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toast-tit · 5 years

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Noir (Chapter Three)

Mob!Tom Holland x OC

One Two

Author’s Note: And Tom finally makes an appearance! Anywho, my requests are open all summer long :)

Warnings: Language, violence

Summary: Andi has no idea what she’s doing in life, but what she does know is that she just witnessed a brutal murder that had connections to the Holland mafia and now she’s practically fucked

By the time I came to, the black bag was still on my head, and I was being jostled around every now and then, giving me the assumption I was in a vehicle of some sort. My fingers traced from my neck to my chest, feeling the heavy material of a seat belt. “I’m flattered you care for my safety,” I slurred, realizing that the sound of my own voice was too loud.

“Don’t be too flattered. Tom said to not let any car accidents fuck you up before he does,” the man quipped back. Tom, I had heard that name before. I closed my eyes and replayed the events from the last day and a half to try and remember. “Is he your boss? This Tom guy?” I asked. I recalled that my captor had told the man he murdered that Tom didn’t like to be deceived, but that was the only instance his name was muttered. I received a grunt as an answer, but I didn’t leave the topic alone.

As I regained my strength, I sat up straight. I lifted my hand to take the black bag off but I felt the man’s hand grasp my wrist tightly. “I wouldn’t do that,” he warned and I left the bag alone. “So,” I started, “Who is Tom and why does he want to fuck me up? I understand you, but him? Why?” “You know, for someone who’s getting kidnapped and potentially murdered, you have a big mouth. Weren’t you just panicking in the bathroom before all of this?” Another pang in my stomach hit me. Potentially murdered, was that the price for watching another man die? If I hadn’t gasped or made myself noticeable, would I have been in the clear? Or would I still be fucked up, if not more?

“I don’t know,” I answered, “Would you rather have me cry and plead for my life?” “It depends on the day,” he said as I felt the car slow down. It turned to my left and pulled into what I could assume was a driveway. The car stopped to a halt and the door on my side opened and I was yanked out of the car. My knees fell onto what seemed like concrete and I was dragged across the floor, breaking the skin. I yelped, but a different voice spoke up and told me to shut up. Not wanting to cause anymore trouble, I listened.

After a few minutes of getting dragged around everywhere and nearly getting dropped down the stairs, I was thrown into a chair. The black bag was yanked off me and all I saw was a binding light, sending a painful throbbing to my head. I had forgotten about getting pistol whipped and now that I thought about it, I most likely have a concussion from it. I looked around me and saw my raw and bloody knees and a dark room filled with the silhouettes of three men. My hands rubbed against what felt like rope and I realized that I was bound hand and feet.

“Are you going to cry and plead for your life now?” one of the men piped up and I squinted, seeing the tall man who kidnapped me. He was dressed in a casual black suit, like something out of John Wick and to say he wasn’t attractive would be an understatement. However, my fear of getting tortured outweighed my need to be laid.

“I don’t know,” I said, my mouth dry, “Do you want me to?” “It would be more entertaining than watching you just sit there and ogle me.” “I was not ogling you!” my voice raised in defense, not helping my case at all. “I was just trying to see what you looked like considering I’ve been bagged for God knows how long.” The man smiled lopsidedly, “So ogling me.”

One of the men walked over and backhanded me before turning to the man, “Harrison if you wanted to fuck her, you shouldn’t have told Tom about your incident.” My head throbbed more potently than before and I knew if that light kept shining in my eyes I would not be able to keep conscious. “I-,” I began but the man who slapped me stepped forward so I shut my mouth. As if on cue, a door opened, spilling more light and the darkened silhouette of another man walked down the stairs. The scene was comparable to watching the Devil walking back to Hell. Perhaps it was the Devil.

The door closed behind him and the room was engulfed in darkness again. With one of my eyes open, I watched as the man came close to me, but I still couldn’t see his face. If I wasn’t so drowsy, I knew that I would be panicking by now. This was him. This was the Tom who wanted me dead for witnessing a murder.

There was a scraping on the floor and I watched lazily as Tom pulled up a chair in front of me. He pulled the light away from my face and I closed my eyes in relief, relishing in a moment’s darkness before I felt the familiar feeling of a gun against my temple. “I’d open those eyes if I were you,” he said. It was then I noticed that him and Harrison both had accents.

