat, or a luxury car with seatback displays, or a summer villa in another country, the Authorized Domain would be able to figure out how to get the video onto all those screens.

But what about other kinds of families? I suggested that one of our test cases should be a family based in Manila: where the dad travels to remote provinces to do agricultural labor; the daughter is a nanny in California; and the son is doing construction work in the UAE. This suggestion was roundly rejected as an “edge case.”

Of course, this isn’t an edge case. There are orders of magnitude more people whose family looks like this than there are people whose family owns a villa in another country. Owning a houseboat or a luxury car makes you an outlier. Having an itinerant agricultural breadwinner in your family does not.

But everyone who is in the room when a cartel draws up a standard definition of what constitutes a household is almost certainly drawn from a pool that is more likely to have a summer villa than a child doing domestic work or construction labor half a world away. These weirdos, so dissimilar from the global majority, get to define the boxes that computers will shove the rest of the world into. If your family doesn’t look like their family, that’s tough: “Computer says no.”

One day at a CPCM meeting, we got to talking about the problem of “content laundering” and how the way to prevent it would be to put limits on how often someone could leave a household and join another one. No one, they argued, would ever have to change households every week.

I put my hand up and said, “What about a child whose divorced parents share custody of her? She’s absolutely going to change households every week.” They thought about it for a moment, then the rep from a giant IT company that had recently been convicted of criminal antitrust violations said, “Oh, we can solve that: we’ll give her a toll-free number to call when she gets locked out of her account.”

That was the solution they went with. If you are a child coping with the dissolution of your parents’ marriage, you will have the obligation to call up a media company every month — or more often — and explain that Mummy and Daddy don’t love each other any more, but can I please have my TV back?

I never forgot that day. I even wrote a science fiction story about it called (what else?) “Authorized Domain”:

https://craphound.com/news/2011/10/31/authorised-domain/

I think everyone understood that this was an absurd “solution,” but they had already decided that they were going to complete the seemingly straightforward business of defining a category like “household” using software, and once that train left the station, nothing was going to stop it.

This is a recurring form of techno-hubris: the idea that baseline concepts like “family” have crisp definitions and that any exceptions are outliers that would never swallow the rule. It’s such a common misstep that there’s a whole enre* called “Falsehoods Programmers Believe About ______”:

https://github.com/kdeldycke/awesome-falsehood

In that list: names, time, currency, birthdays, timezones, email addresses, national borders, nations, biometrics, gender, language, alphabets, phone numbers, addresses, systems of measurement, and, of course, families. These categories are touchstones in our everyday life, and we think we know what they mean — but then we try to define them, and the list of exceptions spirals out into a hairy, fractal infinity.

Historically, these fuzzy categorical edges didn’t matter so much, because they were usually interpreted by humans using common sense. My grandfather was born “Avrom Doctorovitch” (or at least, that’s one way to transliterate his name, which was spelled in a different alphabet, but which was also transliterating his first name from yet another alphabet). When he came to Canada as a refugee, his surname was anglicized to “Doctorow.” Other cousins are “Doctorov,” “Doctoroff,” and “Doktorovitch.”

Naturally, his first name could have been “Abraham” or “Abe,” but his first employer (a fellow Eastern European emigre) decided that was too ethnic and in sincere effort to help him fit in, he called my grandfather “Bill.” When my grandfather attained citizenship, his papers read “Abraham William Doctorow.” He went by “Abe,” “Billy,” “Bill,” “William,” “Abraham” and “Avrom.”

Practically, it didn’t matter that variations on all of these appeared on various forms of ID, contracts, and paperwork. His reparations check from the German government had a different variation from the name on the papers he used to open his bank account, but the bank still let him deposit it.

All of my relatives from his generation have more than one name. Another grandfather of mine was born “Aleksander,” and called “Sasha” by friends, but had his name changed to “Seymour” when he got to Canada. His ID was also a mismatched grab-bag of variations on that theme.

None of this mattered to him, either. Airlines would sell him tickets and border guards would stamp his passport and rental agencies would let him drive away in cars despite the minor variations on all his ID.

But after 9/11, all that changed, for everyone who had blithely trundled along with semi-matching names across their official papers and database entries. Suddenly, it was “computer says no” everywhere you turned, unless everything matched perfectly. There was a global rush for legal name-changes after 9/11 — not because people changed their names, but because people needed to perform the bureaucratic ritual necessary to have the name they’d used all along be recognized in these new, brittle, ambiguity-incinerating machines.

For important categories, ambiguity is a feature, not a bug. The fact that you can write anything on an envelope (including a direction to deliver the letter to the granny flat over the garage, not the front door) means that we don’t have to define “address” — we can leave it usefully hairy around the edges.

Once the database schema is formalized, then “address” gets defined too — the number of lines it can have, the number of characters each line can have, the kinds of characters and even words (woe betide anyone who lives in Scunthorpe).

If you have a “real” address, a “real” name, a “real” date of birth, all of this might seem distant to you. These “edge” cases — seasonal agricultural workers, refugees with randomly assigned “English” names — are very far from your experience.

That’s true — for now (but not forever). The “Shitty Technology Adoption Curve” describes the process by which abusive technologies work their way up the privilege gradient. Every bad technological idea is first rolled out on poor people, refugees, prisoners, kids, mental patients and other people who can’t push back.

