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hollanov x from dining table because no i didn’t answer your boring text go away hollander but we haven’t spoke since you went away. my phone misses your call.
and i should go to sleep why won’t you ever be the first one to break we didn’t even kiss i’ve never felt less cool.
i should go,,,, or you could stay cause comfortable silence is overrated until hollander. HOLLANDER.
i’m gay woke up the girl who looked just like you you’re not so gay you can’t fuck rose landry but i almost said your name
and did you bring anyone with you?.. why won’t you ever say what you want to say?
this has…nothing to do with rose landry…. you and her are not..?
but maybe someday you’ll call me and tell me that you’re sorry too. i have an idea how about you tell me what’s on your mind but in russian and the worst part about all of this is that all i want is you it’s always you because comfortable silence really is so overrated
i see it’s written all over his face since the summer before rookie season
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Would you do a cocky college Peter Parker (Tom Holland) smut? Reader thinks he's a jerk and can't stand his player ways, but one day she somehow encounters him when he's wearing the crop top and Juicy Couture pants (as seen in the film). He sees she's affected and turns on the charm (and muscles) to seduce her, eventually leading to a blowjob with lots of cocky talk and dominance from Peter, as he gets her to praise him in between gagging and choking.
♡ summary: after four months of enduring Peter Parker’s effortless charm and insufferable golden boy energy on campus, you catch him dead to rights in the laundry room wearing a ridiculous "juicy" velour set. what should’ve been a humiliating moment for him quickly turns into an overwhelming power move, leading to an emergency stop.
♡ a/n: from this request (: lil’ different from what i normally write.
The laundry room door swung shut behind you, but the words died in your throat the second your eyes settled.
Standing under the flickering fluorescent light was Peter Parker, squeezed into a pair of"Juicy" velour sweatpants and a cropped tee that only just covered his ribs. Immediately, your brows furrowed.
This was the same guy who had spent the last four months making your life a nightmare. He coasted through campus on natural charm, intellect, and good looks. The guy who walked late into 8 AM lectures with a lazy smirk, flirted his way out of deadlines, and aced physics exams without even trying. The same guy who had cut in front of you at the library yesterday, stealing the last decent study spot with a wink over his shoulder. Peter Parker was an insufferable asshole—yet here he was in a slutty little crop top and bedazzled bottoms.
Your lips pressed together as you tried to hold back a giggle. He was clearly trying to sneak back to his own dorm without being seen, but here you were, catching him dead to rights.
"Please tell me you're heading to a themed party, Parker," you stated, crossing your arms with a pop of your hip, your eyes lingering on the ridiculous outfit in front of you. The outfit that showed off his absurdly toned abs, defined shoulders, and broad V-taper much better than any normal shirt ever could.
For two seconds, the unshakeable golden boy looked completely caught, but the panic was replaced quickly with his regular cockiness. "Take a picture, it'll, uh... last longer."
You pulled your eyes from his waistline as heat rushed through your cheeks, meeting his gaze. A slow, wicked smirk spread across his face.
"You're insufferable," you stated, turning on your heel toward the elevator bank.
With every step you took, the warmer your body ran. In this moment, you felt you could not get far enough away from him. Arrogant. Insufferable. Irritating. You repeated it like a mantra in your head, desperate to anchor yourself to the disdain you carried for him.
"It's okay to admit it, you know—most people have to wait a lot longer to see this much," he called after you as you turned your back on him.
Ridiculous asshole. Your mind traitorously flashed back to the bare skin of his waist, the hard carve of his abs, and the way that thin pink shirt hugged his broad shoulders. The curve of his biceps. Fucking infuriating.
Your heart hammered against your ribs as heat pooled into your stomach. You slammed your thumb against the up button, praying the doors would open instantly and swallow you whole.
A quiet chime echoed through the empty hallway as the metal doors slid open. You stepped inside instantly to face the front, eager for the doors to seal you into safety—only to catch a hand darting through the gap, forcing the heavy doors back open.
Peter slid into the elevator right beside you, a dark glint in his eyes as the doors clicked shut. The tension in the small space was so thick it was almost suffocating.
Before the elevator could even start its climb, Peter reached past your shoulder and slammed his palm against the red Emergency Stop button. The quiet hum of the building was instantly replaced by the sound of your own ragged breathing.
"What the hell are you—"
"What, you thought you were going to get to laugh at me and walk away?" he questioned, shaking his head. "Mm-mm. We're not finished."
Peter stepped closer, crowding you until your back pressed flat against the mirrored elevator wall. The breath was knocked right out of your lungs. Not because he was rough, but because he was so close it felt as if there was no air left to breathe.
