Monarch

tbf its kinda hard to distinguish 😂

They know isn't used to people fussing over him. He's usually the fusser, the worrier, the one making sure everyone else is okay before he tends to himself. You and the kids come first - you can't recall how many times you had heard those words leave his lips. He liked to carry the weight of it all on his shoulders alone, intent on shielding you all as much as he could, but there were still cracks in his armor.

They showed in the dark circles underneath his eyes, a result of him insisting on being the one to soothe Dear back to sleep when his nightmares refused to take the night off.

Hear me out.

After a night of heavy drinking you wake up to the worst headache known to mankind, a ball of nausea sitting in your belly, and a ring on your finger. You know clearly where the first two came from but the shiny band? Yeah, that one completely stumps you. Looking around your place you see that you're alone, except for a marriage certificate with unreadable signatures and a Polaroid of a group of Cleaners.

showing my Sphereite things he's never seen before

Thanks to 🖋 ┊ @𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 .ᐟ.ᐟ on discord for the idea it was so cute, Rudo and the Cat distribution system 💚💚 also some Dadjin cause I love him

This isn't what i usually write since i generally focus on x reader stuff.... but whatever it was fun

can you please do zanka with the friends-> crush-> dating ??

remember to drink water and get plenty of sleep 💘💘

overly 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 - 𝘇𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗮 𝗻𝗶𝗷𝗶𝗸𝘂 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀

FRIENDS! ZANKA - where you two met in his guard training academy era.

you find zanka alone in an empty hall, forehead hitting the wall over and over as he shouts in anger. blood runs down his skin.

you grab his wrist before he can do it again.

“stop,” you say softly.

he snaps at you, but he’s shaking. you press a cloth to his forehead anyway, cleaning the blood. he goes still, jaw tight.

“…i lost,” he mutters. “i was supposed to be the best.”

you tell him one loss doesn’t erase him.

he doesn’t answer. but he lets you bandage him, and from then on, he never forgets the person who saw him at his worst and stayed.

FRIENDS! ZANKA - after that day, it becomes a pattern.

whenever zanka loses his temper during training—when his voice gets too loud, when his fists clench and his breathing turns sharp—you’re always there.

you don’t shout. you just step in front of him, close enough that he has to stop.

“relax,” you say, simple and steady.

he hates it at first. clicks his tongue, looks away, muttering under his breath. but he listens. every time. his shoulders slowly drop, his hands unclench.

sometimes you hand him water. sometimes you just stay quiet beside him until the anger burns out.

“…you’re annoying,” he tells you one day.

you smile, unfazed.

but after that, whenever he feels his rage spike, zanka looks for you without even realizing it—and the moment he sees you, he knows he won’t lose control.

FRIENDS! ZANKA - zanka is already worn down when he meets enjin.

the academy, the rankings, the word genius—it all feels hollow now. when enjin tells him to stop chasing talent and instead chase strength, something finally clicks.

not to be special. not to be praised. just strong enough to beat anyone who stands in his way.

that night, zanka makes his choice.

leaving the hell guard tears everything apart. his family doesn’t understand. voices are raised. doors are slammed. bridges burn. but zanka doesn’t look back.

the only time he hesitates is when he thinks of you.

you’re still training, still trying, still calm in the way that always steadies him. he never says it out loud, but he knows—you have potential.

real potential. leaving you behind feels worse than any fight he’s ever lost.

so he doesn’t.

when he joins the cleaners as a giver, he makes sure you’re brought with him. he acts rough about it, barking that you’re “useful” and “not dead weight,” but he watches you closely, makes sure you’re safe, makes sure you adjust.

but he never admits it, not once.

because zanka never wanted to move forward if it meant leaving you behind.

FRIENDS! ZANKA - zanka acts like he doesn’t care. he shouts orders, criticizes mistakes, clicks his tongue when things go wrong. but his eyes are always on you.

before practice even starts, he checks your gear—tightens a strap, adjusts your grip, makes sure everything is set.

“you ready?” he asks, pretending it’s routine.

during drills, he positions himself just close enough. if an attack comes too fast, he steps in first. if a weapon slips, his hand is there before you can fall.

“don’t rush,” he snaps. “focus.”

once, you almost get clipped during a spar. zanka reacts instantly, shoving you back and taking the hit instead. he yells after, but his voice is sharp with panic more than anger.

“are you hurt?” he asks, quieter, when no one’s listening.

you shake your head.

only then does he relax.

he never admits it, never says your safety matters more than the training—but everyone can see it.

zanka doesn’t just train to get stronger anymore.

he trains to make sure you walk away unharmed.

CRUSHING! ZANKA - you’re wiping sweat from your neck when zanka notices a bruise forming on your arm—one he didn’t see happen.

his mood shifts instantly.

“who did that?” he asks.

you blink. “what?”

he steps closer, fingers hovering just above your skin, stopping himself at the last second. his jaw tightens.

