#I literally could have given less of a shit about aot a few months ago

[ink-man-sam]

I had to put eren closer to the front in order to appreciate his full glory (the hyperfixation has taken over my life please help me)

[hattiepins]

Expectations

Zeke Yeager/Reader 18+ Chapter 1/??? Warnings: Alcohol mentions, explicit content a/n: I haven’t posted fic to tumblr in literal years so here’s me christening my new AOT blog with some Zekefucking. This fic will eventually have an actual plot, and I have it mapped out, but for now it’s just smut so have fun with it. I’m also on ao3 w the same @ if you prefer that layout better.

Zeke Yeager was an incredibly imposing man. The warriors were an intimidating group to anyone who had heard of them, but there was something special about him. 

You had “met” several years ago, at work cleaning the imposing Marleyan government building that served as the warrior headquarters in Liberio. Most of the year it was filled with children hopeful that if they worked hard enough, dedicated their hearts firmly enough, and bought into the belief that they too could bring honor to their homeland, they could be worthy of inheriting a titan.

You liked children, and though it hurt to see them pushed into the grim roles they took up at the compound, you would occasionally share excited chats with them in the halls, rooms, or courtyards of the massive complex. You’d scrub the floors of the messes left behind by their muddy boots, or the walls of the grime that accumulated every week, and the candidates, being the chatty little kids that they were, would update you on their days. Who beat who in what race, how fast so and so could disassemble then reassemble a rifle. On a good day of work you were given a run down of everything. 

On special days, though, the Marleyan warriors themselves would show up. A woman with unruly dark hair, a tall and disheveled scruffy man, and a blonde with a slicked back undercut all would often pass you by.

But Zeke Yeager? He always stood out to you the most. Anyone who could spare enough pocket change for a paper would know of the great feats of the beast titan and the man who held it. There had never been quite anything like him before in history, and his accomplishments on the warfront were praised as the ace up Marley’s sleeve in many battles. 

In reality though, Zeke bore no resemblance to his titan, with there being no visual similarity between the terrifying monster printed on the front page of every news story and the warrior who controlled it. 

He was tall, with a laid back posture that stood in stark contrast to his own mythic status. A legend among Eldians, and a fearsome specimen among all men, with his steely grey eyes and furrowed brow. He always looked as if he had something weighing on his mind whenever you spotted him, be it alone, or with his comrades.

You would absentmindedly toy with the hem at the edge of your own grey armband every time your eyes glanced over their red ones, not envying their lives as warriors but wondering what it must be like, being honorary Marleyans. 

None of them ever noticed your presence, and why should they? You were the cleaning girl, a part of the scenery. 

So then it comes as quite the shock when, tonight, as you head to the pub around the corner from the compound, Zeke Yeager recognizes you. 

The place isn’t anything fancy, but it’s halfway between work and the run-down tenement you can afford to rent on a maid’s salary. You go here on your days off, when you want more than anything to just relax, have a drink, and listen to the gramophone at the bar play music that you’d never get to hear otherwise. It’s a surprise enough to even see Zeke here, but the way he reacts to seeing you has your heart seize up a bit in your chest. 

He waves you over with his hand clutching his drink, calling your name with a voice just loud enough to be heard over the scratchy, poorly recorded music of the wax cylinder recording, his face plastered with a smug expression.

You blink slowly, as if closing your eyes will somehow remove him from the table in front of you and confirm that just a few sips of your drink have led to full on hallucinations. But you do not move. 

Catching onto your nervousness, Zeke raises the glass of warm swill this poorly stocked Eldian pub calls drinks, swirling the liquid inside as he motions towards your general direction.

“Come on now, that’s your first drink of the night in your hands. I know you aren’t far gone enough to not recognize the sound of your own name.” 

The volume of his voice is louder than you would like. A necessity, you know, for him to be heard over the sound of the gramophone, but still embarrassing.

You gesture stupidly at yourself with your pointer finger, and he nods, brows raised and mouth smiling with pursed lips as if he’s trying to stifle a laugh at your blatant confusion. 

He, in turn, gestures for you to take a seat next to him at the small booth he holds for himself in the corner. 

“You’re the cleaning girl, right?” He says. 

And for as awkward as that introduction is, it doesn’t stop you from joining him.

“How did you know- where did you learn  my name?” You drum your fingers against the base of your drink, still slightly nervous. 

“I’m observant.” He takes a sip of his own drink. 

“That, and you’re more well known than you’d think. The Grice boys talk about you sometimes. The younger one, Falco, is pretty damn fond of you, actually. Says you’re a good listener. Likes talking to you. His brother’s the one set to inherit my titan.”

