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uyuartik · 12 days

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Pairing: Joel Miller x afab!reader

Warnings: Angst, obsessive love (reader), pregnancy, two miserable people fucking, unrequited love, unprotected p in v (do whatever you want idc), Joel isn't very nice but he isn't full on mean, tiny bit of degradation, possessiveness. unedited rubbish as ususal.

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: Joel doesn't love you, it doesn't matter.

There is a part of Joel that lives in you.

There is a part of him that is planted deep and heavy where your heart meets your soul.

The dagger of his love buried inside your ever-his body, your ever-his spirit. Even in the air you breathe there is him all around. He seeps into every pore, moulded to every valley of your being. Where your fingertips touch your own soft flesh, you feel him. Everywhere and nowhere, Joel possesses you.

It’s not just the child that grows in you, the one he’d promised with every deep thrust and seed spilled in you. The one he had hardly acknowledged even while you swell with it.

Long before that, you were his.

You have always been a part of him.

The first time you ever saw him was in the square where Fedra militants made you watch innocent people hang. You preferred to scan the crowd than watch the horrors being put on show. Fear shaking through the people like the wind, just like the soldiers wanted, but he stood there stock-still and heavy and caught your interest immediately.

There was something rare about him, a mystery in a way that men in this world were often not. He seemed inimitable. A rugged thing made to tempt and cause turmoil in your soul. Greying hair and beard, broad shoulders, strong profile, a presence that made itself felt in you and the clench of your cunt as you looked him over.

You'd sought him out the next time - he was easy to find.

You found him again, and again, and again.

The next time, you followed; he had left the crowd and slipped away into the sapphire night, down towards a darkened alley, the kind of place in the QZ you would avoid. He didn’t seem the type to fear anything.

You were good at following. It was easy to blend in with the crowds of miserable and fraught spirits. You didn't stand out, as far as you knew. So you did what you were good at and stole away after the man for no reason other than some kind of emptiness in the pit of your stomach that perhaps this stranger could fill.

You watched him as he spoke to a soldier. Two people clearly wanting to be away from each other as they talked hurried and hushed, always looking over their shoulders. And then you'd heard the whispered name. ‘Joel’.

His name was Joel, it slipped from your mouth and felt even better than you'd hoped.

Joel, Joel, Joel. You whispered it into the air around you, cried it out as you tangled in your sheets. You thought that name with breath after breath, you heard it in your airways before you even spoke it.

This Joel was beautiful to you.

And this Joel would plant himself in you deeper with every blissful murmur of his name.

Finally came the day you saw him away from the crowds. You'd got your rations and your duties for the next day just like everyone else, and had decided to find your way home via the alleys you'd seen him in before. It was stupid, but you were possessed with the need to be where he had been.

When you'd rounded the corner of that alley you’d first followed him to, he was there. Was he really there? Your brain had been toying with you for weeks. You saw him in your dreams, you saw him when you closed your eyes, you saw the ghost of him in everything you did. He surrounded you but never had you felt him so close.

He stood across the way from you, someone else already retreating as he pocketed a baggie and ration cards.

Your brain screamed his name and you were grateful only that it didn’t force the word from your mouth as the imposing man approached you with a hard look.

You loved him, then and there, you didn’t doubt it for a moment.

He fucked you then but not like he fucks you now. He’d fucked you up against the wall after you’d all but begged him to. Now he fucks you in your bed whether you beg or not. You take it, again and again and he knows you will because you're his.

“My fuckin’ girl, that’s right” Joel groans a symphony of pleasure as he pushes in to your dripping cunt for the second time that night. He slides in easily, stopping with his hips flush against your ass as he takes you from behind “Fuckin’ whore desperate for me to fill you again”.

You babble something incoherently stupid and he grunts before beginning to move, retreating and pulling you back on to him until you get the message to fuck yourself on his cock like he wants.

You love him. Consumed by him, devoured from the inside out, you do everything he wants and you give everything he needs. Pushing yourself back and forth, sliding against his thick length and stopping when he’s buried all the way in again. You sigh and press your forehead to the crinkled sheets until he slaps your rear so hard it stings.

“Didn’t tell you to stop” He mutters, voice low and dark and lighting a new fire in your belly.

If this world is a rotting orchid he is the one living tree left you have been searching for. You’ll eat from him for as long as you live, for as long as he’ll let you.

You whine and move again, but you both feel how the weight of your pregnancy makes your movements harder, makes everything more uncomfortable than it used to be.

“Fuck” Joel sighs and stops you moving. He’s quiet for a while, grinding slowly into you as you prepare to be admonished. Instead your breath hitches as he rubs large hands over your ass and up your back in a rare act of tenderness.

“You hurtin’ from this, huh?” He murmurs slowly, one hand dipping down to cradle your belly. It’s the first time he’s really touched there since you started showing, the first time he’s really even talked about it. You have to hold back the gentle sob that gurgles up your throat when he strokes there for just a moment. When you’d told him it was his, he hadn’t said a thing, just looked away from you when something sharp shone in his eyes.

“Mhm” you nod, hiding your face so he doesn’t see the desperate tears that spring up in your eyes. His hand is warm there, radiating within you where he touches, soothing your skin gently even as he begins to rut into you harder.

“Had to get yourself knocked up” he sighs, slap of his skin on yours gradually filling the room again and making you whine like a weak thing caught in a trap. A broken little animal caught by him.

“Didn’t mean to” you whimper pathetic, words punched out of you with his increasing thrusts. The hand on your stomach sneaks down to where you’re joined, finding your swollen clit with ease.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Joel exhales rubbing you slowly as he fucks in to you like he has a hundred times before.

Love me. Love me. Love me.

You cry out a stuttering sob as the lights behind your eyes turn sugary pink with pleasure. A flutter in your core runs its way up your body like a crashing wave; advancing and retreating as he draws the climax out of you in teasing movements that make it last what feels like forever.

“There it is, yeah…there it is” His voice is dark and gravelly as he tries to hold his own pleasure down for a moment longer

“That’s mine. It’s mine. Tell me”

You reach back to grasp any part of him that you can. Everything aches sweetly in you as you twist ever so to see him. His eyes are dark, a hard glare and yet not unkind. Even in the most intense moments of taking from you he isn’t cruel for cruelty's sake.

He’s chasing the same need that you are, the same desire to feel alive, to forget, to live as someone else for even a moment. To exist outside of the dying world around you.

“Yours, Joel. It’s yours” And you mean it - your orgasm, your body, your heart, your soul, your baby. Every part of you is his, has been since the first time you’d laid eyes on him and felt that spark of something new.

You love him.

He fills you then, pulses inside you like always, with a languid moan of your name. His hands grab at your hips hard, keeping you close to give every last drop.

It’s a ritual, at this point. You each kneel at the altar of lust, both drink from its cup. Sacrifice yourselves to it.

“Mine” he tells you, sitting back and pulling you up, hands stroking your stomach as he stakes his claim.

He doesn’t love you, it doesn’t matter.

“Yours” You agree, like you have ever since the first moments of him.

You love him, it doesn’t matter.

#joel miller #angst #smut

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uyuartik · 12 days

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Do You Like It Here?

Joel Miller x afab!Reader || W/C: 2k

Summary: Joel contemplates shaving his beard. You are absolutely against that idea, and he makes you explain why.

Content/Warnings: Pics above are for aesthetic purposes only. Neutral descriptions of an AFAB reader (“your top”, “your shorts”, “your breast”, etc.). No use of “y/n”. Joel can carry you but there are no other descriptions of reader. Implied age gap if you squint. Joel being big and burly. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Joel being a menace. Hints of body worship. Dirty talk. Reader liking facial hair for dirty reasons🤷🏻. Joel on his knees for you…. ✨Bathroom counter✨ Cunnilingus. Tongue fucking. Face grinding. Hair pulling (m receiving). Joel’s fucking nose deserves a warning😵‍💫 Allusions to further sexual activity. As always, let me know if I’ve missed anything!

