zayne with a five-year-old daughter who loves carrots.
in fact, her absolute favorite—the one she looks forward to every single meal as her current hyperfixation.
as his wife, you try not to feed him meals that consists of what he calls an abomination of a vegetable. but as the mother of his daughter, however, you knew her nutrition comes first and your husband’s pickiness comes second.
so when dinner rolled around serving your two sweethearts some curry, you can’t help but always be amused by the scene across you.
zayne picking apart his food, setting aside the carrots while your daughter reaches over to his side and jabs into the vegetables using her fork all the while conversing with each other.
“and then daddy she turned into a silly red panda! but she didn’t tell her mommy at first…” your daughter babbles, licking the sauce off the crevices of the carrot.
“why didn’t she?” zayne muses, scraping another one onto the side of his plate.
your daughter takes a big bite of the vegetable before standing from her chair again, one hand propped on the dinner table and reaching over to the discarded food from her father’s plate.
“i dun’ know…” your daughter mumbles a reply, her tongue sticking out from the corner of her lips in concentration as she attempts to prick onto the carrot. zayne watches her focus on her mission with a slight tug on his lips, trusting that she will complete her task successfully.
and when she manages to pierce through the vegetable, a large grin forms in her face, “but i think she was scared of her mommy, daddy,” your daughter finally replies.
zayne hums, watching her stare at the carrot with awe. you can’t help but return the gesture to your small family. your hand reaches over to zayne’s, lightly clasping over it.
“zayne, honey, are you sure she’s your daughter? she’s looking at that carrot the same way she looks at you,” you ask with that teasing lilt.
your husband turns to you with that deadpanned expression you’ve accustomed with when you say something absurd.
but before he can even provide his usual remark, your daughter exclaims, “daddy is my daddy! he needs to eat carrots too!”
now how is he supposed to reject the love of his life like that…
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dad!zayne who opens a text from you during his break. it reads, "i've been wondering why it takes them a while to finish. did you know about this?" followed by a video of their child at the sink, taken at an angle that suggests they do not realise they were being recorded.
dad!zayne who plays the video to see their little 4-year-old washing their hands very thoroughly before proceeding to work up their forearms — a manner that is no way unfamiliar to the man himself.
dad!zayne who is impressed that somehow their preschooler managed to learn how to wash their hands like they were to scrub in for surgery. he may have absentmindedly done that a few times at home. did they pick that up from him?
dad!zayne who watches fondly as the child's focus breaks and looks at the camera stunned, finally noticing you. "do you want to say hi to daddy?" you say. they nod enthusiastically, waving at the camera and flinging a few suds away, "hi daddy!"
dad!zayne who has an ice evol, melting under the warmth of his two suns.
idk if this has been done before but aaaa plot bunnies part of me still in disbelief that l&ds of all things has me writing. i feel rusty and lowk out of my element? this was inspired by tiktok doomscrolling.
"Zayne." I nudge his shoulder. It was 3am and I felt a pair of tiny feet kicking in my womb, they're growing stronger each day.
Just before I could call his name again, he turns to his left side slowly. "What's wrong..?" his voice laced with concern.
"The baby's kicking too hard.. They woke me up." I sigh and rub my swollen stomach gently.
Zayne carefully sits up from the bed and scootched closer to me. Guiding my body to fit into his embrace.
"I guess we know who they take after.." he mumbles.
I gasp, acting offended by his comment. "Tell me you didn't just imply that our child has a bad personality." With the tendency to overthink, I try not to let it get to me. Especially with pregnancy hormones.
Zayne pulls me closer, "It's true. They're strong and stubborn." His voice was soft and had no mockery. "That's a compliment, by the way."
"Doesn't seem like it to me." I pat my stomach gently, careful not to do it too hard. "Your daddy can be mean and brutal sometimes with his words, don't let it ruin your day. Okay?" I talk to the baby in my womb, that responded with a tiny kick.
I felt his lips on my neck, placing a kiss and blew on it. "I think the kick meant 'Mama, I'm hungry for chocolate and macarons'. "
I chuckle at his comment and hit his leg, "They got that from you, for sure."
a/n: my first drabble :> I should make this into a series
♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x fem!reader
♡ cw: pregnancy, first ultrasounds, emotional devastation (soft), quiet tears, twin reveal (Sylus), stoic boy meltdowns, chaos disguised as tenderness
♡ a/n: they all swore they’d stay calm. They all lied. You hear the heartbeat, and suddenly the bravest men in the galaxy are on the verge of crying, fainting, or starting a baby-proofing war plan.
Caleb
He tries to be calm.
Really, he does.
You’re holding his hand—well, more like crushing it—and Caleb’s doing his best to be composed. He smiles at the nurse. Makes a dumb joke. Rubs your knuckles.
But the moment that grainy little flicker shows up on the screen?
The moment the room fills with the steady, quick-thudding whump-whump-whump of a heartbeat?
He stops breathing.
The grin drops off his face like it was never there.
His fingers go still.
