💙Katie’s the name and writing's my game 📖 Welcome to my blog that has no organization whatsoever St.Louis Cardinals Lemme bless your feed with some crazy stories and words of wisdom some stories and words of wisdom. Request~ () Open (x) Closed
just saw your post asking for characters x reader dynamics thoughts so i was wondering if you’d be down to write a little something about how jack, sammy and pope (or just one of them or two or anything you’re most comfortable with) would act during reader pregnancy ((:
— sʜᴀᴡɴ ʜᴀᴛs ʙᴏʏs ᴡ/ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ ʚɞ˚｡
→ warnings: x fem!reader, short blurbs, sort of brief grief mention & age gap [in jacks], pregnancy mention [duh], little bit a smut cause well how else does one get pregnant??.
Jack Abbot —
Jack had sort of resigned himself to the idea that he wasn't gonna have a kid. He and his wife had been trying when he was younger, had more of a deep yearning for a family and been able to keep up with the kid. Then well he lost his wife and he sort of thought maybe it was the universe’s way of saying he’s not meant for a happy family, it’s okay he’s worked through this in therapy.
Then in walked you, this pretty young thing who was a new night shift nurse and when you weren’t glued to Lena learning the in’s and out’s of the PTMC you were glued to Jack. You seemed drawn to him and from then on it he was gone for you. However you being young and quite fertile and being an insatiable bunny rabbit that never wants Jack to pull out and well…you get pregnant. It was kinda early on in your relationship and so you were a little scared that Jack didn’t want kids, he was in his late 40’s and didn’t already have one so you assumed he didn't want any and would leave you.
You cry and vent all this out to Jack, hormones and everything already running rampant when you tell him about the pregnancy and he is so so soft. He calms you down and proceeds to tell you about his wife and well now you're just a waterfall of tears. But after all the anxiety and crying, Jack is the absolute most cautious and gentle baby daddy ever.
Being the diligent doctor he is he has reminders set in his phone for you to take your prenatals, even if they go off when he’s at work he shoots you a quick text:
— prenatal time honey, gotta keep my two girls healthy! there’s some dinner for you two in the fridge by the way <3
Now does Jack know yet if you’re having a girl? No but it’s how his heart feels is right to refer to you and the human being growing in your belly as.
He also insists on you having the baby in the hospital, he’s not exactly opposed to a home birth I mean he is a doctor after all. He knows what to do but he’d rather you be around more than one medical professional in case anything goes awry, that poor old man can’t possibly handle losing the second love of his life and your baby.
Sammy Bryant —
Oh sweet sammy boy who wants to be a daddy so bad. He is beyond ecstatic when he walks into your shared bedroom after a long shift and is met with the little presentation you set up of a cute baby onesie, your positive pregnancy test, and a little bear on the bed. He’s not surprised I mean he did have you bent in the pro bone position, filling you up with load after load almost every night. He was very eager to make you a mommy and he is quite proud of himself.
Sammy’s favorite part of his days now consist of going on late night gas station runs for your odd pregnancy cravings and laying in bed with you discussing baby names, who’s eyes the baby will have, who’s nose, who’s feet (sammy swears it’ll be his)
He is practically beaming when you come into the station, belly all big as you grow his son or daughter and bring him his lunch he left at home. He is quickly up off his feet to bring you a chair to sit so he can dote on you and show off his pregnant beautiful wife a little. (sue him okay he’s a happy man)
Somehow Sammy gets far more anal about your safety once you’re pregnant, no walking alone at night, you’re not allowed to pick up anything that Sammy deems too heavy, he’s just grateful there are no stairs in your house he’d probably have a heart attack at work worrying himself grey.
Pope Cody —
Pope who deserves more than anybody to be a dad and boy do you deliver. You are just about as stubborn as Pope himself and even though you and him are dating and very clearly serious, when baz tells him no one would ever have a kid with him? Oh you’re happy to prove the bastard wrong, you are on Pope just about 24/7 after hearing that and you get pregnant shortly after.
Pope, ever worried about you when you’re in pain, immediately notices when your morning sickness starts up and he’s witnessed Smurf pregnant enough that he runs out to buy 4 different pregnancy tests in the blink of an eye. He sits on the edge of the tub while you take each test, rubbing soothing circles on your knee with his thumb. His eyes instantly glaze over with tears when the two of you watch those 2 lines appear on all four of the tests. Pope kissing you as tears burst out of both of you.
He is beyond protective about pregnant you, making you sit down when you get up to grab something saying he’ll get it for you, reminding you about vitamins and prenatals, making sure to always keep you hydrated even if you already pee just about every 10 damn minutes.
Pope who can’t help the dopey smile on his face when near the end of your pregnancy he walks in the house to find Lena putting stickers on your round belly, writing out baby girl and decorating it with butterflies and hearts. He supposed it’s fate that he grew up in a house almost full of boys that his will be filled with all girls and he can’t complain he loves all 3 of his girls.
And Andrew Pope Cody who already couldn't get enough of you before you were carrying his kids becomes glued to you after. Hands groping at your body, telling you how gorgeous you are growing his baby, how good of a mama you’ll be and how proud of you he is.
→ a/n: sorry if this is ass cause it’s short and not proofread but yall send me thoughts or if you want me to expand on any of these.
bodyguard!Clark + actress!Reader. overly affectionate actress!reader + yearning bodyguard!Clark. private limos. oops, only one room booked. dinner reservations for two. post-press interview trailer undressing. innocent-not-so-innocent intimate scene practice. revolutionary, I know, but ellipsus is UP
Note This small piece deals with brief mentions of fertility struggles, negative tests, and the emotional weight of wanting a child for a long time. While it's ultimately a happy and fluffy story, those themes are present in the background. If you're sensitive to discussions of infertility or pregnancy loss, please be aware of it. Smut is there but like, barely, more fluff and everything with aftercare and lots of emotional intimacy. Also, Clark cries a lot because he loves his wife and baby so much, it's very soft and sweet.
The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across the bedroom, painting everything in shades of amber and gold. Clark lay propped against the headboard, one arm tucked behind his head while the other held his phone at a comfortable distance, the screen illuminating his chiseled features as he scrolled through the day's news with half-lidded eyes. The quiet hum of the city at night filtered through the reinforced windows of their Metropolis apartment, but he'd long since learned to tune out the cacophony of the world outside these walls.
Beside him, you were a portrait of peaceful slumber—your dark lashes fanned against your cheeks, your lips slightly parted, one hand curled loosely against his chest as if even in sleep you needed to anchor yourself to him. The sheet had slipped down to your waist, revealing the gentle curve of your shoulder, the soft rise and fall of your breathing. You'd fallen asleep nearly an hour ago, exhausted from another long day at the Daily Planet, and he'd been content to simply exist in this space with you, to feel the warmth of your body against his side, to listen to the steady rhythm of your heart.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Your heartbeat was as familiar to him as his own—he'd memorized its cadence years ago, could pick it out of a crowd of thousands without hesitation. It was the sound of home, of safety, of everything good in his life. He'd spent countless nights with his ear pressed to your chest, listening to that rhythm as you ran your fingers through his hair and whispered sweet nothings into the darkness.
But tonight, as he scrolled past another article about LexCorp's latest questionable acquisition, something made him pause.
Not your heartbeat. Something else.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
He frowned, his thumb stilling on the screen as he cocked his head slightly, straining to identify what had caught his attention. At first, he thought it might be a neighbor's late-night television, or perhaps the distant thrum of a passing helicopter—the kind of ambient noise that usually faded into the background of his consciousness.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
No. This was different.
Clark lowered his phone slowly, his brow furrowing as he focused his attention inward, filtering through the symphony of sounds that constantly bombarded his superhuman senses. The refrigerator's gentle hum. The traffic several blocks away. A couple arguing in the building next door. The soft whisper of the wind against the windowpane.
And then—there it was again. So faint, so impossibly delicate, that he might have missed it entirely if he hadn't been specifically listening for it.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
His breath caught in his throat.
It was a heartbeat. A tiny, rapid heartbeat, fluttering like a hummingbird's wings, so different from the slow, steady rhythm of your heart that he almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was buried deep, muffled by layers of tissue and muscle, but it was undeniably there—a perfect, rhythmic pulse that seemed to sing with the promise of new life.
Clark's hand trembled as he set his phone aside, his entire body going still as he directed every ounce of his concentration toward that fragile sound. His enhanced hearing allowed him to perceive things no human could ever dream of—the whisper of a butterfly's wings from a mile away, the quietest secret spoken in a crowded room—but this was something else entirely. This was a secret whispered by the universe itself, and it was happening inside the woman he loved more than life itself.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The tiny heart beat on, impossibly fast, impossibly strong for something so small.
“Baby,” he breathed, the word barely a whisper, not wanting to disturb your sleep. His eyes had gone wide, and he felt a familiar pricking sensation behind them—the precursor to tears that he could never quite control when it came to you.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
He pressed his hand gently against your abdomen, his palm resting over the place where your child was growing, and he felt his heart swell until he was certain it might burst from his chest. All those years of hoping, of waiting, of wanting—you'd talked about it so many times, lying in bed just like this, your head on his chest as you dreamed about the future. He'd watched your eyes light up whenever you saw a baby in the park, had held you when the tears came after negative tests, had whispered reassurances that your time would come and now it finally had.
Clark pressed his lips together hard, trying to contain the sob that threatened to escape, but a single tear escaped anyway, trailing down his cheek and dripping onto the pillow. He didn't want to wake you—God, he knew you needed your rest—but he couldn't stop staring at your face, at the peaceful expression that was completely unaware of the miracle growing inside you.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Your child. His and yours. A perfect blend of two worlds, two souls who had somehow found each other despite every obstacle the universe had thrown in their path.
He remembered the night you'd first admitted you wanted children—it had been after a particularly harrowing mission, one where he'd almost been lost to the phantom zone, and you'd held him so tightly that even his Kryptonian skin had felt the pressure. “I want everything with you,” you'd whispered against his neck, your voice thick with emotion. “I want the whole damn dream, Clark. House in the suburbs, picket fence, a baby—maybe two—and a dog that sheds all over the furniture. I want it all.”
And he'd promised you, right then and there, that he'd give you everything you deserved.
Three years of trying. Three years of hope and disappointment, of doctor's appointments and ovulation tests, of holding you when you cried and telling you that it would happen when it was meant to happen. Three years of wanting so desperately to give you the family you craved, the family he craved, that he'd sometimes found himself praying to Rao, to God, to anyone who might be listening.