You stare at him, a little shocked to hear that the candidates even remember you beyond simple hallway chatter, let alone that a warrior has actually taken note of your reputation with the children. 

“Falco’s a good kid. Colt too.” Your lips quirk up into a small smile, thinking about the two blond boys, always polite and courteous. They even bothered to get to know you by name, and always seem to ask about your day before telling you about their own.

“You’re quite the conversationalist for someone who the government pays to mop floors and dust shelves all day.”

You tense up, and suddenly, for a moment, a sense of sudden clarity and fear grips you. Is this an interrogation? Does Zeke Yeager think you’re a spy because you’re too chatty with the candidates? You knew this felt off, there’s no way that he’d invite you here just to ta-

“If I’m honest, I noticed you first because I was shocked that a pretty face like yours would be working scrubbing dirt. Didn’t put a name to said face until Colt started bringing you up almost just as often as his little brother. But I’m a good listener.”

He smiles, repeating your name with a soft smile as if testing out the sound of it.

“It’s a pretty name. Suits you. I try and keep things professional at the compound. Lots of eyes and ears. Granted there’s definitely a few in this place right now, but we don’t have to worry about them.”

You lift your head with a start, eyes scanning the bar, all a sea of patrons with worn clothes and grey armbands. None of them stand out as being particularly unique. None accept the man with the red around his arm seated across from you. He sticks out like a vibrant wine stain against white cotton, and though the patrons know better than to stare, you catch them sneaking “coincidental” glances his way. 

Their eyes rest on him, then flicker away to observe the much less interesting rest of the bar as if it’s merely chance that they managed to get caught looking.

You let your gaze wander over all the faces in the crowd, trying to see who he might be referring to. To see who could be watching. 

“Shit, could you be a little less obvious, sweetheart?”

The sudden affectionate name has your heart  flutter in your chest in a way you absolutely were not expecting, and as you turn your gaze back to him, an embarrassed flush creeping its way across your cheeks, you see his smirk grow. He’s smug, but you suppose he has all the reason in the world to be, with all his accomplishments.

Zeke, you thankfully come to realize as your conversation progresses, is not here to report you to the higher ups for something or another, nor does it seem that anyone in the bar is particularly interested in your chatter. 

You do, however, find that Zeke Yeager is not only a very powerful presence, but that he’s very handsome. It was something you didn’t particularly notice at the compound, mostly because you tried to avoid being in the way of your superiors in the warrior unit, but also because the stories you’d heard of the beast titan’s strength painted the man as a brute. 

Instead, you find yourself enthralled by him. He has beautiful hair, and his beard is kept very nicely trimmed. The way his grey eyes light up when he learns you two share a similar taste in novels has your breath catching in your throat. 

You list off your recent reads, only to find that he’s also read most everything on the list. He says he’s an avid reader, especially when they ship him out. It helps him keep his mind off of the fighting to think of smaller problems than wars.

“I couldn’t put it down.” 

You find yourself raving about your latest literary obsession. 

“The way the whole town just watched her descent into madness was so painful to read, but I wanted to know why they hated her in the first place so badly.”

You have long since finished your drink, but the conversation with Zeke ensures that you absolutely do not want any more. The last thing you want to do is slur your speech in a conversation about your shared interests, and especially not when those interests are shared by a very handsome man. 

“The reveal of how her daughter was framed had me glued to every word. And the ending!” He leans back in his seat, like he’s processing it all over again just speaking about it. 

“Lighting the whole town on fire… they say revenge is a dish best served cold, but reading about her walking through the burning streets…”

“Brilliant.”

His smile is captivating.

You remind yourself that this man is an honorary Marleyan, and you are just a regular Eldian who is lucky enough to have enough pocket change at the end of the month to even buy those novels. 

But for as much as Zeke insists that you are well known at the compound for being a great conversationalist, you find that the same compliments the Grice boys have paid to you apply tenfold to him. You don’t want to stop talking. 

When the bar closes, you don’t say your goodbyes and head home. Instead, you find yourself continuing your conversation in the streets of Liberio, walking the cobblestone roads at what must be at least two in the morning. Your conversation never has a single slow moment. 

You don’t think the slightly intimidated feeling you get while next to him will ever fully subside. He is, after all, much larger than you, and you feel dwarfed by him as you walk side by side, looking up at his handsome face. You’ve switched conversation topics through nearly a dozen different novels now, and your ideas bounce off one another perfectly. 

