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politemenacephd · 2 months

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The Surrogate: Part II

Miguel O'Hara X Peter B. Parker X GN!Reader (+18) Part one Part Three Series Content: Planned pregnancy, Breeding kink, PinV sex, Oral sex, Threesome, Web knotting, Aftercare, Possible Angst/fluff.

Miguel and Peter want a third child, and apparently they've run out of options. That is, except for you, their friend and colleague. They offer to cover everything, and the pay is life-changing. There's just one catch: they went to concieve naturally.

Notes: Oh boy here it comes time to give the boys a baby

As you approached the HQ you were a ball of nerves.

It was finally time to go in and get started.

After a few months of planning you were ready to begin the surrogate process. The whole process had been pretty smooth overall, almost too smooth. Miguel and Peter had let you hire a family friend as your lawyer, with Miguel paying every fee, and over each month you’d made sure the contract was fair.

You had been hired to be the men’s surrogate until completion, which didn’t have a set date on it but merely ended at whichever point you gave birth and the child was handed over into their custody. They would provide for your needs and health, and you would do your best to conceive for them.

You were allowed to leave at any time, though. It’d been a little difficult working out the details of leaving, especially regarding what happened if you were pregnant and had to stop, but Miguel and Peter had remained respectful. Eventually you’d worked out a plan that compromised what needed to be compromised, and so you stepped into the next phase: the actual conception.

It was a situation you were happy with. You felt safe, and soon you’d have a ridiculous amount of income. Right now, all you had to do was one, fairly simple job: From now until whichever point you conceived, you would be having intercourse with Miguel and Peter.

Simple enough, yes, but God, just the thought of it still made you weak. As you glanced up at their apartment, their windows glowing orange against the darkened skyline, you felt a pinch of nerves.

One of the things you’d agreed, just for the sake of convenience, was for you to move into Miguel’s plush new place at the top of the HQ, alongside him and Peter. Their girls lived with them too, but for tonight at least they were being babysat by a relative, and you’d been assured they had had the situation explained to them in the most child friendly way possible.

Later on things might have to change, but for tonight it was just about working out your dynamic and ensuring everyone was comfortable, and also getting the first attempt right.

It hit you hard, the idea that you might walk away from tonight pregnant with either of their babies. You kept thinking back to Miguel’s confident smirk in the bar, assuring you it wouldn’t take long. Why had he seemed so sure, and why did you so willingly believe him?

You sucked in a sharp breath and made your way in.

Your journey took you up through multiple elevators and beams and staircases as you ascended the HQ, which gave you more time to overthink. By the time you finally reached the apart you were a ball of nerves.

‘Okay… Okay, just, relax’ you told yourself. ‘Relax. Relax. You’re good. You’re all good.’

The moment you rang the doorbell the door swung open, causing you to flinch and yelp. You were met with Peter’s flushed and gleeful face as he threw himself through the door and around your little body, pulling you into a hug.

“HI! Hi, there you are! Oh- looking wonderful, muy bien, come on in!”

Before you could even get a word in he was carrying you into the apartment. Not shepherding, not pushing, carrying. He lifted your body was ease in a bridal carry and brought you through into the open-plan living room and kitchen area, babbling the whole way.

‘Miguel was worried you’d be late- OH, don’t tell him I told you that though, he’ll freak out, but I told him you’d be early and look who was right!”

‘A-Aha, yeah, uh- Peter, please could you—’ You stumbled on your attempt to request being put down as he gently shifted your weight, jolting you in his arms like a cat.

God, he was so strong. Deceptively strong. He felt nice, too. He was warm, toned but squishy, probably nice to cuddle. Perhaps, you didn’t want to be put down *just* yet.

‘Ah- never mind. Hi, Peter’ you said with a slight laugh. ‘I wouldn’t have thought me showing up early was such a surprise, you’re paying me enough for this.’

‘NO! I mean we’re paying a lot sure but it’s all worth it! I was just—’

‘Peter. Put them down.’

That dark, husky voice filled the apartment, rendering you both speechless.

You fell to the floor and immediately spotted Miguel leaning on the kitchen island. You felt your face go warm at the sight, as your chest seemed to tense in on itself.

He was just as pretty as usual, hanging around in loose joggers and an old shirt which left little up to the imagination. You were surprised to see as he moved around the kitchen that he also clearly wasn’t wearing boxers either, because the definition and light swing of what lay underneath caused your throat to seize up.

‘Thank you for coming’ Miguel said as he approached. You nodded hard, now trying your best to look anywhere except his perfectly toned V cut abdomen as it poked out beneath his shirt. He coughed before speaking. ‘Do you, uh—’

‘It’s okay, Miguel. I know you hate small talk’ you quickly said, cutting him off. To your relief you’d read him right; he did that gorgeous little half-smile down at you, his brows raising ever so slightly.

‘Mm. Good, thank you. This is why you’re my friend, hermosa/o’ he said with a throaty chuckle, only for Peter to appear at his back. ‘OUR friend’ he whined. Miguel shot him a bombastic side eye but ended up just shrugging and chuckling again. ‘Mm. Okay. Our friend. Perdón, mi amor.’

You watched slightly stiltedly as the two men butted noses and kissed, just a small peck before parting. You realized that you’d never really seen them being affectionate around the workplace, or even out in public like at the bar, so this was a surprise.

You almost didn’t notice Miguel turning back to you until he spoke.

‘Did you take the injections?’ Miguel asked. You awkwardly nodded.

You’d been given homework to do, mostly consisting of quite painful injections to stimulate ovulation. They sucked, hard, they made you feel awful and they burned when injected, but it was an important step.

‘And you’re ovulating?’ he asked next.

You felt your face burn up again as Miguel leaned in. He took your jaw into his hand and tilted it, seemingly trying to read something in your expression. This wasn’t an unusual move for him, especially with friends when he suspected they were lying, but right now it felt so much more intense.

‘I—yes, I have the app, I did everything on the list. I took the injection, I’m ovulating, I’m in the fertility phase, it- yeah.”

Miguel grunted, slowly retracting his hand. He looked pleased. Despite trying to keep a professional air about you, you felt your legs growing weak at his subtle little smile.

‘Good. I appreciate it.’ He turned and moved over to the counter as you awkwardly stood in the middle of the living room. Peter was still watching you, his face eager. You shyly smiled back at him.

‘So, do we, uh—’

‘Are you comfortable getting right into it?’ Miguel asked, pre-empting your question. You took a moment to decide but eventually nodded. ‘Yeah. I think so, aha, we- we got all night to talk, talk, afterward…’

The way Miguel chuckled at that made your sex throb. It was so sweet, so husky, so *smug*, in a way that was so unlike him. He glanced down at you in a way that highlighted his smooth, muscular neck, his eyes slightly lidded as he smiled.

‘Interesting. You think we’ll get tired?’ he asked.

Was- was he, teasing you? You blinked and swallowed, only to find your throat dry. ‘You... You have to get tired eventually, right?’ you said with a slight laugh, hoping it was a joke. Miguel’s smile widened.

‘Huh. Interesting’ he repeated. He held your gaze until he saw your smile falter, watching that sweet realization hit you that, no, he wasn’t joking. Peter was forced to step in to elaborate instead.

‘Oh no, no, no, Miguel doesn’t get tired’ he said, pridefully slapping the larger man’s chest right over his pecs. ‘Trust me, he will exhaust you. I’ve had to skip school runs because my legs just don’t work the next day.’

You raised a brow at that. ‘Ah… W- then, why are you two even taking turns?’ you asked. The two men glanced at each other. You saw them communicating silently; Miguel arched his brow and grunted, clearly implying something, as Peter raised his brows even higher and grunted back. The two turned to you in unison.

‘Miguel doesn’t get tired per se but he does get… well, empty’ Peter said, being as coy as possible. ‘He needs to re-charge, we both do, so, taking turns? Makes it easier! Plus, Miguel is…’

‘Rough’ he murmured, emphasising that word with such a husky tone. You almost collapsed.

‘Yeah! He is. Oh, you’re a kinky devil you are. I love you so much. But anyway, yes, so that’s why the switch. Hope that’s still okay’ Peter added on at the end, fixing you with an affectionate and open smile.

‘Aha, uh- yeah. Yeah, it’s all good. You guys really want that baby, huh?’ you said, your smile now slowly returning. While Miguel’s smirk turned shy Peter dramatically moaned.

‘We want it SO BAD! The girls are so BIG now, even Mayday can tie her own shoelaces, and all I wanna do is just cradle them in my arms and watch them babble nonsense and pretend to have a full conversation with them when all they can say is ‘babababa’—’

‘Peter.’ Miguel’s hand on Peter’s waist brought him to a stop. You noticed the way he subtly squeezed him. ‘We need to actually get started if you want that baby’ Miguel gently insisted.

At that Peter’s eyes turned to you again. You saw a spark in them you hadn’t seen before, and he quickly held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Okay! Okay. Baby time. Follow me, pretty thing’ Peter crowed before promptly grabbing your hand, dragging you into the bedroom. Miguel took his time before following in.

‘Okay, so, this is your room’ Peter explained as he flicked on the lights. You were taken aback by how nice it was. The dark, hardwood polished floors with a rug in the centre, highlighting the rich white king-size bed pressed up to the wall. You whistled at the huge, underlit wardrobe doors built into the right side wall, the mirrors on the ceiling and walls, and the glass wall overlooking the beautiful city beyond. It was a glittering cascade of neon lights across a dark canvas, a sight you'd usually never get to see.

‘My room?’ you stammered.

‘Mhm! Well, it’s the guest room, but for now, your room’ Peter crowed. He seemed to be enjoying your gawking.

‘It- what does your room look like then?’ you muttered half to yourself in disbelief.

Peter gently drew you to a stop in front of the bed. When he looked you over he had a slightly mischievous smile on his face. ‘Well, you’ll find out soon enough. Don’t you worry. Miguel, ah- he sells patents for technology he makes on the side back to the city, that’s how he affords everything here. It’s how he funds the HQ.’

You blinked in surprise. How had you not known that? ‘Oh, really? Huh…’

‘And, it’s how he’s gonna fund you, my little angel’ Peter suddenly cooed, pressing one firm hand to your abdomen. He squished it gently, his free arm pulling you into a hug before letting go again. ‘Thank you, again’ he whispered, his eyes deeply sincere. ‘Thank you for doing this.’

You just nodded, a little flustered internally at the sudden affection. ‘I-It’s fine’ you replied gently. ‘It’s, all fine. Thank you for uh, giving me the opportunity? I guess?’

His mischievous smug grin grew a little wider. ‘Uhuh. The opportunity. Speaking of which, shall we get you undressed?’

You felt that warmth thudding in your lower abdomen increase alongside your heart rate. You nodded. ‘Yeah. Yeah, of course, ah—’ You paused only to watch Miguel slowly enter through the bedroom door, gently shutting it at his back. He gave you a curt nod, essentially bidding you to continue. ‘Yeah. Let’s, do that’ you finished, before gently grasping your shirt.

You struggled to remove your clothing while the two men watched. Peter tried to be polite by looking to the side and whistling but you could feel his eyes drifting back, his whistles occasionally lowering in pitch as he stared before shifting back up. Miguel, however, kept his eyes firming on you.

You were surprised, as you undressed, to see his shaft already twitching beneath his joggers. The fabric was pitching to accommodate the size, and his eyes were fixed on you, roaming without shame or concern. Was he getting off on just this? The thought made you so giddy.

The moment you were naked Peter rushed in to pick you up and carefully lay you down on the bed. ‘You doin’ okay? You still good to go?’ he asked, his brown eyes wide and gentle. His care was a comfort, with his hand brushing your forehead and his soft, brown eyes fixated on your face. You shakily nodded.

‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m- fine, I’m ready.’

‘Good! Good. Okay, big guy, you ready?’

As Miguel approached, your breath hitched. He was eyeing you up with those wolfish eyes. They were such a deep red they seemed to glow in the dim, peaceful ambiance of the bedroom. ‘Mm. I’m ready’ he replied.

He stripped his shirt aside and yanked down his joggers, carefully kicking them aside to reveal his fully naked form. You audibly squeaked. He was huge.

The suit didn’t leave much to the imagination, apparently. He was hairless spare for a soft, thin line of dark hair running up his pelvis and a scattering on his lower legs and upper arms, leaving you a good view of his body. His skin was rough, scarred, with many lines overlapping over his rippling abs and hefty chest. His waist tapered in above his slim hips before sloping out into his heavily muscled thighs, both thick and slender.

And then, of course, your eyes drifted to his pelvis. His cock was gorgeous, there was no other word to describe it. Thick, veiny, perfectly curved. You had a sudden knot of anxiety over trying to take such a thing, but the soft throbbing in your clit urged you to ignore that thought.

He must have noticed you staring as he allowed a ghost of a smirk to creep onto his face.

Miguel clambered up and knelt on the bed, with his clawed hands resting on your own upturned knees. You squeaked a little as he curiously shifted them apart, noting the sight of your spread form. You suddenly felt extremely shy to have him gawking at your spread sex so curiously.

‘Oo, he likes you’ Peter cooed, still stuck in his teasing, flirting stage.

‘W-What?’ you stammered. Miguel shot Peter daggers with his eyes, imploring him to be quiet, but Peter couldn’t be silenced. ‘He likes you. That face he makes, with the eyes. They get a little bit brighter when he sees something he likes. I notice it when I wear anything too tight, it's like a… like a cat locking onto a mouse.’

‘Peter’ Miguel hissed, his fangs now bared in a desperate attempt to claw back his professionalism and ideally his dominance. Peter just chuckled. ‘Sorry’ he whispered. ‘I’ll be quiet.’

‘Yes. You will’ Miguel grunted, before finally turning back to your spread body. Now you could see it; those wolfish red eyes, darting down and drooping slightly as he took in your body. You felt his fingers grip a little tighter around your knees, his lips parting ever so slightly. He was already hard, but you saw his member tight just a little as if he was tensing it.

‘Now… You remember the deal, with intimacy?’ he asked softly.

‘Y-Yes.’

‘You are still comfortable with the terms we agreed?’ he asked, his voice softening even more.

‘Y-Yes’ you repeated. You caught him licking his teeth as he nodded.

‘Okay. Then the same rules apply. We'll be gentle this first night, just- the basics, to get you used to it. Your preference is oral, so, I will perform that to make insertion easier. Peter will ensure you’re comfortable throughout, and I’ll use my tongue to make you orgasm and also to loosen you up. Is that okay?’ Miguel explained. You just barely remembered to nod; the grip of anticipation was squeezing your guts like a fist.

It was time to start.

Miguel gestured to Peter with his shoulder and the man nodded, with the two moving in unison to either side of your torso. Peter settled on his side with his head by your own, his hands trailing over your chest, while Miguel sank down onto his belly with his head between your legs. Your legs twitched a little as you felt his hot, lurid breath hit your spread lips.

‘Y-You guys seem, pretty confident in your technique, huh?’ you said. You were struggling not to stutter.

Miguel didn’t respond; he just shot you a glance. You nearly buckled beneath the confident grin on his face. ‘Oh, we’re- quite confident’ he promised. As his mouth vanished behind the slope of your belly and sex, Peter gently gripped you tighter.

You felt the breath. You felt his lips brushing your inner thigh. You felt his groan, his tentative lick.

You tensed so hard it hurt. Here goes.

‘Okay, gently now, gently—’

‘AH—’

You couldn’t help it; the moment that flat, wet, rough tongue hit your clit you gasped and moaned, your hips arched involuntarily to try and get closer. Almost immediately Miguel responded with a muffled moan of his own.

In seconds that quiet, friendly façade fell apart. Miguel gripped your hips in his clawed hands, his talons just barely piercing your skin, and he began licking at you ravenously while Peter groaned in your ear.

‘Oh, there we go, good little thing, well done’ Peter whispered, urging you to moan again. Miguel was grunting as he buried his tongue against your clit, lapping and circling and sucking where he could. His breath kept hitting that sensitive nerve spot in rapid pants, either in grunts from his nose or in pants from his mouth, and every time it made you buck and squirm.

‘F-Fuck, ah- o-oh my god’ you stammered breathlessly. You knew it was coming, but you hadn’t been expecting this. You lay back and practically melted as Miguel lulled you with his mouth.

‘Oh, yeah, that’s it’ Peter murmured to himself. His eyes were fixed on your spread legs as Miguel hungrily lapped at your wet folds, his glowing eyes and sharp nose the only part of him visible as the rest buried itself into the nook of your lips. He absently started to palm his own cock beside you.

‘Oh, you both look so good’ he groaned. His sweet, encouraging praise in your ear only stirred you up further. ‘Go on daddy, give ‘em some more.’

With a soft growl Miguel tipped your hips back, holding you in place as his enormous, rippled shoulders forced your legs further apart. He spread you with his fingers and began gently snaking his long tongue down inside your cunt, pumping you with a good wet inch or so until you were audibly screaming.

You could feel his satisfied grunts vibrating through to your insides as he continued to prob them, slathering you in saliva and venom until it dripped onto the sheets below.

‘Miguel- f-fuck, ah—’ Your muffled gibberish words caught Peter’s attention, who reluctantly stopped rubbing himself to that gorgeous display and instead stroked your cheek.

‘You okay, sweetheart?’ he whispered. You shakily nodded.

‘Y-Yeah, I’m- I’m, great, just- a-ah, fuck, Miguel!’

Peter’s concern turned to soft chuckling as he realized you were just unbearably overwhelmed. He leaned in and kissed your jaw, his lips brushing up towards your ear. ‘Mm, he’s good, isn’t he? The best. I know what he can do with that tongue, and he must think you taste good to get that deep. Thanks for letting him practise, you pretty little thing.’

You could barely hear Peter’s filthy mouth over the drumming of your own heartbeat.

It wasn’t long before the sweet motions of his tongue stretching you out drew you toward your climax. He’d switch between sucking your slit and stretching you out until the double stimulation tripled over in your gut, tipping you right over into orgasmic spasms, and with the smuggest eyes possible he watched you squirming on his tongue as he tasted every second of it.

Peter was quick to soothe you, but Miguel had only been emboldened. He had a job to do, and he wouldn’t stop until it was done.

You caught a glimpse of his jaw as he withdrew, shimmering with your slick like a pearly sheen. He made eye contact once, his eyes a dark and bloody red, and with your unblinking attention he wiped his face with the back of his hand only to lick it off again. You could only whimper in response.

