#jaws writes

so uh.

Zaunite Viktor severely underrepresented imo and I care about Viktor so much so I wrote a little story about what I think his parents were like and what his childhood in the undercity could have been like

(I also make him cry in Jayce’s arms and project a decade of piano lessons onto him)

Steve Harrington x Male Reader

Request:

Prompt: “I came by your house late at night for advice and you’re dancing in your bedroom to The Cure and, not gonna lie, it’s pretty amusing.”

A/N: And the slowest writer ever award goes to: me. But ok Boys Don’t Cry is one of my favorite songs to dance to in an over-dramatic fashion while I’m alone in my bedroom. And I figured like. Why not.

TW: underage drinking, Guys Bein’ Dudes™️, slight language, you dated Nancy but the sexuality is never specified.

Cliques were always dangerous. You never really fit in with any specific group. Fellow peers at Hawkins had just kind of dubbed you a wanderer. And for as much as the teachers liked you, you found yourself in detention quite a bit. Not because you actually started fights, but pissing off Steve Harrington was one of your favorite hobbies. And when Billy Hargrove moved to town, your focus simply shifted to tormenting him instead.

Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the attention. For whatever reason, aggravating each other was the main basis of your friendship.

It was about third period and you’d come in to school late. The secretary noticed you weren’t at roll call for algebra or science, so she called your house. And before you could get to the phone your mother picked up and began screaming at you, whom she just assumed had already left, prompting you to get ready and leave.

The hallways were empty and it was fairly quiet, save for the noises of one of the gym classes going on. Your locker, unfortunately, was in the hall right beside the gym. Squeaks from sneakers and thuds from a dribbling basketball came from behind closed doors. Every time that damned ball hit your head throbbed more, still recovering from the party last night.

Tossing your Walkman inside, you began to grab out one of the books you’d need. English had been boring, but not as laggy as math and science. For a kid who was good with numbers you were surprisingly bad at the two subjects.

A sudden break in your thoughts came when a familiar face spotted yours and began to walk over. You could sense the uneasiness in the way he walked, normally he’d be trying to scare you. With everything in your hands, you nudged the door to your locker closed and waited for him to say something snarky as a greeting.

But he never did.

(E/c) orbs met dark brown ones. The light behind them was gone, now replaced with a sorrowful expression.

“You good?”

“Not really,” he sighed defensively.

“What’s got you—?”

Memories of the party from the night before came back in a blurred montage. Drinking, dancing, smoking, laughing, making out, repeat. You didn’t remember much, but at one point Nancy spilled her drink and went to the bathroom. What seemed like five hours later, Steve was pissed and ended up leaving.

“Oh, shit.” You visibly cringed.

“Look, I’m going to go talk to her.”

“It’s a wasted effort, man.” You reasoned. “Coming from somebody who’s been with her, just trust me.”

He always went to you for advice when it came to her. Nancy Wheeler was a very complex person, but you two dated for a while, and you kind of knew everything. A breakup came after about ten short months when you grew apart, but after a bit of a chat you two decided to stay friends.

The brunette shook his head slightly and glared. Reaching a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, he muttered something about just getting it over with. You opened your mouth to speak just when the secretary stepped out, a less than pleased look on her face.

“(L/n), you better get to class before you end up with another detention. You too, Harrington.”

A small smirk crossed your features. “Aww, that’d be such a shame, huh?”

Steve quickly sauntered off, presumably to talk to Nancy, and you were left with the secretary. The look in her tired eyes that reached your own pleaded for you to just shut up and go to class.

“They aren’t paying me enough for this,” she groaned.

The smirk on your face morphed into a full shit-eating grin, then prompting you to make your way down the hall and into your English class. Just another average day would follow, nothing out of the ordinary.

Later that evening as you got home, you decided it would be best to unwind and listen to music. Nobody else was home, your parents both at work, so that meant you could do pretty much whatever you wanted. Reaching your beat up door, you began to tug your denim jacket off and toss it onto the chair in the corner.

Everything about the room was overdone; posters adorned the off-white walls, the pictures overlapping at times, and stickers thrown onto the closet door. Two large bookshelves were filled to the brim with your music collection, some sketchbooks, and whatever other junk you had that couldn’t be left on the floor.

Nancy always hated your room but that was to be expected. It didn’t bother you much, you’d rather be at her house anyways.

You shut the door and began to change into something a bit more comfortable, wondering what you’d do with yourself for the remainder of the night. Ordering a pizza sounded pretty good, considering nobody was home and you didn’t want to cook. Most nights alone you’d end up watching TV, playing video games, and then crash at about 2 AM. A vicious cycle, one you never grew tired of.

Without thinking, you reached over and grabbed your phone from the receiver and dialed Steve’s number. It seemed like a good idea at the time, the two of you could hang out for a bit without getting yelled at.

Last time he was over, your parents came home earlier than anticipated and found the two of you sat on the couch, drunk, reading through the phone book (for whatever reason), only to just lose your shit whenever you saw a name that sounded even mildly amusing.

The phone rang a few times before eventually being picked up.

A sigh could be heard. “What?”

“Hey, loverboy. I’m ordering pizza tonight. You wanna come over and hang out?”

“Are we going to get our asses ripped this time?” The brunette retorted.

A fake laugh came from you. “That was one time, so are you coming or not?”

There was a minute long pause between you two. No matter how much you annoyed each other, you were one of his weaknesses. And pizza was something that he couldn’t say no to.

“Fine, but—”

“Great! See you in a few.” You chirped and practically smashed your phone back onto the base.

Steve lived only a couple streets down from you. You met back at the beginning of elementary school, both of you riding the same bus. Neither you, nor him, could really remember when you started to consider the other a ‘friend’. But it mainly had something to do with him and Nancy being a couple.

Since she and you dated before and were still close friends, somehow you ended up becoming the marriage counselor along the way.

But hey, the more the merrier, right?

Your mind couldn’t help but drift sometimes. Steve was pretty cute in your eyes, even with his weird hair. Generally the same taste in music, shows, movies, and obviously the same taste in girls. And although he was stupid (sometimes), he was a good dude.

It wouldn’t take long for him to reach the house. In the meantime you decided it would be best to put in the order for the pizzas. A quick call to the nearest shop, and they’d deliver it as soon as it was done.

After scanning through some music, you finally settled on one: a mixtape of your favorite songs from The Cure. You popped it in with no hesitation and set your player to max volume. The intro to Siamese Twins rang out in your bedroom, the beat eventually making all of the furniture thud in perfect time. Glass window panes shook as well, you’d probably have the neighbors complaining in the morning.

