Cee

rafayelsexual, rafayelgender, rafayel everything

[bananabreads]

INTRODUCTION — (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

Hello! i am Cee (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧! | she | a fanfiction account

— I post once a week

— my mains are 🐟 & 🍎

— inbox is always open for requests or questions!

— Rafayel's Wife | #1 Jjongjjongiefan

— ALL OF MY POSTED FANFICS ARE SFW :)

Ao3 account: @BananaBreads

⋆˚✿˖° Master list ⋆˚𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

Love and deepspace —

☁︎ MULTI

➪ Dad!lads Part 1 (Rafayel, Zayne) | Part 2 (Sylus, Caleb, Xavier) "Random things i think the lads guys would do with/for their child"

➪ Dad!lads "Small habits" — (part 1.) Dad!lads and their child's small habits around the two of you.

➪ Dad!lads "Small habits" — (part 2) Dad!lads and their child's small habits around the two of you.

➪ Dad!lads "Small hands, big claims" — Dad!lads and their child not wanting them to 'steal' you

➪ Dad!lads "Kindergarten Classes" — Dad!lads and their child after picking them up at kindergarten

➪ Dad!lads "Fever" — Dad!lads taking care of their child after they got a fever.

➪ Dad!lads "Exercise buddy" — Dad!lads with their child while they're exercising.

➪ Dad!lads "Sleepy" — Dad!lads and their child pretending to be asleep in the car so they'd get carried inside instead.

➪ Dad!lads "Future job" — Dad!lads and their child when they're asked about "What do you want to be in the future?"

➪ Dad!lads "First steps" — Dad!lads watching their child take their first steps towards them

➪ Dad!lads "Baby tooth" — Dad!lads and their child losing their first ever tooth

➪ Dad!lads "Baby work" — Dad!lads bringing their child at work for the first time

➪ Dad!lads "Baby sibling operation" — dad!lads and their child asking for a little sibling

➪ Dad!lads "Soft scolding" — Dad!lads and their child suddenly crying as they were getting scolded

➪ Dad!lads "Beach day" — dad!lads and their child while they're at the beach

➪ Dad!lads "2nd baby" — dad!lads and their child while you're pregnant with their little sibling

➪ Dad!lads "School performance" — dad!lads going to their child's school performance and supporting them wholeheartedly

➪ Dad!lads "Daycare" — dad!lads scenario where their child just got home from daycare and acting tired like they worked nine to five

➪ Dad!lads "Adventurous" — Dad!lads with their very adventurous and curious child..

➪ Dad!lads "Big sibling shenanigans" — Dad!lads and their children playing with their younger siblings!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

𓆉︎ RAFAYEL

➪ Dad!Rafayel "little guppy" — A short one shot of you and Rafayel's daughter, seraphina, who just suddenly got her lemurian tail.

➪ Playing mermaids • 🌊˖°𓇼⋆🐋🐚 𓈒𓏸 — a oneshot scenario of you, rafayel, and your little daughter playing mermaids.

➪ Dad!Rafayel "Family tradition" — you, rafayel, and your little daughter's family tradition wherein your little family takes a family photoshoot every year ever since your daughter was born.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

☀︎︎ CALEB

➪ Filo!Caleb headcanons — a short list of filo!caleb headcanons, mostly highschool filo!caleb.

➪ Dad!Caleb "Cuteness aggression" — Dad!Caleb having cuteness aggression because of his daughter.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✩ XAVIER

➪ Dad!Xavier "Ipad kid son" — a one shot of you and Xavier's son getting addicted to his ipad. (Jeremiah mentioned)

➪"Did you like her in the morning?" — a short Xavier x Reader/MC fic inspired by "Did you like her in the morning?" By NIKI

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

❄︎ ZAYNE

➪ Dad!Zayne "jasmine and sweet potato" — one shot scenario with your daughter who was horribly afraid of Sweet Potato—Zayne’s parents’ pet and his so-called 'little brother'

➪ Dad!Zayne "in all best ways" — Zayne coming home to you and your daughter after a long week of work at the hospital.

➪ Dad!Zayne birthday special — zayne birthday special celebration with his little family.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

𓄿 SYLUS

➪ Dad!Sylus "Shared bliss" — A short fanfic inspired by the sylus "shared bliss" card image.. but obviously i have to make it into dad!lads..?!

[bananabreads]

⌗ Family's movie night...𑣲⋆｡˚

HELLO I AM BACK!!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) I'm in a slightly better condition now and i wanted to go back to writing. This account and the dad!lads series really makes me happy and distracts me with the problems I'm dealing with. Thank you sm to all my followers who waited T-T

dad!rafayel x reader and their daughter, seraphina. A comfortable and happy movie night with their small family :) | also, I'm curious if you guys would like to recommend another lads series! and if you guys would like for me to also post non-fluff lads fics(angst and nsfw)

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

The couch was a beautiful mess: multiple pillows fluffed up, a large soft comfortable blanket, and your daughter's plushies since she insisted that they needed to watch the movie too.

"They need to see the movie, mommy."

You smiled as you adjusted one of the plushies.

"Of course. How could I forget?" Seraphina nodded proudly, seemingly satisfied with the arrangement.

While waiting for Rafayel to bring the snacks, you lifted your daughter into the air, earning a fit of giggles from her before pulling her back into your arms.

"Again!"

"You said that three times already."

"One more."

You laughed before giving in, lifting her once more.

Her laughter filled the living room. "Hm, since we're already eating a lot of sugary snacks tonight you'll have to lessen eating sugary foods for the week, okay?" You softly said to your daughter.

Immediately, Seraphina pouted, "But mommmy..!"She dramatically slumped against you.

"When I sleep, it goes away!"

"The sugar?"

"Yes."

You shook your head, "That's not how it works, sweetheart."

"Yes it does."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does."

Before the debate could continue, Rafayel finally appeared from the kitchen. His arms were occupied with several bowls of snacks, bags of chips tucked under one arm, and the drinks balanced carefully in those non-slip cups that you both bought after realizing your daughter somehow managed to spill almost every drink she touched.

"Uh huh, you have to listen to your mommy, sweetie."

He carefully set everything down on the table. But unfortunately, Seraphina was already too busy staring at the snacks.

"Daddy!" The little girl immediately scrambled out of your lap and practically climbed onto him.

Rafayel laughed, steadying her before she could accidentally knock over something.

"You're not even gonna say hi first?"

"Hi daddy."

"There we go."

"Can I have popcorn now?"

"There we go." Seraphina grinned.

You watched as Rafayel handed her a small handful before beginning to arrange everything. The popcorn in the middle, chips on one side, candies on the other. Drinks where little hands couldn't accidentally send them flying.

Once everything was ready, Rafayel finally sat down beside you and Seraphina immediately squeezed herself between both of you: Her designated spot.

Before she could become distracted again by the snacks, Rafayel leaned over and pressed a quick kiss against your cheek.

"Cutie, You forgot something."

You looked at him, "What?"

"Movie night greeting."

You rolled your eyes despite the smile threatening to appear, "You're ridiculous."

"Mhm." He softly chuckled.

The first movie was a children's movie, which meant Seraphina spent most of it giggling. Every funny scene earned another burst of laughter from her, every silly character somehow became her favorite.

"Daddy look!"

"I'm looking."

"No, look!"

"I am looking."

"No, daddy, look."

Rafayel obediently turned toward the screen, "I see it now."

"What happened?"

"..."

"What happened, daddy?"

"I missed it."

You laughed at your husband and daughter.

Seraphina gasped,"Daddy!"

"I was eating popcorn."

"You missed the funny part!"

"Then you'll have to show me the next one."

The little girl seemed pleased with that answer. For the remainder of the movie, she made it her personal mission to explain every joke.

The rom-com came next. By now, Seraphina had claimed the blanket entirely for herself despite being the smallest person there. When one of the romantic scenes appeared on screen, she looked back and forth between the movie and her parents.

Then she pointed, "They like each other."

You smiled, "I think so too, sweetie."

"They're in love."

Rafayel nodded seriously, "Very observant."

Seraphina looked proud of herself.

A few scenes later, the couple on screen kissed. Immediately, your daughter looked toward Rafayel, then you, then Rafayel again.

"Daddy."

"Yes?"

"You should kiss mommy too."

You nearly choked on your drink.

Meanwhile, Rafayel looked entirely too pleased, "See? She gets it."

"Don't encourage her."

"But she's right."

Before you could argue further, he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss against your temple.

The little girl sighed dramatically, "Aww."

"Sweetie, You're four..." You just sighed, amused with your daughter.

The horror movie was a terrible idea, a truly terrible idea. The first jumpscare happened, Seraphina screamed, you screamed, and Rafayel screamed… Then silence.

You slowly turned toward him, "You got scared too."

"I was supporting you."

"By screaming?"

"Well, yes..?"

Then Seraphina burst into laughter.

Not even ten minutes later, she had completely abandoned any attempt at bravery. Whenever something scary happened, she immediately buried herself into whichever parent was closest.

Sometimes you, sometimes Rafayel, sometimes both.

"Daddy."

"Mhm?"

"I'm not scared."

"Of course not, my daughters sooo brave."

"I'm just hiding."

"Mhm."

"Because it's cold."

"Very cold." The little girl nodded seriously before hiding her face again.

As the movies continued, the room gradually became quieter. The bowls of snacks slowly emptied, the drinks were half finished, the television cast a soft glow across the blanket fort. At some point, Seraphina's words became less frequent, her blinks became slower, Longer.

Until eventually her head fell against your shoulder, You glanced down: Fast asleep.

One hand still loosely holding her favorite plushie, "Aww she's so cute..."

Rafayel's expression softened immediately, he carefully adjusted the blanket around her.

"Didn't even make it to the ending."

"She tried."

"She lasted longer than I expected."

You smiled and for a while, the two of you simply watched the movie quietly. Or at least pretended to because every now and then your attention drifted toward your sleeping daughter instead.

The peaceful rise and fall of her chest, the way she instinctively leaned closer whenever either of you moved. The way she always looked so small when she slept.

Eventually, your own eyes began growing heavy, without thinking, you rested your head against Rafayel's shoulder. His arm immediately slipped around your waist.

Comfortable. Warm. Familiar.

"Tired?" he asked quietly.

"Mhm."

"Go to sleep."

"What about the movie?"

"We can finish it another day."

You hummed softly.

That sounded nice.

The next thing Rafayel knew, both of his girls were asleep. Seraphina curled against one side, You resting against the other, completely unaware of the fond smile spreading across his face.

For a few moments, he simply sat there. One arm around his daughter, the other around you, and listening to the soft sounds of your breathing.

Watching the movie that nobody was actually paying attention to anymore, he carefully pulled the blanket higher over both of you and pressed a kiss to the top of Seraphina's head. Another to yours.

And finally settled back into the couch, holding his little family just a little closer before eventually falling asleep too. The movie continued playing quietly in the background, but somehow, the ending didn't seem all that important anymore.

[bananabreads]

Hello, Bananabreads announcement!

I wanted to let y'all know that I’ll be taking another long break from posting. These past few months have been really tough on my health, and I’ve been dealing with a depression relapse. I’m focusing on getting better right now, and I hope to post regularly again once I’m feeling well again. Thank you so much for your patience and understanding, it truly means a lot. (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)🩷

I really wanted to go back to posting again but my physical and mental health just keeps getting bad. :(

[bananabreads]

DAD!LADS CHRISTMAS SPECIAL! ✧

— HELLO I'M FINALLY BACK after like not posting for two months because of how burn out i was because of my classes .⁠·⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠(⁠>⁠▂⁠<⁠)⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠·⁠.. I will now be trying to post at least once a week, so requests are open! (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥ | ♥︎♥︎♥︎ Dad!Rafayel, Dad!Caleb, Dad!Sylus, Dad!Zayne, Dad!Xavier

RAFAYEL —

Your daughter, Seraphina, stood in the middle of the living room, bundled head to toe in pastel pink, arms crossed and lips pushed into a pout that meant business.

“Daaaaddyyyy,” she said, stretching the word like it was taffy. “I am super duper cold....”

Rafayel crouched in front of her, already resigned. “You said that when I put the sweater on, sweetie.”

“I am still cold,” she continued, undeterred. “Like… veryyy cold. Like an iceberg!”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

Rafayel adjusted her scarf anyway, “There. Warmer.”

She squinted, testing it, “Hmmm… a tiny bit. But my legs are still frooosty.”

“They’re wearing pants,” he said gently.

“Cold pants,” she replied, looking down on her pastel pink fluffy pants.

She lifted her arms dramatically, “Daddyy... Carry meeee. My feet are tired from being cold..!”

Rafayel scooped her up, holding her against his chest. She immediately melted into him, sighing loudly. “Daddy, you’re waaaaarm.”

“Thank you,” he said, chuckling slightly. “I work hard at it.”

She tilted her head back to look at him, “Daddy?”

“Yes, Little guppy?”

“Can you be warm forever?”

He smiled softly, “For you? Yes.”

At the table, Seraphina refused her chair.

“Noooo...” she said, dragging the word. “The chair is cold and unfriendly.”

So Rafayel sat instead, her in his lap, pink boots swinging while you fed her a spoonful of warm food. “Mmm,” she hummed. “Mommy, this is good.”

She swallowed, then immediately continued. “But Daddy is waaaaarmer. Daddy, why are you warmer than food?”

Rafayel paused, “…Magic, sweetie. Magic.”

“Ooooh,” she said, impressed. “That’s why daddy's my favorite.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” She turned to you without hesitation. “You’re my favorite too, Mommy!. But in a different way.”

Rafayel just laughed quietly. Between bites, she talked. About how Christmas lights were “sparkly stars,” about how snow looked “too cold to touch,” about how she needed two blankets because one “might get sleepy.”

By the time her eyes started drooping, she was still murmuring.

“Daddyyyy…”

“Yes, little guppy?”

“If I close my eyes for just a tiiiny bit… will you still hold me?”

He kissed her forehead, “I’m not going anywhere.”

She smiled, words slowing but still stretched. “Okaaay… because I like being waaarm… and I like taaalking… and I like mommy and daddy…” Her voice finally faded, sleep claiming her mid sentence.

Rafayel held her close, smiling faintly. You leaned over. “She never stops talking.”

He brushed her hair back gently.

“Good,” he said. “The world can wait.”

CALEB —

The kitchen had been officially converted into a training facility.

