#Might even........... look into my Drafts. Insane idea I know (<-guy who hasn't been in there in like half a year bc he keeps forgetting) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

titan-fodder · 3 years ago

Text

Deflowered Part Two

prev || m.list || next

Rating: E (explicit)

Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Reader

Count: 9K

Warnings: sneaking around, make outs, marking, surprise visits, car sex, zeke trademarked the pull-out method

A/N: i remember being possessed during the first part and a good portion of this one before crapping out of my OC writing phase and not picking it up again until i had the thought “hm maybe people will like this” and here we are.

When your phone buzzes in your back pocket, you check it without even thinking, see Ian's name, and are thrown into a world of turmoil.

Party at Nifa's tomorrow night. Wanna come?

You stare at the screen, digest the words, the question, the implication. You've been talking with Ian for a couple weeks now, both of you just trying to feel the other out. He's a sophomore in college, plans on going into sports medicine, and he's nice. Hasn't pressured you into anything, which is more than you can say for some guys your age.

A few days ago, you would have been thrilled to receive the invitation, but now… now it just makes you think of Zeke.

Zeke who you confided in.

Zeke who you asked for advice.

Zeke who gave you that advice and more. So much more. And you had wanted all of it, almost begged for it, almost…

Gripping your phone tighter in your hands, you shake your head, smile to yourself.

That night, just a few days ago, had been mind-blowing. You hadn't ever experienced anything like that before, not even the foreplay, and definitely not what came after.

It had been a risk going up to his room, one you're surprised you worked up the courage to take, but you hadn't lied to him when you told him you had no one else to go to. Mina is even more of a virgin than you are (were), Mikasa might be too, but she doesn't kiss and tell. Any of the guys would tease you mercilessly except for your brother who would probably have an aneurysm, and Ymir would probably just give you a noogie, a shot, and tell you to figure it out because "how the fuck should I know, I'm gay as hell."

So yes, Eren's older brother had been your best bet at not humiliating yourself entirely. Zeke always did have a weird air of knowledge about him—could be the beard and glasses, could be that he's usually reading whenever you and Marco go over to the house, or it could just be the fact that he's an actual adult.

The house is his. He and Eren live alone, their parents somewhere up north. From what you've picked up from Marco and Eren is that Zeke was a crazy good pitcher on his high school baseball team and got a full ride to a university of his choice.

From there, he was drafted into the major league and played for a few years; he almost made it to the World Series a couple times before tearing something in his elbow and needing surgery to fix it. Eren said he could have played more afterward, but the injury prompted the older Jaeger to go back to school for his masters— "something about only having a few good years left anyway or some old man shit like that."

The whole point is that Zeke Jaeger is a whole adult, one with a fair bit of money tucked away from his professional sports career, one who looks after his dumb younger brother, one who is insanely skilled in bed. Just a well-rounded guy.

So the whole idea of him even giving you the time of day is laughable.

But he did. He took care of you, and joked with you, and made you feel comfortable.

Honestly what had you been thinking? You hadn't even drank anything before going up there that night. Apparently, the fear of embarrassing yourself in front of Ian was all the motivation and courage you needed to knock on Zeke's door.

You would like to say it worked out. You really would. The sex was incredible, Zeke was (is) insanely hot, and he put actual effort into making sure you didn't feel like garbage when it was all over. All-in-all, it was a fantastic experience.

Which is exactly why you cannot stop fucking thinking about it. You can't get the dude out of your head. His face. His body. His voice. His hands, the way they touched you, the way he kissed you, the way he fucked you and groaned how good you were and—

Your eyes snap up to meet Marco's when he calls your name, phone and message forgotten in your hands.

"Sorry, what?"

He rolls his eyes at you but smiles. "Jean, Armin, and I are going to Eren's after school." Your stomach somersaults again. "Wanna come?"

"What are we gonna do?" You hope you look more casual than you feel, heat rising up the back of your neck.

Shrugging, Marco looks to Armin who just says, "Same stuff we always do." Which translates to video games, eating, TV, and some crass name-calling.

"Yeah, sure. Just don't make fun of me when I bring homework."

"Nerd," Eren grins, deflects the potato chip you throw at him.

And that is how you find yourself in the backseat of Armin's old station-wagon, sandwiched between Eren and Jean since Marco has the longest legs and therefore rights to shotgun.

You're nervous. Very nervous. Have to wipe your sweaty palms on your knees before sliding out of the car and following Eren and the others up the walkway.

You try not to look too much like a deer in the headlights when you walk into the house, a house you have been inside of too many times to count; it is the hang out place, the safe haven house, so there really is no reason for you to be as jittery as you are, but here you are, mentally and physically unbalanced as you toe your shoes off by the door.

"Hey, Zeke," Eren greets his brother who is reclining on the couch, laptop perched on his legs. "Got some of the squad with me today."

"When do you not?" Zeke gruffs, not even looking up.

Jean, bold as ever, steps further in and tries, "Aw, come on, you know you love having us," which actually gains the blond man's attention.

Zeke glances up, a no-doubt witty and scathing response on his tongue, but those startling, light eyes land on you for just a moment, just long enough for the air to vacate your lungs, and he settles with a bored, "Whatever. Just know I'm not feeding all of you."

