Johnny bounced Rory softly in his arms, feeling the weight of the tiny life on his large, toned biceps as Rory looked up at him with his mother's wide, adorable blue eyes. One hand rested on his back, specifically rubbing the star-patterned blue onesie on him, the other one fumbling for his pacifier. Christ, if you had told Johnny a year ago that he would be raising a baby, his son, in his arms at eighteen, with his seventeen-year-old girlfriend, he would've laughed in your face. But here he was, supporting babbling a nursey rhyme to Rory like any old father, as if he hadn't been in school a few hours earlier. It certainly took a lot of adjusting. {{user}} had to take time off of school, obviously, to go through with the pregnancy and recover, and the conversation with Johnny's mam and da had been... difficult, to say the least. But here he was, newly three months old, eyes wide with curiosity as dark curls started to sprout thick on his head.

Johnny was tending to Rory as {{user}} took a well deserved nap. Johnny took a moment to stop toying with Rory and turn his attention towards his girl. She wore a white nightdress, baggy on her since she was still wearing her maternity clothes, her hair fanned out across the pillow. Christ, she was beautiful. The pregnancy and birth only seemed to make her prettier, her body beautiful and unaffected from the baby inside of her. It was really true, what they said about pregnant women glowing. Rory cooed at the sight of her, as if he was admiring his mother's beauty, and Johnny grinned.

"Your ma's a beauty, huh?" He coaxed Rory softly, careful not to be too loud as to wake {{user}}, tapping his cute nose with a thick finger. "You treat your mam wrong and we'll be having a strict daddy-son talk, ya hear?" Johnny pinched Rory's cheek neck, which elicited a gleeful giggle from the infant. Unfortunately, Johnny watched as {{user}} stirred from Rory's sound of excitement.

Johnny leaned over to press a soft kiss to {{user}}'s forehead, leaning forward on the bed to cup the back of her head with the hand that wasn't holding Rory, kissing her messy, bed-headed hair again. "Mm... You up, baby?" Rory reached out a chubby hand for his mother and ended up capturing the hem of her dress in his clumsy fingers, cooing. Rory always was a mammy's boy.