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[ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader
[ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Another repost from 2021. I'll always have a soft spot for this fic.
[ SYNOPSIS ] You're a talented, hot mess of a screenwriter. Zeke is a beloved actor/writer/director that seemingly has his shit together. What better way to repair your reputation than by fake dating him at the behest of your agent?
[ WORD COUNT ] 8.8k
[ CONTENT ] Film industry AU, fake dating, tall!reader, y/n has a personality, drug use, alcohol, sexual harassment (Don't fret! Zeke is not the harasser!), misogyny, depression, cigarettes, y/n is neurotic and doesn't like eating in front of people, existential angst, swimming pools, Floch is your agent, hungover!Zeke.
[ PLAYLIST ] Here's the link.
A car barreled down the street, a puff of dark exhaust spewing out like a specter. The wind carried it off, now nothing more than a grey stain in the air. Still, the noxious smell made its way over to you and buried itself in your nose, seemingly singeing every hair. You sneezed and wiped your nose with the back of your hand, hoping no one saw you. In any other moment, you wouldn’t care.
But unfortunately today was a day different from the rest. You had to present and composed. Dignified. The exact opposite of how you were two weeks ago…
You’d been dragged to one of those gaudy industry parties: a grandiloquent celebration for the cast and crew of a film you co-wrote.
You wore an understated, black sheath dress much too short for the occasion. On the model, the bottom hem rested gracefully above the knee, thighs mostly obscured by the cotton-polyester fabric. But you spent most of the night tugging on your dress and dissociating.
Your conversations were stilted. Your words tinged with uncertainty and distaste. Men licked their lips as they eyed your exposed thighs, occasionally winking if you caught them. The longer you stayed, the more your humiliation bloomed into an unspeakable rage.
Unable to contain yourself, you took to the stage and aired out your grievances. You pointed directly at a studio head, one that had been ogling you all night, and told him he probably had a “fucked-up looking, duck dick.”
It was no surprise the industry didn’t hold such high regard for your blatant disrespect.
Proverbial water filled your lungs with every attempt to mend the situation. You nearly ruined a press junket with an impromptu apology, your hand gripping the microphone like a lifebuoy. Writers and script doctors, people you once considered friends, retreated and left you in their wake. You weren’t worthy of the insurance the studios had to take out to employ you. They’d rather watch you drown.
But for whatever reason your agency believed your talent was worth going through hell for.
“You can’t fuck this up!” your agent shouted through the phone. “Act normal. Smile or something. That’s not outside of your skill set, is it? ‘Cause if it is, you can go fuck off right now and continue ruining your career on your own dime.” His tone changed to a calmer fury. “Act like you are sociable and reliable. Please. For me.”
“Hate to break it to you, but I’m a writer. Acting’s definitely outta my skill set.”
“I am going to wring your little neck on our therapeutic, nature walk tomorrow. I swear to fucking god.”
You struggled to stifle a laugh as he berated you about how to position yourself in your chair and what food to order. He even told you what clothes to wear: a gauzy, light pink sundress that barely covered your ass and a trendy pair of chunky sandals. But instead you showed up at the restaurant in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. You looked positively pedestrian.
“Alright. Fine. I’ll be cordial.”
“For the love of—Act like you’re interested in him! You’re lucky he agreed to this. Flirt, be coy. ‘Oh wow, you look soooooo good.’”
“Is that how you woo the boys and girls?”
“Do you ever want to have a job again? Do you want opportunities?”
“I mean… Duh.”
“Then make this believable. We need people to think you’re stable. And who knows? Maybe you’ll actually like him.”
You rolled your eyes. The idea of “dating” a man to make yourself seem even-keeled and hireable was laughable. Sure, he was rather popular with the masses and industry folk. A beloved actor. A clever screenwriter. A visionary director or some shit. And yeah, maybe he was one of the more dependable men to work with. He was seemingly the exact opposite of you.
He was the industry’s golden boy.
Floch seethed through the phone. “Listen. To. Me. You are going to act like you’re having the fucking time of your stupid life out there, got it? You’re going to ham it up for the paparazzi.”
“Why would they give a shit about this? We’re not A-listers.”
“I fucking hired them, that’s why. Also I’d argue Zeke’s pretty A-list; he’s just boring as fuck… Shit. My daughter’s teacher is telling me I’m making the other parents uncomfortable. I gotta go.”
“Wha—where are you?”
“A PTA meeting.”
And with that Floch hung up.
“Okay,” you muttered.
You stood outside the restaurant, waiting for this Zeke Yeager. Part of you considered running off and finding refuge in the cutlery store across the street. But no, that would make you even more unappealing. You were being watched after all. Suddenly you were suspicious of every person around. Every car, every pedestrian, could have been a paid pair of lingering eyes. In a panic you tried to call Floch only to get his voicemail.
“You’ve reached Floch Forster. I can’t answer the phone right now becau—Louisa quit biting your brother! Jesus fucking… Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I feel like it.”
You opted not to leave a voicemail.
As aggressive as Floch could be, he always was your biggest cheerleader. When he took you on as a client he made it clear you were his main focus. The only other person he represented was a surrealist director from Chile he had never spoken to directly.
You sighed and looked at your phone, hoping you’d find solace in your barrage of notifications. But none of them were particularly interesting. Still, you scrolled mindlessly, entering some sort of trance. The smell of cigarette smoke was what brought you back to the trappings of reality. You turned around to see Zeke.
“I thought you’d be shorter,” he quipped, taking a drag. “I don’t know why; don’t ask.”
“Is this how you say hello to people?” you asked, voice bristling with irritation.
“Yeah. You want one?” He held out his pack of expensive, imported cigarettes.
“Nah. I quit years ago. The taste makes me nauseous now.”
“How tragic.” He narrowed his eyes and took another drag. “You know I think I’ve met you before.”
“I don’t think so. I’d remember that.”
He wore a dark green flannel with a few buttons undone, his blonde chest hair peeking out. His beard wasn’t as neat as it was on camera; it was a tad longer, a little bushier. You preferred it over the perfectly manicured one. His long legs were clothed in dark blue denim, with a sizable hole in the knee. It was a relief that he hadn’t dressed up either.
“No, no. I definitely have. It was at—what’s her name—Yelena’s. You were with all those coked out girls. I tried to introduce myself, but you ignored me.” He laughed nervously. “But it’s fine. Do you still run around with them?”
You rolled your eyes and sighed. That gaggle of starlets hadn’t crossed your mind in a year.
“No. I got sick of babysitting adult children with perpetual nosebleeds.”
“It does get old after a while. I knew I was done with that whole scene after I gave a guy naloxone behind a Scientology Celebrity Centre.”
“Can’t say I ever had something like that happen.”
“I don’t recommend it.”
He took a few steps closer and wrapped his arms around you, cigarette precariously resting between his fingers. He smelled like fresh laundry and tobacco. You swallowed hard, unable to recall the last time you let someone hug you. The only downside of it all was the potential of your hair getting singed.
“What the fuck, dude?” You asked, trying to act like you weren’t enjoying this.
“I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, aren’t I?”
“This just seems like a lot.”
“This is nothing,” he said.
He kissed your forehead and ruffled your hair. You hated him for taking on the role of your love interest with such ease. For you it was like putting a cat in a sweater.
“Relax,” he said, dropping his arms. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
You stared out into the street, over his shoulder. Your eyes followed a crowded bus as it puttered by. Anything to not look directly at Zeke. His whole person was overwhelming. You had seen him on the screen a handful of times and found him to be unremarkable, but seeing him in person was, again, a lot.
“Wish it was over now,” you muttered, finally stepping away from him. You immediately missed the warmth radiating from his body.
“We can make it fun. I promise.”
“Doubt it. Like don’t take it personally, but yeah. No.”
He grinned and tossed his cigarette out into the street, nearly missing a meter maid.
“What? You don’t trust me?”
“You’re an actor. Of course I don’t trust you.”
“Oh, come on.”
He opened the door to the restaurant. The smell of garlic and basil wafted into your nose.
“After you,” he said.
The restaurant was small. The walls were paneled with Pepto Bismol pink painted wood and decorated with aging photos of what appeared to be a sizable Italian family. Vases of wildflowers were scattered about. It was a level of hominess and familiarity that left you a little unnerved.
“I hate it here,” you whispered.
Zeke lightly elbowed you. “We haven’t even sat down yet.”
“Sometimes you just kn—”
“Wheredyawannasit?” a lackadaisical host asked.
“What?”
“By a window,” Zeke said coolly.
You hated how easily he navigated social situations. Granted he was an actor; it was basically in the job description.
“A window, huh?” you said, cocking an eyebrow.
The bastard winked at you.
You both took a seat. The table was covered with a powder blue tablecloth and a pane of glass, and it was right by a large window. You felt on display. A waiter traipsed by and wordlessly dropped menus on the table. Everything felt unnatural.
“I hate how easy this is for you,” you said, opening a menu.
“That’s only because I’m at least making an attempt to have a decent time.”
“You don’t find this humiliating?”
“Why would this be humiliating?” he asked. “We’re having lunch.”
Why? Because it made you feel vulnerable, like you were tearing open a wound. You were sick of putting yourself out there. So many years you spent with a smile plastered on your face, eager to please, and for what?
“Because I’m over this shit, okay? I’m sick of appeasing people.”
“You’re in the wrong business then.”
The waiter came by and placed two glasses of water on the table.
“You think I don’t know that?” you groaned. “I just wanna write. That’s all.”
“What’s stopping you from doing that?”
“My reputation. Misogyny. Capitalism. That time I accidentally stepped on a service dog at a premiere,” you exasperated.
He laughed. “You’re too hung up on the past.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Don’t think about it then. That’s what I do.”
“You say that like it’s so fuckin’ easy,” you hissed.
The waiter returned and took your orders. You were surprised and mildly disturbed to see that Zeke only ordered a cappuccino and some amaretto. He noticed the face you made and shrugged. You found yourself intrigued and repulsed by him. He managed to be disarming and utterly intimidating at the same time. It was disorienting.
“So why did you have your little tantrum?”
“Which one?” you scoffed.
“The one that made a very drunk Floch call me at two in the morning, begging me to make you look ‘normal.’”
Floch’s fascination with you coming off as normal amused you to no end.
