🪴Mature Bloom Warning🪴 Every jasmine in this garden is planted in smut-rich soil and glistening in domestic dew. 18+ frolickers only! Underage seedlings, keep your pruning shears away, and please see yourselves out the front gate.
I'M COMING HERE FROM THE HEART'S INDULGENCE CH. 62.
AND SHOWERING YOU WITH ROSES AND CONFETTI AND EVERYTHING BC GIRL.
I LOVE YOUR FIC SM 😭😭😭 SWEET DARLING BOY ZAYNE GETTING SICK. THEM BEING SO SWEET AND TENDER AND SO SO SO SO INTIMATE WITH EACH OTHER THAT IT MAKES ME SICK /POS
I LOVE IT. I LOVE THEM. THEY MAKE ME ILL. I'M OBSESSED.
Synopsis: They say an apple a day keeps the doctor away, but what if said doctor can’t resist his own hunger? In the aftermath of catastrophe, you become the center of two very different kinds of devotion. Caleb guards you with jealous fire, his love protective yet possessive, a vow that curdles into poison. Zayne holds himself back with logic and restraint, but even his reason begins to crack as desire burns through him. And you, ripe, forbidden, impossible to ignore, ache for the doctor’s touch, knowing your step brother would see the world burn before letting you go.
Pairings: Zayne x Reader, onesided Caleb x Reader
Warning: MDNI! 18+ only for sexual themes and violence
My Zayne Masterlist🩵AO3🩵Ko-Fi
Chapter 6: Sugar
You learned it hadn’t been a fever dream. The weeks blurred together like smudged ink on paper, hazy stretches of half-waking and half-sleeping, your veins tethered to IV lines, your body heavy under the numbing haze of antibiotics and painkillers. You drifted in and out of consciousness so often that time felt fluid, unreal—yet the ache in your body and the bandages that mapped your skin told you it had all been real. You’d fought for your life. Narrowly escaped death.
They told you it had been a month. A month since another rift had torn open in space, letting the wanderers spill through like ink bleeding into clean water. A month since Akso Hospital—supposed to be safe, sterile, a place of healing—had become a battleground. You pieced together what you could, memories scattered like broken glass.
You remembered Zayne’s panicked voice, the thunder of his footsteps as he ran with you in his arms. You remembered the sting of cold, the way ice burst wild and uncontrollable from his hands, not summoned with precision but tearing free as if it had grown straight out of his skin. His blood streaked down his sleeves, the jagged frost glinting cruelly as it cut him as much as it cut the wanderers, and you.
They told you he had lost control of his evol. That his desperation to save you, to save both of you, had driven his power to the edge of madness. His emotions had been too strong, his determination too fierce, and so the ice had erupted in violent shards, piercing through everything, including your body. That was why you were here. Why you had spent a month balancing on the knife’s edge between healing and slipping away.
And all you could think about, even now, even as your body still felt foreign, still fresh from healing, was him. That poor twelve-year-old boy. Carrying a burden too vast for his small shoulders, a weight that had nearly broken him. That poor boy who had bled and burned with frost to save you. That poor boy who had saved your life at a cost you weren’t sure he’d ever stop paying.
You were finally being discharged today once you were deemed healthy. The thought alone sent adrenaline racing through your veins, stronger than any IV drip had ever managed. The doctors had signed the papers, your grandmother had gathered your belongings, but you refused to go home and collapse into rest like everyone expected you to. Not today. Not after weeks of drifting in and out of drugged sleep, only half-aware of the world. You had begged—pleaded with your grandmother until your throat ached—that you couldn’t spend your first free day shut away in bed at home. You had one wish, and you couldn’t be denied it.
You wanted to see Zayne. You wanted to see the boy whose name had been whispered over your bedside while you floated between worlds. The boy who, you’d been told, came faithfully to visit while you slept, only to slip away the moment you stirred. The boy who had carried you out of chaos, who had nearly broken himself to save you. You couldn’t bear to wait any longer. You needed to see him. To be with him.
Your grandmother, recognizing that fiery insistence in your eyes, had relented at last. Arrangements were made; his mother taking the day off from her endless duties, while his father shouldered the burden of the hospital’s short staffing. Together, they had agreed to your request. The Linkon Aquarium. A day of fun, of marine life shimmering behind glass, of ice cream cones dripping under the fluorescent lights of the gift shop. It would be your first step back into the world, and you wanted him there beside you.
When the nurse finally told you your visitors had arrived, you were already ready, shoes laced, hair brushed, clothes smoothed as though this were the most important day of your life. You didn’t walk from your room; you sprinted, your hospital ID band still bouncing against your wrist, your sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. The hallway blurred as you rounded the corner, your chest tight with excitement.
And then you saw them. From a distance, his mother’s hand lifted in a bright, happy wave, her smile carrying all the warmth you remembered. But your eyes slid past her almost instantly, locking onto him. Zayne. He stood at her side, taller than you remembered yet still boyish, his face caught in the half-shadow of uncertainty. His posture was stiff, as though his bones themselves resisted being here. His jaw was tight, the muscles clenched in an effort to hold something back. Hesitation pooled in every line of him.
