Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jabber slipped in through the open window like he’d done a hundred times before. The sound of water running in the little en-suite tipped him off—Zanka was in the shower.

“Oh-ho-ho…” Jabber muttered under his breath, grin curling wide. “Perfect time to snoop around.”

He dropped the stuff he’d been holding onto the bed with a careless plop, then plopped down in the desk chair and spun around, digging through Zanka’s drawers. He found a little hachiware headband and giggled, popping it on his head. It fit bulky over his locs, but he still chuckled before diving back into the drawers.

That’s when he discovered a secret compartment. “Well, well, well, Zan-zan… of course you’re the secretive type…”

Inside were Polaroids of the two of them, aftermath of their sparring in no-man’s land. Jabber had taken the pictures himself, surprised to find a working camera among the junk. The pictures were beat-up. Zanka must’ve kept it close. Must’ve looked at them often.

In the one he picked up, his own grin was split wide, bloody lip and all, while Zanka glared into the lens with sweat dripping and that trademark scowl, and oh that angry look in his eyes…

Jabber slowly slipped the photo into his pocket. I could use this for later… he thought, closing the compartment.

Zanka’d never admit he was secretly sentimental anyway—the sweet snob.

A warm body pressed against Jabber’s back. He tilted his head all the way back in the chair, eyes meeting Zanka’s.

Zanka cupped his face gently, lifting it backward and upward, and leaned in for a soft kiss, giving a playful nip before pulling away.

“Hey,” Zanka murmured, voice rough from the steam. “When the hell did ya get here?”

“You left the window open,” Jabber said with a smirk. “Figured I’d make myself comfy.”

Zanka rubbed his thumbs softly over Jabber’s cheeks, taking a slow moment to just… admire him.

His eyes drifted down, landing on the bulky hachiware headband perched awkwardly on Jabber’s locs. His eyebrows slowly knit together.

“HEY! Gimme that back!” Zanka exclaimed, trying to pry it off Jabber’s head.

“Nooo! I want a skincare headband!! It’s a sleepover, remember?” Jabber squealed, holding it tight.

Zanka huffed, tugging harder, and Jabber leaned back, laughing, swinging his legs like a kid in a tug-of-war. They toppled sideways off the chair, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

Jabber sprang up immediately, hands bracing the headband like a prized trophy. “Not so fast, Zan-zan!” he laughed, expertly dodging Zanka’s next grab.

Zanka lunged, Jabber pivoted, weaving around him with a grin that was pure mischief.

“You’re impossible!” Zanka growled, but the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

Jabber scrambled up onto the bed, still clutching the headband, and Zanka followed suit, tackling his legs in one swift move.

They crashed onto the mattress with a soft pomf, pillows flying, hair messy, and laughter filling the room.

“Zan-zan… c’mon, it’s so cute on me!” Jabber teased, wiggling just enough to make Zanka groan.

“It’s… ridiculous,” Zanka muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. “But… I dont want you wearing that one.” Zanka suddenly sat back from their wrestling.

Jabber blinked, pausing mid-tussle. Zanka dug into the nightstand and pulled out a momonga headband, scratching the back of his head as a faint blush dusted his cheeks. “I… I bought you your own one.” he said, trying to sound casual, though his eyes kept flicking to the floor, refusing to meet Jabber’s.

“You… you did??” Jabber’s eyes went wide, sparkling like Zanka had just handed him a crown. He lunged for it instantly, grinning ear to ear.

Zanka tried to dodge at first, muttering a half-hearted growl, but Jabber expertly intercepted him.

Their playful chaos resumed for a moment before they collapsed onto the bed again, this time with both headbands finally in place.

“Ridiculous,” Zanka muttered, forehead resting against Jabber’s.

“Yeah, but cute,” Jabber whispered back, smirking.

Later, the room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the TV. Jabber and Zanka were laid against the headboard, headbands still sitting comically on their heads. Jabber leaned against Zanka’s shoulder, grinning as he passed him a sheet of face masks.

“Here, try this,” Jabber said, holding one up like it was a sacred treasure. “It’s… uh, supposed to be soothing or something.”

Zanka raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “You really bought this?… with money?”

“Of course!” Jabber said proudly, rummaging in his bag. He pulled out a pile of snacks — crisps, chocolate, a couple of gummy things that stuck together in clumps — and a battered VHS tape. “And check this out. Horror classic! Found it in a trash scavenger’s bargain bin. Thought it’d be perfect for our… uh… sophisticated sleepover night.”

Zanka shook his head, but his grin softened as scooched closer, resting his head on Jabber’s shoulder. “Fine. But you’re putting that mask on first.”

“Deal!” Jabber squealed, peeling off the first mask with exaggerated care and slapping it onto his face.

Zanka followed more reluctantly, the edges of the mask wrinkling around his features. He peeked at Jabber’s over-enthusiastic application and muttered dryly, “What if they… burn our faces off? Never mind — you’d probably like that, you sick masochist.”

Jabber’s eyes gleamed mischievously behind the mask. “Oh, and you love it, don’t you,” he shot back, nudging Zanka with his shoulder.

Zanka huffed, pretending to glare, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him. They munched on snacks, shared occasional teasing whispers, and watched the flickering, grainy VHS horror movie play out.

