Reader! who ends up pregnant after a one night stand with Graves.
You don’t even really have proof that the baby is his but you know it is because he’s the only man you’ve been with after he fucked you silly right against the hood of his pickup truck.
Don’t ask how he pulled that shit with you.
You just know he dropped you off with a wave and you never intended to be— here.
In a military base office you truly didn’t know, four months pregnant, eyes erratic and knee bouncing like a kangaroo on crack from nerves and irritation.
You just wanted to say your peace and then go home. Maybe have a cry because you weren’t alone and pregnant, maybe have that ice cream you’d been thinking about since this morning. You weren’t expecting shit from the man, not a dollar, not a diaper. You weren’t used to being brushed aside your whole life, this was just another situation you’d need to stand tall on your own. A life altering situation but you could do it. You’ve done it before. You’d do it again. You just needed acknowledgement.
And he turned that corner toward where you sat in the waiting room, your guts almost spilled on the floor, right along it’s the baby. He was just as handsome as you remembered, tall, muscular, blue eyes, pretty lashes, he’s twinkling with irritation, talking to three men who followed right as his heals, maybe he could even tell you what to do— focus reader.
You stood, swallowing down every bit of fear, a little pride—
“Graves?” You called out, thankful it didn’t sound like a croak. It was more of a statement than a question. Not asking for attention, demanding it.
His eyes flickered over to you, a little shock fills his eyes, he gives some hand signal to his men, waving them away, “Give us a second boys.”
A smirk grows on his lips as he comes closer to you, more than amused that you, a one night stand, has somehow gotten a hold of him like this. His fault for knowing the people of that small town you were from. But it’s not like you were forgettable, you were headstrong, much smarter than the ditzy girls than hung around that bar, even more memorable when you let him stick his dick in your gushy walls. Still, you’re as gorgeous as ever in his eyes, even with that uncertain look on your face and the oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants you wore. He’d prefer you in something tighter, a sun dress that hugged your pretty tits— “Well it isn’t the pretty doll from that bar, where did we last meet? In the bar? Nooo, the Honda—“
“—I’m pregnant.” You interjected, tired of the games, you pulled out the sonogram in your baggy pocket. “You’re the father.”
