゛ʀᴜɪɴ sᴛᴜᴅɪᴏ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

Despite harsh environment, reader managed to create a whole entire dome filled with plants and shuff, and had people work.

Just imagine a scene where people are working, and harvesting daily and delivering in trucks all over the land.

Until one day, the akuta gang were sent over there cause there been Reports of trash beasts coming near and regularly tried to break in and they don't know how long their gonna hold out and semiu urged them to head there quickly requested by the mayor there himself.

They arrived at the scene sure enough they were few poor fella fighting back a small group of trash beasts with only farming tools, they immediately clear them out easily, well too easy. Like there a huge pile of ball trash thrown towards them sure enough it crashed through the dome making a huge hole out of it and the air immediately wasted no time to fumed themselves into that dome and that one huge large trash beast be attacking them.

While civilians panicked, few were injured and some fallen victim and died, reader watched it all happened in front of her, she was washed up in dirt and blood on her dress. And it's getting harder to breath without a mask since she never had left the dome before nor did she breathe in the air that was outside the dome.

After the akuta resolved the issue caused by that huge trash beast they were trying to figure out what to do to seal the dome close. Reader immediately take action to use her vital instrument known as jinki, a scythe but she just changed it's formed to shaped itself into a shover just to stabbed it into a ground for it to manipulate the dirt, like it's shooting out a huge block to covered up the hole on the dome and it just hardened.

The mayor thanked them and immediately invited them inside to thanked them for their hardwork only for reader to quickly attacked them out of stress and fear cause she mistaken them as someone who attacked them first(reader isn't aware of the outside world since she never stepped foot outside of the dome nor knew about the cleaners since she's away of her time tending to the growth of the plants and flowers), she got knocked out by enjin himself in the end👍

‧₊˚ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓷𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓓𝓸𝓶𝓮 ┊

─ • ────────────────

Character count — Character count — 5,812

Synopsis — When the greenhouse dome is attacked by trash beasts, Reader is its confident yet sheltered guardian — fights alongside the Akuta team. After sealing the dome at great cost to her own strength, she panics at the unfamiliar Cleaners and accidentally attacks them. Enjin stops her gently, catching her before she collapses, revealing an unexpected softness toward her as he carries her to safety.

─ • ────────────────

The wasteland stretched endlessly — grey metal, dust, broken pipes — until the greenhouse dome appeared like a dream dropped in the middle of ruin. A full ecosystem glowed beneath its glass, warm green light spilling into the cold air outside.

Riyo whistled under her breath. “Looks like a forest got stuffed into a giant snow globe.”

Zanka pushed his goggles up, pretending sophistication. “It’s a controlled biome. Very high-end.”

Riyo elbowed him. “You don’t even know what ‘biome’ means.”

Rudo walked ahead with a scowl. “Can we just go? Semiu said workers are in danger.”

Enjin didn’t comment — but he slowed when he saw her.

Inside the dome, moving through glowing vines and neat rows of crops, was Miss.

Not timid. Not frail.

She handled the massive garden like it was an extension of her own body — adjusting valves, smoothing soil, commanding the air around her with calm certainty. The way her fingers skimmed leaves had precision to it… and a quiet pride.

Enjin watched her longer than he meant to.

Riyo tapped his arm. “Boss. You look like you’re trying to photosynthesize with her.”

Zanka snorted.

Rudo groaned. “Dear god.”

Enjin ignored them and kept his eyes on Her — the way she sensed the team approaching before she even turned, gaze sharp, posture straight, assessing them without a hint of fear.

Confident.

In control.

Not the delicate greenhouse girl he had been expecting.

Then the dome shook.

A wave of panicked voices crashed over them.

“Trash beasts in the storage!”

“They’re breaking through!”

“Move, move—!”

Enjin reacted instantly. “Go.”

The team rushed inside. Miss didn’t run away — she tightened her grip on her elegant scythe and followed at their side.

“You’re not evacuating?” Zanka asked, startled.

“I know this place,” she said simply. “I’m not abandoning it.”

Something in Enjin tightened — interest, respect, something in between.

The storage bay was chaos. Small scrap-wolf trash beasts ripped through crates while workers fought back with whatever they could grab. The Akuta team swept in smoothly — Rudo all force and fury, Riyo flipping around beams, Zanka surprisingly competent despite trying to look cool.

The smaller beasts fell fast.

Too fast.

Because the next impact wasn’t small.

A massive sphere of trash crashed through the upper dome wall — shattering the protective shell as Outside’s poisonous air rushed in like a tide.

Plants blackened instantly.

Workers struggled to breathe.

Miss staggered, coughing violently as her lungs rejected the unfamiliar air.

Enjin didn’t think — he moved.

“Riyo! Masks!”

Riyo threw one to Miss, but she dropped to one knee, fingers shaking too hard to grasp it. Instead of retreating, she slammed her scythe into the soil.

The blade lit up.

Vines shot upward, weaving barriers against the toxic air. Soil rose in a solid column to block the breach. Even choking, unsteady, and pale, she forced the dome to live.

Enjin stared — not with shock, but with a quiet, fierce admiration.

