Goofy🤪

Animation is Goated!

The Naoya Move!🔥🔥

@mehcookiehh You better enjoy ts.

You'd been warned about Slur's group before you joined. "They're a bunch of misfits," your recruiter had said with a smirk, "but they're effective. Just don't piss off the kid with the white hair—he's got a temper." You figured it was hyperbole. After all, you weren't exactly a pushover yourself. You'd clawed your way through underground circuits, honing your skills in stealth and precision strikes, all to land a spot in this elite assassin crew. Slur himself had scouted you after seeing you take down a mark in under thirty seconds without a sound. "You're efficient," he'd said. "We need that."

Your first day at the hideout—a rundown warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, disguised as an abandoned tech repair shop—was underwhelming. The place was dimly lit, cluttered with half-assembled gadgets, empty ramen cups, and the faint hum of electronics. Slur was off on a solo op, leaving you with the others: a stoic guy named Haruma who barely spoke, a chatty explosives expert called Kanaguri, and… him. Gaku.

He was sprawled on a beat-up couch in the corner, legs kicked up on a crate, thumbs flying across his phone screen. His messy silver-white hair stuck out in wild tufts, like he'd just rolled out of bed—or a fight. He wore an oversized gray hoodie that swallowed his lean frame, paired with baggy cargo pants and sneakers that had seen better days. His sharp, narrow eyes—red-tinged with those eerie markings—were glued to the game, half-lidded in that bored expression you'd come to loathe. A crooked grin tugged at his lips as he muttered something about "noobs" under his breath.

"Hey, new blood," Kanaguri called from across the room, waving you over. "Slur says you're our new infiltrator. Name's Kanaguri. That's Haruma over there, and the couch potato is Gaku."

Gaku didn't even look up. "Sup," he grunted, mashing buttons harder as an explosion sound effect blared from his phone.

You crossed your arms, already irritated. "I'm Y/N. And if this is how you prep for missions, no wonder Slur needs new recruits."

That got his attention—sort of. His eyes flicked up for a split second, predatory and annoyed, before dropping back to the screen. "Tch. Mind your own business, newbie. I'm multitasking."

"Multitasking? Looks like slacking to me."

He paused the game, finally sitting up a bit straighter, his tall frame uncoiling like a spring ready to snap. "You got a problem? I could beat this level blindfolded and still wipe the floor with you in a spar."

You snorted. "Big talk for someone who can't even pause his game to say hello."

Gaku's scowl deepened, but he just shrugged nonchalantly and unpaused, sinking back into the couch. "Whatever. Don't get in my way."

That set the tone. From day one, you and Gaku were like oil and water—or more like fire and gasoline. He'd ignore briefings to grind levels on his mobile games, you'd call him out for being unprofessional, and it'd devolve into snarky exchanges that left the others chuckling. "Kids these days," Kanaguri would tease, while Haruma just shook his head.

But Slur didn't care about the drama. He cared about results. Your first joint mission came a week later: a simple recon on a rival syndicate's warehouse. You and Gaku were paired up—Slur's idea of "team building." You infiltrated through the vents, silent as a shadow, while Gaku… well, he was supposed to cover the perimeter.

You dropped down into the main room, hacking into their security feeds with ease. Everything was going smooth until alarms blared. "What the—?" You ducked behind crates as guards swarmed in.

Over comms: "Gaku, what happened?"

His voice crackled back, casual as ever. "One guy spotted me. No biggie—I handled it."

"Handled it? You mean you started a fight!"

"Tch, relax. They're all down. Get the data and let's bounce."

You gritted your teeth but grabbed the drive and exfiltrated. Back at base, you stormed up to him where he was already back on his phone. "You reckless idiot! We were supposed to be stealthy!"

He glanced up, smirking that infuriating crooked grin. "We got the job done, didn't we? You're welcome for the distraction."

"Distraction? You nearly got us killed!"

"Nah, you were fine. You're quicker than you look, newbie." There was a hint of something in his tone—respect? But he buried it under nonchalance, eyes back on his game.

You wanted to throttle him, but deep down, you had to admit: his raw speed in combat had bought you time. Still, the bickering continued.

Over the next few months, missions piled up. Slur's group was ramping up operations against the JAA, and you found yourself paired with Gaku more often than not. "You two balance each other," Slur said once, his voice laced with amusement. "Your precision, his chaos."

One op involved taking out a high-profile target at a black-tie gala. You dressed to blend in—a sleek black outfit that hugged your form for mobility—while Gaku showed up in his usual hoodie, only swapping pants for something marginally less casual. "You look like a bum," you hissed as you both scoped the venue from a rooftop.

"And you look like you're trying too hard," he shot back, fiddling with his phone. But when the target moved, Gaku pocketed it without a word, his eyes sharpening. "Let's go."

The hit went south fast—bodyguards everywhere, a chase through the kitchens. You dodged knives, he swung his spiked mace with glee, that feral grin splitting his face. "This is fun!" he laughed, batting away a thug like it was nothing.

"Focus!" you snapped, but you couldn't deny the adrenaline rush. As you escaped in a stolen car, hearts pounding, he turned to you with a rare genuine smile. "Not bad, Y/N. You kept up."