Jabber shrieked at every cheap jump scare, more enjoying the feeling of being scared than the actual film, while Zanka only shook his head, smirking, but every so often, his hand would drift over to squeeze Jabber’s shoulder or brush a stray loc away from his face.

By the end, they were a tangled mess of blankets, snacks scattered across the bed, masks decidedly washed off their faces, and the headbands slightly askew — but utterly content.

The sun slowly peeked through Zanka’s curtains, casting warm streaks across the room. Jabber let out a soft, lazy grunt, blinking awake. His eyes fell on Zanka, sprawled peacefully beside him, breaths even and calm.

Jabber propped himself up on his elbow, watching him. Zanka really is cute… even when he’s not trying to kill me, he thought, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He wished he had that damn busted camera just to capture this rare, serene moment of Zanka at peace.

Carefully, he brushed a stray strand of hair from Zanka’s face. Slowly, Zanka’s eyes fluttered open, still half-asleep, a hand wandering around Jabber’s neck.

Without a word, he tugged Jabber gently down toward him, their lips meeting in a soft, lingering kiss that carried all the quiet warmth of the morning.

Jabber hummed softly against him, eyes closing, feeling utterly content in the rare calm, tangled in blankets, the sunlight bathing them in gold.

Zanka yawned, stretching just enough to hook his leg over Jabber’s, pulling him back under the blankets. Jabber was now pressed against him like a warm, wriggling body pillow.

“Mm… maybe we could… have a little breakfast in bed?” Jabber teased, voice low and mischievous, fingers brushing teasingly over Zanka.

Zanka’s thumbs rubbed over Jabber’s cheeks, eyes softening as he studied him. “…Alright. Quick,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Quick, huh? I like the sound of that,” Jabber purred, tilting his head, pressing closer. “All the best parts of breakfast in bed, right?”

Zanka grinned, letting a hand trail down Jabber’s side before shifting, straddling him, pressing their bodies together under the blankets. “Mm… yeah. But you better be ready to clean up after yourself,” he teased, voice husky, tightening his hold.

Jabber chuckled, brushing his lips against Zanka’s neck. “Oh, I can handle that,” he whispered, nipping lightly. “And I don’t mind making a little mess…”

Zanka hummed, low and approving, leaning down just enough to capture Jabber’s lips again in a soft, lingering kiss. “Good… just a quick breakfast, though,” he murmured, voice playful but teasingly dangerous.

“Quick… sure,” Jabber murmured back, smirking. “But the best bites are always worth a little extra time.”

Just as Jabber was about to lean up into another kiss, the bedroom door burst open.

“Zanka! The mission starts in—”

Riyo froze mid-sentence, eyes finally landing on Zanka straddling Jabber under the blankets.

She blinked, blinked again, and let out a heavy, exasperated sigh. “Never mind,” she muttered, shutting the door behind her.

Jabber and Zanka froze for a moment, exchanging wide-eyed, sheepish looks.

Then Riyo’s muffled voice shouted from the hallway: “ENJIN! Zanka’s boyfriend is back!!”

Almost immediately came Enjin’s panicked reply, voice booming: “Oh—what the fuck—where’s my umbreaker?!”

“Shit, window!” Zanka hissed.

They scrambled apart, blankets twisting around them. Jabber frantically shoved his scattered things into his bag, elbows bumping Zanka as he wrestled the zipper closed.

Zanka leaned down, catching Jabber’s wrist, pulling him in for one last hasty kiss—soft, urgent, messy.

Jabber pressed a hand into his pocket, feeling the Polaroid he’d stolen earlier, before swinging his legs up onto the windowsill. He perched there for a heartbeat, balancing, taking one last look at Zanka.

“Later, Zan-zan,” he murmured, grin flickering through the chaos.

Then, with a fluid leap, he vaulted from the windowsill and disappeared into the morning.

Zanka watched him run off, shaking his head with a soft laugh, realizing too late that Jabber was still wearing that silly momonga headband.

Chapter Text

Zanka lay sprawled on the mattress in his dim room, muffled groans spilling from his lips, vibrating against the hand he pressed over his mouth. 

His thighs trembled under Jabber’s hands, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach, but his eyes held a fierce, unyielding control.

Jabber’s fingers worked Zanka open, three deep and rough, each thrust stretching him wide. 

His own cock ached, untouched, as he watched Zanka’s face, jaw tight, gaze predatory, holding onto control by a thread. 

“Gonna break me yet?” Jabber taunted, voice thick with need, thrusting harder, craving the punishment he knew Zanka could deliver.

“Keep dreaming, fucker,” Zanka snarled, but his hips rocked down, chasing the stretch, his body twitching with every thrust. 

Jabber fucking loved it — the way Zanka’s body begged while his eyes promised pain.

Jabber’s teeth found Zanka’s neck, biting hard enough to break skin. Zanka’s body tensing up, a sharp hiss escaping as blood welled. Jabber groaned, the pain of Zanka’s nails raking his shoulders sending a jolt straight to his cock. 

He licked the blood, slow and hungry, tasting copper as Zanka’s walls clenched tight around his fingers, a low keen ripping from his throat.

“Fuck,” Zanka growled, head tipped back, baring more of his neck like a challenge. Jabber bit again, lower, harder, moaning as Zanka’s nails dug deeper, drawing his own blood.

Then Jabber’s fingers curled, finding Zanka’s prostate, and he didn’t let up. He worked it relentlessly, thrusting and circling with merciless precision, hitting that spot over and over. 