A/N: Can we tell how much I think about Joel eating pussy?💚 My sweet sweet Roman Empire. Enjoy. :-)

MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG -> @endlessthxxghtsnotifs

“Should I shave it off?”

You choke on your own spit, eyebrows hitting the ceiling. “What?”

“My beard. All this scruff. Should I shave it?” Joel asks you, his thumb and forefinger rubbing against his jaw, his eyes surfing his jawline in the mirror much too critically for your liking.

“Do you want to?” You reply back, curious to understand what is going on in that chaotic mind of his.

“No? Yeah? I mean,” he breathes. “I dunno. A lotta white is startin’ to come through, ‘n I feel like it makes me look… raggedy.”

You frown. “Baby,” you say softly.

You woke up before Joel, last night’s activities knocking him out cold right after you two cleaned each other up. Unfortunately for you, no matter how hard you fell into your slumber, your body always woke you no later than 7am. It was a blessing and a curse. You decided a shower was in order.

As soon as you finished and got dressed, your burly, grumpy and sleepy baby of a man stumbled into the bathroom. Wanting his presence always, you hopped up on the bathroom counter, your legs hanging off the edge, and stayed with him as he continued his morning routine. It was after he brushed his teeth and washed his face that he posed his question to you.

You place your hand on his jaw and pull him closer so he’s standing in between your legs. The light press of your fingertips never leave his face. “You don’t look raggedy,” you scold. “You look… well, you look fuckin’ sexy, for one. I love this look on you,” you admit, a little sheepish. Your eyes scan his facial hair once more before you glance at his eyes, then to his lips. Your finger traces his bottom lip. “So fuckin’ sexy,” you mutter, emphasizing your claim.

You don’t have to look into his eyes to know his demeanor shifted. You can feel the way his gaze darkened. He pulls himself closer to you, his knees knocking the cabinets. His hand starts on your knee, dragging it up your thigh and up your side until it settles on your jaw, his fingers grasping your chin to make you meet his eye. “Oh, is that so, darlin’?”

You gulp, your head softly nodding at his words; unable to speak as your eyes gloss over. “What else d’ya love about it, darlin’?” He pushes, his fingers tightening on your chin—words, he’s telling you.

You can feel every part of your body heat up. “It…it…” you stutter. His eyebrow flicks up with a faintness only you’d catch. You clear your throat in hopes it makes you speak up. “You- you’re already so big ‘n broad, ‘n this… the scruff… it just adds to- to you,” you tell him shakily, your brain starting to flood with just how much you love his facial hair. “P-plus, it- oh my god,” you whine, unable to stop the spew of shit that’s about to fly out of your mouth. “It feels so good when it rubs against my thighs ‘n my-” you gasp. You don’t remember when it got there, but his other hand is gripping your thigh, his strength tightening at the last words that fell from your lips.

Slow, tantalizingly slow, he leans in. He places a lengthy kiss to your lips; your eagerness gets the best of you as you try and deepen it, but he’s already breaking away—moving down. His lips grace your jaw, your neck—more open-mouthed and needy these ones are, and he pauses. “Ya like how it feels here?” He says against your neck. Then he’s moving lower.

He peppers kisses along your shoulder and the exposed parts of your chest your top shows. He licks and sucks at a particular sweet spot atop your breast. A breathy little moan escapes you, your arms falling limp to your sides—and out of his way. He pauses his kiss to breathe you in. Lavender. Vanilla. The shower you just finished still clinging deliciously to your skin. “Ya like it here, too, don’tcha?” He places one more kiss on the mark he just gave you, not giving you a moment to respond.

Then. He’s falling to his knees. Today was supposed to be a lazy day for you two, so you settled on solely a pair of sleep shorts. Nothing more. His hands settle themselves underneath your thighs, scooting you as close to the edge as possible without making you off balance. He’s so tall that on his knees, his nose is belly button level with you.

He pushes your thighs open. Starting at your knee, he places a swift kiss there. The higher he goes, the wetter and slower they become. A drop of sweat beads down your neck. His hands make their way to your sides, fingers dancing along the waistband. He meets your eyes for a silent confirmation. Planting your hands behind you for stability, you lift your hips for him, a whimpered please leaves your mouth.

He pulls your shorts off slowly—the wetness staining the center of your shorts peels off of you, the cold air interacting with your slick sends a shiver down your spine. Joel lets your shorts fall to the floor beside him, his eyes darting to your glistening sex. “Fuckin’ wet,” he growls. “All worked up from my white beard? My old age?”

“‘S not what I meant,” you sputter, the kiss he places to your mound throwing you off-kilter. His hands grab onto your waist and he’s angling your hips forward, giving himself a full view of you. He does it again—kisses your sex—but this time, he puts his whole face into you as he uses his tongue to aid him, his scruff tickling all around, on your thighs, your clit. Your hips buck into his face at the sensation, a louder moan reverberating against the bathroom walls.

“Oh,” Joel smirks. “Right there, huh. Ya like the way it feels right there? Right there on that sweet, perfect fuckin’ cunt, huh? Drives you mad? Wild?” He teases.

You lament at his words, conflicted between which you want more—hearing his mouth or feeling his mouth? You're pulled from your internal battle when you feel yourself become impossibly wetter: a glob of warm spit lands right where you need him most. Fuck, fuck, fuck, yeah okay, you want to feel him.

One hand behind you leaves from its place and reaches for his curls in an attempt to pull him into you. “Joel, baby, please,” you cry.

His head doesn’t budge no matter how strong you are. “Nuh uh,” he tuts. “Tell me what I wanna hear,” he tells you. “Tell me what I wanna hear first, and then I’ll give it t’ya exactly, baby. Just be the good girl I know y’are f’me.”

“F-fuck. Fuck. Please, Joel, please-” you say impatiently. “I love the way it feels when I grind my fuckin’ pussy all over your face, baby, I love how it feels when it starts to burn against my thigh, the way it nudges and scrapes every part of me- it makes me feel like I’m on fuckin’ fire, baby, please,” you rasp.

“Atta girl, darlin’,” he coos, licking his lips before his hands pull you flush against his face, his tongue flying straight to your seam, licking a messy path that sends your slick and his spit everywhere. Instantly your head flies back, your hand curls into the roots of his hair once more as you moan and squirm against his grasp.

Joel loves spending his time down there, but regardless of the fact, you’ll never get used to how fucking good he makes you feel. Joel is ruthless when it comes to eating you out—always making you see stars even in the light of day.

“F-fuck, j-just like that, baby,” you pant, your one arm keeping you up threatening to lose balance at the greedy touch of his skillful tongue. He drags his muscle from your entrance and up to your clit, running circles and figure eights on it for a moment before he latches onto you—his lips completely wrapped as he suckles and continues to flick where you’re most sensitive. His dominant hand leaves your hip and he drags his fingers to your opening, his middle finger sliding in with ease—the sensation sending you to the edge of something white, hot, and all-consuming.

“I’m- I’m gonna cum, Joel, shit, I’m gonna cum-” you squeak, your entire body feeling flushed at his actions.

He pulls his finger out of you, his hand finding its rightful place perched against your hip as he pulls you impossibly closer once again, your ass nearly hanging off the bathroom counter, his grip the only thing keeping you up. Your arm loses its strength and you fall limp, your head thumping against the bathroom mirror, completely at the disposal of your man as he ravishes your sobbing pussy.

He lifts off your clit momentarily. “Give it t’me, sweet girl,” he tells you in a frenzy. His mouth is on you again, his tongue going straight to your hole—his tongue pushes inside of you as much as he can, his face pulled tightly against you. He begins moving, advancing his tongue in and out as you mindlessly begin grinding against face. With every upward push of your hip, his nose nudges at your clit and the pure ecstasy that washes through you is evident in the way you’re practically mewling above him, your obscene moans and gasps enough to make Joel’s hips thrust into nothing on their own accord in an attempt to seek some kind of relief.