"Okay, well can we have the TV?" Eren asks, sliding out of his jacket.

Zeke doesn't move but nods, "Sure."

"Are you, like, gonna stay down here?"

"What, scared I'm gonna cramp your style or something?" Zeke sneers.

The older Jaeger typically leaves you all alone, stays up in his room or the kitchen. He even gave Eren the master bedroom downstairs just so he could put distance between his brother and all the get-togethers he hosts.

"I mean—"

"Christ, Eren, as soon as I finish this paragraph I'll get outta your way."

His tone is a little sharper than usual today, or maybe you're just paying too close attention. You've always sort of kept an eye on Zeke, though, pretty much once you and Marco started hanging out with Eren in the tenth grade. He's hard to ignore. Not because he's loud or huge or anything like that; he just demands attention without actually asking for it.

He'll pass through a room, shoot off a one-liner that leaves everyone laughing, or stands and watches the guys play a game they think they're good at, only to take a controller and completely demolish them. He offers half sarcastic, half real advice when the boys ask him. He's just always… Cool. Both in the aloof, careless kind of way and in the more shallow, impressive sort of way. Zeke Jaeger is the epitome of calm and confident.

And you definitely had sex with him and are now staring at him—light shaggy blond hair pushed from his face, glasses high on his nose, lips pulled up on one side as he types with long fingers. He's wearing jeans and a red flannel that's rolled up almost to his elbows, the collar crooked, tempting you to fix it, but you don't. Instead, you dismiss yourself to the downstairs bathroom to lean against the counter and laugh at yourself.

This is honestly the strangest predicament you've ever been in, have ever put yourself in, and you have had many opportunities for odd situations. You've always been a levelheaded person, always been told you act much older than your age ("thanks, it's the trauma"), always act rationally. So, why…

There is no regret. Not at all. What a fucking first time, right? You sort of lucked out with that, but now, still coming over to the 'Jaeger Bros household' (as Eren so charmingly coined), acting like nothing is different when everything is different… it's jarring. Looking at Eren this whole week at school has been jarring. Hearing the guys talk about Smash and tease you has been jarring. Standing in this downstairs bathroom when you remember showering upstairs with Zeke is jarring.

But you can't show that anything is off because that—anyone finding out—would be bad. What you did with Zeke was perfectly legal, but you doubt either of you would hear the end of it if anyone else figured it out.

You wash and dry your hands then take a deep breath and step back out into the hallway.

Like nothing happened. Like nothing happened. Like nothing happened.

You reach the den just in time to see the boys sprawling over the couch and chairs, Zeke shutting his laptop and tucking it as well as a couple folders under his arm as he stands. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, walk forward to take his place on the couch, but freeze when he addresses you, and your eyes flick up to his, blue so pale it looks like his irises are made of ice, and the little twinkle in them only adds to their shiver-inducing effect. "I found that copy of Paradise Lost I was telling you about the other night." He nods toward the staircase, and you very quickly understands what he's trying to do.

If anyone is paying you even a little attention they'd be able to see your face redden. Your heart hiccups in your chest, pulse racing, but your brain pushes into overdrive with a loud chant of yes yes fuck yes.

"Oh, you mean when I was throwing my guts up?" You are amazed at how clear your voice is, not even a little shaky.

Zeke chuckles and nods, already looks much less severe than when you first arrived with the guys. You shuffle through the den, tell Marco that you'll be back, not that he asked as he and Eren once again set up Smash Bros. Zeke motions you up the staircase, and you wonder if he can tell what sort of state you're in, if he can see the beat of your heart in your neck, or hear how shallow your breathing really is. His footsteps are louder than yours, trailing behind, and damn, you wish you knew how he was looking at you. What's his expression—

You hit the top step and, out of sight, feel a large hand splay over your back, Zeke gently but firmly pushing you forward and through his open door which is very quickly shut behind you. You walk into his room further, watch as he sets his laptop and papers down on a desk in the corner, then work up the moxie to tease, "So, that John Milton, huh?"

"A genius," Zeke smirks. "How're you feeling?"

You know what he's asking—did he hurt you, emotionally, physically—he doesn't have to say it because you can see it, concern not entirely masked under that half-smile.

Running a hand through your hair, you manage to shoot him a small, nervous grin. "Fine. No, um… Regrets, or whatever."

"Good," Zeke nods, glances away for a nanosecond then back again. "Have you talked to the guy?"

"What?"

"The guy, the one you're trying to impress or whatever."

"Oh," you flush further. You feel like that's really all you do around Zeke—blush—and one look at his bed just makes it worse. That night when he had dove between your legs with fingers and tongue, fucked into you from above then below when you rode him, the mess you made of each of you and the sheets, the noises that...

"No." You clear your throat. "He texted me today about a party, but we haven't… No."

"Are you going to?" That question catches you off-guard, as does the cocked eyebrow that accompanies it, his expression now dripping with a sort of knowing curiosity, like he's already privy to your answer but wants to hear it anyway. Does he know? Do you know?

"I don't know." Apparently not.

"Why? You obviously like the kid, if you're willing to brave Eren's scary older brother for help."

You actually laugh at this. It feels strange, like a little weight lifts, and you realize it's because you're standing with the only other person who knows your secret. You have nothing to hide from Zeke, already showed him everything.

