Since my last request was angsty, here’s a fluffy one in exchange haha!
I remember going shopping with my sister when she had her daughter. All the clothes and accessories for cute little baby girls are so tiny and adorable’
So, can I request a fic where Zayne and MC were out and ended up shopping a bunch of cute things for baby Serena to dress her up in?
Bonus, Zayne and MC playfully argue over what to name their baby before choosing “Serena” (cuz I wheeze whenever I think of Zayne naming the squirrel after a drug “Clopidogrel”)
Thank you for your time! I hope you have fun with this prompt!
Ahahahaha thank you! This is such a cute prompt to write! Too sweet! And omg what are the odds of me getting the post in game about just that, I'll put it down tho, because this is too long already ahaha (the part after this) sorry 👀🫶🏻🥹
Also, for the names—I actually combined Zayne’s and MC’s (theoretical) Chinese names to create their children’s names. Yes, I’m that serious about it! MC’s Chinese name is Xiang Yun, which I love for its meaning: “multicolor auspicious cloud.” Zayne’s name, Li Shen means “dawn,” or at least the one that they used for him! So together, it just felt perfect.
Originally, Serena was going to be Selene, but that felt too moon-themed. Since the vibe I wanted was more like a sunrise, I shifted to Serene, which eventually became Serena 😄 The same thought process went into Lucas and Callum—I wanted them to have unique names, but with a shared warmth. When you name your kids, you wish them health and happiness, and while their names don’t all need to mean the exact same thing, I wanted them to feel broad enough, similar enough, but different enough.
Serena for the peacefulness that comes with a new beginning, like the dawning of a new day.
Lucas for the light that begins at dawn, someone who brings warmth and clarity to those around him.
Callum for the peace and fresh start that the dove symbolizes—complementing the idea of dawn and auspicious beginnings.
I know... I really love names, ahahaha—even my internet name was picked super carefully 😂💕
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Baby Girl
Summary
A heartwarming and humorous exploration of parenthood, as a couple — you and Zayne — navigates the joys and challenges of raising your newborn daughter while deepening your bond through love, laughter, and shared moments.
Ao3 link
My Masterlist ✨
Notes
Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Family fluff, domestic fluff, silly, banter, going overboard, cute baby!
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The baby section smells like powder and gentle chaos, with the faintest trace of vanilla in the air. Fluorescent lights hum softly above, casting a sterile glow over the rows of pastel onesies and stuffed animals.
The shelves are lined with tiny socks and soft, ridiculous things shaped like animals—everything in soft hues of pink and blue, as if the store itself is whispering ‘sweetness’ at every turn.
Serena is nestled against your chest in the wrap, warm and drowsy, her tiny hand curled against your shirt’s fabric. She’s only been awake long enough to blink at the sunlight when you left the car.
You barely make it past the first rack before you stop. A little dress hangs there—cream-colored, with the faintest blush undertone and tiny embroidered flowers on the collar. The kind of thing you’d always thought was cute but distant, like a magazine page or a window display. Not for you. Not real.
But Serena is real. She’s right here, her small weight pressed against your chest like a secret.
“Zayne,” you say, holding it up.
He turns, mid-step. His eyes settle on the dress, and then on you. And then on Serena.
He doesn’t say anything.
You wait—expecting the usual gentle teasing, something about how impractical it is or how she’ll outgrow it in a blink—but his gaze just stays on the fabric like he’s studying something fragile. Like it’s not a baby dress at all, but some abstract idea of softness and time.
Then, with no change in expression, he takes it from your hand and places it in the cart.
You blink. “No commentary?”
Zayne glances at Serena, then back at the dress. “It would be beneath her to wear anything less.”
Your laugh is quiet, surprised. He says it so matter-of-factually, as if it’s obvious. As if the embroidery itself should be honored.
She shifts in the wrap, murmurs, and he reaches over to brush her cheek with his knuckle. “She suits this color,” he adds, like that settles the matter.
It kind of does.
You watch him push the cart forward, already eyeing the next rack, and something warm fills your chest. The kind of warmth that doesn’t come from sunlight or tea or even sleep. It’s that very specific kind—serene and a little awed—that only shows up when you realize someone you love is loving something you made together.
And in this case, that something is squishy and sleepy and currently chewing on the corner of her bib.
“Wait until you see the socks,” you murmur, adjusting the wrap as you follow.
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You don’t even know how you ended up in the toddler section.