Their bodies are used to sand the rough edges and sharp corners off the technology, to normalize it so that it can climb up through the social ranks, imposed on people with more and more power and influence. 20 years ago, if you ate your dinner under an always-on #CCTV, it was because you were in a supermax prison. Today, it’s because you bought a premium home surveillance system from Google, Amazon or Apple.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/29/impunity-corrodes/#arise-ye-prisoners

The Netflix anti-sharing tools are designed for rich people. If you travel for business and stay in the kind of hotel where the TV has its own Netflix client that you can plug your username and password into, Netflix will give you a seven-day temporary code to use.

But for the most hardcore road-warriors, Netflix has thin gruel. Unless you connect to your home wifi network every 31 days and stream a show, Netflix will lock out your devices. Once blocked, you have to “contact Netflix” (laughs in Big Tech customer service).

Why is Netflix putting the screws to its customers? It’s part of the enshittification cycle, where platform companies first allocate surpluses to their customers, luring them in and using them as bait for business customers. Once they turn up, the companies reallocate surpluses to businesses, lavishing them with low commissions and lots of revenue opportunities. And once they’re locked in, the company starts to claw back the surpluses for itself.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

Remember when Netflix was in the business of mailing red envelopes full of DVDs around the country? That was allocating surpluses to users. The movie companies hated this, viewed it as theft — a proposition that was at least as valid as Netflix’s complaints about password sharing, but every pirate wants to be an admiral, and when Netflix did it to the studios, that was “progress,” but when you do it to Netflix, that’s theft.

Then, once Netflix had users locked in and migrated to the web (and later, apps), it shifted surpluses to studios, paying fat licensing fees to stream their movies and connect them to a huge audience.

Finally, once the studios were locked in, Netflix started to harvest the surplus for its shareholders: raising prices, lowering streaming rates, knocking off other studios’ best performing shows with in-house clones, etc. Users’ surpluses are also on the menu: the password “sharing” that let you define a household according to your family’s own idiosyncratic contours is unilaterally abolished in a quest to punish feckless Gen Z kids for buying avocado toast instead of their own Netflix subscriptions.

Netflix was able to ignore the studios’ outraged howls when it built a business by nonconsenually distributing their products in red envelopes. But now that Netflix has come for your family, don’t even think about giving Netfix some of what it gave to the MPAA.

As a technical matter, it’s not really that hard to modify Netflix’s app so that every stream you pull seems to come from your house, no matter where you are. But doing so would require reverse-engineering Netflix’s app, and that would violate Section 1201 of the DMCA, the CFAA, and eleventy-seven other horrible laws. Netflix’s lawyers would nuke you until the rubble bounced.

When Netflix was getting started, it could freely interoperate with the DVDs that the studios had put on the market. It could repurpose those DVDs in ways that the studios strenuously objected to. In other words, Netfix used adversarial interoperability (AKA Competitive Compatibility or ComCom) to launch its business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Today, Netflix is on the vanguard of the war to abolish adversarial interop. They helped lead the charge to pervert W3C web-standards, creating a DRM video standard called EME that made it a crime to build a full-featured browser without getting permission from media companies and restricting its functionality to their specifications:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

When they used adversarial interoperability to build a multi-billion-dollar global company using the movie studios’ products in ways the studios hated, that was progress. When you define “family” in ways that makes Netflix less money, that’s felony contempt of business model.

[Image ID: A Victorian family tree template populated by tintypes of old-timey people. In the foreground stands a menacing, chainsaw-wielding figure, his face obscured by a hoodie. The blade of the chainsaw is poised to chop down the family tree. A Netflix 'N' logo has been superimposed over the man's face.]

#pluralistic #enshittification #shitty technology adoption curve #cpcm #interoperabiltiy #comcom #adversarial interoperability #interop #netflix #family #ambiguity #digitizatio #nym wars #authorized domain #dvb #dvds #password sharing

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whaddayadothatfor · 11 months

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Ctenizidae

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re an anomaly from another universe. You’re not dangerous though, so Miguel’s made the executive decision to keep you around until more dangerous criminals are caught and sent home first. Unless that’s not the only reason he’s decided to keep you around…

Content warnings: dub-con, voyeurism, masturbation, obsessive!Miguel

WC: ~1k

AN: Y’all this is so unedited but I wanted to write smut for this man so I did! If y’all like it I can post a second, smuttier part.

MDNI

“Here.” You drop a small plastic bin of chocolate chip cookies in front of Miguel. As a peace offering. No, really.

Miguel raises his right eyebrow in question. He doesn’t even answer you anymore. The other Spider-people go about their day in the cafeteria, having seen this scene time and time again.

Every day for the past two weeks since you were suddenly teleported to Nueva York and promptly labeled an anomaly, you’ve been practically begging Miguel to send you home. He’s declined every time.

This is pretty much how the conversation goes each time:

“Miguel, I think I should—“

“No. We have to send the most dangerous anomalies back to their universe first—“

“I’m dangerous! I’m plenty dangerous.”

“The only thing you’ve maimed, tortured, and killed in the past month is a flippin’ houseplant. You’re staying.”

You see how frustrating this man is?

So you’ve decided that maybe bribery— sorry, a peace offering— will work better. Hence, the cookies.