His eyes are locked on the screen, wide and unblinking.
“That’s… that’s ours?” he whispers.
You nod, voice catching in your throat. “Yeah.”
And then he laughs.
A breathy, broken little sound—half-sob, half-hysterical wonder. Like his whole body can’t decide whether to melt or combust. He turns toward you, eyes shimmering.
“I didn’t—I didn’t think I could feel this much.”
His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking just beneath your eye. “You’re growing a whole person. Our person. That’s my kid in there. Our kid. I—”
He can’t finish the sentence.
He buries his face in your shoulder and laughs again, shaking a little.
“I’m gonna be a dad,” he says against your skin. “And they’ve already got my whole heart. I’m so screwed.”
You kiss the side of his head. “You’re not screwed.”
He pulls back, smiling through tears.
“No,” he says, looking at the screen again.
“I’m the luckiest bastard in the galaxy.”
Xavier
He’s quiet when the screen lights up.
Not his usual stillness. This is different.
His posture doesn’t shift. His expression barely changes. But you feel it—the way his hand tightens slightly around yours, the way his breath catches just a second too long.
And then the heartbeat comes through.
Whump-whump-whump.
Quick. Strong. Inarguably alive.
Xavier blinks once. His eyes lock on the grainy blur on the screen like he’s calculating a threat.
But there’s no threat.
Just something small. And safe. And yours.
“That sound…” he murmurs, voice low and careful, “is them?”
You nod, not trusting your voice.
He stares a moment longer, then lowers his gaze to your stomach—like he's only just realizing what’s been there this whole time.
“I thought I understood,” he says softly. “What this would be. I thought I was prepared.”
A pause. He shifts in his seat, fingers grazing the edge of the ultrasound photo the nurse just handed him.
“I wasn’t.”
Another silence.
Then, so softly you almost miss it:
“I’ll protect them. Always.”
He says it like a vow. Not dramatic. Not performative. Just fact.
Like this heartbeat rewired him.
You lean your head against his shoulder.
He doesn't speak again. Doesn’t need to.
He just keeps staring at the screen like he’s watching the future take its first breath.
Rafayel
He's already being too much before the machine even starts.
Kissing your hand like you’re royalty. Calling the OB “a vessel of the divine.” Whispering, “Are you ready, my muse?” in your ear like this is a movie premiere.
You roll your eyes. “Rafayel, it’s an ultrasound.”
He leans closer, eyes glowing with mischief. “And what is an ultrasound… if not the first brushstroke of our greatest masterpiece?”
You don’t have time to reply before the screen flares on—and just like that, he goes silent.
Utterly. Completely.
You turn to look at him.
He's frozen. Wide-eyed. One hand over his mouth like he just saw the face of a god.
The heartbeat kicks in.
Whump-whump-whump.
And he loses it.
“Oh,” he whispers, voice breaking on the single syllable. “Oh—look at them. Look.”
You do.
But Rafayel? He’s already gone.
Tears pool at the edges of his lashes—long and unblinking, like he’s terrified that blinking might erase the moment. One escapes down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it.
He grabs your hand with both of his, reverent. Desperate. “They’re so small,” he breathes. “And they’re ours. You—you made that. In you. I—we—”
He lets out this overwhelmed little laugh-sob that turns into a hiccup halfway through.
Then whispers, “I need to paint this.”
You blink. “Babe. It’s a blur of static and bean-shape.”
“Exactly. It’s pure. Abstract. Untouched by symbolism. It’s raw emotion, darling.”
You stifle a snort. “Are you crying?”
“I am feeling,” he snaps, brushing a tear away dramatically. “Leave me be.”
He presses a kiss to your wrist like he’s grounding himself in reality.
“Promise me something,” he murmurs.
You nod.
“When they’re born... remind me I loved them first. Before I even met them.”
You lean in. Kiss his cheek.
“I think they already know.”
Zayne
Zayne keeps his eyes on the screen the moment it flickers on.
His hand is holding yours, but it’s stiff. Careful. Like he’s trying too hard not to feel anything too early. Trying to stay clinical. Detached. Professional.
Like he’s just here to observe.
Then the sound hits.
Whump-whump-whump.
The heartbeat. Fast. Alive. Steady.
Your baby.
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t speak.
You glance over, expecting some sarcastic comment. A critique. Something.
But his jaw is tight.
His eyes—sharp, exact, always calculating—are suddenly unreadable. Blank in the way only Zayne can manage.
He doesn’t blink.
Not even once.
“Zayne?” you whisper.
Nothing.
And then—
Quietly.
Like it slips out without permission.
“…It’s real.”
He exhales hard, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it.
His fingers tighten around yours. Not painfully—but with intensity. Like if he lets go, it might all disappear.
“I’ve seen thousands of heartbeats,” he murmurs. “Monitors. Flatlines. Fibrillations. But this…”
He swallows. Looks down at your hand in his.
“I didn’t know how different it would feel when it’s… ours.”
There’s something cracked open in him now. Something bare.