Your feet guided you around the house aimlessly as you searched for something to drink, the sound of music becoming more muffled as you entered the kitchen. It reminded you of the party a few nights ago, but far less stuffy. And with better music.

“I chose an eternity of this; like fallen angels, the world disappeared,” you sang slightly to yourself as you rummaged through the cabinets.

Nothing.

Onto the fridge, stocked full of Coke and other stuff you didn’t much care for. Nobody

Meanwhile, down the street, Steve could hear loud music coming from your street. Which was odd, if there was a party he would’ve known about it. Upon further inspection he realized it was coming from your house. The sun was already starting to set behind said abode, nestling itself deeper and deeper into the rows of houses that occupied the area.

The Harrington boy stepped a bit closer and took in the view; your house covered in orange and red tinted leaves, the living room and kitchen lights shining through their respective windows. Your silhouette moved about inside, gracefully, to the beat. Almost like a shadow with perfectly fluid movements.

His focus shifted to the porch lights, then the door, the doorbell, and back again. He only assumed your parents weren’t home but he wasn’t sure, although with as loud as the music was, ringing the doorbell or knocking wouldn’t have done any good anyways. It took him a bit to move, then walking around to the darkened backyard where he counted the windows.

The first one was your parents’ room (he learned the hard way), the second belonged to the bathroom, and finally, the third was the entrance to your bedroom. He glanced down, careful not to step on the flowers, then maneuvered his way around to find a spot where he could see through the gap blinds. What he got was something out of a renaissance painting.

You with your mom’s pearl necklace and matching earrings draped carelessly, your shirt all the way unbuttoned, and a wine glass in your hand. To top it all off, your hair was a mess, but complemented the askew lipstick that painted your lips. Your hips swayed back and forth in a graceful yet drunken manner. Inside, Boys Don’t Cry came on the stereo.

Each step you took was calculated to sync with the beat, the only thing that could’ve made it more amusing was if you would’ve been wearing heels.

“What is that moron doing?”

“I would say I’m sorry

If I thought that it would change your mind

But I know that this time I have said too much,

Been too unkind,”

You sang along, a slurred version not being heard by the other male as he watched from the window. Brown eyes were fixated on your form as you leapt up onto the bed, forcing a bit of a stumble from yourself. After almost toppling over, you continued on.

“I tried to laugh about it, cover it all up with lies

I tried to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes cause—”

“Boys… don’t cry.” Steve finished.

In the midst of the dancing spree you turned and locked eyes with said boy. The room was swaying about and took a minute to stop, your vision focusing on him. Each step you took closer to the window made your knees feel weaker, but somehow you managed to pull the screen up to let the other boy in.

The room was almost like a time capsule; nothing really moved or touched since the last time he’d been there, the only difference being the clothes that had been strewn across the floor. Sudden weight on the bed caused it to dip behind him. When he turned, your body was draped gracefully across the dark (color) sheets. Almost something out of an erotic painting, the clash of textures and colors alike.

Originally, the plan had been to come to wallow in self pity and ask for advice about Nancy. Now all he could think about was you, tipsy, singing along to music so loud it would rival an actual concert.

“You—you want a sip?” You shouted over the lyrics, somewhat slurred.

Steve thought about it for a minute, taking glances at your extended hand every so often. A slight sigh escaped him, then taking the glass and downing whatever was left. He started coughing and gagging as a result of the cheap liquor hitting, but didn’t care too much to do anything besides wipe his mouth off.

Everything in that moment was fuzzy, and loud, and warm. Time was stopped for you two. Nothing really mattered except the exact moment you were living in. Not some dumb party, not some spoiled suburban girl, and most certainly not being sober.

Steve’s hands fell to his hips. The newfound anxiety on his face made you wonder, but still too afraid to ask.

“Is there more to drink?”

“Yeah, in the kitchen… come on.”

Everything that happened afterwards became a blur of colors and muffled noises. Almost like going under anesthesia in the hospital, you couldn’t really remember what went on until something triggered it. And from then on you’d spend your time wondering if it was real or not, trying so hard to distinguish a vivid dream from a drugged reality.

One thing happened to stand out. The single thing you could remember.

Not so many hours later, bottles of liquor had been spread across the floor and the lights turned off. The music that once blared and annoyed the neighbors was turned down now, a much softer volume. Melodic hums came from your lips as Steve ranted about Nancy. The party, it was all because of the stupid party.

“— and, I mean, I apologized. Me. Steve fucking Harrington.”

After what seemed like four rounds too many, his speech was slurred.

Steve buried his face in his hands.“I don’t know what I did wrong…”

“You didn’t do any-anything wrong, man. Nancy just... has a stick up her ass, nothing new.” You assured him with a soft shove to the shoulder.

Your eyes met for a brief moment, his hands sliding down the sides of his face. A pitiful laugh found its way from his throat, soon after turning into something far more maniacal. Something about the situation was funny to you as well.

But not what you had said about Nancy, no. What made you laugh was the look on this idiot’s face, perfectly illuminated by the neighbor’s porch lights. How he slid down deeper onto your floor, ribs aching from giggling too hard. Though he was drunk, the smile plastered on his face was genuine.

Two separate roars were only extinguished after a few minutes, but at the time it felt like hours. You attempted to regain your composure but it was hard when his face was right next to yours. Once perfect brown hair was now askew, the result of the perfect night in. Eyes in the color to match brimmed with tears from laughing, something he felt like he hadn’t done in a while. Nearly perfect skin and perfect lips almost begging for some action; it was too amazing.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you wanted to make out with me…”

It took a minute for his words to sink in. Even in the dark he could see the red flush rise to your cheeks. You swallowed a bit, hand rising to comb through (h/c) locks anxiously. Harsh shadows covered your (s/c) face but even then Steve could still tell you were biting your lip.

It seemed he had his answer.

“Oh,”

“Yeah, oh,” you mirrored.

Everything happened what felt like hours later, but at the same time, all at once. Your bodies had been forced together, the taste of long forgotten cheap wine playing on your tongues. His hands reached up to tangle gently in your hair, all while yours gripped desperately at the lapels of his denim jacket.

The kiss was soft and messy, but whether it was the alcohol’s fault or the fact he was nervous was anybody’s guess. For whatever reason, Steve expected it to feel different but it didn’t. The kiss was just that; a kiss. Not a kiss with a boy, just a kiss.

Clumsily, he straddled your lap to get a better angle. It still felt the same. The time had come to an end, your lungs begging for air, forcing the two of you to pull back. His shoulders heaved, the room only being filled now with the slight sound of you both panting.

