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drewharrisonwriter · 8 months

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Donor Part 3

Part 1 | Part 1.5 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairings: Bestie Henry Cavill x OFC

A/N, Warnings: 18+, this is part 3 of Donor. English is not my first language. Smut finally ensues! BAHAHAHA THIS IS IT FRENNIES. But please do forgive me if it's not as spicy, this is my first time writing smut in years. It's somehow still a slowburn LMAO Further warnings include: Henry and his breeding kink, first time doing it together (lol), talks of pregnancy and sticky icky future talk.

Special thanks to @summersong69 for all of your help in improving EVERTYHING and @winter2112rose for sharing your suggestions. YOU ARE AMAZING! Thank you for beta-reading this chapter and improving my shaky and unrealistic plot points and smut scene. You guys are heaven-sent! 😭💕

And to everyone who read, liked, commented, and reblogged THANK YOU! SO GRATEFUL FOR ALL OF YOU!!! I stopped writing for years and I just began writing again a few months ago for fun, I never expected people to actually read and like this lol It was just really to express my sheer deluluness 🤣🤣🤣

I’m AO3, too as MoonDjarin ^_^

Henry’s face shifted. His lips in a tight line.

“Hank?” You asked, after a long stretch of silence. “You alright?”

“Yes, I just wanted to ask.” He replied.

Before you know it, he was pulling into your driveway. He was still unusually silent.

“Do you want to come in for a coffee?” You offered and he nodded.

“Yes, of course.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time.

—-

However many drinks you had downed at Charlie’s party, it seems that the hazy effects of alcohol that had clouded your head an hour ago have mostly worn off now that you're back home, preparing coffee for both you and Henry.

Placing a mug of coffee on the kitchen island where Henry perched on a bar stool, you briefly turned away to fetch some ice for your own drink. In that moment, he called your name, causing you to pivot back to face him.

"Are you seeing anyone?" he inquired, his hand absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze avoiding direct eye contact. His question prompted laughter from you, and you shook your head in response.

"No, not at all," you replied, a playful chuckle accompanying your words.

Acknowledging your answer with a nod, Henry took a sip from his mug.

"Why did you ask? Are you trying to set me up with someone?" Your playful eyebrow wiggle only elicited a smirk from him, his attention still inexplicably fixed on a coaster before him, and you suddenly wonder what's so interesting about it.

“No, I’m just… I’m wondering because you said you don’t want me to be the f–to donate anymore.”

Oh.

“Well, I’ve thought about it.” you began, your form casually leaning against the kitchen island. “Since you started dating again, it made me realize that I’ve been too selfish by forcing you to donate last time and even offering for you to co-parent. That doesn’t seem fair to you or your future partner either.”

He knew you would say something like that, and that’s what he was afraid of–you pushing him away once again. Henry, of course, deeply understands your sentiment but it pains him to know that you’re moving forward with this without him. Funny, he thought to himself, he didn’t even want to do it in the first place. You had to beg him and now, it looks like the tables are about to turn.

You smiled warmly at him, your gaze tender as you placed your hand on top of his.

"You know what this means, right?" he asked, his smile infectious.

"What?"

"Sperm Bank Tinder." Laughter bubbled between you, the shared joke lightening the atmosphere.

"Yes, I suppose that's in my near future again," you chuckled, accompanied by a playful grimace and you groaned at the thought of going through donor profiles again.

"But you," you shifted, standing tall as you moved to take a seat beside him on a bar stool, playfully poking a finger against his chest, "You deserve a family."

His response was immediate – enveloping your finger with his hand, he pressed it over his chest where you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your touch.

"A wife, a marriage, someone to come home to…" Your voice softened, a wistful smile playing on your lips as you briefly averted your eyes from his intense gaze. You were acutely aware of his yearning for a simple, fulfilling life.

Henry was always open about his dream of retiring in his 40s, of settling down and having a couple of children. The more the better, he used to say. Despite the glitz and glamor of the life he has made for himself over the past two decades, he wanted nothing more than to be a simple and loving family man.

He just wasn’t a hundred percent honest with you on some other aspects of that dream.

Finally you meet his blue eyes and notice that they’re glimmering,

You continued, “Not just a sperm donor for your best friend to father a child you don’t get to hold as often as you want because she’s a selfish, neurotic bitch who thought having a baby with her best friend is the most brilliant and fool-proof idea ever.”

A soft chuckle left Henry but he pressed his lips tightly, closing his eyes, and tried to even his breathing as a tear rolled down his cheek and he trembled, allowing more tears to fall.

There was a long silence.

The hundreds of conversations Henry had with you in his head over the years all came flooding in; each scenario unfolding like scenes from a vintage film, casting a dizzying spell that left him feeling weightless, his pulse still racing despite his best efforts to compose himself.

It’s now or never. He tells himself, he has to tell you now.

“I want all that.” he confessed, and you nodded in understanding, knowing so well that he deserves to have that life, a life that, really deep down, you wish he could spend with you. But you also know so well that diving into a relationship as deep as that with him would always have the possibility of eventually ending.

