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goldfades · 3 months ago

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gender reveal! | JOE BURROW⁹ [006]

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MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.2k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe's gender reveal! what will it be, a boy or a girl? regardless, joe is gonna spoil the hell out of it and his beautiful, glowing wife.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SO FREAKING FLUFFYYYY!! like so sweet, might give you diabetes! mentions of pregnancy and pretty sure nothing else

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, the kind that buzzes under your skin and makes every second stretch a little longer. You and Joe stand side by side in your backyard, the quiet hum of cicadas and the soft glow of string lights overhead creating a cocoon of intimacy. It’s just the two of you—no big party, no social media announcements, just you, him, and the tiny new life growing inside you. Exactly how you both wanted it.

On the patio table between you rests a modest cake, its white frosting smooth and unassuming. Inside, though, lies the answer to the question that’s been playing on a loop in your minds for weeks. A boy or a girl? Joe’s hand is warm and steady against the small of your back, his thumb drawing lazy circles that do little to calm the nervous flutter in your chest.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and familiar, the kind of tone that feels like home no matter where you are.

You nod, biting your lip. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Joe grins, reaching for the knife. “Alright, here we go.” But before he can make the first cut, he pauses, looking at you with that playful sparkle in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want to do it?”

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. “No way. You’ve been more impatient than me, and I didn’t even think that was possible.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” With a deep breath, he steadies the knife over the cake. Time feels like it’s moving in slow motion as he presses down, the blade slicing through the soft layers with a satisfying shhhk. The moment of truth is just a breath away, and yet it feels like the air has been knocked out of you.

“Okay, okay,” you whisper, your hand gripping his arm as he lifts the first slice.

And there it is. The blue inside is unmistakable—bright, bold, and bursting with meaning. You clap a hand over your mouth, your eyes immediately welling up as the reality of it sinks in. Joe’s reaction is instant; his face splits into the kind of smile that could rival the sun.

“It’s a boy,” His voice cracks slightly, and he stops, laughing at himself as he turns to you, his own eyes suspiciously glossy.

You nod, unable to form words through the tightness in your throat. You let out a shaky laugh, and that’s all it takes for the tears to spill over.

“A boy,” Joe says softly, as if the words themselves might float away if he isn’t careful. His grin grows impossibly wider, eyes shimmering in the warm light. “We’re having a boy.”

You can’t help but laugh through your tears, the sound bubbling up from a place of pure joy and disbelief. “Maisie called it,” you manage, wiping at your cheeks. “She’s been saying ‘boy’ since the moment we told her. And Mom, too—she said she just knew.”

Joe lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Remind me to never bet against either of them.”

You lean into his chest, your arms looping around his waist as you take a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of him—clean linen and a hint of cedar. His heartbeat thrums steadily under your ear, grounding you in the moment.

“Our boy,” you whisper, the words tasting sweet on your tongue. “Can you believe it?”

Joe tilts his head down, his chin brushing the top of your head. “I can now,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “And I can already see him—running around the yard, throwing a football, stubborn as hell.”

You laugh, picturing it so clearly you almost feel the warmth of the sun on your face. “If he’s anything like you, we’re in for a wild ride.”

“Oh, he’ll be worse,” Joe says with a playful smirk. “He’ll have your sass and my competitive streak. We’re doomed.”

You swat at his chest, but the playful banter quickly dissolves into another wave of happy tears. Joe tightens his hold on you, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both stand in silence, soaking in the enormity of the moment.

The cake sits forgotten on the table, a simple slice revealing the bright blue inside, as if the whole universe conspired to mark this occasion. Above you, the stars are just starting to peek through the twilight, tiny pinpricks of light against a deepening sky.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Joe says softly, breaking the silence. His voice is filled with a quiet reverence, the kind reserved for life’s biggest, most beautiful moments.

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Me neither,” you say, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “But I already know one thing.”

“What’s that?” he asks, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You smile, your gaze unwavering. “He’s going to have the best dad in the world.”

