Tom Holland & Peter Parker Imagines [editing]

Enemies (mob!Tom Holland)

Summary: After a long day, you arrive at your safety apartment, only to find your sworn enemy there.
Warnings: gore, mentions of guns, swearing
Word Count: 2400

Your POV:

I grunt as I am forced against a wall by the last and strongest guy, my head hitting back against the concrete creating a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I pant, exhausted but I know if I let up that will be the end of me.

A hand wraps around my throat, squeezing the life out of it as I gasp for air, my supply of oxygen blocked. I try pry the hand away from the man who's stood with a smirk on his face. My gun is across the room. It's no hope- wait.

I reach down for my hip, reaching as far as I can to get the knife I forgot about from it, my fingertips at it. My head feels like it's about to explode and I finally grab the handle, bringing the blade up and plunging it into the man's stomach.

His eyes widen and he releases me from his grip, stumbling back as he deals with the pain. I fall to the ground, coughing as I gasp for air, but I look up seeing him try to get the knife out. It's not over yet. I scramble to my feet and run to grab my gun, bringing it up and shooting him straight between his eyes as he falls to the ground, now dead.

I drop the gun, my legs crumbling beneath me. I try lie myself on the floor gently for a moment, my body in severe pain, trying to get my head around what just happened. I only went out to get milk and a group of guys ambushed me. Not just a group, part of a rival mafia.

I'm not really part of a mafia, but I'm caught up in the whole process. I work alone. After a minute I pull myself up to my feet slowly, every inch of my body in pain at even the slightest movement. I've definitely broken a bone somewhere.

I leave before any other of that mafia's members come along, hijacking a nearby car and driving away, struggling to keep my eyes open. I go to my safe house since I know the ambush was planned, meaning that mafia is after me, whichever one it is, so I'm going to have to stay low for a while.

I finally pull up to the driveway of the house, sitting in the car for a minute to gain the energy. Since I never actually checked my injuries out, I take a look. The arm of my blazer is split down from my shoulder to almost my elbow, split through the shirt too where beneath is the colour of dark red, no skin can be seen.

I'm bleeding through my shirt by my hip for whatever reason, and the rest of my body which is in pain is most likely littered in bruises. I take off my seatbelt and grab the keys to the house, shutting the car door. I limp up to the door, my legs shaking beneath me and threatening to give way.

I latch my hand onto the handle, gripping it and leaning on it, leaning against the door with a whimper. God it hurts. I'm tired.

I unlock the door and stumble inside, walking into the house. My eyes start weighing down from exhaustion as I take a breath. The sofa is closest. I make my way to the living room, lifting my head up when I get to the doorway, only to see the house isn't empty, that I'm not alone. Fucking great.

There he sits in the arm chair, leant back against it. He's twirling a black handled, steel knife in his hand, a smirk on sitting on his face, wearing a black suit with a black shirt underneath. Thomas Stanley Holland, heir to the Holland Mafia, most dangerous in England.

A few years back a little argument we got into lead towards a full hate for each other and since then we have been sworn enemies ever since, always trying to kill each other.

I feel my body weaken by the second, my head getting light. I'm going to pass out and he's going to kill me. Great. Well, I mean if anyone is to kill me, I'm glad it's him I guess.