seungcheol wanders into the kitchen the same way he always does after waking up—a little puffy, oversized pyjama shirt on, fingers combing through his dark locks to soothe their unruliness. ever so routinely his thick, muscled arms find their home around your hips and without any shame or hesitation he pulls you flush against him.

“morning,” he mumbles sweetly into your neck, his chin settling on your shoulder. his voice is still low and gravelly and filled with sleep, and he watches intently as you craft an omelette, all but drooling at the sight.

“morning,” you reply, and a devious grin curls at your lips. “happy father’s day, daddy.”

and your husband is so predictable—his arms tighten around you and there’s a sudden hardness poking at your backside. his cute, sleepy charm vanishes in the blink of an eye and is replaced with a hungry animal.

“baby,” he says, a warning, his tone dropping even lower than before.

“what?” you ask. your feigned innocence only spurs him on.

“when are you gonna stop joking around,” he says, spinning you around to face him as he pins your hips to the counter. “and make me a real daddy, huh?”

his eyes, almost black, are gleaming with such hunger that it’s contagious, and you wrap your arms around his neck and lean in close to his lips.