More arousal pours from you, and Joel is quick to drink it up. You can feel the way his tongue flexes as he gulps, and fuck, that is what sends you reeling. You yank onto his hair tighter, driving your hips into his face at a ravenous pace—practically fucking his face—and then it hits you. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as your back arches in this awkward angle, your orgasm hits you hard. It’s without warning, heart-pounding, toe-curling, addicting, and everything Joel.

Your lips are babbling nothing coherent, the occasional drop of his name escaping your mouth as he continues to fuck you through your high. He’s moving much slower now, much more precise—as if he’s doing this solely for his benefit now, not yours. Which, you don’t mind. Even as you start to slip into overstimulating territory, you don’t want him to stop.

You’d lay at his mercy for him to use you in any way he pleases if it meant you got to experience what it means to be loved by a man like Joel. With him, it’s all or none—none of that half in, half out bullshit. No, when Joel loves, he loves hard, and it’s evident in everything he does for you. Especially when it comes to your pleasure.

A particular lick to your clit causes you to yelp out in a pleasurable pain, so Joel finally rises again, kissing your spent cunt one last time before he pulls you up, rubbing up and down your spine to ease the uncomfortable position you were in.

“You okay?” Joel asks, slight concern and slight amusement on his features as he looks at your face. Pure bliss and contentment fills your features; he can still see the fog clearing from your head.

“Yeah,” you mutter softly, a lazy grin plastered on your cheeks as you look up at his shiny face. Weakly, you bring your arms up and wrap them around his neck, pulling him in to kiss you. He takes the hint, and he bends down, letting your lips meet in a soft yet enthusiastic embrace. You love the way you taste, especially when it comes from his mouth.

Pulling away breathless, both your and Joel’s eyes are aflame again.

“Don’t shave, baby.”

“I won’t, darlin’.”

You kiss him once more before he wraps your legs around his waist and carries you back to bed.

You were wrong. It’s going to be a busy day after all.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope it made your private parts tingle you enjoyed💚 If you’d like to be notified for upcoming fics, follow my notif blog!

@pedrostories

#joel miller #smut

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uyuartik · 12 days

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Places you should add to your little town/city in your fantasy world!!

Post offices. Wild, I know. But give me the unhinged kind. Pingeons and little postal dragons all over the place. You enter. The most disgusting smell fucking assaults your nostrils. You know what it is. Letter in hand, you go up to the counter. The postal worker is just a slightly bigger pigeon. You shed a tear.

PLAYGROUNDS!! Create the most dangerous kinds of playgrounds, the ones suburban moms would TRIP if they ever saw one. Monkey bars that are way too tall, swings that go full circle... The metal slide stays the same, it's already painful enough.

PARKS!! MAKE IT ALIVE!! Show people going on walks, reading beneath trees. C'mon most of them are already hundred years old (And are going to die after that CR 15 creature wrecks the town) anyways!! Show couples and picnics, show a family enjoying the sunday, give me someone picking flowers for their loved ones.

A bakery! Do you know how much these places are underrated? And do you know how much plot potential they have? Every good story starts with food poisoning or granny's recipe! Give me a place your players/readers are going to treat like home and, for once, it's not a tavern or a guild.

Government buildings! Give me a town hall that has a kilometric line in front of it. Give me a registry that is as old as this town. Give me police stations! Give me courtrooms! Make one of your players get arrested and now all of the party has to go through burocracy like a bunch of normal people!

(Who am I kidding? You don't need to make them get arrested. They are going to do that for you.)

Touristic attractions! Give me a full-on statue of the country's leader! Give me museums! Give me streets, ruins and whatnot that attract thousands of tourists everyday! Give me an annoying city guide that tries to get the party's attention everytime!

Magazine stands! Magazines don't exist? Newspaper stands! From the Queen's Journal to the most questionable new piece of Fox's Tailtracker, you have it all! Make your players doubt what's actually happening, sprinkle a little fake news... Or is it fake at all?

...Toy stores. OK HEAR ME OUT. Make magic toys; miniature skyships that actually fly, metal toy dragons that expel fire, little wands that make little light spells, wooden creatures that can move and make noises... Make children happy! And your players too because they will waste their money on these stuff.

Instrument store!! Make your bards happy with special instruments or just weird ones! Give me a battle in one of those that is just filled with funny noises and the worst battle soundtrack ever!!

Not exactly a place but... Cleaning carts!!! Show me people cleaning the streets, picking up the trash, cutting trees!! Make the town look clean!! Give me an old man that is really proud of his work!!!

(or ways to make your players feel even worse when the villain destroys the town later on :) )

#authoring

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uyuartik · 14 days

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born to write the beginning and ending, forced to write the middle part.

#authoring

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uyuartik · 14 days

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everyone hate my loquacious swag. its always "why did you make this sentence so long" and "why do you use so many commas and em dashes" and never "how did you come up with run on sentence" or "writing that run on sentence looked fun"

#authoring #english is not the best language to write in okay

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uyuartik · 15 days

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here's a horny joel thought i've been having. or like. i've been thinking of smut written from joel's pov?? like it could still be reader ig, but we're in his head, and he's experiencing it?? what would that be like 😳 could obvi also be for any chatacter not just joel!!

holding back - a drabble

A/N: this was just sitting in my drafts so here it is

pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: ~800 warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), piv, some dirty talk (joel having an uncontrollable filthy mouth), pet names (sweetheart, baby), little bit of insecure!joel, almost spanking but not really. no use of y/n.

He's supposed to be taking his time.

That's what he always tells himself he's gonna do - take it slow, savour it, be gentle.

He's kept it together long enough to make sure you get off, but he'd be lying if he said he hasn't been aching just from the chance to touch you, taste you, pleasure you.

The sound of his name on your lips when you'd come against his mouth had nearly taken him out, delighted little moans of his own echoing yours as his cock had strained against his boxers, stiff and leaking.

He loves that part, loves knowing he'd made you come undone, that it had been his name you'd cried out, his mouth that had coaxed you to that perfect, beautiful place.

Your climax is confirmation he's still good for something.

He rides that high as he strips down and climbs over your shuddering form, positioning his arms on either side your head and bending forward to lick into your waiting mouth, to let you taste yourself on his tongue.

He attempts to relax, to take a moment to gently run his hands up your sides and feel the soft skin of your belly, to properly appreciate the spread of your thighs and the lax, suppliant parting of your lips.

But of course he can't do that - instead, his touch is fierce and needy, all fingernails and calloused palms; his eyes graze over you like you're the first meal he's seen in weeks, lustful and impatient. He’s forcing your legs apart so wide your hips are probably straining.

And then, like it often does, filth tumbles from his mouth as though someone else were speaking through him.

"Want this cock, baby?" he hears himself saying gruffly. "Gonna be good for me?"

The sweet chime of you whimpering beneath him only further clouds his thoughts, only makes it that much harder for him to remember to take it slow.

"Please, Joel," you beg softly, staring up at him with nothing but want, want, want and he can't - he can't fucking wait anymore.

The air leaves his lungs in a ragged exhale before he's lining himself up with your centre. His aging heart pangs with anticipation, arousal stewing in his guts when the tip of his cock hits the warm wet of your cunt.

Slow, slow, slow, he has to remind himself. You're always eager to be full of him - always manage his cock so fucking well - but he knows his size is a lot to take, always catches that minute contortion of your features when he sinks his length into you.

He sees it now, the way your eyebrows knit together, the way your mouth falls open and your breathing goes shallow when he slides the tip inside your walls.

But then you quietly plead with him for, "More," and who is he to deny you?

He buries himself to the hilt in one harsh thrust, falling forward to connect his lips with yours. You groan into each other's mouths, Joel's mind momentarily going blank when he feels you flutter around him, the sheathing warmth of your cunt exactly what he needs to finally let go.

"So fuckin' tight, sweetheart," he growls wildly into your neck as he begins to move in and out of you - already too fast. "This perfect fuckin' pussy, so wet and ready for me, huh? Always so ready, so goddamn good for me. Feel that? Huh? You like bein' full of this cock?"