The giant trash beast lunged. The team charged. Rudo struck like a wild bolt, Riyo danced through the debris, Zanka mirrored their movements with surprising finesse. Enjin cut through the beast with ruthless efficiency until the creature collapsed in a thunderous heap.

Silence.

Then coughing.

Gasps.

Shuffling footsteps.

Miss pushed herself upright on shaking legs, breathing hard but refusing to fall. Workers rushed to her, calling, “Miss! Are you alright?!”

But she kept her eyes on the sealed breach, steady and focused.

That confidence…

That stubborn strength…

It pulled Enjin toward her without him noticing he had moved.

Miss noticed him, though.

And for the first time, her composure cracked.

Not weakly — defensively.

She stepped back, raising her scythe. “Stop there. The air isn’t stable.”

Her voice was hoarse but firm.

Not “don’t hurt me.”

But “I can handle myself.”

Riyo raised her hands. “Relax, Miss— they’re just trying to help.”

Miss didn’t lower her weapon.

Enjin stepped forward anyway.

Her eyes sharpened. She swung.

He caught the blade between two fingers — smooth, effortless.

“Miss,” he said calmly, “you’re suffocating.”

She gritted her teeth. “I said I’m fine—”

“You’re not.”

Her breath hitched. She wobbled slightly but held her stance with stubborn pride.

“Let go,” she whispered, frustration and dizziness mixing in her voice. “I can—”

Her knees buckled.

Enjin caught her instantly, one arm around her waist, the other steadying her back. She grabbed onto his uniform automatically, fingers curling into the fabric as her vision blurred.

Her voice softened.

“…don’t… take me outside…”

Enjin’s reply was immediate, low, steady.

“I won’t.”

Her lashes fluttered.

Her breathing slowed.

Her weight melted into him as exhaustion finally won.

Riyo stared. “Boss… that’s the softest I’ve ever heard you talk.”

Zanka nodded like he was watching a romance movie. “This is… wow.”

Rudo muttered, “So we’re pretending we don’t notice he’s cradling her like a princess?”

Enjin ignored them all.

He adjusted his hold on Miss, brushing a smear of dirt from her cheek with rare, unconscious gentleness.

“Let’s get Miss somewhere safe,” he said quietly.

His voice wasn’t cold.

Wasn’t distant.

It was something else entirely.

And he didn’t look away from her the entire time.

─ • ────────────────

Hiii, guess who survived exams (barely) 🙃

I’m experimenting with a new writing/formatting style—tell me if your eyes like it or if we should run back the OG version!

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝘛𝘰𝘰 𝘊𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Request — by Anom

Character count — 2,950

Synopsis — Zanka Nijiku, the ever-composed Cleaners combatant, finds himself unraveling thanks to one teammate who’s far too comfortable with physical affection. From holding hands on missions to morning hugs and squished cheeks, she leaves him blushing, stiff, and internally panicking while he desperately tries to stay cool. The others notice his flustered state long before he admits it — until one quiet night, he finally confesses that her touch drives him mad… and maybe he doesn’t want her to stop.

Zanka Nijiku prided himself on composure. Calm under pressure, steady in the field, sharp in battle — that was the image he maintained. But lately, it was cracking. Badly. And the reason was currently walking beside him, fingers looped casually through his own as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and a soft casual smile.

They were supposed to be on a mission — scanning the lower levels for movement and some expensive lost item, eyes sharp, senses alert. Yet every time her hand brushed his, Zanka’s focus wavered. His heart hammered, his mind scrambled, and he was suddenly aware of everything — the warmth of her palm, the tiny squeeze when she adjusted her grip, the way she hummed softly under her breath.

He tried to tell himself this was fine. A practical choice, even — holding hands meant better coordination, right? But when she smiled up at him and said, “You walk too fast, Zanka,” he thought his heart might just detonate.

·········

At Cleaner HQ, it got worse. He was sitting on the couch, running over mission notes, when she plopped down beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder with a soft sigh.

Zanka froze. Every muscle in his body locked up. His brain went blank — mission data deleted. He didn’t dare move. If he even breathed too loudly, she might notice how fast his pulse was racing.

“Comfortable?” she murmured, eyes half-closed.

He swallowed. “Y-yeah. Sure.”

Across the room, Enjin raised a brow at him, fighting a smirk. “You good, Nijiku? You look like you’re dying.”

Zanka turned his head sharply away. “I’m fine.”

He was not fine.

·········

Training made it impossible to hide. They’d been sparring for an hour, both sweating and laughing, and before he could grab a towel, she stepped close and reached up on her toes — ruffling his hair.

“Good job, Sensei ~ ,” she teased, grin bright.

Zanka froze again. He was a man who could deflect attacks faster than the eye could follow, yet this simple touch rendered him defenseless. “Don’t—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Don’t mess up my hair.”

She only laughed and did it again.

From the corner, Rudo snorted. “Dude, you’re red as a Riyo hair.”

“Shut it,” Zanka muttered, gripping his staff, hiding behind the staff thin body, in vain to hide his flushed face.