But you didn’t see any of that. Not really. What you saw were his eyes, the familiar green that had haunted your drugged dreams, and the boy you’d missed so fiercely it had ached in your chest. You gasped, the sound of pure joy breaking out of you, and a grin stretched wide across your face until your cheeks hurt.
And then you were running again, full force, your hospital wristband flashing in the light as you charged down the hall straight toward him, unbothered, unthinking, your heart pounding with nothing but the desperate need to close the space between you.
“Zaynie!”
Your voice carried down the sterile corridor, high and bright with uncontained joy. You threw your arms wide as if your whole body had been waiting for this single moment, your feet pounding against the tile in a full sprint toward the boy who stood there with the most impossibly serious face, his jaw locked tight, his frame frozen like a deer caught in oncoming light.
And then you collided with him. You damn near bowled him over, the force of your lunge wrapping around his waist and pulling him back a step as your arms clamped tight. You squeezed with everything you had, locking yourself against him, burying your face into the steady drum of his chest where his heartbeat raced like wild thunder. The faint scent of clean cotton and hospital soap clung to him, grounding you in the reality that this wasn’t some morphine dream—you were truly here, holding him.
You didn’t care about the sting beneath your clothes, the tender pull of scarring skin as your body protested the movement. You didn’t even feel it. All that mattered was that you were pressed against him, finally closing the distance you’d been aching to close for weeks.
“I missed you!” You declared, muffling the words into him as you smushed your cheek against his chest. You rocked him from side to side, refusing to let him stand there like a statue.
“…I missed you too, Y/n.”
His voice was soft, almost fragile, like something he hadn’t used in too long. It was quieter than you’d ever heard it, and the hesitation in it made your grip on him tighten instinctively. He didn’t hug you back the way you had hoped. He stood stiff in your arms, his muscles locked, until at last he lifted one hand and gave your back the gentlest, most uncertain pat, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do more.
But you didn’t care. You didn’t think about it, didn’t analyze the tension in him, didn’t question why he felt like he was holding back. You had missed your closest friend more than anyone else in the world. He was the one who had saved your life, the reason you were even here at all. That was enough.
Eventually, though it felt like an eternity, you let go. You pulled back with reluctance, already mourning the loss of his warmth, only for your chest to sink when you saw his face. He still couldn’t look at you, not fully. His emerald gaze flickered, avoidant, tracing the floor tiles, the distant ceiling, anywhere but your eyes. One hand lifted to rub the back of his neck, a nervous tic that made your heart ache for reasons you didn’t yet understand.
His mother stood beside him, watching with quiet tenderness. She smiled down at her son, her hand reaching to squeeze his shoulder in gentle encouragement. Her eyes told him what he couldn’t seem to tell himself; that it was okay to be here, okay to be seen, okay to let you glom him this way.
You stuffed your hand into the deep pocket of your overalls, fingers brushing past tissues and lint until they closed around the crackle of cellophane. With a triumphant little noise, you pulled out a fistful of brightly wrapped candies and thrust them toward him with a grin that stretched wide across your face.
“I saved you some candy, Zaynie,” you said, beaming up at him, your eyes shining with the pride of someone who’d been planning this moment for days.
For the briefest instant, something shifted in Zayne’s expression, like a storm cloud flickering with different colors of light. First, the sharp flick of surprise as his eyes darted to the pile in your palm. Then, something softer, a fragile warmth that looked like it might take root, like he was touched in a way he didn’t know how to hold. But before it could settle, guilt flashed quick and heavy across his face, dragging his gaze away. He hesitated, then reached out slowly, as if touching the candy might break it, or break him.
“…Thank you,” he murmured, giving a small nod as he pocketed the sweets. His voice was thin, brittle in places, but it was his.
And then, almost reluctantly, he reached into his own pocket. You heard the faint crinkle of a wrapper before he pulled out two slightly squished chocolate chip cookies, holding them in his palm like a peace offering.
“…You asked for two cookies the last time I saw you awake,” he said quietly, eyes flickering toward yours before darting away again, “so…Here you go.”
The words hit harder than you expected. The last time he saw you awake. It hadn’t been in some peaceful, ordinary moment, it had been that night. The night the hospital walls split open with a thunderous crack, when the rift had birthed monsters that didn’t belong in your world. You remembered the way Zayne had been walking beside you down the hall, how you’d whined to him about your gluttony for cookies, laughing, telling him you wanted two instead of one. Just moments before the ceiling had shuddered and the world came crashing down.
The memory stabbed through the fog of painkillers and healing, vivid and terrifying. You almost forgot about it until he said it. For a moment, you froze, the weight of it sinking into your chest, hollowing out your grin.
But then you blinked hard, snapping yourself out of that spiral. He looked sad again, too sad, and you refused to let the memory win. You tore open the wrapper with determined fingers and pulled out the cookies, breaking the silence with a cheerfulness you didn’t fully feel.
“Here,” you said, holding one out to him.
He raised his hand and shook his head, waving it away, “it’s yours.”
You frowned, your lips tightening into stubborn lines.
“Nope,” you shot back, practically shoving the cookie up toward his mouth, “yours!”
Your hand stayed there, insistent, the chocolate chip cookie inches from his lips. It wasn’t just about cookies. It was about dragging him back, about reminding him that you were still here, that both of you were.