You sucked in a ragged breath, your eyes dropping down to his collarbone. Swiftly, Peter's hand reached up, using his thumb and forefinger on your chin to bring your gaze right back up to his.
"Gotten awfully quiet," he purred. "Tell me again how much you can't stand me. I dare you."
Any tough exterior you had maintained out in the hallway came crumbling down. The way he was looking at you, combined with the heat of his hand against your jaw, caused your heart to hammer against your ribcage. Your surroundings were quiet enough that you could hear your own pulse ringing in your ears. You swallowed hard.
"S'what I thought..."
His fingers slid to trace your jawline, moving to trail with deliberate slowness down the side of your neck until his thumb rested right over your racing pulse point. It was dizzying—the stark contrast between his smirking expression and the undeniable heat radiating off his bare torso.
"You are out of your mind," you forced out, trying to sound dismissive, but you couldn't stop the slight tremor in your voice. It betrayed you entirely.
A dark, dangerous smirk spread across his face. "Oh? Am I?"
Without another word, his hand slid up into your hair. His grip was firm and commanding as he applied a steady, downward pressure. The implicit instruction was unmistakable.
You tried to hold your ground, but the overwhelming tension shattered your resolve. Before you could gather the strength to stay standing, your knees hit the cool tile of the elevator floor.
In the mirrored wall behind him, you could see your reflection. The realization hit you like a wave: you were on your knees for none other than Peter fucking Parker. But the knot in your stomach wasn't one of distaste. It was want.
It wasn't long before he mumbled, ""eyes on me."
Stretched over his ribs was the tight pink crop, leaving his defined V-line exposed, leading straight down into the low waistband of the velour sweatpants.
"Look at you," Peter murmured, looking down at you. His thighs framed your face as he rested his thumbs over the low band of his pants. "All that attitude in the halls..."
"Shut up, Parker," you rasped out, trying to maintain a shred of your dignity.
Peter's fingers tightened in your hair, tugging your head back just enough to force you to look him dead in the eye. "Show me how much you hate me, hm?"
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband, tugging the soft velour down just enough to free himself. Sitting back on your heels, you were eye-level with him, his tip already beaded with pre-cum.
This was happening. You tipped your chin up just a little, pressing your lips against his aching head. A sharp exhale left his lips, his abdominal muscles contracting tight beneath the crop top.
"Open up, sweetheart..." he mumbled, his fingers buried in your hair.
He wasted no time letting you set a leisurely pace. Taking full control, his hand guided you firmly until your breath caught in your throat. The metallic walls of the elevator amplified every noise: the soft, wet friction; your involuntary gags; and the low, rhythmic groans that escaped Peter's throat as he forced you to take him deep.
"Fuck," Peter hissed, his hips twitching forward. "Look at yourself in the mirror, hm? See how fucking pretty you look taking care of me?"
You forced your eyes open, tears pricking the corners from the pressure in your throat. Your hazy reflection stared back at you, face flushed as your lips locked around his shaft.
"Not so loud with the smartass comments now, huh?"
Peter looked completely wrecked by his own pleasure. His knuckles went white in your hair, his jaw clenched, his messy curls damp against his forehead. Whenever you tried to pull back, his grip held you firmly in place, keeping you flushed against him until you swallowed him down again.
"Always acting like you're better than me," he taunted, his voice thick and rough. "Who's in control?"
He loosened his grip just enough for you to pull back an inch, letting him fall from your mouth, glistening in the dim light. Your hands reached for his thighs, gripping them for leverage.
"Say it," he commanded, his thumb stroking your cheek before gently nudging you back down. "You like my cock, hm? I know you do."
"Peter—" you whined, your eyes glassy.
"Say it."
"You're... God, Peter, I like it," you choked out, the admission burning your pride just as much as the stretch in your throat. "I really do."
His hand guided your mouth back onto him with a quiet hiss. "Fuck, yeah. Good girl," he purred, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest.
The praise sent a jolt of heat straight through you, making you want to please him even more. The pace grew faster as he fucked your mouth, his restraint snapping as he chased his own finish. His breath came in ragged hitches, his abs locking up tight beneath the hem of his top as he drove himself deep one last time, holding you tight against him as he came with a long, shuddering exhale.
Peter held you there for a moment, his chest heaving as his fingers gently uncurled from your hair.
Slowly, he stepped back, freeing himself from your mouth. Peter pulled his soft velour pants back up over his hips. Meanwhile, you sat back on your heels on the elevator tile, gasping for air, your lips swollen and wet.
He looked down at you, taking in the sight. Your eyes were still dazed and dilated as you looked up at him. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned over and pulled the emergency stop button back out, setting the elevator mechanism back into motion with a low, mechanical hum.