·········

Mornings were somehow worse. She’d stumble out of her quarters, hair messy, eyes still half asleep, oversized shirt and shorts under — and before he could even greet her, she’d wrap him in a hug.

“Morning, Zanka,” she’d mumble into his chest.

He’d go completely still. His ears burned, his hands hovered awkwardly midair before he dared rest them on her shoulders, just barely. “M-Morning.”

Inside, he was melting. Outside, he was a statue.

·········

One afternoon, she stormed into the common room and took her a next to him like usual, bu take swung her legs over his lap. She was animatedly complaining about Rudo eating her sweets, punctuating every sentence by squishing his cheeks between her palms. “He’s so greedy! Can you believe him?”

Zanka could barely focus on what she was saying. “C—can you stop doing that?”

“But your face is so squishy,” she giggled, and his composure shattered completely.

Everyone in HQ saw it — the flushed cheeks, the trembling ears, the way his usual cold gaze softened whenever she was near. He tried to deny it, to hide behind his usual stoic tone, but his body betrayed him every time.

·········

Eventually, even Zanka couldn’t keep pretending. It was late after a mission; the moonlight made the corridors glow faintly blue. She was beside him again, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm.

“Zanka,” she whispered. “You okay? You’ve been quiet.”

He stared ahead, jaw tense, hands clenched at his sides. His pulse thundered in his ears.

Then, softly — “You drive me insane.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

Something in him snapped — years of quiet restraint, every half-suppressed reaction, every flustered heartbeat he’d tried to bury. Before he could think, he moved. In one sharp motion, Zanka turned, moving her gently but firmly against the nearest wall. His hands rested beside her shoulders, caging her in, his breath shallow and quick.

“You—You touch me all the time,” he said, voice rough with frustration, “and I… I can’t think straight.”

Her eyes widened, a faint blush finally coloring her cheeks — the first time he’d ever seen her lose that easy confidence. For once, she was the one caught off guard, lips parting in surprise as she stared up at him.

Zanka swallowed hard, realizing just how close they were — her scent, her warmth, the way her pulse jumped beneath his gaze. His voice dropped, quieter now, trembling at the edges.

“I don’t know if I’m in heaven or hell when you’re around.”

The air between them felt alive, charged and fragile all at once. Then, slowly, she exhaled — that same soft, radiant smile tugging at her lips again, though this time it trembled just slightly. She reached for his arm, her touch gentler than ever.

“Then I guess you’ll have to get used to hell ~.”

Zanka groaned, pulling back and covering his face with one hand. “You’re impossible.”

She leaned closer, voice light with mischief. “You like me though, right?”

He exhaled, a quiet, defeated laugh slipping out. “Yeah. I do.” He admitted, shoulders slumping in surrender.

And when she hugged him again, he didn’t freeze this time. He just let himself breathe her in — heart hammering, face burning, but smiling all the same.

He was doomed. Completely, hopelessly doomed.

But maybe, for once, he didn’t mind.

I was wondering if maybe you could write one where Enjin runs out of cigarettes so the reader comes in clutch with one but it's also their last one so they share it? Maybe squeeze in a lil confession too 😛

Thank you!

‧₊˚ 𝐓ɦ𝖾 𝐋α𝗌𝗍 𝐂𝗂𝗀α𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍 ┊

Character count — 5,812

Synopsis — After a long, exhausting week dealing with raiders, Enjin heads to his room for a smoke,only to find his last pack crushed. Stepping into the hallway, he runs into the reader, who’s just returned from helping with supplies. She offers her last cigarette, and they share it in the quiet of his room, the night breeze drifting through the open window. Between soft teasing, a shared warmth, and Enjin’s quiet confession, the smoke lingers like something unspoken — and maybe the start of something more.

The halls of Cleaner HQ were quiet for once. Midnight had come and gone, and most of the others were either asleep or too tired to move after the week they’d had. Outside, the wind pushed softly against the cracked windows, carrying the faint hum of the generators that powered the base. It was the kind of silence that felt earned — the heavy, slow breath after too much chaos.

Enjin sat on the edge of his bed, the low light from the small lamp spilling gold over his hands. His cigarette box lay crushed beside him on the nightstand, the last one ruined from the earlier fight. The paper was torn, filters flattened — another small casualty in a long week of small disasters. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a quiet sigh, trying to push the weight off his chest.

He was used to stress. Used to command, to shouting, to smoke and blood and fixing other people’s messes. But lately, it was starting to catch up. Every breath felt heavier. Every quiet moment turned into a reminder of how much was piling on.

His hand twitched when he reached for the lighter out of habit — trembling just enough for him to notice. He stilled, flexed his fingers once, and forced his usual calm back into place before anyone could see.

He wasn’t planning on leaving his room. But then he heard faint footsteps outside — slow, dragging, familiar.

Curious, Enjin stood, walked to his door, and cracked it open just enough to look. Down the hall, he caught sight of her — the one person he didn’t mind running into when he was like this.

The Wrench Witch herself, yawning into her sleeve, looking half-asleep but still managing to carry that lazy kind of confidence that always got under his skin. She must’ve just gotten back from helping Eishia restock the medical wing — her gloves were still smudged, a streak of dust on her cheek.