“Maybe if you eat something sweet you’ll stop being so bitter and stubborn all the time,” you smile tightly. “Then you’ll find it in your heart— the one that shrunk three sizes— to let me go home.”

“I appreciate the offering— though you could use some more creativity in your approach— but just know that these won’t get you home.” He pries open the container and lifts one to his mouth before moaning in delight. “These are delicious. Thank you,” he said, sucking the melted chocolate off of his thumb. His overly enthusiastic groans were clearly a tactic to piss you off, and it worked.

You simmer in anger as he smirks while chewing his cookie. You try to snatch the bin back, but he moves it out of your way.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, pushing up from the small table he was sitting at and leaning down to whisper near your ear. “No take-backsies.”

He flustered you, and he knew it. He laughed as he walked away. You stuttered a retort in embarrassment, but he didn’t even have the decency to turn around.

“Ugh, I hate that guy,” you stomped in anger. You muttered several curses before you turned around to leave, only to see several wide-eyed Spideys staring at you in concern. This is why you wait until after you’re alone to throw a tantrum— it scares the locals. Whoops. “Uhh, carry on. My bad. Enjoy your lunch!”

You quickly walk away, feeling defeated. But it doesn’t matter, you’ve got nothing but time. You’ll catch him when he’s sleeping. He’s gotta be more amenable then.

Later

“You know, just for the record, I think you going to his room this late at night is a terrible idea,” Lyla warned as she flitted between standing and reclining with her arms crossed behind her neck.

“Well I think him keeping me here is a terrible idea. I guess we’re all full of them.”

“Seriously—“

“Lyla I don’t care! I’ve got a family to get back to. Friends, a life. I don’t care how fine that man is, I’m going back home. Tonight, preferably.”

“Whatever, it’s your funeral.” She acquiesced before disappearing into the ether, just as you arrived at his door.

“Wait, Lyla! Open the door.” Without a response, the door opened. “Thanks, Lyla.”

You walked in to the large room to see Miguel sitting up in a chair near the center of the room.

“Miguel, you need to listen to me—“

The sight that met you was so shocking you had to take it in one part at a time.

First, You see Miguel’s side profile as he faces the wall to the left of you. He’s breathing heavy, chest heaving as his hand vigorously moves up and down his— oh. Maybe you came at the wrong time.

With the sudden awkwardness that’s overtaken you, you look somewhere else, anywhere else, only to find the source of what he’s staring at— a video, no, porn. The second piece of the puzzle, you take in the video’s content. First, you just see flashes of skin and hear soft grunts and moans emanating from the screen. But then you realize, the voices sound familiar, really familiar. Then it hits you.

It is you.

And him. The both of you together. And that realization connects all the pieces of the puzzle together. He’s keeping you here, on purpose.

Your eyes dart back to Miguel, who has now abandoned his video in favor of the live view he has right in front of him. He’s shirtless but he still has some grey sweats on, pushed down just enough that he can jerk off. His hands move desperately over his cock, aborted grunts and breathy moans coming out sporadically.

He turned his head to the side, his cheeks flushed and his eyes narrowed with desire. You were frozen, stuck in time. Miguel kept stroking his cock while staring into your eyes. He did this right up until his orgasm overtook him, throwing his head back and jerking his hips upward as he called out your name.

His cum spurted out in waves, once, twice, three times. It was thick and opaque and made a mess all over his lower stomach. He sighed and sank back into his chair.

“Did you enjoy the show?” His voice is low and heady as he calls out to you. It takes you a moment to respond, because admittedly you’re still staring at his— well, his everything, dick included. Still It was a very, very nice, thick, veiny d—“Am I interrupting?”

His teasing knocks you out of your reverie.

“I-I should go.” You said. You’re starting to realize that Lyla might have been right. Maybe you should’ve waited until the morning. You start backing up to leave but Miguel shakes his head and the door shuts behind him.

“No, no, no. See, that’s your problem. You’re always trying to leave,” he chastises.

He stalks towards you, like you’re prey. You move backwards until your back hits the door. He reaches over you, placing an arm over your head and his index finger under your chin, lifting it upwards. He bends down, close enough that you can see even minute details of his face.

He narrows his eyes as he bares his fangs.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

#marvel x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #marvel smut #across the spiderverse #spider man 2099 #spider man smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac smut #y/n

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ellemj · 4 months

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Insufferable: 12 Days of Smut #2

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot

Summary: You and Bucky get separated from Sam and Sharon during a mission in Madripoor and are stranded in a motel room until you can get in touch with them again. How do two sworn enemies pass the time?

Warnings: profanity, teasing, fingering, possessive!Bucky, oral sex (male receiving), slight face fucking, female masturbation, unprotected sex, praise, some use of y/n, hate sex, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: I feel like this one is better than yesterday's but idk. @littlemiss-yeehaw helped me make some executive dialogue decisions and helped keep Bucky as the hot little shit that we all know him to be.

Power Broker is watching. You’ve read the spray-painted words on the wall a million times now as you stand in the dark alleyway, telling yourself over and over again that picking a fight with Bucky isn’t going to make your current situation any better. Even if it is his fault that you’re miles from where you should be, being chased by god knows how many bounty hunters, and so far from Sharon and Sam that your comms aren’t even working at this point. Fuck it, you’ll pick a fight.