Zanka’s body jerked, a low, guttural moan spilling out as his thighs trembled, his control slipping with every targeted stroke.

“Got you,” Jabber grinned, voice rough with want, his fingers ruthless, milking Zanka’s prostate until his moans turned desperate, his cock leaking harder. 

Zanka eyes narrowed, blazing with irritated need, his control slipping with every brutal stroke.

“Fucking—enough,” Zanka hissed, voice thick with frustration, his body shuddering under the relentless assault. 

In a flash, he grabbed Jabber’s wrists, yanking his fingers out and flipping them with savage force. Jabber hit the mattress with a grunt, his hunger spiking at the rough handling. 

Zanka straddled him, thighs clamping tight around Jabber’s hips, his half-lidded gaze fixed down on him.

He grabbed Jabber’s face, nails biting into his jaw. “Think you can fuck with me like that?” Zanka snapped, his sadistic edge razor-sharp as he lined up Jabber’s cock — thick, blunt, and rock-hard — against his slick entrance.

Without hesitation, Zanka slammed down, taking Jabber to the hilt in one vicious thrust.

Jabber’s head snapped back, a broken moan ripping from his throat as the molten heat clenched around him, tight enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain. Every brutal drag of movement fed that deep, masochistic craving that burned through his veins.

Zanka didn’t let up, riding him hard, each movement a mix of punishment and pleasure.

His nails raked down Jabber’s chest, leaving red welts that made Jabber buck up, chasing the pain, eyes glazed with desperate want.

He leaned forward, biting Jabber’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood, licking the wound with a low, satisfied growl. Jabber’s body jerked beneath him, a rough moan escaping as the pain lit him up. 

“Beg for it,” Zanka demanded, voice sharp, grinding down slow and deliberate, angling to hit his own prostate. His thighs tightened around Jabber’s hips, locking him in place, his control absolute as he watched Jabber squirm.

“Fuck- Zanka…,” Jabber gasped, hands gripping Zanka’s hips, not to guide but to feel the power in every brutal move. 

The sting of the bite burned, mixing with the tight heat of Zanka’s body as he rode Jabber’s cock, relentless and punishing. 

Zanka’s nails dragged down Jabber’s chest again, carving fresh red lines. Jabber arched into it, panting, loving the sharp pain that made his cock throb harder inside Zanka.

Zanka smirked, eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. He slammed down harder, setting a brutal pace, each thrust driving Jabber deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside himself. 

“Louder,” Zanka growled, grabbing Jabber’s throat, fingers pressing just enough to make him gasp. 

He leaned in, biting Jabber’s collarbone, teeth scraping bone, drawing another thin trickle of blood. “Oh— oh fuck—“ Jabber groaned, body drawing arching tensed into the sting, the pain pushing him closer to the edge.

“You like that, don’t you?” Zanka taunted, licking the fresh blood from Jabber’s skin, his voice rough with control. He rocked his hips faster, chasing his own pleasure while keeping Jabber pinned, helpless under his weight. 

Jabber’s hands scrambled, clawing at Zanka’s thighs, leaving marks of his own, but Zanka didn’t flinch — instead fuelling him to ride harder, feeling Jabber writhing beneath him.

He grabbed Jabber’s wrists, slamming them above his head, holding them down as he rode him harder, the mattress creaking under the force.

“Fuck, Zanka—” Jabber’s voice broke, raw and desperate, his body trembling as the pain and pleasure collided. Zanka’s grip tightened, nails digging into Jabber’s wrists, drawing more blood. 

He leaned down, lips brushing Jabber’s ear. “Say it,” Zanka hissed, halting his hips entirely, leaving Jabber’s cock buried deep but still, the sudden lack of movement a vicious tease. “Beg for pain, or I’m done.”

Jabber’s eyes were wild, no trace of shame, desperation spilling out as he squirmed beneath Zanka. “Please, hurt me,” he pleaded, voice raw and eager, body arching up, craving the pain with open hunger. “F-Fuck, Zanka, do it, I need it!”

Zanka’s grin was vicious, triumphant, as he slammed down again, a brutal thrust that made Jabber moan, “H-Hah… fuck!”

He rode Jabber faster, each thrust a mix of pleasure and punishment, his thighs flexing as he controlled every move. Jabber’s chest heaved, the pain from Zanka’s nails and teeth sending jolts through him, his cock pulsing inside Zanka’s tight heat. 

Zanka ground down, hitting his own prostate, a low, “Hah…” slipping out. “Keep up,” he muttered, voice sharp, taunting. Jabber’s hips jerked up, chasing the brutal pace, the pain driving him wild.

Jabber’s moans grew louder, desperate, “Ohh, shit, Zanka!” as Zanka’s relentless thrusts drove him wild. “Keep fucking talking,” Jabber gasped, clawing at Zanka’s thighs, leaving marks. Zanka grinned, cruel and smug, raking his nails across Jabber’s stomach. 

“You’re mine to fuck up,” he hissed, then bit Jabber’s chest, teeth sinking deep, drawing more blood. “Agh, fuck!” Jabber cried out, the pain sending him spiraling.

Zanka licked the blood, slow and deliberate, his tongue drawing lazy patterns over jabbers sensitive neck, before slamming down harder, his cock leaking as he hit his sweet spot.

