Can I have a Chrismd or George Clarke fanfic where reader has a young daughter from a previous relationship?
had to scour the internet for decent pics of chris...
Chris was fiddling with the edge of his sweatshirt, a nervous habit you’d picked up on during the past few months you’d been seeing each other. He was sitting on your couch, looking just a little too out of place, like he hadn’t quite figured out where he fit yet. You’d planned to bring this up eventually—the talk, the thing looming over your otherwise perfect moments together—but now that it was here, the words stuck in your throat, as though they’d been dipped in wet cement, and were having trouble coming out.
“So,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was soft. “I know we haven’t really talked about it, but… what’s the deal with me meeting her?”
You bit the inside of your cheek, staring at the threadbare patch on the armrest of the couch like it held all the answers. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to meet your daughter. If anything, you’d imagined it too many times—his easy jokes pulling her in, the way he’d probably overcompensate, trying so hard to impress her that he’d embarrass himself. But that was a fantasy. Real life was so much messier. Real life didn’t have montage music or clean conclusions where we'd all gallop off into the sunset together.
“I just… I don’t want to rush it,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just… it’s a big deal, you know? For her. For us.”
Chris nodded, his expression quiet but thoughtful, like he was chewing on your words. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I get that. I mean, I don’t get it, because I’ve never been in your shoes, but… I get that it’s huge. And I don’t want to mess it up.”
You blinked at him, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his tone. There was no defensiveness, no frustration, no attempt to smooth things over with a joke. Just Chris, sitting there like a lighthouse in the middle of your internal storm, shining a steady beam of 'I’m here, and I mean it.
“I think she’d like you,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. They felt fragile and heavy at the same time, like glass marbles. “But I need to be sure. For her sake.”
“Hey,” he said, his voice cutting through the swirling anxiety in your head. He reached over, his hand warm and solid as it covered yours. “Whenever you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”
And just like that, the tight knot in your chest loosened—not completely, but enough. Enough to breathe. Enough to believe he meant it. What did I do to deserve him, you thought.
-
Two weeks later, you stood in the doorway to your living room, leaning against the frame as you watched Chris and your daughter sitting on the floor in front of the television. They were each covered by her princess blankets, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously between them. The screen flickered with the bright colors of a Disney movie, your daughter laughing so hard she looked like she might vibrate right off the couch.
Chris looked utterly delighted. He wasn’t just tolerating the movie night; he was in it. He was making the worst jokes, gasping at all the right moments, and somehow acting like this was the highlight of his week. And you almost believed it could have been.
You knew he’d been studying for this moment. A few weeks ago, you’d walked in on him scrolling through a list of Disney princesses on his phone. When you asked what he was doing, he’d flushed and mumbled, “Just… brushing up. Can’t meet a Disney fan and not know my stuff.”
Now, here he was, putting all that studying to use. When your daughter mentioned Ariel during their first conversation, Chris launched into a passionate defense of why the mermaid was the ultimate Disney princess. Your daughter, delighted, declared that he “actually knew his Disney.”
You couldn’t stop the smile creeping across your face. The coil of anxiety that had been living in your chest for weeks had finally unraveled, and was replaced by something warmer, softer, and brighter. Hope, maybe.
“You’re missing it,” Chris called out, catching you watching them from the doorway. “Come on, we need backup. She’s trying to tell me Sven’s not funny, and I’m not sure I can handle this betrayal alone.”
You laughed, stepping into the room and settling onto the floor beside them. Your daughter immediately curled up against you, still giggling. Chris handed you the popcorn bowl, his hand brushing yours for just a second before turning his attention back to the screen.
And just like that, it felt like he’d always been there.
-
After the movie ended and your daughter had reluctantly gone to bed, the house felt quieter. The buzz of the evening was gone, leaving just you and Chris on the couch. The air between you felt softer and lighter now, like a sweater that had been worn enough to feel familiar.
“She likes you,” you said finally, breaking the silence, and sipping your glass of wine.
Chris leaned back, his grin crooked, his hair a mess from where your daughter had insisted on ruffling it earlier. “Yeah? She’s not bad herself. Although, I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m an idiot for confusing Sven and Kristoff.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “She’s particular about her Disney trivia. But honestly… you were great with her. Better than I could’ve imagined.”
He turned to look at you, his expression serious now in a way that made your heart twist. “I meant what I said before,” he said. “I’m here. For both of you. I know it’s not going to be easy. I know it’s going to be… a lot. But I’m ready for this. For us.”
“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning into him. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer until your head rested on his shoulder.
“Anytime,” he said. Then, with a grin, he added, “Although, I might need flashcards for the next Disney round. Your daughter’s a tough critic.”
You laughed again, and for the first time in months, you had hope about a future with Chris.