Chapter Text
It’s in that moment — the time that comes after an orgasm, but before a morning after — that Zanka thinks she can get used to this.
She’s sitting in a bed that isn’t hers, but she’s so familiar with it that it’s starting to feel like her own. She’s naked, willingly open, frighteningly honest, instead of wearing any kind of clothing. There was a time when she’d, at the very least, throw a shirt on after sex, but she’s come to appreciate this comfortable sort of nudity where you just… exist in your own skin.
At least she has when she’s in Jabber’s company.
Jabber, who’s also naked, beautiful, lips full and wet, tasting of Zanka and the earthy thickness of the required post orgasm joint she’s smoking. The air smells of weed and the damp combination of fabric-softened bedsheets and the slick liquid that Jabber tongued out of Zanka, however much of it she didn’t greedily devour herself. Zanka’s thighs need a shower, but she knows if she proposes the idea Jabber will follow her, and they’ll be right back where they started.
A lovely thought, but one for later, after they’ve fully appreciated the quiet.
Jabber passes the joint to Zanka, who used to not even know how to hold it, but now her fingers bring it to her lips with ease, breathing it in and letting it massage the pleasurable aftermath deep into her bones. “Shit,” she whispers, taking another hit before she passes it back to Jabber. “Can’t believe I was so against this stuff before.”
Jabber laughs with ease, puckering her lips and blowing out the smoke from the hit she took. It’s one of the sexiest things Zanka has ever seen, right down to Jabber licking her lips as if she’s chasing after the taste of the high.
“You’re a proper lady,” Jabber says. “It’s in your blood to put up a fuss about some harmless ass weed.”
“Never again,” Zanka promises. “You’ve officially made me an improper lady.”
Zanka thought she would’ve had a bigger problem with that. She’s put a lot of work into this image of hers, the layered pieces of clothing and poise only an elitist family could love — or rather, acknowledge, since that’s as close to love as she’ll ever get from them. All the years of being trained to sit up straight, no elbows on the table, say please and thank you, completely undone by piercings and a wicked smile.
Zanka wouldn’t have it any other way.
Jabber turns, brushing her lips against Zanka’s, quietly urging her to part them for her. Zanka obliges and is rewarded with Jabber gently blowing the smoke into her mouth with a deep, satisfied sound. “Fuck,” she whispers. “You’re so amazing, Zanka.”
Zanka takes a breath and gets ready for what’s to come. As nice as the quiet of the moment is, Jabber never sits in it for long. It’s like if things are too calm, it makes her skin itch, so she’s constantly doing something to get things going again. Over time, Zanka thinks that maybe she can get Jabber to appreciate the quiet spaces between the noise, but for now, she mentally prepares herself for another round. “I’m amazin’, huh?”
“Yeah. One of the most amazin’ women I’ve ever met.”
Zanka blinks, caught off guard by the praise. It’s not like Jabber hasn’t praised her before — if anything, she’s a pro at complimenting Zanka any chance she gets. Still, there’s something about her tone of voice, the way those captivating magenta eyes look at her with such… finality? “You don’t gotta go that far…”
“I’m serious! I’ve really enjoyed our time together, ya know?”
“… enjoyed?” As in… past tense?
“Yeah, I… yeah.”
And just like that.
It’s over.
Zanka watches Jabber’s lips moving, showing that she’s saying something, but for some reason, the sound fades away into a piercing buzz that feels like it’s meant to punish Zanka.
Because despite Zanka’s thoughts of being fully comfortable, of someday getting Jabber to nestle into the slowness every now and then, deep down she knew this would end eventually.
And it has nothing to do with her occasional bouts of low self-esteem.
(Okay, it partially has something to do with that).
(It’s just not the only reason).
(This time).
Zanka had been told about Jabber — not warned, but told, because her best friend Riyo knows that Zanka’s a grown-ass woman who can make her own decisions. So she’d been told about the ridiculously attractive barista with the piercings who was always down to have a good time, which was perfect for an overworked, overly stressed woman like Zanka. You could fuck Jabber, or she could fuck you, or you could fuck each other, since Jabber’s preferences were “yes” and “now” as she followed feelings and vibes and just went with the flow.
