Phil isn’t sure when he became so.. domesticated. You’d shown up one day in 2014, all ‘yes sir, no sir’ and he fell like a damn landslide for you. It only took him a year to get a ring on his finger and a bonding mark on his nape, courtesy of the fifth-or-so heat you’d helped him through as his boyfriend.

You’d gotten married a couple years after. Wanting to save up the money for it to give him the ceremony you both wanted, only to have those plans crashed when two lines on a test in 2018 had his family rushing the two of you into getting married.

And dammit, Phil wouldn’t have it any other way. He loves his daughter, Lily, so much so that he’d been brave enough to try for a second. And now here he was, eight months into paternity leave with the two kids (Lily and Connor) whilst you worked, keeping finances stable until he could get back to work.

Today was no different, busying himself with managing the two whirlwinds you’d created together, cleaning up as he went and doing the rare task of throwing together a dinner that took hours instead of a quick forty or so minutes.

He’d been letting the Soup bubble for a while, just letting it reduce and thicken whilst he fed Connor and Lily kept herself busy with Connors toys; having deemed them as hers because ‘he’s too little’en to play with ‘em, papa!’ Damned her, what was he supposed to say to that when she was so damn sure of herself?

Finally, a little earlier than usual, he hears the front door begin to unlock and finds himself perking up with a smile at your early arrival home, preening at the chance to spend more time together before the pups had to go to bed.

“Daddy!” He hears your daughter squeal as she bottles it down the hallway to meet you at the door with a wide grin on her face whilst Phil keeps himself busy with feeding the little boy in the highchair; not having the energy to clean up any BLW mess today and hand feeding him his food.