Joe’s face softens, his eyes shining with a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And the best mom,” he whispers, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulls you back into his arms.

The world feels quiet, still, and full of promise. In this moment, under the string lights and a canopy of stars, you know that you’re ready for whatever comes next. Together.

Over the next few weeks, your home begins to transform. Boxes start arriving at your doorstep daily, each one containing something more extravagant than the last. A designer stroller with gold accents, a baby-sized leather jacket that looks like it belongs on a runway, and tiny sneakers in every color and style imaginable.

One afternoon, Joe bursts through the front door carrying a box nearly as big as he is. “Baby! Check this out!” he calls, setting it down in the living room.

You follow the sound of his voice, curious. “What now?”

He opens the box with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning, pulling out a baby swing that looks like it was designed for royalty. It’s covered in plush fabric, with a built-in sound system and a gentle rocking mechanism that mimics a mother’s heartbeat.

“It’s top-of-the-line,” Joe says, his eyes sparkling. “Supposed to be the next best thing to being in your arms.”

You shake your head, laughing. “Joe, he’s going to be sleeping in our room for the first few months. Are you planning to keep all this in there too?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Why not? I want him to have options.”

It doesn’t stop there. Every time you turn around, Joe has another surprise—whether it’s a thoughtful gift for you, like a new pair of comfy maternity jeans or a stack of your favorite books, or something for the baby, like a custom onesie with “Daddy’s MVP” printed on it.

But what touches you the most are the little things he does without fanfare. The nights he spends assembling furniture, carefully following instructions even when they don’t make sense. The way he starts humming lullabies under his breath while doing the dishes.

One evening, as you’re curled up together on the couch, you rest your hand on your belly, feeling the baby kick. Joe places his hand over yours, his face lighting up when he feels it too.

“He’s already got a strong leg,” Joe says, his voice filled with pride. “Might be a future quarterback.”

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Or maybe a doctor. Or an artist. Whatever he wants to be.”

Joe nods, his expression softening. “As long as he’s happy, that’s all that matters.”

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#nfl imagine #nfl lb #nfl players #nfl football #joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #bengals #joeyb #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x oc #nfl fic

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muniimyg · 2 months ago

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𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!yoongi (17) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

note: i lied !! this is not the last written ,, but the 2nd to last !!! enj <3

tw: mommy issues

the party hums around you like static, but you keep glancing toward the patio doors. your fingers twist around the fabric of your dress as if pulling on it could pull yoongi back inside.

you know why he left.

he didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.

you saw segments of it. you saw the way his eyes shifted as your mom hooked her arm through jungkook’s, smiling at him like he was god’s gift to this family, cooing at him in a way she never cooed at yoongi.

it’s like she wasn’t even going to give him a chance.

like there was no space for any consideration.

it wasn’t jealousy.

okay, well… maybe it is.

the feeling is foreign to yoongi. he doesn’t do jealousy. at least, not really. but yet again, no one has ever mattered to him more than you. not to mention that this jealousy feels different. it’s something quieter—an ache he can’t recognize.

when he finally comes back, relief washes over you.

he smiles at you and tilts his head as he gets closer. without a word, you reach for him, your fingers curling lightly around his wrist, and he follows you as you lead him toward the cake.

“get enough air?”

he nods.

“sorry i stepped out.”

you shake your head and squeeze his wrist. yoongi’s heart lifts an inch, suddenly not feeling as down as before. your little gesture is all the reassurance he needs.

then, your attention shifts as nam joon steps in and places a cake in front of you. the pastel display is perfect—a tower of soft yellows and sage greens, delicate edible flowers, and tiny footprints decorating the frosting. you stand together in front of it, your hand brushing against his as murmurs ripple through the crowd, the excitement building.

“jiun!” you call out into the crowd, “did you make this? it’s perfect…”

jiun pokes her head out and laughs. she waves her hand and brushes your compliment off like it wasn’t the one thing she looked forward to the most from tonight.

