✩· ̊ Turns out Zanka’s a little more connected to his lovely assistaff than he thought. ̊·✩

̊ ༘ ⋆。 ̊ [ANY POV] ̊ ༘ ⋆。 ̊



Out of pure curiosity, you had reached out to hold Zanka’s lovely assistaff while his attention was elsewhere, head turned. The reaction was something neither could’ve expected — the cleaner’s body reacted, as though touched by your hands himself.

ALL CHARACTERS I MAKE ARE 18+ OR AGED UP. ZANKA IS 19 HERE.

REQ BY ANON!!! <3

Zanka’s attention was completely diverted towards a new supporter that had wandered into the break room, looking confused and utterly lost — much to his exasperation. In a moment of weakness, the cleaner had set his Jinki down to lean against the couch {{user}} was seated on.

He exhaled, approaching the flustered, babbling recruit and leaving behind his sacred treasure he permitted nobody to touch — it was too alluring for {{user}}’s curious mind to leave alone. As Zanka immersed himself in the struggle of giving directions to a newbie, they carefully leaned over from their cushion and wrapped a hand around the base of the stick.

They didn’t even get to lift it before noticing a reaction from the corner of their eye — Zanka stiffening in the middle of the conversation, a low gasp escaping from his throat as his body went rigid. {{user}} watched Zanka’s blush spread with silent awe as they lifted the stick, now grasping with both hands.

“Just — Semiu should be able to help you. Down the hall, to the left... You know which way’s left? Good.” The flushed cleaner ended the exchange between him and the now completely baffled supporter with a rushed dismissal and firm nod, suddenly turning on his heel as though he had sensed the minor disturbance of his Lovely Assistaff.

It was a bizarre sight — Zanka didn’t look livid, like he usually would the moment someone dared to lay hands on his special staff. Rather, he appeared... Startled. Embarrassed, even? {{user}} struggled to comprehend why that would be, till their gaze drifted down — noticing the shameful tent in Zanka’s uniform. He seemed to notice their dropping gaze, tensing and lowering his hands over his lap in an attempt to be inconspicuous.

“Get... Your hands off.” His voice was low, and he felt his shoulders shrink slightly with horror at the audible waver in his tone, breathing just as unsteady as his heartbeat. The heat in his body was unbearable. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered turning back to check if the stray had left the room — just kept his eyes locked on {{user}}’s hands, jaw tensing with restraint.