Doing as I was told, I forced my eyes open and looked at my killer. He had chestnut hair slicked back with one strand falling in front of his face. His eyes were of the same color and he held a scowl. He was young, possibly my age. Yet he was in charge of what? An organization of contracted killers? Was this a big crime ring? Then it clicked.

I remember hearing his name on the news. Tom Holland, infamous mobster and contracted killer, escaped from the UK and emigrated his entire organization to the US. This was the Holland mafia, the deadliest thing since the plague. In fact, they were a plague, a plague of men in suits with daggers, tourniquets, and guns, ready to infect anybody who doesn’t obey orders. I had fallen prey to Tom Holland. I had witnessed his organization at work and blew my cover. Excellent.

“Alessandra Reese,” he started, “You’ve gotten yourself in some deep shit.” I hadn’t heard my full name in years, it felt strange hearing it and from a killer nevertheless. “I’m well aware,” I said and watched as the side of his mouth curled into a smirk. His eyes watched mine, most likely taking note of the cowardice that hid behind my tongue. “And before you kill me or torture me or whatever the fuck you’re going to do, I want you to know I’m not going to say anything. I already told Harrison that,” I couldn’t shut myself up.

Tom laughed and it wrenched my stomach. He looked back at Harrison and pointed at me with the gun, “She’s not going to tell.” Harrison and him shared a laugh as did the rest of the men. My face burned. Of course, he expected me not to say anything. Who the fuck was I going to tell anyway? From what I’ve seen, the mafia owns the police. Would I tell Katy? Lilah, in order to make our own old movie plot? There was noone I could confide in, so me defending myself with that hackneyed saying had no power at all. I just looked stupid and possibly more dead.

He turned back to me and took the gun off safety, pointing it at my face. “Now, who would you tell that made you think this?” He asked, “Your brother? Your kindergarten class? Katy?” The anxiety crept in like bugs in my skin. He knew Katy. Of course he did, he knew my fucking name! “None of them,” I said, “Forget about it.”

“Oh but I don’t want to,” he leant forward, “I want to know what made you think you were going to snitch. What would you even snitch about? ‘911? Yes I saw a man get murdered! It has to be the mafia!’ You’re hilarious, Reese. Now tell me, besides that pathetic attempt to save your life, why should I let you live?”

There was a million things I could think of that was a reason to live: My brother, Katy, my class, Thanksgiving, the songs I had never listened to, and the fact that I don’t want to live. However, he probably knew that already. He probably expected me to say those just so he could laugh and blow my face off. “Are you going to say something?” Tom pushed, “Or are you going to die with that pathetic excuse of life on your mind?”

“Jesus fucking Christ! Let me think for a goddamn second! I’m scared out of my mind by dying and you’re not making it any better by telling you a reason I must live when you’re going to fucking shoot me anyway!” I shouted and immediately wanted to cover my mouth up, but with my hands being tied up, I obviously couldn’t. He didn’t say anything, so I took this as an opportunity to say more, considering I was going to get shot either way. “Let’s see, if I live, you wouldn’t have to clean up the mess. I’m sure you love murder and all, but clean up has to be tricky, am I right? Oh, and if I live you won’t have to hear from me again, then again the same goes for when I’m dead. You know what? Just shoot me, you know you want to.”

Taking me by surprise, he put the gun down. I wanted to relieve all the tension stored in my body and thank the Lord I didn’t get shot, but then he pulled out a bowie knife. He stood up from the chair and walked behind me. “How fitting,” I whispered to myself, closing my eyes and making peace with myself internally. I felt the cool blade press against my cheek and then it slid to my throat, where it stayed put.

“One day, Reese, you’ll learn that silence is golden,” he whispered in my ear. He took the knife off of my throat and cut the rope from my hands and feet. “Get up,” he ordered and I did so with very little success. My knees were shaking and I almost fell, but I kept my balance, barely.

Tom handed me a flip phone and said, “I saved your life, darling, but now you’re in my debt. When that phone rings, you’ll answer.” I turned it over in my hand, my heart sinking when I realized I was probably better off dead. “What if I don’t?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the phone. I felt the blade of the knife rest below my chin and he raised my chin to meet his eyes. “I don’t call twice. If you don’t answer, you and everyone around you is dead. The price of doing business with me, I’m afraid.” He snapped his fingers at Harrison and the man who slapped me, “Get her out of here.”

