“Hey...” you whispered, lifting your right hand so that you could poke at your best friend’s cheek. He was still asleep, his pink lips parted, allowing light snores to fall from his mouth; the breathy sounds made you giggle.
Your laugh was cut off by a gasp, a sudden pain slicing through your stomach. Your eyebrows knit together as you felt the ache pass, and you pursed your lips, determined to wake the man in your bed.
“Puke,” you whispered, poking his left cheek with a bit more force, “Puke, wake up.”
Luke let out a soft snort, his brow creasing once he finally felt the pressure of your fingertip. He let out a low whine, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face into the pillow, trying to scoot away from you but stopping abruptly once he realized that his arm was wrapped firmly around your waist.
“Why do you do this to me?” he groaned rhetorically, abandoning his original plan and instead shifting closer to you so that he could bury his face into the crook of your neck.
Your heartbeat accelerated dramatically once he pressed his body against yours, his lips mouthing against your throat, where he released soft, warm breaths onto the surface of your skin. You sighed, wrapping your arms around him, your hands immediately tangling into his sandy blonde hair, almost as though it were an inborn reflex.
You’d developed feelings for him. And though you’d tried to coax yourself out of the destructive arrangement, you just couldn’t stay away.
“Puke,” you whispered, your lips parting in surprise, and another whine fell from his perfect lips. He pulled back, pouting at you, “Why must you call me that? It totally kills the mood.”
“No,” you urged, your hands flying to his shoulders. Your eyes widened as you tried to push him away from you. He finally understood, leaning away, and you sat up, throwing the soft duvet from your body and swinging your legs over the side of your bed.
“Fuck!” you yelped, standing and rushing to the adjacent bathroom. Goosebumps erupted along your skin as you battled the sudden change in temperature. You barely made it to the toilet, crouching down before you were emptying the contents of your stomach, your naked body shuddering.
“Y/N?” Luke called, chasing after you. He entered the washroom, trying hastily to pull his dark boxers up his legs. Tears rushed to your eyes as you realized that your cover was blown, and you sobbed into the toilet, the sound bouncing back and feeling like a slap across the face.
“Hey,” Luke cooed, leaning down and brushing your hair away from your face. He waited patiently as you lurched forward once more, heaving as bile rushed up your throat. You sniffled as you sat back on your knees, the cold tiled floor biting at your skin and prompting shivers to race down your spine. You waited a few more minutes for a sign of regurgitation, but it seemed as though the worst of your morning sickness had come to pass.
“What the hell,” Luke whispered, and you whimpered pathetically. Your head hung as you reached up to discard the contents in the toilet, the loud flushing disrupting the silence and tension that had built. You placed your hands on the seat of the toilet, using your grip on the porcelain as leverage to lift yourself.
You inhaled shakily as you turned to face the man behind you. Instinctively, your hands found your stomach as your eyes flickered up to meet Luke’s face. He was staring at you, concern and fear laced through his features.
Looking back on it, you should’ve known. It had been merely two weeks since you’d taken the test that had confirmed your suspicions. You’d scolded yourself, remembering the time that Luke had taken you without a condom, groaning into your ear as he’d slipped into you swiftly and proceeded to rock your entire world. It had been amazing, pure bliss clouding your mind and pleasure racing through your body.
But all good things came to an end. It was only a matter of time before your unholy arrangement fell apart, and you faced crippling repercussions.
These were the repercussions.
“Luke,” you whispered, “I’m pregnant.”