“someone hit you wrong.”

you shrug it off, saying it’s nothing, that you’ve had worse. but zanka isn’t listening anymore. his eyes track every mark, every shallow breath you take.

the rest of the night, he doesn’t leave your side.

when enjin suggests you join an extra drill, zanka cuts in. “she’s done.”

you stare at him. “i didn’t say—”

“i did,” he snaps, then softer, “you’re tired.”

later, as you walk back together, he’s unusually quiet. his hands are clenched, mind loud.

this feeling in his chest—tight, sharp—has nothing to do with pride or rivalry.

it scares him.

“…don’t push yourself so hard,” he mutters. you tease him, asking when he started caring so much.

he stops walking. for a second, you think he’ll yell. instead, he looks away, ears burning red.

“…i don’t know,” he admits quietly. “but i hate it when you get hurt.”

that’s when it hits him. this isn’t duty. this isn’t training.

it’s you.

CRUSHING! ZANKA - you collapse onto the couch, burning up and miserable, but instead of letting him leave your side, you immediately latch onto him.

“zanka… don’t go…” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck.

your head rests against his chest, and your legs curl against his side like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go.

he freezes at first, stiffening like he’s about to push you off—but the moment he feels your weight, your warmth, your insistence on clinging to him, something in his chest twists.

“oi… you’re heavy,” he mutters, voice rough.

“i don’t care!” you gasp, tightening your grip. “stay with me! don’t leave!”

he sighs, running a hand through your hair, pretending to scold you. “you’re ridiculous, you know that?”

but he doesn’t move. he lets you drape over him completely—arms, legs, the whole weight of you.

every time you sigh, nuzzle closer, or whine a little, he feels a strange heat in his chest he can’t quite explain.

“fine,” he mutters, pulling you slightly against him so you’re fully settled. “just… don’t get used to me being soft.”

you giggle, pressing your face into his shoulder, murmuring how warm he is, how safe he feels, how much you need him.

zanka’s scowl is gone now, replaced by a faint, almost smug smile he refuses to show you. inside, he’s already thinking:

he doesn’t care about being “soft.” he doesn’t care about anything except you clinging to him like this.

and secretly… he loves it. every second.

CRUSHING! ZANKA - training at the cleaners is brutal, but somehow, you always find ways to sneak your affection in.

he’s checking equipment one moment, muttering to himself, when you suddenly wrap your arms around his waist from behind.

“hey—!” he starts, voice sharp, but his words die in his throat when he feels your warmth.

“…what was that for?” he asks, trying to sound annoyed.

“just felt like hugging you,” you say casually, resting your head against his back.

zanka freezes for a second. his ears burn, his jaw tightens. he clears his throat loudly, pretending it doesn’t bother him.

“don’t—don’t get used to that,” he mutters, but his hands grip the tools a little too tightly, knuckles white.

later, while he’s wiping sweat off his face after drills, you sneak up and throw your arms over his shoulders.

“you’re so sweaty… but i missed you,” you murmur, nuzzling his neck.

he stiffens. his face heats up, but he stiffly tilts his head away. “…you’re impossible,” he grumbles, voice rough, though he secretly doesn’t move you.

even when he’s walking ahead and you dash to hug him from the side, he can’t help the faint pink dusting his cheeks.

he mutters curses under his breath, trying to hide it, but the heat won’t leave his face.

inside, he’s thinking…

“damn it… why do i like this so much?”

and every time you cling, hug, or lean on him randomly, zanka’s heart jumps—but he’ll never admit it.

he’ll just hide it behind scowls, grumbles, and pretending he doesn’t notice… even though he notices everything.

CRUSHING! ZANKA - you’re side by side at first, weapons ready, but the creature moves faster than expected.

before you even react, it lunges toward you. zanka doesn’t think—he throws himself in front of you, blocking the blow with his own body.

“stay back!” he yells, swinging his weapon to deflect the beast’s claws.

you blink, momentarily stunned, before diving in to help—but zanka’s already circling, keeping himself between you and every attack.

“watch your left!” he shouts, shoving you out of the way as trash beast flies.

you try to protest, but he grabs your arm, shaking his head. “don’t argue. stay behind me!”

for the rest of the fight, it’s the same. every strike you attempt, he’s one step ahead, positioning himself so the beast can’t reach you, so nothing can touch you.

at one point, the creature smashes through a wall behind you. zanka pushes you to the ground and takes the brunt of the impact himself, shielding you with his body.

when it’s over, you’re both panting, bruised, covered in dust—but you’re fine.

he finally allows himself to look at you, jaw tight, chest heaving. “…don’t scare me like that again,” he mutters, voice low and rough.

you grin weakly, shaking your head.

he doesn’t notice, but his grip on your arm lingers a second longer than necessary, and for the first time, he realizes… he’d throw himself in front of anything for you. anything.

