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lyn31 · 2 days ago

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I... I have an idea!! Can you write when the twin and Serena already grow up, maybe around 12-16. First, Lucas and Callum asked MC to watch his performance in school. Then, Serena wanted to buy some makeup in the mall with her. All in a day. And here's Zayne, who's taking a day-off on that specific day too, he's already planning to stay home with MC, wake up late in the morning, just let the kids take a taxi or bus to go to school... All of it ruined.

At the dining table when Lucas and Callum remind MC about tomorrow's performance and Serena plans to buy makeup, Zayne frowns and sulks. They had a little argument, but in the end MC decided to watch Lucas and Callum's performance with Zayne, go to the mall all together and it ended as family time. They have lunch together and play arcade too. By the time they come home, it's already night time, the kids are already tired so do MC. But, Zayne had different plan...😋😋

Sorry if it's too long, I don't know how to describe all my thoughts..

I think I may have lost the plot of the story… I'm so sorry! It just happen... 🥹🙏🏻 I hope you’ve read my other fics, especially In the Quiet Moments, which also has smut. I cannot put one here because well, you'll see...

This still has the heart of what you’re requesting, but it definitely takes an unexpected turn. I was like, “I’ll just adjust it to fit their family more,” but of course, I get carried away. I’m terrible at this, sorry... 🙃

I really hope you can still enjoy it! Let me know what you think 👀💕

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Love Multiplied

Summary

A day filled with family fun, quiet moments of concern, and unexpected revelations, as playful banter masks deeper emotions and surprises along the way.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Family feels, family fluff, emotional, all over the place, chaos, silly, banter!

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The sheets are warm with the weight of him. Morning light filters through the curtains in thin streaks, soft and golden, catching faintly on a few silver strands in Zayne’s dark hair where it spills across the pillow beside you. His breathing is slow, even—still half-lost in sleep, just like you. You shift slightly and feel his hand tighten around your waist in response, as if his body’s not ready to let go of the quiet just yet either.

"Morning," you murmur, voice thick with sleep as you nuzzle into his chest.

Zayne’s reply is a low hum that vibrates against your cheek. "Mm. Morning." His voice is husky, unpolished—nothing like the clean, crisp tone he uses usually. You can feel his lips brush your forehead in a lazy kiss. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he starts to move.

You groan and reach for him, draping your arm across his middle and pulling him back down before he can sit up. "No," you mumble. "Five more minutes."

You nuzzle closer to his chest, trying to hold onto the moment, but something in you feels... softer than usual. Fragile, almost. You blame it on the warmth of the bed, on the rare quiet, but your throat tightens unexpectedly and you don’t know why.

His hand rubs slow circles into your back. You cling tighter anyway.

He chuckles softly, settling back against you for just a moment, the sound warm and deep in his chest. "If I stay, none of us will get to school or work on time."

"That's a later problem," you say without opening your eyes.

"Tomorrow is my day off," he reminds you, brushing his thumb along your hip like he’s trying to soothe you out of bed without actually moving you. "We’ll have the house to ourselves. Six blessed hours of silence—just us."

You open one eye at that. "That does sound nice."

You shift slightly beneath the covers, staring at him through sleep-heavy lashes. The thought of a whole day alone with him fills you with a kind of tenderness that catches you off guard, like you're holding too much in your chest. It’s not new, the feeling, but it hits sharper than usual this morning.

"Exactly," he says as he gently pulls you beside him. “So let’s move before one of the kids burns the kitchen.” he adds lips curving in amusement.

Right on cue, a voice shouts from the hallway—Lucas, unmistakably loud and dramatic. “Do you guys want burnt toast or not? Because Serena’s starting breakfast and she won’t let me help!”

Zayne laughs, forehead pressing lightly to yours. "That’s our cue."

You groan again, but this time it’s mixed with a laugh as you finally decide to move properly. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands with the sort of grace that shouldn’t be legal this early in the morning. You’re still rubbing sleep from your eyes as you follow him out of the room, trailing behind him.

The kitchen smells faintly of toast and something slightly burnt—but not quite enough to worry you yet. Serena stands at the stove, carefully flipping something in a pan while Lucas hovers a safe but theatrical distance away, arms crossed like a food critic.

You and Zayne step into the scene still blinking sleep from your eyes. He leans lightly against the counter, brushing a knuckle beneath his nose as if trying to shake off the last of sleep—or something else.

