THE HOLLAND BOYS AND HARRISON OSTERFIELD IMAGINES

Blow a kiss , Fire a gun 7

You're arranged to married Tom Holland, Londons most feared mobster, but it's never easy. He doesn't seem to want you and you don't want anything to do with him.

Warnings: Drinking, talks of death.

Words: 3.3k

Humming to yourself, you wondered the hallways. Even days here and you were still getting lost in the halls, wondering which ones you'd explored and which you had yet to decipher.

There was the gentle murmur of music coming from down the hall and you followed it, noting that no, you hadn't explored this area of the house yet. It was what one would call the basement but this area was much too big to be a basement, it was a whole darn floor probably fully equipt for a whole family to survive in.

You almost looked lost when you entered the room, eyeing everything strangely. You'd never seen so much alcohol in your life and it almost made you excited, but the environment was one completely different. It was almost a club- but without booming music and flashing lights.

Maybe you were underdressed for the occasion in a simple t-shirt and shorts but after this morning, makeup and hair went out the window. This type of environment wasn't one you'd been looking for, but boy was it better than staying in and reading another book.

The music was low enough so that people could have their own conversations without having to shout over the beat and you were thankful, swearing that your hearing was still off from hanging out at the brothel the other night. But as soon as those doors shut behind you the chatter quieted slightly, the men's eyes drawn to you and maybe you decided that you were slightly underdressed.

Some men looked confused, some of them looked at you as if you were desert while some simply shrugged you off. One lady in a room full of men, hmm. Of course you knew they were all criminals, some just as much or little as your husband.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you imagined living a proper life, where this didn't exist. Where your life didn't revolve around mobs and rich boys and staying alive. When you were back home and spent your nights watching a movie and digging into a pack of two minute noodles instead stead having five star meals brought to your room every night, not that you were opposed to them-, but sometimes a box of Mac and cheese sounded better than the name of a meal you couldn't even pronounce.

But right now this was what you wanted. You craved the rush alcohol gave you.

This was a proper boys night, Toms style.

"What're you doing here, pretty girl?" A man asked one you hadn't even noticed was standing in front of you. His breath stunk of alcohol and he just looked gone, too lost in his own head and you only grimaced.

Tom saw the man walk up to you and he got to his feet, in fact, Tom saw you walk and the second you did he slammed his glass down, sending Harrison a glare as if to say 'keep an eye on here, watch this'. It wasn't that he didn't want to be around you, it was the fact that you were in a room full of criminals, criminals that didn't know about you and him or the deal made between two rival families years ago.

It was strange really, that some of the men standing in that room had once followed your father's rule. A few of them had seen you as a child, carefree and innocent, not that you would have recognised their faces. But surely some of them new you.

Tom walked over slowly but not fast enough to interrupt and make it seem like he was jealous, no, he was simply intrigued to see how you'd deal with the situation. Haz taped his mates arm twice, pointing at the scene that was unfolding and Tom growled when he saw that you were wearing a pair of shorts and a large t-shirt. You weren't his girl, but you were still his.