Tom Holland Imagines

Tropemas Day 7: Periodfic

A/N: Ok so...I lied and I think I'll either catch up today or finish on Christmas. No excuses. I'm just lazy.

I'm staying at the hotel where I met Tom tonight as a present for my birthday. Only wish he were there.

On the seventh day of Tropemas, my Author gave to me: A suicidal uterus, total loss of memory, A BROKEN ELEVATORRRRRRRR! Cute pregnant couples, kids having coffee, Enemies-to-Lovers, and a cliche "One-Bed" storyyyyyy!

The first red flag was the massive zit that popped up on your chin that morning.

You were leaning as far over the bathroom counter as you could get with your face two inches from the mirror, attempting to squeeze the puss out of the miniature volcano that had erupted on your face. 

"Dammit," you groaned, retiring your efforts and slapping a pimple patch over the spot. You brushed your hair up into a hasty ponytail and made your way downstairs. Tom wouldn't be back from the shoot until later that night so you had most of the day to yourself.

It was quite a productive day, in fact. You'd walked Tess, cleaned the kitchen, done some laundry, and finished a proposal for work all in the space of four hours. It was as soon as you'd begun your daily workout that a sudden wave of cramps hit you like a bus. And it wasn't just a tiny workout cramp. No, this was a full-blown, check-your-panties, suicide-uterus kind of cramp.

That's odd, thought you, I shouldn't be due for another week. But you hadn't taken into account your level of stress recently. With Tom gone, you were holding up the house solo, doing the cooking and cleaning, and taking care of Tess on top of your job and social life.

Upon entering the bathroom you'd found, as expected, a red splotch gracing the crotch of your workout shorts. And your favorite white ones, too. You groaned. There went the rest of your day. You canceled the rest of your To-Do list and planted your arse right on the sofa with a box of Cheese-Crunchies and a Kit-Kat bar. (A/N: Favorite period munchies? Lmk.)

It was around 6pm when Tom returned, clutching bags of shopping. He had to use his foot to close the door and was considerably out of breath after setting the bags down on the counter. Your kitchen and living area were in the same space, so he noticed the Y/N-shaped lump on the floor right away.

"Y/N? What are you doing down there?" he chuckled, crouching to tug the corner of the blanket off your head.

"I got my period," you mumbled into the rug. Tom laughed. 

"Well, good thing I got the shopping, then. Stay there. I have an idea."

Within a few moments, you were tucked into a blanket nest on your bed with a cup of your favorite chamomile tea and a plate of avocado toast because "healthier foods will make you feel better," according to Tom. He'd even brushed your hair out for you and put on your favorite movie to watch while he rubbed your belly even though he hated Cameron Diaz films.

"Is that any better?" Tom mumbled into your neck, planting a kiss on your cheek.

"Much," you sighed contently. "And who knows...maybe tomorrow I'll feel like making some abstract art." You both laughed and Tessa curled up between you.

As far as evenings went, this one was the nicest.