kate martin x reader where reader brings their baby to an unrivaled game or practice and everyone is obsessed. kate and babies is my brand they’re so adorable
the littlest fan
pairing: iowa!kate!dating!unrivaled breeze!married x iowa!reader!dating!married
wc: 3.4k
summary: your four-year-old steals the spotlight at an unrivaled game, but kate can’t help showing the world just how hers she really is—married life, motherhood, and basketball collide in the sweetest chaos.
🏷️: @nervoussagittarius, @timunhater, @marleymarleymarleymarley, @333dee, @yourmom-25s-blog
the arena smelled like sweat and popcorn, that mix you always swore was part of the game-day magic, but today it smelled like something else too: vanilla baby shampoo, sunscreen, and the faint trace of sticky juice on tiny fingers.
you perched your daughter on your hip, her legs swinging over your arm as she bounced along with the crowd’s hum, eyes wide with wonder.
kate’s hands never left the sidelines, bouncing in anticipation, but you could feel her gaze flicking toward your shoulder like a magnet.
she had that grin—the one that always made your stomach flip—because she knew she wasn’t the center of attention today your daughter was.
“look at all the people.” you whispered to her, brushing a stray curl from her forehead she giggled, pointing with one pudgy finger at the breeze bench where kate was stretching, glancing at the scoreboard, at her teammates, at the ref like she already understood the whole game.
kate caught the look and rolled her eyes, but her chest tightened as she jogged over during a timeout, hand outstretched, ready to scoop your daughter into her arms as if the girl had been waiting all day just for her. “hey, my little chaos coordinator.” kate murmured, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s temple as the little girl squealed, grabbing kate’s face with both hands like she owned it, and honestly, kate felt like she did.
the team noticed immediately the breeze's bench erupted in “aww’s” and soft laughter, players craning their necks to catch a glimpse of your tiny human kate’s teammates practically fought over who got to wave or make silly faces, and somewhere near the scorer’s table, even a few rival players whispered and cooed, unable to hide their fascination.
your daughter laughed so loud it echoed across the court, pure joy bouncing in her voice. “so that’s what all the fuss is about,” one of the rival team’s forwards muttered, smirking but clearly impressed. kate caught it, her eyebrows quirking, half proud, half “yeah, that’s mine, hands off.”
you leaned against the railing, watching kate cradle your daughter, rocking her slightly as if she could calm storms with just the sway of her arms kate’s face softened, eyes glimmering under the arena lights, the game a distant hum in the background.
she whispered something your daughter found hilarious, and for a moment, you swore the entire stadium had quieted just to watch that connection—the way kate’s grin split into that toothy, warm smile, the one that had made you fall in love back in iowa, sophomore year, where both of you had spent late nights arguing over stats, classes, and who would grab the last slice of pizza.
your daughter’s tiny hand reached for kate’s face again, tugging at her chin. kate leaned in, brushing her nose against your little one’s, and you caught yourself smiling so wide your cheeks hurt. “you’ve got them wrapped.” you whispered, though really, it was you who was wrapped around kate.
“nah.” kate said, her voice low, playful, but there was heat there too, the kind that said she had zero intention of letting anyone else steal this spotlight. “they’ve got me, yeah, but look at this kid.” she jiggled her daughter gently, who squealed and waved at everyone in the front row like she owned the place. “we’re just the entourage.”
from the stands, whispers traveled like wildfire. “is that…kate martin’s kid?” someone murmured. “i’ve seen her play, but is that…?” players paused mid-dribble to glance over, and kate’s teammates were practically melting. every assist, every sprint across the court, every bounce of the ball was punctuated by your daughter’s delighted squeals.
kate stole a glance at you, and you shook your head, grinning, because yes, somehow, in the middle of an intense practice scrimmage, your family had become the unofficial MVPs.