You watch his throat move as he swallows again, hard.
Then, softer:
“I didn’t think I’d be scared.”
You squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to be perfect.”
He finally turns to you. His eyes are glassy, but he’s holding it in like always. You can see it—the quiet shaking underneath.
“I’m not scared of messing up,” he says. “I’m scared of how much I already love them.”
You lean in, rest your forehead against his.
“They’re going to be okay.”
He closes his eyes.
And lets himself believe it.
Sylus
Sylus is leaning against the wall like this is a business meeting and not the moment his entire future is about to implode.
Arms crossed. Mouth set. Watching the monitor with laser focus, like the image might suddenly sprout a threat he can neutralize.
Your hand is in his, resting on your belly. The gel’s cold. The nurse is smiling. Everything feels calm.
Until—
Whump-whump-whump.
The first heartbeat kicks in.
Sylus doesn’t move.
Then the nurse tilts her head. Frowns slightly. Adjusts the wand.
“Oh,” she says casually, as if she’s not about to detonate a bomb in the room. “There’s another.”
You blink. “Another what?”
She clicks something.
“There are two heartbeats.”
You stare at her. “As in—?”
“Twins,” she says, cheerfully. “You’re having twins.”
You whip your head toward Sylus.
Still frozen. Still unreadable.
Except for the twitch at the corner of his mouth. The subtle roll of his eyes. The very long blink like he’s internally rebooting.
Then, under his breath—just loud enough for you to hear:
“…I’m f*cking surrounded.”
You choke on a laugh. “Babe.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. Just rubs a hand down his face like the weight of responsibility has suddenly tripled.
Finally:
“I agreed to one. One tiny parasite. We had a deal.”
You grin. “Babies don’t do contracts.”
He mutters something about renegotiating with the womb gods before slouching down in the chair beside you, staring at the screen like it personally betrayed him.
The nurse keeps talking—measurements, due dates, baby A and baby B—but he’s not hearing any of it.
He’s calculating. Strategizing. Probably already planning to fortify the nursery.
Then he turns to you. Deadpan. Quiet.
“I’m going to need more weapons.”
You squeeze his hand.
“More diapers, you mean.”
He scowls. You can see the crisis brewing behind his eyes. But he still lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles like it’s instinct.
And then—very softly:
“…They’re gonna be so small.”
You nod. “And they’re yours.”
He leans back. Stares at the ceiling.
“God help me,” he mutters. “I’m gonna love them stupid, aren’t I?”
˚₊ · »-♡→ ; been a bit busy! buut i hope u enjoy this little thing i whipped up 𐔌՞꜆. ̫.꜀՞𐦯 ྀིྀ
baby has a chewing problem.
her growing pains from teething can only be soothed when her gums are gnawing on something, and despite the numerous teething devices you and zayne have purchased, she has her personal favorites.
#1 zaynes badge/lanyard
anytime the two of you visit zayne for lunch, she reaches to be held by him immediately! there was one time zayne was still wearing his coat, and she grabbed the small badge out of curiosity..only then to chew on her fathers photo 3 seconds later. now anytime she sets her eyes on it she must chew!! he’s learned to sanitize it. it got to a point where you had to make a makeshift lanyard for her with trinkets on that are actually meant for teething. but she refused to use it until zayne added one of his older badges.
#2 zaynes cheek
it started when he was laying on the bed, watching her closely during tummy time. she was laying down on the u-shaped pillow while playing with her toy piano when zayne decided to slide himself closer. he looks up at her with fondness and caresses her cheek out of impulse. she stops and looks over at him, her eyelashes flutter softly- and now his face was getting squished with the surprisingly strong force of two small hands. not only that, she decided he would be the perfect snack! he chuckles as he gently moves his face away, not phased by the slobber. she definitely picked this up from you squishing and biting her and zaynes face out of cuteness aggression. but then her outstretched arms and grubby hands pull his face back closer, her gums meeting the plush of his cheek once again. he sighs and accepts his fate, “i’m being held hostage.”.
and yes she will occasionally chew on yours as well, though she has a preference for zayne. you can’t say you blame her…
#3 zaynes hands
she mostly does this when he’s somewhat distracted. he’ll be holding her on the couch, one hand wrapped around her middle and the other laying on the armrest. you’re showing him a clip from the new episode of a show you’ve binged when she suddenly leans over slightly to take ahold of his hand. at first she was just tracing his ring, the cold silver immediately catching her attention and- now she’s gnawing on it. sometimes when she’s particularly fussy and the pain is much more intense, he will use his evol. the coolness helps to soothe the numbness! though, zayne refrains himself for letting her chew on them too often. mostly worried his evol may one day become erratic or out of control.
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tags: Dad!Zayne, tooth-rooting fluff , hurt/comfort, family dynamics.
cw: Descriptions of a panic attack, descriptions of anxiety, flashbacks of a traumatic past experience.
wc: 2.8k
author's note: I wanted to write something about Zayne for a while, and I did. Didn't know it would end up turning this long tho lol
Read on ao3
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Despite that Zayne's career and working field could be considered one — if not the biggest — of the most stressful in the world, he still managed to admire you and place your tolerance and patience higher than his.