He thinks he sounds like a goddamn madman but you just squirm and moan and keen, your fingers exploring his arms curiously, eyes fixed on his weathered face. He can never understand what it is you see there that makes you look so...hungry.

He tries with all his might to make it last, to slow the snap of his hips into yours and loosen the bruising grip he has on your rib cage. His eyes squeeze shut and his head falls back but your voice, once again, shatters his resolve.

"Joel," you whisper. "You won't break me. It's okay. Please, Joel. Take me how you want me."

A strange and sinister noise erupts from his chest at the offer. He's too far gone to argue, too far gone to question if you really mean it.

He hurriedly pulls out to flip you on to all fours, marvelling briefly at the curve of your spine, his hand coming down on the flesh of your ass to squeeze, hard. You sigh dreamily at the contact and it’s the match in the powder barrel.

Fuck taking his time, he decides.

#joel miller #smut

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uyuartik · 16 days

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inertia

[crosshair x gn!reader] removing crosshair's inhibitor chip was never going to be an easy task, but you never expect it to demand an item of equal exchange. otherwise known as picking up the pieces with crosshair, together.

warnings: past paralytic injury, general angst, hurt-comfort

w/c: 2.2k

a/n: as much as i hate physics, you can't deny there's a poetry to the laws of the universe. inertia keeps heavy objects in place, and guilt's one of the heaviest burdens of all.

There are certain universal laws you learn while living on a ship, like the slightly upsetting fact that magnetism is relative and so is time. But there are constants: the behavior of gravity around a massive star, the physics of self-contained gas giants, and, on a less macrocosmic scale, that Crosshair’s armor has neat paint, all clean lines and sharp edges bordering plastoid and standard issue paint.

It only makes sense, a steady hand demanded by a life behind the trigger, you think quietly, watching Crosshair carefully scrape the excess red paint from his brush on the side of a flat scrap of metal. With only the low hum of the Marauder to fill the silence, you follow his brush as you stand in the armory threshold and simply observe the slow deliberation of an even, unwavering line drawn from a memory even the inhibitor chip could not blur.

Not that it’s a particularly difficult thing to paint, the sharp, stylized edge of a nine. But there is a silent weight to its image, a firm and resonant return in its bold crimson colour, reclaiming its rightful place on his shoulder in amends, if the restless bob of his toothpick says anything.

If you look long enough, it’s like he never left. Like you never lost your legs.

“You’re back early,” Crosshair says, dipping his brush back into the paint squeezed over his makeshift palette.

“The rest wanted to explore, but the humidity was getting to me. And I missed you,” you add, and your heart swells when you hear him laugh softly in return.

“I believe you,” he chuckles. It’s a rare thing to come by, laughter genuine and sweet, even with Crosshair’s return—perhaps, because of his return—but you take it gratefully either way.

Two cups of caf in hand, you push yourself off the doorway and move to join Crosshair at his place on the armory floor. But as you set a foot forward, a bolt of pain laces up your ankle. It’s the kind of pain that precipitates a fall, starting low in the arch of your foot, gaining a momentum that renders you immobile by the time it’s clawed up your thigh and fizzled around the cybernetic plate welded to the base of your spine.

It fells you without warning or remorse, cracking you open with the bone-deep sensation of memory. A single ultra-ionized shot through a modified rifle and silencer, calculated and surgically precise, a one of a kind and the only one you have known.

(It wasn’t his fault.)

You jerk forwards, caf sloshing dangerously close to the rim, and you distantly register the clatter of plastoid across the floor before you feel a shoulder push up from under your arm. Long fingers dig into your side, reminiscent of better days and tender touches shared in the quiet comfort of a bunk, and you pitch unsteadily, eyes squeezed tight enough to see white.

As much as you would like to confirm the certainty of a stable support before you can relax, the lingering dredges of atmospheric humidity and exhaustion of breaking into a high security imperial compound work cruelly against your strength. You can do little but give in.

Your knees buckle beneath you, and you sag against the only person on the ship able to brace your fall. Miraculously, the caf, handles squeezed tight under your white-knuckled grip, remains unspilled.

“I ruined your paint,” you laugh through your teeth, fuzzy black edges slowly receding from your field of vision as you blink your eyes open.

“And I shot you,” Crosshair hisses.

Crosshair lowers you to the floor, and you feel a full-bodied flinch shock through his form as your unmoving legs splay awkwardly over the cold metal. He is quick to take the cups out of your hand, setting them down with a hard clack before he returns his attention to you. You had always thought Echo would be the one on the receiving end of carefully placed touches to coax the pain of surgical scars and rough wiring away.

You never once dreamed it might be you, too.

One arm secured around your shoulders, he reaches down like it’s muscle memory to rub slowly over the scar tissue framing your implant. The scars are fresh, just barely a week old and forever seared over your skin, but guilt, you have found, tends to hasten the learning process, the scrambling compensation.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you sigh, leaning against Crosshair’s chest and dropping your head back against his shoulder.

“I aimed. I pulled the trigger, y/n.” He’s angry, a low, simmering rage held close and bubbling under the hard edge in his voice as his grip tightens around you. You feel it in the faint tremor in his arm, how he holds you tight to his side and silently wills you to stay.

He is angry, but it is not for you.

“You weren't you,” you mumble.

It’s second nature—it always has been, now, simply with pause—to turn your head when he’s nestled up against your back, to lean close, nuzzle into his neck, and ground yourself, ground him, in the silence of touch. Relief floods your chest, warm sunlight dawning over the thorn in your side, when you feel him chase your touch, settling both his arms around your waist and ducking down low to press his chin atop the crown of your head.

Nothing would ever be the same, but this was a start.

“If it wasn’t me,” Crosshair starts, his voice catching on a sputtering inhale, thick with the tangle of words unsaid. He clears his throat, and if you notice the curling edges of a tremor on his tongue, you say nothing. “If it wasn’t me, who else can you blame?”

“I don’t blame anyone,” you say into his skin, lips ghosting over his rapid pulse.

It’s a diplomatic answer. Of course you blame someone—Palpatine, Tarkin, the fact that Crosshair and his brothers, every last one of the clones, had been built around a single, biding initiative that he hadn’t the luck or the chance to resist. You had been sleeping with the enemy even before he knew that he could be the enemy.

But thinking about it makes your head spin. Blame is too hard, too tiring to place when you, yourself, had been sewn into its vast web. So while Crosshair had slept with a bacta patch plastered to his temple, you had rewired your spinal cord and decided to be away with the anger, the resentment, the mornings waking up in tears when you lifted your blanket and barely recognized that you had legs at all.

“Don’t fucking lie,” Crosshair spits, and you feel him shake around you. Anger, such an easy defense. Such a flimsy one.

“I’m not—”

“I hear you cry in the mornings when your cybernetics don’t click; I hear you scream when you try to move and your mind tells you one thing but your legs don’t fucking work because I made a killshot that paralyzed you—”

“And it paralyzed me because you had every chance to put a bolt through my head but you aimed for my back. You were fighting it, Cross,” you counter, voice quivering.

“But it was me. I took that shot, and you pretend like you don’t—like you don’t hate me because I still had my chip. But I remember it, and it was still me, and you have every right to—”

“Cross!” you shout, and he starts hard enough that you feel him jump. You feel blindly for his hand, gripped tight at his own wrist, and squeeze, hard. “I have my legs back. And sometimes they don’t work just right, but all I care about right now is that you’re back. It’s all I’ll ever care about.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he mumbles into your hair, the sudden burst of vitriol tamed and locked away for the moment.

