#dad!george

and you do wait - seven minutes (and three games of hopscotch with your daughter) after the school day ends, connor finally deigns to leave the building, chatting away to dylan as they wander over to you. at the sight of her brother and for-all-intents-and-purposes cousin, cara speeds over to them to say hello; when the three of them walk closer to you, you can see the smug little grin on her face at getting to hang out with the “big kids”, even though there's barely two years between her and them.

you grin back at them, amused at the (classic daniel/healy) height difference between the two five-year-olds. “hi, munchkins. y'alright? took you a while to leave school today.”

“dyl couldn't find her water bottle, mum,” connor throws himself into a cuddle, which you reciprocate eagerly. “but i helped her.”

your goddaughter corroborates this, giving you a hug of her own in greeting. “yeah cos we have the same one and no-one else has it because they're from our dads’ work. but mine has an sticker that's pink,” she almost whacks you with said water bottle in her haste to show you the barbie sticker half-stuck over the 75 logo. “it was at the sink and not my seat.”

“oh, well, that's good you got it,” you pat her head. “did your dad tell you this morning that it would be me picking you up because mummy's not feeling well?”

“yeah. he said baby's making her tummy sore, so i'm going home in the car with you.”

“that's right,” you take cara's hand, heading out towards the almost-empty car park. “let's go to the car now, babies.”

“mum!” connor looks aghast. “we're not babies. i'm five.”

“i'm nearly six,” dylan says proudly. “when baby gets here i'll be six. and lena will be four. and you too, cara.”

your youngest looks at you, brow furrowed; you have to stop yourself giggling at how much she looks like george. “i'll be four?”

“yes, angel. you and lena won't be the tiny babies any more, will you? we'll all have an actual baby to look after.”

cara hums, too preoccupied to be excited about the thought of a new friend. “will i get a party when i'm four?”

“oh, i think so,” you unlock the car, scooping her up with a kiss to her cheek before settling her into her carseat. “you know what dad and matty are like. any excuse to celebrate! right, dyl, you get in there, darling, watch your step,” fastening her seatbelt, you shout across the girls to your son. “you alright, con?”

“mhmm!”

you check anyway - he's fine - before getting in yourself. “alright, munchkins, home time.”

what should only be a ten-minute drive to the healy house actually ends up being twenty-five because of traffic, but it's pleasant enough - the kids are good as gold, patiently playing i spy, softly giggling the whole time and warming your heart. you knew all along that your babies would be best friends with your best friends’, but seeing dylan - tiny for her age, shockingly tentative from birth - yap and laugh along with your two like this is a heartwarming (and only slightly terrifying) indication that the kids will genuinely end up being as close (read: codependent) as their fathers are.

their fathers, who are still at the studio working diligently, you learn when your friend waddles (there's no other word for it) out to the car to get dylan despite you yelling “stay there! i'll bring her up!” repeatedly when you reach her house. she rolls her eyes as she tells you, absentmindedly rubbing her baby bump, an air of vague exhaustion hanging around her. “according to matthew, they're working on until half 6 tonight, so they can take the weekend off and do final tweaks on monday, and that's them done,” she scoffs. “can you believe that?”

“of course not. george has been promising to be home at half 4 for the past three weeks,” you snort. “and as for final tweaks…”

“oh, another month, at least.”

“literally. that baby girl of yours might arrive before they send that final mix off.”

“don't, i'm actually nervous about that,” she giggles, cradling her stomach before pulling you into a hug. “i'd better go before elena tries to cut her own hair again. d'you want to do dinner next friday, us and the kids - and the boys, if they ever unchain themselves from that mixing desk?”

“i'll bring starters and dessert,” you kiss her cheek. “take it easy, alright?”

“yeah. hope you get to see your husband this weekend, babe!”

“you too!”

you really, really hope you do; after an hour in tesco, you and the kids get home well after george's originally-planned home time, and your heart sinks when you unlock the door to the lights still off and no sign of him, other than the half-drunk coffee he left this morning and a couple of cigarette butts in the kitchen ashtray. moments like these are sometimes harder than when he's actually away touring, you think - it's less upsetting missing george when there are oceans between you than it is when you're ships in the night in the same house.

still, you've got the kids to keep you distracted from being melancholy; it's impossible to be anything other than overjoyed when your sweet babies insist on group cuddles on the sofa while you watch another episode of balamory, or when the two of them run to get their stepstools so they can watch you make fajitas for dinner with genuine interest (well, connor more than cara), or during dinner itself, when connor collapses into contagious giggles at the sight of his little sister’s face covered in guacamole. but they miss their dad, too, despite all the happiness, as admitted by cara while she's clinging onto you in piggyback while you do the dishes. “when's daddy home?”

you sigh, doing your best to keep the sadness out of it. “m'not sure yet, angel. he'll phone when he's leaving his work, though.”

