#techbro!peter

[lucky-bucky-boy]

Casual

Paring: Techbro!Peter x BestFriend!Reader

Word Count: 6564

Summary: What happens when you finally aren't with your shitty ex of two years?

moodboard here

Warnings: 18+, afab reader, limited use of Y/N, LOTS of pet names (pretty girl, baby, babe, good girl), praise kink, consent talk, oral f. receiving, techbro!(fuckboy)peter au, talk of drinking and joints

A/N: this ended up way longer than i expected. it's my first longer piece in a while, and definitely poorly proofread so sorry in advance.

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost any of writings for any reason. Comments and reblogs are welcomed and highly appreciated!

Warm lights highlighted the cozy atmosphere of the bar, the chatter a pleasant background noise to fill any lull in the conversation - not that there was one. The once clean round table top was becoming slightly sticky, evidence of a good night in the form of mixed drinks and dripping beer mugs; broken soft pretzels, half-drank beers, and crumpled napkins nearly being forgotten as laughter filled the table in rumbling spurts. 

Gwen had orchestrated it all, making sure that schedules lined up to finally get everyone together. It was desperately needed. Not only had it been over a month since the metaphorical stars aligned, but it had been just over two weeks since Jake.

Jake, or “jake-ass” as MJ has recently dubbed him, and his absolute gull had the wonderful idea of breaking up with you during the week of midterms. Almost two years being washed down the drain, your hands trying to desperately cup the dissipating water and subsequently making you barely pass your midterms. Who knew opening your boyfriend's phone to take a silly picture during a study break would reveal his betrayal? Or that he would leave relieved while you sat in your bed heartbroken? 

But, who needs Jake-ass when there's vodka sodas and friends? Surely, not you.

“Come on,” Harry’s hand softly hit the table as Gwen continued recounting the next bullet on her list of everything that was wrong with Jake. The relationship was over, which meant a round of roasting the fateful ex with all cards being left on the table. His voice cut Gwen off, staring at you intently from his spot further in the booth. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on a man who- who,” his hands flailed some, his disbelief evident in the way his mouth was gaping.

“Who wouldn’t wash his hands after shitting? Didn’t believe in climate change? Had shit stains on his underwear?” MJ piped in from her spot in-between Harry and Peter. 

Peter’s shock resulted in a snort of a laugh that drew your attention to the man next to you, his hand coming to cover his face as he shook his head. 

“Or, that you spent over a thousand dollars in less than three months? Who’s family you didn’t meet even after two years of dating?” Gwen added, her tone a little more sharp as she reminded you of the more concerning things of the questionable relationship. 

“Who couldn’t make you cum?” MJ added one last note before the table erupted in laughter, your skin burning hot at the admission that didn’t even leave your own lips that night. 

The thought immediately had you grimacing the moment it conjured a hint of a memory. “I could strangle the both of you,” your words coming out as a mutter before bringing your straw to your lips and downing what was left of your drink. You had only planned to drink two vodka sodas before switching to water, but that was being thrown out the window as the heat of embarrassment still warmed your ears. 

Harry must’ve sensed your discomfort because he was sliding you the rest of his beer before waving down the waitress. In a blur of a few moments, the table was cleared and fresh drinks were being sat in front of you, feeling like an oasis in a desert of your messy mind.

Peter clicked his tongue, drawing all the attention to him. His hand held the top of his beer mug, his frosted tips from his previously bleached hair falling into his face as he shook his head in disbelief. “You three really know how to pick ‘em,” he sighed out, his hand flexing down around his mug as he brought it to his lips.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of the way the light bounced off his rings, an accessory he’s been wearing more since he started working at Oscorp full time last year. The observation was cut short as MJ’s disbelief cut through, “Might I remind you, that you and Gwen date-”

“In high school.” The two in question rang out in unison. 

“Besides, it would have never worked out long term.” Gwen finished, hand reaching out for her own drink. Despite the friend group being close, that subject was always a bit convoluted. There were days you wondered if what-if’s filled them, or if they were both satisfied with the friendship they had.

Peter let out an amused scoff, “We’d be so boring if it did.”

There was a moment of laughter, but the second it died down the aforementioned memory threatened to plague your thoughts, Harry’s question repeating itself in your mind. You looked over to him, taking a quick sip of your drink and relishing in the way it warmed you before speaking, “It’s not that I’m hung up on Jake. It’s just that-”

“You need to get laid.” MJ quickly quipped, “Girl, I am telling you once you get laid, you won’t even think about that prick.”

The scoff that left Gwen had you laughing, “No, she does not need to get laid,” she all but exclaimed, “She needs to process that loss of the relationship she wasted two years on.”

There was a burst of bickering between the two girls, going back and forth with their logic. Admittedly, they both had points, but they were points you weren’t currently interested in processing. The back and forth pulled the attention from you, and without much thought you found yourself opening up your phone gallery. 

However, the moment your fingertip lifted from the phone after pressing on a photo you definitely should have, a ringed hand reached out, slender fingers wrapping around your phone and swiping it away. “You’re not gonna be a party pooper when it’s our first time seeing you in weeks. You’ll get your phone back when we leave.” Peter said firmly, pulling your gaze to him.

You couldn’t stop the rolling of your eyes as you held your hand out to him, expecting him to immediately cave and give you your phone back. Instead, he doubled-down in his efforts, slipping the device into his pocket. You really should have known better. Peter was never one to bend, not easily at least. If anything, you’ve learned he was as stubborn as a mule and the biggest tease you’ve ever met. 

All he did was grab his mug and take a long swig, gaze holding yours over the rim as he did. For the first time in months, there was an echo of heat that ran through you, subtle enough that it definitely had to be from the vodka, right?

There was a sudden vibration, pulling your attention from Peter over to Gwen who let out a sigh before putting her phone away. Her demeanor shifted, slumping back against the booth seat. “This is the last round. I need to be in the office by 7 am tomorrow now.”

~

The door of the bar closed behind you, creating a barrier to the warmth inside as the wind of the city hit you. The evening had been nice, but the fully dark sky paved the way for the cooler temperatures. As much as you had been dreading coming out originally, it felt like your legs wanted to take you right back into the bar. 

The alcohol made it easier to feel normal. Weeks of constant limbo, constant questioning years of your life, constant critiquing every square inch of your appearance, put on pause. It was a relief, one that felt miles away with each step you were taking since leaving the table. There was an itch to tell them you were going to stay later, but you knew that wouldn’t fly. 

Gwen was always especially pressed about the rule that if you all went together, you left together. Over a decade of being Peter’s friend had made her even more gravely aware of what could happen, and even though her overbearing concern could be frustrating, all she wanted was for everyone to be safe. 

It wasn’t until Peter was invading your space, his lanky frame leaning closer as he threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to his side, that lopsided grin you had grown to know him for pulling at his lips had you realizing they had all been talking about something while you mind wandered. “You all know who I am,” the statement earned groans from the other girls, Harry snickering at them. There was a moment of confusion in you before he continued, “I’ll get Ms. Heartbreak home safely.”

The nickname immediately made your eyes roll, nudging his side just slightly and pulling a chuckle from him. Your eyes glancing back at Gwen and M.J. “I can get home fine,” You offered, smiling softly at them. Gwen’s concern was written on her face. “And I’ll text you when I do, assuming someone doesn’t kill me with his antics.” You narrowed your eyes up at Peter, his hands coming up in faux defence as he backed away.