While you panted and tried to catch your breath Miguel began slowly mounting from the front. You looked up and watched those dark, foreboding eyes peer down at you from above.

‘I will, try to be gentle’ he said. You could hear the desperation behind his soft words. The man was twitching with excitement, his veiny cock already peaking thick drops of pearly pre-cum as he approached. You could see his tongue pressed to his teeth, his lips parted so he could pant.

You hadn’t expected him to be so aroused by this. You’d expected he just wanted this for business purposes, but you were starting to realize he might just be fulfilling something more here.

He spoke, then, and fully confirmed your theory.

‘Time to get you pregnant’ he breathed, his voice husky and wet, dripping with a deep and erotic urge. Peter chuckled. The man was also biting his lip, clearly enjoying the display his partner was putting on.

‘Miguel thinks he can get you pregnant first go’ Peter whispered in your ear. Miguel shot his partner a glance and ever so slightly curled his lip.

‘That’s because I can.’

You shuddered at his confidence, as did Peter. You were both brought to your metaphorical knees beneath the intensity of those bloody red eyes. The man reeked of potency, and when he spoke, you didn’t doubt him.

With you both now silenced Miguel settled himself down, easily spreading your legs with both hands to make way for his body. He leaned in and bent your legs down with him, pushing them into a mating press. He saw the rush of adrenaline in your face, the mixture of nervous fear and excitement. His eyes softened a little.

‘You okay?’ he murmured. You nodded just a little too fast.

‘Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’m—fine.’

He nodded back. His eyes darted over you once more to ensure you weren’t too tense, too stressed, before pressing a quick kiss to Peter’s jaw. The two didn’t need to share words. Peter leaned back with his arm around your head, and Miguel in a planking position pushed down towards you.

You watched his cock approaching with bated breath. That thick, veiny rod disappeared down between your thighs, leaving you with only the sensation of his member nudging at your wet pussy. You bit your lip and braced.

With a soft grunt, Miguel started trying to enter you.

At first, he simply couldn’t. He pulsed at you a few times, smearing your cunt with pre-cum as he tried to ease your muscles aside, but he couldn’t get more than a few inches in. The size difference was just too clear.

He wasn’t angry with you. You could see him fighting his impatience for your sake. Peter was left to soothe your gabbled apologies with promises that it was fine, they had time to try, while Miguel shifted to using his fingers instead.

‘My fault, should have—done this first, hermosa/o. It’s my mistake.’

You gasped aloud as he worked his calloused index finger inside you. He pushed right up to the knuckle before brushing your g-spot, admiring the way you bucked and moaned, before switching to lightly pulsing it in and out of your cunt.

All too soon his finger was sopping. He noted the thick strings of slick accumulating on his thick digit with a sense of pride, and slowly shifted to two. You moaned again, louder this time, and seemingly unable to help himself Miguel began leaning into it. He started pulsing harder, his eyes fixed on your hips as they pathetically rocked against his hand.

‘Mm, there we go. You like that? Is that good?’ he purred. Your moans vibrated through his soul, fuelling his ego. He slowly started fisting his cock as he watched.

‘That’s it’ he whispered to himself. ‘That’s it. Ah—I’m going to breed this. I’m going to breed this. I’m going to put a baby in there, sweet thing.’

His hand was making the most obscenely wet noise at this point. The heavy clap of his wet fingers was all that covered up his lewd mantra.

‘My baby’ he grunted, almost growling. ‘My baby, plumping you up, urgh—’

He made it to three fingers before becoming too desperate to wait. He pulled out his hand and quickly let Peter lick them clean, giving his partner just a little attention as he whined and licked your juices into his mouth, before pushing your knees down and mounting again.

This time, it came easy. He pushed into you with one hard grunt and let you feel every single inch slipping up to the tightest point, only stopping once he’d fully bottomed out. You screamed.

‘Urgh- uh, fuck, argh- so tight’ he panted. He didn’t waste time on soaking in you, as with a mind that utterly fixated all he could think about now was getting you stuffed with his seed. He started to pump his hips back and forth the moment he got inside.

‘That’s it, that’s it’ Peter whispered, getting you warm and comfortable as he watched his partner's enormous form rutting between your legs. He noted your wet lips and desperate moans, ensuring that you were enjoying yourself. ‘There, does he feel good?’ he purred.

‘Y-yea—yeah—y-a-ah—’

You couldn’t even get the words out. You were almost mewling as Miguel bent your back and started arching his hips, smacking them down onto your cunt with such terrifying vigor it almost made you wince. He was grinding up inside you, pulverizing those sweet, gummy walls, slipping against every soft ridge he could find.

His lips parted and he started to grunt with each rhythmic thrust, emphasizing the harsh slap of skin on skin with his own noises. ‘Uhn- uhn- uhn, que rico- uhn-’

It took you a little getting used to, settling into the rhythm of his body and his thick cock gently stretching you out. His claws on your knees were sharp, his breath on your face so hot that you started to sweat, and the power in his body was terrifying. He had to force himself to be careful with you. Every deep plunge into your cunt, each gentle pulse, could turn into a back-breaking move if he wasn’t careful.

He eventually had to lower his hands to the bed to stop himself from clawing at your knees. You lay back and tried to focus on the sensations. The warmth of his cock moving inside you, thrusting right up into your guts until your body began to grow flush with warmth. The wet slap of his hips as you began to coat his pelvis in thick, viscous slick. The beautiful sight of his inhuman body rippling between your legs.

‘F-Fuck’ you whimpered, unable to handle anything more. ‘F-Fucckkkk…’

Peter remained at your head as Miguel pumped. He was so gentle, soothing you and petting your face as your body was jolted back and forth.

‘A-Ah—’

‘Good, that’s it. You’re doing so good’ Peter whispered.

‘I’m close’ Miguel growled. His claws began tearing the sheets apart as his thrusts tripled in strength and speed, slamming into you repeatedly until the bed began to creak beneath the force. You could hear the springs giving out, and even the wooden base sounded like it was groaning at the strain. Your hips were numb at this point from his rough pumps, but you ate it all up.

It was utterly orgasmic, the sensation of being filled and fucked so thoroughly. You lay back and moaned your assent for him to finish.

‘Así así’ he praised breathlessly as he saw you give in, his tongue slipping as he felt his body tensing up to unload. It was pure heaven, almost rapturous for him. Finally, he got to do this, fulfilling the most primal itch in his brain. He clawed the sheets to shreds as he rutted and humped to completion.

‘Mm- mm- Así así, hermosa/o, lo necesito, lo necesito- ah, ay chingada- haz que me corra—!’

With a groan that echoed through the room he felt his muscles tense and unload, his cock swelling before finally spurting those terrifyingly thick ropes into your cunt. It was thick enough for you to feel it as it squished into every inch of space, coating your insides with his imprint, all while he panted and groaned against your cheek.

You felt every pulse, every gently expanse and release, as it hit both of you in waves; he’d just cum in you, for the first time, and if he got his way you’d soon be pregnant for real.

‘Ah… a-ah, that’s it… that’s it…’

You noticed his arms shaking as he slowly rocked to a stop. You could still feel him twitching a little as he stilled, throbbing against your overstimulated walls. He glanced at you from beneath his mop of sweaty hair, and gave you a soft smile.

‘Eh, hermosa/o…. There you go. That should do it…’

As you both collapsed Peter rushed into soothing both of you. He kissed Miguel’s jaw and cheek and lips, whispering how well he did and how beautiful his baby would look, and he stroked your forehead while whispering what a good job you did.

His attentive aftercare really was wonderful, but after a few minutes of soaking to ensure his seed had taken Miguel pulled out, and Peter switched tones. After all, you weren’t done yet.

‘My turn?’

You were too busy panting to reply as Peter swapped places with Miguel. All you could do was moan.

You watched Miguel sink down to his knees at your head. He was wiping sweat from his forehead, still panting, but he used what energy he had left to continue Peter’s work. He brushed your cheek with his calloused thumb as Peter carefully eased your legs up.

‘Shh, there you go’ Miguel purred in that deep, warm voice. ‘He’ll be gentle, don’t worry.’

‘I’ll be gentle, but be aware you- may cum again’ he said with a shrug as he shifted you into place and mounted from the front. You felt the brush of his member up against your clit and quivered, something that made him eagerly bite his lip.

‘Guey, don’t get too arrogant’ Miguel grunted back. Peter leaned in hard and kissed Miguel on the mouth, even licking his fangs before withdrawing. You’d never seen him so confident.

‘If you didn’t want me to be cocky, you should have stopped telling me how good I am’ he teased, before gently and slowly easing his cock inside you. Your breath almost immediately hitched.

Peter wasn’t as rough, but he shared Miguel’s ability to roll and rock his hips in just the right way. You could feel him intelligently sliding back and forth, snapping his thrusts in just the right way to stimulate every spot he needed to.

You could still feel the dull thud of him hitting at your tightest point, like a sharp pump right up into your guts. You instinctively grabbed at his biceps for support, something he eagerly encouraged as he started to get harder.

‘That’s it’ he whispered against your forehead. ‘That’s it. You take it just like that. You like it, don’t you?’

You didn’t even reply; he didn’t need you to. He bent you back into a near circle as he got down on his knees and pumped you until you drooled, manipulating every little soft spot on your body. He knew just how to curve his cock into your sweet spots, just the right angle to pull back and start carefully bobbing his hips in place so he was carefully rubbing one point rather than pulsing back and forth.

He let you scream, let you involuntarily shake in his grip, let you stare at him in shock, all with that same dorky, confident smile.

‘Mm- I can feel you in there, big man’ he grunted, eagerly biting his filthy tongue as he pumped in and out of your cunt. He made sure to make you clench him before speaking again. ‘Mm- so warm. You did good, beautiful man. Shame I’m just- using you as lubricant to finish the job.’

Miguel audibly hissed, a seemingly involuntary motion as he quickly tried to clamp his jaw shut, but Peter seemed to relish in the display. You felt him throb hard against the walls of your cunt as he started going faster.

‘Mm- that’s it, that’s it, come on—’

You felt Miguel settle as your body was being jolted back and forth, and you caught his glowering eyes glowing a little brighter as he watched. He was fixated on the little slither of Peter’s shaft he could see pumping back and forth, utterly saturated in both your click and his cum. You caught him biting his lip as his eyes narrowed to slits.

‘Mm..’ he grumbled. ‘Yeah…’

‘Come on baby, come on, that’s it, fuck—’

With a few hard, deep thrusts Peter unloaded his own thick ropes, tenderly cupping your hips as he pulled you in against him. The dull smack of your pelvis’s colliding filled the room alongside your frantic moans.

It was there, right in the middle of Peter’s orgasm, that he fulfilled his promise. He shifted his thumb to your clit and gave the swollen, sensitive nub a few gentle prods, all while deliberately creaming around your g-spot, and with a shudder you groaned into your second orgasm.

‘Yeah, that’s it, oh- well done’ he praised, still breathlessly thrusting. ‘Go on, that’s it, draw it all up. Good, good, well done, baby, well done. So proud of you.’

He let you whimper and spasm around his cock until your body went limp, and after soaking in you for another few minutes he pulled out and collapsed next to Miguel. The sound of your overlapping panting filled the otherwise silent apartment.

‘Good job’ Peter repeated after catching his breath, giving a slightly shaky thumb up. ‘Good everyone.’

‘Peter please shut up’ Miguel replied.

You got a good half an hour of rest, just lying in a sweaty, exhausted pile together as the city soundscape filled the silence.

You used the time to contemplate your position. So, this was it. You’d done it. From this point on, you could very well get pregnant.

You were still in a bit of a daze over how good it was. You knew they were attractive, you knew they were charming and charismatic and endearing, but this? You felt like your soul had been dislodged by one too many hard thrusts. You could still feel the imprint of both men’s shafts, the ghost of their throbbing members against your cervix.

With a sigh you let your eyes drift shut. Perhaps this would be a far more enjoyable experience than you expected.

You felt rather than saw Miguel moving. You thought perhaps he was getting water again, but you were surprised to feel his huge, clawed hands splitting your legs apart again. Your eyes shot up.

That dark smirk filled your gaze, as did those beautiful red eyes. You watched his shoulders roll, his muscles rippling in the beautiful neon light, as he lined himself up with your cunt again.

‘Ready to go again?’ he purred.

All over again, the knot in your gut began dragging you down. Your pulsing clit hadn’t had enough, and clearly, the two men hadn’t had enough either.

This was going to be a long night.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #spider man 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x peter #atsv peter b parker

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imtryingbuck · 5 months

Text

Vows

~ gif not mine credit goes to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky and you are married- that is all.

Word count: 1,165

Warnings: fluff. that is all.

A/N: I’ve never been to a wedding before so if anything’s wrong take it up with my lawyer.

Masterlist

You remember the day when Bucky proposed like it was yesterday.

The bright fluffy clouds littering the clear blue sky, birds flying freely. Your hand was in Bucky’s as he leads you further into the clearing of the field, you were about to say something when he stopped.

“Y/n I love you, I love everything about you. You save me every day, and every day of being with you is like a dream coming true. And I know we’ve only been dating for a year but when you know you know right?”

Tears welled up in your eyes at the sight of him dropping to one knee-

“Y/n L/n will you make me the happiest man in the universe by marrying me?”

You didn’t even answer. You launched yourself at him making both of you fall to the ground. Placing as many kisses as you possibly could all over his beautiful face, you nodded.

The cheers and applauses sounded from somewhere and when you looked you saw the whole team together with huge smiles on their faces.

You celebrated all throughout the night - at Tony’s expense - with your friends making speeches.

Your wedding day was perfect. Just like the day he proposed the sky was blue and the sun was shining, and just like that day, you got married on that field.

You were nervous and excited. You were marrying the man of your dreams and everything was running smoothly. Your dress fit perfectly and was gorgeous, Pepper told you that you looked like a princess and you had to admit, you kind of did.

Pepper was your maid of honour. Nat, Wanda, Maria and Carol were your bridesmaids- who all looked so beautiful in their dresses.

Steve was Bucky’s best man (obviously) Sam, Bruce, Thor and Vision were his groomsmen - all looking very handsome and dapper in their suits.

Clint was the one to give you away, it was a no brainier as he was like the father you never had.

Morgan bless her heart was the flower girl who was walked down by Peter.

And Tony was the one to marry you two. He was way to smug about that - you later found out that every time you two disagreed with him he would always say “don’t forget who married you two”.

Slowly walking down the makeshift isle, Clint clinging on to you like a lifeline your heart broke at seeing Bucky standing there with tears rolling down his cheeks. Clint hands you over to Bucky with a kiss to your cheek and whispered ‘I love you and I’m so proud of you’ in your ear, you whispered ‘I love you’ back. As Bucky was about to take both hands you wiped away the tears and smiled.

“First, I’d like to begin by welcoming everyone and thanking each and every one of you for being here on this most happy of days. We are here to celebrate the perfect couple - other than myself and Pepper- that we all know and love, James and Y/n.” Everyone laughs at Tony’s comment and how serious his voice sounds.

“Sorry you two but I’m going off script. My sweet darling Y/n I have never seen you more happier since you’ve been with Bucky, and to you Bucky I have to say thank you, you’ve shown her what true love is.” Leaning closer towards Bucky he tries to whisper “You break her heart I won’t hesitate to kill you” Of course Bucky would get threaten on his wedding day, and of course everyone hears what Tony says as he’s holding a microphone. “Anyways, Y/n you helped get Bucky out of his shell and even though we didn’t get along at first it’s been nice seeing him find his footing, a pleasure to meet the man Steve knew a trillion years ago” Again, Tony makes everyone laugh including you and Bucky.

“Bucky you may read your vows”

“Y/n you’re my happiness, my best friend, my love. You’ve been by my side since day one, not once did you leave my side when I was in Wakanda, you help me sleep through the night just because you’re by my side. I love you more than you’ll ever know. I promise in front of everyone here today, to cherish you always, to honour and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us”

Tony tries and subtly wipe his tears, clearing his throat he looks to you “Y-Yn you may read your vows now”

“Bucky you’re my happiness, my best friend, my love. I admire your courage, your strength and your determination. I have never felt alone when you’re not by my side because you’re in my heart always. I love you more than you’ll ever know. I promise in front of everyone here today, to cherish you always, to honour and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us.”

This time Tony doesn’t bother to wipe the stream of tears away. “No one best try and object to this marriage or I’ll set the big guy on you” Nodding towards to Bruce who waves at everyone “Pepper and Steve please hand over the rings, James repeat after me- With this ring I, James, take you, Y/n, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.” Watching his lips repeat the words back your heart stills.

“Y/n repeat after me- With this ring I, Y/n, take you, James, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.”

“Do you James take Y/n to be your lawfully wedded wife?

“I do”

“Do you Y/n take James to be your lawfully wedded husband?

“I do”

“By the authority vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss th-“ Bucky’s already pulling you in and kissing you before Tony’s even finished his sentence.

Everyone cheers and there’s not a dry eye around.

The rest of the night was beautiful, everyone taking it in turns to make speech’s. The first dance you two shared as husband and wife was to Stand By Me by Ben E. King.

Now two years later after that magical day your sat on the bathroom floor with Bucky by your side, staring down at the white pregnancy test.

“T-that says…”

“I’m pregnant Buck”.

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

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ghostface-knight · 3 months

Text

It took all of 15 minutes for the jury to declare Stephanie Lauter guilty for the murders of Maxwell Jagerman, Richard Lipschitz, Ruth Fleming, and Peter Spankoffski. The sentence rung out through the courtroom, but Steph's demeanor made no change.

She knew she should be feeling something. Hell, she'd be spending the rest of her life in a prison cell. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to care. After all, she had killed Pete. Max, too, although he wasn't the first thing on her mind.

Stephanie Lauter was going to prison. The person who shot Peter Spankoffski point-blank in the head was going to prison.

Good. She thought. Fucking good.

The trial itself hadn't been as bad as she'd expected. She sat silently (voluntarily, for once in her life) as witnesses shared testimonies and lawyers performed carefully rehearsed statements.

The worst part was Pete's brother.

He was one of the most important witnesses for the prosecution, and Steph could feel his glare boring into her skull throughout the trial. It was his brother's testimony that truly made her realize how irrefutably guilty she looked.

The first time they planned to meet outside of school, Pete had come home bloodied and bruised and insisting that he just fell down the stairs. Then a couple days later, he came home in blood-soaked clothing, refusing to tell his brother anything. Then finally, Pete was killed, and Steph's fingerprints were on the trigger.