“Take it!” You insisted, your tone carrying that familiar childish authority, the kind that left no room for argument, “sugar will always make you feel better!”
Something shifted in his face then, like your words had brushed against a memory he couldn’t quite hide from. For a second his gaze darkened, then softened, and at last, hesitantly, almost as if it pained him, Zayne leaned forward and accepted the cookie. He bit into it with a small crunch, the simplest gesture in the world, but to you it felt like victory. A smile bloomed on your face, wide and unrestrained, a rush of satisfaction and relief washing through you as though you’d managed to pull him just a little closer to you again.
It was only then, as his hand lowered, that you saw it. The fresh, angry scars. Jagged and pink against his pale skin, carving their way across the back of his hands, disappearing into the sleeves of his shirt where you could only imagine they went much further. You froze for half a heartbeat, your breath catching as the memory returned; the night his evol had erupted like a storm, frost tearing through his skin, shards of ice piercing from his arms in his desperation to save you both. The same power that had cut through you, that had nearly ended your life, was etched now into his flesh like a permanent reminder of how close it had come.
But you didn’t see it as failure. Not once. You never blamed him. How could you, when he had been the one to save you, the one who fought for your life with every ounce of his own? No matter how terrifying those moments had been, all you could think now was how much you had missed him. That was what mattered. That was all that mattered.
Without a second thought, you reached down and grabbed his stiff hand, your smaller fingers curling tightly around his lonh ones. His skin was cooler than yours, tense under your grip, but you clung with all the fierceness of someone afraid to ever let go. You held him as though your touch could anchor him, as though if you loosened your grip, he might vanish, might slip away into some place you couldn’t follow.
Zayne didn’t pull away. He didn’t tighten his hold, either; but he let you keep it, and that was enough. His mother, smiling softly at the sight, guided the two of you out of the hospital lobby and toward the doors, her presence warm and steady like sunlight over your shoulders.
And as you walked, your hand locked around his, you felt it clearly: happiness. Simple, unshakable happiness just to be beside him again. To see him, to touch him, to know he was real and alive and still here with you. After everything, you were so happy, so relieved to see Zayne.
Synopsis: They say an apple a day keeps the doctor away, but what if said doctor can’t resist his own hunger? In the aftermath of catastrophe, you become the center of two very different kinds of devotion. Caleb guards you with jealous fire, his love protective yet possessive, a vow that curdles into poison. Zayne holds himself back with logic and restraint, but even his reason begins to crack as desire burns through him. And you, ripe, forbidden, impossible to ignore, ache for the doctor’s touch, knowing your step brother would see the world burn before letting you go.
Pairings: Zayne x Reader, onesided Caleb x Reader
Warning: MDNI! 18+ only for sexual themes and violence
My Zayne Masterlist🩵AO3🩵Ko-Fi
Chapter 5: Failure
Zayne sat frozen in his hospital bed, his body upright but hollow, every muscle locked as if carved from stone. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even lift his head to meet his mother’s emerald eyes as she leaned toward him from the chair at his side, her voice carrying a softness that felt foreign in the sterile, antiseptic air. She held an ice pack against her bandaged head, but even through the weariness, her gaze shone steady, a small flame trying to warm a room that had long gone cold. She and his father had survived the wanderer attack on Akso, but survival was a thin, fragile thing, and the wounds they carried stretched far deeper than their bodies.
“It’s not your fault, honey,” she murmured, and the words barely reached him. They drifted in distorted, muffled, as though spoken underwater, or across some endless gulf where sound lost its meaning.
Zayne didn’t move. His whole body was rigid, trembling from the effort of simply staying upright. His palms lay open in his lap, pale beneath the bloodied bandages wound around his hands and arms. He stared at them as though they weren’t his, as though some stranger’s cursed hands had been grafted onto him. Every blot of crimson was proof of what he had done; what he had almost done.
The memory tore through him again with cruel precision: the moment control over his evol slipped from his grasp, the storm of ice roaring through his body, burning from the inside out. He remembered the sickening rush, the way it seared through him until the world blurred, until friend and enemy became the same. And then—you. Fragile. Collapsing beneath the weight of the power he should’ve protected you with.
His chest convulsed with a shudder, his breath breaking in his throat. It felt like frost had taken root inside him, coiling and hardening into jagged shards that wrapped tighter with every heartbeat. Thorns of frozen glass pressed inward, constricting until each inhale was sharp, shallow, unbearable. He couldn’t escape it. Couldn’t forget the terror in your eyes, or how close he’d come to destroying the person he’d meant to protect above all else.
No words could reach him. Not even his hers. Zayne’s stare stayed fixed on the floor, the stark tiles swimming in and out of focus as his mother’s words wrapped around him like threads he couldn’t grasp. Her voice was low, steady, careful, as though each syllable had been weighed before she let it fall, afraid that anything heavier might shatter him completely.
“I examined you myself with the doctors in this facility,” she said, and her hand tightened around the ice pack at her temple as if steadying herself, “you lost control of your evol. You didn’t do anything wrong. That was a very scary thing for you and Y/n to go through, and a lot of worse things could’ve happened tonight. All that matters is that you’re both alive. Critical condition for her just means she lost a lot of blood. But she’ll be okay, she’s in surgery right now with your dad. He personally volunteered to be a part of her care team with how short-staffed hospitals are everywhere.”
