#also definitely felt some irony of playing a game about cleaning shit after coming home from job of cleaning shit

[lollich0p]

Legit got mad playing vicera cleanup detail and thought “I would be doing better if I were actually there” like okay dumbass why don’t you try throwing a corpse into a furnace in real life see how that works out

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Life of the Party

This is the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written and it still involves a swingers’ party. But seriously, other than the setting, this whole thing is just humor and boy-meets-girl cuteness. 

Pairing: Adam Cole x reader

Word count: 2,117

Content advisory: nothing beyond the setting

“Could you please stop acting so uptight?” Jeanie asks, poking you hard in the ribs. “You said you wanted to try it.”

Yes, you have to admit, you did say that you wanted to try it. Jeanie had been sharing her stories with you and Ellen about going to the swinger parties hosted by a physiotherapist who regularly attended Jeanie’s yoga classes and her husband, and a month ago, she’d finally persuaded Ellen to come along to one. Ellen had been so impressed that she’d talked about it for a week nonstop and you finally had to concede that, yes, you were curious and that you did want to come along the next time there was an opportunity. And you had wanted to come along. You wanted to get into the spirit of liberation and exploration that these nights offered. But here you were, walking into a party with a very select guest list and all you could think of to do was make wisecracks. 

Jeanie and Ellen were both insistent that you keep your mind open, to which you responded that you couldn’t keep your mind and legs open at the same time, which got a chortle but also a withering look from both of them. Your inclination was to separate from the crowd with them and to pass the night making catty comments. They, however, preferred to circulate and see who might be interested and what they might be interested in. Normally, sarcasm and irony were the weapons you used to prevent yourself from feeling vulnerable. But normally, your friends would be right beside you. Tonight, they weren’t so interested in smart remarks and were more interested in seeing what kind of adventure they could find. It was almost like disinterestedly scanning through Tinder and getting frustrated by playing eye contact games with guys in bars wasn’t enough for them anymore. 

It took exactly 38 minutes for you to completely lose your sense of ironic invincibility. You know this because you’ve been able to time it on your phone. In those first minutes, you were joking with Jeanie and Ellen, then they chose to migrate into the crowd and started chatting with a few people. Then you’d just chilled on your own and thought it was funny how everyone else seemed to be trying to hook up with someone. Then it had occurred to you that everyone else was hooking up with someone, almost as if being open about what they wanted was something that wasn’t a source of humiliation for them the way it was for you. Then you’d realized that you were standing by yourself, protected by an impenetrable wall of sarcasm, completely isolated while everyone around you was getting laid. 

You’d sure showed them. You alone had discovered the secret to not having sex at a party the point of which was to make sure that everyone had all the sex they wanted. Lucky for you that the guests were so distracted that it was easy to just steal alcohol from the refrigerator. It was like you were doing the hosts a favor, making sure that the supplies they laid in didn’t go to waste. There were little hors d’oeuvres on trays catered from a company whose treats didn’t come cheap, so you grabbed plate full of those too and retired to the back patio to feel awkward and superior and incredibly envious that there were people who could just approach other human beings and tell them they wanted to have sex with them and get it. 

This goes fine for about fifteen minutes, or two full glasses of wine and about half the plate of exquisite mini pastries and vegetable art, at which point another solitary figure slinks out onto the patio with you. There is immediately a dirigible of silence between you, swollen with mutual desire, the desire to be left alone and to have no one notice you. On the other hand, it is also fueled by the awareness that the two of you are the party’s resident weirdos and that social convention demands that you try to forge some kind of connection so that you can eventually make eye contact and fall in love or something. It’s you who gives in first. 

“Miniature sausage?”

The tumescent blimp of tension between you deflates as the man looks up with a combination of defensiveness and hostility. 

You press the still half-eaten plate towards him. “They ordered these individual mini sausages with gourmet ingredients and everything. There’s like four different kinds and they all look like they’re made by hand. I mean, I can’t imagine they found a machine that could make them this size.”

He’s still giving you a bit of a suspicious look, scanning you for any sign that you’re mocking him but gradually he drags his chair a little closer to observe the food you’re proffering. He snatches up a tiny deconstructed spanakopita-type-thing that crumbles in an avalanche of phyllo crumbs over his dark shirt when he tries to take a bite. 