That terrifies you.

Which made the thought of solo parenting sound really good to you in the first place and the main reason that you’re always giving Henry an out. Of all the things and people you could bear to lose in your life, the possibility of one of those being Henry is something that you deeply fear.

You and Henry have loved each other in many ways over the years, but you know he won’t love you as more than his best friend, as more than an honorary family member. You even convinced yourself that it would be wrong and settled on being content that all you ever will be are lifelong friends. Who, at one point, have thought of co-parenting a child that will be loved and cherished no less, regardless of the unconventional methods and relationships they will be blooming from.

You could be happy with that.

Henry rises from his seat, his gaze fixated on you, his hand still cradling yours against his chest. His lips part, words poised on the edge of his tongue, yet they retreat as if searching for the right way to escape, and you can see his gears turning.

He took a deep breath, and finally admitted what he wanted to tell you for years: “I want to do all of that with you… if you would let me.”

Suddenly, you feel your fears growing stronger. You thought they’d ebb away once you heard him finally say that, but somehow it only made the ugly, gnawing fear stronger.

“Hank…”

“No, darling. Listen to me, please.” he implored, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though beneath it lay a current of nervous anticipation. “Because it’s going to kill me if I don’t say it out loud now…” His chuckle held a touch of vulnerability, a mask slipping to reveal the raw edges of his emotions.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry.

This was the moment you had always been wary of having with Henry, the juncture where your deep-rooted fears collided with your undeniable affection for him. You could feel your heart racing, its rhythm matching the chaotic thoughts in your head.

You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. His blue eyes bore into yours, filled with a mixture of hope and vulnerability that you hadn't seen before. You could sense the weight of his words even before he spoke them.

"I've loved you for years, Y/N," he confessed, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

"Not just as a friend, but as something more. And–Christ! I-I've been a coward, too afraid to risk our friendship, too afraid of what it might do to us."

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt a rush of emotions swirling within you. The truth hung in the air between you, and you realized that the fear you'd been grappling with was mirrored in his eyes.

"I've watched you go through relationships, seen you deeply in love with other people, and it's always torn me apart," he confessed, his fingers entwined with yours, his touch growing firmer, as if seeking solace in your connection. "I've wrestled with my own heart, tried to act normal, thought of finding my own path to happiness that isn’t with you…to be content with being your friend…” he exhaled deeply.

“I’ve even convinced myself that I’m okay with just being your turkey baster baby’s donor.” he managed to interject with a playful glint. A chuckle rippled between you, but then his expression shifted, his tone turning earnest once more. “But I always keep on wanting more and more. It's become unbearable, darling. And the truth is…”

Tears welled up in your eyes, your emotions threatening to overflow. You never imagined that he felt this way, that your connection ran so deep for him too.

"Hank, I..." you started, but he gently pulled your hand closer to his chest.

"Let me finish, please," he whispered, a trace of a smile tugging at his lips again, but his voice quivered. "I want to be that person you come home to. I want to build a life together, not just as someone who could help you out with having a child in the most ridiculous way,” He chuckled once more, and you joined in, appreciating his effort to instill a bit of levity into the conversation.

“I don’t just want to be old Uncle Hank.” He continued. “I want you, darling…I want the children you want. I want to wake up beside you every morning and hold you every night…"

“Even if it means that you and Kal will have to live with me and my cats?” You teased, a playful glint in your eyes, and you both shared a genuine laughter.

“Even if we have to live with you and your cats.” He reassured you.

His words hung in the air, a fragile bridge between what was and what could be. You gazed into his eyes, feeling the depth of his emotions washing over you.

"But I understand if you don't feel the same way," he added, his voice softer now, tinged with a hint of resignation. "I…I know that this might change everything, and I don't want to lose you, but I also want you to know..."

As he spoke, you felt the weight of your own fears, the echoes of his confession resonating within you. The prospect of losing him was a terrifying thought, but so was the idea of risking your friendship for something more.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

"Hank, you've been my rock, my confidant, and my closest friend for so long," you began, your voice trembling like his had been. "And the idea of us being together... it's something I've thought about too, something I've wanted deep down for a really long time. But I've also been so afraid, afraid of what it could mean for us… What if things didn't work out?"

He nodded with his eyes closed, trying to will his tears back.

You looked down at your intertwined hands, your mind racing with conflicting emotions. The fear of losing him battled with the desire for something more, something that had always lingered beneath the surface of your friendship.

"You mean so much to me, Hank. And I can't imagine my life without you." He nodded in understanding, his thumb caressing the back of your hand as he listened intently.

"Of all the risks and challenges we could take in this life, don’t you think this is worth a shot?" He asked. "Darling, please… let’s try.” he continued, his voice soft but filled with conviction.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you let that thought sit some more in your head.

"Alright..." You whispered.

"What?"

"Alright, maybe we can try."