You’re distinctly aware that he itches to push you away. You feel it in the uncertain pause rigid in his movements before he turns his palm to twine his fingers with yours. After all, it’s easier to cope when the object of your crushing guilt is at an arm’s length.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to comfort me, tell me that you missed me too and that I was right, and you say that everything’ll work out, Cross,” you laugh weakly. You gently knock your head against his collar, prodding, urging, anything to break the crushing silence you know haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

Instead, you feel a shuddering sigh against your ear, and Crosshair only dips his head low, hiding his face in your shoulder as his grip tightens around your waist. There is no sardonic quip or playful bite to offer you peace—only slow, mechanical breaths pressed into your skin in a desperate attempt to keep from falling apart altogether. You reach up, gingerly carding your fingers through his hair when you feel that telltale warmth seeping through the fabric of your shirt, salt sharp on your tongue.

“I shot you. I aimed to kill,” Crosshair mumbles, almost hysterical in level calm, the steady veil locking his tense jaw and drawn shoulders in place. “Why are you comforting me?”

“Would you rather I never speak to you again?” No malice in your tone, you shift your weight, bearing down against Crosshair and begging him to move closer. He does.

“It would be more believable if you did,” he mutters, and you catch the tail end of a soft sniff.

“Not really my thing, grudges,” you say. “Especially against the people I love.” Trailing your fingers lower, you slip below his hairline and begin stroking your palm over the back of his neck, bent forward at an unforgiving angle. You wonder how many times he’s curled into himself like this that he can simply sit, penance and grieving, and the ache that seizes your ribs hurts more than your cybernetic misfire.

“After all that,” he finally mumbles, something close to hushed awe in his voice. “You still love.”

Slowly, melting through the numb static crackle, you feel the sensation seeping back into your feet. You could always rebuild your mobility with some careful cerebrospinal implants, seasonal aches and occasional pains be damned, but you could never replace him.

“Of course I do,” you whisper back. Careful to keep the quiet, tremulous peace, you bring your hand down, sliding around the side of his neck to cup his jaw from behind, ignoring the wetness streaked over his skin. “Still loving,” you affirm, voice steady as you thumb over his cheek. “Still loving you.”

It takes a beat of silence, your words lingering in the still air of the armory, but instead of the tense, fraught grief of when your implant had fizzled out, there is warmth, present and forgiving. You know that nothing will ever be the same, but when Crosshair turns his head to press his lips into your palm, you know that you can still try. Like the waking groan of a crashed ship, you will pick up the pieces and power up one more time, again, again, again, as many times as it takes.

Crosshair nuzzles close, quietly basking in your presence as you sit curled together on the armory floor. And at last, his breaths still, slow and deep as the ship hums around you. He’s never been one for words, not even at his fever pitch of disorientation and distress. He doesn’t need to speak for you to know what he means when he clasps your hand again and holds tight, but his voice is a welcome sound all the same.

“Thank you.”

And for a while, that’s how you stay, breathing slowly and clinging to each other like moving apart would mean never coming back. And that’s how it genuinely does feel—the safety in stillness, carving out your own constant in the cosmic entropy of conquest and loss. For a moment, you can simply savor the quiet simplicity of being.

But the universe wills motion, stars colliding and collapsing and breathing new life all over again. So too, do you feel the strength return in lapsing waves to your legs and the coiled fear leach out of Crosshair’s posture.

“Promise me this,” you whisper, just loud enough to rise above the ambient noise of the ship as you curl your toes and feel again, lurching into motion like gears fallen into disrepair. Crosshair rouses behind you, and he sniffs deeply, once, before he presses his cheek to the side of your head—he is listening. “Promise me that we’ll move on.”

“I can’t promise that,” he says after a brief pause, words measured and low. “But I’ll try.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

As much as there are variables scattered through star systems and wreaking havoc wherever they go, so too are there constants pushing back against the chaos, aligning the universe. Like clockwork, when you wake, the stars turn, the gas giants dance, and when you squeeze Crosshair’s hand, he squeezes back.

#crosshair #angst #wow this was so good

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uyuartik · 17 days

Text

Oblivion (Javier Peña x F!Reader)

A/N: crawling out of hibernation to post a javi p fic before disappearing again. Enjoy!

Summary: After a one night stand with Javier, you come to learn you are pregnant. Angst ensues

Words: 6k

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), public piv sex, oral (f!receiving), a lil angst, swears -- lmk if i missed anything <3

Italics = flashback // masterlist

The heat of Bogotá was starting to make you senile, even while sitting in the DEA office that’s loaded with fans to circulate the stale, hot air. The papers filled with valuable information you’ve been staring at were beginning to strain your eyes, the small lettering from the typewriter swirling across the page.

You've been here for what felt like days, even though it's only been a handful of hours since you arrived this morning. The ashtray on your desk still emitted a thin line of smoke from the cigarette you had just snuffed out, and the coffee you brewed yourself a few hours ago had long gone cold from neglect.

Setting down the files in your grasp, your free hand rose up to your face, resting your head in your palm. Some days it felt like your job was impossible. No matter what you or your partners, Steve Murphy and Javier Peña did, Escobar always seemed to slink away just in the nick of time; even with the help of Carrillo and the search bloc.

It didn’t help that your mind was clouded by something else that happened just the night before. Something you never expected would happen since yours and Steve’s arrival to Colombia.

The two of you were both assigned to Escobar’s case and flew in together with Connie and their- now deceased- cat. However, you aren't from Miami like Steve is. You're actually from the west coast, Oregon to be exact.

“Y’alright, Darlin’?” You heard Steve’s voice across the room, prompting you to lift your head. The blonde, lanky man stood leaning against the doorframe to your office with a steaming coffee and freshly lit cigarette in his grasp.

“Just… one of those days.” You murmured, giving the man a faux smile before sighing softly.

“Are you going to tell Murphy?” Peña spoke after exhaling from a drag. He sat on the couch in his apartment, shirt off with his jeans still unbuttoned, staring down the bare skin of your back you had yet to clothe.

You scoffed, shaking your head while pulling up your pants, “Absolutely not. This was a ‘one and done’ type of situation.”

You slept with Javier on a whim; drunk, exhausted, and desperate to catch a quick release. Though after the two of you finished, it was a sobering experience to realize you had just fucked your coworker.

Since moving here and meeting him, you couldn’t deny that you’ve developed feelings over time; despite his reputation of sleeping around. Working long, late hours with him and Steve, you came to learn he isn’t as horrible as the gossips in the office seem to think he is.

But even with that knowledge, you couldn’t let yourself get hurt. Not by him. Not when you have to face each other at work almost every day.

“It’s only noon.” Steve smirked, raising the mug in his grasp to take a sip of the coffee.

“I had a long night.” You responded, eyes meeting your partners once again. You trusted Steve with your life. Being placed in dangerous, life threatening situations will make you feel that way about the people you experienced them with. But, you couldn't tell him that you and Javier slept together last night.

Especially because Steve has been teasing the two of you about your evident chemistry for months now; both him and Connie whenever the four of you would get dinner or drinks.

But you were firm on the idea that a relationship with him wasn’t going anywhere. Besides, as soon as Escobar was either jailed or dead, you'll most likely go your separate ways, returning to the home states you came from. And you couldn't let a relationship get in the way of your career.

You're still relatively young, having just turned thirty three months ago. You worked your ass off to be in the position you are now, a DEA agent, despite your field being mostly dominated by men. Misogynistic, dick-headed, men.

And you certainly weren't going to let one of those men- Javier, to a lesser degree- get in your way.

---

“I have to confess something,” You drunkenly slurred, looking at the woman seated on the couch next to you. Connie’s eyes widened as a mischievous, eager-for-gossip grin covered her face.

The two of you had planned a girls night on one of your days off. Constantly working and being around testosterone all the time was frustrating, so any time spent with Connie was cherished.

The two of you really became close on the flight from Miami to Colombia. Instead of flying out from Oregon, you first flew across the country and met Steve in Florida. After a few weeks preparing for your new assignment along with your new partner, you, Steve and Connie departed to Colombia.

“What?” She giggled, sipping the margarita in her grasp.

“I slept with Peña, like two weeks ago.” You murmured, watching the woman's face twist into all sorts of emotions, mainly shocked.

“Really?” She finally found the words to speak.

“We got drunk and it just kind of happened,” You shrugged, taking a sip of your own drink.

