#post partum

[oohlillie]

⟶ 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢

𝘑𝘰𝘦 𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Request : here

WORD COUNT : 1.2K

Summary : After giving birth, there was only two things that you missed. Sex and feeling pretty. And you’re husband makes sure that you feel both again.

Warnings : explicit sexual content; 18+; SMUT; fingering; post-partum sex; unprotected p in v (stay safe guys); kinda insecure feeling; no use of y/n; established relationship; gentle sex; FLUFF; joe!daddy; (tell me if i missed some); possible grammatical errors.

Lillie Talks : THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REQUEST !! I loved writing this and i think that i did great. Tell me what you think of it 💕

English is NOT my first language, sorry if i wrote wrong !! c: Request are open

Four months ago, you gave birth to your beautiful baby daughter. Everything was perfect. Your baby was healthy and you had a perfect relationship with your husband, Joe. Except that you missed something.. sex.

Joe hadn’t touched you for several months, he was scared that you’ll be too sensitive and he thought that it was probably the last thing you needed. He was worried that you’ll be too overwhelmed by taking care of the baby and of yourself. So he made his best.

He put the baby to sleep, woke up when she needed something in the middle of the night, reassured her every time she cried and reminded you how beautiful you look after you told him how you feel ugly. Everyday, Joe tries to come back home earlier than before. He loved taking care of both of you.

That one night, Joe had come home around 7pm. He’d kissed you deeply, a huge smile on his face, before taking your girl to the bath like he did every nights. Around 8pm, he puts her to sleep and come back to you.

Usually he would find you in bed already falling asleep. But tonight you wanted something else, you wanted your husband to find you sexy again. So you took a shower, using the vanilla soap that he loved. You moisturized your entire body with an expensive cream and put on one of your old lingerie set from your honeymoon. Then you put on a silk and lace tank top with a short shorts, hair still styled from the day, and got comfortable in your bed.

The moon light filtered through the curtains of the bedroom, your skin lightened by the soft light on your bedside table.

When Joe opened the door he found you, like always, under the sheets but this time you were waiting for him.

“Oh, I thought that you were sleeping.” He said quietly, gently closing the door behind him.

“No, I was waiting for you.” You answered with a small grin. He lied down next to you, his arms wrapping automatically around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The scent of your skin quickly made it’s way to Joe’s nose and his brows frowned slightly.

“You smell good, baby.” He said tucking his face into your neck. Your smile grew further when his hand slide under the sheets to rest on your stomach. The silk was soft under his skin, he slowly lift his head up. “You’re wearing silk ?”

“Yeah, why ?” He slowly removed the blanket from your body, his eyes widening as he saw the clothes you were wearing. His gaze moved back to yours, small smile on his lips.

“I wanted to be pretty for you.”

His eyes softened, “Oh my love, you’re always pretty, i always think that you’re pretty.” He said, voice soft, his hand finding your cheek. Your smile grew, a soft breath escaping your lips.

“You know.. I miss your touch.”

His brows frowned again, “What do you mean ?”

“I miss when we had sex..” You bit your lips.

“Oh, you miss that touch.” He said, his smile widening, teasingly. His hand slid under your top, holding your waist firmly. “I don’t want to rush you.”

“But I need you now-” His lips found yours, cutting your words. His tongue tasted you like he hadn’t done in so long. He quickly climbed over you, his forearms settling on both sides of your head. Your noses bumping into each other’s. Hands sliding to grip your ass gently. He pressed your body against his so close you could already feel a tent forming in his pants.

Then he slowly took your top off, exposing your laced bra. He stopped, admiring your chest, “Hey, I know this one.” He said smiling, remembering the night of your wedding.

“You still like it ?”

“Of course I like it. I love it.” He said before closing his lips around yours again. Kissing you hard and messy. You moaned lightly into his mouth. His bulge now pressed on your lower stomach.

“I want you to tell me if you’re uncomfortable.” He whispered.

“I’ll tell you.” You answered before pressing your lips on his again.

His right hand slid into your pants, fingers slowly brushing against your already wet thong. After teasing you for a moment, he finally took your shorts and panties off, fingers now moving between your folds.

