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#chicken tender plate
ladykissingfish · 11 months
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*sitting down at a restaurant*
Deidara: Can you guys please stop making fun of me for being short? You’re not that much taller than me, hm!
Hidan: Whatever you say, kid.
Deidara: And stop calling me “kid”! Hidan you’re 22, you’re only three years older than I am! And those horrible bags under Itachi’s eyes may make him look older, hm, but he’s only 21!
Itachi: Perhaps you’re right; maybe it’s wrong for us to disparage you.
*the waiter comes over with menus*
Waiter: Here’s for you two gentlemen — *hands a menu to Itachi and Hidan* and one for you, young man! *hands him the kid’s menu and a coloring book and crayons* I’ll give you a few moments to look them over, and I’ll be back for your order. *walks off*
Deidara: Hey, fucker, come back here! I’m not a kid, I’m a grown man, hm! I —
Deidara: Wait a second; the chicken tenders come with tator tots … AND a chocolate milkshake?!
Deidara: *picks up the crayons* Never mind; I’m good, hm.
Hidan and Itachi:
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westernsunshine · 4 months
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I wish all food service workers who are weird about regulars always ordering the same specific thing and tease them for it a very “please don’t do that”
#was just thinking about when i first started my exchange year & there were basically 2 eateries on campus#i mean one of them was a giant food court with a bunch of options like burgers; sandwiches; salad etc#the other one was just a basic diner. i really really liked the diner because the food arrived fast; it was super good#and it was really close to where i lived. so every time i went in i got a hot dog and fries. and i went there for dinner probably every day#it took maybe about 3 days for the girl at the counter to start recognising me; knowing i was going to get the same thing each time;#and screaming ‘hot dog and fries????!?!!’ at me every single time i entered the building. which; if you’re like me and grew up with a weigh#problem and body image issues; fucking HORRIFYING. like why are you announcing to the whole diner what i’m going to be eating#i kept trying to show up when she wasn’t on shift or ordering something different and then i eventually just stopped going there#i kept going to the cafeteria because i could fix my own plate and the lady who weighed your plate (you were charged based on that)#never commented. but the cafeteria food was SO bad#i ended up going to the burger bar to just get the premade chicken tender baskets but those started to gross me out after a while#so i ordered a custom burger this one time and the guy was looking at me kind of funny for my order (i wanted a grilled chicken burger#with no cheese and just lettuce; onion and mayo on it) and one time when i went in i saw/heard him notice me and immediately start telling#his coworker about how ‘weird’ my order was. like i’m sorry i’m bri’ish and therefore don’t have the american propensity for shoving#a ridiculous and unnecessary amount of ingredients into any given sandwich??? sorry that i hate tomatoes and the idea of chicken and cheese#together horrifies me. i guess.#sooooo i started going to the sandwich bar and they were lovely. i ordered pretty much the same thing every day and the girl acted like it#was brand new to her every day. she also spelled my name wrong in a new and different way every day. and always added a smiley face#one time she put so much tuna mayo in my sandwich that i had to go get a spoon to eat it with. i hope she’s well#i just… i don’t know where i was going with this rant. i just hate being teased about what i eat bro#like whenever i like a food it’s ALL i want to eat for the next three months and i know that’s boring and not healthy but i don’t care!!!#why do YOU care. i don’t care and it’s my fucking body#you can let me eat my hot dog and fries in peace without announcing it to the whole diner. that is something you canndo#personal#*i feel like someone is going to accuse me of criticising food service workers. hiiiiii i’ve been one :)
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ratcandy · 2 years
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To the person who sent in the cilantro ask I have a funny story
My mom bought a cilantro plant a few years ago. A few days later the plant was GONE. Down to the roots. Who did it?
My cat. He ate the whole cilantro plant. And apparently my dad thought it was catnip and let him eat it.
I still think about this to this day.
Sometimes u get a little hongry, and sometimes there is cilantro within reach, and sometimes u are but a little cat,
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lovelyjenny · 7 days
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Air Fried Vegetarian “Chicken Tenders”
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Adapted for an air fryer, this vegetarian &
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quibbs126 · 6 months
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Now I’ve made myself hungry and upset that there are no longer any PDQs in Texas
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lewisvinga · 2 months
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sorry not sorry | daniel ricciardo x fem! reader
summary; daniel and y/n were just friends, that’s it, although everyone else around them wanted for them to be more. but one drunken night lead to y/n posting some questionable things to her story.
fc; christina nadin
warnings; mentions of drinking , suggestive comment
note; requested !
taglist; @namgification
masterlist !
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liked by danielricciardo, landonorris, and others
yourusername: before n after danny said no to chicken tenders
tagged; danielricciardo
danielricciardo: it’s because you need to expand your tastebuds, sunshine
yourusername: i just wanted some chicken tenders, danny☹️☹️
danielricciardo: stop pouting at my from the other side of the room
danielricciardo: fine i’ll get you chicken tenders, sunshine
yourusername: thank u danny 💗💗💗
username: i love them sm
username: they HAVE to be dating
username: LMFAOO
username: i love them so much😭😭
landonorris: you have the tastebuds as a child
yourusername: a lot of talking for a man who gags at sushi and steals my chicken tenders everytime we hang out…
username: i need the grid to try to set them up bc they have to be in love or something
username: ppl when a guy and girl are friends: 🤯
yourusername uploaded to their story!
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[caption 1; party rocking 🤪] [caption 2; i Love danny Sooooolmuch his face is SooO stupidly cute I wanna kiss him] [caption 3; he’s so Sexy i want him to be my boyfriend Now.]
these posts have been deleted!
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liked by yourusername, landonorris, and others
danielricciardo: my ☀️, now n forever.
tagged; yourusername
yourusername: sorry not sorry 4 posting abt how sexy u are on my story
danielricciardo: but ur sexier
yourusername: have u seen u post workout? that is very sexy 😌
danielricciardo: no but i have seen you in my bed post… and that’s very sexy😉
landonorris: THERE ARE CHILDREN PRESENT
yourusername: love u stupid, 4ever n ever 🥹🥹💗💗
danielricciardo: love u weirdo, n ur weird chicken tender obsession 4ever and ever 😌😌❤️
username: oh OH
username: good morning to y/niel only
username: the way they were absolutely silent for like a month after y/n’s stories just for daniel to randomly hard launch on a tuesday morning
username: they’re so perfect for each other 🥹
username: daniel’s smile w her😩😩🥹🥹🥹
landonorris: why is she eating in almost every picture
yourusername: like you aren’t a beggar who begs for my left overs every time
landonorris: YOU LEAVE LIKE HALF OF THE PLATE BEHIND IT SHOULDNT GO TO WASTE!!!
yourusername: i’m giving yuki my leftover tenders next time
landonorris: NO
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hellsitegenetics · 8 days
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Chicken Pot Pie! :D
this is an actual recipe, but I have not tested it so have no idea if its good.
Ingredients
1 tbsp. olive oil
1 1/2 lb. bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/2 yellow onion, chopped
2 carrots, chopped
2 stalks celery, chopped
1 tsp. fresh thyme
1/4 c. all-purpose flour
2 c. chicken stock
1/4 c. dry white wine
1 c. frozen peas
1/4 c. fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 (14-ounce) package all-butter puff pastry
1 large egg, beaten
Directions
Step 1Preheat oven to 425°F. Heat a large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Add oil. Season chicken with salt and pepper. Cook, skin sides down, until golden brown and crisp, 6 to 8 minutes. Flip chicken and transfer skillet to the oven. Cook, until the internal temperature of the thickest thigh registers 165°F on an instant-read thermometer, 12 to 14 minutes. Transfer to a cutting board. Discard skins and bones, and chop chicken. 
Step 2Place skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion, carrots, celery, and thyme. Season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, just until crisp-tender, 3 to 4 minutes. Add flour and cook, stirring, 30 seconds. Slowly stir in stock and wine. Bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until thickened, 4 to 6 minutes. Remove from heat. Stir in chicken, peas, and parsley. 
Step 3Cut puff pastry into a circle 1 inch larger than the outside rim of a cast-iron pie plate. (You may need to roll the dough on a lightly floured work surface to get it to size.) Place pie plate on a rimmed baking sheet. Transfer filling to pie plate and top with puff pastry; crimp edges. Brush puff pastry with egg. Bake, until golden brown, puffed, and cooked through, 20 to 25 minutes.
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(image source)
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najia-cooks · 18 days
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[ID: A wide cylindrical pile of rice, eggplants, and 'lamb' on a serving platter, garnished with parsley. End ID]
مقلوبة / Maqluba
مَقْلُوبَة⁩ ("maqlūba," "upside down" or "turned over") is a Levantine casserole in which spiced meat, fried vegetables, and rice are arranged in a pot and simmered; the entire pot is then inverted onto a serving tray to reveal the layered ingredients. Maqluba historically uses lamb and eggplant, but modern recipes more often call for chicken; tomato, cauliflower, potato, bell pepper, and peas are other relatively recent additions to the repertoire.
A well-made maqluba should be aromatic and highly spiced; the meat and vegetables should be very tender; and the rice should be cohesive without being mushy. A side of yoghurt gives a tangy, creamy lift that cuts through and complements the spice and fat in the dish.
Maqluba emphasizes communal eating and presentation. It is usually eaten during gatherings and special occasions, especially during Ramadan—a month of sunrise-to-sunset fasting which celebrates the revelation of the Qu'ran to the prophet Mohammad. The pot is sometimes flipped over at the table for a dramatic reveal.
History
Many sources cite Muhammad bin Hasan al-Baghdadi's 1226 Kitāb al-ṭabīkh (كتاب الطبيخ لمحمد بن حسن البغدادي) as containing the first known reference to maqluba. However, the recipes for "maqluba" in this book are actually for small, pan-fried patties of spiced ground meat. [1] The dish is presumably titled "maqluba" because, once one side is fried, the cook is instructed to turn the patties over ("أقلب الوجه الآخر") to brown the other; the identical name to the modern dish is thus coincidental.
References to dishes more like modern maqluba occur elsewhere. A type of مغمومة ("maghmūma," "covered" dish), consisting of layers of meat, eggplant, and rice, covered with flatbread, cooked and then inverted onto a serving plate, is described in a 9th-century poem by إبراهيم بن المهدي (Ibrāhīm ibn al-Mahdī):
A layer of meat underneath of which lies a layer of its own fat, and another of sweet onion, another of rice, Another of peeled eggplant slices, each looking like a good dirham honestly earned. [...] Thus layered the pot is brought to a boil first then enclosed with a disc of oven bread. On the glowing fire it is then put, thus giving it what it needs of heat and fat. When fully cooked and its fat is well up, turn it over onto a platter, big and wide. (trans. Nawal Nasrallah) [2]
These sources are both Iraqi, but one story holds that maqluba originated in Jerusalem. صلاح الدين الأيوبي (Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn al-Ayyūbi; "Saladin"), after capturing the city from the Crusaders and reinstating Muslim rule in 1187, was served the dish, and was the first to describe it with its current name. Before this point, the Jerusalem specialty had supposedly been known as "باذنجانية" ("bāḏinjānīyya"), from "باذنجان" "bāḏinjān" "eggplant" + ية- "-iyya," a noun-forming suffix.
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[ID: The same dish shown from directly above. End ID]
In Palestine
Maqluba is often invoked in the context of Palestinian strength and resistance, in defiance of its occasional description as an "Israeli" dish. Palestinian magazine writer Aleeya Rizvi reflects:
In the wake of the recent [2023] war in Gaza, our culinary endeavors, particularly in crafting and sharing traditional Palestinian dishes like Maqluba, represent a conscious effort to contribute to the preservation and resilience of Palestinian culture. In a time when cultural heritage is under threat, preparing and enjoying these time-honored recipes becomes more than a mere culinary activity; it transforms into a deliberate act of cultural continuity and solidarity.
Maqluba also has a more specific association with physical resistance against the backdrop of increased settler and police violence against Palestinians, including regular Israeli raids and attacks on the جامع الأقصى ("Jāmi' al-Aqṣā"; al-Aqsa mosque), during Ramadan.
The holiest month in the Islamic calendar, Ramadan is given over to fasting, prayer, and reflection; people gather together in homes and mosques to break their fast after sunset, and spend entire nights in mosques in worship. Khadija Khwais and Hanady Al-Halawani used to serve maqluba for افطار ("ifṭār," fast-breaking meal) in the Al-Aqsa mosque, until Israeli occupation authorities banned them from the mosque for "incitement."