And now...
Clark pressed his forehead to your shoulder, his whole body shaking with the effort of containing his joy. He could feel the baby's heartbeat so clearly now that he knew what to listen for, that fragile thrum of life that seemed to echo through his very soul.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
“I know,” he whispered against your skin. “I know, little one. I hear you.”
You stirred slightly, a soft murmur escaping your lips, and he froze, not wanting to wake you. But you simply shifted closer to him, burying your face in the curve of his neck, and settled back into sleep.
Clark wrapped his arm around you, pulling you as close as he dared, and let his mind drift over the realization that was still washing through him in waves. A baby. Your baby. He was going to be a father—a real father, not just a hero who saved the world, but a man who would teach his child to ride a bike, who would read bedtime stories, who would be there for every scraped knee and broken heart.
He thought of his own parents, Martha and Jonathan, the two people who had given him everything even when they had so little. He thought of the way his mother had looked at him with such unconditional love, the way his father had taught him that true strength wasn't about power, but about compassion. He thought of how they'd be over the moon when they found out—Martha would probably start knitting tiny sweaters the second she heard the news, and Jonathan would get that proud, misty-eyed look he got whenever Clark did something that made him feel like he'd done right by his son.
He thought of your parents too—the way your mother's face would light up with joy, the way your father would probably pretend to be gruff about it before pulling you into the tightest hug imaginable. They'd be the kind of grandparents who spoiled their grandchild rotten, who'd show up with armfuls of gifts and stay for hours just to hold the baby.
And then there was Jimmy—goofy, loyal, wonderful Jimmy, who would absolutely be the world's most ridiculous uncle. Clark could already picture Jimmy showing up with a camera, taking approximately ten thousand photos of the baby's first everything, teaching them terrible jokes and sneaking them candy when their parents weren't looking. Jimmy would probably try to teach the baby how to do a “sick kickflip” on a skateboard before they could even walk, and Clark would have to be the one to intervene, rolling his eyes while secretly loving every second of it.
And Lois—grumpy, brilliant, fiercely loving Lois—who would pretend to be above all this baby stuff, who would roll her eyes at the “gushy” things and insist she was far too busy to be an aunt. But Clark knew her better than that. He knew she'd be the first one to volunteer for babysitting duty, the one who'd show up with age-appropriate books and stern lectures about proper nutrition, the one who'd threaten any potential bully with a Pulitzer-Prize-winning exposé on their family's dark secrets. Lois would spoil that baby absolutely rotten, and she'd deny it with every breath in her body.
And then there was Kara—his cousin, the other survivor of Krypton, the fierce and wonderful young woman who had found her way to Earth and into his heart. Clark smiled at the thought of her holding his baby, of teaching them about their heritage, of being the cool, kickass cousin who could fly and punch through walls and still have time to braid their hair and give them advice about boys or girls or whoever they ended up loving. Kara would be the one who understood what it was like to carry the weight of two worlds, the one who could tell them stories about Krypton that weren't sad and heavy, but full of wonder and beauty and the kind of hope that made a person believe in impossible things.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
“You're going to have so many people who love you,” he whispered into the darkness. “Your grandma Martha is going to knit you so many blankets you won't know what to do with them. And your grandpa Jonathan—he's going to teach you about hard work and honesty and what it means to have a good heart. He's going to tell you stories about Kansas, about cornfields and sunsets and the way the world looks when you're standing on a hill and you can see forever.”
He paused, swallowing hard against the emotion clogging his throat.
“And your other grandparents—your mom's mom and dad—they're going to spoil you so much. Your grandma's going to make you all her famous cookies, and your grandpa's going to teach you how to fix things, how to build things with your hands. And they're all going to look at you and see the best parts of everyone they love.”
He laughed softly, imagining the chaos.
“And your Uncle Jimmy—he's going to be the silliest uncle in the history of uncles. He's going to teach you bad jokes and show you how to take the perfect picture and probably try to make you his assistant for some wild scheme. Your mom and I are going to have to keep an eye on him, I'm telling you. And Auntie Lois—she's going to pretend she's too busy and too important for all of this, but she's going to love you so much it scares her. She's going to bring you books and teach you big words and threaten anyone who even looks at you wrong. She's going to be the most fierce aunt you could ever imagine, and she's going to spoil you absolutely rotten, even if she'll never admit it.”
He paused, feeling his heart swell even more.
“And your auntie Kara—your dad’s cousin. You might think she’s a bit crazy but she’s going to be amazing. She’s going to teach you about where we come from about Krypton, about Rao, about the House of El. She’s going to show you that being different is something to be proud of, not something to be ashamed of. She’s going to be the one who understands what it’s like to carry the weight of a whole planet on your shoulders, and she’s going to hold your hand through all of it. Plus, she’s going to be the coolest auntie ever—she can fly, she can bench press a building, and she has the best taste in music. You’re going to think she’s the coolest person in the universe, and honestly, you’ll be right.
The baby's heart continued its rapid rhythm, and Clark let himself imagine what they'd look like—your child, with your fierce intelligence and maybe his own stubborn streak. He imagined tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb, imagined the first smile, the first word, the first step. He imagined teaching them about the stars, about the legacy of Krypton, about what it meant to be a symbol of hope.
He imagined you, glowing with the beauty of impending motherhood, your hand resting on your belly as you talked to the life growing inside you.
The thought made him ache with a love so profound it hurt.
“I love you,” he whispered to your sleeping form, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. “I love you both so much it terrifies me.”
He could have stayed awake all night, just listening to that tiny heartbeat—and he almost did, staying perfectly still until the first rays of dawn crept through the curtains. But eventually, exhaustion won out, and he allowed himself to drift into a light sleep, his hand never leaving your abdomen.
The next few days were the longest of Clark's life.
He woke before you every morning, careful not to disturb you as he slipped out of bed first and headed to work at the Daily Planet together, where he spent his days pretending to focus on stories while his mind drifted back to that tiny heartbeat. He wanted to tell you—God, he wanted to scream it from the rooftops—but there was something special about this moment, about being the only one who knew your secret.
It felt sacred.
So he kept his silence, watching you with new eyes as you went about your daily routine. He noticed the way you'd started pressing your hand to your stomach when you thought he wasn't looking, the way you'd been avoiding your morning coffee. He noticed the slight pallor to your skin, the way you'd been more tired lately, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot.
He caught himself staring at you across the newsroom, and when you caught his eye and smiled, he had to look away before you could see the tears threatening to spill over.
“Everything okay, Smallville?” you asked him once, your brow furrowed with concern. “You've been acting weird all week.”
“Just tired,” he lied, and the guilt made his stomach twist. “You know how it is. Big story brewing.”
You accepted the excuse with a skeptical look, but you didn't push, and he was grateful for that small mercy.
Seventeen days after he'd first heard it, Clark came home to find the apartment dark, a single candle flickering on the dining table, and you standing in the center of the room with your hands clasped behind your back.
“Hey, you,” you said softly, and there was something in your voice—a tremor, an excitement—that made his heart start to pound.
“Hey,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it by the door. “What's all this?”
You bit your lip, and he watched your eyes grow bright with unshed tears. “I have something to tell you. Something I've been wanting to tell you for—God, Clark, I've been counting down the minutes.”
He crossed the room in two steps, his hands finding your waist, his forehead dropping to yours. “What is it?” he asked, even though he already knew, even though he'd been waiting for this moment for almost three agonizing weeks.
You pulled a small object from behind your back—a small teddy bear wearing a baby onesie, impossibly tiny, with the infamous ‘S’ printed across the front in bold letters—and held it up between you.
“I'm pregnant,” you said, and your voice cracked on the last syllable. “We're having a baby, Clark. I found out a few days ago, and I've been dying to tell you, but I wanted to do it right, wanted to make it special, and—”
You didn't get to finish the sentence, because Clark's lips were on yours, kissing you with a tenderness that made you gasp. He tasted the salt of your tears—and his own, he realized, because they were streaming down his face unchecked, soaking your cheeks, your lips, everything.
“I know,” he whispered against your mouth. “I know, baby. I've known since that night.”
You pulled back, your eyes wide with shock. “What? How?”
“Like three weeks ago,” he said, and his voice was thick with emotion. “You were sleeping after that Gala, and I was just—just lying there, listening to your heartbeat like I always do, and I heard something else.”
Your hand flew to your mouth. “You heard—”
“It was so faint, so small, but it was there.” He pressed his hand to your abdomen, exactly where he'd felt it before. “A heartbeat. Tiny and fast and perfect. Our baby's heartbeat.”
You stared at him for a long moment, your expression unreadable, and then you burst into tears—great, heaving sobs that shook your entire body. “You've known for that many days? And you didn't say anything?”
“I wanted you to have your moment,” he said, pulling you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. “I wanted to see your face when you told me. I wanted—”
“You idiot,” you sobbed, but you were laughing too, your hands fisted in his shirt. “You beautiful, wonderful, impossible idiot.”
“I love you,” he said, and he meant it more than he'd ever meant anything in his life. “I love you so much, my love.”
You pulled back, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs wiping away the tears that still streamed down his cheeks. “I love you too, Clark. More than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone.”
He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second. Your lips parted beneath his, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that was as familiar as it was electric.
“When did you find out?” he asked when you finally broke apart, his forehead still pressed to yours.
“Like four days ago,” you admitted, a watery laugh escaping you. “I have been feeling weird for lm weeks and I took the test that morning, after you left for work and I had the day off. I must have stared at that little pink plus sign for an hour before I could move.”
Four days. You'd known for four days, and you'd kept it to yourself just so you could give him this moment. Clark's heart swelled with love for you, this incredible woman who had somehow chosen him, out of everyone in the universe.
“Four days,” he repeated, shaking his head in wonder. “We've been keeping the same secret from each other.”
“Great minds think alike,” you said, and then you were pulling him toward the bedroom, your hand in his, your steps quick and eager.
“Sweetheart—” he started, but you cut him off with a look.
“I need you,” you said simply, and there was no room for argument in your voice. “I need to feel you, Clark. I need to—I need to celebrate this.”
He needed that too, he realized. Needed to show you, with his body, just how much this meant to him. Needed to worship you the way you deserved.
The bedroom was bathed in moonlight when you reached it, silver light filtering through the curtains and casting shadows across the bed. Clark laid you down gently, reverently, as if you were made of spun glass, and you laughed softly at his care.
“I'm not going to break,” you reminded him, reaching up to pull him down on top of you.