“Those are a bit tricky,” you commiserate. 

“So, you’re the… official taster?” he kids, obviously trying to project a bit of cool as he brushes himself more or less clean. 

“Sure, we can go with that.” You once again extend the plate to let him try something else and, after allowing his hand to hover a moment, he takes one of the perfect little sausages. 

“Ok,” he says, nodding, “you have a point. These are pretty awesome.”

You resist the urge to say ‘I told you so’ by pushing one of the salmon-lemongrass wraps into your mouth. 

“You prefer fish?” he grins. 

“I just like to eat.”

He laughs a little and, as ridiculously clichéd as it is, you bat your eyelashes because now that you’re able to get a better look at him, you feel your thighs inadvertently press together. He is really good looking. His light brown hair is drawn back into a loose chignon, and he has that perfected, give-a-shit scruff you’ve seen in musicians and you hope to god that he’s not one of those because they’re always such cocky assholes. But what really draws you in are the bright, sparkling, mischievous blue eyes. You can’t stop staring at them and into them, imaging what they’d look like sparked with lust and… you realize it’s been an inappropriately long time since either of you has said anything. 

He takes your last oyster, the bastard, and tips the shell against his mouth, allowing the flesh to slide through his lips and over his tongue that flashes out for just a second to capture the drops of briny liquor. The change in his expression shows that he’s definitely caught you looking in a way that’s entirely appropriate to the party inside. 

“So why aren’t you enjoying the main course?” you ask, trying not to be quite so obvious and hitching your head in the direction of the house. 

“I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing here,” he sighs. “I was with my girlfriend, well, my ex-girlfriend now, for seven years. Two weeks ago I came home from a tour a day early and I run into her with her movers clearing all her stuff out of our condo. Braden’s my nutritionist and told me he and Sheryl were having this party and he thought it might be a good chance for me to shake off some of the… well, you know. Seven years with the same girl and now I’m single.”

Everything after “home from a tour” is a sort of verbal soup to you. A tour. He is a musician. Oh no. 

“What about you?” he asks. “How did you end up on Fuck Island?”

“My friend Jeanie is Sheryl’s yoga instructor,” you squeak, wishing very much to leave it at that. He gives you a pointed stare and a smile that seems to light up the entire yard and so, feeling more than a little self-conscious, you continue, “My husband left me about a year ago and I haven’t been… well, I haven’t dated anyone since then and Jeanie figured that this might be a good opportunity to get back in the saddle.”

He gives you another big smile and you think, or at least hope, that there’s a bit of a flirtatious glint in his eye. “I didn’t know they had a saddle too.”

It’s a silly joke but it does make you laugh and that makes you feel a little less awkward that you basically told a complete stranger that you got your ass dumped and hadn’t had sex since. Still, you’re eager to move on. 

“So you’re a musician?”

“What? Oh, because I was on tour. No, I’m a professional wrestler.”

And that, you think, might be worse than a musician, because it’s sort of like being a jock version of a rock star, right? All of the testosterone and none of the creativity? 

“What do you do?” he asks, pleasantly enough. 

“I’m the curator at the A.E. Backus Gallery.”

His dazzling eyes widen. “Wow…” he stammers, “Art.”

You giggle and pour yourself another glass of wine. “Wow… Wrestling.”

He leans in and takes the bottle from you, gulping directly from it as he leans back into his chair. “I’m not really arty.”

“Not at all?”

“Does videogame art count?”

“It can,” you answer, pushing a note of gentle humor into your voice. 

“Well then I guess I’m a bit of a collector. Maybe you can sell me something.” He hitches his eyebrows a little and it is endearing. 

“I didn’t know wrestling paid so well.”

“It does when you’re as good at it as I am,” he grins, taking another long swig from the wine bottle. 

His arm is slowly moving towards you and you’ve leaned forward so that you’re at once helping to close the distance between you and giving him a nice view of the tops of your breasts, something which does not appear to go unappreciated. Feeling a little cheeky, you take a big drink from your wine glass and allow a drop to fall from your lips. As you were hoping, he reaches over and brushes it away with his thumb. His eyes are definitely more intense, more curious and threaded with a hint of lust and they are every bit as thrilling as you thought they would be. 

“I’m Adam,” he whispers. 