Jabber’s body trembled, the pain and heat overwhelming. Zanka raked his nails across Jabber’s stomach, carving fresh welts. 

“Take it,” Zanka growled, low and commanding, before biting Jabber’s chest, teeth sinking deep, drawing blood again.

Jabber’s grip on Zanka’s hips tightened, and with a sudden surge, he flipped them, pinning Zanka beneath him on the mattress. 

Zanka’s back hit the bed, a flash of surprise in his eyes as Jabber yanked his hips back, lining up his leaking tip. “You fucking assho— ngh!” Zanka gritted out, cut off as Jabber’s cock slammed back inside him, deep and rough.

The brunette humped like a dog, thrusting desperately, each snap of his hips wild and unrestrained. “F-Fuck… hah!” Jabber moaned, his arms bracing over Zanka, loving the tight heat and the sting of Zanka’s nails as they carved deep red lines across his back. 

Zanka’s fingers dug in harder, breaking skin, blood welling under his nails.

“N-Ngh… fucking slow down— shit!” Zanka moaned, his head thrown back, cock bobbing with Jabber’s brutal pace, his control fraying.

“Think you can take over?” Zanka snarled, voice rough, dragging his nails down Jabber’s spine, leaving raw, bloody trails. 

Jabber groaned, “H-Hah… fuck!” the pain fueling his frantic thrusts, his cock slamming deeper, chasing the edge. Zanka’s legs hooked around Jabber’s waist, pulling him closer, asserting control even from beneath. 

“Harder, you weak fuck,” Zanka hissed, biting Jabber’s shoulder, teeth sinking in until blood seeped, his tongue lapping over it with broad flat strokes.

Jabber’s moans grew louder, desperate, “N-Ngh… god!” as the pain and heat pushed him closer to breaking.

Zanka’s nails raked again, tearing fresh lines across Jabber’s shoulders, his own cock leaking against his stomach as Jabber’s thrusts hit his prostate. 

“F-Fuck… hah!” Zanka moaned, body arching, riding the pleasure and pain.

jJabber’s pace faltered, his body shuddering as he babbled, “Oh- oh shit- Zanka… fuck so good-” desperate moans spilling out, voice breaking with need. 

He buried his cock deep, cumming hard inside Zanka with shallow thrusts, fucking the cum into him, a ragged, “H-Hah… shit!” escaping, hips jerking wildly.

Zanka wasn’t far behind, the brutal thrusts and his own high tipping him over. “N-Ngh… fuck!” he groaned, shooting thick ropes across his own chest, body shaking as he clenched around Jabber. 

His legs locked tight around Jabber’s waist, trapping him in place, feeling Jabber’s cock soften inside him.

Zanka grabbed jabber by the back of his neck, slamming their mouths together in a sloppy kiss. Jabber bit his lip, hard, tangy blood mixing between their tongues.

Jabber panted, pawing at Zanka’s thighs, squirming to be released, a weak, “Mmh… Z-Zanka…” slipping out as the overstimulation hit.

The taller man was released, flopping onto his side to face Zanka, the mattress creaking under them. 

Jabber’s chest rose and fell, still catching his breath, his fingers brushing over the raw bite marks Zanka had left — red, angry, and dotted with dried blood. 

Zanka lay there, chest heaving, smirking faintly as he brought his hand to Jabber’s chest, tracing a finger over the fresh scratches, pulling a soft, “Mmh…” from him. 

“Fucking animal,” Zanka muttered, voice rough but low with satisfaction. Jabber just laughed, rolling onto his side and looping an arm around Zanka’s waist.

“You loved it,” he said, tone dripping in smug amusement.

“Shuddup,” Zanka shot back, giving him a weak shove that only made Jabber grin wider.

Jabber’s smile turned lazy, half-hidden against Zanka’s shoulder. “You get off on making me bleed, don’t you?” he murmured, voice soft but teasing.

Zanka huffed, looking away, heat rising in his neck. “You talk too much.”

“Mm,” Jabber chuckled, fingers tracing one of the bruises on his chest. “Yeah. You like that too.”

He swung his legs off the bed, standing to head for the bathroom, but his thighs trembled, knees buckling slightly from the intensity of their session. 

Before he could catch himself, Jabber was up, swift and steady, scooping Zanka into his arms bridal-style.

“Hey! Put me down, asshole!” Zanka barked, though his hands betrayed him, curling instinctively around Jabber’s neck, fingers brushing damp strands of hair at his nape.

Jabber smirked, unbothered, his arms strong under Zanka’s weight. “What, thought you could just limp away after riding me like that? My turn to carry ya’, tough-guy.” His voice was light, dripping with that cocky charm.

Jabber carried him straight to the ensuite, stepping into the shower with him still in his arms.

Steam curled around them as warm water hit their skin, washing away the sweat and heat of the night.

Zanka down gently, but didn’t move back, his palms stayed firm on Zanka’s hips. “Round two?” he asked, grin crooked, one brow raised, water dripping down his lashes.

Zanka’s eyes flicked over Jabber’s marked-up chest, the bites and welts stark under the water. He smirked, stepping closer, one hand trailing down Jabber’s side, nails grazing just enough to make him flinch. 

“…Yeah,” Zanka said, voice low, already plotting how to make Jabber squirm again.

