#dad!ginge

You exhaled a breath of relief.

It’s christmas day and you’ve been clearing up the living room of all remnants of wrapping paper, while Morgan streamed from a little while before you headed over to your parent’s house for dinner.

Morgan slowly turned in his chair once he noticed you.

“Hey,” he greeted you softly.

“I thought you were still streaming?” You walked over to them.

“I could hear her stirring, you were busy downstairs and I’d already been on long enough so I just ended it and brought her in here,” he explained as she babbled in his lap, eyes focused on the kids show he’d put up on his monitor.

“Cute,” you thought.

You smiled. “Thank you,” you leaned forward to kiss him, grateful you’d found such a considerate man.

Unfortunately, even though he acts like it, Morgan isn’t your baby’s real father. Her real dad ran off as soon as you told him you were pregnant, you’d decided you were better off without him.

You met Morgan just before you started showing. You were strictly friends and nothing happened until you’d had your little girl.

That’s when everything changed.

It started with him coming over to keep you company when you were struggling.

Then he started to help out by doing little things like, hanging some pictures you’d bought, bringing you dinner and watching the baby while you showered.

And along the way you fell in love. Though he’d been in love since the day he met you, he was just hoping you being able to rely on him would open your heart, and of course… it did.

“We’re leaving in half an hour,” you reminded him.

“Mhm,” he responded, looking back down at your daughter.

She looked up at him and showed her gummy little smile, giggling.

“Daddy,” she mumbled.

The both of you froze.

“We’ve never had that conversation. Are you okay with that?” You asked anxiously.

“Are you?”

You waited a moment, thinking, before you nodded.

“Well then so am I.”

He turned his attention back to her. “Yeah. Daddy,” he confirmed with a smile.

He chuckles, moving into the room and dropping down to sit right behind you. He sets the toy aside and pulls you back against his chest, his arms looping firmly around your waist. He leans his chin on your shoulder, squinting at the small camera screen.

"We’re just being honest, Trouble" he says, his voice dropping to that lower, softer tone he only uses with you. He presses a kiss to your temple, then looks at the lens.

"Survived a year of parenthood and now we’re trying to add another one to the chaos. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Exactly.” You lean back into him, feeling the familiar comfort of his heartbeat against your spine. “And if it goes wrong, I’m blaming you."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, squeezing your waist. "Whatever you say, Princess."

You let your head fall back looking up at him through your long lashes, his soft blue eyes meeting yours for a moment before flashing back to the camera.

“Anyways hopefully next time you see us she’s successfully pissed on a stick!” Morgan claps, ending the segment.

Tilly was perched on your hip as you waited for your 3 minute timer to go. Minutes stretching on for hours.

“I know it’s probably negative, it’s only month one of trying” Your voice soft as you bounced the one year old gently on your hip.

Flipping over the test you tried to hide the disappointment from your face. One glaringly obvious, clearly negative, singular pink line staring back at you.

“That’s okay” you cooed, still bouncing the babbling Tilly. “Just round one, we got plenty of time haven’t we Tilly girl?”

In the next clip you were standing in the same spot, Morgan had his strong arms around you, leaving kisses in your hairline as the result sunk in.

“It’s okay princess, not like trying to get one in there is a terrible chore” he teased squeezing your hips.

You let out a sigh as you twisted in his arms, your own coming up and encircling his neck.

“It’s been three months squish!” You pouted up to him.

“You had no symptoms this month though have you, trouble?” His hands tighten on your waist as he consoles you. “Just not the right time yet, try not to stress too much.”

“I think it means you need to get your mum to babysit and take me on another date night.” You tease to break the slight tension that’s built.

“Oh yeah? Sure it does, dickhead.” He laughed as the clip cut.

A series of similar clips showed, some with Morgan, some with Tilly and some of you by yourself. Always in the same spot, camera balanced on the sink with the plastic test upside down just in shot as you counted down with the viewers.

Unfortunately, every test had the same increasingly devastating negative result once the timer was up.

And in each clip it was getting harder to mask the disappointment and heartbreak from flashing in your features as you flipped the plastic stick over.

“So everyone keeps telling me I need to be relaxed and stop trying” you opened up the vlog from the passenger seat of Morgan’s car.

“So daddy back there,” the camera briefly panned to Morgan who could be seen, and heard, strapping Matilda into her car seat. “Is on a mission to help me relax, and he’s looked up healthy recipes that are meant to promote fertility… however the idea of a boneless banquet is really appealing right now.”

“Hey,” Morgan calls from behind you, “If momma wants kfc we can get kfc, forget the vegetables for a day. It’s self care, innit?”

“Tilly will be two soon and she’s not got a baby sibling yet.” you mutter.

“We see the doctor next week, don’t get too in your head about it reader” He spoke softly as he got behind the wheel, one of his hands reaching out to cup your face. “I don’t think little lady is too bothered stealing all our attention for herself at the minute anyway.”

Almost to prove his point Matilda started shouting for attention from the back seat.

The camera was wobbling as you cried in Matilda’s dark nursery, only the soft glow of her nightlight illuminating the room.

“I feel like such a fraud” you sobbed, “I already have the most perfect baby right there! But every time it’s just one line there I feel a grief for something that never existed.”

Tilly was asleep in her cot, now taking up much more space at 22 months old. She had her arm and leg outstretched to her side as she lay on her tummy, the same way Morgan slept wrapped around you every night.

“The doctor said I’ve got unexplained infertility, medically I should be able to give Tilly a sibling… my body just won’t” you harshly rubbed at your face to get rid of the tear tracks. “I don’t know why I’m so upset because at least I get to be her mummy, and being her mum really is my favourite thing ever.”

You were looking solemnly at your sleeping daughter as you cried, taking in her soft features while she slept.

“It was so easy with her, we didn’t even have to try! I was on the pill and we still somehow got her” you whispered towards the camera. “I started this vlog ten months ago… which realistically isn’t even that long ago but, part of me expected to be about to give birth or already have a newborn by now... Maybe I was dumb for thinking that it’d happen so quickly?”

Nervous laughter followed your sentence as your fingers anxiously twisted through the ends of your hair.

“Anyway I should probably go to bed before Morgan wakes up and comes looking for me, if he sees me crying over our sleeping daughter again he might think I’m crazy”

The frame shook as you stood up, using the sleeve of your hoodie to wipe the remaining tears away as you smiled gently into the lens.

“To clarify I don’t cry over her a lot, but mums will know those first few weeks of having a newborn and post partum emotions sometimes you do be crying during the night feeds because you can’t believe you actually created a cuter perfect mini version of your feral ginger boyfriend”

The next clip opened mid conversation.

“–don’t think I can piss on another stick this month actually,” you muttered, phone balanced against the bathroom mirror instead of the usual spot on the sink.

