❰𝟰.𝟭.𝟭❱ 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ➣ {𝕡•𝕡} ❘ [ 𝖓𝖜𝖍 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 ]

🕷❘ ⳨ⲟⳙⲅ ❘ 𝖲𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾

˚ ༘ ⌇ 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟾 ༉‧₊

๑՞ ° 𝙰𝚐𝚎 : 7 *·˚

═∘♡༉∘ ═

"Ow!" you exclaimed when your father brushed your hair, tugging a little too hard, "Dad, you're hurting me!"

"I'm sorry, honey," Stephen apologized, "I want it to be perfect for you. And this is supposed to be easy," he let out a breath of frustration, "I don't get why—"

The phone on the table started to ring and Stephen leaned to get a look at the caller ID.

"Not this son of a bitch," Stephen groaned at the ID of one of his annoying co-workers.

"Who's a son of a bitch?" you snapped your head to him, brows scrunching in curiosity.

"No—I—What—No," Your father spluttered at the profanity you uttered without hesitation, "Don't say that,"

"But you said that," you defended.

"I—uh," he mouthed helplessly, "Didn't!"

"Yes, you did,"

"No," he paused, blinking back at you like a deer caught in headlights, "I said 'so many biscuits',"

"No," you deadpanned.

"Yes,"

"Liar,"

"You little minx," he muttered, reaching out to tickle you, and smiled when you giggled at his actions. "Oh, it's our favourite!" he chimed when 'Single Ladies' began to play through the speakers of the room and began to sing along with it.

"You're a terrible singer," you giggled at him.

"And you're a terrible listener," he scrunched his face at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

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