At least, that’s how your daughter saw it.

She stood on a chair that Caleb had carefully stabilized with one hand, back straight, chin lifted, eyes sharp as she surveyed the countertop like a battlefield.

“Okay,” she said firmly. “Daddy, this is VERY important.”

Caleb straightened too, instantly matching her seriousness. “Yes, ma’am.”

She pointed at the bowl, “That’s the mixing station.”

He nodded. “Copy that.”

She pointed at the measuring cups, “Those are supplies. Mommy always say do not waste supplies.”

“Understood.”

She turned to you, “Mommy is quality control. She tastes everything.

You opened your mouth to protest.

Caleb cut in smoothly. “Orders are orders.”

Your daughter looked back at him, satisfied.

“Good. We begin now.”

Caleb measured the butter carefully, holding the bowl steady so she could see.

“Too much,” she said at once.

He stopped. “Adjusting.”

She watched closely as he corrected it, eyes narrowing like an inspector.

“Acceptable.”

Flour puffed into the air as Caleb poured it in slowly.

“Daddy, Careful,” she warned. “Flour can escape!”

“I’ve contained it,” Caleb said calmly.

She nodded. “Good work.”

She leaned toward the bowl, “Mommy, taste.”

You sighed and did as told.

“Well?” she demanded, tilting her head.

“It doesn’t taste like cookies yet.”

Her lips pressed into a line, “Then we continue.”

Sugar came next. She held the cup with both hands, but it was too heavy, so Caleb supported her wrists, guiding the pour.

“Steady, Daddy!” she said. “We cannot spill.”

Some spilled anyway.

She gasped. “Oh no.”

Caleb didn’t miss a beat.

“Minor loss. Mission continues.”

She stirred, both hands on the spoon, while Caleb kept the bowl from sliding.

“I am mixing,” she said seriously. “You are assisting.”

“Affirmative.”

She spoke constantly, but never without purpose—commentary like instructions.

“Stir slow. Cookies don’t like rushing. Check the sides. No hiding flour."

Caleb followed every word.

When it was time for the egg, Caleb cracked it while she watched closely.

“This part is dangerous,” she said. “Only trained people can do it.”

“I’m honored,” he replied.

You were summoned again, “Mommy, Taste test.”

Caleb gestured to you like a commander presenting evidence.

She studied your reaction intensely.

“It’s good, sweetie” you said.

She exhaled. “Excellent. Santa morale secured.”

Cookie cutters were next. Her hands were too small to press them down properly, so Caleb placed his hands over hers, guiding the motion.

“Press evenly,” she instructed. “No weak cookies.”

“Applying pressure.

She nodded sharply. “Good form.”

When the tray was full, Caleb lifted it carefully and slid it into the oven.

She watched the door close, hands clasped behind her back.

“Mission complete,” she said.

Then, after a pause, "And Mommy did good eating.”

Caleb laughed quietly, kneeling to her level.

“You ran a very tight operation.”

She finally relaxed, a small smile breaking through her seriousness.

“Daddy, it's for Santa,” she said simply.

And honestly? That might have been the most disciplined cookie operation the North Pole had ever seen.

SYLUS —

A By the time your daughter decided the santa trap was ready, she was absolutely certain of two things.

Number one: Santa would come.

Number two: both of her parents were now required personnel.

“Okay,” she said, standing proudly beside the setup. “Mommy stands there. Daddy stands here.”

She physically placed you near the couch, then dragged Sylus by the sleeve closer to the fireplace.

“We wait,” she continued. “No talking. Santa hears everything.”

Sylus nodded, expression unreadable.

“Understood, sweetheart”

You lowered your voice. “How long are we waiting?”

“As long as it takes, mommy!” she replied seriously.

Minutes passed.

The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater and the soft glow of Christmas lights. She checked the bells twice, adjusted the pillow once, then returned to Sylus’s side.

“Daddy,” she whispered, “if Santa comes fast, you grab him.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow, “Just hold him. No grabbing.”

She nodded, “Okay. Hold.”

She climbed onto the couch, then hesitated, glancing at Sylus.

“Daddy… it’s easier to wait when you’re warm.”

Without a word, he sat down and lifted her onto his lap, one arm secure around her back. She curled in immediately, still very alert, still watching the trap.

“We’re still on duty,” she reminded him.

“Of course,” he said quietly.

She pointed sleepily. “If the bells ring, you wake me up.”

“I will.”

Her voice softened but didn’t slow, “And if I don’t wake up fast, Mommy has to help.”

You smiled softly, “I’ll be ready.”

She nodded, satisfied.

For a few more minutes, she tried to stay upright, eyes fixed on the fireplace. Then her head tipped forward. She corrected it once. Twice.

Finally, she slumped against Sylus’s chest, breath evening out.

Sylus looked down at her, then at you.

“She’s out,” he said under his breath.

You stepped closer. “Should we move her?”

He shook his head, “No. We’re still waiting.”

He stayed exactly where he was, holding her carefully, eyes occasionally flicking back to the trap, just in case.

Because even if Santa didn’t come…

She had done everything right.

And for tonight, that was enough.

ZAYNE —

The Christmas tree stood quietly in the corner of the living room, its branches spread wide and waiting. Soft light from the window mixed with the warm glow of the room.

Your daughter sat neatly on the floor, legs tucked beneath her, ornaments arranged carefully beside her. She didn’t rush, each one was picked up, examined, then placed back down with thought.

Zayne knelt near the tree, adjusting the lower branches so they wouldn’t drop.

“Mommy,” she said softly, holding up an ornament, “may I put this one here?”

You smiled. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Zayne held the branch steady while she hooked it on, her fingers small but careful. She gave a tiny nod when it stayed.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said.

He glanced at her, expression gentle, “You’re welcome.”

The three of you worked together in comfortable quiet, Zayne lifting her when she couldn’t reach, you handing over ornaments, lights slowly brightening the tree. She stayed close, always polite, always careful not to bump anything.

When her eyes landed on the star resting on the table, she hesitated.

“Daddy,” she said softly, “that one is last, right?”

“Yes,” Zayne replied. “Would you like to place it, sweetheart?”

She nodded.

Zayne lifted her carefully, one arm secure around her back. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding the star with care.

“Please don’t move,” she whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised.

She placed the star gently at the top of the tree. It tilted slightly, and she frowned, adjusting it until it sat straight.

“There,” she said quietly.

Zayne lowered her slowly, keeping his hand on her back until she was steady on the floor.

She looked up at the finished tree, lights reflecting in her eyes.

“It’s pretty,” she said.

You reached for her hand. Zayne stood beside you, close.

“Yes,” he agreed softly. “It is.”

She squeezed both your hands, voice barely above a whisper.

“Merry Christmas, Mommy… Daddy.”

And with the star shining softly above you, the room felt full in the quietest, warmest way.

XAVIER —

The fireplace crackled softly, sending a warm glow across the living room. Your son sat on the floor, legs crossed, a small pile of craft supplies spread out before him: glitter glue, tiny bells, ribbons, and felt cutouts. His stocking lay flat, ready for decoration.

Xavier knelt beside him, careful not to smudge any of the glitter that had already fallen on the floor.

“Mommy says the stockings need to look nice,” your son said, glancing up.

“They will,” Xavier replied, giving him a reassuring smile. “As long as we work carefully.”

He handed over a small bottle of glue.

“Daddy, this is tricky,” your son admitted, poking at it with his finger.

Xavier chuckled softly. “That’s why I’m here. Consider me your assistant. Or… safety supervisor.”

Your son nodded seriously, then carefully pressed a felt snowflake onto his stocking. Xavier steadied it with one hand, letting him work with the other.

“Good,” Xavier said. “Very precise. That one will stay.”

He watched with quiet pride as your son added bells and small ornaments, occasionally looking up to show Xavier, who gave approving nods each time.

“Daddy, does mine look good?” he asked, eyes wide.

Xavier smiled warmly. “It looks perfect. But if you want, we can add one more little sparkle right here.”

Your son’s face lit up, and together they added a tiny star ornament at the top of the stocking, securing it carefully.

“Mommy’s will need the same treatment,” your son said, already reaching for the next stocking.

Xavier laughed quietly. “Of course. We can’t leave Mommy’s stocking behind.”

By the time they finished, all three stockings hung neatly above the fireplace, decorated with care and small imperfections that made them special.

Your son leaned against Xavier, tired but happy.

“Thank you, Daddy,” he whispered.

Xavier ruffled his hair gently. “Anytime, buddy. This is our tradition now.”

You stood nearby, smiling at the two of them, the quiet warmth of the room, the soft glow of the fire, and the little hand crafted stockings making the moment feel like Christmas itself.

[bananabreads]

Hi! I love your writing sm!! Can i request lads reaction to their kid being a really good older sibling/generally being soft and cute to their new baby sibling?? I keep seeing reactions of kids being jealous of the new sibling but none of them adoring their new sibling. (think that one video of the girl sobbing at how cute her new baby sibling is lol)

Dad!lads and their absolutely loving children (⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)

— my gosh! It's literally been weeks since I posted TT!! There still isn't an internet connection at my place and I'm currently just suffering with not being able to post fanfics and not being able to scroll mindlessly in tiktok..

RAFAYEL —

From the second your daughter laid eyes on her new baby sibling, it was like she’d fallen head over heels. Forget jealousy, she had already declared herself “Number One Best Big Sister” and took the job very seriously.

The problem? Her way of showing love involved constant… abductions.

You and Rafayel would put the baby down for an afternoon nap, only to hear suspicious giggles from the other room. By the time you got there, the crib was empty and your daughter was sitting under a blanket fort, hugging the baby like a prized plushie.

“Sweetheart,” you groaned, hands on your hips.

“It’s just my toys!” she said quickly, tugging the blanket over the baby’s head. “See? No baby here! Just dolls!”

The doll immediately let out a tiny coo, blowing her cover.

Rafayel tried to sound stern, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Little guppy, you cannot keep stealing your sister. She is not a stuffed toy.”

“She’s MY baby, Daddy!” your daughter argued, lower lip wobbling. Then, with dramatic flair, she buried her face against the baby and sobbed, “She’s TOO CUTE! I LOVE HER TOO MUCH!!”

The baby, of course, giggled at the sudden wailing, which only made your daughter cry harder from joy.

You were trying not to laugh as Rafayel muttered in despair, “This is emotional blackmail. How am I supposed to scold her like this?”

The final straw came one morning when your daughter proudly strutted into the kitchen with the baby strapped against her chest… in one of Rafayel’s very expensive silk scarves.

“Don’t worry, Mommy. Don’t worry, Daddy. I’m the Mama now.”

Rafayel nearly choked on his coffee, while you had to grab the baby before she bounced away with her “scarf sling.”

CALEB —

From that day forward, she was glued to them like a koala. If the baby was in the crib, she was climbing in too, despite being four years old and way too big for it.

“Sweetheart,” Caleb sighed for the third night in a row, gently trying to tug her out. “You can’t sleep in there, you’ll squish your sibling..”

“NO!” she growled, hugging her baby sibling tighter. “I’m the big pillow. Baby can’t live without me.”

The baby sneezed.

She gasped dramatically. “SEE? The baby's allergic to being away from me!!”

Daytime wasn’t any calmer. She had declared herself her sibling’s “personal entertainer.” If the baby so much as blinked at her, she’d pull out her dolls, a toy drum, or, on one occasion, a colander from the kitchen, and start a full on show.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—” she announced, standing on a chair in front of the crib.

“Please welcome… ME!” The baby squealed and kicked.

“SEE, THE BABY LOVES IT!!” she screamed, throwing both arms in the air.

You and Caleb nearly choked laughing when you walked in to find her doing shadow puppets on the nursery wall, her voice dead serious, “And THIS is a dragon who protects his baby brother from all EVIL. RAWRRR.”

The baby cooed, She gasped. “BABY BELIEVES IN ME!!”

The best and funniest was when you caught her dragging a blanket, announcing loudly, “Mommy, Daddy, I’m moving into the crib permanently. I’m quitting preschool. I live here now.”

Caleb just buried his face in his hands, torn between panic and laughter.

SYLUS —

The house was suspiciously quiet, the kind of quiet that usually meant trouble. But when you and Sylus peeked into the nursery, you had to stop and cover your mouths, because the scene in front of you was anything but trouble.

Your daughter had created an entire “big sister setup” on the rug. The twins were seated snugly in their little baby chairs, bibs crooked and bottles resting in their laps, while their big sister sat cross legged in front of them like the most important teacher in the world.

She had spread out snacks and milk (more for herself than them, since they weren’t even a year old yet), but she had carefully placed a cracker on each of their trays anyway. “That’s for when you’re bigger,” she explained seriously. “I’m saving it for you. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe.”

A big picture book lay open in her lap, upside down, and she “read” it in her own words, glancing between both babies every few sentences like they were hanging on her every word.

“And then the princess found a pink dinosaur,” she said with a dramatic whisper, eyes wide. “And the dinosaur loved her soooo much, just like I love you two.”

The twins gurgled in unison, their tiny hands reaching toward her voice.

She gasped, clutching her chest. “See, Mommy, Daddy? They understand me! They really love my story!!”

When one of the babies drooled down his chin, she gently wiped it away with her sleeve, patting his hair like the most patient caretaker.

Then she reached over to stroke her brother's little hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll always be here. I’ll take care of you both forever. You’ll never be alone, okay? Not with me around.”

Sylus didn’t say a word at first. He just stood frozen in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his sharp expression softening into something achingly tender. You glanced up to see his lips trembling, and realized his eyes were wet.

“She… she’s too good with them,” he whispered hoarsely. “Like she was born to be their protector.”

And right then, your daughter leaned forward, planting two big kisses on the tops of her siblings’ heads.

The babies giggled and kicked wildly, thrilled by her affection, and she squealed, “See?! They’re laughing! I’m their favorite!”

You squeezed Sylus’ hand, your heart swelling so much it almost hurt. Watching your three children together, you realized it didn’t matter how small or chaotic your home could get, it was overflowing with the sweetest kind of love.

ZAYNE —

Your daughter had always been a little quiet, a sweet girl who preferred coloring and curling up with books over running around the house. But the moment her baby sibling was born, it was as though her whole heart rearranged itself, every ounce of her tenderness seemed to belong to the little one in your arms.

She would follow you around whenever you carried the baby, tiptoeing after you just to peek and make sure they were okay.