“don’t get used to this.” kate whispered, swaying your daughter between her arms. “i’m going to spoil them rotten.” your daughter, of course, giggled like she already knew she was the queen.
and kate? kate let herself glow in the chaos, the warmth, the soft murmur of the crowd, the sound of squealing laughter echoing off the hardwood. she’d played countless games, made dozens of impossible shots, celebrated wins and nursed losses—but nothing felt like this. nothing felt like having her tiny girl in her arms, the love of her life standing close by, laughing at how absurdly obsessed everyone was with a four-year-old.
by the end of practice, kate’s teammates were all leaning over the rail, holding out hands, squeaking, asking for high fives and tickles.
even a few rival players had wandered over, grinning, snapping pictures with their phones, pretending to be polite but honestly, totally smitten. kate kept one protective hand on your daughter’s back, the other lacing with yours, squeezing slightly as if to say: yes. yes, she’s mine, yes, we’re ours, yes, this is my whole world.
when the buzzer finally went, echoing across the empty court, kate tucked your daughter under her chin one last time before heading to the locker room, eyes meeting yours, warm and soft and completely yours. “next time.” she said, voice low, “we bring snacks for everyone. and maybe a throne for the queen.”
your daughter waved, tiny hand fluttering like a flag, and kate’s laugh echoed after her, rich and full, blending with the sound of sneakers squeaking, basketballs bouncing, and the undeniable hum of family, chaos, and love that made even the fiercest games feel like home then, like a switch flipped, the calm unraveled into something louder—something brighter.
because the second kate disappeared toward the tunnel, your daughter twisted in your arms with a sudden burst of energy, eyes sparkling like she’d just remembered she had an audience to entertain.
“mama—down,” she insisted, wiggling until you had no choice but to set her sneakers on the polished floor.
it was a mistake, a tiny, giggling, unstoppable mistake she took off like she had somewhere important to be, darting along the sideline with that uneven, fearless run only kids have—arms pumping, curls bouncing, laughter spilling behind her like a trail you couldn’t quite catch.
“hey—hey! slow down,” you called, already half-laughing, half-panicked as you followed, but it was too late because the team had seen her and now? now it was over for you.
“there she is!” one of kate’s teammate paige called out, crouching low with open arms, and your daughter veered instantly, like she’d been summoned, like she knew exactly where the attention lived and how to run straight into it.
she crashed into the paige’s hug with a delighted squeal, tiny hands grabbing onto her jersey, and suddenly there were more of them—more hands, more voices, more laughter closing in like a warm, chaotic storm.
“oh my god, she’s even cuter up close,” someone said. “those curls? yeah, no, i’m done.”
“can we keep her?” you slowed to a stop a few feet away, breath catching, but not from worry—not really. from the way it all looked.
your daughter in the middle of it, completely unbothered, completely at home, being passed gently from one set of arms to another like she belonged to all of them, like she’d always been part of this strange, loud, loving world and in a way she had.
“she’s making rounds.” you muttered under your breath, watching as she offered a high five to someone from the other team, completely unaware of the invisible lines she was crossing, or maybe just not caring at all.
“she’s got no loyalty,” a voice teased behind you you didn’t have to turn to know it was kate.
“hey,” you said softly, glancing back anyway, and there she was—fresh off the court, hair damp, jersey clinging slightly, eyes softer than they had any right to be after a game but they weren’t on you not yet.
they were locked on your daughter. “she’s defecting,” kate added, stepping up beside you, her shoulder brushing yours, her hand automatically finding your back like it always did, grounding, familiar.
you huffed a quiet laugh. “she’s networking.” kate snorted at that, shaking her head, but there was pride in it, unmistakable, swelling in her chest as she watched your little girl charm an entire arena without even trying and then your daughter spotted her again.
everything else faded you saw it happen—the shift, the way her attention snapped, the way her whole face lit up like the only person in the room that mattered had just walked back in.
“mama!” she broke free instantly, tiny legs carrying her as fast as they could, laughter bubbling out of her as she launched herself forward kate didn’t even hesitate.
she dropped into a crouch just in time, arms opening, catching her mid-impact with a soft oof and a laugh that came out breathless and full and completely undone.
“hey, hey, i just saw you,” kate murmured, pulling her in tight, pressing a kiss to her cheek, then her temple, then wherever she could reach because she couldn’t help it she never could see your daughter cupped kate’s face again, serious for half a second, like she had something very important to say.