“You’re so wet, my love.” He whispered, fingers rubbing circles on your clit. Your hips rocked against the movement of his fingers. His mouth found to the crook of your neck, his hands explored your body, like he did a hundred times before.

His other hand found the straps of your bra, unbuckling it and letting your swollen breasts sprang free in front of him. Little moans escaped your lips as he pushed two fingers inside you.

Your breath fastened from his touch. His thumb drawing circles on your clit while he fucked you with his other fingers. Louder moans escaped your lips, chest rising up and down faster.

When he pulled back, both of you breathing heavily, foreheads resting against each other’s. His hands left your body for a second. He quickly took off his pants and boxers, the thick head of his cock leaking pre-cum. You felt him hot and hard on your thigh, but his hands quickly grabbed himself, dragging the tip of his cock to your entrance.

“You’re sure you want to do this ?” He asked quietly, searching your face. You slowly nodded, a moan leaving your lips when he slightly moved his dick between your folds.

Then he finally pushed in carefully and slowly. Even after all these years, he always made sure that you had the time to adjust to his size. Letting you feel every inch. A soft moan left your mouth, his forehead resting against yours.

“Is that okay ?”

“Yea..” You nodded and smiled. His hands held your head. Then he started to roll his hips against yours, making you both moans. One of his hand found your breast, thumb teasing your nipple.

“Fuck.. you feel so good, baby.” He whimpered while thrusting into you.

Then he started to move faster, but still gently. Making sure that this was okay. That this wasn’t too much for you.

“You’re so beautiful..” He whispered in your ear, reassuring you.

“Oh fuck, Joe-” You whimpered. Your hips were whining, while your hand found your clit. Teasing yourself while he thrust deeper inside of you.

You both were moaning loud now. Completely lost in the feeling. You could feel your walls clenching around his length, while he drove you over the edge. The sound of your skin slapping mixed with your moans and the wet sound of your pussy. Joe groans sent you over the edge.

And within minutes you were falling apart around him. You cried out, moaning his name as your orgasms hit at the same time, milking his cock and painting your inside walls.

He sank down on your chest, head finding your neck again, kissing it softly. While his dick softened inside you.

“Are you okay ?” He asked, murmuring into your ear. You slowly nodded, a huge smile on your lips. His head lift up, his eyes meeting yours, “You liked it ?”

“Yeah.. I missed it.”

“Me too.” He said before kissing you deeply and more passionately. His hand found your hair, stroking them softly.

“I love you so much, baby.” He whispered between your lips.

“I love you so much too.”

For the first time in a while, you felt pretty and wanted. And just like that Joe fell asleep in your arms, head tucked in your neck.

Thanks for reading girlsss !!

Let me know what you think of it !! I flopped so hard on my last fic but i kinda get it 😭 Hope you loved this one !! Love yall 💕💕

Request are open, feel free to ask anything !! masterlist.

[isabellaboo2025]

Mama Lovin’ - Part One

Pairing: Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel gives you what you both need post partum.

A/N: This was originally planned as a short one-shot, but now thinking I might do more. Let me know what you think and if there’s anything you’d like to see Joel do for this Mama.

18+only 🥰

Masterlist

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼

Your baby’s breath is a soft, rhythmic whisper in the dim glow of the lamp, his tiny chest rising and falling beneath the knit blanket Ellie made, his fingers curled into loose fists beside his face.

He’s beautiful, perfect, and has occupied your every waking thought and action for the last six weeks since he came screaming into the world.

You stand there, frozen for a moment, your body still thrumming from the last feed, your breasts heavy, the skin taut and sensitive, nipples damp and tender from the pull of his hungry little mouth. The air clings to you, thick with the scent of warm milk but beneath it, something darker stirs. The musk of your own arousal, the faint salt of sweat beading along your hairline, the heat pooling low in your belly.

You shouldn’t be thinking about this. Not now, with him so close and your body still so new and fragile.

But you are.