But if you expected something deeper, you’d…
… well, actually, it’s more complicated than that.
Because it’s not like Jabber is opposed to being in a relationship. She’ll go out for meals or share a milkshake with two straws (not Zanka, though; she wants it all to herself, get your own, which always makes Jabber laugh). She’ll go to the zoo and geek out over bugs and reptiles. She’ll go to amusement parks with roller coasters that never go fast enough or have high enough drops for her taste.
So her being down to have a good time isn’t strictly sexual, if you’re interesting enough. She’s capable of watching bad movies and falling asleep on the couch, playing board games, or getting high and vegging out on snacks.
The problem is Jabber gets… bored.
Jabber’s the girl who sticks her body out of the sunroof of a car as it speeds down the highway. She’s the girl with a wicked bruise on her waist because she didn’t let her ribs heal properly when they were broken in the middle of a fight. She and adrenaline are besties, and when it gets too quiet, she moves on to the next fix.
That’s Jabber Wonger in a nutshell, and if you go in knowing that, you’ll be perfectly fine. And that’s exactly what Zanka had done, even waiting four whole visits to the coffee shop before finally even acknowledging the woman.
So yeah, Zanka’s fine right now, sitting in this moment where Jabber is breaking up with her.
She’s fine.
Honest.
Which is why she can feel her body temperature rising alongside something else — anger? No, she’s not angry. She can’t be. She knew exactly what she was getting into, was fine with using it for as long as she could, so… no, this isn’t anger, this is-
“Zan-Zan? Ya good? You’re kinda just… sitting there…”
Fuck her fuck her fuck her fuck her- “Yep. I should go.”
“Go?”
Oh ain’t no way this BITCH is sounding disapPOINTed when she just… wait, what exactly did she say? The sound had cut out during… why did the sound cut out like that?
“I… yeah, yeah that makes sense,” Jabber laughs. LAUGHS! Laughs like she’s nervous or… regretful? Does she regret- “I mean, I did mean what I said, ya know? You. Are. Amazing. Truly amazing. I just… it’s all starting to feel… routine, or… hm… is that the best word?”
Jabber searches for more words to finish her ongoing thoughts.
Zanka considers searching for a large stick to slam into her face.
… yeah, she should go now.
Zanka slips out of bed and starts grabbing her clothes, mentally telling herself to leave as fast as she can, or else she’s going to lose any sense of dignity and replace it with R A G E. Because the audacity, the pure, unadulterated audacity of this woman. Too routine? Too ROUTINE??? As if Jabber hasn’t gotten her used to the “routine” they now share. As if Jabber hasn’t infected her, hasn’t sunk her nails into her and rooted around her body, rearranging her insides into this thing that craves the smoke from her lips, the taste of her pussy in the shower she thought they’d be taking together.
What in the hell is wrong with routine when it feels this fucking good???
“But you knew that going in,” says a voice in Zanka’s head, a judgmental one that sounds suspiciously like one of her goddamn older sisters. Not like she’s told them about Jabber. Her dating life is none of their business; she would never set herself up for failure like that. But here her eldest sister is, circling around in her head, unprompted, all smoky eye makeup and fiery red hair in an obvious lesbian haircut. “You knew what you were getting into. If she’s breaking up with you, it’s because you’re no longer interesting.”
Yep. Sounds like Kyouka, all right. Thanks for that, Jabber.
“Zan-Zan, come on, let me try to explain.”
“I think you’ve explained enough,” then Zanka gets her clothes back on in record time and leaves the bedroom, making her way down the hall and to the front door.
“Wait, I… shit, just… stop for a second!”
That does, in fact, get Zanka to stop walking. She turns to face Jabber, trying to keep her emotions at bay, but she’s pretty sure she’s unconsciously flipping through a Rolodex of feelings that she can’t hide on her face. Because why is Jabber chasing after her like this if her goal is to end things? What is so important for her to say?
“Listen, it’s not-”
Zanka can’t stop the words from coming out. “Don’t you dare say it’s not you, it’s me.”
Jabber frantically shakes her head, the few beads she has in her locs clacking together. “But it’s true! It literally is me!”
Zanka crosses her arms. “How very self-aware of you.”