In response, starting in 2015, Al-Halawani and other volunteer مرابطين ("murābiṭīn," lit. "holy people," guardians of the mosque) stationed themselves on the ground outside the mosque's gate (باب السلسلة; Bāb as-Silsila, "chain gate") to prepare and serve maqluba. Those who were banned from entering the mosque broke their fast and prayed at the mosque's gates, and in the nearby alleys of the Old City. The same year saw Israeli security personnel and settlers attack Palestinian protestors and guardians outside and inside the mosque with tear gas and stun grenades.
For Al-Halawani, the serving of maqluba at the al-Aqsa gates symbolizes "defiance, steadfastness, and insistence on continuing the fast [...] in spite of the occupation’s practices." The "Maqluba at al-Aqsa" ritual "has become one of the most disturbing Palestinian scenes for the occupation forces," who associate it with the defense of "Palestinian heritage" and the intent to "motivate worshipers and murabitin to repel incursions into the mosque." (Al-Halawani has been arrested, threatened, beaten, and detained by Israeli police multiple times for her role as a defender of Al-Aqsa. She was among the prisoners freed in trades between Israel and Hamas in December 2023.)
In 2017, occupation forces installed metal detectors, electronic gates, metal barriers, and police cameras to surveil worshipers following a shoot-out at one of al Aqsa's gates. Hundreds of protesters refused to enter the mosque until the repressive measures were removed, instead gathering and praying in its courtyard; surrounding families bolstered the sit-ins by serving food and drink. When the gates were dismantled, over 50,000 people gathered to eat maqluba in celebration, picking up on the earlier association of the dish with Saladin's victory (and its resultant alternate name, "أكلة النصر," "ʔakla an-naṣr," "victory meal").
The name "maqluba," meaning "upside-down" or "inverted," may be associated with victory and resistance as well. Fatema Khader noted in 2023 that the method of serving maqluba was a "symbolic representation of how Israeli policies and decisions against Palestinians will be flipped on their heads and become rendered meaningless." It is also relevant that maqluba is meant to be served to large groups of people, and can thus be linked, symbolically and literally, to solidarity and communal resistance.
This year in Gaza, Palestinians show steadfast optimism as they paint murals, hang lanterns, buy sweets, hold parties, and pray in groups amongst the rubble where mosques once stood. But despite these efforts at creating joy, the dire circumstances take heavy tolls, and the holiday cannot be celebrated as usual: Israel's campaign of slow starvation led Ghazzawi Diab al-Zaza to comment, "We have been fasting almost against our will for three months".
Donate to provide hot meals in Gaza for Ramadan
[1] Also reprinted in Mosul: Umm Al-Rubi'in Press (مطبعة ام الربيعين) (1934), p. 57. For an English translation see Charles Perry, A Baghdad Cookery Book (2005), pp. 77-8.
[2] This poem, as well as one of Ibn al-Mahdi's maghmuma dishes, were compiled in Ibn Sayyar al-Warraq's 10th-century Book of Dishes (كتاب الطبيخ وإصلاح الأغذية المأكولات وطيّبات الأطعمة المصنو; "Kitāb al-ṭabīkh waʔiṣlāḥ al-ʔaghdiyat al-maʔkūlāt waṭayyibāt ʔaṭ'ima al-maṣno," "Book of cookery, food reform, delicacies, and prepared foods"), p. 99 recto. For Nasrallah's English translation see Annals of the Caliph's Kitchens, pp. 313-4.
In the 14th-century Andalusian Cookbook (كتاب الطبيخ في المغرب والأندلس في عصر الموحدين، للمكلف المجهول; "Kitāb al-ṭabīkh fī al-Maghrib wa al-Andalus fī ʻaṣr al-Mawahḥidīn," "Book of cookery from the Maghreb and Andalusia in the era of Almohads"), a maghmuma recipe appears as "لون مغموم لابن المهدى", "maghmum by Ibn al-Mahdi". For an English translation see An Anonymous Andalusian Cookbook, trans. Perry et al.
Ingredients:
For a 6-qt stockpot. Serves 12.
For the meat:
1 recipe seitan lamb
or
2 cups (330g) ground beef substitute
1 cinnamon stick
1 bay laurel leaf
Pinch ground cardamom
Several cracks black pepper
For the dish:
3 cups (600g) Egyptian rice
2 medium-sized globe eggplants
2 large Yukon gold potatoes (optional)
Vegetarian 'chicken' or 'beef' bouillon cube (optional)
2 1/2 tsp table salt (1 1/2 tsp, if using bouillon)
Vegetable oil, to deep-fry
Fried pine nuts or sliced blanched almonds, to top
Egyptian rice is the traditional choice in this dish, but many modern recipes use basmati.
I kept my ingredients list fairly simple, but you can also consider adding cauliflower, carrots, peas, chickpeas, zucchini, bell pepper, and/or tomato to preference (especially if omitting meat substitutes).
For the spices:
1 1/2 Tbsp maqluba spices
or
1 4" piece (3g) cinnamon bark, toasted and ground (1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon)
3/4 tsp (2.2g) ground turmeric
3/4 tsp (1.5g) cloves, toasted and ground
3/4 tsp (2.2g) black peppercorns, toasted and ground
15 green cardamom pods (4.5g), toasted, seeds removed, and ground (or 3/4 tsp ground cardamom)
Instructions:
For the meat:
1. Prepare the seitan lamb, if using: it will need to be started several hours early, or the night before.
2. If using ground meat: heat 2 tsp oil in a skillet on medium. Add cinnamon stick and bay leaf and fry for 30 seconds until fragrant.
3. Add meat and ground spices and fry, agitating occasionally, until browned. Set aside.
For the dish:
2. Rinse rice 2 to 3 times, until water runs almost clear. Soak in cold water for 30 minutes, while you prepare the vegetables.
3. Optional: to achieve a presentation with eggplant on the sides of the maqluba, remove the skin from either side of one eggplant (so that all slices have flesh exposed on both sides) and then cut lengthwise into 1/2" (1cm)-thick slices.
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Cut the other eggplant (or both eggplants) widthwise into coins and half-coins.
4. Sprinkle eggplant slices with salt on both sides and leave for 10-15 minutes to release water.
5. Peel potatoes and cut in 1/4" (1/2 cm) slices.
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6. Heat about an inch of oil in a deep skillet or wok on medium (a potato slice dropped in should immediately form bubbles). Fry the potato slices until golden brown, then remove onto a paper-towel-lined plate or wire cooling rack.
7. Press eggplant slices on both sides with a towel to remove moisture. Fry in the same oil until translucent and golden brown, then remove as before.
Fry other vegetables (except for tomato, chickpeas, and peas) the same way, if using.
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8. Drain rice. Whisk bouillon, salt, and ground spices into several cups of hot water.
9. Prepare a large, thick-bottomed pot with a circle of oiled parchment paper (or with a layer of sliced tomatoes). Add ground meat, if using. Layer widthwise-sliced eggplants into the pot, followed by potatoes. Place longitudinally sliced eggplants around the sides of the pot, large side up.
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10. Add rice and pack in. Fold eggplant slices down over the rice, if they protrude.
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11. Pour broth into the pot, being careful not to upset the rice. Add more water if necessary, so that the rice is covered by about an inch.
12. Heat on medium to bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, cover with a closely fitting lid, and cook 30 minutes.
13. If rice is not fully cooked after 30 minutes, lightly stir and add another cup of water. Re-cover and cook another 15 minutes. Check again and repeat as necessary.
14. Allow maqluba to rest for half an hour before flipping for best results. Place a large platter upside-down over the mouth of the pot, then flip both over in one smooth motion. Tap the bottom of the pot to release, and leave for a few minutes to allow the maqluba to drop.
15. Slowly lift the pot straight up, rotating slightly if the sides seem stuck.
16. Top with fried seitan lamb, chopped parsley, and fried pine nuts or almonds, as desired.
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strangersmunsons · 3 months
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Eddie’s sick. you have a little surprise to cheer him up. eddie munson x fem!reader, ~800 words
There’s some kind of bug floating around the garage, and it’s got Eddie sick as a dog.
It’s the second day off he’s taken from work. He’s at home, taking refuge on the couch — since there’s no television in his bedroom — huddled underneath a blanket, watching some mindless daytime program that he can barely focus on.
The front door to his apartment clicks open, and you appear in the entryway, wrapped up in a big overcoat. A large tote bag dangles from your shoulder.
“Hi, baby,” he calls out hoarsely at the highest volume he can manage.
“Hi, Teddy.” You toe your shoes off and leave them by the door, but keep your coat on. You pad over to where he’s laid up on the sofa. “How’re you feeling?” you ask, pushing his sweaty bangs off his forehead. The smooth swath of skin feels too warm beneath your palm.
“Like shit,” he croaks.
You hum sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”
He coughs, and the noise is thick with phlegm. “But better, now that you’re here,” he adds with a weak smile, voice cracking on the last word. You scratch his head lightly with your nails, right behind his ear, just like you would a puppy.
“Here, I brought you some stuff.” You set the bag down on the floor and start pulling out items. “A thermometer, because I know you don’t have one.” You take the it out of its box and stick it in his mouth before he can complain. “Flu medicine, heating pad, VapoRub…chicken noodle soup…” You set a thermos down on the coffee table in front of him. “Dark Crystal on VHS.”
“You’re an angel,” says Eddie. The words are garbled, as he’s speaking from around the glass rod tucked under his tongue. “Thanksch.”
“Wait, wait, I have one more thing.” You start to undo the buttons on your coat, fingers working slowly, dragging the process out. “Seeing as how I’m your caretaker and all, I thought I should dress for the part.” When all the buttons are undone, you shrug the coat off, letting it fall to the floor to pool around your feet.
Eddie’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates and the thermometer falls out of his open mouth. “Oh my God.”
The costume is from Halloween three years ago, before you met Eddie, so he’s never seen it before. The nurse uniform is tight and form-fitting, the silky white fabric hugging your body perfectly. It’s also short — the hem sits high up on your thighs, baring a generous amount of leg. For the finishing touch, you pull out a little red nurse’s cap and secure it to your head. “Ta-da! What do you think?”
Eddie thinks he’s going to start barking, that’s what he thinks.
“What do I think?” Eddie struggles to sit upright, propping himself up on his elbow. “Baby. Sweetheart. Angel. You look stunning. You’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen. You look so sexy, I — I can’t believe that I’m sick and have to keep my hands to myself.” He sounds utterly dismayed as he comes to this realization.
You start laughing. “Aw, I didn’t put it on to torture you. I wanted to cheer you up!”
“Oh, it’s working. Consider me cheered.” He hacks into his elbow briefly, then twirls the air with his index finger. “Gimme a spin, babe.”
You oblige, turning slowly on the spot. His eyes flit wildly up and down your figure, desperate to drink in every inch of you. The ill temper Eddie’s been in for the past two days completely dissipates. He’d wolf-whistle if he wasn’t so full of snot. 
“You know what? I think I’m feeling better already.”
“Hmm. Are you very sure about that?” you ask innocently, leaning forward with your hands braced on your thighs so he can get an eyeful of your chest. “‘Cause I think you could do with a little more tender loving care.”
Eddie shivers, and it has nothing to do with his being sick. “Whatever you say, nurse. You’re the medical professional.”
The corners of your lips turn up in a smile and you straighten back up. “First order of business,” you call over your shoulder as you head over to the kitchen, “eat your soup!” 
You open up the cutlery drawer and pull out a spoon while Eddie twists the lid off of the thermos. A curl of steam wafts up from the warm liquid, and he inhales deeply, excited for the first time in two days to eat something.
You hand him the spoon and sit on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table. He slurps the soup down noisily, and you giggle despite your wrinkled nose.
“S’really good, baby. Thanks for doin’ all this.”
“Of course.”
“And as soon as I kick this flu, I’m gonna fuck you stupid.”
“Ooh, language! Talk like that again and I’ll have to give you a sponge bath.”
Eddie’s eyes gleam with excitement. “Promise?”
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actually-safer-to-kiss · 11 months
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Cravings
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Summary: Spencer admires Reader while pregnant and in the depths of her cravings.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Fluff
Content warnings: Pregnancy, eating
Word count: 848
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Spencer can’t pinpoint when he’s loved you the most. Hearing you groggy over the phone when he was on the jet heading home would’ve been the obvious moment, considering he blurted the three special words out in the middle of you talking about your upcoming work day. You and the team, who also witnessed it, were stunned into silence. But he still spoke to you after, whispering like he was alone the entire time.
Your wedding day would be another appropriate answer. He didn’t tear up as any groom would. No, he cried. His tears collected at the brim but took time to overflow, blurring his view of you gliding down the aisle with thoroughly-planned elegance. He had to block them to gather himself, as one would shield themselves from the sun.