Chapter Text

The four of them moved through the city streets together, the afternoon heat settling like dust on their shoulders. 

“Keep it simple,” Enjin said, voice calm but firm. “Ask, listen, and don’t make a scene. We’re here to gather information, not start fights.”

Riyo smirked. “You saying that for me or for Rudo?”

“Both of you,” Zanka muttered without looking back.

Rudo scoffed. “Hey, I can behave.”

“Sure you can,” Zanka said, clapping him on the shoulder before veering off toward the market. “I’ll check the east side. Locals over there usually talk more freely.”

“Don’t get distracted,” Enjin called after him.

Zanka just raised a hand in lazy acknowledgement and disappeared into the crowd.

He slipped through rows of stalls and winding alleys, letting the noise fade behind him. The smell of smoke and spices clung to the air, and sunlight fractured between hanging fabrics and rusted tin roofs. 

Just as he rounded a narrow corner, a hand shot out from the shadows, grabbing his arm and yanking him hard into a hidden nook. Before he could react, his back hit the wall.

“Miss me?” came a low, amused voice.

Zanka’s eyes narrowed. “Jabber.”

The man’s purple hood barely hid the mess of brown locs spilling from it, and those sharp, manic violet eyes gleamed like they’d been waiting just for this. He had Zanka pinned easily, both wrists caught over his head, jabber’s rings digging into his flesh.

“I’m on a mission, Jabber.” Zanka scoffed, voice even but tight. He could break free if he wanted, kick his way out, shove him off, but he didn’t. Not yet.

“That’s never stopped us before,” Jabber murmured, grin twisting into something sly. His face drew closer, close enough that Zanka could feel his breath on his lips.

Zanka shifted his weight, jaw flexing. “You always pick the worst times.”

“Best times,” Jabber countered, his grin widening. “You just don’t get my genius.”

Zanka huffed a quiet laugh. “Your genius is a fuckin‘ mess.”

“Maybe,” Jabber said softly. His free hand rose, cold rings brushing against Zanka’s throat before his fingers settled there — light, but deliberate. A loose grip, just enough to remind him who held the advantage. “Or maybe I just know when to make you listen.”

Zanka’s pulse kicked beneath his fingers. “You really think this’ll work on me?” he muttered.

“I don’t think,” Jabber breathed, eyes glinting with something dangerous. “I know.”

Zanka’s smirk faltered for just a moment as Jabber’s thumb brushed the base of his throat. Before Zanka could snap back, Jabber closed the gap. The kiss was rough at first — reckless and claiming — but there was hunger in it, and something almost desperate. Zanka’s wrists strained against Jabber’s hold, testing, but he didn’t pull away.

When Jabber finally broke the kiss, his breath was unsteady, eyes half-lidded and wild. His hand stayed on Zanka’s throat, thumb tracing his pulse lazily.

“You’re insane,” Zanka muttered, though his voice had softened.

“Takes one to know one,” Jabber murmured, his grin small and wicked.

Zanka stared at him for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Let go.”

Jabber’s grip eased, but his hand didn’t move away completely. “Say please.”

Zanka’s laugh was quiet, dangerous. “Keep pushing and I’ll show you a fight.”

Jabber leaned in, his breath brushing Zanka’s ear. “Can’t wait.”

Jabber’s grip on Zanka’s wrists loosened, then released, his fingers trailing down to the zipper of Zanka’s jacket. 

The metallic zip sliced through the alley’s silence, sharp as a blade. Jabber’s other hand stayed on Zanka’s throat, tightening just enough to make his breath hitch. 

He leaned in, lips brushing Zanka’s throat, then pressing harder, wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing along the sensitive skin. His tongue flicked out, tasting the salt and heat, dragging slow and deliberate.

Zanka’s head tipped back against the brick, a soft, breathless groan ripping from his throat as Jabber’s fingers clamped tighter around his neck. 

The pressure was no longer just commanding — it was possessive, deliberate, squeezing hard enough to make Zanka’s pulse throb under Jabber’s grip, each beat a loud drum in his ears. 

Jabber’s thumb dug into the hollow of Zanka’s throat, squeezing his breath into shallow gasps, and the alley’s damp chill did nothing to cool the fire sparking through Zanka’s veins. 

Jabber’s tongue dragged over his pulse point, slow and obscene, teasing the sensitive skin with wet, deliberate licks that sent a shiver down Zanka’s spine.

“Fuck— Jabber,” Zanka rasped, voice cracking, frayed between defiance and something dangerously close to surrender. His hands, now free, twitched at his sides, fingers curling as he fought the urge to shove Jabber off or pull him closer. 

The tightening chokehold kept him pinned, the brick biting into his back as his chest heaved under his thin black shirt. 

Jabber’s other hand slid inside Zanka’s open jacket, fingers splaying across taut muscle, pressing hard, claiming a firm grip on his waist. His lips attacked Zanka’s throat, kissing, sucking, teeth grazing just shy of breaking skin. Another rough groan  left Zanka’s lips, raw, needy, and keening — Jabber’s grin pressed against his skin, smug and fucking triumphant.

“What’s that? Already breaking for me?” Jabber’s voice was a low growl, vibrating against Zanka’s throat as his grip tightened even more, fingers digging into the sides of Zanka’s neck, making his vision blur at the edges. 