“Thanks, I try.”
“I was being sarcastic, you absolute-” “Zanka. Keep yourself together. You’re a Nijiku for fuck’s sake.”
And there’s the voice of her other sister, the middle child with the permanent scowl and perfectly butch hairstyle. Zanka and Goka don’t really get along, not that they have to. They’ve perfected the art of courteous greetings whenever they have to be in the same room, usually at family gatherings where people are there to brag about their success instead of spending legitimate time together.
Zanka’s never really lived up to her family’s standards — always an A without the required plus — but right now, in this moment, even if she’s very much outgrown the need to impress them (at least that’s what she tells herself), she decides to embrace their notions of keeping your head held high in every situation life throws at you.
“You know what, nevermind. You’ve made your choice,” then Zanka turns and heads for the door once again.
“Hey, you um… you’re okay, right?”
Zanka stops and glances over her shoulder at Jabber. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Great! Well, I guess I’ll see ya around, yeah?”
“Well I still gotta get my coffee from somewhere so… yeah,” because Jabber’s fooling herself if she thinks Zanka’s going to change her, ahem, routine, because of this. She likes the coffee at the cafe Jabber works at and has zero plans of giving it up. “I’ll see ya around.”
And just like that, she’s gone.
“Is the sex really that good? Because if that’s what you’re looking for, I’d be more than happy to be your rebound.”
“Tamsy!” The offended yell comes from Follo and her trusty cap, the sound a mix of overprotectiveness with a hint of get to the back of the line — not like she’d say that out loud. “Don’t joke around like that, Zanka’s been through enough.”
Tamsy responds with a perfectly dramatic hair flip. With all that hair, Zanka can’t say she blames her. It’s practically got a personality of its own. “I’m not joking, sweetie, I'm shooting my shot.”
Riyo throws a pillow at Tamsy, hitting her square in the face. “You’re lucky I don’t have anything harder nearby,” she says.
“You wouldn’t dream of it. Zanka would be distraught if you broke something of hers.”
Riyo smiles sweetly, eyes a piercing shade of bright, highlighter green. “My aim’s pretty good. Wanna try me?”
“Ugh, this is not why I called y’all here this morning!”
Zanka is sitting on her bed, dressed in a hoodie and leggings, having gone on a run that had lasted far too long. That’s what happens when you’re trying to run away from your feelings, so she did what any woman would do — marked herself as working remote for the day instead of coming into the office, claim she was too busy to take any meetings, and call her friends to come over.
Riyo, Follo, and Tamsy all have different approaches when it comes to comfort. Riyo, for example, is way too willing to, quote, “Beat a bitch’s ass.” Zanka doesn’t necessarily want her to pummel Jabber into the ground, but she does want to hurt her somehow to make up for the crap she felt last night and especially for the lingering crap she still feels this morning. Meanwhile, Follo is an absolute sweetheart... to Zanka, at least; she’ll definitely glare Jabber into oblivion if she sees her again. But for Zanka? Well, if given the chance, she’d massage her shoulders, massage her feet, massage her… oops, there goes Zanka’s defenses, lowered and relaxed, and somehow Follo’s hands would massage her breasts, her thighs, and tell her how amazing she is.
As nice as that sounds, Zanka doesn’t want to lose focus. She doesn’t want to move on, even if that’s the healthiest thing she could, and should, do.
And so? There’s Tamsy.
Tamsy lives for the drama of it all and will unapologetically poke at it to make it worse. She also lives for taking advantage of situations that benefit her, like the time Zanka was so stressed from work that Tamsy fucked it right out of her, or the other time when her siblings upset her so much that Tamsy fucked their names out of her, or the time-…
Yeah, Zanka definitely can’t be alone with Tamsy if she hopes to accomplish anything. Can’t be alone with any of her friends, to be honest. Zanka knows if she’s going to legitimately sort through her feelings, she needs the three of them to be together instead of letting them comfort her separately.
“You’re right. We’re sorry, Zanka.”
“Don’t speak for me, Follo.”
“We’re sorry, Zanka,” Follo says again, ignoring Tamsy. “How about you tell us what you need?”