She knew how guilty she looked. She knew how guilty she was.

And somehow, Ted fucking Spankoffski -- the biggest sleazeball in Hatchetfield, a grade-A asshole, the bastard everyone knows and hates -- made her hate herself more than she ever thought she could.

She barely registered the security officers taking her arms and leading her out of the courtroom. She was brought outside, where dozens of reporters and news stations were waiting for her.

Hatchetfield is a small town. Steph hadn't realized how small it was until she recognized every face looking up at her with horror and disgust.

A furious sob rang out over the crushing wave of verbal abuse.

Steph looked over her shoulder, to see Ted Spankoffski being held back by several court security guards. He thrashed wildly in their grip, snarling at Steph.

She was ushered into a police car, as more officers attended to Ted.

As the car pulled away from the courthouse, Ted Spankoffski suddenly looked so small. His resolve crumbled as he fell to his knees, weeping over his murdered brother.

The person who killed Peter Spankoffski was spending the rest of her life in prison.

Good. Thought Steph. Fucking good.

#should i make an ao3 #mayhaps #ted spankoffski #peter spankoffski #pete spankoffski #spankoffski bros #steph lauter #stephanie lauter #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #fanfic #hatchetfield fanfic #lautski

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goldsbitch · 4 months

Text

I gave so many signs

summary: First unrequited love is not the one to ever leave your mind. Y/N looks back at her missed connection with Charles Leclerc from the time they were just teenagers and regrets having him slip away.

song fic (disclaimer: rights belong to the respectable owners)

exile - Taylor Swift Lie to me - 5 Seconds of Summer (feat. Julia Michaels) Worst of you - Maisie Peters

warning: Present time, the past

Coming back home to Monaco always brought a sour smile to her face. She loved growing up in this strange small town where everyone knew each other and celebrities came to show off and then went back to wherever, to tell stories of Monte Carlo.

They say that you get to experience three very different real loves in your lifetime - and only if you're lucky, it would be with the same person. Her first love was Charles Leclerc.

I saw you lookin' brand new overnight I caught you lookin' too, but you didn't look twice

Visiting family was the reason why she always came back, but going out with the few girls from high school who stayed there was a treat she dared not to miss. There is just something about hanging out with those people who helped one buy the first eyeshadow and with whom she pregamed at one of their step dad's dermatology office before going on trying to get into any club that would allow minors in. So there she was once again, at the old time spot, having a harder time to hold her alcohol since she'd passed the magic non hangover years. And to her luck, he walked in only a bare half an hour later than her.

Whenever she saw him, even after those years, it was like everyone else had dissapeared from the room. He seemed to age like wine.

It's 3 AM and the moonlight's testing me I know that you've been holding on to someone else And now I can't sleep

"Come here to me," she teased, moving closer to him. He tried to stop her and playfully pushed himself the furthest away possible the couch would allow. "Charlie, let me see!" she insisted and sat on top of him. She had to act quickly, there would be no way for her to keep the upper hand. He was just turning eighteen soon and the time in gym was starting to bring back results. "I do not have any hairline, Y/N," he gasped, annoyed. His tone changed. Back then she interpreted it as just him being done with her shit. Looking at it now, there probably was a different reason why he became more stiff. She sat on him, going through his hair and taking few photos, blissfully unaware. "I'll show this to you in a few years and we'll see! Ha!" Charles eyes were shooting arrows in her direction. She looked back at him, curious and not grasping the moment in the same way as he did. "What?" she asked simply. "Nothing..."

I can see you standing, honey With his arms around your body Laughin', but the joke's not funny at all

She laughed a bit at that memory as she sipped her drink and tried her best to avoid keeping looking back at him as he sat with his current friends and an absolute gorgeous girl laughing at his joke. She knew who she was. Sometimes she peaked at his socials and then blocked him again right away. She certainly knew he had her blocked.

They went to different schools and Charles had his racing activities anyway. So they'd spent a lot of time texting. A lot.

It was just one of the horrifically long school days where she doubted the point of her existence. Life had to be more than sitting in a pointless computer science class. She wanted to be a big lawyer girl boss one day, so why would she ever care about programming. There she was, staring at the assignment from the teacher who was stuck in 20th century anyway, having little to no clue what to do. As she'd usually do, she texted Charles. Bombed him with twenty texts demanding attention, before he finally responded. "OMG i thought someone had died" "i am dying charles" "no your not" "*you're" "i can go back to my race simulator if you keep being a little shit" "nooo, please dont go. you're my only hope. sorry, your. i get it, you got out of the school too early." "that's it, i'm gone" "noo, please stay, I'll be nice and say nice things about you" "i'm staying, go on" "you are absolutely gorgeous" "yes, agree. more" "you are soo funny, amazing, future heart breaker and your passion for racing is so inspiring" "i like this. more"

Second, third, and hundredth chances Balancin' on breaking branches Those eyes add insult to injury

They were inseparable, yet nobody knew. Always meeting alone, because they did not need anyone and their social circles didn't really meet together. Whenever he was back in town, the two of them would hit up their favorite café or hang out at his house and then go for a walk. The two of them walked around Monte Carlo as if they were suppose to be the cartographers creating the first map of that area ever. Those were the good old days that came to end very unexpectedly.

We always walked a very thin line You didn't even hear me out (Didn't even hear me out) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)

His hands were shaking when he sent the email. But he just could not take it anymore. He was over the moon in love with her and didn't know how to contain it.

"there is no easy way to say this. i love you. sorry. i'm stupid and i know we're just friends. but i basically live only for racing and seeing you. i'm terrified of seeing you with someone else. if there is at least a cell in your body that feels the same, please let's meet up and talk about it. if not, do not reply and i will never mention this again and deal with it. i love you."

She was seventeen when she got his message out of the blue. A scared little girl who was petrified of feelings and anything relationship related. So she never replied to his email.

All this time I never learned to read your mind I couldn't turn things around (I couldn't turn things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (You never gave a warning sign)

Charles had a very little hope that she'd feel the same - why would she, such an amazing person, kind, fun and totally glorified in his eyes, so he could not even imagine him being worthy of her. But what if? What if he was enough? With every day when she did not respond to his email, his heart sank lower. Still, the pain of the first rejection is a hard one to take, because it's usually from a scared unexperienced heart to another and the clumsiness causes great deal of accidental collateral damage one remembers until the end of their life.

You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out

She texted him from school few days after that - a normal text, as if nothing happened. Both of them were too chicken to address the situation openly. So he opted for buring his feeling and she for playing like she had no idea. Deep down, she always knew, even before he emailed her. They texted, continued to meet up. But it was never the same again.

Flashing back to New York City I was done, but you undid me Classic me to run when it feels right

It was hard to get closure for her. After all that had happened and the mess the two made for each other was a hard lesson she remembered vividly. She glanced at your first love again - and finally she met his look, after almost two years of managing to missing each other while they were both back in Monaco. She'd daydreamed about bumping into him, the two chatting and smiling again. The world stopped again for few moments. He shot her an unsure quick half smile that said it all. She knew him too well for that.

And now I wish we never met 'Cause you're too hard to forget While I'm cleaning up your mess I know he's taking off your dress

It was her prom night and she could not be more excited. All her friends were here, family, even Charles managed to get in town to watch her dance and drink all night. She had the night of her life, perfect end to end this chapter of life. The excitement her eyes held was contagious. She spent the first half of her evening with the family and Charles, sharing few dances and laughs. If felt like the good old days. But one shot of tequila led to another and there she was, drunk as pirate and unhinged like a teenage girl. Charles did his best to keep her parents at bay, keep them occupied while he got one of his friends to take care of her. He was worried she might do something stupid, like walk up to the stage and fall down breaking all of her bones. Finally, her parents decided to leave without having to saying goodbye to her after Charles spent a good half an hour convincing them she was just in the back stage and that he'd get her home safe. When they were gone, he began to search for her, only to finally find her sitting on the stairs, making out with the friend he assigned to keep an eye on her.

So take me to every party and just talk to your friends Why don't you let me down, I'll let you do it again Go on and walk all over me, just don't walk away Give me the worst of you 'Cause I want you anyway

It was like being cut open alive and having people watch. There was nothing even remotely graceful about her actions, she was literally sitting on the floor having a battle of tongues with another drunk teenager while people had to walk pass her. It was embarrassing. Charles didn't know what to do. He wanted to run away and never come back, but he couldn't leave her there alone. He couldn't bring himself to stop the two of his friends, because he was just too sad and heartbroken to do so. He just stayed nearby and kept an eye on them. It was one of the longest nights in his life.

She couldn't remember the second half of her prom night and Charles would never speak of it, even though she begged him many times. He always became stiff and started to leave the room. She only kept asking, because it marked one of the biggest shifts in their friendships. He became cold, unresponsive and after few weeks, he stopped communicating completely.

You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out I think I've seen this film before

Funny how people's faces change with years, but the eyes stay the same. The eyes and the look. Charles looked at her the second time this evening. It was like staring back at the eighteen year old boy who was drowning in his feeling.

It was one of her last nights in Monaco before leaving for university. Finally, her dreams were coming true. She was more than ready to get our to show the world she was a force to be reckoned with. She sent Charles countless messages before her final departure, at that moment, she was sure she'll never ever get back to Monaco and wanted to at least understand why he became distant. One evening, he finally agreed to meet up and talk. She was over the moon. Knowing that she could always turn Charles over, she left feeling confident - he was one the very few people she was sure shared the same soul as her. It was as if they'd never stopped talking. Jokes flying everywhere, the two of them strolling around, having no idea this would be the last time (and maybe, that was better for her at the time). There was so much to share, the two kept talking over each other for hours. Charles was happy when she finally stopped to take a breath for a moment. She looked him in the eye and saw a look she'd seen countless of times on his face. There was a shift in her mind and out of nowhere, she was kissing the boy she'd been unknowingly in love for years. She'd realize that she loved him only once she started dating a random guy from her college, expecting the same feeling Charles gave her. But it never came. Had she known, she'd have stayed with him. He tried to convince her to start dating him. Almost begged her to try it with him long distance. But there was a whole world for you to discover, places to be and versions of her that needed discovering. She had kissed only once. But it was a kiss of a lifetime. He blocked her on all socials after she rejected him again.

I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind) I couldn't turn things around (You never turned things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) So many signs, so many signs You didn't even see the signs

The girls were laughing at some joke she missed while digging in her memory for traces of her first love. Charles Leclerc. He was sitting few tables away from her. This time, her heart sank as he kissed his girlfriend on the cheek as they walked away from the bar. She wanted to run to him, to talk to him again after all those years. To tell him the same thing he once emailed her. To explain that she was just too young to notice she had the love of her life right next to you. But she knew all too well what his answer would be. And just like he had back then, she never wanted to hear it out loud.

And I know that you don't, but if I ask you if you love me I hope you lie, lie, lie, lie, lie to me

part 2

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ddejavvu · 11 months

Note

MEIII!!!! Hope you had a good day!!!!

I was thinking 🤔🤔🤔 an ex gf of Hotch comes to work w the BAU & they hadn’t told anyone abt it but the Bau girls help R unpack find photo albums old pictures of her and their boss (hot)

You had intended to be more careful when letting your new teammates dig through boxes in your apartment, but they had each brought over bottles of wine as housewarming gifts, and the first thing you'd come across were your glasses. So now that there's a healthy buzz over your brain, making it just a little bit hard to focus, you don't notice Penelope reaching into the box that says memories.

She squeals at a baby picture of you, an album full of your childhood memories in her hands. You think nothing of it, still slightly intoxicated to where you don't forsee the next album she'll pick up. Emily and JJ flock to her side, crooning and cooing over your past self, but when they shut the album and reach for the next, and your brain finally switches on, you're not fast enough to stop them.

"Woah, that guy- holy shit," Emily laughs, her own mind clouded as she points sloppily at the man kissing your cheek in the first photo, "That guy looks like Hotch."

JJ snorts, but Penelope falls silent.

Of course, you think, of course she's seen pictures of when he was younger. You'd expect nothing less from the BAU's resident snoop.

"That is Hotch," She breathes, alcohol be damned as she puts the puzzle pieces together, "Oh my god, you dated Hotch!"

"Oh," Emily laughs, eyes wide and giddy and dazed, "You dated Hotch!"

"I- I didn't date Hotch," You huff exasperatedly, wine forgotten on the counter, "I dated a man from law school. He was not the same person."

"You mean this was before someone shoved a stick up his ass?" JJ eyes you incredulously, "I thought it was placed there at birth."

"He doesn't have a stick up his ass!" You feel the inexplicable urge to defend your boss, despite him having left you reeling in college, "He's- he's got issues. Stuff you don't even know about. Everyone does, we've all- we've all got issues."

"What happened?" Penelope asks, her voice soft and worried, "He didn't cheat on you, did he?"

"No!" You let out a huffy laugh, "No, he didn't cheat on me. We just parted ways because- well, our schedules were tight. We never saw each other, when I had a day off he was working, and vice versa. He wanted someone with a more adjustable schedule."

"That's not fair," Penelope's eyes glaze over with tears, that you're sure are only partially from the wine she's consumed, "That's not fair, to stop loving someone because they're busy. He was busy too, what- why were you the problem?"

"It wasn't like that," You gush, but it was entirely like that, "Listen, we were both stressed all the time. I don't know if you've ever tried to be lawyers, but it sucks. And- and we never saw each other, and we were young, and stupid, and we hated our jobs but we couldn't quit, and- and it was a mess! And I'm glad," You peter off your emotional speech with a soft whimper, "I'm glad he found someone who had the time to love him. Because both of us deserved that, just-" You sniffle, your eyes stinging with tears, "Only one of us got it."

"Oh, honey," JJ laments, reaching for you with both hands now that her wine glass is set aside. You dodge her hands, though, excusing yourself with a shitty excuse and a hurried walk to the bathroom.

There's no tissues. Of course there's no tissues, you haven't had a moment to live in this apartment since you'd set foot in it. Work was always getting in the way, like it had for your entire life.

You're not angry at Aaron for leaving you. You weren't a good fit for each other, not with your careers taking off as they were. In all honesty, you might have broken up with him yourself if it had gone on any longer. But you're jealous in a way, that he found someone who had the time for him while you didn't. And that's not his fault, you shouldn't be resentful that he found love just because you didn't. Your feelings for him comes from loneliness, not anger. But they read the same, and you're sure your new teammates think you're silently raging at your new unit chief.

After a quick wash of your face in the sink and a makeshift toilet paper tissue, you step back out into the living room, three pairs of eyes trained immediately on you.

"I appreciate that you're taking my side here," You hum, a knot in your throat the size of a fist, "But it's a closed matter. We haven't spoken in years, and I feel like we still haven't. He's different now, he's not the man I dated, and I would like it if you would be able to forget that this happened."

Emily is the first to speak up, "Okay. Okay, honey, we understand. But- but please don't ignore your feelings if they're starting to resurface. At the very least, you deserve closure."

"And hey," JJ smiles, trying to look eager but looking mostly sad, "If you wanna give things another shot, he's single and you work with him. At least all the time you spend working now is with him, too."

"Yeah," You let out a light chuckle, still bogged down by the ghost of the tears you'd wiped away in the bathroom. Penelope can't take it anymore, and rushes in for a squeeze.

"Oh, sweetheart," She gushes, "It'll work out! I bet you're gonna have this crazy-sweet second chance romance kind of thing, and we'll all be at your wedding!"

"Slow down," You laugh, thankful that you have her shoulder to snuggle into, "We haven't even acknowledged that we used to date yet. Let's wait until the proposal to start talking about the wedding."

A good-natured laugh is shared throughout your small apartment, and the photo album is set back in its box for safekeeping. They give you the courtesy of unpacking it yourself, just in case any stray memories come to haunt you. You're grateful for it, and it's easy to slip back into your wine-fueled giggle fest while working on your bookshelf instead.

Mere miles away, Aaron is sitting on the floor of his bedroom. There's a photo album in his lap, one half of a pair, the other half of which he hopes isn't in a landfill somewhere. His eyes are trained on a photo you'd taken on winter break from your sophomore year of school, skis strapped to your feet and poles in your hands as Aaron hugged you from behind. You'd done the Titanic pose on the side of the ski hill, your arms outstretched and Aaron's face twisted over your shoulder to gaze endearingly at you. It's a blurry photo, because your friends had taken it from the bottom of the slope, but the memories of it are crisp in his head.

He hears the patter of little feet down the hallway, and doesn't have the energy to close the book before Jack sees it.

"Daddy?" His son's little voice asks, "Who's that?"

"Do you recognize," He hums, flipping to a clearer picture of the two of you, and pointing to himself, "Him?"

Jack's face scrunches, nose wrinkled and eyes squinted, "Is that you, daddy?"

"It is me," Aaron chuckles, "I looked younger, huh?"

"Yeah," Jack nods emphatically, poking at his dad's cheeks, 'Now you have wrinkles."

Aaron scoffs, "Thanks, bud. What'cha need?"

"I'm just bored," Jack huffs, looking back at the picture displayed in the book, "That's not Mommy. Why are you kissing her?"

"I met her before I met your mommy," Aaron hums, ghosting his pointer finger over the page, "But we broke up. Then your mommy and I got married."

"Why did you break up?" Jack cocks his head to the side, "You didn't love her as much as Mommy?"

"I loved her," Aaron muses, "But we both had really busy jobs. And we never saw each other, so it made us sad. So we broke up so that we wouldn't be so sad anymore."

"Oh." Jack frowns, "Okay. I'm sorry you were sad."

"It's okay, buddy," Aaron slings an arm around Jack's side, kissing his chubby cheek, "I'm not sad anymore. Well- sort of. Do you know why I'm looking at these pictures?"

Jack shakes his head, "Mm-mm. Why?"

"She joined my team," Aaron informs his son, watching the gears in his brain turn. "So I'm a little bit sad now, because seeing her makes me remember how sad I was when we broke up."

"But," Jack drags out the vowel, "If she's on your team now, then you see her all the time! And you were sad because you didn't get to see her, but now you can be happy again!"

"That's- uh, kind of." Aaron shuts the book, turning to face Jack fully, "I think I might be a little bit sad forever about us breaking up."

"Forever," Jack frowns, relying heavily on the fact that he's been told he'll never be sad forever, "Why?"

"Because we can't fix it." Aaron sighs, "We can't go back in time and stay together."

"But you can date her now," Jack prods, and wow, Aaron needs to give him more credit, "Why do you have to be sad forever?"