There's a flicker in his expression, the barest crease between his brows, but it’s gone fast. If you weren’t watching him so closely, you’d miss it.

You know that look. It’s the same one he gets when he smells antiseptic too early in the morning or skips breakfast. Except he hasn’t skipped anything—and he looks a little green around the edges.

You frown, that strange tenderness rising again. It shouldn’t bother you this much. But it does.

“Tomorrow,” he says under his breath, just for you. “We’re doing nothing but lying around and ordering takeout.”

You smile, opening a cupboard for plates. “Oh? Not cooking something nice together like you usually insisted?"

“Not tomorrow.” He touches your back gently as he reaches past you for a glass. “I might have overestimated my energy levels.”

You pause, glancing sideways at him. “You feeling okay?”

He nods, but it’s a beat too slow. “Just tired,” he murmurs. “Long week.”

Before you can prod further, Lucas turns from the stove like he’s been waiting for his cue. “Eh, Dad, tomorrow’s your day off?”

Zayne straightens slightly, instantly slipping back into his usual calm. “That’s the plan, unless someone else sets something on fire.”

“Well,” Lucas grins, “Callum and I actually have to help with a school play. Last-minute change, but we’re in the tech crew before—lighting and music and stuff. But now we’re rope in on supporting roles. Our friend kinda begged.”

Callum clears his throat behind him, a little less sure. “We weren’t gonna ask you guys to come since you’re usually working, and Mom’s… you know, retired-but-not-really retired…”

Your eyebrows lift slightly. “Hey—”

“But,” Lucas barrels on, “since you’re free, you have to come.”

Zayne looks at you, one brow lifting, a silent so much for resting.

You sigh in dramatic defeat. “Of course we’ll come. It sounds awesome.”

Callum lights up, relief replacing hesitation. Lucas gives a loud, celebratory fist pump.

Serena turns from the stove, face calm as ever. “Please record it. That way we can critique their acting later.”

“You’re not even gonna be there,” Lucas says.

“I’ll analyze it more objectively that way.”

“We’re not actors!”

Zayne chuckles low, beside you, as Callum jumps in to defend their acting integrity. “They’re doing this on purpose,” he mutters under his breath. “They’ve mastered the art of perfect interruptions.”

You lean into his side as you both set out the plates. “They learned from the best.”

“Mm. Remind me again why we thought tomorrow would be peaceful?”

You just laugh and nudge his shoulder with yours. He reaches for the coffee pot—but his hand pauses mid-air for a split second. Then he resumes like nothing happened, pouring it carefully. You watch him from the corner of your eye.

Something’s off. Nothing dramatic. But you know his rhythms too well to miss the subtle dissonance.

Still, you all gather around the table. Toast—slightly singed, eggs, whatever Serena made that somehow looks like an omelet but smells like it contains ingredients you didn’t buy—there’s laughter, overlapping chatter, forks clinking against plates.

By the time everyone’s dressed and packed up, Zayne looks like himself again. There's a bit more color in his face, a steadier step as he adjusts the strap of his messenger bag. You almost think you imagined it—the brief falter, the hesitation over coffee. Almost.

“Don’t forget Serena’s lunch,” you call, grabbing the neatly labeled container from the fridge and slipping it into her bag.

“I already packed it,” Zayne replies without missing a beat, gently guiding Serena’s arm through her jacket sleeve as she calmly buttons it herself.

Lucas and Callum are still arguing over who gets to control the playlist for the ride, each one holding their phones aloft like they’re in court.

You’re about to intervene when Serena tugs lightly on your sleeve. “Mom?”

You glance down. “What’s up, baby?”

She steps a little to the side, away from the rest of the noise. “After school… can we go to the mall? I need a few things. For lab. Pipettes, test tubes, maybe a new Bunsen burner if they have one in stock.” She says it all very seriously, but then she adds, “And maybe we can check the girls' section too. It's been a while.”

You blink. “You want to shop?”

She shrugs one shoulder, her expression unchanged. “We don’t have to. But you said it’s okay to look nice outside the lab sometimes.”

You don’t realize she remembers that. Or maybe you don’t realize how much she listens.

You smile gently. “Of course we can. After school.”

She nods, satisfied, then joins Zayne again without another word.

You glance at him—he's helping her with her backpack, talking softly about the routes near the hospital like everything's perfectly normal. And maybe it is. But something twists low in your chest, unreasonably tight. A play. A few errands. Some time at the mall. It’s not much.