Morgan’s laugh came from somewhere behind the camera.

“Bit difficult to know if you’re pregnant then, innit?”

You rolled your eyes weakly, though the joke barely landed this time. Tilly, now fully in her I’m two and I’m the boss now era, banged tiny hands against the bathroom door from the hallway.

“Mummyyyy!”

“One second baby!” You pinched the bridge of your nose before looking back toward the lens.

“I just…” your shoulders lifted helplessly. “I already know what it’s gonna say before I even check.”

Morgan appeared in the reflection behind you then, quieter than usual as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

“You don’t know for sure, babe.”

You didn’t answer. The clip cut before the timer finished.

Another clip, another month. The camera wasn’t even steady this time, just loosely held in your hand as you sat in bed, the room bathed in the soft, blue light of your phone screen.

“We didn’t film the test,” you said quietly. Behind you, Morgan was dead to the world, face down across the mattress with one arm hanging limply off the edge of the bed.

“I dunno. It just felt a bit…” You shrugged, your gaze dropping to your lap. “Sad.” You took a breath, forcing a lighter, brighter tone as you looked back into the lens.

“But! On the bright side, apparently stress is the enemy, so Morgan’s officially banned me from watching my missing children documentaries.”

Half-asleep, Morgan’s muffled, gravelly voice drifted across the room, barely audible.

“You were scaring yourself, Trouble.”

“You snore like a lawnmower, you knobhead.” You rolled your eyes, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips.

“You still shag me though,” he mumbled into the pillow, not even bothering to lift his head.

That finally pulled a real, unforced laugh from you, the tension in your shoulders dropping for the first time all day.

The camera sat on the coffee table, capturing the scene from a low, slightly awkward angle — the way it always did lately.

Tilly was in the middle of a serious, high-stakes operation. She’d wrapped one of Morgan’s hoodies around her doll and she was currently pacing the rug, shushing the air with the frantic intensity only a two-year-old is capable of.

“Daddy get me a real baby” Tilly chirped, coming to a stop in front of Morgan. “I share my Pooh-bear!”

You didn't look at the camera; you were too busy trying to keep your expression neutral. You glanced over at Morgan. He was sat on the rug in front of her, halfway through building a tower of blocks, but his hands had gone still.

"A real one, eh?" Morgan said, his voice soft as he spoke to your daughter. He didn't look at you, just kept his eyes on Tilly, though his grip on a wooden block was a little too tight.

Tilly nodded enthusiastically, nearly tripping over the oversized hoodie pooled around her ankles.

“Yeah! Tiny baby.” She held her hands up dramatically to demonstrate. “Thisssss big.”

Morgan let out a quiet hum, the kind he did lately whenever he was trying very hard to sound normal.

“And what if the baby cries all night, hmm?” he asked, reaching out to steady her before she face planted into the blocks. “What then?”

“I sing!” she announced confidently.

“Oh yeah?” His mouth twitched faintly. “Reckon that’ll work?”

Tilly nodded with the unwavering confidence only toddlers possessed before toddling over to you instead, shoving the doll into your lap.

“You practice mummy.”

Your breath caught so subtly the camera probably didn’t even pick it up. Morgan looked up then, just for a second. Neither of you said anything but, there was something exhausted in his expression now. Something carefully controlled.

You forced a smile for Tilly’s sake, adjusting Morgan’s hoodie around the doll automatically.

“Thank you baby.”

“She cold,” Tilly explained seriously. “Need mummy’s magic cuddles.”

“Yeah?” you whispered, eyes burning suddenly as you cradled the doll against your chest.

The room went quiet except for the soft sound of Cocomelon playing faintly from the TV.

Morgan cleared his throat after a moment, dropping the block back onto the rug with a dull clack.

“C’mere monkey,” he said gently, opening his arms toward Tilly. “Daddy needs help building this tower before mummy starts crying at cartoons again.”

“I don’t cry at cartoons” you muttered defensively, swiping quickly beneath one eye. Morgan’s eyes flickered toward you briefly.

“You cried at that bluey episode for forty five minutes.”

“Because auntie Brandy’s infertile, Morgan!”

“Mummy say bad word.” Tilly gasped dramatically, pointing at you.

Morgan barked out a startled laugh while you buried your face in the doll for a second, mortified

“Not that kind of bad word, baby,” he managed between laughs, reaching to scoop Tilly into his lap.

The camera kept recording for another few seconds.

Morgan pressing absent kisses into Tilly’s hair while she squirmed in his arms. You sat curled against the sofa clutching the doll a little too tightly.

And despite the laughter that had softened the moment, Morgan still looked at you the same way he always did lately, like he was trying to figure out how to carry heartbreak for the both of you.

The camera is propped on the dresser, filming you as you haphazardly stack boxes of toddler shoes. You pause, leaning against the dresser, looking directly into the lens.

"Were doing the bed transition, right? And Morgan is doing the 'supportive dad' thing, trying to make it a big, happy event. But I hate it! I really thought there’d be a baby ready to move into her cot when she was ready to move out of it."

You sighed as you busied yourself with reorganising the bookcase, replacing the books with far more force than required. The hardbacks thudding against the wood filling the short silence.

“And people keep saying to us when they see the three us together it’s a ‘perfect time’ to give her a sibling, total strangers too by the way. As if I don’t know. As if I haven’t been wanting to give her a sibling since she was like 6 months old!”

You stop, one book held mid-air, and let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.

“It’s like they think we’re just... not doing it? Or that we’re waiting for the 'right vibe'? I swear, if one more person tells me to 'not think about it and just have a drunk night together,' I might actually lose the plot.”

You shove the book into the shelf, the movement sharp and jagged. You look back at the camera, your voice dropping to that hushed, secretive tone.

“I used to love the spontaneity of it, you know? With Morgan? Like we all have eyes he’s so attractive, he’s my best friend – it used to be the best part of our day. But now? I’m all ‘Will this position help with conception?’ or ‘Quick! she’s napping, we’ve got at least 10 minutes, I’m ovulating.’ It’s not even fun anymore. It’s like a shift.”

You lean back against the shelf, looking defeated.

“It’s good because it’s with him, obviously. But I dread it. I can see the dread in his face, too, which somehow makes it worse. It’s like we’re both just performing. I look at him and I know he’s only doing it because he knows how much I want this, and he’s trying to be the ‘good husband.’ And I’m only doing it because an app told me it’s the ‘optimal day.’”

You rub a hand over your eyes, your voice thick.

“I miss being a wife who just… wanted her husband. I’m so tired of being a patient who needs a result. Does that make me a bad mum? For wanting more when I’ve already got the most perfect little thing in the other room? I feel like I’m constantly mourning a life I don't even have, while trying to ignore the guilt of not being happy enough with the life I do have.”