Joel doesn’t knock, or announce himself. He’s just suddenly there - a shift in the air, a warmth at your back, his presence pressing against you like a promise. His hands find your shoulders first, fingers digging into the tired, knotted muscles, thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles at the base of your neck.

“Hey Mama…”

You can’t help but shiver, his touch electric, your skin prickling beneath his palms. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear, his voice a rough murmur, the kind that slides under your skin and settles deep in your gut.

“You’re so beautiful like this. Have I told you that?”

The words are a spark to dry tinder. Your breath hitches, back arching just enough to press into his touch, your body betraying you before your mind can protest. His lips graze the side of your neck, the scrape of his stubble sending a shiver down your spine, and you tilt your head without thinking, giving him better access, your fingers curling into the edge of the crib he fashioned with his own hands. The wood is smooth beneath your palms, cool against your heated skin.

“Joel…” Your voice is a whisper, a warning, but it’s weak and he knows it. You know it.

It’s been so long.

His hands slide down your arms, his touch lingering on the sensitive skin of your inner wrists, where your pulse flutters like a trapped thing, before slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His shirt, the one you borrowed and have never bothered to return. The fabric is thin, worn soft from too many washes, and it does nothing to hide the heat of his palms as they glide up your ribs, thumbs brushing the heavy undersides of your breasts. You bite your lip hard enough to taste copper, nipples tightening painfully, the ache of engorgement twisting into something darker, something needier.

His fingers spread, cupping the weight of you, his thumbs finding your nipples and rolling them between his fingertips. Pleasure lances through you, sharp and bright, and your knees nearly give out.

A cry of need escapes your throat before you can stop it, too loud in the quiet room. Your gaze darts to your son, but he doesn’t stir, his mouth slightly open, lashes dark crescents against his cheeks.

Joel chuckles, the vibration of it humming against your skin. “He’s out cold, baby. You’ve done so good today, so let me take care of you.”

His mouth finds your collarbone, his tongue hot and wet as he traces the delicate bone, his teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper. One hand moves to the buttons on the shirt, letting them out slowly one by one, peeling the fabric gently away from your burning body and letting it fall to the floor.

Slowly, he turns you to face him and your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands, holding him to you as his lips trail lower, his breath ghosting over the swell of your breast. The first flick of his tongue against your nipple sends a shockwave through your body, your back arching, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

He doesn’t tease. His mouth simply seals over you, his lips forming a tight ring as he suckles, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles, the pull of it deep and rhythmic, mimicking your son’s nursing but with a hunger that’s all his own.

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Your head falls back, eyes slipping closed as the sensation overwhelms you. His mouth is scorching, the suction deep, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. Your nipple throbs between his lips, the pull of his mouth sending arrows of pleasure straight to your clit. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your sensible panties dampening, the ache between your thighs becoming impossible to ignore.

His free hand slides down, fingers slipping beneath the cotton, his knuckles brushing the soft curls at the apex of your thighs.

“Joel…” Your voice is a broken whisper, your hips shifting restlessly, seeking friction, seeking more. His fingers find your folds, slick and swollen, his touch feather-light as he traces your slit, fingertips gliding through the wetness gathering there. You’re dripping, arousal thick and hot, and the realisation makes you flush.

“So wet,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot on your nipple before he takes it between his lips again, this time biting down just enough to make you gasp. His fingers circle your clit, slow and teasing, his touch maddeningly gentle.

You want to beg and demand, but your son is still there, still sleeping, and the risk of waking him keeps your voice trapped in your throat, your pleas reduced to whimpers and hitched breaths, your fingers tightening in his hair.

His tongue flicks your nipple before he pulls back, lips glistening with faint traces of your milk, eyes dark with lust as he looks up at you. “Missed this,” he growls, voice rough, his fingers never stopping their slow, torturous circles. “Missed the way you taste. The way you sound when I touch you.”

His mouth moves lower, lips pressing kisses to the soft skin of your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel. You bite down on your knuckles to keep from crying out, your body trembling, cunt clenching around nothing, thighs slick with need. His fingers slip lower, one digit pressing against your entrance, not entering, just teasing, the pad of his finger rubbing slow circles over your hole, the pressure maddening.