“‘kay,” she digs her little chin into your shoulder, only slightly uncomfortably for you. “will he read me a story?”

“i bet he will,” you put away the last plate, wiping your hands before swinging her round to hold her in front of you; once her laughter subsides, you speak again. “daddy loves reading stories to you and connor.”

cara nods. “and he hasn't done it in ages.”

well, four days, but to a three-year-old… that probably feels like an eternity. the thought brings a lump to your throat. “he will, though, soon, munchkin. daddy will be home soon, and he'll read you a bedtime story,” biting back a sniffle, you spot a parenting advantage. “that is, if you brush your teeth extra well once you put your pyjamas on. yeah?”

“yeah!”

ironically, coincidentally, whatever you want to call it, the omw home text from george flashes up on your watch during cara's bathtime, the last step in what her dad likes to call “the ‘pre-bedtime routine’ routine”. she squeals when you tell her, kicking her little legs with such enthusiasm that half the bathwater ends up over you, and her brother rushes into the room in a panic. “what's going on? why is cara screaming? is she ok?”

wriggling even as you lift her into a cosy towel, cara answers. “yeah! daddy's coming to read us a story!”

“oh!” your son's face lights up. “really, mummy?”

“yes, darling, he just sent a message,” you confirm. “d'you want to go and choose a book while i get cara into her pyjamas? and then we can wait for him together?”

“mhmm” connor moves to leave, but turns back in the doorway to look at the two of you. there's a familiar smile on his face, and you're not sure whether to be worried about whatever sneaky thing he's about to suggest or pissed off that both of your kids look nothing like you. “or…”

you brace yourself. “or what, con?”

“we don't wait and we hide and then jump out and surprise him.”

the laugh escapes your lips before you even realise. fuck it. “alright. let's do it…”

the cheers you get in response are deafening.

“... but,” you raise your eyebrows pointedly. “only if you pick a book for your bedtime story now, connor,” matching his nods, you turn to your youngest in her towel cocoon. “and you brush your teeth properly, like we agreed earlier.”

cara nods so excitedly that the towel falls off her head. connor laughs, and you can't help chuckling either. “okay, babies - don't get stroppy, con, you're gonna be my babies forever, alright? anyway,” you ruffle his hair. “we'll hide in the wardrobe in your room. d'you want to wait there for me and cara, munchkin?”

“yeah!” he darts off, and seconds later you hear him rifling through the little bookshelf in his bedroom. “i picked a book!”

“good boy!” you call, before turning back to your still-beaming girl. “will you be good, madam?”

she nods sweetly. and she really is - there isn't a peep of a complaint at all. not while you're drying and dressing her, not during teeth-brushing, not even when you've got her sat on the bathroom counter as you brush and braid her hair, which is usually something she prefers george doing “cos it's not sore when daddy does it”. 

whatever. at least you still have hair.

hyper-aware of the fact that time is of the essence, you comb through cara's fringe once more, before scooping her up into your arms and kissing her little cheek. “what do we think, munchkin - d'you think you look good?”

“hmmm,” cara squints at her reflection, then grins. “yeah!”

“i think so too. shall we go and get connor and wait for daddy?”

a nod against your shoulder, and off you go on the short jaunt to your son's room. connor's already sitting in the massive built-in wardrobe, book in hand and an eager smile on his face. you smile in return, settling down beside him and pulling the cupboard door almost fully-closed; you're careful to leave a crack in front of you, so you'll be able to see your husband when he arrives. which, actually, should be imminently, so you'd better come up with a game plan. you tug your kids close to you. “so, when daddy gets here-”

“mum, why are you being quiet?” the confusion is evident on connor's sweet little face even in the minimal light. “dad isn't here yet.”

he's got a point. you blink. “true. anyway, like i was saying, when he does get here… wait for me to open the door, and then you can jump on daddy, yeah?”

“can we shout too?”

