tis I, pisspope, now ZekeYeagerVEVO! anyway hi i post about aot, bg3 (and dnd), dragon age, jjk, and wow. if u want my battle net tag or discord ask nicely and ill hand over the goods
the piss palace patrons:
1. zeke yeager (ship name cake)
2. gale dekarios (ship name cale or weaveweave)
3. hiromi higuruma (ship name hirocat)
4. tenya iida (ship name catya)
5. emmrich volkarin (ship name emmcat)
masterlist | most recent bangers:
rockstar!zeke smut
tenya iida's social media manager longfic
zeke angst drabble
RULES
minors DNI you are not tall enough to ride this ride
no pro/anti discourse allowed bc you're not gonna like my take
terfs will be tarred and feathered this is your only warning
asks are open, and i'd love to entertain a request or two! i love to play dolls with anime men and would always welcome suggestions!
luv plodding over to the discord planning to write a paragraph about tenya iida and walking out of the text box with sweat on my brow having looked up the entire history of samurai and written 1.5k words about honorable wakatō tenya being sacrificed to goddess!reader following the death of oda nobunaga
zeke at the mall what will he do ........ go to pepper palace and throw up on only a 4 on their spice table ...... try to ride the children's train and get told off by the conductor ........ make a monkey plush at build-a-bear with a little Jedi robe (he loves a star war) ...... much to think about
A/N: I'm not gonna lie, Zeke is the one character I keep coming back to despite how massively unpopular he seems to be in the fandom. Instead of writing one (1) final chapter for my Levi fic, I went and wrote 5 whole chapters of this (tbf I started writing the outline/draft for this back in august). So, they're done and will be posted weekly as I edit them. At least I can say it was very a very cathartic end to the semester. Sorry for anyone hoping for an update to fixer :')
table of contents | masterlist | cross posted to ao3
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In a move that has rocked the baseball world to its core, Eren Jaeger, one of the brightest stars of the Paradis Titans, has announced his signing with the Marley Warriors in a shocking offseason deal. The news, which broke late last night, has left fans and analysts scrambling for answers as the Titans standout leaves behind his beloved team in what is being called one of the most surprising player transfers in recent memory.
Jaeger, who made his debut with the Titans at just 19 years old, has been a cornerstone of the team’s lineup for the last three seasons. His electrifying performances, combined with his magnetic presence on the field, quickly made him a fan favorite and one of the league’s top players. The Paradis Titans, led by head coach Erwin Smith, are known for their unyielding drive and dedication, but Jaeger’s departure has raised serious questions about the team’s future.
According to multiple sources close to the situation, the deal with the Warriors was struck after months of behind-the-scenes negotiations, with Marley’s front office promising Jaeger a more prominent role on their roster and an opportunity to work closely with their head coach, Theo Magath. The Warriors, long seen as a powerhouse with a history of aggressive moves in the offseason, have clearly made a statement with this high-profile acquisition.
The Warriors’ PR department confirmed the signing earlier today, with both the team and Jaeger offering brief statements.
“I’m excited to join the Marley Warriors,” Jaeger said. “It’s a new chapter, and I’m looking forward to contributing to a team that has an incredible opportunity ahead of them.”
The response from the Paradis Titans has been noticeably muted, with head coach Erwin Smith stating that he respected Jaeger’s decision but would be focusing on preparing his team for the upcoming season. “While we’re disappointed to see Eren go, we wish him nothing but success,” Smith said in a short comment delivered through the Titans’ social media channels.
Jaeger’s decision to leave Paradis has shocked fans and experts alike, with many unable to fathom why the star player, who had become the face of the franchise, would leave the Titans for a team with such a complicated history. The Warriors, known for their brash and sometimes controversial style, have had a reputation for cutting ties with players when it suits their interests—most recently evidenced by their handling of Zeke Jaeger, Eren’s older brother, whose rocky relationship with the press has often overshadowed the team’s other successes.
Some insiders are speculating that Jaeger’s signing could lead to a shift in the team’s dynamic, with Jaeger potentially filling a new leadership role alongside seasoned players like Reiner Braun and Zeke Jaeger. In an even more unexpected twist, sources confirm that the Warriors are looking to establish a renewed rivalry with the Titans in the upcoming season, with Eren Jaeger’s departure serving as the catalyst for what could become one of the most heated and dramatic storylines of the year.