"None of us think you're that scary, for your information."

He pouts. "I'm a little hurt by that, honestly."

"I mean, we all think you're a little weird, if that helps," you snort, beam when Zeke squints at you, the corners of his mouth curling more and more. "Are you seen as scary by a lot of people?"

"I've been told I can be intimidating."

That is not surprising. He kind of is extremely intimidating but, "Maybe it's different since Eren has aired out most of your dirty laundry to us."

"Oh, has he?" Zeke crosses the floor to sit on his bed, has to look up at you from his place.

You feel strange, like you don't know what to do with yourself. You nibble your lip, wring your hands behind your back, toe at the wood beneath your feet, just fidget, yet you still keep that smile on your face, try your damndest to not look as awkward as you feel.

"For sure. Baseball career is old news. We're all way more interested in your monkey phase now."

"My monkey—" Zeke thinks before obviously realizing what you're talking about, palms his whole face, "Oh my God, Eren wasn't even alive for that, how does he know—"

"Apparently your mom has pictures."

"Yeah, in the house in Cape Cod."

You make a face, high eyebrows and sly grin. "I guess Eren thought it'd be useful to take pictures of said pictures, got drunk one night and now…" You shouldn't be giving Eren away like this, but the way Zeke's ears are turning red is adorable and all too encouraging. "Come on, it's not like you actually care what we think."

"I—..." He stops, snaps his jaw shut and nods. "You know what, that's true."

Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms, wonder if Zeke's gaze really did flick to your covered chest or if you're just imagining things. You aren't much to look at today, you think. At least the other night you had been in your favorite shorts and a stupid tight t-shirt, but today you feel utterly average standing in Zeke's bedroom, especially with him right in front of you looking devilishly handsome in his usual careless yet strangely put-together way.

Maybe… Maybe you've always had a little crush on him. Maybe you just ignored it until now. And maybe there's a reason you haven't texted Ian back, and that reason is reaching out to grab you by the wrist.

"You just gonna stand there all day, or—"

It's oddly natural, the way you let Zeke tug you closer, the way you lower and slot your legs on either side of his, the way your hands find his chest at the same time his settle on your hips. It shouldn't be so easy, but your brain is on autopilot, has been for days now, and your heart rate somehow slows down and speeds up at the same time—can't be healthy—and those icy eyes are wide as Zeke peers at you through his glasses, and you murmur, "This is a dangerous game," to which Zeke smirks, nods, then goes in for the kill.

His lips aren't quite as gentle as they were before, but his kiss is still hopelessly intoxicating. You could get drunk off of him, are getting drunk off of him. Your immediate response is arching your back, pushing your chest against his, then exhaling sharply through your nose when his hands travel down to your ass, gripping tightly. He smells so fucking good, a spicy aroma with a hint of something else. Whatever it is, it does things to you.

He bites your lower lip, gives it a small tongue, then presses in again, and you're eager to open your mouth, to welcome his tongue, hot and experienced and holy shit, that's been in my pussy, and claiming. You feel claimed, had to cover up hickeys for three whole days, always checking in bathroom mirrors to make sure the makeup hadn't worn away.

But there's a voice of reason, very quiet, in the back of your head that somehow gets you to pull back just enough to speak. Your breaths mingle together, and you look at Zeke through heavy lids, taken aback by how blown his pupils are, then kiss him chastely once more.

"I need to go back downstairs. Can't use the sick excuse again."

Zeke chuckles almost imperceptibly but agrees. However, he pauses, mumbles a low, "Just one more thing," then reaches up and pulls the collar of your V-neck aside and attaches his mouth to a patch of skin just under your collarbone. You let out a short whine, rock in his lap as he sucks and bites and sucks again until he pulls back and grins sideways in approval.

"Um," you laugh. "I've gotta say, I feel like I don't know you well enough for you to be marking your territory," you only half joke because on one hand it's true—you and Zeke have had maybe two full conversations at this point—but on the other hand, you are so hot for him, it's unreal. You're also a little flattered.

"I'm not marking my territory," he negates. "You just look good bruised."

Your entire body heats at that, sends a shiver down your spine, and you almost shove Zeke down in his own bed to return the favor, but you are still lucid enough to know that would not be a wise thing to do. Not right now, anyway. Instead, you plant a foot on the ground and get up, tugging your shirt over the angry mark.

"I still have your hoodie, by the way. I would have brought it if I knew we'd be coming over, but…"

"Don't worry about it. Some other time."

He also rises, looks down at you for a long moment like he's contemplating something, then steps passed you over to a tall bookshelf in the corner of his room. He runs a finger over the spines of each book until finding what he's looking for, then pulls it from its place and hands it to you—a worn copy of Paradise Lost.

"That's got some pretty good annotations in it, just so you know."

"And just so you know, I don't actually need this."

"It's why you came up here, though," he reminds you in a chiding tone.

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter, flipping through it. Zeke wasn't wrong when he said he took serious notes. The thing is full of highlighted passages and thoughts scribbled in the margins.