The choke was firm, teetering on the edge of too much, and Zanka’s breath hitched, a low curse slipping out as Jabber’s tongue traced a filthy path up his jaw, savouring every shudder.

“You’re a damn bastard,” Zanka muttered, no venom left, just heat. His hands moved — one grabbing Jabber’s hip, fingers digging into the leather belt, the other yanking that damn purple hood back, exposing the chaotic spill of locs. 

“This your plan? Choke me out and fuck up my mission?”

Jabber pulled back just enough to lock eyes, his violet gaze burning with unhinged intensity. “Plan? Just reminding you who owns you.” His chokehold tightened for a split second, making Zanka’s head swim, before his fingers slid lower, hooking into Zanka’s waistband, tugging hard. 

The kiss that followed was deep, slow, all-consuming, and Zanka leaned into it, his grip on Jabber’s hip bruising.

Zanka’s laugh was rough, a choked growl. “You’re so fucking full of yourself.”

“And you’re fucking into it,” Jabber shot back, voice a low purr.

His thigh pressed between Zanka’s legs, pinning him harder against the wall. His hand squeezed Zanka’s throat again, harder now, fingers pressing into the arteries, making Zanka’s pulse pound like a war drum as Jabber’s lips returned to his neck, sucking a mark that’d be a bitch to hide by morning. 

Zanka’s moans grew louder, raw, his body arching into the pressure, the lightheaded feeling turning him limp in Jabber’s hold.

The alley was dead silent except for their ragged breathing, the wet sounds of Jabber’s mouth on Zanka’s skin, and the faint hum of the city beyond. Then, cutting through the haze like a blade, a voice echoed from the distance. “Zanka! Where are ya kid?”

Zanka froze, head still tilted back, Jabber’s grip unrelenting. Enjin’s voice, sharp and impatient, rang out again, closer now. “Zanka, move your ass!”

Jabber didn’t stop, his tongue still working Zanka’s throat, fingers tightening as if daring him to stay. But Zanka’s hands shot up, one grabbing Jabber’s wrist, the other shoving his chest hard. 

With a quick twist, he reversed their positions, slamming the taller man against the wall with a dull thud. Zanka’s hand clamped around Jabber’s throat, fingers digging in with near-full force, cutting off any sound Jabber might’ve made. His other hand pinned Jabber’s shoulder, keeping him locked in place.

“Don’t say a word,” Zanka hissed, voice low and dangerous. He leaned in close, their faces inches apart, his grip on Jabber’s throat tight enough to make his eyes widen. 

“Enjin, I’ll be there in a sec!” Zanka called back, his voice steady despite the adrenaline flooding his system.

He turned his gaze back to Jabber, and his breath caught. Jabber’s violet eyes were glazed over, half-lidded with raw, unfiltered lust, his lips parted as he gasped shallowly under Zanka’s chokehold. 

The bulge in Jabber’s pants was unmistakable, straining against the fabric, and Zanka realized just how hard he was squeezing—fingers locked tight, pressing into Jabber’s throat with enough force to make his face flush. 

Jabber didn’t fight it; his body was slack against the wall, head tilted slightly, a faint, fucked-up grin curling his lips like he was loving every second of it.

Zanka’s eyes darkened, his own pulse hammering. “You’re a maniac,” he muttered, his grip easing just enough to let Jabber breathe, but not enough to let him move.

—-

Zanka showed up nearly half an hour later than he said he would, hands buried deep in his pockets, hair a complete mess. His usually sharp composure was cracked just enough to draw looks from the others.

Rudo glanced up from the map spread across the dashboard. “You get lost or something?”

“Something like that,” Zanka muttered, tugging his already high collar up a little higher. He slid into the back seat beside Riyo, avoiding Enjin’s knowing glance in the rear-view mirror.

The car rolled out of the market district, silence filling the space between the hum of the engine and the chatter outside. Zanka leaned against the window, pretending to be far more interested in the passing street lights than the crew’s quiet curiosity.

Riyo, however, wasn’t buying it. She squinted at him, leaning in with a mischievous grin. “You look… weirdly ruffled.”

“I’m fine,” he said flatly, gaze fixed ahead.

“Uh-huh. Sure you are.” Her eyes narrowed, flicking to the collar he’d been adjusting since he got in. “Then what’s that?”

Before he could stop her, she tugged at the edge of his jacket, just enough to see beneath.

“WHAT IS THAT?!” she shrieked, pointing.

A faint bruise encircled the base of his neck, uneven, too distinct to be accidental. The shape of fingers, unmistakably human.

Zanka snapped his collar back up, his ears burning. “Mind your own business.”

Riyo’s jaw dropped. “That is Jabber’s handiwork, isn’t it?!”

Rudo turned in his seat, eyebrows raised. Enjin just sighed, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “Guess we know why he was late.”

Zanka groaned, sinking deeper into his seat. “I said drop it.”

But Riyo was already laughing, the kind of laugh that echoed off the car’s walls and made Zanka wish the ground would swallow him whole.

Enjin’s eyes met his briefly in the mirror, calm and teasing all at once. “Next time, try to finish your missions without getting ambushed by your boyfriend.”

Zanka crossed his arms, muttering under his breath, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Riyo snorted. “Right. And that bruise just magically appeared.”

Zanka turned his gaze back to the window, jaw tight but the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.

“Whatever,” he murmured. “Just drive.”