Why?
Twins.
You became a mother of twins, where he had half the fault of that happening.
When the laboratory results came out and landed on his hands, Yvonne gave him a mischievous look, and a smile that almost reached quite literally the corner of her eyes.
“Wow Dr. Zayne, didn't know you were capable of that. Couldn't wait less for the outstanding doctor that you are.”
He opened the envelope. Despite his calmed demeanor, Zayne was experiencing one of his weird episodes of anxiety, and so he couldn't wait to see if everything was in check and normal in your gestational process.
Observations: High possibility of the presence of two embrions. Need ultrasound in order to confirm.
“I might consider asking you for the formula of how you did it in the future. I have always wanted twins as my firstborns.”
“Yvonne”
“Yes, Dr. Zayne?”
“You can leave now. Thanks for the delivery.”
Giggling at the obvious uncomfortable situation she had put him in, she left as he requested.
When the following ultrasound confirmed the laboratory’s suspicion, despite his internal excitement, his ears became red with embarrassment. You couldn't help but notice.
“Zayne, is everything okay? You have been silent since we got out of that ultrasound appointment. And your ears…” — Nervously, you fidgeted with the ice cream cone he had bought you, that consisted mainly of your favorite flavor. You were starting to get scared he was somehow… Unhappy, with his new situation.
As if he could read your thoughts, he rushed to correct you.
“Darling, this isn't your fault at all.”
That didn't alleviate the anxiety you were feeling.
“... Then what-”
“I'm sorry. I definitely should have seen this coming. I've put your life at risk again, and it's my fault.”
You froze at his words, not giving any more steps towards the path that would take both of you back to his car. Confusion clouded your mind, and for a moment you forgot about continuing eating your dessert.
Risking your life? How?
“What do you mean you've put my life at risk, Z?”
He couldn't even look directly into your eyes; despite this, he felt the obligation to explain to you what he meant.
The crimson color never left his ears.
“You're having twins. Two babies. I thought that if it was just one you might have little to not complications during your gestational process and the delivery. But there's two of them… Darling, your heart condition…” — You quickly puzzled over what he was so apologetic for.
Turning your body to face him entirely, you lifted your now dirty ice cream hand, and placed your treat in his mouth, shutting his nervously speech with it.
He obeyed, despite wanting to continue to apologize for your new chapter in life.
“Zayne, you don't have to apologize for something like that. In fact, my dear, you should be happy about the news of us having two kids.”
His hand was an ice cream waterfall — he too, had forgotten about his own. You couldn't stop the laugh that came from deep in your chest.
You loved the moments when your husband wasn't trying to have everything controlled or in order. It made you realize how deep your connection with him was, and how you have finally managed to break the mask he showed to everyone else, looking beyond it.
Guilt spoke to you inside your head for being able to feel happy at his — now evident — anxiety attack. But you knew you held no ill intent behind it.
“I have the best cardiac surgeon and doctor on my side, you think that anything will happen to me if you're with me?”
“What if I'm not good enough?”
“You are. And I'm strong enough to deliver these babies and take care of them, I promise.”
Doing the best you could with one hand, you grabbed his clean right hand with your free one, and looked him directly into his hazel eyes. You squeezed it, trying to bring him down from the spiraling thoughts he never wanted to vocalize properly.
“Zayne, breathe with me, okay?”
“In…”
And so he did. Or at least tried to.
Memories of a wounded little girl were being projected onto his mind’s eye. Ice and blood were everywhere. The scream of a young boy was echoing inside his head.
“Out…”
“I should have told you that some generations skip having twins as their kids, and it gets passed to the next.”
You left your ice cream cone to fall to the ground. Grabbing both sides of his face, you forced him to look directly into your eyes. Zayne realized that your hands were cold, and sticky.
“Zayne, breathe with me…”
You tried again.
“In…”
He inhaled the cold air that lingered around both of you. The screaming sounds started to disappear.
“Out…”
Exhaling, the picture of the wounded girl started to blur. He could only discern the color of her blood and the ice that surrounded and came out of her body.
“In…”
The picture disappeared. He came back inside his body, leaving the past behind him. Determined eyes looked back at him, waiting for his lover to come back to her.
He kissed your forehead next, and hugged you, placing your head in his chest.
“I apologize-”
You quickly got out of his embrace.
“Nope!” — a pout could be seen hanging from your mouth, eyebrows furrowed. “I don't want to hear any more apologies coming from something that you cannot control. Stop it!”
Five seconds passed. And then Zayne laughed with that soft and quiet sound you knew perfectly.
Finally…
“Done. No more apologies.” — His smile warmed up your heart, and you reciprocated it back.
The consequences of his sudden panic attack came rushing to his senses. He looked at his left hand.
“My ice cream…”
An explosion of laughter was what his ears caught next.