“i don't see why not. but no bad words, you - just because you've heard matty say them doesn't mean you can,” you point at connor, before turning to cara. “and no screaming from you, you hear me?”

“yes, mummy.”

“good,” your eyes widen at the sound of the front door opening, closely followed by george shouting a greeting as he dumps his bag, and your voice shifts to a whisper. “quiet, now, alright? let's see how long it takes daddy to find us.”

there's a whispered chorus of agreements, and then - miraculously - your kids go silent, aside from the quick little huffs of air signifying silent giggling; these get more frequent when you all hear george wandering around downstairs, calling your names in turn and humming to himself in bewilderment. when his footsteps become audible on the stairs, cara practically wraps herself around your arm, all but shaking with kinetic energy and clutching her brother's hand as they hear their father reach the landing. 

you, too, are laughing to yourself as you listen to george opening and closing doors in search, monologuing as he goes. “nowhere to be seen and they've left every bloody light in the building on. s'like blackpool illuminations,” comes the gravel grumbling so characteristic to the love of your life, as he wanders into what you know is the bathroom; he sniffs loudly, and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from cackling. “strawberry shampoo… cara's bedtime routine. maybe everyone's in,” another door opens. “here! oh. empty. must be in connor's room, then.”

three strides across the landing, and there he is - george, his tiredness obvious even through the tiny crack between wardrobe doors. he turns slowly, taking in the emptiness of the room (and making your heart glow when you catch a glimpse of his pretty face), and - as if by magic - stops with his back to the wardrobe, muttering “where are they?” to himself.

partially out of slight guilt for putting him through this, but mostly because you think connor and cara might explode if you make them wait any longer to surprise their dad, you push the wardrobe doors open. the kids fly out, little voices shouting “hi dad!” and “we're here!” as little bodies land on george's massive one; he gasps in shock, and you're extremely thankful for the victorian high ceilings in your house, because your husband's head (and the rest of him, probably) would absolutely have hit anything lower when he jumped in abject terror. he sinks to the floor, head in his hands. “jesus christ,” he sighs, before standing and tucking a kid under each arm, swinging them around and filling the room with laughter. “you meanies, surprising me like that. i thought you'd all run away and left me!”

“we would never,” you step forward, taking cara into your own arms and pecking george on the lips. “we like playing tricks on you too much.”

“yes, that one's obvious,” george rolls his eyes; his face breaks into a big smile, and he kisses your nose. “hi, by the way, angel. thanks for the interesting welcome home.”

“i wish i could take credit.”

“oh? it wasn't mummy?” george dramatically looks from kid to kid. “who's the evil genius among us, then?”

cara giggles, nuzzling her head into your neck. “connor.”

“reeeeeeeeally?” george cocks his head to look at his boy, who's grinning from ear to ear. “s'that right, munchkin? it was your idea?”

connor giggles. “yeah.”

“in that case, then,” george tickles your son through his t-shirt, smiling at the raucous giggles that follow - from cara, too, actually. “say sorry, and i'll stop.”

“sorry! sorrysorrysorry!” connor's laughs fade to little hums, and he snuggles into his dad while they both catch their breath. “mummy planned it though. tickle her!”

george winks at you. “oh, i will, later. but first,” he flicks your son on the nose. “bathtime? and then a bedtime story for the little ones?”

cara nods. “and then mummy and daddy bedtime?”

“once i've redone your hair, munchkin? i think so,” your husband smiles at you, eyes twinkling. “of sorts, at least. you up for that, sweetheart?”

But it was no use. Every time you closed your eyes, the baby gave another little jab—one just below your ribs this time, and it was enough to make you wince. The gentle weight of the growing bump, coupled with the increasing discomfort in your back, was making sleep feel like a distant dream. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh, the sound barely above a whisper in the stillness of the room.

You glanced over at the clock: 2:30 AM. A part of you wanted to wake George, to tell him what was going on, but another part of you didn’t want to disturb his sleep. He was up late most nights with music, ideas, and the constant hum of creativity in his mind. The thought of pulling him away from that—especially on a night like this—seemed unfair.

But then, just as you were about to shift again, you heard a soft rustling beside you. The bed dipped, and you felt the warmth of George’s presence as he shifted close to you. His voice, husky from sleep, was soft but filled with concern.

“You still awake?”

You turned to face him, the glow from the window casting his face in a soft, pale light. His eyes, though tired, were filled with a quiet kind of attentiveness that you always adored.

