#lovelots ꈍ ꈍ

[zraiusxo]

omg your armin college au was so good! i would love to see a part 2!

♡ part 1. warnings: 18+ content, smut mdni, oral sex (f. receiving), soft dom armin, connie cockblocking, ends before orgasm. reader discretion is advised. nsfw under the cut. not proofread. credits to @ маша мышка on tiktok as inspiration for this fanfic.

Armin Arlert College AU ♡

The door shut with a loud slam, and the loud music and people's chatters outside became a distant, thumping heartbeat. The bright of hallway light leaked through the door frame, not enough to see clearly— but enough to feel everything.

His breath hitched as he took a small step backward, bumping into a stack of shoes on the floor. You heard him mutter something under his breath. He was flustered.

You didn’t move.

He stayed pressed near the opposite wall, as far from you as the closet allowed— shoulders stiff, posture closed off, as if even the sound of your breathing might shatter his balance. His hands were shoved into the front pocket of his jeans, fists clenched.

He wasn’t looking at you. Mmm, yeah not really.

And then there was the way his blue eyes flickered to you and away again like you were a fluorescent light that burned too bright. That was cute. His little glances. And the way his cheeks flushed bright red.

But you didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned back against the wall, letting the quiet stretch long enough for him to get uncomfortable in it.

Eventually, he cracked.

“I, um... I didn’t think it would land on me,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “The bottle. I mean.”

You raised a brow. “Is that a bad thing?”

He let out a dry, awkward laugh before frantically shaking his head. “No— no. Not that. I just... I wasn’t really expecting—”

“Me?”

He hesitated before nodding. “...yeah.”

You let a small smile grace your lips. “That’s fair. I wasn’t expecting you, either.”

He looked at you fully this time. There was a split-second delay, then a thoughtful sort of look settled over his face.

“You’re different,” he muttered, “From everyone here.”

Your gaze softened upon meeting his solemn blue eyes before tilting your head to the side. “Different how?”

He was silent for a few seconds, but he answered thoughtfully. “You carry yourself like you don’t owe anyone your time.”

Your eyes widened a little, eyelashes fluttering as you blinked, surprised at how accurate that was.

Armin stammered, the warmth creeping up the tips of his ears. “And I don’t mean that in a bad way!" he stuttered, "I just— when you confidently walked in at the start of the semester, when people started giving attention to the new pretty girl who transferred out from her east coast academy to this public university, I thought... yeah, she's too good for this, she’s not gonna give a shit about any of it. The parties. The chaos.”

You listened before shrugging without giving much though. “Well, it’s not that I don’t give a shit. It’s just... different. From what I'm used to, I mean.”

He nodded like he understood. And he probably did. There was something in his perceptive gaze that made you feel like he watched more than he ever said.

“I’ve been to a lot of parties,” you said. “But they were the kind with champagne and waitstaff. Dress codes. People name-dropping hedge funds instead of screaming lyrics and jumping on furniture.”

Armin cracked a dorky little smile at that. “So this is culture shock.”

“A bit.”

You both laughed quietly, more comfortable with each other now.

Then he let out a shaky exhale, like he was trying to say something without saying it.

“I don’t really fit in here either,” he mumbled with a quiet voice, biting the inside of his cheek. “Not really.” “You seem to be doing fine.” You reassured.

“Only because I have Eren.” he muttered. “He drags me to these things. I think he likes the idea of making me more... socially competent.”

You smirked. “Has it worked?”

Armin looked at you for a second, eyes trailing the delicate curve of your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. That didn't go unnoticed.

“No,” he admitted honestly. “Not even a little.”

That pulled out a hearty laugh from you, rosy cheeks lifting as you allowed yourself to smile genuinely.

He was still stiff though. Still holding back. You could feel it in the air, the way he kept shifting like he didn’t know what to do with the tension winding between you both.

So you said it plainly.

“You’re nervous.”

Armin swallowed, nodding his head yes. “Yeah. I am.”

You stepped a little closer.

“Why?”

His voice dropped just barely. “Because you’re... kind of a dream girl.”

You blinked.

He rushed to explain, waving his hands around. “Not in, like, a cliché way. I just mean— God, this sounds stupid— I mean, you’re smart, kind and beautiful. You’re always so calm. Always so prim and proper and elegant." He rambled on. "You don’t try to get people’s attention. Because you already have it. Without doing anything. That kind of thing just... doesn’t happen in real life, you know?”

Your lips parted slightly. It caught you off guard, the honesty in it. The transparency. It wasn’t just some throwaway party line— he meant it.

“You could’ve had anyone,” he added, voice quieter now as he tried to claim his racing heart. “...and I still don’t get how I’m the one standing here. With a girl like you.”

There was a pause.

Then you took one step closer— not much, just enough for him to hear the softness in your voice without it getting swallowed by the coats around you.

“I’m standing here because I want to.”

Armin blinked.

You let it sink in, let him feel the truth in it.

“And you don’t need to say the right thing,” you added, “Or act a certain way. Just be you. That’s enough.” A small little grin crept up your lips, placing a hand on his tense shoulder.

For a long second, he just stared at you with cheeks flushed with a bright red. Chest rising, lips slightly parted, eyes dark and overwhelmed.

Then—

“…Fuck it."

And then Armin Arlert— awkward, sweet, nervous Armin— reached for you. And then he kissed you. It was clumsy for half a second— teeth knocking a little. You moaned softly into his mouth as your back hit the wall, and his hands flew to your waist. You could feel how warm his palms were, trembling a little even as he held you.