_________________
Seven months transpired more quickly than expected. Zayne kept getting surprised at how big your belly was turning, and he adored it. For a while, his worries about the high risk of your pregnancy were forgotten — especially when he took your belly between his hands, and came closer to hear what kind of sounds his two upcoming kids were doing.
Thump!
“I think one of them just kicked you.”
He sighed, a sigh that kind of mimicked a soft laugh, but not quite. You knew he was feeling content.
“Why would that be?”
“Perhaps they're trying to kick out those worries that you have about them. And me.” — You answered, pun intended.
A kiss to your belly and babies. A kiss to his wife, tender, and filled with love.
“Please Z, stop doubting me and your abilities to deliver these sweethearts…”
“I'll try.”
Two months after that, while you placed a few gifts in what would be the twins’ bedroom and crib, the long expected date of arrival came.
Squeal!
Drip, drip, drip.
Zayne's phone rang. She was the only contact who had an enabled ringtone in his contacts.
“Darling?”
“Sorry to interrupt your work time, but we might have them coming today… Perhaps.”
“Who is coming today, darling?”
“Our babies.”
Yvonne and Greyson were returning from their coffee break when they saw a very serious — more than usual, they would point out later laughing during their gossiping during breakfast the next day — Zayne running through the hospital to get to the exit.
Catching sight of his most trusted nurse, he yelled.
“Prepare a private room for delivery!”
Greyson was confused at the sight of his work partner running, and how he had screamed at Yvonne. He couldn't catch Zayne to ask him, so he turned to Yvonne herself.
“Huh? What's wrong, Yvonne?”
Yvonne was no longer at his side. She was running to the elevator, which miraculously opened once she arrived at its doors.
"Come here now and help me get a private room ready for delivery! Zayne's twins are coming today!” — she yelled at him, stopping the elevator’s doors from closing with her hand.
Greyson ran like he never did before that day.
A room was cleaned, a bed was arranged, and all the tools they may need to use for the safe awaited birth of your kids were prepared. Half an hour later, Zayne arrived at the doors of the delivery room, with you on a wheelchair.
To the surprise of a nervous Yvonne and Greyson, you were laughing.
“Love, I told you you couldn't lift me even if you tried.”
A sweaty Zayne looked back at you, hair sticking to his temple for the marathon he just ran to get you into the hospital.
“I have to try. I didn't want you walking with the pain of your contractions”
Your favorite nurse and your husband were already helping you to get into the bed. You looked at Yvonne, cheeks flushed from happiness.
“I'm happy that you're here to help me. I appreciate it very much.”
Yvonne held your hand softly. She smiled back at you, noticing that she was also sweating and trembling a little. Everyone in the room was nervous — even Greyson, who was standing in one of the corners of the room, looking at you like if you were an alien for how happy you were — and about to explode from the tension, but you weren't.
You knew you were in the right hands, and trusted your own strength.
“Wouldn't miss it for anything. I'm always at your service.”
_________________
Two babies were born without a problem that day. A boy and a girl. The first had the color of your hair and the eyes of his dad; the last one had every characteristic of the first born inverted.
The new dad felt like he could breathe properly again. None of his own anxiety was shown while he was making sure you and the babies received the help you both needed during their birth, but once they were out and in their own momma’s arms, a heavy sigh was heard by everyone who was in the room.
“Come here, hold one for me, will you?”
Zayne reached for his dark haired daughter. She was calm, eyes open looking at everything above her. His son was still crying, and as soon as he caught his baby girl in his arms, you moved quickly to try to appease his distress.
Turns out, he was just hungry.
Jasmine — the chosen name for his little girl, an agreement between both of you — hadn't stopped looking at him. He returned his gaze, eyes filled with adoration and all the love he could feel in his heart. She started sucking on one of her hands.
“Hi, my sweet girl. I'm glad that you're finally with us.”
“Felix says hi, too” A tired but peaceful voice called his attention.
His little boy looked intently in his direction, still feeding himself happily.
________________
Crying sounds was what made Zayne get out of his sleep. He raised himself quickly from the bed, and looked directly to both of the cribs that were moved to your bedroom once the babies came home.
No matter how fast he thought he was at detecting the distressed sounds of his kids, you were always two-steps ahead.
His beloved was standing at one of the sides of Felix’ crib, the baby already in her arms. You were pulling your shirt down, so you could feed him.
“There there, you're such a hungry baby my Felix…”
Zayne got out of bed. Reaching out to you, he grabbed you from your back and directed your steps towards the bed.
“Here darling. Sit down, you're almost half asleep and you can suffer an accident if you're not careful enough”
You took his hand and with his aid, managed to sit down with the baby in your arms.
“Can you check on Jasmine? See if she's asleep?” — Voice tired, you asked him to check on your daughter. Sometimes she cried very softly, and you were anxious that Felix cries didn't leave room for you to notice and come to her aid.