“Oh, right… Uh, like, I was just over it. Like doing all that dumb shit. Smiling even though I wanna die. Wearing uncomfortable clothes to uncomfortable events. Being friends with people I despise, like those fuckin’ girls I used to hang out with. Not being taken seriously unless I co-wrote with someone else. I don’t know.”
“It got old.”
“Yeah. I used to be fine with it, going with the flow or whatever. But recently, I don’t know. I can’t be bothered. Like I straight up do not care. I spent way too much time giving a shit about what people thought about me. I’m done with that.”
You found yourself clenching your fists and took a deep breath to dull your rage.
“Fair enough,” he said nervously.
Your voice softened, hoping to put him at ease if only a little.
“I’m not really sure where it leaves me but… Fuck it. I’m past the point of caring,” you said before quickly shoving a piece of bread in your mouth.
The rest of the lunch was awkward and unremarkable. You hated how together Zeke’s life was. He was working on a short film inspired by his salad days filming skate videos. He played in a celebrity baseball tournament for charity. He planned on spending a few months in Aotearoa because he hated wintering in California. And he footed the bill even though you wanted to go halfsies.
“Alright. Well, this was weird. I’ll see you around I guess.”
You started to walk off, but he grabbed your wrist. His calloused hands revealed his past in the minor leagues. You turned to look at him and immediately regretted your decision. He looked so dreamy. His eyes exuded kindness. You didn’t deserve it.
“When can I see you again?”
You glanced to the side and tried to concoct an answer.
“I don’t know. Have your guy call Floch and they can set something up.”
“I—I’d rather us do the planning.”
“Why?”
This was a business transaction; there was no reason to make it personal.
“I want to get to know you without that guy up our asses.”
Zeke pointed out a paparazzo in an inconspicuous silver Tesla. He hauled ass down the street once he realized that Zeke spotted him.
He continued. “If you don’t want to, it’s fine.”
It was strange to see him so bashful. You desperately tried to recall the night you apparently blew him off, but that part of your life was a blur. A haze of cigarette smoke, maxed out credit cards, and ketamine. Too many nights spent flanked by socialites with fake voices and wannabe Kerouacs. That period of your life was one long night. A party you desperately wanted to leave. Something as angelic as him would have stood out amongst the filth and depravity you waded through. You would have followed him out of all that muck.
“I’ll think about it. DM me on Insta or something.”
You went to give him a hug goodbye, but he brushed you off.
“Guy’s gone. You don’t have to pretend anymore,” he said.
A sad, little smile had laid claim to his face.
“Oh, right. Anyway, I'll see ya.”
You turned away as he quietly said goodbye. You hated yourself for your vague cruelness, but this was humiliating. Here was this great guy who was willing to put his career on the line and be seen with you, and yet you were a total downer.
But you weren’t surprised. This was your modus operandi: torching bridges while they’re being built, you standing alone on the smoldering beams.
You were incredibly thankful for the “therapeutic, nature walk.” The morning was calm. The sun drifted through the window, painting your walls with a creamy orange. You sipped coffee, scrolled through your emails, and slowly prepared yourself for your jaunt in the woods. Floch picked you up at eight o’clock in the morning. The drive up was peaceful. You kept the window down and relished in the needley wind pricking your skin.
“He only ordered espresso and fucking booze?” Floch asked, helping you up a particularly steep hill.
“It was a cappuccino. But yeah. Not like I did much better though. I just slyly ate bread, didn’t even bother touching the tortellini I ordered.”
Once you crested the hill you were greeted by a sea of ponderosa pines. Nature had a way of calming your soul, quelling the disdain that seemed to permeate your being. You fantasized about leaving the city and losing yourself in the woods. The further you were removed from the industry the better you’d feel. Maybe you wouldn’t be so neurotic.
“Why?!” He exclaimed.
“I hate eating in public. Let alone in front of someone I don’t know and a guy with a camera. I did grab a bánh mì after.”
Floch sighed.
“I guess that makes sense, but it’s still fucking ridiculous. Think about the food waste.”
You rubbed your temples and took a deep breath. You weren’t in the mood for such a conversation. You were aware of how odd your behavior was and didn’t need to be reminded of its environmental ramifications.
“Are you going to see him again?” he asked, taking a seat on a stump.
“He mentioned wanting to meet up again but on our, like, own accord.”
“Oh, so fuck me then?”
“Exactly,” you laughed.
He rolled his eyes. “What’s the plan?”
You plopped down on the ground next to Floch.
“No idea. But probably something stupid and pretentious. He hasn’t reached out to me yet though. Maybe I scared him off.”
Floch flicked your temple with his thumb and middle finger.
“Stop overthinking it. Call him right now and make plans.”
You stuck your tongue out like a child. “Gross. I’ll just text him… Wait, do you have his number? I didn’t ask for it.”
“I thought you wanted to do this on your own accord,” he said, pulling out his phone.
“I’m adding a teeny addendum to that,” you snickered.
Getting a hold of Zeke ended up being more of a struggle than you anticipated. His voicemail was full and your texts were never read. The lack of response made a pit open up in your stomach. You tried to fill it with coffee and the occasional blunt, but nothing sufficed. He had no reason to get back to you anyway. You weren’t particularly friendly during your lunch.
That was always the worst part. The hangover from your behavior. You used to think nothing beat the shame of waking up after a night of binge drinking, cursed with only a vague recollection of the awful things you did. But when waking up stone cold sober there was nothing to hide behind.
It was a great relief when Zeke finally called you back. He apologized for being so busy, but his words felt rather hollow. You didn’t think he was lying, but you questioned how genuine he was being.
“Meet me at the skate park on 16th and Sequoia. I have some filming to take care of and I’m trying to work with natural lighting,” he rambled.
“Shots’ll look good,” you said, trying to sound knowledgeable even though you didn’t know much about filming.
You agreed to meet him on the grounds that he let you pay for coffee.
Once at the park you were greeted by a sea of teenagers and their cacophonous choir of expletives and shrieks. You waded through them until you found Zeke sitting on the floor, fiddling with a Sony Handycam.
“You seem a little old to be hangin’ with this crowd.”
“The whole point is that they’re young. Tell me, does that kid read late-2000s, maybe early 2010s?” he asked before standing up and grabbing a worn out board.
You stared at a boy dressed like an extra from an early Odd Future video.
“I guess. Please tell me you’re not gonna skate.”
“Of course I am! That’s how it’s done.”
“So I’m just supposed to sit here and watch you do this?”
He sighed. “When you say it like that, it’s going to sound boring. It’ll just be an hour and then we can get coffee.”
A kid interrupted your conversation by kicking Zeke in the shin.
The kid barked, “Is Eren coming?”
Zeke shook his head to the kid’s disappointment. They dejectedly skated off without a word.
“You should have hit me up later. I could be at home right now and diving into the depths of Vine compilations.”
You pantomimed diving into a pool much to Zeke’s amusement.
Zeke skated off and exchanged pleasantries with the pack of hormone-addled youths. One of the girls set off and he trailed after her. It was a rather boring experience as a spectator. Zeke skated alongside her, crouching on his board, camera angled at her feet.
“Impressive,” you called out as Zeke reviewed what he filmed.
“Please, that was nothing.”
“Do something cool then. Do a trick.”
What happened next should have been expected, but somehow ended up being a complete surprise. Zeke attempted what you later learned was a heel flip. All you saw was him skate past you and then suddenly he was a mess of tangled limbs on the concrete, his board rolling off into a bowl. You ran to him while the kids keeled over with laughter.
“Shit,” was all he could say.
“Are you okay?” you asked, knowing damn well he was not okay.
“Help,” he coughed.
He looked so pathetic and small on the ground. You reached out and hoisted him up. Now that he was upright the extent of his injuries seemed to be reduced to a few raspberries and torn jeans.
“I keep bandaids in my kånken,” he winced.
“Knew you’d have one of these fuckin’ stupid ass, expensive backpacks,” you muttered.
You tended to his scraped knee, borrowing some bactine wipes one of the teens had on her person. Dabbing Zeke’s knee you looked up and found him gazing down at you, eyes teeming with longing. You instinctively glared at him like an asocial idiot.
“You look like you're proposing to him,” a boy slurred.
It didn’t take much to clean Zeke up, but his ripped jeans revealed his hubris. The walk to the coffee shop was spent with him slightly limping with his arm around your shoulder. You wondered if there were any paparazzi around to document this sad sight. Though maybe Floch decided he had better things to spend money on. You were left with only a wisp of paranoia.
“This is what I get for trying to show off,” he said, easing himself down onto a bench.
You took a seat next to him and couldn’t help but laugh as he iced his knee with his cold brew.
“Is that actually helping?”
“Kind of?” he replied with an eyebrow raised.
“Well, like you said, it’s what you get for showing off.”
“Come on. I’m injured. You should be nice to me.”
“I don’t have to be anything to you.”
He gulped and quickly let out a nervous laugh. You took a long sip of your drink and shifted your eyes to the side, staring into a rose bush.
Zeke sighed. “I hate to use an idiom, but you really are a tough nut to crack.”
You shut your eyes tight and fought the urge to spill all your secrets. Something about Zeke lent himself to it. Or rather you were looking for the opportunity to let it all out and projecting it on him out of sheer convenience.
He continued. “I’m not saying you need to bare your soul to me, but I’d like to get to know you. I want to get to know you.”
“I’m not worth knowing,” you droned.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I can and I am. Like not to be super fuckin’ dramatic, but getting to know people, letting them in and shit… It’s not worth the hassle.”
“Hassle? I’m not asking you to do hard labor,” he laughed.
“You don’t get it. I can’t just ‘get to know people.’ I—if you get to know me it’s like I’ve torn myself open.”
“What if I told you I just wanted to know your favorite color?”
You gritted your teeth and seethed, “You’re not getting it.”
He turned to look at you. You cut your staring contest with the rose bush short and gathered as much false bravado as you could. Gazing into his grey eyes would weaken you. You knew it for a fact and had to be prepared.
“You’re not really giving me a chance to.”
Damn. It. There was no preparing yourself for his patience, his kindness, even if it seemed a little phony. You held his gaze for a while before finally breaking the silence.