“Is this how you wanted to spend Christmas Eve?” You spit out the question with as much malice as you can, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back against the brick wall of some shuttered, probably illegal business. Bucky’s face contorts in annoyance as he lifts his right hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s getting so tired of you tonight. First, you stupidly thought it would be fine for you and Sharon to partner up and head out into Madripoor on your own. Sam and Bucky were quick to snuff out that idea, even though Sharon was fully on board with you. Nobody gives a shit if Sharon used to be the power broker here or if you have more kills under your belt than most other trained assassins on record. Madripoor is lawless, crawling with criminals who will never pay for their sins, and it’s no place for two attractive women to be running around alone. Even if you can both take care of yourselves, why invite conflict by walking around town without either Sam or Bucky as a deterrent? The fact that you didn’t want to walk around with the damn Winter Soldier right behind you was almost insulting. Did you question Bucky’s reputation? Do you not understand how notorious he is in a place like this?

“With you? No.” Bucky answers with just as much malice as you threw at him.

“Then you should’ve listened to me and let me and Sharon take the lead.” You scoff. Bucky shoots you an indignant look, but you stare right back at him with your own expression of disdain.

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“That’s exactly why we’re in the situation we’re in now.” You mumble the words out just loud enough that he can hear them. He stands a few feet away from you and you watch him as his pulls his phone from a pocket of his tactical pants and begins typing away on it. You imagine he’s texting Sam a message that says something like if you don’t find us in the next two minutes I’m going to kill this girl. What he’s actually doing is searching up the nearest place that rents rooms to lowlifes without asking any questions. He wants the two of you off the street as fast as possible so he can try to get in contact with Torres and find out how to get your comms working again. Until comms are working, you’re basically doing everything blind, and that won’t work for Bucky. Not when he has to worry about three other lives besides his own.

The cloud of anger swirling around you isn’t quite thick enough to stop you from appreciating the way Bucky looks tonight. He’s dressed in his usual full tactical gear that he wears for most missions, with one unusual change: his vibranium arm is on full display. He picked a top that is conveniently missing the entire left sleeve. You understand why he chose it, knowing how his name and even his arm precedes him. One look at him tonight, at the colorful lights of Madripoor nightlife reflecting off of his dark metal arm, keeps even the most aggressive men here at bay. No one would dare mess with the Winter Soldier, especially not when he’s radiating as much anger as he is right now. Well, no one besides you.

“I’m not going to keep waiting around here for you to come up with a new plan.” You announce, pushing away from the brick wall and tossing your hair over your shoulder. Bucky looks up from his phone, narrowing his eyes at you. “We know where Sam and Sharon were headed, we can just meet them there.” You start heading for the street at the end of the alley, but just as you brush past Bucky, he grabs your arm roughly and stops you.

“No, we’re going to get somewhere safe and wait for Torres to fix comms before we do anything.” Bucky’s holding your arm tightly, keeping you just a couple of inches away from him as he looks down at you with a harsh gaze. You shake his grip off but don’t move away from him.

“What makes you think you get to decide on the new plan?” You ask, leaning in a little closer as the question leaves your lips. You almost let out a laugh when Bucky’s eyes flit down to your where your lips are mere inches from his own. You’ve done this dance with him before. You’ve been in plenty of these tense situations with him, moments in the field where you’re so against each other that you can’t decide if you want to fight him or fuck him. Of course, you’ve always simply fought him in the past. Fucking him was never actually an option, but hell, it sure is satisfying when he does something that lets you know he thinks about it as much as you do.

“I’ve already decided on the new plan. You can either go along with it or go out and get yourself killed. I’m starting to not really give a shit about what you do.” Bucky retorts. He looks down at his phone again, breaking the intense eye contact that you were sort of enjoying. “There’s a motel two blocks over. I say we go there and wait for Torres to figure out what the hell is wrong with comms.”

As much as you want to continue defying Bucky, you know it’d be a hell of a trek from here to wherever Sam and Sharon are right now. There’s also no guarantee that they made it to their destination, they could’ve run into any kind of trouble in a city like this. They might be acting out their own backup plan, just like you and Bucky. Bucky turns around and starts heading for the street, not even looking back to see if you’re following. When you let out a soft sigh and he hears your small footsteps echoing off of the brick walls, he knows he’s won this fight. He doesn’t even try to hide the smug look that’s spreading across his face. Winning an argument with you is something he can be proud of, because it doesn’t happen very often.

---

Christmas Eve in Madripoor. Has anything ever sounded sadder than that? Christmas Eve, surrounded by a community of people who have done enough horrendous things to rival the entire population of Guantanamo Bay. Bucky sinks into the only chair in the dingy little motel room, checking his phone once again to see if Torres has called him back yet. Still nothing. Nothing from Sam or Sharon either, though he didn’t expect anything from them since the area they were headed into is known to utilize various types of phone and device jammers, transmitting radio waves that block phones from connecting to cell towers.

