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#aot zeke
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liveinsaturn · 1 day
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zeke was such a shortie🥺:3
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gjatheshroom · 5 months
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Marleyan fashion catalogue (November 853)
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dihanabi · 3 months
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Attack on titan collection 2024: AU young Zeke as a baseball player
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weetlebeetle · 10 months
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Zeke at his peak, imo.
Patreon tier reward for @/zekeyeagersboo on twitter <333!!!!!
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chrollohearttags · 1 year
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zeke is literally so nasty it’s insane. like he has nothing to lose and is super spontaneous so he’s basically tried everything. i’m talking regularly does anal AND sucks toes he’s such a mess.
there hasn’t been a realer statement spoken on this app omg…
now THIS is a nasty ass man. When I tell you Zeke is with the shits..you gone have to block his number when he’s done because he gone ruin your life. You will not be same after you fuck with him. He has no couth, no decorum and no shame. You go on a date with this man, he brings you back to his place and next thing you know, he got you tied to the bed, double stuffed like both ends of a turkey. He’ll buy you cute little plugs and stuff though so a plus?? (I guess) I also think he lovessss degradation too (both receiving and giving). Probably into getting burned with them fonky ass cigarettes too! Who knows with him honestly.
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irregardlessly-tish · 4 months
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mikasa-imadebiscults · 8 months
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hangeslefteye · 1 year
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ZEKE ACTUALLY İN LOVE HC'S
Soft!Zeke but it's sooo hard to imagine and write if OOC let me know.Also I've been thinking about him a lot recently.Time for my ''I can fix him''hours.(Liking soft!Zeke is an another lvl of character observation skills congrats if you are here xD )
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He wants to know EVERYTHİNG that crosses from your mind how you think about EVERYTHİNG.A lot of people -including me-label him toxic masculinity but he's pretty much the only man that will ask your opinion on world hunger?WW3?Feminisim?LGTB rights? etc... He wants to know how your brain works from head to toe without revealing too much about himself.Even sometimes he asks weird ethics scenerios such as bla bla bla happened would you cheat on your husband type of xD LOTS OF PHİSOPHİCAL QUESTİONS.LOTSSS OF.Which he asks SOME OF these with everybody he's close to such as Colt,Pieck,Porco,Reiner...But never this intense.HE'S OBSESSED WİTH YOUR BRAİN JUST GİVE HİM EVERYTHİNG!!!
HE VALUES YOUR OPİNİON.He doesn't do this one with anyone lmao.You can feel special at this point because this even suprise those who's close to him.For example smoking in doors?Just tell him you don't like it and HE'LL STOP.No arguments,no 'convincing' he just stops.Especially at bigger decisions he'll take your opinion over his.
Does anyone remember Xavier?Zeke claim him as his father and value him deeply.But Xavier manipulated him to snitch his parents and with his plan.Zeke I think understood this for the very first time when Grisha hugged him in the paths.Considering he's possibly the smatest character in the series love clouded him too much.He's quite open for manipulation coming from his loved ones maybe that's why he's quite distant to start with.
I feel like you can ONLY TRULY make sure he's in love with you if he's talking about his childhood,parents and Xavier.Which will come in blanks.He'll feel like he's said too much and cut it many times.Maybe he thinks this is unnecessary,cringy or simply it's just way too painful.But at one point he wants to be understood with his everything and this is where he picks up he's fcked because ONLY AT THİS POİNT he'll understand he has feelings for you.He's TERRİFİED of an another Xavier situation so if he opens up you might not see him for an easy a couple of weeks lol.You're lucky if he ever comes back.
Also he's great at reading people his distant with.İf he hasn't got feelings for you he can tell you are in love with a single glance.Sadly this won't work if he's also into you xD.Another oblivious fool like Eren.He might even take your attention for something sinister you are up to and begin to mess with you.He thinks he's playing mind games lol.But suprise you are in love with him and this has no logical explanation or manipulative check-mate.He's going crazy that he can't defeat you lmao.He needs someone close to him stating it even if it's a joke.
After this realisation he would take you to a couple of cliche dates(Which he pays my 'who pays the date aot HCS'was a joke lmao) because he claim he understands what women want XD At this stage he's quite goofy and just laughing around,having fun.No interest in knowing one further -as this is bounding to him-Overall very gentlemanly,talkative and funny.It would be impossible to get bored with this man.Might come off too casual and somewhat shallow at first but if he's truly interested you WİLL understand.
On the other hand I don't really think sex is a thing for him when it comes to showing affection.He would just do it because he wanted to and not because he was 'attracted' to you so thinking sex was important to him would be a huge delusion.His love language is either quality time or gifts but he secretly enjoys recieving physical affection yet I can't say if he equally returns it.İt would feel weird to him.(When Grisha hugged Zeke in the pathssss AAAAAAA)
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rubycafee · 2 years
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why did he have to grow a beard, like he was so fine without it ??
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yuyuswrld · 3 months
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O Captain, My Captain || 3
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characters: zeke yeager x reader (this chapter), various aot boys x reader
notes: sorry for the delay! had to come over a huge writers block. this chapter is kind of plot heavy as well, but the smut will be cont. in 3.5/4 :) tysm everyone for your support as well! <3
content warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. heavy sexual content. DUBIOUS CONSENT, power imbalance (zeke is the other school’s volleyball coach), HEAVY degradation, vulgar language, usage of terms such as slut and bitch
read the introduction here, part 1, or part 2 here!
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There are times when you watch Eren play that remind you of dancing on the ice, sweat beading slightly. The contrast of the cold arena and your hot skin creates the sickly sweet and addicting feeling of paradise and freedom on your body. To be focused but to also be free, to glide like a dog relinquished from his chains, running free through a field of tall grass. You see a vision of a future in his eyes, one among the flashes of sports cameras and post-competition interviews where fans cheer excitedly in the background. A future where Yeager is posted prominently across the backs of people’s fan jerseys or a household name that gets discussed over Christmas dinner. If he was meant to be anything, it was to be an athlete.