“It's like a piece of me is being ripped away… when I let people in... It feels like a weight. Or a void. Or both? I don’t know. I try to talk about it, but I fuck it up every time. 99% of the time I say something cruel or like dumb.” You took a deep breath. “And it’s… it’s not like I can actually be there for people, if I were to let them know me or whatever the fuck. Like what do I do? I gore myself for these people and leave them with… what? Viscera and trash?” Your thoughts were growing hazy, your anger obscuring your thoughts. “I don’t know. I’m a disease. My heart is a worn down mountain. I’m nothing more than the smoking, smoldering mine under that fucked up town that inspired, uh, Silent Hill.”
Saliva pooled in your mouth. Your inability to explain yourself was making you ill.
“Your heart is an eroded landform. And also, somehow, Centralia, Pennsylvania.”
“That is so reductive.”
“Listen. You’re not making much sense, but I think I want to underst—”
“I don’t need to fucking make sense! I… I’m just so sick of feeling like shit and not knowing what to do. Do I keep shutting myself off? Acting like a fuckin’ demon hermit that shrivels in the spotlight? Spitting and hissing at my contemporaries? Or do I go back to painting my face like a whore clown? Do I go back to making people feel vaguely at ease?! Or do I keep pushing against it?! How many hands are gonna crawl up my skirt if I go back to smiling and acting like I’m proud of the fuckin’ Kate Hudson vehicle I co-wrote with five other people? I can’t do that shit anymore. I’d rather throw myself down a flight of stairs.”
“Okay, Zelda Fitzgerald, take a breather,” he consoled or rather attempted to.
His arm hovered around your shoulder before finally patting it with his weighty hand. A small but welcome gesture. You snorted and wiped away the tears that had been collecting in the corners of your eyes.
You knew nothing you spewed made sense, but it needed to be said. It had been festering inside you. You still felt terrible, but lighter. You didn’t feel like Atlas carrying a bounty of self loathing and misanthropy on your back. For once you exhaled and there was relief.
“It’s green,” you said quietly.
“What?”
You spoke up. “My favorite color. It’s green.”
“You seem in good spirits,” Floch noted. “It’s weird. Are you sure you’re not ill?”
“What?! No! I just, I don’t know, I feel decent.”
“Are you on drugs?”
“Ugh. No. I legit feel okay… esque.”
The park was crowded for a Wednesday morning. Usually your weekly walk around the lake was a calmer affair. Granted the park was dotted with everchanging oak trees and it was fall.
“All because of some guy. Wow.”
“That’s not why. But you know, he is pretty fun.”
“Uh huh.”
“Though maybe I only think that because he’s hot.”
You happened to glance at Floch and the cat-like grin on his face. Being embarrassed and saying “just kidding” crossed your mind, but it was true. You did find Zeke amusing and attractive.
“You like hiiiiiiiim,” he teased.
“I said he’s hot. That’s hardly… Shit. Fuck. Okay, maybe I like him a little.”
“This is great! Now all you have to do is make him fall in love with you and hopefully have that convince every stupid fucking studio to suck your figurative dick,” he cheered.
You frowned. You had momentarily forgotten about the transactional nature of this relationship. Floch immediately caught onto your disappointment.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t pursue this seriously. You could probably be his girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever.”
You froze, wide-eyed, letting a rogue jogger bump into you.
“I—I never said anything about that.”
“Your reaction just did the talking for you,” Floch said, punctuating his sentence with a smirk.
“It’s not like I stand a chance anyway.”
You didn’t consider yourself desirable, let alone Zeke’s type even though you honestly had no idea what that was. Your self confidence had been in shambles for months; anything was possible.
“Hm. Now that I think about it I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him dating anyone.”
“Hopefully his type is whatever all this is,” you sighed, looking down at your body.
“People seem to think you two are cute together.”
“Great, but what do the people that matter think?”
“Well… They kind of think a little less of him now that you two are dating.”
“Nothing ‘bout me though?” you asked flatly.
“Nada.”
“I mean that’s not too bad.”
“When are you seeing him next?”
“He invited me to some party at some guy’s house. All I know is there’s a pool and Zeke intends on pushing his brother into it.”
“Oh wow, sounds super romantic,” he snarked.
You stomped on a crunchy leaf. The party could end up being romantic if you tried. So far you made little attempt to impress Zeke and he was still drawn to you. If you actually did something, who knows what you could accomplish?
That night the driver Zeke hired to pick you up plucked you from your home and dropped you off at a glass windowed monstrosity nestled in the hills. It was owned by the editor of a marginally popular skateboarding magazine.
You were irked that he decided to go to the party early and not extend the invite. You hated shit like this and even more when you were forced to do it on your own.
You exhaled and your fist hovered parallel to the door.
“Just knock, dumb ass.”
Before you could the door was ripped open by a tanned, green-eyed man. He was wearing a red cut-off shirt, a pair of sweatpants, and checkerboard slip-ons.
“You’re not the weed guy,” he said, frowning.
“No. I mean, I have weed. Bu—but I’m not, like, the designated weed guy. I wish I was though. Like that’d be dope.”
He looked you up and down, and hollered over his shoulder, “False alarm.”
You heard a choir of groans and sighs from behind him.
“Uh… so, can I come in? Zeke invited me.”
You introduced yourself and quickly found out the man you were talking to was Eren, a professional skater and Zeke’s brother. He slid out of the way, granting you permission to enter. You stepped inside and stared up at the enormous foyer. A twinkling chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminating the vacuous space. It was sterile and everything blindingly white.
He led you into a room filled to the brim with people. You found yourself wanting to cling to him even though he was as much a stranger as everyone else.
“So yeah, I don’t know where Zeke is but I’m sure you’ll find him. Let me know if you don’t!”
And with that Eren disappeared. You were happy to see no one looked particularly glamorous, but it did little to quell your nerves. A Yaeji song seemed to blare from every corner of the house; it was inescapable. Doing this shit sober was never your forte.
“Hey! Over here,” you heard a familiar voice emanate from the crowd.
You pushed through and found Zeke surrounded by actors. You plastered on a sickly grin and hoped no one could discern your disdain.
“Hiiiiiiiiiiii,” you sneered unintentionally.
Zeke slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you next to him. You wanted to puke.
“I’m glad you found your way here.”
“You had a dude come pick me up which, you know, made it pretty easy.”
He smiled at you like he didn’t even catch your snarkiness.
A guy you didn’t recognize asked, “You’ve always had a bit of a mouth on you, haven’t you?”
“I was literally born with one.”
“Do you know how to shut it?” he followed up.
“Nah, but I know how to shut yours.”
Zeke dug his fingers into your waist, his face still smiling. You held your tongue while the guy continued being an absolute asshole. This was the kind of nonsense you couldn’t stand. You zoned out, eyes looking outside at the pool. The voices around you melded into a singular drone you tuned out.
“Hey,” he said, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “I asked you a question.”
You looked at Zeke for reassurance and saw that his attention was elsewhere. Your stomach dropped. He may have been standing next to you but he felt miles away.
“What?” you finally replied.
“Did you really fuck Magath to get a writing credit for that Jennifer Aniston movie?”
Your skin felt like it was on fire. Holding back wasn’t an option.
“It was a Kate Hudson movie. Why the actual fuck would I sleep with someone to say I helped write a Kate Hudson movie? Are you stupid or just trying to start shit? Because if your only way to make me feel bad is by implying I slept with someone to further my mediocre career, you need to try again because that ain’t gonna cut it.”
You freed yourself from Zeke’s grasp and got in the guy’s face, towering over him. He gave you nothing but stunned silence.
“Let’s get some air,” Zeke said a little too cheerfully.
Once outside you held your head in your hands, fighting the urge to scream. You should have acted unbothered, but weren’t good at faking. You kicked the air in frustration.
“What was that back there?”
“What was what?” you spat out. “You mean the dumb fuck inside?”
You dug through your bag for a joint and a lighter, sighing in relief when you found them with ease.
“You should have had my back,” you said, using the joint to point at Zeke.
“I didn’t even know what was going on,” he lied.
“You were right fucking there! You were literally right beside me,” you said, lighting the joint.
“What was I supposed to say?”
You took a hit and exhaled.
“Fucking anything,” you suggested. “Could’ve changed the subject. Could’ve said, like, ‘Go fuck yourself. Don’t talk to my fake girlfriend that way.’”
“Once that guy gets going there’s no stopping him.”
“You noncommittal piece of shit. You fucking Judas.”
“Don’t let something that inconsequential ruin your night.”
“Maybe it was inconsequential to you...” you said, taking another hit.
Zeke reached out for the joint, but you didn’t hand it over. He didn’t deserve it.
“But it wasn’t to me. Do you know how often I deal with shit like that?”
“You should be used to it then.”
You were rendered silent. You couldn’t even verbalize your rage. Words were incapable of capturing the essence of it.
So you opted to push him in the pool.
You stormed off back inside, lit joint hanging out of your mouth. The house felt like a maze, you could’ve sworn it got bigger, vaster. Everyone’s faces blended together. You felt like you were gradually traveling back in time, like you’d been here too many times before. This wasn’t the person you wanted to be. This wasn’t any better than the old you.
You glanced over your shoulder and saw a couple people tending to a soaking wet Zeke, briefly making eye contact with him. Instead of glaring at you he smiled. You were happy he didn’t seem to hate you but it was infuriating all the same. He never dropped his facade. For the longest time you admired this ability but now it was a glaring flaw.
The relief that washed over you once outside was immense. You found yourself sitting on the curb, finishing off your joint. It was a clear night, colder than anticipated. The stars made your discomfort worth it even if most were drowned out by civilization.
“You’re lucky I didn’t have anything important in my pockets.”
Zeke stood behind you, his wet clothes clinging to his body. He was shivering.
“Bummer. I was kinda hoping I’d fuck up your phone at least.”
He laughed and sat next to you.
“I realize I could have probably been a bit more sympathetic.”
“I didn’t want sympathy. I wanted you to have my back. Toss out a witty retort that defended my honor or some shit,” you replied dejectedly.
“You held your own though.”
“That’s not the point,” you called out in exasperation. “I know I can hold my own. But… fuck, I don’t know. I needed you!”
He cleared his throat, his nerves revealing themselves.
“I’m sorry. Next time I’ll—”
“Ugh. Please. I’d rather fucking die than have a next time. I cannot keep doing this shit.”
You looked at Zeke and his pathetic form. You took off your jacket and put it over his shoulders.
“It gets so exhausting. Defending myself. It’s almost as bad as pretending everything is fine, like nothing is wrong,” you said sadly. “I feel like I’m talking in circles sometimes. Don’t mind me.”