“Can I ask… How was it?” She giggled as she asked the question, a goofy grin crossing her face, cheeks heating up.

His rough hands grabbed at your ass as you rode him on the couch, skin slapping from how fast he was guiding you. You could feel every inch of his condom-covered cock fill you up, and only craved more as you feverishly rubbed your clit.

Your eyes met his own amongst the pleasure, making your chest flutter from the intensity and passion. He was hungry for your body; the taste, the feel. It’s something he's been craving for months; watching you parade around in your tight skirts. Steve gave him shit about it constantly, clocking nearly immediately how much Javier took a liking to you, but he always brushed it off.

“God, cariño,” He groaned, watching your breasts bounce. You bit your lip as he wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, switching positions so your back was now on the couch and he was standing.

His cock plunged back into you immediately, causing you to call out his name, nails digging into his arms which had moved down as his hands grasped your hips.

“Javi,” It was breathy and caused him to falter at how sexy his name sounded falling from your lips. He’s heard it a million times before, but not like this, not so needy and whiny.

It caused him to pick up his pace, watching your face twist with delight as he fucked you into the couch. Many women have been in this very spot, but you outstand them by far. Your pussy fit his throbbing cock like a glove, your breasts are the perfect shape and size for his hands and lips, your mouth did wonderful things as well. The blowjob you gave him before you fucked nearly made him bust like a damn teenager.

“Oh, you're going to make me cum,” Your voice rasped out of your throat as your nails dug into his biceps. This would be the third time he's making you finish for the night, a personal record. You haven't had amazing partners in bed in the past.

The familiar burn began to form in your lower belly, your nerves feeling as though they were electric. The man released his hand from your hip and moved it to your core, thumb quickly rubbing your clit in fast circles.

“Cum for me, hermosa,” He grunted, feeling your pussy clench around his cock. The sensation caused his own orgasm to begin to rush up on him, prompting him to thrust faster.

Your orgasm washed through your body as you moaned Javier’s name loudly, head tilted back into the couch cushions from the overwhelming sensation. You could feel the man's thrusts get sloppier until he too came, cock buried deep in your pussy with a groan, little whispers of praise leaving his lips.

“It was uh-” You paused, feeling your own face gaining heat at the memory, “Good. I'll tell you that.”

“I'm so happy that this happened.” Connie gushed, leaning forwards in excitement, “Steve and I have had a bet going on for months. He owes me five bucks.”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes, wanting her to relish in the excitement before you dropped the bombshell of reality onto the woman. As much as Connie and Steve- apparently- wanted this to happen, it just wasn't going to. You made that clear with Javier, now you'll have to do the same with them.

---

“Hey,” Javier’s low voice caught your attention, causing your stomach to drop. You’ve been avoiding him to the best of your abilities since that night seven weeks ago.

Not only because you slept together, but also because, just last night, you found out you were expecting.

The light knock on your apartment door caused you to jump off of the couch and rush over, pulling open the entryway. Connie greeted you with a pitiful, yet encouraging grin. You could see the brown paper bag in her grasp as she slipped into your home, walking past you.

“Do you really think it’s-” She began, walking until she stood in the living room while also handing you the bag.

“Yes.” You cut her off, opening the paper bag to reveal two pregnancy tests. You felt your stomach churn at the sight and swallowed down the bile that threatened to come up.

“What did you tell Steve?” You asked, looking back up at the blonde before treading over to the bathroom.

“He's not even home yet. Him and Javier had to go somewhere following a tip regarding Poison.” She shrugged her shoulders, sitting down on the couch. You chewed your lip, not only anxious for the result of the pregnancy tests, but now for your boys. You should be out there with them... but you're sick at home because of one.

You nodded even though she couldn't see and quietly stepped into the bathroom. It didn't take long for you to do what the instructions asked, anxious enough for the result.

When you flipped the two tests over, revealing little pink pluses on each, bile immediately rose to your throat, causing you to rush over to the toilet and release the contents of your belly.

Connie was quick to knock on the door before entering, rushing over to your figure and rubbing your back for comfort. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the tests, widening when she saw the evident positive on both, before looking back down at your sad figure.

“Oh, honey,” She whispered softly as you raised your head, tears streaming down your cheeks hotly. She grabbed some toilet paper from nearby and gently patted them away, hand cupping your cheek.

“I just… didn't expect this.” You sniffled, shaking your head “We used protection, I-” You stopped and shook your head, a fresh set of tears streaming down your cheeks.

You haven't exactly slept without anyone since Javier. Anytime you tried picking up someone at the bar after work, they just weren't the same. You couldn't even make it past a heated make out session before feeling the need to kick them out or leave.

“What's up?” You didn't dare look at him, your stomach still twisting. You kept your gaze at the manila file in your grasp, facing shelves full of boxes containing files.

“You alright?” He questioned, stepping further into the room, eyeing down your back. You swallowed, hearing his footsteps as they got closer to your figure.

“I’m fine, why?” You furrowed your brow, finally raising your head and looking over your shoulder at the man. He could see the emotions you were so desperately trying to hide, making his own chest ache.

The truth is, the night you fucked had also been stuck on his mind. And the obvious avoidance you've shown has been messing with his head. He understood nothing more was to come from that night in his apartment, but he didn't expect you to be so cold; even at work.

When he walks into a room, you leave it. And if you're sitting at your desks, you always make an excuse to go work in the conference room. Not just that, but you also won't even look at him half the time, and only address Steve when the three of you are standing together.

“No reason.” Javier shook his head, “Murphy just wanted to know if you found the file?” He quickly changed the subject.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I just found it,” You began, finding the confidence to turn around and meet his gaze, “Was just reading through to make sure it was the right one.” You noticed how close he’d stepped into the small room; nearly trapping you against the wall of files. It made your heart race and emotions run amuck.

This is why you had been avoiding him.

Early pregnancy symptoms have been kicking your ass. And having Javier there to rub your back when you felt cramps, or hold your hair back when you were nauseous hanging over the toilet, was something you craved.

“We should get back to Steve then.” The man commented. You nodded, eyes averting from his face to his chest. The shirt he was wearing had been unbuttoned dangerously low, making your cheeks fill with heat. You no longer had to imagine what his bare chest looked like, as you've already gotten to see it.

“Is there something on my shirt?” Javier's voice broke you from your memory, and you felt your face gain heat rapidly.

“No.” You quickly stuttered out, shaking your head, and pushing past him to get out of the corner he had trapped you in.

---

By sixteen weeks, your pants wouldn't button anymore, and your bump was getting less easy to hide. You had to switch to baggier blouses and stretch pants. Luckily, having male work partners, they haven't noticed your changing body yet.

It came as a surprise because you've since quit smoking, drinking, and caffeinated coffee.

Connie has been keeping your secret well. You begged her not to tell Steve until you were ready, to which she agreed. She understood you needed time to figure everything out. Being a single, pregnant woman is mostly frowned upon this day in age. Not that you care about that bullshit, but you don't particularly enjoy being the center of attention.

You also need to figure out if and when you are going to tell Javier. Deep down, you know you should. And if you end up getting sent back to the states because everyone found out, then that's fine as well.

Your plan was to stay and help as much as you could, until near the end of your pregnancy. When it reaches that time, you'll take maternity leave combined with your vacation days, and fly back home. After your baby is born… you don't really know what you're going to do.

A knock on your apartment door caught your attention, and you stood up, brows furrowing. It was late, close to midnight. You had gotten off work a short amount of hours ago, but weren't expecting any visitors.

You reached into your purse and pulled out your gun, making sure it was loaded before slowly treading to the front door. Looking through the peephole, your stomach dropped as to who stood in the hallway.

Unarming your pistol, you placed it back onto your purse before returning over to the door and opening it.

“Javier?” You had seen him at work earlier, but his sudden appearance at your apartment, blocks away from his own, was a shock.

Despite trying your best to ignore him earlier in your pregnancy, you eventually learned to push your feelings about everything to the back burner and only talk shop. No personal life was discussed, only work.