But this moment tugs at his heart: when he opens the front door with the classic, “Honey, I’m home,” and you emerge from the bedroom with a swollen belly hidden under an old sweatshirt. The joy on your face is a moment he won’t forget. Granted, a portion of said joy might be thanks to the greasy bag and styrofoam cup he’s clutching desperately in one hand. Nevertheless, he savors the look and the feeling that must have felt similar to men who graced their families with bountiful hunting results.
Except in this case, the “bountiful hunting results” are chicken tenders with fries, extra honey mustard, and a large hot fudge sundae from your favorite restaurant that happens to be in the middle of nowhere and roughly 30 minutes away. But cravings are cravings, and they’ve been relentless throughout the second trimester. He’ll scope out the specific restaurants, local or corporate, if it makes you happy and appeases the baby girl (hopefully) inside you.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” A kiss on the cheek sufficed as you waddled toward the kitchen. You put the sundae in the freezer for now and barely waste time getting a plate and napkins, but it’s less to clean up. And less for Spencer to double-clean later.
Before you sit down, Spencer takes the plate from you, and he swears for a minute he saw motherly instincts kick in.
“You don’t have to eat at the table," he says. “Come on,” he tilts his head toward the couch as he walks, the obvious not mentioned.
“We don’t eat on the couch.” You reply.
He’s still walking.
“You don’t like it. Crumbs, lingering nastiness, and other science-y terms you’ve used.”
He puts the plate on the coffee table. “I’m willing to make exceptions. Plus, with a baby, mess is inevitable.” He leans down, revealing the breakfast tray he bought. You clearly never saw it before. Because the way your open mouth morphed into a smile, he would've thought he unintentionally did magic. He pulled out the small legs. “I figured it’s best to adjust slowly while I still can.”
You walk toward him, your hands resting on your belly. “But this is your couch.”
“In our apartment.” He takes a pillow and fluffs it, setting it against the arm. “Sit.”
You eventually comply. There’s still a look on your face, indicating second-guessing, like you’re somehow doing this without his knowledge. Meanwhile, the breakfast tray is in his hands, and he makes sure you’re settled. You lay across the couch.
Spencer puts down the tray, asking if you want a drink before devouring. You shake your head, eyes staring down at the fatty American dish in front of you. While you begin, he picks a vinyl from your shared collection. The one thing he won’t waver about is the classics.
As in classical music.
As in Mozart. Spencer has noticed your familiarity with the symphonies over the past six months. He loves it, regardless of whether it’s just because he’s insisted you listen to classical after you told him the news.
When the melody flows, Spencer finds a seat on the couch. You slide your feet toward you to make room. As soon as he sits down, he puts your legs in his lap, letting you stretch out again. His lips disappear into his mouth for a minute as he suppresses a giggle.
All the chicken was either swallowed or mush in your mouth and specks of salt littered your lips and hands along with honey mustard drippings. This. Spencer's in love again. As you suck the sauce off your own fingers like it’s the only sustenance you’ve had in days. The comfort he feels here, knowing the woman basically attacking her dinner will be the mother of his child. This is something even his three PhDs are unable to put into words.
“Do you want some help?” Spencer leans over, takes the napkins under the plate, and wipes the corners. You continue chewing, polite enough to keep your mouth closed and manage its volume. “There.” He puts the napkin down. And he looks at you, realizing just how much you've changed his life.
“What?” Your mouth is so full.
“Nothing.”
You swallow almost everything. “Something.”
He shrugs. “I just love you.”
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bloofinntoona · 1 year
Text
Operation Saving Sallow
Word Count: 2.4 k
Themes: fluffy fluff fluff, Sebastian Sallow x f!reader, featuring the lovely friends you made along the HL games
Summary: A girl gave Seb candies laced with love potion. You were rightfully jealous. Your friends were there to help you solve the case.
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A splash of water hit your face, small drops of water dripped down onto the sink, echoing through the empty bathroom. The old cloudy mirror in front you showed the absolute sorry state that you were currently in – hair tied up in a messy ponytail, lips chapped from the lack of hydration, the ends of your school robe muddy from being dragged through your journey around the highland. You smacked your cheeks a couple times, causing the skin to break into a rose-colored hue. It was a trick you read in a beauty book your mom owned back in London. Biting your lips, you wished it would somewhat create a red tint, hoping it would make your face appear livelier. Two students barged through the door, pulling you away from your thoughts. Shaking your head, you made your way to the Divination class.
You didn’t care about your appearance before, to be quite honest. Often times you ran around the school with gears that you found in a treasure chest somewhere deep in caves. There were nobody to impress anyway, you found prioritizing about your defensive capabilities benefited you more anyways. Things did slowly change when you took an interest to the infamous Sebastian Sallow. You thought of him as friends at first. He was an outgoing person and a notorious flirt, so you didn’t think much about the brunette. However, the constant owls you receive -- noting invitations to explore the forest and mines, Sebastian showing you the Undercroft where no one else other than Ominis knew, and going so far as introducing you to Anne, you couldn’t help but think that there were something quite special between the two of you. “I like when you put your hair up,” he said once during your study period in the library. From that point onward, you took a little bit of time in a morning to tie your hair, either in a ponytail or a bun.
Sitting down on one of the chairs in the Divination Classroom, you stared at the circular glass in front of you. A slew of students shuffled into the classroom, one of them is the popular Ravenclaw student, Emma Ainsley. Emma was probably the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen in the school, soft long blonde hair naturally swayed behind her, cute button nose, and a pair of beautiful deep-blue eyes. She was holding a boy’s hand, and it was none other than Sebastian. They were giggling about something, the students stared at them, whispering gossips and snickering to each other. You blankly stared at the orb in front of you, wishing that the glass would absorb you in and let you disappear.
“Well, that is not a sight you expect.” Natty took the seat next to you, setting her books down.
“Y/N, you look pale. Are you alright?” said Poppy, also taking her seat on the other side. Natty stared at the Hufflepuff, widening her eyes. Poppy shrugged and offered you a Chocolate Frog. “Do you want one?”
You flashed a weak smile before glancing at Sebastian again, now sitting together next to Emma. Merlin, You were convinced someone switched places with the boy overnight. The first thing that he would do before class started was to greet you, teasing you about missing assignments. You swore you never saw him talk to Emma before. It’s obvious that a boy his age most likely would develop a crush on someone, but you rightfully were taken aback when he confessed his infatuation with the Ravenclaw. Maybe, deep down, you wished you were in her position instead.
You let out a huge sigh, cueing Poppy to give you a tender pat on your back.
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Lunchtime was not particularly appetizing that day. You toyed with the food on your plate, occasionally picking the grilled chicken and popping a bite in your mouth.
“That is it, I will press even if you don’t want to talk about it.” Natty faced you, arms crossed in front of her, “I cannot stand seeing you mope around the entire day.”
“We all know it’s Sebastian, right?” Poppy chimed in, taking a swing of pumpkin juice.
You covered your face with your hands, not wanting to see your friends concerned gaze. You sighed, again. You admitted, “Yes, it is Sebastian. I am at my wit’s end, I have no idea what happened and out of nowhere he is head over heal in love with Emma!” You quickly added, “It’s not like I’m jealous or anything… I just wished he would tell me before making a move on someone. I thought I’m one of his closest friend!”
“Oh, trust me, I’m lost too.” You heard a male voice behind you. Quickly, you whipped your head around to find Ominis looming over. The point of his wand glowing red.
“Ominis!” you exclaimed, “I thought you’d know something about this!” You scootched over, guiding the blonde boy to sit down next to you.
“Honestly, he woke up and all he talks about is Emma this, Emma that. I swear I was this close from pushing him out from the window.” He huffed.
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Natty’s eyebrows twisted in confusion, “You can’t just love someone out of nowhere.”
The group was startled when they heard footsteps closing in in front of them. It was the man of the hour, Sebastian, with Emma clutching his arm. “Hey, this a good day, isn’t it? Shall we take a walk to Hogsmead later?” He grins. “But Sebbie, you promised that we would go together!” Emma pursued her lips and clinged on him harder. You had to muster your whole strength to not cringe from the scene in front of you, while Ominis visibly gagged from the scene. “Sorry mates, we’ll hang out later, yeah? I need to accompany my dear Em-em.” He cheered as they took a spot at the far side of the room.
“I think I ought to be sick.” You banged your head to the table.
“Count me in too. Just tell me when and I will gladly smack them both with my broom.” Imelda Reyes chimed in. Imelda and Samantha Dale popped in and joined the table. Samantha added, “But I think I know what happened.”
The group hurdled together, lowering their voices.
“Poppy and Ominis, do you remember what we brew during the potion class couple days ago?” Samantha questioned, eyeing her two classmates.
You could sense a lightbulb turned on in Ominis’ mind, “Amortentia!” he shouted, immediately being shushed by Natty, “The love potion! That’s it! I remember I saw chocolate candy wrappings on his bedside table last night.”
“Ohoho, seems like our own so-called Slytherin finest is getting the poisoned!” Imelda cracked out a cheeky snicker.
You let out a relived sigh. By this point, your feelings had beaten your rational thoughts. Yes, you were beyond jealous to see another girl putting her hands all over Sebastian. And yes, you had taken a keen interest in Sebastian Sallow. You’d hate to admit it, but you can feel the whole group knew about it already – judging by the way they immediately shot you coy smiles.
“Now you don’t have to worry again, my friend.” Natty giggled, wrapping her arm around your shoulder, hugging you close.
“W-worry about what?” You blinked, a nervous smile plastered on your face.
“All right now, we’ll deal with this together.” uttered Samantha, “We got your back, Y/N.”
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“Okay team, the rundown of Operation Saving Sebastian as follows,” Imelda proudly proclaimed as Ominis groaned, earning a smack from the girl, “Ominis and I will find the candy wrapper and report it to Professor Sharp. Samantha and Poppy will distract Emma away from Sebastian. Natty and Y/N, you will ask Sebastian for a duel and knock him out.”
“Do we really need to knock him out?” you questioned.
“Well, it does say on my notes that a good night sleep is the best way to significantly reduce the potion’s effects…” Samantha shrugged, followed by the team. You felt bad, it’s like the group collectively agreed that Sebastian’s a bit of a knobhead.
You heard Samantha and Poppy were able to convince Emma that they need to tend the mooncalves after the Magical Beast Class. Poppy did earlier rambled on about how one of thee female mooncalves was pregnant and need extra care.
Both you and Natty found Sebastian sitting in front of the fountain at the Transfiguration courtyard, smiling while looking at the sun. You heard him muttering about how the sky was as bright as Emma’s eyes. “Hey there, Sebastian.” You approached the love-stricken boy, “I’d thought it’s been a while since we went on a duel. Care to indulge me and Natty?”
“Well, I was waiting for Emma, but a duel does sound enticing.” He nodded as he followed the two girls. You mentally facepalmed – even a love potion didn’t stop this boy from his obsession with duelling challenges. Natty also gave you a look, this is the boy you have a crush on?
Lucan, as usual, was elated that Sebastian, Natty, and you were up for a duel. After all, the three students were the top of the club. It didn’t take long until a small crowd of students gathered around the duelling courtyard. You stood next to Natty, as Sebastian took his stance at the opposite side.
“Too scared to face me alone, eh?” He taunted, starting the duel with a basic cast aimed to you. You rolled your eyes and casted Protego and Stupefy followed after. Sebastian dodged the spell before being lifted up by Natty’s Levioso. You casted another rounds of basic casts before he dropped down, immediately casting a Depulso to Natty, pushing her back.
“I wished Emma can see me win!” Sebastian shouted.
That was it, the nail on the coffin. You swore you would take this lightly, “Just knock him out a bit.” You heard Samantha’s voice in your head. Yet, this whole day was frustrating enough for you. Using your ancient magic prowess, you lifted a small box and hurled it to Sebastian, hitting it against his head. The crowd went oooh! as Sebastian was rendered unconscious, comically slamming his body down on the floor, limbs sprawled everywhere.
Lucan immediately rushed to the Slytherin boy, “The winners are Natty and Y/N!” he shouted, “… and somebody should bring Seb to the hospital wing!”
“We’ll do it, Lucan, thank you.” You shuffled closer to the body on the floor, hoisting him on your shoulder. Natty joined you in a jiffy, grabbing Sebastian’s other arm around her shoulders.
“You didn’t need to go that far!” Natty whispered, although you saw her fighting a smile.
“That’s what he get for breaking my heart.” You both laughed as you travelled to the hospital wing.
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You laid down Sebastian on an empty cot, explaining to the nurse that it was a duelling mishap. The nurse shook her head and mumbled about getting us a detention. You couldn’t care less, at least now the plan is almost done.
“Sebbie! What have these two brutes done to you?” You and Natty tensed as you heard Emma burst through the doors, running towards Sebastian, “Oh my dear, I am here for you!”
