Where Do Babies Come From, Daddy?
pairing: mason mount x reader
overview: one bedtime question turns into chaos when Leo decides he needs all the baby facts - so he asks his parents the big one: “where do babies come from?”
authors note: thank you so much for the kind comments on my last post! here's another fic for you, and please feel free to send requests, i've got way too much time on my hands!
The curtains fluttered as a breeze swept into the bedroom, the faint hum of London life drifting in with the morning light. You stirred in bed, buried beneath the duvet, one leg tangled in Mason’s. His arm was slung over your waist, face half-squished against the pillow.
“Babe,” Mason mumbled into your shoulder, voice hoarse with sleep. “You’re breathing too loudly. It's aggressive.”
You snorted, elbowing him lightly. “Your snoring sounds like a tractor having an asthma attack, but please—by all means, lecture me on breathing etiquette.”
He cracked one eye open, a slow grin creeping across his face. “You love my snore. It’s like white noise. Sexy white noise.”
“More like nightmare fuel,” you retorted, rolling over to face him. He reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, letting his fingers linger against your cheek.
Just as his lips brushed yours—
“MUMMY!!! DADDY!! WAAAAAAKE UUUUUUP!”
A tiny, determined voice shrieked from the hallway. Seconds later, the door burst open, and a blur of curls and Paw Patrol pyjamas flew onto the bed.
“Leo, mate—” Mason started, narrowly avoiding a headbutt to the jaw. “You’ve got to stop launching yourself like that. You’re gonna break my ribs one day.”
Leo grinned mischievously and wriggled between the two of you, plopping himself dramatically in the middle of the bed. “I missed you both,” he said, curling into your side.
“It’s been nine hours,” you said, ruffling his hair.
Mason laughed, rolling onto his side to face Leo. “You’re such a drama king. Wonder where you got that from.”
You both turned to look at each other, raising your eyebrows.
“I don’t know,” you said innocently. “Certainly not from me.”
Leo sat up suddenly. “Can we have pancakes today? With the chocolate chips that look like footballs?”
“Only if Daddy makes them,” you said quickly.
Mason threw a pillow at you. “Oi! I made them last week!”
“And the week before,” you added sweetly.
“And they were burnt,” Leo chimed in.
Mason looked wounded. “It was one time!”
“Three,” you corrected, holding up fingers. “Three times. You literally set off the smoke alarm and blamed it on the toaster.”
Leo giggled. “You said it was haunted!”
Mason buried his face in the pillow and groaned. “You two are impossible. Fine. Pancakes it is. But if I burn them again, it’s on purpose.”
Leo leapt off the bed. “YAY!”
He tore down the hallway like a rocket.
You turned to Mason, raising an eyebrow. “So what’s the plan, Chef Mount?”
“Plan is,” he said, stretching, “we get through today without setting the kitchen on fire or telling Leo how he was made.”
You laughed. “Why would we need to do that?”
He gave you a knowing look. “He’s four. He’s been hanging out with our nephew. That kid knows too much.”
“Oh God,” you whispered. “Not Charlie.”
“Yep,” Mason said, already heading toward the kitchen. “Charlie’s been giving Leo The Talk, and we’re probably a day away from getting asked how babies get inside tummies.”
You gasped. “You’ll handle it.”
“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “That’s a mummy question.”
The kitchen smelled like cocoa and chaos.
Mason stood at the stove, trying to flip pancakes while Leo sat cross-legged on the counter beside him, nibbling a rogue chocolate chip he’d sneakily stolen from the bowl.
“Leo, mate, you can’t eat all the chips before they go in the pancakes,” Mason said, trying to be firm.
Leo grinned, cheeks full. “I’m the taste-tester.”
“You’ve taste-tested half the bag,” you said from the sink, rinsing off blueberries. “At this point, there’ll be more chocolate in his belly than in the batter.”
Leo shrugged. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” Mason said, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “You just had a banana.”
Leo leaned toward him dramatically. “That was like four years ago.”
You burst out laughing. “He’s got your sense of time. Remember when you said your nap lasted ‘a century’?”
“That nap felt like a century,” Mason defended. “You two talk a lot.”
Leo gasped. “You said naps were boring!”
“They are,” Mason whispered like it was a secret. “That’s why Daddy needs extra snacks too.”
Leo giggled as you shook your head. “Great. Now he’s going to start requesting a ‘Daddy snack’ during every nap.”
“Good,” Mason said. “More snacks in this house. It’s a win for the people.”
Leo threw his arms in the air. “Power to the snack people!”
You put your hands on your hips. “Okay, Snack People. Who’s cleaning up this chocolate chip explosion?”
Leo immediately pointed at you.
You rolled your eyes. “Of course. I do everything around here.”
“You said it,” Mason grinned, tossing the spatula in the sink. “Come on, let’s eat these before Leo taste-tests the table.”