"You'd be okay with me dating someone else?" Aaron asks carefully, "Someone who isn't your Mommy?"

"It it makes you happy again," Jack nods, "I don't want you to be sad forever, Daddy."

Aaron's struck with tears that he tries to tamp down. His nose runs, and he sniffles shakily, "Thank you, bud. You're sweet, you know that?"

"Mm-hm," Jack nods, "Penny tells me."

"Yes she does," Aaron laughs, a watery sound as he pulls Jack in for a hug, "Every time she makes you cookies, she tells you you're sweeter. You should know by now."

"So," Jack gets right to the point, "Are you gonna date her again, Daddy?"

"I don't know," Aaron hums, "Maybe. I have to ask her, first. And I don't think I should ask her right away."

"You should share your lunch with her," Jack instructs, "I gave Ellie one of my oreos at lunch, and now she's my girlfriend."

Aaron's brows raise, "Wow. Do you like having a girlfriend?"

"Yeah." Jack nods simply, "She's nice to me. We take turns pushing each other on the swings."

"Well, maybe we'll both have girlfriends soon," Aaron grins at his son, "Do you think we should go out on a double date? Like, we both take our girlfriends out to eat together?"

"Yeah!" Jack shouts, enthused by the idea, "We should go to get ice cream, though. Ellie really likes chocolate."

"Okay," Aaron chuckles, letting Jack wander off to pick through his toy box, renewed hope in his chest at the thought of sitting side-by-side with you in an ice cream parlor, "Sounds like a plan, bud!"

#aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader

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torturedbitchesdepartment · 7 months

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mark. MARK. he’s wired in. i’m sorry? he’s wired in. is he? yes. how ‘bout now. are you still wired in? call security. you issued over 24 million new shares of stock. you were told that if new investors came along-how much were your shares diluted? how much were his? what was mr. zuckerberg’s ownership share diluted down to? it wasn’t. what was mr. moskowitz’s ownership share diluted down to? it wasn’t. what was sean parker’s ownership share diluted down to? it wasn’t. what was peter thiel’s ownership share diluted down to? it wasn’t. what was your ownership share diluted down to? point zero three percent. you signed the papers. you set me up. you’re gonna blame me because you were the business head of the company and you made a bad business deal with your own company? it’s gonna be like i’m not a part of facebook. it won’t be like you’re not part of facebook. you’re not part of facebook. my name’s on the masthead. you might wanna check again. is this because i froze the account? you think we were gonna let you parade around in your ridiculous suits pretending you were running the company? SORRY MY PRADA’S AT THE CLEANERS. ALONG WITH MY HOODIE AND MY FUCK YOU FLIP FLOPS YOU PRETENTIOUS DOUCHEBAG. security’s here. you’ll be leaving now. i’m not signing those papers. we will get the signature. tell me this isn’t about me getting into the phoenix. you…you did it! i knew you did it! you planted that story about the chicken! what’s he talking about? i didn’t plant the story about the chicken. you had me accused of animal cruelty. seriously, what the hell’s the chicken? and i’ll bet what you hated the most is that they identified me as a co-founder of facebook, which i am. you better lawyer up, asshole, cause i’m not coming back for thirty percent. i’m coming back for everything. get him outta here. it’s okay. i’m going. hang on. i almost forgot, here’s your nineteen thousand dollars. i wouldn’t cash it, though. i drew it on the account you froze? i like standing next to you, sean. it makes me look so tough.

#andrew garfield #justin timberlake #jesse eisenberg #mine #the social network #shitpost #mark zuckerberg #cinema #eduardo saverin #sean parker

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brucesterling · 11 days

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Utopian Realism, a speech by Bruce Sterling

*I never posted any lecture of mine on Tumblr, even though Tumblr would seem to have plenty of elbow-room for hour-long, learned, European public lectures (with many lecture slides).

*Might as well give that a try and see what happens.

From the Technology Biennial in Turin, Italy, April 02024.

Thanks for coming to see me. As Loredana Lipperini just pointed out, I am Bruce Sterling, here to deliver my speech on the theme of “realistic Utopia” — the public Utopia, and the private Utopia.

This first slide would be the hero of my remarks today, because he’s the world’s biggest expert on Utopia. He’s called “Raphael Hythlodaeus.” In the Italian editions of the book “Utopia,” he’s “Raffaello Itlodeo.”

Here’s a picture of Raffaello personally meeting Sir Thomas More, and Sir Thomas More’s friend and host, Peter Gillis, in the year 1515.

The book was published 500 years ago in the Latin language. The author was Sir Thomas More — but Thomas More was a lawyer. He didn’t plan to be a novelist. In the book, he claims that he’s simply writing down the testimony of Raphael Hythlodaeus. The source for the book is allegedly Raphael (according to Thomas).

So, the novel “Utopia” was a kind of a hoax or a joke that Thomas More invented — while he was on vacation.

This book project happened because More had to leave England on official business. He had to leave his private home, and his beloved family, and take part in public life, as a diplomat in the service of the king of England. So, Thomas More had to travel, and go meet some Spanish officials in the city of Bruges on the European continent. So he left England, and he dutifully journeyed to Bruges. But — after some weeks of diplomatic struggle — he realized that the negotiations were going nowhere. His negotiations were a hoax and a joke, because the king of England and the king of Spain were quarreling. They had no intention of ever reaching an agreement.

So Thomas More had to spend six long months of his life in Europe pretending to be a diplomat and a lawyer, to satisfy reasons of state. He could not achieve anything useful or practical on that mission.

So, More was a bit upset by this situation. He left the city of Bruges, where nothing was happening. He went to Antwerp instead, because he had a friend there. His friend was a fellow scholar named Peter Gillis. Peter Gillis was an Antwerp city official. He was in government, and he was quite well-to-do, a very well-connected guy. So, he could play host to Sir Thomas More. Thomas More was welcome to stay in his private house for no money, and to eat the family’s food at no charge, and just relax as an honored house guest, for several months.

So, Thomas More and Peter Gillis are in this private home, avoiding actual work. They enjoy many free-wheeling, private, intellectual discussions, which are all about law, and justice, and business, and economics, and politics, and the general state of the world.

These two intellectuals agree that the state of the world is pretty terrible. Clearly the real world is quite bad, it’s not a Utopia at all. In fact the first part of the book “Utopia” is pretty much all dystopia. It’s about how bad things are in Europe, and it’s rather realistic too — these are grim assessments.

So, Thomas More and Peter Gillis, while discussing the world together, decide to invent this wandering scholar named Raphael Hythlodaeus. The wise and learned Raphael can speak Latin and Greek, just like they do — but Raphael has been to a country where everything works.

Peter Gillis even invents a Utopian alphabet, and he writes some poetry in the language of Utopia — just to demonstrate that he can play this fun Utopian game with his guest Thomas More.

Peter Gillis is willing to cooperate. He even pretends to personally introduce Thomas More to Raphael Hythlodaeus.

In the book, Raphael appears, and he starts talking. He recites the entire story of Utopia. Raphael speaks the book “Utopia,” aloud. It’s 30,000 words of text, so Raphael recites this book in one long afternoon. It’s a three and a half hour lecture, and Thomas More writes it all down.

However, it’s somehow not boring. It’s a brilliant, world-class lecture, because Raphael Hythlodaeus is quite an amazing guy. Raphael doesn’t look rich or famous. Basically, he looks like a sailor. He’s got a long beard, and he’s kind of weatherbeaten. He’s a long-haired wanderer in beat-up old clothes.

He says that he’s from Portugal — he’s a native of Portugal — but somehow he’s been to Persia, and Ceylon, and spent rather a lot of time in Belgium. He’s been to Brazil. He knows England very well. Raphael Hythlodaeus knows the Archbishop of Canterbury personally.

If you read the book carefully, it turns out that Raphael Hythlodaeus left Portugal — he went to Brazil to explore the new world — and he crossed South America, somehow. Then Raphael crossed the Pacific Ocean, discovering several new countries that nobody else ever heard of. Somehow, after visiting Ceylon, he returned back to Portugal.

So Raphael Hythlodaeus has circled the entire world — several years before Ferdinand Magellan and his fleet tried to do the same thing. Raphael is the first guy to ever travel around the world.

Why?

Why did he do it?

Well, basically, it’s because he’s a tourist.

He derives no political or economic benefit from all this wandering. He just wanders — he tours. He says that he had a lot of money once, but he gave all the money away — to members of his family, and to friends. He refuses to ever serve in any government. He understands law. He understands economics. He’s a super knowledgeable guy. But he never takes part in public politics, because he says that it’s slavery. There’s no reason for him to stop travelling and ever do that work.

Raphael Hythlodaeus is basically a dropout hippie backpacker. He’s a refusenik. He despises power. He despises wealth. He’s rigorously anti-materialistic. He’s an intellectual dissident.

He’s not a pilgrim of any religious faction. He doesn’t engage in any trade while he travels. He has no career. He’s not a lawyer. He’s not a banker. He’s not a patriot — he’s never going back to Portugal. He cut his ties with the homeland. He’s cosmopolitan.

Any town in the world is good enough for him. Antwerp is just fine. He’s happy to be in Antwerp, although he has no reason to be there. He’s just in Antwerp while talking to Sir Thomas More. He has no wife. He has no mistress. He has no children, no grandchildren. He has no duties. He never has to change clothes.

Every day — he says — he just does whatever he likes.

He just does whatever he likes!

Raphael Hythlodaeus is the most utopian figure in the book “Utopia.” He’s a one-man Utopia. He’s a personal Utopia — because he makes a utopia all by himself, just for himself.

This struggle between the private, personal Utopia, and the political, public Utopia, is present from the beginning of the book “Utopia.”

In the book, Raphael says that he lived with the Utopians for five years. He knows everything there is to know about them. He studied them very closely. He knows the Utopian language, he knows their alphabet, their history, their military, their judiciary, their economic system, their justice system. He knows how they educate the youth. How they raise crops, what they eat, how they dress, the transportation system. Everything.

He just comprehensively knows everything about that society — every driving force that matters, every aspect that makes a country a country.

So Thomas More and Peter Gillis, they make lunch for him. They just invite this world traveller over to the private house they share. They offer him something to eat.

After they eat together, Raphael is quite happy to tell them everything there is to know about the Utopian system. For no pay — no reward. He doesn’t want any credit in the book, either. He just delivers Utopia to them, in one comprehensive talk.

Then Raphael Hythlodaeus just disappears. He has complete existential freedom. He just drifts around the planet like the wind. He’s a Utopian tourist. He’s a traveling one-man show. He’s like an exile on planet Earth.

He’s a fictional character and the book “Utopia” is a fictional book, but Thomas More was a very real person. More was inventing this Utopia game, and making it up in detail, mostly to amuse his host Peter Gillis, who was feeding him, and sheltering him.

But Thomas More ran out of vacation time. He was on vacation in Antwerp, but he had to go back to England. He had to return to his private house, and to resume his public career as a working lawyer.

He had no more time ever to write any fiction. Thomas More never wrote fiction again. He wrote a lot of government tracts. He wrote sermons and legal opinions. No more fiction, though.

After about a year in England, More bundled up all his Utopia papers. He put the game aside, and he sent all the paperwork to Peter Gillis. He said: you know, Peter, I have no leisure time to mess with this game anymore. Why don’t you see if you can do something with it? You participated, so just do anything you want with this Utopia project. Maybe Erasmus can help you.

That would be Desiderio Erasmus of Rotterdam, the very famous European scholar. Erasmus did help — he helped Peter Gillis, and together they published the world’s first edition of Utopia.

That’s the book. You can see that Erasmus is the editor. Erasmus has added plenty of his own witty epigrams to the text. Erasmus knows this book is innovative and strange, and he’s trying to increase sales by including some Erasmus content.

The book was a private joke for Thomas More — because it was only published in Europe. This is him, by the way.

This is the author of Utopia, when he had achieved high rank in the English government. Thomas More doesn’t care about novelists — there was no such profession, there were no copyrights. He’s an intellectual scholar who became a public politician. He works for the English government — the royal court in London. He’s prosperous. He builds a grand private mansion for himself and his family. This is the house:

His book Utopia is not published in England — not while More was alive. The English knew practically nothing about this novel, written in Latin, in Europe, by their Lord Chancellor, rather discreetly.

Here’s Thomas More in his private life.

This a sketch of a portrait that he’s working on, together with a hired artist. More has a gold chain around his neck because he’s become the Chancellor of England. However, his private family life is of great concern to him. Thomas More is writing many careful hand notes on this sketch, so that the artist can paint it properly.

This is a portrait of Thomas More’s entire household. Not just himself — all his relatives, and also his household retainers, everyone under his roof. They’re all gathered in his house, to be recorded for posterity.

It’s really quite a nice private house. It’s got a very high-tech clock on the wall. If you look at it: flower bouquets, vases, curtains….

All the women in this portrait have books. Because they’re all literate. Thomas More has educated every woman in his house. They understand Latin. They can write Greek. They know astronomy, music, mathematics. They’re some of the most highly educated women in the world. He educated them privately. Inside the house. Women could not go to school, but he pulled in the best scholars and he had them give lessons to his wife and his daughters. And retainers. And anybody who’s listening.

More’s private house is a kind of Utopian University.

This is the eventual painting which was made from the sketch.

The fellow in red, that’s Thomas More’s father.

Dad was also a lawyer, and he was also involved in politics. But, he got involved in a serious controversy. He was imprisoned in the Tower of London.

That was dad’s experience. He had to go inside the Tower of London for a month. A terrible place. A dungeon. Political opponents of the English regime, they’re tortured and sometimes murdered in the Tower of London. A very sinister place.

One month of that Tower of London prison experience was plenty for dad. He retired from public life immediately. He never sought political power again. He just went back to the house with Thomas More and the very educated girls. There was plenty to do in there. It’s a private house, but look at it, it’s nice. There are carpets. Dogs. Nice clothes. They have some messengers, like a scholar in the back, writing some mail. It’s so civilized that it’s like a different world.

Things go well for a while — but then the author of “Utopia” himself gets into some very serious and realistic political trouble. Because the king of England is divorcing his wife, who is a Spanish princess. He’s removing the Kingdom on England from the Catholic church. It’s basically a Brexit situation.

He’s seceding from Christendom, and declaring himself the spiritual head of the Church of England.

Thomas More does not approve of this. He’s very pro-European, he’s a diplomat. He knows the idea is terrible. There will be nothing but trouble from it.

He tries to be diplomatic with the King. He gets into all kinds of legal arguments. This is no use. King Henry the Eighth, he’s determined to marry six different women. It’s realpolitik. It’s a political crisis. The king will not back down. More leaves power, he tries to escape the dismal mess and go on vacation. He just goes back to his private house. Like his dad.

I’m not in the government, he declares. I want nothing to do with government. I don’t seek power. I don’t want wealth.

But his private life cannot protect him. The regime insists that he has to sign a public declaration that the King has moral authority over the Pope. He’s just required to sign this — to collaborate. He refuses. It’s a very long, painful controversy. He doesn’t want to sign. He’s fighting on ethical principle. I’m a private citizen. I’m in my own house. I want nothing to do with politics. You can’t make me sign public documents against my will.

That struggle doesn’t end well. Here is a painting of the author of Utopia getting arrested for treason against the state.

In the foreground of the painting, his daughter is clinging to him. Don’t take Dad from our house! Then in the background of the painting, Thomas More is getting publicly executed. His head is chopped off with an axe on a block.

The details here are interesting. The realism of what really happened to this utopian author. They cut his head off his body in public.

Then, one of the daughters managed to collect his body. She didn’t get the head. The head was boiled in a pot, in order to preserve it. Then it was painted with tar. His head was painted with pitch as a kind of preservative.

Then the head of the author of “Utopia” got stuck on a long spike on the London Bridge.

This was customary justice in England at the time. This definitely happened to Thomas More. In historical fact, his head was placed on one of those spikes on the top of the arched bridge, in much the same way that you can see here in this everyday London woodcut.

After a month of public exposure, of the author’s head on a spike, the legend says that one of his other daughters somehow managed to collect his head. Somehow, she retrieved the head off the spike, even though the boiled, tarred head was supposed to be thrown into the river Thames. That was the custom with the heads of traitors.

She had no house, because her father was a traitor and the house had been confiscated. So she’s homeless, but she’s clever and well educated. She speaks Greek, speaks Latin, she understands astronomy, music, mathematics. She’s a cosmopolitan woman from a private house, and somehow she manages to persuade the “Keeper of the Heads” to convey her father’s severed head.

She carries it away from the public shame of the London Bridge. It’s not clear what happened to the head. There are a number of various stories about what she did with it afterwards.

To my mind, this is the ultimate “realist utopian” image. If somebody says the word “Utopia” to you, you should think of an adult woman smuggling the severed head of her father away from an execution.

That’s what it’s like. You write “Utopia” and your grieving daughter somehow steals your chopped-off head, and smuggles your head away in a bag.

Now we forget about Thomas More for the rest of the presentation — because he’s dead. Meanwhile, there’s Italy. Yes, Italy!

In Italy, nobody much cares about More’s head being cut off, but they are reading his book “Utopia.” Because Italians — it turns out they love Utopia. The book’s editor, Erasmus, is very popular in Italy — the University of Torino gives Erasmus a degree in theology. So Italians eagerly read Thomas More’s book in Latin, and they understand that this is speculative political fiction. It’s quite an interesting thing to do.

There’s even a kind of fantascienza genre of utopian writing — not in England, but in Italy.

There’s a whole set of utopias written by various authors.

Most of those authors aren’t English — English people know your head comes off, you don’t want to mess with it — but there are all these other guys writing Utopias.

There’s Tommaso Campanella — his book is still in print. You could go buy it today. It’s kind of interesting.

There’s Ludovivo Agostini. He still has some interest to scholars. The Imaginary Republic.

What a good idea.

This is Anton Francesco Doni.

He’s probably the weirdest author of historic Utopias.

He wrote one that’s rather like science fiction, a weird book meant to be funny and entertaining. Doni’s quite an odd character.

Here’s an Italian political anthology where many Italian political writers are describing the real politics of real places. In the end, they just throw in Thomas More’s Utopia. Why not? Does it even matter if it’s an ‘imaginary country’? It’s about the principles of understanding countries. How do you describe them? How do you explain how they work?

That’s what matters about utopias. That’s the realistic reason to do it.

Now we come to a realist political writer who understands Thomas More. He likes to quote Thomas More. He’s Catholic like Thomas More. He’s a Latin scholar — although he writes in Italian.