Zayne had noticed, these past two months, that you were extremely anxious around the idea of not being enough to care for both the twins. They were polar opposites — Felix was a very expressive baby, while Jasmine was a quiet, calm one. The boy demanded more attention from her mother, and Jasmine required some of it, but not as much as him.
You had expressed at some point that you feared she would feel abandoned. You didn't want to inflict that kind of pain onto your little one.
So he moved from your side and checked on his silent little seal.
Quiet as a mouse, she remained asleep in her own personal crib.
Returning to your side, he sat beside you, and moving closer he pulled you into his embrace, kissing your temple.
“Don't worry my love, she's still resting. No silent crying this time.” — he said, trying to reassure you that everything was fine.
Your brows were slightly furrowed, in a worried expression.
“Maybe we should check with that pediatrician colleague you have about her. What if her silent crying is the symptom of something wrong that troubles her?”
He started rubbing and massaging your back. The tension you had on those muscles was extremely painful for him to feel.
“Darling, we already consulted him two times. He said she's fine, she's just… Very calm in his demeanor, even when she's upset”
You didn't look convinced. He knew that answer wouldn't calm you.
“Would you find peace if I start studying and researching everything related to that?” — he whispered, seeing his little boy falling asleep and not wanting to disturb him, as his last attempt to liberate the tension you were feeling.
The muscles in your back returned to his normal positions. He silently sighed with relief.
“All right. I trust you.”
__________________
Two months of research was what took Zayne to finally banish your worries about Jasmine for once and for good. Nothing in her demeanor, labs and tests showed anything that might be causing her any type of discomfort or sickness.
It turned out — for the relief of both of you — that she was just a very peaceful baby. Yvonne started joking that Felix had eaten half of Jasmine’s level of expression, and that alongside his own emotions, it was the reason he was a very dramatic baby and she wasn't.
Greyson added that she was a miniature feminine version of Zayne.
You couldn't choose which explanation you liked the most.
Both of you roamed the supermarket together, a kangaroo hanging from each chest holding each one of your kids. Felix was very attached to you, so you carried him most of the time, avoiding him getting upset. Jasmine didn't have any problems with getting carried by anyone, even on her pediatric appointments, so Zayne was taking care of her.
“Such a sweet baby daddy you got yourself. Consider yourself lucky, sweetheart!”
“And he's so handsome, those genes are showing in your kids already”
“I hope my daughter finds someone like him in the future…”
Such kind of comments were heard by you from older people every time you visited the place to buy groceries alongside Zayne. His ears would turn red, and you laughed at how shy he was about it.
“Z, I gotta go to the bathroom. Keep Felix with you for a moment, can you?”
He nodded, rapidly hanging his kangaroo to one of his arms. You ran directly to the nearest bathroom.
Felix had his eyes closed while he was clinging to your chest. Noticing that his momma was no longer near him, he opened his eyes and started muttering the common sounds he made before his full blown up cries.
Zayne was getting nervous. He didn't know how to appease his little boy, that's something only you could achieve. So he started swaying around, as an attempt to ease his worries and to keep his little girl at peace. He didn't want both babies to make a chorus.
Then Jasmine showed him she also carried some of that magic touch towards his little brother.
Opening her eyes, she looked directly to her crying brother, who was now wailing over the missing of his other caretaker. Hearing his father's poor attempts at a hummed lullaby, she pulled her arm towards his brother's hand and grabbed one of his fingers tightly.
Felix looked at her, stopping his crying. He fell silent.
Zayne stopped swaying, frozen at what just happened. Mentally, he thanked his daughter for her unintended help.
Remaining standing still where he was left, you came running back to reunite with your husband and kids.
“I'm back, I'm sorry! Turns out I didn't just need to pee– Oh… Felix is calm?”
“Jasmine’s magic” was the answer that he managed to give you that day.
ending note: This picture was what inspired me to write this fic, and how I portrayed Zayne on the supermarket with both twins.
Comments, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated!
♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x fem!reader
♡ cw: dad!headcanons, domestic chaos, tag-team toddler warfare, sticker abuse, ego injuries, public humiliation (soft), wife-led mischief
♡ a/n: you didn’t mean to start a war… but once your kid picked a target, you had to support them. teamwork makes the dream (dad meltdown) work.
Caleb
It starts with the socks.
You and your kid exchange a look over breakfast—just a slight twitch of the eyebrow, a smirk over toast—and Caleb should have known. He should have.
But he’s got stars in his eyes and jam on his fingers, and he’s too busy cutting your kid’s pancakes into perfect little hexagons to notice you’ve already swapped his socks.
They’re pink. With glitter hearts. And the words “#1 Trophy Husband” stitched in sparkly thread.
He puts them on without looking.
And then?
Operation: Bully Dad begins.
—
Phase One: Language Manipulation.
You teach your kid to call him “Captain Cranky.”
Every time he sighs?
“Okay, Captain Cranky.”
When he says no to dessert?
“Ugh, classic Captain Cranky.”
He stares at you like you betrayed him. You just sip your coffee.
“I am not cranky,” he mutters.
