Hibijibi
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Summary
Zanka's thoughts become less coherent when Jabber utters his name like that, filled with so many things Zanka could barely register. Jabber asks him to be more rough, to leave his mark, and Zanka finds it impossible to not oblige.
Zanka wants Jabber in such a violent, possessive way. One that Jabber encourages.
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Summary
“Please,” Jabber wraps his hand around Zanka’s wrist, pulling his hand to a bruise hidden higher, deep purple raked against his rib— a bruise Zanka left, one that he never realized didn’t patch over.
“Hurt me, please.”
Where Zanka’s jealousy about who Jabber gets his bruises from leads to perverse discoveries.
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Summary
Relaxation is easy for some. Others, not so much. In Zanka's case, relaxation is about as foreign as the Sphere to him. He's tried everything. You see, after committing what can only be described as pure sin via a certain raider, Zanka was determined to put the memories in the past and never think of it again. To his utter horror, his past has a way of biting him in the ass when he has the least mental capacity to endure it.
or,
Zanka tries (and fails) to forget about what happened that night.
*can be read as a standalone
Series
- Part 2 of enemies to not quite lovers
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Summary
Zanka does not indulge himself. Zanka does not take creative liberties. Zanka does not deviate from a plan unless necessary. However, Zanka has never had to account for anyone as disgustingly masochistic and overwhelmingly strong as Jabber. He heard him cackle happily, as if this were all a game. As if Zanka wasn't hungry, tired, and seriously injured. As if he hadn't had the worst damn day he's had in a long time. He dug Lovely Assistaff into the ground to steady himself as he swayed on his feet, blinking slowly.
Jabber had already recovered, running towards him, which brought him back to the present. Everything seems to move in slow motion when you're in mortal danger, he's learned.
Mankira was only inches away. His mouth moves on its own.
"Make sure you hurt me good this time," he sputtered.
Both of them froze.
or,
Zanka gets creative.
Series
- Part 1 of enemies to not quite lovers
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Tags
Summary
"What kind of dog is it? Some sort of German Shepard or like, what? A chihuahua?" Jabber gets lost in talking to himself as Zanka slips smooth, quality leather over Jabber's neck.
It was a collar. Colored the same dark teal Zanka wore and adorned with a tassel much too similar to Zanka's own. It was a symbol that Jabber was Zanka's and exclusively his.
"The hell?" Jabber finally notices, looking down to see what was secured around his neck, "I asked you about—"
"Bark, doggy."
OR
Zanka gifts Jabber a collar. Hijinks ensues.