For a moment, the room was filled with a shared understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of the risks and rewards that lay ahead. The unspoken promise hung in the air – that you were willing to take this leap of faith together.

Henry leaned in, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a promise, a concession to the emotions that had been simmering between you for years.

As he pulled back, his gaze met yours, and you could see the genuine affection in his eyes.

"No matter where this leads us, I want you in my life, Y/N."

You nodded, your heart swelling with a mixture of emotions – hope, fear, and an overwhelming sense of connection.

You wrapped your hands around his neck, standing up from the stool where you were sitting, nuzzling your nose on his jaw and planting a soft kiss on the side of his mouth. It might have been the alcohol making your decisions for you, or perhaps it was the tension that had been building between you two for more than a decade. But at that moment, none of it mattered.

Henry's breath caught as your lips brushed against his skin. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine, igniting a warmth that spread through his chest and down between his legs. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, before he lifted his hand to gently cup your cheek.

His touch was tender, almost tentative, as if he was afraid that this fragile moment could shatter if he wasn't careful. Your eyes locked onto his, "I've waited so long for this," he whispered, his voice husky.

“Shut up, we’ve kissed before.” You whispered back with a smile, remembering that you shared a few on-screen kisses in your music videos in the past.

“Not like this…” He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light caress. The kiss was sweet and tentative, as if he was testing the waters before fully diving in.Very different from the ones you’ve previously shared, where he was more confident in the rehearsed way your lips crashed.

You found yourself responding instinctively, your hand sliding up his chest and curling around his neck. The kiss deepened, becoming more intense as the pent-up emotions began to flow between you.

The kitchen around you seemed to fade away as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips moving against yours, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. It was a mix of familiarity and newness, as if you were discovering a whole new side of your best friend of nearly 20 years.

Finally breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. "If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop now," he breathed, his eyes locked onto yours.

"Don’t stop. Take what you want," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. Henry’s breath hitched and he bit his lip, preventing a smile from fully showing, his dimples so deep; he looked up with his eyes closed tight and exclaimed, “Thank fuck!”

You giggled a bit and found an opportunity to plant small kisses on his throat and he groaned. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and you both knew where this was going and you allowed yourselves to succumb to it.

Henry wasted no time in yanking the zipper off your dress from the back, slipping it off your shoulders, revealing your laced covered tits heaving heavily. He groaned at the sight of you, his grip on your waist tightened as you snapped off the lace bra from the front, fully exposing your top half to him.

He wasted no time and instantly latched onto one breast. You bite your lower lip to keep a moan from coming out, a hand steadying yourself onto his bicep and the other running through the hair at the back of his head.

He kissed his way back up, nipping lightly at your jaw and moving behind your ear which sent you moaning for more. He pulled away slowly and led you to the bedroom down the hall and gently pushed you down on the bed, settling your head on the pillows while he quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt and you shimmied yourself out of your dress and your underwear on the bed.

“Darling wait,” Henry said before he could pull his trousers down.

“What?”

“I, uh… I didn’t bring a condom,” he admitted, his expression serious, brows furrowed, his thoughts lost in the heat of the moment.

“For fuck’s sakes, Hank.” you burst into laughter. Drawing him close, you planted a gentle kiss on his lips, your voice tender. “After the turkey baster situation, I think we’re way past worrying about not using a condom."

He joined in your laughter, eyes squeezed shut, his teeth catching his lower lip in amusement.

“Right…” he smiled, a blush bloomed from his neck that went up and spread across his cheeks. He went on to fully remove his trousers and joined you in bed.

“I’m clean, if that’s what you’re worried ab—“

“Oh I know… no, that’s not what—I’m clean too.” He confirmed and you nodded in reply.

His body pressed gently against yours, the thin barrier of his boxers the only separation. He leaned back down murmured against your jaw, his voice close, "Are you truly ready to start trying?"

Meeting his gaze as you pulled back slightly, you responded, "If you are..."

“I am,” He whispered in between kisses. “Nothing I want more, darling. No matter how many times more, no matter how many children you want…” You whimpered at his statement and you saw a shift in his eyes, something darker.

The sensation of his kisses was intoxicating, prompting your legs to part instinctively as you slid his boxers down with a gentle urgency. He reached back down between you, teasingly tracing your now drenched seam. A primal groan escaped his lips, a raw expression of the arousal that surged between you.

"God," he rasped, his voice laced with need, his eyes darkened with desire. His fingers trailed down your inner thigh, grazing your slick folds, before he pulled them back, coated with your arousal. "All for me, darling?" Your heart raced as you bit your lower lip, nodding in fervent agreement.

He leaned back, his gaze searing into yours before he began to pump his thick length a few times. He then notched the blunt tip to your now soaking entrance, his eyes locked onto yours, seeking permission in the intensity of the moment. He had you pinned beneath him, knees pressed to your chest.

He eased into you slowly, taking his time, groaning deeply at the sensation. You lifted your hips slightly, your breath catching once you felt him inside you. The stretch of him filling you was just what you needed.

“Fuck, darling… so tight.”