“Eva,” you tell him, and you both laugh a little at that. 

“So I guess we really should be naked.”

“Or if we felt self-conscious, I think that one of the hors d’oeuvres has some minced grape or fig leaves.”

“Are you suggesting that I would be able to cover myself with just a tiny sausage?”

You laugh again and blush because his hand is still resting against your face, stroking your cheek ever so softly.��

His eyes flicker towards the house and he struggles for a minute to form words, his jaw twitching a little with the effort. And as much as you feel yourself growing damp at the idea of being with him, the idea of doing so in a sauna of sex mist is not working for you. 

“I cannot tell you,” he begins finally, waving a hand towards the indoors, “how uncomfortable I am with this whole thing.”

“Oh,” you exhale in sweet relief, “you don’t need to tell me because I just… This is not my scene. No judgment but this just isn’t going to work as a way of getting back out there.”

He gives you a wink. “Eva, would you like to go somewhere and not have sex with me for a bit?”

You look down at what you’re wearing, dismayed. “I’m basically wearing lingerie.”

“You look beautiful.”

“I feel naked.”

“It’s ok,” he assures you. “I know an amazing place to get drive through. You know. If that’s something art gallery girls can get into.”

“I can get into that.”

He stands and offers you his arm, the muscle flexing a little as he helps you up and sending an electric shiver through your core. Toned and firm but not the bulked-up, steroid-ridden balloon you would have imagined all pro wrestlers to possess. You bite your lip and he definitely notices, edging just a little closer to you,

“I really hope no one’s fucking in my car,” he says wistfully. 

“I’m so glad I came here in a cab.”

The two of you share a conspiratorial glance as you pick your way down the driveway and onto the street towards his hopefully unoccupied car. No sex for a bit, you tell yourself, but maybe not too long of a bit.

[marvelgbt-posts]

Forever

{Peter Parker x Male Reader}

Warnings: none… angst…? slight self hate ig but idk you’ll see…

Summary: a peter parker x male reader where peter gets insecure about mj and readers friendship since he sees how good they look together and knew MJ had a slight crush on reader. Reader fixes the problem by cuddling him, giving him slight kisses on his neck and just some fluffy shit. also cute bby boy peter being all flushed and cute

I really hate giving MJ this role, but ok :/ and also, what do you us think about MJ and Peter in FFH? Personally, i dont like it. I’ll make it it’s own post, it’s mostly a personal preference though.

(not edited)

“OMG, [M/N]. You’re too funny,” MJ said, a slightly happier tone to her voice than usual. You smiled, taking the small smack to your arm with a soft laugh as well. Peter watched across the lunch table while Ned was too occupied with the game on his phone. He pouted; you seemed to be having way more fun with MJ than with him. Lunch was almost over- oh no, wait, that was the bell…

You stood up from your seat as Peter gathered his stuff. He waited for you to walk him to his next class, as you usually did so. MJ also stood up, looking at Peter, “Hey, loser,” Peter had found himself being called ‘loser’ a lot by MJ- probably more than he found himself being called that by Flash- but he knew she was joking, “Aren’t you and I together for History?” Peter nodded, “Oh yeah, I forgot,” he usually had Math right after Lunch, but today was Thursday. Thursday schedule was always weird for him. You began dragging yourself behind and in between them. Ned had already disappeared; his next class was all the way across the hall from where their classes were, so he had to hurry. You spoke up, “I have Biology next anyway. It’s right down the hall from there.”

“Neeerd!” MJ laughed, yelling into your ear. You tried to move away from the noise, a smile playing to your lips, “Oi, idiot, that hurt!” MJ smirked, “Good.” Peter fumed- he felt like he was the third wheel when it was supposed to be MJ. He was dating you, not her. Though, to be fair, not that many people knew. Just the two of you, Ned, Aunt May, Mr. Stark, Happy, and the rest of the Avengers. MJ didn’t, and Peter felt like he should tell her- if not for it being for the reason of ‘she should know because she’s my friend’, then at least for ‘omg stop touching him he’s my boyfriend’. And there she goes, touching you again. Though, this time she used her own shoulder to bump into yours instead.

Peter heard a small murmur, “Doesn’t MJ look really cute next to [M/N]?”

“Yeah, she’s definitely happier around him.”

“She smiled a lot when with him.”