From under the table: “You’re literally pouting right now, Cap.”
—
Phase Two: The Snack Swap.
He reaches for his favorite protein bar in the pantry.
Finds a note instead.
"Too slow, Captain Cranky. We needed it more. For… missions"
He spins around.
You and your kid are already on the couch. Sharing it. Making dramatic yum noises.
“I swear to god, you two are a menace.”
You both say it at the same time: “A menace to CRANKY.”
—
Phase Three: The Betrayal.
He finally gets a break. He’s lying on the floor with your kid on his chest, playing spaceship noises.
It’s quiet. Peaceful.
Then your kid leans down and whispers:
“Mommy says you talk in your sleep. About kissing her toes.”
His eyes FLY OPEN.
You’re across the room, hiding a smile behind a throw pillow. “I said what I said.”
He groans and drags both of you onto the floor with him. “Unbelievable. My own family.”
You grin. “You love it.”
He kisses your temple, then your kid’s forehead. “You have no idea.”
Xavier
It starts with a whisper war in the hallway.
You and your kid peek around the corner like spies on a stakeout—clipboard in hand, checklist ready.
Mission Objective: Tease Daddy Until He Short Circuits.
Xavier is at the kitchen counter, pouring cereal into the mug he always insists is “just more ergonomic than a bowl.” He’s wearing socks with swords on them. A gift from you. He takes them very seriously.
You circle “Target Acquired.”
—
Phase One: The Wrong Name Game.
Your kid walks in casually.
“Hey, Xylophone.”
Xavier glances up. “Hello.”
No reaction.
Not even confusion.
So your kid tries again, louder. “I said Xylophone.”
Xavier frowns faintly. “Yes. I heard. Are we experimenting with sound-based naming systems today?”
You lose it from the hallway.
—
Phase Two: Sticker Warfare.
This one’s your idea.
While Xavier’s reading on the couch, your kid climbs into his lap with all the innocence in the world—and slowly starts covering him in dinosaur stickers.
One on his cheek.
One on his temple.
A brontosaurus on his neck.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.
Finally, he blinks over his book. “Is there a… theme?”
“Jurassic Daddy,” you say sweetly, passing by.
He nods thoughtfully. “Very well.”
Doesn’t even take them off.
—
Phase Three: The Hidden Alarm.
Your kid sneaks your phone into Xavier’s jacket pocket.
Sets a timer.
In two minutes, it’ll go off. Loud. In the middle of him doing birdwatching on the balcony.
He’s squinting into the trees, focused and serene—until a digital duck quack blares from his coat.
He freezes.
Then calmly pulls out your phone, stares at it like it’s a new lifeform.
“...Is this my punishment for using your mug?”
You and your kid high-five from the doorway.
—
That night, you’re brushing your teeth when you feel arms wrap around your waist from behind.
“I love you,” he murmurs into your hair.
You smile at his reflection. “Even when we bully you?”
He hums. “Especially when you work as a team.”
He’s got a triceratops still stuck to his sleeve.
You leave it.
Rafayel
It starts because Rafayel wouldn’t let your kid put googly eyes on the blender.
A crime, truly.
So now?
You’re at war.
You and your mini-me form an unholy alliance before breakfast. The mission is clear: mess with Rafayel all day. Confuse him. Fluster him. Bring him to his knees (with love, obviously).
—
Phase One: The Sketch Swap
He leaves his current canvas in the studio—half-finished, ethereal, probably titled Longing for Lemuria II: A Study in Violet Silence.
You and your kid sneak in.
When he returns, the dreamy mermaid now has a mustache. And laser eyes. And a speech bubble that says “My dad has stinky feet.”
He gasps like you physically struck him.
“You defiled my muse?!”
You shrug. “Consider it a collaboration.”
Your kid adds: “We made it better.”
He puts a hand to his chest. “You’re both going to artist jail.”
—
Phase Two: The Fashion Sabotage
He goes to pull on his favorite pants—the flowy, artsy ones with the embroidered moons—and finds they’ve been replaced with hot pink yoga leggings from your drawer.
You: “I think you could rock them.”
Your kid: “Slay, bestie.”
He stares at the pants.
Then stares at you.
Then changes into them like a man on a catwalk.
But he’s muttering the entire time. “This is emotional abuse. I’m filing a glitter-based complaint.”
—
Phase Three: The Cookie Theft
He opens the cabinet for his secret stash of lavender shortbread.
Finds an empty tin and a note inside:
“Stolen in the name of justice. Your blender crimes have consequences. —The Chaos Coalition”
He screams. Loudly. Then walks dramatically into the living room and collapses across the couch like a Victorian woman fainting on a chaise.
You toss him a goldfish cracker.
He glares.
Then eats it.
—
That night, he pulls you close in bed, head on your chest.
“I hope you both know,” he whispers, “that I am keeping a list.”
You run your fingers through his hair. “Of what?”
“Every emotional injury I sustained today.”