It makes you want to cry that he got to have it and you didn’t. Maybe that’s what really bothered you about him. Your own envy seeping out at the seams, body overwhelming with the rage of a career in the sport that you loved. To be able to stand face-forward to the camera, jumping and screaming with excitement as you hold the gold metal in your hands. But now, it would never be you.
Your final highschool show, after this you could dedicate yourself to the world of competitive figure skating. There would be no more homework to complete after you got a gold, no more biology classes that seemed like they would never end. It would be life on the ice, never having felt anything better than the rush of cold air blasting your face as you stepped in the rink. To soar like a dove throughout the skies of the ice as if it was called upon you by God himself to do. But as your head thumped against the ice during your failed jump, you already knew it was over before your had eyes forced themselves shut, refusing to acknowledge the collective gasp of the large audience. With a single devastating concussion, your career had slipped out of your fingers. The dove had been released from its cage.
“I just think it’s really nice that you ended up liking volleyball,” Armin says, picking at his dining hall food. “It sucks to be stuck with someone who doesn’t care for a manager. We’re all here because we’re good at what we do and because we can’t imagine ourselves not being involved in it.” 
You smile at Armin’s kind words but take a second to contemplate them, unsure if your dedication to the sport is as commendable as he gives credit for. Sure, it’s been a couple of chaotic but enjoyable months, but it’s hard to say you should be managing them. To have the stars in your eyes as you gaze at the ball, eyes narrowed in and head in the game. Reflexes attuned to the ball soaring above, to be here rather than anywhere else in the world.
“You college athletes are a different breed,” you sigh, jealousy escaping in a single breath.
One day, none of this would matter to you. This might not even matter to the rest of them in a not-so-far-away future. Not all of them were going to continue playing volleyball forever, no matter how starry-eyed they are now. Not everyone goes to nationals and not all things that matter in college will matter forever. The world will always revolve. But it mattered now, and here you are, in a major having nothing to do with sports but still taking the spot of someone else who could care more than you do about the sport. It was one thing your parents had ingrained in you: never take something from someone who needs it more.
You snap yourself out of the state of self-pity, glancing back up at Armin, who has taken a heaping bite of his food. You might as well make the best of it while you’re here.
“We’re going to Marley for a fancy training camp, right?”
“Yeah! We’ve never gone before. Reiner and Eren’s families are both from there! Eren’s older brother is the coach of one of Marley’s best university teams.”
“So why didn’t he go to that university?” You ask.
“Family drama,” Armin sighs. “I don’t think those two like each other at all. I won’t bore you with the details, but don’t expect Eren to be in the best mood when the camp starts.”
You watch in silence from your fold-out chair, hands folded neatly in your lap. Eren’s form is almost impeccable, even somewhat delicate as he serves the ball with unimaginable force. Ever since you arrived yesterday, the tension between him and his brother has been palpable. Coach Levi and Coach Zeke haven’t been seeming to get along well either, butting heads at every turn which has led to you having to sit in on a lot of mutual scowling. 
“He’s not your little shit to coach, Zeke,” Levi almost spits at him. “Not anymore anyway.” It’s only returned by a petty glare from the bearded man, who excuses himself at the comment. Despite the minor scuffles, you’ve been watching in awe as the boys focus themselves on the constant practice matches. It was beyond impressive, the middle blockers of the other team picking up on unspoken strategies just for Armin to adapt to their solution. 
Eren rushes in to spike the ball as it flies into the air, arm swinging before a loud smack resonates through the gym and a whistle wafts in the air. Eren pats Armin on the back, almost launching the poor, startled boy. You two make eye contact, and you shoot him a congratulatory thumbs-up. He doesn’t return the gesture, only going to cuss Jean out for a bad dig he made in the second set. It stings, even in a small way, but you get out of your chair and tidy up the gym as practice comes to a close. 
You sit with Levi, Zeke, and the manager of Liberio University’s team manager, Pieck. She shoots you awkward smiles every so often, you assume in attempts to diffuse the painful silences of the dinner that had been arranged up in the nature of hospitality.
“Is this your first time in Marley?” She smiles at you, taking a sip of the beer that sits in front of her. You nod, a pleasant smile coming across your face.
“It is! But I’m having a great time so far. I’m especially excited to check out the arcade room back at the university.”
“I have some paperwork I need to get in my office back at the school. I’ll show you how to get there since it’s along the way.”
True to his word, Zeke drives you and Levi back to the university, where Levi departs to the assigned housing to sleep off the travel earlier. He guides you through the ginormous, winding halls of the school, they’re never-ending in nature and decorated with trophies from students of the past. One catches your eye, it’s an ornate gold trophy, decorated by jewels at the cusp. 
The nameplate reads as Best Coach of the Year, 1996. Grisha Yeager. You pause, steps halting behind the taller man to inspect it from outside of the glass case. There are a few beside it, reading the same name, but for different years.
“Is this your father’s?”
He turns around, his scowl too obvious for comfort. Oh fuck. Should you not have asked that? Before you can attempt to rescind it, Zeke talks.
“Yes. He’s well-known in Marley for leading our volleyball team to win international competitions multiple years in a row.”
“Seems like the passion runs in the family,” you chide in, despite being unsure of Zeke’s pleasure on the current subject. Although, you’re not quite sure what is pleasurable for him overall. The entire time you’ve been here he’s seemed displeased by everyone’s presence, whether it be Levi, Eren, or even you. 
“I am where I am because I did it to please my father. Eren still loves it, in spite of our father. There’s a reason he went as far for school as possible.”
“So, if you don’t love volleyball, why do you care so much about what Eren does now? You’ve been tearing him apart since we got here.”