(E/c) hues opened to take in the view. Steve Harrington straddling your lap, breathless, disheveled, only being lit by the light that came through the window. The grip you had on his jacket slowly loosened, only to be stopped by his hand on yours. Red lipstick that once adorned your lips was now shared. The Cure that played in the background had finally come to a complete stop. But the gaze Steve had on your lips didn’t, especially when he began to lean in again.

“Don’t tell Nancy,”

💥ANOTHER ONE, THANK YOU!📢

since a few people were interested in my jayvik oneshot, I also posted the start of my massive hyper-fixation project this winter

this fic is my baby and my excuse to see more of pre-time skip jayvik silliness while also making them yearn VIOLENTLY for each other and putting them in an endless amount of situations at a fancy party

Peter Parker x Male!Reader

Request:

Rules of My Blog

Prompt: “Why didn’t you tell me how good of a writer you were?” “I didn’t think it mattered,”

A/N: Poetry gays make me v soft, and I can just imagine Giant Dork Boy going absolutely insane if somebody wrote poetry about him. I did make some creative changes with this though, but I hope you like it anyways. :,) mainly inspired by the part in Homecoming where he asks Liz to the dance cause idk that’s adorable.

TW: Uh language maybe. I think that’s it. Guys Bein’ Dudes. Pete’s a whole ass softie and we stan. I suck at poetry :,)

For @theauthorishere

No matter who you ask, it’s always a different word for the same thing. The same event that happens in your life, at least once.

Fate, destiny, luck, written in the stars, meant to be — whatever the word, it evokes the same feeling. A feeling of being completely awestruck, like the cards you were dealt had finally given you the perfect hand. It’s the type of moment where you just know. Everything around you turns soft and fuzzy, time ceases to exist, and you’re left with that incredible moment that happens all at once.

However, for you, it didn’t hit you all at once.

You knew Peter from school. You had seen him in passing, but never really talked to him. The two of you had very different schedules; your agenda filled with different arts related classes, and his with STEM ones. Going to Midtown was nerve wracking, to say the least. All of the kids there were insanely smart — and you didn’t feel like you fit that.

It would be dumb not to call your first meeting fate.

The sounds of the city were intoxicating, having been mixed with the splash of rain as taxis drove through them. Gray skies shielded everything below from the sun, a nice change of pace for a day in July. The air had turned cool and calming, contrasting greatly to your surroundings.

Rainwater that had collected beneath your shoes turned into ripples as you stepped through, a purposeful stride in your step. You had just moved apartments with your family, and in turn, became the one to run and get food. That day as you slunked home from the library, you came across Delmar’s corner deli.

Normally, you wouldn’t have stopped, but something in your gut told you it would be good. Small chimes of the bell that hung from the door could be heard as you entered. It was small, but the variety was incredible. You couldn’t help but gaze around, taking in the new place. Something about it made you nostalgic.

The smell of candy hit you immediately, to which you followed the scent like a hound dog. They had all of your favorites, including gummies. Your attention shifted when the door chimes rang again.

A boy around your age grinned, immediately making his way to the counter to ring the bell. A man in the back room yelled something, prompting the boy to rest his arms on the top of the counter. Now you could get a better look. Brunette waves had been swept back carefully, revealing eyes with the color to match. His smile was so genuine, it was like you couldn’t help yourself from smiling back when you saw it. Meanwhile, your death grip on one of the shelves began to falter.

The candy in its display box fell to the floor with an abnormally large rattle, causing the boy to look your way. For a split second you locked eyes before you focused on picking up the sweets.

“Here — let me help,”

God, he was even more adorable up close. Freckles dotted across pale skin every so often, almost replicating constellations in the night sky. But they were here, on earth. The light from the large windows opposite you danced softly across him, creating a truly intoxicating sight. While you were busy attempting not to look like an idiot, he grabbed the box and placed it on the shelf again.

“You… I — uh — thank you?”

“Oh, it’s no problem!”

A grimace enveloped your features, scrunching up in slight embarrassment. Why couldn’t you just be normal? And talk to people? You know, like human beings do. A few breaths became enough to encourage you to turn around and say something not so stupid.

“I’m (y/n), by the way—”

The bell on the door chimed, and you watched the brunette leave with a grin on his face. Mr. Delmar smirked, prompting you to quirk a brow.

“He’s gone, lover boy… but he should be back soon.”

“Why?”

He held up the clear bag. “Kid forgot his sub.”

“It’s gotta be about you!” Ned roared.

Peter was freaking out. After a couple of months, you ended up transferring to Midtown. Yours and Peter’s relationship had developed, slowly, but surely. As did his crush. So when your poem about somebody was published and showcased in the art wing at the school, it drove him a bit mad.

It couldn’t be about him, right? You probably met somebody else at school and fell for them. Why would you waste your time writing about a boring person like him?

“It can’t be about me,”

“Why not, dude? It’s so clear—”

“Because… it doesn’t make sense. Why would he write something like that about me?” The hero glanced over at his best friend.

Instead of a real reply, all Peter received was mock kissy noises. The shorter boy ran a hand through his hair, biting down on his lip in thought. He hoped so badly that it was true, that you would write something so beautiful about him. It was quite ironic to him, though; he always thought of himself as a boring person, not super interesting aside from the Spider-Man secret — yet you wrote such stunning things about him. About some dorky kid from Queens.

Ned looked over Peter, seeing him become more and more lost in his own mind.

“You have to tell him, man.”

“Yeah, but how?”

The Filipino boy’s mouth turned upward at the corners. “I have a plan.”

You’d have been pretty foolish to think that meeting him was all chance. When you transferred to Midtown after a couple of months, and a scholarship, it all made sense. Golden and blue hallways had become your home so quickly, the concentrated noise and stir of the others like an electric buzz to charge your core. In the time that you’d been in class with Peter, you realized just what was so special.

Observing him from afar was something you helplessly drifted back to. Finding patterns in his speech, the slight lilt in his tone — a melodic chime to your ears. The only thing that could make you smile on a bad day. Brown eyes the color of sunkissed bronze, hair in the same shade to match. Freckles that dotted themselves across his skin like constellations, your newfound form of comfort.

The halls that were once bustling with life had calmed down, only the faint music from the band room could be heard. Not another soul in sight, just you and the showcase. Thin glass housed the collective wins of the school — trophies, medals, plaques, and more memories than you could count. Now your art was part of it for the time being. The fact still messed with your mind a bit, you didn’t understand how or why it was being held with such high regard. Just a poem from one hopeless romantic to some unknowing dork.