For a second, Enjin thought about staying quiet. But then he smirked to himself, pushed the door open wider, and leaned against the frame like nothing was wrong.

“Yo, beautiful,” he called softly, his voice carrying that familiar lazy grin. “You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette, would you?”

She blinked at him through half-lidded eyes. “You ran out again?”

“Crushed the whole box,” he said, lifting the mangled carton between two fingers. “Tragic, right?”

Her lips quirked. “You’re hopeless.”

“Yeah, but charming~.”

She walked closer, pulling a small pack from her pocket. “Lucky for you, I’ve got one left.” She paused, eyeing him with amusement. “But it’s my last one. Hope you don’t mind sharing.”

That grin of his softened — less sharp, more genuine. “With you? I’m honored.”

He stepped back, opening the door a little wider in invitation. She hesitated for a second, then shrugged and followed him in.

The room was quiet — clean, but lived in. His jacket was tossed over the chair, boots near the wall, umbreaker resting against his bed. The window was cracked open, letting in a faint breeze that tugged at the curtain. The faint scent of metal, smoke, and faint mint from his cologne hung in the air.

They sat side by side on the bed, shoulder to shoulder, with the cigarette burning slow between them. The ember flared briefly as she took the first drag, then passed it back. Their fingers brushed — light, but enough to make him glance over.

“You know,” she said, exhaling toward the window, “you don’t seem like the kind of guy who runs out of smokes.”

Enjin gave a quiet chuckle. “Yeah, well… been a long week. Guess even I get unlucky sometimes.”

“Unlucky or careless?”

“Maybe both,” he admitted, watching the smoke curl between them.

Outside, the wind shifted, they sat on his bed passing the cigarette after each huff. She shivered a little, barely noticeable — but he caught it anyway.

Without saying anything, Enjin reached for his jacket and draped it over her legs. It was warm from his body, smelling faintly of tobacco and something deeper. She glanced down, then up at him with a small smirk.

“Acting like my boyfriend already, huh?” she teased, voice light but not sharp.

Enjin tilted his head, half-smile returning. “If you let me,” he said quietly, “I don’t have to act like it.”

She blinked, caught off guard by how easy he said it — no bravado, no smirk this time. Just that low, honest tone that didn’t need dressing up.

He leaned back against the wall, cigarette still between his fingers. The faint glow reflected in his eyes, half-shadowed by the dim lamp. “You’re good at this,” he murmured after a beat. “Making people forget how tired they are.”

Her gaze was out the window . “You just needed a smoke and someone to talk to, Enjin.”

“Yeah,” he said, turning his head toward her, “but you make it sound better than that.”

They passed the cigarette one more time — slow, quiet. The silence between them wasn’t awkward; it was thick with unspoken things. He let his head rest against her thigh, the movement casual but weighted. She didn’t pull away.

“You should sleep,” she murmured, brushing a hand through his hair without thinking.

He hummed low, eyes half-closed. “If you stay, maybe I will.”

Her fingers paused. “…Smooth.”

“Did it work?”

She laughed under her breath, soft and warm. “Nope ~ ”

The cigarette burned down to the filter, the smoke trailing off into the night air. Neither of them moved to find another. For once, Enjin didn’t need it.

The window stayed open. The night stayed quiet. And for that brief, smoke-scented moment, the world felt like it could finally rest.

Character count — 6,200

Request — anonymous ( the OG request who started the wrench witch series 🧙)

Synopsis — After the Cleaners finish their mission in no man’s land, the infamous Wrench Witch invites Enjin and his team back to her workshop as thanks. Between tea, snacks, and a lot of teasing, her independence and sharp wit make it clear why she refuses Enjin’s offer to join the Cleaners,she doesn’t take sides, just jobs. But while she fixes their battered jeep and trades banter with Enjin, sparks start to fly under the grease and metal. When they part ways, Enjin figures that’s the end of it… until he spots her later, walking out of the corvus office with a Cleaner jacket slung over her shoulder.

She didn’t even hesitate when she said no.

Standing there in the heat, dust still curling off the dead trash beasts around them, she just crossed her arms and shook her head.

“Not happening,” she said flatly. “I already told you, I don’t take sides. Cleaner, raider, merchant — doesn’t matter. They all pay the same, and I don’t owe anyone anything.”

Enjin studied her for a long moment, thumb resting against his chin. His smirk didn’t fade, but there was a glint in his eyes that said he wasn’t used to hearing no.

“Fair enough,” he said finally, stepping back. “Didn’t think I’d win that one anyway.”

“You didn’t.”

The silence stretched, broken only by the faint crackle of cooling metal. Rudo was kicking at a broken core, Zanka looked bored, and Riyo was pretending not to listen but clearly was.

Then, with a small sigh, the Wrench Witch adjusted the strap on her tool belt and said, almost offhand, “You guys look like hell. Come by my workshop — I’ll make tea.”

Riyo blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she said, already turning toward the horizon. “Tea, snacks, maybe something that doesn’t smell like burnt plastic. Consider it thanks for not letting me get eaten.”

Zanka shot Enjin a look like is she serious?

