Anon Request: Could I have a really angsty Tom Holland fic where the reader loves tom but it’s unrequited. If you can make tom a bit of an asshole, that would be great
Tonight was a time for celebration, too many champagne glasses to count and failed attempts to sing along to a record of Elton John classics. Harrison was laid back on the couch, snoring in his own spit and Jacob had ubered back to his temporary AirBnb to get ready for a flight to Rome in the morning. All that was left was you and Tom, passing and taking swigs of the last bottle of champagne, leaned back on the kitchen cabinets on the floor. Next to you, Tom looked gorgeous next to you, chocolate brown hair curled over his ears and a bit of champagne foam gathered on the fuzz of his upper lip, the ache to taste it with your own mouth was immeasurable. It was always dangerous when you drank.
“PULL ME CLOSER TINY DA-NCER,” Tom screeched and you giggled uncontrollably, hands over his mouth to muffle.
“Shush Tom you are so bloody loud, you’ll wake Harri,” he laughed into your palm, reaching up to intertwine your fingers with his. Your heart leapt to your throat and breath caught as he raised a kiss to your knuckles. It killed when he flirted like this, so aimlessly with your feelings. It wasn’t his fault, not knowing. You’d had all the chances in the world to tell Tom how you felt, growing up together gave ample opportunity, but also came with obstacles. Tom only ever treated you like family, untouchable. He’d had girlfriends over the years, short lasting relationships. Holding small leading roles in movies making him a popular, handsome young actor girls were attracted to and he took advantage of that. But the girls never lasted long and he was always unsatisfied. (Y/n) was always confided in, late nights in her flat over a pack of hard cider.
Less and less you spoke after he landed the role of Peter Parker in Civil War, and the several other Marvel movies and voice over deals that followed took even more of his time and attention. In between your college and Tom’s acting endeavors, you could only find moments of time months apart. (Y/n) felt so little in comparison to Tom’s new lifestyle, but on nights like these, Tom could let go and release, feel the past for a little while in (y/n)’s tiny South London flat.
“You leave me for so long Tommy,” (y/n) whined, the carbonation of the sweet alcohol burned her throat.
Tom leaned his head on your shoulder and breathed in your vanilla body spray deeply, “I always miss you when I’m away-”
You grabbed at his cheeks, making a head turn to look up at you, his chocolate eyes smiling into yours, “I love you Tom.”
He grinned drunkenly, not understanding the depth to your words, “I love you too, you’re my best friend.”
With a sigh you let his head fall back on your shoulder, your words coming out slow and garbled as you rolled the empty champagne bottle across the kitchen, it hitting the bottom of the couch with a hollow ‘thunk’, “no Tom!” You crawled away and heaved yourself up against the tile counter top, his eyes glazed over in confusion as he watched, “I love you Tom, I love you.”
The emphasis sobered the both of them up quickly, Tom grimaced, head in his hands between his propped up knees, “-no no no no.”
With each ‘no’ it felt like a hot knife plunged deeper and deeper into (y/n)’s heart, “what?” She could barely voice above a whisper.
“No (y/n), not now-we could never-” he muttered in broken pieces of language. “I can’t, we can’t, I-I don’t love you like that.”
A lie. Tom had loved her since he first laid eyes on her, hiding behind your mother knees in a fluffy pink tutu and sparkly rain boots. She lost the boots and tutu over time, but he was enamored with the sparkle that always seemed to remain in your eyes, now replaced with the sting of tears and pain. He hated to leave her like this in the morning, jetting off to Rome to film Far From Home, gone for months and leaving her with unimaginable wounds of heartbreak-yet it was necessary. So far he’d protected her from the press, he wasn’t about to unleash their tyranny on her when he couldn’t be there to shield them away.
He stood on wobbly legs, “I should-I need to get back to my hotel, I’m sorry (y/n).”
You watched him go, the tears pooled in your eyes released onto drunken flushed cheeks, and regret twisted deep in your gut. Planted back on the kitchen floor against the cabinets again, you watched the sun rise above the city alone, avoided Harrison’s curious questions and pity when he woke in the late afternoon, missed Tom’s farewell at the airport. You were sure you’d lost your best friend, and your first(and possibly only) love.
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