You moaned as he slowly inched in, your eyes rolling back in pleasure at the stretch. You were aware that he's big, you just never anticipated it was this much, nor did you think you would ever have to worry about it until now.

Once he was buried to the hilt you knew you’d never been penetrated so deeply, his cock reaching an undiscovered place in you. He gave you a moment to get used to his size and the position he had you in.

You arched your back and moaned loudly, no longer holding back as he bottomed out and began moving in and out of you in long, slow, delicious strokes.

You tilted your head back in response to his motions, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you basked in the feel of him. The brush of his lips against your throat was followed by a restrained groan of pleasure that echoed in the air.

"I've wanted you this entire fucking time," he breathed, his voice laced with a mixture of tenderness and desire, as he hovered over you, his lips tracing a path across your face.

“Wanted to give you a baby…make you mine. Let the entire world know about it…”

“I want to have your baby, Hank. Fuck a baby into me…” The weight of your words sent Henry growling and spiraling into a different realm. His grip on you intensified, he adjusted his angle.

He looked you in the eyes and asked “Is it okay if I pick up the pace, darling?” You nodded in reply and he began jackhammering into you, eliciting a slight yelp in surprise as he hit a spot in you over and over again that made your toes curl and the coil in your lower abdomen intensify drawing you closer and closer to your orgasm with each thrust.

“Fuck, Hank! I–I’m so close…” You whimpered, walls clamping on his thick cock as you near your release.

“I know, darling…I got you, I got you…” He cooed.

The sloppy sounds of him taking you belonged in a pornographic film. Years of built up tension between the two of you and the events of the evening finally came to a head when he fucked you into the mattress and all you could do was reach up and grab his neck as he utterly destroyed you for any other guy and your bed began to bang against the wall loudly.

Both of you had dissolved into garbled praising of one another, drunk off the intensity of your coupling. You were cock drunk; there was no other way to explain it. The only thing that registered in your brain was the point at when your two bodies collided.

"Fuck, darling... I don't know if I can last much longer." His brow furrowed and his body tense above you told you he was close.

One of his hands reached down between you to begin rubbing your clit enthusiastically while his other gripped a fist full of your hair.

You tipped your head back, sinking more into the pillow, exposing your neck to his hungry mouth. He didn’t hesitate to bite down on your neck as his hips thrusted up into you.

You came–hard, eyes tightly closed and lips parted in a small o; cumming and clenching around him while he continued working you through your climax; groaning at the feeling of you practically milking him.

“Cum for me, Hank. Give me a baby...” you whimpered, your body curling in on itself as he continued thrusting into you.

“Shit,” Henry groaned before you felt him release into you; a string of curses and praises sputtered as he did.

Henry pressed his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath. He stayed inside you for a few more minutes, the two of you just basking in the intimacy.

A soft smile curved his lips, "I love you," he whispered.

Part 1 | Part 1.5 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Tag list:

@jyessaminereads @summersong69 @itsrubberbisquit @sweetandgentlecreature @kingliam2019 @leaveitbythewave @mrsevans90 @evansabove1981 @bascmve01 @shellyshellshell @iamsana @foxyjwls007 @one-sweet-gubler @henryownsme

#Henry Cavill #henry cavill fic #henry cavill x #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x pregnant reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x wife!reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x you #henry cavill characters #Henry Cavill fics

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 months

Text

Puppy love

Masterlist

Starring: Dad!August, Mike, guest appearance; Syverson

Summary: August is not happy when his daughter first starts dating 'that Syverson boy'.

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: Fluff, overprotective dad!August, family drama, teen angst, super-duper unreasonable parents, and vague mentions of teens having sex, I guess that needs a warning or something?

A/N: And now for something completely different... Written from August's POV. Unfortunately, he got married, and they had a baby, and unfortunately the baby was a girl, who is now unfortunately 16 years old, and unfortunately wants to date boys, who unfortunately happens to be the son of his college rival; James Syverson. 80% of this fic is just August being on the verge of having a fucking heart attack because of teen shenanigans. And they're not even that bad.

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @sillyrabbit81 @littlefreya @mayloma @summersong69 @livisss @winter2112rose @changenameno @wa-ni (still not allowed to tag you, sorry :( )

“Daddy, come on, it’s just a date!”

“Princess, you’re too young to date.”

“Oh my god! Mom!” She stormed out of the kitchen, and you foolishly thought you could pick up the paper again. “Please talk some sense into dad!”

And there she was again. Both of them, even. You sighed and put the paper back down.

“August, for the love of God, she’s sixteen! She can date!” Your wife put her hands on her hips — you hated it when she did that.

“Not with that...” You struggled to find the words without letting the entire house in on why exactly you didn’t approve of this boy. Other than him wanting to do unspeakable things to your daughter, of course.

“He’s a sweet kid,” your wife said, rolling her eyes — you hated it when she did that, too.