“Mommy, can I hold them?” was a question you heard almost daily, and she would carefully cradle her sibling with the seriousness of a little doctor, whispering, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

When the baby grew a little older, bottle in hand and babbling nonsense sounds, your daughter developed a ritual, she would sit on the rug with a picture book, and patiently read to them. The baby hardly understood anything, of course, responding with happy squeals and gurgles, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“…The bunny hopped all day, and he never got tired. That’s like you, isn’t it?” she said softly one evening, glancing at the baby who had just kicked their tiny feet like they were about to run a marathon.

The baby squealed, milk dribbling down their chin. Your daughter gasped, grabbing a tissue with all the seriousness of a nurse.

“Oh no! Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” She dabbed carefully, then planted the gentlest kiss on the baby’s forehead.

Zayne, leaning against the doorway, felt his chest squeeze. He wasn’t a man of many words, but seeing his quiet little girl glow with this much love nearly undid him. He caught your gaze, and you could see it too, that soft, almost overwhelmed pride in his eyes.

Later that night, when you and Zayne tucked her into bed, she whispered drowsily, “I’ll always stay beside them. I’ll always make sure they’re not lonely.”

Zayne stroked her hair, his voice low and steady, “I know you will, sweetheart. Your baby sibling's lucky to have you.”

And when you glanced at the crib, your baby already fast asleep, clutching their bottle, you realized they were lucky in more ways than one, because they didn’t just have loving parents. They had a sister whose heart beat softly, fiercely, for them.

XAVIER —

From the very moment your son first held his baby sibling, it was like some kind of “Big Brother” switch flipped inside of him. He wasn’t just caring, he was dedicated.

He insisted on being your little assistant.

When the baby fussed during nap time, he was right there, carefully patting their tummy and whispering, “Shhh, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Sometimes you’d peek in and find him sprawled on the rug beside the crib, humming nonsense lullabies he made up on the spot, fighting sleep himself just so he could watch over them.

Afternoons were his favorite. He’d scoop the baby into his little arms (with all the seriousness of someone carrying a crown jewel), and parade around the house showing them things.

“This is the toy box. This is Daddy's desk. Don’t touch that, Mommy says no.” You and Xavier had to bite back smiles at the way your son sounded like a mini parent.

And then came the games. Oh, the games. He would hold the baby’s hands and gently wiggle them like they were dancing. He’d build little block towers and narrate dramatically as he let the baby knock them over with their tiny fists.

“Oh no! Baby destroys the city again!” he’d gasp, collapsing onto the carpet in exaggerated defeat, making the baby giggle so hard milk dribbled down their chin.

One afternoon, you walked into the living room to find your son sitting with his sibling in his lap, stacking soft toys around them like some kind of fort.

“We’re playing castle,” he announced proudly. “Baby's the royal and I’m his knight.” The baby gurgled and clapped their hands, clearly approving of the arrangement.

Xavier, who had been leaning against the wall watching quietly, finally let out a soft laugh. He crouched down beside them, ruffling his son’s hair.

“You’re doing good, buddy,” he said warmly. “Your sibling’s lucky to have you.”

Your son puffed his little chest with pride, hugging the baby close. “Don’t worry, Daddy. I’ll always take care of the baby. Always.”

And the way the baby cuddled into their brother’s chest, thumb in their mouth and eyes fluttering shut, told you they already knew it too.

[bananabreads]

Hiiii i loved your Lads boys as dad work! May i ask for a scenario where the boys as dads are in a public restroom and their offspring in toddler age are trying to mess with the paper towel thing or try to throw their stuffed animal or pacifer oooor daddys car keys in the toilet cause its fun? Panicked dad mode for some of our favorite Lads boys ^^

Keep up your writing ✍️ its so pleasent and enjoyable to read!

Dad!lads and their very adventurous children

—♥︎♥︎♥︎ Dad!Rafayel, Dad!Caleb, Dad!Sylus, Dad!Zayne, Dad!Xavier

— I can't seem to write chaotic stuff.. (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

RAFAYEL —

The exhibition had been wonderful… but your daughter had eaten so much chocolate that Rafayel sighed the moment he saw her sticky cheeks.

“Sweetie,” he murmured, carrying her into the restroom, “if your mother sees you like this, she'll think I let you swim at the dessert table.”

He set her on the counter, rolled up his sleeves, and turned on the faucet..

The hiss of water was his first mistake.

“NOOO, Daddy!! Don’t!!” she squealed, arms flailing. “I’ll turn into a mermaid!!”

“…What?”

But before he could blink, she was wriggling like an eel, trying to wrap herself in toilet paper like a protective cocoon. “Like Cleo! Like Rikki! I’ll transform!!”

Realization hit him like a tidal wave. That damn cursed show h2o: just add water..

“Sweetie, you won’t—” He tried to gently pull her free, but toddlers were slippery. In the chaos, her little hand snatched his car keys, aiming straight for the toilet.

Rafayel nearly squawked. “oh, sweetie—” He dove like a goalkeeper, catching the keys mid air before disaster struck.

By the time he returned to the counter, “Alright. Enough games. Face, now.”

But she only squirmed harder, panic mixing with stubborn toddler logic. Her emotions spiked and with a shimmer, fins unfurled, a glittering tail flopping against his arm.

Rafayel’s jaw dropped. “….”

She blinked up at him, tiny lip trembling. “Told you, Daddy…”

In one smooth motion, he whipped off his coat and wrapped her in it like a burrito, shielding her tail from sight.

She just giggled from inside her coat cocoon, tail swishing against him.

It took a few long, frantic moments, but finally, she shimmered back to her human form with a hiccupping giggle.

Rafayel slumped against the counter, utterly drained, holding her tight. Then he muttered darkly under his breath, “…We are never letting you watch that show again.”

CALEB —

Lunch had ended with your little girl wearing more food than she ate. Spaghetti sauce across her cheeks, her hair sticking in every direction. Caleb only chuckled softly as he scooped her up.

“Alright, princess,” he sighed, “let’s clean you up before your mommy sees the state you’re in.”

Inside the restroom, he set her on the counter and handed her his phone. “Here, keep busy while Daddy works.”

She cooed happily, tiny fingers swiping at the screen. Caleb dampened a paper towel, gently wiping her face with the practiced calm of a very seasoned dad.

And then—

Clatter.

He turned. His phone was on the floor.

“Princess…” he said slowly, retrieving it. “Gentle hands, remember?”

She giggled, clutching it again. He returned to brushing her messy hair into order.

Clatter.

He froze. Looked down. Another drop. Another tiny crack in the corner.

“...You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

She only smiled sweetly and babbled nonsense at him.

He tied her hair back neatly, securing the elastic. “Almost done. Just—please—hold onto it for five min—”

Clatter.

This time, he caught it mid-fall with a reflexive swoop of his hand, wings twitching. But the damage was already spreading—fine spiderweb lines skittering across the glass like ice cracks.

Caleb exhaled through his nose, setting the phone down far out of her reach before turning her ponytail with a final gentle tug.

“All clean,” he murmured, lifting her into his arms. She clapped her hands, proud of her reflection in the mirror.

He glanced once more at his screen. Eight new cracks stared back at him.

Caleb muttered under his breath, utterly betrayed

“…I survived years of battles, and it’s my daughter who destroys me.”

Still, when she kissed his cheek with a sticky little “Thank you, Daddy,” his expression softened instantly. He hugged her close, cracked phone forgotten for now.

SYLUS —

It was supposed to be simple: wash his daughter’s sticky hands, fix her outfit, then rejoin you outside. Sylus had done this dozens of times before with flawless efficiency.

But toddlers had a way of finding chaos in seconds.

He had just bent to dampen a towel when he heard it—

CLUNK.

He turned.

There she was, his little starling, standing proudly on the counter… holding his sidearm in both tiny hands. Unloaded, of course, Sylus always made certain of that.

“Daddy, look!” she chirped, gleefully smacking the gun against the soap dispenser. CLANG. “Bang bang!”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed, though his voice remained calm. “Sweetheart...”

She only giggled and turned, whacking the edge of the paper towel holder next. CLACK. The metal shuddered under the blow.

“Bang bang!” she sang again.

He moved forward with measured steps, crouching low so his eyes met hers. His tone was soft, almost coaxing.

“Give that to me.”

“Nooo!” she squealed, hugging the weapon close like a favorite toy. “It’s fun!” She raised it again, this time aiming at the mirror as though it were some grand target.

In one swift, fluid motion, Sylus reached out, twisted, and plucked it from her hands. The disarm was so seamless she hardly realized it was gone until he was tucking it back into its holster.

“Daddy!” she pouted, stamping her little foot.

“That,” Sylus said firmly, adjusting his coat around her shoulders as he lifted her from the counter, “is not a toy.” His voice was gentle, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it—one that even a toddler could feel.

She wriggled, sulking in his arms. “…But it goes bang.”

He kissed her temple, “So does my heart when you touch it, sweetheart. And I prefer it stays in one piece.”

Only when she buried her face against his neck did he let out a soft, weary sigh.

“Of all the things I’ve fought,” he muttered under his breath, “my daughter with a gun may be the most dangerous of them all.”

ZAYNE —

Zayne had learned long ago that his daughter didn’t need to be loud to cause chaos. She was quiet, almost angelic in her mannerisms—which only meant he had to watch her twice as closely.

Still, he thought they’d be fine for a quick bathroom trip. He sat her on the counter, rolling up her sleeves, while her bag of plushies sat beside her.

A mistake.

By the time he’d turned to wet a paper towel, he caught the softest little plop.

“...Sweetheart?” he asked, voice calm but tinged with dread.

Turning back, he saw her dangling another plush over the toilet, ready to let go.

“Oh—no, no, not there.” Zayne swooped in, catching it mid drop with a quick but gentle grab. “Stuffies don’t go swimming, remember?”

She looked up at him with wide, serious eyes. “But Daddy… they wanna.”

Zayne knelt down, meeting her gaze levelly, voice steady and kind. “I know it looks like fun. But toilets are yucky water. We can’t put your friends in there. They’d get sick.”

Her little lips pursed as she thought about it, but before he could stop her—plop.

Another plushie landed in the bowl.

Zayne didn’t sigh, didn’t scold. He simply grabbed a wad of paper towels and fished it out with the precision of a man defusing a bomb. His movements were calm, careful, as though showing her this was serious.

When he looked back at her, her chin rested in her hands, watching him curiously.

“See?” he said softly, holding up the dripping plush. “Now he’s sad because he’s wet. Let’s keep the rest of your friends happy and dry, hm?”

She nodded slowly, hugging the last plush left untouched to her chest. “Okay, Daddy.”

He smiled faintly, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “Good girl.” Then, gathering the soggy toys in his arms, he stood. “We’ll give them a proper bath at home.”

Her little voice piped up again as he carried her out. “Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Next time… can you swim with them instead?”

Zayne chuckled softly under his breath, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Maybe next time.”

XAVIER —

Xavier had learned to be wary of silence. His son was never loud, never messy in the way other toddlers were. But when he went quiet, he was up to something.

And sure enough, the moment Xavier turned from the sink, there he was—standing on tiptoe, calmly stuffing his toy car into the paper towel dispenser.

“...What are you doing, buddy?” Xavier asked, voice level.

His boy didn’t even flinch, just shoved the toy in with a decisive clunk.

“Feeding it.”

Xavier blinked, crouching down beside him. “Feeding… the dispenser?”

His son gave a serious nod, already producing another item from his pocket: a crayon this time. He pushed it in without hesitation.

“It’s hungry.”

Xavier pressed his lips together, carefully opening the dispenser and fishing out the car. “This machine isn’t hungry. It’s for towels, not toys.” His tone was steady, patient, though his hands moved quickly, removing the crayon before it jammed deeper.

Unbothered, the boy retrieved his pacifier and lifted it toward the slot.

Xavier caught his wrist gently. “Not this either.”

“But Daddy,” the toddler said simply, meeting his gaze with absolute conviction, “it likes it.”

For a beat, Xavier just stared at him, then let out a slow breath. “...Does it now?”

“Yes.” His son patted the dispenser’s side like it was a beloved pet. “Good machine.”

Suppressing a weary chuckle, Xavier calmly tucked the pacifier back into his son’s pocket, then hoisted him up into his arms. “Alright, let’s give the machine a rest before it gets sick.”

With his son perched on his hip, Xavier turned back to remove the last of the contraband from inside, closing the dispenser neatly behind him.

As they left, his son leaned his head on Xavier’s shoulder, whispering very seriously, “Daddy… next time, we bring cookies.”

Xavier shook his head with a faint smile. “Let’s not.”

[bananabreads]

Dad!lads and their child after a very 'tiring' day at the daycare (⁠〃ﾟ⁠3ﾟ⁠〃⁠)

—♥︎♥︎♥︎Dad!Rafayel, Dad!Caleb, Dad!Sylus, Dad!Zayne, Dad!Xavier

— will be having very slow updates this week... My mental health is in a not so good state right now, might go back to regularly posting in a week or two (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠)

RAFAYEL —

You nudged the door open with your hip, trying to juggle your daughter’s tiny daycare bag in one hand while carrying her limp, pouty body in the other. She had her arms slung around your neck like she’d just clocked out of a twelve hour factory shift.

“Hmph…” she sighed loudly, cheek squished against your shoulder.

“Honestly,” you muttered, shifting her weight, “you’d think you just came back from a construction site.”

From the hallway, Rafayel appeared, raising an amused brow. “oh my… what tragedy has struck our little princess? Did daycare demand overtime again?”

Your daughter groaned dramatically, lifting her head just enough to meet his gaze. “Daddy… it was sooo hard,” she whimpered, dragging out the words like she was narrating a soap opera.

Rafayel stepped closer, lips twitching. “Tell me, little one. Was it the coloring? The… finger painting?”

“It was nap time,” she cut in, as if revealing the cruelest injustice. “They made me sleep… on a mat… on the floor.” Her lower lip trembled for maximum effect.

You snorted, unable to help yourself. “Yeah, the horror. Meanwhile, I’d pay for a nap right now.”

Rafayel chuckled, kissing the top of her head before plucking her tiny bag from your hand. “So cruel. Our daughter has been worked to the bone. She deserves compensation.”

“Compensation?” you echoed.

“Yes,” Rafayel said solemnly, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “Cuddles, of course. And perhaps… cookies.”

