You 🙋🏻♀️ Alan 🧓🏻 Food 🍝 Sex 🍆 Now 🕛
A collective of one-shots and imagines
Sometimes domestic fluff
Sometimes smut
Sometimes fights
Always Alan
It's good, I promise!
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A/N: Okay, okay, yes. I know I'm a week late, but life and work and studies and, and, and... Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy this one because the next one is probably also going to be late 🙈 but this one is lengthy, okay? Okay.
I haven't proof-read this one, so there might be mistakes here and there. Please excuse. _______________________________________
Alan lets go of his wife's hand as soon as they step onto the escalator, she standing one step above from him. He takes a moment to appreciate how much her backside has grown throughout her pregnancy to two thick juicy pears.
She steps off the escalator followed by him soon after.
"Do you care for anything?" He leans down to ask in her ear, referring to the snack bar.
"Oh, no, thanks. I couldn't possibly focus on eating anything during the movie," she politely declines.
Strange, she never declines food these days, he thinks to himself with a small frown.
He leads her over to the self-service kiosk where he selects their two comfort seats. She slips her hand into his as she waits for him to pull out his bank card from his wallet, finishing up their sale.
"Ready?" She asks after taking the printed tickets, slightly annoyed at the fact that his phone has been ringing three times already.
"One sec, let me run to the gents first," he says as he presses the answer key, bringing it up to his ear as he disappears into the restroom.
She patiently waits for him outside the men's room, scrolling through reviews of the Prisoner of Azkaban. She's seen it just over twelve times already but she's always interested to see what new reviews pop up.
She absent-mindedly drags her white Converse's heel across the grey carpeted floor as she waits. Looking down, she can't see past her belly in her tight black dress but she finds a way to admire her swollen feet - her Converse being the only shoes that seem to fit her these days.
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"Good to go?" His voice pulls her from her thoughts.
"Hm," she confirms, "who was that calling?" She slips her phone into her black Michael Kors bag, following Alan down the corridor.
"No one of importance," he mumbles under his breath as he holds the door to number eleven theatre open for her to enter.
It's dark, the pre-show advertisements already playing as she cautiously makes her way up the lit stairs. Alan, always the concerned husband, rests his hand lightly on the back of her hip while making sure she doesn't trip and fall.
They scoot into their two aisle seats, (Y/N) swiveling in her seat to accommodate for her large stomach. She plops her bag on the swivel tray attached to her luxury seat before she sinks back into the plush blue velvet seat, grabbing hold of Alan's hand and resting it on the armrest.