The words ‘she’ll be okay’ should have been a lifeline, but Zayne felt them slip through his fingers like water. He couldn’t hold onto them, couldn’t believe them, not when the last image seared into his mind was of your small body crumpling on the cement, blood soaking his hands as his evol raged beyond his control. He felt the memory more vividly than the bed beneath him, more clearly than the weight of his own skin.
When his mother’s hand touched his shoulder, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t move at all, as though his body had forgotten how to respond to comfort. Her warmth pressed against him, an anchor in a storm he refused to reach for.
“You saved your friend’s life,” she said gently, and for the first time he turned his head. His eyes, storm-dark, rimmed with the red of exhaustion and grief, met hers.
She didn’t look away. She held him there, refusing to let him sink.
“Please,” she whispered, her thumb brushing lightly against his arm, “don’t think about it any other way. She’s an eight-year-old girl who had no way of defending herself had she been alone against those wanderers. Her chance of survival would have been absolutely zero. She would have died without you.”
Her words struck him like a blade dulled by sorrow, meant to heal but still cutting deep. He wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that what happened was saving, not failing. But the frost of guilt inside his chest only grew sharper, biting down harder, as if his evol itself were punishing him for daring to be reassured.
“…What about Miss Josephine and Caleb?” Zayne’s voice cracked when it finally broke through the silence, raw and uncertain, like it had been dragged over shards of glass to reach the air.
“They’re both perfectly safe,” his mother answered without hesitation, her lips curving into a gentle smile meant to ease the tension pressing down on him, “the coffee shop Miss Josephine had gone to wasn’t hit, and Caleb was at a friend’s sleepover.”
“…Do they know?” His head lifted a fraction higher, heavy as stone, his eyes searching hers as though bracing for another blow.
His mother nodded with deliberate care, her expression tender and unwavering.
“They know. And they know that you saved her life,” the conviction in her voice rang steady, a truth she would not let him question. She leaned closer, her hand sliding up to cradle the back of his head, guiding him with the gentlest insistence until his temple brushed against her lips.
Zayne didn’t resist. He couldn’t. His body sagged into her touch, limp and boneless, as if the fight had drained out of him completely. His shoulders slumped beneath the weight of everything he carried, and though her kiss was soft, the warmth of it seemed to dissolve the last fragile thread holding him upright. He folded into her embrace, but it wasn’t release. It was surrender.
Inside, he was both everything and nothing. His chest swelled with feelings he couldn’t name, couldn’t separate, couldn’t control. He was numb, hollow, yet at the same time unbearably full, emotions pressing against the walls of his mind with no clear shape. He didn’t know what he was feeling; only that something vast and terrible and too heavy for him to carry alone was waiting for him, crouched just beyond the veil of shock.
It would come for him later, he knew it. Later, when the sterile walls and bandaged hands no longer distracted him, when the chaos of blood and wanderers and surgery gave way to silence. It would come with teeth, sharp and merciless. And when it did, it would break him.
“…Mom?” Zayne’s voice was barely a murmur, so thin it almost disappeared into the hum of the monitors.
“Hm?” She leaned back a little, brushing her fingers tenderly through his dark hair, sweeping the tangled strands out of his tired eyes so she could see him better.
“…Can I have a popsicle?” He turned his head just enough to glance at her, the request slow, almost uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure the words would make sense once spoken aloud.
For a heartbeat, she simply blinked at him, and then a laugh—soft, trembling like jelly—spilled from her lips.
“A popsicle? Oh, honey…” She said, shaking her head with gentle disbelief. She pressed her hand against his shoulder and coaxed him back into the reclined bed, tucking him against the stiff but forgiving sheets, “you’re so delirious from the toll that must’ve taken on you. Just rest right now, okay? Everything’s fine and everyone is safe. Rest your little head, Zayne. You’re too young to be this hard on yourself. God, kid, you’re not even a teenager yet…”
Her voice was sweet, soothing, but her eyes betrayed her. Behind the curve of her smile, behind the practiced reassurance, there was a sorrow she couldn’t hide—sadness for him, for the weight crushing his small shoulders, for the memories that no child should have to carry.
That look cut deeper than anything she could’ve said. He hated it. Hated that she pitied him, that she saw him already marked by trauma before he even had the chance to grow up. It made his guilt swell, sharp and suffocating, because she was hurting for him, when all he deserved was her disappointment.
He lay stiff beneath the covers as she fussed with the blankets, pulling them around him with the same care she had when he was much younger. The lights dimmed under her hand, shadows softening the edges of the room, but nothing could soften the thoughts clawing through him. He knew. He’d known long before she’d tucked him in, long before she smoothed his hair one last time.
This was bad. He was bad. And no dimmed lights, no whispered reassurances, no popsicles in the world could change the truth of it.