At that, her tired façade cracked just enough to let out a hopeful, “And milk?”

Rafayel tapped her nose lightly. “Naturally. A full royal feast for our exhausted queen.”

You adjusted her in your arms, rolling your eyes with a fond smile. “Queen? More like a union worker on strike.”

“Daddy…” she whined again, burying her face back into your neck. “Mommy's teasing me.”

Rafayel gave you a mock stern look before taking her carefully into his arms. “Don’t worry, little one. Daddy will protect you from mommy's cruelty. Now, let’s get you on the couch where you can recover from your backbreaking day of snack time.”

The pout she gave him as she nestled against his chest was pure drama—but when both of you leaned in to smother her with kisses, her giggles broke through her act, turning the whole “hard day at daycare” into sweet laughter filling your home.

CALEB —

You had barely set your daughter’s daycare bag down before she was already sprawled dramatically in your arms, clinging like she had no bones left in her body.

“Mommy…” she whined, face buried in your shoulder. “I can’t walk anymore. My feet are broken.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Broken? Or just tired?”

“Tired,” she admitted quickly, followed by a dramatic sigh.

Caleb appeared from the kitchen, drying his hands with a towel. His brow furrowed at first, but the amused tilt at the corner of his mouth gave him away. “What’s this? Daycare’s claimed another victim?”

“She’s done for,” you said, handing him the limp little bundle. “Won’t even move a muscle. Apparently daycare is worse than a marathon.”

Caleb shifted her into his arms easily, looking down at her with mock seriousness. “Poor thing. I told you daycare was a cruel and unforgiving place.”

Her head lifted weakly. “Daddy…” she whispered, like a soldier saying her last words. “I… need cuddles. And food. But I can’t… use my hands.”

You stifled a laugh, covering your mouth. “She’s asking to be spoonfed.”

Caleb’s eyes flicked up at you, sparkling with mischief. “Is that so? You’ve been reduced to royalty now, hm? Too important to feed yourself?”

“Yes…” she nodded solemnly, leaning against his chest. “Daddy must feed me or I’ll starve.”

Caleb kissed her temple with a soft chuckle. “Of course, little princess. Daddy will handle everything.”

Later at the table, you set down her bowl while she sat slumped in Caleb’s lap like a ragdoll. He scooped up a spoonful and held it up. “Open wide,” he teased gently.

She peeked at him with half lidded eyes, then parted her lips dramatically. “Aaaah…”

You shook your head, laughing. “She’s milking this.”

Caleb smirked at you as he carefully fed her the bite. “And she’s very good at it.”

Another spoonful later, she leaned back into his chest with a sigh of deep satisfaction. “Daddy… Mommy… you’re the best. Daycare is hard… but I’ll survive with you.”

Caleb pressed his cheek to her hair, his voice warm. “That’s right, little one. We’ll carry you through the tough times… even if the toughest part was nap time on a mat.”

She gasped faintly, too tired to argue, and both of you laughed while continuing to pamper her as if she had truly worked a nine to five.

SYLUS —

You fumbled with the keys at the door, your little girl slumped heavy in your arms. By the time you stepped inside, her tiny backpack was dangling from your wrist, her little arms limp at her sides.

Sylus looked up from the couch, a mug of coffee in hand. His lips curled into a knowing smirk the moment he spotted her. “She didn’t even make it home awake?”

You huffed, carefully setting down the bag. “She didn’t even make it five minutes out of daycare. She was snoring before we got to the car.”

As if on cue, the little one let out a tiny, squeaky snore against your shoulder—loud enough for Sylus to hear. His ears twitched, and his grin widened.

“Well,” he drawled, standing to meet you, “someone clearly worked overtime at block stacking and juice box drinking.”

You shot him a look, whispering even though your daughter was definitely out cold. “Be nice. She’s exhausted.”

Sylus leaned down, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “Exhausted?” His amber eyes glimmered with mischief. “This one? She’s living the hardest life I’ve ever seen. Snacks, naps, finger painting…” He chuckled softly. “Brutal.”

Another soft snore rattled from her, this one ending in a little sigh as her tiny mouth fell open. You both froze before stifling laughter.

“She’s gonna drool on me any second,” you whispered, shifting her weight.

“Give her here,” Sylus said, sliding her carefully into his arms. His expression softened immediately as he cradled her, one large hand supporting her head. He kissed her temple lightly before glancing at you. “Poor thing. Daycare’s a nine to five grind, apparently.”

You laughed under your breath, watching the way his entire posture melted with her in his arms. “You’re both dramatic, you know that?”

He smirked, lowering himself back onto the couch with her nestled against his chest. “Maybe. But at least I don’t snore like a tiny old man.”

The little girl punctuated his words with another noisy snore, her little body rising and falling peacefully against him. You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, covering your mouth as Sylus gave you a smug, “See?” look.

With his free arm, he tugged you closer onto the couch. “C’mon,” he murmured, pressing his cheek against yours. “Let her sleep off her hard day. We’ll just… cuddle the union worker while she recovers.”

And so the three of you sat, your daughter snoring between laughter and kisses, the house filled with that warm, quiet kind of love.

ZAYNE —

The second the daycare door opened, your daughter padded out quietly and went straight for Zayne. She didn’t say a word, just lifted her little arms.

Zayne bent down without hesitation, scooping her up. She immediately melted into him, cheek pressed against his shoulder, her tiny fingers curling into his shirt.

You took her bag from the teacher with a smile before walking beside him. “Not even a hello today?” you teased softly.

Her voice came out muffled and small against Zayne’s collar. “Tired…”

Zayne’s lips curved into a quiet smile. “Long day, little one?”

She nodded faintly, too worn out to elaborate.

By the time you got home, she hadn’t stirred much, still tucked safely in her father’s arms. Zayne settled onto the couch with her, and she slumped against him instantly, legs curled over his lap like she couldn’t possibly hold herself up anymore.

You brought over a small bowl of food, setting it down with a grin. “Think she’s too tired to eat?”

Her soft little voice floated up, barely above a whisper. “Hungry… but… can’t…”

Zayne chuckled quietly, brushing his hand through her hair. “Can’t what, sweetheart?”

“Can’t move,” she murmured, eyes half closed, her attention lazily drifting toward the cartoon you switched on the TV.

“Then daddy will help,” he said gently, picking up the spoon.

She opened her mouth obediently, still nestled against him, chewing slowly with her gaze fixed on the screen. Between spoonfuls, her small voice would slip out again.

“Thank you, daddy…”

“You’re welcome, my love,” he murmured, kissing her temple before offering the next bite.

You leaned against him on the couch, watching the two of them, your little girl safe and spoiled in her dad's arms, her soft snores threatening to come between bites, cartoons flickering quietly in the background.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic, just warm and tender—the kind of moment you’d tuck away forever.

XAVIER —

The door shut behind you with a click, and immediately your son waddled forward like a half broken wind up toy. His eyes were barely open, his little arms drifting in front of him as he trudged across the floor.

“Uh…” you tilted your head, watching him nearly bump into the shoe rack. “Sweetheart, are you—?”

“Sleepwalking,” Xavier answered flatly from the hallway, already crossing his arms. But the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him. “Daycare must’ve been a real nine to five grind today.”

You stifled a laugh as your son slowly turned left and started walking toward the kitchen instead of the living room. “He looks like a tiny office worker heading for the coffee machine.”

“Coffee machine?” Xavier snorted. “More like the water cooler. Probably wants to gossip about who stole his crayons.”

Before your son could smack straight into the fridge, Xavier swooped in, scooping him up with practiced ease. The boy sagged into his father’s chest instantly, lips parted in a tiny snore.

“See?” Xavier said, adjusting him carefully. “Completely clocked out. Didn’t even make it past overtime.”

“He worked so hard, though,” you teased, pulling the backpack from your shoulder. “Finger painting, block towers, surviving nap time… he’s a warrior.”

“A warrior,” Xavier repeated dryly, though his hand rubbed slow circles on his son’s back, his expression softened. “He’s more like a tiny salaryman after a 12 hour shift. I should hand him a briefcase and tiny tie.”

The boy let out a tiny whimper before sighing again, curling closer into Xavier’s chest.

“Shhh,” Xavier murmured, lowering his voice immediately, “it’s okay, kiddo. You’ve done enough today.” He kissed the top of his son’s head, then glanced at you with a grin. “I’ll carry him to the couch. He can watch cartoons in his dreams.”

You followed them into the living room, chuckling as Xavier settled down with the boy sprawled across him like a ragdoll. The second his head touched his dad’s shoulder, the snores came louder.

Xavier raised his brows at you, deadpan. “He’s snoring like he pays taxes.”

You burst out laughing, leaning against him. “Stop! Don’t make fun of him.”

“I’m not,” Xavier said with mock offense, pulling you close with his free arm while still holding the boy safe. “I’m proud. My son’s first taste of the working world… daycare edition.”

And there the three of you stayed, your son snoozing dramatically while his father—half teasing, half doting—made the “end of a long shift” sound like the most precious thing in the world.

[bananabreads]

Zayne birthday special ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

— Belated dad!zayne fanfic! Obviously i just had to make this card into dad!lads again (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

The cabin’s golden light spilled into the snowy clearing, fairy lights strung overhead like fallen stars. The air was crisp, but laughter and warmth chased away the cold.

“mommy, daddy.. let’s make snowmans,” Jasmine said softly, tugging your sleeve with her mitten. “Three… like us.”

So the three of you got to work. Zayne rolled the biggest snowballs with ease, while Jasmine patted hers carefully, her little giggles puffing out with white breath. Soon, three snow figures stood in a row.

You adjusted the snowman’s beanie while Zayne gave his stick arms, but Jasmine only tilted her head as she was thinking. “Daddy, they should… share,” she murmured.

Zayne chuckled, unwinding his scarf. With careful hands, he draped it around all three snowmen—yours, Jasmine’s, and his—tying them together like one big hug.

“Now they’re warm,” Jasmine whispered, pressing her mitten against the smallest one’s side.

You smiled, brushing snow from her hat. “Just like us.”

The games continued from there—Jasmine lying in the snow, arms and legs moving slowly as she looked up at the sky. “Mommy, Daddy… I'm a snow angel,” she said, pointing to her shape. You and Zayne joined her, laughing as your snow angels stretched side by side.

And of course, there was the snowball fight. Zayne tossed a soft one at you with a smirk, and Jasmine tried to join, but instead of throwing, she gently placed her little snowball against Zayne’s boot. “Snowball!” she said with a smile, making you both laugh.

By the time the evening settled in, the three of you were flushed and breathless, the scarf bound snowmen watching silently nearby. You leaned against Zayne, your mittened hand sliding into his.

“Happy birthday, my love.” you whispered, lifting your lips to his in a soft kiss.

But before it could last longer, Jasmine made a little squeak and quickly covered her eyes with her mittens, pressing her forehead against Zayne’s leg.

“No…” she mumbled shyly. “Don’t wanna see.”

Zayne chuckled warmly, crouching to smooth her hat. “Alright, sweetheart. We’ll behave.”

You kissed Jasmine’s cheek instead, earning a tiny giggle. And as the three of you stood together in the snowy glow, it felt like the perfect birthday—filled with play, warmth, and love that wrapped tighter than any scarf.

Jasmine was now resting on Zayne's shoulder as she got sleepy, "Happy birthday again daddy.."

[bananabreads]

Shared bliss 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Something that Sylus and your daughter both loved to do was sleep on their stomachs (⁠ ⁠˶⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ꁞ⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠˶⁠ ⁠)

— next week: 1k followers special >o<!!

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

After a long mission, your body was heavy with exhaustion, but your heart was simply relieved to be home. The house was quiet, lights dimmed, and you already knew your husband and daughter had long since fallen asleep. After a warm, soothing bath and a change into your sleeping clothes, you padded softly down the hall and pushed open the bedroom door.

There they were.

Sylus and your little girl, sprawled across the bed, both lying on their stomachs in nearly identical positions. The sight tugged at your chest, melting every last ounce of fatigue in you. You and Sylus had been gently encouraging your daughter to get used to her “big girl” room, but clearly, your husband hadn’t been able to resist her nightly pleadings. He always gave in, always made space for her beside him.

With a quiet smile, you slipped into bed beside them. The mattress dipped, and your daughter stirred, blinking sleepily as she pushed herself up just enough to climb onto your chest.

“Mommy…” she mumbled, voice thick with drowsiness.

“I’m here, baby,” you whispered, brushing back her messy little curls.

A tiny sigh left her lips as she snuggled into you. “Missed you…”

Your heart clenched at the softness of her words. You kissed the top of her head, holding her gently.

“I missed you too. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

A heartbeat later, Sylus shifted too, his arm sliding around your waist, drawing both you and your daughter into his hold.

You chuckled quietly, your daughter’s tiny snores already filling the space between you. You leaned closer, pressing a kiss to Sylus’s temple. “Go back to sleep, Sy. I’ve got you both now.”

“Mhm… don’t go anywhere,” he muttered, tightening his hold even in his sleep.

And just like that, the three of you sank into the warmth of the night—your little family safe, tangled together, and finally home.

[bananabreads]

Hi, i totally adore all the kids being in the same universe and going to the same school. i saw that your requests are open and want to to ask if you could write the dad!lads at their kid's talent show or school play and just watch shennanigans issue lol. But only if you want to! That being said, your small fics bring me joy everytime you post !!

Dad!lads at their child's school performance

—♥︎♥︎♥︎ Dad!Rafayel, Dad!Caleb, Dad!Sylus, Dad!Zayne, Dad!Xavier

I'm contemplating making a dad!lads children kindergarten series... Where all their lds child interact with each other at their kindergarten! Making a poll about it later (＾⁠3⁠＾⁠）

RAFAYEL —

The kindergarten auditorium was filled with chatter and squeaky folding chairs, but Rafayel had claimed the perfect seat in the very front row an hour early. He was practically vibrating with excitement, phone already recording even though the curtains hadn’t even opened.

You gave him a look, half amused, half exasperated. “You’re going to run out of storage before the show even starts.”

“I don't mind, it's for our little girl anyways,” he answered smoothly, eyes glued to the stage.

A tiny head peeked out from the curtains—your daughter’s. The second she spotted you both, she gasped. “Mommy! Daddy!” she whispered loudly, waving frantically.

Rafayel instantly waved back, forming a giant heart with his arms. “You’ve got this, superstar!”