You walk toward the camera, your movements slower now, the initial rush of anger replaced by that hollow, creeping exhaustion. You lean in, your face filling the frame, eyes reddened and tired.

“The worst part is that I know he’s hurting too. But he’s so busy trying to keep the fun version of himself alive for me that he’s forgotten how to just be sad.”

You let out a shaky breath, your gaze dropping to the floor. The silence in the room is absolute now, no toddler giggles, no Morgan, just the hum of the camera.

“Anyway. That’s enough. I’m making this a pity party, aren’t I?” You sniff, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand and forcing a bright, brittle tone that doesn't reach your eyes. “Tilly needs her snack and I’ve got a big girl room to finish tidying. Life goes on, right?”

The camera flickers on shakily, still blurry before focusing on the bathroom sink. You’re standing there in one of Morgan’s oversized hoodies, nervously twisting your hair. Morgan is beside you, half-asleep, his ginger hair sticking up in every direction, squinting through heavy eyes.

“I’m five days late,” you breathe into the quiet room. “I didn’t want to say anything… I thought if I said it out loud, my period would start out of spite.”

“Bit rude of your uterus, that,” he murmurs. It’s almost a laugh, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

You offer a weak smile, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Morgan rubs a hand down his face, his expression sharpening as the reality settles in.

“Have you looked yet?”

You shake your head. “I’m scared to.”

The words land heavy. After eighteen months, the fear isn't just about disappointment anymore; it’s about that familiar, hollow humiliation of the negative result.

“We’ll do it together,” Morgan says. He starts pacing — just short, jagged laps across the tiny floor before stopping right beside you.

“You’re stressing me out,” you mutter, your gaze fixed on the white plastic test sitting on the edge of the sink.

“You think I’m not stressed?”

“You never get stressed anymore.” The words slip out before you can stop them. Morgan goes quiet. It’s true – over the last year and a half, he’d stopped letting himself believe enough to feel the nerves. He’d built a wall of stoicism to protect you both.

He lets out a slow, steadying breath and reaches for the test, handling it carefully, as if it might shatter under his touch.

You don’t look at the stick. You watch his face. You see the confusion hit, then the disbelief, and finally, something dangerously close to hope.

“Morgan?” your voice is a whisper.

“There’s… there’s something there.” He turns the test toward you, his hand trembling slightly.

The line is faint, fainter than a heartbeat, but it is there. A distinct, stubborn slash of color against the white.

Your hand flies to your mouth. Morgan lets out a startled, breathless laugh.

“Told you your uterus was just being dramatic.”

“Oh my god,” you choke out, tears flooding your vision. Morgan is staring at the test as if it’s the most offensive, beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“That’s a line,” he says, his voice thick with wonder. “That’s actually a line.”

You start to sob, laughing through the mess of it as Morgan grabs your face with both hands, his thumbs catching your tears.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry yet, we don’t—”

“I can’t help it!”

“You’re gonna make me cry, and I’m meant to be the emotionally stable one.”

“You’ve never been emotionally stable,” you sniff, a watery laugh escaping you.

“That is slander.” He kisses you then. Hard, desperate and smiling against your mouth.

Downstairs, the sound of tiny footsteps thuds against the floor, followed by Tilly’s muffled yell for breakfast. Reality rushes back in.

The next clip opens in absolute darkness. The only sound is your jagged, hitching breathing as you struggle to balance the camera on your knees.

Morgan is sat beside you, anchoring you to his side, his lips pressed softly against your hairline.

Above you, caught in the faint glow of the camera’s light, sits the graveyard of your efforts: a pack of tampons, a bottle of fertility vitamins and a box of unused ovulation tests.

“So… she got her period during the night,” Morgan explains softly.

You’re crying into his shoulder, your body shaking with a heartbreak so deep it feels exhausting.

Morgan’s hand rests firmly on your back, rubbing slow, steady circles. He doesn’t tell you it’ll be okay. He doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He just holds you in the dark, and for the first time, he doesn't look like he’s trying to keep the ‘fun’ version of himself alive.

The camera is propped up on the edge of the bathroom sink – not for a test this time, just because habit makes you reach for it whenever things feel too heavy to hold alone.

You’re sat on the edge of the bath in one of Morgan’s hoodies, fingers twisting at the ends of your hair. The bathroom light is dim, casting tired shadows beneath your eyes.

“So,” you say eventually, voice quieter than usual. “We had a talk.” You swallow hard. “And I think… we’re done trying.”

The words don’t sound real out loud, like they belong to somebody else. From somewhere downstairs, Tilly’s laugh echoes faintly through the house followed by the sound of the Bluey theme tune. It makes your expression crumple for half a second before you pull it back together.

“We’re not buying ovulation tests anymore,” you continue softly. “Or pregnancy tests. I deleted the tracking apps.” A weak laugh leaves you. “Which honestly felt a bit like deleting a tiny little dictator who’d been ruining my life for a 20 months.” You rub tiredly at your face.

“I just can’t keep doing the cycle of convincing myself every month is different and then feeling stupid when it isn’t.” The camera shakes slightly as you adjust it.

“And I miss my husband.” The confession comes out barely above a whisper. “Not physically, I mean he’s literally downstairs making dinosaur nuggets with our toddler—”

A faint THEY’RE FUCKIN BURNT! echoes from downstairs. Despite yourself, your mouth twitches.

“But I miss us. I miss kissing him without thinking about ovulation windows. I miss him touching me without both of us silently wondering if maybe this’ll finally be the time it works.” Your eyes start filling before you can stop them. “I miss when we were just stupidly obsessed with each other.”

The bathroom door creaks open then and Morgan appears, ketchup bottle in hand and a tea towel flung over his shoulder.

“Language,” he shouts automatically down the stairs before looking at you properly. His face changes instantly, the sauce bottle gets abandoned on the sink. “Oh, Trouble.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m okay.” You shake your head quickly, embarrassed by the tears now falling, but your voice cracks on the last word.

Morgan crouches in front of you immediately, hands settling on your knees.

“You don’t have to do that with me.”

And that’s what finally breaks you because he sounds tired too. Not frustrated, not angry, just tired in that deep, aching way people get when they’ve carried hope for too long.

“I think I need us back,” you whisper.

Morgan’s face folds a little at that. His thumbs brush under your eyes gently.

“You never lost us.”

“Feels like I did.” You let out a small sob-laugh. He leans forward then, resting his forehead against yours.

“We made her,” he says quietly. “Got our tiny little psychopath downstairs singing the Bluey theme tune at chicken nuggets. Think we did alright, Princess.”

That gets a real laugh out of you through the tears.

Downstairs, Tilly suddenly screeches “MUMMY I NEED KETCHUP!” Morgan closes his eyes briefly.