“I know,” he said, but he couldn't help the careful way he touched you, the way his hands traced the outline of your body as if memorizing every curve. “I just want to be gentle. I want to remember every second of this.”
Your eyes softened, and you reached up to stroke his cheek. “I know you do. But I also know you, Clark Kent. I know that sometimes you need to lose control a little.”
He groaned at your words, his body responding immediately to the promise in them. “Honey—”
“Shh,” you whispered, pulling him down for another kiss. “Just love me, Clark. Love me.”
And he did.
His hands found the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head with careful precision, revealing the soft expanse of your stomach. He pressed his lips to the skin there, kissing the place where your child was growing, and heard the tiny heartbeat flutter.
“Hello, little one,” he murmured against your belly, and he felt you shudder beneath him. “I'm your daddy. I've been waiting for you for so long. Your mommy and I—we've been dreaming about you for years.”
“Clark,” you breathed, and your voice was thick with emotion. “God, I love you.”
He kissed his way up your body, pausing at your breasts, at the hollow of your throat, until he reached your lips again. “I love you too,” he said, and then he was kissing you with all the passion he'd been holding back for three days.
Your hands found the buttons of his shirt, working them open with practiced ease, and he shrugged the fabric off his shoulders as you tugged it away. Skin met skin, and the heat of you against him made his head spin. He could feel every inch of you pressed against him, could feel the softness of your curves and the strength of your arms wrapped around his neck, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to take you right then and there.
“I need you,” you said again, your hands fumbling with his belt. “I need you inside me, Clark. Please. I need to feel you—I need to feel connected to you. I’m so ready.”
He helped you with his pants, kicking them away along with his boxers, and then he was bare above you, the moonlight painting his muscles in silver and shadow. You were beautiful beneath him, your hair spread across the pillow like a dark halo, your eyes dark with want, your lips slightly parted as you looked up at him with so much love it made his chest ache.
“Are you sure?” he asked, even as his body screamed at him to take you. “I don't want to hurt you, or the baby—”
“I'm sure,” you said, and there was no doubt in your voice. “Everything is Fine, Clark. I just want you now, my love.”
He almost laughed and cry at that, at how perfect you were, already thinking ahead, already making sure everything was in order. “You're so incredible, you know that? Every single day, I'm amazed by you.”
“Now stop talking and make love to your wife,” you commanded, and he couldn't help but obey.
He entered you slowly, inch by agonizing inch, watching your face as you adjusted to the feeling of him. Your lips parted, your eyes fluttering closed, and you let out a soft moan that drove him wild. He felt your warmth surround him, felt your body accept him so perfectly, so completely, and he had to pause for a moment just to catch his breath.
“You feel so good,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours. “So perfect, sweetheart. Every time—every time it feels like the first time. Like I'm seeing the stars for the first time.”
“Move,” you urged, wrapping your legs around his waist, your heels digging into the small of his back. “Please, Clark. Move. I need to feel you.”
And he did.
He set a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust deep and deliberate, designed to make you feel every inch of him. Your hands clutched at his back, your nails digging into his skin, and you arched beneath him, meeting his movements with your own. The sounds you made—soft gasps and moans and whispered words of love—were the most beautiful music he'd ever heard.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly, and your eyes opened, meeting his. “I want to see you when you come. I want to watch your face, baby.”
“I'm close,” you gasped, and he could feel you tightening around him, could feel the telltale flutter that signaled your impending climax. Your eyes were locked on his, and he could see the love shining in them, could see how much this moment meant to you.
“Come for me,” he urged, reaching down to circle your clit with his thumb, his movements precise and perfect. “Come for me, my love. Let me feel you. Let me feel us.”
You shattered around him, your body convulsing with the force of your release, and he watched your face—watched the way your eyes rolled back, the way your lips parted on a silent scream, the way your whole body seemed to light up with pleasure. And then he followed you over the edge with a groan, burying his face in your neck as he spilled inside you, his hips driving into you with deep, shuddering thrusts that seemed to go on forever.
“I love you,” he gasped against your skin, his voice broken and raw. “I love you so much. You're everything to me. Everything. I love you, I love you, I love you—”
He collapsed on top of you, careful to keep most of his weight on his elbows, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you both came down from the high. He could feel your heart racing against his chest, could feel the way your body trembled beneath him, and he pressed soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, whispering words of love and devotion against your skin.
“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “So beautiful, and so perfect, and I don't deserve you.”
“Don't say that,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his hair. “You deserve everything, Clark. Every good thing in the world.”
He lifted his head to look at you, and he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face—the kind of smile that made his cheeks ache, that made him look like the farm boy from Kansas rather than the Man of Steel. You looked so content, so peaceful, your hair a mess and your skin flushed, and you'd never been more beautiful to him.
“Can I get you something?” he asked softly. “Water? Tea? I can run you a bath, if you want.”
You laughed, a beautiful, joyful sound. “You're going to spoil me even more now, aren’t you?”
“That's the plan,” he said, kissing your forehead. “For the rest of our lives.”
He carefully pulled out of you, and you winced slightly at the loss, making him frown with concern. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“I'm fine,” you assured him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “I'm more than fine. I'm perfect.”
“Let me take care of you,” he insisted, and before you could protest, he was lifting you into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom as if you weighed nothing. He set you down gently on the closed toilet lid and started running the bath, testing the water temperature with his wrist until it was perfect.
“Clark, you don't have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a look.
“I want to,” he said simply. “Let me do this for you. Please.”
You nodded, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and he helped you into the warm water, the gentle steam rising around you. He took his time washing you—his hands gentle as they smoothed soap over your skin, his touch reverent as he cleaned every inch of you. He paid special attention to your abdomen, his palm pressing softly against the place where your baby grew, and he pressed a kiss to your wet skin.
“I can't believe you're really in there,” he whispered to the baby. “I can't believe you're ours.”
“You can hear them?” you asked, and your voice was soft with wonder.
“Their heartbeat,” he confirmed, looking up at you with tears in his eyes. “It's so tiny, so fast. Like a hummingbird. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.”
You reached down to touch his hand, your fingers intertwining with his over your belly. “Thank you,” you whispered. “Thank you for wanting this with me. For choosing me.”
“There was never any choice,” he said, echoing your words from earlier. “It was always going to be you. From the moment I met you, it was always going to be you.”
After the bath, he dried you off with a soft towel and helped you into one of his T-shirts—the one you always stole, the one that smelled like him and comfort and home. He carried you back to bed and tucked you in, making sure you were comfortable before he climbed in beside you.
“Sleep,” he whispered, pulling you close so that your back was pressed against his chest, his hand resting on your belly. “I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere.”
“Promise?” you asked, already half-asleep.
“I promise,” he said, and he meant it with everything he was.
As your breathing evened out, Clark lay awake for a while longer, listening to the two heartbeats that meant everything to him. Yours, steady and strong, and the baby's, quick and full of promise. His hand remained on your abdomen, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the skin, feeling the warmth of the life growing there.
“Thank you,” he whispered to you, even though you couldn't hear him. “Thank you for this. For everything. For being you.”
He thought about his parents again, about the phone call he'd make tomorrow, about the way his mother would cry with joy and his father would pretend he wasn't crying while clearly being a mess. He thought about your parents, about how excited they'd be, about how your mother would probably start planning a nursery before you'd even hung up the phone.
A family. His family. Surrounded by so much love it was almost overwhelming.
And as the moonlight continued to stream through the windows, painting the bedroom in silver and shadow, Clark allowed himself to dream of the future—of a child with your laugh and his stubbornness, of a home filled with love and laughter and all the chaos that came with raising a baby. He dreamed of Christmas mornings and summer afternoons, of bedtime stories and first steps and all the little moments that would add up to a beautiful life.
He pressed a kiss to your hair, then another to your shoulder, and he let his hand rest on your belly, feeling the tiny heartbeat that had changed everything.
“Welcome to the world, little one,” he whispered into the darkness. “We can't wait to meet you. Your whole family is waiting for you—all the grandparents, all the aunts and uncles, everyone who's going to love you so much. You're already so loved, and you're not even here yet.”
And somewhere, in the quiet space between sleep and waking, he could have sworn he felt the baby respond—a flutter, a shift, a tiny movement that might have been his imagination but felt absolutely real.
His family. His whole world, right here in his arms.
Clark kissed your hair one last time, let his hand rest gently on your belly, and felt the most content he'd ever been in his life.
“I love you,” he whispered one more time. “Both of you. Forever.”
And as sleep finally claimed him, he dreamed of the future—of tiny fingers and toothless smiles, of first words and big dreams, of a life filled with the kind of love he'd never thought he deserved.
It was everything he'd ever wanted, and more.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The tiny heartbeat continued its perfect rhythm, and even in his sleep, Clark smiled.
Six weeks later, Clark had come home from a particularly long day at the Planet—there’d been a breaking story about some corporate scandal that had kept everyone late, and he’d been forced to pretend he needed to take the subway home instead of simply flying—and found you already asleep when he’d slipped into bed. You’d been exhausted lately, Perry being the incredible boss, saying he’s the baby’s third grandfather and letting you end up your days earlier. Your body working overtime to create new life, and he’d learned to let you rest when you needed it.
Sleep wouldn’t come for him. His mind was too full—full of you, full of the baby, full of the future they were building together. So he simply lay there, his back against the headboard, one arm wrapped around you while the other rested on your abdomen, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your breathing.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Your heart, steady and strong.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. The baby’s, so much faster, so much more fragile.
He’d become addicted to that sound, he realized. He’d started counting the hours until he could come home and listen to it again, until he could press his palm against your belly and feel the flutter of new life beneath his fingertips. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever experienced, and he couldn’t get enough of it.
“Little one,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice so soft it was barely a breath. “Your mom’s asleep, so it’s just you and me right now. I hope you don’t mind.”
The baby’s heart continued its rapid rhythm, and Clark smiled.
“I don’t have a lot to offer you, you know,” he continued, his thumb tracing absent patterns on your skin. “I mean, I can promise you the world—literally, I guess. But what I really want to promise you is something simpler. Something better.”
He paused, gathering his thoughts.
“I want to promise you that I’m going to love you with everything I have. Every single day, for the rest of my life. I’m going to be there for every scraped knee and every broken heart. I’m going to teach you how to ride a bike and how to tie your shoes and how to look up at the stars and feel like you’re part of something bigger than yourself.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head.
“Your mom is probably going to be better at this than I am. She’s so good at the important stuff—the talking, the listening, the knowing exactly what to say when everything feels impossible. I’m just going to try to keep up with her.”