You blew her a kiss, mouthing, We love you. She giggled, cheeks round and rosy, before a teacher gently ushered her back.

The play began, and when your daughter toddled on stage in her little crown, Rafayel nearly jumped out of his chair. “Look at her!” he whispered loudly, tugging at your hand. “That’s our girl!”

“My love, shhh!” you laughed, covering his mouth.

When it was her turn for her line, your daughter took a deep breath, puffing up her tiny chest. In her high pitched, careful voice, she announced,

“Once upon a time, the kingdom was full of… rainbows! And everyone was happy!”

The audience cooed. Rafayel clutched at his chest like he’d been struck by Cupid himself.

“That’s my daughter!” he said far too loudly, clapping so hard the row behind you chuckled. You buried your face in your hands, smiling despite yourself.

After the show, your daughter came bounding into your arms, paper crown slipping sideways. “Mommy! Daddy! Did I do good?” she asked breathlessly.

“You were perfect,” you whispered, hugging her close.

“You were better than perfect—you were legendary,” Rafayel corrected, scooping her up and spinning her around. She squealed, clutching his neck.

“I didn’t forget any words!” she beamed proudly. “And—and I saw you, Daddy! You were making a big heart!”

“That’s because my little princess deserves nothing less,” Rafayel said, kissing her cheek noisily until she giggled.

“And I clapped!” she added, turning to you. “I clapped like this—” she smacked her tiny palms together in a fast rhythm—“so the other kids would feel happy, too.”

You melted instantly. “Sweetheart, you were the kindest queen that stage has ever seen.”

Sandwiched between you both, crown tilted, giggling in your arms, she shone brighter than any spotlight ever could

CALEB —

The school gym was decorated with paper stars and streamers, mats lined neatly across the floor for the kindergarteners’ gymnastics showcase. Caleb was kneeling in front of your daughter, carefully tying the last ribbon into her hair. His big hands worked with surprising gentleness, smoothing flyaways until her little ponytail was neat and secure.

“There,” he said with a smile, straightening up her leotard straps. “Perfect. You look like a real champion.”

“Daddy, it’s too tight?” she asked, tugging at the sparkly fabric.

Caleb immediately crouched again, checking. “Not too tight, sweetheart. Just snug enough so you can flip without it moving. You’ll be comfortable, promise.”

You leaned against the doorway, watching the two of them. “I think she’s got the best stylist in the whole school.”

Your daughter giggled, puffing up proudly. “Daddy made me pretty!”

Caleb tapped her nose gently. “You were already pretty. I just helped with the details.”

When it was time for her performance, Caleb guided her to the mat, crouching at the edge like a personal coach. His smile was wide but soft, his hands clasped together as though he was holding back his own nerves.

She began her little routine—somersaults, cartwheels, a wobbly but determined handstand—and each time she stuck the landing, Caleb was the first to clap, cheering louder than anyone else in the audience.

“That’s my girl!” he called out, his voice warm with pride. “Go, sweetheart, you’re amazing!”

At the end, she held her arms up high, beaming. The applause roared, but her eyes went straight to her parents.

“Daddy! Mommy! Did you see me?” she squealed as she ran off the mat.

You crouched to hug her first. “We saw every single move. You were incredible.”

Caleb swept her up into his arms, twirling her around. “Not just incredible—you were the star of the whole gym. Did you hear that cheering? That was all for you.”

She laughed, clinging to his neck. “I didn’t fall, Daddy! I was so strong!”

Caleb kissed her temple proudly. “Stronger than anyone I know.”

And when she wriggled down, she placed her tiny hands on her hips, striking the same “ta-da” pose from her routine. Both you and Caleb clapped again just for her, and she basked in it, cheeks flushed with pure joy.

SYLUS —

The kindergarten stage was small, decorated with paper flowers and bright cut out suns.

Sylus knelt in front of his daughter before her group was called, gently smoothing the bow on her dress. His hands were careful, steady. “There,” he said quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Perfect.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “Daddy… what if I forget my part?”

“You won’t,” he reassured softly, giving her hands a squeeze. “But even if you do, Mommy and I will still be proud. All you have to do is sing like you do at home. That’s enough.”

She leaned into him, whispering, “Will you clap for me?”

Sylus smiled, kissing her temple. “Louder than anyone.”

From his seat, he watched her walk on stage with her classmates. While other parents were already holding up their phones, Sylus just folded his hands in his lap, gaze steady on her.

When the group began their song, Sylus’ eyes softened. And when it was her turn to step forward for her little solo, he held his breath, listening.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star… how I wonder what you are…” she sang, voice sweet and small, but steady.

Luke and Kieran broke into instant cheering.

“That’s our mini boss!!” Luke yelled.

“She’s a star already!” Kieran added, nearly startling the row behind him.

You had to laugh, though Sylus never took his eyes off her. He simply clapped, slowly and firmly, pride radiating in the subtle way his shoulders relaxed and his expression warmed.

When the performance ended, your daughter bounded off stage straight into his arms. He lifted her gently, pressing his forehead to hers. “You did beautifully,” he said, voice low, meant only for her.

“I didn’t forget my part!” she chirped.

“I know. You were perfect,” Sylus murmured, brushing her hair back.

Luke leaned in with a grin. “Mini boss nailed it.”

Kieran added, “She’s better than half the singers on the radio already.”

Your daughter giggled, hugging Sylus tighter. “Daddy… did you really clap the loudest?”

Sylus kissed her cheek, calm and sure. “Always.”

And though he didn’t shout or wave, you could see it as clear as day, he was her biggest fan, quietly but endlessly proud.

ZAYNE —

The school auditorium was warm with chatter, parents shuffling in their seats as the kindergarten ballet recital was about to begin.

Backstage, Zayne knelt in front of your daughter, fastening the tiny straps on her ballet slippers with careful precision. His touch was steady, almost reverent, as though she were made of porcelain.

“All set,” he murmured, straightening up. “Does it feel alright?”

She glanced down at her feet, then up at him with wide eyes, voice barely above a whisper. “Mhm… they feel nice, Daddy.”

You crouched beside her, tucking a ribbon back into her bun. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. Just like we practiced.”

Your daughter fiddled with her tutu for a moment, then whispered again, hesitant. “Will you… will you watch me?”

Zayne’s lips curved into the faintest, softest smile. He tilted his head down so his forehead brushed hers. “The whole time,” he promised, voice steady and low. “I won’t look away.”

On stage, the little ballerinas lined up in neat rows. Your daughter was near the center, shoulders drawn in just slightly, but her chin lifted bravely the way you’d reminded her.

Zayne sat straighter than anyone in the audience, gaze fixed on her as if she were the only one under the lights. He didn’t clap too loudly or cheer like some of the other parents—he simply held her with his eyes, calm and proud, the corners of his mouth easing into something warm.

When it was her turn to step forward, she spun delicately, arms raised in a shy flourish. There was the faintest wobble, but she corrected herself, her cheeks pink, eyes flicking quickly to the crowd—as if checking that he really was still watching.

He was.

The applause followed, gentle but strong. You clapped brightly, smiling through misty eyes, while Zayne’s own hands moved slowly, deliberately, savoring the moment.

Afterward, your daughter hurried off stage and into your waiting arms. “Mommy,” she said softly, her words muffled against your shoulder, “did I do okay?”

You kissed her cheek. “You did wonderfully, my love. You were so graceful.”

Zayne stepped closer, kneeling again so he could meet her shy gaze. “You were perfect,” he told her, his voice quiet but filled with certainty. “Every step. I’m proud of you.”

She peeked at him through her lashes, then whispered, “I was a ballerina… just like the big ones.”

Zayne smoothed his hand over her back, lifting her carefully into his arms. “No,” he said, pressing his cheek against her hair. “You were better.”

And though her voice was small, the smile she gave him was as bright as the stage lights themselves.

XAVIER —

The school gymnasium had been transformed into a tiny “arena,” with mats on the floor and paper swords decorating the walls. Parents lined the bleachers, murmuring with excitement.

Back in the waiting area, Xavier was kneeling before his son, carefully adjusting the straps of his fencing jacket. His movements were neat and deliberate, making sure every buckle was fastened, every fold smoothed down.

“Daddy,” the boy mumbled, fiddling with his glove, “what if I trip? What if I mess up?”

Xavier paused, then gently rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. His voice was calm, steady, the way he always spoke when he wanted to reassure. “You won’t be perfect every time, kiddo. But today, what matters is that you stand tall, keep your focus, and enjoy yourself. That is victory enough.”

You smiled softly at the two of them. “And remember, sweetheart—you’ve practiced so much. We already know you’ll be amazing.”

Your son looked between you both, his nerves softening into a small smile. “…Will you cheer for me?”

Xavier’s lips curved into the faintest grin. “Cheer? I’ll be your entire audience, even if the whole world is watching.”

When it was his turn on the mat, he stepped forward, wooden practice foil in hand. The little masks didn’t hide how small he still was, but he lifted his sword like a knight in training, shoulders squared with determination.

Xavier sat impossibly straight in the bleachers, one hand resting on his knee, eyes following every step. He didn’t shout or wave—just clapped firmly after each point, expression quietly glowing with pride. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but nudge his arm and whisper encouragements, heart swelling at every strike.

And then came the moment, your son lunged forward, landing the light tap of his blade right on target. The referee called the point, and your boy bounced back on his heels, mask tilted up to peek at the crowd.

He found you both instantly.

You clapped enthusiastically, beaming. Xavier lifted his hand in a subtle salute, the kind of gesture only his son would notice—an unspoken I saw. I’m proud of you.

After the match, he came running over, breathless and flushed. “Daddy! Mommy! Did you see? I got a point!”

You hugged him first, kissing his sweaty forehead. “We saw every second, sweetheart—you were incredible.”

Then Xavier crouched down, resting a hand on his son’s shoulder again. His voice was calm, but his eyes were warm. “That was more than just a point,” he said. “That was courage. That was grace. You carried yourself with honor, Buddy. I could not be prouder.”

The boy grinned ear to ear, clutching his practice foil tightly. “I’m gonna be the best fencer ever, Daddy!”

Xavier’s smile softened as he brushed his son’s hair back. “With that spirit, you already are.”

[bananabreads]

OH MY GOODNESS your dads!lads fic where their child wants a baby sibling is adorable!!!

If you can, could you make a pt.2 for that for when mc does actually get pregnant? No pressure!

I just would find it so cute if Zayne’s daughter would do check ups every day to make sure her baby sibling is ok 🥹

Again, no pressure, take your time<3

-🍥

Part two of this!

Dad!lads and their child while you're finally pregnant again (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

—♥︎♥︎♥︎ Dad!Rafayel, Dad!Caleb, Dad!Sylus, Dad!Zayne, Dad!Xavier

RAFAYEL —

When you found out you were pregnant again, you honestly weren’t sure who was more excited—your husband or your daughter. The moment you told her, she squealed so loudly you and rafayel had to cover your ears, but his smile was as bright as the sun.

Your daughter immediately declared herself the “official baby protector” and from that day on, she stuck to your side like glue. If you sat down, she was instantly on your lap, pressing her ear against your belly as if she could already hear her sibling.

“Good morning, baby! big sis is here!” she would chirp, kissing your bump before running off to tell Rafayel what the baby “said” back. Usually something along the lines of ‘They want cookies, Daddy!’

Rafayel wasn’t much better. The two of them became your clingiest purple haired duo—always fussing, always hovering. Whenever you had a craving, he would buy double, because your daughter insisted she needed to try what mommy wanted too.

And then there was the bump obsession. Your daughter begged to “decorate” it every chance she got, scribbling little hearts and flowers in washable marker, humming as if she was painting a masterpiece. Sometimes she’d rope Rafayel in, and he, ever indulgent, would sculpt pottery clay molds with imprints of your belly.

One evening, you caught them both working together, your daughter carefully pressing her small hand onto the baby bump clay mold while Rafayel guided her, capturing the print in soft clay. The two of them looked so serious, but when they showed you the finished piece, your heart nearly melted.

“This way,” Rafayel said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, “we’ll always remember this moment. Our little family, growing… beautifully.”

Your daughter nodded enthusiastically, hugging your bump as if she could already cradle her sibling. And in that moment, surrounded by clay keepsakes, doodles, and two very clingy purple heads, you knew your second baby would be welcomed into the world with so much love.

CALEB —

When you got pregnant again, you realized very quickly that you didn’t just have one doting, overprotective Caleb in the house—you had two.

Your daughter was practically his twin, not just in looks but in how gentle and thoughtful she was. Every time you so much as sighed, she was already tugging Caleb’s sleeve and whispering, “Daddy, mommy needs something!”

She came with you both to every doctor’s appointment, clutching Caleb’s hand and asking the doctor serious questions like, “Is my baby sibling growing strong?” She even joined Caleb whenever he ran out to buy your pregnancy cravings, he’d hold the bags while she proudly carried a little basket of snacks she picked herself.

At home, she was just as involved. She’d help massage your back with her tiny hands, her face scrunched in concentration while Caleb watched, smiling softly. “Good job, sweetheart. You’re already a wonderful big sister,” he’d murmur, kissing the top of her head.

And the shows—oh, the shows. Every evening, she’d sing, dance, or tell little stories right in front of your belly, convinced her sibling could hear everything. Caleb would sometimes join in with a guitar, the two of them performing a private concert just for you and the baby.

Of course, with both of them fussing over you, your plate was never empty. Caleb made sure you were well fed, piling food onto your plate with a quiet “For you, honey.” But your daughter took it a step further, scooping up bites and insisting you eat because, in her logic, “mommy has to eat lots so the baby can taste everything too!”

Between Caleb’s watchful care and your daughter’s eager devotion, you sometimes joked that you were the most spoiled pregnant woman in the world. And really… you couldn’t deny it.

SYLUS —

The moment you told her she was going to be a big sister, your daughter took it very seriously. She immediately began preparing for the baby’s arrival in her own way, by hosting tea parties.

Every afternoon, she’d drag you, Sylus, and the twins into her room or the living room, setting out her tiny cups and plates with dramatic flair. “Everyone, sit down! We can’t be late, the baby is waiting,” she’d say with a scolding tone that reminded you far too much of her father.

Luke and Kieran would always oblige, knees bent awkwardly on the little chairs as they obediently sipped “tea” from plastic cups. Sylus, meanwhile, lounged lazily on the floor cushion, clearly amused by his daughter’s command. But his sharp eyes never left you, making sure you were comfortable, even during the most chaotic of pretend banquets.