Unlike Thomas More, he’s extremely realistic. This is Giovanni Botero.

Or, rather, a well-deserved statue of him. Botero wrote a book which was a utopian manifesto, but for the city of Torino.

Yes, Torino was a planned project with a political theory. Here’s his street here in town — it’s over in the Quadrilatero — the oldest part of the city. The “Via Giovanni Botero.”

Here’s his book, which is all about politics, and it has an afterword. It’s a political book about government, including a work of analysis about cities.

How do you build a grand and magnificent city?

There are a lot of cities all around the world — how do you make one grand and magnificent? What if Torino was magnificent and grand?

How would you make a small town in Piedmont magnificent and grand? What policy would you pursue? How could rulers take policy steps to achieve “grand magnificence”?

Clearly this seems like a utopian idea. Why would Torino ever be grand? This is what Torino looked like when Botero was writing about it.

He is urging the Dukes of Savoy to make this little village magnificent and grand, but it’s not grand, it’s not magnificent. It’s just a small, typical Piedmontese town with a huge fort in the upper left-hand corner.

As Botero points out in his manifesto, no city in Piedmont has ever been grand. Torino is a modest city, like Asti, like Bra, like Cherasco. Botero himself is from Piedmont. He knows the history of the region. He is frank and honest about it, he’s a realist. There’s just never been a big city in Piedmont. No grand city like Genoa, Venice, Rome… This region of Italy had never had any grand magnificent town.

Why not? Well, Giovanni Botero is very keen on studying history, and geography, and law, and economics, and demographics, industrial policy and geopolitics, and other disciplines that did not have names in his own time. However, he somehow absorbed the political lesson of Utopia about how to imagine the town as a whole, functional place. How to get it to exist, how to get it to work.

Botero has learned to think in a utopian way that is realistic. He tells his readers that determined people can really do it. He doesn’t merely preach that Torino will somehow be grand. Instead, he says: what are the general principles of cities becoming grand?

This realistic map is Torino as a kind of Cherasco. It’s charming, in Cherasco. I’ve been to the historic town of Cherasco here in Piedmont, and it’s very nice, actually. I always enjoy it there in Cherasco.

Cherasco is the “world capital of snails.” If you’ve ever been to Cherasco, you would know the “Festa della Lumaca.” The Lumache… they’re great. They’re Slow Food, those snails. If you like “slow food” those snails are really, really slow.

It’s fabulous, I love them, and that is Torino without Giovanni Botero. Without the grand plans of Giovanno Botero, Torino is basically Cherasco.

Unfortunately I don’t have time here to discuss Botero’s ideas in detail, but I promise you, if you read his book, you will understand Torino much, much better.

He makes a very practical case for grandeur and magnificence. You don’t do it on a whim. There are political reasons to do it.

Botero says, to maintain a living city, you need three things. First, you need cheap bread. Not just bread, but enough that it’s cheap economically. Plenty to eat, always there.

Second, you need peace, because if the city is under siege all the time, and people are getting killed, and it’s some mere struggle for survival, that won’t allow the town to function. It just won’t be able to work.

Third, you need justice — so that the population doesn’t cut each other’s throats. There’s no civil war in the streets. People can get on with their productive business.

So, Botero says that peace, bread and justice are the basic necessities. But — they’re very difficult to maintain. Often, they will fail. Then the city will suffer a setback.

But — if the city is grand and magnificent — people will return. You will attract people with a spirited imagination who can appreciate the grandeur and the magnificence. That is the quality of urban people that you actually want. That’s why you do it.

So that was Botero’s realistic utopian plan. Unlike Thomas More, Botero did not get killed. He could have been killed, because life in the Ducal Court of Savoy was very dangerous, but he was allowed to retire with dignity here in Torino. When he died in Torino, he had the pleasure of seeing that indeed the town was becoming quite grand rather quickly.

So, that’s what a realistic Utopia can look like as a political success on an urban scale. The public utopia — but what about the private Utopia?

Botero shows us how to do it as a politician — and kind of get away with your grand plans — but what about our friend Raphael Hythlodaeus?

Raphael doesn’t want to do any public politics. He just wants to do as he himself pleases, every day. Does he also have a possible victory condition?

I actually think he does — the homemade private Utopia. Just one fellow. Like him. One wandering sailor with no great wealth and rather modest resources.

If he has determination, he can lead a surprisingly different life on private principles. Even in the 20th century.

So, this is the American artist Alexander Calder. A very inventive fellow. He spent a lot of time in Europe. Alexander Calder was a sailor for quite a while, much like Raphael Hythlodaeus. Kind of dressed in rags, not much money, a wandering dropout guy with one pair of shoes. A Paris bohemian artist who spent some time in Montparnasse.

In this picture, Alexander Calder decides to build his private Dream Home.

Out of this wreckage here. A big dead building.

Luckily he has Mrs Calder to help him, so he’s not completely alone. Mrs. Calder here — “Louisa James Calder” — she happens to be a cultured Boston aristocrat who speaks excellent French and has a lot of elite social contacts.

Her family said that she was “looking for a different way of life,” and when she married him, boy did she ever get one.

So here she is, making some French bread while Calder’s reading some art book. If you’re a design critic you would notice this is a very peculiar kitchen. Very peculiar indeed.

Here’s a photograph of his other house in France.

Calder probably made at least half the furniture in this room. His wife made the rugs. She was helping out, she liked to make carpets.

This is his studio. People said it looked like an airplane had crashed into the building. Calder had some unique personal filing system. He did not regard this as as a disturbed environment. This was his idea of efficiency. He was a very efficient and effective artist. He made 20,000 artworks in these studios over a 50-year career.

There are eyewitness accounts of him, grabbing his tools, grabbing pieces of stuff, and never misplacing anything. Nothing ever got lost in there. It’s otherworldly, very private, very weird and very personal.

This is a Calder handmade bread toaster. Why? Why would you need to make a personal toaster? You could just buy a toaster — and this one’s obviously dangerous. It’s not even made of industrial components — it’s made from scrap of no commercial value, made of bits of wood, leftover pieces of stone, and wire.

I’ve looked at it a lot. I’ve tried to figure out why Calder would do it. He built at least five of these. Five completely different self-invented unique toasters.

Why?

Why not just go buy the toaster at a store? Well — he very much wants to hand-make a toaster. He wants his toaster as a radically different toaster, the one that belongs to him. This is a “utopian device” in the sense of something that seems visionary, farfetched and silly.

It’s just not practical, not realistic — but it’s practical and realistic for him. Calder tended to make art out of objects that the world had abandoned. Like the Turinese “Arte Povera” method — find junk, and dress it up, and re-format it.

He had a different value system. To him this is is not junk. To him, this is a struggle for understanding.

Here he’s making forks. Why?

Why would anyone go to the trouble to make forks? Especially out of cheap wire, because these are wire forks that he hammered flat. So that wire would behave more like forks.

I think what happened here — Calder liked hand tools. People called him a machine artist, because he made sculptures that moved, and sometimes had motors. But he only had two machines in his studio — a drill and a grinder.

He had no other machines. He preferred making personal things with his hands. Expressive tools — in his own hands.

So he’s sitting and he’s eating with a fork — and he realizes this is a tool in my hand. This fork is a tool in my hand. Why isn’t it my personal fork? Why doesn’t this fork have more of my own values?

Right? It’s a Utopian Fork! It’s my personal very different Fork. I don’t care how long it takes me to make it. I want it to express! I want to hold it in my hand and eat with it.

It’s not for sale. These are not commodities. They are what they are — artifacts from a very different value system.

He was a successful artist — at the end of his life, very successful. Calder was quite a wealthy man, and after he died, then his heirs were very wealthy indeed — by artistic standards.

His home in France is an art center now. You can go there and make art in his studio.

These may not quite look like utopian objects, because they’re so personal. But it’s probably what a handmade personal Utopia actually has to look like. You have to dig down to the original basic principles.

It has the freedom of Raphael Hythlodaeus. It’s intelligent. It’s erudite. It’s well traveled, cosmopolitan. But the rules of the world do not apply to it. They just don’t. It’s “Utopia fai-da-te.” It’s a house as Utopia, it’s private, it’s homemade.

You could you do this yourself, personally, after you left the hall of the speech here. Great — I go back to the house, I make my own Fork. Right? You could, it’s not impossible. You could do it. He did it. He’s proving to himself that he can do it. It’s just — that it’s very rare.

Why? Why do you need a personal Utopia? Why does that matter to you? Where is the benefit? Why not just buy the same toaster that the guy has next door?

Raphael Hythlodaeus could go back to Portugal. He could get a job. He could get married. He could work for the Duke. The private Utopia — it’s like one man trying to to do everything that the world can do for him.

Also, Calder’s alone in the countryside. He’s not in the city. He doesn’t have any critics watching him, as he makes unrealistic forks.

What about the city, the public utopia, the City full of other people? What about — for instance — the Utopian city of Torino? The grand, magnificent Turinese realistic utopia?

What can be said about it, here and now?

Well, I have some passing ideas on that subject — mostly because I have read Giovanni Botero.

Botero wants to use grand magnificence to attract people into the town. His strategy is about a town that can survive. Not because it’s a town that is really good at snails, but because it is a grand city with glamour and charisma. That’s why why you want to do it.

Also, it’s pretty clear that to me that this — realistically — is what Torino has been doing for much of my lifetime. Torino was a city that suffered economic setbacks in the 1970s, and was having some basic Botero-style trouble with the food and the justice system and so forth.

But — when the heavy manufacturing failed — it has been slowly trending toward art, design and especially tourism. Heritage tourism. The Baroque architecture in Turin has not been this sexy in 300 years. Botero’s grandeur is an international tourist draw. It’s becoming like a Turinese Florence.

You might have to visit it over a long period to see this urban transformation, but it’s realistically happening. It doesn’t look or feel like a utopian project — because it’s basically about attracting tourists.

However, tourists have utopian aspects. Mostly because they’re struggling to escape from their real lives. They’re dying from too much realism — the harsh reality of their crushing lives. They want to experience something that feels different and refreshing, if only for two weeks.

A basic Turinese problem here is that Torino is progressive, but a heritage tourist industry, which is very attractive to tourists, has no avant-garde. Their stifling interest in your past holds you back. You can’t do “futuristic heritage industry.” Why? Because you can’t move forward into the past.

Supposedly.

Supposedly, you can’t show anybody any “new past.” You can only show them old, decayed remnants from the past that have always been here, and have somehow survived to the present day. You can’t show them an exciting, innovative past that no one has ever seen before.

However — if you wanted to be realistic and utopian — you might actually do this.

While Giovanni Botero was alive and writing about how to build Torino, this was Torino’s most grand and magnificent building.

Everybody in Torino knew this building. It was the Mole Antonelliana of medieval Turin. This is the “Tower of St Gregory,” the tallest tower in Turin.

Giovanni Botero saw this Tower every day. Everybody in Torino saw this Tower every day. If he was alive, among us in this room, he’d be horrified to realize it was gone. It would be a tragic loss. A Torino with no “Civic Tower”? A dystopian disaster! Scarcely a real Torino at all.

If the Civic Tower was still actually here, it would attract endless tourists. It happened to be demolished in the year 1801, because Napoleon knocked it down. There were efforts to rebuild it, but these efforts failed due to lack of economic realism.

However, if you did restore the Tower of Saint Gregory from utopian impulse, you could offer it to tourists as an exciting new heritage building. You could do that, because the city of Torino has excellent archives, and there are all kinds of records about exactly what this Tower looked like during the 500 years that it towered over Torino.

The Turinese are very skilled at restoring partially damaged buildings. They do that all the time. So why not just restore the entire building? Why not be bold and inventive, and utopian and realistic, and make a completely vanished building come back to life?

This grand and magnificent Tower has been gone since 1801, but now it’s back again. It was history, but now it exists again. It’s not illegal to restore vanished buildings. Physically, it wouldn’t even be that expensive to do it — certainly not by the standards of many other ambitious Turinese urban projects.

It’s mere custom, and the habit of mind, that makes you think that old buildings can’t suddenly spring back to life out of the records. Of course they can.

When I started this speech, I said that Raphael Hythlodaeus was a tourist. He went to see Utopia. He took a lot of notes. He never settled in Utopia. He never married a Utopian woman. He never emigrated to Utopia. He didn’t ask for Utopian citizenship.

He just witnessed Utopia and then he lectured about it.

But there is no “Utopia for tourists.”

If you’ve ever been a tourist, you know it’s actually a rather dystopian user experience. The experience is more or less horrible.

Maybe you want to go to another country — because you’re a tourist. You want to experience a different way of life. You want refreshment, you want escape from your reality.

Well, first you go to the airport — where you’re treated as a terrorist. They literally go through your luggage, your shoes.

Then you reach the border and there you’re treated as a clandestino, or maybe a smuggler. They’re extremely suspicious and hostile. Those are not even realistic efforts. They don’t really serve the cause of law enforcement or of civil order. They’re actually systems which are built for intimidation. They’re there to make you feel worse and to be sorry that you ever decided to travel. They’re in place to hurt your feelings and discourage you.

Then, as a tourist — when you’re a tourist in a foreign city — everyone hates you. Attempts are made to tell you to enjoy yourself, to eat the expensive food and spend your money on nice clothes, but there’s very little there that’s for your actual benefit.

That’s all just basically advertisements. That’s the business model. The local people want nothing you might offer as a human being, they simply want your cash. They don’t want you around. And for good reasons. When masses of tourists arrive in your city — when you’re a really successful tourist city — it’s like the city dies wherever they step.

There doesn’t seem to be any civilized way to deal with them. Even if you’re a tourist, you hate the other tourists.

These people — tourists — are the people within your city who realistically need a Utopia. You don’t need a Utopia. They need the Utopia.

If you’re a native of the city, you’re used to the city. You cherish the city. You’re a patriot. You want to live in the city with your memories, your urban experiences, that make it your place, your city.

You don’t want your City to be a Utopia — not even your own backyard! Here in Turin, if someone said, “Make the San Donato district a Utopia” — Everyone in San Donato would immediately say: “Make Campidoglio do it!”

“Make Cit Turin do it! Not us!” Then they would force San Salvario to become the Utopia, because San Salvario is full of foreigners and they never know what to say.

So if you want to build a utopia -- realistically -- you should build one for tourists.

I’m not sure what that would look like. I could speculate about it a little. I think it would be mostly psychological.

It would be like a a wellness retreat. Some kind of spa. I’m thinking some large Turinese building like a derelict factory. Empty — like the Cavallerizza. Or the former “OGR,” the dead train repair yard. Some derelict space turned into a big utopian box.

It should be soundproofed. It should be airtight — like a gambling casino, where no clocks are visible. There are no windows. The air should be filtered because the air in Torino is terrible. There are hundreds of tourists inside this utopian box. Maybe thousands of tourists in there.

It costs nothing to get into the box. It’s a free public amenity in Turin — built just for them, entirely for them.

But to get into this Utopia they have to remove their phones. They have to remove their clothing. They have no wallets, no purses, no purchasing power.

No money. No identity. No passports. They have to remove themselves, that’s the key to it. They’re free — free not to be who they are.

What’s in there? Nothing. There’s nothing to buy. There are no thrill rides, no multilingual experiences.

I think the tourists themselves should probably disappear. They should be wearing special effect suits, like this.

Special tourist holiday suits that cause people to vanish. They blend into whatever is projected on the walls. I think that projection is probably Torino — dream-like utopian images of Torino.

Not the realistic Torino, with Turinese people in it, but a tourist utopian Torino, grand, magnificent, unearthly — and there’s no plot. Nothing happens there. Nothing bothers you. Everything is under gentle surveillance. You’re a utopian tourist. You’re just peacefully drifting around through this foreign space, and you’re also foreign. You could sleep in there if you want.

Most tourists, they don’t really want thrills or excitement. They are tourists to escape the everyday trauma of their miserable lives. They’re not moving toward the attractions. They’re running away from their dystopian suffering. So they should be in a utopia, and they should vanish. Nobody has to look at them. They’re engrossed in Utopia. Eventually they come out then maybe they spend some money before they go back to their private lives elsewhere.

Okay, now I’ll close with a few personal words. I’ve spent a lot of time in Torino myself — sometimes on a tourist visa. But I have never once been “on vacation” in Torino.

Never. I never had a job here. I don’t labor here. I’m not a voter. I don’t participate politically. I don’t stare at the tourist attractions. I don’t even eat the tourist food.

For my wife and myself, Torino is our city of romance. We had known about one other for rather a long time, but Torino is where we first met.

It seemed utopian to think that we might ever be together. Because there were all kinds of good, sensible reasons why people from Texas and Serbia should never get married. For the two of us to be a husband and wife, it seemed farfetched and absurd, and yet, there was something realistic about it. Because it was Torino. We were really together there. It was true, it was real life.

A romance is a remote possibility — like mere wishful thinking, an empty dream — that can suddenly spring into real life. You can never plan for that to happen. But when it does happen, you become very aware of it.

It’s not that I went to Torino, or that she went to Torino — rather that we went to Torino. We do participate in the life of the city, but we’re just not Turinese. I can’t claim that we have any conventional purpose here at all. Nothing political, nothing economic, nothing diplomatic. Nothing that fits into a business plan or a government form.

Mostly we’re in Torino because in Torino we are us. In Torino we became us. A rather mysterious and utopian quality for a city to have. So Torino is not Utopia, but we do appreciate your kindness and your hospitality. So, thank you for that, and that concludes my speech.

Thank you for your attention.

#bruce sterling #italy #Turin #utopia

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kitchenisking · 23 days

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Day 1

Happy Passover! there will be a rec for everyday of passover so keep an eye out! Enjoy guys!😘

I could be anyone but your friend by devilscut - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 25,663, sterek)

The aftermath of the nogitsune's possession of Stiles has ended up in a very strange and almost unlikely relationship forming between Stiles and Derek Hale. After saving Stiles and regaining his alpha-hood while doing it, Stiles has come to only feel safe when around the werewolf. Sometimes when the memories and the panic attacks are too much they both need more than simple companionship or hugs. Stiles sometimes needs to let go of his control and Derek sometimes needs to take it into his keeping.

For better, for worse by Vendelin - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 13,336, sterek)

Derek and Stiles have been married for six years. Derek loves his job as a successful lawyer, loves his financial security and his large house. It isn’t until Stiles gets shot while working that he starts to understand that maybe Stiles isn’t loving their life as much as Derek is.

