D1 Follo hater.

This was especially true for Lovely Assistaff, his beloved staff. He guarded it fiercely, rarely letting anyone else lay a finger on it.

However, you were the sole exception to his rule.

You sat on the edge of your desk, carefully wiping the smooth surface of the staff with a soft cloth. Your movements were slow, deliberate, and filled with quiet tenderness. You treated the object not as a dangerous weapon, but as something precious that deserved the utmost care.

He stood a few steps away, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. He watched you intently, his sharp eyes following your every move. Normally, seeing someone tamper with his beloved instrument would make him incredibly tense, and his instincts would scream at him to snatch it away immediately. But with you, her posture remained relaxed. He trusted you completely. He knew you understood the weight of a Giver's bond with their Jinki.

"You're doing well," Zanka murmured, breaking the silence of the room. A small, rare smile played at the corner of his lips. "Most people don't take care of it the way they should. But you... you really understand."

You looked up, smiling at him warmly.

"She tries so hard to keep you safe, Zanka. It's the least I can do to make sure she's well cared for."

As if answering your own words, you lifted the staff slightly, leaned down, and placed a soft, affectionate kiss against the wood near the top.

Zanka's breath caught in his throat for a moment. His cheeks flushed a deep red, and he had to cover himself with the collar of his jacket to hide the strange laugh that threatened to spill over his face.

After a few minutes, he cleared his throat sharply as he looked away. Seeing you care for his beloved Assistaff with such reverence always had the same effect on him. He felt intimately connected to it, and every drop of affection you gave Assistaff felt, somehow, as if it were meant for him as well.

"Yes, well," he stammered slightly, trying to regain his usual confident composure as he walked over to stand right beside you. He reached out, gently placing his hand on top of yours on the handle of the staff. "She likes you. I can tell. She always responds better after you spend time cleaning her."

"I like her too," you teased softly, meeting his eyes and noticing the lingering pink in his face. "And I like you."

Zanka let out a soft snort, and a genuine, affectionate smile broke through his feigned annoyance. He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours.

painful as it is to admit, he’s beautiful. sharp jawline, real intense eyes. if he wasn’t such a prick all the time, you think you’d fall for him. but no. he goes out of his way to bother you. so it’s natural for you to retaliate, and give him hell back. it’s only fair.

well, fast forward. you’ve been on this same hate train for a few months, when this new cleaner joins. he’s a Sphereite, too. so he steals the attention for a while, no big deal. you even find out through the grapevine that Zanka will be his mentor, to which you just mumble “that’s rough..”

but this Sphere kid, Rudo, is so special that they end up throwing this welcome-to-the-ground party for him. on one hand, what’s the hype? on the other hand, who would pass up an opportunity to party? just like Riyo said, it’s just an excuse for everyone to get wasted.

so you do exactly that.

but it looks like you aren’t the only one with the idea. after a handful of shots and too much dancing, you slump down in a chair in a dim corner. to your drunk dismay, you’ve plopped yourself down right next to Zanka. great.

“get lost.”

“no..you get lost.”

he just grumbles, no energy to argue further. you’re surprised him of all people got wasted, but who are you to judge?

after a few back and forth comments, you sorta just give up, and slump over, leaning onto his shoulder.

“the fuck d’ya think yer doing..?!”

he said, brows furrowed. you mumble back something that’s slurred by the alcohol. after a second, you lift your head to look up at him. your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth.

“you had something on your face…”

he was too stunned to speak. but that also meant he was stunned to deny the growing flush on his cheeks.

without thinking much - because why would you? - you moved your hand from lightly brushing the corner of his mouth to cupping his cheek fully. you lean forward with little to no hesitation, pressing your lips to his firmly. and before either of you know it, everything’s blurred into the two of you making out. and then it snaps back - people can most definitely see you two right now. so the solution?

you pretend you’re fighting. it’s normal, usual, expected. except you aren’t dragging him by the collar to a storage closet for the sole purpose of sparring…

the door shuts, and Zanka backs up against the wall, squished in as you’re trying to figure out the lock. you’re about to panic about the risk of being caught when he gets impatient. he grabs your waist, spins you around and crashes his lips onto yours.

any worries about the others simmer away as your mouth moves against his with a desperate fervor that’s been built up for months. the locked away thoughts of “i’m so mad he’s fine” finally coming to light now that you know neither of you care.

he barely pulls away to tug your shirt over your head, leaning back a little just to admire.