“I’m going to mind. You pushed me into a pool about it.”
You groaned and stared up at the night sky.
“All of my self worth used to come from how fuckable I was because I thought that’s all I had to offer. I was made to believe that was the extent of my purpose. The writing was auxiliary. A nice surprise. And I cultivated that notion because I bought into it.” You felt yourself getting frustrated. “Do you know what that’s like?”
“No. I never had to concern myself with something like that.” He paused. “I suspect that was a rhetorical question.”
“It was, but I appreciate you being honest.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m too afraid to,” he laughed.
You rolled your eyes. “I am not that scary.”
“That guy nearly shit his pants when you got in his face.”
“Oh my god! I hardly got in his face.”
“Just own up to it. You’re a little intense. It’s par for the course in this industry. Nothing wrong with it.”
“Fuck. Fine. Whatever. I’m a little intense.”
Both of you fell silent. You scooched closer to Zeke, hoping maybe your body would warm him. You wanted to make up for acting so childish.
“I could never be like that,” he muttered. “Though I'd like to be.”
“There’s nothing stopping you.”
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“It’s just not my nature.”
“Ah yes, I forgot you’re such a gentle boy,” you teased.
He grinned. “Exactly. I’m too delicate.”
You hated how cute he was when he smiled; you wanted to kiss his crow’s feet.
“Do you need a ride?” he asked smoothly.
“Yeah,” you mumbled.
Zeke drove you home in his black Polestar 2. He cranked the heater as he sped down the freeway, still shivering. He tried to keep the conversation light by asking if you had been working on anything.
“I can’t even remember the last time I wrote.”
The realization made you nauseous.
“Why haven’t you been writing?”
You hung your head and struggled to articulate your vague, creative block. “I don’t know. Like why bother if no one wants to work with me?”
“Don’t you enjoy doing it?”
“Yeah…”
“There’s a reason to bother.”
“... True. It’s not like I need permission from anyone.”
“Just yourself.”
He had a point. Whether you wrote or not was one of the things in your life you controlled. There was no reason to hold your ideas hostage. You had every right to free them and let them wander the page.
When you finally reached your home you hesitated to get out of the car. For whatever reason you wanted to remain around the damp man beside you. The hearty yawn he let out though helped you make your exit.
You took your seatbelt off and turned to face him.
“Thanks for the ride. I would not have been as kind to you had you pushed me into a… pool.”
“I know,” he said wistfully.
“Well, uh, get home safe.”
“I’ll try. I hope you feel better.”
“Me too,” you sighed, stepping out of his car.
“When can I see you next?” he asked dreamily, his rough hand latching onto your wrist.
“I don’t know.”
“Ballpark it for me.”
His grey eyes were trained on your lips.
“Soon I guess. Go home, sleepyhead. You look damp and miserable.”
Zeke bid you a weak farewell before driving off. You couldn’t figure out why he put up with you. Why did he want to see you again? You, who had dented his reputation with such ease. All you seemed to do was make his life worse. And yet he kept coming back.
Floch wanted to wring your neck for the pool incident. Someone managed to film it and the footage went viral. The narrative surrounding it all was that Zeke tried to dump you and you simply could not cope with it. You were painted as a hysterical, scorned lover that couldn’t take a hint.
You had to laugh. You wished it was that simple
“You ruined everything. It’s fine. I don’t care, but I need you to know that,” he said over the phone.
Hanging up on him crossed your mind but you wanted to be mature.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I fucked it all up. But it can’t get any worse.”
“Don’t! It absolutely can!”
“Fine. I don’t think I can feel any worse. I think I had a breakthrough honestly.”
“Oh, thank goodness! Will this breakthrough translate into people trusting you?”
“Nah. But it did make me realize, like, I don’t have to do studio shit. I can just write whatever I want. Fuck my reputation. I mean, I know I won’t make money, but I’ll figure that out later.”
“As your friend, I’m happy for you. That’s fabulous. But as your agent, are you kidding me?!”
“Nope!”
Floch groaned and muttered a few indecipherable expletives before saying, “If this is what you really want, I’m up for it.”
“Really?”
“Mhm. I think you got the talent to pull it off. I would have kicked your sorry ass to the curb if I thought otherwise.”
“Wasn’t expecting you to be so accepting,” you demurred.
“Listen I may be a fucking bastard, but I believe in you. I always have. If you don’t fuck around and get your head out of your ass, you can do it. I know you can.”
Elation couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt. All the unnecessary pressure you put on yourself dissipated. You were free, lighter than a feather. You looked out your window at the soft, warm light of the moon. The oak trees’ autumnal leaves ebbed as a cold wind swept through them.
“Th—that really means a lot to me.”
“Alright, alright. I gotta go. Louisa and Reed are running around like wild animals when they were supposed to be in bed at 9pm which was… Three fucking hours ago?!”
He hung up before you could say anything.
“Dude has no phone etiquette.”
Just as you went to set your phone down you received another call. This time from Zeke. You couldn’t imagine why he’d be calling you at such an hour.
“What’s good?” you asked.
“Can I come over?!” he bellowed through the phone.
“You don’t need to yell.”
“I’m sorry. Can I come over?” he slurred.
“It’s a little late. I was gonna crawl into bed.”
“Ah, fuck. Well, I’m already here.”
You peeked out your window and saw him swaying in front of your home. He was drunk, practically wasted.
“Yeah, I see you. Uh… Hold on,” you said before hanging up.
You threw on a robe and greeted him at the door.
“How did you get here?”
“Whoa, whoa. One question at a time,” he leaned against the door frame, “cutie pie.”
“... How did you get he—”
“Caaaaab. Old school. Called ‘em up. That’s how I’m doin’ shit now. New year, new me.”
“It’s… It’s November.”
“I’m pregaming. Can I come in? You owe me.”
“Yeah, c’mon in.”
You let him inside, stifling a laugh as he stumbled through the door.
“I meant to do that.”
“Sure you did,” you replied, patting him on the back.
You led him into your living room and gestured for him to sit on your couch. He happily collapsed face down on it. You winced and decided to get him a glass of water. When you returned he was sitting up, his forehead a little pink from where it made contact with the cushion.
“Can I be honest with you?” he asked, now holding his head in his hands.
“Yeah, dude.”
“You hurt my feelings.”
“Is this about the pool? See, I knew you were fuckin’ mad at me!”
“What? No. I don’t care about that.” He stared up at you over his glasses. “That party. The one where I tried to introduce myself. And you blew me off.”
You held the glass of water out to him. He snatched it out of your hands like a little gremlin.
“I don’t even remember that. Are you sure it was even me?”
He took a sip of water. “You’re very hard to forget for better or worse.”
“Oh.”
“Why do you think I agreed to do any of this shit anyway? My agent’s been on me about dive bombing my career, which that’s him being a drama queen, but that’s not my point. I, fuck… I like you so much. And I want you to like me too, but I get that you don’t and that’s fine. I don’t like me either. I’m fake.”
“You’re not fake,” you said, taking a seat next to him. “You’re not like… the most genuine person, but I wouldn’t say you’re fake.”
“No. Don’t. I’m a phony.”
“Oh my god.”
He groaned and took another sip of water.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whined. “I just… I hate that I can’t find it in me to be like you. You refuse to take anyone’s shit and have no problem sticking up for yourself. A director literally told me to ‘get the stick out of my himbo ass’ when I said he should treat his cinematographer with more respect. And you know what I did? I fucking did it… Not… No, I didn’t pull a stick out of my ass.”
“I figured,” you snorted.
“But I smiled and said, ‘I guess it’s not my place.’ Not a hint of sarcasm. I rolled over, showed that man my belly, and begged him to slice me open as a way to repent.”
“Belly? What belly? You mean your abs? Come the fuck on. Belly? Ha.”
Zeke lifted his shirt and examined his abdominal muscles. He shrugged.
“You know what I mean,” he said, pathetically leaning over and resting his head on your shoulder. “You wouldn’t have done that. You would’ve been said, ‘I’m about to pull the stick out of my ass and beat you with it if you don’t start treating them better.’”
“You’re not allowed to do that good of an impersonation of me. Not this early in our fake relationship.”
It was hard to hear Zeke being so drunk and vulnerable. You didn’t know how to handle him. Jokes and asides seemed to be the only thing flowing from your mouth.
“You are on my mind a lot,” he lamented.
“Trust me. I’m not exactly someone to admire.”
“Stop. You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to decide if you’re worth knowing, or worth admiring, or worth loving. I get to. Not you.”
“Okay,” you mumbled.
Zeke exhaled deeply.
“I’m not saying I’m in love with you. I’m not that delusional, but… Fuck, just let me like you? Let me get to know you? I need to be close to you.”
His drunk ramblings were bathed in anguish with a tinge of hilarity. You felt bad for him, but it was an unexpected surprise for him to be so forthcoming about his pining. Never before had you considered anyone aching over your perceived indifference. You had to admit it boosted your ego a little bit.
“You’re practically sitting on me right now so we’ve crossed that bridge.”
He sniffled.
You kept speaking. “I’m gonna be real. I’m not exactly used to, uh, hearing shit like this so I don’t know how to—”
Zeke grabbed ahold of your face and kissed you; it was ripe with desperation. You momentarily reciprocated the kiss, leaning into him and his embrace. He tasted like tequila and cigarettes. His teeth clinking against yours pulled you out of the moment, letting you assess the situation. You pulled away and cleared your throat.
He was wasted and, as much as you wanted to kiss him, he was in no position to be doing anything of the sort.
“You’re drunk, Zeke.”
“I know. I should go. Do—don’t tell me about anything I said tonight.”
He tried to stand up before quickly resuming his previous position.
“Stay the night. We can get you home in the morning, alright?”
“Yeah?” he asked, taking off his glasses and rubbing his red rimmed eyes.
You nodded. “You can even sleep in my bed as long as you don’t act like a fuckin’ weird ass.”
“I assure you I will not be a fucking weird ass. I’m very anti-weird ass.”
“Good.”
“I’d—I would even say I’m bigoted towards them,” he slurred as you helped him up. “Weird asses have too many rights. We let them out in the world? They’re just skittering around, weird assing it up?!”
You started to crack up. He sounded so serious and intense. It was like he got possessed by Daniel Day-Lewis for a brief moment.
“Hush. Don’t get yourself all riled up.”