You sense him closing distance again, are pulled from your perusing by two fingers under your chin and look up at the blond with hazy eyes. He is just so…

He catches your lower lip with his thumb, running the pad of it over the sensitive skin, and you just gaze at him as your insides melt. The way he's staring at you… you want him again. Want to feel him again. On top of you and inside you and all over you. There is a dull but unmistakable throb between your legs, and the realization has you flushing so warm and dark, there's no way Zeke doesn't know what he's doing to you.

"Alright then," he smirks. "Be a good little girl and go back to your friends."

It makes you suck in a sharp breath. Good girl. That… You've never… No one has ever… Why does it feel so fucking good? And, why does he know? It's disturbing.

You nod, idly wonder how bad it would be if you just… stayed up here the whole time, played it off as the two of you getting caught up talking about books. It could work. It's a believable story.

"Downstairs," Zeke prompts rather smugly, obviously aware of what your dumb brain is doing.

You swallow and turn, walking on shaky legs to the door all while feeling Zeke watching you. Book clutched tightly in your hand, you leave and descend the staircase to join your friends once again.

It's odd this time. No one is drunk and you can't make yourself tiny in the corner of the couch because Armin is already sitting in it. You have to settle with sitting next to Eren on the floor once you haul your backpack over, determined to distract yourself with homework. You just made out with Zeke upstairs. You just sat in his lap and let him mark you and loved it.

A dangerous game indeed.

"Hey, can you cover a cocktail shift this Saturday?" Hannes asks from behind the bar, planting two hurricane glasses upside-down on the drying mat.

You make a face, know you shouldn't challenge your boss, but you still need to know, "Which bartenders will I be working with?" It is very important information. The success of your shift sort of hinges on the shoulders of whoever is making your drinks.

"Uh," Hannes looks up at the ceiling, closes one eye like he's thinking. "Saturday evenings are… Petra and Nana, but Nana is out of town, so I'm gonna pull Galli in, if I can."

"Galli?" You’ve never heard of them before.

"Yeah, Galliard. He's usually on week-nights, but he said something about needing extra cash, so—"

"Saturday's the way to go."

"Exactly. He's an okay dude, though. No one's had any problems with him so far."

You nod and agree because you, too, could use some extra money, and besides, Hannes is always very understanding whenever you have to take time off. Plus he doesn't mind talking to your problem tables.

"Awesome. I appreciate it."

Saturday afternoon rolls around, and you slink out of the apartment you share with both Marco and Ymir clad in short denim shorts and your Garrison's t-shirt, the V-neck you reserve for cocktail shifts such as this. Thankfully, it still covers the bruise that was left below your collarbone—you had made sure to check, skin prickling as you stared at the mark in the mirror.

You take the metro to the closest stop and tie your hair up as you step through the doors of the restaurant you’ve worked at since you turned sixteen.

You check in with Hannes in the office and situate your apron, make sure you have more than enough pens to last the evening, then go to relieve the server in your section.

Petra waves at you as she passes, quickly counting bills before handing them off to another server in the well. Leaning over the bartop further down is a stocky redhead you’ve never seen before, obviously Galli.

Falling into your shift rather easily, you take orders and punch them in, run food and drinks, and do your best to bullshit with your tables. You’re used to the way male patrons look at you, dressed to show off a little bit because of it. Tips come a lot easier when men can stare at your legs and chest, and even though it makes you uncomfortable sometimes, if it will get you thirty percent, so be it.

Galli ends up formally introducing himself maybe an hour into the shift. His red hair is slicked back and he has a charming, boyish smile that you have no doubt gets him everything he wants. "I'm Galliard," he holds out a hand after wiping it on his low-slung jeans. "Everyone calls me Galli."

You offer your own name, then, "Hannes said you usually work week nights?"

"Yeah," he nods. "I've been trying not to do weekends, but you know, shit happens."

He's a good bartender, quick with drinks, good with guests, not a complete dick with the servers like some, though you do hear him snap a couple times ("If you wanted it on the rocks, why the fuck did you ring it in frozen?"). Being that your section is connected to the bar, you end up making some small talk with him, Petra, and Marlowe the barback until it gets too busy to dick around. It's slightly faster paced than you’re used to, but you’re good at the job—able to multitask and give the guests what they want.

"Hey," Galli calls to you from the other side of the bar top as you walk with a tray full of empties. "My friends are coming by. Are you cool with them taking your 2-0-4?"

"Are they gonna camp?"

"Oh, most definitely," he laughs. "But they tip really well. I always make sure of it."

You wave a hand, "Yeah, it's fine."

"Cool, thanks. I'll make sure they take care of you!"

You shoot him a look, shake your head when he winks, and you remember Hannes telling you the guy hasn't had any trouble yet. You think you know why.

204 is a round high-top that gets sat as soon as it opens up, so you subtly place an 'On Wait' sign on it, snort when Galli claps his hands together as if to pray to you, then disappear into the back to drop your dishes and pay a table out.

As soon as you walk back out, you stop, eyebrows rising on your forehead. The high table is once again full, taken up by five new people, but not all of them are strangers. You recognize a broad man with blond hair and a wolfish grin as well as the gangly brunet beside him as some of Ymir's friends, Reiner and Bertl. They've been to the apartment a few times, enough for you and Marco to know them and for the men to know you. There’s a tiny blonde girl on the other side of Bertl, and next to her is one more familiar face, only this one makes your insides twist uncomfortably, the sensation only worsening when icy blue eyes catch yours and widen slightly at the sight of you.