Before you could say a word, he bent down and grabbed you by the waist. His athletic strength made it seem effortless as he hauled you off the floor and lifted you directly onto the handrail running along the back mirror.
"Peter—"
He hooked your knees over his elbows, pulling you flush against him. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his fingers slid down your front, finding your heat through your clothes with agonizing precision.
"Spent all semester thinking I'm selfish," he purred into your ear, making your hands fly to his broad shoulders with a gasp the second his hand slid between your legs. "Let me prove you wrong."
Your fingers dug into his biceps as he pressed into you, dragging a whimper out of your chest that echoed off the stainless steel walls.
Then, the elevator chimed for his floor, pulling you both out of your little world. He set you back down on your feet as the heavy doors slid open. Peter stepped away from you slowly, his dark eyes sparkling as he gave you a lazy smirk.
"Tell you what... come back to my dorm," he offered smoothly, gesturing down the hall. "Help me take these ridiculous things off, and we’ll see if you still think I’m an arrogant jerk by morning."
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ok how do we feel about angsty pre!bnd peter x best friend!reader who is blissfully unaware of his existence because of the memory wipe until he offers to become her tutor bc he cannot stand another second away from her… asking 4 a friend
♡ summary: when you have trouble sleeping at night, rafe is there to help you quiet the noise.
♡ warnings: 18+ mdni. smut. oral (f!receiving), female reader, no use of y/n, not proofread, insomnia
♡ a/n: wrote this when i was stuck awake last night lol enjoy.
2:34am
The clock on your nightstand shines a bright red, glow bouncing off the shiny oak surface it rests on.
You sigh, reaching out and flipping the clock around. You figure that being aware of the time is only going to make things worse.
Flipping onto your back, staring at the ceiling, the body next to you shuffles a little, then settles.
You press your lips together into a straight line as your hands meet your face. You pinch the bridge of your nose with your thumb and index finger, then move your palm up to your forehead. It rests there for a moment before you move it behind your head, closing your eyes.
Your mind is racing.
Ruminating.
Work has been a huge stressor, it feels like you’re on all the time. It’s been extremely difficult for you to find time for yourself lately, to find the time to decompress. You take a breath in, hold it for a few seconds, then breathe back out.
Your arm drops from your forehead, letting it rest over your stomach.
No matter what you do, you cannot get comfortable. Your legs feel tense, your stomach feels weird, and you have a soft but persistent ache behind your eyes.
Sitting up, you gently remove the comforter off your body and swing your feet over the edge of the bed. A shiver travels up your legs as your feet come into contact with your hard wood floor. After resting your hands on your knees for a moment, you push yourself up and walk over to your bathroom.
You shut the door, flip the light on and lean over the counter slightly, looking at yourself in the mirror.
Sometimes getting out of bed for a little bit helps.
You twist the knobs to turn on the faucet, cold water shooting down the drain. You grab a glass that sits on the counter next to the sink and fill it with tap water, taking a few sips before placing it back down.
Rafe would not be pleased with you drinking tap water. You’ve always been filtered water people; however, it was go all the way downstairs to the fridge, or have a few sips from the tap.
You chose the latter.
You turn the doorknob and flip the light back off, stepping back into Rafe’s bedroom. You gently lift the covers and crawl back into bed, laying on your side facing away from the nightstand.
You lock eyes with Rafe, laying on his stomach. His face is pressed up against his pillow, his eyelids.
“Oh shit,” you whisper, “I woke you up. I’m sorry.”
You pull the comforter up to your chin, feeling guilty.
“Nah, I’ve been awake,” he mumbles, voice gravelly, shoving his hands underneath the pillow to prop his head up a little bit.
Rafe was sleeping, but lightly, as the reality is you’ve been tossing and turning all night long.
“Fuck—what’s your problem?” He grumbles, closing his eyes ever so slightly as you stare at him.
Your chest tightens, “nothing. It’s fine, go back to sleep.”
You flip over to face the nightstand once more, taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and try to focus on anything other than falling asleep.
He sighs behind you, the bed rocking slightly as he shuffles next to you.
Rafe reaches out, scooting himself so he’s up against your back. One of his arms reaches around you, curling around the small of your waist where your tank top rides up a little bit. You reach your arm down to place your hand on top of his.
He lifts his head, then lets it rest in the crook of your neck and begins drawing little circles on your stomach with his thumb. It makes you shiver.
“What’s the matter,” he grumbles, softer this time.
He tries to be sweet, but it’s pitch black on a week night. You don’t blame him.
“Just go to back to sleep, I don’t want to keep you up”
“Christ—I’m already up.”
You sigh, giving in. Rafe many things. Stubborn is one of them.