So why does it feel like a lot? Like too much, somehow? Even though you sure you’re not mind all of these at all.

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The next night, you wake to a sound that doesn't belong to you—shallow, uneven breathing beside you, too sharp for sleep.

In the dimness, you can barely make out Zayne’s silhouette, but the way his chest moves—quick, unsteady—sets you on edge. His fingers are clenched in the sheets.

You reach for him, voice soft. “Zayne?”

He startles just slightly. Then stills.

Your hand finds his chest, and the staccato rhythm of his heart feels offbeat under your palm.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “You’re here. I’ve got you.”

His breath shudders out. Slowly, his eyes blink open, unfocused at first.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, voice raw. “Didn’t mean to—”

“Stop that,” you murmur, brushing damp strands from his forehead. “You were shaking. You think I’m not gonna notice that?”

He huffs a laugh—barely—but the tension in his limbs hasn’t fully left.

“I don’t remember it,” he admits, almost to himself. “Just… lost.”

The echo of his fear lodges in your chest, sharp and quiet.

“Well,” you say, pressing a kiss to his temple, “you’re back now. And you didn’t forget anything. Not really.”

He leans into you, exhaling again, fingers curling into your side like he needs the anchor. You don’t let go.

You stay like that—breathing in tandem, your touch steady, until the trembling begins to fade.

Eventually, you drift off again.

But not for long.

The next time you wake, it’s to Zayne adjusting the blanket, trying not to disturb you. He stops the moment he realizes your eyes are open again.

“You should sleep,” he says.

“So should you.”

He hesitates, then relents, lying back down with a sigh and pulling you close again. “Just can’t seem to stay under.”

You trace slow, calming circles along his back. “It’s alright. We’ll just keep waking up and going back to sleep together. No pressure to rest perfectly, just… stay close.”

He rarely has nightmares anymore, but sometimes they still come back—and lately, they’ve been hitting harder than usual.

A faint smile tugs at his mouth, his nose brushing yours. “You’re making that sound like a plan.”

“It is a plan,” you whisper, tucking your head beneath his chin. “It’s called ‘we’re exhausted, but at least we’re exhausted together.’”

He huffs a laugh and finally seems to settle. You can feel the weight of him soften, his breathing even out again. Your eyes flutter closed just as his hand slides back to your waist.

You press your palm firmer against his chest, your other hand curling into his hair—quiet, steady pressure. You’re here. He’s safe.

The night drags on in pieces—sleep in fractured intervals, dreams brushing the edge of wakefulness, the familiar sound of each other’s breaths filling the quiet. But each time you both drift, it gets a little easier. A little steadier.

Until the sun begins to creep in through the curtains again.

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The kitchen’s already a little too bright when you shuffle in, sleeves tugged down over your hands, hair still messy from sleep. The smell of burnt toast lingers in the air—fresh or leftover, you can’t tell. It fits either way.

Zayne’s beside you, quiet, moving like his limbs are heavier than usual—no precise motions, just tired ones.

Last night’s rhythm—dozing, waking, Zayne’s breathing catching in your arms, him murmuring your name, your fingers combing through his sweat-dampened strands—still echoes in your chest like a held breath.

Oddly enough, you don’t feel as drained as you should. Not after a night of fractured sleep. You stretch your shoulders and roll your neck, half expecting soreness that doesn’t come.

The stove hisses faintly as you flip an egg, only to startle at a sudden voice behind you.

“Whoa.” Callum squints, cereal box tucked under one arm. “Is Dad okay?”

Lucas follows a beat later, eyes darting to Zayne’s. “Did we run out of coffee or…?”

Even Serena, already sitting on the stool with her milk, lifts her eyes from the table. Her voice is soft but precise. “Did either of you sleep?”

You open your mouth to reassure them—just a rough night, just tired—but Zayne suddenly stiffens beside you. You don’t even have to turn to know.

His jaw tightens. You barely catch the twitch in his temple before he sets the glass down too carefully—and walks off fast.

The bathroom door shuts a little too hard. A moment later, the unmistakable sound of retching cuts through the quiet.

Everything stills.

Your heart lurches. You glance at the kids—Callum frozen with his spoon halfway to his mouth, Serena looking worried in that rare way that makes her younger age show, and Lucas frowning slightly, already halfway to rising.