Zeke.

Because of course.

Galli suddenly rushes out from the side of the bar to sidle up beside you, boldly throwing an arm around your shoulders like he's known you for more than a few hours as he all but shouts, "Yo, meet my friends!"

"I actually know some of your friends," you tell the ginger, look back and smile at them, "Reiner, Bertl, Zeke," the 'k' of his name seems to echo in your mouth, and Zeke arches an eyebrow, the same side of his mouth twitching upward.

Fuck fuck fuck, there's no way you’re gonna to be able to focus with him being there.

"Oh, cool! So that means I won't have to lecture them on the proper etiquette of tipping."

"Pock, I was a bartender for seven years," Reiner gruffs. "I know how to fucking tip."

"I'm just making sure! Anyway, that's Annie," Galli points to the little blonde who nods, "And that’s Marcel, my brother. Guys, order the good shit through her, but uh,” he glances over his shoulder then leans into the table, “I can put cheap liquor on the spill tab, so like, you know…”

Annie salutes sarcastically, and Galli takes it as his signal to get back behind the bar.

“So, uh, what can I get ya’?” You start, pulling your notepad from your apron before you lean over the table between Marcel and Reiner.

They order a couple appetizers and drinks—Bertl and Annie get cocktails sweet enough to give you a headache while Reiner and Marcel stick to IPAs, and Zeke orders an Old Fashioned that prompts Reiner to laugh and mumble a low, “Fuckin’ grandpa.”

You snicker, try not to shiver when your gaze flicks to Zeke and find him staring at you from under the thick rims of his glasses, a knowing, naughty kind of stare that sets your body on fire.

“I will be right back with all of that,” you say, followed by a cough, then scamper over to a different table.

It’s busy enough that no one pulls you over to talk at any of your tables save for a woman who has a problem with her shrimp cocktail because it tastes “too fishy”, and for that, you call Hannes over. You move quickly, enjoy the feeling of your book getting fuller and fuller with each passing party, and when you do have a little bit of time, you make sure to spend it at Galli’s table, try to situate yourself between Reiner and Marcel every time because they’re both nice and it puts enough distance between you and Zeke for you to be able to breathe.

More drinks, more apps, a round of cheap shots “on Galli”. Reiner tries to get you to take one, and while your protest is, “Um, I could definitely lose my job,” Zeke chooses to speak up with a snide, “She’s not twenty-one, dumbass.”

Reiner holds up a finger as if to argue but thinks better of it. “That is very true. When do you and little Marco graduate, anyway?”

You laugh, flick hair out of your eyes and tell him, “I’m out at the end of this year, but Marco still has one more to go.”

“I didn’t know you were the older sister,” Zeke muses, and he looks genuinely taken aback.

You can’t help but tease, “I sure hope I’m older. Marco’s only sixteen.” And the implication is not lost on the blond as he looks back down to the table, bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he tries and fails to hide his smirk.

You have to watch out. You can’t overstep or give anything away, but it’s hard when Zeke is sitting there in a dark t-shirt and bomber jacket, jeans tucked into combat boots. His light hair is combed out of his face, and his beard has been trimmed, and he just keeps looking at you like he has something he wants to say but he can’t, and neither can you, and you probably shouldn’t even have anything to say because it’s not like whatever you’re doing is anything to talk about. It isn’t anything. It isn’t—

“I’ve gotta pee,” you tell Galli as you untie your apron and hand it to him to keep behind the bar. "Steal from that, and I will end you."

"Wouldn't dream of it, doll," he grins, stashing it under the register. "I'll keep an eye on your section."

You thank him and then gallop down the few steps to the main serving floor. You nod to your co-workers on the way to the restroom then do what you need to do as quickly as possible—a skill everyone in the service industry must learn. After washing your hands, you open the door with paper towels then toss them into the nearby trashcan before sliding out into the cramped walkway.

You bump into someone immediately which is a common occurrence, but when hands move up to steady you, you’re hit with the idea that you running into this someone was not just by chance.

"Were you waiting for me out here like some kind of creep?" You try to play like your heart isn't in your throat, like you’re more confident than you feel.

"Creep?" Zeke scoffs. "What, you get what you want from me, so now you're all mean?"

You take on a sing-song tone. "I don't know what you're talking about.”

His hands are still on you, one clasped on your shoulder and the other at your hip, and Zeke takes a cursory look around, then crowds you against the wall to speak lowly, "I didn't know you worked here."

"Why would you?" You snicker. "We haven't exactly been big with the small talk." Or talk of any kind until a little over a week ago.

"Fair point. Still, I feel like you know more about me than I do about you, and that just seems wrong considering I—"

"Well, I also don't have a mouthy little brother who likes to talk about my business to his friends, so there's your first problem." You tell him, stick your tongue between your front teeth before continuing. Your adrenaline takes over every time you speak with Zeke, or it has on the more recent occasions, so your mouth is a little sharper than usual, words clearer and much cheekier. "Plus, I'm surprised you're interested at all since that is what I am to you—one of Eren's friends."