“Yeah,” you whispered, giving him a small smile, though your discomfort was evident in your voice. “The baby’s kicking. I can’t seem to get comfortable.”

He frowned, leaning over to rest his hand on your belly. The warmth of his palm was immediate and soothing, even though the baby inside you wasn’t showing any signs of quieting down. It kicked again, this time more insistently, just beneath your ribs, and you winced.

“Poor thing,” George murmured, his thumb stroking your skin softly. “You okay?”

You nodded, though the discomfort was starting to build, a dull ache spreading across your back and hips. “I’m just... really uncomfortable. It’s hard to get comfortable with all this going on.”

George propped himself up on one elbow, now fully awake. He studied your face, his dark eyes searching yours, not needing words to understand how tired and frustrated you were.

“I’m gonna help you, yeah?” His voice was gentle, but there was an air of determination in his tone that made you feel like everything was going to be okay.

You didn’t even have the energy to argue. You wanted his comfort, wanted him to be close, and you didn’t want to fight it anymore. You’d gotten so used to carrying this little life inside you, but it didn’t make nights like this any easier.

George moved carefully, shifting so he could wrap his arm around your waist and pull you closer. You let out a small sigh of relief as you rested your head on his chest. The rhythmic beating of his heart beneath your ear was grounding. His warmth wrapped around you, and for a moment, the ache in your body seemed to lessen.

“Is this better?” he whispered, his fingers lightly brushing against the small of your back, applying gentle pressure to relieve some of the tension there.

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Much better.”

The baby gave another strong kick, this time accompanied by a soft, involuntary groan from you. It was like the little one had decided that tonight was a good night for an all-night dance party.

George chuckled softly, the sound low and soothing in the quiet room. “I can feel that. It’s like you’ve got a football player in there.”

You laughed softly, the sound barely more than a breath. “I think I’ve got a whole fucking team, never mind a single player.”

He smiled and kissed the top of your head. “Well, I’m sure they’ll be tired soon. I’ve always said you’re the toughest person I know.”

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “I don’t feel that tough right now.”

“You are,” George insisted, his hand still gently massaging your back. “You’re doing something amazing, and I’ll be right here the whole time. We’re in this together.”

You glanced up at him, your heart swelling with love. His gaze was soft, his eyes glimmering in the dim light, and you could tell how much he cared—about you, about the baby, about this whole experience. There was something incredibly calming about him, something that always made you feel safe no matter how turbulent everything else felt.

Another kick came, this time lower down, and your expression shifted as you winced slightly.

“Let me try something,” George said. He carefully repositioned himself, moving from your back to your side so that he was facing you fully. His hand slid under your belly and lifted slightly, as if offering gentle support. “How’s that?”

You let out a breath, your body instinctively relaxing under his touch. It was better, much better. The pain in your back seemed to lessen, and the baby’s movements weren’t as jarring now that George’s hands were providing support.

“Better,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as a wave of relief washed over you. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” George whispered back. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his hand never leaving the gentle support beneath your belly. “Just try and relax. Let me take care of you tonight.”

You smiled, your lips curling softly as you felt your muscles begin to loosen under his touch. The gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed was comforting, almost hypnotic. For a moment, the world outside the bedroom seemed to fade away—the autumn wind brushing against the window, the darkened streets, the chill of the night. All that mattered was the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s presence.

The baby gave a final nudge, a little less intense than before, as if it had finally tired itself out. You let out a relieved breath, your body relaxing further into George’s embrace. The ache in your lower back began to subside as well, and you could feel the tension in your muscles slowly easing.

“Better?” George asked, his voice soft but filled with a thread of hope.

You nodded, a small, contented smile spreading across your face. “Much better.”

“Good,” he whispered. “Now, try to sleep, yeah? I’m not going anywhere.”

You pressed closer into him, your head resting against his chest once more. His hand never left your belly, gently caressing it as if to reassure both you and the baby that everything was going to be okay. His warmth wrapped around you like a soft, reassuring blanket. The night felt quieter now, less overwhelming. The baby was still there, still moving, but it was different now, more comforting than discomforting.

As your body finally gave in to the growing need for rest, you felt George’s lips press a tender kiss to your forehead. You whispered, barely above a breath, “I love you.”

He kissed your temple, his voice soft as he responded, “I love you too. And I love this bump more than anything.”