A familiar presence became known at your side, donned in the bright blue of the school’s colors. There were no words spoken, a comfortable silence left to hang in the air. Peter glanced at the poem, then back to you. Only a few days, and he practically knew all of the words.

“You never told me how good of a writer you were,”

You shrugged. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

But it did. It did matter. Maybe not to you, but for Peter Parker — it meant the world. The way you would zone out during certain lessons, dreaming about all of the things you would write if you weren’t so afraid. Or the way your (h/c) strands liked to fall across your (s/c) face when you were tired. The purple and red hues under your eyes from sleepless nights, and all of the small lines your face formed when you smiled.

“So, who’s it about?” The brunette nervously licked his lips.

You craned your neck down a bit, then turning to look at him. He had that usual soft puppy look on his face, but this time it was different, somehow softer. The sun hit at just the right spot, casting gold and orange light all around the empty hallway.

“What, is it not obvious?” Your voice had that of a teasing edge to it.

Peter glanced down at the clipboard and grinned to himself, only looking up to meet your eyes once he thought it was safe. He could feel the courage, nervousness, and words all start to bubble up in his stomach. If there was a time to say it, the time was now.

“I-it’s great. Um, you know. I hope the person you wrote it about knows it’s for them.”

You nodded along and waited for him to make the next move. Either that, or you put your neck on the line for nothing. (E/c) hues drifted back to the framed picture inside the case, perfectly lit by the sunlight as Peter inched closer to you.

He swallowed thickly. “I, uh… kind of… like you. A lot.”

Surprised wouldn’t exactly be the right word, you kind of felt it coming. But hearing those words, that confession out loud, in real life — your heart felt like it had just gone on the drop tower at the theme park. And it just dropped. The adrenaline was sickening, but not in a bad way. As the moment went on and you didn’t say anything, he turned cautiously to read you of something.

Did he screw up? Did you write that about somebody else? Was he just being dumb? Oh god, what if he ruined it—

“I was really hoping you’d say that,”

Everything around you seemed to blur into something warm and fuzzy. Nothing else mattered in that moment. No poem, homecoming poster, or person could draw you away from him. Peter faced you, a warm smile graced his features. It was almost as if you took his regular puppy dog look and dialed to 11. A look that pure was infectious.

The hall pass in his hands swayed, calling your attention.

“You should probably get back—”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’ll text you later?”

“Promise? I’ll be waiting.” You winked.

The two of you began to part ways, leaving behind the letter in the showcase. Beige tile that once was cold and unwelcome seemed to be just a tad brighter, a bit warmer. That feeling of being on top of the world, it was something you could get used to.

Peter stopped in his tracks before he could reach the door. Why not?

“Do you… wanna go to the dance? With me?”

You turned around and looked back at him. The golden light from the windows flooded in, casting shapes and movements across your face. (H/c) strands had begun to fall toward your eyes, all perfectly imperfect.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.”

“The constant flow

My life like a revolving door of people

New experiences, free to come and go as they please

Nobody nearly as interesting

As the boy with a kind smile and a nervous gaze

If I had met you at a different time,

As a different me,

Would it still have been fate?

•

Brown eyes sent to enrapture me

I promise I’m all yours

It’s not like me to feel like this

Everything that I am,

All that is left,

Belongs to you now

Perhaps we were lucky enough

To be destined

Written in the stars.”

Billy Hargrove x Male Reader

Request:

Prompt:

A/N: this is absolute shit I’m sorry. Hopefully I’ll either redo it or add on later?? Idk although I love Stranger Things I feel like I’m bad at writing for it because I didn’t get super super attached to the characters, or at least the older ones :(

TW: being big gay, hiding your relationship, being lowkey dumb (and boring, I’m not proud of this one), Billy smokes cause. It’s Billy.

They say opposites attract. And good God would that be an understatement.

Nothing about your life was abnormal in the eyes of watchful peers. You; the average boy in Hawkins, Indiana. So, how did somebody like you manage to find yourself hanging with the likes of Billy Hargrove and the other “bad boys” of the school?

You had to ask yourself the same question.

The group of boys with six-packs and leather clad backs wasn’t exactly where you thought you’d end up in high school, but nobody is ever really the same person they were when they near senior year. Sometimes change is necessary, but unexpected — yours was always the latter. And somehow the school fuckboy became your own little secret.

Neither you, nor him, could explain how it happened. Some dumb cliché from a movie, the bad boy and the soft boy. Billy was the taste of a root beer float, sounds of fast cars racing down the main, the intoxicating smell of old cigarettes against leather. That rousing California boy.

You, on the other hand, were the taste of pizza and Zotz*. The cool breeze at the end of the cul-de-sac. Bare feet against hot pavement, smell of chlorine from the pool. Nevertheless, you two were a force to be reckoned with. Nobody knew what went on behind the scenes, and that’s how it would stay.

Boys like him weren’t supposed to love boys like you.

“Lost in thought?” Only a certain voice could pull you from a trance like that.

“I guess you could say that,”

For a brief moment you locked eyes, the shrug that rolled from his shoulders asking for permission to sit down. You obliged, sliding over on the bench to make room. The blonde grits his teeth a bit, then decides to sit opposite you. His lunch tray hits the table, a jump being your only response. The smell of cigarette smoke and noise of the cafeteria is all that you notice.

“Where’s everybody else?” You quip.

He sighs and takes a bite from his sandwich. “I don’t know — lunch detention, probably? Fucking idiots…”

A few glances were sent out, looking to make sure nobody is watching. But ever since he moved, Billy was always being carefully spied on by everybody. You hunched forward, resting your elbows on the table in an attempt to get a bit closer. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes when he saw the big grin plastered on your face; you had been scheming and it was obvious.

“Now hear me out—”

“Whatever you’re about to say, the answer is no.” He replies sternly, stabbing a fork into his food.

“I can’t believe I said yes to this,”

The cool water dances over your (s/c) arms, a nice lighting coming from just below the surface. It’s dark out, the only light being that of the moon and from the pool. Billy locks his eyes on your form as you glide through the water with ease. Of course you wanted to sneak into the city pool before they drained it for the season. Normally, he’d be all for something like this, but it was nearly mid-September and achingly cold out. The clothes you once wore sat carelessly in a pile, right beside the other male. He sighed and crouched down, his face coming suspiciously close to your own.

“And what will we do if somebody catches us here?”