Zeke blinks at you a couple times, digests the information, then cocks his head to the side. "Maybe that's all you were before, but now…" he trails off, and his lips stay parted, pale eyes going hazy, and you know you’re in trouble.

"But now what?"

You can only imagine the doe-eyed expression on your face as you look up at Zeke. You hardly realize your hands are moving until your fingers gently curl into the fabric at the bottom of his jacket.

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. "Now, I'm invested."

"Oh, is that so?"

There is, in the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind, a warning alarm ringing—an inaudible question of why—why would someone like Zeke Jaeger care—but it's so easy to ignore, so you do because the truth is that you like that he's invested and curious and keeps wanting to touch you.

"It is," he murmurs, and the hand on your shoulder shifts so that he can use his thumb to push the fabric of your shirt aside and admire the mark he left there, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he stares.

It's exciting and sexy and so not your life, and out of everyone you could have caught the attention of, it's Zeke? It feels like you hit some kind of jackpot. The guy is—he's fucking sex on legs. He's older and brilliant and talented and funny and a good big brother that looks out for all of Eren's friends in his own condescending way. He is so out of your league, but for some reason, he's giving you the time of day, and you are not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I've gotta get back to work, monkey boy," you remind him, grin when he rolls his eyes. "How long are y'all staying?"

Zeke shrugs his shoulders and steps away, shoves his hands in his pockets. "I don't know. When does your shift end?"

You reach into your back pocket and slide your phone out. It's nearly ten which means, "I've got about an hour left, plus side work, so I'll be getting out of here probably close to twelve."

"Did you drive?"

You shake your head, feel tension coiling in your stomach. "Don't have a car. Took the metro."

Zeke frowns. "That is so dangerous."

Shrugging, you peek over his shoulder to look into your section. Galli is talking to one of your booths.

"I mean, I was gonna Uber home."

"Like that's any better," Zeke admonishes. "Let me give you a ride."

It is one hundred percent a demand, no question anywhere at all. You laugh quietly. "Are you trying to give me a ride or give me a ride?"

You think you’re being all smooth and suggestive, but you are clearly out of your depth when you squeak at Zeke's crass, "I mean, I'll definitely fuck you again if given the chance, but I'm really more concerned with your safety right now." You blink at him several times, must look completely taken off guard because Zeke smirks and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "Don't dish it if you can't take it, sweetheart."

And then he backs up and gestures for you to return to your fucking job, ducking into the men's room himself.

You are left dazed as you go back to your section, only snapped out of it when Galli thrusts your apron back to you and rattles off a couple of updated bills— "2-0-1 ordered wings, 0-3 sent back their daiquiris, the motherfuckers, and 0-6 is paying out—why do you look like that? Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, just uh, weird text from my friend," you lie. "Thanks for covering."

The shift is a little blurry after that, but you manage to keep your fuck ups to a minimum. Zeke sits and talks with his friends, sips on his drinks but doesn't get anywhere close to tipsy while Reiner and Marcel grow progressively louder the later it gets. Bertl is the first to stand from the table, grabbing Annie's small hand and fisting his other in the back of Reiner's coat. "Come on, big guy," he urges his friend forward.

"Yeah, yeah, see ya' 'round," the large blond wriggles his fingers at you then marches down the walkway with his friends.

It leaves Zeke and Marcel alone at the table and you in an awkward spot when Galli says, "Z, you can go if you need to. I've got him," while nodding toward his brother.

"No, I'm fine," Zeke dismisses. "I'm taking her home after her shift."

"Oh?" A ginger eyebrow raises. "Oh, that's—"

"She's friends with my little brother."

You peer around the corner from where you stand at a computer, catching Zeke's gaze and shaking your head in a very 'tsk tsk' manner.

"Guess that worked out then. Small fuckin' world, right?"

Once your last table has paid out, you start sweeping and refilling condiments, and you’re happy to be able to do your cash drop and walk out of Garrison's with Zeke before the restaurant even officially closes. He leads you to what you know to be a lifted black Bronco, having seen it in the Jaeger Bros driveway before, and even opens the door for you and helps you up into it.

"I assume you live close to the house," he half asks half states when he slides into his seat.

"Yeah, I'm in Canyon Springs, the apartment complex off Slidell."

"Yeah? A friend of mine lives there. Pretty nice place."

You nod and pull out your phone to text Ymir that you’re on your way home. Your cousin never outright requested she know the whereabouts of you and your brother at all times, but you know the check-ins ease the older girl's mind even if she won't ever admit to it out loud.

"Marco and I live with our cousin. We split rent as best we can, but like, it gets tough sometimes, one of the reasons I took this shift tonight."

It falls silent for a few moments, and you inwardly cringe, wondering if you’ve said too much. The last thing you want is for Zeke to pity you.

Before you can backtrack or change the subject, though, he turns his car radio on, familiar music playing at a respectable volume, and your lips curl up at the corners when you ask, “Is this The Used?” even though you know the answer.

Zeke glances over, raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Huh. Figured they were a little before your time. Especially this album.”

It’s the first of the band’s discography, but you know it well. “Maybe a little before mine but not my cousin’s.” You go on to explain, “Marco and I went through a bit of an… Emo phase, I guess, after our parents…” You clear your throat and smile again. “Anyway, we got into a lot of different music. Just wanting to connect to something, you know?”