Emma looked at you. If looks could kill, you’d be dead by now. “Why are you here? Move aside, I’m his girlfriend!”
You stuttered, “W-well, I’m his… friend.” You felt very stupid right now.
Just before Emma could utter other word, you heard several footsteps approaching the cot. Professor Sharp stood over the cot, presenting the candy wrapper to Emma. “Care to explain what this is?” He questioned. Ominis, Imelda, Samantha, and Poppy followed after, curious about how the story unfolded, you’d wager.
“I-it’s, uh.. I-“ Emma jumbled her words, trying to salvage the situation she was in.
“Save it, Ms. Ainsley, I shall see you in detention this evening. I shall also deduct some points from Ravenclaw.” Professor Sharp shook his head, “I’m very disappointed in you.” Emma ran out of the hospital, wailing.
Suddenly, you felt a hand squeezed yours. Sebastian groaned loudly, blinking a few times in confusion. “Why is everyone here?” He looked around, “Why am I in the hospital wing? Did something happen? Ouch!” The boy yelped as he felt a tender spot on his forehead. You shrugged and gave him an apologetic look.
“Mr. Sallow, do you recognize this?” Professor Sharp placed the candy wrapper on Sebastian hands. The brunette inspected it and muttered, “Yes, Emma Ainsley gave some candies. Said she got extra from Hogsmead. I remember they tasted weird though…”
Everybody was silent as Sebastian glanced over the candy, and then to Professor Sharp. “Oh,” the wires in his head were now connected, “was it laced with Amortentia?”
“Ten points for Slytherin.” Professor Sharp said sarcastically, “ I can’t believe I should tell you fifth years to not eat candies from strangers,” he sighed, “although, I suppose getting one unconscious is the best way to minimize the effects, yet I don’t see the need to bruise the person.”
“Sorry…” you squeezed Sebastian’s hand back.
“Well, I shall leave you all to it.” said the Professor as he walked away from the room.
“You owe us!” Imelda laughed -- The group collectively nodded.
“I think the true lovebirds need some time alone, I’d say.” Natty voiced her friends’ thoughts. They giggled, leaving Sebastian and you alone. You flashed a smile to the group, making a mental note to treat them butterbeer sometime in the future.
You grabbed a hot towel next to the cot, pressing it against Sebastian’s forehead. He winced, “Care to explain this?”
“Natty and I bested you on a duel and… I accidentally used my ancient magic, hitting you with a box?” you grinned, “I’m sorry, I was taken over by my emotions.”
“Emotions?” Sebastian smirked, “What do you mean?”
Your face was as red as a tomato at this point, “Nothing, forget about it!” you were about to get up before he held onto your robes.
“You injured me, I think you owe me an explanation still.” He smiled widely, probably enjoyed seeing you flustered like this.
You bit your lower lip, murmuring, “Do you actually have special feelings for Emma?”
Sebastian faked a gasp, “Perhaps I sense a jealousy?” You glared at him, earning a laugh from the boy, “No, I do not have feelings for her.”
You looked away, lips forming a huge smile. The two sat there for a while, hands intertwined. Sebastian’s thumb stroking your fingers. “So..” he broke the silence, “I believe a compensation is in order for bruising my head.”
You sighed as you leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss on the red spot. You guess Sebastian wasn’t expecting it, seeing how red his face became.
Maybe the days ahead wouldn’t be so bad after all.
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The Lonely Souls Club 1
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as stalking, loneliness, noncon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found.
Characters: Bucky Barnes
Note: Idk, something a bit different.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
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Bucky
She doesn’t see him but he sees her. He’s not hiding. He’s right there. If she just looked up, he’d be caught. But she doesn’t so he remains.
The pointed led scratches over the thick paper. Beside the open sketchpad is a plate of orange chicken and lo mein. He hasn’t touched either. His appetite has wandered away like his mind.
Carefully he etches the line of her nose. She carries a lot of her character there, as she scrunches it at whatever she’s reading then wiggles it as she reaches to sooth an itch. She never quite stops moving, like a hummingbird, she’s aflutter.
Mrs. Zhao comes by her table to deliver her food. A plate of dumplings steaming amid a bed of bean sprouts and broccoli. A quiet thank you is uttered but her eyes don’t meet the elder woman’s gaze. He notices how she can hardly look anywhere but the pages beneath her fingers. Her shield against the world around her.
She closes the book and slides it to the edge of the narrow table for two. She grabs the chopsticks and slides off the paper sleeve. She pulls, struggling to pry them apart only for the left one to break in two, still stuck to the other. Disappointment shadows her features and she lays the chopsticks down mournfully.
He scribbles, trying to capture her expression. He has several crowded onto the page; her pensive stare, her scowling focus, and the shadow of a smile that dimples her cheeks. She takes the fork and pokes at a dumpling. The sharp tines release a small plume of steam.
She uses the side to cut into the tender shell of the dumpling. She blows over a small morsel before tasting it. Her delight is plain as she chews slowly, savouring the taste. As he watches, he recalls his own frigid food.
He lets the notebook close on its own. He leaves it by his elbow, setting the pencil down to roll against its spine. He pulls his plate close, twirling a knot of noodles around his fork. He takes a bite and peeks over at her. 
He pretends that they sit together, that they’re eating at the same table. In some other world, they would be. This would be a sweet date he surprised her with and she would thank him with a smile. Her real smile, the one she chews on but doesn’t let free.
But this isn’t that world. This is reality and he’s just a stranger. She doesn’t know him. She hasn’t even noticed him sitting right there. He puts the fork down and sits back. His appetite curdles to hot bile. 
The loneliness is what he hates the most about this new world. The people around him move too fast, they’re all lost in themselves, they’re looking with seeing, talking without listening. It’s like they don’t even speak the same language.
He asks Mrs. Zhao for a to-go box. Another pile of leftovers to go with the rest. It’s habit. He hates to see a meal go wasted. He remembers the days of mustard sandwiches, when his mother scraped every grain of flour to make a loaf. Nearly a century. A hundred years lost, a life stolen. From him.
He packs up the noodles and the saucy chicken and snaps the lid shut. He doesn’t leave yet. She’s still eating. Just as deliberately as before. Her careful bites are self-conscious as she dabs a napkin to her lips now and again. She doesn’t finish hers either.
She accepts a box and a fresh set of chopsticks to take with her. She slides the remnants of her meal into the container and closes it, fingers squeezing the edges as she checks to make certain it’s secure. She doesn’t leave either. She lingers as she resumes her reading, just a few pages before she finishes the chapter.
She counts out a tip on the table top and stacks it by her empty plate. He tilts his head. She’s a creature out of time. Sort of like him. He always sees the plastic swiping or the tap of a watch that has the machine chirping. She’s old-fashioned, he likes that.
She uses the table to leverage herself to her feet. Her hips are slightly crooked as she stands and pulls on her light baby blue jacket. It’s long and belted at the waist but she leaves it open. She slips her book into her canvas bag and hangs it over her shoulder. She cradles the container in her arm, leaning on the chair before she takes her first step.
He noted that before. One leg seems longer than the other as she limps across the quiet restaurant. She doesn’t seem bothered by her uneven gait, she simply goes on. She stops by the door and looks at the little figurine; a smiling cat waving an arm.
He puts his head down and listens to her departure. He looks down at his gloves hands, turning over his left as a glint of metal peeks out below the sleeve. Someone like him can be fixed but she’s there, with her small steps, forgotten.
He gets up so quickly, he hits his leg on the table. He hurriedly gathers up his sketchbook and clutches it against his leftovers. He waves to Mrs. Zhao as he marches out but can’t untangle his voice from his chest. He doesn’t want to lose her. He can’t lose another thing.
In the street, he catches sight of her blue coat. She’s not very quick as it is. He can easily keep up but he doesn’t want to meet her pace. She can’t see him. Not yet.
He rounds the corner nearly a block back from her. He pauses to feign interest in a window as she clutches her hip and slows. She stops not much further down as a bearded man sits against the brick with a cup jingling in his hand. She speaks so quietly, even the man on the pavement has to lean in. If it wasn’t for the laboratory torture, Bucky wouldn’t hear her either.
She’s sorry that she spent all her change but he can have the food. At first, the man’s face twists, he doesn’t seem happy with that. Then he accepts as if he can’t bear to deny her. Who could?
“Thanks, lady,” the man sounds like a buzzard.
She nods and wishes him a good day, as good as it can be, she adds. Then she’s off again.  
As Bucky trails her, he’s reminded of someone else. Of someone who once needed him. His protection and care. Just another person who abandoned him. The one person who could’ve understood him. Gone, just like everything else.
He tucks his chin down, eyes narrowing on the woman. Target acquired. He shakes off that thought, that worrying echo of the past. He’s not the machine they made him. He’s still a man. Alone and broken, just like they left him.
Like her.
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Her
Just along the crooked and cracked walk, behind the overgrown bush, there lays the peeling door behind the creaky metal grate. It’s a grim scene but sometimes you pretend it’s a hidden entrance and that you’re unlocking the passage to some fantastical world. You twist the key, wiggling it before it catches, and you pull as hard as you can.
The wrought iron is heavy and one of the bars juts out enough to catch your sleeve. You use your shoulder to hold the outer door open as you unlock the second. You stumble inside, your hip achy and overworked. You close both doors tight, cranking the deadbolts back into place.
The rain will come soon. It’s why you wore your jacket. You expected it to come earlier but you’re glad it didn’t. The change in pressure always wracks your bones.
You hang the baby blue coat as you put your canvas bag on the worn wicker seat of the chair beside the door. The apartment is small but it’s all yours. The single room is a kitchen, bedroom, and everything else but the bathroom. That is barely more than a closet.
There’s a thump from above. Several as the neighbours’ toddler barrels around. You should’ve waited until after nap time to leave.
You leave your boots on the woven mat and fish out the novel from your bag. You limp across to the folding couch, still a bed as you hadn’t bothered to roll away the flimsy mattress. You lower yourself onto it, pulling a pillow behind you as you recline.
Your pelvis is sore. The chair in the restaurant wasn’t very comfortable, though the food was good for the cost. You don’t eat out very often. Not really at all but it’s your birthday and you wanted to do something special.
You open the pages and quickly dive back into another life. A world where magic can weave miracles but tempts a dangerous darkness in its use. No good thing comes without a price.
You slump down as you read. The sunlight slowly fades as the clouds shift and the din deepens. You close the book as you look across the room at the floor lamp. The small distance across the room seems akin to Tolkien’s infamous trek. You don’t want to get up, you just want to sleep in the damp afternoon.
You sigh and put the book beside you. You rub your eyes and forehead and bend one leg, then the other. Your muscles are taut and protest with a dull burn. You can’t read in the dark, you’ll get another headache.
You groan and push yourself to sit on the edge of the mattress. The slender frame echoes you sharply as you stand. Your right foot comes down heavier than the left as you cross the space. You flick on the light and flinch as a storm cloud seems to pass over your very window.
You turn to face the gap between the curtains. How strange. You near the pane as rain speckles on the outside. You peer up at the slat of sky visible between the rooftops. 
You twitch again as you hear something mulch. You whip your head to the side as you look towards the bush. It could be a critter hiding in the bin, no time to find their nest as the storm rises.
You back away, puffing out your fright. Living alone makes you paranoid, even if you prefer it. You live by your own rules, your own schedule, your own whims. The problem is, you’re finding it difficult to figure all those out. You don’t know what you want.
You sit again and rub your lower back. The only thing you can name, you can’t have. The pain is your eternal companion. The looks you get when you venture out are just as persistent. You felt those curious, somewhat dejecting, glances today. You don’t care if they think you walk a bit oddly, you just don’t like to be looked at.
You turn your head to gaze longingly at the kettle. It’s the perfect weather for tea and you forgot to get a cup of green at the restaurant. Yet, it’s a very far way to go, then back again to wait for the water to steam.
You relent. You stand up and go to the small counter set into the wall. You flip on the electric kettle and lean on the chipped laminate. The toddler’s footsteps rumble like thunder overhead and the shadows once more stir behind you.
You turn to face the apartment, hands curled around the counter’s edge. The steady drip of the eaves form a tempo as the rain spatters harder against the window, rattling it in the wooden frame. The doors quiver too as the tempest blows into the alley.
You used to like rainstorms, before they made you hurt so much. Before they seemed so dark. You used to like a lot of things before you were broken. Those days seem very far behind you. Sometimes, you wonder if they ever were.
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static-radio-ao3 · 2 months
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@jegulus-microfic // january 29 // prompt: fancy // words: 411 // cw: implied sexual content
Friday nights are date nights for James and Regulus. Usually, they’ll order food, something from their favorite Vietnamese restaurant or the Italian place down the street. They’ll get cozy on the couch and watch a movie.
