HEY BABYS I saw you were doing requests and wanted to see if you’d write Zanka x reader ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) anything’s fine
order up ⋮ ⌗ two┆his fault
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💌 hiii lumiiii thanks for the request babesss. i love zanka likeeee he’s literally my husband fr 🤸🏾♂️ sorry it took so long , editing be making me procrastinate sm
zanka stared at you from the doorway, his eyes raking down your bruised body as you sat upright in the hospital bed.
how stupid.
any jobs or missions the cleaners were assigned, you felt the need to tag along or handle it yourself.
it was the least you could do after they saved you from a trash beast. but it also meant you burnt yourself out in the end. you kept pushing yourself to pay them back and prove your usefulness, and zanka, specifically, hated it.
it's because you reminded him of himself when he believed he had to prove he was a valuable asset for the team, and that their trust in him wasn't in vain. that’s all zanka could think every time he saw you bruised from battle and slumped in your bed as soon as you reached headquarters.
you were trying to pay them back in every way you could.
pay him back for saving you.
feeling his eyes on you, you give him a airy smile, partially from all the medicines you were high off of. he scoffs. he couldn’t even look you in the eyes when you were like this.
beat up and high off drugs from all your injuries.
he stayed stationed in the doorway, eyes on the ground with his arms crossed over his chest. at his little movement, you groan and slump back against the hospital bed, closing your eyes for a moment.
“are you literally going to stand in the doorway the entire time?” you drag, opening one eye to watch him linger by the door. he gives you one last look and disappears.
just like that.
it makes your eyes roll.
he was so difficult. even high off anesthesia he managed to make you upset. like, why stand there if you weren’t going to say anything.
and his scoff was what you hated most: like you were a dumbass for getting hurt in the first place, like you were a liability waiting to be damaged.
your fists clench at your sides at the thought.
it didn’t take much time for all your energy to be stored away for sleep. your eyes got heavy, your headache dissipated with the help of very strong medicine. and now you found yourself slumped against the back of the hospital bed like it was giving you the best nap ever.
the door creaked open but you were so deep into sleep you hadn’t heard it.
it was zanka.
he stood by the door for a second, checking that you were sleep before making his way in.
he was eager to check on you and make sure you were good, so of course he was discrete about it.
this way was ideal.
you being oblivious in slumber while his eyes examined the severity of your injuries. sure he wasn’t a doctor but he spent a fair share of time getting accustomed to different injuries and the healing process.
head wrapped in bandage? concussion. you’d be dizzy and confused more than usual. you’d need fluids and rest. he’d make sure to drop off a few water bottles before he went out on his next mission, since it seemed the nurses weren’t keen on doing their jobs.
they hadn’t been in your room since this morning. zanka would know as he sat outside your door the entire time.
he stood over the bed, taking in your wrapped shoulder and head.
he could’ve stopped it. should’ve. what mentor lets their rookie get thrown into the wall by a trash beast and not be there to stop it.
he regretted letting you go out without him.
this was his fault.
his jaw tensed as he looked down at his hands beginning to shake.
you shuffle in your sleep. his whole attention shifts to you and the blanket that slipped off your shoulders.
he quickly pulled it over you, instinctively, his eyes softening as he watched how peacefully you slept. he goes to move his hand but you grab it.
he froze.
“zanka…” you mumble incoherently, the sleepiness taking a huge tug on you as your eyes flutter up at him, fighting to stay open.
your grasp was so faint and weak, he could easily pull away if he wanted. but he doesn’t, he lets you hang on for a moment.
“…go back to sleep,” he orders in a mutter, stepping back.
it sounded too soft for zanka.
but once you open your eyes to actually look at him, he’s gone.
you weren’t expecting to see zanka on the porch, a cigarette in his mouth, staring up at the sky when you went outside. his chest was bare, and his left shoulder was tied with a bandage from his injury earlier with the raiders. he already knew it was you before you approached. you were the only one so worried about him all the time, even when he didn’t want you to be.
he hated pity. your pity specifically. because it was soft and it made your eyes all shiny and big once he said his usual pessimistic remarks about himself.
he’d tell you to take it elsewhere, to a stray cat or dog on the street and not him. but you wouldn’t listen. you were stubborn in that sense.
and now here you were, checking up on him at his lowest.
