#zeeeekeeee bb you terrible nasty man

[daryascurse]

ooh for the ask game ! zeke's I, M, and R ?? (the way u write him in chl is so... *chefs kiss* but also *feral dog barking noises*)

OOOMG 😍 Always thrilled to poke into the brain of ZEKE JAEGER and see what terrible things we find.

And thank you thank you thank you! I am rotten over him!! With that, as opposed to how I answered Eren’s submission in a modern AU, let’s just do our CHL canonical Zeke with just a few references to that fic to anchor us, lol…

ɴꜱꜰᴡ | ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ + BLANK / AGELESS BLOGS ᴅɴɪ // cw: oral, exhibitionism, brothels; AFAB reader with nongendered pronouns

ALPHABET NSFW ASKS (still open! -- please limit to 3 letters max!)

I for Imagination [What do they fantasize about?]

Since Zeke Jaeger met you, you’ve thoroughly poisoned his mind. He finds himself daydreaming in Warrior meetings, needing to pinch the back of his hands to irritably bring him back to the serious strategic discussions. That’s bad, that’s dangerous, that’s the reason he excuses himself and shoos the shadow of Colt away to have a cigarette alone on the roof. He knows your daily routine, he’s made it his business to learn it, and so he knows he’ll never encounter you hanging laundry on the lines or stooping to pick gathered sheets up in a basket. He still finds himself almost hoping he will. So he smokes, spitting tobacco that gathers behind his lips over the edge of the roof, and thinks about what he’ll do the next time he does run into you, whether the encounter is planned or not. For the length of the cigarette he lets himself imagine more. He thinks of you coming into the Warrior’s meeting room, bowing your head in the learned deference to those honorary Eldians, offering an apology for interrupting – you’re just going to empty the wastebaskets and be on your way. And he imagines rising up, telling you to forget your work, to come over to him. As if Pieck, Porco, Colt, Reiner were absent, as if you’d even had time to close the door, how he would direct you to kneel on the floor before his chair. He would lounge back, examine a paper on the table with a casual glance down his nose and push his glasses up with a single finger. He’d ask Porco some question, holding his gaze with a cool command. And all the while, of course you would know what to do; and even as Porco would blush irritably and snap back his response, your soft pretty hands would be at his pants, letting out his cock and opening your mouth around him. He wouldn’t give any of them, even you, the satisfaction of letting his pleasure show. That would come when he – the War Chief – at last dismissed them, when your whimpers were no longer muffled below the table as you choked on his length. That’s when he would acknowledge you again, sweeping the notes and papers off the table and sitting you on the edge, returning the favor between your thighs with a delicious fervor as you’d make the breathy, keening sounds he loves – And he shakes his head, chuckles a little at himself for even thinking that word. He exhales smoke and screws up his eyes at the sky, changing the fantasy in the last few dregs he can pull out of this cigarette before going back down to cold, sober reality. Instead, rather, he’d have you splayed on your back with the sounds you’re making garbled whimpers of overwhelming stimulation as he fucks you on the table, holding your thigh down to spread your hips wide with one hand and furiously rubbing your clit with the other, a thirsty, satisfied smile on his lips. “You know we had to cut the meeting short because of you? How am I supposed to get anything done with you around?”

M for Moan [What kind of noises do they make? What sounds do they like to hear from their partner?]

Because Zeke is so clever, and knows so insufferably that he’s so clever, sex with him is very verbal. Not that he expects an intelligent discussion from you, but if something crawls into his mind as he lies on the bed and watches you bent between his knees, he’ll just say it. He can tell the rumble of his voice makes you shake, knows how to tease pretty sounds off your tongue when he has you on your stomach and breathes words into your skin. When your mouth is full with him, he knows how to offer and withhold praise to make you moan and choke over his cock. And when his mouth is full of you, hands crawling up your chest, he knows that even offering his own grating groans will make you rush onto his lips. Even if your only reaction is to flush and stammer, getting that little rise out of you is satisfying to him. “You taste like you’re close. Come for me, on my tongue. I want to hear you.”

R for Role Play [What is their role-playing fantasy?]

Zeke doesn’t see any shame in the fact that he’s frequented brothels before, mostly because he’s apathetic about the concept as a whole. He’s left being a customer long behind him, long before the mission to Paradis; but he’s mildly surprised to reflect on the past years and realize that it’s been almost as long since he even just accompanied a fellow Warrior Candidate on an illicit visit to the red light district. When someone – maybe Pieck – presents the suggestion that he should take Colt, he acquiesces easily. It’s mostly out of the same apathy, partially from some curiosity as to how the young man would hold his own (or fail to), and, on an even more minuscule level, from some deep-buried twinge of guilt – that he should let the kid see some fun things in the world. What surprises him, as he leads the nervous Colt through the hallways of an underground apartment that seems much dingier, much more cramped than memory serves, is that you come to mind. That your face is almost superimposed on the woman sitting on a stool and holding her hand out, demanding some payment up front. That your smile is the uncertain, professional curve of lips playing on the mouth of the second woman who opens the door for Colt. He closes the door behind the furiously blushing man and waves away a third woman who dances up to him with hips nothing like yours, and ascends the stairs for a cigarette. He thinks about the skimpy, revealing clothes these women wear, and wonders, with a twist of his mouth and a hardening in his pants, how you would look crawling towards him with heavily lidded eyes and gauzy silks slipping off your frame. “I paid for a private dance. If I don’t get my money’s worth, you’ll have a very unhappy customer on your pretty little hands.”

It’s so funny because I’m really not through enough with work to procrastinate with these (but that’s what tomorrow’s for!!) but I had ideas for CHL I just had to write down which is what fully turned my attention away].