You study Bucky from your place on the foot of the bed. He’s leaned back in the small armchair, clearly attempting to get comfortable but failing because he’s way too big for such a little seat. He closes his eyes and lets his head rest back, giving you a chance to really look at him. He’s let his stubble grow out a little more than usual this month, neglecting to really shave it with all of the back-to-back missions you’ve both been sent out on. It suits him. Someone as cold and calloused as Bucky shouldn’t have a smooth baby face. Your eyes coast further down, focusing on where you can just barely see his pulse on the side of his neck. You wonder how many times you’ve made his pulse quicken with anger in this last week alone. Probably enough to give the guy high blood pressure. Your gaze is just settling on his broad shoulders when his eyes blink open and he catches you staring.

“Are you going to sit there and stare at me until we get out of here?”

“Maybe. It’s what you do to everyone else, why can’t I try it out?” You ask. There’s a reason Sam likes to call him the bionic staring machine.

“Try it out?” Bucky laughs, lifting his head from the back of the chair now. “You stare all the time.”

“I do not.” You’re almost offended at his accusation. You? Staring all the time? At him? No fucking way. Maybe sometimes, but you thought you were covert enough about it that he never noticed. You just can’t help it sometimes. You’re intrigued by him every bit as much as you hate him. He’s over a hundred years old, yet he looks like he’s only a few years older than you. His taste in music is that of an elderly man, while his taste in clothes is perfectly in style with the current era. You hate the way he’s constantly berating you and attempting to order you around in the field, but you like the way he looks at you when you give in and take an order once in a blue moon. So, sometimes, you stare.

“You’ve been staring at my arm for half of the night.”

“Because it’s the only thing I like about you.”

“Right, the only thing.” Bucky repeats your words slowly, as if he’s tasting them. You maintain eye contact with him as he licks his bottom lip. Against your better judgement, your gaze darts down to his mouth, to his mouth that always seems to say things that drive you mad and turn you on simultaneously. “You know, I thought you might be nicer around Christmastime.” A genuine laugh breezes past your lips at the absolutely insane thought he’s just shared with you.

“It’s a little hard to be nice when we’re stuck on skull island on Christmas Eve, Bucky.”

“Be honest, you wouldn’t have been any nicer if we were back home.” He tilts his head to the side as he analyzes your body language. You’re sitting on the foot of the bed with your legs dangling over the edge. Your weight is resting back on the palms of your hands and you seem perfectly at ease. Bucky’s finding it a little surprising that you haven’t gotten up and made a dramatic exit yet. He’s surprised that you’re still going along with his plan at all honestly. He has to wonder why you’re so oddly content sitting here bantering back and forth with him while Torres takes his sweet time figuring things out.

“Wouldn’t you have been off to Sarah’s for Christmas if we were back home?” Bucky raises an eyebrow at your question. He didn’t know that you knew he was close with Sam’s family. Though, he probably should’ve assumed since you knew Sam long before he did. You’ve probably even met Sarah before.

“Maybe. Spending Christmas in the tower doesn’t sound very memorable.”

“It’s not.” You say softly, thinking back to the last three years. It’s not that you didn’t have anywhere to go for Christmas. In the past, Sam has invited you to go see Sarah and the kids the week of Christmas, even Clint extends an open invitation for you to spend every Christmas with his family. But something about being around happy families on the biggest holiday of the year makes you feel the same way you do when you’re third-wheeling Wanda and Vision. You like to be around the Christmas cheer and festivities but you feel like you don’t fully belong. You’ve spent the last three Christmases in the tower on your own and it’s not that bad. A little lonely and not your favorite time of year like it used to be, but still, not that bad. Bucky picks up on your slightly sullen tone and the way you seem a little more distant suddenly.

“You’re welcome then.” Bucky says, a smug smile taking over his features. You shoot him a slightly confused look.

“For what?”

“For giving you a memorable Christmas.” He says it like he’s just given you an actual Christmas gift. You laugh lightly just as his phone is lighting up with a message.

“You say that like I’d actually thank you for sabotaging our mission tonight and getting us stranded in the shittiest place on Earth.” Bucky’s smug smile remains plastered across his face, even as he glances down and reads the text from Torres.

“Looks like we’re stuck here for a while longer. Sam and Sharon got through to Torres and said they’re holed up somewhere across town, just like we are. Fury doesn’t want anyone making any more moves tonight without working comms and surveillance.” Bucky’s words bring your bad mood right back to the surface in an instant. You fall back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, covering your face with your hands.

“How long is a while longer?” You’re dying to know.

“Could be a few hours, could be all night.” Bucky says nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world that the two of you are stuck here together. It’s infuriating. You push yourself off of the bed and start for the door, but Bucky’s quick to rise from his chair and cross the small motel room in a mere four steps, reaching you just as your fingertips are brushing the door handle. He plants his flesh palm firmly against the wooden door, effectively stopping you from being able to open it. Fuck his super soldier strength.

“I’m not staying here all night. There are things we could be doing besides sitting here waiting around.” You say impatiently, wrapping your hand around the door handle but not pulling yet. With the way the two of you are standing, Bucky’s chest is brushing against your back and for the life of you, you can’t figure out why the hell he’s so close.

“What else could we be doing out there? You walk out that door and into the street and every bounty hunter in the city will be on you within five minutes. I’ve been hunted here before, Y/n, it’s not a game you want to play.” The energy between the two of you is so tense, so electrified, you wonder how your hand hasn’t sparked against the metal door handle.