“Because he can do better than our father. I want to see Grisha Yeager crushed.” Oh. What the fuck? You shake it off, following Zeke as he deems the conservation over and resumes his trek to his office. As you arrive, you first start by standing at the door frame, but allow yourself in as he beckons you. He clears the paperwork off of his desk, placing it in his briefcase before locking his gaze with you.
“Sit.” 
“What?” You glance around the room, trying to figure out at which seat he’s implicating. 
“Sit on my desk.” His voice is commanding, the same brutal tone he used when scolding Eren’s missed spikes. You step forward, legs moving on their own before you find solace on the cold wooden desk, cringing as it touches your exposed legs. Zeke’s fingers land on your chin, grabbing it and forcing it into a position where you look up at him.
“You’re so obedient, keep it that way or see what happens. I’m not in the best of moods, so I’m really not trying to play any fucking games.” His fingers are sophisticated as he removes your shirt, pads tracing your skin in unrecognizable patterns. He begins by playing with your nipples through your bra first, experimentally before they resume their professionalism in toying with you. Even despite your confusion, your body reacts in indescribable ways, back arching to savor and give into his touch. He goes to unhook it, proceeding by latching his lips on one as his other hand caresses your other side.
You can feel his cock nudge against you every time he shifts, allowing yourself to whimper at the gain and sudden loss of contact in such a short period. Zeke releases his mouth from you, using the back of his hand to wipe the saliva off. 
“What do you want? I can’t be doing everything, even if you are such a desperate little bitch.” His hands play with the fabric of your skirt as he continues to stare you down, waiting for a response. 
“Eat me out, please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please, coach.” That answer seems to appease him as he flips your skirt up before kneeling and placing the smallest lick on your clit through your underwear. Your hands attempt to find solace in his hair, but are swatted away. Control issues, got it. You’re snapped out of your head as Zeke moves your panties to the side and immediately plunges a finger into your wet cunt without warning.
“You’re already fucking soaked,” he remarks coldly, but it’s followed by his tongue finding its placing on your clit once again. The brutal, face-paced assault on your hole continues as he continues, unrelenting in the wake of your moans bouncing off the walls. You feel as he adds another finger inside before picking his pace back up to where it was. You feel as the coil builds in your stomach, a familiar feeling drawing in closer.
Zeke’s fingers stop their ministrations in full as he shifts his focus up to you. “Good little sluts beg to cum.” He withdraws his fingers and you clench around the emptiness. Instead, you feel as he traces lazy circles around your sensitive spots, clearly not interested in allowing you the time to think.
“Please, oh my god, please. Coach! Let me cum all over your fingers.” Zeke only nods in acknowledgement, but you feel as his spit lands against your hole erotically. Unwavering in his resolve, he ignores your gasp of shock and his pace resumes its toe curling effect. Once again, the feeling reaches its fever pitch as you release along his fingers. He slows down before finally stopping. Zeke stands up, placing his fingers along your lips.
“Lick it up, all of it. I can’t fucking stand filthy bitches.”
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liveinsaturn · 28 days
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smol baby in his dad’s arms
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dolcezzzza · 1 year
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Chainsmoking His Love 1: The First Cigarette
Zeke Jaeger x Reader // follow #CHLZeke for updates // nsfw mdni
POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns Chapter tags: smoking, mild dom/ sub (Zeke dom is the overarching theme of this honestly), oral, fingering, sex Chapter length: 6k
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The coils of his beard are highlighted in the moon, more ginger than blonde in the darkness, tobacco wafting down at his breath. With his other hand he gently takes the half-burned cigarette from between your lips, flicking it over the edge without bothering to put it out.
“I should break such a bad habit.”
Your mouth wavers to speak, though no words come to mind, and that’s when he kisses you.
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♡ read more after the jump or on ao3 ♡ // ♡ spotify playlist♡
I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.
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Author's note: This takes place between seasons 3 and 4 / more towards the end of that 4 year time jump. With that, I am writing from the perspective of a fully-finished manga reader. There are no outright spoilers past the canon from the start of season 4, but there are references and hints to Zeke's plan/ overall character at the end of the story, because this piece is as canon-compliant as possible. Be warned!
Night in Marley is accompanied by whipping winds off the sea, the salt still tangible in the air even high above the Liberio city limits. It stings when you lick your lips, but you do it again and again until your skin is chapped, mouth and eyes watering against the breeze, somehow soothing on sleepless nights such as this. The wind has been picking up all day, the aroma of ozone coming thick. A storm is soon approaching this city.
A grating comes sharp behind you, wood scraping and striking, and your heart leaps in panic at the sudden sound. No one has ever interrupted you on the roof, drinking in the cold clear air behind the sweeping curtains of laundry. And you turn slowly, ready to explain yourself to any Marleyan authority, but the tall, lean, sandy haired man with a wiry beard and glasses that glint in the moonlight is not who you expected to push through the sheets.
The bravest, the boldest, the one who vanquished the island devils as best as he could. The one who stands above the sinners, encouraging good conduct, camaraderie, redemption against the injustices of history. You’ve met him a handful of times before, but never alone. And he speaks, remembering your name in greeting when you spring to automatic attention.
“It’s late,” Zeke Jaeger says, as he takes a long drag from his lit cigarette.
“Sir – I’m sorry, did you expect privacy up here?” You relax, slightly, when he shrugs.
“Nothing to apologize for, don't look so tense. It’s just a good place for a smoke.”
“Oh.” Oh. It explains the broken rolls that litter the stone ground and gutters, black circles of ash stamped into the ledge, things you’d seen nights before but hadn’t given much thought to until now. You turn back to the ocean as he steps besides you, resting his elbow so close to yours against the half-wall of the roof that you can almost feel the warmth of his skin.