“hard to hate ya with tits like these..”

he mutters, leaning forward again to kiss you, hard and quick and honestly a little messy, with your back pressed against some boxes. but he can’t help but pull away again to just look down at his favorite sight - he swears his mouth must be watering.

“f-fuck, they..sit so perfect,”

he whispers, as if your breasts are some holy grail that he just can’t take his eyes off of. his hands find their way to your back to unclasp your bra, the only thing holding him back.

once it’s finally off, he starts to leave warm open-mouthed kisses all across your chest, wherever his lips can reach. he groans against the soft skin while his hand kneads the other breast. his free hand glides along your stomach once, then down, until his fingertips finally brush just barely underneath the waistband of your pants.

he looks up at you, and when he sees you - biting down on your lip and holding onto the boxes behind you eagerly - he’s told all he needs to know. his hand dips down, under your jeans and straight to your clothed core. his fingers brush your panties, and his breath catches.

“yer nasty..” he says, looking back up at you, face a little scrunched up. “this wet? already?? didn’t even do anythin’ yet…”

but it’s not like a drop stops him from wanting to explore an ocean.

he frantically unbuttons your pants, and tugs them down in one quick pull along with your panties. he pushes you back a little, so you’re sitting on one of the stacked boxes, legs up. he pushes your thighs up so your legs are in the air.

“hold ‘em.”

he instructs firmly. you hook your hands on the backs of your knees, keeping your legs suspended like he said. he’s not wasting a second, taking off his shirt just to shove it in your mouth before diving right in.

the shirt was a good idea, judging by the whine that leaves your lips once he plunges two fingers into you. no teasing, no warm-up. just straight into it like he’s rushing in to kill a trash beast.

“be quiet, will ya?” he tsks, pulling his fingers out real slow before shoving them back in. he starts to piston his fingers in and out of you rapidly, curling them up so perfectly to put pressure on the top of your spongy walls. he’s getting an earful of your beautifully muffled moans and whimpers, so that’s only encouraging him to be more of a little shit.

“yeah? there?” he asks almost tauntingly, because the moment you nod desperately, he pulls his fingers out halfway, and starts applying pressure there. it’s the wrong spot, the wrong angle, not deep enough. and he knows that, you can see it on his face.

you try to buck your hips up, and squirm a little bit so he has to go deeper. that backfires, earning you a smack on the thigh.

“who d’ya think you are, hm?” he sneers, slowing his fingers to a stop. he gives them a few more weak thrusts of his hand before pulling it out, and rubbing the same two fingers down hard on your clit. he watched as your body jerked from that one touch, the reaction you gave.

and without letting you cum at all, he decided he was done. you could’ve slapped him if your mind wasn’t all fogged up.

he takes his shirt from your mouth, slipping it back on without a care in the world for your saliva on some bits. he wipes his fingers off on his pants, and bends down to pick up your discarded clothes to help you get dressed. your hands have long since left your legs, and you’re sitting upright on the box, still naked.

“i didn’t even cum yet, i wasn’t even close..!” you protest weakly. all you’re met with?

“i know,”

he sounded so calm it was infuriating. until he added,

“means ya gotta come see me another time to pick up where we left off, right?”

oh. that changes things.

“yeah..right.” you nod, reaching down to your lap where he’s put your clothes. you clasp your bra back on while he slides your panties up your legs, zero regard for the wetness there. then was your pants, then your shirt.

“i’m leaving first. wait a few minutes, so it don’t look weird, m’kay?” he said quietly. but before he left?

this boy had the nerve to go over, cup the side of your face, and kiss your cheek before he left without another word.