Jasmine

I feel like I don’t have enough followers to do one of these but I have so many things in my head that I’m wondering what to write !!! They’re all zanka x reader btw (sorry that’s like the only thing I can write😢😢)

okay yeah have a good day 🥹🥹

ENJIN

And somehow, out of all the Cleaners, Zanka was the one who had caught your eye.

The only problem was that Zanka seemed to fear and respect your brother far more than he was willing to admit. So whenever you hinted at your feelings, he responded with tense silence, carefully kept his distance, and pretended not to notice your interest at all.

It did not upset you. Quite the opposite, it amused you endlessly. That was exactly why you loved creating situations that made Zanka especially uncomfortable.

Like accidentally getting locked inside the headquarters storage room with him.

It was unusually quiet in there today. Zanka pulled the door handle for the third time, then threw his shoulder against it and let out an irritated breath.

“Locked.”

Zanka knew perfectly well what he felt for you. And he hated it.

Not because you were a problem—quite the opposite—but because a relationship, or any kind of distraction, went against the only thing that mattered to him: becoming stronger. It was an almost obsessive conviction. And yet… you didn’t fit into that logic. You never had.

Your voice, the way you moved around the infirmary, the calm with which you treated every wound… and, worst of all, the way you looked at him, as if he weren’t just an idiot who had lost yet another fight.

“I’m ready. Take off your shirt.” Your tone was soft, natural. Too natural.

Zanka blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. “What…?”

He stared at you as if he hadn’t understood the language, while heat rose to his face uninvited.

“I need to change your bandages,” you repeated, tilting your head slightly, with that patience that always seemed to disarm him.

He clicked his tongue, more annoyed at himself than at you.

“I know.”

Even so, he hesitated for a second before obeying. His fingers tugged at the fabric clumsily, as if taking off his shirt had suddenly become a much more complicated task than usual. He set it aside, avoiding looking at you directly.

He could feel your eyes on him, and that was worse than any blow, because he felt the burning rush of blood climbing from his neck to his face.

You approached without hurry, your warm hands brushing his skin as you removed the bandages. The contact was light, professional… but enough to make his shoulders tense and steal his breath.

“You’re stiffer than before,” you murmured, focused, as you gently worked around his wound. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he answered too quickly.

He swallowed when your fingers moved a little more slowly, cleaning the area. There was something in the way you touched him… careful, but firm… that made it impossible for him to ignore you.

“You should learn to dodge better,” you added, almost jokingly.

Zanka let out a short, dry laugh. “Next time, I’ll win.”

“Either way, I’m glad it wasn’t more serious than this. I like spending time with you, even if it’s because of your injuries.”

Your words were so natural that he couldn’t help but widen his eyes in surprise. You finished rebandaging him, leaning just a little closer than necessary. A strand of your hair brushed against his collarbone, and Zanka went completely still.

He didn’t dare move or breathe.

“All done,” you said at last, stepping back slightly.

Zanka frowned, as if something bothered him… even though he couldn’t quite tell what it was.

“Hey.”

You stopped before fully turning away. “Yeah?”

He hesitated… ‘Damn it.’

“Nothing.”

He clicked his tongue again, looking away.

It wasn’t the moment. But as he watched you walk away through the infirmary, with that same calm as always… Zanka knew he was losing.

And not in a fight.

Dibujo para el día miércoles con la Prompt MAGENTA!

y las 700 versiones que le hice

A/N: guys I really love this frame, he looks so fucking good ugh, hope I could use this for everything

For Zanka, a Jinki wasn't just a tool; it was an extension of his soul, alive and worthy of absolute reverence.

You might not know this but…

Your F/O has a plushie of you. I’m not sure if they bought it or made it themselves but it was super cute and looked just like you!

They must need something to cuddle when you’re gone.

But nothing beats cuddles from you though!