The dramatics didn’t stop there as Peter moved his hand to his heart, falling against a lamppost and slowly collapsing to the ground, all while wearing a pained look on his face. “Oh, how you wound me, fair maiden.”

Harry snorted out a laugh, M.J. following suit with her own giggles, and Gwen sighing. This was how it always was with them, ever since you joined their unorthodox friend group a few years ago. ”Fine, fine! Text me when you get home, and MJ and I will see you Sunday for brunch.” Gwen conceded, a small smiling gracing her lips, “Keep her safe, Parker. Please.”

“I will, I will.” He jumped up from the ground, dusting himself off. “You say that every time.” He commented, “As if we don’t live in the same direction and I don’t walk her home every time we come to this bar.”

MJ nodded, her face contorting as she held back laughter at her friend’s annoyance, “He’s got a point, Gwen. Just like Harry always gives us a ride to our apartment.”

“Yeah, I would just feel better if (Y/N) would finally cave and get an apartment with us.” Gwen muttered, ensuing another round of lighthearted bickering between them.

There was a comment that quickly died on your tongue as Peter’s arm wrapped around your shoulders again, turning you around towards the direction of your apartment. “Alright, love you dorks, have a goodnight.” He called back as your steps fell into a comfortable stride and his arm fell from his place on you. 

The walk was comfortable, a quiet routine set into place after countless times of taking the same route home. Cars bustling by, muffled conversations, the occasional street cat and comically chasing a cat down an alleyway. A train or cab would definitely be quick this time of night, but there was something nice about walking off the alcohol and bar food that felt refreshing. 

Cool air prickled your skin, the cars throwing additional gusts of wind at you, only briefly blocked by Peter’s frame. It had been so warm and nice out, but the current temperature had you regretting your disregard for a jacket, missing the warmth of the bar from just 20 minutes ago. Another 10 minute walk, your apartment building finally coming into view a few blocks down as you two crossed the street and rounded a corner. 

Peter moved from your right side, falling a pace behind you before reappearing on his left. The sight of his bare arms in your peripheral making you do a double take before his was maneuvering his hoodie onto your shoulders. The suddenness had you pausing in your steps, the scent of his cinnamon and woodsy cologne enveloping your senses as he lips pulled, adam’s apple bobbing in amusement at your slightly bewilderment.

“Put the damn thing on properly,” he laughed out, “Don’t say you don’t need it. You’ve been rubbing your arms that past two blocks.”

Had you really been rubbing your arms that much? You slipped your arms into their designated space, adjusting the fabric some. The gray material fell against you, immediately enveloping you in warmth and sending a wave of heat that amplified the echo from earlier through you. 

Once he was seemingly satisfied with your obligingness, he turned to continue his stride, nodding for you to continue on with him. “So, what did John do to make you finally leave him?” Peter’s hummed out.

The sigh you left out was quickly met with a soft chuckle. He hadn’t arrived yet when you had been recounting to Harry the scene that played out, and by the time he did get there the conversation was already in full swing that the only explanation he was given was “They finally broke up.” 

“Jake cheated,” the shrug you gave did nothing to ease the anxiety that was swimming in your chest, filling your lungs with smoke and your throat with discomfort. “Found out while studying for my midterms. And, he left me, by the way.”

Peter tripped over your admission, glancing at you with furrowed brows before recovering, “So, let me get this straight, you found out but he left you?” The click of your tongue was enough of a confirmation for Peter to let out his own sigh, “Babe,” the pet name, albeit common in his vocabulary, sent a rush of heat through you, singeing the anxiety in is path to sitting lowly in you, “He was a grade a piece of shit. Couldn’t even be honest with what he wanted and you wanted to stay?”

“Coming from the resident fuck boy of the friend group?” The words came out more acrimoniously than you anticipated, but they did nothing to Peter but make him shrug and laugh. It was oddly comforting to see how much he’d grown, how words seemingly rolled off his back now when they used to all pierce him.

“At least the people I see know what I want. I don’t expect to have my cake and eat it too,” he offered, never faltering from it’s normal lackadaisical tone. It never came off as disinterest or indifferent with Peter, but in the way that you could tell he was confident with himself. Other people’s opinions didn’t matter.

“Is that how you did it?” Your question was seeming incomplete, but the indication was still there. It always was whenever someone brought up exes.

“Did what?” There was a dryness to his tone that was serving as a warning. Clarify, or turn away from the can of worms that everyone looked at but never opened.

But, if you had to spend the entire night recounting your past relationships, someone else should too. “Got over Gwen.” You clarified, hands tucking into the front pocket of the hoodie.

Peter came to a stop, turning to look at you fully. The streetlight hand overhead, bright and yellow, washing him in an angelic like brightness while the bulb on your doorstep flickered softly. “MJ is right. You need to get laid.”

The deflection was answer enough. Yes, and no, and no he wouldn’t be talking about it. His gaze never left yours, waiting and anticipating your next move.

His breath of relief wasn’t lost on you as you turned to your lobby door, pulling your keys out to let the two of you in. Gwen wouldn’t be satisfied unless Peter watched you go into your apartment, and Peter wouldn’t be satisfied until he heard the lock of your deadbolt.

The ascent up the stairs was quiet, the sense of something looming heavy on you. Peter’s steps were in line behind you as you climbed. First floor, second, then third, your apartment door coming into view as you reached the landing. The gimmicky Spiderman doormat he’d gifted during a white elephant exchange was like a beam against the dingy floor, the ‘go away’ sticker above your peephole making you smile softly with the relief of home being so close. 

Just as you unlocked your door and started turning the handle, Peter’s voice broke the silence, “Shit wait-” as you were turning to look at him, he pulled your phone out of his pocket and held it out to you. “Here.”

Something about the exchange cracked a piece of you. Your phone acting as a token to remembering the way he looked at you over his mug. Reaching out to grab it, your fingertips brushing along his and the coolness of his rings, inhibitions died. “You said I need to get laid, right?”

Your movements were quick, shoving your phone into your jean pocket and preparing to flee at the first sign of rejection, eyes looking anywhere but Peter’s face. The package in front of your neighbors door, Peter’s untied shoe, the suggestion of a bulge twitching underneath his zipper.

Was it desire or anxiety that was making your mouth water, skin warming with anticipation, breath short and halted as you waited for his response. “Look me in the eye and ask that again.” 

Peter’s tone was firm in a way you had never heard before. Commanding but warm and inviting, the type of tone to have your eyes shooting up to meet his to make sure you heard it correctly. He was otherwise emotionless, his own gaze studying you as if he was assessing the pros and cons of the situation being presented. “You said I need to get laid.”

He nodded curtly, foot bouncing incrementally. It was subtle, other than the sound of his jeans moving against the fabric of his shoe. “That, I did.”

“Do you want to do something about that?” You weren’t even sure your voice made it above a whisper, hands becoming clammy as they flexed at your sides.

“Do you want me to?” He countered. 

It felt like a chess match, each of you moving a pawn on the board as you figured out what was worth sacrificing. One of you should forfeit, call bluff and turn away, but neither of you made the indication that backing down was an option. 

“I asked you fir-” You were cut off by Peter lips, hands moving to cup your jaw as all space between you two disappeared. 