“I’ve got him,” you say gently. “Serena, sweetheart—let your brothers help with the stove, okay? No burning down the kitchen.”

Lucas immediately straightens like a soldier. “Chef Lucas is on it.”

Callum mutters, “It’s okay, Sis. He’s just sick, right?”

Serena slides off her stool, she nods and smile easily toward Callum, though her eyes linger on the hallway.

You slip into the bathroom, the tile cool beneath your feet. Zayne is hunched over the toilet, knuckles white where he grips the edge. His shoulders tremble with each harsh breath. You wet a towel in silence and kneel beside him, brushing the cloth against the back of his neck.

He doesn’t flinch—just leans into it, like he remembers this comfort from other nights.

“I’m fine,” he says too fast, like if he says it with enough certainty, it might become true.

You shake your head. “You’re very bad at lying when your face is the color of paper.”

He exhales a weak laugh that sounds more like surrender.

“Here.” You grab the mouthwash, pour a cap, and pass it to him.

He rinses, spits, leans back against the wall. “Must’ve been something I ate yesterday.”

You ate the same thing. You feel fine. Better than fine, weirdly. But maybe your stomach’s just sturdier this week.

“The toast was suspicious, I’ll give you that. But if this is revenge for slightly undercooked eggs, I think your stomach’s being dramatic.”

Another weak smile. “Must’ve learned it from you.”

You nudge him gently, and he winces like it hurts—but he’s still smiling.

When the worst of it passes, you help him stand, his body heavy against yours.

By the time you return to the kitchen, the kids have somehow pulled breakfast together. Toast isn’t burned, and someone managed to make eggs that don’t look like rubber. Lucas even arranged the plates like he's trying to distract from the fact he probably used salt instead of sugar in the tea.

Zayne sits, looking less pale, and manages to lift a fork.

“Is Dad okay now?” Serena asks, voice quiet but direct.

“Probably something I ate,” Zayne says again, tone steady.

He cuts into a piece of toast.

But just as he lifts the toast to his mouth, he freezes—

Fork halfway. Breath catching.

His jaw clenches, and his hand lowers slowly.

He stands too fast, chair scraping, mutters something like “Excuse me,” and disappears down the hall.

This time, none of them pretend not to watch him go.

No one says anything until you sigh and push your plate back. “Eat first. Please. Then finish getting ready for school, alright? I’ll be back.”

The twins both nod, but the energy at the table has shifted—muted, worried.

When you follow, you find him sitting beside the toilet, elbows braced on his knees, breathing carefully like he’s trying not to be sick.

He doesn’t even look up when you kneel beside him—just leans into your touch the moment your hand finds his back.

“Didn’t even eat it,” he mutters. “My stomach just flipped, but nothing come out.”

Then, glancing toward you. “The kids—”

“They’re fine. You’re the one crawling to the bathroom.”

He almost smiles. “They’ll be late.”

“They’re managing themselves better than you are right now,” you say, brushing damp strands of hair off his forehead. “Let me take care of you. In sickness and in health, remember?”

That gets a snort out of him—tired, low, but real.

When you finally shuffle back to the table again, the kids are finishing up. Lucas looks up as Zayne slumps back into his seat.

“We were talking,” Lucas says slowly. “About the performance later. It’s fine if you don’t come.”

“We’ll ask our teacher to record it,” Callum adds. “We can watch it together at home. Even if we have to endure Serena’s critiques.”

Serena narrows her eyes and reaches over to pinch Callum’s cheek—just a little. “I’ll keep my comments to your line and pacing.”

You and Zayne share a look. The twins try to play it cool, but their eyes betray them—disappointment flickering just beneath the surface, no matter how casually they speak.

It’s not just worry. It’s the quiet kind of hurt they don’t want to burden you with. You feel it twist inside—subtle but sharp.

Zayne rests his arm on the table, fingers just brushing yours. He looks at them, then down at his untouched plate. “I’ll be okay in a few hours.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Serena murmurs. “We just want you to rest.”

Lucas stares in disbelief before nodding at Serena’s words. “Dad, I say this with love—you look like you're about to meet your ancestors.”

You laugh into your hand. “I have to agree.”

Zayne slouches like he's been mortally wounded. “A house of traitors. Unbelievable.”

“Technically,” Callum says, checking his phone, “we’re almost late.”