Ah. There it is. The million-dollar question that Zanka can’t afford to answer… well, her family can easily afford a cool million, but is it worth it?
“I’m not sure what I need.”
“Yeah you are,” Riyo says, poking Zanka’s cheek. “You always know what you need.”
Riyo’s right. Zanka usually has it all figured out like she’s got it written out in a planner and scheduled at certain times. But that’s what makes Jabber so appealing. Jabber wasn’t supposed to be more than an occasional fling, a self-esteem booster, even, since she had a tendency to talk Zanka up as a form of foreplay.
But at some point? She became more.
At some point, Zanka realized that Jabber, in all of her natural attractiveness and willingness to do whatever, is so much more than sexual. There’s a freedom in everything that makes her, her. In a world full of rules and regulations, Jabber does what she wants, even when she’s relegated to things like working a job and paying bills. Her carefree attitude is a luxury that Zanka’s never truly experienced, not until she was in Jabber’s orbit; then suddenly, all sense of structure freely left her body.
How can she possibly be expected to let that go?
How can Jabber not realize why she’d want to sit and bask in it instead of rushing off to the next thing?
How can she get Jabber to stay still? How can she get Jabber to stay still… with her?
“I need her,” Zanka whispers, like she’s ashamed to admit it. Such an admission is peak vulnerability, and Zanka’s been raised to never reveal even an inch of her true, pathetic feelings. What she should be feeling, according to the way Nijiku do things, is anger, maybe even embarrassment, but mostly at herself for not being able to keep Jabber satisfied. Nijiku are good at everything they do, so a breakup translates to Zanka’s own shortcomings.
Those feelings are there, but louder than all of them combined is a simple desire to want what she had with Jabber back.
“Dang,” Riyo says. No judgment. Never judgment. “I can’t believe you didn’t go off on her if she’s making you feel like this.”
“Guess my sisters actually came through for once.”
Riyo raises an eyebrow and says, “Ain’t no way either of those bitches gave you good advice.”
“Not directly, but… I dunno, in this situation, it was pretty effective to calmly walk away with my dignity intact instead of threatening to bash her face in.”
“She would’ve liked that,” Tamsy points out. “She’s quite the curious girl.”
“Tamsy…” that sounds dangerously close to flirting, in Zanka’s opinion.
“Now now, don’t worry. I’m not going to attempt anything with her. Though if you ever want someone to observe you two…”
“Can we stay focused, Tamsy?”
Tamsy smirks at Follo and leans over, whispering into her ear. “You thought about it too, yes?”
“Anyway!” Follo’s entire face turns red, incriminating her more than any sort of admission. “Zanka, you want her back? Really?”
“I-”
“Don’t think about it,” Riyo says. “Just say the first thing that comes to mind.”
It comes out a lot easier than Zanka expects it to. “Yeah. I do.”
“You certainly aren’t going to ask for her back, are you?” The thought makes Tamsy look like she’s going to vomit.
“Not like that would even work. Besides, I gotta maintain some pride, ya know?”
“Ah. There’s that Nijiku spirit. Actually… maybe you can keep using it.”
Now it’s Zanka’s turn to be confused. “What do ya mean, Riyo?”
The smile on Riyo’s face doesn’t quite reach her eyes. While it can still be classified as a smile, something about it has an almost sinister edge. “Wanna get her back, yeah? But you also wanna get back at her. You wanna make her realize how big of a mistake she’s made.”
Zanka’s always been prideful, maybe even more prideful than her siblings in certain situations. She’s definitely more stubborn; otherwise she wouldn’t even consider pursuing a woman like Jabber. Riyo knows that even if Zanka wants Jabber back, she also wants to make her feel that hot wash of humiliation and regret.
Just because she misses her doesn’t mean she can’t be petty.
“… ain’t no use denyin’ it, huh?”
“Nope! And I know exactly what you need to do.” Riyo rubs her hands together as if she’s waited her whole life to pull off whatever plan she’s come up with. “I’m gonna need you to take off your bra.”
Follo blushes at the mere mention of Zanka and her bra.
Tamsy grins, mind already supplying her with a visual image.
And Zanka?
Zanka just stares blankly at Riyo and responds with an ever-so-helpful declaration of, “Huh?”