A faint smile crossed his face. It was markedly different from the ones he had worn before.
You couldn’t help but ask, “Are you smiling because you’re happy or are you compulsively masking your feelings again?”
“It’s a real one,” he said, his words all melting into one.
Regardless of their decipherability, you liked having verbal proof that Zeke genuinely smiled in front of you. The second you got him into bed he passed out. You crawled in on the other side, careful to keep some distance between your bodies.
When you woke up the next morning you found him cuddled up next to you. You slept on your back so you wouldn’t have felt compelled to curl up next to Zeke. But somehow in the middle of the night he managed to embrace you. His head rested on your shoulder and his arm was lazily draped across your chest.
You ruffled his hair and gently sang his name. He groaned and held you closer.
“Hungover?” you asked.
He yawned. “Just a tad.”
He rolled over onto his back and slowly sat up, his shoulders slumping forward. His eyes were barely open, protecting themselves from the harsh, autumn sun.
“Is your career really tanking because you traipse around with my dumb ass?”
His shoulders heaved as he gruffly chuckled.
“If I were a hyperbolic man, I’d say yes. Alas, I am but a normal guy so no.” He was interrupted by a hearty yawn. “People give me shit about it, but that’s hardly an issue. And, hypothetically, if chasing after you did take a massive shit on my career, I don’t think I’d care. Or I’d at least try really hard not to.”
“I guess that’s… admirable.”
“You know what would be admirable?” he asked flirtatiously.
He glanced over at you, clearly admiring your sprawled out limbs as the sunlight danced along your skin.
“What?”
Zeke’s face fell into despair. He froze and swallowed hard. His pallor took on a sickly greenish hue.
“I was going to say you should kiss me, but I don’t feel good at the moment.”
“Fuck. That’s so sexy,” you teased.
He gave you a wink before softly moaning as waves of nausea overtook him
“So, uh, now that you’re not wasted…”
Your words struggled to form sentences. You wanted to make sure Zeke meant the shit he said last night.
“Can I… Am I still worth loving? Wait! Or knowing or whatever you said? I can’t remember.”
You remembered everything. There was no use in pretending.
Zeke was quiet for a moment before a sly grin crept across his face. He fixed his gaze on you and simply said, “Absolutely.”
“Really?” you croaked out.
“Yes. I have one request though. I don’t want our agents involved or any industry people. We do this on our terms,” he orated.
You nodded and poked his cheek much to his chagrin. “Got it. We do it for us.”
He laid back down next to you, resting his head on your chest.
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true form sukuna who hates pets of any kind (except cute little human ones like you) so when you cry about how you want to have a pet live with you in his castle, he gets you a cat and he has the biggest love-hate relationship with it.
he's like "this thing is an abomination." and you're like "okay my lovely husband who is an ex-mass murderer 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄........."
and then you find him sleeping with it curled up next to his face because he insisted the cat come lay down with him for a nap.
The cat is minding its own business laying on his chest, "If you don't get off this instant I'm going to mop the floor with your face!" All the while making sure he doesn't move a lot so the cat doesn't fall off
he's trying to plot world domination again with a bunch of sentient curses around him and he's on his throne. the cat jumps up and is trying to get headpats but sukuna is doing it half-heartedly bc he doesn't want underlings to think he's whipped for a CAT.
cat is not satisfied with half-assed headpats though so it starts headbutting the shit out of any hand it can reach until he gives the cat his attention 😭😭
"my king?"
"... not a word of this to anyone or I'll slice you into fresh food for it."
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today at 4 am i woke up to the sound of my vibrator buzzing super loudly and it took me like 2 mins to shut it off and another hour freaking out cuz i’m scared that my parents heard it.
[ PAIRING ] Zeke x f!reader
[ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] This is the result of my NYE survey. Big thanks to everyone that submitted a response. I couldn't have done this without you guys!
[ SYNOPSIS ] After your secular boyfriend breaks up with you, the pastor's son invites you to a New Year's Eve party in hopes of distracting you from your heartache.
[ WORD COUNT ] 5.5k
[ CONTENT ] Modern AU, predator/prey vibes, y/n is inexperienced, anxiety, manipulation, sacrilege, alcohol, binge drinking, dubcon (drunk sex, Zeke's manipulative), pet name (bunny, good girl), angst without a happy ending, he sucks on y/n's tits, rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), brief assplay, spanking, degradation (slut), creampie.
Thick drops of rain assaulted the church windows as you tried to listen to Pastor Grisha. They sounded solid, like each drop was a shard of gravel trying to break through the weathered glass. The continuous sharp tapping overwhelmed you, taking over your brain with ease. You were primed for a mindless distraction after hyperfocusing on your breakup.
You had spent the previous days mourning your relationship. Your secular boyfriend, Levi, had left you for greener pastures. You assumed he was tired of your cautious nature and your goody two-shoes existence. Levi wasn’t a “bad boy” by any means. But you suspected he wanted someone with a little bite to them. You were too tame, too soft. He had told you he would only end up hurting you if you stayed together. Maybe I want to get hurt,” you pathetically cried out in protest.
Despite Levi’s intentions the breakup ended up hurting you, every second an unbearable ache. It left you desperate to focus on anything else and it seemed the rain tapping against the church windows would fill the gaping hole he left in your life.
“Oh,” a voice chirped as a sopping wet hooded figure entered the sanctuary of the chapel. “My bad.”
The pastor let out a hearty sigh and continued on with his sermon. The squeals of the figure’s wet rain boots filled the room, overtaking the sound of the heavy rain. You turned around and saw a very damp Zeke Yeager.
He had just pulled off the hood of his raincoat. It was partially unzipped, his Sunday best barely holding on underneath it. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, a whisper of sensuality.
He made his way down the pews and glanced at you, flashing a little smile. You had been too obvious with your ogling and now you had to suffer the consequences.
Zeke casually took a seat next to you. You wiped your red-rimmed eyes and hoped you didn’t look like you’d spent the entire morning crying. You mouthed a quiet “hi” and pretended to be absorbed in the sermon’s teachings.
Every so often your eyes would briefly drift over to Zeke. His ash-blonde hair was tousled and half-dry from the relentless storm. He smelled like an expensive pine candle; you couldn’t help but lean in a little closer so you could take in his scent.
Your heart fluttered when he removed his raincoat, revealing his closely fitted white button down shirt. He unfastened the wrists and rolled up his sleeves, giving you a good look at his toned forearms. It was like everything he did was to simply entice you, to draw you in. You kicked yourself for being so easy and pathetic. You had known Zeke for years, or rather known of him. He was rather popular, as the pastor’s son was likely to be, and on friendly terms with just about everyone. Like yes, you had a bit of a crush on him but so did everyone else! He was cute and charming in a dorky kind of way. No one could resist him.
But this moment was different. You never felt like you needed him. Suddenly you wanted to go on a date with him and watch a fucked up movie with lots of nudity and swearing and violence. You wanted to kiss him on the mouth and actually have an orgasm. Maybe one day you’d marry him and you’d lead an idyllic, peaceful life in some scenic town.
You shook your head and breathed deep, wrestling yourself away from your fantasies. As you went to refocus your attention on the pastor you realized the sermon had ended.
“That was a boring one,” Zeke said, laughing. He was reclined in the pew, head hanging back. He was gazing up at the popcorn ceiling.
You shouldn’t have been startled, but you were. “Hm?! Um… yeah. I mean, I wasn’t paying… uh, paying attention really.”
His gaze turned to you, grey eyes peering into yours.
“Tsk, tsk. I always thought you were such a good girl.” The honeyed tone of the last two words swept you off your feet. He continued, “You did look distracted though. Is something going on?”
You didn’t say anything, hoping that maybe he would forget he asked the question. He waited before asking, “Are you okay?”
The three words no one uttered to you until this very moment. You briefly hesitated to answer before your heart sprang forth with a rush of repressed emotions. You told Zeke everything about Levi: how he thought you were too sweet, too religious, and how you refused to fuck him again after the first time was too painful and unrewarding. You cried about how lost you felt, how you felt trapped by your feelings, how all you wanted was someone that was devoted and faithful.
And he listened and nodded attentively, taking in your every word. His gaze was empathetic yet calculating, and easy to get lost in. The longer you stared into them, the more you felt yourself being pulled in his direction. It was dizzying. You felt like the walls were closing in around you.
“It’s funny you mention that,” he said, sniffling. “I actually just got out of a relationship as well.”
Your eyes widened. “Really?”
He nodded. “She wanted to move too fast. And she said I was too devoted to God. It hurt my feelings, but what am I going to do? Break up with Jesus?”
You laughed and wiped away a tear from the corner of your eye. It was funny, but his words felt hollow.
“She should’ve known you’d be such a committed shepherd. Your daddy is the pastor… Like what does she expect?”
Zeke licked his lips. “Exactly,” he sniped.
His eyes trailed down your body. They lingered on your breasts and then your legs. Instinctively you covered yourself, feeling far too exposed by his gaze.
“You know,” he said slyly, “what the best cure for a broken heart is?”
“No.” You gulped. “I don’t know.”
He leaned in. “My parents are throwing a New Year’s Eve party. You should come over.”
“I should?”
“Yeah,” he said grinning. “We’ll party the night away and forget about our exes. It’ll be the perfect distraction.”
“I don’t know,” you sighed.
“Do you have something better to do?” He asked haughtily.
“... No.” You bit your bottom lip in a desperate attempt to be cute or coy. “Where do you live?”
Zeke gave you his address and left the room without saying goodbye. You hated how disorienting he was. It was like time slowed down when he was near, almost like his flaxen hair and boyish looks were of Luciferian nature. It was a little unsettling. But you figured the crush you had on him was the cause. Of course you’d feel uneasy around the object of your affection! It was natural. A few perceptual distortions were to be expected.
It was grueling having to wait for New Year’s Eve. You wanted to see Zeke sooner than that, but you didn’t want to seem pushy and scare him off. You weren’t sure that you’d ever have a chance with someone so pious ever again.
When the night came you dressed cute but casual, opting for a tennis skirt with thick knit socks, a sweatshirt, and a big coat to shield you from the winter night’s cruel chill. On the way over you mentally rehearsed various conversations so you wouldn’t say anything stupid around his parents.
Zeke’s house was bigger than you were anticipating. Music blared out the windows, the bass thumping at an ungodly volume. There was someone throwing up on the lawn. You saw a few girls you knew from church sitting on the curb and drooling into the storm drain while sharing a single cigarette. To say you were shocked was putting it lightly. This was not what you were expecting.