Your kid peeks in the doorway. “You forgot we replaced your shampoo with whipped cream.”
He gasps.
But honestly?
He’s never felt more loved.
Zayne
It begins when he finds his stethoscope floating in a bowl of cereal.
“Do you have a reason,” Zayne asks slowly, very calmly, “why my hospital equipment is now... infused with oat milk?”
Your child blinks up at him. “It was cold and needed a bath.”
You, from across the kitchen: “Honestly? Sound logic.”
He closes his eyes. Sets the stethoscope on the counter. Says nothing.
That was your warning shot.
—
Phase One: Renaming the Routine
You and your kid refuse to call anything by its normal name.
Zayne walks into the room, setting his laptop down with surgical precision.
You: “Look out. The Ice Cube Cometh.”
Your kid: “All hail Frost Daddy.”
Zayne: “I am literally holding your dental insurance forms.”
You both clap like he told a joke.
He blinks. Once.
“...What’s happening right now?”
—
Phase Two: The Hospital File Swap
He opens his neatly labeled folder before work.
Finds a glittery drawing titled “ME + MOMMY + FROST DAD = BESTIES FOREVER 💖”
Also, you’ve replaced his bio with:
“Zayne: World’s Coldest Softie. Will cry at piano music and is afraid of butterflies.”
He reads it. Stares at the paper.
Puts it back.
And takes it to work anyway.
—
Phase Three: Sticker Surgery
He showers. He gets dressed. He puts on his favorite button-down.
Then glances in the mirror—and freezes.
There’s a little cartoon Band-Aid sticker on his jawline.
Purple. With a smiley face.
You don’t even try to hide your laugh.
His jaw tics.
“I’ve conducted heart transplants with less sabotage than I face in this household.”
You pat his cheek. “And yet, you’re still so lovable.”
“Debatable.”
—
At bedtime, he’s halfway through folding laundry (into immaculate rectangles, obviously), when your kid leans against his side.
“Hey Dad?”
“Yes?”
“We bullied you good today.”
He pauses.
Then quietly nods.
“You did.”
You sit beside him, resting your head on his shoulder.
“But you liked it.”
“…No comment.”
You kiss the spot beneath his ear. “Tomorrow we’re calling you Doctor Cuddles.”
He exhales. Resigned. But soft.
“…Fine. But only inside this house.”
(You do not respect that boundary.)
Sylus
It starts before 9 a.m.
Sylus—warlord, tactician, red-eyed nightmare of the underground—walks into the living room fully dressed for a meeting with a black-market arms dealer.
Hair slicked. Suit sharp. Brooch in place.
You and your kid are waiting for him.
He stops. Narrow eyes. Tilt of the head. Suspicion.
You smile sweetly.
Your kid lunges forward.
And slaps a bright pink unicorn sticker onto his briefcase.
Dead center.
Sylus just… stands there.
“…Is this meant to be intimidation?”
You: “We’re marking our territory.”
Your kid: “Now the bad guys will know you have backup.”
He looks down at the sticker.
Then at you.
And says absolutely nothing.
But he takes the damn briefcase.
—
Phase One: Name Disrespect
He’s mid-hologram conference when your kid walks in, climbs into his lap, and announces to the entire Onychinus leadership:
“This is Mr. Grumpy Fangs. He doesn’t like it when I boop his nose.”
Sylus doesn’t even flinch.
Keeps talking about supply routes like there isn’t a giggling toddler poking his cheek on live cam.
Later?
He finds out you recorded it.
You send him the clip labeled:
“POV: You’re a villain and your child is your boss.”
He replies with one word:
“Traitor.”
Phase Two: Crow Brooch Chaos
You’re in the middle of folding laundry when your kid comes sprinting in, giggling with something clenched in one hand.
Minutes later, you hear Sylus’s voice—flat, deadly.
“Why… are there googly eyes on my crow?”
You don’t even look up. “Balance. Every villain needs a little whimsy.”
He turns to your kid. “Did you do this?”
“Team effort,” they chirp.
Sylus glares at the glittery-eyed brooch sitting on his chest.
Then sighs.
And doesn’t take it off.
Until hours later.
(He leaves it on his desk. Keeps looking at it.)
Phase Three: Tactical Sabotage
He walks into the war room.
Finds the giant wall map—his map—covered in crayon scribbles.
He blinks.
“Did someone… add butterflies to the Northern quadrant?”
Your kid: “It needed joy.”
You: “And balance.”
He stands there in silence.
Then mutters: “You’ve both become a security threat.”
You blow him a kiss.
That night, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket off, tie loose.
You crawl into his lap, wrapping your arms around him. “Did we push you too far today?”
He grumbles something unintelligible.
Then rests his forehead against yours.
“You’re lucky I love you.”
You kiss him slow. “We know.”
He exhales.
“…You’re not going to stop, are you?”
“Nope.”
Your kid shouts from the hallway: “TOMORROW YOU’RE GETTING GLITTER STICKERS!”
He closes his eyes. Bends his head to your shoulder.