Enjin’s grin widened. “Guess we can’t turn down hospitality.”

“Guess not,” Rudo muttered, dragging his feet but following anyway.

She rolled her eyes at them all, but there was a faint, crooked smile under it as she waved for them to keep up.

─ • ───

Her shop wasn’t far — a long stretch of corrugated metal and stacked junk, glowing faintly under hanging lights. The air smelled like oil, ozone, and sugar. When she kicked the door open, the first thing that hit them was how… clean it was. Everything was sorted, labeled, organized down to the smallest screw. Blueprints were pinned to walls in messy clusters, sketches of engines and mechanical limbs overlapping in layers.

Riyo whispered, “Woah.”

Zanka wandered to a workbench, staring at the neat rows of tools like it was some kind of art. “You actually live here?”

“Work here,” she corrected, already heading for the back. “I live somewhere less noisy.”

The table she set out was covered in mismatched mugs and chipped plates. Tea steamed quietly, the smell sharp and earthy. There were snacks too — biscuits, sweets, and something that looked suspiciously like jerky.

Rudo didn’t bother pretending he wasn’t impressed. “You always feed random people who try to fight near your junkyard?”

She gave him a look. “Only the ones who don’t blow it up.”

That earned a laugh from Riyo and even a smirk from Enjin, who leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching her move.

She had that way about her — calm, sharp, completely in control of her space. When she bent over the kettle or reached for a wrench, it wasn’t showy, but it had the same kind of focus Enjin recognized in fighters. Like everything she did was muscle memory and instinct.

“So,” she said, setting a mug in front of him. “About that offer.”

Enjin arched a brow. “You changing your mind already?”

She snorted. “Not a chance. I told you — I don’t take sides. Cleaners, raiders, scavvers, city folks… doesn’t matter. They all need repairs, and they all pay.”

“Sounds lonely,” Riyo said, half curious, half sincere.

The Wrench Witch smiled faintly at that. “Not really. Machines talk plenty if you listen.”

Zanka made a face. “That’s creepy.”

“Yeah, well, they’re better listeners than most people.” She leaned back in her chair, sipping her tea, eyes flicking toward Enjin. “Besides, I like my freedom. You guys work under too many rules.”

Enjin hummed. “Rules keep us alive.”

“Maybe,” she said, “or maybe they just slow you down.”

The way she said it made him grin — sharp and half-challenging. He tilted his head, letting silence stretch before replying. “You talk like you’ve seen both sides.”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she took another sip of tea and turned her attention to the jeep outside the window. “Your engine’s still misfiring,” she said finally. “And your left rear axle’s warped.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “You can tell that from here?”

“I can hear it,” she said, dead serious. Then, softer: “Bring it by tomorrow. I’ll fix it for cheap.”

“Cheap?”

“Yeah. You can’t afford me otherwise.”

Rudo choked on his tea. “She’s serious, Enjin.”

Enjin laughed under his breath. “Oh, I believe her.”

─ • ───

The next morning came too fast. Enjin could’ve left the jeep repairs to someone else, but… he didn’t. He told the team they needed a tune-up before heading back. Rudo tagged along — not because he cared about the jeep, but because “there’s always cool scrap lying around her place.”

When they rolled up, she was already outside, sleeves rolled, goggles perched on her forehead. Her hands were black with grease, hair tied up messily. She looked up when she heard the engine, and that small grin returned.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

“Didn’t think you’d actually fix it,” Enjin shot back.

“Watch me.”

She got to work fast, crouching beside the jeep while Rudo wandered through piles of parts. Enjin leaned nearby, watching her work with a sort of quiet amusement. Every so often, she muttered under her breath — curses, measurements, half-spoken thoughts about combustion ratios. It made him smile.

“You always talk to your machines like that?” he asked.

She didn’t even look up. “You always flirt like that?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Who said I was flirting?”

“That grin,” she said, tightening a bolt. “It’s obvious.”

Enjin laughed, not denying it. “You got me there.”

She gave him a look then — sharp but amused — and for a split second, her expression softened. There was something almost fond in it, though she masked it quick.

By the time the jeep was running smooth again, Rudo had found a dozen new things to haul back, and Enjin’s grin hadn’t faded once.

“How much?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag. “Consider it a thank-you for not letting me get eaten the other day.”

He frowned slightly. “You sure?”

“Positive. Besides,” she added, tossing him the rag, “you’ll owe me later. I always collect.”

He caught it, smirking. “Guess I’ll be ready.”

─ • ───

The sun was already setting by the time the Cleaners wrapped up their quick border mission. Nothing big — just another sweep, another bit of chaos cleaned up before dinner. Enjin barely looked like he was there for most of it, though. His body moved the same as always — efficient, sharp, quick — but his mind? Definitely somewhere else. Somewhere back at that damn workshop, probably.

Rudo caught him spacing out halfway through clean-up and grinned. “Thinking about your girlfriend, boss?”

Enjin just gave him a flat look. “You mean the one who told me to get out of her shop before she used a wrench on my skull? Yeah. Real romantic.”

Zanka snorted. “You like that, though.”

“Shut up.”