“I need to talk to you.” He spoke, brown eyes boring into your own. You felt your stomach drop, nodding as you stepped aside and allowed him in. You could smell the alcohol on his breath as soon as he walked by you, heading towards the couch.

“What's up?” You questioned, pulling your robe tighter around your body while watching him sit. You had gotten out of the shower only twenty minutes ago, and hadn't bothered to get clothed yet, save for a bra and underwear.

“I need to ask you about the coordinates to Escobar's current hideout.” He spoke, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his front pocket.

“Oh, um, please don't smoke in here.” You commented, swallowing heavily. The man gave you a quizzical look, tucking the cigarettes back into his pocket.

“Are you quitting or something?” He questioned.

“Something like that.” You spoke, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, “So, what questions do you have?”

“Carillo and the Search Bloc are going to drop into Escobar’s tomorrow morning. I'm having my informant confirm the coordinates once more, you should have yours do the same.” Javier answered, looking you down.

Seeing you there sitting in your robe, fresh out of the shower caused his heart to pick up and cock come to attention. Your cleavage had popped out, the robe slightly splitting open at the top when you sat down. He couldn't help but notice that your breasts seemed larger. Your legs were also deliciously exposed, and looked so soft.

The man just wanted to feel your skin; squish the meat of your thighs, kiss the gorgeous crevice where your legs meet your torso.

“I’ll get a hold of them.” You nodded towards him, “You came all this way just for that?” You then questioned.

The man muttered something about tapped phone lines- which you suspected was a lie- before asking if you had any liquor.

With a nod, you stood up and walked over to your kitchen, pulling a bottle of whiskey out the cabinet. You then poured him a glass before carrying both the freshly poured liquor and the bottle back over to the couch, placing them down in front of his figure.

Truthfully, you miss both drinking and smoking. But the health of your baby is more important than the poison you use to ease your mind.

Sitting back down, you watched the man take a hefty gulp before refilling his glass. You bit your lip, playing with the hem of your robe as the two of you sat there in silence. You were unsure of what to say, wanting to avoid everything besides work.

Your inner voice was suggesting otherwise, fighting for you to tell him the news. You know it isn't fair to keep it a secret, as he at least deserves to know that he’s going to be a father- Not that he has to stay and help raise the kid.

You have fully come to terms with the fact that you're going to be a single mom, raising the baby on your own.

“Javier…” You began, playing with your fingers. The man turned his gaze, searching your face, questioning as to what you're going to say. You took his silence as your signal to continue on, “Do you remember when we slept together four months ago?”

“How could I forget,” The man spoke, a smug expression crossing his face as he took a sip of his drink.

You rolled your eyes at his comment before taking a deep breath, “Uh, well. I-I think the condom broke.”

The man's cheerful expression quickly dropped into a serious one as he set the glass harshly down onto the table, standing up, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure.” You frowned in return, standing up as well and untying the robe to expose the small bump of your belly. You watched the man's eyes drop to your mostly naked body. He first stopped at your breasts, admiring how enticing they looked tucked in your bra, before trailing down to your stomach. He could see the shadow the bump caused, sending his heart into his throat.

“I found out at seven weeks. My period was late.” You broke the silence, retying your robe. “I admit I didn't know how to tell you- If I was even going to in the first place. But, I'm getting to a point where I can't hide it anymore. And…” You paused, swallowing, “You deserve to know.”

Javier only stared you down, resting his hands on his hips, “And you haven't slept with other guys?”

“No, I haven't slept with other men.” You felt hurt by his question even though it was reasonable. The two of you don't have a claim over the other, “I-I tried after our night together and… couldn't. I know that you're the father.” You brought your hand down to your bump. Your baby was still small, only being sixteen weeks along, but you have grown to love the thing with your whole heart.

“Look, I-I need time to think about this.” Javier muttered, shaking his head. You felt your heart begin to race at his comment, even though you'd already prepared yourself for heartbreak.

The man doesn't want to be tied down, he proved that by walking out on his wedding with Lorraine all those years ago, and the various women he circulates through in a week. You should've expected his rejection.

“I don't expect you to be a part of this.” You quickly spoke, trying to reassure him- and yourself, “I fully am ready to do it on my own. I have been since I found out. I won't tell anyone it's yours.”

He stared at you before nodding silently. This is certainly not what he expected when he came to your apartment this evening; he had different intentions. He missed you. He missed your body and the way you taste. The hookers and informants he's been fucking the last four months have been like dirt compared to you.

But now knowing that you were carrying his kid? It all felt so overwhelming.

“I-It’s probably best if you go…” You spoke so quietly, wrapping your robe tighter around your body, his silence beginning to make your heart race.

“Hermosa-” Javier began, but you saw him hesitate to speak. He only nodded and turned on his heel before stepping over to the door and leaving swiftly.

The moment Javier left your apartment, you couldn't stop the tears from spilling down your cheeks. You felt overwhelmed, sliding down the back of your front door after he had shut it, hands covering your face.

You felt guilty for kicking him out, and even regret it a little. Even though he told you he needed time, he looked so upset when you told him to leave. And what was he going to say just before exiting? Why did he stop himself?

You cried on the floor for god knows how long before making your way to your land-line, which sat on the side table next to the couch. You needed a friend- Connie- who usually made you feel better about the situation you're in.

The phone dial rang two times before someone answered. When you blubbered a somber greeting, you immediately recognized that Steve had answered when he questioned if you were alright.

“Steve,” You bit your lip, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat, “Can I speak to Connie?”

“She’s asleep,” His southern accent spoke loudly through your receiver, “Are you sure you're fine?”

you sighed heavily at his question, silent tears streaming down your face as you sat on the couch. You figured now would be the time to break the news. He’s become a close friend since meeting in Miami; both him and his wife.

“Steve, I have something to tell you.” You began with a sniffle, “I-I’m pregnant…”

Your partner was silent for several moments before he finally spoke, “Jesus. Does Connie know?”

“Yes. She helped me find out, actually.” You wiped your eyes before taking a deep breath, trying to calm down your emotions. The distraction of Steve was helping, along with lifting a heavy weight off of your shoulder. But Javier still lingered on your mind; his displeased face haunting the back of your eyes every time you blinked.

“Why didn't you tell me earlier? Does Peña know too?” Steve then questioned, causing your heart to wrench. A new lump formed and a fresh set of tears began to fill your eyes, spilling down your cheeks.

“Javier knows,” Your voice cracked as you spoke, “He’s the father.”

“Oh,” The blonde's deep voice came across quiet through the receiver of your telephone, “I’m so sorry.”

---

Bullets ricocheted across the surrounding brick walls, nearly hitting you as you quickly jumped behind a barrier. You could hear your partner yelling in Spanish from the rooftops, as he had taken a separate route, while you quickly hid from the gunfire.

Streams of silent curses left your lips, brick dust and chunks flying throughout the air from bullets. You could feel your heart beating against your chest, adrenaline pumping hotly, as you held your pistol in hand.

The gunfire finally stopped a handful of seconds later, but it was soon followed by the sound of a car peeling away down the street, causing you to peek over the wall. La Quica and Poison were gone and the street was empty due to the gunfire.

“Shit,” You cursed just as your partner approached the brick wall you hid behind.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Javier’s angry voice caused you to roll your eyes, reholstering your pistol before facing him.

“What?” You furrowed your brow in anger.

“You could've gotten hurt. You're not even wearin’ a fuckin’ vest.” He continued on, gesturing to the blouse donning your top. You merely stood and listened as he ranted. He never used to be this protective over you. Not even after you slept together and before you found out about your pregnancy.

“Why the fuck did you chase them?”

“We could've had them if you hadn't taken the roof!” You yelled back, arm raising as you harshly poked him in the chest.

Javier Immediately clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing towards your figure. You know he wanted to snap back vile words in return, but kept his composure. He couldn't bring himself to, not when you're pregnant, especially with his kid. He already made you draw the short straw, he didn’t need to cut it even smaller.