He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then settled back against the pillows.
“But you know what the best part is? You get to have her as your mom. I’m serious, little one. Your mom is the most incredible person I’ve ever met. She’s so brave, so smart, so determined—she doesn’t let anything stop her. When she wants something, she goes after it with everything she has, and she doesn’t give up. She’s going to teach you how to be strong, how to stand up for what’s right, how to fight for the things that matter.”
He felt his throat tighten with emotion.
“She’s also the kindest person I know. She’ll hold you when you cry and never make you feel silly for it. She’ll stay up all night with you when you’re sick, reading stories or singing songs or just sitting with you so you don’t have to be alone. She’s going to look at you with so much love in her eyes, and it’s going to make you feel like you can do anything in the world.”
He paused, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.
“And honestly? I still can’t believe she chose me. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand it. She could have had anyone—anyone in the world—and she chose me. A farm boy from Kansas who didn’t even know who he was until she helped him figure it out. She saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself, and she never stopped believing in me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
The baby’s heartbeat seemed to steady slightly, and Clark felt a warmth spread through his chest.
“I’m going to love you so much,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I already do. I’ve been waiting for you for so long, little one. Your mom and I—we’ve been wanting you for years. There were so many times when we thought it might not happen, when we thought maybe we weren’t meant to be parents. But you’re here. You’re real. And I can hear you, and I can feel you, and I already love you more than I thought it was possible to love anything.”
He pressed his palm more firmly against your belly, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his hand.
“I’m going to teach you everything I know. I’m going to teach you about Kansas and cornfields and the way the sky looks when the sun sets over the prairie. I’m going to teach you about the stars—about Krypton and Rao and the legacy you come from. I’m going to teach you what it means to be a symbol of hope, even when it feels like the world is falling apart.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head.
“But more than any of that, I’m going to teach you about love. The kind of love that your mom and I have. The kind of love that’s patient and kind, that never gives up, that shows up every single day even when it’s hard. That’s the kind of love I want to give you, little one. That’s the kind of love you deserve.”
He felt a tear slip down his cheek, and he didn’t bother to wipe it away.
“Your mom is going to be the best mother in the entire universe. I know that's a big claim, but I'm right. She's already amazing at taking care of me, and I'm a grown man who's supposed to be able to take care of himself. She's going to be patient and kind and strong, and she's going to look at you like you hung the moon.”
He pressed his lips to your shoulder again, lingering there for a moment.
“She's going to teach you how to be brave. How to stand up for yourself and for others. How to fight for what's right, even when it's scary. She's going to teach you to question things, to think critically, to never take anything at face value. She's going to show you what it means to be passionate about something, to care about the world and the people in it.”
He felt his voice break, and he had to pause for a moment to collect himself.
“And she's going to love you so much it's going to make you feel like the luckiest person in the world. Because you are, little one. You really are. You're going to have so many people who love you—so many grandparents, so many aunts and uncles, so many people who are already waiting to meet you and hold you and tell you how special you are.”
He pressed his hand more firmly against your belly, feeling the warmth of you both beneath his palm.
“But the most important thing I want you to know is that I love your mom more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me—and I'm not just saying that because you're in there listening. I'm saying it because it's true. She saved me, little one. She helped me become the person I was always meant to be. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to make her as happy as she makes me.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head.
“You're going to be so loved, little one. By me, by your mom, by all of us. We're going to give you the world—not the literal world, I mean, although your mom probably could convince me to try—but we're going to give you the most important things that are love and safety and the freedom to be whoever you want to be. And that's the best thing we can give you, really.”
The baby's heartbeat seemed to pick up slightly, and Clark smiled.
“You know, I used to worry about being a father. I wondered if I was too broken, too damaged, too much of a mess to be responsible for another life. But I don't worry about that anymore. Because your mom—your mom makes me believe that I can do anything. She makes me believe that I'm good enough, that I'm worthy of the things I want. And I want this—I want you, and I want her, and I want our family.”
He felt another tear slip down his cheek, and he let it fall.
“So just know that you're already so loved. You're already the most wanted baby in the entire universe. And when you finally come to meet us—when you open your eyes and look at us for the first time—we're going to be the happiest people on earth.”
The baby's heart continued its rapid rhythm, and Clark pressed a kiss to your belly, right where his hand was resting.
“I love you, little one. I can't wait to meet you.”
He felt you shift slightly in your sleep, a soft murmur escaping your lips, and he froze, not wanting to wake you. But you simply settled deeper into his arms, your hand coming up to rest on top of his, even in your sleep, and Clark felt his heart melt.
“Your mom's already protecting you,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder. “Look at her—she's holding onto you even when she doesn't know she's doing it. She's going to be so good at this, little one. So, so good.”
He pressed another kiss to your shoulder, then settled back against the pillows, pulling you both closer.
“And I'm going to be right here, every step of the way. I'm going to hold your mom's hand when she's scared. I'm going to make her laugh when she's sad. I'm going to be the best father I can possibly be, because you both deserve nothing less.”
He closed his eyes, letting the sound of the baby's heartbeat wash over him.
“We're going to be okay,” he whispered. “All three of us. We're going to be more than okay—we're going to be amazing.”
And as sleep finally claimed him, Clark's hand remained on your belly, cradling the tiny life that had changed everything.
He dreamed of a future filled with love—a future where his parents would hold their grandchild, where Jimmy would make them laugh, where Lois would pretend to be tough while melting inside. He dreamed of birthdays and holidays, of first steps and first words, of all the moments that would make up your family's story.
And in his dreams, the baby's heartbeat was the most beautiful music he'd ever heard, a promise of everything to come.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The tiny heart continued its perfect rhythm, and even in his sleep, Clark smiled, holding his family close.
He couldn't wait to meet them—to finally see the face of the child he'd been dreaming about for so long. But for now, this was enough, you, warm and safe in his arms, and the baby, growing and thriving inside you.
His family. His whole world and it was absolutely perfect.
Having Sammy pretending to be your boyfriend to get a creepy guy at your job off your back <3
based off this ask! :)
You’d met Sammy at the police station, sitting in the lobby shaking after your car had been hijacked and robbed with you in it. He’d seen you in the waiting area and instantly sat beside you, placing a blanket over your shoulders softly and giving you some warm tea.
He sat with you for six whole hours while they asked you questions, and processed your case. When you were dismissed he walked you out to your car, giving you his personal number if you ever needed anyone to call if something happens, or even if you just want to talk. He sends you on your way with a pat to your window and a small sad smile.
You and him had kept in touch for the past few weeks, occasionally checking in on one another, asking what you did today, and even sending funny memes to each other on the rare occasion. You’d told him how you had gotten your new job at the local dentist office as a receptionist about two weeks ago, Sammy congratulated you, and that was the last time you two have talked, it’s been a couple days since then.
And as always, a man had to go and ruin things. You didn’t know him well, only that you two supposedly went to high school together and now just so happened to work at the same job. He was the new hire janitor. So that meant he stayed later than normal, to clean, and you stayed later than normal because you were usually finishing things up, scheduling last minute emergency appointments, or filing new addresses you hadn’t gotten to during work hours.
Lately, the guy had ‘coincidentally’ been finishing at the exact time as you. Following you out to your car, yapping about how good high school was. On this particular night, he’d followed you all the way until you were seated and ready to drive home, but he practically pushed himself through your window, asking you out.
In a panic you spit out something along the lines of ‘sorry, I have someone.’ He didn’t believe you, obviously, and got more and more pushy until you eventually just drove off. When you got home you were feeling anxious about the entire situation, and decided to call Sammy.
You were sitting on the edge of your bed, still in your work clothes, staring at the floor. The space in your car had felt so small tonight when he’d blocked the door, his shadow blocking out the streetlights.
You stared at your phone, it was past midnight. Calling a guy you’d met a few weeks ago during the worst night of your life felt like a massive burden, but Sammy’s parting words at the police station kept echoing in your head; “Call me. Anytime. Even if you just want to talk.”
You pressed dial.
It didn't even ring twice. "Yeah, it's Bryant," his voice came through, thick with sleep but instantly slipping into that deep, authoritative register. "Sammy?" your voice cracked, smaller than you meant it to be. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called so late." you shook your head softly at yourself.
There was a sudden, heavy rustle of blankets on his end, followed by the solid thud of his feet hitting the floorboards. The sleep disappeared from his voice, instantly replaced by concern. "Hey. Breathe. You’re fine. Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm home," you whispered, wrapping one arm around your middle. "It's just," you sigh softly, "that guy from high school I told you about? The one who works the late janitorial shift at the office."
You told him everything. You told him how the friendly high school chatter had turned into relentless lingering, how he always managed to finish his work exactly when you finished, and finally, how he’d trapped you in your own driver’s seat tonight, leaning in so close you could feel his breath on your face.
"I panicked and told him I had a boyfriend," you choked out, a hot tear finally slipping down your cheek, voice raspy with distress. "But he didn't believe me. He laughed and asked what his name was, and I couldn't, I couldn't think of a name, Sammy. I just drove off. He's going to be there tomorrow and he knows I was lying."
On the other end of the line, the silence was heavy, but when Sammy finally spoke, his voice was calm and steady, sure. "Tell him my name,". You blinked into the dark room. "What?"
"Tomorrow, when he asks, you tell him his name is Sammy. And you tell him I’m picking you up at five," he said, his voice soft for you, but an underlying of sternness. "I don't mind pretending at all. If he thinks you're single and lying, he’s going to keep pushing. But if he knows you're seeing someone, and that I'm keeping tabs on you, he'll back off without a fight. We don't need a scene. I'll just be right there when you walk out."
The idea of Sammy pretending to be your boyfriend made your stomach do a dizzying flip. You were younger, completely out of your depth, and his intense, protective gravity was suddenly pulling you in completely. "Sammy, you don't have to waste your time off doing that-"
"I'm not wasting anything," he cut you off, his voice softening just enough to let you hear the certainty behind it. "I’m right where I want to be with this. Don't lose sleep over him tonight. Go to bed, alright?" his comforting voice rang through your line.
The next afternoon at the office went by in a blur. The janitor passed the front desk twice before noon, giving you a slow, arrogant smirk that practically dared you to make up another excuse. But knowing Sammy was coming kept your posture straight.
By 4:55 PM, you grabbed your bag, said goodbye to the office manager, and pushed through the heavy glass exit doors. Sammy’s dark sedan was parked right by the curb in front of the steps, making you let out a soft sigh of relief. He was leaning against the passenger side door, looking good in his work clothes, a fitted button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, dark jeans, and his badge clipped to his belt, just visible beneath his jacket.