His tongue licked into your mouth, hesitant at first, then deeper— and the second you felt the cool metal of his tongue piercing slide against yours, your knees buckled.

You whimpered before you could stop it from escaping your lips, slick with his and your saliva mixed.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, warm breath ghosting against your skin. “You like that?”

His voice had dipped lower. Still a little shy, but there was something else there now.

You nodded, dazed. “Yes.”

Then, silently, he dropped to his knees.

Your breath hitched. “Armin...”

“I want to,” he said, almost under his breath. “Please let me.”

His fingers were warm as they slid under your skirt, pushing it up to your waist gently— like he was unwrapping something sacred.

He was quiet the whole time.

Not because he didn’t want to say anything, but because he couldn’t.

Because it was his mouth that was too busy worshiping your body.

He kissed your thigh first. Then closer. Then right over your panties—just soft, tentative touches at first, like he was easing himself into it. You were already soaked, and when he noticed that, he exhaled slowly, like he couldn't believe it.

You braced yourself against the wall, breathing shallow.

He didn’t say anything filthy. He didn’t need to. His reverence was loud enough.

His fingers reached your panties. He paused, looking up at you with half-lidded blue eyes in between your thighs.

��Can I take these off?” he asked.

Your breath hitched before reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair, and you nodded. "Please."

Armin bit his lower lip, fingers hooking around the band of the lace and slid it down slowly down your legs, holding it in his hand for a moment before shoving it the back pocket of his jeans. At first, it was experimental. His tongue stroked carefully, as if reading your body’s language— where your thighs trembled, where your breath hitched. When you moaned quietly, his hands tightened around your thighs.

He didn’t talk much. Barely muttered a thing. But every now and then, he made these soft, appreciative noises. A groan when your hips bucked. A sigh when you gasped his name.

The barbell of his tongue piercing caught your clit just right, a contrast of cold metal and soft warmth. That feeling. It had you bucking your hips into his face, body twitching and moaning his name. "Ar.. hng- minnnh..."

His tongue moved in slow circles, the coolness of the metal brushing your clit over and over, dragging filthy little sounds from you that you couldn’t keep in. You tried to stay quiet— but the way he flicked and sucked and moaned against your cunt… It was obscene. You tugged at his hair— gently at first, then harder when he licked harder, deeper, right against where you needed it most. Your moans were choked and desperate. Tears started to well up at the corner of your eyes. "Hngh.. ah! Please, p-please.." You didn't even know what the hell you were begging for.

And when he slid one hand up your stomach under your skirt, just enough to press gently to your lower belly and hold you still, it made your knees go weak. It made you see stars. It was so good. More than you expected. Better than you’d imagined from someone who couldn’t even make eye contact five minutes ago. Your thighs started to close around his head, and he didn't even try to hold them open. He never rushed. Just kept eating your pussy without a word. Your little, needy moans were music to his ears, it gave him assurance that he was doing you right.

And when he glanced up through his foggy thick rimmed glasses, pupils blown, lips slick with your juices— God.

You were going to come. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, grinding your hips into his face, back arching off the wall. "Arminnn.. o- ohhh— fuck!" You were right there—

BANG BANG BANG.

“SEVEN MINUTES IS UP YO!” Connie shouted, still banging on the door with an evil cackle. “If y'two weren’t sinning, then I don't know what the hell y'all were in there for seven whole damn minutes for!”

You whined.

Armin groaned against your pussy before pulling his head back, resting his forehead against your thigh. “Fuck me.”

You were breathing heavily— frustrated, overstimulated, aching and mourning your stolen orgasm.

He looked up at you.

His lips were slick. His chin was wet. His face was flushed, bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, blue eyes wide with something much darker than the usual innocence.

You tried to regain your balance, reaching down to pull your skirt down, but Armin was already gently pulling it down and straightening your dress, eyes low, brows furrowed like he was pissed about being interrupted. But still sweet. Still Armin.

Armin stood up, adjusting his hoodie, fixing your hair for you like you hadn’t just nearly come all over his face. He pulled you close, kissed you slow like an apology. And you could taste yourself in his lips.

“You okay, Y/N?” he murmured apologetically.

You nodded with a gentle smile, wiping your juices off his lips and chin. “Yes, thank you, Armin.”

Then he nodded with a small grin and pulled away, already unlocking the door with a terrified expression on his face, as if dreading all the teasing and questions once you both came back out.

He was shy again. Nervous. Sweet.

But under it, something dangerous was flickering to life.

♡ a/n: umm chile... i just realized that armin still has reader's panties in the back pocket of his jeans. oopsies! should i use that as an excuse to make another part and they can continue where they left off here? hehe.

[zraiusxo]

hi hi hi! I have no idea if your requests are open but I'll just drop this here...

hange with a super cuddly non-morning person girlfriend. like, they try to get up in the morning, but reader just keeps trying to keep them in bed with kisses and cuddles and just super fluffy stuff

(i love your writing btw🩷)

hope this finds you well!

♡ fluff. no warnings. proofread.

Hange Zoë Oneshot ♡

The early morning light was soft, the kind of pale gold that filtered in with gentleness rather than urgency. Outside the window, birds chirped, blissfully unaware of the absolute mission Hange Zoe was currently engaged in.

Hange glanced down at her with guilty fondness, staring at her cute sleeping face for a few seconds. "My baby looks so peaceful," they thought. "Maybe I can do this without waking her."