“Please…” Your hips lift, trying to force his finger inside.

“Patience, baby.” His finger presses in just the slightest bit, the tip breaching you, and you whimper, your inner muscles fluttering around him, trying to pull him deeper.

“That feels good, doesn’t it? Is this what you need, baby?”

His mouth finds your other breast, lips sealing over your nipple as his finger finally slides inside you, knuckle-deep. The stretch burns, but it’s a good burn, a needed burn, and you rock your hips against his hand, your breath coming in ragged gasps. His tongue swirls around your nipple, the suction deep and rhythmic, and you can feel the milk letting down, the strange, sharp pleasure of it mixing with the ache of your arousal.

His finger shifts inside you, finding that spot that makes your toes curl, your back arching off the crib’s railing, your nails digging into the wood.

“Joel, please…” Your voice is strained, fingers tightening in his hair. He adds a second finger, stretching you, his thumb pressing against your clit as his mouth works your breast. The dual sensations are overwhelming, pleasure coiling tight in your belly, your orgasm building with a ferocity that steals your breath. His fingers scissor inside you, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit, his mouth never letting up on your nipple.

You’re so close.

So fucking close.

Your thighs tremble, your cunt clamping down around his fingers, your body on the precipice…

And then he stops.

His mouth pulls away with a wet pop, his fingers slipping free of your body, leaving you empty, aching, your orgasm hovering just out of reach. You whimper in protest, body throbbing with need, but before you can voice your frustration, he’s standing, his hands gripping your hips, turning you toward the bed. The mattress dips beneath your weight as he guides you onto it, his body following you down, his lips crashing against yours before you can even process the shift.

His kiss is ravenous, tongue plunging into your mouth, tasting of you, of milk and desire and possession. You moan into him, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, twisting the cotton in your fists. He’s hard, his cock pressing against your thigh, the heat of him searing even through the layers of fabric that still exist between you.

His hands roam your body, squeezing you, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you against him, grinding his erection against your hip. The friction is maddening, the pressure of his cock against your clit sending sparks through your nerve endings.

“Need you,” he groans against your lips, his voice rough and desperate as he pulls back, tearing the shirt from his body and tossing it to the floor. His mouth finds your nipple again, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before he sucks it between his lips, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. Your hands fly to his belt, pulling it free, yanking on his zipper, wrenching his jeans from his hips.

He groans, rolling against you, his cock sliding between your thighs, the thick length of him pressing against your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties.

You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer. “Please…” you beg, body arching against his, your cunt throbbing, empty and needy. “I need you inside me. Now.”

He groans, the sound guttural, hands gripping your hips as he shifts, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. You can feel the heat of him, the dampness of his pre-cum soaking through the thin cotton, and you rock your hips, trying to force him inside.

Then, with a growl, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulls them down, baring you to him. The head of his cock presses against your slick folds, the first touch of him against your bare skin making you whimper. He thrusts, his thick length filling you in one deep, claiming stroke, stretching you, owning you.

“Yes…!” The word is torn from you, your back arching off the bed, your nails raking down his shoulders. He’s stretching you to the point of pain, but it’s a pain you crave, a pain that sends sparks of pleasure radiating through your body as he bottoms out, hips pressed flush against yours, cock buried to the hilt inside you. For a moment, he stills, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps, skin slick with sweat.

“So tight,” he pants. “Like you never want to let me go.”

He pulls back slowly, his cock dragging against your inner walls, every ridge of him sending fresh waves of pleasure through you. You can feel yourself clenching around him, your body trying to keep him inside, your hips lifting to meet his next thrust. He sinks into you again, slow and deep, his hands gripping your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples with every stroke. The sensation is too much - your nipples are so sensitive, the milk leaking from you in thin, hot streams, the wetness slick between your skin. His mouth finds yours again, tongue plunging between your lips as his hips roll, his cock grinding against your clit with every slow, deliberate stroke.

You pull him closer, your breaths mingling, bodies moving together in a rhythm that feels like a heartbeat. The scent of it filling the air - musky and sweet, the smell of you, of need. He groans, hips snapping harder, his thrusts growing more insistent, his cock swelling inside you.