“you play good,” she declared, kate blinked, stunned, like she’d just been handed the highest honor imaginable. “yeah?” she whispered, voice softer now, quieter, like the moment deserved it.
your daughter nodded firmly. “very good.”
kate exhaled a laugh, something almost fragile tucked inside it, and for a second, you saw it—the shift, the way all the noise faded for her too, the way the game didn’t matter, the crowd didn’t matter, nothing mattered except the weight of that tiny approval in her arms.
“that’s all i needed,” kate said, glancing up at you, eyes warm, a little wrecked in the best way. “i can retire now.”
“don’t you dare,” you shot back, smiling as you stepped closer, brushing your fingers along your daughter’s back, then kate’s arm, letting the contact linger around you, the chaos picked back up again.
teammates circled in, rival players not even pretending to stay away anymore, someone handing your daughter a tiny basketball, someone else tying her shoelace when it came undone, voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the walls.
“okay but seriously, can she come to every game?”
“we need her on the roster.”
“team morale boost, i’m telling you.” kate shifted, pulling your daughter onto her hip, one arm wrapped securely around her while the other reached for you, fingers threading through yours like it was instinct, like it had always been this easy.
“careful,” kate said, glancing around at everyone with a mock warning, though the grin tugging at her lips ruined any real attempt at seriousness. “you’re all getting attached.”
“too late,” someone answered immediately, as you laughed under your breath, squeezing kate’s hand, watching as your daughter held the little basketball against her chest like it was something precious, something she’d been trusted with.
maybe she had not just the ball all of this.
the noise, the love, the chaos, the way she fit into it so effortlessly, like she’d been written into this life from the very beginning—back in iowa, back when it was just you and kate and late nights and quiet dreams you didn’t quite know would come true like this.
kate leaned closer, her shoulder pressing into yours, her voice dropping just enough that it felt like it belonged only to you. “we’re gonna need a bigger snack bag next time,” she murmured you huffed a soft laugh. “and a leash.”
kate grinned at that, eyes flicking down to your daughter, who was now attempting to dribble the ball and mostly just chasing it in delighted circles. “nah,” kate said, shaking her head, her grip on both of you tightening just slightly. “she’s got us.”
yet the way she said it—easy, certain, like it wasn’t even a question—settled something deep in your chest because she was right.
your daughter darted forward again, chasing the ball as it rolled away, laughter echoing behind her, and this time, neither of you rushed to stop her as you just followed, together.
it slowed, eventually—everything did. not all at once, not in a clean, obvious way, but in the soft unwinding that comes after something bright burns through a room the lights still hummed overhead, the court still echoed with the faint rhythm of a ball somewhere in the distance, but the crowd had thinned, voices fading into something quieter, more personal.
your daughter didn’t notice the shift at first as she kept chasing the ball, tiny sneakers squeaking as she dribbled—badly, unevenly, but with a determination that made kate laugh under her breath it rolled too far again, and she followed, bending to scoop it up with both hands like it was heavier than it should’ve been.
“c’mere,” kate called gently, stepping forward, her voice softer now, like she didn’t want to break whatever this moment had become.
your daughter turned, considering it, then ran back toward her anyway, ball clutched tight against her chest, curls falling into her eyes kate met her halfway, crouching again, always meeting her where she was, never asking her to come further than she could.
“you’re getting pretty good.” kate teased, brushing the hair back from her face, her fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.
“i know mama,” your daughter said, completely serious you laughed quietly, arms folding across your chest as you leaned back against the railing, watching them the way kate stayed low, one knee pressed to the floor, your daughter standing between her legs, the ball wedged awkwardly between them as kate guided her hands.
“like this,” kate murmured, adjusting her grip, showing her how to bounce it properly, slower this time, steadier. the ball hit the hardwood with a cleaner sound, and your daughter’s eyes lit up like she’d just discovered something magic.
again, again, again with each bounce echoed softer than the last, not because it was quieter, but because everything around it had started to fall away.
teammates disappeared toward the locker room in small groups, voices calling out goodnights, laughter trailing behind them even the rival players had gone, leaving only the faint trace of their presence in the air as it was now just you three now.
kate glanced up at you after a while, something unreadable passing through her expression before it softened into something you knew too well—something that always sat just beneath the surface when she looked at the two of you like this.