They carefully peeled their arm out from under their girlfriend’s head—success.

Then they gently shifted their leg out from under her leg slung over theirs—progress.

Finally, they inched toward the edge of the bed like a slow-moving shadow, reaching with ninja precision for their glasses resting on the nightstand—

“Where do you think you’re going?” came her sweet voice. Groggy, soft, but very, very awake.

Hange froze mid-reach, busted.

“You were asleep!” they whispered, half-scandalized.

“I was,” she pouted, eyes still closed but arms already snaking out like sleepy tentacles to drag Hange back to the warmth of the mattress. “Then my pillow tried to leave me.”

“I am not a pillow,” Hange argued, though they didn’t resist much. Not when they were pulled back into the sea of warm blankets and soft kisses.

“You’re my pillow,” came her corrected reply, muffled into their shoulder. “And you smell nice. Like soap and sleep and… you.”

Hange sighed dramatically. “I had an important meeting at eight.”

“What’s more important than morning snuggles?” she replied with all the seriousness in the world, chin resting on Hange’s bicep as she looked up at them with sleepy, adoring eyes. “Do they give you forehead kisses at your meeting? Do they cuddle you and tell you you’re cute?”

“… No.”

“Exactly. Useless meeting. Stay here,” she whispered, burying her face against Hange’s shoulder again.

“You're way too clingy,” Hange chuckled, wrapping their strong arms around her waist. “Weapon-grade clingy.”

“You love it.”

“I really do.”

And just like that, the meeting was forgotten. Hange buried their face in the soft hair of the girl they loved, and decided, with zero regrets, that science could wait another hour. Or two. Or forever.

♡ a/n: hey so this was super short, i wanted to drag it on but i didn't have any more ideas so um um yeah hwehe. hope u still like it though! i'd be happy to accept more requests. i'd love if y'all sent me tokyorev or jjk ones! ^^

[zraiusxo]

love the way you write hange. so sad you stopped 'a game of composure' for a while, but your other fics are great too!!! ❤️ but can i request nerdmin x fem!reader? PLEASE. i need more nerdmin oneshots. with yk frat boy eren, connie hosting the best parties, art student jean, sasha your first campus friend and gothkasa who's just- there. wherever eren is. even hange as our professor lol. reader's from a rich family, but that doesn't mean her parents are controlling in every aspect you know. they let her decide what she wants. you can decide the rest, fluff? sure, would love that. smut? yes spice it up! ignore this if u don't want to! ❤️

♡ part 2 (smut) warnings: suggestive content, alcohol consumption, curse words, substance used, lewd humor, crude jokes, suggestive dares, public intimacy, all characters are aged up. not proofread. credits to @ маша мышка on tiktok as inspiration for this fanfic.

Armin Arlert College AU ♡

Your mother called it a phase. Your father, ever more dramatic, called it a downgrade.

To them, Stohess University wasn’t even on the map. And even if it was, it certainly wasn’t anywhere near the ivy-covered brick walls of the institutions they'd spent your life grooming you into an elegant and dignified lady for.

But you didn’t want to be in another university where everyone was already rich and miserable.

So you transferred. Out of your private, exclusive, east coast academy and into a chaotic, loud and messy public university where people wore pajamas to class and professors said “fuck” in lectures.

And oh, it was perfect! You didn't have to stress about keeping your name clean because the principal was acquainted to your parents, didn't have to worry about making connections with your peers who also belonged to wealthy and influential families.

Except, nobody talked to you at first. Well, that was a given.

You stood awkwardly right by the entrance of the campus, looking completely out of place, dressed in designer from head to toe. Other students gave you condescending looks, looking as if you had gotten lost on your way to your super posh and distinguished private academy.

Though you hadn't quite minded, your branded mary janes clicking against the tiles as you entered the hall, steps measured. Cause you knew you did look out of place. Like you didn't belong here, and maybe that's because you didn't.

Finding your way to your first class wasn't much of a challenge, the building layout was simple and you managed to arrive at lecture hall 2 minutes before the bell rang. You sat at the very back, just by the door. You didn't want to bring unwanted attention to yourself.

The few remaining students spilled in with soft chatters, and your professor followed shortly after the bell rang with a loud greeting of good morning that echoed off the walls and woke up sleeping students with a flinch. They looked— well, rather disorderly. But they taught well, even when most of the students weren't listening, sleeping or when someone would impolitely talk over them.

You sat straight. Didn’t interrupt. Only taking down notes, cause you were actually listening. Then came a chirpy voice a seat away from you, bright and breezy. "Hey, you're new." That was her first line. She said it like you were a gift she’d been waiting for. “I’m Sasha! You’re gorgeous. We’re friends now.” Sasha moved to the seat beside you casually, a little grin on her face.

"Hello, Sasha. I'm Y/N. Pleasure to meet you." You held out your hand for a handshake, offering a kind smile. But instead of shaking your hand, the brunette gave you a high-five instead, and it left you a little dumbfounded.

She giggled at that, leaning in a little. "Wanna sit with us later at lunch? We're cool I promise!"

"Us?" You asked with a slight tilt of your head.

Sasha glanced to her side, gesturing towards a guy two seats away. "Connie," He looked up lazily, eyes deprived from sleep. He was dressed in an oversized hoodie and joggers with his phone in hand, his hair buzzed and platinum. "This my fancy new friend, pretty right? She speaks in italics. Say hi!”