“Their both into the arts; she likes reading and drawing, he likes music and (insert an artistic talent/interest).”

Soon, Peter began hearing things other than just small murmurs and chattering around him. It felt as if he could hear everything everyone was saying. Wasn’t that a side effect of his spider-like abilities? Perhaps it was, Peter couldn’t remember at the moment.

“Yeah, they’re practically made for each other.”

“They make a good couple.”

“Did you hear that MJ and [M/N] got a full score on their project for Art?”

“Oh yeah, they were parters, right?”

“Yeah, MJ made the layout of the sketch and [M/N] finished it up. He did his own thing as well, and they ended up getting their art submitted into the contest happening at the art museum.”

Then, Peter felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

“So cute.”

“Wow, they make a good couple.”

“Peter looks like such a third wheel.”

His own thoughts mixed with the other small talk around him, and it surrounded him in a pit of black.

“He looks like such a loser.”

“Wow, no one would be interested in him anyway.”

“No one likes a nerd.”

“Peter is a loser.”

“Peter is a nerd”

“Peter is lame.”

“No one likes Peter.”

“Peter-“

“Peter!” You shouted in his ear, and Peter jolted up. “O-Oh, yeah?”

“Isn’t this our class?” MJ asked, pointing to the door. Peter nodded sheepishly, looking over at you. You smiled, “Have fun learning about a bunch of dead guys. I’m off to math!” You pumped your fist up in mock excitement. MJ laughed and Peter gave a small chuckle, “H-Have fun.” You nodded, “Sure wont.”

***

3rd person P.o.V.

[M/N] met up with Ned, MJ, and Peter after school. “Hey guys!” He greeted, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter resisted the urge to lay his head on the other male and just looked at him and smiled instead. [M/N] smiled back, but Peter felt like their was this other feeling in the other male’s eyes he couldn’t quite read. “Uh, hey,” [M/N] started, “Parker, you feeling up to a study session today?” Peter pretended to think, nodding soon after, “Sure, dont have any plans today anyway. Lemme text Aunt May, though, first.”

‘Study session’ was a code name for ‘miniature date at my house’. Peter had grown to love the words very much because then it was just them two, and it was normally [M/N] showering Peter in love and affection for the whole night- if he didn’t have Spidey-duty that day, that is. Peter pulled his phone out from his back pocket, pulling up Aunt May’s number. “Can I come too?” MJ asked, “Or is it just one of your gay things?” MJ huffed in amusement at her own joke, not realizing the irony of it. She tried sounding nonchalant about it, but not wanting to break her heart, [M/N] let her off easy, “Uhh, my house is really messy. I feel like Peter can handle it, but I dont wanna make you run off because you’re scared of my pigsty of a home.” He laughed. MJ chuckled, “Wow, gender equality, dude. Whatever happened to that?” [M/N] shook your head, “maybe next time. You don’t have anything and Peter usually spends the night, so it’d be weird, wouldn’t it?” MJ nodded, seemingly disappointed, “yeah, whatever. It’s cool.”

“Done!” Peter chirped, and MJ began walking off. Ned had also run off somewhere. “Good!” [M/N] smiled, “I have you all to myself for the rest of the evening!”

2nd person P.o.V.

Once the two of you made it home, Peter put his stuff down onto the floor in your room while you prepared some food. Since it was Thursday, you guys weren’t assigned that much homework, so you and Peter would probably finish it in the small intervals before classes. You prepared some snacks like popcorn and candy while Peter changed his clothes. He also took the time to pick out clothes for you- a loose white T-shirt with black basket ball shorts. He wore a white shirt- of course, a nerdy one with a scientific pun on it (the two atoms; one asking if the other is positive it lost a electron)- with one of your boxers. He walked out, socks protecting his feet from the cold floor. He scrunched his nose at the smell, smiling.

“You wanna pick out the movie?” Peter asked, wrapping his arms around your waist. You turned around, wrapping your arms around him as well. They made their way around both his arms, one hand holding the other to trap the smaller boy in an embrace. “No, you can pick,” you smiled, tilting your head to kiss Peters lips quickly, “so long as it isn’t Star Wars or Lord of the Rings again. Please. I can’t go through another marathon again.” Peter whined playfully, “But [M/N]!” You stuck your tongue out, “Too bad.”