Feverish. That’s the only word that could come close to describing the way he was moving. Slightly chapped lips from the cold, the taste of rich beer and the minty gum he always chewed, one hand moving to hold the back of your neck to keep you against him while the other was reaching for the door handle. 

He moved you two inside like he’d done it a million times, or at least thought of it million times. Your back was pressed against the wall, his foot kicking your door closing and reaching for the deadbolt. His hand waved a few times before he pulled away with a displeased grunt, reaching over to lock the metal into place with it’s infamous screech. 

Peter looked back at you, mouth slightly parted and tongue swiping along his lip as if he was trying to taste your own against his still. “Tell me this is what you want.” His voice was breathless, quiet, but something lay beneath it. It was a type of yearning you hadn’t felt in months, maybe even years if you were being honest.

“Well, obviously.” You offered, baffled that he would even ask. 

As you reached up to grab at his shirt, he stopped you, his own hands holding your wrists in place between the two of you. “No. I need to hear you say it. Tell me this is what you want. Tell me you want me to fuck you or I’m leaving.”

It didn’t sound like a threat, but your heart still started beating like it was one. Your ears burned hot, feet becoming clammy and the mere thought that he could be trying to find a way out, that he actually wanted to leave. Eyes wide and lips puckered out in a pout, trying to process his words.

Your hesitation broke something in Peter, the look on his face softening as his grip let go of your hands. One hand cupped your chin, palm spreading wide and cold rings cooling your heated skin, the other wrapping around your waist as he pulled you from the wall and closed some of the space again. 

“I want to get on my knees while you lay on your bed, legs spread wide for me while I eat your pussy until you’ve cum on my tongue. Then, I want to fuck you nice and deep until your legs are shaking and you’ve cum again. Does that sound good to you, baby? Can I do that for you?” Peter's voice was raspy, scratching an itch you didn’t know you had.

Once you nodded, Peter smiled, placing the softest of kisses to your cheek, then your nose, then your other cheek, and finally your forehead. His breath came out fanning against your skin, eyes fluttering closed. “Then, you are going to look me in the eye and tell me you want this, that you want me. Yeah?”

With another soft nod from you, Peter pulled back, your eyes opened, voice feeling lost in your body as you breathed out, “I want you to fuck me, Peter. I want you,” he didn’t need to know for how long, you weren’t even sure for how long you’ve craved him. That was a conversation for later.

“Good fucking girl,” he purred out before pressing his lips to yours again. This time, with a soft fervor, more exploratory as his tongue slid between your lips, hands moving to your hips and his thumbs rubbing soft circles against your jeans. 

Everything about Peter, about this moment was dizzying. It was more dizzying than the vodka earlier, his touch lighting every inch of skin in his wake ablaze. Between his heady scent and the beer you could still taste on him, you questioned if you had ever actually been drunk, ever actually knew what intoxication felt like. The drinks you shared, joints you’ve passed back and forth, nothing could quite touch the way his kiss alone was making you feel.

Peter’s lips left yours, trailing along your jawline and down your neck, soft kisses becoming little nips as he began guiding you backwards throughout your apartment. It wasn’t hard to get to your room, the small space working in your favor for the first time since moving in. Somewhere along the way, he had toed off his shoes, his hands already deftly unbuttoning your jeans the moment the back of your legs his the edge of your bed.

He pulled back, much to your dismay, a small laugh leaving him as he felt you trying to chase after his lips once they left your skin. “So needy,” he hummed, a hand coming up to hold your chin, lidded eyes darting from your lips to your eyes, “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

The question sent a wave of heat through you, almost reminiscent of embarrassment as your thighs clenched tightly, seeking any sort of friction. “Okay,” you breathed out, an unexpected whine leaving you at the sound of how breathy you were. 

The noise that left you had Peter’s jaw clenching, his lip pulling between his teeth for a moment while he gathered himself. “Lay down for me, pretty girl,” Peter commanded, eyes holding your gaze as he slowly knelt down in front of you. 

The image was worth committing to memory. Peter’s fluffy hair was slightly disheveled, lips glistening and kiss swollen, eyes lidded and dark with desire, sitting back on his calves with his hands clasped in his lap, waiting patiently. There was something so intimate in the way he was sitting before you, a subtle desperation with how his fingers were twitching to touch you again. 

You couldn’t look away from him if you tried, couldn’t bring yourself to deprive him even if you wanted to. “Do you wa-”

“Just lay down,” his resolve broke a little, hands reaching up to grip your thighs, massaging softly. “I’ll do the work this time, baby.”

This time. He said it like he was already planning on their being a next time, like he’d been waiting for this time.

Peter’s hands gripped a little tighter as you sat down on the edge of your bed, leaning back on your elbows to keep your gaze connected with his. It felt like a million years as his hands worked their way up your thighs, gripping the top of your jeans and pulling them down, leaving your panties in place as he helped you out of the restrictive material. 

“Fuck,” he let out a heavy breath as he settled himself better between your spread legs, “So wet and all I’ve done is kiss you.” His hands returned back to your thighs, squeezing at the fat of them softly and relishing in the way you squirmed. 

His hands reached for the band of your underwear, eyes taking in the way you looked in his hoodie with your underwear soaked through. The coolness of his rings was a stark contrast to the heat of your skin as his fingers hooked around the fabric. “Can I take these off?” He asked, eyes flicking back up to yours.

There was something about the way he was constantly checking in, the slight restraint in his movements as he made sure you were still wanting this. “Yes,” tilting your hips up some, Peter pulled them down, maneuvering your legs until your panties had been tossed somewhere and your thighs had been sat atop his shoulders.

That was the last big of resolve Peter had though, hands gripping your hips again and pulling you towards him. His hands wrapped underneath you, hands gripping at your ass as he held you up to his mouth, just slightly off the bed, and the perfect height for him to close the space between the two of you. He wasted no time, tongue swiping from your weeping core to your aching clit, a pleased noise vibrating against you as he messily licked up everything you were offering to him. 

From where you laid, Peter looked like he was experiencing heaven on Earth. His eyes had fluttered close, hand gripping you like if he loosened up even the slightest you’d squirm away. In his defense, it was damn near impossible to stay still, his contentment to be knelt between your thighs having your hips jutting in pure desire. 

“Peter,” his name tumbling out of your lips, had his eyes open, looking up at you just as his lips wrapped around your clit. The moan that left you sounding exaggerated even to your own ears and your hand reaching down to card through his hair. 

He hummed against you as your nails scratched his scalp softly, sending vibrations through you that somersaulted you closer to the edge. It was humiliating how quickly you felt that high coming, especially when you were admittedly doubting his ability to make you cum with his mouth. It had never happened before, but here Peter was feasting on you like you were his last meal, like a man who just walked days in the Sahara and you were his first drink. 

“Peter- I-” your words were lost between moans, the glance down to him revealing his intent gaze still locked on your face. Even with him still buried between your thighs, you could see the sheen of arousal coating his nose and cheeks that poked out from between your folds. 

There was no other warning as pleasure ripped through you, washing over you like a tsunami as you reached your high. Peter didn’t let up, moans ripping from your in breathy pitches, broken with squeaks and almost giggles as his ministrations bordered on overstimulating you. It wasn’t until you were pulling his hair in an attempt to pull him away that he stopped. 