“are you okay?” you ask meekly, still standing in front of the glass door.
there’s a long silence that feels suffocating, pushing you further away, and you’re almost tempted to go back inside to let him stay alone with his thoughts before he moves. he didn’t turn your way, just dropped his cigarette and put it out, flicking his hair out of his face. he never smoked. was it a habit he picked up from enjin, maybe?
“...yeah. always am,” he says, monotone, his eyes flicking down.
so why isn't there any xylo fics like omg feed me already pleaseeee we bout to be on ep 5. i spent like 1-2 hours writing this when i should be studying...sigh. this is based on the idea i have for a fic (second chance romance type beat).
word count: 0.734
contents: modern au ' xylo's grandma being the accidental matchmaker ' lots of unsaid shit ' xylo's your ex ' forced proximity if you squint ' military xylo
His grandma still invited you for dinner. She’d prepare a home-cooked meal, usually a soup or stew that you knew was Xylo’s favorite. She’d done this ever since he went off to the military, three years ago. You’ve had dinner with her each night of the week, because she claimed she’d be lonely without you.
You didn’t mind coming over. It beats eating at your parents' house, where home-cooked meals have become a rarity ever since you went off to college. It was nice to come back each break and eat something warm every once in a while.
“Soup’s good, Mrs. Forbartz.” You say, holding the bowl to your mouth and slurping from it for emphasis. She chuckled at your goofiness and sat across from you. The warmth of the bowl was enough to keep your entire body warm and immune to the winter breeze from the windows.
A knock on the door startled the both of you.
Mrs. Forbartz giggled again, still tickled from earlier as she scoots out her chair and waddles her way to the door. You would’ve gotten it if she hadn’t shot up so quickly. Your head turned, looking back at the door, waiting to hear a voice or have an indication of who it could be.
Mrs. Forbartz never had any visitors.
Unless…
He walked into the house, dipping his head below the dangling winter crafts you made for her years ago. He was still in his military uniform, the hat snug on his head and dusted with snow. Tattoos peeked from his collar and sleeves, especially the tattoo he’d recklessly gotten when you both were younger. Your initials.
How foolishly in love you’d both been then.
He says something quiet in response to his grandmother who was gushing over him, before his honey-brown eyes land on you. Your stomach drops. Your heart nearly pumps out your chest.
The two of you have not talked since he left. Three years ago.
Really, you should be over it by now.
But seeing him come back every winter, never so much as checking in, maddened you.
“H-Hey.” You stammer out, too quick and too softly for anyone to hear, not knowing what else to say. What else were you supposed to say? Your fists clench at your sides because why were you the one trying to come up with something to say when it was him who was avoiding you all these years.
“Hey,” he says back. You hate how easily your anger dissipates from that.
Mrs. Forbartz starts to talk as if it were the most normal thing in the world for the two of you to be in the same room.
He takes off his hat, brushing some of the snow on the floor before sitting in the chair one spot away from you. His grandmother can’t wipe the smile off her face as she mentions something about it passing her mind that he’d return today. How could that possibly pass her mind? Then, she says something about you keeping her company all these years, something you’d expect Xylo already knows.
Of course he knew, his grandmother told him everything.
Just like she told you.
His eyes find yours then flick away.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” You whisper, letting your eyes slide away. His gaze shifts back to you and lingers, just a moment too long. It’s almost suffocating being so close to him, seeing him in the corner of your eye. You’re about to excuse yourself and thank his grandmother for the meal before she reaches over the table and takes both of your hands, affectionately.
She says your name and your eyes widen.
“Tell him about that professor you told me about,” she says. “The one that made you turn in three essays in one…”
She rambles, telling the story to him herself.
“...she stayed up all night. Studying for the test, Xylo.”
You give her a small, nervous smile, offering the occasional hum as she told him all the stories you’d shared with her—like it was something he missed. Something he wanted to hear.
His gaze rests on you the same way it used to, like the room has narrowed to just the two of you. You fixate on his grandmother’s laugh, keeping yourself still.
Because if you let yourself look at him, you’d start believing things you have no right to believe anymore.
sorry for teasing y'all with these half-baked ass ideas, a full one will come soon. and i swear i'll write something happy after this
