#slight action

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This isn’t your first rodeo. Thankfully, everything’s gone smoother than your first time giving birth—if you ignore the part where your second and third children decided to arrive back-to-back just a few hours ago. You knew, of course—months ago—but actually experiencing it is something else entirely.

Both boys are healthy, even if they came early. The doctors warned you, it’s not unusual for twins to arrive ahead of schedule. Still, seeing how impossibly small they are—smaller than Serena ever was—makes your heart twist in ways you didn’t think it still could.

They’re being monitored in a separate room down the hall. Zayne is with them now, Serena too—she insisted on seeing her baby brothers. Although, she did promise she’d come back soon so “Mummy doesn’t get lonely.”

God, that daughter of yours. As charming as her father. You can’t help but chuckle.

Caleb and Rose had come by to visit, with their own twins—Willow and Jace. Your hyperactive niece and nephew were ecstatic that there’s now another set of twins in the family. They’re probably still around.

You should be resting. You were resting.

Right until the air shifted.

A wrongness slithers down your spine. Familiar. Sickening. Your pulse stutters as the sterile room seems to shrink around you. You feel it—like a wire snapping taut behind your eyes.

Fluctuation.

Somewhere beyond your door, chaos cracks open like a scream.

Sirens blare—sharp, sudden, and too loud. Metal crashes against tile. Someone is yelling. Running. Something growls.

You bolt upright, too fast, and a full-body ache punches through your spine.

“Shit—” You catch yourself on the bedrail, knuckles white. Blood rushes from your head to your feet. Your delivery might have been smooth, but that doesn’t mean you can just move freely now.

You can already imagine the lecture coming from your overprotective husband.

That thought makes you snort—then wince. Still, you grit your teeth, shove off the mattress, and stagger toward the door.

Every step is punishment, soreness burning between your legs. Your hospital gown brushes cold against your thighs, and you’re painfully aware of how exposed, how unarmed, how not ready you are for a fight.

But clearly, the Wanderers didn’t get the memo.

And you don’t have the luxury of waiting.

Either you defend yourself, attack first, or you get torn apart. And you don’t really feel like doing that. Again.

You crack the door open just a sliver.

The hallway beyond is hell.

Red emergency lights strobe against the white walls. Staff are shouting over one another. A nurse is dragging a gurney toward the stairwell. Two security officers are trying to pin down something thrashing on the ground—something that doesn’t move like a person. Glass litters the floor. The smell of burnt metal chokes the air.

Your Evol stirs without you calling it, as if it, too, recognizes the threat.

Deep breath. You need to think.

Your gaze sweeps the room. No gun. No suit. No gear.

You gave birth today, after all—why would you have anything on hand?

Though honestly? Note to self, deliver baby with a tactical kit next time.

For now, focus. You’re a Hunter. You know unexpected situations. You’ve trained for this.

Your eyes land on the supply tray the nurse left behind. Scissors. A penlight. Gauze.

Not great.

Then you see it—the metal IV stand. Tall. Heavy. On wheels. Not elegant, but solid.

You wrench it free from the IV port in your arm with a hiss of pain, wrap your hand around its cold metal stem, and test its weight. It’s not a blade, but it’ll hit.

You stagger into the hallway, bracing your weight with it like a crutch—

—Just as another Wanderer rounds the far corridor.

Your breath catches.

It’s tall, and smoke swirls where a face should be. Jagged bone juts from shifting, void-colored limbs. And it’s heading straight toward the nursery.

Straight toward your children.

“No,” you whisper, Evol flaring through your chest.

You push—or in this case, you pull.

You bend your ability inward, reversing the current like a tidal drag. Your body protests.

But the Wanderer slows.

Its movement falters—limbs glitching mid-step, as if someone sucked the strength right out of it.

“That’s right,” you breathe, taking another shaky step forward. “You’re not going near there.”

The thing screeches—sharp and dissonant.

You raise the pole.

And swing.

You hit it square in the chest.

The impact jars through your arms, rattles your ribs, but the sound is solid—metal against bone. The Wanderer reels back, its shoulder caving inward. A streak of dark energy cracks across its chest like shattering glass.