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed. "Don't sound so surprised."

After that, the dynamic shifted subtly. He'd still game during downtime, but sometimes he'd glance up, tossing casual jabs that felt less hostile. "Hey, newbie, bet I can beat your high score in this shooter." You'd scoff, but one night, bored after a long stakeout, you grabbed a controller and joined him. "You're on."

Turns out, he was a beast at games—reflexes honed from real fights translating perfectly. But you held your own, trash-talking the whole time. "Ha! Headshot! Eat that, gamer boy."

"Tch, luck. Rematch."

Hours passed, the hideout quiet except for your laughter and his annoyed grunts. For the first time, he seemed… relaxed around you. No scowl, just that half-lidded intensity focused on something fun instead of destruction.

Then came the turning point: a joint mission gone horribly wrong. Infiltrating a JAA outpost to sabotage their comms. You and Gaku split up—you on tech, him on diversion. But they were waiting. Ambush.

You fought back-to-back in a narrow corridor, your knives flashing, his mace crushing. Blood splattered—yours, theirs, his. A bullet grazed your side, and you staggered.

"Y/N!" Gaku's voice lost its nonchalance, raw with something like fear. He went berserk, speed blurring as he cleared the room, that predatory intensity turned lethal. When it was over, he scooped you up without a word, carrying you out despite your protests.

Back at base, as Haruma patched you up, Gaku paced like a caged animal, hair more disheveled than usual. "That was stupid," he muttered. "Should've stuck together."

"You think?" you winced, but softened. "Thanks, though. For having my back."

He stopped, red eyes meeting yours—vulnerable for once. "Tch. Don't get used to it." But he lingered, handing you a water bottle, his fingers brushing yours longer than necessary.

From there, the bickering evolved into flirting disguised as arguments. He'd "accidentally" bump into you during training, you'd "forget" to return his hoodie after borrowing it on a cold op. Missions brought you closer—saving each other, sharing glances mid-fight, that thrill-seeking energy syncing up.

The conclusion came after a grueling assault on a fortified lab. You two were the last standing, cornered but victorious. Panting, covered in grime, Gaku grabbed your arm, pulling you close. "You know, newbie… you're not half bad."

You smirked, heart racing. "High praise. You're not as annoying as I thought."

He chuckled, that crooked grin turning soft. "Shut up." Then, impulsively, he kissed you—rough at first, matching his reckless style, but deepening into something real. You melted into it, hands tangling in his wild hair.

When you pulled back, he looked almost shy, rubbing his neck. "So… team up more often?"

You laughed. "Yeah. But pause the games sometimes."

"Tch. Deal." And just like that, the feral prodigy had found a new thrill: you.

P.S. Oneshot. If it gets 100 or more likes, I'll post a part two.

Enjoy, @mehcookiehh😝😝

For my dear friend, @ussy-gussy Read this headcanon and x reader fic.

Zanka x Reader Headcanons

1. Tactical Touch He studies you like he studies a battlefield — thoughtful, observant, always analyzing the little things most people miss.

2. Dialect Charm Zanka’s speech carries a gentle Chūgoku accent, giving his tough lines a unique rhythm that makes quiet moments surprisingly soft. (Reddit)

3. Respect Before Everything He won’t toy with your feelings — if he’s interested, it’ll show in the way he protects your space, speaks clearly, and makes effort.

4. Strength + Comfort When he holds you close after something dangerous, it’s not just warmth — it’s reassurance backed by strength.

5. Jealousy, But Intelligent If someone else gets too close, he doesn’t lash out — he just observes, then quietly holds you tighter later.

6. Hard Worker, Hard Lover He doesn’t brag — he shows care through consistent actions: checking your needs, offering covers, adjusting your collar, anchoring you with his presence.

Short Fic

You and Zanka had just finished a grueling training session — dirt, sweat, and exhilaration still clinging to every fiber of your clothes.

You sat against the training hall wall, catching your breath. Zanka stood a few feet away, towel over his shoulders, expression unreadable.

“Slow down,” he said, voice low and controlled.

You smirked, not out of arrogance — just confidence. But then you felt him step closer, his presence tightening the air between you.

“You're breathing too hard,” he murmured — calm, yet intentional.

You turned your head slightly, catching the way his gaze softened… just a little.

Before you could tease him back, his hand was on your wrist — not rough, just firm. Pulling you up against him.

Your back pressed to his chest.

You could feel every detail — his measured breathing, the warmth of his skin, the reassuring solidity of his stance.

Zanka’s voice was quiet but no less intense.

“Look at me,” he said.

You did. And in his eyes you saw focus — not just on you, but with you.

His thumb brushed your jaw, gentle but deliberate.

“Stop pretending I don’t notice you,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched.

“That’s not pretending,” you whispered back.

Zanka’s grip on your waist tightened — not to restrain you, but to claim this moment. His voice dropped an octave lower, serious, unshakably calm.

“Then say it,” he said against your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

And in that quiet, charged space — surrounded by lingering heat and the scent of effort — you did.