By the time the jeep pulled through the gates of Cleaner HQ, the sky was bleeding orange and violet. The ride had been quiet for the most part, Rudo chattering about the junk he’d managed to scavenge, Zanka half-asleep against the window, and Riyo humming something in the back. Enjin leaned his elbow against the door, eyes half-lidded as the compound came into view — the towering walls, the floodlights, the faint metallic scent of oil and old engines in the air.

He sighed as he parked. “Couldn’t even convince her,” he muttered, stepping out. “Figures.”

Rudo hopped out after him, lugging his bag of “parts” — Inside, HQ was quiet except for the hum of fluorescent lights. The team scattered down the hall, already arguing over who’d get the first shower, while Enjin headed toward his office. He ran a hand through his hair, still thinking about her — about the look on her face when she’d told him no again, and how her eyes didn’t match her words.

He didn’t even notice someone else coming down the hall until a voice snapped him back.

“Enjin.”

He looked up.

Corvus. The boss himself — tall, expression unreadable as always, a stack of reports in one hand. But it wasn’t him that made Enjin stop mid-step.

It was her.

Walking right beside Corvus, calm as ever, like she belonged there.

The Wrench Witch.

She had a Cleaner support jacket slung over her shoulder and a wrench clipped to her belt — like she’d just stepped out of her shop, grease on her gloves, hair still a little messy. She was talking casually, voice echoing down the hall. “—and August said my uniform’ll be done in a few days, so I’ll grab it when I come back.”

Enjin froze. He literally stopped walking.

No way.

Corvus barely glanced up from his papers. “Welcome our newest Cleaner,” he said, tone smooth as ever. “And our main mechanic.”

Rudo, who’d just wandered back into the hall, actually dropped the bag of parts. “Wait, WHAT?!”

Zanka blinked. “You’re kidding.”

But Enjin didn’t say a thing. Just stared.

She looked up at him, the corner of her mouth curling into that same smug smirk he’d seen too many times before. “What?” she said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He blinked once. Twice. Then, “Didn’t think you were the uniform type.”

“Relax,” she said, walking closer, eyes amused. “It’s just temporary. You guys needed a hand with some of the jeeps . I owed and i you cleaners a favor.”

Enjin raised a brow. “Sure. A favor.”

She crossed her arms. “Don’t start, Enjin.”

He grinned. “Didn’t say anything.”

Her smirk widened. “You were thinking it.”

Character count — 2,342

Synopsis — On a rainy night at RavenWood, Finn lounges in bed in his ridiculous horse-print pajama pants, waiting for Matt to return from lacrosse practice. As Matt sheds his damp hoodie and shirt, Finn can’t help teasing him about his tattoo, the smoke curling from his cigarette, and the effortless way he fills the room with warmth. Between playful banter and quiet observation, the two settle into a cozy, intimate rhythm, where the storm outside fades and all that matters is being together.

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Hiya! I know I’ve been MIA lately—uni’s been eating up all my sleep and energy. So for now, here’s a little fic featuring my friend’s OC, along with some awesome art by them!

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Still working on Gachiakuta fic, don’t worry! Drop any requests you have

The dorm felt cramped at night. Rain smeared the edges of the posters on the walls, and the pile of lacrosse gear in the corner looked even messier than usual. Finn was already in bed, leaning against the headboard, legs stretched out under the blanket. His tan pajama pants, covered in little horses, caught the lamp’s light. He’d laughed when he first got them, but tonight… they just felt right. Comfortable. Safe.

Matt walked in a few minutes later, his hoodie damp from the drizzle, hair sticking slightly at the back. He dropped his bag by the door, tugged at his wet shirt, and ran a hand through his hair. Finn couldn’t look away. The light hit the curve of Matt’s shoulders as he pulled the hoodie off, then slowly slid the shirt over his head.

“You always look like you fought the weather and lost,” Finn said, voice low and teasing.

Matt snorted, shaking his head. “You try sprinting drills in the rain and see how you look.”

Finn grinned. “I’d look incredible. Obviously.”

“I doubt it,” Matt said.

“You don’t doubt it,” Finn said, shifting onto his stomach to look at him properly.

Matt still held the cigarette between his fingers, letting it hang. The glow caught the ink on his back—dark wings and strange symbols that seemed to shift with every subtle movement he made. Finn had seen it a million times. Traced it millions of times when Matt had been half-asleep. But every time? Still made his chest tighten.

“I’ll never get used to that,” Finn said quietly.

Matt raised an eyebrow. “The tattoo?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter how many times you tell me the story behind it—it’s still ridiculously hot.”

Matt chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to fill the room. “You’re hopeless.”

“Completely,” Finn said, smiling. He knew Matt liked that he thought he was.

Matt flicked the ash from his cigarette into the tray on the desk. “You can admire it after I shower.”

“Touch, too?” Finn teased.

Matt’s lips twitched. “If you insist.”

Finn chuckled softly, burrowing further into the blanket and tracing the stitches on the bedsheet with his fingers. Rain tapped steadily against the windows, a quiet backdrop to the room. Matt had slipped into the bathroom, leaving Finn with his eyes closed, listening to the faint splash of water, and breathing in the mix of damp hair, smoke, and… something that was just Matt.