Synopsis: They say an apple a day keeps the doctor away, but what if said doctor can’t resist his own hunger? In the aftermath of catastrophe, you become the center of two very different kinds of devotion. Caleb guards you with jealous fire, his love protective yet possessive, a vow that curdles into poison. Zayne holds himself back with logic and restraint, but even his reason begins to crack as desire burns through him. And you, ripe, forbidden, impossible to ignore, ache for the doctor’s touch, knowing your step brother would see the world burn before letting you go.
Pairings: Zayne x Reader, onesided Caleb x Reader
Warning: MDNI! 18+ only for sexual themes and violence
My Zayne Masterlist🩵AO3🩵Ko-Fi
It happened just shortly before your ninth birthday; the day you almost died.
Your grandmother had taken you, as always, to one of your weekly checkups for your protocore syndrome. The hospital corridors had become almost routine by then: the smell of antiseptic, the low murmur of tired voices, the squeak of shoes on polished linoleum. She had gone to fetch herself a cup of coffee from a shop a few streets away, trusting you would be safe, because Zayne was there today and could watch you for her.
You learned later that he had walked straight from school, his bag slung over one shoulder, to wait until his parents finished yet another emergency overtime shift. Since the catastrophe, both doctors had been consumed with their work, tending to the endless flood of patients; wanderer attacks, collateral injuries, the wounded who never stopped arriving at Akso’s doors. The Li family’s lives had become woven into the fabric of the hospital itself, and so it was no surprise to find Zayne here, lingering in its corners like a quiet constant.
Sometimes you crossed paths like this, your visits aligning with his waiting. In those moments, he became your reluctant guardian, your calm shadow in the sterile halls. He had his own way of keeping you from bolting when the nurses prepared their needles: a bribe, quiet and predictable. A chocolate bar, a sweet roll, or sometimes a cup of pudding swiped from the cafeteria; an offering he pressed into your hands with stoic finality. The message was always clear without him having to say much: endure the blood draw, and you’ll have something sweet to soften the sting.
It was simple. It was Zayne. And it was on one such day that everything nearly ended.
“Can I have two chocolate chip cookies?” You asked hopefully, walking in step beside him down the long hospital hallway.
“No. You’ll be home soon for dinner,” he replied without hesitation, his tone calm but firm. He flicked his wrist, checking the watch strapped neatly around it; the only boy his age you had ever seen wear one, as if he were already halfway grown into adulthood, “my mom says it’s not healthy to—”
He never finished. From the tall window at the end of the corridor, the world ruptured. Glass shattered in a rain of shards as something massive tore through, crashing into the hallway with brutal force. The wall caved under the weight, the floor trembled violently, lights above you flickered and buzzed before dimming into spasms of shadow.
You screamed, the sound raw, but before fear could even root itself in your chest, Zayne’s arm locked around you. His movement was instinct, swift and unyielding. He yanked you back with a force that stole your breath, his body turning in one fluid motion so his back took the brunt of the danger. He caged you in with himself, holding you tightly against him, a shield of flesh and bone between you and the chaos exploding from the rift.
Your heart pounded, frantic and uneven. Your ears rang with the violent echo of impact. Dust and glass spun through the air like confetti from a nightmare. Time seemed to stop. You knew exactly what this was. A wanderer had bled through a spatial rift—an aberration that could unravel everything it touched. And now it was here, its monstrous weight crushing stone and steel within mere feet of where you stood. Within mere feet of killing both you and Zayne.
Before your mind could even catch up, the world lurched. In one swift, decisive motion, Zayne scooped you off the ground. Your body swung through the air as he gathered you tightly against his chest, his grip unyielding, protective. With his free arm, he flung it back, and from his hand burst a storm of ice, jagged crystals and glimmering shards erupting in a flurry of arctic brilliance. The frost spread with impossible speed, too much for a boy his age to summon without physical consequence, racing down the corridor like light itself, sealing the passage in a wall of frozen armor.
You cried out, your eyes squeezing shut, too terrified to look at what writhed and crashed behind him. The hospital around you roared with destruction: walls splintering, ceilings groaning, monstrous shrieks piercing through the air like steel on glass. Human voices tangled with them, patients, nurses, doctors, screams of fear and confusion as the building shuddered beneath the weight of the invasion. Each tremor beneath Zayne’s pounding strides rattled through your bones.
“I’m scared!” You sobbed, clutching him with desperate force. Your legs cinched around his waist like a vice, your arms locked around his neck, every part of you clinging for survival. His skin had grown colder in seconds, an icy aura seeping from him that burned against your own warmth, “Zayne, I’m scared! I wanna go home!”
“You’re going to be okay,” his voice cut through the chaos, steady, clear, unwavering, even as you felt the hammering of his heart beneath your cheek. He forced his breathing into control, every inhale measured, every exhale anchored, his composure a fragile shield around both of you. His long strides thundered down the shaking hallway, the world unraveling behind him, “Y/n, I need you to keep your eyes open for me. Can you do that?”
“No!” You cried, squeezing your face deeper into his shoulder, voice breaking with raw terror, “it’s scary!”
“I know it’s scary. I’m scared too,” Zayne panted, his breath sharp against your ear. Suddenly, he screeched to a halt, shoes grinding against the trembling floor as something slammed into the wall just ahead. The impact cracked plaster and concrete in a spray of dust, the whole structure groaning as though about to split open. He pivoted on his heels without hesitation, spinning you with him, and sprinted the opposite way, urgency threading into his usually steady voice, “but I need you to watch our backs so I can get us to safety!”
