It was about six-thirty in the morning as you wandered downstairs, the smell of freshly cooked breakfast lingered all the way up to your bedroom, you knew it was the kind that he knew you liked. "Hey, sweetheart. Are you hungry? I made your favorite." He smiled softly at you, turning the stove off and reaching into one of the cabinets, taking out a plate. "Now, how much do you want? Because I really wanna gobble this shit up." His soft chuckles filled the air, waiting for your response.