You hadn’t seen Zanka as often over the past few days, and you knew, though he refused to admit it, that losing that fight against Jabber had affected him more than he wanted to acknowledge. The moment he was discharged from the infirmary, he began chaining one mission after another without stopping, hiding behind that worn-out excuse of “getting stronger,” as if pain could be buried under physical exertion. Because of that, finding him had become almost impossible.

You wandered through the HQ with no real destination, lost in your own thoughts, when the sound of your choker broke the silence. You didn’t need to look to know it was him; no one else called you like that. You answered immediately, not even giving him the chance to speak first.

"I—".

"Where are you?" you asked abruptly, cutting him off before he could say a word.

"On a mission, you know that… Well, I just finished it. Can you ask Semiu—?"

"No," you interrupted, dry and sharp.

"No what?"

"Stop."

There was a brief pause on the other end.

"What do you mean?"

"This. All of this. You’re overexerting yourself and you could end up worse than you already are. You’re strong, Zanka, and you know it. Losing a fight is normal—you should know that better than anyone. That doesn’t mean you have to—"

"Can you ask Semiu?" he cut you off again, completely ignoring what you were saying, as if your words carried no weight.

That was enough.

"Damn it! Can you stop? You’re so— ugh," you clenched your teeth, frustrated. "I’m not going to ask her anything. We’ll talk when you get back."

You cut the connection without giving him the chance to respond, and the anger you had been trying to hold in finally slipped out in a sharp kick against an empty flowerpot in the hallway, which rolled a few inches across the floor.

When he finally came back, he avoided you. He wasn’t subtle about it. Zanka hated lectures, hated confrontation… and, more than anything, he hated being told the truth, because the truth hurt more than any physical wound.

"Why are you ignoring me?" you asked from the doorway to his room after watching him in silence for a few minutes. He was sitting on his bed, unmoving, pretending to be calm when he wasn’t.

"I’m not."

You sighed, tired, and stepped inside anyway, closing the distance between you until you sat down beside him.

"I’m serious when I say you need to stop."

Zanka barely frowned, almost imperceptibly, maintaining that rigid façade of an unbothered boy who pretended to have everything under control. He didn’t respond. The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.

"When Jabber poisoned you…" your voice cracked slightly, betraying you. "I thought you were going to die."

You saw his hands tighten around Assistaff, gripping it harder than necessary.

"I was scared," you continued, quieter. "Really scared. I don’t want a life without you… and I hate seeing you like this, pushing yourself until you break. Because that’s all you’re doing. Hurting yourself."

Zanka didn’t lift his gaze, but his breathing grew heavier.

"You did well," you added, softening your tone. "You gave it your all, and I’m proud of you for that. I really am. But you don’t have to destroy yourself to prove it… Please, rest. Even if it’s just a little. You wake up every day at five to train, then go on missions… you’re slowly killing yourself like this."

The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t the same. There was something else in it, something fractured.

Slowly, as if it cost him more than it should, Zanka let go of his weapon. His shoulders dropped slightly, losing that constant rigidity he wore like armor. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have words for it, he never did, but he didn’t pull away when you moved a little closer either.

Carefully, you brought a hand to his hair, sliding your fingers through the strands in a soft, almost automatic gesture. At first, he didn’t react, as if he didn’t know what to do with something so simple. Then, barely noticeable, he leaned in.

It was a small movement, clumsy even, but enough.

He rested his head against your lap.

You stayed still for a second, surprised, before relaxing and continuing to stroke his hair, this time more gently, as if any sudden movement might make him pull away. You could feel the weight of his exhaustion, not just physical, but something much deeper, something he didn’t even know how to handle.

His breathing gradually steadied, becoming slower, heavier. The minutes passed in silence, accompanied only by the faint brushing of your hand through his hair.

Zanka never asked for help.

But this time, he chose to accept it, because it was you.

When he finally fell asleep, his expression softened in a way that almost hurt to see, as if, for the first time in days, he had stopped fighting.

And you didn’t move, because Zanka needed to rest.

"... ya tryna manifest the worst on me or what?" he stares at you in mild horror, finding the statement way too oddly specific.