This is not how Zanka imagined spending her day.
But here she is, stepping into the coffee shop where Jabber works, feeling exposed despite the fact that she’s fully clothed. Well, not fully, due to her tank top and lack of bra. She thinks the top is usually looser, but it feels like it’s hugging her breasts in an attempt to show them off.
She wants to turn back around and leave, tell Riyo this is a silly idea, and resort to eating ice cream and listening to sad music. But then she spots… her. A young woman who looks to be around the same age as Zanka, brazenly flirting with Jabber for the entire shop to see.
And Zanka can’t have that, now can she?
“You all go get us a table. I’m gonna go order a drink.”
“Hell yeah, girl,” Riyo says before she walks off with Follo and Tamsy.
Zanka’s been told she has a natural sort of grace when she moves, the kind of thing where her hips effortlessly get into position to charm women like Jabber. To be honest, Zanka practices everything she does so it can be perfect, but she knows she has to make it look like she doesn’t.
Especially now, post-breakup, when there’s some random [censored] attempting to talk with Jabber.
“It’s just coffee,” she whispers to herself. “Just coffee in a tank top without a bra.”
At least that’s what she thinks until she sees Jabber looking at her like she’s just descended from heaven — or maybe risen from hell, depending on Jabber’s preferences for the day. Her eyes are locked right onto Zanka’s chest, particularly her nipples, which are poking through the fabric as if they’re purposely trying to say hello.
Zanka resists the urge to look over at Riyo who, most likely, has the biggest I told you so grin on her face. Riyo’s gotten her this far, though. Now she has to do her part.
Ignore Jabber completely.
So Zanka walks over to the counter with every ounce of movement training. Ballet lessons. Gymnastics. Martial arts. Every physical activity you can give the youngest daughter in a perfectionist family. Even Cthoni, one of the regular baristas, looks captivated by her — truly an achievement, because the only thing Cthoni’s captivated by is clocking out for the day.
“Hey. Can I get my usual? My friends are still deciding so they’ll come up later.”
Cthoni takes a moment to appreciate the tank top, not even trying to hide what her eyes are looking at, but then she actually looks at Zanka’s arms, of all things, and says, “Nice.”
Her sisters work out to be strong or whatever. Zanka does it for little stamps of approval from lesbian baristas. She and her sisters are not the same. “Thanks.”
“I’ll call you when your order’s ready. You can hang out here if you want.”
Don’t look at Jabber don’t look at Jabber don’t look at Jabber. “Naw, I’ll go sit with my friends, but thanks.”
“She’s staring, by the way.”
Don’t look don’t look don’t look. “Oh? Is she?”
“Isn’t that the point?”
“Maybe.”
“Relax. I’m on your side.”
“Really?”
Cthoni shrugs. “Out of all the girls who’ve flirted with Jabber, you’re the most interesting.”
Zanka can feel herself getting flustered over the praise, though part of her suspects Cthoni may be biased because Zanka tips like it's a professional sport she’s trying to win a gold medal for. “Oh. Then yeah, her staring is the point.”
“May I recommend some light flirting with one of your friends?”
Oh. Oh. And ooooooh.
Zanka glances over at her friend group, quietly assessing each of them. Truly, there’s only one answer, what with Riyo being like a sister and Follo being the type of girl that Jabber would consider messing around with — huh, maybe when this is all over. “Tamsy, yeah?”
“Long-haired one? Kinda a bitch?”
There’s no kinda about it. Tamsy wears the bitch label like she invented it herself. “I’ll see what I can do.”
When Zanka makes it over to the table, her friends all look up at her, trying to get a read of the situation. Zanka sits down and says, “It’s working, but Cthoni came up with something else to add to it.”
“Is it something that’ll stop that bitch from pawing at your girlfriend?”
Zanka knew that Riyo would say something like that about the customer who, as far as Zanka can tell, is still flirting with Jabber. Zanka will not resort to name-calling, but she isn’t going to stop Riyo, either. Freedom of speech, yeah? “Jabber ain’t my girlfriend.”
“Not yet,” Follo corrects. “So really, that new girl’s just wasting her time.”