Keep the Demon At Bay by EvanesDust, idratherwrite - (Rating: T, Words: 7,485, sterek)

Stiles wakes up with four years of his life missing(fail). He also has a really hot boyfriend(win) and is friends with Jackson(undecided). He hasn't lost his memory for no reason, however, and the one responsible has plans.

Last Year's Predictions Didn't Come Out Quite As Expected by stilinskisparkles - (Rating: Mature, Words: 8,526, sterek)

A year ago if someone had told Stiles he'd be going to prom with Erica Reyes and that Derek Hale would be lounging on his bed watching him dither over outfits, gaze ranging from amusement to lust filled every other minute Stiles would have punched them in the face. Or maybe tossed holy water on them.

Big Days by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli) - (Rating: T, Words: 9,692, sterek)

It’s an impulse really, inviting Derek to spend Thanksgiving with him and his dad. The Sheriff. Who once arrested him. It’ll be fine. Stiles is sure it’ll be fine.

Stay with me by Beautiful_noise - (Rating: T, Words: 2,740, sterek)

Derek gets a glimpse of the future in which Stiles has two biological daughters and that's how he knows he and Stiles are going to break up.

Baby You Got A Bright Future Behind You by werewolvesandarrows (nerdy_farm_girl) - (Rating: T, Words: 3,056, sterek)

Stiles loves going to the dentist. Loves it. He gets that it’s kind of strange, he does. Scott hates going to the dentist, hates it even more now that he and Kira have the twins and it costs like a million bucks or something every trip (or well, maybe not a million bucks but Stiles generally zones out once Scott starts to rant about money. He definitely doesn’t love talking about money). But Stiles is blessed to have a job with good dental coverage, and a visit to the dentist doesn’t usually come with a big bill. It does however come with hygienists and a dentist that are smokin’ hot.

What the Hell is a Stiles? by TheRealDanniX - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 4,901, sterek)

A witch takes Stiles' memory while he's on the job and Derek gets stuck babysitting. Not that he really minds. In fact, it may be just what he needs.

One Door Closes by KouriArashi - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 27,794, sterek)

Derek knows that Stiles is too young for him, but Stiles doesn't agree. Eight years after Derek rejects him due to the age gap, they meet again where Derek has settled in Wyoming as a ranch hand, and Stiles is the new deputy, and still pissed as hell about the way Derek turned him down. Things don't go as either of them planned. (I'm sure a million fics have been written about older Stiles and Derek, but this one has cowboy Derek, does that help?)

This Entire Time by Itsreallyjustforresearch83- (Rating: T, Words: 1,982, sterek)

Lydia and Jackson were minding their own business when they stumbled across their Alpha and their Emissary acting very...couple-y. But when they brought it up to still-somehow-not-dead Peter, he just laughed and said it's not his place to share.

Lydia and Jackson think they discover something new and exciting, AKA the two idiots they've been watching dance around each other for the last four years FINALLY getting somewhere. Turns out, it's not that new of a thing and only Peter seemed to know about it.

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fanfiction #stiles x derek #kitcheniskingficrecs

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maple-the-awesome · 2 years

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A Boy? ||

Pairing: Platonic! Matt Murdock x Reader x MCU! Peter Parker

Words: 3,416

Overview: Matt isn't sure what to think when you ask him to be your friend's lawyer; surprised someone's actually wormed their way into your heart or protective because it's a boy. This is honestly one of my favorite fics I've written in a while. Matt would definitely be able to multitask between being a really good lawyer and a protective dad 😍

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"I...need your help."

It's not unheard of for you to visit Matt at the firm every now and again, especially in recent months where you've almost become comfortable with the idea, so when he first recognized the pattern of your footsteps approaching the door, he thought nothing of it and instead prepared himself for one of your typical yet playful insults; the closest form of affection you've ever been know to show.

Even if taking a moment to consider the chance that you might be here to ask for something, he would've figured it to be something simple that comes with a stubborn bite to your words. Perhaps you lost your key to the apartment and have come to him for a spare or maybe you just need a few dollars to buy lunch. Aloud both outcomes do sound unlikely since Matt knows you're rather organized and calculated with your money after having a childhood of nothing, but he can't imagine any other reason you'd be requesting his help right now.

To his surprise, there's a noticeably quickened pace to your heartbeat and a quiet hesitation with your movements as you shut the office door behind yourself. You're afraid not embarrassed which isn't an emotion you don't often allow yourself to show and it's this awareness that raises concern in Matt.

Matt has known you for about two years now- seven years if you count the time passed during the Blip not that you were around for it-, but he'd be reluctant to say you're close, at least in a mutual sense.

You're dangerously headstrong, as he's learned, especially when it comes to your goal of being entirely self sufficient. You hate to admit weakness in any form, both physically and emotionally, thus you've developed the terrible habit of distancing yourself from others even if they have nothing except good intentions. While Matt can't justly critique you on a practice he himself is guilty of, he has tried his best throughout the years to earn your trust while reminding himself never to take your pushback personally.

You're rather young, only just hitting eighteen yet you've arguably been through more heartache than even he has which is certainly saying something. Orphaned then trained to basically act as a child soldier, it's safe to say you never had a normal childhood which ultimately influenced your personality and difficulty relating to others. When Matt- or better put Daredevil- first met you, you were barely more than a feisty teenager accustomed to only relying on yourself and living life at the mercy of none other than Wilson Fisk. You were cold just as those around you, but at the end of day, you were also just a shattered kid trying to survive; a little example of what's wrong with this cruel world.

You understandably hated Daredevil in the beginning, seeing him as the enemy you've been conditioned to destroy. You both had a few small run-ins with each other before one particular fight that ended with the building exploding. All you can really remember of that night was being alone and heavily injured within the flames, your 'friends' having long saved their own asses by willingly leaving you behind to choke on hazardous smoke. Next thing you knew, you awoke in Daredevil's dark apartment, the man in question explaining the situation after calmly stopping you from attempting to stab him with the pair of scissors left on the table.

Even though you had run right back to Fisk by sunrise, Matt knew there must be promise in you since you never sold out his location and his faith would prove true when he slowly yet surely managed to gain enough of your trust to help you believe in his word that he'd take down Fisk in turn for your cooperation. He kept that word, too, freeing you from the chains that held you down to a life of crime, however the scars that remained took far longer to even begin the process of healing.

Matt generously took you in, although you still struggled with plenty of old habits, the worst being stealing and getting into fights on the street. Whenever he'd confront you on it, a heated argument would ensue until you'd eventually run off, forcing Matt to go out looking for you upon your refusal to return home on your own. There were also the nightmares that plagued your sleep each night, often frightening Matt when he'd be out as Daredevil only to hear your blood curdling screams from back at the apartment, but you've always refused to share those inner demons even now.

Matt must admit that those early days truly tested him. He hated himself for thinking it, but at times he'd wonder if you both wouldn't have been better off if he hadn't nudged his way into your life to begin with. Before you, he was a single man who couldn't even keep a girlfriend and had not an ounce of experience being any sort of role model or father figure. Maybe the words you tended to scream at him were right. You don't need him, after all, he's just as broken as you; two brokens can't possibly make a right, can they?

Fortunately despite his insecurities and worries, it got easier. He had the constant support of Foggy and Karen while Father Lantom provided religious reminders as guidance. Overtime, your behavior shifted even if slowly. You learned that the apartment is a safe place and that there's always food in the fridge, so no need to steal. As you bonded more, Matt taught you to meditate to better control your emotions which also seemed to help smooth your nightmares. You even began feeling comfortable while in the presence of his friends which was a huge step forward.

Ultimately, Matt's proud of you and everything you've managed to overcome. Of course, it's not to say rough spots don't still present themselves, in fact the Blip itself has backtracked your progress slightly, although no one can blame you for that. You were terrified to learn you had disappeared for five years, the only good coming out of that entire situation being the realization that your dusting had destroyed Matt. Foggy explained that to you one day when Matt wasn't at the firm during your visit. According to him, his friend barely ate or slept, blaming himself for not somehow protecting you as he promised even if it really was out of his hands. It was this knowledge that made you feel loved for the first time in your life and you've since allowed yourself to finally trust Matt's care towards you (not that you've ever found a way to tell him that yet).

While you can't seem to find the words to express your affection towards the only parent figure you've ever known, you've decided to go to him for help towards your current dilemma which is the reason for your visit today, but irritatingly despite your trust, you find yourself nervous, your past habits betraying you with the fear that perhaps there's a ever so small possibly Matt will turn you away.

"What's up?" He raises an eyebrow, sensing your nerves which confuse him. He's certain he would've heard by now if Fisk is out of jail and there's no way you'd let anyone else on the street push you around. Maybe it's school? You don't tell him anything about school other than confirming your grades are good, so he'd be a little surprised if you ask for help studying, but he would hope you know he'll be happy to help if it's that.

You're chewing on your lip, debating if you should continue with your request. You truly thought you'd have no problem coming to him anymore and you know he's a good guy who can help, after all he's already done so much for you by taking you under his wing. Still, what if he gets mad because he has done enough for you and you have no right asking for more?

"What's wrong?" Matt changes his question, his voice softer now as he finally sets down his papers. He's growing more concerned, although he fights not to show it in case the emotion might scare you away.

"Okay, so um...There's...This boy..."

His face scrunches, but he's not sure why. One side of him wants to immediately direct you towards Karen, insisting she'd be a much better option for that type of advice than himself, however the other louder side feels a curd of anger inside his stomach, wanting to press on about why you're mentioning 'a boy'.

What boy? Do you have a boyfriend? When did that happen? Yes, you're eighteen which many would argue is old enough to date, but it doesn't feel like it. You should at least be thirty before you date, right?

"A boy...?"

"Yeah- from school," that was a lie; a blatant one at that. You must've met him somewhere. Where? You refuse to say," he's not actually just any boy. He's...Well, he's my friend-"

Matt blinks, certain this is the first time he's ever heard you use the word 'friend' before. This 'boy' must really be something special to have you use such an intimate term towards him.

"-And he's run into some legal trouble recently."

Now Matt's lips are curled into a scowl he can't hide as he leans back in his chair with crossed arms. Oh no. A boy involved in legal trouble is not the type to be involved with you. Sure, you've had a lengthy criminal record yourself, but you weren't ever charged and are, what Matt would call, a victim. You're a good kid now even if you could still kick someone's teeth in if desired. No law breaking boy needs to be getting mixed up with you!

"What kind of 'legal trouble'?" His question is a little too stern not that he notices much, instead keeping his covered eyes directed to where he hears you standing. If he had a clear mind, he might've regretted that forceful tone once you begin fidgeting with your hands.

"He...Have you heard the news lately?"

So, this guy has gotten himself in enough trouble to be on the news? This conversation isn't going in a direction Matt likes," I have, but you'll have to be more specific. The news covers a lot of criminal activity."

"I wouldn't go as far as to call him a 'criminal'. He's innocent, he's just gotten the short end of the stick is all-"

"-And did he tell you that?"

"No- Well yeah, but I knew it already! I mean it when I say he's a really good guy, Matt. Like amazingly good; almost too good to be true, but he is! He'd do anything to protect this city because he's just that caring and sweet. He's...Well, he's, um..." Matt raises an eyebrow as you trail off, although he pays more attention to the way your body heats up and your heartbeat accelerates.

Oh...

Now Matt has a true dilemma on his hands. Until now, you've never mentioned having a single friend before, so one side of him wants to be happy with the knowledge that you, the most stubborn and distant person to exist on planet Earth (aside from maybe Frank), have fallen in love. Maybe it's not the most comfortable discussion and he can't deny he'd worry regardless of the circumstances, but if it's something that allows you to feel normal for once, then that's excellent. The only problem is he can't say he agrees with your criminal type. Why can't you be interested in someone law abiding?

Fiddling with your fingers, you miss Matt's silence as a sign of conflict and instead take it as him waiting for you to get to the point, thus you do with a quiet, meek voice,"...and he's kinda Spiderman..."

Matt blinks, caught off guard by your confession which had almost been muted by his inner thoughts," Spiderman...? The vigilante from Queens?"

You nod," I guess there's no harm in telling you his name's Peter Parker since the whole world already knows that now...Anyways I met him a while ago and we became friends, but...Well, you've heard what the news is trying to say about him, right? His identity got leaked and now they're trying to pin him as some sort of killer, but he isn't- I know he isn't. Peter's like you. He'd never kill anyone even if they're some crazed villain the streets would be safer without. I mean, you can tell he didn't do it just by how upset he is over all this!

"They're trying to ruin his life- not only his life, but also his friends' and aunt's...They won't let off and he doesn't deserve it. He needs a lawyer-a really good one at that. I thought that maybe...Maybe you could help him out, ya' know? You said us vigilantes have to look out for one another, right? So, could you help Spiderman? E-Even if just as one last favor for me? I swear I won't ask for anything else just...Can you please help him, Matt? Please..."

There's tears in your eyes at this point which is a rare occurrence usually only found on nights of particularly bad nightmares. This is one of those moments where it's clear you're only a kid. Standing in front of his desk, you keep your head bowed and hands clenched to the bottom of your shirt as you stubbornly fight to not get emotional, a fight nearly lost by that sniffle of your nose. Even after your nightmares or back before Matt saved you from Fisk, you've never been this scared. Of course, there's a clear difference from then and now.

This Peter Parker must really be something special. He must be able to bring a smile to your face by his presences alone, drawing hours of laughter from you over countless dumb jokes or helping you let loose by inviting you out with him and his friends, maybe even for movie nights at his apartment which might explain those few days over the last month where you didn't return home until after midnight.

Those nights he must listen to your worries, being the only person trusted with the details of your nightmares as he cuddles you close and promises to never let anyone hurt you again. He must make you feel like a giddy teenager, an experience that had once been stolen from you by people like Fisk. Around Peter, you aren't a child soldier or a dangerous killer or even a broken soul; you're (Y/n) (L/n), just a normal girl who'd do anything to protect the most precious thing she has to hold.

It takes you by surprise when Matt stands up suddenly, taking his cane from where it had been folded on the table and clicking it into place with a 'snap'," do you know his address?"

"H-Huh?"

"I'm assuming you know where Parker lives, correct? There's a lot to discuss if I'm going to help him with his legal troubles so it's best we get started immediately. Isn't that what you want?" Matt has a faint hint of a smirk pulling at his lips as he walks past you to the door, only stopping with his hand upon the doorknob.

Your eyes follow him, the wheels inside your head turning as you process his words. Soon, you're beaming, a noticeable uplift to your voice with relieved tears being blinked back in your eyes," thank you, Matt!"

"Take a seat, Mr. Parker."

When Matt had announced the charges against Peter won't stick, the teen had been endlessly thankful. Between you finding him a good lawyer that didn't dent his pockets and said lawyer being able to remove his legal troubles, he's been giddy with relief and saw no issue with Matt's request to speak with him privately before his departure, after all, it's the least he can do for someone who's already helped him so much during his greatest time of need.

Even after being told to sit back down, Peter does so with a unfazed smile on his face," is there something else I need to be worried about? You said the charges aren't going to stick, so I should be good, yeah?"

"Oh, I don't want to talk to you about anything related to the court."

Now Peter blinks in confusion, his smile taking a hit," oh?"

"I want to talk to you about (Y/n)."

"O-Oh..." Peter's confusion turns into a fiery blush, one that makes Matt's own face twist into a look of disgust he fights to hide.

"How long have you known her?"

"Um, about a year I think- Well, actually, I guess it's technically been about five years since we met before the Snap but-"

"-And has she told you about her past working for Wilson Fisk?"

Peter's heart noticeably skips a beat as he looks to Matt with wide eyes. His mouth opens in preparation to lie to his lawyer for the first time, denying that you'd ever work for Fisk because you definitely aren't some teenage vigilante he's been fighting alongside as Spiderman since the last year, however after giving his response some thought and studying Matt's careful expression, he decides to just be truthful.

"Yeah...Yeah, she has."

"Then you must understand how difficult it's been for her to trust other people after everything she's been through. I must admit I was surprised when she first brought you up. She was very adamant that I act as your lawyer and since then she's spent nearly every day asking about you. She's clearly extremely fond of you."

It probably isn't the best time for it, but a bashful smile crosses Peter's face, his gaze falling to his hands as he dwells on Matt's words. You? Fond of him? That's not allowed, is it?

Of course, Peter's always had eyes for you. Ned and MJ tease him about it all the time. Hell, it's why Spiderman even decided to approach you in the first place. He had been utterly starstruck to watch some super hot vigilante swoop in out of nowhere and apprehend a pair of criminals before he could. In awe, he just had to walk up to you and give some incredibly lame joke that successfully resulted in you giving a goddess's laugh that numbed his heart. Since then, Peter made sure to become your friend (and biggest admirer), so to think you might actually be fond of him, too? Well, he could never be luckier!

"With that said, I wanted to thank you, Peter," the young hero is taken back by Matt's sudden words of gratitude," you make her happy; happier than anyone else has managed. Hearing her talk about you is the first time I've heard her sound like a normal teen, and if you were to ask her out, I'm certain she'd agree. I'll even give you my blessing to do so."

"A-Ah! Thank...Thank you, sir!"

"But-" Matt adjusts his glasses before suddenly leaning forward, his hands cupped together as a shadow crosses over his expression,"- just know, that if you ever do anything to break my daughter's heart, I'll personally ensure you deal with the Devil."

The breath in Peter's throat catches, his mouth opening and closing a few times in attempts to grasp onto some quick response which he's normally talented in delivering, but alas, nothing comes. Spiderman really shouldn't have to fear a blind man, but there's something about Matt's tone that sinks into his bones as a frigid warning that begs him to be smart, not dismissive.

Grabbing his cane, the lawyer calmly stands and walks past Peter, only stopping to pat a stern hand on his shoulder," good talk, Spidy."

It's cruel; the way Matt leaves behind a shocked Peter Parker while wearing a smug smirk of his own. He's not even guilty in the slightest, shown by the way he doesn't even care to rid of his expression when noticing you leaned against the wall outside the apartment door with crossed arms. He assumes by the harshness to your voice that your eyebrows are pinched downwards as you glare his way- a glare he's too familiar with feeling at this point to be bothered.

"Are you serious?"

"What?" He gives a mocked look of innocents that you refuse to buy.

Instead, you suck in a breath, fighting to ignore both your burning cheeks along with your irritation towards the lawyer and his poor attempt at playing dumb. Marching on by, you purposely bump into his shoulder, hissing under your breath,"...that wasn't cool, dad..."