Peter pulled away, sucking in a deep breath that fanned across your soaked skin as he breathed out. The entire bottom half of his face was slick with your arousal, lips puffy from sucking and kissing at you. He gently sat you down, pressing light kisses to your thighs as he did. “You taste so fucking good,” he suddenly wrapped and suctioned his lips to the sensitive part of your inner thighs, sucking roughly and nibbling, instantly pulling a shocked gasp from his lips. 

The moment he felt you tug at his hair he stopped, his eyes glancing over the mark he left on your skin - faint now but sure to blossom into a bruise to remind you for days to come. “Couldn’t help myself,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the spot before glancing up at you, “‘m sorry.”

It was obvious by his lidded gaze that he was, in fact, not sorry. Not that you could care at the moment. It was quick after that, Peter standing from his kneeling position as he discarded his shirt and jeans, his boxer briefs leaving little to the imagination as his dick struggled against the fabric, a darkened stain where precum leaked from him. He shuffled you back, helping you to take off his hoodie and your shirt, fingers making quick work of your break the second he could and tossing it along with the other forgotten clothing. 

“Look at you,” he hummed out as his hands started trailing along your sides, his body moving to hover over yours as he settled atop you on the bed. “Might actually need to thank Justin if I ever see that bastard again.” 

You weren’t going to correct Peter this time, you didn’t even want to be thinking about that asshole. Not when Peter was in your bed, and especially not when he just made you cum in a matter of minutes. Reaching up to card your fingers through hair and pulling him close to shut him up with a kiss.

Peter didn’t complain, lips and tongue kissing back with messy need. He tasted like you, cheeks sticky with the remnants of your release. One arm planted next to your head, his free hand roaming along your side. As he trailed it upward, his thumb bruised along your breast, tentative and experimental. His touch moved inward with each motion until he was brushing your nipple, flicking the hardened nub softly. 

The soft touch sent waves of pleasure, lighting a whole new level of desire in you. It was making you nearly insatiable, like every touch was making you spiral further from wanting and closer to needing him. It wasn’t until you were squirming and whimpering against his lips that he pulled back some, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Sound so pretty and I haven’t even fucked you yet,” the kiss he pressed to your nose was a drastic juxtaposition to the filthy words leaving his mouth, “You gonna let me, hm?” He asked, kissing your cheek and lips moving towards your ear, “Gonna let me stretch you out?”

Your nod was instant, eyes opening to stare at him as he pulled off of you. Your complaint died on your lips as he reached for his jeans, watching as he pulled out his wallet and the subsequent metallic wrapper of a condom. His eyes glanced at you, your chest heaving, thighs glistening with your own arousal, the image causing his cock to strain and twitch in the confines of his boxers. 

There was silence as he ripped open the condom, pulling down his boxers to finally reveal his cock. It was embarrassing the way your mouth watered at the sight. He was easily the longest you’ve had, a drastic difference to the last one, bright red and leaking pre-cum, a strong vein running along the underside, curved up just slightly. 

He was on you again before you could protest, wanting to admire him just a little longer. He was quick, hands gripping your hips and pulling you down to where he was kneeling, pulling the tiniest squeak from you. He watched as you trying to instinctively wrap your legs around him, but he stopped you, moving your legs until your calves rested against his shoulders, legs encasing his face like a picture frame. 

“Please,” you whined, squirming slightly as you felt his tip grazing your sopping folds.

“Such a quick learner, but you’re gonna have to be more specific than that.” His tone was dripping with tease, the slightest thrust of his hips forcing his tip to just barely nudge inside you.

“Please fuck me,” you whined, “Please , Peter, I-”

The moment you said his name he was thrusting inside of you with one push.Thick cock pushing inside, tight walls squeezing him, the lubricated condom and sheer wetness between your legs allowing him the ability to spear himself in. He didn’t wait, a loud groaning leaving him before he was pulling all the way out and pushing right back in.

His pace was brutal. Sharp thrusts causing his thighs to slam against yours with a slap, the loud, wet squelching noise every time he pulled out indication of just how much you fucking loved it. There was no denying it even if you wanted to, back arching each time he hit a spot you honestly didn’t believe existed, loud moans leaving your parted lips as you eyes threatened to leave his gaze and roll back into your skull.

Peter leaned forward some, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper as his thrusts were starting to turn into a deep grind. His hand moved one of your legs to wrap around his waist, leaning down even more until you could feel his weight being held up by partly your leg still against his chest.

“I can feel it,” his voice was more gravelly than you’ve ever heard it before, his palm sitting against your lower abdomen now and pushing, the pressure sending your mind whirling. “Can you, baby? Can you feel how deep I am?”

His words made a whine leave your lips but when you didn’t answer, he started pressing even harder, “Answer me, and I’ll rub your pretty little clit until you're cumming on me.”

The thought had a choked noise leaving you, desire like a hot iron rod piercing through you with his every move. You were so close, and his offer would be the thing to undoubtedly unravel you. “Y-yes- So deep, Pe-Peter. So fucking deep,” your hands reached under your thighs, desperate to touch any part of him, nails digging softly into his skin and trailing down towards his knees, leaving angry marks in their wake.

Peter groaned, his own eyes fluttering at the scratches and head tilting back some. The hand on you ventured lower, thumb parting between your folds and rubbing figure eights on the sensitive bundle. Four, maybe five goes before the breath was stuck in your lungs, body seizing up as pleasure wreaked havoc on every nerve in your body. 

His hips faltered at the way your walls were starting to grip him, sucking him in impossibly more. Moans were falling past your lips with stuttering breath, broken and loud. Your nails anchoring into his skin for something to hold onto once your hips begin rocking against his, riding out your own orgasm with the intensity of a storm. 

The scene alone with your mouth parted, a sheen of sweat on your skin, and watching you rock against him pushed Peter towards his own high. You could feel the way his cock pulsed inside the condom, a strangled whimper and moan leaving his own lips. 

With a shaky breath, he moved your other leg to wrap around his thigh, collapsing softly on top of you with his cock still buried deep. Immediately, a soft giggle left your lips, baffled and amused once reality finally hit. Your best friend just fucked you.

Peter glanced up at you, his eyebrows furrowing and lips twitching to fight his own laughter, “What’s so funny?”

“This,” you shrugged, suddenly feeling bashful despite what just transpired. “Never in a million years did I think this would happen.”

There was a ghost of concern on his face, one of his arms moving to hold himself up so he could get a better look at you. “Do you regret it?”

The softness of his words sent a pang of guilt through you. Do you regret it? Could you regret it? “No,” you answered softly, “Though I- I’m just- What do we do after this?”

Your answer seemed to relieve him, a breath leaving him  before he pressed a quick kiss to your nose and was moving again. Peter softly pulled himself out, standing and tying the condom up before tossing it in your trash bin by your desk. “Depends on what you want. We can never talk about it again, or keep it casual if you’re looking for something low risk,” he shrugged as he offered.

It wasn’t lost on you that he wasn’t looking at you as you spoke. “What does casual entail?” You found yourself asking a little too quickly. 

Peter looked at you for a moment before turning to leave the room, his sudden, and naked, departure confusing until he returned a minute later with a washcloth. He came back over to you, spreading your legs and moving you like some doll as he wiped you clean, not missing your thighs as he did before doing the same to himself. “Casual is exactly as it sounds. You’re one of my best friends, but we can fuck every now an then, whenever you need it or the mood strikes. Could be next week, could be months.”