“you recognize my piping skills?”

you scoff at her, “i taught you them.”

everyone laughs. yoongi tugs you in closer, wrapping himself around you. just as you two pick up the knife to cut through the cake together, your mom’s voice slices through the moment— sharp and expectant.

“what’s the gender?”

yoongi glances at her, calm as ever.

“it’s a surprise.”

his voice is even. it’s almost like you couldn’t tell she had just pissed him off.

your mom tilts her head and looks at you funny. her lips press into a thin line. you know this look. you know her. you brace yourself.

“well, what’s this baby shower for then? if we won’t even know the gender? ___, why would you have an entire party with no news?”

“sweetheart, relax—” your dad starts, his voice gentle but tired. he reaches for your mom but she stands still like stone.

“i’m just… it’s confusing, isn’t it? you have this big party and pulled people away from their lives to celebrate… what? have a surprise gender reveal at the hospital? god, ___. wasn’t getting knocked up by someone that isn’t even your boyfriend surprise enough?”

“you can leave if you like,” you say, cutting her off. your tone is steady, your gaze unwavering as you glance at her. yoongi’s hand shifts slightly, his fingers rub circles on your palm. you don’t look away but just in case you do, yoongi is more than ready to turn his back with you.

your mom blinks, stunned for a moment. then her voice dips, low and scornful. “___, you take time from my life, fly me out here for a party that has no rhyme or reason? do you understand that?”

you don’t flinch.

“is the gender that important? isn’t it more important to see your pregnant daughter happy and healthy? or the fact that we’re prepared for this baby regardless of gender?”

she nods slowly. “well, yeah. you are healthy. look at all the weight you’ve put on—”

“what?” the word escapes you before you can stop it, a mix of disbelief and anger catching in your throat.

“what?” she snaps back. “you’re pregnant. of course you’re going to gain weight! but not that much, ___. that’s not healthy. you should be healthy for your baby—”

your dad is quick to step in, murmuring apologies as he takes her arm and leads her away from the crowd. for a moment, everything feels too quiet, the tension sitting heavy in the air.

yoongi’s hand is on your elbow now, firm but careful. “i’m sorry,” he says immediately, his voice low and tight with frustration. “i should’ve said something while she—”

“no.” you shake your head, offering him a faint, tired smile. “it’s fine. you’ve never met her. i should’ve prepared you.”

he doesn’t look convinced, his jaw tight as he glances at the crowd. you can see the tension in his shoulders, like he’s holding himself back from saying something to her, even now. you shake him off and step forward with a smile.

“sorry about that everyone! i think taehyung and jimin have some games prepared… taehyung? jimin?” you announce.

everyone murmurs and shifts their attention to jimin and taehyung who enter the crowd with baby bottles in their hands. as they begin to instruct the activity, everyone’s mood lightens up. you turn and see your parents arguing outside, sigh, and cut yourself a slice of cake.

“___,” yoongi starts. “do you want me to talk to her—”

“hey,” hyemi interrupts. she instantly hugs you and murmurs; “ignore her.”

when you two pull away, you shrug and nod. “always do.”

hyemi laughs and so do you. then, there’s a pause… it’s an odd acknowledgment of what had just happened.

“i want to take a picture of you two,” hyemi says. “give me your phone!”

yoongi reaches from his pocket and hands hyemi his phone. then, he moves behind you without hesitation, his hands finding your waist like they’ve always belonged there. you lean back against him slightly, letting his warmth seep into you, and he adjusts instinctively. one arm loops around your middle, his palm spreading wide over your belly, while his other hand covers yours where it rests just above the bump.

he dips his head closer, his breath brushing your temple as he murmurs, “you okay?”

“yeah,” you whisper back, your voice soft. you tilt your head slightly, your cheek almost brushing his, and a small, genuine smile curves your lips. his thumb moves in slow, soothing circles over the fabric of your dress, grounding you without needing to say more.