You see them out, checking backpacks, jackets, making sure Serena has her mittens, and then eye Lucas. “It’s a taxi, so do not get on a different bus. Luc, I’m watching you.”

Lucas gasps, hand to his chest. “Mother. I’m wounded by your lack of faith.”

You’re already pushing him toward the door. Looking at the rest of your children one by one. “Phones on hands okay?”

Each of them presses kisses to your cheeks, then Zayne’s—even after he warns, “Hugs will do. I’m still contagious with... whatever this is.”

Lucas dramatically recoils after kissing Zayne’s cheek. “Ugh. I taste sickness. This is how I die.”

Zayne lips twitches, shaking his head as the door closes behind them.

More goodbyes—the kind that linger just a little too long at the door.

And then the house exhales into stillness.

“I think I’ve been conquered,” he says, easing into the cushions. “Not by illness. By tiny, merciless forces of nature.”

You hand him a blanket and smile, easing down beside him. “You’ve been outnumbered.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, for real this time. Quiet, but warm.

You smile. “Much better.”

You stay like that for a moment longer—just the two of you, held together by exhaustion and affection and the quiet awe that your children somehow knew exactly when to be gentle.

“Kind of wild,” you whisper. “There are days they argue about toast. But when one of us is falling apart, they just… know.”

Zayne nods slowly, voice a rasp. “I’m not sure if I should be proud or afraid.”

You chuckle. “Parenthood.”

He hums in agreement, low and steady. “They’re growing up too fast.”

A pause before he continue, “If I feel even a little better by noon,” he murmurs, “we could still try to make it.”

You lift your eyebrow at him—it’s the softest form of challenge. He didn’t insist, at least.

“They were trying not to be disappointed,” you murmur. “But I think we both want to surprise them.”

Zayne’s smile is faint, but it reaches his eyes. “Let’s see what strength a nap gives us.”

You nod, leaning your head against his shoulder.

The morning stretches quiet and warm.

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As if fate’s on your side, Zayne starts feeling better within a few hours—you don’t even have to wait until noon.

You still insist on a hospital detour, though. Just in case.

He doesn’t argue, only lets you guide him through the clinic doors with his scarf pulled up like armor. The visit is quick. His vitals are stable, no signs of worsening. The doctor confirms what Zayne himself already said earlier, but doesn’t mind repeating it for your peace of mind.

You don’t explain that it’s not just this flu you’re worried about. That your body’s been feeling off lately in ways you haven’t said aloud yet. That you’ve been second-guessing every little ache, just in case it means something more.

He’s okay. That’s what you hold onto.

And somehow, that’s how you both end up at the school play after all—Zayne settled beside you in the back row, phone in hand, still wrapped in his scarf like someone only half-recovered. You arrive just as the lights begin to dim.

The look on Lucas and Callum’s faces when they spot you both is unforgettable. Lucas’s mouth falls open mid-scan of the crowd, and Callum blinks twice before elbowing him sharply. Their eyes dart back once, twice—just to make sure you’re still there.

Zayne’s already recording, but his gaze flicks toward the boys. “That reaction alone was worth dragging myself out of bed.”

“They’re trying not to grin too hard,” you murmur. “Complete failure.”

The twins take the stage with far more energy than either of you expected—voices clear, posture proud. Every few lines, they glance subtly your way, like they're checking to see if your eyes are still on them. And they are.

Afterward, there’s only a minute to rush forward and catch them between class cues—tight hugs, quick praise, Lucas talking too fast from leftover adrenaline.

You promise lunch. That’s all it takes.

Serena joins you at the school gate a few minutes later, her backpack slightly crooked, some sort of paper cut still taped to her sleeve. She doesn’t say much, just blinks up at Zayne like she’s assessing how sick he really is, then nods like she approves of the effort.

By the time you pile into the car, Zayne’s scarf has slipped a little and Serena’s nestled beside him like she’s guarding him from further illness.

Lunch is cozy—noisy but light. Lucas reenacts a backstage mishap involving someone’s wig and a cup of juice. Callum tries to explain the lighting setup. Serena critiques everyone’s articulation with all the seriousness of a judge on a panel.

Afterward, you stop at the mall.

You and Serena veer off first, heading into a quiet shop with warm lighting and clothes folded in precise, perfect rows. She’s particular—likes feeling the fabric between her fingers before deciding. You let her take the lead, offering gentle nudges when she hesitates.