With the opening game of the season fast approaching, all eyes will be on Eren Jaeger. Will he rise to the occasion and lead the Warriors to victory? Whether you see it as a betrayal, a fresh start, or a calculated career move, one thing is for sure: Eren Jaeger’s future with the Warriors will be anything but predictable.
Stay tuned for further updates as we continue to track this developing story.
The air still held the crisp bite of winter, but the Florida sun had burned away any excuse for a jacket. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, standing just outside the gated entrance of the Marleyan Warriors’ spring training complex. Players had started trickling in for early workouts, slipping through the back entrance in their team-issued gear. Some wore sunglasses, others sported headphones, pretending not to see the press.
But you weren’t here for them. You were here for Zeke Jaeger.
The first time you wrote about Zeke, you’d been a junior in college. Just a wide-eyed intern trying to carve out your space in sports journalism. Back then, no one believed Zeke had what it took to make it in the major leagues. The Warriors had taken a chance on him late in the draft, drawn to the sheer velocity of his pitches but skeptical of his unorthodox style. Everyone whispered about him, his lack of discipline, his tendency to overthink his game.
Thing was, though, Zeke Jaeger had the stuff. That was what they said when he started mowing down batters, making the impossible look easy. His slider broke at angles that defied logic. His fastball spun in ways that made hitters hesitate just a half-second too long. And soon, he wasn’t just a gamble; he was the ace.
Then, just as quickly, he was gone.
A cryptic injury. No public statements. No press conferences. Just the slow fade of his name from the conversation, replaced by his younger brother: the phenomenon, Eren Jaeger.
You tapped your pen against your chin, glancing at the clock on your phone. Gossip was not what you were after. The polite, scripted quotes the team’s PR rep would try to feed you did not interest you either. You wanted the real story, the one no one was paying attention to.
You wanted to know if Zeke Jaeger still had the stuff.
And more than that, you wanted to know if he even cared anymore.
The gate creaked open, and there he was. Zeke walked with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. The beard was gone—only a light scruff remained. And he moved with the casual ease of someone who had nothing to prove.
Except, you knew better. You took a step forward, notebook at the ready, and called his name.
“Can I ask you a few questions?”
Zeke slowed, lifting a brow. “I think you’ve got the wrong brother, Berg.”
He gave you the run-around, just as your editor said he would. But it wasn’t like you weren’t expecting it. At least, he had been nice enough to point out the old number you had for him was no longer in service before running off.
One bright spot was that you still had the contact information for Zeke’s longtime personal assistant.
Yelena agreed to meet almost immediately, which meant one of two things: either she thought you weren’t worth the trouble of ignoring, or she wanted to shut this down before it started.
You arrived at the café a few minutes early. It was one of those places where the baristas wore starched white aprons and every bean variety had an origin story more dramatic than some relationships. As you stepped inside, you were hit with the sharp scent of citrus peel and the earthiness of roasting coffee.
Yelena was already there, of course, seated at a small round table by the window. She was tall, always taller than you remembered, and exuded the quiet menace of someone who never minced words. In front of her sat an espresso, served in the traditional manner in a demitasse cup, set beside a small metal spoon and a side of cold sparkling water in a tiny clear glass.
You took the seat across from her. “Thanks for meeting me.”
She took an unhurried sip of her espresso. “I was curious to see how persistent you were going to be.”
“And?”
Yelena swirled the liquid inside her cup. “I assume you want to talk to Zeke.”
“I assume you already knew that.”
“I also assume you know that’s not going to happen.”
“Oh, Yelena,” you said, folding your hands together on the table in front of you. “You know, you only ever get this defensive when I’ve got a shot.”
The other woman leaned back, annoyance twitching her upper lip. “Look, just because you wrote some favorable things about him when he first started doesn’t mean he owes you anything now. He doesn’t care what people say anymore.”
You raised a brow. “Then, why’d he run when I tried to talk to him?”