Zanka smiles a little at Follo and makes a mental note to change clothes in front of her later so she can get an eyeful of her chest. That should be a good enough reward for gassing her up.
“What’s this plan that the other barista came up with?” Tamsy asks.
“Oh right. I need ya to flirt with me.”
Tamsy actually looks surprised, like she can’t believe Zanka suggested such a thing. It’s not that Tamsy’s against the idea — far from it, actually — she just thought she’d be the one to bring up something like this. Tamsy glances over at Cthoni and smiles. “I like the way she thinks.”
“Why Tamsy, though? No offense,” Follo says, though she absolutely means full offense.
“None taken, dear Follo. I’m going to assume it’s because you’d blush too much and not follow through.”
Follo coughs, sputtering out her next words. “I-I would not!”
“Oh? May I demonstrate, then?”
Tamsy proceeds to rest her hand on Zanka’s thigh. She doesn’t do anything else. She just lets her fingers linger, nails gently settling against Zanka’s pants as she just… smiles at her. A soft, pretty smile, one that matches the tenderness of her eyes that promise something more intimate that her hand can do.
“Holy shit,” Riyo whispers as she glances over at Jabber. Jabber is definitely staring, but not at Zanka, and not at Tamsy, but at Tamsy’s hand, specifically, like she wants to slam it into a car door.
“It’s nothing against you, Follo. You’re just too sweet of a girl to pull this off. So let me play the flirtatious whore, okay?”
In that time, Tamsy has moved her hand a little bit higher, not enough to attempt to snake between Zanka’s legs, but enough to give the impression of that being her intention.
“Fine, you are good at portraying a conniving bitch.” Follo smiles when she says it, voice syrupy sweet when she speaks.
Zanka, meanwhile, lets the two work through whatever you call it when your friends fight over who gets to touch your thigh in front of your ex. It does seem to have an effect on Jabber, who barely pays attention to the bitch — Riyo’s word, not hers — giving out her phone number. Eventually the woman leaves and Jabber goes back to work, doing her best to not look at the hand that’s gotten comfortable on Zanka’s thigh.
It’s a start, but Zanka knows it’ll take more to get under Jabber’s skin.
The rest of the week is a mind game on par with the board meetings Zanka has to sit through at work. She never thought she’d be thankful to have a family who can make a corporate job feel like a matter of life and death, but the surprising amount of intricate plotting that happens between the cubicles has helped her meticulous planning in Operation Make Jabber Jealous.
Step one: Zanka does not go to the coffee shop every day. She has to let Jabber sit in her sudden feelings of jealousy so she can realize how much she misses her.
Step two: When going to the coffee shop, Zanka makes sure to bring her friends — particularly Tamsy, who puts her hands somewhere on her body. The closer to her breasts or between her legs, the better.
Step three: Zanka no longer wears bras… at least when going to the coffee shop. It’s an addictive feeling, though, which is making her question the usefulness of the undergarment.
Step four: Zanka does not talk to Jabber unless she’s the one taking her order. When they do talk, it’s brief, yet polite, as if they never dated at all.
Zanka doesn’t call it manipulation. She’s simply helping Jabber realize the foolishness of their breakup.
The ultimate move, however, will be over the weekend when they go to the club that Jabber’s going to with… what’s her date’s name? Cthoni had said what it was at one point, but Zanka hasn’t bothered to commit it to memory yet. Regardless, Zanka knows that’s where she and Jabber are meeting for their date (thanks Cthoni), which will be the perfect opportunity to kick things up a notch.
Even if Zanka isn’t much of a club person.
Her friends are, though, and the bartender makes the obnoxiously loud music and crowds worth it, what with her well-crafted drinks and her absurd level of attractiveness. Zanka may be going all in with Jabber, but just one smile from Semiu would fix her life.
All that’s left is to find the right dress and-
Knock.
Knock knock.
Zanka tilts her head when she hears a knock at her door. She’s not expecting company, and she certainly hasn’t buzzed anyone in. She doesn’t remember ordering food either. A neighbor in her apartment complex, perhaps? She walks over to the door, looks through the peephole and…
Fuck.