Sometimes they go out. Bowling, or dancing, or there was that one time they went to a wine tasting and got wine drunk and and kicked out of the wine tasting for giggling and getting handsy under the table. They never went again.
And sometimes, they’ll cook. Most of the time it’s nothing fancy, but tonight James is looking to impress. And get laid. And the tandoori chicken he has perfected over the years normally does the trick.
Regulus is perched on the kitchen counter, keeping a watchful eye on the stove as James digs around in the pantry for the baklava he’d gotten on his way home from the shop Regulus likes. He’d gone to great lengths to make sure Regulus didn’t find it early.
“Timer’s done,” Regulus calls out from behind him. James huffs out a laugh, endlessly endeared by the fact that Regulus could get up and do it himself if he wanted to. But he’s clearly committed to the idea of being cooked for and refuses to lift a finger.
“Yes, chef,” James calls out, moving to the stove and stirring through the pilau one last time. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and he doesn’t miss the way Regulus’ eyes catch on his forearms.
“What if we opened a restaurant,” Regulus muses. His eyes track James’ every move, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
“I think we’d be at each other’s throats all day, love.” James starts plating; two pieces of perfectly cooked chicken, the pilau and some vegetables on the side.
“Aren’t we already?” Regulus asks, poking a finger into the tender bruise blooming on James’ neck. James jerks away with a hiss, careful not to disturb the plates too much as he sets the table.
He shoots Regulus a droll stare. “Very funny.”
Dinner passes easily, conversation lulling between bites, ankles hooked under the table. James really doesn’t know what it is about the food, but as soon as the plates are cleared, Regulus pushes him up against the kitchen counter.
“I bought dessert,” James breathes as Regulus mouths along the line of his jaw.
“No need,” he murmurs in response. He drops to his knees, right there in the kitchen. “I’ve got mine right here.”
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lou-struck · 8 months
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Girl Dinner?
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Katsuki Bakugo x reader
~Your quiet night gets interrupted by the unexpected arrival of your boyfriend who disapproves of your dinner plans
WC: 1.2k
Warnings: Food, swearing, eating , slightly suggestive insinuations
A/n: Hopefully now I can get that damn Tik Tok Sound out of my head
Girl Dinner; ‘a dinner that consists of many different kinds of small snacks rather than just one entree’
There is nothing like a long, hot shower to steam off the effects of a long day. The water soothes your aching muscles and prunes your skin as you belt out show tunes until your voice becomes hoarse.
By the time you turn off the faucet and step onto the plush bath mat, the whole room is filled with steam despite the steady humming of your bathroom fan above you. A quick tug frees your fluffy towel from its hook on the wall, and you quickly pat the remaining water droplets from your skin and throw on the best set of pajamas you own, which includes one of Katsuki’s faded t-shirts and some light blue linen sleep shorts you got in a twin pack at Costco.
You, clean and comfortable, are hit with an emptiness in your stomach. It wines for you to feed it; the setting sun through the window tells you that dinner time has long since passed without you refueling.
Your hair is still damp as you pad through the house, the springy carpet warm against your feet as you make your way to the kitchen. It’s a short journey, but by the time your hand rests on the off-white handle of your noisy refrigerator, you realize that you do not have the energy to actually cook up a meal for yourself. 
Tonight will be a night for some sweet, sweet Girl Dinner for sure.
You tug open the door to see what you have ready to eat inside. Katsuki may not live with you, but he comes by and cooks for the two at least four nights a week. The first thing that catches your eye in the flickering fridge light is a lone butterscotch pudding cup that sits unevenly atop a half-finished bottle of wine.
Your brows furrow as you take the little snack pack off its pedestal. “When the hell did I buy this?” you say aloud, checking the expiration date just to be safe. To your satisfaction, the little snack is still safe to eat.
Placing the pudding on the countertop behind you, you search for a few more things to add to your plate. You see a black to-go container from last night’s dinner and open it up to find a small breaded chicken cutlet.
Protein?
Nice!
You add that to your plate and return to the fridge, opting to look in your pull-out produce drawers to find something else. It’s the bright red from a half-empty package of cherry tomatoes that catches your eye. You take the package and toss the rest of them on your plate chucking the empty container across the room onto your overflowing recycling pile.
You look between your plate and the fridge, trying to find one more thing to add to your plate to make your meal more filling but come up short. Your shoulders slump in defeat as you take your plate over to your dining table. 
Just as you are about to dig in, your door swings open aggressively. The sound makes you jolt as you stare at the entrance with wide eyes. A familiar mop of spiky blond hair steps through the entrance, and you immediately feel at ease.
“Hey Baku-babe, ever heard of knocking?” you sigh, getting up from your place at the table and meeting the crimson gaze of your Pro Hero boyfriend, who looks more than a bit irritated with you. 
“Lock your door next time, you idiot,” he scolds, kicking his shoes off. “It’s like you’re just asking for trouble.” His nostrils flare in annoyance, but he has a tenderness behind his eyes that tells you he is just worried about you.
“Noted,” you giggle, sending him a suggestive smile. “Lock the door, then shower.”
“Wh~, you little.” he tsks, The tips of his ears flushing pink at your playfulness. “God, you never quit with the teasing,”
“Only with you,” you beam, giving him your full attention now that you have had a better look at him; you notice there are a few scrapes on his face that weren’t there when he left this morning, and his eyes look tired. “How was patrol today?”
“Today was a pain in the ass, some extra with a porcupine quirk got locked on the roof of their office building, and I had to get ’em down.” he sighs, “They were so damn freaked out they ended up pricking me with those damn quills.”
“That sounds fun,” you giggle, imagining some poor guy squirming in Bakugo’s arms while the hero helps him off the roof.
” Not fun, just annoying. I’d rather just spend the day actually beating up some villains.” he replies, looking at you with a softness in his gaze. Which disappears when he glances at the plate behind you. “Huh? What the hell were you eating?” he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at your plate of food with disdain. 
“It’s Girl Dinner?” you giggle, wrapping your arms around him. He has such a cute look of confusion on his features as you reach around him for the cold chicken cutlet from last night’s leftovers. Before you reach it, he lightly stops your hand and slides the plate away from you.
“That’s not a real meal,” he grumbles, popping one of the little tomatoes into his mouth. 
“It’s real enough for me,” you say, leaning forward and reaching for the plate, “Now give it. I’m getting hangry.” 
He slides it further out of your reach with a look of smug satisfaction. “I can’t let you eat this shit. Hang tight; I’ll make you something better than that crap.”
“B-but my Girl Dinner.” you sigh, sinking into your seat, watching helplessly as he begins to walk your plate back towards the kitchen; your stomach grumbles again as if calling out for the food that has been so lovingly taken away from you.
“Pfft,” he laughs, letting his hyena-like cackles fill the room before looking at you with a spark of merriment in his eyes, “was that your stomach? It sounded like a bear.”
“So what if it is?” you pout, leaning back against your dining chair and crossing your arms over your chest. “I told you I was hungry, and you took away my food.”
He chuckles and walks over to you, sliding the butterscotch pudding in front of you and kissing you lightly on the forehead. “Here, just eat the damn pudding until I’m done. I don’t know what Girl Dinner is, but you deserve better than cold leftovers when you’re with me.”
“My pudding!” You cheer as he slides a spoon in front of you, his words uncharacteristically sweet as he washes his hands of today’s trials with a soft smile on his face. He’d be glad to get pricked by Weird Porcupine Guy one million times over if it meant he gets to come and see you at the end of the day and treat you to a proper meal.
“So what do you want for real dinner?” he asks, moving about your kitchen as if it is his own. “We need to use up that chicken before it goes bad.”
You peel off the lid to your pudding and dip your slightly bent metal spoon into the caramel-colored treat before looking up at him gratefully, “Surprise me.”
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Tagging: @enchantedforest-network
458 notes · View notes
darlingmbappe · 11 months
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When We’re Ready [2] | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader
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[Part One] [Part Two]
Summary: After months of not getting pregnant, your mental health takes a big hit.
Warnings: SMUT! Minors, leave. Mentions of depression, slight angst, penetrative sex, oral (male receiving), brief self pleasure, cussing, google translated French, badly spell checked. Let me know if I missed anything! — English is not my first language —
Masterlist
The days were colder and the last snow of winter was sure to come any day now. Every morning, Kylian would leave bundled up and ready to train, and you’d stay home – left to your own devices with the same bitter thoughts you've collected over the past seven months. 
Getting laid off in early November seemed like a blessing in disguise, but sitting here in the chill of late February with nothing to do but wonder what the hell was wrong with your body made you realize it was more of a curse than a godsend. Maybe the universe was preparing your schedule for motherhood, you thought – needing time to ready the home for a newborn – time that you couldn't find with a job. But, still you remain jobless and without a child. Alone for most of the day, and sometimes days when Kylian went away.
Seven months seems like it’s too soon to feel this type of dreadful disappointment, especially since you’ve read it takes couples upwards of a year to get pregnant… but when you’ve prayed night after night, thoughts consumed with nothing but babies, listened to your husband raving about when the day finally comes, getting your hopes up just be let down once more… for seven months… it takes its toll. 
You were surprised when you heard a key jam into the front door, a mug full of lukewarm tea clung onto your chest as you watched trash TV in the living room, pajamas buried under the comforter you dragged directly from the downstairs guest room. You watched as Ky walked toward you with furrowed brows. 
“Hey.” His voice was gentle.
 “Hi.” You smile forcefully. “You’re home early.”
He hums and sits next to you on the couch. “Not really… It’s past six.”
When he said this to you, even with his tender tone, he hated how your face dropped with confusion, wondering how you spent your day cooped up in here. Of course he’d noticed your deteriorating emotional strength. He wasn’t so sure how to deal with all of this, also strained from having to pretend to be strong for the both of you. 
He kissed your cheek upon seeing your tears well up, pulling you into his body while you tried to hide your emotion. You laughed a little. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”
He rubbed your back in an attempt to sooth you. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay, mon coeur.”
You pulled yourself together surprisingly quickly, the veil of embarrassment not unnoticed by your perceptive husband, but doing his best to not bring it up and make you more aware of his knowledge. 
He ordered take out while you took a steaming shower, satisfied at the dinner table with a mouth full of chicken fried rice. Conversations flowed innocently, but your heart faltered a bit when you got that notification on your phone from your period tracking app – you were ovulating!
Great.
The distinct chime made your food so dry in your mouth, having difficulty swallowing it. You put your phone face down on the table, pretending you didn't both see and hear it. 
He stares at you for a bit. You’re looking down at your plate, saying nothing, not meeting his gaze – though you felt it. He puts his hand on yours. “Bebe…”
“Stop.” You grumble, avoiding his eye contact. “I’m not in the mood.”
He sighs, clanging his fork a little louder than he intended to in the twinge of frustration. He understood, but he just wished you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself. 
In December, you both had visited a fertility clinic to make sure all the gears were working correctly – and they were. It was amazing news that gave you both a fresh drive after months of let downs, but two months and four negative tests harshly dampened that high. You had been pretty hard on yourself, even if Doctor Laclairc said you had a pristine uterus and it just takes longer for some people. 
The noise clattering on his plate caused you to look up, annoyed. Kylian rubbed his temples with his head in his hands, biting the inside of his cheek. 
“What?” You barked. He pursed his lips and shook his head. He was holding back, you could tell. “Just say it, Kylian.”
“What do you want me to say?” He hissed from across that table.
“Whatever you’re not saying right now!”
He takes in a deep breath of air, trying his best to keep his head level. You pointedly stare at him, waiting for something to leave his mouth. He wiped his face with a napkin, tossing it back on the table. “You’re not the only one hurting.” He placed it softly, but you can hear the deep exasperation, emotionally exhausted. It shook you a little, having seen Kylian as a steady rock through all of this. His optimism had carried you through, letting yourself cry in his arms to find comfort. Sure, you knew he felt sad, but he hasn't let you see his devastation in full swing. “Do you think I’m in the mood? I’m not. It’s exhausting.” His eyes were slightly glossy as he expressed himself, voice loud but so unsure. You stare at him, silent. “But, we have to keep trying. I want this. You want this – I know how bad you want this. So, please. Give us a chance.”
His voice was so gentle at the end, emotions soaking every word that left his chest. You dipped your head down, knowing how you'd let your thinned patience steer your words and actions. Kylian never deserved the misguided anger that you let seep through. He’d been nothing but an anchor through these tolling seasons, putting your stability in front of his own.
He gets up out of his chair and slowly walks to yours, kneeling at your side where you sat and stared up at your teary eyes. 
With your hand now taken in his, he places a gentle thumb on your cheek, guiding you to look at him. “It’ll all be worth it.” He confirms, kissing the back of your hand. 