Across the plaza, Zayne and the twins have a short list from the science department. Updated equipment for Serena’s school supplies. You watch them go with a soft smile—Zayne already pretending to read the list out loud like a grim prophecy to match Lucas theatrical act, still from the play, He’s walking backwards as he waves dramatically, Callum steering him forward like always.

It’s a quiet hour. You and Serena try on scarves, hunt for accessories, jewelry, anything that both of you rarely used, pause to split a small strawberry tart from the bakery near the fountain. She holds your hand as you walk, and when you bend to tie her shoelace, a faint ache curls low in your back.

You pause just a beat too long before rising. Serena watches you closely.

“I’m okay,” you say.

She nods, but doesn’t let go of your hand.

Eventually, the others return. Zayne gives you a look as he takes the shopping bag from your hand.

You fall back into step together, wandering the last few stores as a unit again. It feels easy. Laughter echoes faintly behind you, Serena’s soft commentary in front. You wonder if she knows—if any of them know—how these ordinary days have been grounding you more than anything else.

Zayne’s hands brush yours as you walk, and when you glance over, he’s already looking.

You don’t need to say anything. He just nods, like he understand it anyway.

The game corner is the next stop of the day—noisy, chaotic, pulsing with lights that flicker across the walls like a festival. It smells like buttered popcorn and plastic coins. Somewhere overhead, a pop remix of a classical theme plays on a loop.

You and Zayne stick close to the sides, watching as the kids dive headfirst into the mayhem. Lucas is already locked in a racing duel with Callum, both shouting over engine sound effects. Serena’s in the rhythm corner, small and focused as she taps glowing tiles with near-perfect timing.

Zayne’s leaned against a support beam, scarf now more accessory than shield. His arms are loosely folded, eyes tracking your children with quiet fondness, even as he suppresses the occasional cough.

You try a round of racing too—hopeless, of course. Your car crashes into a digital lake and explodes with dramatic fanfare. The kids cheer like you’ve just pulled off a grand victory.

“She’s learning,” Lucas declares, solemn as a coach. “We’ll make a racer of her yet.”

You laugh, breathless, wiping your palms on your jeans. “Only if the car learns how to steer itself.”

Eventually, you all migrate to the food court—your makeshift tradition. One shared table, too many chairs, a tray of desserts balanced between elbows and half-unzipped jackets.

You order your usual: the matcha sundae. It’s the kind of dessert you’ve had a hundred times—a little bitter, a little sweet, familiar in all the right ways.

Except it’s not.

You take one spoonful, pause, and wince. “What the—”

The kids look up immediately.

Lucas frowns. “Did you bite into a wasabi trap or something?”

Serena leans over the table, peering at your cup. “Did they forget the sugar?”

You shake your head, trying again, slower this time. The bitterness hits harder. It tastes like soap and regret and betrayal. Your brows knit. “It’s awful. It tastes like soap. I always eat this.”

Zayne leans closer, voice soft. “Maybe the batch is off. Could just be—”

You want to agree. You really do.

But the sting in your throat and the sudden burn behind your eyes tell a different story. Your lip wobbles before you can stop it, and the tears come without warning. Quiet. Frustrated. Messy.

“I like matcha,” you whisper. “Why can’t I like matcha anymore?”

The table falls silent. Even the game corner music sounds like it dims for a beat.

Lucas scrambles, yanking napkins from the dispenser with both hands. “It’s okay! It’s okay, Mom! We’ll get chocolate. Chocolate never betrays.”

Serena slides her smoothie toward you like a peace offering. “This one’s strawberry. Maybe it’s safer?”

Callum grabs a fresh spoon. “We can get something else. Anything else. Don’t cry over dessert, it’s bad luck or something.”

You take the napkin and even the spoon, dabbing your eyes with the napkin while letting out a half-laugh, half-sob. “My sweet babies. You’re all so good to me, and here I am—crying over ice cream.”

Serena peers up at Zayne, she winches. “Oh no. We broke her.”

Callum, wide-eyed, pushes his untouched drink toward you like it might solve something. “Hydration helps, right? That’s a thing?”

Zayne is still watching you—face unreadable, but something’s tightening around the corners of his eyes.

“Well, it is near her—” he starts, then stops. His brow furrows.

And then it hits him.

His expression changes in slow motion. Not quite shock. Not yet. But the kind of dawning realization that makes him sit back, re-calibrate, and then slowly rise from his seat.