“Make a run for it—”

Something in his eyes tells you he’s not worried about that; more worried about if somebody saw you two together. His expression at that moment is hard to pinpoint. Annoyance? Lust? Excitement? It left you baffled, no more so than usual. With a few steps back he found a spot in one of the patio chairs, plastic creaking under the new weight.

“You’re not going to join me?”

“And then freeze to death when I get out? Pass,”

You rolled your eyes and then shifted to drive underneath the water. Waves and ripples formed gracefully, gliding softly with every movement. The slight chill in the pool was slightly worse than usual but you didn’t mind. In a quick downward motion you had been surrounded by it, causing bubbles to rise as you did the opposite. Billy watched from the side as your warped form sank lower and lower until finally rested on the bottom.

The view was otherworldly; somewhat spooky and ethereal — dark navy skies above softly disturbed by motion. The familiar sting of chlorine had made itself known but you couldn’t care less. Something about being at the bottom of a pool was just comforting. Perhaps it was the isolation, the pressure, the view, or the serenity — you didn’t know how to put it. A burning in your chest pleaded for you to surface again for air, so you did.

Billy tracked you, a fond smile and cigarette hung from his mouth. Nothing could compare to you in the moment, at least to him. He only hoped that one day maybe you’d accompany him in California. Just the thought of you coming up for air in the turquoise waves, hair slicked back, giant grin plastered across your face, was enough to keep him going.

“Are you done yet?” He groaned.

“Normally, you’re always up for breaking rules. Now you’re rushing me out of the pool we’re trespassing in?”

When you turned, a hand reached out for yours. You stared for a minute before he motioned slightly and prompted you to take it. He pulled you out skillfully, eyes never leaving your own. Cold air cocooned itself around your sopping wet figure, the feeling sending chills down your spine. In a frantic rush to get re-dressed you pulled your hand away, scrambling to the pile of clothes. The task of getting dress seemed much harder than it normally did, with everything wanting to cling and stick where it wasn’t supposed to.

The shiver from before was back again but this time as a trembling jaw. Everything about the scene was enough to make the other male laugh as he took a drag from his cigarette. You would’ve looked pretty hot in the moment, had you not been muttering profanities under your breath and shaking like a skeleton.

“Can we… go now?”

A thumb was placed over your bottom lip, rubbing back and forth.

“Aw, regretting the fun already?”

He met your eyes, inching in close enough to the point where you could practically taste the cigarette cloud in your own mouth. Shadows fell across his face beautifully, framing his features in all their glory. It was like something out of a movie. The brunette watched you pluck the stick from his mouth gingerly, then replacing its presence with your lips. It was over hastily, to the dissatisfaction of you both. You smirked, taking a slow drag then passing it back to him.

“You gonna take me home?”

A shrug was the only answer you received. No time was wasted trying to slip through the gates and into the parking lot. The single light post flickered slightly, adding to the half-romantic, half-ominous vibe. If only the midnight chill wasn’t so bad.

A shudder worked its way through your body, dampened clothes becoming even tighter as your boyfriend unlocked the car. Keys clambered in the distant, you were too focused on retaining heat. Semi-transparent breaths escaped your mouth, filling the air in the pale lighting.

Your gaze wandered over to the other male. He was slightly unamused at how dissociated you were, but never said anything. Instead, just balancing the cig in his mouth and pulling off the leather jacket.

Request:

Rules Of My Blog

Pronouns: He/Him

Prompt: “I’ve been trying to tell you that I’m gay for about a month now and I’m using memes to do it in case it backfires but you’re missing the point and oh my god how are you so smart yet so stupid???”

A/N: I know this isn’t what you initially wanted, but this was the first thing I thought of when I got the request. You can also see where I was feeling inspired vs. when I didn’t have control of the braincell so. :) enjoy.

TW: None

Attempt I

Coming out was never easy. Especially when you had to try and do it over, and over, and over again. You wouldn’t have had to try multiple times had he gotten the message, but no. Because Peter Parker was kind of an idiot. In total, it took you 3 different tries before he finally understood.

At the time of thinking it through you decided you didn’t want to do another emotional, long winded, tear-jerker coming out. Especially considering the brunette was kind of your crush.

If you said it and got it out quickly, you couldn’t go back. You couldn’t hide it anymore. That truth would be out in the open, strewn across the floor like confetti and wrapping paper from a birthday party long forgotten.

You knew he would be fine with it, maybe a bit shocked at first, but the pit in your stomach would ache at the thought that he wouldn’t.

“Okay, okay. No big deal. Just… send him a text.” You muttered to yourself.

Slowly, you pulled your hands from where they resided over your eyes and grabbed at your phone. The golden sun was just making her way down past the buildings of Queens, light beams gliding their way through the thin glass windows of your bedroom. Everything that had previously been white suddenly gained an orange tint to it; you always loved this time of day.

Peter said he had to make up some work, but you knew he’d still be out on patrol. Not that you minded, but a small part of you was always worried. As soon as you began to unlock it you were greeted with one of your favorite pictures.

You, Ned, and Peter all outside of MoMA during the annual field trip in your freshman year. It was just a dumb selfie you took on Snapchat, yours and Ned’s hairlines adorned by the filtered flower crowns (rest in peace) and Peter pouting in the background because he didn’t get one.

To you it seemed like yesterday but also ages ago, but you couldn’t get fixed on that at the moment.

“Coming out first, nostalgia later,”

Muscle memory guided you to pull up Snapchat and the chat log between you and the brown eyed boy. His name had been saved as ‘dorito king’ in your contacts, a small inside joke from freshman year. A smile tugged at your lips, forming beautifully at yet another memory you’d made together.

‘I just hope this doesn’t end that,’ you sighed, ‘here goes nothing.’

You: hey loser

Almost instantly you watched his Bitmoji pop up then disappear.

You: I got something to say don’t ignore me you hoe

dorito king: Yeah, and what’s that?

dorito king: And don’t call me a hoe

You: I just wanted to say that—

You pulled the vine fresh from your camera roll and sent it. The iconic vine to end all other iconic vines — iDubbbz jumping from the counter in a green morph suit and saying ‘I’m gay’. As soon as you sent it and saw it had delivered, the pit in your stomach became much more obvious. The small cartoony version of your best friend in the corner gained a thought bubble as he typed.

This was it. You just came out to your best friend with a meme.

dorito king: You texted me while I’m out to send me a vine?

dorito king: I mean I’m not mad but, like, why?

You: because it’s important.

dorito king: Well, yeah, it’s an iconic vine.

Did he not get what I was trying to say?