You sniffled, nodding as you turned your body toward him. Your arms wrapped so tightly around his neck and his around your middle. You both breathed in at first contact, some tears falling into the fabric of each other's shirts. The way he grasped you was allconsuming. It was a true embrace that you returned. He just felt like home.
You kiss his cheek, smooching the area until you place one on his lips. Now, holding his face and gazing into him, the strong wall he had built was knocked down. You saw the pain and urgency swirl in his irises. He pecks your lips, letting his hands roam slowly on your back.
You sigh as your lips quivered. All he did was run a thumb over your bottom lip, holding back his own exploding emotions. 
He stood and your eyes followed him now hovering over you, both his hands cradling your face – then the pair of you found yourselves under the covers in your shared bed once more. 
It’s funny. When you first started dating, the infatuation was supernatural. You wondered at the time how you could possibly ever be upset while he had his cock buried inside of you, stare bearing down into your soul with eyes that were made of magma, fingers so curious and ready to please as they got to know the terrain of your body. 
You hadn’t felt the same way about sex in months. It felt like a chore. An obligation demanded by a stupid, inconsequential chime from the app that cost you €2.99 a month. Kylian would have to work himself up half the time and you were just a hole until he filled you up. Aftercare rituals now only consisted of laying still on your back with your feet in the air. An orgasm felt selfish for reasons you couldn’t explain. It’s like you didn’t dare give yourself that primal pleasure because you had convinced your body didn’t deserve it, having failed you over and over again. 
This time, Kylian wanted to wash away the notion that your recent string of bad luck wasn’t caused by one individual or the other. Through his achingly slow actions, he showed you that you weren't just two separate people trying to accomplish a goal; not like when he jerks himself in the bathroom and puts his dick inside of you right before he came. You were together on this. A unified front. Bound to each other for life. 
He praised your weary body, working you up like he used to. Moving at a snail pace, taking his time, dragging his fingers everywhere on your skin. The ‘I love you’’s and the expressions of devotion he mumbled against you flooded your senses. The drag of his member that squeezed against your walls, the inexpressible and constant eye contact, the lost kisses and marks left behind… It was purely and literally making love. He made love to you. You made love to him.
A fortnight passed once more and it was time for your bi-weekly personal hell. Kylian grabbed one of the many pregnancy test boxes from the cabinet in your shared bathroom, opening it for you and setting it next to the toilet – the usual routine. 
He kissed your forehead. “I have a good feeling about this one.” Kylian mentioned with a grin on his face.
“I hate when you say stuff like that.” You mumble walking toward the small toilet room to leave Kylian alone by the his-and-hers sinks. 
He stops you with a hand on your arm. The look on his face was exasperated. “Come on.” He pleads. “Amour, you have to have a little bit of hope. This isn’t how we thought it was going to be like, and I know that. I feel that. But, can you please just… fake it? For me?”
You sigh with a hand on your forehead, then churning out a grin for your husband. “I have a good feeling about this one!” It was a little too enthusiastic. 
He chuckled slightly at how forced your words sounded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “That was a really good try.” Kiss. “And I appreciate the effort.”
You shake your head with a breathy laugh, but the knot in your stomach stays put, even with the tiny little grin that found its way onto your face without permission.
You’d found the easiest and cleanest way to pee on that stick after doing it so many times. It was generally quick and you didn’t find it gross at all anymore. You set the capped test on the back of the toilet seat and grab some toilet paper. When you stood up, you looked into the bowl before flushing, and the knot in your stomach intensified. 
Kylian leaned against the marble with his arms crossed, looking up at you when you opened the door. “I’ll set the timer.”
You pressed your foot on the trash can pedal and threw the plastic stick inside. “Don’t bother.” You mutter, walking back into the bedroom and throwing yourself on the mattress, body turned opposite of Kylian.
He runs a hand over his scalp, feeling the anger simmering at the surface, letting his feet guide him out of the tiled room. He sees you laying on your side, staring at the wall.
“I don’t know what else to say to you!” He cries out, staring at your back as you curl further into the pillow. “We’re both doing our part. Everyone said it would take time. We knew this would take time! Not everything is going to go our way, but we cannot stop trying. I really need you to start believing we can do this. We can!”
“I can’t, Kylian!” You sob, letting yourself breakdown. This anguish was brutal and completely unforgiving. “I can’t do it.” Your words barely make a sound; calling it a squeak would even be generous. 
His heart breaks and it softens him up a little. He didn’t mean to shout, but everything has just been building and building up inside of him. “Hey…” He coos, crawling on the bed over to your side, holding you apprehensively while you cry into your pillow. He pressed you close to his body when he felt the shaking of your weeps, spooning your figure that jolted in tandem with your cries. “Shh, shh… I know it hurts, amour. I know.”
“Something’s wrong with my body, Kylian. I don’t care what Doctor Laclairc said. She got it wrong. I know she did. I’m so sorry.” 
“No, no, bebe. Nothing is wrong with you.” He squeezes you tighter. “Nothing is wrong with your body. Even if we find out that this isn’t part of our journey, I will never stop loving you. Okay?” His assurance only made you turn into him, burying your face in his shirt, leaving a wet stain in your wake. 
You took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself, only succeeding in halting your wails of sadness, but the tears still fell freely. “I just got my period.” You confess, feeling a wave of shame and guilt once more about your failure to conceive. The bloody toilet paper was a haunting image in your mind. Kylian shuts his eyes and just squeezes you, trying his hardest to make you see that it was okay. “I can’t take this anymore, Kylian, I can’t. I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head, absolutely wrecked by the sight of your broken down persona. He’d catch you staring off into space, a depressing dullness surrounding what used to be an incredibly compelling aura. You were a shell of yourself for months now; going through the motions of daily life with a dark vail behind your eyes, losing interest in the things that used to make you happy. 
He silently cried, but you felt the drops on top of your head. “It’s okay.” He murmurs in a shaky voice. “We can start trying again in the future. Maybe it wasn’t time for us yet.”
You sob again. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re okay. We’re okay, amour.”
You continue to cry, Kylian finally allowing his tough-guy front drop in this moment of vulnerability. For better, for worse, in sickness, in health, ‘till death parts you from one anothers soothing embrace, you are together through it all.
The months leading up to that next summer were mundane. You’d found another job after coming to the realization that you weren't cut out to be the cute stay-at-home wife, but instead craved some sort of responsibility of your own. Kylian felt like you shouldn’t even have one because he could easily take care of you. Being married, his money was your money, but it was never about the money for you. You needed to dig yourself out of your depression hole sooner rather than later, and a consistent schedule was sure to be a nice addition to the rebuild of your mental health. Thank god for time off, though. Your bosses were huge Mbappé fans (like huge), and you weren’t past milking that for whenever you needed a couple days. You never took advantage of their generosity, but it was nice to know you could. 
Summer in Paris this year had been nice, but Greece had won your heart. Kylian’s cousin’s destination wedding had been planned on a secluded portion of Corfu. The resort was huge and the pair of you were able to sneak away from your usual work duties for two days to attend. The private jet made for an easy travel plan and really any excuse to use it was sufficient enough. 
The last time you’d seen most of Kylian’s family was a year ago – that night you couldn’t keep it in your pants. You had spiraled when you got to thinking about seeing them again a couple weeks ago, pleading with the gods that none of them asked about you and Ky having children. It’s been a little over five months since you decided to put the thought of babies on the back burner. Closing in on half a year and it is still painful. Mentally, you both were prepared to welcome a bundle of joy. The pregnancy books Kylian had picked up were buried deep in drawers you never thought about opening. You’d finally gotten your sex drive back in these months, having to re-learn to separate the pleasurable act with the tedious work of baby making. 
Sometimes you guys used condoms, sometimes you didn’t. Still, your period came and went like clockwork. You still hadn’t erased that little habit of resenting your shedding uterus every month, but you definitely felt like you were making progress. 
“This is nice.” You compliment the outdoor beachfront venue, walking hand in hand with your husband into the reception. 
He looks around. “Yeah, makes me rethink our wedding.”
You scoff. “Shut up! Our wedding was awesome.”
He laughs. “Relax! Jokes, jokes…” He goofily defends, walking you both over to the open bar and ordering you a drink. “Martini?” He double checks. 
“Please.”
He nods, ordering himself a whiskey coke, leaving the young bartender a tip that made his eyes almost pop out of his head.
For most of the night, you had to keep biting your tongue at the waves of people that came up to Kylian and asked for pictures. Sure, they were nice about it, but he was just trying to enjoy himself – and Kylian didn’t like telling people no. Especially not his cousin's friends. Him being whisked away left you clinging onto Ethans side most of the night, finding that Wilfried and Fayza were preoccupied with spending time with the family they didn’t get to see very often.
But, oh, the wandering eyes of a sixteen year old boy threatened to leave you on your own when he spotted a young girl about his age scrolling on her phone with the most bored look on her face. 
“Ethan, no!” You whined as he brushed his suit of any pieces of lint, ready to get up and greet her. “Don’t leave me, please.”
He laughs. “Dude, you can’t keep a lion in its cage.”
You made a stank face at his bad metaphor. “That doesn't even make sense.”
“Ya-huh.” He enunciated back, typical sibling tone. “Me – Ethan – is the lion. Mystery hot girl,” he points, “a gazelle. You – sister in law– cage.”
You roll your eyes, noting to have a conversation with Kylian about his little brother's ego. “This is a family wedding, Ethan.”
“So?”
“So, what if she’s like a distant cousin.”
He makes a grossed out face. “Why would you say that? She is not my cousin.”
“You don’t know that, little man.”
“Don’t call me little man.”
“Aw, is little man embarrassed?” You coo, teasing grin plastered on your face.
“No, shut up!”
“But, you’re an adorable wittle man.” You baby-talk, reaching over and pinching his cheek. He swats your hand away as you laugh at him.
“Stop!” He stands up and smooths out wrinkles. “I’m taller than your husband.” He reminds you. “Little man, my ass.” He scoffs, giving you the middle finger teasingly and secretively in case his family saw the obscene gesture. You discreetly give one back as he walks toward the girl, a flirty pep in his step while approaching her. 
You sigh to yourself, looking around and noticing that you didn’t actually know where Ky was. Last time you checked, the groomsmen had bombarded him with selfies by the DJ booth while he tried to have a conversion with his great auntie. You grab your martini and get up from the fountain ledge you sat on, a little tipsier than you thought you were. You stopped and looked around for him.
“Cute, right?”
You look to your left to wherever that feminine voice came from. A blonde middle aged woman in a red dress stands next to you holding a glass of champagne. 
“Sorry?” You ask, unsure if she was talking to you or not.
The lady points to a table a few yards away – and there he was. Kylian sat talking to some people, a toddler resting on his lap. He had a huge smile on his face, poking at the little girl's cheek to get her to giggle. You grinned at the sight, loving seeing him so happy.
You turn back to the woman to respond when you look down at her dress. She was pregnant. Very pregnant. She tips back her champagne. “Don’t worry. It’s ginger ale.” You nod at her, chuckling a bit. “Kylian’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”
You turn your attention back to him just as the little girl stuck her whole fist in his whiskey, taking a piece of ice and trying to put it in her mouth. You laugh out loud when he frantically tries to pry her little hand open. Successful, he meets your eye and his smile was radiant and full of life, shaking his head. 
“He’s my husband, actually.”
She looks down at the empty martini glass in your hand. “No kids yet.” Her British accent was thick and assertive. 
You shake your head at the stranger and set the empty glass down on the empty table next to you. You felt a little awkward having this conversation with someone you don’t even know the name of. She must be some extended family or the wife of a distant cousin. She seems kind, but you weren’t big on sharing your personal life with anyone you didn't trust, much less know. Especially since you’ve been with Kylian, what you say affects him. He’s in the under bright spotlight and scrutiny of the public, and if you’ve learned anything while being with a global star, it is that some people will stop at nothing to get a story.
The woman tips back the rest of her ginger ale and sets her glass down next to yours. “Are you guys trying?”
She has an audacious look now that she stands in front of you and it makes you feel unsettled. “I’m sorry?”
The lady laughs a little. “I just wondered if you and Kylian planned on starting a family any time soon.”
You couldn’t stop the bewildered look that now took over your features. “Uh…” was all you could really say. You don’t know this woman, she doesn’t know you. It’s a loaded question and frankly quite bold of her to come up to you and ask. “What?”
“Kids.” She repeated, apparently not caring about the uncomfortable shift in mood. 
You opened your mouth, but had no idea what to say. You stuttered and tried to calm down with a forced chuckle. “What did you say your name was?”
She discreetly huffed.“Scheana Kingsley.” 
Definitely familiar, but you just couldn’t place your finger on it. “Right.” 