He mutters how your theory about a plot twist and it’s possible connection to the yet unreleased next book in the series might be one of the best ideas he’s heard, and his little smile while he does so is captivating. 

“You’d serve better as a critic than a cleaner, you know.” He says with a laugh. 

And you smile, because for a moment, by Zeke’s side, you almost forget it’s Liberio’s streets that you’re walking, and that you can’t hope to aim too high. All that exists for now is the two of you, and the words you share. 

As you walk under the lamplight through deserted streets, you take notice of the way he scratches his ear when he’s thinking, but more specifically your eyes fixate on his hands themselves. They’re big, and you purse your lips imagining how little your hands would be in his. He admittedly dresses like an old man, and while his wardrobe is nothing fancy, it doesn’t hide his impressive stature. 

His broad shoulders and military status imply an impressive body under the loose fitting coat he wears, and you feel like a repressed schoolgirl just looking at the exposed skin of his neck and how the muscles there tense when you bring up some narrative choice or another that you both didn’t enjoy. Your cheeks flush as you watch him take a drag of his cigarette, holding it between two thick fingers. 

He seems to take notice of your stares, but says nothing to discourage you. In return, you catch him eyeing you a few times too, but unlike you, he doesn’t get flustered when you notice him clearly staring. 

It’s still fairly chilly out, and your warm coat doesn’t do your body any favors, but that doesn’t stop his glances. 

When the two of you cross a bridge, you find yourself staring up at the moon and how it’s surface reflects on the wide river below. Zeke leans over the rail, taking yet another drag of his cigarette, and you cautiously reach out a hand to his. He makes no move to shift away from you as you lock your arm in his. 

You continue your walk like that, the feeling of closeness making you far more flustered than you should be. It’s only proper for a man to escort a lady by the hand when it’s so late. But you’re no lady, you’re a maid. And Zeke’s glances are growing far from proper, even as the topic remains firmly on literature. 

When he invites you up to his apartment to see his books, you both know you won’t be doing any actual reading. But you let him lead you through the streets and up countless flights of stairs regardless. 

He turns the key in the lock, and you enter, following his lead in kicking off your boots and hanging up your coat by a hook on the wall. You barely have time to take in how nicely furnished the home of an honorary Marleyan is before he has you pressed against the door, closing it shut with the weight of both of your bodies against it.

You gasp at the impact, and run your fingers through his soft blond locks as he presses his lips to yours in an open mouthed and greedy kiss. His lips are soft, and his breath is hot against you as he pulls away.

“Do you want to-?”

“Yes. God, yes.” You pull at his coat, hoping he’ll get the message, and he does. 

He shrugs it off, and then his lips are against yours again. Your touch traces down along his back, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt until it comes untucked from his pants and you can slide your hands underneath it, feeling the warmth of his skin. 

He fumbles with the buttons of your own blouse, before tearing it off of your shoulders as he unfastens the last one, and you can hear his breath catch in his throat as his hands move to touch you. 

His mouth parts from yours to get an eyeful of your body, his fingers trace the edge of your bra, watching how your chest heaves against the constraints of the lacey garment with every breath. He groans, the sound guttural in his throat, and fuck, you need him. He brings his lips to your neck, kissing and biting his way down to your collarbone.

“Can we please get this thing off?” His thumbs hook at the straps of your bra. 

“Marley’s greatest warrior can’t figure out how to unhook a bra?” You smile as you reach for the clasps. 

“Bigger things on the mind right now, sweetheart.” His tongue runs against a spot at the base of your neck that his teeth just bit at, soothing the skin.

“Oh?” You drop your bra to the ground, and he is quick to grab a handful of your breasts, teasing lightly over your nipples. You moan as he slides his hands down your torso, stopping as he gets a handful of your ass, kneading at it with a grin. 

“You enjoying yourself there?”

He hums as he presses you further against him and lifts. You let out a startled whimper, your legs wrapping around his hips and hiking up your long skirt in the process. He lifts his head from your neck and looks down at you, hunger in his grey eyes. 

“Trying to figure out if I can even get you to the bedroom, or if I’m gonna have to fuck you right here against the wall.”

Zeke grinds his hips against yours, and through your soaked panties you can feel him strain against his trousers. He’s so horny it hurts, and he hisses at the little bit of contact, bucking against you. 

“Fuck, baby, need you to decide.”

“B-bed.” You wrap your arms tighter around him and wiggle your hips just enough to get more of that delicious friction. Zeke doesn’t have to be told twice as he carries you to his bedroom and practically throws you into his mattress. It’s soft as a cloud, and you feel yourself sink into it, pulling your skirt from your hips, letting it fall in a pool at the edge of the bed. 