“See?” he mutters. “Dream life.”

You laugh again, shakier this time, and he kisses your forehead softly. The camera keeps rolling a little longer.

Just long enough to catch the way Morgan stays kneeling between your legs even after the conversation ends, holding your hands like he’s terrified that if he lets go, you’ll disappear into the grief again.

The camera is propped against a stack of laundry on the table, slightly crooked. The living room is a landscape of chaos— toys, mismatched socks and half eaten snacks.

Tilly is sprawled across the rug, surrounded by a mountain of stationery she definitely doesn't need yet. She holds up a glittery pencil case like she’s presenting a legal document.

“Mummy,” she says with grave seriousness. “This for important business.”

“What business?” you ask, your voice coming from behind the camera, warm and unhurried.

“My important business.” Tilly shrugs, unbothered.

Morgan snorts from the dining table. He’s hunched over, painstakingly ironing name labels into tiny school cardigans.

“She’s definitely your child.”

“She screams when the people on tv don’t do what she wants, Morgan.” You deadpan. “She’s yours.”

“That’s necessary, that is.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

The camera catches Morgan grinning. A real, full-blown grin, the kind that’s been rare through the video. You’re sat beside him, folding tiny socks into pairs. You aren’t rushing, you aren't checking a clock or a phone app, you’re just there.

“Tills,” Morgan calls out after a minute, holding a polo shirt up like evidence in a courtroom. “You’re too little for this. Stop growing.”

“I’m big girl now!” she shouts, jumping up to prove it and immediately tripping over the oversized backpack she insisted on wearing.

You burst into laughter. Morgan doesn't even flinch he just reaches out, grabbing her by the hood of her jumper and hauling her upright in one practiced motion.

“Tiny drunk person.”

“Mummy! Daddy being rood!” Tilly gasps, dramatically.

“You literally fell over air, baby” you say, wiping a tear from your eye.

“She gets that from you as well,” Morgan mutters, you kick his shin under the table. “Ow! Domestic violence in front of the child.”

“Yeah, Mummy! Vile-ence!” Tilly claps her hands.

You laugh until your sides ache, the camera shaking slightly as you lean back against your chair. The room feels full. Not because there’s another heartbeat in the house and not because the ache of the last two years has vanished but because you’ve stopped living in a waiting room.

Morgan glances over at you. His eyes linger, watching you laugh, his expression softening.

“You alright?” he asks. The question is simple, stripped of the loaded fear it used to carry. You look around the room. The half-ironed clothes, the glitter pens scattered like confetti and the man who, despite everything, is still your best friend.

“Yeah,” you say softly, and you mean it. “I really am.”

The camera continues to roll, capturing the way Morgan’s gaze doesn’t leave your face. His expression shifts; that guarded, supportive wall he’s been keeping up for months finally drops, replaced by a slow, knowing smirk.

“You look nice,” he says, his voice dropping just a notch. “Like, actually nice. Not just mummy nice.”

You lean back, arching a brow at him, catching that familiar, mischievous glint in his eyes that you haven't seen in ages.

“And you,” you tease, resting your chin on your palm, “look like you’re trying to start something.”

Morgan smirks as he kicks his chair back, the legs scraping against the floorboards, and he leans into your space not quite kissing you, but close enough that the air between you feels charged.

“Maybe I am,” he murmurs. “I think I’ve been a very patient man lately. Don't you?”

You laugh, a light, airy sound, and give his arm a playful shove.

“Oh, have you? Is that what we’re calling it? You’ve been a nightmare, more like.”

He laughs, the sound genuine and unburdened. He reaches out, his hand sliding across the table to cover yours, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles.

“A nightmare, huh? Just wait until I’m off the clock, then you’ll see.”

Tilly lets out a loud, frustrated grunt from the rug as she struggles with her pencil case zipper.

“Mummy! Help!”

You tear your gaze away from him to look at Tilly, but you don’t pull your hand out from under his. You’re still grinning, that flirty, knowing look still plastered on your face.

“In a second, Tills.” you call out, your voice bright, though your eyes go right back to Morgan.

He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur that’s meant just for you, even if the camera is recording.

“Don’t worry about the uniform labels,” he whispers, his eyes shimmering with cheeky intensity as he looks you up and down. “I think we’ve got more important business to focus on for today.”

You feel your cheeks flush and you let out a shaky, breathless laugh. You give his hand a squeeze, leaning into him just enough to feel the solid warmth of his shoulder against yours.

“You’re ridiculous,” you breathe, though you’re looking at him like he’s the only thing in the room.

Morgan just grins, that smug, familiar spark back in his eyes. He taps your hand twice before finally standing up to go help Tilly, but he leaves a lingering touch on your shoulder as he passes, his fingers brushing the back of your neck in a way that feels like a promise.

“Go on then,” he says, glancing back at you over his shoulder with a wink. “Go be a mum. I’ll be back for you in five.”

You watch him walk away, laughing to yourself, the knot in your chest completely gone. You reach for the camera, not with the frantic energy of someone trying to hide something, but with the relaxed, happy smile of a woman who finally has her life back.

You give the camera a final, playful smirk, and with a soft click, the screen goes black.

The camera is propped on the bathroom counter. You’re in a black bodycon dress, hair curled, mid-laugh while fixing your lipstick. You’re holding glass of rosé looking relaxed and loose.

“Right,” you say to the lens, giggling. “I’m literally about to head out to meet the girls, but I promised myself I’d bin this last pregnancy test first. I’m having a massive cupboard clear-out. Between nursery germs, new allergies and me catching every single bug Tilly brings home, I’ve honestly never gone to the doctors so much in my LIFE. I’m reclaiming my space.”

You tear the packaging open with your teeth, still laughing as you prepare the test.

“I know it’s negative. I’m not even going to look at it, i’m just going to do the thing, toss it and not be a mum for the night.“ Your tone is still cheerful as you talk to the viewers. “Suppose it’s a good ending though isn’t it? The final test, we’re happy with where we are so I can end the video now.”

You lean over, do your thing and casually set it on the edge of the sink. You turn back to the camera, picking up your drink, totally unfazed.

“So, yeah. Tonight is purely for cocktails and complaining about the nursery mums and I am so ready for it. I’ll update you when I’m — wait.”

You pause, mid-sip as your eyes caught the test. You freeze, leaning in, squinting as your brow furrowed in complete confusion.

“No… that’s not right.”

You reach out and pick up the stick, holding it up to the bathroom light. You tilt your head, turning the stick from side to side.

“That’s… that’s a line,” you whisper, your voice deadpan. “That’s definitely a line.”

You look at the test, then at the camera, then back at the test. You let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“Well. That’s inconvenient.” You walk to the bathroom door, still holding the test, wine glass in the other hand.