She waits. “So… any comment?”
“Hello.” Thank god. Fayza. She put a warm hand on your shoulder, perceptive to how tense you looked with this woman. “Scheana.” Fayza sighed. “Laurence is over by the cheese platters.” You loved how politely she just dismissed her.
The Scheana lady forced a smile at her. “Oh. Thank you.” She waved a hand goodbye with a disappointed breath. “Good talking to you.”
Your mother in law turned to you with a much clearer show of annoyance. You laugh lightly in disbelief. “Scheana Kingsley… should I know her?”
“You probably know about her. She writes for some news-gossip-pop-culture magazine.” She informs you. “Well, calling it news is charitable.”
“Unbelievable.” You scoff, crossing your arms at the revelation. “Who let her in here?”
“She’s married to Laurence over there. We try to keep our distance from them.”
From across the patio, Kylian turns his stare at you and his mother talking. You looked annoyed and frustrated, which made him so nervous. He excused himself from the small talk and speed walked over, thinking he might have to diffuse the situation – or maybe even get a scolding from his mother and his wife. God, he really hopes you two weren’t talking about him.
“My beautiful ladies.” He greets, kissing his mothers cheek then yours. “Everything okay?”
You smile at him. “You been having fun?”
“Yeah. Lot’s of fun.” He looks between the two of you. “You two are good, though?”
“Oh, no, we're fine.” You laugh it off.
“I saved your wife here from a conversation with Scheana Kingsley.” Fayza mentioned.
He shakes his head, scoffing a bit. “That woman… She has ambition, that’s for sure.” Now you remember why she sounded so familiar. Kylian had complained about his thrice removed family member’s new girlfriend a few years back and how she was a pushy reporter for The Paris Culture Magazine. “I’m surprised Laurence has kept her around for this long. What’d she say to you?”
They both turned their attention to you, waiting for you to say something. You shrug, but Kylian noticed the trepidation in your stare. “Nothing, really. Just some weird questions… I don't know.”
Thankfully, Fayza didn’t push it further, but you knew Kylian’s assuring hand on your waist meant that he knew something was up. You hadn’t asked Kylian if he’d shared with his parents that you were trying to get pregnant, but you doubted it. You would have noticed her demeanor change around you, given you saw her quite frequently. Besides, he would have checked with you before sharing that information with anybody.
There seemed to be a pattern occurring with you and Kylian leaving family events early, but the two of you were not only exhausted, but just not having a good time. The drunker the bridal party got, the more confident they felt hounding Kylian for selfies and videos. As for your mood, it was in a steady downward spiral ever since your interaction with Scheana. Just locking eyes, you both understood that it was time to surrender back into your suite. 
He held your hand out of the elevator, swinging your arm back and forth. The pair of you had an overly tipsy pep in your step from the drinks you’d forgotten to count through the night.
“You look gorgeous tonight.” He kissed your cheek, a smirk overtaking his face.
You giggle shyly as he unlocks the door to your room, letting you walk in first. You went directly to the bathroom, your bladder begging for some relief. Kylian wandered in to brush his teeth as you turned the shower on, taking your jewelry off as you let the water warm up. 
Kylian looked at your reflection in the mirror, shirt buttons completely undone. You were dazed. Quiet. He hated that look. He’d seen it take over you for months and finally, you were getting better. 
He spit the toothpaste in the sink. “What’s wrong, bébé?”
“Huh? Oh. Nothing. I’m fine.” You turn your back to him. “Will you unzip me?”
He turns, slowly pulling the tiny zipper all the way down. He kissed the skin where your neck met your shoulder. “Did Scheana say something to make you upset?”
You shrug, taking the dress off and neatly hanging it on the towel rack. “She couldn’t have known. I don’t think she meant any harm.” You hop in the shower, shutting the foggy glass door and let the hot water run over you.
Kylians blurry figure leaned against the other side to continue talking to you. “What’d she say?”
“Just asking questions.”
“About?”
A big sigh leaves you. “Us, I guess.” Kylian listens, knowing you have more to say but are just keeping it bottled up. There was always a clear guide of communication between you two, especially because you were really good at letting things eat you up from the inside. You fiddle with your wet hair and Kylians frame behind the foggy glass stayed put. “She just… It was just weird. She wanted to know if we had plans to have kids anytime soon.” You chuckled, hiding your dejection with the sound. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“That’s not okay.” He indicates. “I’m sorry she badgered you tonight, cherie. She crossed a line.” He sounded a little angry.
“Don’t worry about it, baby. It’s fine.” He opens the shower door, causing you to jolt a little. He steps in, raking his eyes over your naked wet body quickly, and you his. “Yeah, sure, you can join me.” You joke as he reaches for the soap bar.
“It’s not fine.” He discards your dismissiveness, rubbing your shoulders with the foam. “I’m gonna talk to Laurence about that.”
You melt into his touch. “No, really, you don’t have to–”
“I’m going to.” He whispers, kissing your cheek. “No one makes my wife upset and gets away with it.” His hands roamed down your arms. “My hot wife.” His breath tickled your ear. “My sexy wife.” He presses his body to yours, nudging your cheek with his nose until you turn your face, kissing you feverishly. 
You hum involuntarily into his mouth when his tongue decides to poke its way in, hand now feeling you up, tits squished between his fingers.
“Someone’s eager.” You laugh as he forces you to turn around, the hot water beating your back. 
He bites the side of your neck dramatically and you laugh harder, pushing him away playfully – but he pulls you back into his chest, smiling dotingly with you safe between his arms.
“You wanna?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
You made a pensive face, pretending to really think about it. “I could be convinced.”
“Yeah?” 
“Maybe.” You smirk as he bites his grinning lips, hands lowering and squeezing your ass harshly. 
“Do you know how hot you looked in your dress tonight?” He continued feeling you up, dick pressed against your thigh, slowly getting harder by the second. “I swear, I was so close to sneaking off to some empty part of the beach and bending you over. Driving me crazy.”
Your hands ran down the rigid muscles on his chest, feeling electric under his burning stare, hot at the thought of him fucking you out of impulse. “Do I make you feel all hot and bothered?” You ask, his stare is so dark. So needy. You lean in only a little, teasing a kiss on his lips, but never truly meeting their plush touch. “Do you start thinking about what you would do to me? Thinking about touching me? Fucking me?” He growls at your words, tilting his face forward to try and steal a kiss. “Show me.”
He grips the flesh of your ass and pulls you even closer to him, frantically showing you his desire for you with a hungry kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck and he moves his hands upward and begins pawing at your exposed breasts. The steaming water dripping down your entwined bodies made everything slick, slippery, conditions that caused you both to grip to each other's bodies for security.
You reach a hand down and grab his growing cock, pumping it loosely, trying to get him fully erect. A moan vibrates out of his throat as your movements focus on his sensitive tip, thumbing the slit, feeling him grow and stiffen in the palm of your hand.
You kiss down his neck, then move to whisper to him, sultry as ever. “Am I doing something like this when you fantasize?”
He nods under your spell, eyes drooping in pure lust. “Uh-huh. Just like that.”
Gaining control over him, you waddle your bodies back until his back hits the wall. He shivers at the cold tile in the steamy shower, but forgets all memories of the chill when you kiss down his neck, lowering your body on your knees, hands trailing down so slowly, mouth inches from his swinging member. His hips jut forward and it hits your cheek. You follow it with your mouth, letting it graze your lips in passing. The blinking stare and batting lashes almost drew blood on his lower lip from how hard he bit it. 
“Open up, ange.” Angel, he called you, but you were so sinful. On his knees in front of him. Droplets reflecting off your skin from the harsh light. His eyes felt undeserving of seeing you so ready to praise him. It made him feel so mortal, so lucky. He thanked the higher power that brought you to him, feeling an intense desire to take care of you – tend to your every wish.
You took hold of him with a sure fist, darting your tongue out and licking one long strip from his base to his mushroom head, letting your lips wrap around him and sucking to hear his moan. His face scrunched. His skull lulled into the wall.
You took him in your mouth a little over halfway, moving your mouth in tandem with your hand, enjoying the way his cock nudged against the back of your throat continuously to your rhythm.
“Oui, dieu.” God, yes. He fisted the back of your sopping wet hair, pulling you off of him and forcing you to look up at him. “Touch yourself for me, baby.”
You shut your mouth and swallowed harshly. He ran his thumb against your lips, hooking it on your bottom row of teeth, opening you up once more. Your tongue licked the pad of his finger, dipping your hand between your legs and quickly finding your clit. Your brows furrowed and your eyes widened. As the moan slipped from your throat, he placed your face directly back to his throbbing cock. Now, he had control of your movements, using your hair as a handle for his intentions, guiding your mouth up and down his shaft in quick movements. You gagged when he began thrusting concurrently to the tempo he stuffed you into his pelvis, heavy heaves and grunts erupting from his chest.
You gargled and gagged on your own spit and moans of pleasure from your own fingers, tasting the salty precum that dripped from your chin as you harshly sucked off your loving husband. You kept your vision from squinting together as you met his eyes through teary eyelashes. He fucked your face like you hadn’t had sex in years, rough with his actions and getting off on the way you were taking it. 
His dick disappeared inside your mouth swiftly and urgently until he couldn't resist. He stopped thrusting, looking deep into your eyes – mouth still stuffed with him. He pushed his hand, demanding you take every inch of him down your open throat. You choked on him, the muffle of your gagging making him see stars.
You hit his thigh after a few seconds and he pulled his hand away. You gasped for air, noticing for the first time how sore your knees were against the hard tile. He let out a long hiss at the loss of your mouth, watching through heavy blinks as you sat against the opposite wall in the small area – knees red and patterned with the lines from the floor. Your chest moved with your big breaths, smiling and commending yourself for the avidity in Kylian’s eyes. 
With your knees pulled to your chest, you slowly opened your legs, fingers playing with yourself as you made a show of how good you were making yourself feel. His pupils dilated at the way you ran your free hand across your thigh then up your chest, pitching a pulling your nipple with your lip tucked between your teeth. 
He whined – a desperate noise that came up naturally. He reached down to touch himself to the sight of you, pumping a slow fist against himself. His long strokes teased his tip until he shuddered, eye contact non-negotiable. You couldn’t look away if you tried. Your swirling moans echoed in the small chamber – his eyes glued to the way your own fingers stretched and spread your pussy. Your own were attentive to the tug at the nape of his base. Though, you both looked up at the same time, hypnotized by your partners mutual ogling. He steps forward, hand still on himself. You reach for his hand and he helps you up, immediately pulling you by the small of your back into his lips, tongue lapping yours, absolutely famished. 
He had clocked the little ledge in the corner from the second he walked into the intimate shower. He put his hand out behind you so the edge wouldn't hurt you, then used his strength to hoist your slippery skin up onto it. He placed himself between your legs, your back pressed to the wall, the shelf only fitting half of your rear — but it was the perfect height for him to fuck you like he wanted to. 
He lined himself up quickly and desperately spreading your pussy wide open for him, pushing in and dragging out. One long moan came straight from your throat, clinging onto his neck to keep yourself in that same position. 
“Fuck.” He grumbled. “You feel so good.” His pace was deadly, tip poking and poking that spot. It made your eyes cross, resting your damp head on the wall. “Been wanting to do this all night. Merde. Les choses que tu me fais, tu me rends fou.” Shit. The things you do to me. You make me fucking crazy.
You moaned in response, too focused on the way his neatly trimmed pelvis rubbed against your clit every time he pushed inside of you. It felt euphoric. Magical. Goddamn perfect. The only words you could muster out made him giggle through his heaves. “Please don’t slip.”
Your arm knocked over a few shampoo bottles when he buried himself deeply inside of you and stopped – making you borderline scream from how deep he actually was, and this position made everything feel… more.
He groaned so loudly, his mouth in the shape of an ‘O’, and you understood why when you felt him cumming inside of you, hot spurts surely dripping out. You didn't notice him biting your forearm until he let go of it, keeping his mouth against you before turning to look into your eyes. A slightly apologetic look turned cocky when one hand reached for your sensitive nub, rubbing just the way you like it, still inside of you.
“Oh, shit…” You breathed, eyes connected to the way he pleased you. “I’m fucking close.”
“Vulgar tonight, are we?” He teased your language, a tired smirk on his face.
“You just…” you begin, but he shuts you up with a small unprecedented thrust. “Fuck!”
He hisses, not really being able to take the overstimulation, but continuing to push into you sporadically – purly for your pleasure. Thankfully, it didn’t take you long to reach your climax. 
He didn’t need the warning upon feeling your legs give out slightly, pressing against you to keep you on the shelf. They started shaking as your eyes closed, a fierce moan exploding from your wet parted lips. He moved his hips with a contorted face until he felt you calm down, now whining and whispering to the touch of his fingers as they slowed down, pressing down harder on you before disappearing altogether. 