“say cheese!” hye mi calls.

the drive home is quiet, the kind of silence that settles after a long day—comfortable, but heavy with exhaustion. the scent of cake still lingers faintly on your skin, mingling with the lavender fabric softener yoongi insists on using. your hands rest in your lap, absentmindedly playing with the ribbon tied around one of the small baby shower favors you forgot to hand out.

yoongi glances at you briefly as he turns into the driveway. he doesn’t say anything, but his hand finds the back of your seat, a grounding touch, as he maneuvers the car.

inside, the living room is crowded with pastel-colored bags and tissue paper spilling over like confetti. you’re too tired to sort through it all, but yoongi is already kicking off his shoes, rolling up his sleeves.

“let’s just get the big ones out of the way,” he says, nodding toward the gifts stacked near the door.

“we can do it tomorrow,” you reply, but he’s already lifting a box, his jaw tightening slightly at the effort. you smile despite yourself, shuffling over to help.

it’s slow work, peeling ribbons and folding tissue paper, but he makes it easier somehow. he holds up a tiny pair of baby shoes at one point, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that quiet, amused way that makes your chest feel warm.

by the time you’ve cleared the last bag, your eyelids are heavy, and your back aches in that deep, persistent way that’s become familiar. you yawn, stretching, and yoongi tugs you gently toward the bedroom.

“i’ll clean up the rest,” he says, voice low. “go change.”

you nod, too tired to argue. the moment you step into your pajamas, though, your phone buzzes on the nightstand. you glance at the screen, your stomach sinking when you see her name.

“it’s my mom,” you say quietly.

yoongi doesn’t hesitate. he leans down, presses a soft kiss to your temple, and leaves the room without a word. the door clicks shut behind him.

the conversation starts civil enough. you’re careful, keeping your voice calm, but the words start to unravel quickly. she’s still stuck on the baby shower—her comments sharper now, laced with disappointment that sinks deep. you try to defend yourself, but it’s like shouting into a storm. by the time she hangs up, your hands are shaking, and your face is wet with tears you didn’t realize were falling.

the door creaks open, and yoongi steps in, holding a glass of water. his brow furrows when he sees you, and he sets it down on the nightstand before crouching in front of you.

“what happened?” he asks, his voice quiet but steady.

you shake your head, wiping at your face quickly. “it’s nothing. just my mom being… my mom.”

yoongi doesn’t look convinced. he reaches for your hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “what did she say?”

you hesitate, but the way he’s looking at you—soft, patient, like he’s ready to carry the weight if you just let him—makes it impossible to hold back.

“she said she’s disappointed in me and doesn’t like this at all. this. me, the baby… you.”

yoongi’s whole heart drops.

it’s like he can feel the crack, the way it travels deep into his chest, the way it aches, sharp and immediate. you’re sitting there, looking so small despite the weight you carry, despite the way you hold yourself like you have to convince the world you’re fine.

he’s seen that look on you before—quiet, composed, a little too still. like the words didn’t just cut you but carved something out of you, left it hollow and raw. and maybe it’s selfish, but it feels like his fault. like he’s failed you somehow.

all this time, he’s been your friend, your partner in some twisted, unexpected way, and yet it wasn’t enough to protect you from this. wasn’t enough to stop you from hearing the things he knows you shouldn’t believe, not for a second.

“she said i’m gonna be a bad mom because i’m a bad daughter.”

the words echo in his mind, cruel and biting.

his mind panics.

there’s an urge to find a way to erase your mother’s words, to replace them with something softer, something truer. but he doesn’t know how.

his throat tightens as he watches you, your hands clenched in your lap, the tears you’ve tried to hide still glistening on your cheeks. he wants to reach for you, wants to pull you close and hold you until the weight of it lifts, even just a little.

because he knows you.

he knows the way you’ve given so much of yourself, even when you’ve had nothing left. he knows the way you care, fiercely and unconditionally, even when it’s never been returned the way it should.

and most of all, he knows this—this terrible thing your mother said—isn’t true. couldn’t ever be true.

but the fact that you believe it, even for a second, breaks something in him.

he swallows hard, forcing the words past the knot in his throat.