Peter reciprocated the action, and you both let out a sigh of giggles. “Anyway,” you continued, “You want anything specific to eat?” Peter shook his head and you nodded. You let him go and he went over to the couch. He flipped though the many channels on the TV before settling on a Disney movie. “Is that Disney?” You asked, walking in with a bowl of popcorn, two sodas, and a plate of cookies. Peter watched in awe as you balanced everything. “Yeah,” he answered, “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Aw, sweet!” You fist-bumped the air, “love that movie.” Peter nodded, leaning to rest his head on your shoulder, he had been deprived of physical touch for a while. He just wanted to spend time with you, was what he thought as he wrapped his arms around you. Your arm wrapped around his waist while the other ate from the supported the bowl of popcorn on your lap. Peter stole some as well, and you watched as the movie began with its intro of the parents trying to save their defaced child from the protagonist.

“It’s kinda inappropriate, dont you think?” You asked Peter after a while, and Peter looked at you confused, eyes squinted Ashe seemingly judged you. “How? It’s a Disney movie?”

“Well, I mean, it talks about gypsies. Aren’t they visualized as prostitutes? And that seen where Esmeralda dances for that old dude, you can see he’s clearly turned on.” You shook your head, “never mind…”

When the movie was over, you cleaned up the remaining food and placed it down to be cleaned later. You carried a very, very tired Peter Parker up to your room. You laid him on the bed and dimmed the lights. He gripped onto you desperately, “Dont move, dont go anywhere…” he said, “Can we stay like this forever…?” He asked tiredly, and you laughed softly, “No, we have school tomorrow.” Peter whined childishly, “forget school. I can make us enough money by being Spider-Man, we dont need education.”

“Peter, my parents would kill me if they found out i dropped out of high school to piggy back on my superhero boyfriend for money.” Peter let out a huff, and the two of you let out quiet, breathy chuckles. He leaned close to you, noses touching. He then frowned, “Do you like MJ?” The question was sudden and it caught you off guard. “Well, i mean… yeah, we’re friends…”

“No, i mean… like like her…?”

You let out an ‘ohhh’, suddenly realizing Peter’s behavior earlier (the cause of your strange glint Peter noted earlier). “No, baby,” you smiled, “I’m not romantically interested in her, if that’s what you’re thinking.” “But,” he began, a slight pout on his lips. God, he was really tired, “she was all over you today, shamelessly flirting with you. You didn’t seem to mind it though…”

“Peter,” you began, stroking his hair a bit, “I dont like MJ. I like you. No, I love you. A lot. So dont think that.” You moved to lay Peter on top of you, taking his hands and intertwining them with yours as he made himself comfortable on your chest. “I know,” Peter started, playing with your fingers a bit, “its just… everybody says you two look good together. I guess i just didnt like the feeling of you with another person, even if it’s just the public appeal and not reality. Sorry…” You shook your head, “dont apologize, baby. It’s normal to feel jealous…”

Peter was quick to defend, lifting his head up to glare at you accusingly, “I wasn’t jealous!” You laughed, “yeah, and I’m not dating Spider-Man.” Peter sighed, resting in his previous position. He mumbled another, ‘I wasn’t jealous…’ and you just nodded. You began running your hands through his hair, to which he quickly responded by sighing and relaxing even further into your chest.

A few minutes of running your hands through his hair later, Peter got bored and slightly irritated of the position. He moved to sleep next to you, with you spooning him. You wrapped your arms around him and gently played it his stomach, felling up and down his abs. He whimpered lightly, curling a bit at the ticklish feeling. His body began to heat up; you could feel it. “Are you still upset?” You asked softly, and Peter nodded. You sighed, placing soft kisses to Peter’s neck. He leaned back, face flushed red as you continued up his neck to his jaw. He turned his head to face you, and gave you a soft kiss. You to didnt move, instead you stayed there and took in the presence of each other.

When you two pulled away, Peter had the brightest blush on his face. He huffed, eyes falling closed, “I wasn’t jealous.”

“Of course you weren’t,” you smiled, “who said you were?”

You turned off the light once Peter finally fell asleep. The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the night- and, to be honest, if you could, you would stay like that forever if you could.

Panicked gay moment; had no clue what to write for MJ, sry sry sry anon (._.”)