The second he saw you, the hard, scanning look in his eyes dissolved into a genuine smile. He started walking up the concrete steps toward you, his stride confident and relaxed.
Before you could step down to meet him, the glass door clicked open behind you. "Hey," the janitor’s voice called out, entirely too confident. "Hey, about last night, I think we got off on the wrong-" He stopped mid-sentence as Sammy stepped right into your personal space.
Without a single word Sammy slid a large, sure, solid, warm hand around your waist, pulling you firmly against his side. You can feel the heat of his body through your clothes, and the size of him completely shielded you from the other man. It felt incredibly intimate, but more than that, it felt safe, it felt natural.
Sammy didn't glare. He didn't raise his voice. He just looked at the janitor with a calm, heavy authority that instantly made the guy take a half-step back. "Is there a problem here?" Sammy asked softly. "Uh, no," the guy stammered, his eyes darting from Sammy’s face down to the heavy gold badge on his belt. "Just, talking to a coworker."
"Right. Well, my girlfriend is off the clock," Sammy said easily, tightening his grip on your waist just a fraction, pulling you even closer until your shoulder was pressed against his chest. The word girlfriend rolled off his tongue. "We're heading out to dinner. Have a good evening." Sammy gives a sharp nod to him.
The janitor swallowed hard, his face turning a pale shade of red. "Yeah. Yeah, man. My bad. Have a good one." He didn't even look at you as he spun on his heel and practically bolted back inside the building. As soon as the doors shut, the heavy tension in the air vanished. The parking lot was quiet, the sun dipping low.
Sammy looked down at you, his eyes instantly searching your face, full of a gentle concern. His hand didn't leave your waist, though. It stayed right there, warm and heavy, his thumb unconsciously brushing a small, soothing circle against your hip. "You okay?" he asked softly.
"Yeah," you breathed out, realizing your heart was hammering, but not from fear anymore. It was entirely from the proximity. "You're really good at the boyfriend thing." you let out an awkward chuckle. Sammy let out a low, rumbly chuckle, his eyes darkening just a fraction as he looked down at your lips before meeting your gaze again. The space between you suddenly felt incredibly small, the "pretend" boundaries you'd set over the phone completely fading away.
"Yeah, guess so huh?" he murmured, a small, genuine smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He guided you toward the passenger side of his car, opening the door for you. "Come on. Let's get you out of here."
As you slid into the seat, watching him walk around the hood of the car, a sudden wave of warmth washed over you. The fear from the night before was completely gone, replaced by a feeling that felt terrifyingly right.
your mother runs a criminal empire and you're a part of it. it's a good thing you don't accidentally get pregnant with a cops baby! (haha, oops)
warnings: canon typical stuff, pregnancy, sammy gets mean sometimes, smut, obviously inspired by animal kingdom, but they're not the codys! loosely set s4
8.8k (oops)
your thumb taps against the steering wheel as you wait. he'll be here. he has to be here. it's part of his route, you're sure of it.
their route, your mothers turf. a dangerous combination.
god, it's so fucking hot in your car. the los angeles heat is beating down on you, nearly taking your ability to function. but this is serious. no distractions.
the police car rounds the corner. two men in blue uniform and sunglasses. one blonde and one with these lovely dark curls. you knew how they felt between your fingers, want to feel them again.
but that's just impossible.
you look at them, but they're entirely unaware of you. you pull down your sun visor and look in the mirror. "we can do this," you say, hands in your lap because you can't bring yourself to touch your stomach. "we can do this."
without anymore hesitation, you climb out of your car. this is a terrible idea, the little voice in the back of your head tells you. maybe you should listen to it, get back in your car, drive to a clinic and forget it ever happened.
but you can't.
you catch their eye as you walk in front of the police car, too close to just be passing. at least, you think they're looking at you behind their sunglasses. the blonde's expression says nothing, but the brunette?
sammy. you know him. met him only once but, holy shit, did he rock your world. a night you've been trying to forget but you just can't.
fuck him and his magic penis.
he rolls down your window as you approach. you can't tell if he recognises you, or if you're just another face without a name he vaguely remembers.
but then he pulls down his sunglasses and you see the surprise in his eyes. written on the rest of his face, too. oh yeah, he remembers you. he swallows thickly and his partner looks at him. "can i help you, ma'am?"
just like that, it gets so hard to breathe. your tongue darts out to lick your dry lips. "can i talk to you, officer?" you ask him, eyes darting to his partner. "in private."
and his partner goes to say something, but sammy stops him. "i got this," he says and climbs out of the car.
you hold your breath as you lead sammy away from the police car. further into the park, where his partner couldn't see you. a little wooden picnic table by the pond, where old men used to sit and feed ducks.
but, today, it's just you and sammy.
"what's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks as he sits opposite you.
your breath is shaking, tears gathering on y our waterline. "i don't know how to tell you this," you whisper, your head falling into your hands.
immediately, sammy stands up. his walks around the table and places his hand on your back. "woah, woah," he says, pulling you against his chest. you want to push him away, can't let the world see you like this, see you beside a cop. "you're okay-"
"-i'm pregnant."
you have to blurt it out. it's the only way you were every gonna be able to say it. it's so quick, it's like you almost didn't say it at all. but those two life changing words left your lips.
sammy is still. his hand is no longer moving against your back and he's no longer holding you tight.
you're breathing hard as you move away from his touch. "come on, sammy, say something," you beg.
he clears his throat, his mouth twitching to his side. "how do you know it's mine?"
and your face hardens. it's not a face he's meant to see, one reserved for the assholes your mother commands. and now it's pointed towards the father of your future child (it's too early for you to get excited, you've decided. if you'll ever get excited). "it's yours," you say and stand up. "no need to be an asshole about it."
you want to say more. you want to push on his shoulders, to fight with him about this. you want more of a reaction than just that. and sammy wants to say something, too. at least, you think so. you think so by the way he's staring at you as you step over the seat of the picnic table.
but you spot him on the other side of the pond, your breath catching in your throat. tall, hands in his pockets, face set like he's dangerous. because he is.
you turn to sammy quickly. "shout at me," you hiss. "pretend i'm in trouble for something."
but sammy's brows are furrowed. "huh?"
"just do it, sammy, c'mon."
as it turns out, sammy bryant is a scary fucker when he's shouting. you don't even know what he's saying when he gets into your face. he brings his hand up and you flinch, but it's just to point in the opposite direction.
"get out of here," he shouts. "don't let me catch you round here again." he brings his hand down and drops something onto the table. a little white card. you pick it up quickly, shove your hands into your pocket and walk away with attitude. attitude that isn't real. attitude sammy doesn't understand.
you climb back into your car and pull the white card out of your pocket.
officer samuel bryant.
his phone number sat beneath it. like a lifeline, like your way out. a way out you're not brave enough to take.
you drive away from the scene, peeling out of the park parking lot in a way that should have gotten you stopped and arrested for reckless driving. but the two officers in the park don't light you up, instead letting you go.
you manage to get home without being stopped. home, that's where you're safest (not really). at least at home you won't get caught talking to a cop.
nobody bothers you when you walk into your house. your brothers must be walking and your mother is off somewhere else. you don't know and you don't care. you just want to throw yourself into bed and forget about everything.
and you do. for an hour, at least. an hour of rare peace in your home. you bask in it, lying in your bed like you're trying to nap. you're so close to drifting off, of dreaming of a life where this isn't so goddamn hard.
but the front door opens and it's loud from there. everybody seems to come in at once. your mother and your brothers (and whoever is following your mother around like a dog these days).
you place your pillow over your head like that would protect you from the sound. it doesn't, not when your mom knocks and throws open the door. "come to the kitchen," she says and leaves.
you take a moment to father yourself. sucking in a breath, as if that'll help protect you from the sheer chaos that follows your brothers.
slowly, you head out to the kitchen. your stomach is rolling with a mix of anxiety. everything makes you anxious nowadays. ever since you took the test and it came back positive.
she knows. she knows i'm pregnant. she knows i slept with a cop. she knows im pregnant with a cops baby. she knows and she's gonna kill me.
"you have a good day today, baby?" your mom asks as you lean against the kitchen table, bracing your forearms. baby. all because you were the youngest child, the unexpected child. baby. you fucking hate it.
you breathe deeply and try to paint a smile on your face. you're fine. just show them you're fine. "yeah," you say and sit down. jake, your oldest brother comes to stand behind you, his hands on your chair. it's almost protective in his stance, but jake's always been protective over you. he's your older brother, after all.
your mom raises her eyebrows at you. it almost seems impossible with the level of work she's had done. work done because you and your brothers are the ones going out and getting money for her. "really?" she asks and pulls her phone from the pocket of her leather jacket. "because alrez says he saw you with a cop."
your stomach lurches as alrez steps forward. alrez, your mother's new lap dog. the man you saw across the pond while you spoke to sammy.
your mother opens her phone and slides it across the table.
you stop yourself from releasing a relieved breath. "yeah," you answer and swipe through the pictures of sammy in your face, his spit flying as he shouted. "yeah. he and his partner were in melrose park. i was just telling them to get lost."
your mother pushes away from the table. she steps around it, uses her hand to push jake out of the way, and smooths down your hair. "thank you, baby," she says and kisses the top of your head. "that was a good thing you did."
you smile at her and stand up. smiling although you feel so goddamn sick. "wake me up for dinner?" you ask and your mother nods, letting you go.