You don’t let up. Can’t.

Another swing. You hook the pole low this time, slamming it into the back of its knee. It staggers with an inhuman screech.

And just as the Wanderer flails, one of the security guards lunges in with a baton, driving it into the base of the creature’s spine. His strike isn’t strong enough to finish it—but it’s enough to distract it.

“Base of the spine!” you yell hoarsely. “Then straight through the core—if it has one!”

The guard glances at you, eyes wide. You must be a sight—barefoot, swaying, hospital gown soaked with sweat, one hand bracing your side as you limp toward a monster with an IV pole like it’s a damn spear.

Still. He nods and repositions, swinging again.

The Wanderer screeches. Then crumples.

But there’s no time to breathe.

Two more shapes dart from your left—slimmer, faster than the first. One drops low, lunging for the nurse dragging the gurney.

“Left!” you shout. “Down, now!”

The nurse drops flat, barely dodging. You shove power through your Evol, and the creature’s body twists midair, dragged sideways into the wall with a sickening crack.

Another figure hurtles from the smoke behind it, claws outstretched. You pivot on instinct, pain ripping sharp through your abdomen. Your knees buckle, a broken cry catching in your throat—but your Evol doesn’t falter. You pull hard, draining its momentum until it jerks and collapses in front of you. Security piles on it immediately, batons slamming down.

Screams echo down the hall—staff shouting, metal clashing, more Wanderers breaking containment farther away, claws scraping against tile as the guards struggling to hold the line until help arrives. Glimpses of the fight flash in your peripheral, someone sprinting past, guards trying to hold a barricade, nurses dragging the injured to safety. The whole building feels like it’s collapsing into panic.

And you—shaking, pale, barely upright—just keep going.

One more shadow breaks from the chaos, larger than the rest, closing in fast. You raise the IV pole, but your arm trembles too hard to hold it steady.

Your vision tunnels.

You think—maybe that’s it.

Maybe this is where your legs finally give.

And then—

The hallway drops into silence.

Not soundless—but muted. Like the air itself has frozen.

In the distance, every Wanderer—every single one within your line of sight—seizes in place.

Then it begins. A thick sheen of ice snakes up from the floor, blooming beneath their feet, racing up limbs and torsos while they screech. They crack, twitch, and freeze mid-screech, locked in brittle sculpture. Even the one lunging toward the stairwell is suspended mid-lurch, ice clawing up its spine like something out of a nightmare.

And standing at the end of the hallway—chest rising hard, posture taut, hair wind-tossed, shirt rumpled with frost curling off his shoulders like smoke—

Is Zayne.

Your breath catches.

He looks unharmed—aside from the clear exhaustion etched into his face.

His fingers are curled into fists. His jaw is tight. His entire body is too still—the kind of stillness he only falls into when he’s barely keeping control. Thin veins of frost still creep outward from where he stands.

And his eyes—cold and burning all at once—lock on you.

The second he sees you swaying where you stand, blood on your legs, hands trembling around a bent IV pole, his composure fractures.

He’s already moving.

“You’re hurt,” he says as he reaches you, voice low but strained, checking your side, your grip, your eyes, as if making sure you’re real.

“I’m fine,” you lie through your teeth. “How are the kids? Serena? The twins—”

“They’re safe,” he says quickly, gently. His hands skim your arms, your shoulders. “Caleb has them. A deepspace tunnel opened near the twins nursery—Rose and I took care of it. She’s joined the other Hunters who arrived at the east corridor—more tunnels showed up.”

You nearly crumple with relief.

But when you look at his face properly this time, there’s that familiar crease between his brows again, not just worry this time, but a tight kind of disapproval. His jaw clenches, eyes sweeping over your pale, trembling form, down to the dry blood from between your thighs.

He doesn’t say it, but you know what he’s thinking. That you shouldn’t be standing. That you shouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.

But beneath that… there’s something else. That soft flicker in his eyes. Like he’s trying very hard not to look impressed. Not to admit that seeing you fight still does something to him.