“You feel so good,” he growls, his voice a rough whisper against your lips. “I could stay inside you forever. My girl. Mama.”

His pace quickens, his cock moving in and out of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, the bed creaking beneath you, the springs whining in protest. Your orgasm builds, the coil in your belly tightening, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. His thumb presses harder against your clit, his other hand squeezing your breast, fingers rolling your nipple between his fingertips, pinching just enough to make you cry out.

“Come with me,” he pants, his thrusts growing erratic, his cock swelling inside you. “I want to feel you come on my cock, baby. We need this….you need this…”

Your body obeys before your mind can catch up, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, your cunt clenching around him, your back arching off the bed as a broken cry spills from your lips. “Joel…yes!”

Your voice fractures, nails digging into his shoulders, your thighs trembling around his waist. He swallows the sound with a kiss, his hips stuttering as his own release hits him, his cock pulsing deep inside you, spilling himself into you in hot, thick spurts, filling you, marking you.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, heart pounding against yours, his skin slick with sweat, the scent of sex and milk heavy in the air between you. For a moment, there’s only the sound of your combined breathing, the slow, steady rhythm of it filling the quiet room, the sticky heat of your bodies clinging together.

Then - your son stirs.

A soft whimper escapes his lips, his tiny body shifting beneath the blanket. Joel tenses above you, his body going still before he slowly pulls back, his cock slipping free of your body with a wet, obscene sound. A fresh gush spills from you, dripping down your thighs, the warmth of it trickling against your skin. He presses a quick, hard kiss to your lips, before he shifts off the bed, his movements silent as he turns to the crib, one hand lowering to touch your son gently, soft murmurs of comfort leaving his lips.

Your body hums from your orgasm, your cunt throbbing around nothing, thighs slick with him, desire rising once more as you watch him switch so effortlessly from lover to father.

When he returns to the bed, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before straightening, gaze lingering on the mess he’s made of you - your swollen lips, your flushed skin, milk still damp on your breasts, the essence of him glistening on your thighs.

“You look so damn good, baby,” he laughs softly, lowering himself down and pulling you to him.

“All thanks to you,” you reply, breath still catching as his fingers trace lazy circles over your hip.

“Well, you just let me know when you’re ready to go again,” he murmurs, “and we…can…”

His words trail off to nothing and when you raise your head from his chest and look up, you see his eyes closed, lips slightly parted, sleep claiming him faster than you think you’ve ever seen.

With a low chuckle, you place a soft kiss on his cheek, snuggling closer, you own eyes drooping, and soon all three Millers are safe in dreamland.

🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼🍼

Part Two

[sawhxre]

In the right kinda light 🤷‍♀️

[charactersyoudontknow]

Soft pregnant Gladio is so hot 😮‍💨

I too am a big fan of Gladio just losing his abs for the sake of having a baby~

[spaceshipsandpurpledrank]

[soangelbaby]

What would sexist Rafe be like if reader was complaining during pregnancy childbirth or postpartum?

♡ author’s note - i know you specifically requested if she was complaing, but i thought it would much funner to do a full lil breakdown of it all!! i’ll touch of this again bc it just gave me the flutters grrr

what sexist!rafe would be like to you during pregnancy …

he’d cater to you indefinitely, wouldn’t let you lift a finger. he’d make sure you’re dependent on him completely, he rarely lets you out of his sight, not because he’s scared you’ll get hurt — but because you belong to him now more than ever, his girl, carrying his baby. he doesn’t say the baby, he just says his.

“c’mon baby, you know you can’t lift that. here, i got it, i got both of you.”

he controls what you eat, making sure it’s safe and nutritious. he reads every label, memorizes all the restrictions like it’s scripture. he makes you platters with exact portions, fulfilling every requirement — his requirements. and if you start to complain? say it’s not what you want?