One moment you were cooing over mittens smaller than your palm, and the next, the soft hum of a nearby overhead speaker caught your attention. The bright colors of the baby section fade away as you step into the toddler area.
The racks here feel more structured, organized. You stand in front of a rack labeled 2–4 Years, eyeing a burgundy cardigan with tiny wooden buttons and elbow patches. The soft rustle of fabrics around you fills the air, accompanied by the occasional squeak of a stroller rolling past.
It’s objectively too big. You know that. But you hold it up anyway, pinching the shoulders and already imagining Serena in it—hair a little longer, hands a little steadier, walking unevenly across the apartment with her arms spread wide for balance. Maybe she stops, turns, and looks over her shoulder with that same serious stare she already has, and then—
“She’ll grow into it.”
You jump slightly as Zayne appears at your side, two more hangers in hand—one with a forest green dress that has little embroidered rabbits, and the other with a soft grey jacket, also far too big.
“Zayne,” you start slowly, “she’s three months old.”
He blinks. “Yes.”
“These are for kids who can spell their own names.”
He studies the tag as if it might reveal a loophole. “Six letters is hardly a challenge.”
You squint at him.
But he just slides both items into the cart like you haven’t said anything at all.
“You’re serious.”
“She’ll need clothes in the future. This is... efficient.”
You gesture vaguely at the now two-thirds full cart. “We came here for pacifier clips.”
He looks you over for a second, eyes flicking down to where Serena is half-asleep against your chest, and then back up. “We needed more than that.”
You don’t even argue. Not when he reaches out to straighten the wrap on your shoulder with a quiet gentleness, thumb brushing under Serena’s jaw on instinct. He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to. She’s here. She’s herself. And she’s going to grow—faster than you want, probably.
So if he wants to be ready, even a few years early, who are you to stop him?
You reach for the cardigan again.
“Okay,” you mutter. “But if she refuses to wear it in three years, I’m blaming you.”
Zayne hums, already distracted by a shelf of winter boots half her size. “We’ll cross that tantrum when we get to it.”
You laugh again, soft and helpless. There’s no stopping either of you.
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You don’t need baby sunglasses.
You’re fully aware of this.
There is no reason for a three-month-old—who squints at indoor lighting and naps through half the day—to need heart-shaped, rose-tinted sunglasses. But here you are. Holding them. Turning them over in your hands like they’re some precious artifact instead of plastic frames barely wider than two of your fingers.
Zayne walks up beside you, holding... a hat.
It’s not just any hat. It’s soft pink with long floppy bunny ears. You meet his eyes slowly. The sudden quiet of the aisle wraps around you, making the hat feel even more absurd as you meet his eyes slowly.
The store’s low background music plays something gentle, an instrumental lullaby—almost like a soundtrack to your own personal moment of disbelief. The polished wood of the shelves reflects the soft glow of the register lights as the cashier taps on her tablet, oblivious to the fashion debate unfolding nearby.
“What is that.”
“A necessity,” he says without hesitation.
“She can’t even hold her head up straight yet.”
“That’s why the ears are soft.”
You stare at him. “Darling.”
He hums, gently plucks the sunglasses from your hand and holds them next to the hat. As if testing for coordination. As if it matters.
“I hate how cute that would be,” you mumble.
“Then it’s settled.”
“No. No, it’s not.”
But he’s already walking toward the cart, the sunglasses and hat in one hand, the other reaching out to adjust a tiny gold bracelet hanging near the register. It’s engraved. Tiny star. His hand pauses, but he doesn’t pick it up. Maybe even he knows that one’s too far.
You wonder if he’s thinking what you’re thinking—that time is already moving faster than you can track.
I’ll come back for it later.
You chase after him with mock seriousness. “Zayne, she doesn’t go outside. She’s not even aware of the sun.”
“She will be,” he says, placing the sunglasses in the cart with the gravitas of someone arranging delicate lab equipment. “And when she is, she’ll look fabulous.”
You make a helpless noise, half-laugh, half-defeat. “We’re those parents.”
“We are.” He doesn’t even blink. “You chose this.”
“Excuse me?”
He glances pointedly at the frilly booties dangling off the edge of your cart. The ones that look like strawberries.
You’re caught.
You sigh and reach back for the floppy bunny hat, smoothing one ear. “Okay but we'll take a lot of pictures.”
Zayne adjusts the cart handle. “That's a must.”