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t give a shit about what I do.” You throw his words from earlier right back in his face. As Bucky’s hand against the door curls into a fist, you stand there waiting for him to back off. If he really doesn’t give a shit, he’ll let you walk out of here right now. But of course, Bucky gives a shit. Bucky gives so much of a shit that the mere thought of you waltzing out into the city at this hour, opening yourself up to unlimited danger, has him ready to burn the whole place down. You swallow as your grip on the door handle tightens, listening to Bucky’s even breathing right behind you.

He doesn’t even know what’s come over him when he finds himself moving impossibly closer to you, letting his chest fully press against your back now. He leans down a couple of inches until his lips are grazing over the shell of your left ear, with his right hand still braced against the door over your right shoulder. He’s trapping you there with his body.

“You are so fucking insufferable.” He whispers the insult against your ear, but it somehow it doesn’t even feel like an insult. It almost feels like he’s just whispered a little sweet nothing in your ear. Your grip on the door handle falters and Bucky notices, so he keeps going. He’ll do whatever it takes to get you to stay here, to stop you from walking out into Madripoor and getting yourself killed tonight. If this is what it takes, so be it. “You wanted me to stop you, didn’t you? You wanted me to force you to stay.”

“N-no.” You lie, hating the way you stutter through the simplest two-letter word known to man. It’s so hard to think with him this close to you.

“Insufferable and a liar.” Bucky tsks, just as your hand is fully falling away from the door handle. He can’t help but smile at how easily this is working on you. If he’d known he only needed to be a little more authoritative and stand a little closer to you to make you listen to him, he would’ve tried it a long time ago. You watch, with goosebumps spreading across your skin beneath your tactical suit, as Bucky’s right hand skims down the flat surface of the door slowly. He continues on until his hand reaches the deadbolt just above the door handle. Click. The sound of the lock clicking sets off a chain reaction. A wave of confidence spreads through you like a wildfire and you turn around in the small space that Bucky has you trapped in. You thought he might step back once you were face to face, but no. He maintains his position, but now with his chest nearly touching yours and his breath fanning across your face. Though you feel confident and sure of yourself in this moment, when you look up at him like this you feel small. You feel like he could push you against the door and have his way with you if he wanted, and you couldn’t do a thing about it except enjoy it. The thought actually turns you on way more than it should, considering how independent and stubborn you are.

“Insufferable and yet you’re trapping me in here. Who’s the liar?” You taunt, tilting your chin up and looking into his blue eyes. His normally cold, steely gaze has a different look now. There’s something bright behind his eyes, something exciting. Your eyes dart down to his mouth, lingering on his bottom lip a little longer than they should have, before you meet his gaze once more.

“Don’t look at me like that unless you’re going to kiss me.” His tone is harsh but his eyes are daring. He wants you to kiss him. He’s daring you to do it. Unfortunately, you’ve never been one to back down from a dare. Even the stupidest of dares. So, you commit to it. You look at him the exact same way you just did, letting your eyes coast down his face and soak in the sight of his full lips. When you meet his gaze one last time, there’s only one little thought in his mind.

That’s it, good girl.

You have to raise up on your toes to reach his lips, because of course Bucky Barnes would stand there refusing to make it any easier for you. He wants to see you struggle to get what you want from him. After making his working life a living hell for months, he’s going to have you exactly how he wants you, or not at all. So, as you stand a little taller on your toes, Bucky acts like he couldn’t care less that you’re about to give him something he’s fucking dreamt about every night since he first started hating you. When your lips press against his, his bottom lip finds its place between the two of yours and he almost scoffs at how timid you’re being. It’s like you’re testing the waters, and he’s not having any of that. He’s quick to fist his hand in the hair at the nape of your neck and walk you back one step so your ass hits the door. He breaks the kiss before it’s even been a second, giving you an annoyed look as he holds you in place between his body and the door.

“Let’s try that again.” Bucky says the words right against your lips, as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and then slots his thigh between yours. As he bends his knee, his hands travel down your sides to grab onto your hips. He angles your hips down just slightly, as he brings his leg up an inch, and you look down right as your clothed cunt makes contact with his thigh. You inhale sharply at the unexpected move, but you don’t move at all. You stay right where he wants you, and he waits patiently for you to look up at him again. When you finally do, a switch inside of you flips and you know you’re about to sabotage tonight’s mission even more. You pull Bucky down to your mouth, kissing him with so much heat and intensity that his hands briefly loosen on your hips, like he wasn’t expecting this from you. After two seconds, his hands start sliding right back up your waist until you feel them both tangle in your hair, which he uses to pull you even harder against his mouth. You don’t think the kiss can get any more intense, until you feel his tongue dancing across your bottom lip. You part your lips without hesitation, letting him dominate the kiss in an instant.

You taste so fucking good. So. Fucking. Good. So good that Bucky doesn’t notice the first time you grind your pussy against his thigh, he’s too focused on exploring every bit of your mouth with his tongue and savoring the taste of you. But the second time? Fuck. The second time you grind down on his thigh you moan into the kiss and Bucky has to stop. He pulls back while keeping one hand in the hair at the nape of your neck. The look on your face is pure lust. It’s longing. It’s making Bucky’s cock twitch in his pants and making it really hard to decide what to do with you first. God. That one kiss opened up the floodgates.