“Do you smoke?” he asks, lifting the packet to you.
You consider for a moment, how you should answer. “No, thank you, sir,” you say.
“Suit yourself,” Zeke says. It was a satisfactory enough choice, and he lowers his arm. The profile of his face is shadowed, nose pointed out to the sea, crow’s feet deep against his eyes cutting black lines in the moonlight. “Storm clouds on the horizon.”
It’s merely a literal observation, but there’s a tinge of amusement in his voice, as if there’s something funny about the incoming tempest.
“How was the weather there? On – that island?”
The words sound lame, and you hear it as they come out of your mouth, but you can’t think of any way to continue this rare chance of conversation. Zeke pauses, reaching for the cigarette and spinning it between his fingers.
“If I say that the people were the true storms, does that sound impressive?”
You laugh, before wondering if it seems rude, mocking the trauma of war. “Sorry. Sir. I didn’t mean to make light of it.”
Zeke waves his hand in silence, keeping his face towards the horizon, but not bothered.
Your pride can't let the potential offense slide. “Thank you,” you say, feeling it inadequate words for the war chief of Marley, but better than leaving it at a laugh. “For protecting us.”
He smiles, turns his head down ever so slightly. Moonlight reflects against the thin lens of his glasses as he regards you with a side-eye glance. His mouth opens a little wider than necessary to blow out the next puff of smoke, angled just barely out of way of your nose. It still stings your eyes, and you’re blinking furiously up at the stars even as he stubs out the cigarette and lights another, casting the match to the rocks below.
“The prices we pay to secure that future.”
Zeke speaks with soft deliberation, with the same weight as his official declarations and updates. But the quiet words are chilling right in your ear. This man, smoking so innocuously besides you as if it’s an everyday occurrence and the two of you are as thick as thieves instead of near strangers – it’s fascinating, uncannily so. His dry wit, his charisma, feels so suddenly familiar and inviting.
You could step down and leave him to his cigarette, but something in you yearns for this company, unwilling to cut it short even as the conversation slowly lulls with his strange words. In the distance, waves crash. Some sleepy gulls stir and coo once or twice in the darkness, and you shiver, turning your head directly to him.
“It’s cold,” you say.
“I have a bottle of wine in my quarters for that,” Zeke says, carelessly. “But if you want to enjoy the ocean and stars longer…” he extends his arm out again, flipping the packet open before you can let your mind dwell on that passing sentence, “have a cigarette.”
You still aren’t sure what the right choice is, but you watch your hand open, his fingers brushing against yours as he slides a cigarette into your grasp. You roll it between your thumb and forefinger as you lift it to your mouth, before realizing you have no matches. You turn to Zeke. “May I have a light?”
He says nothing and doesn’t move, casting his lashes down and inhaling deep, the red flame sparking.
Hesitantly, you press your cigarette to the end of his. Inhaling, you find it strong – remarkably so, and your throat convulses in efforts to mask the coughing as you lean back over the wall. Crumbs of tobacco coat against the edge of your tongue on the next puff. You can’t hide it when you gather it behind your lips and spit, messy, over the ledge.
You look at Zeke, and his lips twitch in a smile as he indolently lowers his cigarette. “Sorry. I rolled them myself. Go on, suck it, if you can take another drag.”
“I can, sir. Just a little strong,” you say, trying not to appear overwhelmed. You suck on the cigarette a little more lightly, and it’s less sickening just to hold the air and puff it out. Soon, your inhale is more eager than reluctant. “Remarkable, that this habit doesn’t slow you down, sir. You’re the best we have.”
Zeke leans down into the ledge, taking a step back to lower his chin to his rested elbows. He’s shorter than you at this casual angle now as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, and looks up, glasses glinting in the moonlight, as he grins. The flash makes your head spin as the smoke begins to creep through your senses. “Are you marveling at my physique despite this filthy habit?” He speaks through the roll gritted between his teeth.
Your laugh is uncomfortable now as you lower the cigarette, unsure if you should literally bend to the war chief’s level. “Sir, I didn’t say it’s filthy.”
“But it is a bad habit,” he says, almost musing.
The cigarette burns between your fingers, and you lift it shakily back to your lips, unsure of what to say.
Zeke straightens, draws himself up to his full imposing height. He drops his cigarette, crushing it into the stone with a step closer to you. You don’t realise he’s come that much closer until his hand comes down on the other side of you, and your head is tilting back in order to make eye contact. The coils of his beard are highlighted in the moon, more ginger than blonde in the darkness, tobacco wafting down at his breath. With his other hand he gently takes the half-burned cigarette from between your lips, flicking it over the edge without bothering to put it out.
“I should break it.”
Your mouth wavers to speak, though no words come to mind, and that’s when he kisses you.
His lips smear yours with tobacco, tongue disgusting with that earthy cloying taste, and he had been right even when he put the words in your mouth – a filthy habit, fucking filthy. You hate how it fills your senses, the nicotine in your own head already clouding enough, but you kiss him back, smoky saliva entwining with tongues. He pushes his deep into your mouth, the hand that had taken your cigarette returning to cradle against your jaw, thumb stroking down to your throat and traveling down again. You gasp into his mouth, almost breaking the kiss, as he slips it between your legs. It’s a reflex when you clutch his hand between your thighs, but you can’t force the muscles to relax, as pulse after pulse of heat begins to come up within you. Your head is dizzy, starved for oxygen, throbbing in time with his stroking, searching hand.
Those pulses are what bring you back to the cold rooftop, your eyes fluttering open - when had they closed? - with heat beating through you. The curve of his glasses press against your temple, the purple of his undereye bags meeting your eyes, and you break your lips from Zeke’s.
The war chief. The savior of Marley, with his hand between your thighs.
Your heart hammers. He must hear it.