“Morgan?” you call out, your voice perfectly steady. “You need to come here for a second. I think I’ve just ruined my night out.”

“What you mean? You’ve planned it for weeks, I’ve told you me and monkey will be–“ Morgan wanders into the frame, stopping mid-sentence when he sees you holding the test. “What’s that? You said you were binning it, princess.”

You just hold it out to him, still holding your glass.

“I know. I was. But apparently I’m not broken.”

Morgan looks at the stick, then at you. His eyes go wide, then he starts to chuckle, shaking his head. He doesn't even go for in for a hug, he just takes the test, looking at it with a mix of shock and amusement.

“You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?”

“I wish I was,” you say, finally setting the drink down on the counter. “I was really looking forward to shots and bad decisions.”

You both just stand there, staring at the little piece of plastic and then you start to giggle again.

“Well,” Morgan says, a slow, dazed smile spreading across his face. “I suppose you’re not going to the pub then.”

You look at him, the humor of the situation finally sinking in. You burst out laughing, a genuine, confused, happy sound.

Morgan steps closer, his gaze drifting from the stick to your face, his usual smirk replaced by a look of dazed, utter disbelief. He gently takes the glass of rosé from your hand and sets it down next to the test, as if it’s suddenly a dangerous object.

“Think we’re done with this for now too.” He reaches out, tucking a loose curl behind your ear, his touch lingering on your cheek. “You’re actually serious? It’s not one of those… dented lines or whatever you used to call them?”

“It’s a line, squish,” you say, your voice vibrating with that same disbelieving laughter. “A very dark, very night out ruining line. I barely put it down before it showed up”

He lets out a short, incredulous huff of air and pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around your waist. He doesn’t squeeze too hard, he just holds you there, looking over your shoulder at the sink like he expects the test to have vanished by the time he looks back.

“We literally just decided to stop,” he mutters into your hair, sounding both winded and amused. “We were one and done. And now – and now you’re telling me there’s a tiny little squatter on the way?”

You laugh, a wet, shaky sound as the reality starts to bleed through the shock. You lean your head against his chest, feeling his heart hammering against his ribs, just as fast as yours.

“I know. I was literally about to put on my heels, have a tequila and forget that I have responsibilities.” You look up at him, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

Morgan’s expression softens, that familiar, cheeky light returning to his eyes. He leans down, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to your forehead.

“So,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, amused rasp. “You’re telling me that after two years of temperature tracking, calendar alerts and enough ovulation tests to build a small house… I get you pregnant the second you plan a night out that involves shots?”

“It’s the timing, isn't it?” You burst out laughing, the sound slightly hysterical. “It’s genuinely insulting, Tilly has been extra testing this week I needed a girls night.”

He shakes his head, a wide, disbelieving grin spreading across his face. He doesn’t reach for a dramatic embrace instead, he just leans his hip against the vanity, looking at you with that familiar, cheeky glint.

“You know what this means, don’t you? You’re going to have to go to the pub with the girls, order a coke, and pretend you’re having the time of your life while they get absolutely hammered.”

“Don’t.” You groan, dropping your forehead onto his shoulder. “I’ll have to listen to Heather talk about her sex life while I’m sat there sober and fully aware she’s talking about MIKEY. It’s a tragic existence, Morgan. Truly tragic.”

He chuckles, his hand finding the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. The intimacy of it makes your heart ache in the best way.

“You could always just text them,” he suggests, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against your dress. “Tell them you’ve been struck down by a mysterious, tiny, very inconvenient virus.”

You look up at him, your eyes crinkling. The sheer, absurd irony of it all is finally sinking in.

“You mean tell them I’m ‘pregnant and suffering from a sudden intolerance to fun’?”

“Exactly that, yeah.” Morgan snorts quietly, leaning down until his forehead knocks gently against yours. “Terminal condition. Symptoms include cancelling girls nights and becoming violently sober.”

You laugh again, soft and helpless now, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his t-shirt as the reality starts settling properly between you.

The house is quiet around you. Tilly had gone to bed an hour ago after demanding three stories, one yoghurt and exactly seven kisses. Her little nightlight glows faintly beneath the crack of her bedroom door down the hall.

“Oh my god,” you whisper again, but this time it sounds less shocked and more terrified to believe it.

Morgan’s eyes flick between you and the test like he still thinks one of them might disappear if he looks away too long.

“We literally gave up,” he says quietly, almost laughing again. “Like properly gave up.”

“I know.”

“You deleted the apps.”

“I know.”

“You bought wine.”

“I KNOW.”

That finally breaks him. A real laugh escapes him, startled and disbelieving and so painfully happy it makes your throat ache.

Then suddenly he’s covering his face with one hand, shoulders shaking once as he looks down at the stick again.

“You’re pregnant,” he says, muffled behind his palm.

Your eyes instantly burn the way he says it gets you, like after two years he never actually thought he’d get to say it again.

You step closer without thinking and Morgan immediately reaches for you, both hands settling on your waist like muscle memory.

For a second neither of you speaks he just stares at you, at your face, your dress, your curled hair, the glass of rosé abandoned beside the sink.

At the woman he’d spent nearly two years trying to convince he loved regardless of what her body could or couldn’t do.

“You know what’s mental?” he says softly.

“What?”

“You’re standing there looking all pretty ready for a girls night and I genuinely think this is the sexiest you’ve ever been.”

“Morgan.” You let out a watery laugh.

“I’m serious.” His thumbs brush slowly against your waist. “You’ve looked heartbroken for so long and now you just…” He shakes his head slightly, eyes glassy. “You look like you again.”

“WAIT!” You look up at him, smile infectious. “We have to tell Tilly… would we be the worst parents ever if we woke her up?”

Morgan blinks at you for a second, still looking shell-shocked. “…Probably,” he says honestly. You burst out laughing again, grabbing at his arms.

“I’m serious! She asked for a baby for like six months straight, she’s gonna lose her mind.”

“She’s also three and it’s half eight at night,” he points out, though he’s already smiling now. “She’ll wake up, ask for ‘a mummy snack’ and then tell us it’s morning time cause she’s already been to sleep.”

“That’s still a valid reaction.”

Morgan shakes his head at you, smiling so hard now it looks almost painful. Like his face has forgotten how to hold this much happiness all at once.

“You’re actually buzzing to wake a sleeping toddler” he mutters in disbelief.

“I really thought my body hated me.” Your eyes well up again as you let out a shaky breath.

“Don’t say that.”

“But I did.” Your voice cracks slightly. “For ages, I did.”

Without hesitation, he pulls you into him again, one arm firm around your waist while the other cups the back of your head.

“Your body gave me Tilly,” he murmurs against your hair. “And now apparently it’s gone and done it again just to humble us.”