“Everything is just really busy. No matter what I do, I can’t get my mind to turn off. I can’t get comfortable… and now I’m just getting bitchy.”
He hums in response, his hand gravitating towards your bottoms, his palm is flat, tucking his fingers underneath your waistband. He stops, letting it rest. Heat finds your core, forming a knot in your abdomen.
His breath is hot, causing your neck to feel damp. Kissing you gently, Rafe applies the slightest bit of pressure with his fingers.
“I could make you feel better, clear your head a little bit.”
His words send a pulse down to your heat. You hate the effect he has on you, even in the late hours of the night.
You breathe out through your nose, almost a laugh, trying to shrug it off.
“It’s late, Rafe.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
His hand drops down lower, his index finger finding a place in between your folds with a low hum.
“You can tell me to stop,” his finger slowly slides up and down, spreading your slick.
Aa soft breath leaves your freshly parted lips as you push into him.
“S’what I thought,” he mumbles against your shoulder, pulling his fingers out from under your pants.
“Rafe,” you whine at the loss of his fingers.
He pulls away completely now, his bare chest leaving your back. Goosebumps form at the sudden loss of body heat, chill in the air.
The heat slowly returns to your body as you roll over. Your eyes rake over his shirtless form, his bicep flexes slightly as he lifts his arm up to rest his head on his hand.
The loss of his touch combined with the lack of sleep, irritated is one of many words you could pull from the bank of feelings you have swimming in your mind right now.
You flip to your back to stare at the ceiling, sighing out in frustration as his hand makes his way back to your tummy.
“What do you want hm?”
You sigh, now is not the time to play games.
“Rafe please,” you whine, twisting your head to look at him. A smug smirk plants itself on his face.
“Please what?” His hand moves back down to the waist band of your underwear, looping his finger around it.
Rafe’s fingers gently tug at your lacy panties, your eyes following the movement. He knew what you wanted, but liked hearing you say it.
“Touch me…” you whisper, flitting your eyes up to his.
“Good girl.” His smirk widens, satisfaction written on his face. The friction of his thumb against your skin makes your pulse spike before he finally strips them away, off your ankles.
He shifts until he’s positioned between your knees, looking down to see his hands sliding up to grip the insides of your thighs to hold you in place.
The first touch of his mouth is agonizingly gentle—a warm press against your sensitive skin that pulls a sharp gasp from your chest. He doesn’t rush, his tongue setting a steady rhythm.
Rafe hums lowly, the vibration earning a quiet whine from you as he gently sucks on your clit, his fingers digging deep into your flesh to hold you still.
His tongue swirls around you with a steady pressure, slipping his fingers inside you.
“Rafe— fuck, please—“ you whine, your head tossing back against the pillow as your heels dig into the mattress. You feel like you’re about to snap.
Rafe responds with nothing but a groan, vibrations coursing through you again. His smugness is gone, replaced by the need to see you completely undone.
His focus remains on your swollen clit, targeting the sensitive peak while his fingers pump inside you. You can barely breathe. You can’t think.
Your fingers twist in the sheets as the first wave of your orgasm crashes over you, clamping around his fingers.
Rafe doesn't pull away; he laps up every drop of your release, riding out the contractions with long, strokes that send electricity shooting down your legs. He keeps his fingers buried deep, feeling every pulse of your muscles until your hips finally settle and you collapse back onto the bed.
Slowly, he drags himself up your body, leaving a trail of warm kisses along your stomach and ribcage before hovering over your face.
“Still thinking?" he asks, his voice gravelly, a faint, dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You shake your head weakly against the pillow, your chest still heaving. Your mind, which had been racing in circles just twenty minutes ago, is completely blank.
"Good." Rafe shifts his weight, pulling the discarded blanket up over both of you before tugging you hard against his side. He pulls you in until your back is flush against his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist, hand resting heavy over your stomach.
He buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. You can feel the rapid, unsteady thrum of his heartbeat against your shoulder blades.
"Go to sleep," he mutters against your skin.
His fingers lightly tap a restless rhythm against your hip, a physical reminder of the static always buzzing in his head, but his grip never loosens. Smothered in his heat, his scent, and the absolute finality of his voice, your eyelids finally grow too heavy to fight.
when shane is overwhelmed or stressed, he gets so lost in his own head that he'll accidentally burn food because he genuinely forgets he's cooking. only for ilya to notice immediately, even without the smoke. he'll tease shane for exactly five seconds before realizing something's actually wrong. ilya never makes shane feel guilty for it. he just takes over the cooking, rubs circles into his shoulder, kisses his forehead, and reminds him he's there whenever he's ready to talk.
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