tom holland oneshots

too much T.H.

tom holland x reader; 1.2k words of a lil angst with a fluffy ending - reader has a rough time and tom comes to the rescue

—

"What's with the sad music, love?"

"This isn't sad music." You look up from your computer. Tom strides in. You're sitting cross legged on the floor of your bedroom, back against the bed's frame. He purses his lip at your answer, eyes darting down to the document that's opened on your screen. He sighs quietly.

"Whatcha doing?" He's asking even though he already knows the answer.

"Working."

"Again?" You look up at him as if he's being unreasonable. "I mean," he clears his throat. "It's a Friday."

"It's also a Friday before one of the busiest months of the year."
He hums. Your eyes don't leave the screen. You know he's a bit upset. He's working, of course, but his work hours are much more flexible now that the pandemic has settled harshly over the globe. But you're not an actor, though. You're a middle-class worker, so work hours are rough and consistency is unstable.

He kisses the top of your head before leaving you alone again, knowing you'd probably want to be alone. He's wrong, though, because once he leaves, you let out a shaky sigh and try to compose yourself. It's hard, though.

This is the seventeenth day now, that you've overworked to the point of exhaustion. The seventeenth day of all nighters and coffee as your go-to medicine. You're quite literally a walking machine with how many hours you're up.

Maybe it'd be easier if asking for help didn't make you so nervous, though. A few of the tasks you're assigned are a bit out of your knowledge, but you take the extra hours learning how to do them. After all, work is work, and with predominant male colleagues, you don't want to deal with sexism if it can be avoided. You're a woman and that isn't weak.

You're not sure if your supervisor realizes the things he's assigning you are things that were not required when you were hired for the job. You don't mention anything, though, because everyone keeps telling you that you're lucky you don't have it worse.

It's almost eleven o'clock by the time Tom comes to bed. He'd tried to get you to eat dinner, but you'd convinced him that you already ate while he was showering. You didn't.

"Love, bedtime," His voice is rasping, a sure sign he's tired. You glance up wearily.

"Oh, sorry," You stand quickly taking your supplies as you're about to head downstairs to continue working.

"Y/N?" He stops you, his voice damp and soft. "Where are you going?"

"Well, you're going to bed so I'll just work downstairs so I won't bother you."

You see him visibly pout at how considerate you're trying to be. He ends up shaking his head after a few beats. "Come to bed."

You calculate the options in your head, weighing the pros and cons. He knows what you're doing, so he keeps going.

"C'mon, tomorrow is Saturday." You hum. You have all day tomorrow, though you're certain that's not why he brought up that detail.

You end up slipping under the sheets, into his embrace for all of the night. When Tom awakens, you're gone, bedside cold and bitter. He sighs again. Slipping on an old grey shirt, he makes his way downstairs. He hears your voice booming through the room before he actually sees you.

"That's not what the order said to do! You need to take the data and then-" You look at Tom while you listen to the other end of the phone. You sigh frustratedly. He realizes you looked overworked already and it's barely ten o'clock.

He's worried you might have woken up too early. When you hang up the phone, he greets you with a soft good morning. You don't reply.

You're absent for pretty much the entirety of the day. Tom has four days off this upcoming week, only working from Monday through Wednesday. He knows you have the same schedule this week, because you'd planned a little self-care week together. You show no signs of stopping, however.

For the first time in less than three weeks, you're sleeping at a normal time. This time, though, you're not cuddled into Tom's side. He misses your embrace, and you long for his warmth, but you don't make any move to come close. He doesn't want to push you, but he wants to know the reasoning for the sudden absence.

By day three of this, he wakes up to the sight of you sobbing. You'd only woken up late, but it was enough to set you off on a series of reactions.

"Love? Love what's wrong?" He's scooting to where you're sitting on the floor, sobbing with your knees to your chest. You merely shake your head, and his bare chest comes closer as he tries again. "C'mon, baby. Talk to me."

You look up at him with tear-stained cheeks before colliding with his chest, gripping him tightly while you cry. He's still holding onto the covers when you do so, and they fall to his legs as he grips you back.

He shushes you lightly, hand smoothing out your hair. "What happened?" He asks during the silence, after your cries have lessened and your tears have halted.

You sniffle. "They- they said things, Tommy."

His jaw clenches. "What things?"

"They- they talked about you. About- About us."
"What about us?" He's being stern, eyebrows furrowed. You know he's not messing around; it makes you shiver.

"They said I'm not- not a worker," You stumble, trying to compose yourself again. "I'm just some gold-digger girlfriend who's lucky to have a boyfriend like you."

"Baby..." He trails off, scooting closer and pulling you back into his embrace protectively. He hates how people talk about you, his angel and light, his soft yet badass girlfriend. He hates the disrespect sent your way merely because you love him back.

"I just don't feel good enough anymore." You admit, a few tears falling at the confession. Tom's heart drops to his stomach, falling to the pit and crumbling on the way down. Your voice sounds broken and shattered. His heart aches as he tears up too.

"You're so good enough, baby." He longs for you to realize what he's known all along. "Nobody can tell you otherwise. You're amazing and I just-" He breaks off as his voice cracks. "I really love you, y'know that?"

You don't reply. A tear slips from his brown orbs.

"It's just too much, now."

"Work?"
"Me."

"No." He knows where you're going. He doesn't want to hear it again. "No you're not. You're not a burden, I don't want to hear you talk about my girlfriend like that."

"I'm just saying," You wipe a cheek. "I understand if I'm too much. Everyone at work thinks that-"

"You work in a shithole." You giggle at his use of the word. "I'm always here for you, you know that?" You nod from within his chest. "You can come to me when things start getting bad again. You're not a burden. I love you so much; it hurts to see you so upset, baby."

You nod again. "I'm sorry."

"Nonsense," He pulls you up so he can look you in the face. "Don't need to apologize. Just... take the week off with me?"
You let a smile creep onto your face and Tom cheers in success at the response.