“You’re such a knobhead.” A broken laugh escapes you against his chest.

“Yeah, but I’m your knobhead.”

You stay there for a second longer, wrapped around each other in the tiny bathroom before Morgan pulls back just enough to look at you properly again, blue eyes brighter than they’ve been in months.

“Go on then,” he says, a grin creeping back onto his face. “Let’s go wake the tiny dictator.”

Your gasp is immediate. “You said no!”

“I changed my mind.” He shrugs. “This is arguably bigger than bedtime.”

You beam at him so brightly it almost knocks the breath out of him.

Ginge wasnt planning on doing a proper live. It was supposed to be a quick thing. Five minutes. Nip on, say hello, tell chat he’d be off for the weekend ‘cause you were away and he was on full-time dad duty, then log off and take his daughter out to the park.

That was the plan.

Unfortunately, your 3 year old daughter was currently standing in front of him in nothing but a nappy and a T-shirt, curly ginger hair sticking out in every possible direction, holding one of his hoodies and chanting, “Daddy. Help. Hair.”

So now he was live.

The camera clicked on to reveal Morgan sitting on his gaming chair, hoodie sleeves rolled up, a tiny girl perched between his knees on the floor, back to the camera. Her hair was a soft halo of copper curls, springy and wild.

Chat instantly exploded.

“GINGE???”

“WHY IS THERE A SMALL HUMAN”

“IS THAT UR KID???”

“SHE’S GINGER 😭”

Morgan squinted at the screen. “Alright, calm down. Yeah. This is my daughter. Her mum’s gone away for the weekend, so it’s just us, surviving"

The little girl tilted her head back to look up at him. “Plaits?”

“Yeah, plaits,” he said patiently, grabbing the brush. “I’m doin’ it.”

Chat went feral.

“YOU CAN DO HAIR???”

“GINGE DAD ERA”

“BRO HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT HALF UP PLAITS ARE”

He snorted. “What do you mean how do I know? I’ve got eyes. And YouTube. And her mum showed me, like, once.”

He started carefully brushing through the curls, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. He was gentle surprisingly so one hand steadying her head, the other working through knots like he’d done it a hundred times before. Which he had.

The girl hummed happily, swinging her feet and occasionally trying to turn around.

“No, no, stay still, bug,” he murmured. “If you move I’m gonna mess it up and then Mum’ll roast me when she gets back.”

Chat noticed everything.

“THE WAY HE’S TALKING TO HER 😭”

“GINGE YOU’RE ACTUALLY GOOD AT THIS”

“THIS IS THE SOFTEST I’VE EVER SEEN YOU”

He scoffed. “Relax. I’m not soft. I’m efficient.”

He separated the top section of her hair and began plaiting, fingers surprisingly nimble. One plait, then the other, securing them neatly at the back in a little half-up style.

When he finished, he leaned back and tilted her gently towards the camera.

“There. Look.”

The girl beamed, wide smile, curls bouncing. She waved enthusiastically at the screen.

“Hello!”

Chat absolutely lost it.

“I’M SOBBING”

“SHE’S PERFECT”

“GINGE UR WINNING AT LIFE”

Morgan’s ears went red. “Alright, alright, enough. She’s got shoes to put on and we’re goin’ out, yeah?”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head without even thinking about it.

The clip was everywhere within minutes.

You were sitting in your hotel room later that evening, scrolling mindlessly while waiting for your food to arrive, when you saw it.

A clipped video.

“Dad!Ginge gets his daughter ready on stream 🥹”

Your heart actually stuttered. You tapped it.

There he was. Your boyfriend. In his hoodie. Focused and careful and soft in a way the internet almost never got to see. Your daughter sitting between his knees, trusting him completely.

You watched the plaits take shape, watched the way he spoke to her calm, warm, endlessly patient. And when he kissed her head?

You covered your mouth, eyes burning. You immediately FaceTimed him.

He answered with a confused, “You alright?”

You turned the camera on yourself, smiling like an idiot. “I saw the clip.”

He froze. “Oh. That.”

“That,” you said softly, “was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He glanced down at your daughter, who was currently lining up toy cars on the floor. “She asked for plaits.”

“I know,” you said, voice thick. “And you did them perfectly.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Wasn’t that hard.”

You laughed. “You went viral for being a good dad.”

He groaned. “Don’t say it like that.”

But when your daughter climbed into his lap and leaned her head against his chest, his arm wrapped around her automatically, you saw the smile he couldn’t quite hide.

“Miss you,” he added quietly.

Poppy being in nursery for a few hours on a morning was obviously great for her development but it helped the Mrs out a few days a week too. And it really was helpful only after she’d ensued the chaos that is a house with two small children getting ready for school.

“Poppy, put your shoes on please.” 

…

“Poppy, shoes! Quickly!”

…

“POPPY PUT YOUR SHOES ON RIGHT NOW!”

Seb’s eyes widened as he strapped up his Velcro trainers, seeing he’s in no position to argue with his mum right now. She was in stressed out mum mode for sure. She looked at Seb’s face.

“Don’t start.” With a deep breath, she ran a hand through her hair. 

“Mummy, I don’t want to wear those ones!” Poppy rounded the corner, thankfully fully dressed curtesy of Morgan.

“Pops, you wear those everyday come on.” Morgan followed shortly after her, also fully dressed and ready for a full day of filming. 

“No daddy! I don’t like them! I want to wear these!” She pulls out her plastic princess style heels, the same ones that go with her Cinderella dress up set. Morgan can’t help but laugh. Having a baby girl was so different to Seb growing up, he was so laid back. 

“You can’t wear those. Nursery won’t let you.” The Mrs puts her trainers in front of the stairs, like she does every morning so Poppy can have her shoes put on. She picks Poppy up, who immediately begins to scream and cry before placing her on one of the steps. Of course, Morgan’s phone begins to ring leaving her to fend for herself. 

“Two seconds love.”

“Mummy!!! No!!!” She wriggles, trying to stand up. 

“Poppy, you have to wear trainers darling or nursery won’t let you play. You want to play with the other children today don’t you?” Although her patience was waring thin, somewhere within her the Mrs mustered up a sweet, calm voice to try and defuse the situation. 

“No!” Suddenly Poppy picks up one of her princess heels, throwing it straight at her mum in anger. It hits her square in the face and leaves her shocked. Her eyes watering. Even Seb gasps. Poppy’s cries stop, she’s even surprised herself. And now she knows she’s in big trouble. 

It had been the same for weeks, a constant struggle with keeping a toddler happy 24/7. It was different with Seb. He was the only one they had to give their attention to at the time. But now with two small children, things were difficult. 

“Shoes on, you have 2 minutes.” She’d given up, walking off into the house. Her voice quiet. She had to take a minute before she completely lost her shit. 

