Tom Holland & Peter Parker Imagines & Preferences (book 2)

KIngS and QUeeNS (Part 4 - smut)

She rolls off him, swallowing back that familiar lump in her throat and she lets out a little sigh. He laughs through his breathy pants from beside her, completely spent as he comes down from his high, hand over his chest and the other over his forehead.

She stands from the bed, tugging on her dressing gown and slipping her feet into her slippers, completely ignoring the calls of her name that tumble from his lips. It's been three days since she's spoken to Tom, and though they're only new friends, she misses the odd text she'd randomly receive from him.

Rachel and Olivia are still staying with Y/N, though have promised to be out by the end of the week, which means tonight is their last night staying with her. They put themselves to bed earlier, leaving Lewis and Y/N up until midnight watching movies and then having sex for a short total of seven minutes before he busted a nut and that was that.

She should be used to this by now, by the lack of pleasure and release. To be fair, it's all she's ever known, never actually been able to get herself off completely, and Lewis never even tried. She often wonders if he knew that girls could cum, too. Or if he even cares, for that matter.

She scoffs at the thought and shakes her head, flicking on the kettle and grabbing her phone from her pocket, flicking through the few messages she has until she locks it and shoves it back into her pocket.

When the kettle boiled, she pours herself a steaming mug of tea and carries it to the sofa, taking a seat and sinking into the plush cream-colored cushions. The clock above the TV reads 2:47 a.m. and the darkness of the night makes her feel even more alone, despite three more people sleeping in her home.

Forty minutes away, in Kingston, Tom wipes his bloodied knife against his crisp white handkerchief, a small, tired smirk on his lips and the cries of a pleading man sound through his ears.

Tom is more than tired, to say the least, he's bloody exhausted. For the past couple of days, he's gotten a total of four hours sleep and has killed three men, now onto his fourth. The young mobster simply wants to sleep, but alas, duty calls.

"I promise, Mr. Holland, I'll get you your money!" The man pleads out through his pained cries, his futile begs falling deaf on Tom's ears when he hands Harrison the gun and nods to the begging man tied to the metal chair.

"Too little, too late," he calls out, walking out of the room and snatching his blazer jacket off the coatrack on his way. Thomas shrugs the jacket over his white shirt, calling for David to start up the car as he hops into the backseat.

"Back home, Mr. Holland?" David asks, starting up the engine as Tom coughs and rubs his hands together. "Please, David. Sorry to keep you so late," he mumbles out, relaxing into his seat as they pull out of their parking space.

"Not a problem, Mr. Holland, 's my job, after all," he lets out a lighthearted joke but Tom doesn't pay any attention to it, can feel his eyes rolling to the back of his head, exhaustion finally taking over.

As they drive down Hope Street, Y/N sits on her sofa in the same position she'd been in twenty minutes ago. Her eyes are heavy and she can feel herself beginning to lull into a soft slumber.

Before she can, her phone vibrates from her pocket, jolting her awake and she places the mug on the coffee table and retrieves her phone, the screen too bright to see until she adjusted the brightness.

From: T. Holland

Hope all is well with you, love x

She smiles to herself, a little amused at the 3 a.m. message, but overall quite thankful for it. She doesn't know whether it's the sleep deprivation or something else that makes her type out her next message, but she sends it before she realizes it was somewhat inappropriate.