About 10 more seconds of silence confirmed it. He didn’t get what you were trying to say. This genius boy that goes to a STEM school, the boy with a 4.0 GPA, the boy that designed his own web shooters and web fluid, just completely missed what you were trying to say.

Abruptly laughing at his sudden stupidity, you lost all composure. A genuine laugh made its way from your stomach. Fist pounding on the desk, you tossed your head back forcing (h/c) locks to flow back.

You just tried to come out to your best friend with a vine and he didn’t get it.

dorito king: Oh man I think some dude just stole a bike, I gotta go.

dorito king: I’ll be back later and then we can talk about vines.

With that, his small avatar disappeared and you were left stunned. You’d have to try another tactic, but maybe later.

Attempt II

Since the first attempt to come out using memes didn’t work, and it had been a few days, it seemed best to try again. This time?

Some not-so-subtle color schemes in your pictures.

It was the weekend, which meant you had a little bit longer to focus on your photography. Normally, you stuck to taking pictures of the architecture, people, animals, nature — anything but yourself. But with Peter not completely getting the idea the first time, you figured it’d be best if you were actually in the photos.

Something moody and aesthetic crossed your mind and your heart was set. The LED lights around your room would help you out in your mission, their colors being changed easily with a remote. Your scenes had been set, clothes with appropriate colors laid across the desk that faced your wall. Changing multiple times wouldn’t be fun, but maybe he’d get the idea this time around.

Your smooth hands gripped at the camera before placing it carefully on the tripod. A few clicks of the remote for the light and you had started.

Every color had a different and complex emotion tied to it. Maybe that was just how it was for art kids, but you were no exception. Being able to now use those colors to express who you were, and what you stand for, just gave you a nice feeling. Like an added warmth, that of a security blanket.

Red was the main color of the suit you’d grown accustomed to seeing, typically when it’s worn by your best friend as he climbs in your window to fill you in on how his night of patrolling went. That color also being the same as the hoodie he stole from you a while ago, the one you were too afraid to ask for.

Orange being the color of the sunset in one of your favorite memories; after freshman orientation at Midtown when you two had gotten some ice cream to commemorate. By the time the two of you had gotten to his bedroom it was golden hour, the beautiful orange beams flowing in carelessly through the windows.

Yellow in the same hue as the lemon Peter mistakenly (almost) ate when May was cooking dinner one night. An awkward smile and bright brown eyes coaxed you to stay, finally letting out an awkward laugh when you said yes. He tried to distract himself by eating the closest thing on the counter, which just so happened to be a lemon slice. The expression he made when it hit his tongue was priceless — you two laughed until you had tears in your eyes.

Green like the sweater he received for Christmas, a dark forest green with a fine knit, one that clung to his body immaculately. When he pulled it out and was promptly overjoyed, adding a remark about you having good taste. If he had it his way, he would’ve worn it a million times by now. But the brunette typically saved it for special occasions, namely ones involving you.

Blue with the same vibrancy as the neon lights that illuminated the midnight streets of New York, the same shade that reflected wonderfully in the wet pavement. A nostalgic memory of sitting on the fire escape with a certain boy after the rain, the time reading 2:37 AM. That night was serene and peaceful, only consisting of a few exchanged words between you two.

Purple like your tongues after movie night with AirHeads. Violet like your favorite pair of socks, only one of which you knew the location of. Amethyst as the color you once dyed your hair on a bet, eventually resulting in a lecture from your parents. But to see the grin that plastered Peter’s face, it was worth it.

With the last few pictures taken, you tugged at the purple hoodie and set it aside once it was off. Time seemed to fly during the mini-photoshoot, the clock on your phone displaying 10:56 when you finally checked it. Missed notifications cluttered your screen, a few missed texts here and there. A few from the boy you not-so-secretly liked.

dorito king: Today has been kinda uneventful tbh

dorito king: Can I come over?

dorito king: Nvm I’ll wait, I don’t want to just drop over unexpectedly. I know you hate that.

dorito king: Maybe tomorrow or something?

The texts were from 7:44, 8:32, 8:55 and 8:56 respectively. A grimaced crossed your features as you typed out a response.

You: hey sorry I was working on a project

You felt kind of bad after not replying, although it wasn’t on purpose. It wouldn’t take long to start and finish editing the shots, just a pass through VSCO or something would do the trick.

Yet again the cartoon version of the young hero appeared in the corner.

dorito king: What kind of project?

You: just some photography stuff nothing exciting

dorito king: Dude you have to show me when you’re done

dorito king: Your stuff is always really good :)

Is now the time? They’re not even edited yet. I should probably wait… they need to be perfect. Okay, well, not perfect. Perfection is an illusion — but they need to be up to my standards.

You: I don't have much to do tonight so looks like I'll be editing them

You: but thanks I'm glad somebody likes my stuff

His Bitmoji equipped a thought bubble for a few seconds, then went back to the typical peeking position. Not long after, another thought bubble — he must’ve deleted what he was going to say.

What was he going to say?

dorito king: Yeah you know, I’m actually pretty tired so I’m going to bed.

You immediately sent the sticker of your avatar in bed with the Dancing Hot Dog (rest in peace) hovering over your cartoon bed, the one you commonly referred to as your ‘sleep paralysis demon’ sticker.

dorito king: Goodnight

You: night

Sighing softly, the plush cover of the large bed shifted under your weight as you leaned back to lie down. It was warm and welcoming, with the sheets thrown around from your constant tossing and turning — just how a bed should be. The thought occurred that if Peter was asleep (or at least going to be), you could work on editing the pictures and then send them for him to open when he finally woke up.

You slid your laptop over from the spot on your desk and proceeded to hook the camera up to transfer the images. There were a lot, so you’d have to sort through and pick the best of the bunch. Which didn’t exactly sound fun, but whatever.

The bright white screen of the laptop couldn’t distract your eyes from wandering, to which they soon landed on a small box on top of your dresser. Cardboard walls that contained some sketches, polaroids, pencils, old homework, and a new addition.

A rainbow flag.

Just a pride flag, about the size of a tee shirt, that you came across while shopping online. The colors were deeper and richer than a normal flag, almost having a handmade quality about it. It had just been sitting there for a month or so, shoved under miscellaneous junk; how ironic.

A flag that was supposed to be flown with pride had been hidden and concealed under papers and sketches of no importance.

Bright and lively (e/c) eyes fixated on the item, almost as if it had been the tool of hypnosis. You glanced back down at the laptop, photos not fully imported yet.

“What am I doing?”