"Yo," Connie moved beside Sasha with an easy smile, kicking back in the seat before giving you a once-over. "You transferring from Mitras or some? Y'look fly as hell girl."

You chuckled, shrugging. “Private school, yeah.”

“Mmmmhm, yep. Explains the posture. You sit like you got a family name to protect.” He added with a laugh, winking in your direction like a compliment.

It was the start of something. Of people. Of laughter that didn’t echo off chandeliers or clink against champagne glasses.

Bell rang soon enough, and Sasha dragged you to the cafeteria, speed-walking down the hall with Connie who quite literally dapped up almost everyone who passed by. Sasha sat you down beside her and him in their "usual" table, and then came a tall raven-haired girl with dark red lips, long winged eyeliner, and an intimidating silence that somehow wasn’t off-putting.

Sasha waved a cheery hi before wrapping her arm around your shoulder. “Hey Mika! Meet our new friend, Y/N." Mikasa sat down beside you without a word. "Y/N, this is Mikasa. She doesn’t talk much unless you’re Eren, or someone interesting.”

"Eren?" You ask half-heartedly.

Mikasa said nothing at first, just gave you a long, assessing look before offering a subtle nod. Approved. "You'll meet him eventually."

The conversation dragged on, switching topics about who to avoid or when Connie's next party's gonna be cause they wanted you to come experience his parties too, claiming it'd be an unforgettable college experience. They became your people, fast. Connie supplied laughs (and edibles), Sasha helped you adjust to this new environment and Mikasa taught you how to say no to creeps without uttering a word.

You learned about the extended crew— Jean Kirschtein who in one random Tueday noticed your sketchbook in art theory and asked, “Holddd up. You actually know what chiaroscuro means?” You were friends by the time the lecture ended. He was honest and talented, always scribbling on napkins like his hands moved faster than his brain.

Eren was a name you heard often from Mikasa, followed by a groan from Jean or a laugh from Connie. Armin was barely mentioned, usually in academic contexts, like a trivia answer. You hadn’t met them, not that you really cared. Because despite being pulled into this growing web of personalities— you didn’t know everyone.

Sasha had begged you to come yesterday just as you were about to leave, her arm looped around yours as she rested her head against your shoulder sideways.

“Y/N pleeeeasuh? It'll be fun girl. I promise! Like, trust.” she’d whine, wrapping an arm around your shoulders like the persuasive devil she was. “It’s Connie’s party! No one misses his parties. Everyone will be there! Eren. Mikasa. Armin—” She continued, not stopping till you finally agreed to go.

You were overdressed. You knew it the second you stepped out of the Uber with and heard the bass from halfway down the street.

People were everywhere— on the porch, the lawn, halfway up the damn roof. Red solo cups littered the grass like confetti. A guy in a Pikachu onesie was throwing glowsticks into the bushes while someone else chugged something out of a blender. This wasn’t your scene. Nope, definitely not.

The last party you went to had a dress code and valet parking.

Now, standing in front of the door while people screamed along to a song you didn’t recognize, you regretted the tailored black dress and pointed heels. You’d grown up attending galas, banquets, and rooftop champagne soirées.

You were a private-school princess. The kind of girl who grew up sipping champagne at banquets with names like “Winter Charity Gala.”

This was more… frat party, spilled vodka and some girl trying to shake her ass on a folding chair.

You were debating whether to continue walking in or text Sasha you couldn't make it tonight and leave when a loud familiar voice yelled from inside—

“SHE’S HERE Y'ALL,” Sasha launched out of the doorway like a cannonball, dragging you inside before you could even react.

“WELCOME TO THE PIT, BABY!” She screamed over the loud music vibrating against the walls. “RULE ONE: DRINK. RULE TWO: SMOKE WEED!”

You laughed despite your senses being overwhelmed. Strobe lights flickered. Inside was chaotic as hell. And you couldn't hear your thoughts 'cause the music boomed too loud against the speakers. Someone was doing a keg stand in the kitchen. A girl crying as she collapsed down stairs. Eren Jaeger standing shirtless on a shaky table screaming “capitalism is a prison!” while people chanted with him like they were protesting. Mikasa sat on the armrest of a torn-up couch near Eren like a queen overseeing chaos, black lipstick untouched despite the humid heat.

"Heyyyy, Y/N. Where my hug at?" Jean walked up with a bottle of smirnoff in his hand and gave you a half-hug, a small smile and a pencil tucked behind his ear. "What's good? Thought ya wouldn't show." He half-shouted, loud enough for you to hear over the loud music.

"AYE GIRL, Y'ACTUALLY CAME!" Then came Connie, loud as ever, with his hand held up. You thought he was gonna offer you a handshake but he dapped you up instead, catching you off guard. He pulled away, stumbling a bit from the tipsiness and accidentally spilling Gin on your arm. "Oops, my bad gang. But y'still look like a dignified lady. So it's aight, right? Sorry girl." He laughed before getting distracted once again, screaming at someone who accidentally broke his mom's vase in español.

Sasha introduced you to some people who at first felt intimidated by your appearance, but they quickly vibed with you a couple minutes in the conversation. They let you taste drinks that burned your throat and made you a little tipsy— thank god you weren't a lightweight. Or else you would've blacked out somewhere.

You made friends with a blonde girl, Historia Reiss who you actually had lot in common with. She used to go to a private conservatoire not far from your old academy. Said her daddy transfered her here cause she needed to learn manners and be rid of the attitude. Typical rich and pretty mean girl. But it kind of did after she met Ymir who was quick to put her in her place.

