[Inspired by a few comments from chapter 2! If you haven't read my unexpected pregnancy omegaverse story yet, check out: you, me, (and the kid) on ao3]
[A few minutes after leaving Rey's apartment:]
Like passing through a supernatural veil, the white noise buzzing (screaming) in Ben’s ears fades the moment he leaves Rey’s apartment building, rolling her couch to the curb.
The sounds of the city start to filter in. It’s the afternoon on a weekday, and the streets are filled with nannies and mothers pushing strollers. Children are laughing, crying, and screaming. A car honks somewhere a few blocks away, followed by an angry shout from a man with a heavy Italian accent.
Outside, the air is clearer and less consuming. Less overwhelming.
Omega’s scent wafts into the atmosphere, dissipating, no longer stuffing his nose.
Fuck.
Ben carefully slides the couch off the dolly and lowers it to the curb. He tried to cover most of the smell with plastic wrap, but the darker stain on the left side of the couch is more than a little obvious.
Fuck, fuck, fucking shit.
Ben stands there on the curb, hands resting on his hips as he chews his lip anxiously. With a twist of his torso, he turns back around and looks at Omega’s apartment building, eyes scaling up to the third floor where her apartment must be. It’s only one of two units on the floor.
He looks back at the couch. His brain is still not all there, still trying to reconnect the neurons that got disconnected as he fucked Rey within an inch of his sanity.
The urge to ring her doorbell again and go upstairs and show her just how much he wants to do that again. Maybe properly this time. He wants to show her that he can take care of her. He can take his time and give her whatever she needs—
“Fuck,” Ben swears, shaking his head and trying to clear it.
No, he doesn’t want to come on too strong. He already did that, and she hated him for it.
Sigh, he should just leave.
His feet don’t budge from where he’s standing on the sidewalk.
No, no, no, he’s overthinking this. Omega said he could call her—or maybe text. A text might be safer, friendlier.
He knows Rey’s got a lot on her mind after just ending such a long relationship. He knows he has to be patient and not overwhelm her. He’s already fucked up more than once already.
He doesn’t want to ruin his third chance.
With a sigh and another slew of muttered curses that earns him a glare from a nanny walking past while pushing a stroller, Ben walks away from Rey’s apartment before he realizes he’s going in the wrong direction.
Ben stuffs his hands into his bomber jacket pockets, turns around, and stalks past Rey’s apartment again, glancing at the couch, then her apartment entrance, and finally, her apartment window one more time.
“Get a grip, Solo,” he growls as he stomps down the street.
Get a grip.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Reblogging art I posted on my twitter. This one is my first (digital or traditional) reylo drawing ever. I love drawing eyes, it's the mirror of the soul and I had to draw the scene from the elevator.
PS : I'm thinking about selling/opening commissions so if you can help me growing please reblog my posts I'd be very grateful.
jacobvanloon
gummygunk
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izzy806
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turnnoffyourmind