The others tried to stifle their laughter as the car rolled on, the city lights flashing over the faint mark hidden just beneath Zanka’s collar.

Chapter Text

Zanka stumbles into the street, his tiny balled-up fists wiping at the stubborn tears bubbling from his eyes. His steps are clumsy and hurried, his small frame trembling with every ragged sob.

The city around him hums with noise, cars rushing past and voices blurring together, none of it offering comfort.

He keeps going, running from the Hellguards base as fast as his legs can manage, until the ache in his chest dulls just enough for him to slow down. 

He ducks into a narrow alley, damp and shadowed, pressing his back against the cold wall as the tears keep falling.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around himself. His breathing hitches.

Surely Kyoka and Goka will come looking for me now…

When he finally looks up, his surroundings blur into the dimness of the alley — cracked bricks, dripping pipes, the sour smell of rubbish.

That’s when it hits him. He doesn’t know this place. He doesn’t know how to get home. His throat tightens, and the tears start again, harder this time. His cries echo softly against the walls.

Then, from behind a dumpster, something shifts. A small head peeks out, messy short locs, sharp features, and striking purple eyes that catch the weak light. The boy watches him in silence, curious but guarded.

Zanka freezes. Someone’s here. He sniffs hard, swiping at his face with his sleeve, trying to look tough.

“Who are you? Leave me alone!”

The other boy steps out slowly, head tilted in suspicious curiosity. His clothes are tattered, his shoes too big.

“I was gonna say the same thing,” he replies, voice accusing but steady. “You’re the one crying in my alley.”

Zanka frowns, cheeks red from crying. “It’s not your alley!”

The boy shrugs. “Sure it is. Been living here for weeks.” He tilts his head, studying Zanka. “You’re lost, huh?”

Zanka doesn’t answer, but the stiffness in his shoulders says enough. The boy slowly pads over and sits across from him, leaving just enough distance to be non-threatening.

That’s when Zanka catches it, the faint scent rolling off the strange boy. A soft, milky jasmine threaded with something earthy, like wood and rain. It hits him before he can process it, warm and strange in his chest.

He realises, too late, that the other boy’s picked up on his scent as well. His guarded posture melts into curiosity as he leans closer, nose twitching.

“Wait— what’re you doing?” Zanka stammers.

The boy doesn’t answer. He sniffs again, eyes narrowing as if trying to understand something invisible. Zanka freezes when the boy reaches out, taking his wrist. His fingers are rough and cold against Zanka’s skin.

“Let go!” Zanka yanks, but the boy’s grip tightens, not painfully, just firm, like he’s studying something. He lifts Zanka’s wrist closer to his face and breathes in deeply, his lashes lowering.

Then, without warning, the boy’s teeth graze his skin — a small, curious bite, not hard enough to break it, but sharp enough to sting.

Zanka’s face goes crimson. He swats the boy’s head hard.

“OW!— hey!” the boy yelps, clutching his head and glaring at him. “What was that for?”

“You bit me!” Zanka shouts, face flushed scarlet. “You don’t just bite people!”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” the boy argues, rubbing his head. “You just smell funny. Like something I should know.” 

”That doesn’t mean you get to bite me!” Zanka snaps.

The boy huffs. “Fine. Sorry.” He sits back, grumbling under his breath. “Didn’t know it would make you freak out.”

Zanka glares at him, still cradling his wrist, the faint warmth of the bite lingering on his skin. His voice softens a little. “You’re weird.”

The boy grins despite himself. “You’re the one crying in an alley, weirdo.”

Zanka pouts, looking away. “You could have just asked.”

“Wouldn’t be as fun,” the boy mutters with a teasing smirk. Then his nose twitches again, his brows furrowing. “You really do smell different though. I’ve never met anyone I could smell before.”

Zanka looks at him, startled. “Me neither. I can smell you too, but I’m too young to present yet.”

“Me too,” the boy says after a moment, quieter now, almost thoughtful. “Your scent… it’s nice.”

Zanka hesitates, his irritation softening into something unfamiliar.

Jabber leans back slightly, eyes studying him. “Kinda cool, huh? That we can even notice each others scents.”

Zanka frowns, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest. “No… it’s weird.”

Jabber grins. “Weird or not, you’re still sitting here.”

Zanka rolled his eyes but didn't move away.  A faint sting hummed where he had been bitten, and beneath it, something else. A warmth that shouldn’t be there, a pull that neither of them understands.

After a long silence, the boy finally says, “Name’s Jabber.”

Zanka looks up, reluctant curiosity in his eyes. “Zanka.”

“Zanka, huh?” Jabber says quietly. “Guess that bite makes us even now.”

Zanka shoots him a look. “Try it again and you’ll lose your teeth.”

Jabber grins, unbothered. “Noted.” He shuffles a little closer, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “So, why were you crying?”

Zanka wraps his arms around himself again, shoulders hunching. “I got in a fight with my family,” he mutters, voice muffled against his sleeves. “They say I’m not learning fast enough, and at this rate I’ll… present as an omega.” He spits out the last word like it burns.

Jabber blinks, tilting his head. “What’s wrong with being an omega?”

Zanka looks up. Jabber’s eyes aren’t mocking or disgusted. They’re just curious, open, almost innocent.

Nothing like the looks Zanka gets at home whenever the word omega comes up. Those looks are full of disdain, disappointment, and something colder.