DATING! ZANKA - zanka had been thinking about it for days—weeks, maybe.

he finally scribbles a rough note on a scrap of paper, folding it neatly before sliding it under your room,

meet me on the roof. 6 PM. don’t be late. - zanka

you find it mid-afternoon, eyebrows raising. the handwriting is messy, impatient… unmistakably his.

when 6 PM rolls around, you make your way to the roof. the wind ruffles your hair as you step out, and there he is—standing stiffly, hands behind his back, looking almost nervous.

“…you’re late,” he mutters, but his ears are red, jaw tight.

you raise an eyebrow. “i was told not to be.”

he grumbles, then steps forward, finally revealing what he’s been hiding: a small bouquet of flowers in one hand, a neatly wrapped box of chocolates in the other.

“…for you,” he says, voice low, almost rough, but there’s something in his eyes—hesitation, worry, maybe even hope.

you take the flowers first, surprised at how carefully he’s chosen them. the chocolates are next, and you glance at him.

“…what’s this for?” you ask, smiling.

he shifts on his feet, avoiding your gaze. “…i… wanted to ask you something,” he admits. “…don’t make fun of me.”

you shake your head, curiosity winning over. “okay… what is it?”

he swallows hard, finally looking at you, the wind tugging at his hair. “…i want… i mean, would you… go out with me?”

there’s a pause, the ground stretching out behind you both, the sun dipping low.

you blink, then grin. “finally.”

his lips twitch into a rare, tight smile. “…don’t say it like that,” he mutters, but he’s already handing you the flowers and chocolates.

DATING! ZANKA - zanka can be brash, loud, and impossibly stubborn around everyone else.

he barks orders, mocks mistakes, and prides himself on never showing weakness. cleaners respect him, fear him, but no one sees behind the wall—except you.

around you, it’s different.

when you fumble a weapon during practice, he doesn’t yell. he kneels beside you, adjusting your grip carefully, fingers brushing yours by accident.

“here… like this,” he mutters, voice softer than usual.

when you stay up late, reading or patching gear, he brings you water, a blanket, or a snack without saying a word.

if anyone else teases you, he steps in instantly, scowling, snapping sharp enough to silence the room.

but around everyone else, he’s still the same zanka—loud, rough.

he doesn’t let anyone see how he studies your expressions, notices when you’re tired, or how he quietly follows you to make sure you’re safe.

if someone else tries to get close to you, he feels that tight, dangerous pull in his chest—but he’ll never admit it aloud.

his soft spot? it’s all for you.

you’re the only one who can calm him with a look, make him flinch with a joke, or get him to linger when he’d usually storm off.

everyone else sees zanka as a cleaner.

but you?… you have him wrapped around your finger, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

DATING! ZANKA - the door shuts behind you with a soft click, and zanka leans against the frame, arms crossed. he’s been acting “normal” all day, sharp and loud with the other cleaners—but now, in the quiet of your room, it’s different.

you’re organizing some clothes when he steps closer, shoulders brushing yours. “you’re making a mess,” he mutters, voice low—but it’s softer than usual.

before you can protest, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“zanka—!” you start, but he cuts you off with a small, gruff laugh.

“shut up. i just… don’t want you moving too much.”

his other hand rests lightly on your shoulder, holding you in place like he’s afraid you might float away. you try to step back, but he moves with you, keeping you close.

“you’re warm,” he mutters suddenly, almost to himself. “…stay like this.”

you giggle nervously, leaning your head against his chest. his heartbeat is steady, grounding, and you realize just how tight his arms are around you—like he doesn’t want to let go.

he buries his face in your hair, grumbling low, “don’t get used to this.”

but he doesn’t move.

you shift, and he tightens his hold just a fraction, mumbling under his breath. “…i like it… shut up.”

for the rest of the evening, zanka stays like that—arm around you, body pressed close, occasionally brushing your hair from your face.

he pretends it’s annoyance, but inside, he’s already decided he doesn’t want to let go, ever.

DATING! ZANKA - drags you to a small market nearby, grumbling the entire way, pretending he’s annoyed. “don’t get any ideas,” he mutters, but he keeps glancing at your face as you look at the stalls.

he buys you the little things you like—sweets, a trinket you pointed out days ago, even a small book he saw in a window.

he insists it’s “just because i felt like it,” but you catch the soft way his eyes linger when you smile.

later, back at the headquarters, he sets everything neatly in front of you. you laugh softly, teasing him for spoiling you, and his ears burn red.

“shut up,” he grumbles, but there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips. “…i just… don’t want you going without.”

you glance at him, curious, and he quickly looks away, hands shoved in his pockets. “…don’t think too much. i’m not soft. i’m not—”

you nudge him, smiling. “…you are.”

he swallows, jaw tight, before muttering something almost inaudible. “maybe… maybe one day… you’d be mine… officially. like… married or something. don’t tell anyone i said that.”

you blink, heart racing, and he clears his throat, scowling as if to erase the moment. but you see it—just a flash—in his eyes.

he spoils you, protects you, scolds you, teases you… and in the quiet spaces between, he lets himself hope, just a little, that one day, it could be forever.