veseartheneum

[veseartheneum]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ HEART'S SANCTUARY

No matter how much time passed in his company, you always found new ways to surprise him.

pairing ― mof!zayne x f!reader word count ― >700 cw ― fluff note ― this was my very first mof!zayne fic and it is very special to me, he's so damned cute I wanna squish him. as well as @starmocha for encouraging me.

The world was still — serene in its beauty beneath the aged tree that held secrets and lives so effortlessly. Each branch was woven in wisdom and consisted of lifetimes that could be read by the single petal of a flower; every flower an epitome of a lifelong lived. 

You knew, as you stared from the very roots to the very top of the canopy, that it was always going to be an enigma to you. A mere mortal in the presence of a deity’s cultivation of aeons. 

That very deity was calmly sitting at the wooden table, as you expected. 

Zayne never faltered from routine or habit — the scrolls that his gloved fingers brushed over were read once, once more, then sorted to piles that you would have to scour through at a later date, much to your annoyance. But with the near close of the festival, it seemed a sense of mercy was delegated to your mentor and master — your days were peaceful and quiet, filled only with adventures with Hua and Bai. 

It would be a fool's errand to waste the opportunity that was placed neatly in your lap. 

The breeze was so soft as it kissed your skin, fluttering the hem of your tunic slightly as you walked quietly towards Zayne, who was wholly invested in the bamboo slips before him. 

Golden rays of sunlight fell over his broad shoulders, the embellishments of his robes shone as though precious, and you knew they were — imbued with magic only known to the Gods themselves. 

His hair, darker than a Raven’s feathers but somehow just as soft as the downing feathers of a duckling, moved across his back when he shifted his head, whether to sip from his cup of tea or to grab the next sheathe. 

“If you have nothing to do,” Zayne said simply, his gaze not wavering from the bamboo slats painted with ebony ink in front of him. “Perhaps I should revoke my tolerance for you slacking off.”

“You wouldn’t,” you huffed, crossing your arms in defiance. 

Zayne hummed thoughtfully. “I would.”

“Unacceptable.”

He turned at that, forest green and golden hued irises stared at you curiously, the smallest hint of mirth in his expression by the pull of his lips. The youthful expression sent a pang of something akin to longing through your heart. 

“And yet, you are the one to approach me when I expected you to be frolicking with Hua.” The slats of bamboo shuffled against the solid surface of the wooden table, and Zayne turned back to grab the next one. “How odd.”

“You’re the odd one,” you teased, walking closer. The soft foot falls of your shoes made the blades of grass part silently. “Mister ‘I-don’t-know-what-fun-is’.”

Zayne only shook his head, a heavy exhale making his nostrils flare in annoyance. 

You advanced slowly, each step measured until you were right behind him, your shadow casting a tall, imposing figure that reached far over his shoulder. 

Just for a moment, maybe even a mere second, Zayne’s hand faltered and twitched on the slats he was reading, and his shoulders froze as though he was bracing himself for something. “What are you doing?” 

You pounced — your arms wrapped around his shoulders in a lazy embrace, and you draped your front over his back to rest your chin on the back of his head — careful to avoid the decorations of his headpiece. 

A grunt of surprise rumbled through his back, and you giggled. Slowly, you moved your chin from his head to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The proximity made your heart sing in contentment — the closeness made Zayne’s chest stutter on a breath he held with nervous anticipation. 

It was no secret he was not an openly affectionate man, but to have someone so forward with touch made his own heart race.

“I’m hugging you,” you said softly, shuffling your feet closer so your whole body was enveloping him from lower back to shoulders. “Because I wanted to.”

“You are…”

Zayne shifted slightly, and you moved your chin to his shoulder so he could glance at you — although suspiciously and sideways. Your arms moved downwards to rest over his biceps, and you squeezed with a soft cry of happiness. 

“Are you alright?” He chuckled, the corners of his eyes lifting with his smile. 

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling. “I’m happy.”