Standing on the other side is one of her sisters — Goka, specifically, who doesn’t look happy about using her lunch break to come over. Zanka’s been working remote more than usual; of course her sisters would notice. She guesses she should be thankful that Goka hasn’t used her spare key to walk in unannounced.
Zanka takes a breath and opens the door, immediately reminded of their comical height difference. Zanka’s tall compared to Riyo, but she might as well still be in elementary school whenever she’s next to Goka. Everything about her is larger than life, all broad shoulders and intimidating physique that no amount of formal business clothing can hide. But Goka likes it that way, likes looking like she literally crushes opposing companies with her thighs instead of with sales and statistics.
Kyouka’s worse, but the redhead isn’t here for Zanka to stress about. One sister at her place is enough, thanks.
“Ah, so you are still alive,” Goka says, staying right outside the door as if coming in is too much of an inconvenience. She’s probably allergic to Zanka’s humble little apartment since she and Kyouka believe in high-rise condominiums that overlook the entire city.
For any other family, assuming someone’s dead because they’ve been working from home is beyond overdramatic. For a Nijiku? Remote is not an option (even if, legally, it is). “Yeah, sorry. Just haven’t been feeling well.”
“You look fine.”
Zanka is fine. Physically, at least. Mentally, she’s all over the place, but trying to explain that to her sister is like talking to a brick wall. “I’ll be in on Monday.”
“Monday? Zanka, it’s Friday.”
“Right.” When Goka doesn’t say anything, Zanka takes a deep breath. She can’t believe she has to explain how weekends work. “It’s the last day of work today. We get the weekend off…”
Goka looks surprised, no, appalled, really. “I assumed you’d be at the office this weekend to make up for the days you missed.”
“I was still working…” it’s a weak argument to make and she knows it. Maybe if she were some entry-level employee, but she’s a Nijiku. She’s supposed to show her face at the office so people can whisper about the trio of overly impressive sisters. She’s missed out on valuable worship us time.
“I see. You’ve been working like that?” Goka nods to Zanka’s outfit — the bland pants, the dull shirt; more specifically, she nods to her chest.
Surely her sister understands the freedom of being braless in her own home, right? There’s no way she wears a bra all the time, right? Why would anyone with breasts in the triple letters do that to themselves — actually, Goka may be past the first four letters of the alphabet. “Goka, I’m at home.”
“At home making excuses. I will never understand why Kyouka insists on giving you chances.”
Great. This is exactly what Zanka needs right now. She already feels lousy because of this whole Jabber situation; now she feels lousy because she’s being reminded that she’s the failure of the family. To think, she’s been using her sisters as inspiration in managing her feelings during this breakup. How quickly she’s forgotten how mean they are.
“… I’ll be in tomorrow,” Zanka says, head lowered, unable to look at Goka anymore.
“Hmph. If you actually cared you’d come in right now.”
“Right. Let me get dressed. You can come in and wait if you want.”
Goka scoffs at the thought of setting foot into her infinity pool-less, walk-in closet-less apartment and says, “I’m going to go and enjoy the rest of my lunch break. Be at the office in an hour,” before she turns and walks off.
Zanka closes the door, waits long enough to be sure that Goka still isn’t in the hallway, and screams.
Zanka already knows that when she goes into the office she’ll be whispered about. The lower-level folks with crushes on the youngest Nijiku will be fine, but the higher-ups? The ones with business suits sewn into their skin?
And then there’s Kyouka herself and-… “Fuck!”
This is Jabber’s fault. Had Jabber not thrown her off her game so badly…
“You absolute menace of a bitch,” Zanka whispers, tugging at her hair like she needs the hit of pain to work through her anger. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me, what you’ve put me through.” And for what? Because things were getting too comfortable between them? Too quiet? Too predictable? “That means we like each other, you piece of shit!”
Zanka needs to calm down. She can’t go to work like this, but can’t go into her kitchen to try to make a cup of tea to calm her nerves; otherwise, she’ll break something.
She can, however, reach out to a friend.
Riyo’s too good, to be honest. She’d offer to curse Goka out while armed with a matcha latte for Zanka to drink afterwards. She makes the most sense logically, but Zanka, admittedly, is not in a logical headspace right now. That means Follo’s also out. She’d pepper Zanka with too many compliments and reminders that she’s the best girl to ever exist. Ugh, why can’t Zanka make herself settle for a good girl? Why does she always have to be attracted to the loose cannons?