“Let me hear that sound again.” Bucky encourages you while using his hold on your hips to guide you to grind down a third time. He watches between the two of you as you drag your cunt along his thigh. The moan that leaves your lips this time is too much. He’s had enough. He quickly pulls away from you, taking two steps back and running a hand through his hair. He eyes you as you stand with your back against the door, catching your breath and staring right back at him.

“I want a memorable Christmas.” You speak so softly that Bucky has to rewind it in his head to really catch onto what you’ve just said. You want a memorable Christmas. You’re asking him to give you a memorable Christmas. He looks you over slowly, carefully, taking in every detail of the way you look right now. Your skin, though still covered by your tactical suit, heats up to an uncomfortable degree under his watchful gaze.

“Say please.”

---

He’s going to hate fuck you. There’s nothing else you could possibly call it, and honestly nothing else you’d want to call it. You’re standing in front of the bathroom sink, locking eyes with Bucky in the reflection of the mirror. You really thought he was going to take you to bed, but no. As soon as you gave in and said please like he wanted you to, he pulled you away from the motel room door and pushed you into the bathroom. He wants to take you from behind but he wants a clear view of how much you’re enjoying it the whole fucking time. If he’s about to fuck away the obscene amount of tension that’s been between the two of you for the last few months, he’s going to memorize every damn face you make, every sound that leaves your lips, and every inch of your body. He’s going to ruin you, so that every time you think about how much you hate him, you can’t help but think about how much you loved being fucked by him.

You’re both quiet, except for heavy breaths and a few soft moans and groans, as Bucky starts taking off his clothes behind you. He juts his chin out slightly after dropping his shirt on the floor, gesturing for you to take your clothes off too. You follow his moves exactly, dropping your shirt on top of his. He takes a few seconds to admire the way your breasts sit so perfectly in your bra, but then he finds himself growing annoyed at even that little bit of fabric obstructing his view. He undoes it for you, with only one hand, while his free hand begins undoing his belt. Of course this fucking man can undo his belt with just one hand. After a few more agonizingly slow seconds of the two of you undressing, you’re both completely naked. Bucky takes a deep breath in, and when he breathes it back out it warms the back of your neck.

Just like earlier, Bucky nudges your legs to spread a little wider, using his knee. Your body obeys his silent command like it’s routine for you. He loves the way you respond to him so willingly. He’s never had you like this, not even a little bit, and it’s giving him such a high. It’s the first time he’s ever had you listening to him without a single word of rebuttal, without any stubbornness or refusal. He should’ve fucked you so long ago.

Bucky’s vibranium index finger traces over your spine, from the very top to the bottom, sending a chill all throughout your body. It only cools you off for a second, before he uses that same hand to push you forward until you’re slightly bent over the sink. His flesh hand dances across your ass, deftly dipping between your legs and making contact with your wet folds. He drags two fingertips back and forth there, collecting your wetness before focusing his touch on your clit. As soon as he applies pressure, your back arches and your ass presses back against him. That’s when you feel his hard cock, standing fully erect, nearly between your ass cheeks. He’s big. So big that for a second you fear there’s no way he’ll fit inside of you, but something tells you that you were made for his cock. It’ll fit. He’ll make it fit.

“You can’t stand to be around me, but you’re nearly dripping for me.” Bucky says lowly, rubbing slow circles against your clit. A string of moans slips past your lips and he smiles as he watches your eyes close in the mirror. “That’s it, you like that, don’t you?”

“You talk too much.” You snap, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze in the mirror. His smile darkens and he pulls his hand away from your clit. You should’ve kept your mouth shut. Suddenly, his ring and middle fingers plunge so deep inside of you that you see stars. He curls them, dragging his fingertips against the walls of your pussy over and over. He didn’t start out slow by any stretch of the imagination, no. He begins fucking those two fingers in and out of you at such a perfect pace that your legs begin feeling weak far too soon. You grip the edge of the bathroom sink so tightly that your knuckles turn white.

“You don’t even have to answer me, baby. I can tell you like it.” Bucky punctuates his words with another hard thrust of his fingers, and then curls them again, in a way that makes that familiar knot in your lower stomach tighten more and more with each passing second. You try to drown out his voice, focusing instead on how fucking skilled he is with his hand. Bucky’s mesmerized as he watches you draw closer and closer to your orgasm. He almost wants to let you have it. He considers finger fucking you straight through it, and then giving you another on his cock, but he isn’t going to be that nice to you. If he only gets one orgasm here tonight, then so do you.

The whine that leaves your lips when Bucky pulls his fingers out of you should embarrass you. You should absolutely hate how needy you are for him, but you feel his cock twitch against your ass when he hears the sound and you love it.

“You like that, don’t you?” You tease. You love using his words against him. You do it often in arguments and he hates it. His jaw clenches, but he says nothing in response. Instead, he wraps his flesh hand around his cock and gives it a few quick strokes before lining it up with your entrance. He looks down between the two of you, letting his eyes roam down your arched back, straight to where his cock is poised and ready to slide in. He knows he’s big. He knows his cock is above average, both in thickness and in length. He knows the nice thing to do would be to warm you up a little more, build up to using three fingers on you before finally fucking you slowly until you adjust to his size. But the two of you aren’t ever nice to each other.