“Are you – scared?” Zeke asks, tilting his head slightly as his hand creeps slowly, so slowly, higher. His tone isn’t mocking, isn’t leering, but curious, and you can hear the smile in his voice. His fingertips curl against your inner thigh.
You can’t keep your eyes on his, shaking with burning arousal and shame knit together, and look away, look down.
“No,” you force out, and it isn’t a lie when you say it. “But, sir – ”
“You know no one will come up here. If they do, I’ll bear the blame.”
His words carry a casual determination, the great warrior with his hand hunting up over the fabric of your clothes, and it’s the assurance that makes you shake with an emotion you can’t quite name. No, it’s not fear. It isn’t really shame, either. Your eyes, unable to meet his still, rest on the bulge of his crotch.
Zeke knows he’s reached your cunt when you shake harder between the cage of his arm and the brace of the ledge, and you lift your face to his with a short gasp. He brushes his hand over, and back, and he catches your lips in a kiss once more. He smiles again, hard against your mouth, beard scratching against the edge of your cheeks and down to your chin. The pace of his kisses increases slightly, just as his hand massages over your clothes, moving roughly up to find a fastening.
An indecent sound escapes you, raw in your throat and aching not from the burning remnants of cigarette smoke, but it makes Zeke break the kiss now to let out his own soft groan of satisfaction. His thighs press against yours, and he rocks his hips, pushing his hand harder against you.
“Get down,” he says, and there’s a command in the words, a military order that has you sinking to your knees. It leaves you buzzing, to be so suddenly without his touch, and you pause with your hands on your thighs, trying to anchor yourself through the smoke in your head. The shadows reel, either from the cigarette, or the murky depth of darkness. Above you, Zeke lowers his trousers.
His nicotine stained fingers stroke his cock, already half-hard as you kneel between his parted legs. When you lift fingers to it, shaking despite yourself, he closes his hand around yours. You finally meet his eyes again, and as he rubs your hand over him, there’s no trace of that warm smile any more.
“Suck it,” Zeke says, his voice low and grating, a whipping command in the cold air.
You move your hand almost experimentally, to see if he’ll let you, and he lets go as you open your mouth to take him in. He moves the hand to the back of your head in a large, open grip, as if he’s testing, waiting to see how you proceed next. You keep your hand along his shaft, rolling down, massaging along the length that your mouth can’t reach yet, even as your fingers drag more and more saliva down. His cock becomes firm, hard muscle under your fingers and in your mouth.
Your thumb strokes up along the underside of his cock as your hand stills at the base, and he groans above you, deep and guttural, something – something that you want to hear again. You move your tongue along him, around and up to find the sensitive tip of the head and flick right underneath there. Zeke’s hand tightens, not threatening, but encouraging, and as you flicker your tongue back and forth there again and again, you begin to taste heavy, bitter droplets beading in your mouth.
Inhaling through your nose is too shallow, and you try to relax your lips and hiss some breath through your smoke-smothered lungs, and that’s when Zeke’s fingers clamp against you in an unmistakable control. It forces you forward, his cock further down your throat. You do your best to match the movement of your lips and mouth to the growing rhythm of his guiding hand and hips. He grunts, a confirmation of your efforts, and thrusts faster.
But he does not fuck your mouth roughly, still letting your keep your agency. You do the work on your own as more of his bitter fluids begin to mix with your own drool, leaking down the side of his shaft and dribbling down your chin despite your efforts to keep your lips a seal around his cock. You almost choke at the effort, his cock growing firmer and bigger in your mouth, hitting right at the back of your throat. Your eyes flutter and roll in reflex.
“No – look at me.”
You force your eyes up to Zeke just as his hand pushes down to the back of your head, through your eyelashes and beyond his shirt whipping in the breeze. It makes your eyes sting and water, his cock heavy on your tongue. His hips thrust into your mouth stronger, and you gag at the movement.
Zeke looks at you, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, stray hair sliding down across his forehead, and his lips are parted, his breath as ragged as your own. The tightening of his cock in your mouth should have been your hint but his strained words show you how close he is.
“That’s – yes – ”
You’ve never seen him at such a loss for words, in all the public appearances, in any aside of conversation. You struggle to keep your eyes on his, not out of abashment now but physical strain. Your body is in acute discomfort even as you urge him to pleasure, the stone hard against your knees, your frozen hand heavy and elbow near buckling as you keep yourself upright, the hand against his base flexed back to cup his balls in short, clumsy motions. And beneath your clothes, where he had touched you, something hot and throbbing even without his hand screams for attention.
In fact, you’re close to sliding down against the stone to feed that desire with shameless grinding for friction, but Zeke’s next guttural moan is close to a cry that could rise and ricochet alarmingly through these towers, and your tongue rises against him to attention.
You hollow your cheeks and suck as much as you can in the short bursts of air you can manage into your lungs, finding the strength in your hand, tacky with saliva and drips of precum, to massage firmer against his balls. Zeke trembles, every bit of his body against you and in you shaking, his cock hot and throbbing in the vacuum of your mouth. With a hoarse sound, he holds your head down against him, and comes hard.
“Fuck,” he gasps out, and the bitter spatter floods in your mouth and down your throat. You almost choke against the taste, worse than the tobacco, but keep your lips around him until he softens, swallowing every drop. When he’s empty, he lets go of your head with a satisfied sigh, and you let him fall from your lips, your hand away from him.
Silence.
You massage the front of your knees in this swelling pause, turning your head to the billowing curtains of laundry. The thick fog through your mind begins to dissipate and allow shame to return as you contemplate your exit, begin to fabricate extravagant fantastical scenarios of seeing him again in these halls, in the city, and how you would excuse yourself, you the simple whore on your knees who just sucked him off on the roof –
And Zeke kneels, catching your chin between his fingers to interrupt the panicking “what-ifs” and coax your gaze back to him. More accurately, you look down to the dip of his collarbone and the thin wiry hair poking from between the folds of his shirt as he kisses your forehead and wraps you in a one-armed embrace.
