hi my brain has been non stop thinking about zeke drilling into the back of a girl and being an inch short of putting a bag over her head to imagine it’s tenet reader since you hit my inbox about it earlier— @zekeslut so landlord zeke is climbing the ranks.
can’t blame you— i myself love the concept of zeke pining and lusting over someone that doesn’t seem to notice him. with all that’s happened to him, i imagine him as someone that comes up with many ways to gain attention, even if they’re not conventional in the slightest.
tw: implied but really rough sex, a sexually and emotionally frustrated zeke, 18+ content (mdni), and my shitty english + writing skills.
at first, he didn’t really pay you any attention. sure, you had a nice body from what one could gather and a voice that could get stuck in his head, but only for a while… until it didn’t. it didn’t help you that the first time he came to see you (one that was actually trying to be polite, an old trick of him to get tenants to trust him and have such a good impression of him that the mere thought of not paying was akin to some unforgivable sin), you opened the door with only a towel covering your soft, damp breast. he would know later that you really hadn’t meant to be seen half-naked by him, but he could only accept your half-assed apologies while he tried te blurb his.
all lies, of course, as he ended up having to lock himself up to wrap his hand around his member, trying to think of your body as he had thought of every other other body he’s fucked and not actually think of you— trying not to think of your voice, the way you’ve always laughed as you passed through his apartment with such a contagious laughter, trying not to think of your glee when he let you know that yes, you can use the pool, and especially trying not to think of the smile he gave to you when you both sealed the deal (“this is your home now, no need to thank me” he had said, perhaps genuinely as well).
but he did, and worst of all— he always thinks of it and more, because when he came into his hand he has to cling onto the room’s door knob so he won’t fall. zeke, with knees weak and heartbeat echoing into his head, knows that this is but the beginning. it came in handy that your job is such a dead-end that every month you’re struggling, if only a little, to pay your due. he won’t evict you, but you didn’t need to know that.
the girls he brought were both a help to his ends as well as a nuisance; sure, they made him hard enough that they were blubbering, spent messes with half a mind after he was done— but they were also noisy, tasteless, silly girls that were too eager to please him, it made him sick that in all their attempts to be you they could potentially drive you away as well.
he would end up pressing their faces against the mattress, the pillows— when he’s lucid enough in between the lust and the anger (and with each time he’s without you, zeke struggles to find any lust and only comes up with more and more frustration), he resorts to fucking their throat until he empties himself into their mouths, appreciating that they open their lips to show his work and sway their hips to ask more… that is, until he remembers it's not you.
it's frustrating, infuriating and contradicting, that no matter how many times zeke reaches his high, how many times he wrecks a beautiful woman's body he can only think of you. no, it's not frustrating: it's maddening.
he consoles himself every time thinking that underneath his floor, you're hearing it all: the chanting of his name, the way he and this-night-gal make the bed cry with every thrust, every move. he hopes that the filth that pours from his mouth and into their bodies passes through the matress and the floor, that it falls into your head as you sleep (or try to sleep) in order to make you think that it could be your body the one zeke paints in white.
you wouldn't need to pay any rent if you live here with me, zeke thinks. and the thought alone of waking up next morning to you is better than any obscenity the girl in front of him is trying to come up with.
"you must be a really desperate slut to ask a fifth time for my cock, but i'm a generous man, my dear," zeke doesn't even want to disimulate that he's not looking at them, he's looking into his mind, underneath the concrete and the little tenant trying to sleep. "all fours, darling. don't say anything except my name for them."
'for her' he struggles not to say, as he pushes himself in one go and tries to think of her— his little tenant that, with luck, must be writhing underneath her sheets begging for zeke.