So, Bucky begins pushing the head of cock inside you, letting his head fall back and his fingertips leave bruises on your hips and waist as he holds you firmly in place. He’s only an inch in and you’re already feeling the sting. Shit, he’s the biggest you’ve ever had. He hasn’t even let you get a look at his cock yet, but as he forces it into you, you’re thankful he didn’t let you see it first. You might’ve chickened out. Bucky isn’t even halfway in before you’re moaning and trying to pull off a little, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp.

“Stop fucking moving.” He seethes, his head snapping forward so he can look at you in the mirror again. “You’re going to take all of it.”

Everything was a blur when he finally bottomed out inside you. He didn’t even pause once he was fully inside you, he immediately began dragging his cock back out and then pushing it in again. After the third thrust, you started to feel pleasure.

Bucky alternates between watching the way you’re falling apart for him in the mirror and looking down to watch his cock repeatedly disappear into the most perfect cunt he’s ever fucked. He truly can’t decide which view he likes more. The first time you moan his name sends him into a tailspin. He has no control over the way he fists your hair in his right hand and yanks you back against his chest, keeping your back arched and your face perfectly visible in the mirror. He fucks his cock into you so relentlessly, repeatedly hitting just the right spot inside of you, that you’re sure your previous thought was right. You were made for his cock. There isn’t a doubt in your mind.

When you start pushing your ass back against him, meeting each of his thrusts, Bucky bites down on his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. When he started this, he had every intention of finishing inside of you. He wanted to do it without anything between the two of you, he wanted to cum inside of you so deeply that you’d feel his spend dripping out of you for the rest of the mission. But suddenly all he wants to do is cum in your mouth. He wants you to know what he tastes like. He wants to see what you look like on your knees for him. The harder he fucks you, the more he thinks about it, until he’s positive he won’t be able to finish this any other way.

So, not even a moment later, Bucky is pulling his cock out of you and pushing your shoulder downward. You instantly understand that he wants you on your knees, and you oblige him without giving it a second thought. When your mouth opens without even a second of a pause, Bucky slides his length past your lips. His head falls back and a sinful groan graces your ears as he revels in the feeling of your tongue gliding along his shaft.

“Good girl.” He groans. Good girl. Fuck. The praise has you snaking your own hand between your legs, chasing your own release as Bucky uses your mouth like he owns it. In his mind right now, he does own it. After a few seconds, he looks down at you once again and notices what you’re doing with your hand. You moan around his cock as you rub circles over your clit and the vibration from the sound sends Bucky right to the edge. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You look up at him, your eyes giving him clear permission to let go. You want him to cum in your mouth. Another groan is ripped from his chest, and you hear your name fall from his lips just as you taste his cum. Your own orgasm comes crashing down right as he’s finishing in your mouth, and he watches you closely as you carry yourself through it.

Bucky wraps his hand around the base of his cock and pulls it out of your mouth slowly, the two of you maintaining eye contact like it would be a sin to look away. Seeing your mouth full of his cum gives him an unfamiliar feeling deep in his chest. He feels possessive. He wants you to know that you belong to him now.

As you swallow everything that he gave you, there’s only one way to describe how you’re feeling. While you still hate this man with every fiber of your being, you feel like you belong to him now. Your body isn’t your own anymore.

You belong to the man you hate most, and you kind of like it.

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clown-cult · 2 months

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( SPOILERS AHEAD) Things that will haunt me about the new live-action Avatar, the Last Airbender show:

Iroh being confronted by his past as a fire nation general and war criminal. Of course, Iroh is a cog in the machine of war that he’s part of and he’s changed his ways since, but that doesn’t change what happened in Ba Sing Se under his leadership.

Sokka overhearing Hakoda being disappointed in him. Y’all were worried that Sokka wouldn’t get as much characterisation in this version. Well, we got this and it broke my heart.

Katara witnessing her mother being executed in front of her. She immediately covers her mouth to keep herself from screaming. Her mother died so she could live, and so even as she cries, Katara quiets herself so her mother didn’t die for nothing. What a terrible responsibility to place on yourself.

Zuko sitting with Iroh next to Lu Ten’s casket. Cue that goddamn instrumental of Leaves From The Vine. This version really understands and cares about Zuko and Iroh’s bond.

Gyatso telling Aang that even if he had come back that night, he wouldn’t have been able to make a difference. It wasn’t his fault. This broke me. We hear from Katara in TLOK how much the Air Nomad genocide affected him through his entire life, despite everything he achieved. He never recovered from the guilt of wondering “what if”. He carried it his entire life…and Gyatso waited as long as he could in the spirit realm so he could free him of it.

Ozai’s face as he burns Zuko. Iroh looking away, Azula watching as a mixture of emotions go over her face as she witnesses her brother be mutilated, Zuko’s cries…girl I was struggling. Then we cut to Ozai’s expression and my heart plunged into my stomach. To me at least, and several others, it looked like he was trying not to cry. Ozai has done more terrible things than you can count…but he’s still a person and you have to sit there and watch in horror as some tiny, humane part of him revolts at the monstrous act he’s committing and his son screams in agony.

I know this show is getting a lot of criticism and that’s fair. It’s not perfect. But there are definitely parts of it that will stick with me for a while.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last Airbender live action #atla live action #avatar netflix #atla spoilers #avatar spoilers #spoilers

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