You look down at Serena, blissfully unaware of the fashion decisions being made in her name. Her lip twitches in her sleep. You don’t know if it’s a smile, but you decide to take it as one.
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The cart squeaks a little as you turn down another aisle, and that’s what finally does it. Not the pile of pastel outfits. Not the third set of unnecessarily fancy socks. Not even the sunhat with a ribbon bow.
It’s the weight of the cart.
You glance down and suddenly see it all together—tiny hangers sticking out at odd angles, a pack of blankets you don’t remember grabbing, some kind of plush rattle shaped like a lemon.
A small wave of guilt rolls over you.
“Okay. We should—maybe—be practical,” you say, already slowing to a stop. “We don’t need all of this now.”
Zayne stops too. “Define ‘need.’”
You give him a look. “She wears diapers and drools on herself for fun. She doesn’t need a themed wardrobe.”
“She doesn’t know she needs it yet.”
“Zayne.”
He gives the cart a small nudge with one hand, just enough to rock it gently. Serena sleeps on in the wrap, her head resting against your chest. You look down at her, then at the pile in the cart, then back at her.
Finally, you sigh, pick up a few of the smaller items, and start “measuring” them against her like it’ll help you decide what to put back.
You hold up a daisy-print romper. “Too much?”
You shift her slightly, hold the outfit in front of her.
Zayne tilts his head. “She looks peaceful. I think it’s working.”
You try again with the bunny-eared onesie. “This?”
“She’s glowing.”
“She’s asleep.”
“Exactly.”
You huff a soft laugh and move on to a third—an absolutely unnecessary tulle dress with a velvet bow. “We really shouldn’t—”
“She’ll wear it at home,” he says. “While doing nothing.”
“She’ll spit up all over it.”
“She’ll spit up regally.”
You pause, the dress hovering over Serena like a curtain, and then—against all better judgment—you laugh. You try to be practical. You really do. You even hold up a simple white bodysuit, your version of restraint.
“She makes that look good too,” Zayne murmurs.
You raise an eyebrow. “Do I have to be the reasonable one here? You’re not helping.”
“I’m not trying.”
The truth is… he’s right. Every ridiculous outfit you hold up just fits. Not literally, of course—they’ll all need rolling sleeves and folded waistbands—but they feel like her. You imagine yourself dressing her in these things in the coming months. You imagine her looking up at you, holding her arms out, babbling at nothing. You imagine trying to capture it all before it slips away again.
Your throat tightens a little.
“I just didn’t think we’d be like this,” you say softly, barely loud enough to be heard over the faint music from the store speakers. “So easily—gone over her.”
Zayne doesn’t say anything at first.
Then he steps closer and brushes a stray piece of hair from your face, fingers lingering at your temple. His voice is quiet.
“She’s ours. We’re allowed to fall.”
You let that sit between you a moment, heavy and warm. Then you glance back at the cart.
“I still think we need to put something back.”
He picks up a set of plain burp cloths.
“Not that,” you say instantly.
He raises an eyebrow.
You exhale. “Okay, fine. Nothing goes back. But we are leaving now before one of us finds matching shoes.”
Zayne gestures for you to lead the way, completely unbothered. “I make no promises.”
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You don’t realize how much you bought until you’re unpacking it all on the living room floor.
Zayne's already peeled the tags off half the clothes and started folding them neatly into color-coded stacks on the couch. Serena’s napping again, this time in the little bassinet beside you, one fist curled loosely by her cheek. She hasn’t stirred once.
You hold up the bunny hat again and let out a helpless little noise. “Okay, but I get it now. I get the parents who go overboard.”
Zayne doesn’t even look up. “You say that like we aren’t those parents.”
You toss a sock at him. It’s fuzzy and shaped like a bear paw. “We blacked out, Zayne.”
“We were lucid the entire time.”
You narrow your eyes at the four different sizes of footie pajamas now lined up on the floor like some sort of cotton evolution chart. “Were we?”
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps folding. Calm. Methodical. Unapologetic.
You pick up one of the sweaters—cream-colored with a scalloped hem, still slightly too big—and lay it out beside Serena’s bassinet.
It swallows the space beside her.
You stare at it for a long moment.
“She’s going to grow into this,” you say quietly.
Zayne’s hands still. You don’t need to look at him to know he heard it. You say it again, softer this time, almost to yourself. “She’s going to grow. Into all of this.”
Not just the clothes. Not just the boots or the headbands or the over-the-top tulle dress.