That’s not to say that Follo doesn’t have a mean streak; she’ll just never use it on Zanka.
Which leaves Tamsy.
Tamsy’s a bad idea. Tamsy’s a problem. Tamsy’s the exact opposite of who she needs to call when she’s feeling this frustrated.
Which is why Zanka’s already grabbing her phone.
“Zanka? What is it?”
Zanka is already headed into her bedroom, going to her trusty nightstand. “Ya got a minute? Maybe like... ten or fifteen?”
The smirk can be heard in Tamsy’s voice. “I’m working right now, but I can take a break.”
“That cool?”
“Yes, dear. I can spare some time.”
Zanka opens the drawer and looks over the contents inside. Various toys greet her, reliable tools that are always there when she needs them. She brushes her fingers against one of them, a sleek vibrator in a calming shade of blue, complete with an extra piece that kisses her clit oh so sweetly.
Zanka sighs. She probably doesn’t have time for Lovely, not when she has to get to the office. Besides, the last time she played with her, Jabber was right by her side, calling Lovely a pretty girl and actually thanking her for taking such good care of Zanka. “One day I’ll introduce you to my Mankira.”
And wow, she certainly did. That had been such a-
Zanka slams the drawer shut. Why does everything remind her of Jabber?!
“Zanka?”
“Ah, sorry.” Zanka sets her phone down and puts it on speaker before she slides off the unremarkable pants she’s wearing. She doesn’t bother taking off her shirt, instead choosing to sit on her bed and slide back until she feels her headboard. “Was just gettin’ comfortable.”
“Are your legs spread yet?”
“No.”
“They should be.”
Zanka takes a breath, lets the words wash over her as she spreads her legs apart.
“What are you wearing?”
“Just a shirt. An old university one.”
“Bra?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Squeeze your breasts through the shirt.”
Straight and to the point. That’s all Zanka has time for right now. She’ll consider going deeper into it after work tonight, depending on her mood. Zanka closes her eyes and moves the palms of her hands over her chest, the combination of cotton and a need to rid herself of familial frustration making her cheeks flush. She lets out a soft, pleased sigh when she squeezes, a perfectly shaped tit in each of her hands.
“Good girl,” Tamsy says, her own voice breathier than usual. “Such a good girl, Zanka.”
“Such a good girl for me.”
Zanka immediately stops, swallowing down the moan that almost slipped past her throat because no, why is she hearing Jabber right now? That’s the last thing she needs. She doesn’t own the phrase good girl, but something about it triggers a memory, a time when Jabber was in this very bed, smile playful, hands curious.
“Zanka?”
“I’m here.” It’s a lie. “I’m here, Tamsy.” Such a fucking lie.
“… no you’re not.”
“Tamsy-”
“You’re with her, right? Mentally, you’re with her.”
“I… shit, I… I’m sorry. Fuck, I shouldn’t have called, I shouldn’t have-”
“Did I say that was a bad thing?”
What?
Zanka looks over at her phone, eyes wide, bewildered at her words. It’s not like Tamsy hasn’t distracted her from her life before, but this is...
“Her hands are on you, Zanka.”
“What?” No, that’s too… surely that’s crossing some kind of line. “Tamsy…”
“Where are her hands, Zanka?”
No. No no no.
“Between your legs already? Or does she tease you first?”
Zanka should snap at Tamsy, draw a thick line in the sand, and hang up the phone.
Instead, her hands move like they’re on autopilot, pressing against her chest again. “Oooooh, keepin’ the shirt on, huh? That’s sexy as hell.”
“Zankaaaaa,” and suddenly, Tamsy’s voice dissolves away into one that’s all too familiar, all too overpowering, all too everything that’s so wrong that it’s circled back into being right.
“My breasts. Her hands are on my breasts.”
“Say her name, dear.”
Tamsy. She’s talking to Tamsy. The name is Tamsy.
“Say my name, princess.”
“Jabber. Oh fuck, Jabber.”
“Good girl.”