Later that night, after bath time and one too many rounds of “Ten Little Dinosaurs,” Leo lay curled up in his bed, hair damp, fingers curled around the corner of his blanket. You and Mason sat on either side of him.
“Can I ask a question?” Leo asked suddenly, voice muffled against the pillow.
“Of course,” Mason said, brushing back his curls.
Leo blinked up at both of you, eyes wide and curious.
“Where do babies come from?”
Mason’s hand froze mid-stroke on Leo’s hair.
Your eyes locked with Mason’s.
Leo blinked again. “Like… do you grow them in the garden? Like sunflowers?”
Mason made a choked noise.
You cleared your throat. “Um. Not quite, sweetheart.”
“Because Charlie at nursery said he came from his mummy’s belly, and I was like, what? That’s not where people come from!”
Mason laughed nervously. “Well, it’s… sort of true.”
Leo sat up a little. “Did you plant me in mummy’s belly?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Mason looked like he wanted to sprint into another dimension.
This was it. The moment of reckoning.
Leo looked between you both with genuine innocence.
“I just wanna know if I came from seeds or magic.”
“Right,” he said. “Okay. So…”
Leo sat cross-legged on his bed, freshly bathed, curls still damp, and the most serious look on his little face.
“So,” he said again, like he was conducting an interview. “Where do babies come from?”
You and Mason exchanged a look — the kind of silent, panic-infused glance only parents mastered.
Mason cleared his throat. “Well, mate… you see, that’s a big question.”
Leo blinked. “Is it a secret?”
“Kind of,” you said carefully. “It’s something people learn when they’re a bit older.”
Leo’s eyes narrowed. “Charlie said grown-ups don’t like telling because it’s weird.”
Mason gave a strained smile. “That’s… not entirely wrong.”
Leo leaned forward. “So was I planted in Mummy’s tummy like a seed? Did Daddy just drop me in and water me with apple juice?”
Mason let out a snort-laugh and quickly disguised it as a cough. “No, no apple juice watering was involved.”
“Then how did I get in there?”
You were now frozen in place, holding Leo’s Paw Patrol pajamas like they were your last line of defense.
Mason rubbed his jaw like he was trying to conjure wisdom from his stubble. “Right. Okay. Time to be brave.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You sure about this?”
Mason gave you a nod that looked more like a flinch.
“Alright, Leo,” he began, turning toward your son like he was about to give a press conference. “So, babies… they start in a mummy’s tummy. But! They don’t just appear. Mummies and daddies work together to make them.”
Leo tilted his head. “Like a science project?”
“Exactly!” Mason said, relieved. “A very special one.”
Mason shook his head. “No glue. There’s… a special kind of love that helps the baby grow.”
Leo stared blankly. “Like a love potion?”
“Sort of?” Mason glanced at you for backup.
You jumped in. “When two people love each other, their love creates something called an embryo, which is like the tiniest, tiniest baby.”
Leo’s face lit up. “A baby seed!”
“Kind of, yes,” Mason said quickly. “And the baby seed grows in the mummy’s tummy until it’s big enough to come out.”
Leo, unfazed, added, “Charlie said it comes out your belly button.”
You took a deep breath. “Well, some babies do come out of a special door that doctors help open. And sometimes, doctors help take the baby out from the tummy with a special surgery.”
Leo sat back like this was fascinating news. “So I’m not from the garden.”
“Nope,” Mason said. “You came from Mummy. And it took a long time and a lot of effort. And her ankles looked like footballs.”
You slapped his arm, laughing. “They did not!”
Leo gasped. “Mummy turned into a football?!”
“No, no,” Mason said, trying to fix it, “her ankles just puffed up a bit—”
“Because I was kicking her from the inside?”
You nodded. “All the time. Like a little ninja.”
“I was practicing!” Leo said proudly. “For my real football debut!”
You leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You were worth every swollen foot.”
Leo yawned and cuddled back into his pillow. “Okay. That’s enough science for now.”
Mason pulled the blanket up to his chin. “Sleep now, future football ninja.”
Just as you turned to switch off the lamp, Leo added dreamily, “Daddy?”
“I think when I’m big, I’ll plant a baby seed too. Maybe two. I’ll use apple juice just in case.”
You stuffed a hand in your mouth to keep from cracking up.
Mason grinned and gave you a sideways glance. “Well, that’s… something to look forward to.”
“Night, Mummy. Night, Daddy.”
“Night, Leo,” you both said in unison.
As soon as the door was closed behind you, you both burst into quiet laughter in the hallway.
“Oh my God,” you whispered, clutching your chest. “He wants to water his kids with apple juice.”
Mason shook his head. “I knew Charlie was going to corrupt him. This is just the beginning.”
You grinned, tugging Mason toward the stairs. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t try to plant one in the backyard tomorrow.”