You pat his back lazily and he pulled out of you carefully, setting your wobbly legs on the slippery floor. You’d completely forgotten the shower was on as you watched it drain down. Kylian held your waist steadily, both breathing heavy. He lands two gentle taps on your bum. “Let's not waste anymore water, yeah?” 
The vacation, though brief, was absolutely refreshing. It gave time that you and Kylian needed to feel closer. The offseason couldn’t come soon enough. You didn’t have to revolve around his schedule during those weeks because he was just home already. To you, there was nothing better than coming downstairs at 2pm on a Tuesday and seeing Ky there, drinking orange juice straight from the bottle, or being able to binge a series with him much quicker because he had time for more than just two episodes. By all means, being married to him shouldn’t be easy, and it’s not necessarily that simple… but it should be way harder. Maybe you were just more patient, but you’re almost certain it has everything to do with him. He made time. He made an effort. He tries his damn hardest. How could you possibly hold that against him?
You didn’t notice the way you were staring at him, chin in the palm of your hand, daydreaming about your entire history with Kylian Mbappé – a man with no time to spare, but he damn well made sure you fit in his schedule. 
“Why are you staring at me like that?” He grins, setting down his coffee across the table from you in your shared Parisian home. 
You blink, smiling in embarrassment. “No reason.”
You push some eggs around on your plate. He leans forward. “What were you thinking about?”
You shrug at him, still smiling. “Greece.”
His laugh gave away his fondest memory of that trip. “We gotta do that trip again soon, amour.”
“Yeah, like they’d give you that kind of time off twice within two months.”
His head shakes, snickering at that complete impossibility. “I think they’d send me a fee for even asking.” He looks at the time on his phone. “I should probably get going, though.” He gets up and collects his things.
“Drink lots of water today, okay? It’s supposed to get really hot around noon.”
“Yes, dear.” He drones jokingly, smirking as he makes his way over to you, pecking you quickly. “Love you.”
You squeeze his hand quickly. “Love you, too.”
Now, your separate days begin – his a little earlier than yours, but you still just wanted to envelope yourself back inside the covers. You were thinking about calling out sick, which wouldn't be a complete lie. The scrambled eggs were not sitting right this morning, or maybe it was the Thai restaurant you ate at last night. Either way, you couldn’t remember where you put the Pepto-bismol. The empty space in the medicine cabinet left you wondering if Kylian had drunk up the last bit and hadn’t bought a new one yet.
You maintain your breathing steady to keep yourself from throwing up as you shuffle through the drawers. Praying it was in the last one, you pull it open desperately, but only facing three boxes of pregnancy tests. The rush of everything fell still, the air much quieter as you got flashbacks from last year.
You didn’t let yourself think about it much, but you never really got over not getting pregnant. Mentally and emotionally, you were still there. The pain and devastation got easier to mask, but they stayed with you.
It was time you got over it, or at least lost the fear of not being able to have children... the fear of not being able to provide Kylian with a child. If you kept on being bitter about this whole ordeal, you don't know if you'd ever be in the right headspace to try for a baby ever again.
You stare at the tests and shake your head. “Fuck it.” 
You snatch one from the drawer and beeline to the bathroom, peeing on the stick and thinking about how dumb it was that you had let this trivial little test ruin your for months. This time, you wouldn’t feel the dread collect inside your stomach. It would be okay. It wouldn’t hold power over you anymore.
Immediately walking out, you press down on the pedal of the trashcan and you watch it fall into the bin, feeling proud of yourself for not caring about that little plastic stick or what it had to say about your body. You weren't pregnant right now… and that's okay. 
You sigh, a proud feeling swirling with sadness was still progress. 
“Oh, no.” You mumble, feeling your stomach churn and running back toward the toilet, puking horrifically. It was a bad one. Maybe calling out sick was for the best. Who knows, it could be a stomach bug and contagious… but, unfortunately, you felt a lot better afterwards. 
It was probably best if you went to work. There’s a promotion you’ve been chasing and you had just taken those days off for the wedding last month. Trudingly, you got ready to leave the house, rushing a bit since you hadn't realized how late in the morning it was. 
Thank god you went. It was a hectic day; some project deadline wasn’t met and, for some reason, people turned to you for the solution. You were still relatively new at the company, but today, you really felt like you were doing something right. You left the office with a pat on the back from your big boss. That felt amazing. Kickin’ ass and taking names.
You were late coming home, texting Ky to let him know that you wouldn't be there when he got back. He texted back a simple:
Ky: :(
To which you responded with:
You: Bad day?
Ky: Just miss you. You were on my mind a lot today
You frown while walking to your car, wanting to get home quickly and hug him tightly.
You: Baby :( I’m on my way home now. 
You: I have a big kiss just for you <3
The second you walked through the door about half an hour later, Kylian embraced you tightly, taking you by surprise but you easily fell into his arms. You could feel his stress radiating from his body as he followed at your foot around the house. He was quiet in asking if you wanted to take a shower, but his eyes were loud in telling you he just needed to be close to you tonight. 
It was an innocent shower, his silent begging for a back rub and skin-to-skin contact was obvious as he kept his hand warmly on you at all times.
“You okay, hun?” You ask gently, tracing the frown line between his eyebrows after turning the water off.
He nods, eyes sleepy even though it was only eight o'clock at night. “Have you eaten?” He changes the topic, opening the shower door and wrapping you in a towel.
You shrug. “I haven't really been hungry today.” Ever since you threw up this morning, the thought of eating made you grimace. “Did you feel weird after last night's Thai?”
“I felt fine. Why? Is your stomach bothering you?”
You shake your head no as you shuffle through your drawers. “Just a little queasy this morning.”
You both get dressed quickly and lazily, surprised at how early you were deciding to turn in. Kylian was quite a bit needy tonight, pawing and tugging you close to him while he put on Pretty Little Liars… He would deny it to anyone, but he was obsessed with that show. 
“What the hell is she wearing?” He tusks at the screen, apparently not approving of Spencer's outfit for the Prom. 
You giggle into his chest, shaking your head slightly. “I’m gonna go pee.” You pat his bare chest and leave his side, hopping over to the ensuite. 
You wanted to be quick about it, your feet cold from the chilly tile and lack of socks. Kylian had opened a new toothpaste packet and left the empty box on the counter. You roll your eyes. He’s notorious for leaving things that should be trash anywhere but the trash can – an unfortunate side effect of having someone pick up after you as a professional athlete. You bitterly grab the cardboard box and press your foot down on the petal of the trashcan, but freeze when you spot the pregnancy test you took that morning. You wanted to look at it.
Is it worth looking at it? You hadn't even thought about it all day, which is a huge step for you. Only a few months ago, you would have been debilitated at work – and you sure as hell wouldn't have been able to step up like you did. You would have been crying quietly in your cubicle, taking far too many bathroom breaks. 
But… it was winking at you. Calling your name. Taunting you face down in the plastic liner. 
With a gulp and a deep breath in, you shook your head disapprovingly at yourself. It’s gonna be negative, you think, preparing yourself for disappointment as you fish it out of the bin. You gave a deep sigh before letting your eyes trail down to your hand where the thing burned a hole on your skin. 
The gasp that came from your mouth was severe, loud, alarming. 
Two lines. Pregnant. 
“Oh my god.” You mumble, much too quietly for Kylain to hear you behind the closed door. You begin laughing as it settles in what you’re seeing. “Oh my god! Kylian!” You desperately call. “Kylian!”
“What happened?” Kylian shoots out from under the covers and your current brain functions were a little crossed as you gaped at the test. The positive test. “Babe?” He comes into the bathroom with a furrowed and concerned look. “Are you okay?”
You respond with a look he was unfamiliar with. Immediately noticing the tears that had collected on your lash line, he reached for you. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him, seeing him for the first time as the father of the child inside your stomach. “Kylain.” He had never heard his name come from your lips with as much affection as it did right now.
He gladly took the hug you attacked him with, but the mood inside the bathroom was a little bewildering. 
“What’s going on, amour?” He coos, but you can only sob joyfully into his shoulder, holding the test behind his back as you embrace him – staring at the double lines like it would suddenly turn in one and you'd realize that this was never real. But it was. The results were right there in the palm of your hand. He mistook your cries for sadness, placing an assuring hand on the back of your head. “Tell me what’s wrong.” His voice was so soft.
“I love you so much.” You smile, pulling back and planting a long, wet kiss on his unexpecting lips. 
He’s so confused. “I love you too…” He raises an eyebrow when your hand meets his, an object placed in his palm. “What is this?” He asks before looking at it.
It takes a second for it to process, and you find yourself wishing you had a photographic memory, wanting to see his first face of realization again and again for the rest of your life. His eyes might as well have fallen out of his head with how wide his eyes went. 
“Wha…” He stutters, completely transfixed on the test. “Is this real?!” He finally looks at you, excitement would be the biggest understatement of the century.
“Of course it is.” You squeak, still clinging onto your husband as you both look at the stick. “I’m pregnant.”
“You’re pregnant.”
“I’m pregnant.” You both take a big breath in, crying simultaneously, absolutely elated. 
Kylian stares at the stick with a squinty and wrinkly smile before he looks at you — eyes tender and grateful. He drops the stick in the sink basin, grabbing your face with his two large hands, forehead pressed to yours to let the moment really register. He kisses you as best he could with the smile that engulfed his features, wrapping you up in his arms, truly holding you. 
“I love you.” He whispers from his chest, an earth shattering smile finding a permanent home on his face. “We’re having a baby.”
A/N: Okay, I don't hate it, but it's not my fav. It's finals in uni and I'm a wee bit preoccupied with those responsibilities. Still though, I think I had some good parts in here! It's mostly just the ending that's bugging me. Also, I know nothing about pregnancies and all that jazz so this is pure Google info so I apologize for any inaccuracies!
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luvsfics · 2 months
Text
DAYS LIKE THIS — stranger things
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PAIRINGS: eddie munson x gf!reader
SUMMARY: after a long day of cuddling and sex, you decide to treat your man with dinner and even more attention.
WARNINGS: afab reader. mentions of sex. eddie not wanting to eat his vegetables.
WORD COUNT: 0.5k
The smell of baked chicken and fresh roasted green beans filled the trailer. You stirred the potatoes that were boiling in a pot of water as the sounds of your boyfriend, Eddie, strumming his guitar in his room filled your ears.
You were dressed in a long sleeve shirt of Eddie’s and a pair of thigh highs to keep your legs warm. The subtle sore feeling of your cunt made you think about earlier that morning when you and Eddie went round after round in his bed after Wayne left for work.
The oven timer rang, alerting you out of your thoughts to pull out the chicken from the oven. You grabbed a worn out oven mit from the drawer and grabbed the pan of chicken and placed it on the counter to rest, then you pulled out the steaming hot green beans, which were covered in garlic salt and pepper.
The potatoes were fork tender, you drained the water and doctored them up with milk and butter with some salt and pepper. You took your potato masher and mixed all the ingredients together to make some mashed potatoes.
After everything cooled, you plated up the food for the three of you. You covered Wayne’s plate with foil and stuck it in the microwave for him to have when he got home.
“Eddie!” You shouted down the hall as you brought him his plate.
“Yeah baby?” He called back. You opened his door to see him strumming his guitar shirtless with a pair of sweats on, his tattoo on display for you to see.
You smiled at your handsome boyfriend as you sat on his bed next to him.
“I made you dinner,”
“aw, baby…thank you…I’m starving!” He laughed.
You scooped up some potatoes on the fork and held it up to his mouth for him to eat. He willing ate them off the fork and groaned at the taste of the creamy mash.
“Fuck baby, you make the best mashed potatoes..” you giggled at his compliment.
He laid his guitar on his torso and opened his mouth for another bite of food. You playfully rolled your eyes and cut up the seasoned chicken breast and fed him a piece.
“You’re so beautiful.” He said with a smile as he chewed his food. You pressed a soft kiss to him lips, not caring if he was still chewing.
You picked up a few green beans with the fork and held it up to him again. He grimaced at the sight of the vegetable, “yeah, no.”
“Eat your damn vegetables, Munson.” You shoved the green beans into his mouth, he unwillingly ate the vegetable with a pained expression.
“The things I do for you..” he swallowed.
“I rocked your world this morning so you should do this for me.”
“I rocked your world, honey.” He sassed.
You rolled your eyes and shoved some mashed potatoes into his annoying mouth. He laughed as he swallowed them.
“I love you, baby girl.” His words brought a smile back to your face.
“I love you too, picky boy.” You placed a hand on his cheek and a soft kiss on his lips. Nothing felt better than this.
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