The sweetest detail, though, was the empty chair. She always placed it right next to you, setting a plushie on top of it. “This is for my baby sibling,” she’d declare proudly, patting the plush. “They can’t come to tea yet, but when they do, they’ll sit right here forever.”

And once tea parties ended, she would crawl into your lap, hugging your bump as though her arms alone could shield both you and her sibling.

But it was nighttime that truly showed her devotion.

It became a routine now—no, a battle. Every night, Sylus would tuck her into her own bed, kiss her forehead, and whisper a soft “Sleep, sweetheart.” But an hour later, like clockwork, there she was, tiny footsteps padding down the hall, a creak of the door, and then the sound of her scrambling onto your bed. She would curl herself against your belly, clutching it tightly like her most precious treasure.

“Daddy,” she’d whisper fiercely if Sylus tried to scoop her up again, “the baby needs me.”

And Sylus, patient but stubborn, would sigh, lift her up, and carry her back. Once. Twice. Sometimes three times. Every time, he would tuck her in, mutter something about “troublemaker genes,” and return to bed beside you. And every time, just as you both began to drift off, the door creaked open again.

By the third attempt, you couldn’t help but laugh softly, even as you stroked her messy hair where she lay plastered against your bump. “We should just let her stay,” you’d murmur to Sylus, amusement dancing in your tired eyes.

He would softly sigh but the small curve tugging at his lips betrayed him. Eventually, he’d crawl back under the covers, tugging the blanket around all three of you. His arm slid over your waist, his hand resting on your bump just above your daughter’s cheek.

“Fine,” he’d mutter against your hair, voice low and warm. “She wins. But tomorrow night, she needs to start sleeping in her room again.”

You both knew that was a lie. Tomorrow night, and every night until the baby came, the same game would play out. Because no matter how many times Sylus tried to put her back in her room, your little girl’s determination to cuddle her sibling always won in the end.

And honestly? Neither of you minded losing.

ZAYNE —

When you told your daughter she was going to be a big sister, her eyes sparkled with the same quiet warmth you so often saw in Zayne’s. From that moment on, she made it her mission to be the best big sister, and the best “assistant doctor” she could be.

Every day, she’d march over with her little toy stethoscope, pressing the plastic piece carefully against your belly. “Hmm… baby’s heartbeat is strong..” she’d announce with all the seriousness in the world. Sometimes she’d even scribble on a notepad full of doodles, pretending to take medical notes. Zayne, watching from beside you, would chuckle softly because of his daughter's antics.

She even adapted to Zayne’s schedule, waking up early in the morning just to pad into your bedroom with a bottle of water or some kind of fruit juice in her hands. “Good morning, Mommy! Daddy says hydration is important,” she’d chirp, mimicking Zayne’s calm voice as she set it carefully on the nightstand.

Her love for her sibling only grew deeper by the day. Without fail, she had one routine she could never miss, placing at least five kisses on your bump before bed. “One.. two, three, four, five..” she’d count carefully, her tiny lips pressing gently each time. “That way, the baby knows I’m waiting.” And if she ever forgot, she’d scramble back in, sometimes even waking you up just to give those kisses.

Zayne, ever the devoted husband and father, would watch the ritual with soft eyes. Sometimes he’d crouch down beside her, pressing his own gentle kiss to your belly right after hers, adding in his low voice, “And I’m waiting, too.”

Between her toy checkups, her careful early morning routine, and her endless kisses, your little girl showed every day that her sibling was already cherished beyond words. And with Zayne at your side, always quietly supporting both of you, you couldn’t help but feel that this baby was being welcomed into a home overflowing with warmth and care.

XAVIER —

Your son had always been a soft, sleepy little boy, but the moment he learned he was going to be a big brother, something in him shifted. Despite only being four years old, he suddenly became the most attentive little gentleman you could ask for.

Every time you walked somewhere, his small hand automatically slipped into yours, his tiny brows furrowed in focus. “Careful, mommy,” he’d say with the same seriousness as his father, even though you were just walking across the living room. If he thought you needed anything, water, a snack, a blanket, he’d shuffle over to Xavier in the middle of the night, tug on his father’s sleeve, and whisper, “Daddy.. mommy needs help. We have to take care of her and the baby.”

Xavier would glance at you, his lips twitching in amusement, before lifting his son into his lap and murmuring, “Seems like someone’s trying to take my job.” But the proud gleam in his eyes betrayed how deeply it touched him.

And then there was bedtime. Your little boy, once content to nap anywhere with his plush toy, now found it impossible to sleep unless he was close to your baby bump. Whether it was curling up against your side during a nap or crawling into your bed at night, he always had to press his cheek gently against your belly before his breathing evened out. “Baby sleeps with me too,” he’d mumble drowsily, clutching at your shirt until he drifted off.

More than once, Xavier had to scoop him up and carry him back to his own room, but he’d always come padding back with sleepy determination, climbing into bed with you again. Eventually, Xavier stopped trying, only shaking his head with a soft sigh as he tucked the blanket over both of you.

You’d catch him watching the two of you in the quiet of the night—your son curled protectively against your bump, his tiny hand spread over it as if shielding his sibling, and you holding him close. Xavier’s expression in those moments was impossibly tender, his voice low when he leaned in to press a kiss against your forehead.

“You’ve got two guardians now,” he whispered to you, one arm wrapping around both you and your little boy. “Our son’s making sure his sibling grows up knowing they’re loved.”

And really… nothing could have felt more true.

[bananabreads]

Beach day (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠)

—♥︎♥︎♥︎ Dad!Rafayel, Dad!Caleb, Dad!Sylus, Dad!Zayne, Dad!Xavier vv sorry for the late updates!! I've been so busy this week TT

— huhuhuhu TT.. i swear I'll make a better version of this! Maybe a longer story for each of the love interests once I'm not too busy anymore...

RAFAYEL —

Your daughter was acting like she’d just discovered a whole new planet.

Never mind the fact that her father literally owns more beaches than some countries. Never mind that there’s a private shoreline right outside your house. No, this was different. This was special.

“Daddy! DADDY! Look—water!” she shouted, pointing at the ocean like Rafayel hadn’t been born from it.

He just raised an eyebrow but played along. “Remarkable. I’ve never seen such a thing in my life.”

Every seashell was a priceless relic. Every wave was an event worthy of a scream. Every seagull was “basically a dinosaur, daddy, be careful.” She was sprinting up and down the sand, dragging him with her, making him “ooooh” and “ahhhh” at everything like a tourist on their first vacation.

And Rafayel just followed her everywhere, solemnly gasping at the exact same shell pile for the fifth time because she insisted “it looks different now.” At one point, she even made him squat beside her to watch a crab “in its natural habitat” like they were on a nature documentary, and Rafayel whispered commentary with all the seriousness of a marine biologist.

By the end of the day, she had a bucket full of shells identical to the hundreds back home, sun kissed cheeks, and a proud grin. “Best beach day ever!” she declared, like she hadn’t been having them her entire life.

Rafayel just shot you a look over her head that said, I think she’s trolling me. You only grinned, because honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

CALEB —

Your daughter loved the beach. Loved it way too much for Caleb’s blood pressure.

The moment her feet hit the sand, she was off like a rocket, squealing as she tried to scoop up a tiny fish with her bare hands. “Daddy! Get the bucket! I’m gonna have a pet!” she shouted, nearly diving face first into the shallows. Caleb had to wade in after her, shaking his head and muttering, “We’re not kidnapping marine life today, sweetheart.”

She lasted about three minutes in the water before she decided her bright pink floaties were “cramping her style” and started peeling them off like some dramatic action hero shedding battle armor. Caleb sprinted over, nearly tripping over someone’s sandcastle, to get them back on. “Floaties stay on, sweetie.” She frowned like he’d just crushed her Olympic dreams.

Then came the moment that nearly stopped his heart. She popped her head up from the water, pushed her wet hair back, and announced with terrifying confidence, “I’m gonna do a backflip underwater.” Caleb froze mid step. “…You’re four.” She just grinned, like age was merely a suggestion.

Eventually, she moved on to “burying Papa” in the sand. In her mind, this meant stacking so much sand on his torso and legs that he couldn’t sit up. She patted the final mound proudly and declared, “Now you’re a sand monster, RAWR!” Caleb just lay there, pretending to roar back, while you sat on the blanket laughing so hard you almost dropped your drink.

By sunset, Caleb was sunburned, sandy, a little damp, and utterly exhausted. But he still scooped her up in his arms when she started yawning, pressing a kiss to her salty hair. Because as much chaos as she caused, he wouldn’t trade his tiny daredevil for anything in the world.

SYLUS —

Before you even had a chance to grab the sunscreen, he had already styled her like she was about to step onto a runway. She wore a soft, ruffled baby swimming dress in the perfect shade of red, trimmed with delicate white frills. Her floaties were the exact same color, of course, because mismatched accessories were apparently unthinkable. A wide sunhat sat neatly on her head, casting just enough shade to protect her rosy cheeks, and her tiny, round sunglasses, designer, naturally, rested perfectly on her nose. She looked like a miniature vacation ad.

Sylus, equally well put together, offered his hand like he was escorting a little queen. “Shall we, princess?” he asked, voice warm with quiet pride. Instead of sandcastles or splashing in the shallows, he led her straight toward the docks, where a sleek jetski gleamed in the sunlight.

She climbed up in her carefully arranged outfit, little legs swinging as Sylus strapped her in. The moment the engine roared to life, her face lit up, and the sea breeze caught the edges of her dress and ribboned hat. As they skimmed across the water, her delighted giggles echoed over the waves, while Sylus kept one steady arm around her, steering with the smooth confidence of someone entirely at home on the ocean.

“Faster, Papa!” she squealed over the wind, tiny hands gripping his arm. He glanced down at her and smiled, just enough speed to make her laugh harder, but never enough to break his ironclad control.

By the time they returned to shore, her sunhat had slid slightly askew, her cheeks were warm from the salty breeze, and the brim of her dress was dotted with ocean spray. Sylus adjusted her hat with careful fingers, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and murmured, “My little princess belongs on the water.”

ZAYNE —

Your daughter did not like the beach. Or, more specifically, she did not like being overheated, sweaty, or having sand sneak under her nails. From the second you stepped onto the shore, she squinted at the sun like it had personally offended her.

You’d slathered her in sunscreen until she practically glistened, the faint coconut scent following her everywhere. She wore a floppy hat and oversized sunglasses that made her look like a tiny celebrity trying to avoid paparazzi. But her true source of comfort? Zayne.

She clung to him like a koala, her arms looped tightly around his neck and cheek pressed to his shoulder. It helped that, thanks to his evol, he was basically a walking refrigerator, cool to the touch even under the blazing sun. Every time a bead of sweat even threatened to form, she would nuzzle closer to him with a satisfied sigh.

He carried her everywhere, along the shoreline, under the pier, even while talking to you by the picnic blanket. Every so often, he’d adjust her hat or brush sand from her fingers, murmuring soft reassurances. If someone asked her to play in the sand, she’d peek from behind him and shake her head firmly, as if the very idea was madness.

At one point, you swore she was actually dozing off in his arms, lulled by the hum of the waves and the steady, cool heartbeat of her dad. Zayne just smiled down at her, a quiet, knowing look in his eyes that said he didn’t mind being her portable shade, personal air conditioner, and safe place all in one.

XAVIER —

When you first arrived, he joined you and Xavier for a short swim, paddling in the shallows while holding his dad’s hand. But after about ten minutes, he wandered back to shore, hair damp and cheeks warm, and flopped down on the towel beside you. Xavier followed soon after, stretching out next to him with that same quiet ease.

They both just lay there in the sun, silent and still… a little too still. You’d covered your son in sunscreen earlier, but as the minutes ticked by, you noticed both him and Xavier slowly shifting from pale to pink.

With a sigh, you got up, sunscreen bottle in hand. “Alright, you two, sit up,” you said, kneeling beside them. Your son wrinkled his nose but stayed still as you smoothed another layer over his shoulders and arms. Xavier gave you that I’m fine look until you shot him a glare and rubbed more sunscreen onto his neck anyway.

“Here,” you said, pulling out ice pops from the cooler. Your son took his with a tiny smile, and Xavier muttered a quiet “thanks, love.” before biting into his.

You grabbed a handful of ice cubes, pressing them gently to your son’s back, making him squeal and giggle, then sliding one along Xavier’s shoulders. He shivered, shooting you a look that was half amused, half “really?” but didn’t move away.

By the time you were done, both your boys were cooler, less red, and munching away happily. And even though they’d probably go right back to baking in the sun, you couldn’t help but smile—keeping them both in one piece was just part of the job.

[bananabreads]

hello Cee! I love Zayne so very much and I love your writing for him it always hits just right. I have a request for him!

I always see a lot of MC appreciation from Zayne because she’s badass and all, and she changed his life. So can we see a fic about MC sweet talking Zayne the same way after a long day of work? MC comes back tired after another very difficult mission and thought of how Zayne would care if he was there so when she arrives home and he’s right there soothing and asking after her like she expected, she just says something like “You changed my life too, you know that?”

hope the ask wasn’t too specific! Either way however it comes out I’m sure I’ll love it, thank you again!

In all best ways ⋆⁺₊❅。

— Dad!Zayne coming home to his wife and daughter after a long week of work at the hospital :)

The sky outside was already fading into dusky blues by the time the sound of the front door latch finally came.

Jasmine had been waiting by the living room window for almost half an hour, her small frame curled in the armchair, hands resting quietly on her knees. She wasn’t the type to fidget, her patience came naturally, though you could see the tiny spark of anticipation in her eyes. When she heard the door open, she turned to you with that gentle smile she always reserved for her father.

“He’s home,” she said softly.

You met her in the hallway, and together you watched Zayne step inside. His steps were heavy, the faintest drag in his movements telling you just how much the week had taken out of him. His work bag slipped from his shoulder, and his hair, usually neat, was just a little mussed, the kind of imperfection exhaustion brought.

“Welcome home,” you greeted.

“Daddy… you must be tired,” Jasmine added, her voice quiet but sure.

That made him pause, a faint, softened smile curving his lips. He crouched down to her level, resting a hand on her tiny shoulder. “A little,” he admitted.