[veseartheneum]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ WOVEN BEAUTY

To bestow the Master of Fate a crown, you worked diligently as he sat by your side, intrigued and flattered by your determination. And when you were finished, you could not wait to crown him as he deserved.

pairing ― mof!zayne x f!reader word count ― >700 cw ― fluff, teasing note ― we need more mof!zayne and I rose to the call with @starmocha's help!

The stems between your fingers were small, delicate things — smooth to the touch of your fingertip, and pliable as the fibre of cloth that you stitched together to repair. 

It was beautiful. Golden rays shone down through the scattered canopy above to bathe the blooming buds in yellow sunshine, crisp as the morning air. The clearing was full of the call of birds, their small, round bodies darted by you as they went about their own morning routines — more than once you spied a worm dangling from the beak of a mother bird, no doubt on the way to feed her hatchlings. 

The climate was far too rigid for the thriving possibility of butterflies, and your heart ached with their absence. Every visit during the spring would be decorated so lushly with colours you could have scarcely imagined on the wings of your companions — it was dull without them. 

You sighed softly, still fidgeting with the half-made flower crown as you looked around the clearing. 

“Something on your mind?” Zayne asked quietly, his voice just above a whisper as to not disturb the serene silence. 

“I miss the butterflies,” you lamented, a frown on your lips. “It’s not the same without them.”

Zayne nodded once and tilted his head to observe a small flock of sparrows as they foraged by his feet. Their small bodies flittered in and out of his sprawled legs and the long tails of his robes. The soles and top of his boots were earthen brown from the flicked mud of beaks. 

“I’m certain they will return with the new season,” he said quietly. Wisps of raven-coloured hair stirring with the gentle breeze. “They may be as restless as you and return sooner, you never know.”

“Hmph.” 

A comfortable silence stretched as you sat there beside him, still fiddling away absentmindedly with the flower crown. 

Occasionally, Zayne leaned forward — carefully, as to not disturb the chirping birds at his feet — so he could pluck a stem or twig from the mounds of snow to add to your collection.  

You gratefully accepted the offerings, smiling shyly when your fingertips brushed against his glove.

Before long, the flower crown was woven with breathtaking hues of green and white — the stems lead to white blooms, a making of your own evol — while the foundation of twigs and thicker greenery strengthened the circle. 

You beamed down at the crown with pride, turning it this way and that way to catch the beams of sunlight on the sparkling flowers. 

“Beautiful,” Zayne whispered, and you gasped quietly in surprise. 

You turned to berate him for scaring you, but you found he wasn’t even looking at the finished product you displayed with the utmost pride, no. He was staring at you.

Forest green and gold eyes shone with the golden rays of the morning sun, catching the reflection of freshly fallen, white snow. A tiny smile, barely even noticeable if you hadn’t truly known Zayne, pulled at the corners of his lips. 

“Oh hush, you,” you spluttered, quickly glancing back down at your lap. “Flattery won’t work on me.”

“It won’t?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his rasped voice. “Then tell me why your crown is suddenly more interesting than maintaining eye contact with me. I’m sure the answer would be riveting, no?”

Scrunching your nose in embarrassment, you stared intently at the petals of your flowers — he had you there, damn him.

In a last-ditch effort to distract him from his quest of flattery, you adjusted the hold you had on your crafted crown and held it up towards the sky. “What’s more interesting,” you began, “is how pretty Shifu would be once I place this flower crown on his far-too-large head, hmm?”

Zayne laughed. His shoulders shook with the sound, and a rare grin made his eyes crinkle with delight — though it only lasted a mere moment. 

You shuffled forwards and leaned towards him, the crown still held aloft, and you placed it on his head. It sat perfectly (if only a little crooked) around his head and it rested perfectly above the gold strands of his headpiece tucked into the roots. 

An indignant snort of protest made him choke, then he sneezed at the sudden proximity of greenery.

“He is very pretty,” you cooed sweetly, batting your lashes. 

Zayne only stared back at you, his body still leaning away from you with one eyebrow arched in challenge. “You are impossible.”

“Mm. You do enjoy it, though.”

There was no protest to your statement. Instead, Zayne sighed in resignation and sat up properly, his shoulder bumping into yours.