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Yes my request are still open but because I’m a uni student life is busy so i will do my best to keep writing theses one shots you guys like so much

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Requested by — 🍰

Character count — 3221

Synopsis — After a long mission, the Cleaners gather for a rare night of rest and food. Sent by Enjin to fetch you, Zanka walks into your room and accidentally sees you without your eyepatch—the Vital Instrument you always wear to hide your heterochromia. Instead of ridicule, he’s left completely awestruck, stumbling over his words in uncharacteristic embarrassment. For the first time, your secret doesn’t feel like a burden, and the quiet spark of something more begins between you.

─ • ────────────────

Following the mission, the Cleaners' base was alive with the smell of food, laughter, and weary voices. Above, lanterns swung, casting a gentle golden glow over everything. Enjin was already half sprawled in his chair, bottle in hand, grinning wide.

“Oi, Zanka,” he said with his mouth full, “go get her. She’s probably still fussing over that patch of hers instead of eating. Tell her if she’s late I’m stealing her share.”

Zanka sighed but stood anyway. He knew you, how you always slipped off after missions to clean your gear, to shut yourself away a little. He walked down the quiet hallway, hand half lifted to knock.

But the door was cracked open.

He glanced inside, just meaning to call your name, and then froze.

You were sitting on the edge of the bunk, head bent over your eyepatch. Not just any eyepatch—your Vital Instrument. You were cleaning it carefully, the cloth sliding slow over the leather and metal. But it wasn’t on your face.

Both of your eyes were visible in the lamplight. One he knew well, the other sharp and bright, striking in contrast. Heterochromia.

It was like a blow to the chest.

He briefly forgot to breathe. He had always observed the way you held yourself as though you were protecting something, the way you angled your head, and the way you let your hair fall just right. But he never guessed this.

It wasn’t strange. It wasn’t wrong. It was… beautiful. Rare. Like something the world had no right to make you hide.

The word slipped out before he could stop it.

“…Wow.”

You looked up instantly, eyes wide. Your hands fumbled with the eyepatch, panic flashing across your face. “Z-Zanka! I— I didn’t—”

Heat began to creep up his neck as he blinked, realizing what he had just said too late. There was none of his usual sharp, serene composure.

He rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled, "I uh—sorry," his ears turning red. “The door was already open and Enjin told me to come get you and I just—” He cut himself off, grimacing. “Damn. I sound like an idiot.”

You stared at him, stunned. Zanka Nijiku, serious and steady even in the worst fights, was actually stumbling over his words… because of you.

A nervous laugh escaped your lips. “You… you’re embarrassed?”

His head snapped toward you, mortified, and that just deepened the flush on his face. “Don’t laugh,” he grumbled, glaring half-heartedly. “I wasn’t expecting… that.” As if staring too long could be harmful, his eyes darted to yours once more and then back again.

The tight knot in your chest began to loosen as you laughed again, a little softer this time. For once it didn’t feel like shame crushing you. His reaction wasn’t cruel, wasn’t mocking. He wasn’t pointing, wasn’t laughing.

He was just flustered. Because of you.

And that truth warmed you more than any words could.

Zanka cleared his throat, trying to stand straighter and hide the fact his face was still a little red. “Enjin’s waiting. Dinner’s getting cold.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “You don’t have to hide from me. Not ever.”

You swallowed hard but nodded. You didn't immediately reach for the eyepatch for the first time.

You could still hear his clumsy stammer in your mind when you followed him out a minute later, and it gave you a small smile.

𝓘𝓷 𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝓚𝓮𝓮𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓰

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Word count - 3,600.

Synopsis - Recovery isn’t as simple as rest. Even as her wounds begin to heal, the young Cleaner-in-training struggles with the weight of what happened on the battlefield—and with the quiet, protective presence of Gris. He stays close, never far from her side, carrying a guilt he can’t put into words and a devotion he doesn’t dare name. Between whispered conversations in the quiet of the infirmary, the warmth of shared silences, and the unshakable bond forged through trust and sacrifice, feelings begin to surface that neither can ignore. And when dawn comes, with light spilling softly across the room, she finds herself drawn into a tender, hesitant kiss—one that speaks of promises unspoken, and a future neither of them is ready to walk away from.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Closer Than Duty

The days after the mission blurred together. You weren’t sure if it was the healing salves or just the exhaustion, but time seemed to fold in on itself. Morning bled into night, and through all of it, Gris was there.

He wasn’t loud about it—Gris was never loud about anything unless the situation demanded it. But his presence was constant. A hand steadying your arm when you tried to sit up. A tray of food delivered at almost the same hour each day. His voice, low and grounding, reminding you to breathe when the ache in your ribs made you wince too hard.

At first, you thought it was duty. He was older, the most reliable of the supporters, and you were his responsibility. But as the days stretched on, you began to notice the cracks in that explanation.

The way his eyes softened when he thought you were asleep.

The way he lingered too long in the doorway, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to step away.

The way his hand always found yours when nightmares dragged you back toward the battlefield.

If this was duty, it carried a weight far deeper than obligation.