Jasmine’s small hand slipped into his without hesitation. “Come eat. Mommy saved dinner for you.”

It was a quiet, unhurried evening—Zayne changed into something comfortable while you reheated the food. Jasmine busied herself setting the table, aligning utensils with careful precision, her face serious with the responsibility. She even poured him water in his favorite glass, carrying it carefully to the table with both hands.

By the time he sat down, the tension in his shoulders had already eased a fraction. He didn’t speak much over dinner, just listened, really listened, to you and Jasmine talk about the little things in your day. It wasn’t loud or animated, but it didn’t need to be. Sometimes the quiet was more healing than anything else.

After he showered, the three of you settled in the living room. The warm glow of the lamp painted the room in amber light, the kind that seemed to slow time. Jasmine climbed onto your lap, her stuffed penguin cradled in her arms. Within minutes, her small body relaxed against you, her breathing growing slow and even.

Zayne leaned back into the couch, hair still faintly damp, watching the two of you with a look you’d never get tired of.

“Long day?” you asked softly.

“Long week,” he admitted with a tired chuckle. “But this… makes it worth it.”

You smiled, brushing a hand through Jasmine’s dark hair. “You know… I don’t tell you this enough.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Tell me what?”

“That you’ve changed my life in every way I could’ve ever wanted.” You shifted your gaze to him, letting him see every word was true. “Before you, my life was… fine. I was fine. But it was all surface level, just going through motions. Then you came along, and suddenly there was color. You brought this quiet steadiness I didn’t know I needed. You made home feel like something, and someone, I could come back to.”

Zayne’s lips curved into that soft smile that only showed up in moments like this, when he wasn’t trying to be composed for anyone else.

“I watch you,” you continued, your voice low and warm. “The way you care for people, even when you’re exhausted. The way you still come home and give us what’s left of your energy. You’re the most selfless man I’ve ever known, Zayne. And every day, I’m grateful it’s you I get to love.”

His gaze softened even more, and he reached over to take your free hand in his. “You’re going to make me forget I’m tired at this rate,” he murmured, though his voice carried something deeper, like your words had sunk right into him.

“That’s the goal,” you teased lightly, though your thumb traced over his knuckles in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The hum of the heater, the soft weight of your daughter on your lap, and the quiet strength of his hand around yours filled the space with a peace that words couldn’t improve.

At some point, Zayne shifted closer, his arm coming around both you and Jasmine. You leaned into him easily, your head finding its place on his shoulder.

No one moved. No one wanted to.

And like that, the three of you drifted—Jasmine sleeping soundly in your lap, Zayne holding you both as if he could keep the whole world at bay, and you resting against him with the steady beat of his heart under your ear.

By the time sleep claimed you too, your last thought was simple but certain..

you’d spend a lifetime making sure he knew just how much he meant to you.

[bananabreads]

Hellooo!! I really love your series of Dad!lads, I always read them before I sleep😭💗 I have a scenario, can you do where they have amazing dad reflexes when their baby almost fell, or something is about to hit them?? 🥹🥹

Dad!lads and their amazing dad reflexes! (⌐■֊■)

—♥︎♥︎♥︎ Dad!Rafayel, Dad!Caleb, Dad!Sylus, Dad!Zayne, Dad!Xavier.

(I'm going to be so busy this month because of my classes and nonstop events in my orgs💔)

RAFAYEL —

Your daughter was the literal embodiment of clumsiness wrapped in pink and glitter. Dressed in a long flowy dress that sparkled like the stars, princess heels clacking against the marble floor, and a tiara that sat just a bit too crooked on her head—she was a walking hazard. But a very adorable one.

Rafayel was at his easel, sleeves rolled up, palette in one hand and brush in the other, completely immersed in his painting. The gentle sound of the waves outside and the scent of salt hung in the air, mixed with the faintest hint of his daughter's strawberry shampoo as she giggled and spun around the living room.

It happened fast.

One second she was laughing and twirling, and the next—her heel caught the edge of her gown and her little body pitched forward with a surprised yelp.

But Rafayel didn’t even blink.

In one smooth motion, without even setting down his brush, he swooped in, caught her under the arms mid fall, and pulled her into the safety of his arms with practiced ease. His expression didn’t change, just a soft, amused smile tugging at his lips.

“You're going to give your old man a heart attack one day,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

She only blinked up at him, wide eyed, before beaming. “Did you see that, Daddy? I almost did a flying twirl!”

He chuckled. “Yes, a very graceful one,” he teased.

He set her down gently, and she tugged on his hand. “Paint with me?”

Rafayel arched a brow. “You want to paint in your royal gown?”

“Yes!” she grinned. “Princesses can be artists too!”

So he gave in—how could he not? Minutes later, they sat side by side on the floor, her little hands smudged in paint, his brush now forgotten as he watched her carefully dab color onto the canvas with utter seriousness. Her tiara slipped down again, her fingers were a mess of colors, and she kept mixing red with blue “because it makes magic.”

And Rafayel just smiled—because it was true.

She was magic. And he’d catch her a thousand times over.

CALEB —

Your daughter was absolutely convinced she was the best gymnast in the world. Never mind that she had only taken two beginner’s classes and spent most of her time cartwheeling into furniture, she was invincible. At least, according to her.

Right now, their living room was her personal Olympic arena. She’d lined up couch cushions like a tumbling mat, tied a towel around her neck like a cape, and was narrating her every move.

“And now, for my final, amazing move—the Triple Super Flip of Awesomeness!” she announced proudly, standing on the armrest of the couch like she was about to shatter a world record.

Caleb, who had been casually sipping his coffee and pretending to read the newspaper, already had that look. The one where his jaw was relaxed, but his eyes were locked on her like a trained bodyguard, every muscle ready to move.

She jumped.

It wasn’t exactly a flip—it was more like a dramatic sideways dive that was definitely going to end with a face first landing.

Caleb’s reflexes kicked in before gravity even had the chance to ruin her day. He set his mug down without spilling a drop, stepped forward, and caught her mid-air like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her giggle was pure triumph. “Did you see that, Daddy? I nailed it!”

“Oh, you nailed something, alright,” he said with a small smirk, setting her back on her feet. “But let’s keep the Triple Super Flip of Awesomeness closer to the ground next time, yeah?”

“Next time, I’m doing it with a spin,” she grinned.

He sighed as he ruffled her hair, already bracing himself.

SYLUS —

Your daughter had a very… unique worldview. Falling wasn’t scary. Slipping wasn’t dangerous. Gravity? Just part of the game.

Why? Because in her little mind, there was always someone there to catch her, whether it was her mom, her dad, Luke, or Kieran. The moment her balance wobbled, a strong hand would appear like magic, pulling her back upright before she even had time to blink.

Today, she was zooming around the garden barefoot, chasing after a butterfly with her usual reckless abandon. Sylus was talking quietly with you by the porch steps, but his eyes were always on her, watching the way her little legs moved, the way her dress hem caught on twigs, the way her foot landed just a little too close to a wet patch of grass.

Sure enough, she slipped.

It wasn’t a slow stumble, it was the kind of sudden slide that would’ve had most kids flat on their backs. But Sylus moved before she even made a sound, crossing the distance in a blur and catching her around the waist in one arm, his other hand steadying her head so it wouldn’t bump against his chest.

She blinked up at him, grinning like this was the best part of her day. “Daddy, You caught me again!”

“Of course I did,” he said softly, brushing a leaf from her hair.

“I knew you would,” she replied with absolute certainty, like there was no other possible outcome.

Sylus exchanged a glance with you, half amused, half concerned, because their daughter wasn’t learning caution at all. To her, falling wasn’t a risk, just a challenge in the ongoing game of Who Catches Me First?

And judging by the way she wriggled out of his arms to run toward the next adventure, she fully trusted that no matter what, her little safety net—Dad, Mom, Luke, and Kieran—would always be there.

And the truth was… she wasn’t wrong.

ZAYNE —

Your daughter wasn’t the loud, whirlwind type of kid, she was quiet, soft spoken, and moved through the house like a little shadow. But that didn’t mean she stayed out of trouble… if anything, her silence made her near impossible to track until she was already somewhere she shouldn’t be.

This time, Zayne was at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, slicing vegetables for dinner. The soft scrape of the knife against the cutting board was the only sound, until he caught the faintest rustle behind him.

He turned just in time to see her, barefoot, balancing on the bottom rung of a stool, small hands reaching curiously toward the edge of the counter where a glass measuring cup teetered dangerously close to the edge.

The cup began to tip.

Zayne didn’t even think. In one swift motion, he caught it with his left hand before it could crash, his right arm instinctively circling around her waist to steady her before she could slip off the stool.

She blinked up at him, wide-eyed but calm, as if she’d been expecting him all along.

“…Daddy, You caught it,” she murmured softly.

“And you,” he replied, setting the cup far from reach and gently lifting her to the floor.

Her tiny fingers curled into his shirt. “Daddy always catches me...”

Zayne felt that small, certain trust like a weight in his chest, quiet, but absolute. He crouched to her level, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Let’s keep it that way, okay? By not scaring me half to death.”

She gave a tiny smile… and he knew she wasn’t making a promise. She simply trusted that no matter what, he’d always be there to catch her.

XAVIER —

Your son was basically his father’s clone, same calm demeanor, same slow, deliberate way of speaking… and the exact same ability to fall asleep anywhere.

It didn’t matter if it was the couch, the porch steps, the backseat of the car, or the floor in the middle of the hallway—if he was tired, he’d just… stop existing for a while. And when he woke up, he’d still be so drowsy he moved like he was half underwater.

Which was exactly why Xavier’s dad reflexes were always switched on.

This afternoon, they were in the study. You were in the other room, and Xavier was quietly reading while their son sat at the table with a coloring book. Somewhere between coloring a tree and picking the next crayon, the boy’s head drooped, his hand stilled, and he was out cold, chin on the table, breathing slow and even.

Xavier smiled faintly, used to it.

But when their son stirred awake a few minutes later, eyes still heavy, he tried to slide off the chair… and nearly toppled straight forward.

Xavier’s arm shot out without hesitation, catching him by the back of his shirt and steadying him before his little head could collide with the edge of the table.

“Easy,” Xavier murmured, pulling him into his lap instead. “You’re still half asleep.”

The boy simply rested his cheek against his dad’s chest, eyes already drifting shut again. “…M’kay.”

Xavier adjusted his hold so the boy’s head was secure against his shoulder, fingers absentmindedly smoothing down his hair.

You walked in a minute later to see them—Xavier still reading one handed, your son bundled up against him like a sleepy little koala.

And honestly, Xavier didn’t mind. He’d catch him in his sleep a hundred more times if it meant keeping his little copy safe.

[bananabreads]

Did you like her in the morning? Fluff ver! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Inspired by the song "Did you like her in the morning" by NIKI!

Xavier x Reader/MC. You don’t want to say it to Xavier, but there are times when you feel jealous of your “other” self—the one Xavier experienced all his firsts with. You don’t want to feel jealous or insecure about her, your other self, but you just can’t help it sometimes. Because every first you’re having with Xavier now, he’s already had his—with her.

— Fluff version of this fic.

The room was quiet.

Only the soft hum of the city filtered through the windows, the distant echo of midnight traffic, and the rhythm of Xavier’s slow, steady breathing. His arm was heavy over your waist, warm and grounding, and yet, your mind felt miles away.

You had your face pressed gently against his throat, his scent familiar, his shampoo and something sharp beneath. Comforting. Safe. But your thoughts weren’t safe at all.

Did he like her touch at nighttime? Was it like this—this slow, quiet kind of holding? Did she trace circles on his back the way you do now?

You hated how the questions came without warning. And how they stayed.

You swallowed thickly, forcing your fingers to remain still against his chest. You didn’t want to wake him. You didn’t want to ask. You didn’t want him to know you were thinking of her.

But maybe you didn’t have to say a thing. Because Xavier’s fingers twitched, once, then again, and his voice came, quiet and hoarse, like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

“You’re not her.”

You froze.

“You’re not her,” he repeated, firmer this time, though sleep still clung to his words. “And I don’t want you to be.”

Your throat burned. He was still half asleep, maybe, or maybe not at all. Maybe he’d felt the way your breath caught just moments ago. Maybe he knew you too well.

His hand slowly moved to cup the back of your head, fingers slipping into your hair.

“She was my past,” he murmured, “but you… you’re here. You’re the one I chose. The one I’m still choosing.”

You blinked hard, tears brimming—not because he was saying it to comfort you, but because he meant it. You could hear it in his voice, fragile and certain at the same time.

“I know I can’t erase what came before. But when I look at you, I don’t see her. I see you.” His lips brushed your temple.

“And I love you.”

You bit your lip as the ache inside you slowly shifted, not gone, but softened.

Maybe the ghost of her would never fully disappear. Maybe some part of you would always ache at the thought of the firsts you never got to have.

But this—this warmth, this presence, this quiet, unwavering truth, this was yours.

And Xavier?

Xavier was still here. Still holding you. Still choosing you, in every morning after.

[bananabreads]

Family tradition 𐙚˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

— Dad!Rafayel, reader/mc, their little daughter, and their little family tradition.

It was that time of year again—your little tradition with Rafayel. Ever since your daughter was born, you'd made it a point to take a proper family photo each year, marking time with laughter, matching outfits (or at least semi coordinated ones) and the chaos that always came with trying to get a toddler to look at the camera.

Rafayel had always insisted on doing it himself.

He’d started by taking photos of just the two of you, claiming it was for “framing purposes,” but really, he just wanted to flirt with his wife. He'd positioned you in front of a cascade of wisteria, then stepped back, camera in hand.

“Chin up, eyes on me, Love. Mhmm.. give me that look like ‘you just fell in love with me all over again,’” he teased.

You snorted. “I did fall in love with you all over again, the minute you said you’d do the dishes for the month.”

Click.

“That smile,” he murmured.

Click.

Click.

Another burst. “You’re unfair.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could sass him back, a tiny blur of energy tackled your legs, your daughter, in a poofy tulle dress and sparkly butterfly clips that somehow matched your dress. She hugged you tightly, babbling about how the cat stole one of her socks.

Rafayel froze. His eyes went soft, his hands slowly lowering the camera as he stared at you two. Something warm and almost pained settled on his face, like he’d been hit in the chest with too much love at once.

He didn’t speak right away.

You were adjusting your daughter’s clip when he mumbled, “This isn’t even fair.”