The force of his words struck through your panic. Somehow, you forced your eyelids apart, lashes clumped with tears as your blurred vision struggled to focus. What you saw nearly undid you all over again.
The hallway was chaos incarnate. Lights flickered wildly, plunging everything into flashes of shadow and brightness that made the destruction even more surreal. Smoke poured through fractured ceilings, mingling with the stench of scorched metal. Jagged debris littered the floor, pipes spewed water in hissing streams, walls sparked with angry bursts of electricity. Shards of ceiling rained down in fragments, each crash echoing in your bones.
It was a horror scene unfolding at impossible speed, too fast to grasp. There was no time to stop, no chance to help anyone, no hope of restoring order. Wanderers had breached Akso’s walls, tearing apart what had once been a sanctuary. Survival was all that remained.
And then you saw it. From a flickering stretch of hallway ahead, a shadow hurtled into being—too large, too fast, too wrong. Your tears blurred its outline until it came into sharp, horrifying focus. A wanderer, feline in shape, but nothing natural about it. Its fur was alive with fire, each movement shedding sparks, its body burning like molten rock given the form of a beast. Its eyes locked onto yours with slitted pupils, predatory, merciless. With a roar that shook the crumbling ceiling above, it lunged, lightning-quick, a living inferno tearing toward you both.
Your scream ripped from your throat before you could think, “behind us!”
Zayne’s arm was already swinging back, strained, his green eyes cutting a pained glance over his shoulder as his hand flared with frost. Ice erupted in a violent rush, shards and flurries racing down the hallway with a piercing chill. The crystalline barricade spread across walls and floor, locking the path in jagged brilliance just as the flaming beast lunged.
For a fleeting breath, it held. The wanderer collided with the wall of ice in a shower of sparks and shards, its roar rattling through the building. But then, too soon, the flames surged hotter, furious, melting through the barrier. Frost hissed into steam. Cracks splintered outward like veins in glass.
“It’s coming! It got through!” You screamed, your voice breaking as you clung to him, terror surging like fire through your veins.
“I know,” Zayne shot back, his words clipped and urgent, his voice pushing through the roar of destruction, “I’m going to put you down, and you’re going to run as fast as you can. I’ll catch up to you right now!”
Before you could protest, before your fear could form into words, the air left your lungs in a jolt. He had ripped you from his hold with shocking speed, his grip bruisingly tight as he steadied you on your feet. For one suspended heartbeat, his hands anchored you, holding you upright to make sure you wouldn’t stumble. Then he thrust you forward, hurling you into motion.
Your body lurched as your legs scrambled to catch the command, the world a blur of smoke and sparks. His voice, sharper than you had ever heard it, rang through the chaos, “I said run, Y/n!”
The look on his face stopped your breath cold. Wide-eyed, raw, stripped of the composure you had always known in him—the calmest boy you had ever met. Seeing that mask shatter, even for a moment, was enough to chill you to the bone.
You spun and obeyed, your legs pumping as you bolted forward, the floor trembling beneath your steps. Only once you steadied your footing did you dare look back. Zayne stood firm in the chaos, both arms thrust forward with brutal force. Frost exploded outward, a storm of ice shards whistling down the corridor. They sharpened midair, honed into jagged spears that glittered with lethal brilliance as they barreled into the charging beast.
The sound was sickening and final, the crack of ice piercing through monsterous flesh. In one blinding instant, the volcanic feline was impaled, its roar cut short as its body collapsed in a burning heap, steam hissing from where fire met frozen death.
Relief washed over you, dizzying and thin, but it lasted no more than a heartbeat. You kept running, your breaths ragged, throwing desperate glances over your shoulder. Zayne was coming after you, his strides fast and long, his pale face still carved with focus. But then you saw it: blood streaking down his hands, bright against his skin, dripping from between his fingers. The ice had answered him, but it had taken its toll; too powerful for a boy his age to control well.
“Go left!” He shouted, his voice cutting through the smoke and screams, commanding and breathless, “run towards the garden! We need to be outside!”
Right. Outdoors. No threat of a ceiling ready to collapse above your heads. You veered sharply left, nearly tripping over a jagged beam half-buried in rubble, your breath catching as your shoes skidded over broken tiles and dust. You pushed forward anyway, lungs burning, the hallway behind you collapsing into a blur of shattering walls.
You felt it before you felt him. Not the air outside, not the night’s breeze—it was him. The cold. It pressed against your skin like an invisible current, a creeping frost that stole into your lungs. A heartbeat later, Zayne was beside you, his long strides effortlessly catching your smaller ones, his presence all ice and urgency. Something was wrong.
Your gaze darted to his hands. For a second so quick you couldn’t trust yourself, you thought you understood the blood trailing down his pale skin. Not just torn flesh. Not just the price of his evol. But something else. The glint of sharpness where no blade should be. For a blink in time, it looked as if a jagged shard of ice had forced itself out between his fingers, piercing through the tender flesh of his palm. Another from the other wrist, but that hand unharmed. Then you blinked, and he was already tugging you forward with his good hand, steadying your pace with his bruising grip before the image could settle into certainty. There was no time to ask. No time to speak at all.