“I should – ”
“No, no, I’m not as selfish as that,” Zeke says. The murmur is convincing, his tone so soft that it makes you close your eyes and shudder into him as his other hand leaves your face to stroke almost comforting along your back. He eases you down against the stone that way, kicking his pants fully off along with his boots. Strong fingers nimbly work at the fastening of your clothes faster than you could undress yourself, and with an attentiveness to every piece of fabric, down to the unlacing of your boots. He peels your undergarments away, already wet and clinging to your skin.
It makes you flush as the cool air hits those embarrassingly hot areas, damp right where your thighs meet, and you start to instinctually prop up on your elbows, to cover your vulnerable, exposed self.
“Are you running away after all?” Zeke asks, leaning up over you, the moon reflected in his glasses, the edge of amusement in his voice somehow sounding dangerous.
Your response of “No” comes a little too fast, too breathless, but it’s good enough to merit a quick, closed-mouth kiss against your lips as Zeke shifts his position between your legs. He pulls back, and you catch the smirk winding across his lips as he slides down your body before he’s lost in the shadows. He releases his touch on you for a moment to unbutton his shirt, leaving him as naked as you when his fingers dance across your skin again. His hands are strong on your calves, pushing your legs higher, and the kisses down your skin from your bent knees prickle with the coarse hairs of his beard moving southward with his lips, alternating from thigh to thigh.
You hiss, a broken, “oh” as your legs slink to the stone, sprawling on either side of him as he lowers himself to the ground in a show of equality and runs his tongue up along your clit. Your body jerks up.
The building, budding desire is overwhelming now, your cunt slickening and swelling from just that first bare touch. He doesn’t linger long or move slowly, letting his mouth open right there, licking over you as his fingers reach up against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs to grind against your entrance, prodding, searching again.
Zeke’s fingers move faster than his tongue, as he breaks away with a groan. He finds your entrance, but does not slip past it yet, roughly rubbing against your folds as if to find all the slickness, the sweat, the arousal, already gathering through you. He slows then, tracing the shape of your cunt entirely before moving back down and up into you at an angle that your own masturbatory explorations cannot reach, something that makes you cry out sharply.
He thrusts what feels like two fingers in so hard, so immediately, that your hips lift as high as they can and slam back to the stone. You swallow and gasp, the last sour tinges of his cum at the back of your mouth even as your mouth waters again at his ministrations.
“Oh, fuck, fuck- ”
You almost call his name, intimate, without a title or honorific, as he drags his fingers out of you, slick against your folds before the heat of his face comes again to your thighs. Zeke kisses right where your leg meets the curve of your hip and down to your cunt, the scratching of his beard teasing. When he thrusts his tongue inside, it’s not enough, not reaching as deep as you need, but you’re throbbing badly at his touch, the sensation so soft in contrast to the violent actions of his fingers.
This is more than the first licking prelude, his mouth open over all of you, tongue hungry and running in circles around your entrance before scooping back in to taste every dripping place of you. His top lip, the bristling of his facial hair, moves achingly against your clit, rubbing you swollen and raw. It’s endless, the circular motions open and sloppy and ever repeating. Your knees shake up again, almost closing against his skull, and his hands, free, fingers still damp with you, hold you there with a clamping grip at your thighs.
You could hold yourself back – just barely, but it had been possible – from screaming his name so disrespectfully at that urge, but you cannot stop your grasping hands from reaching down to knit anxiously between the strands of blonde hair you know you’ll find.
The chants of “fuck, fuck, fuck” that rock out of you mix with the whistling of the wind, coming without your own conscious desire to speak, just at the need to express your elation as Zeke brings you closer and closer to orgasm. One of your hands falls, fumbles down, when his mouth moves lower still, fucking you with his tongue as your frantic fingers take over rubbing your clit yourself. It's close, it's so close. When it strikes and the coil behind your belly springs open, hotter than you can bear, you buck your hips unevenly, unable to hold it back without any more warning to him. You come hard on his tongue with a choked cry, furiously rubbing yourself and pushing down to his mouth. It roars through you, sparking through your veins. You let go of his hair only to crash down across your forehead in exhausted spasms of euphoria, the heat rippling down from your core to Zeke’s mouth waiting to lap it all up from your cunt.
Not all. He ruins it by pulling away even as your body pulses, stomach and thigh muscles contracting erratically around nothing, your cramping hand moving up rest on your stomach. Above you, stars swim above your half-sightless eyes. The sound you make is garbled and incoherent.
When you offer nothing else, Zeke lets out a short sigh, almost of disappointment at your sudden lifelessness.
“I didn't think that was all you had in you,” Zeke says, and his hands coax your legs flat against the ground, spread achingly wide on either side of the expanse of his body. You force your eyes down to him, spinning with final dregs of nicotine and the echoes of your orgasm, to watch his dark sandy head bend over you once more.
“It’s… not,” you force out, and he lifts his face, another twisted smirk flashing across his lips. It’s a wicked smile, it’s…
Devilish, is the word that comes to mind, and the shiver that comes straight down your back is cold, uncomfortable.
Maybe his insistence of selflessness was a lie. Maybe he’s been waiting for something more since you sucked him dry the first time.
He spreads you with his thumbs, and spits. You shudder against the sharpness of it against your sensitive, raw folds, arching your back, the splaying of his hands into your thighs keeping your hips firm against the stone. The cool slick of his saliva mixes with the dregs of your arousal as he pushes it in with a thumb, moving into you before you can even gasp out, partly in elation, partly in pain. He fucks it into you with his fingers, stretching you deep.
“Fuck…”
Your thighs tremble, knocking into the ground. His thick fingers are teasingly painful, stirring you again without bringing any hint of satisfaction. You can feel it pooling from you, the remnants of your orgasm with his saliva and a rush coming anew.