Yelena made a sharp noise with her teeth. “You’re wasting your time. Go write about Eren. He’s the story people want.”
“That’s not how I work,” you said.
She downed the rest of her espresso in one smooth motion and began to stand. “You’ve got a week down here, right? I suggest you enjoy the sun,” she said. Then, adjusting the cuffs of her suit jacket, she added, “If I were you, I wouldn’t bother waiting outside the stadium again.”
You watched her go, then glanced down at your hands with a sigh.
Time for some more roundabout methods.
Historia Reiss was the young, ambitious new heiress of the Titans—small in stature, surprising cutthroat in business, and a personal friend. As it was, she just so happened to be seeing someone on the Warriors’ staff: the team’s PR lead, Ymir.
Ymir, as it turned out, was less of a defensive wall than Yelena. The connection was more straightforward than you anticipated, mostly because Ymir had her own complicated relationship with Zeke. But then again, who didn’t?
“Zeke’s been laying low,” Ymir had told you with a dismissive tone. “But I know where he’ll be tonight. He had a reservation booked at the Rainforest Café outside Fort Lauderdale.”
You blinked at the wall of your hotel room. “What? Rainforest Café? Who the hell books a reservation there?”
“Zeke does. If you want to talk to him, that’s where he’ll be.”
There was a small anecdote that you had included in your profile on Zeke Jaeger back when he was still a rookie, a fun detail that had fascinated you because of how strange and unexpected it was.
Apparently, he loved arcade claw machines and had once spent thirty bucks trying to win a stuffed monkey. He purported to have a “system” for the claw and claimed it was about angles and patience, not luck. You had rolled your eyes so hard, he made a quip about them falling out of your face.
But the detail never stuck in the public consciousness because it didn’t fit the myth.
Point being, you shouldn’t have been surprised; Zeke Jaeger was a weirdo.
The tip was good. Less than an hour later, you found yourself walking toward the unmistakable jungle-themed restaurant, the sounds of animatronic fauna echoing from within. You approached the hostess, who confirmed that a Z. Jaeger had indeed reserved a table.
As you entered, senses assaulted by the faux jungle atmosphere, you spotted him immediately, sitting alone in a booth near the back next to a display of moving apes. His back was to you, but the figure was unmistakable, with his pale, scruffy hair and broad shoulders contained within a cream linen blazer.
You approached him and leaned over the edge of the booth. “This is really fucking sad, Zeke.”
He startled just a little, and looked up. “Guess I just like the kitsch.”
“Is that so?” You slid into the seat across from him and glanced pointedly at the gorilla figure grunting nearby. “Here I thought you were looking for company that didn’t like to ask a lot of questions.”
“Look, Berg,” Zeke sighed, leaning forward. “There’s no story here. Eren told me ahead of time he was leaving the Titans, signing to the Warriors. I approved, not that it matters. We play different positions, so there’s no hard feelings. That’s all there is to it.”
You flicked open your notebook. “Can I quote you on that?”
“You can quote me on whatever you want,” he said apathetically. He was not going to make this easy, but you were used to that by now. “My kid brother’s got talent. He’s got heart. You should know. I seem to recall you were a Titans fan.”
Prodding him too hard would only make him retreat back into his shell. You tried shifting the tone. “Well, maybe so. I’m a Paradis girl at heart. But you were always my favorite player, Zeke.”
He snorted, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’s funny. You really care about a little reporter crush?”
“Who said anything about a crush?” you scoffed. “Anyway, maybe I don’t want to talk about Eren. You can’t sidestep me just by throwing his name around a few times.”
“Ah, but Eren is inextricably tied into all of it, isn’t he?” he said, just as the server stepped up to the table.
She was very clearly a part-timer, probably attending college nearby. Her voice was upbeat as she asked for your drink orders.
“An island daiquiri,” Zeke said without hesitation.
“Sure! Which flavor? Strawberry’s popular.”
“God, no! I’d rather die,” he said, chuckling. “I’ll take piña colada.”
The server blinked. “Piña colada it is. And for you?” she said, turning to you.
“Just water,” you said, trying to spare the poor girl any more theatrics.
The server walked off with a faintly bewildered look on her face. Typical Zeke Jaeger. Charming, but just off-putting enough to give anyone who was unsuspecting whiplash.
