Precious Moments
Fandom: Jurassic World: Rebirth
Pairing: Dr. Henry Loomis x Pregnant!Reader
Rating: Mature
Tags: Slight Angst, Fluff, Protective Henry, Love, Decorating, Cuddling, He Dotes On You, You're A Bit Emotional, So Much Fluff, Kissing, Soft Touches
Word Count: Around 2000
Written For: @fandombingo
Squares/PromptsFilled: G5 - Cuddling On The Couch for Fandom Bingo
Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics
Requested By: This sweet anon. Thank you for being patient. I hope this is okay and what you wanted. If not, please let me know so I can write you another fic to make it right ❤️
The late afternoon sun was high in the sky by the time Henry finally locked the doors and headed home. He had spent the entire day rearranging exhibits, giving lectures, and fielding endless questions, but all the while, his thoughts drifted back to you. His wife. His very pregnant, stubbornly independent wife.
He worried constantly. He’d built his life on bones and theories, but you were something he could never study or measure, only cherish...and protect.
When he let himself into the house, he expected to find you resting on the sofa, curled beneath the quilt he always left ready for you. Maybe with a mug of tea he’d brewed that morning before leaving.
But the silence was strange.
He set his satchel down slowly, listening. A soft clatter drifted down the hallway, and his stomach dropped.
“Sweetheart?” His voice was careful and worried all at once.
No answer.
Henry strode quickly toward the nursery. The door stood half-open, and when he pushed it wider, the sight made his eyes soften marginally.
There you were. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, a screwdriver in hand, cheeks flushed, your rounded belly obvious under your dress. A half-assembled crib sprawled around you like the scattered remains of some primitive beast, bolts and wooden slats everywhere.
His breath caught in his chest.
“What,” he said softly, the word edged with disbelief, “do you think you're doing?”
You froze, eyes darting guiltily to his. “I...I just wanted to help. The baby will be here soon and I thought-”
“Help?” His voice sharpened, though the heat in it was born of the need to keep you safe. He stepped fully into the room, throat working as he crouched down in front of you. “You are nine months pregnant. You should be resting, my love, not on the floor.”
His hand trembled slightly as he brushed it over your cheek, down your arm, and then to your belly, cupping the swell with care. “You could have told me you wanted the crib built. I'd have come home early if you'd only called me.”
You pouted softly, defensive. “Henry, I just wanted to do something. You never let me-”
“Never let you?” His eyes flared, a mixture of exasperation and desperate love. He kissed your forehead, quick and firm, before pulling back to meet your gaze. “Darling, you are already doing everything. You’re carrying our child. You’re building our family with every breath you take. Do you think there is any task, any museum exhibit, or crib or fossil, that matters more than that?”
Your throat tightened, tears threatening. He looked so undone, kneeling there with his tie loose and his hands spread protectively over your body.
Henry exhaled shakily, then sighed. “You will drive me to an early grave.” And with surprising ease, he slid his arms beneath you, lifting you off the floor despite how pregnant you were..
“Henry!” you squeaked, clutching his shoulders.
“Shh,” he murmured, carrying you over to the rocking chair in the corner of the nursery. He set you down carefully, smoothing your dress, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. His hands lingered at your belly again, palms broad and steady. “You sit. You tell me what you want for dinner. You tell me if you need water, tea, or, hell, ten pillows. And I will finish this crib.”
Your lips curved, tender despite your embarrassment. “You’re really not going to let me help at all, are you?”
“Not even if you beg,” he said firmly, though his voice softened when he leaned down to kiss you again. “My job is to keep you safe. Both of you.”
Henry’s shoulders flexed beneath his shirt as he crouched by the crib, steady and meticulous, tightening each bolt with the same focus he gave to mounting priceless fossils in the museum. Every so often, he glanced at you in the rocking chair to make sure you were okay.
When the crib finally stood whole, polished and sturdy, he wiped his brow and then knelt beside it. Large hands smoothed over the railing, testing it, before one spread over your belly again.
“There,” he murmured, leaning close, lowering his voice as he kissed the swell of your belly. “Safe and strong. Just like your momma.” His hands brushed your stomach tenderly. “And when you’re finally home, little one, you’ll sleep here. Surrounded by every comfort we can give you.”
