Tom Holland Imagines

Bonnie and Clyde

A/N: Hidey ho! How are you all this fine day (or night...wherever you are...) I wanted to ask a question before we got into this one...people have been asking for a part 2 on both "Lips Are Sealed" and "His Name Is Tom...Holland" and they are so similar that I think I'll only do one, so which would you rather see? Let me know. 

This one's a bit different today, but I felt like something new so HERE Y'ARE!

Kisses!

LuckyHolland xx

You'd be lying if you said you didn't live for adrenaline. It's why you started stealing. That, and your lover Tom. The two of you were inseparable. You went everywhere together, asserting dominance in every room you burst into with a simple look and signature move.

Tom's was simple: he kept a dollar bill in his breast pocket with the words "this is a stickup" written on it in red marker (A/N: Okay, so yeah. This may have been inspired by Cherry.) and whenever the pair of you went raiding, he'd flash it at the boss-man (or woman) and the whole room would get on their knees. Sexy.

But yours was sexier. You always wore a skirt over a pair of tight black-and-red lace garters (Tom's FAVORITE) and as soon as anyone gave you trouble, you'd hike up the right side of it daintily to reveal a dainty silver handgun tucked under one of them.

It wasn't as if you needed to make yourselves known...neither of you wore masks and everyone knew your faces. The pair of you were unstoppable. And nobody who got in your way survived. 

Tom owned a blood-red 1963 Chevrolet...your trademark getaway...and as the two of you pulled up to Armiston Bank, you tucked your silver pistol carefully away in your garter. 

"Mmm...you know that drives me crazy," Tom chuckled as he stopped the car directly outside the front door of the bank. He left the engine running for a quick getaway and leaned over, one hand still on the wheel, for a poisonous and sloppy kiss. You bit his lip.

"Don't worry, sweetie, I'll take it all off when we get home. You can't take a bath in diamonds fully clothed," you said sultrily. Tom laughed against your lips.

"Ready?"

"Always."

The Armiston Heist had been planned for months. Petty cash-grabs were for pussies. Besides, you and Tom had graduated those kinds of thefts ages ago. It was pearls and relics or nothing, if not a little petty theft for fun, sometimes. And you two liked to put on a show.

You strutted into the cavernous hall that was Armiston Bank. It was nine-thirty in the evening and you'd planned the heist at the same time as the annual benefit, held by the governor. But the pair of you had to make sure to be in and out before he arrived. Bodyguards would make trouble.

Heads turned and crowds parted like the Red Sea as you passed. You could hear them whispering: "It's Tom and The Red Woman!" You smirked through your deep-red lips, and as you passed a woman with a particularly shiny diamond necklace, you stopped. "What a lovely necklace! Diamonds really are  a girl's best friend." You yanked at the chain of the necklace with expert fingers and it slipped from the woman's neck. "Thank you, angel." 

Tom offered you his arm and you took it, tossing your new necklace into the air and catching it with your purse. You two strode up to the help desk in the middle of the entrance hall of the five-story bank. You knew that bank like the back of your hand...every possible escape route was necessary if something went wrong. The gold-boarded offices were on the middle three floors. The CEO and secretary's offices were on the top floor and the entrance/service was on the ground floor.

The woman behind the help desk had saucer eyes and called loudly for her manager...an older gentleman in a black suit who walked into the centre of the room. Tom turned around calmly and pulled his dollar bill slowly out of his breast pocket. The manager's eyes went wide as he slowly realized what was happening. You gracefully picked up the right side of your skirt, revealing the shining rose-engraved silver pistol in your garter.  The whole room collectively gulped and got to their knees, save for the manager who was looking bug-eyed at your thigh.

Tom's jaw clenched and his lip curled in a snarl. "Don't you worry about a thing, baby, I'll take care of this," he growled to you, holding out his hand for your gun. You smirked and seductively removed the shining revolver from your thigh, then pressed it into your lover's hand. "Get your eyes off my lady." 

Two shots later, the man was bleeding out on the floor and the murder weapon tucked neatly back on your thigh. 

"Hands behind your heads, all of you, and if you even make a sound, you'll end up like sleazy over here," Tom barked. After the previous display, everyone in the room hastily complied.

"I love it when you're bossy," you giggled devilishly. Tom winked at you.

"We're going to go and make a withdrawal," Tom sneered, "And if any of you try anything smart, you'll end up like this guy." The room collectively nodded and you and Tom jogged away down the stairs behind the helpdesk and into the vaults. 

The safety-deposit boxes were first since they could be simply pulled out and thrown to the ground in order to open. This was difficult, however, since most people only put stupid sentimental things in theirs like wills or family heirlooms. 

You smashed open three before you found what you'd been craving: Diamonds. A whole boxful of diamonds. "YES!" You cackled, pouring the shiny contents of the safety-deposit into your sack with the satisfying sound of sand. A few more boxes held gold bars, silver coins, and ivory pieces. You stashed them all and followed tom to the vaults.

These could be opened with a little device off the black market quite similar to those in the Mission: Impossible films. You never tired of the sight of money. Stacks of gold and silver coins, stacks of thousands of hundreds. You and Tom filled your bags to the brim and rushed back up the stairs and to the front door. The whole room was still quaking on its knees.

"Good. I like 'em obedient," Tom chuckled. You leaned over and frenched him right in the double doorway of the richest bank in the city before waving a catlike fingery goodbye to your hostages and working your way down the steps. It was then that the tell-tale sirens began to wail and you and Tom stuffed your haul in the '63s trunk, slid into the front seat, and sped away.

The chase was on, but they'd never catch you in a million years.

You were this generation's Bonnie and Clyde.