“Alright,” he says gently, calm anchoring his voice. He steps around the table, crouching beside your chair until you’re eye level.

“I think we should go to the hospital, Love.”

You blink at him, confused. “Why? I’m not crazy just because I’m crying in public!”

Zayne doesn’t flinch at the volume of the stares around you. He simply smiles, soft and a little helpless, and lifts you into his arms like he’s done it a hundred times.

“You’re not crazy,” he murmurs, meeting your gaze with quiet patience. “I just… want to rule a few things out.”

You blink at him, confused and a little suspicious now. “What things?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His expression stays careful, unreadable, but there’s something thoughtful behind his eyes. Not panic—just… caution.

“It could be nothing,” he murmurs. “But your body’s trying to tell us something. Let’s just check.”

You let him help you up, still sniffling, still annoyed at the sundae and the universe. Zayne wraps an arm around your waist, not possessive, but protective—gentle in a way that makes your chest ache.

Serena’s already grabbing her bag. “I think Mom caught something from you, Dad.”

“Maybe,” Zayne says, brushing his thumb across your shoulder blade. “Or maybe it’s something else.”

That make the kids frown even more.

Lucas frowns. “What else?”

“Are you—like, okay-okay?” Callum adds, voice smaller now.

You force a smile for them. “I’m okay, sweetheart. Just a little… emotional.”

Zayne nods slowly, but says nothing more. And that’s what unsettles you most—because when he’s quiet like that, it means he’s already thinking ten steps ahead.

The kids follow behind, still whispering theories between worries hushes.

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You stare at the doctor like she just misread her own chart.

“I’m what?!”

The doctor doesn’t flinch. “You’re pregnant, Mrs. Li. Two months along.”

Your mouth opens and closes uselessly. “But I—I mean I’m forty-four years old this year.”

“Yes,” the doctor replies smoothly, like this is the most normal conversation in the world. “While it’s not the recommended age for pregnancy, it’s far from uncommon. Especially given your background. I see here that you’re a retired Hunter?”

Your eyes twitch, resisting the urge to groan. “...Yes.”

“And Dr. Li is an Evol users,” she adds, glancing at Zayne. “Your DNA and physical conditioning both suggest higher-than-average resilience. It’s reasonable to expect a healthy pregnancy, assuming there are no unforeseen complications.”

Zayne, to your left, is alarmingly composed. “We did plan to have one more after the twins,” he says, almost too calmly.

You whip your head toward him. “That was years ago.”

He tilts his head. “And then things got… delayed.”

You both say it at the same time.

“Twins.”

He smiles. You laugh, somewhere between overwhelmed and incredulous.

The doctor smiles faintly. “Congratulations. I’ll give you two a moment.”

She slips out quietly, leaving behind the soft hum of equipment and the echo of those two words. You’re pregnant.

You sit back, stunned. Your hands are still in your lap, fingers knotted tightly. Zayne hasn’t said anything yet, which isn’t unusual—but you can feel the weight of his gaze.

“I cried over matcha,” you say after a beat, your voice faint and shaky. “This baby’s going to be trouble as well.”

Zayne’s mouth twitches. “When you were pregnant with Serena, I threw up every morning for a week.”

You blink at him. “Wait, you—oh my god. That’s why you’ve been sick.”

He nods once, too calm for someone who just got the same news as you. “Today. Yesterday. All morning symptoms accounted for—just not yours.”

“We should’ve know, you always take my morning sickness…”

“I’m glad to contribute to this part.”

You huff a laugh despite yourself.

Zayne reaches out, gently lacing his fingers through yours. “Are you alright?”

You nod slowly, dazed. “I think so. Just—processing.”

“There's no rush.”

You squeeze his hand. “You really suspected?”

“I wasn’t sure. But when I remember your cycle was supposed to be done already, and you didn’t say anything. That gave me an idea.”

You let out a breath and smile, eyes still shiny. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re pregnant.”

You expect panic or laughter—but all you feel is stillness, like your heart’s trying to catch up with the news.

You groan, but the curve of your mouth already lifting. “Don’t say it like that.”

When you step out of the room together, hand in hand, the kids are camped out in the waiting area like they’re preparing for a disaster.

Serena sits cross-legged, calm and upright, reading something on her phone. She looks up first, eyes sharp. “Well?”

Lucas is sprawled dramatically across three chairs. “Did they find the cursed ice cream demon?!”