Zanka exhales and lets his arms fall to his sides, sitting up straighter. “My family says they’re weak. That I’ll never be a Hellguard if I end up one. That’s why I’m gonna be an alpha, just like my siblings, I know it.”

Jabber hums softly, leaning back on his hands. “Sounds like they don’t know much.”

Zanka frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They’re wrong,” Jabber says with a shrug. “Even if you’re an omega, that doesn’t mean anything. You’re still strong, you just have to prove it.”

Zanka blinks, unsure how to respond. No one’s ever said it like that before.

“…You think I can?” He mutters.

Jabber grins, sharp and certain. “I know you can. You hit pretty hard for a crybaby.”

Zanka glares, but there’s no real anger in it this time. “You’re annoying.”

“Probably,” Jabber says, unconcerned. He studies Zanka for a moment longer, eyes narrowing slightly, that faint jasmine-wood scent still drifting from him.

“…But you don’t seem weak to me.”

Zanka’s breath catches, surprised by the quiet honesty in his tone. He looks away quickly, pretending to inspect the ground. “You don’t know me.”

“Maybe not,” Jabber replies, kicking at a pebble. “But I can smell you.”

Zanka groans. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

For a while, neither speaks. The sun has just begun to set, casting a soft orange glow across the alley. 

The long shadows stretch over the cracked pavement, and the noise of the city dulls to a distant hum. Zanka’s earlier tears have dried, replaced by something steadier, a faint warmth that settles quietly in his chest.

Jabber shifts and pats the ground beside him. “You can sit closer. I don’t bite.”

Zanka shoots him a look but moves over anyway, slow and hesitant. Their shoulders brush, and for a moment, neither breathes. Jasmine and vanilla mix faintly in the air, their scents blending until the tension fades.

Zanka leans in, resting his head against Jabber’s shoulder with a reluctant sigh. “Just tired,” he mumbles.

Jabber smiles, small and content. “Sure you are.”

Their scents settle together, calm and steady, their small hands intertwining. For the first time that day, Zanka feels safe.

—-

A sharp yell cuts through the quiet night, “ZANKA!”

Zanka jolts awake, heart hammering, eyes wide. He scrambles back slightly, pulling his head from Jabber’s shoulder. Jabber sits up too, eyes scanning the alley, tense.

“They found you,” Jabber whispers, voice low. His hand squeezes Zanka’s.

Zanka swallows, trying to steady himself. “I’ll come back for you,” he promises, slowly rising to his feet, already missing the calming embrace of Jabber's scent.

Jabber nods, urgency in his gaze. “I’ll wait. Just… don’t get caught here.”

Zanka hesitates, then dashes toward the sound, just as Jabber scrambles the other way, slipping into the shadows.

By the time the footsteps round the corner, his two siblings are there, expressions a mix of relief and exasperation. They spot his small frame in the alley and rush forward, calling his name.

Zanka stops for a heartbeat, glancing back over his shoulder, hoping Jabber is already gone. The alley is empty, save for the faint trace of his scent lingering in the air.

Kyoka scoops him into her arms while Goka checks him over for injuries, worry and annoyance etched in her features. “I can’t believe you ran off, and in the middle of training no less. Anything could’ve happened to you, Zanka…”

Her words blend into white noise as Zanka’s gaze lingers on the alley behind them, searching for the faint remnants of Jabber’s scent.

“Are you listening?” Kyoka raises an eyebrow, adjusting him on her hip.

“Kyoka… if I were an omega…” Zanka murmurs, eyes fixed on the floor, “would I still be strong?”

She scoffs lightly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Zanka.”

“It doesn’t matter what the elders say,” Goka adds firmly. “You will present as an alpha. You just have to keep proving it.”

—-

Zanka dreamt of him, he always did. No matter how much time passed, that scent lingered in the back of his mind.

The memory was hazy at best; his name had long since slipped away. Those purple eyes and that jasmine and wood scent, wrapping him in a warmth he’d never feel again.

His gaze drifts to the faint bite scar on his wrist. Sometimes it still pulsed, a quiet ache beneath the skin, tugging at him. An inexplicable pull toward his fated mate. 

They’d been too young to know. Too young to understand what their bond meant, or how impossible it would be to find each other again.

Zanka often wondered what he’d look like now. Whether his scent had deepened, stronger, steadier, like aged wood after rain. 

He’d never admit it aloud, but every crowd he passed made his pulse quicken, just for a moment, searching for a trace of jasmine and warmth that never came.

It was foolish, he knew. That life was long behind him. The Hellguards, the world he’d run from. Now he was a Cleaner and an omega, living by different rules, chasing different goals.

He leaned back in his seat, watching the world blur past the window. The car rumbled softly beneath him, the city shrinking away behind them.

Gris’ voice broke the silence. “We’re close, the merchant should be waiting outside the ruins.”

Zanka blinked, pulling himself out of the haze of memory. “Right,” he muttered.

He stared out the window again, mind drifting as the conversation up front blurred into background noise. 

Something about a merchant, attacked by a trash beast, she’d said. Her cargo stolen. A Sphereite, of all things. Just another job, another mess to clean.

But as the car met the destination point, a faint burn stirred beneath his wrist, subtle yet familiar. 

Zanka froze, breath catching as the ghost of jasmine and wood brushed faintly against his senses, a scent he hadn’t felt in years.