And then there was Armin.

He was awkwardly tucked near the hallway, clearly trying to disappear into the drywall. A green shirt over a black hoodie. Converse. Hair a little messy like he’d run a hand through it too many times. Glasses slipping down his nose. A book in one hand— a book. At this party.

Sasha nudged your side, glanced over at him, and grinned. “That's Armin Arlert. Certified genius. Terrible at parties. He's in our friend group. We love him.”

You mused with a raised brow. "He brought a…. book?" A literal textbook. Physics. Dog-eared and post-it’d. "In this hell hole?"

“Always does. Says it makes him feel like he has an exit strategy. Can't talk to pretty girls, or else he'll self destruct. So go easy on the boy, 'kay?" She joked and you nodded with a chuckle.

You watched as Eren, who was still sweaty and shirtless slung an arm around Armin’s neck and pulled him into a headlock-laced hug. Armin half-smiled, the kind of bashful, helpless smile that tugged at something low in your stomach.

But you were used to posh. To sleek and polished. Armin looked like he hadn’t realized he was handsome. That was rare. That was dangerous.

A little while later, after drinks with Historia and her girlfriend Ymir, offered by Connie (a suspiciously sweet one made by him called "brain syrup") and after dancing with, well… Biology Professor Hange to some cursed remix— Sasha shouted from across the room over the music, already pulling a glass bottle out of her bag like she’d brought it specifically for this.

“GAME TIME LOSERS!”

It was inevitable. A Connie Party always descended into chaos games by hour three.

Jean raised a brow. “That ain't even even empty, Sash. That’s a half-full bottle of peach schnapps.”

Sasha shrugged. “And I give a fuck? Adds flavor.”

“We’re too old for this,” Mikasa said flatly, standing beside Eren, holding his discarded shirt with a deadpan expression.

Connie threw an arm around her. “Mikasa, come on girl! Damn, live a little.”

“I am. I’m here. That’s enough.” She rolled her eyes but didn't push Connie off.

Armin stood awkwardly by the door, trying to get away without anyone noticing but Sasha spotted him, grabbing his wrist like he was the final Jenga block. “Perfect. Now it’s a real party.”

“I— I was just—” he shook his head, but it was too late.

The circle formed quickly. Everyone piled into the living room— cross-legged on the carpet, perched on the arm of the couch, tipsy and flushed with alcohol and heat. You got pulled into the circle by Jean, who offered a lopsided smile and whispered, “You’re the only one here with standards. And morals. And dignity. Lowkey wanna see you do something reckless. This’ll be fun.”

You sat between Sasha and Armin. He flinched slightly when you brushed his knee, glancing at you shyly.

Sasha gestured playfully, reaching her arm out to poke his cheek. “Y/N, meet Armin. He’s allergic to eye contact and social interaction.”

Armin turned bright red. “I’m not allergic—”

He was cut off by Connie who stood in the middle and snatched the bottle from Sasha like a sacred relic. "Spin the fuckin' bottle, babyyy."

Jean groaned. “Why are we in college playing this middle school game?”

“You just mad no one’s ever spun you on purpose,” Connie shot back.

Jean flipped him off. Connie licked the bottle. For dominance.

"Hi," You offered a polite smile, holding your hand out for a handshake. And he actually did. He gave you a handshake. No dap ups or high-fives. His palm was sweaty though.

“Hi,” he murmured as he let go of your hand, pushing his glasses up. “You, uh- you look… fancy.”

You laughed heartily. “I'm realizing that.”

“It’s kind of awesome, though,” he said, voice almost drowned by the music. “You look like you wandered in from a better world.” You noticed the glint of silver when he nervously licked his lips. A tongue piercing?

Huh.

He didn't look like the type to have one.

As soon as everyone was seated, the game started. Connie spun first. It landed on Jean.

Everyone exploded into unhinged laughter. “Bro,” Jean started wih his hands up in surrender, backing away. “We’ve seen each other’s dicks. We’re past this.”

“Exactly bro,” Connie said, taking a step forward msicheviously. “Full tongue. Come on!”

They kissed. Loudly. Sasha screamed like she was watching a car crash in real-time.

Then Jean spun and the bottle pointed to a freshman who looked ready to pass out. Jean's face lost all color. “Oh hell nawwww. I ain't catching a charge tonight. Re-spin.”

The dares started somewhere around Spin #6.

Ymir dared Connie to shotgun a beer while twerking. He did it. Badly. The carpet was soaked.

Mikasa spun. It landed on Sasha. She rolled her eyes, leaned over, and kissed her. The brunette giggled as she pulled away.

“That’s not fair,” Jean complained, arms across his chest. “Do it again, but gay for me.”

“Shut up Jean.” Mikasa deadpanned, taking her seat next to Eren.

It was your turn to spin, and it landed on the brunette beside you. You dared Sasha to drink whatever was in the mystery thermos on the counter. She took a sip, paused, and said, “What the fuck? That’s straight Everclear and nail polish remover. I’m seeing sounds.”

Ymir spun the bottle precisely and it landed on Historia, much to their advantage. She dragged the giggly blonde to the bathroom, locked the door, and never came back out.

Then it was Armin’s turn. He looked physically ill. “Guys, I really don’t think—”

“Spin it!” Connie chanted. Everyone joined in.

Armin sighed like he was being sentenced to death, and spun. The bottle twirled dramatically, like it knew the stakes.