“she’s wrong,” he says, his voice quiet, steady—a soft weight in the air between you. “you know that, right?”

you don’t answer.

you don’t even look at him, your gaze fixed on the floor, the silence pressing against you like a heavy fog. and it hurts more than he’s ready to admit, the quiet stretch of time where you don’t speak, where your body language says it all. the way your shoulders curl in, like you’re trying to make yourself smaller, more invisible. more untouched. but he stays there, crouched in front of you, his knees pressing softly into the floor as his hands—gentle, warm—reach for yours. his fingers are steady, holding you like you're something delicate, fragile.

because if there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s this: he’ll spend the rest of his life proving her wrong for you, if that’s what it takes.

proving to you that you are, and always will be, enough.

“why do i believe her, then?” your voice cracks, low and broken. the words stumble out as if they’ve been sitting in your chest too long, rattling around, desperate to be freed. you finally meet his eyes, searching them like you’re looking for an answer you can’t quite find yourself.

“i’ve tried my whole life to get her to like me… and she doesn’t. i’m too messy for her, and when i’m not messy, i’m too good. i—i don’t know, yoongi. i’ve always had a complicated relationship with her, but i thought— i thought it was just a phase. that maybe when i grew up, it would fade. but it never did. the way she would barge into my room, pick me apart in every way she could—it felt like i was suffocating. like i was drowning in her expectations and the way she made me feel so... small. i wasn’t me anymore, i was someone else—a version of myself that wasn’t even mine to keep. and my heart... it aches for her. for me. for us. because at the end of it all... we didn’t deserve to treat each other that way.”

yoongi shifts closer, moving until his knee brushes against yours. his hand comes to rest on your back, a warm, steady presence against the chill of your words. the softness in his touch is an anchor, pulling you back from the storm inside your chest.

“you never talk about her,” he says, his voice quiet, almost like he’s afraid to break the fragile silence. “do you wanna talk about her?”

“who are you? my therapist?” you try to smile, but it’s weak, shaky at the edges. yoongi nods, his thumb brushing a tear from the corner of your eye, a quiet, tender gesture that makes you ache in ways you don’t know how to explain.

“she’s not a bad person,” you start, the words faltering on your tongue. “a-and i’m not justifying what she did today, but… i want you to know, she’s not all bad.”

“i believe you,” yoongi hums, his voice low and full of trust. “she birthed you. you’re my entire world. there’s no way you came from anyone bad.”

the words hit you like a blow to the chest, and for a second, you almost choke on a sob, your throat tight with the weight of it all. the love in his words, the unspoken promise to protect you from everything, even her. you swallow hard, trying to push the emotions back, but they don’t stay.

not when you’re so raw.

“s-she’s really warm,” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper now. “she’s funny when she doesn’t mean to be, and she’s always been the first to sacrifice anything for me. but... she’s also the most selfish person i know. so cold, that there were times i couldn’t find any warmth in myself. but she works hard, yoongi. i know she’s doing her best, even if it’s her first time living, even if i challenged her in ways she didn’t know how to handle. and i want to believe she wanted to be a good mom growing up... that she just didn’t know how to be. but it feels like all my life… i’ve given her chances—”

“does she know that?” yoongi interrupts, his voice gentle but firm. “does she know that those moments for you were chances for her?”

you pause, your fingers tightening around his, the stillness of the moment settling over you like a thick blanket.

“i think so,” you murmur.

“how do you know?”

“i feel it,” you whisper back, your gaze drifting from his to the space between you, like you’re trying to find the words in the air. “i don’t know how to explain it… but i know she knows. i know she’s trying, just like i am. but when she does things like this, when we have days like today, it pulls me back. it pulls me into being twelve again... like nothing’s changed.”

there’s a heavy pause, the silence between your words thick, deep.

yoongi’s hand moves up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away another tear. it’s a slow, careful motion, like he’s trying to hold you together with nothing more than the softness of his touch.