He adjusts, kneeling with his twisting thumb almost dipping out of you, and the smooth head of his cock comes nudging against your inner thigh, hard again. He’s trembling too, breath heavy in the air over you, his own want so close to overtaking his actions. His thumb slips out as his cock begins to push in, keeping you open.
And then he doesn’t move.
Zeke’s hands are strong, keeping your thighs open as he rests over you, the moonlight casting long shadows over his face, and you whimper. He moves his hips, not enough to thrust inside, just edging the tip of his cock no further than his fingers have reached. Your breath catches in your throat, and it seems an excruciatingly long time before he moves out, and back. He hasn’t come any deeper, and your muscles twitch, begging for him to give in to that animalistic desire and - just fuck you now.
“Please,” you whisper, the word rough and catching in your throat.
Zeke’s eyes, glassy in the dark, shine, and he does it again, that teasing thrust that just prickles and pulses through you. He holds you down, watching you clench, breathing shallowly and struggling as your body quivers. If he just wanted to turn that arousal back on, your sore cunt is more than ready despite the thudding pain of overstimulation. He thrusts halfway once more and back out, leaving you aching, hot, and empty.
“Please,” you say again.
And Zeke almost growls, the throaty sound so gruff and raw you shake at the sound of it. Your hips move desperately back and forth, trying to push him deeper. “You’re teasing… stop…” is all you can force out, pathetic, frantic, grinding upward again.
“Your body is so impatient,” he says, hoarsely, and the sound you make in response is just that. “What happened to all your anxiety? Where did all that go?”
You whimper once more, unable to offer any argument, your dignity long gone in tatters.
He smiles, lefts one weighted hand from your hips, and pulls his glasses from his face. You can’t see where he puts them to rest, keeping your eyes now locked so firmly on his face, the shadows cutting sharp across his cheekbones and rippling when he moves his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose and exhale sharply. A waft of tobacco, stale on the air, drifts to you.
“I have been cruel,” Zeke says softly, strained and his eyes, smaller without the magnifying power of the glasses, are unreadable as they fix on you. “I suppose it’s not fair to either of us, is it?”
You let out a strangled, desperate sound, and that’s when he finally thrusts into you, sinking his body down and splaying his legs hot against yours. The hand on your hip still keeps you down, but you cry – unable to stop yourself now, a shrill, euphoric, “Zeke!” as he moans your name in familiar, dishonorable tandem.
There’s no possible way he could feel better than you do, burying himself in your core, as fucked out from his tongue and fingers as you already are. This is a new satisfaction, deeper than before, and you grind against the stone as best as you can, flexing your fingers as your arms fly up around his neck to dig down into his back. The moans, the cries, that come from you, are drawn from deep within your core, pushed out with every stroke of his cock.
All his teasing, all the drawn out agony of aching, has left you wet again, so wet that his thrusts slap loud against your skin. Zeke fucks you hard and fast, rolling his hips in perfect circles as your fingernails drag down his back, not deep enough to draw blood against your touch, but desperate, raking down again and again as your fingers slide in time with his thrusts. Your entire body ripples around him, eyes rolling up into the stars. Your sounds are almost wild. His are feral.
He’s barely holding himself over you on one arm, legs tangling into yours, and the thrusts come erratic as he fucks you hard, fast, deep, into the stone roof, against the mix of crumbled and smashed cigarette remnants. His hand slides from your hip at last, letting you move in your own clumsy circles to match him. A fresh cold sweat breaks out over your skin, and you forget to breathe for a moment right when he pulls out and thrusts so deep it aches straight down your thighs. You whine when you can gather the air again, gasping his name, so delicious on your tongue that you feel intoxicated saying it over and over –
“Zeke, Zeke, fuck – ”
Zeke’s forehead presses into yours, your neck straining up, the filthy stone ground hard beneath your skull and shoulders, and he breathes just as heavily as you, ragged into your mouth, slipping your name and curses in his own chanting mix between breaths and kisses. His hips thrust against yours, faster, deeper, and you tilt your chin up to catch his lips in a kiss as your arms knot across the back of his shoulders.
He slows for a moment, and you feel yourself throbbing deep within your core, the rising heat of a second orgasm close. You clench over his cock, spasming on your back, and when he pulls out and sinks so deep, slowly inside you, it almost makes you topple over the edge.
“I’m – Zeke, I’m – again -”
He nods, brusque, short, half-listening and really just sliding his face against yours, but after a moment, he understands and nods again, moving deep inside you with long strokes that leave you breathless. He leans up and breaks the close contact of your faces, raising his forearm to rest on his elbow. It makes him higher over you and as his thrusts slow in an exerted control that comes through hissing, gritted-teeth breaths sour across your face, you can almost rut against his body pressed up against yours.
It’s not quite enough to grind yourself to satisfaction, but your legs go limp as the sensation brings you ever closer. “Yes -”
Zeke groans, a sound that snaps vocal and rough as it comes from his chest, as if he’s at the limit of his control, but it’s the sound and the friction of your legs against his that does it as you grind into him, desperately squeezing your muscles. Your head collapses into your neck and you convulse as the second orgasm roars through you – shorter waves than the first, the ripples somewhat weaker, but your body shakes uncontrollably underneath his. And Zeke picks his rhythm up, fucking you through it, curving one hand between your head and the stone ground, pushing your face back to his.
“Me – too – ” he says at last, the words broken and jagged, and he kisses you, harsh, open-mouthed and sloppy with drool.