“Yeah,” Zeke nods. “I feel that. What’s on your typical playlist then?”

Your taste has changed a bit since then, but some of that old, angsty music still makes it on your track-listings. Other than that, they mostly consist of indie rock, movie soundtracks, and a little bit of K-pop here and there.

Zeke scoffs at this, mumbles a quiet, “Okay, I’m no longer impressed,” to which you roll your eyes and reach over to flick him in the arm.

He chuckles then fishes his phone out of his pocket, tosses it into your lap and tells you, “Pass code is 2-3-2-7-8. Put your number in. I’ll make a playlist and send it to you.”

“Trying to broaden my horizons?” You snort as you type in the five-digit code and navigate to his contacts, ignoring the way your hands are shaking.

It’s nothing. Just your phone number. It’s not like he’s gonna use it all the time.

Still, the idea of Zeke being able to contact you at any time lights your belly up with excitement. That feeling of being special thrums through your body, and you bite your lip to hide a giddy smile when you hand his phone back to him.

Neither of you say much afterward, so Zeke turns the music up, and you spend the rest of the car ride bobbing your head and mouthing lyrics you know by heart.

When the gate opens, you direct him to your building, but rather than just stopping to drop you off, Zeke pulls into one of the spots under an awning. You unbuckle your seatbelt but stay sitting for just a little too long, head too full and stomach doing somersaults until you’re finally able to look at him and utter a small, “Thanks for the ride. I really—

Zeke is out of his seatbelt and leaning over the console faster than you can track, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you into a harsh kiss. The smallest of whimpers escapes you, and you press in closer, curling a hand around the back of his neck and opening your mouth. He wastes no time in sliding his tongue inside, the kiss quickly turning hot and wet—desperate. You’ve never wanted anyone more in your life.

Because you know what he’s capable of, what he can do to you, and fuck, you can feel yourself getting wet just thinking about it.

There’s a tugging at the hem of your shirt, and you break to take it off, welcoming the cool air on your heated skin.

Then the little voice in your head pipes up again, reminding you that you’ve just gotten off a shift. You’ve been sweating and taking on the smell of every fried food known to man. It gives you pause, makes you very self-conscious, and you hold your hands up, “Wait, wait,” even as Zeke works at the front clasp of your bra. “I—Zeke, I just got off work. I probably smell, and—”

He looks at you over the rim of his glasses, brow furrowed in something between incredulity and condescension. “Listen, sweetheart,” he starts, and you do. “I don’t give a solitary fuck that you don’t smell like flowers or whatever you think you’re supposed to smell like. All I care about is fucking your little pussy again, okay?”

You can actually feel your gaze get cloudy with lust, the throbbing between your legs increasing.

“Stop overthinking. Just take your pants off,” he presses.

You’re kicking your shoes off and shimmying out of your little shorts as quickly as you can, a shiver running down your spine when you hear the zipper of Zeke’s jeans. He falls back as he reclines his seat, sliding it as far away from the wheel as possible, then holds a hand out to help you over the center console. He’s kicked his pants off somewhere on the floorboard, leaving you to grind down on bare skin as you straddle him.

Bringing you in for another kiss, you feel his hand trail down your side, between your legs, and your moan is muffled by his mouth when he slips a finger into your heat far too easily.

Zeke breaks away to swear, pumping his finger and grinning salaciously up at you.

“Baby, you’re so wet.”

Nodding almost shamefully, you squeeze your eyes shut. Embarrassed as you may be, though, you can’t help but rock your hips, effectively riding his finger and gasping when he slips a second one in. They feel divine, rubbing against sensitive tissue and quickly pulling lewd noises from you. When you open your eyes again, you find Zeke watching you with a half-lidded gaze, like he’s completely enthralled.

Even with the odd angle of his wrist, he finds your clit without even looking, pressing his thumb to it and making perfect fucking circles that make you drip for him. Your toes are curling, thighs tensing, and that pressure starts to build, but—

“I’m ready. Can we—Can I—”

“Can you what?” His voice is gravelly, thick with desire.

You can’t look at him as you try to finish your question, crushing your lips against his so you can mutter against them, “Can I ride you? I wanna—on your…” It’s still hard to get out, but Zeke gets the picture, and you can feel him smile into the kiss.

He nods, slides his fingers out of your needy pussy, then holds them to your mouth. You don’t think twice before sucking on them, tasting your arousal and taking the digits until they brush the back of your throat.

Zeke hums those two words you’ve been craving, “Good girl,” and you whine around his fingers, lift yourself just enough for him to be able to position his cock between your folds. He teases you for a moment, using his now wet hand to hold you by the hip while he rubs his flushed tip back and forth over your slit. He’s hard and hot against you, and when he finally pushes into your clenching hole, his head lolls back against his seat, and he lets out a low, “Fu-uck, baby.”

You squeeze him, enjoying the way he’s stretching you, then start to sink down on his length, stalling when he huffs, “Don’t hurt yourself, okay?”

But you take him without much issue. He fills you so perfectly, rubs against your swelling walls, and fuck, you forgot how big he is, how thick, how he hits that spot inside of you without even trying.