You knocked on the door and tried to calm yourself, anticipating either Pastor Grisha or his wife, Carla, to greet you.
“You’re finally here!” Zeke said, forcing his drink into your hand as he opened the door. “Take a sip. You need to catch up.”
He was drunk and wearing sunglasses for some unknown reason.
“I… What?” You asked sweetly.
“Drink up, buttercup.”
“No thank you.” You handed his drink back to him.“Where are your parents? Is this their party?”
You knew it wasn’t theirs, but you wanted to make sure. Plus you weren’t really sure what to say. You were floundering as it was.
“No, their party is happening like three towns over,” he answered. “This is mine.”
“Oh,” you said, clenching and unclenching your fist. “Cool! I… Wow. I didn’t know everyone… did this stuff.”
“Sorry we can’t all be as innocent and as pure as you,” Zeke joked.
“No! It’s not—I just—it’s surprising. I assumed everyone else was more tame I guess.”
You felt silly and small, and wanted to leave. But Zeke’s presence drew you in.
“Well you can be surprised by the bar. Let’s do some shots.”
He guided you through the party, weaving through undulating blobs of people coagulating in the most inconvenient places. The kitchen was crowded, but everyone made room for you and Zeke. He opened a cabinet and grabbed an ornate bottle of mezcal. You pretended to know exactly what it was when he handed a shot of it to you.
“It’s gonna burn a little, but you’ll love it. I promise.”
“I don’t know… What if your parents come home?”
“They won’t.”
You gritted your teeth. “I shouldn’t.”
“Don’t you wanna forget about Levi?” He asked. “Live it up.”
“But it’s a sin, Zeke. ‘And do not get drunk on wine which leads to debauchery. Instead be filled with the Spirit.’”
You kicked yourself for dropping a bible quote.
“God created this so we could enjoy it. He made it so we can feel good. Why would God create mezcal if we’re not supposed to drink a shit ton of it?”
You paused because you wanted to believe him. “You do have a point.”
“Plus, bunny, I’m doing it. Me. The pastor’s son. So it’s fine. Nothing I do is a sin. Let’s just have a good night.”
His seemingly intoxicated logic was hilarious and heretical so you went along with it. On the count of three you both slammed the shot. He was right. It burned like hell, but he seemed to be impressed by your ability to drink it so you asked for another. He was more than happy to oblige.
“Told ya,” he said, filling your shot glass.
You shrugged, trying to act cool. “You said I needed to catch up so you know.”
You knew you were overestimating your tolerance, but you wanted to have fun and keep impressing Zeke. You gulped down the mezcal, wincing slightly as it singed your throat. Your eyes welled with tears.
“Aw. I didn’t realize I was dealing with a crybaby,” he teased.
“It hurts, alright?!” You cleared your throat and wiped away your tears. “I’d like another please.”
He poured you another sizable shot. He tilted his head and stared at you googly-eyed as you downed it without question.
“You’re incredible. Do one more,” he purred.
You took three more shots in front of him, finally cutting yourself off when you felt like the back of your throat was thoroughly corroded.
“How ya feeling?” He asked, hip checking you harder than you would have expected.
“Fuzzy. But great and fun and… nice. I gotta pee though. Where’s your bathroom?”
He laughed. “Down the hall, it’s the third door on the right.”
“Okay. Will you stay here and wait for me?” You asked, urgency brewing in your voice. “Please?”
“Yeah, yeah. You got it, bunny.”
He sounded distracted, but you wanted to believe the drunk blonde had your best interests at heart and would keep his word. As you ran off in the direction of the bathroom you overheard Zeke holler, “Run, little rabbit, run.”
Of course by the time you returned he was gone. Your stomach dropped and suddenly you felt like you were underwater, struggling to breathe. Every face was a blur, a terror. Everywhere you turned was unfamiliar and pushed you further into the depths of intoxication. Zeke was nowhere to be found. Though occasionally you could have sworn you’d see him, lurking around with his grey eyes penetrating you like poison-tipped arrows.
“Have you guys suh—seen Zeke an—anywhere?” You slurred to a group of people you thought you recognized.
“Uh, no,” one replied, eyebrow cocked and voice filled with annoyance.
“S—sorry,” you mumbled before running off like a wounded animal.
You found a relatively quiet corner and tried to pull yourself together. Your palms were clammy and you felt like your face was on fire. The room was spinning and it was like you were hovering an inch above the ground. Nothing in this moment had a hint of stability. There was nothing to hold onto, no way to stay grounded.
“What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?” You repeated like the world’s least helpful mantra.
You thought of every piece of media where a wild party occurred. You scoured your memories for good examples of how to act, how to handle yourself. You didn’t have much to go off of; your sheltered upbringing made your hazy attempt a bust.
You stared into the crowd, thinking maybe if you saw someone familiar you’d be able to wing it. Common ground would surely save you. It took you about ten minutes, but you finally spied someone you definitely knew from church.
You yelled from across the room, “Yelena!”
Your screech startled her, but she smiled and waved you over. She gave you a hug and it felt like someone strapped a life vest to you. You didn’t want to leave her embrace.
“How’s it going?” She asked.
“Ummm, not great. I mean… it’s fine. I’m o—okay.”
“I didn’t know you drank.”
“I don’t. Well, I do now. But this is m—my first time,” you stammered, almost like you were afraid of this newly adopted hedonism.
“You’re going pretty hard for your first time.”
“Oh! I’m just trying to keep up with, uh, Zeke, you know?”
She gave you a quizzical look and sighed. “Watch yourself around him,” she said ominously.
“Why?”
She shook her head. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it. I have to go.”
She walked away, leaving you with the group of strangers she had been hanging out with. None of them exuded the warmth Yelena had so you wandered off in search of other people to leach comfort from.
Comfort was found in the form of Zeke’s borzoi, Ymir. She was sequestered in his parents’ room, away from the swirling chaos happening downstairs. Their room was an oasis, your savior found after wandering Zeke’s house for what felt like hours. Your mouth was dry and stingy and the sight of their private bathroom nearly made you cry. You stumbled over to it and shoved your head under the sink, taking an hysterical slurp of cool water.
You looked in the mirror and gasped as your red-eyed, dazed expression stared back at you.
“This is bad,” you drawled.
There was some strange comfort in stating the obvious. You crawled on the floor and sat next to Ymir.
“What am I gonna do?” You wrapped an arm around the dog and looked at her. “Ymir, what am I supposed to do?”
She said nothing and licked the tip of your nose.
“Okay. Th–thanks I guess.”
The two of you sat in silence. The only noise was the muffled music that rumbled throughout the house. You dragged your hand down Ymir’s back, relishing in the softness of her lush fur. It wasn’t peaceful, but it was close enough. You didn’t feel as fearful, your face no longer burning. The tension that had bloomed in your shoulders subsided, leaving you pliable. You slumped a little, back supported by the cool wall. This was your sanctuary.
“Maybe th—” you swallowed a gag, “this is heaven on earth… Isn’t it? Close enough,” you mindlessly rambled to no one in a drunken haze.
You usually weren’t one to exaggerate exaltation so blatantly, but you were turning over a new leaf this year. Maybe things would be alright after all.
Just as you were finally enjoying your intoxication a knock on the door brought you back to the harshness of reality. The door slowly opened, its hinges squeaking without mercy. You stared at the doorway, your face losing all color. The anticipation was killing you.
“There you are, bunny.”
It was Zeke. You could barely hide your excitement and relief.
“Where have you been? I was looking for you everywhere.”
Ymir got up and bolted for the door unceremoniously, pushing past Zeke’s dominating form. You looked down at your jacket which was coated in her white fur.
“Around,” he said, shutting the door behind him.
“You said you were gonna wait for me.”
“I say a lot of things.”
You pouted. “I felt stupid, running around looking for you.”
Zeke took a seat on his parents’ bed. He looked down at you and smirked.
“Poor thing. I’m here now though so you can relax.”
Relaxing seemed impossible, even with explicit permission. It was strange. You had spent so much time searching for Zeke, desperate to see his heavenly presence. But now that he was near you, you felt a disturbing sense of unease.
“What were you even doing?” You asked, the words like slow molasses dripping off your tongue.
“Looking for you! And making sure my guests were having fun. This is my party. I have to be a good host. You’re not the center of the universe, bunny.”
You stared at the carpet. “Yeah.”
“The quicker you realize that, the quicker you can escape this pathetic depressive episode of yours.”
“Pathetic?”
Zeke chuckled. “C’mon. Look at you.”
You stared at your coat caked with Ymir’s fur.
“You can’t expect to find a God fearing man if this is how you are.” He nudged you with his foot. “Depressed. Insecure. A sloppy drunk. A tease.”
“I… That’s n—not me. I’m not—”
He cut you off. “Are you not drunk right now?”
“Yeah, but—”
“You’re not thinking clearly.”
He was right. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess. It was possible you didn’t know yourself. It was possible that you would drink like this again, and maybe even with Zeke. You were certainly insecure, especially under these circumstances. The party was a wild terrain you barely survived. But a tease? That wasn’t accurate.
“Nnn—not a tease.”
“You stayed with Levi even though you knew you would never fuck him again.”
“That… Wait. I stayed with him becau—” you swallowed the spit that had been collecting in your mouth, “I love him.”
“You didn’t love him.”
Tears welled up in your eyes. “I did love him.”
“You can’t even get the words out without slurring,” Zeke snarked. “You don’t need to lie to me, bunny. You can trust me.”
Bunny stung every time he said it, like a needle forcing its way into your vein.
“C’mere,” he said, pulling out a pint of vodka from the void that was his pants pocket. He cracked open the bottle and took a sniff. “Let’s have more fun.”
You crawled over to Zeke and sat in front of him, legs crossed like a child awaiting instruction.
“Get in between my knees.”
“Zeke, th—that’ll look really really bad if so…someone sees.”
“Don’t think about it.”
You crawled closer to him and positioned yourself between his long, toned legs. You sat with your knees tucked under you which caused you great discomfort. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. He reached down, lifting your chin.
“Open your mouth and get ready to drink.”
You swallowed hard and tried to ignore the tears still trickling from your eyes.
“Don’t choke now,” he said, as he poured the vodka into your mouth.
