Partners In Crime - Mobster! Tom Holland x Reader

Partners In Crime - Tom Holland (Chapter 4)

Pairing - Mobster! Tom Holland x Reader (AU) (Mobster! Tom Holland)

Warnings - Swearing, mentions of sex / sexual themes, alcohol, smoking / drugs, slight violence

Word count - 4.4k (Wow I am actually meeting my goal of writing more whoop whoop)

Additional notes - Sorry for any typos (I tried to find all of them)

Easter eggs -  Always ;-;

Note - In this fic, you are about five years younger than Tom and Harrison. Tom is ca 25/26 years old. Making the twins 23/24 and Paddy 18/19. 

This basically just starts where the last chapter ended, italics are flashbacks

Y/N Osterfield collected her newly acquainted gun in her hands. Tightly gripping the gun she turned off the safety. Reaching for the pried of drawer front on the floor in front of her. Pulling out her small pocket knife from the piece of wood. Slowly standing up, gun in one hand knife in the other.  The steel of the knife was cold against her palm, clutching it in her hand, holding it so tight she was sure it was going to leave marks. Carefully folding the knife back up, slipping it back into her leg holster. 

Glancing over the room searching for anything else she could use, hoping to find spare ammunition. Unsuccessful in her search, Y/N swiftly made her way over to the office door. Pushing down on the brass handle she carefully swung the door open, praying that it would be silent. 

Sneaking out of the room, looking around every corner checking for a clear sight before going. 

- 

Small sun rays fell over Y/N's forehead. Her eyelashes gently rested on her cheek, there was a soft grey blanket covered the lower half of her body. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, stretching her arms over her head and yawning. Tom was gone, he was no longer lying beside her with his arm draped over her. She felt empty without him there. Trying to sub the sleep out of her eyes and yawning again. 

Sliding out of the couch shaking the memory of the dream. The once distant and suppressed memories were resurfacing in her mind, no matter how hard she fought back, being back in England triggered the images that were still vivid in her mind. The metallic smell of blood or the sound of a gun firing sent chilling shivers down her spine. 

Y/N straightened out her T-shirt and pulling up her grey joggers while moving through the common room. The room was cold, even for English standards in spring. Running her hands over her goosebump-covered arms in a poor way in an attempt to warm herself up. 

The kitchen was warm as she entered the room. Tom was standing with his back to her cooking something at the stove. The smells that came from the frying pan was heavenly. Hopping up on the white marble counter, leaning back on her hands, the stone cold under the palms of her hand. 

"Goodmorning sleepy head," Tom muttered while still facing the stove. "Since you lept until noon I decided to make you late breakfast." He was wearing the same simple as he wore last night, black jeans and a white T-shirt. Y/N could see his back muscles tensing and bulging from underneath the shirt. 

"Thanks, and Tom? Last night I-I never meant for you to see me like that." She sat up straight, folding her hands in her lap, running her thumb over the back the back of her hand. "Usually I don't want people to see that side of me." 

"Why?" Tom turned around to look at her. He was holding a black spatula, almost resembling a mid-fifties housewife. His eyes tried to find hers, but her gaze was fixated on her hands.