“you’ve had too much salt/sugar this week. don’t pout, sweetheart, don’t make me treat you like a toddler in front of everyone,”

but if you get really whiny, like teary-eyed pouty, voice cracking in your throat, then he softens (barely) but because that’s when you’re cute again, so helpless and small

“how bad do you want the ice cream, baby?” he’d tease with a hand rubbing your swollen belly, “tell daddy how much,” till you’re huffing and on the verge of tears, and he finally brings you the tub, muttering, “hope our baby doesn’t have that lil’ attitude… i’ll have to keep both of you in line,”

he rubs your feet when they swell, massages your back with oil while telling stories about when you were younger. the girl he claimed. the reason he chose you.

“i remember you were so quiet back then, baby. so good. still are, mostly. but i broke you outta that little shell though, huh? now you’re not afraid to beg. you’re gonna be perfect for me, for our baby. i’ll make sure of it”

what sexist!rafe would be like to you during postpartum …

he’d be even more possessive than he was during your pregnancy, even though you’re not pregnant anymore, he still treats you like you’re fragile, like you’re glass, like if anyone even looked at you too long, they’d break something he spent months creating. doesn’t like you walking too far, doesn’t like you doing anything without checking with him first.

he doesn’t care that you’re tired, he’s tired too. but he doesn’t want to hear complaints, not from the woman he carried through nine months of cravings and mood swings and swollen feet. he tells you, “you’re a mother now, baby. you don’t get to be dramatic anymore,”

he calls you mama all the time now, sometimes sweet, but mostly sharp, sometimes when you’re crying over nothing, like if your shirt doesn’t fit, your milk leaked through the bed, the baby won’t stop crying and your hormones are making your head spin, he just tilts his head and watches.

“c’mere mama. yeah, i know — i know it’s hard, you’re still so pretty when you cry, though”

he controls everything. your pads, your pain meds, your ice packs, your breast pumps, he helps you in the shower, washing you slow with a hand on your back and one under your tits like he’s cleaning his favorite toy.

he lifts your leg up on the bathtub edge to check your stitches like a mechanic checking a broken engine, “you’re healing good. real good. you’ll be back to taking daddy like a good girl soon, huh?”

he makes you sit when guests come over. makes you stay near him. you’re too tired to talk and too swollen to care, and he loves it, he answers for you, he speaks for both of you now, especially when your voice shakes or your mouth trembles.

[ka-mi006]

Robert having postpartum

*holding a sheild*

He definitely does. Usually it really hits on day 5 after bringing the baby home, and Chad is the one who really notices it first.

Robert is mostly fine during the day, especially when Chad or Chase or the other Z-Team members are there with him. But once the sun goes down his mood goes down with it, and he won't stop crying. He's filled with so much fear and anxiety that he won't be able to take care of the baby well, he's overly cautious about everything. The baby scares him. He doesn't want to be alone with her. Every little sound she makes would put him on edge.

He'd get angry by the smallest things too, he'd snap at Chad for every little thing and then feel horrible after. He keeps thinking about going back to how it was before, before they had the baby, how great it was. He feels so sorry and scared that Chad will abandon him, he feels so awful for being a terrible parent.

It didn't matter how much Chad tried to soothe and reassure him. He just kept feeling worse and worse. He couldn't breastfeed because it made him so overwhelmingly sad, and then felt guilty he couldn't give his baby milk. He was just so sad and angry all the time.

Chad immediately got him help and he was prescribed Lexapro and saw a perinatal psychiatrist. He has so many people looking out for him and being there for him, Robert is rarely alone so that also helps a lot. It took him a while, but he finally felt more like himself.

[ask-phill-cipher]

Is it possible that Bill loves Phill? Yeah, I can't imagine his love as pure motherly because of his mental problems. But is it possible that Bill feels some parental care for Phil?

And is it possible that Bill would like to give that love and care to baby Phill? But either his with his head troubles, or his ego, or his past and self-image told him: “no matter what you wanted, parenthood is not for you, get over it”.

Your last comic got stuck in my throat like glass, so now I'm crying for Phil. The kid got no love anywhere...

This ask was so good that I'm gonna attach some more angst to chew on.

Bill definitely loves Phill. But that's not always going to be enough.

Note: Phill being set on fire was just a nightmare Bill had. The baby is fine.