The garden opened up before you, spilling chaos in every direction. People ran in scattered clusters, some stumbling, some dragging others, cries for help tearing into the smoky air. A child shrieked from where she crouched beneath a broken bench. A nurse clutched a bleeding arm as she darted behind a wall. All of it was dwarfed by the monstrous presence of the wanderer tearing through the greenery, a rampaging force that shredded rose blooms and split stone fountains like paper.
And then, close, too close, a sound ripped through the garden. An animalistic screech, guttural and razor-sharp, clawed the air just feet from your side. Just as you spun, your vision caught on the silhouette of something enormous—a dragonesque wanderer, its massive body cutting through smoke as it dove straight for you. Your breath hitched, but Zayne’s arm shot out instantly, a barrier between you and the oncoming beast. His other hand flung skyward, and with a force that split the air, massive icicles erupted. They tore into the creature’s wings in a violent spray of frost and fire, knocking it sideways and driving it to the ground long enough for the two of you to bolt again.
But then it hit you. The pain was sudden, merciless—a searing pang that stabbed through your stomach so sharply you staggered mid-step, nearly collapsing. You gasped, your voice strangled in your throat as the sting burned deep, radiating outward like fire. When your eyes dropped, your shirt was no longer clean but blooming with crimson, blood pooling and spreading in a slow, terrifying bloom.
Your gaze snapped sideways, and froze. Zayne’s arm. The same arm you had clung to, desperate for safety. A jagged shard of ice jutted grotesquely from his skin, as though it had erupted from within his bones. He clutched the wound and lurched forward, his face twisting with pain as frost spread like veins along his trembling fingers, climbing upward as if to consume him.
Before you could even comprehend what you were seeing, another Wanderer cut off your escape. Its claws slashed down in a deadly arc toward Zayne. You didn’t think. You only moved. As he spun, ready to shield you with his own body and strike back with what strength remained, you threw yourself at him, grabbing his other arm, dragging with every ounce of your weight. The two of you stumbled, barely pulling him clear of the blow. The creature’s strike whistled past, raking the air instead of flesh.
In the same instant, Zayne retaliated. A final, desperate surge of ice ripped from his trembling body, pinning the beast through the wall with brutal precision. The force of it cracked the stone, dust showering down as the wanderer went still. He had saved you; saved himself too.
But your body betrayed you. A new wave of agony ripped through your core. You cried out, collapsing as you hit the concrete hard. The world blurred as heat turned unbearable across your torso. Your hands trembled violently as you dragged them to your stomach, finding not just one wound but many, ragged punctures tearing through your shirt, slick with blood that gushed between your fingers.
Your head lifted weakly, vision swimming, searching for him. Zayne was there, on his knees beside you, his body hunched forward as though he could shield you with himself alone. His chest heaved, his emerald eyes wide and wild, darting around in frantic calculation for somewhere, anywhere, he could carry you. Both his arms trembled, and your gaze caught the horror of them: jagged shards of ice protruding cruelly from his skin, his crimson stained long sleeves, stabbing outward like knives, his blood streaking down in rivulets, pooling on the ground.
For a heartbeat, your eyes met. His were blown wide, terror-stricken in a way you had never seen before, the boy who never faltered suddenly unraveling in the face of your pain. Then your strength gave out. You went limp, your head rolling against the cold pavement as dizziness swept in like a tide. The last thing you knew was the sound of him—Zayne, screaming your name. His young voice cracked as he screamed for help, breaking in ways you’d never heard. Screaming that he couldn’t use his arms, his hands—that he couldn’t even lift you. His desperation was the final sound that followed you into the dark.
I just wanna say that your fic “Every Inch of You is Mine” has imprinted on my mind and has been for me the best zayne fic I’ve ever read! I first read it when I came into the fandom this summer and GOD it’s so perfect. thank u for writing WOW (also this is my main but my own fic writing blog is healmydesires hehe) just wanted to let you know how much this fic means to me 💗💗💗💗
Queen can you upload The Heart's Indulgence to tumblr? I am two chapters behind because AO3 keeps going down.
Agh im sorry yall! I’ve honestly been so behind posting on Tumblr because I never use my laptop. It’s been sitting there for months. I’m hoping that AO3 we’ll be up and running soon within the next day! I’ll be better about posting on here in the future.
your zayne works are so amazing! do you have zayne fics/recs you enjoyed from other authors?
Oh thank you SO MUCH!! Honestly I’ve been so focused on writing that I haven’t really read anything in a long time :( but eventually I need to catch up on actually reading stuff!