“when i was 12, i promised myself i would never be like her,” you say, the words coming in a rush now, each one heavier than the last. “i promised myself i’d have kids one day, and i’d be everything she wasn’t. but now... now, every day that i’m not with her, every part of this pregnancy—the stillness of it—i think of her. how her body was mine and i was hers. how she also waited and prayed for me… when i remember things like that; i wonder... i wonder if being her isn’t all that bad.”

yoongi’s lips press against your temple, soft, a kiss that lingers like a secret shared between the two of you. you can feel his breath, warm against your skin, and it steadies you in a way nothing else can.

“i’ve grown,” you continue, your voice barely more than a breath. “i’ve taken the time to understand her. and now… i see her. more than just my mom and more than just a woman who hurt me. beyond that… underneath it all; our souls are made up of the same things.”

“___—”

“and maybe that’s what i’ve been so afraid of,” you breathe. “maybe it’s also why i’ve been so obsessed with being a mom… about having a baby and loving well. loving the baby with the capacity she failed to give—i need to prove it to myself, you know? i need to be her… the version of her that i’ve waited for my entire life.”

yoongi doesn’t speak for a long time.

he just holds you, letting your words sink in, letting the weight of everything between you both settle. it’s a quiet moment, but it feels like the universe itself is holding its breath.

and in that silence, you know—no matter what, you won’t have to prove yourself to him. he already believes you.

you stir awake, the soft light from the window filtering through the blinds. yoongi’s warmth is pressed against you, his arm draped lazily across your body. his steady breathing fills your ears, a soothing sound that makes it hard to keep your eyes open. you blink, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, but everything feels so comfortable, so safe, like a world outside doesn’t exist.

“morning,” yoongi murmurs sleepily, his voice still thick with sleep. he shifts slightly, his face nuzzling against your shoulder. “how are you feeling?”

you sigh, feeling the weight of the day ahead but not quite ready to leave the quiet of the bed. “i don’t know… kind of better, i guess.”

he nods, but you can tell from the way his fingers gently trace your skin that he’s not fully convinced. his eyes flicker to yours, still heavy with sleep but filled with concern.

“i have something that’ll make you feel better,” yoongi says, his voice soft but certain. he reaches into the nightstand next to the bed, his hand moving with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times before.

your eyes follow his every movement, still adjusting to the morning fog, and then he pulls out a small, elegant cartier box. the sleek box catches the light, and your breath catches in your throat.

the silence hangs between you two, thick and full of anticipation, as yoongi opens the box slowly, revealing a ring inside—delicate but timeless, the kind of thing that’s hard to ignore. you feel a flutter in your chest as your hand instinctively reaches out, and yoongi places the ring gently on your finger.

you look at it for a moment, trying to process what this all means.

“what is this?” you ask softly, voice barely above a whisper, the weight of the ring suddenly feeling heavier than it should.

yoongi runs his thumb around the band, his touch light and tender, as if he’s afraid the moment will slip away too quickly. he hums quietly, the sound more like a low purr than a hum, and then speaks, his voice filled with a quiet certainty that tugs at your heart.

“push present pregift.”

“are you kidding me?

“it’s baby injeolmi’s promise.” he pauses, his gaze softening as he looks at you with a tenderness you never thought possible from him. “no matter how much i want to fix things between you and your mom; i can’t. what i can do is tell you that you’re not going to be your mom. you’re going to be breathtaking and unbelievably perfect at it. even when you fail at times, because inevitably you will—it will be graceful and so full of life. ___, you’re going to be warm and unconditional… baby injeolmi and i promise to love you. good and bad. cold and warm. you. we’re going to love you forever, mama.”

#bts fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi comfort #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x yn #yoongi scenario #bts imagine #yoongi imagine

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