You found yourself sitting up, throwing the blanket over yourself as you watched him start getting dressed. “And I’m assuming we tell no one?”

Peter chuckled softly, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks, “Not no one, necessarily, just not our friends, ya know? Don’t want it to make the friend group messy.” It made sense, and it would be nice to have someone competent to scratch the occasional itch without needing to put your safety or sanity at risk. Peter pulled his shirt on before looking back at you, “So, choice is yours, babe.”

You let out a shaky breath, pushing down the cloud of anxiety that was threatening to swirl a storm in you. “Casual it is then.”

Peter smiled, something closer to a smirk but softer, and like it was meant only for you. “Casual.” He nodded in agreement. He grabbed your pajamas that had been sitting on your desk from the previous night, tossing them to you. “Come let me out so you can lock the door,” he requested, heading out of your bedroom. From where you sat you could see him toeing his shoes back one.

Pulling your pajamas on, you followed behind him, offering him a hushed goodbye that he gave in turn with a kiss to your hairline before making his way out your door. Once he heard the noise of your deadbolt twisting into place he was gone, leaving you to wander back to your bed as you began processing what just happened.

It felt surreal, but the sight of his hoodie hanging off you bed was the confirmation you brain needed.

[ritchiepage2001newaccount]

Project2025 #TechBros #CorpMedia #Oligarchs #MegaBanks vs #Union #Occupy #NoDAPL #BLM #SDF #DACA #MeToo #Humanity #FeelTheBern

JinJiyanAzadi #BijiRojava

The Brave Women Fighting ISIS [UPDATES]

Last February, soon after the Islamic State Group, also know as ISIS or ISIL, raided the Christian villages around Tel Tamer, Syria, it was clear to Seeham that it would be up to the women to lead the charge to take back their community…

RELATED UPDATE: Meet The Brave Women Fighting ISIS In Syria

RELATED UPDATE: The Untold Story of the Afghan Women Who Hunted the Taliban

RELATED UPDATE: I was a female soldier - I killed dozens of Isis fighters with a Kalashnikov

RELATED UPDATE: YPJ: We are committed to making the dreams of our fallen comrades and our people a reality

RELATED UPDATE: Salih Muslim: Kurdish leader AP0’s call for disarmament does not apply to Rojava forces

RELATED UPDATE: Sanandaj: Three Kurdish Women’s Rights activists summoned and threatened by Security Agencies Ahead of International Women’s Day

RELATED UPDATE: ‘Jin, Jiyan, Azadi’ protests spread across Turkey on 8 March as women defy repression

RELATED UPDATE: ‘Jin Jiyan Azadi’ – women celebrate International Women’s Day with march through Manchester city centre

FURTHER READING:

[thatstormygeek]

The enmeshment is so blatant that two Heritage Foundation/Project 2025 people, Noah Peters and James Sherk, have been busted writing government memos before That Man was even sworn in for the Office of Personnel Management, which they forgot to scrub their metadata from. Trump doesn’t just have Project 2025 ties, Heritage Foundation people are literally running the government on his behalf while he farts around his Florida golf course. It’s not his plan, that is technically true. It’s their plan, and his plan is to fuck off and let them do everything for him except rake in “donations” from techbros and the anonymous wallets that buy his memecoins. Totally different.

Reporters did note that 144 out of 307 authors served in his administration. But just two weeks later, they were playing down the ties as just “several of its authors served in his administration.” Is almost half “several”? And why the suspicious tone here? “Less than 10 minutes into their presidential debate, Ms. Harris sought to frame the discussion by tying the project to Mr. Trump’s plans for a second term. [...] Mr. Trump immediately rejected her statement. But the Harris campaign and its supporters had yoked Project 2025 around their opponent’s neck.” Those Democrats were SO MEAN, with that yoking! Isn’t the yoking the real sin, here? ... Conservatives knew they were lying, we know they’re lying, we know they know they’re lying, and it’s now a hilarious joke to them that they were able to sow doubt about the most obvious thing in the world. Watch podcaster “Comfortably Smug” chortle to Megyn Kelly: “The funniest joke we ever pulled on the Democrats is convincing them that Project 2025 wasn’t real,” and they all have a big laugh about it.

[withahappyrefrain]

im struggling with the plot side of this techbro!peter fic -.- the smut? down packed. how we get from the bar with our friends to peter in the apartment? feel like a baby bird learning to fly

I feel this. I'm the opposite lol, I have the plot down it's just getting to the smut.

Are they with Peter? Or are they strangers? Maybe he sees reader trying to flag the bartender and offers his help?

[dreadbirate]

I dont think they do this anymore, but i really dont like "young techbro entrepreneur" Peter Parker. Like Peter could do that, and be more of a legit inventor than most people in that archetype, but hes too good of a person to do that, has too much responsibility. Maybe hes a Wozniak type that his boss steals from but thats it

[edgepunk]

21, 23 and 25 >:)

21. part of canon you think is overhyped

I,,,, I've mentioned this a few times, but some parts of the fandom really love LOVE Su/perior Spi/der-Man, but ohhh I hate itttt so much!!! Bodyswaps already make me deeply uncomfortable, but Slott managed to make it even more gross. Like yeah, cool Otto had character development, but I had to see one of my fav characters being tortured in a deeply disturbing way. Also, Parker Industries is bs and Peter should never be a CEO techbro (even though it was technically Otto)

I wish it was an alt universe/What if comic instead, and not part of the 616 canon. Here's me hoping that I live to see the day of OMD and everything that happened after it being erased from canon forever and ever.

23. ship you've unwillingly come around to

hmmm can't think of one. I don't think I did?

25.common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

That you can't criticize fanon - sorry not sorry, but people have the right to criticize if the widespread fanon isn't to their liking, because more often than not, the fanon directly contradicts canon. And truth be told - it tends to be worse than canon. I'm in no way a canon purist, I have my problems with canon, but I've seen so many characters across different fandoms being flanderized, reduced to one trait and/or turned into a borderline offensive stereotype, and people act like these parodies are better than the canon characterizations.

Of course, there are cases when canon is objectively worse and the fandom does the heavy lifting. Though, a lot of fandoms push fanon as canon and then yell at people that the characters are OOC, or get upset at the writers when the characters "act OOC" because they created a completely different guy in their head.

Thank you!!!

🔥 choose violence ask game 🔥

[keitrinkomfloukru]

I think we should be executing billionaires, starting with the likes of David Zaslav and Bob Iger who make our media landscape so shitty, and Harlan Crow and Paul Singer who do the same for our political landscape, and for the techbros let's start with Mark Zuckerburg and Peter Thiel, etc--

But--and this is the funny part--leave Elon Musk alone.

Not because he doesn't deserve a guillotine, but because it would drive him up the wall. Being passed over, being ignored, he would HATE that. No more than a week tops and he'll be on Xitter proclaiming how he's just as worthy of the axe.

[angstbotfic]

also, this tech bro eugenicist misogyny stuff? it's why JD Vance is how he is.