It landed on… Jean. Everyone exploded. Jean stood, arms wide. “Bring it in, babe.”

Armin nearly fell backward. “ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

Someone yelled, "Who's this babe you're with, Yeager?" As an inside joke when Jean first met Armin through Eren and thought he was a girl.

You laughed into your cup, watching Jean grab the blonde boy's arm for a kiss, puckering up as Armin flailed around and screamed. Poor boy looked like he wanted to pass out.

But he kissed him. Fast. Lips only. Barely there. Eventually, the bottle made another round. And another.

People kissed. Someone tried to crawl away and were tackled back by Connie and Sasha. Mikasa threatened physically harm to anyone who tried to aim for her. (Anyone who wasn't Eren, ofcourse.)

You were wiping tears from your eyes when it was finally your turn. You spun. The room went still.

The bottle spun with purpose. And landed.

On Armin.

Everyone paused. Then— pandemonium.

Sasha leapt to her feet, making eye contact with Connie from across the circle. “IT’S TIME Y'ALL.”

Armin blinked rapidly, he gulped. “Time… for what?”

Connie banged loudly on the table like a drum. “SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVENNNN, BABYYY!”

Armin nearly died on the spot. “What?! Wait what does that entail, exactly—”

Jean snickered, wiggling his brows. “It entails you getting locked in a closet and possibly defiling each other.”

“Possibly?” Sasha barked, her hand already curled around his shirt by the nape. “I demand action.”

You glanced at Armin, all flushed and wide-eyed like a deer caught in headlights.

What could possibly go wrong anyway? We didn't have to do anything in the closet without them knowing. So you stood up with a small smile, and the circle erupted in cheers.

"Come on, man! See? She's down." Connie stood up and crouched in front of Armin. "Unless… y'wanna take y'er chances with Jean again?"

Armin practically scrambled to his feet. “Closet. Definitely the closet.”

Some guy yelled, “Use protection guys!”

Eren added, “Or don’t, live a little.”

The cheers grew louder over the music as he stood up with his face in his hands, hooting and wolf-whistling. Sasha and Connie ushered the both of you down the hallway, and they shoved the both of you inside the supply closet— barely big enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder.

The door closed behind you. Seven minutes.

Just you and Armin. And the red flush in his cheeks. And the glint of that tongue piercing as he licked his lips out of habit.

Let the heaven— and hell— begin.

♡ a/n: ts was sloppy as hell. but should i make smut? comment if i should :3

[zraiusxo]

aaaa i absolutely ADOREEE your work, can i request Suguru Geto x Fem!reader domestic fluff head cannons pretty please?

♡ not proofread. fluff, slightly suggestive content.

Suguru Geto ♡ Married Headcanons SFW

husband!suguru who wakes up before you just to admire the way you breathe against his chest, smiling to himself like he can't believe you're really his. husband!suguru who sometimes traces lazy little patterns on your bare skin with his fingertips, spelling out "i love you" without saying a word.

husband!suguru is absolutely the type to absentmindedly kiss your wedding ring whenever he holds your hand, especially when he's thinking deeply or feeling sentimental. husband!suguru loves waking you up by kissing your bare shoulder, his voice still deep from sleep as he mumbles,

"morning, mrs. geto."

husband!suguru on lazy weekends, insists you stay in bed longer — pulling you back under the covers when you try to get up, murmuring against your neck,

"five more minutes, my sweet."

husband!suguru who cooks breakfast shirtless, hair tied up messily, muscles flexing every time he flips a pancake just to catch you staring at him.

husband!suguru who has a special drawer where he keeps little mementos of your marriage — movie tickets, a pressed flower from your wedding bouquet, scribbled notes you’ve left him.

husband!suguru who gently scolds you, when you're too busy to take care of yourself — tying your hair up, bringing you tea, massaging your shoulders with his strong hands.

husband!suguru who catches you wearing his shirt and nothing else underneath, you know it's over for you. he’s immediately pulling you into his lap, rough hands wandering under the fabric with a wicked grin.

husband!suguru's kisses are slow and deliberate when he comes home after a long day — like he needs to feel every second he missed of you.

husband!suguru sometimes he gets so lost in watching you laugh that he forgets what he was even saying, just smiling dumbly as he listens to you talking about your day.

husband!suguru who loves to rest his head in your lap while you're reading a book or scrolling through your phone, letting you play with his hair until he dozes off.

husband!suguru doesn’t just say "i love you," — he shows it in the smallest ways: him refilling your water glass without you asking, rubbing your cold feet under the covers when the nights get extra cold, carrying the heavy grocery bags without a word.

husband!suguru who pretends to be wounded whenever the twins call for you instead of him, holding a hand to his heart dramatically until you kiss it better.

husband!suguru who's soft chuckles erupt from him when you’re flustered around him— still so shy even after marriage, and he loves it.

husband!suguru who notices if you're ever upset, doesn't rush you. he sits quietly next to you, ready to listen or just hold your hand, letting you know he's there without forcing you to talk.

husband!suguru who loves slow showers together— not always sexual— just standing behind you with his chin resting atop your head, helping you wash your hair, pressing kisses between your shoulder blades and up to your nape.

husband!suguru who keeps a photo of you two in your teenage years as his phone lockscreen— not even subtle about showing it off when someone asks about his wife.

husband!suguru who has days where he doesn’t want to leave for missions at all, lingering at the doorway with a frown until you pull him down for one last kiss.