“He’s a Syverson!” you blurted out. “She’s not going out with the son of that sleazy, good-for-nothing son of a—”

“Only if you can say it in church, August!” You didn’t even go to church! Neither did your wife, but it was her go-to way of keeping you from swearing, and as much as you hated to admit it, it worked.

“Junior can forget it,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“Go get ready, sweetie,” your wife said to your daughter. Your blood was boiling. Did you have absolutely no authority in your own damn house? Not usually, no... “I’ll have a chat with your father.”

“So, you want to take my daughter out?” You took pleasure in staring the boy in front of you down, and you were pleased to report he was scared to death. Or at least he had the decency to fake it.

“Yes, sir,” he said, swallowing audibly, “we’re going to see a movie. I’ll have her home by eleven.”

“Ten,” you replied brusquely.

“Dad!” your daughter squealed as she came down the stairs. “Can you be normal for like... Five seconds? Mom! He’s doing it again; he’s ruining my life!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, princess!” you scoffed.

“August, that’s enough!” You glared at your wife, who turned to the boy in front of you.

“You two have fun,” she said. “Bring her back in one piece, James.”

“Eh, it’s Mike, ma’am.” He didn’t look at her as he said it.

“I’m sorry?”

“My middle name is Michael. I’m not overly fond of the whole ‘Junior’ thing,” he admitted. “Anyway. When is her curfew, exactly? I really don’t want to get her in trouble.”

“Then leave—ow!” Maybe you deserved that kick in the shins.

“She’s late,” you grumbled. “And I mean he brought her home late.”

“Oh, August, please! They’re right outside, you can hear them!” She rolled her eyes at you again.

“There’s too much giggling if you ask me,” you sneered. And right when you said it, the giggling stopped — which was far more disconcerting, as far as you were concerned.

“August, don’t,” your wife sighed as you got off the couch and walked towards the front door.

“That’s quite enough, young man,” you snapped when you pulled the door open and were met with the unpleasant sight of the Syverson boy harassing your precious little girl. That had to be it, right?

“Dad, oh my god! Stop embarrassing me!” She let out a frustrated scream and turned to Mike. “I’m so sorry, Mike... I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

As soon as the door closed behind her, you knew you were in for it.

“Dad, you are certifiably insane, okay? It was just a kiss, for fuck’s sake!”

“Language, young lady!” you tried, but you were fairly sure you’d find no backup in this case. Your wife was staring you down from the couch in the living room.

“No, dad,” she yelled. “You’re nuts. That’s it. Why can’t you just be normal? Why do you have to be crazy? You just totally humiliated me, like...”

“Princess, I’m just trying to protect you,” you said as you reached out to pull her into a hug, but she pushed you away.

“Daddy, I’m serious! We went to the movies, we had a really nice time and then he drove me home and so what if he kissed me? Like, you didn’t have to show up like that, acting like a complete psycho. It was beyond cringe! I’m literally mortified, like what were you even thinking?” She sighed dramatically and threw her hands up. “Whatever. I’m going to my room. Stay out of my business!”

“Well, that went... Well,” you said as you sat down on the couch, with the — admittedly false — hope of getting some sympathy from your lovely wife.

“No, August, it did not.”

“Ok, so, we’ll be in my room,” she said, already tugging Mike along towards the stairs, and before you could say anything, they were gone.

“Hold on—” you started, but your wife grabbed your elbow, calming you down slightly. But only slightly.

“Let them,” she sighed, the sound cutting through you like a knife, “remember when we were young?” She wrapped her arms around your neck and kissed you, and it took everything to not push her away, knowing where her mind was — with her sixteen-year-old self, in her bedroom, fooling around with her high school sweetheart: none other than James Syverson.

Yes, James Syverson senior, the father of the boy who was upstairs with your daughter right now... The man who had beat you for captain of the football team. Twice. The man who had made a pass at your then-girlfriend when you were years into dating her and she was wearing your ring and your jacket with your name on it. Twice. Was it really so weird that you trusted his son about as far as you could throw him?

Soft lips on your neck pulled you away from your thoughts. “Try to remember that I married you?”

You smiled at her before leaning in for a kiss, wrapping her up in a tight embrace. “I’m a lucky man.”

“Ew, gross. Can you, like, not?”

A devilish smile played at your wife’s lips for a moment before she kissed you again a tad too theatrically.

“Oh my god, stop it! You’re old!” The look of disgust on your daughter’s face was absolutely priceless. “This is a kitchen! It’s a communal space!”

“So is the porch, princess,” you replied.

“How many times do I have to tell you two; this door stays open—oh for the love of God! I don’t need to see that!”

“Then by all means, dad, leave the door closed!” You caught the pillow she threw at you, and Mike made a point of moving as far away from her as the bed would allow while mumbling an apology.

Your wife had been right — which you were never telling her, which didn’t even matter because she already knew, anyway — and Mike really wasn’t a bad kid. That didn’t mean you were okay with him feeling up your daughter, though. Or worse.

“We’re not doing that, princess. Nice try though.”

On your way downstairs, you were fairly sure you heard the bedroom door close again and you sighed.