She hardly had a second for herself and even when the kids were at nursery/school, she’d spend the day tidying after them. Lord knows the last time her and Morgan had some time completely on their own. With his streaming schedule, she was absolutely shattered by the time he got into bed. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there in 5-“ Morgan’s eyes widened when he saw her, tears threatening to overspill her eyes onto her face. “What’s up?” He pulled the phone back to his ear. “Behz mate I’ll ring you back.” He follows her until she locks herself in the bathroom upstairs. 

“Daddy! Seb took my doll!” Poppy screams from downstairs, with a deep breath he decides to get them ready himself. 

“Poppy made mum cry!” Seb shouts.

“No I didn’t! Stop saying that!” Poppy cries even harder, clearly feeling incredibly guilty. 

“She did dad. She threw her stupid princess heel at her face!” 

“That’s out of order Poppy, you can’t hurt people to get your own way.” Morgan speaks calmly. “You especially don’t hurt your mum, she loves you.” 

Poppy nods, not crying anymore but listening to what Morgan has to say. 

“Sorry daddy.” She hangs her head down, upset with herself. 

“It’s your mum you should say sorry to Pops.”  

“What’re you doing? You’ve got filming.” The Mrs appears in the doorway, watching Morgan strap Poppy into the car seat in the back of his car. 

“Don’t worry love, go and chill yeah?” He puts his hands on either side of her head and kisses her forehead. 

“But you’re going to be late-“ 

“Shush. We love you. See you later.” He’s already getting in the car with a grin on his face. 

“Bye mummy!” Seb waves from the backseat. 

The car ride consists mostly of silence, the radio playing quietly. Usually it’s chaos, Poppy and Seb arguing, the Mrs shouting at them both to stop. 

“Daddy will you tell mummy I love her?” Poppy says quietly, in deep thought. 

“Course I will, she knows you do. You just need her show her more. We all do.” Morgan nods, making a mental note to buy some flowers on the way home. 

After dropping both of the children off, he heads back home. Flowers in hand and a promise from his mum to babysit this Saturday. He shakes his head when he hears the washing machine door shut as he walks in. 

“Reader?” He walks further into the house and stops when he sees her folding up laundry at the dining table. 

“I told you to chill out babe.” He smiles affectionately at her, walking over taking one of Seb’s t shirts from her hands and putting it on the table. He can see her bottom lip wobbling before she even begins to cry. “Come ‘ere.” He pull her into his arms as she cries into his chest.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying.” She sobs, completely overwhelmed. “Maybe it’s my period or something.” She shakes her head, turning away and looking out of the window, trying to calm herself down. 

“Doesn’t have to be your period, you can be upset y’know?” He wipes her eyes. “You’ve been running on empty for way too long love.” He’d tried everything, this wasn’t the first time she’d broken down. She wasn’t herself these days. Of course, he’d offered loads of help. Offered to move filming days around so that she could have the full day to herself, his mum had even offered to have them 1-2 days a week so they had some time together. But as stubborn as she is, she’d refused. Said she was fine and got on with it. 

“Mum’s having them on Saturday.” 

“What-“

“All day.” 

“But Seb-“

“No buts, stop worrying. Everything’s going to be fine.” 

She’s not even sure she has the energy to think about it, let alone argue about it. So she nods and smiles, taking the flowers he’d been holding out to her. 

“Ok.” 

“You do everything for us, so I thought I’d take you out…” He smirks, his hands sliding down her waist and landing on her arse. “Been a while hasn’t it love?” His hands squeeze as his lips kiss down her neck. 

“M-Morgan.” She stutters out. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” 

“I’ll take the fine if it means I can show my wife how much I appreciate her.” He says smugly, she gasps as he picks her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. Soon her back hits the cold wooden table as she lays back. His hands working quickly to get her knickers off. He smirks as soon as he sees she’s wet, knowing exactly what she needs. “Can’t believe how lucky I am.” 

Her breath hitches when his fingers touch her clit, soon slowly invading her hole as he moves two of them in and out of her. “My wife, my fuckin’ gorgeous wife.” 

She can’t help but moan, her walls clenching around him in pleasure. It had been forever since they’d been intimate. 

“Hear how wet you are love?” He grins, she nods. Her cheeks blushed pink. “Been so fucking long since I watched you cum. You gonna cum for me, hm?” He taunts, smirking as his fingers curl upwards inside of her. 

“Fuck!- y-yes, oh my god.” 

It had only taken a mere two minutes to get her right to the very edge.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He watches her back arch off the table, her legs spread as she completely lets go. “Go on, let go love.” 

With a high pitched moan, her muscles tense up as her head goes back. Her eyes close and she instinctively closes her legs as she rides out her orgasm. He smirks, pulling his fingers out and sucking on each one. “Unbelievable.” 

Within a few minutes, she smiles at him, sitting up and stifling a laugh. 

“There it is, fucking gorgeous when you smile y’know?” He kisses her lips, pushing her hair behind her ear. He looks down at his watch. “I’ve got to go. Promise you’ll just chill out? I better see all of those clothes exactly where they are when I get back.” 

She actually listens this time. She decides to enjoy the rare heatwave in Manchester and sunbathes in the garden, alternating between scrolling through her phone and reading her book until it’s time to pick the kids up. 

Poppy runs out of school, a piece of coloured card in her hand. Glitter falling from the page as she sprints over to her mum. 

“Mummy! Mummy! I made you this!” She smiles proudly as she hands over the card. Tears fill the Mrs eyes once more as she reads it. Clearly it’s been hand written by an adult until the very bottom of the card where it says “Poppy” at the bottom. The Ps backwards and her writing messy in the cutest way. 

“To mummy, 

I’m sorry for hurting you and being not nice this morning. I love you.

Love from, Poppy.” 

“Oh Pops, it’s amazing! I love it, thank you so much!” She smiles as she hugs her smaller frame. 

Her, Seb and Poppy spend the rest of the afternoon in the garden as they wait for Morgan to get back from work. He’d got the pool out for them the night before and it was finally full enough for them to play in the water. 

He smiles when he walks into the house, instantly hearing them all laughing. Poppy and the Mrs shrieking as Seb splashed them with cold water. Walking over to the back door, he watches them. His family. 

“Daddy!” Poppy claps, looking over at the door. Both the Mrs and Seb turn to face the door. 

“Dad!” Seb smiles from the pool. “Can you come and play football with me? Pleeeeease.” 

“Course I can mate, just give me a minute.” He walks over to where the Mrs and Poppy are playing with her Barbie’s on one of the sun loungers. 

“What’s going on here then?” He grins, looking at the scene in front of him. 

“Well daddy, Barbie is changing her outfit because she’s going to the beach so she needs her swimming costume on.” Poppy explains matter of factly. 