She’s going to become someone—bit by bit, minute by minute—right in front of you. You’ll blink and she’ll be walking. And before you know it you’ll turn around and she’ll be saying full sentences, reaching for things on her own.
These ridiculous outfits won’t fit forever. Some will be worn once. Some maybe not at all. But right now, they’re proof of something you can’t say without your voice catching.
Zayne crouches beside you without a word. He looks at the sweater, then at Serena. Then he rests his hand lightly on your back, thumb moving slowly, back and forth.
“She’s already different than when we brought her home,” you whisper.
“She is,” he agrees softly. “But she still fits in your arms. And she still fits here.”
His hand shifts slightly, pressing over your heart.
You close your eyes, letting the warmth of it settle into your chest. When you open them again, you both just look down at her. At her tiny frame, curled like a comma. At her slow, steady breaths.
After a while, Zayne leans closer and presses a kiss to your temple.
“We’ll keep every piece,” he says quietly. “Even when she outgrows them.”
You nod. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else.
Later, you both end up on the floor, backs against the couch, watching as Serena stirs and stretches in her sleep—just enough to wrinkle her nose and kick off one bootie.
Zayne calmly picks it up and sets it on the coffee table.
You turn to him, already smiling. “So... next week’s trip?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Matching pajamas.”
You laugh, bright and full.
And just like that, you both fall a little harder.
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Bonus
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It’s a quiet morning at home, the kind that feels wrapped in cotton.
You’re lounging on the rug, legs tucked to the side as Serena wiggles happily on her mat. The sun spills through the window in soft stripes, catching the tips of her little tufts of hair and the curve of her cheeks.
And the tail.
The very fluffy, very unnecessary tail of the onesie she’s wearing.
It’s brown. Soft. Has tiny little ears on the hood and a curled tail on the back. A squirrel onesie, because clearly, restraint doesn’t exist in your household anymore.
“She looks too good in that,” you say, grinning as Serena kicks her legs and flaps her arms like she’s about to take off. “You know we’re never going to take it off her now.”
Zayne, sitting beside you with a mug in hand, hums in agreement. “She matches it perfectly.”
You glance sideways at him, lips twitching. “Good thing you agreed with me on Serena, then.”
He takes a sip of his tea, unbothered. “Clopidogrel had charm, the same as the squirrel. But it’s meant for Clopidogrel. I still think Amaryl isn’t bad.”
You nearly choke on your laughter. “Zayne—”
“It’s an important medicine.”
“Yes! To control blood glucose in patients with type 2 diabetes! Not for names!”
He’s unrepentant, calm as ever. “Amaryl has a good ring to it.”
You stare at him. “Look at your daughter now,” you say, gesturing toward the mat, where Serena has now rolled halfway over and is grunting softly at her own fist. “And tell me—with a straight face—that you want her named after a diabetes drug.”
Zayne sets down his mug, and after a dramatic pause, leans in just slightly.
“She doesn’t need to be,” he says, his voice softening. “Serena is perfect. It was the best pick.”
You tilt your head, caught off guard by how quickly he's backing off this time.
He continues then, leaning closer, one hand brushing your waist like he’s trying to draw your attention. “Because, after all, it came from her mother.”
Your smile breaks without warning. “Flatterer.”
“Is it working?”
You wink at him, still smiling. “Flatterer gets you anywhere.”
His other hand lifts, fingers trailing to the back of your neck, his eyes glint with something more—amused and affectionate. “Anywhere?”
You meet his eyes, heart skipping, a flutter of hesitation as the world narrows to the space between you.
You close the distance, matching his closeness, your own hand curling behind his neck. “Anywhere.”
You’re a breath away from kissing him when Serena lets out a babble that sounds vaguely triumphant. You both pause. She kicks her feet, arms flapping, tail bouncing behind her like punctuation.
You burst out laughing. Zayne’s smile is soft and full, completely content.
He shifts to crouch beside her and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Clopidogrel would be proud.”
You snort, reaching over to smother his face with your palm.
Then you both lean in together, planting a kiss on Serena’s warm cheeks, one on each side.
She babbles again.
And just like that, the moment stretches—gentle, glowing, and absolutely yours.
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Notes
Guhhh damn it..... It got me a little bit, I was doing silly little thing but ofc this is how it ended up with 🥹💕 Love it tho! And here's the Clopidogrel reference that show up with the right timing! Ahahahahaha
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