Harrison grabbed my arm and started to lead me out of the place. The other man grabbed the black bag and right as he put it over my head, I saw Tom wave goodbye at me. “I can’t wait to hear your voice soon, Reese,” he said and I was forced out of the place, suddenly a slave to the mafia.

#spiderman #spiderman: far from home #Spiderman: Homecoming #spiderman: hoco #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #Mob!Tom #tom holland au #tom holland x oc #fanfiction #peter parker #marvel

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toast-tit · 5 years

Text

Noir (Chapter Two)

Mob!Tom Holland x OC

One

Author’s Note: My requests are open all summer long :)

Warnings: Language, violence

Summary: Andi has no idea what she’s doing in life, but what she does know is that she just witnessed a brutal murder that had connections to the Holland mafia and now she’s practically fucked

“Are you okay, Andi?” Katy looked at me with concern. She waved a hand in front of me, disconnecting me from my own little world. Looking up at her I said, “Huh? Oh, yeah I’m fine. Thanks though.” Katy narrowed her eyes before she pulled a chair up in front of my desk and sat down. “Something’s bothering you,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I broke eye contact and focused on my computer screen and started to compose an email.

“You’re are the worst fucking liar I ever met, do you know that?” she rolled her eyes before standing up and walking out of the room. “Watch your language!” I jokingly scolded, “This is a kindergarten classroom!” “ And yet I only see one child,” she shot back, folding her arms, “You need to talk to me if something’s bothering you. I’m your best friend for a reason.”

By now, a couple of the kids started coming in and putting their book bags in their respective hooks. I stood up and walked from my desk, helping the kids as they came along. “I know and I love you for it,” I told Katy, “But trust me, I’m fine. Just a little more exhausted than usual.” Katy stayed silent as I greeted the kids for a minute or two. “Okay, I’ll accept this as an answer this time, just because you’re being a better teacher than I am and I need to attend to my kids.” With that, she left, leaving me with my students.

Lilah’s mom called and told me that she was out for the week with the flu. To say I wasn’t upset would have been a lie. I love that girl as if she were my own daughter. In fact, she made me consider kids, but the rest of her class gave me a reality check.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the murder, no matter how many times I suppressed it. In moments of silence it would come back, so I made sure to not stop talking. However, it came to an end when naptime came around, leaving me to my own devices for distraction. For the first ten minutes I played an online game, but as I got used to the movements on the keyboard, I was able to do it mindlessly, allowing my thoughts to roam. I then decided to come up with more lesson plans, but as the year was coming to an end, there was nothing for me to do. To be curt, I was well and truly fucked when it came to not thinking. I hadn’t realized I dozed off until Jerome, a student, knocked on my forehead, telling me to wake up. My eyelids fluttered open and I apologized to the class, but they blew it off and laughed, like I knew they would.

The end of school day came around as if it were in no hurry and I wanted to chastise it like no other. My feet hurt and I still had another block and a half before I would be at my apartment. I waved goodbye to Katy as I opened the doors to the school and left them, becoming immediately drenched in the spring warmth.

My apartment wasn’t in the nicest complex, but it was the fanciest that my income could afford. The neighbors were sketchy but they were friendly and they gave strangely useful advice. When I had first moved in, my landlord had told me, “Don’t ever let these city frogs swallow your fly.” It took me about year to understand what he meant, and to be honest I am still a tad baffled.

Opening the door to my home, I felt the immediate rush of euphoria as I walked to the sofa and laid down on it, closing my eyes and soaking in the thoughts I had from today. I thought of how atrocious the school’s lunch is and how I needed to learn how to draw a perfect circle. I thought of brown hair and a darkened alleyway. I thought of the gun pressed to my forehead and I thought of the trigger being pulled. All I could think of was the murder. And it scared the shit out of me.

This man obviously had some power under his belt, and if he weren’t powerful he knew someone who was. He knew what I looked like and he knew that I knew what he looked like. The last thing I saw was him make a call on his phone. For all I know it was a call to place a hit on me. I couldn’t help but think of a new scenario for each time I replayed the scene in my mind over and over. My stomach was in knots and my mind hurt.