***
sammy bryant hasn't stopped thinking about you. you, pregnant with his baby. he's not in the place to have another kid, barely has the room for him and nate. and now, because one one reckless one night stand with a girl he can't understand, he's gonna be a dad again.
don't get me wrong, sammy bryant loves being a dad. he loves nate, loves taking care of him and providing for him. yeah, it wasn't the traditional family he'd always dreamed of, the white picket fence, the swing set in the yard, the wife calling for him to come inside when he's out playing with the kids. the dog chasing the kids as they learn to ride their bikes for the first time.
but sammy doesn't get any of that. he gets his kid a couple days a week, but that's about it. and he loves that. he feels selfish for wanting anything more than that.
you were a distraction from that want. you weren't supposed to be anything more than that.
sammy swallows as he stares into nate's bedroom.
he was old enough to pick what colour he wanted in his room, sammy thought. no longer robins egg blue, but some horrible neon green. sammy managed to compromise with his toddler, the two of them deciding on a shade called willow tree.
so now he stands here, ready to paint the nursery, to turn it into a big boys room. but now he needs a nursery, doesn't he? that's if you decide to keep the baby. he knows nothing about you, nothing but your name.
you'd caught his attention in the bar that night. there was nothing particularly remarkable about you, per se. but, fuck, sammy couldn't take his eyes off of you. drinking at the bar, laughing with your friend with your head tossed back.
he couldn't help but approach you. and he's nervous because he hasn't done this in so long. after his marriage fell apart he had a baby to take care of. of course he doesn't know how to flirt.
sammy doesn't remember what he said to you. but it has you laughing at him, beckoning him towards you with just a finger. he sits himself beside you and you take a swig of his drink. a few words with the bartender and he has another placed in front of him like you know the place.
you don't. he remembers you telling him that. but you know the owner. he's close enough to be family, apparently. you asked about him and sammy tells you... everything. almost everything. not his job, that always scares girls away. more so than the crazy ex wife and the baby he loves so much.
a few drinks later and you had his hand, taking him away from the bar. "c'mon," you said, leading him out of the bar.
sammy took you in, the way your hips swayed with every step. "where're we going?" he asked you as the cool night air hits him. it felt like it should bring clarity. but all he could think about is you.
"back to your place, handsome."
sammy didn't need telling twice. he lead you back to his place, back to his bed. he climbed on top of you, his hips thrusting against yours before either of you were undressed. it was sweetly pathetic and you love it.
sammy was moaning your name before you'd even really touched him. but you got your hands on him, lifting his shirt from his body, and there was no going back. sammy pulled your jeans down. he rid himself of his underwear and climbed back on top of you.
you were skin to skin after that. his body against yours, his cock throbbing against you. and when he entered you? fuck. he was so much bigger than you expected him to be. heavy, reaching places you didn't know where possible.
he had claw marks on his back for days after you. and, honestly, he didn't stop thinking about you. didn't stop thinking about the way you cried out when he made you cum, when he came inside of you. couldn't stop thinking about the way your legs tightened around his waist, about the way your fingers felt as they ran through his hair as you laid beside him.
you guys just talked after that. nonsense, until he finally came clean about his career.
you bolted after that.
and now he stands here, not quite ready to paint the nursery. just in case he needs it again.
but he can't figure you out. you bolted after the most incredible sex of his life, only for you to find him again, to tell him your pregnant, and then to have him scream in your face.
but he wants to figure you out.
so sammy backs away from the nursery. he'll figure something else out for nates room, something a little better than a painted nursery.
***
morning sickness is kicking your ass.
actually, it's not the morning sickness. it's running to the bathroom without either of your brothers seeing. you should be at your own apartment, handling it all without anybody knowing. but this is the week your mother gets paranoid and keeps you all by her side.
so you're in the bathroom of the house you grew up in, trying to keep quiet as you throw up into the toilet bowl. it's disgusting, only making you throw up some more.
you wipe your mouth and slump against the cabinet beneath the sink. your chest is heaving, your hand resting on your stomach. "you're a little asshole, you know?" you whisper and shut your eyes.
just a little rest, that's all you need. just to gather yourself before you brush your teeth and head downstairs.
it should be so easy. but the bile begins raising in your throat.
"baby? you in there?" your brother, hunter, shouts.
he begins opening the door before you can reply. you throw yourself at it, pushing it closed as the vomit spills from your lips. it's fucking disgusting, gets everywhere, only makes you vomit more. you scramble for the toilet, at least saving yourself from some damage.
the door opens slowly. hunter stands there, staring at the mess you've made in the bathroom. "jesus, baby," he whispers and steps over a patch of vomit to get to you. "what the fuck is going on?"
you're crying before you stop yourself. hunter crouches down beside you and pulls you against him, ignoring the mess of vomit covering you. "you can't tell mom," you manage between sobs. "she'll kill me."
hunter understands it then. he looks around at the mess you've made, at you. "i won't tell her," he says and stands up, pulling you up with him. "do you at least know who the father is?"
you nod your head. he starts the shower.
"am i gonna like who it is?"
you shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself.
"fuck, baby," he whispers and looks around. he's not talking about the bathroom. "shower. i'll take care of this after," he says.
from the outside, your family looks normal. your mother runs a legitimate business, you and your brothers work for her. but she's taught you guys all the skills she knows. that woman is fucking rich because of you.
Hunter should be dealing with his dealers right now. people who move his drugs for him. jake is normally with your mother, planning the next big job. and Tyler, your third and final brother, runs a business so legit even cops go in for a drink.
yeah, he sometimes joins in with the crime, too.
hunter cleans up the bathroom after you've showered. jake and your mother are nowhere to be found when you enter the kitchen. you pull a glass of oj from the fridge, unable to stomach much else.
every breath you suck in is shaky as you let your mind run. fuck, all hell is gonna break loose when you start showing. she'll kick you out or kill you, you're not sure.
jake follows your mother down the stairs. his eyes meet yours and it's almost like he knows. but he doesn't. he can't.
"baby, you got rounds to make," your mother says and pulls several wads of cash from her bag. they're carefully counted, equal amounts. you know exactly who to give it to, exactly what route to take to avoid detection.
you take the money from her and dump it in your bag. grabbing your jacket, you head out without saying another word.
rounds are an easy job. they come with a risk, though. if you weren't Hunter, jake and tyler's sister, you'd never be able to complete them. you'd be beaten, robbed and left for dead, no doubt.
the neighbourhood is seedier than you're used to. but this is where mina operates, selling on the valuables you guys still for your mother. the money goes straight back to her, and you later pay mina her usual fee.
there are a couple others like that. the guys that keep your mom's warehouse safe, her informant. you give them equal amounts of money and move on quickly.
you've been doing this for years, slipping under police detection.
until today.
the car is going so fast, you think he's gonna hit something. but Sammy slams on the brakes and the car halts on the pavement, blocking your path.
he gets out of the car and stands in front of you, his chest heaving like he's angry.
"you shouldn't be here, Sammy," you hiss, eyes darting around. "you're gonna get me in trouble."
"oh yeah?" Sammy challenges. there's no flirty edge to it. "with who?"
your lip disappears between your teeth. "i can't tell you."
he stares down at you, but he doesn't challenge it. his eyes drift to your stomach, but there isn't anything there to see. not yet.
"we need to talk about our baby-"
your hand covers his mouth, shutting him up. "not here!" you hiss, looking around again.
Sammy clenches his jaw and looks to the side. "okay," he concedes. "come to my place tonight."
"okay," you say quickly, trying to get him away from you.
Sammy looks like he wants to say more. you're glad when he doesn't, backing away from you. he gets in his car and drives off, leaving you to your rounds.
***
you keep your word to officer samuel bryant and head to his place late last night. you shouldn't be sneaking out of the house at your age, but you do, well aware your mother can see you on the cameras.
but you don't care. you'll think of an excuse in the morning. as long as none of your brothers come pick you up, you're fine.
even walking through the streets of Los Angeles at night, you're invincible. nobody dares touch you, not with the power your name holds. shoving your hands into your pockets, you keep going until you get to his place.
sammy bryant. officer sammy bryant. you shouldn't be here. you shouldn't be with. as you stand at his front door, waiting for him to pull it open, you realise how vulnerable you are.
he's drinking a beer when he pulls open the door. "come on in," he says, his voice tired.
you follow him in and shut the door behind you. resting against it, you breathe out. but the windows are open and you can still be seen. in a cops house!
you approach him quickly, leaning against the kitchen counter like there's nothing wrong. "can we go upstairs?" you ask him, trying not to let your eyes search like prey all too aware of the watching predator.
sammy raises his eyebrows at you. "it's not that kind of visit," he says.
you're glaring at the floor. "no shit," you spit, wrapping your arms around yourself.
sammy chews the inside of his cheek. he takes all of you in, the way you hold yourself, the way you keep looking at the windows. the way you look so fucking vulnerable.
he puts his beer down and offers you his hand. you stare at it before you take it. unsure, the opposite to how you were the last time you were in his house. you hesitate and place your hand in his, lacing your fingers through his.
sammy pulls you through his house. up the stairs, past the nursery with the pots of green paint in the doorway. you pause then, staring inside. sammy lets you. he doesn't pull you away as your eyes roam the book shelves with the animal bookends or the moon shaped rug on the carpet.
"is this..."
he shakes his head. "it's my son's bedroom," sammy explains. "I was gonna paint it and redecorate it for him now he's getting older, but now i don't know if i should."
you say nothing. for a moment, sammy thinks you're gonna start tearing up. but you don't. just just suck in a shaky breath and pull him towards his bedroom.
you sit down on his bed and sammy stands before you. it feels like that day in the park all over again, like you have to tell him all over again. and you want to. you open your mouth, the words ready to spill from your lips.
i'm pregnant. but he already knows that.
you pull your knees up to your chest. "do you like being a dad?" you ask him, your feet moving on his duvet.
sammy nods and leans against his wardrobe. "yeah," he says, not looking at you. "yeah, it's the best thing ever."
"that's good," you say.
he pushes away from the wardrobe and comes to sit beside you on the bed. he breathes in, close enough to touch but not touching you. "have you decided what you're gonna do?"
what're you're gonna do.
are you gonna keep the baby or not? this cop's baby?
"it would be safer if i didn't," you tell him.
he furrows his brows. "why?"
"i can't tell you."
it's a nothing answer, certainly not enough for officer sammy bryant. not for the man that's out on the streets every day, not for the man that used to be a gang detective. he knows what it means to be unsafe.
you finally look at him. cheeks wet with tears while sammy stares blankly. like he doesn't quite know how to process the lack of information you've given him.
"i want the baby," you tell him. "there's so much I gotta figure out, but I don't want to give her up."
sammy's eyebrows quirk. "her?" he asks, letting himself smile. "you think we're having a girl?" he shuffles closer, his fingers playing with your hair.
"yeah," you confirm. "I do."
sammy pulls you against him. a squeal leaves your lips as he leans back, pulling you on top of him. his hands are holding your hips, giving you no chance of escape. you wouldn't want to, anyway. for a moment, it all feels real. like you're a real couple, having a baby you've been trying for together.
not just a drunken mistake.
but you are just a drunken mistake. it dawns on you then that you know little about each other than the way his body feels on top of yours, the way his cock feels inside of you.