You looked up. “What?”

He was already raising the camera again, voice cracking with laughter. “You two. You’re not real. You’re unfair. I need at least twenty photos of this moment—no, thirty. Actually, I’m framing this. I’m framing all of this.”

He was clicking nonstop now, crouching, standing, circling you like a paparazzi on a mission. “The way she’s holding onto your dress? Stop it. The way you’re looking at her? Ughh. I’m gonna cry. I’m gonna combust. This is illegal. You two are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen—”

“Papa, you talk too much,” your daughter jokingly said as she giggled, sticking out her tongue.

He gasped. “She has your attitude. I love her even more.”

Then he set the camera on a timer, scooped both of you into his arms, and ran to the center of the frame just in time to catch the shot, his wife kissing his cheek, his daughter giggling in his lap, and a look on Rafayel’s face like he’d never need anything else in the world again.

(He made ten backup copies. Just in case.)

[bananabreads]

could you do one where where they’re children cry because a parent loses their temper or where they get disciplined? Nothing angsty though

Dad!Lads when their child suddenly cries because they got scolded ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡

—♥︎♥︎♥︎ Dad!Rafayel, Dad!Caleb, Dad!Sylus, Dad!Zayne, Dad!Xavier I was supposed to post this earlier but i fell asleep while editing it T—T

RAFAYEL —

Rafayel hadn’t even fully dried off from leaping into the sea when he was kneeling by Seraphina’s side, his expression a mix of worry and overwhelming relief. He’d found her curled up on a rock, her little Lemurian fins barely visible beneath her, tail swaying gently with the water’s movement like she hadn’t just made her parents’ hearts stop for a full hour.

Now, back on the shore, she sat between you both, wrapped in a soft towel, sand clinging to her cheeks, listening to the two of you gently talk to her.

“You can’t go off like that on your own, little guppy,” Rafayel said softly, brushing a few wet strands of hair from her face. “What if you drifted somewhere dangerous?”

You echoed him, your voice just as gentle. “We were so worried, sweetheart. We just want you safe.”

She wasn’t being yelled at. Not even close. But Seraphina’s lips began to tremble, her wide, teary purple eyes shifting between your faces. And then, just like that, the dam broke.

“I—hic—I didn’t mean to...! I just wanted to swim like Daddy do!” Her tiny hands clenched the towel around her as fat tears streamed down her face.

“I didn’t think you’d be scared… I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be bad!"

Rafayel’s heart physically broke at the sight.

“Oh—Seraphina, no,” he murmured quickly, pulling her into his arms with a tenderness that only a father like him could hold.

"You’re not bad. You’re never bad. You just scared us a little, that's all.”

He rocked her gently, wrapping both arms around her as if shielding her from the world. “You’re still learning. That’s okay. We’re here to help you… always, alright?”

Her face pressed into his neck, sobbing muffled now, as her little arms clung around him tightly, like she was trying to prove she wouldn’t let go again.

You reached out, smoothing her back. “We love you so, so much. No matter what.”

Rafayel glanced at you over her shoulder, then kissed Seraphina’s temple, voice lower now, tinged with emotion. “You’re our precious little miracle, sweetie. You’re allowed to make mistakes.”

A pause, then she sniffled.

“…Even if I sleeps on rocks?”

Rafayel let out a breath of laughter, that fond little grin tugging at his lips as he whispered, “Especially then.”

He leaned back just enough to brush away a tear from her cheek. “Next time, though… tell Daddy if you’re going on an adventure, alright? I’ll come with you.”

“Promise?” she mumbled.

“Promise,” he nodded solemnly, offering his pinky. “Even if we have to chase sea turtles or argue with grumpy clams.”

Seraphina finally gave a tiny giggle, pinky hooking with his.

And just like that, your little family was whole again, wrapped in sea breeze, warm towels, and the endless kind of love only the three of you could ever understand.

CALEB —

The living room was still in chaos.

A pile of throw pillows scattered across the floor. The couch cushions were skewed, your heart still racing a mile a minute. And standing in the middle of it all was your four year old daughter, looking very small and very guilty, hugging her plushie like it might shield her from the incoming consequences.

Because this little gremlin, this tiny, chaotic offspring of yours and Caleb’s, just tried to leap from the second floor balcony to the couch below.

Like she was in an action movie.

Like gravity didn't apply to toddlers.

Like she wasn't one slip away from a hospital trip.

You and Caleb had both yelled at first—but only out of panic. Caleb was quick to use his evol to get her down safely. Worry laced with every word you two spoke.

“Sweetheart, you can’t do that..!” you said, kneeling in front of her. “You could’ve gotten really, really hurt.”

“You’re not a stunt double, baby,” Caleb added, crouching beside you, his voice a little too calm for how close to fainting he had been five minutes ago. “That couch isn’t a trampoline.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared down at her fuzzy socks, her hands wringing the ears of her stuffed apple.

Then her shoulders started to tremble.

A sniffle.

Another.

And then—

“I just—I just wanted to surprise you!” she wailed, tears spilling from her eyes. “I thought it would be cool! Like a flying superhero! I didn’t mean to make you mad!”

Caleb’s face crumbled instantly.

“Hey, hey, hey…” He scooped her up without hesitation, holding her against his chest as she cried. “We’re not mad, baby. Just scared. That was a big jump for such tiny feet.”

You rubbed gentle circles on her back. “You scared us because we love you. That’s all.”

She hiccupped into Caleb’s shirt, still clutching her bunny. “I didn’t wanna disappoint you…”

“Disappoint us?” Caleb pulled back just enough to tilt her face up toward him, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Sweetheart, you could never disappoint us. Not even if you tried to swan dive from the moon.”

“But maybe,” he added, raising an eyebrow, “next time, we don’t try to skydive into the couch, yeah?”

She sniffed, then gave a very tiny nod.

“And maybe,” you said gently, “next time you wanna do something cool, you ask Daddy to show you how to do it safely first.”

“Promise?” she mumbled.

Caleb tapped her nose with a grin. “Promise. We’ll do a whole superhero training montage. Capes and all.”

She finally giggled through her tears, burying her face into his neck again.

And as Caleb sat down on the mess of pillows with your daughter in his arms, rocking her gently and muttering things like “no more Mission Impossible stunts until you’re at least six,” you couldn’t help but smile through the fading panic.

Your daughter was reckless. Brave. A force of nature.

But with you and Caleb? She was always safe.

Even when she jumped before looking.

SYLUS —

The room was quiet.

A kind of silence that came after panic had passed, but before tears fully stopped. Their daughter, no older than four, was sitting on the hallway bench, legs too short to reach the floor, her little hands clutched tightly around her favorite stuffed crow.

She’d tried to climb the highest shelf in the room.

Not out of defiance. Just curiosity, bravery, and a need to “get the shiny thing on top.” But the shelf had wobbled. She hadn’t fallen, thank the stars, but the crash of one shelf’s worth of books had brought both you and Sylus running in a flash.

Now, with the mess cleaned up and no injuries in sight, she sat there, quiet, trembling a little, while Sylus crouched in front of her. His voice had been gentle the whole time. Not loud. Not harsh. Just disappointed in that soft, sad way that hurt more than shouting ever could.

“We're not mad, Sweetie.” Sylus said quietly, brushing her bangs from her forehead, “but I’m scared. That shelf could’ve tipped. You could’ve been hurt.”

Her lip wobbled.

“I didn’t mean to be bad,” she whispered, her voice so tiny, so broken. “I just wanted to help! You said you needed the silver thing on the top, so I thought I could get it for you before you finished your tea…”

And there it was, guilt sharper than any scolding could ever be.

Sylus exhaled softly, then pulled her into his arms without hesitation. She went easily, burying her face into his shoulder, muffling her quiet sobs.

“Oh, sweetie..,” he murmured, holding her close. “You’re not bad. Never.”

He sat back on the bench with her on his lap, rocking her slightly like he did when she was smaller. “You were being brave. Helpful. That’s… that’s beautiful. But next time, you wait for Daddy, okay?”

She sniffled. “Because selves are scary?”

“Shelves are sneaky,” Sylus replied, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “And they don’t like being climbed. They’re rude like that.”

She let out the tiniest giggle, just a squeak of a sound.

“And next time you want to help,” he added, “you can be my official silver thingy spotter. That way you still get to help, but Daddy does the picking up the itsm. Deal?”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy, hopeful. “You promise you’re not mad?”

He gave her a gentle smile, warm and unwavering. “I’m never mad when you’re trying to be kind.”

Another beat of silence, then she hugged him tight—arms wrapped around his neck like she was trying to fuse herself to his heartbeat.

You stood in the doorway, watching them with soft eyes.

Sylus glanced up at you, then looked back at your daughter and whispered something into her ear, words meant only for her, spoken in a voice filled with quiet love.

And though the bookshelf stood untouched now, the real lesson wasn’t about furniture or silver things.

It was about how even when she stumbled, even when she made mistakes.

She was still your little girl.

Still loved.

Still safe.

ZAYNE —

The soft clinking of glass.

That’s what Zayne heard first when he stepped into the kitchen, a sound that didn’t belong in the hands of a four year old.

You were just one room away. It only took a minute. But in that minute, your daughter had climbed onto the counter and was carefully poking around in Zayne’s small locked medical drawer—the one he used when bringing home emergency meds from the clinic.

By the time you both got to her, she hadn’t taken anything, hadn’t swallowed anything—thankfully. But she had opened a bottle and was curiously swirling the liquid around in a measuring cup like it was a tea party.

Your heart was still racing. You’d lifted her off the counter immediately, checking her mouth, her hands, your voice panicked and frantic, while Zayne remained calm, but visibly shaken beneath the surface.

he didn’t yell. he never did.

But he was quiet now, too quiet, as he sat on the couch with your daughter bundled in his lap, gently holding her hands in his. The bottle was long put away. Everything was okay. But the tension still hung in the air like static.

“You can’t touch those things without me or Mommy,” Zayne said softly, adjusting her sleeve. “Even if they look safe. Even if you’re just pretending.”

She didn’t answer, eyes glassy, lip trembling. And then, finally, she whispered, “I wanted to help like you do.”

Zayne froze for a moment. “What do you mean, sweetie?”

“You always help people feel better,” she sniffled. “You give them the blue one when they’re coughing, and the sleepy one when they’re hurting. I thought I could help Mommy’s headache…”

And there it was.

Zayne let out the softest sigh, full of weight, full of ache.

“You remembered the colors?” he asked gently.

She nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I didn’t want to make anyone sick…”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Zayne murmured, pulling her into his chest. “You didn’t make anyone sick. No one’s hurt. You didn’t do anything bad, okay?”

“But you looked sad....”

“I was scared,” he said quietly. “Not at you. For you.”

You sat beside them, gently rubbing your daughter’s back. “You wanted to help. That’s beautiful, baby. But medicine is only safe when someone like Daddy says it is.”

She sniffled again. “Even if it’s the nice tasting one..?”

Zayne let out a soft chuckle, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “Even that one. Especially that one. The nice-tasting ones can still be dangerous if you don’t know how much is okay.”

She was quiet for a beat. Then, “…What if I want to be like you someday?”

Zayne looked at her, eyes warm and soft. “Then we’ll teach you. Slowly. Safely. Together.”

A pause. Then she whispered, “No more climbing the counter..?”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “No more climbing the counter.”

She buried her face into his coat, her tiny arms wrapped around him.

And later that evening, after everything had settled, Zayne gave her a toy doctor kit. He let her listen to your heartbeat with the stethoscope, taught her how to say “diagnosis,” and told her she was already learning the most important part of medicine:

“Wanting to help, just with a little patience.”

And when she beamed up at him, cheeks still blotchy from tears but full of hope again.

Zayne smiled back like she’d already cured the world.

XAVIER —

The kitchen still smelled faintly of vanilla and burnt edges.

You had only stepped out for a moment. Just to get the laundry.

But when you came back, the oven light was on… and your son, your quiet, thoughtful little boy, was standing on a chair in front of it, oven mitts far too big for his hands, trying to pull out a tray of cookies all by himself.

The tray had clattered onto the stovetop with a loud bang, narrowly missing his arms. He hadn’t been burned, just startled. His eyes had gone wide like he knew exactly how much trouble he was in.

You called out first. Xavier came rushing in a heartbeat later, hand instinctively resting on your son’s back as he checked him over—scanning, assessing, every part of him on guard even as his voice remained low.

“You okay, bud?” he asked quietly.

A nod. A sniff.

But then the tears came. Silent at first. Then heavier. The kind of crying that didn’t come from being hurt, but from thinking he had done something unforgivable.

“I—I just wanted to bake them for you and Mommy,” he choked out, wiping his eyes with the giant mitts still on his hands. “You were tired. I wanted to help...”

Xavier crouched in front of him immediately, gently taking the mitts off his small hands. “Hey… hey, look at me.”

His son looked up, eyes wet, lips trembling.

“You didn’t do anything bad,” Xavier said softly. “You were trying to be kind. That’s never bad.”

“But I almost ruined it,” he mumbled. “And the cookies are burned…”

Xavier smiled gently, brushing his thumb across his son’s cheek. “Cookies we can fix. But what scared me is that ovens can be dangerous, especially if you’re by yourself.”

He placed a hand on his little boy’s chest, right over his heart. “You’re more important than any cookies. Ever.”

There was a pause—then the boy leaned forward suddenly, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck in a tight, trembling hug.

Xavier closed his eyes, holding him firmly in return, resting his cheek against his son’s hair. “Next time you want to bake, you wait for me, yeah? We’ll do it together. You, me, and mommy. That way the cookies won’t burn, and you won’t scare the daylights out of me.”

“…You really weren’t mad?”

“I promise.” He pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again. “You were trying to take care of us. That’s a good heart, bud.”

“…Can I still help next time?”

Xavier ruffled his hair gently. “Next time, you’re in charge of the toppings.”

You smiled quietly from the doorway as your son finally laughed, still soft, still a little teary, but no longer weighed down by guilt.

That evening, the three of you baked a new batch together—flour on cheeks, toppings everywhere, and Xavier keeping one steady hand on the oven handle the entire time.

And later, when your son crawled onto Xavier’s lap, already nodding off from all the excitement, he mumbled drowsily,

“Daddy... next time I’ll wait.”

Xavier kissed the top of his head, whispering,

“Good. 'Cause I always wanna be there to help you.”

And he meant it. Every word.