“you remember,” she started, voice quieter, almost thoughtful, “when we used to stay late after practice?” you tilted your head, a small smile pulling at your lips. “when you refused to leave until you hit five shots in a row?”
kate huffed a laugh. “hey, that was discipline.”
“that was stubborn,” you corrected gently while your daughter looked between you, uninterested in the past, more focused on dropping the ball and chasing it again, her laughter filling the space in between your words.
kate watched her go, just for a second, before her gaze slipped back to you. “i used to think that was it,” she admitted, softer now. “like that was the thing. basketball. staying late, getting better, all of it.” she paused, shaking her head slightly, like she couldn’t quite believe her own thought. “and it is, i mean—i love it, i always will but…”
you stepped closer without thinking, drawn in by the way her voice dipped, the way her shoulders loosened like she was setting something down. “but?” kate’s eyes flickered back to your daughter, who had now abandoned dribbling entirely in favor of sitting on the floor and rolling the ball back and forth to herself, humming softly.
“this,” kate said simply the word settled between you, heavier than anything else she could’ve said. “this is better.”
you didn’t answer right away couldn’t, really, not when your chest tightened like that, not when the moment felt too full to interrupt but instead, you reached for her hand, fingers sliding into place like they’d never learned how not to fit there.
“you’re allowed to have both,” you said after a beat, your voice steady even if everything else wasn’t kate looked at you like she knew that like she was still learning how to believe it.
“yeah,” she murmured, squeezing your hand once before letting go, pushing herself up to her feet again. “yeah, i know.”
your daughter chose that moment to look up, spotting the two of you standing close, and immediately decided she needed to be there too she scrambled up, leaving the ball behind as she ran over, arms lifting expectantly.
kate didn’t even hesitate this time she scooped her up in one smooth motion, settling her against her hip, pressing a kiss to her cheek like it was instinct, like breathing.
“you getting sleepy, huh?” kate whispered, though your daughter shook her head instantly, stubborn even in exhaustion. “no mama.” you raised an eyebrow. “you just sat on the floor for five minutes.”
“i’m resting mommy,” she argued, which only made kate laugh again, that same soft, full sound that never quite lost its warmth. “she gets that from you,” kate said, nudging your shoulder lightly. “excuse you?”
“the dramatics,” kate added, grinning now, and you couldn’t even argue because maybe a little.
your daughter yawned mid-protest, her head dropping against kate’s shoulder like her body had decided for her. kate’s expression shifted instantly, something gentler taking over as she adjusted her hold, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading carefully through her curls.
“yeah,” kate murmured, softer now, more to herself than anyone else. “thought so.”
the arena was almost empty now the lights dimmed slightly, the echoes fading until it felt less like a place for games and more like something in-between—quiet, held, yours for just a moment longer.
“we should head out.” you said gently, though you didn’t move yet kate nodded, but didn’t step away either, not right away.
but instead, she looked at you again, really looked at this time, the way she used to back in those early days—like she was memorizing something, like she didn’t trust time not to take it from her if she blinked too long.
“hey.” she said softly. “hey.”
“we did good,” kate added, her voice barely above a whisper, but steady, certain in a way that made your throat tighten you glanced at your daughter, already half-asleep against her, then back at kate.
“yeah,” you said, just as quiet. “we did.” kate smiled then—not the big, teasing one, not the one she gave the cameras or her teammates—but something smaller, something real and a little undone around the edges.
“c’mon,” she said after a moment, shifting your daughter slightly higher in her arms. “let’s get our girl home.”
you reached for the abandoned ball on your way out, tucking it under your arm as you fell into step beside her, your shoulder brushing hers, your hand finding its place at her back and as you walked off the court—lights dimming, doors closing, the last echoes of the game fading behind you—it didn’t feel like you were leaving anything behind.
it felt like you were taking it with you all of it.
