#t: alldayangst

[alldayangst]

back to 505 (Tom Holland)

DESCRIPTION: Tom crumbles completely when you cry.

A/N: Hi, Tumblr! This is my first public fan-fiction piece. Would love to hear feedback. Inspired by 505 by Arctic Monkeys, as I’m a big fan of the band. This is a PoC and LGBT friendly reader insert. This is set around the holiday period, but there is no mention of Christmas/X-mas, any religious festival/holiday, time period, so I encourage you to insert whichever holiday you celebrate to make the fic suit to you the best!  

Warnings: ANGST, fluff, and allusions to sex/cyber sex + toxic relationships? (this is up to interpretation), on and off relationships, loneliness during the holiday period.

You and Tom were like a little flicker, on and off and on and off. Too selfish to let one another go, even though you probably should’ve at this point. 

Even when land, cities, vast bodies of sea separated you, your heart still ached for his love, his touch, for him. But in times like this, where you found yourself on the 505 California interstate on your way to visit your parents, with Tom on a movie set seven hours away; you wondered whether it was all worth it.

The holidays were unbearable without him, the regular days not much better. Tom’s present for your little sister, sat delicately in the passenger seat, had done you much better company that he had done all year.

When you got to your parents house, your baby sister fixed her embrace around your legs. “Where’s Tommy?” she queried as she pulled back from you with soft puppy eyes. You kneeled and patted her on the head. “Don’t you know? He’s a superhero. He’s just gone invisible!” And you handed her her present.

“I didn’t know Spiderman could go invisible..” she whispered as she sauntered off, now occupied with her present.

“I knew Spiderman could go invisible. He’s done this disappearing trick a few times now, actually.” your father said as he hugged you. “It’s not like that this time, dad.”

Your dad scoffed. “It never is.” He seemed more tired of this whole merry-go-round than you were. “It’s always ‘he’s a good guy but there’s too much distance,’ ‘he’s great but he doesn’t live in the States, he’s only got a work permit, we won’t work in five month bursts.’ When is this guy going to prioritise you over a couple bucks and a Best Picture nomination?”

“Dad, it’s his dream. It’s not that easy.”

“Is that what he tells you?”

You felt vibrations against your hip. You pulled your phone out of your purse. It was Tom.

“I have to take this.” You pitter-patter upstairs. 

“I’m off set. I have, like, 5.” Rushed and heavy groans. 

You knew exactly what Tom was talking about. He’d call you sporadically in between takes on set when he needed a special kind of attention. He’d sometimes call you even when you weren’t together, but the flame between you was ready to burn bright again. He’d once called you after a three week radio silence after one of your funks, saying that he’d been imagining you in bed, getting up to no good, only for your friend Sonny to have picked up to call, told him to ‘fuck off’ and have been sorely disappointed when you were papped wrapped up in his arms on another NY movie set a week later.

“Tom, I’m at my parent’s house. You’re on speaker.” He wasn’t. You just wanted him to stand down and swallow guilt for leaving you solo during the holiday period, especially with a family who’d been playing ‘either/or’ with his seat at the dinner table, no less. “Remember how you’re supposed to be here with me?”

“I know, I know darling.” Tom settles for short sentences because he knows the director will be calling him back to film in a few minutes time. And the last thing he wants to go through again is the collapsing and rebuilding of the love empire you built. But the regret is like a bite, and he feels the remorse feast on him because he knows he’s fallen short of the mark once again. This is why it never works, he thinks.

“So why aren’t you?” Tom’s not on speaker, but you are. So you hear the director call all the actors back for their last scenes before they can engross themselves in their million dollar holiday getaways. And something about that makes you so angry, your face so hot, and your blood boil as it runs through your veins. Because everything is planned around this, but never you. And you realise you’ll always be second best to a movie set on the Lower East Side, some Boom microphones, a garden of extras and a fat stack of Universal Studios’ cash. And how can you compete with that? You’re just one person.

You’re so angry you could cry. So you do.

“Oh darling, I crumble completely when you cry.” You hear him ‘awe-ing’ and ‘oh-no-ing’ and knocks at the door asking him when he’d be ready to return to set, because apparently ‘cameras are rolling’ and ‘time is money’. “Babe, please don’t cry.”

“I can’t fucking help it!” Your bark’s worse than your bite sometimes. 

You hear a ‘what was that?’ coming downstairs from your little sister, and an ‘Are you okay?’ which slowly gets quieter with every syllable, indicating your dad had shut the door.

“You’re breaking my heart!” The croak in your throat splits your sound into multiple voices, each more tortured than the other. “Again!”

“Darling, I’ll finish these scenes, then I’ll be on my way to you. I’m going back to 505. I don’t care if it’s a seven hour flight.”

You think it’s funny how he thinks his sweet words can still swoon you. He’s ridiculously tempting. You’d probably still adore him with his hands around your neck, or you would last time you checked.

You almost can’t ignore that little voice in your head saying, ‘this is why it never works’, but you and Tom are like a little flicker, on and off and on and off. This time, you’re too tired to make the lights go dim. Perhaps, you’re too selfish to let him go, even though you probably should at this point.

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