───── ⋆⋅☆

One evening, you woke to find him sitting in that same chair by your bed, elbows braced on his knees. His head was bowed, and for once, he didn’t notice you stir.

“I should’ve seen it,” he muttered, voice so low you barely caught it. “If I’d been sharper… she wouldn’t be here.”

Your chest tightened. He wasn’t talking to anyone. He was talking to himself.

“Gris…” you rasped, your throat still raw from sleep.

His head snapped up, surprise flashing across his face before it melted into concern. “You’re awake. You need more rest.”

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t blame yourself.”

His jaw tightened. He looked away, but his hand came to rest over yours, heavy and warm. “It was my job to protect you. And you ended up protecting me instead.”

“That’s not what matters,” you said softly, squeezing his fingers as best you could. “What matters is that we’re both here.”

His gaze flicked back to you then, and something unspoken passed between you. A current that hummed low and steady, dangerous in its quiet strength. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move his hand either.

───── ⋆⋅☆

By the fourth day, you were allowed to stand and walk a little. Gris was there, of course, steadying you the moment your knees wobbled.

“You don’t have to hold on so tight,” you teased, breathless but smiling.

His brow furrowed. “You’re not steady yet.”

“I’ll get there. You just… make me feel like I’m about to tip over.”

His grip loosened immediately, as though burned, but the guilt in his eyes made your chest ache. Without thinking, you reached for him, wrapping your fingers around his.

“This helps,” you admitted. “I want you close.”

He blinked, caught off guard, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he let you lean into his side as you walked the short length of the hall. His arm brushed your shoulder, solid and warm, and for a moment, the world outside your small steps didn’t matter.

Follo, of course, had perfect timing.

“You two look cozy,” he said one morning, leaning against the infirmary door with a grin far too smug for his own good.

You froze, hand still looped loosely through Gris’s as he helped you into your chair. Gris, for his part, stiffened like he’d been caught in a crime.

“Follo,” Gris said sharply, warning in his tone.

But Follo only chuckled. “Don’t glare at me, big guy. I’m just saying—you’ve been glued to her side since the fight. The rest of us were starting to wonder if you’d moved into the infirmary permanently.”

Heat crept up your neck, and you tried to laugh it off. “He’s just… looking out for me.”

“Sure,” Follo said, grin widening. “Looking out, carrying you like you were made of glass, refusing to leave your bedside. Sounds like more than that, if you ask me.”

“Follo,” Gris snapped again, but the red in his ears betrayed him.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop.” Follo winked as he slipped out. “But don’t think I’m the only one who’s noticed.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Gris cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on the edge of the chair.

“…He talks too much.”

You smiled faintly, hiding the way your heart had quickened. “Maybe. But he’s not wrong.”

That made him pause. His eyes searched yours, careful and uncertain. You let the silence hang, your words lingering between you like smoke.

───── ⋆⋅☆

That night, sleep was slow to come. You shifted under the blankets, wincing as your side protested, until a low voice broke the quiet.

“Are you in pain?”

You startled slightly—Gris was still there, sitting in that same chair, watching over you as though he’d never left.

“Nah” you whispered. “I just… can’t sleep.”

He hesitated, then leaned closer. His hand brushed against yours, tentative at first, then firmer when you didn’t pull away.

“Does this help?” he asked, almost shy in his rough way.

You nodded. “Yeah. It does.”

The room fell quiet again, but the silence felt different this time. Not heavy. Not guilty. Just… steady. Safe. You let your eyes drift closed, your breathing evening out with his hand anchoring yours.

And this time, when sleep came, it wasn’t haunted.

───── ⋆⋅☆

Days turned into a week. Your strength returned, slowly but surely, and with it came a shift neither of you could ignore. Gris no longer pretended his presence was duty alone. He still carried trays, still watched over you, but his gaze lingered openly now. His hand found yours more easily, without excuse. And you… you found yourself seeking him, the way his voice grounded you, the way his presence quieted the chaos inside your head.

The night you were finally cleared to leave the infirmary, Gris walked you back to your quarters. The halls were quiet, lanterns burning low, shadows stretching long across the walls.

You stumbled once, your legs still unsteady. His arm caught you instantly, strong and unyielding.

“You should be in bed,” he muttered, but there was no edge to his words—only worry.

“I am in bed,” you teased weakly, leaning into him. “Just… not quite there yet.”

He huffed a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased.

When you reached your door, you turned to him, reluctant to let the moment end. “Gris… thank you. For everything.”

His gaze softened, the guilt that had shadowed him for days finally easing, just a fraction. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“I do,” you insisted. “Because you didn’t have to stay. But you did. And it made all the difference.”

Something flickered in his eyes then—something raw, unguarded. He took a slow breath, as though steadying himself, and then leaned down, just enough for his forehead to brush yours.

The kiss that followed was barely there—soft, hesitant, a question more than an answer. But it was enough to set your heart racing, to ground you in a way no battlefield ever could.

When he pulled back, his hand still cupped lightly around yours, his voice was low, almost reverent.

“I’ll always stay.”

And for the first time since the fight, you believed it.