You sit in his lap for a second, enjoying the way he twitches inside of you, then cant your hips experimentally and moan. Coherent thoughts no longer exist in your mind, just a raw craving to fuck. The moment you lift yourself, Zeke’s fingers dig into the flesh at your hips and guide you back down, and like that, the two of you fall into a rhythm.

Your skin slaps against his. The truck rocks. The windows start to fog in a way you’ve only seen in movies. Anyone who passes will know exactly what’s happening inside the vehicle, but you cannot bring yourself to care, not when Zeke is fucking up into you at just the right angle. Slick is dripping down your thighs, quickly joined by the less viscous fluid he milked from you the last time you slept with him.

Whimpering, you try to warn him, “Gonna ruin—god—your seat,” but he just keeps rubbing circles on the little bud, unrelenting and apparently uncaring.

The empty buckle of the seatbelt is digging into your left knee, but you can’t stop moving, barely feel it as you ride Zeke as if possessed. You hadn’t realized how much you needed this, how much you’ve been craving it since the other night, but now you know, and you don’t think you’ll ever forget again.

“Fuck, you look so good—the way you take my cock, tight pussy squeezing me so nice—”

Heat bubbles in your belly as your orgasm approaches, cunt clenching then somehow opening further as if preparing your body to take his—

“Fuck,” you still suddenly, eyes going wide, and Zeke stares at you in surprise. “We forgot a condom.”

He makes a face but moves to open the center console, procuring a handful of napkins, then tells you, “I’ll warn you before I come. Promise.”

If you were in a more lucid frame of mind, you might protest, but his solution is enough to put you at ease, and you nod before quickly picking up where you left off.

Zeke is mumbling obscenities but quiets himself by leaning up and sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, gently biting the bud and flicking his tongue over it as he lifts and drops you on his cock over and over.

It’s too much—the sensation of him deep in your cunt, the way he’s licking over your flesh, his thumb pressing against sensitive nerves, and you can’t even finish your exclamation of, “Oh god, I’m co—” before your climax rocks your body.

Eyes rolling, your jaw drops, and you let Zeke use you to his pleasure as you shiver and writhe and come. Your walls pulse around his cock, squeezing and fluttering as you whimper from oversensitivity.

“So close, baby, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t take long, waiting until the last possible second before lifting you quickly, his length slipping out of you entirely and springing up to bob against his stomach as he shoots his load right onto his shirt.

You watch the way his jaw slides, his eyebrows raising, and oh, you can see how flushed his face is in the dim light from the awning. He looks about as fucked out as you feel, and as he catches his breath, he shows a lopsided smile.

“Feel good?” He asks breathlessly.

You nod, add a quiet, “Dizzy… but good.”

It takes a couple minutes before you’re able to work up the strength to climb back over to your seat, ungraceful as you fall into it and start pulling your clothes back on. Zeke uses the napkins to dab at his shirt before eventually muttering, “Fuck it,” and taking it off to throw in the backseat.

You feel shaky, a little overwhelmed, and Zeke seems to pick up on it because he reaches over and places a gentle hand on your head, scratching against your scalp in a comforting manner.

“I’m sorry I can’t really take care of you this time.”

His hand falls to cup your cheek when you turn to look at him, and the way your heart pounds in your chest at the gesture is very concerning. It’s not a good idea to get attached, to develop real feelings, because you doubt he’ll ever fully return them.

But his palm is warm, and the way he’s looking at you—light eyes full of something, sincerity, worry, you don’t know.

“It’s fine. You didn’t, like, hurt me or anything,” you tell him. “I’m just gonna shower and wind down for the night.”

“Okay.”

He moves at the same time you do, one last kiss before you detach yourself from him and slip out of the Bronco.

You walk up concrete stairs on weak legs, able to feel the dampness of your panties, and you hope to God no one is awake in the apartment. As silent as you can be, you creep inside. The kitchen light is on, but it’s empty just like the living room. You can see a sliver of yellow peeking out from Marco’s bedroom door, basically hurtle past it to get to the safety of your own room, then grab some pajamas and bolt to the bathroom.

The shower is scalding, helps loosen the muscles that had grown tense over the course of your shift. It also washes away the evidence of your tryst, but every image—every word, every groan—remains at the forefront of your mind. You doubt any of it will be going away any time soon.

Hair washed and body scrubbed, you turn off the water and step out into a cloud of steam. It’s impossible to see your reflection in the mirror, but you think… You think if you looked into it, you’d see someone you’re not familiar with. You feel different. It isn’t because you’re having sex. It’s who you’re having sex with. You still can’t wrap your head around it.

After drying off, you wrap your towel around your head then make your way back to your room. Every light is off now. Marco must have come out and seen your purse and keys on the counter and turned them all off. You settle into your room, try to relax after such a busy night, but it’s hard. Zeke’s hoodie is still hanging off your closet door, his copy of Paradise Lost on your chest-of-drawers. Even if you wanted to get him out of your head, you wouldn’t be able to.

And, the last, slim possibility of that happening is wiped away entirely when your phone buzzes on your nightstand with a text message, an unknown number displayed. There are only two lines:

Sleep tight

and a link to Spotify.

#mels deflowered #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #i still have this spotify playlist

216 notes · View notes