"we hardly know each other," you say, gently pushing on his shoulder.
but sammy doesn't let you get away. he keeps his arms around you, keeps you laying against him. "we can get to know each other," he says.
you shake your head. "trust me, sammy, there's nothing you want to know about me."
the look he gives you is so damn sad. it has you turning away from him, but the only place to look without straining your neck is in his shoulder. "don't hide from me, honey," he whispers and kisses the side of your head.
you climb off of him and wrap your arms around yourself. "i should get home," you say suddenly, your thumbs brushing against your sides.
there's a moment where sammy looks at you, dejected. like he wanted this to be more than just figuring stuff out. even then, you didn't really figure anything out. you just admitted you want his baby and that's it.
"if you wanna stay i'll take the couch," sammy tells you but you shake your head.
"no, i need to go," you say, shoving your hands into your pockets to find your keys. "but we can talk another time, okay? i just..." and you can't take the look on his face, the utter sadness. "i just gotta get home."
(yeah he's sad. another woman that doesn't want to have a baby with him. he hardly knows you, can't figure you out, but he knows he likes you. he can't begin to understand why, but he does.)
sammy reaches for his car keys on the night stand. "i'll drive you," he offers.
immediately, you're telling him no. "trust me, sammy, it's better if you don't." you say, unable to offer him more of an explanation. "but-" without asking, you reach into the front pocket of his trousers and pull out his phone. sammy takes it from you to tap in his password, but he quickly passes it back.
you add your number to his phone and abandon it on the nightstand. "text me, okay?" you say and begin walking backwards. "i'll see you soon, i promise!"
all sammy can do is accept your promise. he lets you go, walks you to the front door and watches as you head to your car.
you're thinking about him as you drive home, about how you should've stayed. but you park outside your mother's house, pulling out your phone as you head in side.
unknown number: made it home?
you: we arrived in one piece.
as he begins typing something else, you change his contact name.
officer bryant: we
officer bryant: you and baby?
you: me and baby
you tiptoe through the house. it's so dark and so quiet, but you're smarter than to think anybody is asleep. nobody exits their room to confront you as you head towards your bedroom.
***
a hand falls onto your shoulder. you look away from your cereal, looking up at your brother. "what?" you question, your face blank.
tyler slips into the seat beside you and it suddenly feels all serious. fuck, he knows. he looks at you, turns to your mother (paused in the doorway, watching the exchange).
"i need you to come do a shift with me tonight, baby," he says and turns towards your mother. "got a cop party and i'm down a waitress."
your mother tries to raise her eyebrows, but her face doesn't move, permanently frozen by botox. "cop party, huh?" she asks, like she doesn't know how popular your brother's bar is with cops. "you think that's a good idea for our baby?"
you look between them. at the way tyler is staring your mother down, the one most ready to challenge her. he'd challenge her, but he'd always fly back to the nest, back to her safety.
a cop party. at the bar where you met officer sammy bryant. your heartbeat quickens. if this situation was in any way romantic, it would be fluttering. but you don't get that luxury.
"it's fine, mom," you say and pick your cereal bowl up, running it over to the sink. "i'll do the shift, could use the cash." you pour away your milk and wash up your bowl.
she tries to furrow her brows at you. "you saying I don't pay you enough?" she questions.
you shake your head and turn away from her. "always handy to have extra cash," you say and head towards your room.
working a shift at tyler's bar is probably the only legal work you do. you don't mind it, don't mind running drinks over to waiting tables. and, if anybody gets too handsy with you, your brother is there to scare them into leaving.
it's the same bar where you met officer sammy bryant. a cop party. you're suddenly excited and terrified all at once.
your mother keeps you busy throughout the day. scouting out locations for jobs mostly. she has you doing that, watching for police, security, anybody that can cause issue for you, until tyler pulls you off the job.
you're in his bar, carrying a tray of drinks to the table in the corner. no sign of the cop party just yet, but you spend your night looking out.
turns out, the cop party has nothing to do with sammy bryant. you try not to visible deflate, trying not to make how you're really feeling all that obvious. you get on serving drinks and clearing tables.
he's not even part of the cop party. but sammy bryant steps into the bar. he looks around for a moment, but all you can do is take him in. take in his shirt. a plain one, just like the one he was wearing when you came to his house those weeks ago. his jacket that looks vintage and warm. jeans that are hugging his thighs like they're fitting his muscles a little too snug.
"take this to table twelve," you say, shoving a tray of drinks into the hands of the nearest waitress.
you stride across the floor towards sammy. his eyes widen when he spots you, his smile revealing his adorably crooked teeth.
as soon as you get to him, you reach for his hand. "how the hell did you find me in here?" you hiss over the overwhelming sounds of music and chatter.
sammy let's you pull him outside. out into the cool, Los Angeles air. just like that, you're slightly jealous of his jacket. but you don't react to the cold as goosebumps appear on your skin.
sammy leans against the wall, all cool and collected. he pulls you in, hands on your hips, and whispers in your ear. "you know Tyler Dunn owns this place, right?" he asks. you feel the bile rising. "my departments been watching this place for weeks."
you push his shoulder and he just smiles like it's exactly what he wants. "sammy, you need to stop," you say desperately. "it's a legitimate business! tyler's doing nothing wrong!"
sammy furrows his brows. "he's part of the Dunn family," he tells you like he needs to walk you through it. "do you know what that means?"
"yes, I know what it means!" you bite and look around. you can't be caught like this, this cop touching you so lovingly. "get out of here, sammy."
he shakes his head. "c'mon, sweetheart. let's get out of here."
"I can't."
sammy gets that look on his face, like he's reliving something horrible. he opens his mouth to say something, to make a wild assumption that would have had you laying a slap to his cheek.
instead, you kiss him. it works, shutting him up. sammy let's his eyes fall shut as you lean against him. your hands find his hair, making a mess of his curls. his hands roam, slipping from your hips, over your ass and down to your thighs. he hooks one leg over his hip, pressing himself against you.
fuck, you want to. you want to rub yourself against him until your shuddering through an orgasm and he's making a mess in his pants.
but you can't. you pull away from him, your fingers still in his hair. "I'll come to yours after my shift," you whisper and kiss his lips again.
sammy still has his eyes closed as he leans forward to press his forehead against your own. "okay," he agrees. "but let me come pick you up."
your lip finds it's way between your teeth and you glance towards the door. "okay," you finally agree. "but I'll text you first."
"deal," sammy agrees. you hold out your pinky and, for a moment, sammy looks at it. he looks into your eyes and links his pinky around yours like he knows you need it.
***
just like you said you would, you text sammy when you finish the shift. sammy texts you back immediately, and you wait down the block, just so nobody can see you.
it's feels colder than it should be for summer in LA. you keep your arms wrapped around yourself as you wait.
but you don't have to wait for long. sammy pulls up to the curb and leans over to push open the passenger door. "get in, sweetheart," he says.
you look around before you get into his car. if sammy notices it, he doesn't say anything. but he does take off his jacket and pass it to you.
"thank you for this, sammy," you say and pull the door shut.
he pulls away from the curb. "don't mention it," he says and begins driving you to his house. "can't let the mother of my kid walk home at night."
your cheeks grow hot when he says it. but he's right. you're the mother of his child. you're pregnant and it's his.
"i didn't know you worked at tyler dunn's bar," he says, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.
"i don't," you reply quickly. just drop it, please!
but sammy breathes in deeply. "how'd you know tyler dunn?" he asks, hitting the turn signal before he turns down the street. his street.
the lie easily tumbles from your lips. "I used to work in there," you tell him, your nails drumming against the door panel. "saw tyler in the store and he asked me to cover one of the waitresses."
sammy nods like it makes sense. immediately, you feel like you're going to vomit. a stupid lie that came so easily to you.
the short rest of the drive is spent listening to the radio. sammy has it low as he pulls onto his driveway and kills the engine.
you get out before he has the chance to pull open your door for your. he offers you his hand and leads you towards his house, keys at the ready.
"sammy," you begin, fingers slipping between his. he pushes the key into the lock. "can I stay tonight?"
"of course you can, honey," he says and pushes open the door. "I'll take the couch."
but you shake your head, following him over to said couch. "I think we can both sleep in the bed," you tell him, sitting down to pull off your shoes.
sammy is grinning. crooked teeth on display as he tries to tidy up a bit. but he doesn't need to tidy up. everything looks fine. "sleeping's probably the tamest thing we've done," he says and sits beside you.
you tuck your hands into your lap. it's not exactly awkward as sammy moves towards the kitchen, but you're quiet, sorting through what you want to say. not exactly ready to tell him who your family is, not when he's part of the team running surveillance your brother.
this situation is a giant fucking mess. a web you don't know how to untangle.
sammy puts a piece of toast in front of you. "figured you'd be hungry," he says and sits beside you, his arm stretching across the back of the sofa.
you pick at it. but you sit back and stare at the pictures on the wall in front of you. the little boy in sammy's arms, the way he can't stop grinning at the little boy. his son. the one he has with someone else. the one he has a room for upstairs, the one he already loves so damn much.
"what are we doing here, sammy?"
he stares at you.
"i mean, you've got a kid. you've got a family." you stand and move over to the pictures on the wall. "you hardly know me, sammy. and i can't tell you the things you want to know."
sammy stands with you. he looks at the picture of him and nate on the wall. it's beside a picture of him and a blue eyed man. nate moretta.
"i had a baby with someone i'd known for years," sammy begins. "she cheated on me and i didn't know if nate was mine. but he is and i'm so fuckin' happy." he takes the picture from the wall, his thumb brushing against the frame again and again.
"you've known me a couple weeks, sammy," you whisper. "I wouldn't say you actually know me."
and sammy smiles. that smile that shows off his crooked teeth. his son has his face, you realise, so many shared similarities coming to light the more you look at them.
"we got time to talk," sammy says, taking your hand to lead you back to the couch. "i'm an open book."
***
there's a body behind you when you wake up.
he's not what wakes you up, snoring lightly with his arm around you. you'd been the one to insist he climb into the bed beside you, both of you sitting stiffly until you eventually fell asleep.
your phone is going crazy on the nightstand. it's got hardly any charge when you pick it up, the letters JD bold on the screen.
JD. jake dunn.
you swipe your finger across the screen and press it to your ear. "what the hell do you want?" you bark, your voice raspy.
sammy stirs beside you. your fingers find his hair, as if that'll keep him asleep.