#peter parker x reader #x reader #reader insert #peter parker #mcu peter parker #tom holland #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman #marvel #daredevil x reader #daredevil #charlie cox #marvel x reader

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deliciousangelfestival · 4 months

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Secret Sorrows || 2 -B.Barnes

Summary: Former special ops, Bucky, seeks solace in a cold refuge to escape his past. However, his haunted history catches up, unraveling mysteries that persist relentlessly.

Warning: Domestic Violence. But Bucky will save the day.

Series Masterlist

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Bucky found himself in the role of Ethan's bodyguard after being hired. The following day, Y/N and Ethan shared a meal during breakfast, with Bucky standing guard alongside others. The surreal realization of Iris having a twin still lingered in Bucky's mind.

Amidst the routine, Ethan's ongoing grief manifested in his lack of appetite. A dropped spoon into his cereal soup signaled his distress, and he expressed, "I want to see grandma."

In her characteristically cold manner, Y/N replied, "She's coming. With grandfather."

Ethan's greeting turned into a nervous, almost startled, "Hii," as he spotted his grandfather approaching.

Bucky observed the sudden fear in the young boy and quietly inquired of a colleague, "What's wrong?"

The fellow bodyguard, Peter, responded hushedly, "The young master's grandfather from the mother's side, Jeremy Aston. He's strict."

Jeremy Aston. The name sent a shiver down Bucky's spine. He knew this person is the reason why Iris abruptly left the academy and never returned.

Bucky, seeking more information, asked Peter, "Where are the grandparents from the father's side?"

Peter replied, "Ethan's other grandfather is still in jail."

Peter added, "Miss Y/N became the legal guardian after the lawyer read the will of Ethan's father two days ago. The entire Van Alen family was furious because that means Miss Y/N now holds the reins as the CEO in the Van Alen business until Ethan comes of age."

Bucky remarked, "Wow, the lives of rich people are different."

Suddenly, an announcement echoed, "Mr. and Mrs. Aston have arrived."

Ethan whispered with a trembling voice, "Grandpa is here too?" Then he looked at Bucky. Bucky recognized the expression, reminiscent of the fear he saw in Ethan's eyes in the Antarctic.

What made this kid afraid?

The door opened, revealing two elderly figures.

Jeremy Aston is an old-fashioned man known for his strict adherence to rules. Iris rarely spoke about her father, but when she did, Bucky could sense her fear.

Ethan, displaying a mix of excitement and apprehension, quickly abandoned his chair and ran to the older woman. "Grandma."

June Aston leaned down, enveloping her grandson in a warm hug. "My baby," she exclaimed.

The room buzzed with restrained tension as Jeremy observed the scene. Bucky, still on guard, couldn't help but wonder about the secrets concealed beneath the wealthy facade of the Van Alen and Aston family.

Jeremy brushed Ethan's hair, saying, "A big boy like you shouldn't cry."

Ethan replied with a tremor, "Yes, grandpa," seeking refuge in his grandma's arms.

"Y/N, come here," Jeremy ordered.

Y/N clenched her fists, and as she approached Jeremy, suddenly she felt her cheeks sting.

'SLAP'

The crisp sound of the slap echoed in the room. Pretending not to see, everyone turned their gaze away except for Bucky. He witnessed Y/N being slapped and falling to the ground.

How could a father do this to his daughter?

Ethan hid his face, and June looked away, her expression holding back tears. It became clear why Ethan sounded scared when his grandfather's name was mentioned.

Y/N remained silent, fixing her outfit as she stood up. Jeremy, angered, questioned, "How could my grandson get kidnapped, and it made into the news? You didn't do enough!"

Maintaining her composure, Y/N calmly responded, "It's my mistake. I won't let that happen again."

In a fit of rage, Jeremy pointed his finger at her forehead, pushing her head multiple times. "You better! Ethan is the heir for both families!"

The repeated pushes threatened to make her fall again, the earlier slap still stinging in her left ear. Suddenly, she felt her forehead no longer under attack and her back being supported.

It turned out Bucky was holding her back and had grabbed Jeremy's hand. Bucky asserted, "That's enough. She's an adult, not a kid."

Stunned, everyone remained silent. No one dared to challenge Jeremy, and even he was taken aback, exclaiming, "How dare you!!!"

Jeremy sensed a strange familiarity in the man before him, though he couldn't fathom knowing someone so rude. Pulling his hand away, he dismissed Bucky's touch as if it were contamination.

"Who are you?!" Jeremy demanded.

Safely behind Bucky, Y/N felt a sense of protection, like a formidable wall shielding her from a monstrous presence.

Bucky met Jeremy's gaze and calmly asserted, "I'm a bodyguard hired by Van Alen. My duty is to protect. Miss Y/N became the legal guardian, which means she's part of the Van Alen family."

Jeremy scoffed, disdain evident. "Who even wants to hire a rogue like you?"

A surprising voice interjected, "Me."

Both Jeremy and June were taken aback as Ethan stepped forward. Liberating himself from June's arms, he ran to stand behind Bucky.

Looking up at his aunt, Ethan noticed her reddened cheeks and a trace of blood on her lips. His aunt might be stern, but she was only strict. The absolute terror lay in his grandfather, scarier than any monster he'd read about in books.

With a determined look, Ethan tugged at the fabric of Bucky's pants, prompting him to bend down. Meeting the little kid's earnest gaze, Bucky felt his eyes welling up, a silent testament to the emotions stirred by Ethan's innocent yet profound words.

"My aunt didn't do anything wrong!!!" Ethan declared with a touch of defiance. "She kept me safe even though she always works and works. She never angry and yelled at me! But why does Grandpa always bully Aunt Y/N?"

Jeremy, caught off guard, never anticipated such a candid revelation from his grandson. His brows furrowed in confusion and disbelief while his hands clenched into fists.

"Wha-? I did that because your aunt did something wrong," Jeremy stammered, attempting to justify his actions.

Bucky, now standing tall, maintained a steady gaze on Jeremy. A steely resolve flickered in his eyes, accentuating the intensity of his emotions. The clenching of his jaw and the subtle tightening of his fists revealed the simmering anger beneath the surface.

"You made my boss cry," Bucky retorted, his voice carrying an undertone of reproach. Crossing his arms in defiance, he added, "You have 5 minutes to leave this place."

Fueled with anger, Jeremy pointed an accusatory finger at Bucky, "You!!!"

In response, Bucky swiftly intercepted, breaking Jeremy's pointing finger with a swift, assertive motion.

"You seem like a bully," Bucky declared his body language exuding strength and disdain.

Jeremy, frustrated and defeated, let out a primal scream, "Arrghh!!"

The room filled with Jeremy's frustrated scream, a primal roar of indignation. Meanwhile, Y/N, now composed and in control, directed her assistant with a commanding yet restrained tone, "Send my father to the hospital."

The assistant, responding promptly, acknowledged, "Yes, ma'am."

With these actions and reactions, the chaos that had erupted moments ago began to subside. Bucky's assertiveness had not only shifted the power dynamics but also brought a semblance of justice.

Y/N's relieved sigh carried a weight of exhaustion as her eyes met Ethan's. The unspoken understanding between them lingered in the air, a testament to their shared burden.

Ethan, adopting a defensive posture, declared, "This doesn't mean we're friends," before turning away and leaving Y/N behind. His uncertain addition, "Yet," hung in the air, leaving a trace of vulnerability in his wake.

Y/N couldn't help but scoff at the theatrics of her nephew's departure. However, beneath the surface, a storm of emotions raged within her.

Sensing her turmoil, Bucky approached and gently guided her to sit down. With a swift command, he arranged for a first aid kit, his concern etched across his face.

"I'm fine," Y/N insisted, but Bucky's stern response halted her protests.

"No, you're not. You just lost your sister, and your father hit you. That's not okay."

Y/N sighed, her words revealing the deep wounds of a lifetime. "That's how I live as an unwanted child."

Bucky flinched at her words, echoing Iris's similar sentiment haunting him. Memories resurfaced of a time when he and Iris skipped class, seeking solace under a tree. Iris, lying on his arm, had confessed, "In my family, I'm the unwanted child."

As Bucky thought about the parallels between Iris and Y/N, the mystery surrounding Y/N deepened. The shared tattoo and the mirrored expressions of sorrow all added layers to the enigma Y/N.

The atmosphere, thick with angst and uncertainty, hung over them. Bucky couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Y/N's story than met the eye. The question lingered in his mind like an unsolved puzzle: 'Who are you, Y/N?'

Author Note :

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

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you-me-we-04 · 1 year

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Here’s my (very dumb) pitch for Mamma Mia 3, it's Harry's wedding there is just one small very very tiny issue no one can work out who Harry’s marrying and at this point, they just feel weird asking. So much like the first film, three men are running around a greek island while Sophie, Sky, Cher, Tanya, Rosie, Bill, and Sam try to work out their connection to the plot, I mean their relationship with Harry. So let us meet the potential Grooms:

First up we have Elijah Thatcher played by Taron Egerton, at first, he seems the most likely to be the groom despite the age gap since he seems very close and connected to the wedding and is really stressed out about the wedding. However, we later find out the reason he is so stressed about this wedding is that he is the stressed-out wedding planner, and let's just say Harry’s Groom is a bit of a bridezilla

Then we have Peter Beckett played by Hugh Laurie an American lawyer who is very close to Harry, he also knows a lot about the other dads and Sophie, and he also has the habit of flirting with Harry, in truth while he and Harry did have a fling back in the day, they are now simply best friends and he’s the best man. The reason he flirts with Harry is that he enjoys getting a reaction out of Harry's actual partner.

This actual partner is Nathaniel Hawthorn played by Hugh Grant a music professor at Cornell, they push each other buttons but at the end of the day, they still love each other. At the start of the film, they think he is the wedding planner since he seemed a bit too into the table setting. But he actually just enjoys getting a rise out of Elijah, who at this point is considering a career change. Hijinks, misunderstandings, and ABBA take place before the reveal but in the end, the reveal is simple with Nathanial asking if Sophie would walk down the aisle with him, since he's kinda either step-dad 1 or dad 4 plus he knows it will mean the world to Harry, she agrees they hug and she welcomes her new dad to the family.

We end the film with their wedding it's big, it’s fun, and it goes perfectly much to the joy of Elijah's mental health, Peter gets a killer best man speech that ends in him and Nathaniel hugging it out. Just as the night is coming to an end, all seems to be going well Bill finds his boat has been stolen by none other than newlyweds. Harry yells something about being spontaneous, while Nathaniel yells about going on the honeymoon of their dreams. As they sail off into the sunset.

We close with Elijah and Bill sharing a drink and rethinking the life choices that got them here. We then find out Cher knew who the groom was the whole time and just found the whole thing very funny hence why she told no one.

#this is all one big inside joke with myself #i also wrote this late at night while drunk for fun #i may have not seen either mamma mia film in awhile so sorry if I got the lore wrong #mamma mia #mamma mia 3 #give harry a bf #also feel free to add ABBA songs as you like #taron egerton #hugh laurie #colin firth #hugh grant #i believe them play boyfriends would be a very full circle moment #abba

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irondad-and-spiderson · 3 months

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Hi! Sorry to bother, idk if you take asks like this (if you don't feel free to ignore!) but do you know any good fics where SI employees bully/threaten/mistreat Peter and Tony comes to the rescue? Thank you so much for your time 💙💙

Hi! I absolutely do! I might just take forever to respond and take your prompt a little loosely 😃 The three under the cut are employees with (valid) security concerns. I know there are more that I can’t find, so anyone feel free to add some 😉

A Big Security Issue by FotiBrit

When Peter lost his Stark Industries Staff ID, Tony handed the kid his own. That was never an issue, until Peter had to check in at the front desk.

The Cusp of a Breath by SpaceCowboysFromMars

“That was the most stressful thing I’ve ever experienced.” Peter says as he and Tony make their way into the crowd. He wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs, cringing when he remembers how much the suit costs.

“You got shot on patrol last month.”

“This was worse.”

Or; Peter is introduced as the official heir of Stark Industries, but not everyone is completely welcoming of his presence. Luckily, he has a pretty awesome mentor to keep him on track.

the love (and other things) you inherit by ironfidus

“Which is why,” Catherine says, unblinking, as delicately as she can, “the board requires that you name a successor in the event of your untimely demise. The risk has simply become too great for us to ignore.”

Tony Stark’s spent a large portion of his life thinking about legacy: his legacy, his company’s, Iron Man’s. He’s spent a lot of time fighting to protect his legacy, too. But today, with a lawyer as his witness and FRIDAY as his one-AI cheerleading squad, he stops, takes a step back, and lets go instead—because for the first time, his legacy isn’t about him, not really.

And as FRIDAY would say: it’s about damn time.

Alternatively: Tony updates his will and gets himself an heir, Peter gets a promotion (for lack of a better word), and the rest of the world gets a wake-up call—in that order. Ft. an impatient board of directors, a Stark Industries charity gala, and a universe in which Tony Stark gets to be happy.

Security Bias by Sara (ctrsara)

Happy Hogan asks Daren Anderson to help him out with a little project.

My take on idk-bruh-20's irondad fic ideas #128: Fic where, after a security incident in which some bozo accused Peter of trespassing at Stark Tower, Happy holds an emergency briefing for the entire SI security team.

The topic of the briefing? The absolutely untouchable, vital-to-know-if-you-want-to-keep-your-job level of importance of one Peter Parker.

Five Times Tony Stark's Fabled Intern Just Showed Up + One Time He Was Invited by kingdomfaraway

While Leroy didn’t like gossip, he wasn’t immune to it and he’d heard about a young boy claiming to be Tony Stark’s intern showing up randomly throughout the building. He just figured it was some random mystery, a Stark Industries cryptid if you will.

Never did he think he’d have a sighting.

“Are you Peter Parker?” Leroy questioned, narrowing his eyes at the young boy, looking for any signs of deceit.

“Oh yeah, that’s me, hi!” Possibly Fabled Intern Peter Parker reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge and lanyard, this one with his face on it and INTERN written underneath it. “Mr. Stark got me a badge so I can get nachos whenever I want.”

Chapter 1 of 200 Park Avenue (5+1) by Sara (ctrsara)

Peter hasn't seen Mr. Stark, or been able to go out as Spider-man since he turned down his invitation to join the Avengers a few weeks ago. He ends up at Stark Tower rather randomly, finding an unlikely hero in Mr. Stark's AI, then keeps returning for different purposes.

The first chapter is a short I did for Comfortember 2022 that I've just kept thinking about. I'm building on that story and creating a 5+1 to explore the new dynamic (post-Homecoming) in another way.

5 Times Peter Visited Stark Tower and 1 Time He Stayed

Home by patrochilles_trash ((it’s less angsty than it sounds))

Tony had been out of the country for weeks on SI business, and Peter was having a hard time. He missed him, plain and simple.

Okay. Maybe not so plain and simple.

Peter had a rough time in the weeks and months that followed the final defeat of Thanos in the ruins of the Compound. Thrust back into life, only to be forced to fight for the lives of the entire universe for the second time at only sixteen-years-old, and then to be told that his last living relative died in a crash during his five year absence did wonders for his psyche.

He developed a nasty form of separation anxiety toward his mentor-turned-adoptive-father -- not that Tony fared much better himself -- and his therapist had said it was a side effect of PTSD and that it would get better over time.

A small field trip fic to SI where Tony has been out of the country for a few weeks, and Peter isn't handling it well.

Don't be fooled. This garbage fluff to avoid my other fics that I'm writing

#ask #fanfiction #iron dad #tony stark #spider son #peter parker #fic rec #answered

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gh0stsp1d3r · 11 months

Text

Request: So, I was thinking about Elle Woods (random, I know lol), BUT what if Y/n was similar to Elle Woods (also BUBBLES FROM POWERPUFF GIRLS) in that she’s REALLY girly, like pink/glitter ALL OVER, very bubbly, but instead of her being a lawyer with pink all over, she’s an assassin with pink all over?? And I’m talking EVERY PINK lol- Clothes, accessories, weapons, etc…. Similarly to how Elle isn’t taken seriously as a lawyer (at first) because of her demeanor and how she dresses, Y/n isn’t taken seriously (at first) as an assassin because of how she acts and dresses? BUT like Elle, Y/n is REALLY good at her job… Anyways, somehow meeting Tan and they fall in love??? Lemon being (slightly) amused at Y/n and Tan’s banter? But also Tan being really soft for her?? By @kpopgirlbtssvt

SORRY I TRIED TO COMMENT ANS SAY I WOILD DO IT BUT IM SHADOWBANNED SO I CANT ): I MISSED YOU THO AND I MISS WRITING FOR TAN SO… :3 hope it’s good love!

Lipstick

“You sure you’re an assassin?” A man said, you huffed and crossed your arms, you were currently sitting on top of the man, knife in hand.

“Look, sir, I’m trying to kill you right now and if you keep questioning me I can’t really do my job.” You said, then stabbed him in the neck before he could say anything else.

“Fucking prick.” You mumbled, putting the pink knife in the sink not too far away. You wiped your bloody hands, and then you looked down at your clothes.

“Aww man! That was my favorite shirt.” You pouted, and tried to swipe as much blood as you could off of it.

You sighed and took a picture of the body, sending it to your boss who would then send it over to the person who hired you.

You cleaned up the knife, and quickly went on your way as if nothing had happened.

You texted your boss “Is that the only mission you got for me today? (:”

“I mean, I have another one if you want to..”

“How much is it?”

“A lot. This guys offering 500k, but you’d have to be partnered up.”

“… with who?”

“The twins.”

———————————————————————

That’s how you were now with the twins, standing outside the building full of people.

“Why can’t we jus.. I dunno, go in?” You turned to them both, you all currently on the roof.

“What the fuck do you mean?” Tangerine asked.

“Watch.” You said, dropping down from the roof and going up to some guards. Tangerine and lemon mentally groaned in annoyance.

“Heyyy..”

“Who are you?” One asked.

“I think she’s the bosses sons girlfriend.” Another one said, you nodded.

“Yeah. Peter!” You made up a random name. You said it cheery and with a smile.

“Yeah, alright.” The one at the door mumbled, opening it up. You looked back at the twins and winked.

“They’re fucking daft.” Lemon said.

“Right? There’s no way-“

You opened the door in the back, and motioned for them to come.

They both furrowed their eyebrows and came in anyways.

Sneakily crouching around, you all found the room that the man was in.

