#(reupload)

“Y'know I can't help but be your bodyguard…” Clark’s voice is a low, honeyed drawl as he slips into the dimly lit barn, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind him. He’s got that lazy tilt to his cowboy hat, looking entirely too smug for someone who just spent the last hour picking a fight with half the town at the saloon just because a man looked your way. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you — knows that his protective streak drives you crazy, even when you’re trying your hardest to freeze him out.

You keep your back turned, stubbornly wiping down the leather of an old saddle like it’s the most important job in the world. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, completely betraying the cold front you’re trying to put up. “Ain’t even gonna look at me, darlin’?” you hear the slow, deliberate thud of his boots getting closer.

You keep your eyes glued to the leather, but you can feel the heat radiating off him. He steps right into your space, his large frame completely blocking out the rest of the barn until he’s looming directly over your shoulder. 'Don't give in' — you think to yourself, biting the inside of your cheek. If you let him off easy, he’ll never learn to keep his temper on a leash.

“I was just lookin’ out for my girl — my wife,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning against the shell of your ear. When you still don’t answer, he lets out a soft, amused scoff. He reaches around you, his gentle hands dropping onto yours to gently take the leather rag from your grip. You send a sharp glare backward — a look that says ‘you’re in trouble.’

He just grins, a roguish, dimpled thing that makes your knees instantly feel like jelly. “Yeah, I know.”

Clark hooks his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up until you have no choice but to look into those striking eyes of his. Before you can pull away, his other hand settles heavy and possessive on your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He cradles you close, his thumbs tracing slow circles into your skin through the fabric of your shirt, rocking you ever so slightly to the rhythm of his own heartbeat. “Somebody’s gotta protect you, baby. Even if someone's knuckles are a little bloody for it. You really mad at me for that, huh?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He leans down, his lips brushing softly along your jawline, tracing down to the sensitive dip of your neck. A shaky sigh slips past your lips, your hands instinctively gripping the front of his shirt just to keep yourself upright.

“Show me how to make it up to you,” he whispers against your skin, his deep voice vibrating right through you. “You want me to beg, huh? Tell you I’m sorry, baby — get on my knees for you?” Clark slides his hands down, his palms skimming the curve of your hips, his touch growing heavier, more deliberate. His eyes are dark with a sudden, intense heat as he locks his gaze back onto yours.

He sinks lower, his hands sliding down the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly until you’re forced to wrap your legs around his waist. He backs you straight up against the sturdy wooden pillar of the barn, pressing his weight into you in a way that makes your thoughts completely scatter. The hard ridge of his length strains against his jeans, grinding slow and deliberate right between your thighs, right where you’re already aching and slick for him.

Clark buries his face in your neck, inhaling the scent of you like a dying man, his lips parting to press a warm, wet kiss right over your pulse point. His teeth graze the spot, just enough to pull a soft whimper from your throat. One big hand slips under your shirt, rough palm sliding up your bare skin until he’s cupping your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it tightens into a needy peak.

“Say it’s all fixed, honeysuckle,” he groans against your skin, rolling his hips forward in a filthy grind that has you clenching around nothing. “Tell me I’m doing a good job keeping you safe… say you’re mine.”

His fingers make quick work of your buttons, shoving your shirt open so he can drag his mouth lower. Hot, open-mouthed kisses trail down your chest until his lips close around your nipple, sucking hard while his tongue flicks in lazy strokes. You arch into him with a broken moan, fingers threading tight into his hair under that damn hat. “Clark…” his name comes out wrecked, half plea, half surrender.

He sets you down just long enough to yank your jeans open and shove them down your hips along with your panties, then he’s lifting you again, pinning you to the pillar with one strong arm while his free hand works his belt open. The thick head of his tip nudges against your slick folds, teasing, rubbing up and down until you’re trembling.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he breathes, voice rough as gravel. “Let me in.”

He pushes inside you in one slow, relentless thrust, stretching you open around him until he’s buried to the hilt. The burn is perfect, overwhelming. Clark groans deep in his chest, forehead pressed to yours, pupils dilated, hips rocking shallow and steady while you adjust to the full, heavy feel of him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasps, starting to move harder, deeper, each thrust driving you up against the rough wood. The wet sound of skin meeting skin fills the quiet barn, mixing with your gasps and his low, filthy praises. One hand grips your ass, holdng you open for him while the other braces against the pillar, muscles flexing with every powerful stroke.

He fucks you like he fights — intense, possessive, completely focused on claiming what’s his. Every roll of his hips drags against that sweet spot inside you until your thighs shake around his waist and your nails dig into his shoulders.

“That’s my girl,” he growls against your mouth, kissing you deep and messy. “Come on, lil' honeysuckle. Give it to me. Let me feel you fall apart.”

The pleasure coils tight and snaps hard. You cry out, clenching around him as the orgasm crashes through you, waves of heat flooding every nerve. Clark curses softly, thrusts turning erratic and desperate until he buries himself deep one last time, pulsing hot inside you as he comes with a low, broken groan of your name.

For a moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the creak of the barn settling around you. Clark stays buried deep, holding you close, pressing soft, lazy kisses along your shoulder like he can’t bear to let you go just yet. And just like that, the anger is completely gone, leaving you entirely at his mercy.

“I got you, darlin’… I got you,” he breathes against your temple, his voice droppin into a low, gravelly hum as the adrenaline begins to fade from both of you. He slips out of you with a soft, wet sound that makes you shudder, but before your feet can even touch the cold dirt floor, he’s lifting you right back into his arms, keeping your thighs hooked around his waist.

He carries you over to the workbench in the back corner, setting you down gently on the edge where his old flannel shirt is draped. Your legs are still trembling, your breath hitching as the cool air hits your bare skin, but Clark is already moving. He grabs a clean cloth from the shelf, tipping the water canteen over it until it’s damp.

“Look at me, honeysuckle,” he murmurs, kneeling right down between your thighs. When you look down at him, his hat is pushed back, his eyes soft and completely devoid of the heat from earlier. He’s incredibly gentle as he uses the cloth to wipe away the slick mess between your legs, his calloused thumbs trailing over the inside of your thighs to soothe the ache. “Still mad at your husband? Huh? Tell me the truth.”

You shake your head, reaching down to trace the slight bruise forming over his knuckles from the saloon fight. A soft, breathless laugh escapes you. “You’re such an idiot, Clark.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” he grins, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss right to the center of your chest, right over your heart. He helps you pull your panties and jeans back up, tugging your clothes into place with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. Once you’re put back together, he pulls you down off the bench and wraps his massive arms around you from behind, buried into the crook of your neck as you both just sway in the quiet barn. “Next time, I’ll try to be good. Promise. But ain’t nobody allowed to look at you like that. Not while I’m drawin’ breath.”

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.