Your swallowing was a success and you avoided asphyxiating, but your chin and chest were soaked with vodka.
“Oh no, will you look at your clothes?” Zeke asked with mock concern.
You pulled off your wet coat, hoping it would have got the brunt of your spill. But no. Your sweatshirt was also vodka stained.
“Dang,” you muttered.
Zeke patted the bed, signaling you to take a seat next to him. You got up and tried to make yourself comfortable. To feel the heat of his body against yours made the muscles in your legs burn. It was becoming clear running away from him was the best course of action, but your brain was soaking in a vat of mezcal and vodka. Anxiety shot through every vein as his arm brushed up against yours. It was like being locked in a room with a pack of wolves. In a panic you quickly imagined the situation, four wolves deep. Little movements and expecting the worst but hoping for the best. The goal is unceremonious: survive.
You sat in a daze, trying to make sense of your previous thoughts only to get lost in your shitty metaphor.
“You should take off your sweater,” Zeke said, rousing you.
He tugged on your sweatshirt, a boyish grin adorned his face.
“Mmmmno. I don’t have anything on underneath it.”
“Who cares? We’re going to fuck each other anyway. You might as well get undressed.”
“That’s deplor—depolar—deplorable,” you drunkenly hissed. “In Pastor Grisha’s r—room? Of all places?”
You paused, unable to speak through your shock.
“Zeke Yeager,” you continued. “That is so disrespec—like not okay to do. I mean, wow…. Us? Yo—you and me? Suuuuure. Okay.” You snorted. “No. I mean, maybe. But like no. I mean, I do kinda hav—”
“I know you have a crush on me, bunny.”
“You—you do?”
“I saw the way you were looking at me on Sunday.”
You tried to think if you stared at him that much. You remember glancing at him more than a few times, but you couldn’t have been that obvious.
“You were staring at me. Your eyes were filled with lust.”
“I’m… don’t think so. I was definitely looking at you, but like only two seconds at a time. Like a lil’ gl—glance.”
“Why would I lie about this?”
“Um… I don’t know.”
You couldn’t think of any good reason. You did think he was adorable. Maybe you had been staring at him. You dragged your thumb along your vodka soaked sweatshirt.
“You know you want to,” he purred. “That cannot be comfortable.”
You relented and pulled off your sweatshirt.
“Take your bra off too,” he said, eyes flat like a shark’s.
“Uhhh,” you mumbled as you unhooked your bra and let it fall from your shoulders.
You let out a tiny whine as the chilled air teased your nipples.
“I bet you’d make the cutest noises if you let me suck on your tits.”
His words left you in a daze of disgust and desire. Because you didn’t put up a fight, Zeke took your breast in his mouth and rolled his tongue against your erect nipple. Warm waves of joy enrobed your body. Your sweet moans filled the room. He rubbed your other nipple between his fingers and continued to suck. His other hand had worked its way under your skirt.
“Zeke, we can’t,” you said, pushing him away.
“Yes, we can. Give me one good reason why we can’t.”
“It’s… Your dad.” You groaned, frustrated that talking took so much effort. “He will be so mad at us.”
“He’ll never know.”
“An—and it’s a sin,” you added.
“Bunny,” he said softly before cupping your face in his hands, “If God didn’t want us to fuck, why did He make it feel so good? Why even give us these bodies?”
His fingers reeked of cigarette smoke. The smell was distracting.
“I—”
“How could something that feels that good be wrong? It can’t.”
“No. Like… I stole a piece of candy once as a kid, right? And it felt great, bu—but like… it was still against the law. Me liking it didn’t… didn’t, uh, change that.”
Zeke covered your mouth. “You are so much more fuckable when you shut the fuck up.”
The walls were closing in on you.
“You said you wanted to be with someone more faithful and devoted to the Lord. I’m the perfect guy, bunny.”
It felt strange to have your words used against you. But Zeke had to be right. He seemed to be the ideal boyfriend even if there was an undercurrent of salaciousness to his behavior.
“I could make you feel so much better than Levi.”
His words were beguiling. The more he spoke, the more convincing he was. You were getting worn down by his persuasion.
“Promise?”
“I’d never lie to you,” he replied, words syrupy.
His eyes didn’t match the tone of his voice. They were dark, heavy and obscured. You couldn’t read them, but you knew something wasn’t right. Sadly you didn’t know enough to heed your intuition. You chose to believe Zeke.
You leaned in and kissed him, taking his bottom lip in between yours. He grabbed your breast as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. His mouth tasted acrid, potent with alcohol and cigarettes.
Zeke’s hands made their way to your waist and unbuttoned your skirt, taking his time to pull the zipper down. It was like he was trying to savor every second he had you ensnared. He pulled your skirt off of you and tossed it across the room, far from your reach. He held your bottom lip between his teeth and he rubbed your cunt through your underwear.
You tugged at his shirt, but he quickly pushed your hands away. He broke the kiss and said, “Get on your hands and knees.”
“Okay,” you mewled, adjusting your position.
He got behind you and peeled away your underwear.
“Arch your back for me.”
You swallowed your nerves and obeyed. He swiped his tongue along your folds. The tip of it grazed your clit and you let out a short, high pitched whine. He chuckled before giving your clit a long, languid lick.
“Zeke,” you moaned.
“You like that, huh? Did Levi ever make you feel like that?”
He licked your throbbing clit once more. You grabbed ahold of the duvet and dug your fingers into it.
“N—no,” you muttered.
Zeke smacked your ass, the ache radiating throughout your body. “Louder.”
“No!”
“Good girl,” he said before rolling his tongue against your clit.
You felt yourself collapsing under the weight of your arousal. You hung your head and choked back a moan. Your legs were weak. Waves of warmth reverberated through your body, pushing you closer to the edge. It was a strange sensation. Levi had never gotten you this close before.
“Wa—want more,” you slurred in between your breathy moans.
Zeke forced his thumb into your ass as he rolled his tongue against your pulsing clit. You whined his name as you arched your back more. Your body tensed up as he held his tongue against your clit.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moaned as your orgasm consumed you.
The tension in your body melted away and you let your body collapse against the mattress.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Ugh.” You buried your face into a pillow. “I just.”
“Use your words,” he said coldly.
“I wanted to last longer, you know?”
He laughed. “Don’t be an idiot. Get up.”
You sighed and sat up, averting his gaze.
“I need you to do something for me, bunny.”
“Whaaaaaat?”
He pointed to his face, his lips and chin coated in your arousal. “You left behind quite the mess. You need to lick it up.”
“Oh, um, okay.”
You leaned in and cupped his face in your hands. You dragged your tongue against his jaw and chin. It was soft for the most part, but there was a hint of stubble. You moved onto his cheeks and then to the tip of his nose. You kissed him on the lips against running your tongue along them. He seemed pleased with your work and wordlessly got up, strutting into the bathroom. You took a deep breath and laid back down. He turned on the sink, and loudly mentioned something about your asshole being pretty clean. You tried to tune him out.
Zeke returned completely naked, his toned body immediately grabbing your attention.
“Impressed?” He said.
You gazed at his erect cock, the tip of it pink and throbbing. It almost looked pained, desperate for the sweet embrace of your cunt.
“Uh-huh,” you said as he got on top of you.
“Flip over,” he growled.
You rolled over onto your stomach.
“Ass up. Now.”
You heeded his word and raised your ass up. Zeke grabbed ahold of his cock and guided it into you. You held your breath and he pushed the tip in deeper. You weren’t sure you could take it all, but you said nothing. He continued to push his cock further inside you, letting out a deep groan once he bottomed out. You again found yourself grabbing ahold of the bedding, clutching the fabric with your fists.
“Oh fuck, you’re so tight,” he said as he began to thrust.
You thanked God it didn’t hurt as much as the first time. It actually felt good to be stretched out by Zeke’s thick cock. His thrusts were smooth and deep. Even the tip of his cock grazing your cervix was bewitching.
“Your cock feels s’good,” you slurred.
“Oh? Does my little slut like getting fucked like a dog?” He asked through a clenched jaw.
You felt yourself tearing up. You wanted to say no. But you couldn’t deny the ardor festering deep inside you, infecting every inch of your pious being. Zeke had overtaken you. You were in his clutches. He had spent the night pursuing you, wounding you, and now he was finally able to collect your body.
“Y—yes,” you mewled.
“Pitiful. You’re disgusting,” he said as he grabbed onto your hips.
His thrusts were more wild and lost their rhythm. He slammed his cock into the depths of your cunt, desperate for friction. You felt like an object, like your participation was nil. Zeke was molding your body to his liking, manipulating it into his favored forms.
Your back was arched to the limit by his urging. You wanted him and God to see just what you were capable of. You wanted them to see how depraved you could get. He kept one of his calloused hands on the back of your neck, forcing your head into a feather-filled pillow.
“I thought you would have put up more of a fight,” he taunted.
His cock slammed into your cervix. You yelped helplessly.
“But you made it so easy,” he groaned. “I thought a God fearing girl like you would require a bit more finesse, but nope.”
He leaned closer and whispered in your ear, “Look at you. Getting fucked like a depraved slut in the pastor’s bed. How does it feel?”
He grabbed a chunk of your hair and lifted your head slightly.
“Good,” you moaned.
“Just good? Don’t lie to me, bunny. Tell me how it really feels.”
“It feels like heaven,” you whined.
Zeke let out a deep groan and fucked you harder and harder. You felt like you were his doll. He had caught you, had claimed you, and now he owned you. You were his toy, if only in this moment.
“Think of how disappointed my father would be to hear that.”
“Zeeeeeeeeke,” you whined, “don’t.”
“What? Does it make you uncomfortable?”
You didn’t answer and instead focused on Zeke’s raging erection and the precum it was leaking into your womb. His thrusts were growing more and more desperate. He held onto your hips, digging his fingers into the tender flesh.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his thrusts deep and relentless. He moaned your name as he filled your cunt with his cum.
Once he finished he rolled off of you and laid next to your fucked out body.
“Don’t worry. I have Plan B in my nightstand. It’s fine,” he said, catching his breath.
You had a vague idea of what Plan B was and simply nodded as his cum seeped out of your cunt.
“Um, okay… I…”
“What?”
“Did… Would you have sex with your ex-girlfriend like that?”
He turned to look at you. “What are you talking about? I don’t have an ex.”
You felt like you were drowning.
