Oh look it’s a horribly overdone premise, hurrah. This is what happens when I ask myself one too many “what if” questions.
If you hate unplanned pregnancy storylines, uh, maybe skip this one. I didn’t tag it NSFW because it’s not aside for some swearing, but there is implied sex, so read at your discretion.
It isn’t supposed to be like this.
Her hands shake and she tries to figure out how this happened, how she got here. This isn’t right. They’ve always been so, so careful. True, synthetic hormones made her too sick, so they’d had to rely on good old barrier methods, but they’d been meticulous about it.
Except for one night a few weeks back when they’d both been a little drunk and a lot less careful than usual but it would be fine because there was technically only a 20% chance on any given cycle even if all factors lined up perfectly, so the risk was negligible, really, and he had been so so so hot in those skinny jeans and even hotter out of them.
Apparently the odds were in their favor. Maybe they should head to Vegas and take up gambling.
She stares at the pair of pink lines and her heart pounds in her ears.
It’s not like they’re kids anymore, and it’s not like they’ve never thought about it or talked about it. But it’s always in the abstract, always a maybe-someday fuzzy future vision for down the road. She’d always assumed it would be planned right down to a big red circle on the calendar that said “conception here,” if anything. They’d have plenty of time to mentally and emotionally prepare, they’d be done risking their lives every other week, they’d have a fucking dog or something.
There’s a clatter outside the bathroom door and she jumps a mile. He can’t be home yet. He’s not supposed to be home yet. The room tilts a little.