husband!suguru who's feeling especially possessive, marks you up just a little— love bites hidden where only he can see them— reminders that you belong to each other. husband!suguru who slow dances you in the living room to a song playing softly on the record player— even if the girls are laughing at you both from the couch. husband!suguru sneaks glances at you across crowded rooms— a soft, secret smile playing on his lips because no matter how full the world is, you’re the only one he sees. husband!suguru who loves to hold you from behind while you're pouring a cup of tea on the counter or lazily brushing your teeth in the mornings, he's so close you can feel his heart beating against your back. husband!suguru will manhandle you a little when he's feeling needy— picking you up effortlessly to sit you on the counter, the table, his lap— wherever he wants you. husband!suguru who makes sure to murmur praises against your skin while making love, slow and unhurried, like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste, sound, and shiver beneath him. husband!suguru who kisses every part of you that you’re self-conscious about, worshipping every inch with devotion until you believe you’re as beautiful as he’s always seen you. husband!suguru who's a sweet talker through and through. he may not look like it but he knows what to say to get you all flustered, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, about how beautiful you are to him.

husband!suguru when it's late at night and the house is quiet, sometimes whispers about the future against your skin— about growing old together.

husband!suguru is patient in bed, savoring the way you fall apart under him— he never rushes, treating every night like it’s your honeymoon all over again. husband!suguru will unbutton your clothes slowly when he's desperate for you— on purpose. he's savoring every inch of skin revealed like you're something sacred he’s worshiping.

husband!suguru sometimes wakes you up in the middle of the night just to make love to you slow and sleepy, murmuring how much he needs you, how perfect you feel.

even after years together, husband!suguru still looks at you like he’s falling in love for the very first time— and every time he kisses you, you feel it.

♡ a/n: i'm not very familiar with geto's character. forgive me if i mischaracterized! thanks for reading xo

[zraiusxo]

hiii your shots are ideal :3333

i was through about hange and y/n wedding ?? maybe in canonverse (hange commander), a lot of fluuuuufff THANK U 💕💞

♡ no warnings. fluff. not proofread.

Hange Zoë Oneshot ♡

The fields beyond the last Wall had never looked so beautiful.

The grass swayed under the warm breeze, and wildflowers dotted the landscape like a thousand little stars across green velvet. Scouts and friends— your family, built not by blood but by battle and survival— gathered around a simple wooden arch, strung with white fabric and fresh blooms gathered that morning. The sky was endless and blue above it all.

You stood a little distance away, hidden behind a sheet of white cloth while Sasha and Historia fussed over your veil and bouquet. Your heart raced as you clutched the soft fabric of your wedding dress— delicate, flowing white silk that caught the light with every tiny movement. A soft corset cinched the dress at your waist, the skirt spilling out in layers that floated when you moved. Tiny pearl buttons lined the back, and sheer sleeves with embroidered flowers clung to your arms.

You’d never worn anything so beautiful in your life.

And it was all for them.

For Hange Zoë.

At the altar, Hange waited.

They were the picture of effort— formal white shirt buttoned up properly for once, white pants pressed, the Scout Regiment’s green cape draped carefully over their shoulders. Their wild brown hair had been pulled back into a neater bun than usual, a few soft strands escaping to frame their face.

Levi stood beside them, a permanent scowl on his face— but he was here. And that meant more than words could say.

As the music started— a soft, sweet tune played on an old violin— Hange shifted on their feet nervously.

And then they saw you.

You stepped through the white curtains, sunlight catching the shimmer of your dress, veil billowing behind you. A gasp traveled through the small crowd, but all Hange could do was stare.

Their throat tightened instantly. Their hands shook at their sides. God, they thought, I’m going to cry.

Tears welled in their eyes as you slowly made your way down the aisle, each step graceful, each smile you offered so full of love it nearly knocked the breath from their lungs. You were radiant— more beautiful than any sunrise, any piece of the old world left to them.

When you finally reached them, Hange let out a tiny, choked laugh, dashing a hand across their eyes hastily under their glasses. “You’re... you’re breathtaking, sweetheart,” they whispered hoarsely, voice shaking.

You smiled, cheeks heating. “You’re not so bad yourself, Commander.”

Levi cleared his throat— a polite warning that he was not going to wait forever to start the ceremony— and you both turned toward him, barely containing your grins.

The ceremony itself was simple but perfect.

Levi spoke in a clipped, serious voice, and the occasional chirp of birds or creak of the wooden arch filled the silences between his words.

When Levi nodded to you to begin the vows, you turned to Hange, taking their shaking hands in your own.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and began, your voice steady despite the way your heart was hammering.

"Hange," you said, your voice strong but trembling at the edges, "we were never promised a future. Not with the lives we live, not with the blades we carry."

A soft breath caught in Hange’s throat.

"Every time we strapped into our ODM gear... every time we drew our swords... we accepted that we might never see another sunrise. But even in all that, even surrounded by death, you made me believe in tomorrow."

Hange’s grip on your hands tightened.

"You were my anchor when the wind tried to tear me away. You were the voice in my mind reminding me to check my gas, to sharpen my blades... to keep fighting. To come back."

Tears slid freely down their cheeks now.

"So today, I vow this to you: I will be your blades when you’re defenseless. I will be your gear when you need to fly. I will fight for you, beside you, until I can’t lift a sword anymore— and even then, I'll crawl if I have to, just to stay by your side."

Your voice broke, but you smiled through it, shining and radiant in the afternoon light.