Vance’s belief that biological reproduction is the main role of women in society is part and parcel of the far-right eugenic poison in which Vance and his main funder and advocate, billionaire tech asshole Peter Thiel, regularly marinate.   Vance hates childless people, and especially childless women, because they are not doing their eugenic duty to perpetuate the race and nation and guarantee a eugenic racial future in which the best techbros rule inferior bodies with their giant enlightened racist brains.

[jgmail]

EEUU: lucha entre los populistas de MAGA contra los oligarcas tecnológicos dentro del Partido Republicano

Por Alexander Markovics

Traducción de Juan Gabriel Caro Rivera

Si Donald Trump debe su victoria electoral a algo más que a su carismática personalidad, fue sin duda a su talento para unir tras de sí una alianza de fuerzas políticamente opuestas: por un lado, la Trad-Right (derecha tradicional) formada por los partidarios populistas de su movimiento MAGA y los estadounidenses de mentalidad tradicionalista cristiana. Por el otro, la derecha tecnológica: oligarcas y «techbros» (tecno-hermanos) financieramente fuertes como Peter Thiel (Palantir), Elon Musk (Twitter, Tesla) y Sriram Krishnan, recientemente nombrado asesor de Inteligencia Artificial de Donald Trump. Pero incluso antes de que Trump asumiera el cargo, ya había una batalla interna: la manzana de la discordia es la cuestión de si Estados Unidos necesita la inmigración de mano de obra cualificada. ¿Cuáles son las opiniones de los dos bandos?

Tecno-hermanos contra populistas MAGA

Para la derecha tecnológica la innovación es más importante que cualquier otra cosa y si es necesario, esta facción del capital de Silicon Valley también está dispuesta a dejar entrar en el país a inmigrantes indios altamente cualificados a EE.UU. en el espíritu de la fuga de cerebros, si esto sirve para que EE.UU. gane la carrera por el desarrollo de la IA. Por eso están a favor de los visados para la inmigración cualificada, lo que provocó el primer gran enfrentamiento entre los partidarios de Trump incluso antes de que tomara posesión. Frente a ellos están los partidarios de MAGA. Son los estadounidenses blancos de ascendencia europea que quieren defender su identidad y están en contra de la inmigración masiva. Para ellos, los visados HB1 defendidos por los tecno-hermanos no son más que una palabra clave para la inmigración masiva, una medida que perpetúa la política de reemplazo de la población. Para portavoces como Laura Loomer, Steve Bannon y Rod Dreher, así como para miles de nacionalistas blancos en X/antiguo Twitter, el derecho a preservar la propia identidad es más importante que la innovación y la tecnología.

Silicon Valley: ¿Capitalismo guasón o Ilustración oscura?

Lo que piensan los partidarios de MAGA sobre los tecno-hermanos de Silicon Valley fue resumido por el presentador estadounidense Tucker Carlson cuando dijo que la verdadera amenaza en 2019 no provenía del gobierno federal estadounidense, sino de las corporaciones. En ese momento, era principalmente el capitalismo woke, desde Alphabet/Google hasta Meta/Facebook, el que intentaba silenciar a los partidarios de MAGA y criminalizar a Donald Trump. Sin embargo, como muestran las fotos de la toma de posesión de Trump, en las que de repente se puede ver a su antiguo oponente Mark Zuckerberg, se ha producido un cambio en la élite tecnológica. Son los representantes de la escuela de pensamiento de la «Ilustración Oscura» y la «neorreacción», como Curtis Yarvin, que sueñan con transformar EE.UU. en una monarquía tecnofeudalista, los que han provocado el giro a la derecha del californiano Silicon Valley. Para ellos, la ideología woke y los derechos humanos ya no son importantes en el contexto de su nuevo libertarismo, sólo importa el avance del capitalismo y la innovación tecnológica en consonancia con la Ilustración Oscura. Por esta razón, armonizan maravillosamente con la importante cuestión de la libertad de expresión de Trump y la lucha contra las prohibiciones woke a la libertad de expresión, pero muchas otras áreas de conflicto seguirán abriéndose entre la derecha tecnológica y la derecha tradicional en el futuro.

Automatización: ¿robots e inteligencia artificial en lugar de puestos de trabajo?

La cuestión de la automatización, por ejemplo, es crucial aquí. Mientras que los partidarios de MAGA, reclutados en gran medida entre la clase trabajadora, están a favor de crear más puestos de trabajo, los oligarcas de Silicon Valleyn en particular, son conocidos por apoyar el avance de la automatización de la economía con el fin de reducir los costes de producción. La huelga de estibadores de 2024 en los puertos del Golfo y la Costa Este y las huelgas de Hollywood (SAG-AFTRA) se hicieron debido a los problemas de la seguridad laboral y la amenaza que para ella supone la automatización.

Restricciones a los contenidos generados por IA y a los sistemas autónomos

Otro tema de la investigación sobre IA son los sistemas autónomos. Sin embargo, los coches autónomos también son blanco de las críticas de los círculos conservadores, que señalan la falta de autonomía del conductor y los peligros de los coches autónomos (hakeo). La inteligencia artificial también se abre camino en cada vez más ámbitos de la vida gracias a aplicaciones como ChatGPT y Deepseek, que las empresas tecnológicas quieren enriquecer con contenidos de IA. Por supuesto, esto también está atrayendo críticas: en Texas, ya se están debatiendo leyes de control de la IA para proteger a los niños de contenidos inapropiados, mientras las empresas tecnológicas están a favor de la menor regulación posible.

Derecho frente a innovación: un conflicto que se remonta a los inicios de la filosofía occidental

El meollo de la disputa entre el derecho tecnológico y el derecho tradicional reside en última instancia en el viejo conflicto filosófico entre derecho e innovación. Los filósofos griegos Platón y Aristóteles ya escribieron sobre el conflicto entre la ley dada por Dios y el deseo de mejorar las leyes. Platón, por ejemplo, planteó la cuestión de cómo las leyes del hombre podían ser mejores que las dadas por un ser superior, más sabio y más antiguo como Dios. Aristóteles llegó a sostener que, en caso de duda, debía conservarse una ley antigua e imperfecta en lugar de adoptar una nueva y mejor. En última instancia, la frecuente modificación de las leyes llevaría a la gente a adherirse cada vez menos a ellas. La tecnología y la innovación son, en última instancia, fuerzas subversivas que promueven el debilitamiento de lo existente; esto también se aplica a la identidad humana. Así, en este conflicto, los partidarios de MAGA luchan por preservar el derecho a la autoconservación, mientras que las élites tecnológicas de Silicon Valley luchan por más poder para la tecnología y la imposición de la innovación. En este conflicto, un extremo se sitúa en una posición tradicionalista, en la tradición de Platón y Aristóteles, que rechaza el cambio tecnológico como subversivo en sí mismo, mientras que el otro se sitúa en una posición transhumanista, como Nick Land, por ejemplo, que quiere superar al ser humano como tal mediante la creación del superhombre robot.

¿Puede tener éxito la síntesis entre la derecha tecnológica y la derecha tradicional?