You moan, feeling it all subside into a dull throbbing, his cock still splitting you apart with the growing ferocity of the thrusts. He sucks on your lower lip, letting go, and with a muffled groan he leans his head back, the contours of his neck muscles tightening in the moonlight. Just as your inner walls begin to ache sharper, so exhausted, so over-worked, Zeke pulls out and leans back, kneeling and panting. His hair is fully loose, sweat pasting some strands against his cheeks and neck, and his eyes burn as he takes hold of his cock, letting out a few furious pumps before coming again, this time down across your chest and stomach, with a raw, rough, “Fuck…”
His name dies on your tongue as you let out one last broken whimper, and you wince despite yourself as the fluids across you cool uncomfortably. A gust of wind, sending the laundry billowing doesn’t help, and you stare up at the dizzying stars for a moment as everything throbs to a sobering clarity.
Tobacco and salt and sweat hang heavy in the air. Zeke rocks back on his heels, exhaling loudly. You force yourself up on your elbows, feeling the scrapes and aches now that you separate your body from the stone ground.
“Here.”
Zeke’s reaching up, tugging a sheet free of the poles, and offers it to you. You take it cautiously.
“Can – is it okay to use -”
“It’s laundry, isn’t it? What’s the difference?”
You can’t look at him as you clean your skin of his sweat and cum, but you have to turn your head back and sit up properly to reach for your clothes, wherever he’s dropped them. In this undignified moment, at least he isn’t turned to you, as he swipes his glasses clean against another of the laundry sheets.
You gather your thoughts as you feel your body throb and leak, a heavy reverie shivering in the night air. He says your name after a moment, and you blink back.
“Let me leave first,” he says as he slides the glasses on. You clutch the sheet back to you, feeling almost sheepish, but Zeke looks so placidly unbothered as he reaches for his garments, as if being naked is barely worth remarking. “Just in case there’s anyone downstairs. At least five minutes should be fine, even if I need to talk away any guards or officials.”
“Thank you… sir,” you say. The word feels uncomfortable, heavy in your mouth, but it would have felt just as strange to leave it out.
Zeke’s lips twitch, a gentle, amused smile in your direction, and he stands to pull his trousers back on. “I think in private, there’s no harm in being familiar. I’d say we know each other intimately now.”
You flush, unable to meet his eyes as he looms over you. “Yes,” you say, his expectant silence pressing in the darkness.
“Then I think I just may see you again up here some night. Or for that wine, if it proves too cold.”
He stoops to gather his boots, his shirt, and takes a step back towards the rows of laundry. Then he stops, fishing in his pockets to fling something your way.
“In the meantime, maybe I’ll corrupt you into picking up this bad habit of mine, hmm?”
You look down at what’s landed deep in the folds of the sheet still pressed around you, hidden from view in the dark. When you look up, Zeke is gone, with only one parting remark ghosting through the laundry.
“Or at least bring them back to me.”
You wait, but he doesn’t offer any other words, the footsteps receding down the steps with a jaunty whistle rising faintly on the wind. When you’re sure he’s not coming back, you let the sheet fall and cautiously dip your fingers into the folds of fabric, and pluck out a small matchbook and packet of cigarettes.
chapter 2
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sofiafushiguro · 2 years
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stepbro! zeke x female reader
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Stepbro! Zeke comes home for the holidays, and he can´t help but notice how much you've grown since the last time he had seen you. Stepbro! Zeke always remembers your last encounter, the night before he went away for college. He remembers your high-pitched moans, your body covered in spit and cum and your toes curling at the sensation of him filling you to the max.
Stepbro! Zeke knows you're such a good girl, deciding to enroll in community college so you're closer home and can help your parents. And of course, good girls deserve a reward and Stepbro! Zeke knows it.
He chooses to sit next to you at the Thanksgiving dinner, your white floral dress decorating your body so delicious, Stepbro! Zeke can´t keep his hands to himself, placing one of them between your thighs. The warmth of your cunt hugging his hands while he speaks normally with your parents. Stepbro! Zeke knows what he is doing; and, later, your mom asks for a picture because her stepson is finally home, and she needs to remember this moment for the rest of her life.
Stepbro! Zeke told you to sit on his lap, and your mom agrees. You look like a sweet little sister. But you are feeling his hard cock inside his pants, so you decide to grind gently, in return for what he did at dinner. Stepbro! Zeke can´t wait to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you stupid.
And he does. Stepbro! Zeke volunteers to organize and clean the kitchen, and he drags you with him, telling you that you have to let your parents rest. So you two organize and clean the kitchen as you told your mom, the talk is fluent as you only talk about school and family, but as soon as you´re done... oh, boy!
Stepbro! Zeke doesn´t hesitate when he takes off your panties and puts them in your mouth to muffle your moans. He bends you over the kitchen counter and gives a nice and clean spank to your ass. "That´s my good girl, let me take care of you,"
And he starts trusting inside you as if the world were to end and this was his only opportunity. Stepbro! Zeke does lazy circles on your clit while his dick is kissing your cervix.
"none of those boys will fuck you as I do. I´m the only one that can make my baby cum like this"
And you cum, you cum violently. Your juices dripping into the kitchen floor, and your knuckles are white from grabbing the counter with such strength.
Stepbro! Zeke likes seeing how his cum leaks from your pussy, so he shoots his seed inside you, painting you white and admiring your twitching body. "Now imma tug you in bed, and I'll fuck you again, ok?"
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weetlebeetle · 5 months
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BOOP
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jujutsubaby · 2 months
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🤎🩶 chemical reactions 🩶🤎
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pairing: pieck finger x zeke jaeger, jikupiku summary: are we the sum of all our insecurities? mine are constantly fluctuating but all stem from the same place. our past never rly escapes us and you’re afraid you’ll never be the best version of yourself and i’ll never be what i always wanted to be. what do we do with our hands if not build homes from the fragments of our soul? tags: modern AU, academia AU, slow-burn, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers total chapters: TBD update schedule: whenever i feel like it xD
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 (coming soon)
taglist is open ☁️
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