“It’s okay, love,” your wife said as she wrapped her arms around you.

“It’s not,” you sighed. “I wish that boy would keep his filthy paws off our daughter.” Was it genuinely too much to ask for her to find a nice, non-hormonal boy her age who only wanted to sit next to her on the couch and hold her hand under strict parental supervision?

“Yes, August, that’s entirely too much to ask,” your wife snickered. You hadn’t even realized you’d actually voiced your thoughts. “Boys like that don’t exist. I remember you when you were eighteen… We were doing much worse things than they are.”

“But we were in college. Can’t we just… ban him from the house?” You slumped down on the couch and took the cup of coffee your wife was now holding out to you.

“We could,” she said, and for the first time, a smile appeared on your face that she managed to wipe off immediately: “But I’ve seen the inside of that car he drives.”

It had been an interesting phone call, at one o’clock in the morning, from your daughter’s best friend’s mother, asking if her daughter had come home yet.

“How would I know that?” you had snapped at her. Surely, she didn’t expect you to know who was in her house in the middle of the night? It was her house…

“Because she’s staying with you,” the concerned mother had answered.

“Ah,” you answered, grabbing your wife’s shoulder and shaking her until she was awake. “We were under the impression that our daughter was staying with you.”

Your wife had called Mike’s parents, who had also established that their son was not where he was supposed to be.

Long story short: Everyone was in serious trouble.

And now you were on your way to some club, your knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so hard, and you barely managed to stifle a yawn. In the passenger seat, your wife threatened to drift off to sleep. The only reason you had taken her with you was so you wouldn’t make a gigantic scene — no matter how much that was exactly what you wanted to do.

Syverson and his wife were already there, attempting to convince the bouncer to let them into the club without paying some ridiculous entrance fee, while your daughter’s friend’s parents stood off to the side, looking more and more nervous by the minute.

Your wife walked to the door. “Now you listen to me, pal,” she snapped. “My daughter is in there and if you don’t want me to get everyone here fired and then sue this place to high heavens for letting minors in, then you let us go in there and look for her right now, or so help me God!” She could be impressively scary, you noted as a smile slowly grew on your face.

She paced back to you and scowled at you when you kissed her on the forehead. “What the hell was that for?”

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” you said.

Your kids were, indeed, inside. They — your daughter and Mike, at least — were unlucky enough that you were the one to find them. Dancing. If you could call it that — and you quickly decided that you absolutely couldn’t call it that.

The music — again; if you could call it that — was incredibly loud, giving you a headache on top of your already particularly murderous mood, and you held on to your last shred of self-restraint with all your might to make sure you wouldn’t genuinely murder your daughter’s… boyfriend. Even just thinking the word made you want to punch something. Him, preferably.

Mike spotted you first, and you felt an overwhelming sense of pride when his face morphed into an expression of complete and utter terror. He also had the common sense to step away from your daughter immediately, who looked up around at him when she felt Mike suddenly disappear from behind her. He pointed at you, and she turned around again. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. Good.

With a single finger, you beckoned them both to come over, and when they were standing in front of you, you dragged them both outside.

“What were you thinking?” your wife snapped at your daughter, who looked up at you.

“Daddy, I…” You just shook your head and let your wife handle this.

When she was done — your daughter was now grounded for a month — you turned to Mike: “And your involvement in this was…?”

“They wanted to see the DJ, and I… I told them I could sneak them in. It was stupid and irresponsible—”

“Not to mention illegal.”

“—yes, that too. I’m sorry.” Mike looked down, clearly doing his best not to tremble visibly. He failed. Good.

“How’d you even swing this, James?” Mike’s dad wanted to know, his wife standing behind him, clearly trying very hard to keep her mouth shut to prevent herself from saying something she’d regret.

“It’s Mike,” Mike corrected.

“Not when I’m this goddamn mad at you it isn’t, son.”

“Hello, mrs. Walker,” Mike greeted your wife while handing her a bouquet of flowers. You rolled your eyes, even though you had no reason to. He handed a second bouquet — it was just a handful of daisies — to your daughter. “Thank you for the invitation.”

It wasn’t exactly n invitation you’d been all too excited to extend, but alas. Here he was again. Maybe grounding them hadn’t been such a good idea (even though you’d laughed at Syverson’s idea to have Mike’s punishment start two weeks later than your daughter’s, so that they’d have to go without each other for longer), because now they were just unnecessarily and inappropriately touchy.

“Thank you, Mike, these are lovely,” your wife said as she handed you the flowers. “August, darling, could you put these in a vase, please?”

You were glad to have something to do. “Of course, my angel.”

“Gross,” your daughter said while rolling her eyes, and you glared at her, biting your tongue to keep yourself from making your sarcastic remark.

“Eh,” Mike shrugged, “my parents are worse. I think it’s sweet.”

You watched over the edge of the newspaper while Mike helped your daughter set the table, while your wife continuously glanced at you in her signature ‘I told you so’ kind of way. You had already tentatively agreed with her that he wasn’t a bad kid! What more did she want?