You smiled sleepily, your hand resting on your belly, feeling the faintest flutter of the baby as it settled down. The night outside continued its slow, rhythmic dance of autumn winds and leaves rustling, but inside, it was calm. It was safe. It was home.

dream

boy dad > girl & boy dad > girl dad

big, tall, athletic dad, little copycat boy

they actually play catch together in the yard

your son is a carbon copy of dream, down to the shared pouting

they've actually quite good at teaming up against you to go out for ice cream and frozen yogurt

dad!dream would post family pictures on your birthday and your son's birthday + would post date pictures on your anniversary with one picture featuring your son

twitch chat will often hear your son wander into your lover's office asking for cuddles, and from what they can hear, dream lifts him into his lap and holds him while he continues his stream

whenever he buys things for your little boy, he buys something for you too

always asks your son if he wants to go with him to cons and such and does everything in his power to get his kid with him

sometimes he'll ask you to fly over to whatever side of the planet he's on trips just so he can see you both

other times, he'll stay up all night on facetime with your son until your phone fucking dies because he just missed him soooo much

dad!dream who makes sure your kid knows the rest of his family so that, growing up, he has people to talk to – especially his sister because he knows it's hard for kids to tell their parents stuff

dad!dream booking family vacations and always inviting his sister to go so that you guys get at least one night of alone time on the trip

also also also dad!dream who asks every year on your son's birthday if you can have another one because he already adores your first kid and the idea of having more mini hims and mini yous makes his heart melt

when you tell him no, he opts to beg for another cat and it works

there are pictures of dream holding your son and your son holding patches and the secondary cat that weren't even taken by you floating around the internet

sapnap

girl dad > girl & boy dad > boy dad

absolutely is so protective of his girls, online and offline

is always asking you if he seems like he's being too strict or too unkind to your daughter even though he's doing just fine / he's just so worried to be as strict as his dad was

definitely wants another but is more comfortable and actually wants to wait a few years to actually get a grip on parenting

dad!sap who'll be streaming with his friends until his little girl comes padding into the office, asking if she can sit with him and all of a sudden he stops yelling and tells his friends to stop swearing – those are the moments you're so bleeping glad to have had a kid

dad!sap spoiling the shit out of her and you during christmas

asking uncle!dream, george and karl to collectively take care of her so he can take you out on your anniversary and on valentine's and so you can have some damn privacy

dad!sap and uncle!karl letting your little princess paint their nails

lots of cheek kisses for your daughter and matching forehead kisses for you

from the time she starts elementary school to the time she graduates high school he's showing her the standards she should have by taking you and her each out separately at least once a week

^ he opens car and building doors, holds your hands, isn't afraid to ask if either of you want the bill split or for him to pay, offers you first pick of going out or shopping or whatever

dad!sap is also dilf!sap and the fans love it just as much as you do / that side of social media you make sure your daughter never has to see growing up

this post reminds me,, sap always bragging about being with a milf – especially telling them that HE IS THE REASON you're a milf

dad!sap who has to literally tear his daughter from his mom and sisters because they love her so much

george

girl & boy dad > girl dad > boy dad

george strikes me as the type to have twins or kids almost exactly 10 months apart. / yes, if it's not twins, he actually convinced you to have another baby RIGHT after the first

really, really good with getting them to stop fighting – he's literally the kid whisperer or something, at least that what you tell your friends

dad!george who hates leaving his kids with other people, even if it's uncle!dream or uncle!sap but on the occasion you ask for time with just him, he'll compromise

the most dad ever

is always telling the kids 'go ask your mother' when they ask for something he's unsure about and if you tell them to ask him, he doesn't confuse them and just makes a decision

insists on teaching your son that women get 'sick' for a little while each month so he's more likely to help you and also so he's more helpful when he and his sister get older and her period starts

uncle!dream making jokes about your guys starting a family youtube channel and dad!george just hitting him every time he says it because he knows you don't need the stress

teaching both of his kids that it's okay to have standards* but also that it's okay to be independent and not need anyone

*raising their standards; you taking your son out and george taking your daughter out and then switching off the next week

dad!george softening you up to letting the kids start swearing when they get to their tween years

dad!george being on the phone with his friends and his daughter just wants to show him something so he tells his friends to wait a minute

dad!george trying to cook and his son asks if he can help and george just can't help but say yes*

*they end up needing your help and your daughter joins in too