Your throat tightened, watching him, this brilliant, serious man made softer than you’d ever seen.
He stayed that way for a while, one palm against your belly, talking to your baby. That he’d teach them about bones and the history of the world, that he’d keep both of you safe. His voice grew husky at the end, and he pressed one more kiss against you before standing to tuck a blanket neatly into the crib.
Over the next few days, he grew almost feverish with preparation.
When you suggested hiring someone to help, Henry refused. “No one else,” he’d said lowly, before softening when he saw your look. “No one else is worthy of building this for you both.”
He came home from the museum each evening with bags tucked under his arms, rolls of wallpaper patterned with tiny, multicolored dinosaurs, stacks of children’s books with fossil illustrations, plushies shaped like triceratops, stegosaurs, and even a plush T. Rex whose grin made you giggle.
Henry didn’t laugh. He smoothed the toy’s head with surprising tenderness. “He’ll guard the baby,” he said firmly, setting the plush at the corner of the crib like a sentinel.
The wallpaper went up under his steady hands, painstakingly aligned while he refused to let you so much as stand on a stepstool. He would stop every few minutes, checking on you in the rocking chair, pressing a glass of water into your hand or brushing a kiss across your temple.
By the time the nursery was finished, it was a pale green sanctuary filled with prehistoric wonder, tiny fossils painted along the trim, shelves lined with books and plush dinosaurs, and a mobile of pterodactyls hung gently over the crib.
You sat back in awe, tears filling your eyes. “Henry…it’s beautiful.”
He stood in the doorway, tie loosened, hands still dusty from his work, and looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. “And you...,” he murmured, crossing to kneel at your side. His hand spread over your belly, his forehead brushing yours. “You’re beautiful. You and our precious baby, and I can't wait to spoil you both even after they're born.”
Later that night, you lay in bed, shifting again, sighing when another little kick jabbed at your ribs. The sheets felt too hot, your body too heavy, and sleep wouldn’t come. You didn’t want to disturb Henry, he’d worked himself ragged between the museum and fussing over you all day, so you carefully slipped out from under the covers and padded softly into the living room.
The couch welcomed you, cushions arranged into a nest you’d perfected over the last few weeks. You curled up as best you could, rubbing a hand over your restless belly. “Alright, little one,” you whispered, “I know you’re excited, but your mama’s tired.”
You’d only just closed your eyes when you heard the bedroom door creak.
“Sweetheart?” Henry’s voice was low, but tight with worry. Moments later, his tall frame filled the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, his shirt unbuttoned halfway. His eyes swept the room until they landed on you, and he let out a relieved breath. “Thank God.”
He crossed to you immediately, crouching by the couch. “Why didn’t you wake me?” His hand brushed over your arm, then to your belly, checking you over.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted softly. “I just…I can’t get comfortable. And the baby’s been kicking nonstop.”
For a moment, his expression flickered, exasperation that you’d suffered in silence, fear that you’d slipped away without him knowing. But when he exhaled again, it was with pure tenderness. “Bother me? Darling, you are my every joy.”
He guided you gently, adjusting pillows with almost comical precision until you were supported on every side, your legs stretched, your back eased. Then, instead of returning to bed, Henry slid onto the couch beside you, one arm curling around your shoulders, the other resting over your belly.
“There now,” he murmured. “Both of you are exactly where you belong.”
When the baby kicked again, he smiled, lowering his head. He pressed a soft kiss against the curve of your stomach. Then another. And another, as if dotting the kicks themselves with affection.
“You’re keeping your momma awake, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips brushing your skin between words. “She needs her rest, and so do you. You’ll have all the time in the world to wriggle and kick once you’re here. But for now…be still. Be gentle with her.”
His voice was low, soothing, almost hypnotic. He spoke to the baby about fossils and stars, about how fiercely he loved them already, about how he dreamed of carrying them through the museum one day and showing off the bones of creatures long gone. His hand rubbed slow circles over your belly, grounding you, easing the tension from your body.
Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of his murmurs and the steady warmth of his hand lulling you. The last thing you felt was his lips pressing one final kiss against your bump, and his whispered vow:
“I will love you both until the end of time.”
Sunlight swept slowly into the living room, slipping between the curtains and warming the space in soft golden beams. You stirred, half-waking, your body still heavy with the best sleep you’d had in days.
For a moment you didn’t quite understand why, until you realized the weight against your side, the warmth of a hand still splayed protectively across your belly.
Henry.
He was slumped awkwardly on the couch beside you, his long frame bent at an angle. One arm pillowed his head, the other had never left you, fingers curled gently against the swell of your stomach as if even in sleep he refused to let go. His glasses were set neatly on the side table, you hadn’t even noticed him take them off last night.
You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
Almost instantly, his eyes blinked open, sharp with worry before he saw you awake beside him. Relief softened his features. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep. He shifted upright quickly, checking you over with his hands. “How do you feel? Any pain? Any discomfort?”
You shook your head, still smiling. “Actually… better than I’ve slept in weeks.”
At that, his whole body seemed to exhale. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there. “Then this is where we’ll sleep from now on. The couch, the floor, a chair, it doesn’t matter. If you rest, I’ll rest.”
“Henry…” you laughed softly. “You can’t mean that.”
“I do,” he said firmly, straightening. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair tousled, but his eyes shone with unshakable devotion. “I’ll build you a nest of pillows right here every night if I must. I’ll fetch tea, warm milk, or anything else you desire. The bed is nothing compared to your comfort.”
Your heart squeezed. You reached for his hand, guiding it back to your belly. “You’re going to spoil us both.”
“Good,” he murmured, kissing your temple, then leaning down to press another kiss to the curve of your stomach. “You deserve nothing less.”
The baby kicked beneath his palm as if answering him, and Henry chuckled low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your skin. “See? Even they agree with me.”
Later that afternoon, Henry decided you needed air. So, he took you to the museum.
He insisted on driving you himself, fussing with your coat and scarf even though the day was mild. When you tried to argue that you could manage, he only fixed you with a look that ended the discussion instantly.
Inside, the museum was quiet, closed to the public that day. The familiar scent of polished wood and old stone wrapped around you like an embrace.
Henry guided you slowly through each hall, his hand never leaving yours until he stopped at an exhibit. Then, with ritualistic care, he would step behind you, sliding one arm low across your belly. His palm spread beneath the swell, lifting just enough to take the weight off your aching back. You melted into the relief, sighing, and he pressed a kiss to your temple.
“There we go,” he murmured. “Better?”
“Much,” you whispered.
And then he began to talk, not to you, but to the baby.
At the fossilized Triceratops skull, his voice softened. “This one roamed the earth sixty-eight million years ago, little one. A herbivore. Strong, protective. Much like your mother.” He squeezed you gently, his lips grazing your ear.
At the towering skeleton of a sauropod, he chuckled, smoothing his hand over your belly. “See this giant? One of the largest creatures to ever walk the earth. Someday, I’ll teach you their names. I’ll show you every bone, every secret.”
Through each hall he spoke, patient and passionate, as if the baby could already understand every word. You leaned back against his chest, eyes half-closed, letting the cadence of his voice wash over you, the pressure on your spine easing under his careful support.
Finally, he led you out into the museum gardens. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, dappling the gravel paths and flowerbeds. You stopped before a quiet bench, and Henry guided you down carefully, his hand still steady at your back until you were settled.
He knelt in front of you, broad hands cupping your belly. His forehead rested against it for a moment, his shoulders trembling as if overwhelmed.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice rough. He lifted his gaze to yours, eyes shining with emotion. “For this. For our baby. For giving me everything I never knew I needed. You and our little miracle...you are my whole world.”
Your throat tightened, tears gathering in your eyes as you stroked his hair.
He kissed your belly again, then your hands, then finally your lips, slow, gentle, filled with unspoken promises.
Henry Tag List: @a-quick-request @swimmingnightcolor @sunalsolove @thorins-queen-of-erebor @demiromance @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @i-do-not-care-bear @stormster111