Dinner was unbearable, and your wife had to warn you more than once to stop cutting your food so hard you nearly sawed your way through your plate on more than one occasion, and you gritted your teeth as you tried to focus on your dinner instead of watching the two lovebirds. At least they were trying to keep it decent, which was much appreciated, but it didn’t necessarily make things much easier for you.

“What did you tell her?” you asked your wife — calmly, you hoped — when your daughter slammed the door behind her after an unusually quick escape from the house.

“Not much,” she answered. You knew for a fact she’d been pretty on top of the sex ed stuff for years now. “A reminder that she shouldn’t do things she isn’t ready for. And to use protection.”

“Hmm.” Whether you were finally getting used to the idea of your daughter going out with Michael Syverson, or your wife and her relentless support of their relationship had finally worn you down, you didn’t exactly know.

“August,” she said as she sat down next to you and leaned into your side, “I know you’re trying to protect her, but you can’t stop this. It’ll happen sooner or later. Sooner, rather than—”

“I know,” you growled.

“You were sixteen when—”

“I know.” It hurt to clench your teeth the way you did, but it was all you could do to stop yourself from screaming. “If he hurts her…”

“She takes after you, dear,” your wife chuckled. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“He asked you to where now?” Your eyebrows shot up a mile and at least a month’s worth of acceptance disappeared like snow in the desert when your daughter told you the news that Mike had asked her to prom.

“Prom, dad. You kn—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But you don’t have—”

“Senior prom, dad. His prom.”

“You’re a sophomore,” you grumbled, your eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Yes, dad, Mike asked me, a sophomore, to go with him, a senior, to his senior prom, which I wouldn’t be able to go to unless I was invited by a senior. Like him. Can you exit psycho dad-mode for three seconds? Can I please go?” Your wife had been right when she said your daughter took after you in many ways, but damn if she didn’t have her eyes. And you were powerless against those.

“Yes, princess,” you sighed softly. “You can go.”

She wrapped her arms around your neck, and for the first time in months you saw a little more of your princess and a little less of the teenage monstrosity she’d grown into over the past few years. Apart from the horrible shrieking in your ear, that was.

“Can you do me one favor, please?”

“Tell me you’re not asking to approve my dress, or whatever?” Ah, there she was again. The monstrosity.

“Take your mother shopping for it. She’d like that.” And, hopefully, she’d come home with something halfway presentable, at least.

The doorbell rang at seven o’clock on the dot. At least Syverson had bothered to teach his boy some manners. He handed another stunning bouquet to your wife — which might have been more impressive if his mother hadn’t owned the flower shop in town — and nervously fidgeted with the box that held a rather beautiful corsage. No doubt also a courtesy of his mom.

“That’s a very nice tux, Mike,” your wife said with a smile in an attempt to diffuse the ever-growing tension in the hallway while you waited for your daughter to finally finish getting ready.

“Thanks, it’s mine,” he answered. “Dad has a ridiculously big family; I have a million cousins… lots of weddings.”

“Hey.” You all turned to the source of the sound; the voice of your daughter standing at the top of the stairs.

“Holy sh—” Mike cleared his throat — smart move. “Wow. You look… wow.” He rushed towards her to help her down the last few steps of the stairs.

“You look good too,” she said shyly.

“Not next to you, I don’t,” he managed — but barely.

As you watched Mike awkwardly trying to help your daughter with the corsage, memories of your own prom came flooding back to you, and you couldn’t fight a smile off your face. It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course, but the sight of them was simply too… adorable to stay mad about. Next to you, your wife grabbed your hand and squeezed it. She had tears in her eyes, you noticed, when she rushed past you to get the camera.

“Mom. Mom, stop. You took like four thousand pictures already, it’s enough. Enough! Please, let us leave, we’re going to miss the whole thing… Mom! Dad, tell mom she’s being insane!” Finally, you weren’t the one who was considered insane!

“I think that’s plenty, darling,” you said as you pulled your wife back and put a hand on the camera to get her to lower it. “Get out, you two, I only have so much to say around here. Have fun… but not too much fun.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” your wife added.

You rolled your eyes. “Like that narrows it down.”

“Dad!” your daughter shrieked before pulling Mike towards the door.

Your wife had successfully convinced you that going to bed early would be best. You needed a distraction, after all, and if she was so kind to offer to provide you with one, who were you to refuse her?

It was nearly midnight when you woke up with her curled up next to you, to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A set of footsteps too many, that was.

“August, don’t,” you heard next to you when you attempted to get out of bed to put a stop to these shenanigans immediately. What did she mean ‘don’t’? You were just supposed to let them… “If it weren’t for you, I’d have let him stay over the first time she asked. Going in there, guns blazing, is not going to make this go away. They’ll find another place. Another time. And I meant what I said about the backseat of that car… If you have any faith in the way we raised our daughter, then trust her.”