"get home now." that's all jake says. he hangs up the phone but you take a moment to lay there, sammy beside you. his shirt is on your body, incredibly comfortable for an impromptu night.
he shuffles closer and presses his lips to your shoulder. a groan leaves his lips and he rolls onto his back, his hand onto his stomach. "morning," he whispers, his eyes not yet open.
you sit up and pull your knees towards your chest. "i gotta go," you tell him and pull the blanket from your body.
sammy sits up with you. he's still half asleep as you gather up your things from his floor. "already?" he asks, wiping his hand over his face. "i thought we could have breakfast together."
you pull on your own clothes, the same clothes you wore last night. "sorry, officer bryant." you let yourself smile as you say it. "i'll text you, okay?"
reluctantly, he nods. "okay," he says and stands up. "i'll drive you."
"no!"
sammy pauses, his eyebrows raised.
"you're not driving me, sammy."
he holds his hands up. "fine," he says and pulled the duvet over his bed. but he stops, sucks in a deep breath and stares at you. "do me a favour, sweetheart," he says.
you watch him for a reply.
"stay away from tyler dunn and his family."
your lip trembles. "fine," you spit, but there's no way you could mean it. "but you gotta stay away from them too."
"i'll do what i can, sweetheart."
***
your mother has you all gathered around the dining room table. she'd already chewed you out for not coming home the night before, her paranoia making her crazy.
"one of you has been keeping secrets from me," she says, hand on her hip as she looks at you and your brothers. she leans against jake's chair, like she doesn't believe it could possibly be him.
you feel so damn sick. even more so when hunter looks at you, giving away your guilt.
your mother pushes away from jake's chair. she circles the table like a sharp, watching you and tyler and hunter so closely. "while you've been here, alrez went through your apartments."
she holds her hand out. like the loyal lap dog he is, alrez strides over and places something in her hand. a clear plastic bag with something in it.
"one of you is pregnant."
she throws the plastic bag with the positive pregnancy test inside of it onto the table. all eyes turn to you.
fuck. your eyes are wide. there's a burning behind them as you try to stop yourself from crying, staring down at the test you'd taken before your mother moved you in with her.
"baby?" your mother calls in a voice that's almost sweet, like she hadn't flayed you open and exposed you to the world.
she moves quickly, playing the part of the concerned parent. you're not sure who it's for. but she reaches you, wraps her arms around you and rocks you gently. "it's okay, baby," she whispers and kisses the top of your head. "we'll take care of it."
your breath shakes as you struggle to find he words. but the sobs stop you. your mother smooths your hair down and whispers sweet words you're sure she doesn't mean. "do you know who the father is?" she asks.
"she does," hunter says when you can't speak. you could kill him.
your mother only glances at him. but her attention is back on you. "do you wanna keep it?"
they're staring at you again. waiting for your answer. you know the answer, the answer that is so easy when sammy is around. the answer you don't want to give to your mother. as soon as you say it, your baby is in danger.
"yes."
she nods as she pulls away. "okay baby," she says, moving back to the head of the table. "that's okay. we can get around it."
everything is bad. everything is terrible. you need to get back to sammy.
the stern look returns to your mother's face as she leans against jake's chair and places her hand on her hip. "i'm gonna tighten my leash around here," she says. "nobody leaves without my permission. no more slip ups."
your brothers nod like that's the most obvious solution. it's like when you were teenagers, your mother having complete and utter control over the four of you.
tyler purses his lips. "i'll need baby's help at the bar," he says and stands up. "one of my waitresses just quit so i need her."
your mother nods, giving her permission.
"and i got deliveries to make," hunter says, grabbing his bag from beside the chair.
all three of you look at jake. he shrugs his shoulders and pushes his chair out. "i've got stuff to do here, anyway," he says.
tyler places his hand on your shoulder. "c'mon," he says. "we got delivery."
delivery. you've never helped him with delivery. tyler's never needed help with delivery before. but your mom calls you name, stopping you. "you know who the father is."
you can't move.
"you don't have to tell me who it is right now, but I will find out," she says, dismissing you.
you swallow down the next wave of tears and leave through the back door. through the garage and out to where tyler waits in his car. you climb into the passenger seat and click the buckle into place.
"figured you're already feeling claustrophobic," he says as he pulls out of the driveway.
you glance into the rear view mirror. the little white subaru that's been parked on your driveway for the last for weeks sits behind you. trying to keep a distance but not really succeeding.
"she's got alrez following us," you whisper.
"i think he's following you," tyler replies. he takes a left, one that doesn't lead to the bar. another and another and another. a full circle until alrez is no longer behind you. "that guy, the one that came into the bar last night," he begins, continuing on to the bar. "he's the dad, isn't he?"
your throat tightens. "you can't tell mom. ty, please," you beg, holding onto the seat belt like it's a lifeline. "she can't know."
"i won't tell her," he says, pulling around the back of the bar. he kills the engine and sorts through his keys until he finds the little brass one for the back door of the bar. "if you tell me why i recognise the guy."
the back room of the bar always stinks of weed. that's hunter and tyler, in the early hours of the morning, when the bar is closed and the rest of the world is asleep. you wonder if the police is watching then, if it's just not a big enough crime to arrest them on.
"it's complicated."
"not an answer, baby," tyler says as he flips on the lights. the bar comes to life.
you sit on the little couch in the back office. you suck in a shaking breath. "fuck," you say and grab the lumpy cushion. there's a tin of candies behind it, a tin that definitely doesn't contain candies. "all i've done since i find out is cry, i swear."
"pregnancy will do that to you," tyler says, like he knows what he's talking about.
you stare at him. "you got a girl pregnant, didn't you?" god, you hardly remembered that.
"moved to canada before she had the baby," tyler finishes the story. "so, who's the guy?"
the undercover car seems obvious when you look through the window. two plainclothes officers sitting in the car, watching the two of you.
"he's been to the bar a couple times," you say, picking at the loose threads in the cushion. "with the cops."
tyler stops. "you're kidding. you gotta be kidding, baby." he looks out of the window, like he knows the place is being watches. "you're not having a cops baby."
"he's a good man."
tyler grabs your shoulders. "does he know who you are?" spit flies into your face as tyler shakes you slightly. "does he know you're a dunn?"
"no!" you insist, pushing him away. "i haven't told him anything!"
tyler lets out a breath and steps away from you. he moves over to the monitor, where the camera feed back to him. "tyler," you call as he goes through the different feeds. "if i wanted to run, would you help me?"
"yeah," he says quickly, like he's not really listening to you. "hold up, i got someone at the door."
he pushes away from the monitors, grabs the candy tin from beside you, and heads through the bar.
"i didn't think you were doing this anymore!" you call after him. "i thought this was hunter's thing now!"
"it is," tyler says and pulls open the door.
he does his deal while you sit there. liquor delivery should be any moment, and the bar can go back to being a legitimate business.
"hey, what the-"
you're on your feet, rushing towards the door.
"dealing again, tyler?"
you know that voice.
"i guess hunter's too busy murdering detectives. nate moretta. that name mean anything to you?"
tyler shakes his head.
"well it should." sammy gets close enough to hiss it in his ear. "because your brother killed him."
he doesn't see you, not at first. you want to be able to appreciate how good he looks in his uniform, but he's got your brother against the wall, cuffing him.
his partner, the blonde, spots you first. "sammy," he says and sammy let's go of your brother.
he doesn't react at first, just staring. he turns to his partner. "you got this?" he asks and his partner takes over.
"sammy," you say as he strides towards you. he looks so big and strong in his uniform, his every step like his muscles are just too heavy.
"come on," he says, grasping your arm. it's harsher than you've felt it before, squeezing your upper arm.
sammy drags you through the back office and outside. he doesn't look at anything else tyler might have stashed in there, any other evidence of the crimes your mother made him commit.
he pulls you out the back door, pulling it shut behind you. "I thought i told you to stay away from the dunn family," he says, his voice harsher than you've heard him before. "you told me you would."
"it's more complicated than that," you say, leaning against the wall.
"how?" he paces, pushing his fingers through his hair. "how is it complicated? i asked you to stay away from the dunns and-and i what? arrest you just for being here?"
you hold out your hands, wrists together. "arrest me, officer bryant."
immediately, his face softens. "sweetheart, no," he says, stepping towards you. "i'm not gonna arrest you." he's close enough now that you can reach out and touch him. so you do, bringing him in close. "but you gotta tell me what's going on."
you look back towards the bar. "sammy, they'll kill me." your voice doesn't waver as you say it. it's terrifying how damn sure you are of yourself. "they'll kill me or hurt the baby or..."
your hand is over your stomach when sammy grabs it. he places it over his chest. if it wasn't for his kevlar vests, you'd be able to feel his beating heart. "i'm not gonna let them hurt you."
sammy pulls you against his chest. he pets your head, holds you against his shoulder. "i-" your breath catches in your throat. you pull away from him to cough, but sammy wont let you go. "they're my family," you finally say. "I'm a dunn."
he doesn't push you away, doesn't stop petting your hair. he doesn't say anything. "sammy." you don't want the spell to break, don't want him to stop touching you.
"you're baby dunn," he says slowly.
"yeah," you confirm.
he sucks in a breath, his mouth pulling to the side. he closes his eyes and kisses the top of your head. "it's okay," he whispers finally. "i can protect you."
"they know, sammy," you tell him, holding onto his uniform. "and tyler knows she's yours."
she.
"haven't started showing yet, honey."
you laugh weakly. but your face falls just as quickly. "i need you to make it look like you're arresting me," you tell him, turning in his arms with your hands behind your back. "do what you gotta do. just make it look like you're arresting me."
he sucks in a sharp breath. sammy grabs his cuffs and places them around your wrists. he gives the chain linking them a tug. "think we can put these back on later?" he whispers, pressing you against the wall.
you turn, your eyebrows raised. but you're not crying, going so far as to look mildly amused.
sammy starts shouting before he walks you back into the building. "finally got the elusive baby dunn!" he shouts, loud enough for tyler and his partner to hear.
sammy marches you forward. he's not pushing, just holding you at arms length. "let him go, man," he says to his partner. "we got what we really want."
his partner uncuffs your brother. he doesn't question it, just let's sammy do what he needs to do.
"officers, she hasn't done anything!" tyler insists, following the officers out of the bar. "you can't arrest her!"
sammy stops. "you got something you want to confess to, tyler?" he asks and tyler backs up.
he gets you in the back and drives away before his partner says anything. "what're we doing?" he asks, glancing back at you.
sammy looks in the rear view mirror. "that is baby dunn," he says slowly. "probably the only member of the dunn family we can't arrest," he says and hands his partner the key. "uncuff her."
"if we can't arrest her, why is she here?" he asks, uncuffing you.
sammy glances at you again as you rub your wrists. "because she's pregnant with my kid."