Entonces, ¿cómo puede ser posible un compromiso ante estas posiciones tan divergentes? Sin duda, sólo creando una síntesis entre derecho y tecnología que tenga en cuenta tanto la identidad evolutiva de los humanos y su tradición como el futurismo de las innovaciones técnicas, pero que no quiera superar a los humanos per se, sino simplemente ayudarlos. Sin duda hay existen tendencias hacia un transhumanismo interplanetario dentro de la derecha tecnológica que son difíciles de conciliar con un tradicionalismo que quiere preservar la identidad, igual que hay gente como Laura Loomer y Steve Bannon en el bando de la facción MAGA que preferirían acabar con la alianza con los tecno-hermanos lo más pronto posible. Sin embargo, para que la transformación populista de EE.UU. tenga futuro, es sin duda necesario que Trump logre una síntesis entre ambos bandos para volver a hacer grande a Estados Unidos. En última instancia, a un nuevo nacionalismo estadounidense también le interesa domar a su propia oligarquía y dirigirla en una dirección determinada en lugar de dejarse dominar por ella o incluso permitir que se pase al campo de sus oponentes. Para nosotros, los europeos, es interesante seguir este conflicto dentro del campo trumpista, ya que conflictos similares surgirán sin duda en Europa tan pronto como el globalismo termine en el cementerio de la historia en el Viejo Mundo.

Fuente: https://katehon.com/de/article/usa-kampf-zwischen-maga-populisten-und-tech-oligarchen-innerhalb-der-republikaner

[lucky-bucky-boy]

im missing peter. specifically your tasm peter

im also missing my fuck boy best friend

Peter had become reckless.

Well, in reality, he's always been a little reckless. For as long as you have known Peter, he's had a consequences-be-damned approach to a lot of things. According to your friends, it wasn't always like that, but this is the only version of him you've ever known.

Hence why he's on his knees on the floor behind you, your own knees on your bed, and your sundress bunching at your waist. Peter had texted you about picking up something he left the other night, but the moment he entered through your window, he was on you.

That was 10 minutes ago, meaning you had ten more max before your friends would be waltzing into your apartment. The very friends who could not know about the predicament you were currently in, especially who you were in the predicament with.

"Peter," your desperation is met with a hum against your clit, cutting any thoughts of yours off. Desperate to cum or desperate to not be caught? Maybe both.

"The quicker you cum the sooner I can leave," Peter's voice is low, the way it always is when he's buried between your thighs. You really should have known he wasn't going to just pick something up.

"Need more," it was obvious he was teasing, tongue delicately running against your folds, just barely swiping your core and brushing against your clit. And despite your plea, he didn't make any attempt to give your more.

Precious time was being wasted.

Reaching back, your hands carded through his soft hair, nails scratching his scalp in the process before pulling at his hair. The moan that left him vibrating against your core, encouraging you. If he wasn't going to give you what you needed, you were going to take it.

Holding him in place, his own hands now gripping your thighs, your hips were now rocking back and forth. Peter's tongue stayed flat, the muscle and tip of his nose stimulating every part of you as your rutting sped up.

The ding of Life360 fell on death ears as your orgasm hit unexpectedly. The coil building so quickly and springing with a wave of unadulterated pleasure, your toes curling and skin prickling.

"Fuck," breathing out as you let go of Peter's hair, slumping forward.

"Fuck, indeed," Peter's groan was met with a ruffling of noise as he stood. There was no time to spare, pulling yourself up and standing despite wobbly legs.

Adjusting yourself, your comment to Peter about bad timing dying in your tongue as you heard your front door open and your name being called by Gwen. Peter's lips twisted into a smirk, biting back laughter at your obvious anxiety as he swiped his tablet from your desk. He pressed the quickest and slightly wet kiss to your forehead before bolting out your window just in time to disappear from sight as your window swung open.

If Gwen or MJ suspected anything, they didn't say anything other than "Are you ready for a mimosa?"

[ritchiepage2001newaccount]

Project2025 #TechBros #CorpMedia #Oligarchs #MegaBanks vs #Union #Occupy #NoDAPL #BLM #SDF #DACA #MeToo #Humanity #FeelTheBern

JinJiyanAzadi #BijiRojava Top Syrian Kurdish commander Abu Layla killed by Isis sniper fire [UPDATES]

A top Syrian Kurdish commander has died, several days after sustaining injuries during a US-backed campaign to unseat Isis from its Raqqa stronghold…

RELATED: Why Abu Layla will be missed

RELATED: One-day workshop, all welcome: Rojava Speaking Tour: An Alternative for a World in Crisis: The Rojava Revolution, Kurdish Freedom Movement and Prospects for South Africa’s Incomplete Liberation

RELATED: Martyr Abu Layla Military Academy trains successors of the legendary commander

RELATED: ‘In Iran, burning the veil is not about rejecting veiled women,’ says author Chowra Makaremi

RELATED: Still ‘Jin, Jiyan, Azadî’

RELATED: Thousands march in Kobanê, demanding freedom for AP0

RELATED: Second group of military forces withdraws from Ashrafieh, Sheikh Maqsoud

RELATED: Hundreds more fighters withdraw from Ashrafiyah and Sheikh Maqsoud

FURTHER READING:

[imall4frogs]

Conjecture: The whole techbro cabal consists of first-world males who suffer under the “Peter Pan Syndrome.” Or God died and left Dr. Seuss in charge.

[gulfportofficial]

Wait, am I seriously the only person who clocked that Peter Isherwell, CEO of BASH in Don't Look Up is modelled in manner and appearance on Marshall Applewhite, aka "Do" of Heaven's Gate fame? Like the tech CEO weirdo (Musk, Zuckerberg, even Jobs and Gates, etc) in his character was super obvious and unsubtle also, as it's McKay (that's literally what I love about him ngl. I know writers who use subtlety and they're cowards, or whatever the quote is) but I assumed that styling him like perhaps the world's second most famous cult leader was meant to be equally unsubtle? Was that not a deliberate attempt to talk about those tech CEOs and their fanbases as cult-like? Not to mention that the character is literally backchannelling a "gate to Heaven" in the film? And that Heaven's Gate were early internet adopters? And that the relationship between cult-trending self-help and Silicon Valley via Ayn Rand is pretty noted? And that the film speaks quite a lot about magical thinking and extended lifespans a la wealthy techbros but also people who think they are going on a comet? And that McKay's tenure on SNL would have been right around when they were writing (famously tasteless) skits about Heaven's Gate? I totally thought that was the extremely intentional point of giving the character that haircut and that voice and that posture, but I cannot find a review that mentions it. Someone else has talked about this, right?

[aquietwhyme]

Yeah, that's the plan, to replace capitalism with technofeudalism! It's Cyberpunk without even being interesting. Ostentatiously deporting people is just circuses for the proles, and if they get mad that there's no bread to go along with it, why, it's just as well that the foot soldiers have been weaned on brutalizing families! (Says the Lords Council of Techbro)

Capitalism is ending one way or the other, and it's arguable that it's already gone right this moment. Of course there are better options possible, but we seem to be hurtling towards the two most dystopian of the four post capitalist possibilities.

Check out Four Futures: by Peter Frase for a nice 101 on post capitalism.

The loss in immigration is going to cripple America and the economy.