You huff. “Lecture later, okay?”

Zayne doesn’t answer immediately. Just looks at you, as if weighing whether to argue or let it go — and then—

A shrill screech echoes from one of the deeper corridors. Sharper. Louder. More Wanderers.

The rest of everyone there stiffen at the sound, eyes darting toward the source. The air is still thick with frost from Zayne’s earlier outburst, but not all of the threats are dealt with yet.

“Okay,” Zayne says quietly — and without warning, he slips an arm under your knees and lifts you off the ground.

“Zayne—what are you doing?!” You twist in his grip, startled. “Are we leaving the civilians behind—?!”

“You’re in no condition to fight,” he says calmly, but his voice is tight. “I’ll handle the rest.”

You scowl. “You’re not either. You’re already pale.” Your fingers press against his chest. “So let’s do this together.”

Before he can protest, you reach out — and resonate with him.

It’s instant, the way your Evol latches onto his—familiar and grounding, like a heartbeat syncing with your own.

You feel it hum through your spine, amplifying his range and sharpening your focus at once. A wave of clarity crashes between you two, tethering your minds with practiced precision.

Zayne exhales, like he’s been holding in everything since the moment he found you. You brush your fingers against his sleeve.

“No need to finish them off,” you murmur. “Just freeze them. The security guard can finish them off for you. Don’t strain yourself.”

One of his eyebrows lifts, and there’s the smallest twitch at the corner of his lips. “Motherhood’s changed my wife.”

You slap his shoulder — not hard, just enough to make a point. “Shut it. If you collapse, I’m going down with you. Besides, this is more efficient.” You glare at him. “Who told you to go full blast on them anyway?”

His hand steadies at your back, voice quieter now. “When you see your loved one bleeding…” His gaze flicks down to your legs, then back up. “Impulsiveness isn’t that uncommon.”

Before you can respond, another group of Wanderers bursts from the far end of the hallway.

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. With your Evol anchoring his, the temperature drops sharply again — ice racing like veins along the floor, freezing them mid-charge before they can even shriek.

Crack—!

One of them shudders in place as a precise violet slash slams through the frozen mass from behind.

You both turn.

“Seriously?” Rose calls out from the end of the corridor, stances lowered, flanked by a squad of nearby Hunters. “You gave birth not even a day ago and picked a fight? What, the contractions weren’t exciting enough for you?”

You snort, too exhausted to manage a full laugh. “What was I supposed to do? Let the Wanderer claw at me while I lie down and breathe through it?”

Rose storms closer, her heavy boots thudding against the cracked floor. She’s got her reinforced gloves on, the knuckles faintly glowing violet — telltale residue of a recent fight. “No, you’re supposed to call for help, defend! Not attack!”

As she closes the gap, a few Hunters sweep in behind her, finishing off the remaining immobilized Wanderers and beginning to secure the area. Some check the wounded. Others relay orders through comms. Something about how this attack strangely feels too organized. But Rose doesn’t even glance at them — she’s not on duty after all. She goes straight for you, eyes scanning your figure in Zayne’s arms like she’s trying to detect hidden injuries with pure willpower.

Zayne, meanwhile, adjusts his hold on you and announces calmly, “I’m calling a timeout. I need to check on my wife.”

“Good,” Rose huffs, arms crossing over her chest as she falls into step behind you both. “Do that while I’m yelling at my sister.”

Still in Zayne’s arms, you crane your neck to glare back at her. “The best defense is a good offense!” You take a breath before continuing, “You’re not even supposed to be here.”

“Neither are you!” she snaps. “You’re supposed to be somewhere sterile and safe, not sparring with infected trash on the third floor of a goddamn hospital!”

You groan. “It wasn’t a spar, it was more of a light warm-up—”

Rose’s eyes widen, you can practically see her eye twitch. “Warm-up?! Oh, I swear—”

“Please,” Zayne cuts in, his voice low and resigned. “If you make me slip on ice while carrying my wife who just gave birth, we’re all going to be in trouble.”