Falling asleep again was hard, but nowhere near as hard as not throwing Mike down the stairs when you ran into him a few hours later, when he was on his way to the bathroom.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?’

You took a deep, shaky breath to steady yourself before speaking. “We’ll talk about that over breakfast. I can and will promise you right now, that you’ll be in some real trouble if you sneak out before then.”

“Coffee?” you grumbled when your daughter appeared in the kitchen the following morning, freshly showered, with Mike walking a step behind her.

“Yeah. Thanks,” she whispered as she sat down as far away from you as possible. You looked at the two trembling teens in front of you and realized your wife had been right — yet again — when she had said that if you handled this wrong, they’d never come to you if they were in trouble. Ever.

“It’s been brought to my attention that I may have been a bit… overbearing,” you said, ignoring the eyerolls from both your wife and your daughter. Mike just stared at the table. “And I’m sorry.”

You sighed as three jaws dropped in complete and utter bewilderment. “That being said… The two of you still broke the rules, and he stayed here without permission, which means you, young lady, will be grounded for a week,” you said, watching your daughter grab Mike’s arm. She looked hurt… “Starting tomorrow.” The two exchanged a surprised look and finally smiled.

“Does he have to leave?” she asked carefully.

“No, princess,” you said softly, “he doesn’t.”

“Where’s that ruthless jerk I married?” Your wife wrapped her arms around you and pulled you close while you let out a deep sigh.

“He said ‘I do’,” you grumbled. “And he had a daughter.”

“Daddy?” Your daughter’s voice was soft and small. The hurt in it crushed you, although you had to admit you were relieved to have confirmation that Mike was upstairs in your shower all by himself, if you were honest. “Are you mad at me?”

You reached for her, and she hugged you — almost like she used to. “No, princess, I could never be mad at you.”

“I’m still your—”

“I know,” you whispered.

“Are you mad at Mike?” Her voice got even lower than before, and she avoided your eyes.

“No,” you answered truthfully. “Unless he hurt you in any kind of way, in which case he’s a dead man.”

“Did you forget you forced self defense classes on me until I was a black belt?” she laughed, wiping away the single tear that had escaped her eye.

“That’s my girl.” You couldn’t have fought back the grin if you��d tried.

Your daughter wrestled herself out of your embrace and made her way towards the hallway again, turning around in the doorway. “Ehm, does the door still have to stay open?” she asked innocently.

“I think we’re past that point,” your wife answered, ignoring your exasperated sigh.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispered as your daughter sprinted up the stairs.

“Does she know you’re here?” It didn’t take you two guesses to figure out why he was at your door. You actually remembered the moment you knocked on the door of your then-hopefully-soon-to-be-in-laws all too well.

“She does,” he answered, thanking you quickly as you impatiently gestured at him to come in. It was cold out, and money didn’t grow on trees…

“Does she know why?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not here to ask for your permission, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he said with a smirk that brought out some residual feelings of wanting to smack him. “I’m actually looking for Mrs. Walker.”

“You’re right not to,” you admitted. “She’d kill you.”

“It’s a bit of a catch-22.” He laughed. “My dad will kill me if I don’t ask, so…”

“So it’s a matter of who you’d rather be murdered by.”

“I think I’ll take my chances with my old man,” he said. “At least he’s not related to you.”

Smart man.

You followed him into the living room, where you found your wife with her nose in the book she hadn’t put down for hours. As soon as Mike walked in, she slammed it shut and put it away.

“Michael, can I help you?” she said in an unusually quirky tone, with an unusually happy smile on her face.

“I think so, yeah,” he stammered. Those nerves were finally kicking in, huh? Good. “I… Eh… She told me something about a ring… eh… her, eh…”

“Her grandmother’s engagement ring?” she helped him along gently.

He nodded furiously. “Yeah. She said that, eh… When the time came, she’d eh… She’d like to wear it. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

“God, Mike, I think I’ve never seen you more scared of me than of August,” she laughed, and you gladly joined her, leaving the poor boy standing there with bright red ears and an uneasy smile.

“First time for everything, right?”

Over the years, you’d been subjected to many a feminist lecture on outdated patriarchal values and whatnot, so it had come as quite the surprise to you when your daughter had come to you, asking you if you’d walk her down the aisle. Now that you were standing here, with her to your left, squeezing your arm so tight you feared it would result in lasting damage, you wished you’d declined, so that you’d just have been able to sit quietly next to your wife, instead of being here with no prayer of getting a handle on your own nerves.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice taunting but with an obvious shakiness to it.

“You’re one to talk, princess,” you retorted, “I can barely feel my fingers.”

She relaxed her grip on your arm a bit, chuckling softly. “Will you behave?”

“Me? Always.”

As far as you were concerned, the walk could have lasted forever. You knew it had to end, and it did — way too soon — and all that was left for you to do was…

“I love you, daddy,” she whispered before you managed to move.

“And I love you, princess,” you replied softly. “Always.”

Then, you finally placed her hand in Mike’s. “She’s your problem now, son. And I have a very strict no-return-policy.”

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