“Get your ass into the jeep.” He spoke through grit teeth, choosing to abandon the argument all together. You scoffed, kindling his temper even further. He needs a cigarette as soon as the two of you get back to the office.

“Peña told me about Poison and La Quica.” Steve’s southern drawl caused you to lift your head from staring at some paperwork.

“Did he also tell you about how he was a dumbass-”

“You need to get your head out of your ass, agent.” The blonde man spoke deadpan, cutting off whatever you were about to spew. He didn’t care, all he knew was that Javier had smoked four cigarettes in the span of an hour after you had gotten back. He finally confronted the man as to why the two of you were acting so off after your outing.

“Javier was scared. Though he may not act like it, he’s terrified of losing you- and the baby.” The man whispered the last part, knowing you haven’t told the rest of the office yet, “He admitted it to me just before I came to confront you. ”

You felt your heart clench, quickly averting your gaze from Steve, “I-I didn’t realize.”

“Peña may not have been the best choice to… procreate with. But, you’ve gotta throw him a bone.” Your partner mumbled softly, catching your attention once again.

“I’ll talk to him.” You swallowed with a nod, standing up from your desk.

“I’m sorry.” You immediately spoke once Javier had settled back at his desk. The man spent hours doing some meaningless task in the file room; most likely just to avoid you. “I haven’t been taking your feelings into account. I just… assumed you didn’t care.”

“I figured that was what you wanted.” Javier simply answered, eyes meeting your own. He leaned in his desk chair, arm draping over the backrest.

“No-” You quickly yelped, feeling your face gather heat, “I mean…Can we talk in the conference room?” You then whispered, suddenly so aware of your coworkers and how silent the office seemed. Nobody's eyes were on you and Peña, but you could tell they had purposely stilled their movements to hear better.

The man only gave you a simple nod, gesturing for you to lead the way.

Once the two of you had made it to the conference room, you quickly closed the door and blinds on the window-filled wall. The sensation of Javier's eyes on your back urged you to turn around.

“First, I want to apologize for acting like such an ass out in the field. I'm used to only having to worry about myself, and I wasn't thinking about…” You trailed off, hand hovering over your belly, “I should've been vested. And followed you onto the roof.” You added, finally making eye contact with the man.

He sat leaning against the conference table, arms folded which caused his biceps to bulge deliciously. You know if you weren't pregnant, he'd have a lit cigarette between his lips.

“I want to apologize too. I shouldn’t have acted out. I-” He cut himself off, standing up straight now, “I care about you, and the kid.” He gestured to your belly, glancing down. You had the bump hidden quite well under a flowy blouse, but even just knowing it was there caused his heart to pick up speed.

Unable to stop the smile from growing across your cheeks, you dropped your head shyly. He had spoken such simple words, but they meant everything to you. Never did you expect for him to say he was sorry, as well as admit emotion. It almost made you hopeful- but you quickly had to shut down that feeling, not wanting to get disappointed or hurt. You know that nothing is going to come from this. Javier is nothing more than your baby’s father. He’s probably just apologizing to keep you happy.

You then cleared your throat and met his gaze once more, having properly discouraged yourself, “So, are we good?”

“Yes.” He murmured.

You gave him one last nod before turning on your heel, approaching the door. Standing alone with him was beginning to feel overwhelming.

“Wait,” Javier interrupted your exit, grasping your bicep and pulling you back over to him. His other hand cupped your jaw in the process, pulling your gaze up to match his as his lips met your own with fervor.

Melting into the kiss, your arms grasped onto his shirt, pulling your chests taught. His arms snaked around your waist, lifting you up from your ass and quickling placing you onto the conference table just behind your bodies. Wrapping your legs around his figure, your hands moved up to the back of his neck, tangling your fingers into his hair.

“God,” Javier groaned against your lips, hands fishing under your blouse. Your body reacted delightfully to his touch, only yearning for more.

“Missed you,” You mumbled. Javier unhooked your bra and pulled it away from your chest, quickly cupping your breasts as soon as they hung freely. He could feel how swollen and full they’d gotten, only causing his mouth to water.

Javier then growled, fingers twisting your nipple softly, “I need to fuck you,”

His statement caused your pussy to throb, but you quickly pushed him away, “Not in the office.”

“Why not?” He frowned, head twisting in question as he stepped backwards towards the door, locking it, “Just need to be quiet.”

Biting your lip, your morals fought a losing battle as the man began unbuttoning his top and slowly stepping towards your seated figure. He returned to the same position he was before, securing your legs around his waist once more. He then guided your arms up, taking off your blouse, allowing your bra to fall off in the process.

You heard him softly groan at the sight of your breasts before he leaned over, lips meeting the delicate skin of your nipple, sucking and biting tenderly. Tossing your head back in pleasure, you felt as the man began to grind his hips into your own, hard cock pressing up uncomfortably against his tight jeans.

Reaching down, you rubbed him through the denim, causing him to falter in his movements, “Christ, hermosa,”

Finding the hem of your pants, the man slipped his hand in past your underwear feeling the full bush of your pussy before his fingertips met your clit. Accidentally moaning at the sensation, Javier quickly put his hand up to your mouth, covering it gently. Your arousal only caused his cock to throb harder.

Unzipping his jeans, he freed himself and gave his dick a few pumps, grumbling lowly, “Gonna fuck you,”

“Please,” You pleaded against his other hand, which was still covering your mouth.

Lifting your ass up off of the table momentarily, the man slid your pants and underwear down, exposing your pussy for him to enjoy. Mouth watering at the sight, he dropped to his knees, quickly dipping his tongue deep into your core. Biting your lip to repress the sounds of pleasure you wanted to spew, your lower belly grew hot with pleasure as Javier sucked your clit harshly and slid two fingers in.

“Oh- God, Javi-” You whimpered, one of your hands lifting from the table and tangling into his hair. You could hardly see him over your pregnant belly, making the reach a little difficult. The man hummed against your pussy, pleased with how well you were responding to him. Recalling the last time you had sex, your bodies naturally seemed to understand each other perfectly; and it seems it’s happening this time as well.

With his tongue working expertly against your clit, your pussy clenched around his fingers. He could feel that you were getting close to coming, and picked up his pace in combination with sucking your little bundle of nerves more harshly.

“Cum for me, cariño.” You heard Javier growl, just before you couldn’t take it anymore and felt your orgasm wash through your entire body.

The man wasted no time licking you clean before standing back up, quickly plunging his cock deep into heat. His hand covered your mouth once more, silencing the yelp of pleasure that was leaving your lips. Thrusting his hips, the man fucked you roughly on the conference table, causing it to shake with the movements. You could feel every inch as he did so, only adding to your pleasure.

Balancing your weight onto one hand, you moved the other down to your clit and rubbed feverishly, throwing your head back in pleasure. Clenching around the man's cock at the sensation, he groaned softly, faltering his thrusts slightly before continuing.

“Fuck you feel so fucking tight. If you weren’t already pregnant, I’d do it again.” He grumbled as one of his hands rested on your belly, helping move your body to the rhythm of his thrusts, “Your pussy feels that good.”

Your second orgasm caught you by surprise, the man's words luring you there quickly. Javier’s own orgasm followed closely behind, your cunt clenching around his cock, milking him thoroughly. His head tossed back in pleasure, continuing to thrust lazily until you both became too sensitive at the feeling.

“Fuck,” Javier cursed while tucking himself back into his jeans, still breathing heavily. His button-down remained open, deliciously showing off his gleaming, sweat covered chest. You paused at the sight, biting your lip, before slipping off the table and collecting yourself as well.

“We should get back to work,” You murmured, embarrassment slowly setting in, now realizing you just fucked Javier in a very inappropriate place. Anyone could’ve knocked on the door or windows; and what if it happened to be Steve or the Ambassador?

Instead of responding vocally, Javier only nodded, eyeing your frame up and down as he buttoned his shirt back up.

#javier peña #smut #angst

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