Rose just grumbles something about there’s no way he’ll slip on ice and keeps walking, clearly gearing up for another round of scolding. You rest your cheek against Zayne’s chest, the thump of his heart steady beneath your ear.

You’re safe. You’re still together. And you’re still bickering — like always.

Zayne exhales again—not quite a sigh, more like the quiet surrender of a man forever resigned to loving this chaotic family… and defending it at all costs.

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Notes

I'm back! Wooooooo! Who would've thought one month of not writing feels so rusty... Technically I'm in the middle of writing a different one shot but I've been procrastinating....... No judgement fellas!

Here's the series list if you want to read more about Husband/Dad Zayne! Parenthood AU list ✨

Oh and! Speaking of, is there anyone that can help me with beta read? 🙇🏻‍♀️ There won't be much to do besides you're telling me how the story feel, I usually do that to my friend but I've been sparing them for the last month and I feel like to do it again now is a bit much 😂 (Especially because they don't play LaDs so it was always in general vibes, which still pretty great ofc!)

Getting another person's view is always nice! I write slowly anyway so it won't be a lot or frequently, DM me if you can! 💕

Other than that see you guys in the next one!

"Look, just look" (Your Name) shoved her phone in his face shifting her body to face him, her bare legs sliding on his bed to sit on her knees, wanting to see his reaction. Of course it was a meme, but not any meme, an Avengers meme. It was of Thor, and holy shit, as soon as Peter saw it, he let out a loud strangled snort and burst out laughing, holding his stomach in laughter.

"baBE WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS" Peter exclaimed, quickly sending the picture to himself, handing her phone back to her. Taking out his own phone and studying the picture. (Your Name) snorted and pushed her bare feet against 

"Well.. I may or may not have accessed your tablet, got on Stark Industries database, and access the security footage of F.R.I.D.A.Y.!" (Your Name) said cutely, finally moving into phase four, the final phase. She laid on her back on the carpet, going back to scrolling through her phone.

"Wait. wHeN did you get my tablet, also, hOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE TABLET!?" Peter blinked in surprise, watching her fumble with her phone for a minute, snorting quietly.

"Yesterday~ while you where playing with your Spiderman suit"

"yOU KNOW ABOUT THAT TOO??"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Well shit, I seem to be in a conundrum" (Your Name) muttered, as she pressed her back closer to the building. Currently, (Your Name) is trapped between a 13-story fall, and a brick wall. yeah, she wasn't going to be able to meet Peter at the Cafe. (Your Name), in a brilliant idea, brought out her phone, and took a photo of her current problem, she sent it to Peter with the text, 'Yo uh... help dude, on top of the building next to Stark Towers, yep help'

PeEeEtEr<3: what did you do

Y/N: nuthin, just stuck, please actually help

PeEeEtEr<3:.. wait seriously..? why did you text me instead of calling 911?

Y/N: none of them have seriously cool sticky spider powers, now hurry up, i hate heights

(Your Name) was getting really tired, an hour in a life or death situation does that to you, most of the time. She thought someone would have called the police, or something, but nope, just a few glances, the end. (Your Name) swore that when she got down, she would find a radioactive animal, get bit, and beat the shit out of everyone.

"Yo, miss, you need help?" A familiar voice asked, it was coming from above, and (Your Name) didn't want to look up.

"That you Spidey? yeah I kinda need hel-oH SHIT-!" (Your Name) yelped as her foot slipped, causing her to fall. She refused to scream, but hey, at least she could see Parker, who was now scrambling to shoot a web to catch her.

"pARKER THAT HIT MY TITS" (Your Name) screamed, after the web hit said area, Peter fumbled for a moment, yelled something, and helped slow her fall down. Gently lowering her down. She awkwardly hung by the tits, holding onto the web to make sure that she wouldn't fall. She was set down on a balcony, and oh god was (Your Name) happy to get the cobwebs off her shirt.

"I uh.. I'm really sorry uh..um.." Parker landed next to her as she brushed off her shirt.

"That sure was a sticky situation" (Your Name) said, finger guns shooting towards him.