But there was a guard outside, so you grabbed the knife on your hip and came up behind the man. You jumped on him and covered his mouth and nose, then repeatedly stabbing him in the neck while doing so.

The man fell, and you yelped when you almost fell too, but they had both caught the body before it hit the ground. You slowly and carefully dropped down, tangerine helping you while doing so.

“Aww, that’s so sweet.” You whispered to him, kissing his hand. “What a gentleman.”

“Shut it.” He whispered back.

You smirked and opened the door slowly, the man was sleeping on his desk.

“So we jus’ gotta bring him in?” You whispered.

Tangerine and Lemon knew the drill, and Lemon handed him the body bag.

“I’m not used to this at all.” You shook your head. You were more used to actual jobs were you killed, not kidnapping ones.

The man started to scream when you punched him in the face, knocking him out quickly. The both of them quickly put him in the bag, and dragged him into the back again.

“Why the fuck do you have a pink car again?” Tangerine asked, quickly throwing the car door open as some guards came your way.

“Cause it’s pretty.” You shrugged, and you went into the back, grabbing a gun, and shooting the guards on by one, hiding behind your door when they shot at you.

“Drive, drive drive!” You shouted, quickly getting into the car, and ducking down, tangerine sped off and Lemon had thrown the body in the back with you.

You laughed and then you realized something.

“Damnit, now my cars all ruined.” You pouted, and shook your head to yourself.

“What the fuck was that? You coulda’ gotten all of us killed!” Tangerine shouted angrily, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“Oh relax, I know what I’m doing.” You said, putting your feet onto the other seats, tangerine tan a hand through his hair and Lemon just staring ahead in disbelief.

——————————————————————-

That’s how it all started. It’s now been two years of you, Lemon and Tangerine working together now, you all simply fit, and had the best performance.

“Get your dirty hands off her.” Tangerine had practically growled, the person you guys were fighting currently on top of you, pretty much wrestling you.

He ran straight into him, knocking him onto the ground and some glass. You furrowed your eyebrows and held your hand to your cheek, which the man had punched hardly.

You sat up and watched them fight now, holding your elbow that had glass in it. You looked up at Lemon and scooted over to him. He just looked down at you and then back to tangerine. He punched the man in the face repeatedly, then pulled out his gun and shot him, his brains going splattering all on the cold tile floor.

“Oh. That’s.. lovely…?” You mumbled, and looked at Tangerine.

He looked at you and then Lemon, you both stared at him in shock slightly. He stood up, and buttoned his shirt back up, fixing his hair and looking at you both.

“What?”

“Nothing, mate, nothing.” Lemon shook his head.

“That was hot.” You blurted out, both of them looked at you now.

Tangerine rolled his eyes as he dragged the body, hiding it behind the counter and taking a picture of it. He came up to you.

“You alright?” He asked.

“Just some glass in my elbow.. and pretty sure I got a bruise on my cheek but.. I’m fine.”

He nodded and went past you, You stared at him, admiring his face.

“Quit staring.” He said when he passed you. He would be lying if he said he didn’t secretly like it.

“Can’t help myself.” You shrugged, and walked next to him. Lemon snickered at you both.

“What?” He looked to lemon.

“You two are adorable, honestly.” Lemon said, putting his hands up in defense when tangerine gave him a look.

That made his ego bigger than it needed to be, he looked at you when you weren’t paying attention again and Lemon hit his shoulder and nodded to you as if saying “go for it, man.”

Lemon walked away from you both, and entered the drivers seat.

He looked at you and you looked back, smiling at him.

“Staring problem, Tan?” You teased.

“Was jus’ wondering if you wanted to go out on Saturday.” He said, messing with one of the rings on his fingers.

“Is Tangerine asking me out on a date?” You gasped and smiled.

“No one said it was a-“

“So it’s not a date?”

“I mean… yeah it is actually.” He said.

You smiled at him again, kissing his cheek. The pink lipstick staining his cheek, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I’d love to.”

He looked at you again, his usually cold and hard glare turned into a soft and loving one every time he looked at you. You just didn’t notice it until now.

———————————————————-

He took you inside, Lemon waiting in your living room for him.

He sat you down on the closed toilet seat, and he reached for your arm, which you let him grab. He was on his knees as he examined it, noticing small pieces of glass scattered in your arm and elbow.

He grabbed tweezers, cleaning them with rubbing alcohol first, and then he slowly started to removed the pieces.

You winced in pain. He held your arm with his other hand, trying to get you to stay still.

“Jus’ a few more, yeah?” He said, you nodded with your eyes screwed shut.

After a while, he finally got all the pieces out. The pain was horrible, but felt somewhat better now.

He looked up at you, still on his knees.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine, shit, just hurts.” You mumbled.

“Sorry, I shoulda been there earlier.”

“It’s not your fault, tan.” You said, and he was now standing in front of you, he helped you stand up.

“Thank you.” You said.

“Of course.” He looked at you, glancing at your soft lips for a moment.

You noticed, and decided to take action. You leaned to him, and kissed him. He grabbed your hips, pulling you closer, your chests touching now.

Your hands were in his hair, and he shut the bathroom door quickly with his foot, he went to the floor, and you straddled him now, giggling quietly when you looked at his now pink face.

“What?” He asked.

“My lipsticks all on you.”

He blushed at the realization, he hadn’t even realized until now.

He shrugged. “Whatever.” He kissed you again, feverishly, cupping your cheeks.

This man would be the death of you.

#tangerine bullet train #bullet train #tangerine x reader #bullet train x reader #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson x reader

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st-kitten · 11 months

Text

"pancakes"

MIGUEL O'HARA x BABYSITTER READER warnings: it's miguel, what do you expect??? words: 2,758

pt.2

You've been babysitting Mayday for Peter for a week, which has been quite fun. Peter is extremely welcoming, friendly, and generous to you. His friend Miguel on the other hand...

Peter called you to his house on an urgent basis. Usually you would look after Mayday during the afternoons, waiting for him to return home in the evening. But, today, he called you in the morning, sounding slightly worried, and asked if you could come earlier. You were of course, happy to do so. You stood outside his door, not knowing if you should knock this early in the morning and cause disturbance or simply wait and rot in place until someone took notice of you. Just as you were about to end your debate, the door opened and Peter rushed out of the house, his Spider-Suit haphazardly put on. "Oh, thank God! Mayday's up and running, she hasn't had breakfast yet. There's crashing and burning out there and I can't do both, you're going to have to-" You took over his monologue reassuringly, "Understood. Go ti-spider!" He nodded gratefully. Before leaping out of the window in the lobby, he looked back, almost heroically, with the morning sun shining behind him, and said, "Could you also wake Miguel up?" "Sure! I'll be alri- wait what did you say?" Peter had already jumped out and swung from one building to another. "Miguel?" You entered the house, closing the door behind you and almost instantly, two small, freckled arms bumped against your leg, hugging them. "Good morning to you too, Mayday!" you greeted. She cooed happily, letting go of you, already hopping onto the sofa, then to the coffee table, and the settee, the floor, then back to the sofa. "Well, your dad told me you haven't eaten yet! So, will you go brush your teeth for me? I'll make us some breakfast." Mayday gave you a small salute, and rushed to the bathroom. More than anxious about your other task... you crept into what you assumed was the guest bedroom and found Miguel O'Hara sprawled ungraciously in the bed. You made a mental note to invest in a king size bed. He occupied most of it and them some... well not. His feet dangled from the edge and one of his muscled arms touched the floor. As you walked towards him, he shifted in the bed, growling a little, causing you to jump and jolt out of the room. Mayday, with the brush in her mouth, toothpaste oozing from her wide smile looked at you with as much admiration as she could. "Yeah, scary, right? He looks like he would punch me for waking him up. But a job's a job, I guess." You re-entered his room, clutching a pan in your hand... just in case. Standing by the edge of the bed, you poked his shoulder. Then you poked it some more. You eventually grabbed it and shook him. "Miguel...?" Upon hearing no response, you bravely moved from his shoulder to his torso, secretly wondering whether his tits were bigger than yours. "Oh, God, please wake up." You nudged him swiftly and to your surprise, he abruptly got up from the bed, swinging his arms at your direction. You held the pan in front of you, hearing his knuckles hit the back of it a few times. "The fuck?" he cursed. His voice in the morning was hot, but nail-bitingly intimidating. You were ready to be thrown in jail for waking him up. You wouldn't even hire a lawyer.

"Peter told me to wake you up." He couldn't see you from behind the pan and you made sure he wouldn't for the next few minutes as you tried to scurry away. You were stopped in your tracks, legs still trying to march ahead. A thick web strand clung to your waist and you were pulled back. There he stood, in all his morning glory, looking down at you. "And who are you?" "Literally no one. Let me go." You tried your best to hide the terror in your voice. "Yeah? Then what are you doing in my room, chica?" "Fighting for my life, apparently..." you whispered. Your bad, he caught it. "With a pan?" He put his hands on his waist. If only God Almighty had given you the sense to not look up... and down at him, you wouldn't have got a glimpse of his morning... excitement taunting you from his sweatpants and you sure as hell wouldn't have whacked him with the pan. Tearing the webs apart, you ran out of the room, leaving behind a mildly enraged Miguel, who massaged his chest (not that it hurt him). You occupied yourself in the kitchen, warming up some milk, praying for your life. Mayday climbed her way up to the kitchen counter, showing you her clean teeth. "Well done! Now you're ready for some tasty breakfast! What do you think about... pancakes?" Mayday's eyes glimmered and she nodded excitedly. Seeing her happy made you calm down and you asked her if she wanted to help. Well, all she did was point to a bowl of strawberries in the fridge, and you assumed she wanted them on her pancakes. For the next few minutes, you peacefully whipped the batter, readying all the ingredients and toppings. One by one, you poured it into the pan (yes, that one), making some smaller and softer ones for Mayday. "Okay, Mayday, here's your syrup and your strawberries. Go crazy," you said, resting your elbows on the kitchen counter, and watched her splatter an endless stream of the amber coloured syrup, until it overflew and encircled the rim of the plate. Mayday then happily proceeded to place strawberry slices all over her little pancake. "Do you want whipped cream?" you asked. Mayday took some time to think and then nodded. Sniggering, you pulled a can of whipped cream out of the fridge and asked her where she wanted it. Pointing stark in middle of the pancake, Mayday hummed at you. "Yes, ma'am." You carefully sprayed some cream, waiting for her to tell you to stop. She didn't. "Okay, that's enough, I guess." You placed the can on the island, watching what looked like a red circle with a white dot in the middle. "I think we did a good job," you said, offering May day a high five. She clapped your hand with her little one and plucked a fork and butter knife. While you made decorated one for yourself, Miguel entered the living room and saw you and Mayday. He'd figured that you were the babysitter. But, he'd never actually seen you. He always assumed it was an old nanny. So, you were certainly a fresh sight.

Miguel sat on the sofa, legs spread comfortably, some magazine in his hand, which he wasn't planning on reading. The room was sunlit enough for him to see you properly. You wore a pale yellow sundress, the straps of which almost didn't want to stay in place and kept sliding off your shoulder. You rich brown hair was tied in a ponytail with the exception of a few errant strands that swayed as you moved. At one point, Mayday began chewing on the fork, so you rushed from behind the island to the dining table, switching the metal fork with a plastic one. Miguel saw a glimpse of your dress and was immensely pleased to find a slit that ran up your thigh. He thoroughly enjoyed your walk back into the kitchen when your hips were on display and they swayed very gracefully. Miguel wondered where the fuck he'd been all the while you were here, being that comfortable. He was really glad he didn't go back to sleep after you woke him up so unceremoniously. You'd felt his eyes on you from the moment he'd walked in; only you didn't know if he was just watching you or conspiring to kill you in a moment of weakness. You walked over to Mayday, placing a napkin by her side and sat down for a moment. "Is it good? Do we like it?" Mayday nodded approvingly. "Do you think... scary Miguel would like some pancakes?" you asked. Mayday shrugged, which was probably the right response. Who knew what appetite that man had. He had fangs, for fuck's sake. "Well... might as well offer him some." You sighed and went to the kitchen, pulling a plate out. You hated how unpredictable he was. But you hated more how he made you feel. Who were you kidding, Miguel was devilishly handsome. Everything about him aroused you. You just didn't know what to do with it. It was easier to just defend your life in front of him because you always assumed he hated everyone and especially you even though he'd never paid attention to you. You never knew the taste of vengeance, but it wouldn't be as bad as blueberries and whipped cream. You thought it would be fun to decorate his pancake to look like him with his mask. Blue, red, and two white lines of cream dedicated to his sexy fangs. You bit your lip trying not to laugh out loud. Miguel wanted to know what made you do that. He wondered if he could make you do that. He wanted nothing but to walk over to you and grab your face. And you gave him the perfect excuse to... You placed the plate on the coffee table and walked away without looking at him or his reaction or the sight of your deadbody reflected in his red eyes. You busied yourself by cleaning the countertop and turning the coffee machine on, planning to eat coffee raw, hoping it would dose you to run away faster should he decide to snap your neck. Realising there wasn't much to clean, you chose to eat your own share of pancakes. Holding the syrup bottle upside down, you shook it, waiting for the thick liquid to start dropping at any moment (yes I know how this sounds...).

"That's funny," you heard him say from behind you. You jolted and turned around, dreading not having a pan with you. Miguel held his pancake in between you, clearly unimpressed. Trapped between the kitchen island and the living guillotine, you leaned back, trying to put some distance. "It s-sure is..." you chuckled. "You want some syrup on it?" Like an opportune meteorite, the upside down bottle decided to glaze your chest with maple syrup. You snapped your own neck inside your head and tossed the bottle away. Miguel looked down at you, especially at the syrup making its way deeper into your breasts. "I would love some..." he said, looking directly into your eyes, a minuscule smirk growing on his face. You hid your embarrassment by rolling your eyes. You tried to push him away with one hand, the other supporting you, but who were you kidding. All you did was strain your wrist. "No, no, I'm serious. Syrup sounds 'just' great." Miguel placed his hands on your thighs, moving them apart very slowly, and wedged himself in between them. He was grateful to the slits on the sides for he ran his hands up your thigh tenderly. You quivered, clutching the surface behind you. Was this really happening? Was Miguel attracted to you? And all it took was a stupid pancake? You looked at him, breath deepening, unsure of what to say. You opened your mouth to protest, but your body wouldn't let you. You just stood there with your mouth agape. Miguel smirked at you, inching closer and closer until you could feel his breath on you. Leaning forward, he tilted his head and licked the trail of syrup off your chest. You burst into flames at the feeling of his tongue on your skin. Fuck fuck fuck, you thought. You hated admitting, but you liked it. A lot. Your hand on his chest tried to push him away, but to no avail. Miguel ran his tongue up your chest, moving toward your collarbone, and eventually your neck, sucking at your skin. He grazed your neck with his fangs and felt you shudder under him. Your mammalian instinct made you tilt your head back, eyes closed, exposing your neck to him. (breakfast is served hehe) Miguel continued kissing your neck, listening to your soft pants and breaths. His hands played with the soft flesh of your thighs, occasionally gripping them and kneading them. He licked a particular spot, just below your jaw, near your ear, which made you moan softly. You grabbed his bicep in response. Miguel smirked, slowly pulling away from that spot, hoping to revisit it soon. "Mayday.. Mayday, Mayday," you panted, telling him that she was in the room and didn't need to see her babysitter get annihilated by... well, her father's best friend. Miguel stopped to look over your shoulder at Mayday, who was chewing on her million strawberries, not caring about a thing in the world. She met his eye and Miguel gave a wink. "Mmm... She's fine. You... however..." he purred in your ear, "que deliciosa, querida."

Hearing him hopefully compliment you in his maternal language made you weak in the knees. He was still in the same position, hands exploring your thighs, mouth latched onto your neck, but the more you felt him feel you. the more your body exploded. A strap of your dress fell down your shoulder and Miguel took it as an invitation to expand his territory. "Look at you..." he mumbled as his nose touched the crook of your neck, moving toward your shoulder. As gently as he could, Miguel sunk his fangs into your flesh, biting you. You instantly gasped, clutching his arm tightly. You were so glad your other arm hadn't broken into pieces. You had to regain your balance. You were as malleable as pancake batter in Miguel's hands. He brought his face close to yours, taking a long look at you, and kissed your lips. You could taste the sweet residue on his lips. His lips moved with yours, perfectly in sync. Unwilling to be patient, Miguel forced your mouth open and slid his tongue inside. He traced his hand down your thigh, the other holding you in place. He went to the one place you were hoping he would. Slowly and and incredibly seductively, his fingers crept inside your dress, reaching your panties. The heat between your legs made him immensely happy. Taking his sweet time, kissing you, he made his way inside, fingertips hovering over your throbbing core. He stopped kissing you and took another good look at you. He loved what he saw: you looking up at him, eyes beady and eager, lips pink and swollen, cheeks blushing shamelessly, neck damp with sweat, his marks all over you, chest heaving, shoulder exposed, thighs spread and his hand in between your legs. You whimpered a little and he asked, "Yes?" You shook your head, not wanting him to stop. And he didn't. His fingers invaded you, once, twice, swiping at your wet skin. You let out a euphoric sigh, closing your eyes and arching your back. Miguel devoured the sight of you. He did nothing but touch you and watch you respond to him so erotically. His gaze pierced through and through. You were so delicate. Hearing you relish his touch only made him want you more. And if there was one thing Miguel was absolutely sure of, was that he always got what he wanted. He felt your grip tighten on his arm as you neared your climax. Miguel deepened his movements, aligning the pace to the point of perfection. He watched you hold back on a throaty moan, really wishing you were alone and undisturbed so he could hear how much you enjoyed him. He felt you come, his fingers soaking in as much as they could. It made him go feral. Wishing he didn't have to, Miguel took his hand out, meeting your eye. He then did the one thing that turned you on wildly. He licked his fingers, tasting you, a small smirk plastered on his smug face. "Buenísimo..." he whispered. When he finally stepped back, you felt the absence of his magnetic pull and stood upright, steadying yourself. Before you even had the time to process what had just happened, Miguel pulled you by your waist and guided you toward the bedroom. Oh, this is happening... you thought. "Mayday, you're in charge. Go wild," Miguel instructed, winking at the child, who leapt out of her seat, pulling down her spider-beanie. Miguel ushered you inside, took his shirt off in a swift motion, and locked the door behind him.

#miguel o'hara #babysitter #miguel #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #mayday #smut #hot #Spotify

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