Still situated at the side of Zeke’s massive king size bed, you spread your legs, your stockings and your panties all that’s left on you. You circle your clit through the fabric, and watch as his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, his eyes fixed on your clothed pussy like a hungry animal. He makes quick work of his own clothes, undoing the buttons of his shirt and stepping out of his trousers, stripping to his boxers. 

Your cheeks flush as you take in the sight of his bare chest. He’s toned in the way only a warrior could be, and there’s a small dusting of blonde hair that trails from his bellybutton to somewhere below his waistband. He towers over you, imposing and arousing at the same time. He looks like a marble statue, beautiful and powerful and perfect. You can see the outline of his bulge against the grey fabric of his underclothes, and he palms himself lazily, his eyes clouded with lust behind his glasses. 

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

You scoff. “Could say the same thing to you.”

He smirks, and you want nothing more than to kiss him. For a moment it looks like he’s about to do just that. Instead, he sinks to his knees between your legs.

“What are you-?”

“Gotta get you ready for me first, babygirl.” He says, hooking his fingers under your panties and pulling them down, letting you kick them off your legs. 

“Are you joking? I’m already soaking, you don’t-“

You’re cut off by the feeling of his hot breath against you.

He runs his fingers against your folds, and you bite your lip before he shoves two thick fingers inside. The noises you make as he hooks them inside you have him painfully hard and straining against his boxers, but he knows what he wants. He pulls his fingers from you, earning him a whimper.

“Fine. I can be transparent here.” He groans as he kisses at your inner thigh. “Just wanna bury my face in your cunt, nothing else to it.”

You whimper as his lips circle your clit, the burn of his beard between your thighs coupled with the feeling of his hot breath against you has him having to hold your hips in place to keep your squirming down.

“Z-Zeke, I-”

“Hm?” He releases your clit from his lips but licks slow stripes up between your folds now. 

“Too much.”

He teases the tip of his tongue against your hole, his moans the only response. You feel his grip on your hips tighten as he pushes it inside of you. His mouth works against you, making you grind against his face. 

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good…”

He’s a madman as he devours your cunt, and you have full confidence that Zeke could make you cum with just his tongue. Instead, he opts to do otherwise, spurred on by the delicious sounds you’re making. You cry out as he circles his lips back around your clit and plunges two thick fingers inside of you. 

You can barely think as he curls them into you, fucking his fingers into your weeping cunt while his tongue laps at your clit. 

“I’m- I can’t-”

“You can.” He adds a third finger, and the stretch is so food, so filling, as he watches you fall apart. “Good girl, my pretty little slut, come on.” 

His tongue never ceases for long, even as he speaks. “Come for me.”

You’re falling apart under his touch, cries and moans spilling out of your mouth as you cum into his. You clamp your thighs down around his head as he keeps fucking his fingers into you, running his tongue desperately against your little bud as you writhe beneath him, only stopping when he feels he’s had his fill of your taste. 

He lifts himself up and pushes you further into the bed, letting your head rest on the pillows as he leans on his side next to you.

“You’re a quiet little thing whenever I pass you in the compound. Never knew you could be that loud.”

You’re panting, still coming down from your orgasm.

“Never been fucked in the compound.”

“We can change that.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing and you whine. “Can we start with here first?”

His beard is wet with your slick as he grips your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and you moan as you tug at the waistband of his boxers. 

You remove your lips from his to look down at the shape of him, still straining against the fabric. 

“Zeke, please…”

He sits up on his knees at the end of the bed, hovering over you, thumbs toying at the elastic. 

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you?”

Your little nod is all he needs, pulling his boxers off. You watch as his hard cock springs free of confinement and slaps itself against his stomach. It’s big, and you’re practically drooling at the sight. He crawls over you, lining himself up with your hole, rubbing the tip over your clit. He smirks, watching how you whine and writhe at his teasing. 

“You have to beg for it, sweetheart. Let me know how much you want it.”

He fists his cock, leaking precum all over your slit as he drags the head up and down your folds. 

“Fuck, Zeke, please fuck me. Need you so bad, just please...”

He grips your hips hard, lines himself up with your hole, and bottoms out in one quick thrust. 

You moan and he curses under his breath. It’s so much, all at once. The stretch is much more than his fingers prepared you for, and it’s overwhelming, even with how wet you are. It’s a little painful, but it hurts so good. 