“Oh. Okay… Can you… Um. Can you hold me maybe?” You asked.
He laughed. “I don’t really do that.”
You felt yourself fade away. Zeke continued to prattle on about the next position he wanted to put you in, but his voice just sounded like nonsense. It was white noise. You stared up at the ceiling and asked God if this was what he intended, if this was what he hoped for you. When Zeke crawled back on top of you, you decided it must be God’s will.
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[ PAIRING ] Kishibe x reader
[ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] I'm in my Portishead era.
[ SYNOPSIS ] A late night visitor comes to you seeking comfort.
[ WORD COUNT ] 1.9k
[ CONTENT ] Canon AU, hurt/comfort, y/n is a civilian, alcohol, dubcon (he's drunk, y/n is sober), canon-typical violence is discussed, love bites, his dick is pierced, teasing, creampie, cum eating, oral sex, not beta'd and there's barely a plot lol.
It was three in the morning when you heard a gentle rapping at your front door. You had fallen asleep on your couch, dreaming of pleasantries. A hearty discontented moan emanated from your chest. Not answering was your best option, but in your sleepy haze your judgment lapsed.
You swiftly opened the door and groaned. “Oh, so you’re alive.”
You stared at the dark-haired man slumped in your doorway. His tie was loose and limp, shirt half-tucked in. Disheveled didn’t even begin to describe his appearance. Not that you were much better. You answered the door pantsless and in a boxy t-shirt with the hem hacked off.
“Disappointed?” Kishibe slurred.
“Maybe.”
“Too bad,” he said as he handed you a bottle of whiskey. “I brought an offering though.”
You side-stepped and let the wet cat of a man into your home. He leaned against the wall and kicked off his shoes. He looked like shit, but in a strangely appealing way.
“Let’s not pretend that’s for me,” you said as you set the bottle down on your cherry wood table.
He draped his arms over your shoulders and nuzzled his face in your hair. He reeked of cigarettes and sweat.
“You smell nice.”
“You smell like shit.”
The two of you stood in silence, your door a gaping mouth. You wanted to shut it, but you didn’t want to disturb the man clinging to you. You stood there for a minute before you gently pushed Kishibe off of you.
“Want to tell me why you’re here?”
“No,” he said, tone sardonic. “C’mon. You know I hate sleeping alone.”
“And how is that my problem?”
“Because you love me.” You guffawed at his brazen claim. He adjusted his tune. “You like me... You tolerate me.”
“Alright.” You sighed. “You can stay, but you have to shower. There’s no way in hell you’re getting in my bed like this.”
“Be nice to me. I almost died. Don’t you wanna baby me?”
“Not really.”
“Fine. I’ll shower,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. He walked past you heading towards your bathroom. “But you better let me sleep next to you.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.”
“And we’re sharing a blanket this time,” he said, dropping his shirt on the ground.
It looked like a piece of crumpled paper. You picked it up and tossed it in your laundry basket. You would make sure it’d be clean by morning.
You heard your shower turn on and an incredibly pleased moan. Your breath got caught in your throat as you were inundated with perverse ponderings.
“Fuck,” you muttered. “Fuck!”
The bathroom door was ajar. You slinked over to it and pushed it open before sitting on the ground. The steam surrounded you. You looked over at his pants, frowning as you noticed the blood stains.
“Did you get hurt?”
“Just mentally, nothing physical.”
“What about the bl—”
“Someone else’s,” he replied flatly.
The need to baby him grew stronger by the minute. You wanted to pull back the shower curtain and hug him.
“Don’t worry about it.” His words were hardly reassuring. “I’m used to it.”
You never knew how to respond to things like that. It was always a casual deluge of nightmares when he spoke. You had taken to listening rather than trying to solve solutionless problems. That must have been what he liked about you.
“I mean it was the first time I’d ever seen someone’s skin get sucked off their body, but it could’ve been worse.”
“For real?!”
“Yeah, like a vacuum. Poor guy died screaming for his mother. And then the devil wore his skin like a suit.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Nah.”
“No. Seriously. That’s fucked up.”
He peeked out from behind the shower curtain, dark hair obscuring his eyes.
“Are you feeling bad for me?”
“Yes!”
“Good,” he laughed, turning off the shower. “Can you bring me a towel?”
You wordlessly got up and dug through your linen closet for your softest towel. If anyone else had treated you that way you would have kicked them out. But you knew it was a defense mechanism; Kishibe’s actions had context so your sympathy was easy to draw out.
You returned to see him standing on your bathroom rug with his head hung low, hands on the countertop. Immediately you noticed his cock, thick and long, and the silver barbell piercing the tip. He perked up at the sound of your footsteps. You put the towel on top of his head and dried his hair, acting as if you weren’t transfixed by his considerable length.
“You don’t have to do this.”
You smiled. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to baby you?”
“I did, didn’t I…”
You wrapped the towel around his broad shoulders and stepped out of the bathroom, leaving him to the rest. Your bed was already unmade, sheets still soaked with last night’s sleep. You smoothed out the wrinkles so it didn’t look quite as chaotic. There was no real reason for it; it’s not as if he’d notice or even care. But still you felt compelled. He deserved placidity in small gestures.
You glanced over your shoulder only to be startled by his presence. The towel was barely clinging to his waist. His body was flecked with bruises of varying color and size.
“I thought you said you only got hurt mentally.”
He looked down at his battered body. “These are old.”
He yawned and breezed past you, cozying himself in your bedding.
“A damp towel in my bed? Really?”
He pulled it off of himself and dropped it on the floor. You rolled your eyes and crawled into bed. He spooned you immediately, burying his face in your neck. It felt too intimate. Usually you had his clothed body cocooned in his own blanket.
“You finally gonna let me fuck you?”
Your stomach dropped and words eluded you. Sometimes his brazen nature took you by surprise.
“Or are you committed to your long con?”
“I’m not conning you,” you scoffed. “I just don’t want to take advantage of you.”
He held you tighter. “Please take advantage of me. This may be your last chance.”
“Shut up. Get some sleep.”
“You used to be so nice.”
You were vaguely offended. “I am nice. I’m very nice in fact.”
“No. You’re cruel,” he said before planting a kiss on the nape of your neck.
“Are you not sleeping in my bed? I let you use my favorite towel. I’m letting you press your dick up against my ass.”
Kishibe paused. “Well of course you're gonna sound nice when you lay it out like that.”
Silence enveloped the room. You shut your eyes and waited for sleep to take you. He slipped his hand under your shirt and cupped your breast. Rather than push it away you let it linger. It drifted down your abdomen before settling underneath your underwear, his fingertips centimeters from your clit. He began to rut his hips, hard cock rubbing against you and leaving a trail of precum in its wake.
“Wait, are you actually letting me do this?”
You groaned. “Yeah. Don’t make me regret it.”
He rubbed small circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb. Your heart started to pound. You exhaled deeply and tried to maintain composure. Your underwear were already sticky with your arousal. You hated being so easy, so quick to fall apart at the seams.
His fingers swept down your folds, coating them in your fluids.
“I can’t believe you’re this wet already.”
“What else am I supposed to be?!”
You looked back at him and he smirked. You rolled over onto your back away from his grasp, pretending he actually hurt your feelings. You pouted, hoping you’d make him feel a little bad. He scooched closer to you.
“You’re a shitty actor,” he said, propping himself up on his elbow.
His eyes were fixed on your chest, how the fabric did little to obscure your hard nipples. The intensity of his gaze weighed on you.
“It’s impolite to stare.”
“When did I ever say I was polite?” Kishibe asked, getting on top of you. He pulled up your shirt. “You know me better than that.”
He pushed your underwear to the side and delved his rough fingers inside you, keeping his thumb pressed up against your clit. His lips were glued to your neck, his teeth and stubble grazing your skin. He began groping you with his free hand, pinching your nipple. A string of moans tumbled from your mouth.
You arched your back and thrust against his fingers. They felt divine, but you wanted to feel full. You couldn’t help but think about how his cock would feel throbbing inside your wet cunt.
“Need your cock,” you choked out, embarrassed you couldn’t get a full sentence out.
“Is that so?”
He slowly removed his fingers and didn’t hesitate to pull down your underwear. He teased your cunt with his tip, the metal tickling your tender flesh. It felt so good, but his pace frustrated you. You wanted all of him now. You didn’t want to be patient. He should have known that. You whined pathetically in protest.
Seemingly taking pity on you he plunged his cock inside you. Your hands fell to your slides and gripped the sheets. His thrusts were deep and filled with longing. You almost felt bad for turning him down so many times.
“Fuck,” he grunted as he bottomed out.
He looked down at you and grabbed ahold of your jaw. Your breath hitched as he pulled you into a sloppy kiss, radiating passion. You felt so wanted, so needed. You were putty in his hands. Your body quivered in the shadow of his.
He broke the kiss. “You want more?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” you babbled.
He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. Each of his thrusts were punctuated with a throaty moan. You didn’t think his cock could go deeper into you, but he was more than willing to prove you every shade of wrong. Your skin was hot. You couldn’t stop panting. You felt like he was going to split you in two and it was the definition of blissful.
You were holding on by a thread, losing yourself as your orgasm swirled around you.
“Where do you want it?” He groaned.
“Wa—want what?”
“My cum.”
“Inside. Inside,” you panted.
A shot of warm cum filled your cunt. He fucked it deeper and deeper inside you. He dropped your leg and pulled out. You could have hit him for stopping when you were so close to climaxing. Just as you went to say something he began to lap his cum out of your cunt.
“Oh fuck,” you moaned as he sucked on your clit, stubble brushing up against your thighs.
You sighed as your orgasm crescendoed, moans filling the room. You rutted against his face, unable to obscure your ecstasy. He looked up at you, ardor filled eyes meeting yours. He gave your clit one last long lick before kissing the inside of your thighs.
“Th—that was… I mean, wow,” you said, struggling to express your gratitude.
He sat up, looking a little dazed. Poor thing. You knew better than to try to move so soon after coming.
“You going somewhere?” You teased.
“Huh?”
You reached out to him. “Lay back down,” you cooed.
Your words were more than enough to convince him. He cuddled up next to you, resting his head on your chest. You stroked his still damp hair and closed your eyes.
“You know… I’d be up for another round in a bit.”
You waited for a response, but none came.
“Kishibe.”
He groaned and you took that as your cue to quiet down. You would pester him about riding his face in the morning.
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