With little thought and energy you stood and walked over to the box, pulling out the flag and grasping it tightly within a clenched fist. All of the colors in the fabric looked gorgeous against the (s/c) of your arm. Originally you hadn’t put it up in case Ned or Peter happened to drop by, though it was typically the latter, and it wasn’t like you didn’t want to put it up — you just weren’t ready.

Not ready for the shock, confusion, and possible rejection that could come about because of one small detail. A detail you couldn’t change, but instead had to accept and love. That you, a boy, liked other boys.

As if breaking free from the spell, you shook your head gently and put the flag back in the box. After they found out, you’d put it up. For right now you had to focus on editing the pictures.

Editing wasn’t as long as initially expected; considering VSCO has that save-your-filter feature. With everything saved, you sent it to him in the chat (at around 11:47) then finally drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Attempt III

The days that followed after the pictures were… unusual. Peter was slightly more antsy, always making excuses, losing track of things — and probably would've been searching for his own head, had it not been attached to his body. You asked Ned if it was about the pictures and such, but he said that the webslinger never mentioned anything.

Which meant one of two things: either he figured it out and was trying to adjust silently, or he still didn’t take the hint and was just overworked.

Both of you assumed it was the latter.

So, becoming bored of dropping hints, you told him to stop by after he was done patrolling. Initially, he made up a few excuses — May was making dinner, he had homework, was going to spend some time with Tony — but taking no for an answer was never your strong suit.

Everything had already been worked out for how you’d tell him. The (shorter/taller) brunette would creep through your bedroom window before dinner, maybe catch up on some homework, order a pizza, then you’d say it. Nothing too complicated, hopefully, but you braced yourself for the worst.

It wasn’t quite dark when you heard the familiar tap tap on your window. The familiar figure wrapped in red and blue tilted his head to the side, motioning for you to unlock it. You leaned over and nudged it open, giving him enough room to slide in. The brunette just scooted across your bed, sitting on the edge, then yanked the mask off and sat it on the side table.

Caramel curls fell perfectly in front of matching eyes. Not much in your room had changed since he was last in your presence, but he still looked it over like the first time. The usual awkward smile formed when you gestured over to the pizza box, knowing he’d be hungry after being Spidey for the evening.

“What’s that look for?” You raised a brow.

“Oh uh… can I, maybe, borrow a shirt and shorts or something? I lost my bag. Again.”

Eyes locked onto the English assignment that was being typed up, you mindlessly flicked your hand in the direction of the closet. Peter scanned through the tees and eventually settled on the worn-out red one with ‘SAVE FERRIS’ printed on the front. If he had to pick, that was always his favorite shirt on you. Something about the way the shade of red looked with your eyes.

Once turned around, he tapped at the black spider in the middle of his chest; the rest of the suit falling loosely to the floor. You couldn’t help but look up at his toned back, good lord. It was one of those moments where you couldn’t quite tell if you wanted to be built like him, or if you wanted to run your hands all over him.

But, considering your little secret, it was probably the second one.

Watching him changed proved to be pretty amusing. He bumped into your dresser a few times, then the wall, and the dresser again just trying to get the shorts on. How could a boy with superpowers be so… clumsy? Baffling, if you were being honest. You were quick to focus again before he could catch your wandering eyes.

After changing he grabbed the pizza box from your desk, pulled out a slice, and started eating. The face of pleasure and satisfaction soon became more apparent the more he ate.

“Oh my god, that’s so good,”

You could’ve died right there.

“So, how goes the Spidey thing?” You begin.

He shrugged, wiping some sauce from the corner of his mouth. “The usual. Nothing really weird, thank god. Oh, but the other day I helped this old Dominican lady with directions. Then she bought me a churro, so that was cool.”

A fond smile found its way to your lips, remembering the picture he sent with the mask half off, the churro in one hand, and the sunset behind him.

“God bless the Churro Lady,”

The only reply you receive is a nod and the cheers of a pizza crust. Although you’ve seen him what seems like a million times, your eyes can’t help but scan his features like you’ve just met. When you first came to terms with liking dudes, you swore you’d never fall for him. But damn, was that a lie.

After another slice of pizza he seemed less nervous. You soon found him sprawled across the plush bed, facing each other. Every click from the keyboard was enough to drive yourself insane. The more you thought about it, the tighter the feeling in your stomach became.

Peter, however, remained completely oblivious and stuck in thought. Normally you were good at reading others but him. That boy was something different, something that drove you crazy because you could never tell what he was thinking. It was like all at once, the red alarms started to go off in your head and the world around him started to close in.

Goosebumps started to rise on (s/c) skin, clammy feeling becoming more obvious as the pit in your stomach built up a bit more. The speed at which you tapped nervously on the keyboard quickened. It eventually caught his attention, prompting you to slide your laptop aside with a sigh.

Face in your hands, you mentally prepared to say it.

Then, out of nowhere.

“Is that a pride flag?”

His eyes guided you towards the cardboard box that rested on the dresser, what used to hold the flag, now sitting empty. The rainbow flag that had been stashed away was now laying carelessly on the floor next to the Spider-Man suit. Something about the combination just seemed right, neither of you could put a finger on it.

Brown and (e/c) hues glanced between the flag and back, no hostility held in either pair. Just a new understanding. Something you hadn’t felt in a while.

“Yeah… surprise?”

The look that crossed his face was similar of that to the woman with the equation meme. His eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to add all of the pieces together. A few moments later, he finally got it. He shook his head, embarrassed, and let out a pathetic laugh.

“I’m such an idiot,”

A breath you didn’t know you had been holding was released, soon evaporating into a smile of contentment. Everything in that moment felt warm. Soft, warm, and bright. Nothing mattered except you, a flag, and the boy sitting next to you. The knot in your stomach had been replaced by butterflies. A nice pink tint replaced the paled look you gained while working up the courage.

That same pink colored the other male’s features as well, even going so far as to paint the tips of his ears. Muscular arms that had previously been folded were now open and inviting; everything just seemed right.

“Not to steal your thunder or anything… but uh... yeah. I’m—I’m bi.”

As soon as those words were out in the open it was like every piece fell into place. All you could do was reach over and wrap your arms around him. He was stunned for a second before realizing what was happening, quickly reciprocating. It seemed to last for hours and seconds all at once.

It was like your veins started glowing and skin emanated light. Nothing in the world could compare to the feeling, and nothing could take it away. Suddenly every rude comment, punchline, and beating paled in comparison to that moment. Like they were all worth it just for this new feeling of pure joy.

After a few minutes the two of you came down, still in shock from what just happened.