Callum straightens up beside him, ever the contrast. “Is it a virus? Hormonal imbalance? Dad said ‘rule things out’ so that’s probably…”

You hesitate—and Zayne raises a brow, silently offering you the choice.

You nod. You’ve got this.

“So…” you begin slowly, “we may have… a small development.”

Lucas immediately bolts upright. “Wait, like a tumor?!”

Callum slaps a hand over his mouth. “Lucas.”

Zayne calmly interjects. “No tumors.”

You cough into your hand. “More like a very small, currently bean-sized development.”

Serena lowers her phone. “...You’re pregnant?”

You nod, cheeks heating. “I’m pregnant.”

Lucas chokes. “You’re what?!”

Callum’s jaw drops. “Seriously?!”

Serena just blinks. “Huh. I thought so.” She slips her phone into her pocket.

You blink. “You what?”

Serena shrugs. “You’ve been emotional, craving weird things, sometimes you’re tired, sometimes you’re not. Textbook symptoms. Although if Dad hadn’t been acting cryptic, I wouldn’t have thought of it. Congratulations.”

Lucas grabs the back of a chair. “Hold on—hold on. That means... that means—I’m gonna be a big brother?!”

“You already are one,” Callum mutters.

“Yeah but again?! Like, another baby? In this economy?!”

You and Zayne exchange a look—and then burst into laughter. You really do wonder sometimes what kind of things they’re teaching in school.

Callum’s eyes narrow, still stunned.

“Is it safe? I mean, aren’t you—uh…”

“Old?” you deadpan.

Callum clears his throat, suddenly very invested in pretending he knows nothing.

“I didn’t say that.”

Zayne gives him a small, amused nod of approval. “Smart.”

Serena stands, already moving toward you to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “You’re going to be fine. We’ve got you.”

Lucas looks horrified. “Does this mean we have to give up the gaming room?!”

Callum groans. “...We just got shelves.”

You glance at Zayne. “You want to tell them they’ll be sharing chores with a toddler in five years?”

He smiles. “Let’s give them a week to adjust first.”

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Bonus

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Both Rose and Caleb stare at you like you’ve just grown a second head.

Their expressions flicker between disbelief and dawning realization—until Caleb suddenly bursts into laughter and Rose smacks her forehead with a groan.

“I cannot believe you guys,” she says, shaking her head.

Caleb points accusingly at Zayne, still grinning. “And that’s what happens when you didn’t join me for a vasectomy.”

Zayne lets out a short laugh. “That was years ago.”

“Exactly!” Caleb fires back, triumphant.

“Well, we did want more. Years ago,” you mutter, folding your arms with an exaggerated sigh.

“Clearly both of you got distracted,” Rose chimes in, snorting.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face.

“How far along are you again?” she asks.

“The doctor said it’s around two months.”

“Two months…” Rose echoes slowly, the gears clearly turning.

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that around the time you guys went to that lakeside resort for Serena?”

“I mean… we did, but—”

“We were careful,” Zayne supplies, a little too quickly.

Rose and Caleb exchange a look, then say in perfect unison, “Were you?”

“Yes!” you insist, feeling your face heat. “Besides, we were there with our kids. We barely get time to—” You wave your hand, trying not to picture it. “You know.”

"So it's a quickie?" Caleb says without restraint and Rose immediately pinch his side.

“That’s actually a higher risk for slipping up,” she mutters.

“I mean… that’s true. But we got the whole box for a reason,” you say, voice rising defensively as your cheeks get hotter.

Zayne hums beside you, a thoughtful sound that immediately puts you on edge. You glance over. “What?”

He tilts his head, brow furrowed. “The last day…”

“…We were drunk…” you finish slowly, dread already curling in your stomach.

“I’m sure I still put—”

“No, no, dear, you didn’t…” You cut him off as the memory clicks into place, your eyes widening.

Zayne’s gaze sharpens, realization dawning. “Did I not?”

By the time he turns fully toward you, Rose and Caleb are already in stitches, laughing so hard they have to lean on each other for support. Caleb’s wheezing. Rose’s eyes are watering.

You sink deeper into your seat, burying your face in Zayne’s shoulder.

While Zayne’s still trying to do the math under his breath.

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Notes

This is truly a trip ahahahaha and surprise? 😂🤭

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU list ✨

Although if you missed the Newlyweds series! Here How it all happen And also the Pregnancy series, starting with Try For Baby