Not a question but more of a declaration that your Zayne fics have got to be my favourite, in character, Zayne fics I've ever read. As someone whose mannerisms and traits lean closely to Zayne's it's more than refreshing to see how well written and fleshed out he is in your fics. I love him and the way you write the MC dearly. Thank you and I am looking forward to their first kiss in Heart's Indulgence, I know it will kill me and I welcome it
Oh thank you so much BB 😍 I need to upload all the chapters on here from AO3!
he approaches it without fear or hesitation and picks it up with his bare fingers.
xavier, gross! just get rid of it.
he laughs and pretends to toss it at you, laughing at how you squeal and back away.
stop! i’m so serious, i’ll kill you!
but he doesn’t stop. he keeps going, miming that he’s going to eat it. he holds it over his face, mouth open, wiggling his eyebrows – then, karma hits. he accidentally drops it. into his MOUTH. he chokes, spits it out and both of you are screaming. on any other occasion, you'd be laughing your ass off, but as it stands, you're fearing for your life, unsure of where the thing has gone.
zayne
“no problem, we’ll just get the bug spray.”
zayne, are you sure? it looks like it flies…
he gets the spray, and hesitates, looking at the thing.
i can just… crush it with a shoe…
“no, don’t, it’ll get all over the wall.”
both of you stare at it and his hand is hovering over the spray trigger. he presses it, and it immediately reacts – turns out it DOES fly. it flies off the wall and lands square on zayne’s chest. he screams. you scream. he sprays himself with the bug spray. it lands on the floor and you manage to stomp on it with a slipper. you clean up while zayne calls poison control for himself.
rafayel
“you get it.”
no YOU get it.
“okay fine, we flip a coin for it?”
no, i don’t trust you with a coin flip. we’ll play for it. rock, paper, scissors.
…
“yes! i win! okay, now get rid of it.”
…right, but where did it go?
rafayel spends the day clinging on to you, eyes scanning every room you enter, hyperaware. eventually, you decide to go hunt for it just so he can stop hanging onto your back like a koala.
sylus
“mephisto, get rid of it.”
“caw!”
“silly bird, it’s a roach. of course it’s in your programming.”
sylus and his mechanical bird continue to bicker while you start rolling up an old discarded magazine.
smack!
you get it in one hit. sylus and mephisto regard you in awe as you toss the magazine and the carcass away.
“...caw?”
“mephisto, find more of those bugs, we need to see that again.”
caleb
caleb, caleb, help!
he rushes into the room, fleet-issued guns loaded and ready. he immediately aims at the corner of the room you’re pointing at, and you start to yell at him.
wait, it’s just a roach, don’t–
too late. he fires, the blast incinerating the thing and part of the wall. the smoke clears and he looks at you sideways.
“...what was it?”
…a cockroach.
“hm…”
yeah, good thing you didn’t overreact.
he then lectures you how that kind of screaming should only be reserved for emergencies and you argue that it WAS an emergency.
lads men when you fart in front of them for the first time
🍑💨
xavier
he immediately goes on his phone.
xavier, ew sorry, that was so gross–uh, what are you doing?
"i'm marking this day on my calendar. it's going to be one of our anniversaries."
???? oh my god, what??? i'm so embarrassed–wait, are you ordering a cake???
"we need to celebrate this joyous occasion properly. what flavor do you want?"
zayne
oh my god zayne i'm so sorry, that's so embarrassing...
he just stares at you, then replies completely deadpan,
"i was wondering if your bowel movements were healthy. this is a good sign."
of course they're healthy, i just didn't mean to... you know... in front of you...
he then starts showing you good food to eat to promote better farting while you continue to die of embarrassment.
rafayel
"that was such a cute little toot."
rafayel, please–
"a tootie from my cutie patootie."
are you seri–
"hang on, i'm thinking of a painting to commemorate this. ah yes. i'll call it 'the passing wind'."
sylus
you accidentally let one slip while he's on the couch reading a newspaper. he lifts one buttcheek up, lets out a longer, louder fart while maintaining eye contact with you to assert dominance.
caleb
caleb, ignore that, pretend that didn't happen–
he comes closer to you, bending down so he's at waist level with you.
"do it again."
what–
"you heard me, i said do it again. i didn't get to smell it the first time."
When you come home with a new lipstick, you boast about how it’s completely smudgeproof, so you finally won’t have to deal with a ruined lip combo after one of your boyfriends decides you just look “so kissable” that day.
Sylus and Zayne share a look hearing this. Neither will admit it, but they love seeing the look of smudged lipstick around your mouth. And they don’t like the idea of it going away.
“Let me test it out, sweetie” Sylus offers, holding your jaw with his hand as he presses his lips to yours firmly. You’re expecting a sweet kiss, not the sloppy makeout that he quickly initiates.
When he breaks away, he expects to see the pretty colour all around your jaw and lips. But it’s still just as perfect as before. You blink up at him in surprise, still reeling from the kiss. His eyes narrow just slightly, delicately wiping the saliva from your mouth.
"Did it get messed up?" You mumble, lip still under his thumb. Zayne steps closer, and suddenly it's him cradling your face in his hands.
"Still perfect." He says, sounding almost disappointed. You're about to question it when, out of nowhere, he's kissing you. Zayne always kisses like he's trying to consume you, and this time is no different. His tongue swirls around yours, tasting you as if you're made of sugar. His fingers slide through your hair, tugging on it just enough to make you moan into his mouth.
When he pulls away, you nearly lose your balance, still trying to continue the kiss. You blink up at him, watching his brows furrow seeing your lipstick remain unsmudged.
Of course, that's not the only test they do. But when they see the pretty colour of your lips smudged on the shaft of their cocks, they give it their approval.
The Smut Garden @bakubrattt - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