“So, you were saying?”
“Was I saying something?” Zeke said, leaning back in his booth.
You tapped your pen rapidly against the notebook, but you couldn’t let your impatience take over. He was being evasive. There was more to the story about his relationship with Eren, but to your knowledge, the two had never been very close. Besides, you couldn’t see what that had anything to do with Zeke’s injury.
That was a sore spot. You knew full well to steer clear of that topic unless he brought it up himself. It was clear the physical recovery had been grueling, but the emotional part of it was harder to gauge. You didn’t need to ask, not yet.
“Hey, Zeke, I’m not trying to sensationalize anything, okay?”
“This isn’t some big comeback story,” he said, blurting it out softly like he’d been waiting for an opportunity to say it. “I’m not some washed-up player who’s trying to resurrect his career.”
“Yeah, I know,” you said, holding up your hands placatingly. “I know that. I do.”
“Then, you know, maybe it’s your cue to go,” he said coldly. “Leave me to my gorillas.”
You swallowed. “Just one more thing.”
Zeke groaned, tilting his head back against the booth like he was searching the fake jungle canopy for patience. “God, Berg, you are relentless.”
“Colt Grice,” you said, taking that as permission. “He did well filling in for you. Some people are saying he’s shaping up to be the next ace. Any thoughts?”
His jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he might brush your question off. But then, he sighed and relented. “Colt’s good. He’s got a strong arm, good command. If the Warriors are smart, they’ll take care of him.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. Now, go on. Write your little piece.”
You stood up and slid out of the booth just as the server came back with Zeke’s daiquiri and a glass of water in hand. She stared as you cleared your throat and gathered your notebook.
“Appreciate the time, Jaeger.”
The business center of your hotel was one of the more flamboyant you’d ever worked in. It was modern in the ostentatious way—glass walls, sleek ergonomic chairs that looked stylish but were somehow incredibly uncomfortable, and a giant, overpriced espresso machine that you had no idea how to use. A massive abstract painting loomed behind the printer, something that might have been meant to evoke waves but instead looked like an ink spill from hell.
You had been working on a short piece from the scraps Zeke deigned to throw you when your attention was diverted by one of your usual search engine rabbit holes. The subject of tonight’s fixation was Zeke’s closest associate in the Warriors club: Pieck Finger.
She was a bench coach, the team’s lead strategist. If Zeke Jaeger was an enigma, Pieck was a whole ass locked vault. She’d been a rising star in coaching circles for years, and there had been speculation—there was always speculation—that she and Zeke were an item.
The rumors never amounted to anything. Pieck was too wry, too knowing, always slipping through the questions like water. You found an old article on Pieck’s playing days; she was an infield utility player, smart, adaptable, never a superstar but respected for her astuteness.
It made sense that she’d transitioned into coaching. Most people credited her with salvaging the Warriors after Zeke’s injury. If anyone knew what was really going on inside his head, it was her.
Your phone buzzed.
You stared at the message for a long moment before the contact card followed and huffed out a laugh. So, he wanted you to have it now? After all that? He was a mercurial bastard.
Saving the number, you shoved your phone aside and pulled up your draft again.
Zeke Jaeger isn’t interested in a comeback story.
The former ace of the Marleyan Warriors has made it clear: his return isn’t about proving anything, and it certainly isn’t about sparking sibling rivalry with his newly signed teammate, Eren Jaeger. If you ask him, it’s business as usual.
And yet, all the pieces are there. Jaeger, once the undisputed star of the Warriors, sat out the majority of last season due to an injury that many feared would end his career. His absence left a void; one quickly filled by Colt Grice. When asked about Grice’s performance, Jaeger was brief: “Colt’s good. He’s got a strong arm, good command. If the Warriors are smart, they’ll take care of him.”
Short and sweet and carefully noncommittal.
But let’s not pretend the return of Zeke Jaeger isn’t a story. The Warriors’ rotation looks different now. His younger brother, Eren Jaeger, has joined the team. The dynamic between them remains a question mark. The leadership? A puzzle.