Mason sighed. “I’m hiding the watering can.”
The house was quiet. Finally.
You were curled up in bed under a thick duvet, your head on Mason’s chest, one of his arms draped lazily around your shoulders. The baby monitor sat untouched on the nightstand — because Leo was officially too big for it now. The nursery had turned into a dinosaur-themed “big boy room,” and Leo had declared himself “the king of bedtime” just two nights ago.
It lasted until exactly 8:47 p.m. when he got up asking for more water.
Now it was nearing midnight, and the house was blessedly still.
Mason’s voice was low, almost tentative. “You ever think about having another one?”
You lifted your head slightly to look at him. “Another what? Banana? Nap? Brain cell?”
He laughed softly, tugging you closer. “Baby.”
You blinked, resting your chin on his chest. “Are you serious?”
“I mean… yeah.” He traced slow circles on your arm. “Leo’s growing up so fast. Sometimes I think... maybe it’d be nice to have a tiny one again. A little sibling for him.”
You tilted your head, considering. “Would this new baby also think bees are ‘angry fairies’ and try to glue googly eyes to the dog?”
Mason smirked. “If they’re ours? Definitely.”
You stared at the ceiling for a moment. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it.”
His eyes lit up. “Really?”
You smiled softly. “Don’t get too excited. I said thought about it. You were not the one who carried a watermelon-sized Leo and waddled like a penguin for nine months.”
“You waddled very gracefully.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, poking him in the ribs.
He laughed, catching your hand and kissing it. “We could do it better this time. Not that Leo isn’t perfect — but we were clueless.”
You sighed contentedly. “Still kinda are.”
“But we survive,” he said.
There was a beat of silence. Peaceful. Warm.
Your bedroom door opened just a little.
You both turned your heads.
Leo stood in the doorway, hair tousled, one sock on, and his stuffed dinosaur clutched under his arm like a weapon.
“Mummy. Daddy,” he whispered loudly. “I think I’m having a thought.”
Mason sat up, rubbing his eyes. “A thought?”
Leo padded into the room, serious as a scientist. “Yes. A big one.”
You reached out your arms, and he immediately climbed up into the bed between you, curling into your side.
“What kind of thought, baby?” you asked softly.
He looked up at the ceiling dramatically. “If babies come from love… then what happens if you love someone SO much you get, like, three babies at once?”
Mason blinked. “Wow. Going straight for the multiples, huh?”
Leo nodded. “And where do those babies come from? Do they grow in different corners of the tummy? Or is it just one big baby that splits like a biscuit?”
You pressed your lips together to stop from laughing.
Mason rubbed his jaw like he was trying to be scientific. “Sometimes, Leo, some mummies do grow more than one baby at a time. They’re called twins, or triplets.”
“Triplets,” Leo whispered like it was a sacred word.
“They all grow in the same belly,” you added. “Very cozy in there.”
Leo gasped. “Like a baby sleepover!”
“Exactly,” Mason said, smiling. “But without snacks.”
Leo shook his head. “That’s boring.”
You leaned back on the pillows, tucking the duvet around all three of you. “It’s very late, sweet boy. Can we save the rest of the science talk for tomorrow?”
“One more question?” Leo pleaded, blinking up at you.
You sighed, already knowing you’d say yes.
He looked up at Mason. “If I came from love, does that mean if you and Mummy love me too much… I’ll make a baby by accident?”
Mason nearly choked on thin air.
You smacked his chest. “Breathe.”
Leo looked between you both, eyes wide. “It’s just… I don’t want a surprise baby falling out of me.”
You pulled him closer, trying not to burst out laughing. “Leo, sweetheart. Boys don’t have babies. That part is just for mummies.”
He looked relieved. “Oh, phew. Because I hugged Mummy super hard earlier and I was worried something started.”
Mason wheezed beside you, completely red in the face.
“I promise,” you said gently, kissing Leo’s forehead, “you didn’t start anything.”
Leo yawned, finally relaxing between you both. “Okay. But if you do make another baby… can I name it?”
You raised your eyebrows. “That depends. What name were you thinking?”
Leo nodded, eyes already drooping. “It’s strong. It digs things. It’s perfect.”
Mason buried his face in a pillow to muffle his laugh.
You groaned. “We are not naming our baby Apple.”
Leo snuggled deeper under the covers. “Please think about it.”
Mason grinned, whispering, “She’ll think about it.”
“You said that about naming the dog Waffles and now—”
“Do not bring Waffles into this.”
Leo was already dozing off, face relaxed, little fingers curled around the collar of Mason’s shirt.
Silence returned, warm and familiar.
Mason whispered into the dark, “So... still thinking about it?”
You stared down at your sleepy boy, his feet somehow under your thigh, like a puzzle piece he’d slotted himself into.
You said sarcastically. “Yeah. Apple's got a lovely ring to it.”