Capitalism has run its course. Time to replace it.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Peter Thiel's evil, but he's not an "evil genius"

Peter Thiel: “I’d rather be seen as evil than incompetent.” It’s the far-right billionaire’s most telling phrase. Thiel wants us to think he’s an evil genius, because he wants us to think he’s a genius. So much of Thiel’s activity is devoted to self-mythologizing, like when he made us all think he was infusing the blood of teenagers in a bid to become immortal:

https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2016/08/peter-thiel-wants-to-inject-himself-with-young-peoples-blood

But as Ben Burgis writes for Jacobin, Thiel isn’t an evil genius, “he’s just a rich guy”:

https://jacobin.com/2022/07/peter-thiel-superrich-wealth-inequality-political-influence/

Burgis cites Max Chafkin’s 2021 Thiel biography, The Contrarian, which shines a glaring light on the distance between Thiel’s stated commitment to high-minded ideals of “liberty” and his self-serving defense of mass surveillance and human rights abuses:

https://bookshop.org/books/the-contrarian-peter-thiel-and-silicon-valley-s-pursuit-of-power/9781984878533

If you think Thiel is an evil genius, then maybe these contradictions are the result of your puny brain lacking the subtlety to understand how, on a higher plane of reasoning, they can be resolved. If you understand that Theil is an ordinary mediocrity, no better than you or me, sickened by pathological greed, then there’s a much simpler explanation: it’s all bullshit, and the only thing Thiel really cares about is becoming richer and more powerful.

That explanation goes a long way to explain why a “libertarian” would defend Apartheid, express regret that women are allowed to vote, state that “freedom and democracy” are incompatible, and secretly fund a lawsuit to destroy a media organization that embarrassed him:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/mattdrange/2019/12/23/best-stories-of-the-decade-behind-peter-thiels-plan-to-destroy-gawker/

Thiel’s self-mythologizing provides a cover for all of this, while making him far richer: for example, his campaign to make us think that Palantir played a role in killing Osama bin Laden was an obvious gambit to increase the share-price of Palantir.

Burgis cites Nathan Robinson’s Current Affairs article, “Two Ways Of Responding To Conservatives,” which used the example of Jordan Peterson as a template for critiquing self-mythologizing far-right figures without helping them by calling them evil geniuses:

https://www.currentaffairs.org/2018/05/two-ways-of-responding-to-conservatives

Robinson proposes a test: “Does it reinforce the person’s self-conception or undermine it?” Burgis applies this test to Thiel, urging us not to dwell on the drinking blood, taking votes away from women, or funding “neoreactionaries” like Curtis Yarvin.

Rather, Burgis says, we should focus on how Thiel spends his political money, backing “populists” like JD Vance, who say they’re fighting for working people, but who oppose universal healthcare, universal childcare, and against raising the minimum wage.

Burgis: “Thiel is dangerous — not because he’s an evil mastermind, but because he’s a billionaire who enjoys playing with our politics and he couldn’t care less about the people who get hurt in the process.”

Burgis’s critique ties nicely into Lee Vinsel’s idea of “criti-hype” — criticism that starts by accepting it’s subject’s own self-mythologizing, then damns them for it. Think of critics who accept Google’s claims that its “AI”-driven ads can sell anything to anyone, then criticize it for having built a mind-control ray:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/02/euthanize-rentiers/#dont-believe-the-hype

Like Thiel, Google would rather be seen as evil than as incompetent. When Google’s critics run around accusing the company of having perfected machine learning mind-control, they help Google sell ads, because the advertisers Google is pitching aren’t upset that Google has a mind-control ray, provided Google will rent it out to them.

A smart synthesis of criti-hype comes from Maria Farrell, whose “Prodigal Techbro” is a great way to understand the problems with allowing ourselves to be lured into “evil genius” talk:

https://conversationalist.org/2020/03/05/the-prodigal-techbro/

Farrell’s prodigal techbro is an ex-Big-Tech geek turned anti-Big-Tech crusader, whose anti-Big-Tech position starts with the proposition that they and their former colleagues were all evil geniuses who hijacked our brains’ reward-centers with junk-science psych ideas like “Big Five Personality Types” and “Sentiment Analysis” (conveniently omitting the fact that these have been seriously undermined by the replication crisis):

https://replicationindex.com/category/big-five/

Focusing on what Big Tech says it does isn’t just a problem because it perpetuates the companies’ self-mythologizing, but also because it distracts from what we know Big Tech actually does. If we repeat the lie that Big Tech’s ad billions are the result of its mind-control ray, then we omit the fact that Facebook and Google entered into an illegal conspiracy to rig the ad market:

https://techcrunch.com/2022/03/11/google-meta-jedi-blue-eu-uk-antitrust-probes/

“Just a rich guy” is the perfect epithet for Theil, who, after all, is not an ideologue or an 11-dimensional chess master. He’s just another thin-skinned, greedy bastard who uses his money and power to accumulate more money and power. The rest is just window-dressing.

Image: Dan Taylor for www.heisenbergmedia.com (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/heisenbergmedia/13887527438/

CC BY 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

Austin Powers, New Line Cinema (modified) https://www.warnerbros.com/company/divisions/motion-pictures

Fair use https://www.eff.org/issues/intellectual-property

[Image ID: A still of Michael Meyers as 'Dr Evil' from the Austin Powers movies. He is holding one pinky finger to his lips. His face has been replaced by Peter Thiel's.]

[lucky-bucky-boy]

a little something based off this

had to make it fit techbro!peter tho 🤭

tw: fwb est relationship, no protection

"Fucking-god damn," Peter's breathless moans were fanning over you collarbone. "Feels- damn it, baby, you feel so good." His grip on your hips was bruising, keeping them tilted with your legs firmly wrapped around his waist to keep him from going anywhere, not that he was planning on it.

Not when it had been over a month since he's seen you, closer to 6-weeks since he's been buried between your thighs in any shape or form. He'd been constantly travelling for work, and even though you didn't believe him at first, his stuttering hips and inability to even try to keep his noises down was proving that he was right - there was no way he slept with anyone else while he was gone.

Something about that realization had your walls clenching down, core bearing down in raw desire. Peter wanted you so badly he waited, your beloved fuck boy waited for you.

"Shit-fuck, baby you- god I can't-" pure, utter desperation was dripping off of him, getting lost in the blinding pleasure only you could provide. His rhtymic thrusts were quickly turning to disorganized rutting, small whimpers leaving him.

Suddenly, without much more warning, with Peter's entire body stilling after burying to the hilt, the unmistakable warmth was flooding you. Your nails slowly raking down his back, drawing the smallest noises from his lips in between his incoherent mutters as he continued rutting out his high.

Peppering an array of wet kisses along your jaw and muttering "I'm sorry" in between each one, his embarrassment was evident. He pulled back, eyes meeting yours briefly before looking down to where you two were still connected, "Got me feeling like a god damn virgin," he mutters out, chest heaving and flushed a dark pink as he tries to regain his composure.

Peter slowly pulled out, gaze staying stuck on his cock leaving your weeping core, the mix of your arousal and his release stiring something inside him. His mesmerized look on his face making you lean up to see where he was tranfixed just in time to watch his once softening cock stir back to life, head still breaching you, and the oozing creaminess of his high coating the both of you.

Abruptly, successfully knocking the wind out of you with a high-pitched moan, Peter was slamming back into you with his own whimper from the overstimulation. His arms fell to either side of your head, caging your gaze and keeping your eyes fixed on his. The long lashes, the slight stubble, the faint scars from hundreds of patrols, and his scent - cinnamon sticks and pure musk - encapsulating you in every way your friend shouldn't.

"'m no where near done with you, baby, got lost time to make up for, yeah?" His tone pussy drunk, but mixed with someone else you couldn't quite place.