One thing is certain, though: Zeke Jaeger’s return may not be the story everyone’s talking about. But perhaps, it should be.
A/N: This is pretty lighthearted all things considered for an aot fic. Of course, Zeke doesn't come out unscathed; poor guy can't survive my writing without a bit of suffering. But I just wanted to claw my way out of the depths of longfic outlining to give write him in some not-so-life-or-death situations. (Credit to electricalice for the newspaper workskin I used, and CodenameCarrot/La_Temperanza for the iOS workskin).
table of contents | masterlist | cross posted to ao3
next chapter →
zeke yeager x reader. fluff but only in the way zeke is capable of, canon compliant references to violence
"Z, here's one for you. 8 letter word meaning unwilling to work."
Zeke looks up from his father's military issue glasses with a sneer. "Indolent."
"Too easy?"
"Too pointed." He sets the paper down, then heads over to the oven to boil water. It's woman's work, washing sheets, but he can be handy in a pinch. "You know this is my day off."
"Mm," you hum, setting down a basket by your washing machine's mangler, preparing for the day long drying process. The balcony that you paid extra for from soldiers' pocket change stuffed in your bra could only fit a sheet at a time. "Run out of Mid-Easters to throw rocks at?"
He says nothing, which is worse than his usual pouting and huffing. He's plotting.
"Another 8 letter word," he starts, sets the oven to preheat. He's still practically naked from last night, clad only in maroon striped cotton underwear, chest hair that's darker than the ones on his head curling loosely in the humidity. "Deep admiration, fascination. Usually inadvisable."
"Ah. 8 letters..." you put your hand to your chin, stroke an imaginary beard, the way you've seen him do. After a moment, you sigh. "Smitten is 7."
"Then it's the wrong word."
From your perch in the corner of your living room, where the last tiles of the kitchen allow your washing machine to live, you stare at the curve of his back, the hunch of his shoulders. How much longer until the dark cloud of his closed-fisted affection ceases to grace your doorstep?
"Besotted? That's 8."
"Good guess." The oven clicks to let you know it's finished preheating. "But no."
You start to count letters on your fingers. "E-N-C-H-A-N-T-E-D. Nope, that's 9."
He looks over his shoulder at you from the gap between counter and cabinet in your paltry kitchen. The storm of his eyes seems placid for once. "No. But you're getting warmer."
"Enchant, Ensconce..." you groan, smack the metal tub lightly. "What do I even get for guessing it?"
He turns to face you fully from his kitchen foxhole, bent down, stomach resting on the tile of the counter. "What did I get for guessing 'indolent'? You'll be repaid in kind."
You roll your eyes. "You mean I'll get a chore? Doesn't seem like it's worth it."
"You're not stupid," he slips on your old floral oven mitts, pulls the hot water out, and crosses the room to pour the liquid into the washer. "I was called indolent, and now I'm proving you wrong. So if you guess the word, you have to prove..."
He tilts his head expectantly, looking absolutely absurd in only his boxers and your oven mitts.
"That I don't admire you?"
"She can be taught!" he pats your head with the glove like the loyal dog you are. You consider snarling like one, too.
It's quiet for a few minutes as you think, letting the War Chief fill your washer with scalding pots of water as you pace the living room. Finally, when the washtub is full of sheets and soapy liquid, you snap your fingers and look at him.
"Enamored?"
He flicks on the washer before grinning at you.
"...Are you?"
You snap your mouth shut. Of course you are. But you can't tell him that. "I'm... what a dumb question."
Zeke tsks, then siddles over, sinks his hairy feet into your living room rug, until he's right in front of you, gloved hands behind his back. "That's not how the game works~"
"I can't prove a negative," you mutter, meeting his gaze but only after steeling yourself.
"Sure you can. Kick me out. In only my underwear. That would be proof."
"But that's rude. And it seems extreme."
"I can handle it."
You sigh, knowing you're forfeiting a game you were barely even playing. "Fine. You're not indolent."
He smiles wide, long beastly canines on full display. His curse unhidden, just for you. "And you're enamored."
You kiss him. Not because you're enamored, just to shut him up. Because you're indolent.
And he kisses back, because he wants to. Because you're cute when you're annoyed with him.