“F-fuck, move, fuck me, please. Please, please, please, please.”

He pants into your shoulder as he follows your request. Zeke grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head, kissing and sucking at your neck, leaving little purple marks. 

“So pretty like this, letting me fill you up so good. Gonna leave my mark everywhere I can on you. You gonna come to work with your neck all marked up from me? Huh?”

You pant and grind your hips against his as he pistons in and out of you. “Y-yes.”

“Gonna advertise to every soldier there that you’re mine? My little whore? You like being fucked like this?” He pulls back out all the way, only to thrust back in at just the right angle that has you seeing stars.

“Yes!”

“You know how long I’ve thought about this? Wanted to just p-pull you into a supply closet and fuck you til you forgot your own name, ‘cuz hell, I didn’t even know it back then, but now…”

He traces his hand down to your clit, and starts to rub circles against it.

“You’re perfect, you know that? F-Fuck... Perfect for me. Fit me so good, god, you’re so tight.”

“Zeke, s’too good, I’m gonna-”

“I know, baby, I know. Me too. Come for me, it’s ok.”

He captures your lips in a hungry kiss, and the closeness is not enough and too much all at once. You can’t tell where he begins and you end and suddenly your orgasm is washing over you in waves as you scream his name. Your arms struggle against his grip and he relents as you cream around his cock. You grab at his back, nails sinking hard into the skin, and you swear he’s letting off steam as your fingers scratch down his back in ecstasy. 

Zeke fucks you through it, thumb still playing with your clit as he hammers into you, hips snapping against yours at a rhythm much less even than before.

“Beautiful. So fucking beautiful with my name on your lips and my cock in your cunt.”

You whine, still barely coherent and too fuckdrunk to think as he pounds you hard enough to make the bedframe creak and the headboard slam against the wall. 

“G-good girl, you like being a good little-fuck- good little cocksleeve for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck.” 

You’re so overstimulated it hurts. He keeps hitting just the right spot, and while he’s still toying with your sensitive nub, you can tell he can barely hold his focus. He removes his fingers from you and buries his head in your shoulder. His beard is rough against your skin as he lets out a few last thrusts into your cunt, his grip on your hips enough to bruise. 

Zeke pulls out and fists himself a few more times, panting before he empties his load on top of you, white ropes of cum shooting out of him as he finishes onto your stomach. Zeke collapses, panting, by your side. He pulls you against him and kisses the top of your head.

You practically purr at the affectionate gesture, and lean into his touch. 

He sighs, removes his glasses, and carefully places them on the bedside table, relaxing into the comfort of the bed. 

His eyes are closed, and as you snuggle closer to him, you can feel his heartbeat slowly start to return to normal along with your own. 

“I think now’s the time I should ask where your bathroom is so I can clean off?” You breathe out, tracing figure eights lazily against the muscles of his chest. 

He lets out a tired laugh. “You’re not at work. No cleaning right now. You can afford to be a little messy for a while.”

You hum, unwilling to admit you’re fine either way. You guiltily realize you enjoy the feeling of his cum on your skin, and, instead of admitting that embarrassing thought, you kiss him again. 

You whisper against his jaw. “I should go home soon, just-”

He claims your lips in his again to shut you up. “Stay.”

You lay by his side on the same pillow, faces inches from eachother. 

That night, you stay. You fall asleep in his arms, and everything somehow feels right. He feels right. 

You hate going home to your shitty apartment after that. And Zeke hates seeing you go. 

Every week you repeat it all like routine. 

Zeke is always there at the pub. You always end up in an endless conversation before following him home, and leaving the next morning to prepare for your afternoon shift. 

It only takes one month of this torture for him to ask you to move in.

“Would make it easier. Better than me pretending it’s a coincidence I’m there almost every time you have a day off.” He mutters into your shoulder, as he holds you close. 

It’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made. 

You laugh at how his beard tickles your skin, pressing yourself further into him, to which he responds by wrapping an arm around you tighter and smiling that smug grin against your skin as you card your fingers through his blond locks and whisper “I figured it wasn’t a coincidence by the third time it happened.”

He kisses you, and cradles your cheek in the palm of his hand. For what feels like the hundredth and the first time, you drift off to sleep in his arms.

You never return to your old apartment, even to grab your things. Zeke has the same books as you, and his bed always was nicer. He buys you much better clothes to make up for what little loss of wardrobe you went through. 

You can’t aim too high in Liberio. But with him, you feel like you’ve started over on a clean slate. 

And for a time, though you never put a name on it, Zeke Yeager is yours.