Opening my cupboard, I took out some Nyquil and took a dose, hoping to fall asleep without my mind running. Soon, the over the counter drug hit my system and I was immediately drowsy. Not bother to take a shower or my shoes off, I crawled into bed with hopes that I would never see the tall man again. Unfortunately, I figured that wouldn’t be the case.

Walking into the grocery store at seven thirty in the morning was comparable to walking in a forest during the apocalypse. The low humming of the freezers and the scarce echoes of footprints gave the store a haunting aesthetic that I was too exhausted to care for. I thought once I was pulled into REM my subconscious would treat me to good or even weird dreams and not replay the murder over and over. When my alarm clock transitioned from 1:59 to 2:00, I had had it with the anxiety and decided to drown myself out with infomercials and yoga.

I strolled through the fruit section lazily, picking up some bananas and apples, not even bothering to bag them up. A grocer walked by and told me good morning and I reciprocated the action as I left the fruit aisle and started strolling to the back where the produce was.

The store lights flickered on and off for a few seconds, grabbing my attention. It went in a rhythm: on off pause on off on off pause. My awakened mind started take hold of me and I felt the worry inject itself into my veins. The pre-existing knot in my stomach became stronger and I couldn’t help but wonder, what if the flickering was a warning?

I decided to ignore the produce section altogether and headed back to the fruit section to put what I had garnered back. “I can come back another time,” I muttered to myself right as I heard footsteps behind me. I wanted to vomit, I was so scared and for what reason? What if I was panicking for no reason at all? What if my brain was so utterly fucked up that the scenarios I first imagined were now becoming hallucinations? Feeling myself begin to hyperventilate, I rushed away from the fruit, deserting my cart and ran to the nearest bathroom.

Opening the door, I sat down in the corner near the baby changing section and closed my eyes, shouting at myself mentally for letting me take things out of proportion. Out loud, I began to sing to myself weakly, trying to calm my nerves. I opened my eyes and held out my hand, watching as it shook violently. “Stop it!” I hissed and I hit it with my other hand repeatedly. “Stop being such a pussy!” I told myself, “You’re overthinking. Bad shit happens all the time here.”

“You’re right, but I’m afraid this is a tad worse,” a voice spoke from in front of me. My body went still, not even my hand shook anymore. I knew that voice, and I was afraid of it. I knew what face the voice belonged to and I knew the man. With every fibre of my being, I looked up and confirmed my suspicions, seeing the tall man before me, gun pointed at my face, black clothed bag in his other hand.

“I’m not going to tell,” I whispered, staring straight into the barrel of the gun. The man gave a lopsided smile and chuckled, “I know you won’t, or else I would’ve left you slumped over, drowning in your blood.” Fuck, I said to myself, I don’t want to drown in my own blood. “Then why are you here?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly. I was awestruck at my body’s capability to remain calm despite this probably being the scariest situation I had ever been in. It made me wonder what the fuck was going on with me when I was actually safe and not in the presence of the tall man.

The man threw the black bag at me and I caught, turning it over and examining it. “It’s bag, not a condom,” he said, “Put it on.” “It seems a little noticeable, don’t you think?” I asked. He rolled his eyes and shook the gun up and down, motioning for me to put it on, “Don’t critique my kidnapping skills, I know what the fuck I’m doing.” I didn’t like how the gun shook, so quickly I put the bag on, watching as the cloth covered my vision. Though I was familiar with this store and could probably walk in it with my eyes closed, I felt I was in an unfamiliar place. I stood and tripped over my feet, suddenly not knowing where the floor was. The man grabbed my arm and I jolted, causing him to hold me harder. “I’m hoping you’re not a runner,” he said, pressing the barrel of the gun against my waist, “I’m not one for mess.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said quietly to myself as I was guided across the store with no vision. He chuckled and took the gun off my waist, “Good, but I’m still going to have to take some precautions.” With that, he slammed the butt of the gun down on my head and I remember my eyes closing and my knees buckling, nothing more.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #Mob!Tom #tom holland au #tom holland x oc #tom holland fanfic #fanfiction #mob!haz #spiderman #spiderman: far from home #Spiderman: Homecoming #spiderman: hoco #peter parker #marvel

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