“Ah I see, of course.” He smirks. As soon as Poppy begins to play again, he lifts up his sunglasses his eyes landing straight on the Mrs’ body in her bikini with a wink. “There’s ice creams in the freezer.” He announces, mostly to Seb and Poppy. Seb jumps out of the pool and Poppy runs in the house behind him. Leaving the two of them alone. 

“Good day?” She asks, smiling up at him. 

“Better now.” He smirks, his eyes all over her. 

“Perv.” 

“Can’t blame me.” He leans down, kissing her lips. “You look happier.” 

“I am.” She giggles against his lips. “Love you.” He kisses her once more, sitting down on the edge of the sun lounger now. 

“Euuuurrrggh! Yuck!” Poppy recoils when she sees them both, Seb’s face turns sour at the sight of them. 

“Dad that’s disgusting!” He hands over two ice creams to them standing as far back as he can. 

“It wasn’t me! It’s your mum, she’s always kissing me.” Morgan laughs. 

“Yeah right.” Seb retorts, clearly having his dad figured out. “I always hear you kissing mam in bed-“ 

“Right, enough of that! Who’s coming in the pool?” Morgan stands up, clapping his hands together awkwardly in a bid to get to Seb to stop talking. 

“Me! I’m going in!” Poppy jumps excitedly. “Mummy come on.” 

Saturday rolls along quicker than expected. She felt awful for wishing it to come sooner, she’d been craving some alone time with Morgan ever since he’d mentioned it. 

He’s grinning from ear to ear once he gets back from dropping them off at his mums. They’d decided on Nando’s and the cinema. Nothing flash but one of their favourite date nights. One that was a regular occurrence for the two of them before the kids. 

“Feels so weird being in here without the kids. I feel like a teenager.” He laughs, recalling the days they’d do this every weekend. Even well after he started earning a lot of money they still found themselves in the same Nando’s they’d always went to. 

Back at home, the rest of the house is quiet in comparison to their bedroom. She was all giggles as he pulled off her thong. 

“My. Fucking. Gorgeous. Wife.” He kissed down her neck, lifting up her hips and placing one of their pillows underneath her. “Open.” He tapped on her thigh, pulling her legs apart and smirking at how her core glistened already. “Haven’t even touched you yet and you’re soaked.” His finger traces lightly over her folds and she jumps which pulls a small laugh from him. 

His eyes never leave hers as he pushes two fingers inside her tight, wet hole. Curling them upwards with a smirk. “M-Morgan..” The sound of her wetness only spurs him on further. Pulling moans from her as he speeds up his movements. “Fuck-fuck, Morgan!” 

He smirked cockily down at her, getting her as close to the edge as he could using just one of his hands. His thumb worked over her clit. “You’re dead close love.” By now she could only muster a nod, her eyes shut in pleasure as she whimpered. The knot in her stomach tightening as her moans turned even more high pitched. 

Before he knew it, she was clamped down around his fingers, her own hand wrapped around his forearm tightly as she came around him.

“Could watch you all day y’know? Fuckin’ so sexy.” 

He laid back, his back against the headboard of the bed as he grabbed her hand placing it on his cock. She couldn’t help but smirk at how hard he was, giggling before leaning down and swirling her tongue around the head of his length still looking into his eyes. She pushed her lips downwards, taking him only halfway and using his fist to pleasure the rest of him. “Jesus- keep going love. Gorgeous with your mouth full.” He stroked her cheek affectionately before contrastingly putting a balled fist into her hair and using it to control her movements. He smirked as she gagged each time his head hit the back of her throat, holding her head down just a few seconds before pulling her away. She lifted up, her mascara watering around her eyes as she wiped the saliva that had accumulated on her chin. She crawled up his body, a grin across her lips as she settled with both legs at his hips. 

“Think I must be the luckiest man alive.” His hands reached up to grab each of her tits, squeezing them and rubbing his thumbs over her hardened nipples. “Could knock you up all over again.” He smirked, it was no secret that he’d have a whole football team of kids with her, he just couldn’t help himself but thankfully she had more sense and self restraint than him. 

“Nice try.” She leaned over, opening the top drawer of his bedside table. “Put this on.” She handed him a red wrapper, ‘Durex’ printed across it. With a joked sigh, he opened up the condom and began to slide it onto his length. 

He teasingly ran himself through her folds again, stopping at her hole with a smirk. She pulled his big hands from him, placing each one on her arse as she began to slide down on him. “So tight, always so tight.” He squeezed her arse cheek, making her groan. Adapting to the stretch of his girth inside of her, she began to move. Bouncing up and down on him, her hands instinctively moved to her tits cupping each one. 

“Oh my god.” Her head flew back in pleasure. 

With a gasp, he planted a hard slap across her arse cheek. 

“Faster, go on. Fuckin’ ride me.” 

She did exactly as he said, his filthy commands only spurring her on more. 

“What are you? Hm?” He smirked teasingly, knowing they both knew there was only one thing he wanted to hear from her. 

“Y-yours.”

“What?” He slapped at her arse cheek again.

“Yours!” She shouted louder.

“Better.” 

He had her screaming in minutes. A side to her he hadn’t seen for ages, parenthood getting in the way.

“Morgan! I’m gonna cum!” 

He’d contorted her body until she was bent over their bed, her face smushed into their mattress due to her hands being held behind her back by one of his. 

“Again?” He smirked, he prided himself on pulling orgasm after orgasm from her which he’d been doing for the last 10 minutes even though he was close himself. Her eyes filled with tears as she began to convulse all over again. Pornographic moans leaving her lips as she screamed his name. Just the sight of her was enough to have him spilling into the condom. 

“Oh my god..” She whispered as he pulled himself out of her. She instinctively laid down again, a soreness in what felt like every muscle in her body. She smiled as she felt his lips on her, kissing up from her stomach to her lips. 

He’d disappeared a few minutes later, running the shower before carrying her in with him as she giggled. 

It wasn’t long before their routine settled again, life with the kids felt easier the more she allowed herself to take a break. With the kids being so well behaved at Morgan’s mums, she’d offered to have them anytime, which Morgan kept a mental note of.

“You look shattered, I thought you were having a rest? What the hell have you been doing?” His nana exclaimed from the living room, cup of tea in hand as she examined her grandson. 

Michelle took one look at the lovebite on his neck and laughed. 

“Can’t a man show the mother of his kids some appreciation every now and then?” He held his hands up before rubbing over the mark on his neck earning a disapproving look from his mum.

“Well I hope you took her somewhere nice, she deserves that at least. All the running around she does after you lot.” His nana shook her head, taking a sip of her tea. 

“Trust me, she’s sound nana.” He laughs, his mum bats his chest jokingly.

“Right get out of here, we don’t want to hear anymore.”