When were you going to tell me that you're pregnant? +Feysand I've also been greatly enjoying all the little fics you've been writing :)
Thank you, friend!! This is probably not exactly what you were asking for, but for whatever dumb reason, this popped in my head reading the prompt. Hope you like!
BTW peeps: I’m still doing these, just working through them slowly. Feel free to keep sending them and I’ll try to do them when I can. Link to prompt list is at the end. <3
When Feyre rounds the corner into the produce section of the grocery store, the last thing she expects to see is Cassian shoving a watermelon under her husband’s shirt amid a choir of snickers from the pair of them. Cassian has his phone out and is just about to Snapchat a pic when Feyre clears her throat. The boys freeze, Rhys blushing just a tad.
“When were you going to tell me that you’re pregnant?” Feyre asks Rhys pointedly, stifling a smirk.
“Just getting a feel for things,” Rhys says cooly. “We can never be too prepared.”
“Man, don’t drop it!” Cass barks suddenly, seeing the huge melon begin to slip. Rhys removes it without a problem and replaces it on the shelf.
“You two are going to get us kicked out of here if you keep goofing off. We still have a lot of shopping to do and Nesta’s already bit my head off about the right kind of cheese to go with the appetizers.”
Only Nesta could make cheese and crackers feel unbearably stuffy. And as much as Feyre really does trust Nesta’s expert opinion that brie will be best, she’s not going into this dinner without a hunk of good old fashioned cheddar to see her through.
At the mention of Nesta, Cassian’s eyes spark. How he could have forgotten for even one minute that Nesta was within a five miles radius after she’d let the shopping cart slip against his shins is beyond Feyre. “Don’t worry,” Cass says walking swiftly past Feyre and patting her on the shoulder the way he does when ‘the bro’ is winning, as Azriel likes to call it. “I’ve got this.”
Feyre feels Rhys pull up even with her as she watches her friend strut off to face the horrors waiting for him in Dairy.
“I love Cassian,” Rhys says, and Feyre turns back round to face him, “but I think he has a death wish.”
Feyre tisks and pushes the cart toward the lettuce. “Stop, Nesta isn’t that bad.”
“The fact that you need to specify-”
He holds his hands up in surrender and promptly plucks an apple from a nearby stand, juggling it in a way that’s supposed to seem impressive - never mind that it’s only one apple.
Romaine… baby greens…
organic… iceberg… Ugh, nobody even likes iceberg. Classic Cesar will
do, Feyre decides. Or possibly… The baby greens stare up at her.
She looks back at the watermelon crate Rhys and Cassian had been messing with and feels her stomach tighten. She and Rhys have been together for nearly five years now, if you count the three years they dated before getting hitched. She knows he wouldn’t pressure her. Not ever. But sometimes he makes an offhand comment and she wonders if Rhys might not be considering beyond her present wishes.
Feyre clears her throat. “Rhys?”
“Yes dah-ling,” he says. Neither of them turn around from their respective produce. Feyre’s not sure she could if she tried.
“Did you mean what you said earlier?”
She chances a peek over her shoulder and finds Rhys has swapped his one-apple juggling act for a rather thorough examination of the differences between Fuji and Granny Smith that has his brows knit together. “What’s that?” Rhys asks, and Feyre whips her head back to the salad options.
“About… not being too prepared.”
The misters switch on unexpectedly, dousing the lettuce and Feyre’s outstretched hand with a fine layer of mist that take her by surprise. “Oh!” she yelps and jumps back, some combination of shock and nerves forcing her into motion. Rhys chuckles and slinks over to lean on the cart.
“Don’t worry,” he says with a cheeky grin. “Last I checked, water is actually good for you.”
“Very funny,” Feyre says, the humor not entirely making it past her lips. She feels rather than sees Rhys’s face twitch.
“What’s wrong? If this about Nesta again and whether or not you thinks she’s going to throw a tantrum over your choice of rabbit food, I promise I’ll protect you.”
“Do you want to have a baby?” Feyre blurts out before she can help herself. Her stomach does a back flip just asking the question. They’ve never talked about it before. Not since they were just starting out dating and trying to decide if this was even a good fit. She knows they both want kids. Maybe just a kid. But there’s something terrifying about the idea that Rhys might want one now.
“Feyre,” Rhys says, leaning forward and dropping to a whisper, “you know I enjoy making love to you at all hours of the day, but if you think me shoving a watermelon up my shirt is gonna piss the employees off, I don’t think they’ll appreciate us-”
“I’m serious,” Feyre says, cutting Rhys off. He blinks at her a few times, mouth parted open slightly. But Feyre wants to know. Is determined to know. “Do you want to have a baby?”
Rhys backs up a step. “Do you want to have a baby?”
“I asked you first.” A small flash of intrigue in those deep blue eyes searches her making her feel known and exposed in ways only he’s ever managed.
“Alright,” Rhys says, folding his arms and seeming to sense that she means business. Feyre draws a deep breath waiting. “You know I want to have a kid - eventually. If you’re asking, do I want one right now?” Feyre nods. “No. I don’t think so. I mean, shoot, if it happens, then great. I’ll welcome it with open arms and shove a watermelon up my shirt for nine months so you don’t feel so bad.” Feyre releases a small chuckle at that and Rhys smiles. “Why so curious about kids all of a sudden?”
Feyre rolls her eyes, more at herself than him, and tosses a hand up. “I don’t know. I saw you joking around with Cassian, but then you made that comment and you’ve said stuff in the past, that I just wondered if maybe you were…” She pauses, catches Rhys watching her intently with his brow raised in amusement, and lets out a shaky laugh. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”
Rhys pulls Feyre into his arms with his own chuckle and it feels like she can finally stop fretting. “No, you’re not. It’s good that we talk about these things. I just don’t understand why you’re so concerned with it? You know we can take our time. And if overgrown melons are all we end up with, we’ll be well fed.”
Feyre snorts. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but you can’t deny it’s a good idea.”
“No, I really can’t-”
“Get that out of your nose!”
Feyre’s and Rhys’s heads snap to the side where Nesta has found the
produce section along with Cassian… who has shoved a small wedge of
brie up his nose much to Nesta’s chagrin.
Feyre grimaces. “At least it’s shrink wrapped?” Rhys offers, and then laughs when Feyre smacks her head into his chest with a groan. “Come on,” he says, rubbing up her arms a few times for confidence. “Let’s go sort them out.”
“Go on. I just have to grab some lettuce first.” Rhys nods, heading off.
Feyre looks back down at her options and decides, maybe the baby greens aren’t so bad after all. A nice watermelon salad could be good for spring.