“I was avoiding you because I didn’t exactly know how to tell you,” the spider admitted.

“Well, I guess you’re glad you came over, huh?”

You could’ve sworn that for a split second he was focused on your lips instead of your eyes.

I hope it stays like this forever.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

Dean Winchester x Male Reader

Request: Yes, but I don’t have the original screenshot.

Prompt: Your favorite pastime: teasing Dean.

A/N: I had to make this more of an imagine rather than a fic, I’m so sorry. Also, sorry for taking forever. I haven’t watched Supernatural in a while. This is all over the place, please forgive me. 💀

TW: You’re a giant tease, also Dean is probably hella OOC, some language, references to sex towards the end.

You and Dean hadn’t been together very long

But how you met was pretty... wild, to say the least

Sam had one of his dreams and they ended up in your town

Turns out, when somebody dies they’re supposed to stay dead

Old wives’ tales of necromancers were part of the tourist trap

Were

After nearly being killed, you thought it would be better to leave town

So you did

But imagine the surprise when about 4 months later, Sam and Dean are in your new town, still trying to track down their dad

“Are you stalking me or something?”

“No, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sorta glad to see you,”

He asked you out on a date

It wasn’t super special, but spending time with somebody was a nice change

“I try not to... do stuff like this too often.”

“What makes me the exception?”

“Well, it’s pretty rare that we meet the same people more than once. Kinda like—”

“Fate?”

A smile crossed his face. “Yeah, something like that.”

One thing led to another and you were locking lips outside of your apartment

Everything happened painfully slow, but also insanely fast

You were just getting drinks and then suddenly the two of you are getting heated

Of course he tried to slow it down, teasing you for what seemed like hours

Most of it was a blur, but it must’ve been good

When you woke up, the biggest smile plastered across your face

The only indication that anything ever happened was a sticky note with his number on your nightstand

Oh, and the leather jacket

Of course you had to give it back

Maybe he left it as an excuse to meet again?

You didn’t really care, as long as you got to see him again

Things had become official since then

Begrudgingly, the guys allowed you to accompany them on the road

Going from having an apartment overflowing with stuff to living out of a few suitcases and backpacks was... an adjustment, to say the least

Constantly moving was good for you

It was tiring, sure, but the experiences were worth it

New town and new people every couple weeks? Yes please

Dean didn’t want to admit it, but he felt more at ease

Not just because you were boyfriends, but he didn’t have to worry so much about you becoming a sitting duck to everything that was out there

If you were there with him, he could protect you

But you saved his ass a couple of times in return

Of course, he always thanked you in a very specific way

By getting coffee and donuts for you the morning after

Figuring you out was more difficult than anticipated

It all started in Texas

Even in the early hours, it was still hot outside

No use wearing a leather jacket in 80° weather

You woke up without him, but knew what he was doing

Didn’t make the stiff motel bed any more desirable, though

Of course the three of you would be leaving in a bit, causing you to start repacking

That’s when you noticed

Dean’s oh-so-precious jacket

That man would do anything for you, anything, but let you wear the jacket

Naturally, you slipped it on and decided to wait for him to get back

“Hey, I hope you’re hungry, I got—”

He nearly had a heart attack

Your form was draped casually across the bed, only covered by your underwear and his jacket

The look on his face was priceless

“What do you think? Look good?”

You were met with his signature smirk and eyebrow raise

He never saw you the same since then

But that was fine with you

Let’s just say, Sam ended up learning the hard way that you two needed your own room

Bonus:

After breakfast, nearly everything was packed up

You’d be on the road again

Sam glances down at Dean’s jacket on the bed

“What is all over—?”

“I wouldn’t touch that, if I were you.”

God, you wish you would’ve taken a picture

Rules of My Blog

Pronouns: Not Specified (Female Aligned Readers DNI)

Prompt: Just some headcanons for texting the dork

Request: Nobody asked for this but ehhhh.

A/N: I’m really weird and I’m always interested in how people text, cause everybody has a different style. And also I’m Big Trash for Peter Parker so why not.

You guys love to annoy each other throughout the day

He likes to send actual snaps more than regular texts

Most of his snaps are him making stupid faces, occasionally with text on them to carry the conversation

It goes back and forth for a couple of hours

He holds the #1 best friend spot in your friends list

The boy is also surprisingly good at keeping up streaks, considering he’s always busy???

Most of the streaks he sends are of the view while he’s out patrolling

Such beautiful sunsets

Damn, the boy’s a good photographer

Not to mention like the biggest dork ever

“When they laugh at your science puns:” *cue a snap of him with a bunch of heart emojis around, like the wholesome memey boye he is*

You never use bitmojis unless they’re the really weird ones [EX: the one of you laying in bed with the dancing hot dog looming over you, the “believe in yourself” Bigfoot one, etc.]

But he uses emojis a lot. A lot.

Which prompts you to tease him

The group chat

Dear lord

The group’s name is constantly changing

Like a really bad game of telephone, the name gets more and more obscure each time

Some of the famous names:

“All of my favorite drug dealers in one group chat” (courtesy of you)

(Of course Peter flipped his shit and changed it in case May saw)

“Church Friends™️” (courtesy of Ned)

Weird contact names as well

Ned is The Holy One

MJ is Dr. Despacito

Pete’s changes the most often but it’s usually vine related (except for when he was Dorito King for a solid 3 months)

Ned’s favorite memes: the deep fried ones

MJ hoards reaction images

Peter is a Wholesome Boye™️

You specialize in cursed images

At one point Betty got added to the chat (? Still no idea how that happened) but she left after the spam of “Isaac Newton invented gravity”

That’s a whole other story

Peter left but got added back in

Multiple times

MJ is usually the one tagging the group in memes from meme pages

THE STUPID VIDEOS YOU SEND ON THE CHAT

“So, guess who was trying to make macaroni and dissociated for half a second and poured a bunch of water on the floor.” - you

“Have you guys seen that vine where—”

You and Peter screenshot/record basically everything

He sends you something (with him making a dumb face) and it immediately goes into your camera roll

Or the “blackmail folder”, as he calls it

He either replies in .3 seconds or 3 hours, and there’s no in between although it’s typically the first

When he’s been busy, his favorite thing to do is check what you sent him when he’s about ready to crash for the night

Your name in his contacts is something stupid that has to do with an inside joke

Not to mention the smile that instantly crosses his face whenever a banner with “[nickname] is typing...” pops up

Doesn’t matter how preoccupied he is, he always sends a quick “goodnight” before going to bed

And, of course, you feel like that’s the best way to end any night