"Today, I don’t just choose love. I choose you as my comrade. My partner. My home. In every battle, and in every peace that follows."

The world around you blurred into nothing but the two of you.

Hange let out a shuddering breath, smiling so wide it was nearly painful, and took a shaky step closer, ready to speak.

Their vows came soft and rough, raw as the scars on their hands.

"Y/N," they rasped, "you were always the one thing more constant than gravity to me."

"I spent my life understanding systems. Mechanics. The rules that make things fly. I thought love was something reckless. Something that could tear a soldier apart faster than any Titan."

They laughed hoarsely, brushing a tear from their face.

"But you— you taught me that real love is a system. That it’s ropes and gears and momentum and physics and trust. You taught me that when you leap off the edge of the world... someone can catch you."

You choked on a sob, squeezing their fingers.

"I vow to be the gas that propels your dreams forward. The steel that defends your heart. The blades that cut through anything that dares try to take you from me."

Hange’s voice cracked, and they pulled you a little closer, like they couldn’t stand even an inch of distance.

"I vow to fly with you, darling. As high and as far as you want. Until we find a world without walls... and even beyond that, if you'll have me."

The ceremony blurred as you both stood there, forehead to forehead, tears mixing with laughter as Levi dryly announced you married.

Hange kissed you like it was the most sacred promise they had ever made— one hand cupping your cheek, the other wrapped around your waist, grounding you, holding you steady like ODM gear against the pull of gravity.

The rest of the evening was a blur of laughter, music, and wine shared among the Survey Corps and the few civilians who had been invited. Sasha and Connie started a drinking game in your honor. Mikasa and Armin gave you both heartfelt hugs. Even Levi allowed himself the luxury of standing quietly at the edge of the festivities, sipping tea and watching you with something that almost resembled fondness.

Later, when the night was deep and the stars stretched endlessly above, you found yourself sitting with Hange just outside the campfire’s glow, with their Survey Corps cape draped over both of you, you whispered against their chest:

"I’ll fly with you anywhere, Hange."

And they kissed the top of your head, voice rough with tears and love:

"I know, sweetheart. Always."

♡ a/n: this took so long i'm so sorry omg

[zraiusxo]

I lovelovelove ur hange fics sm it adds 10 years to my life fr 🙋‍♀️

Can I request a hangexfemreader where hange is a famous celeb thats working on a movie that they are starring in and reader is their non-showbiz gf? Is their relationship public? And how would reader show her support?

♡ no warnings. slight angst if you squint. some fluff. not proofread.

Hange Zoë Oneshot ♡

You never really got used to the flashing lights.

Even now, leaning against the doorframe of their dressing room, hands clasped behind your back, you could still hear the echo of them—the paparazzi shutters as you slipped past the crowd outside the studio.

Inside, it was different. Quiet. Cool. Smelling of hairspray, coffee, and the kind of exhaustion you can only earn after three weeks of twelve-hour shoots.

And Hange, radiant even in a paint-streaked button-up and gray sweatpants, was sitting on the makeup chair like it was a throne, animatedly recounting a blooper to their stylist, their hands flying everywhere. There was a light in them— always had been. Like the gods set a fire in their heart and just let it burn. You’d fallen in love with that fire.

But it scorched sometimes.

Especially when you were the one standing closest to it.

Hange caught your eyes in the mirror and their grin stretched wider. “Y/N!” they exclaimed, sliding off the chair and trotting barefoot across the tiled floor to you. “God, finally. I’ve been dying to see you. Did you get past the sea of screaming fans and desperate men with cameras?”

You gave a small smile, your fingers slipping into theirs on instinct. “Barely. One guy shouted your name like you owed him money.”

“I probably do,” they joked half-heartedly, but their thumb brushed gently against your knuckles. “Are you okay?”

You nodded softly, a small smile gracing your lips. They always asked that. Every time you came to set, every time you sat beside them during interviews, every time someone dug up your Instagram or found your Facebook from four years ago and made some glossy headline about “The Civilian Dating a Star.”

You were okay. But “okay” never told the full story.

It started slowly, the imbalance.

You weren’t jealous of Hange’s success— you loved it. Admired them for it. The way they came alive on screen, their voice commanding audiences, how they fought for roles that called to them. And they never hid you. Not once. You were there in their Instagram posts (the rare few that weren’t movie promos or behind-the-scenes chaos) your silhouette under their arm, coffee cups held in the same hand, a blurry polaroid of you sleeping on their chest.

But the world didn't like what it couldn't own.

You weren't glossy. You didn’t pose for magazines. You didn’t wear brands or know photographers by name. You liked your quiet job as a florist, liked waking up early, watering your flowers, reading with your cat nestled in your lap. But with every red carpet came the scrutiny. The way people picked at you— too plain, too serious, too boring.

And you never said anything. Not really. You didn’t want to burden Hange. They already carried enough—the pressure, the expectations, the fame they never asked for but wielded like armor.

So you supported them the way you knew how.

You drove them home after long nights, even if they fell asleep mid-sentence in the passenger seat.

You bought their favorite coffee and kept them stocked in the cabinet of their trailer.

You stitched their torn costume jacket by hand when the wardrobe team was too swamped.

You never complained. You never asked for more.

But tonight, it cracked a little.

It was after the wrap party for their latest film—a gritty psychological thriller with a demanding emotional arc that left them drained at the end of every shoot.

You hadn’t planned to stay long. You’d dressed simply, black slacks, heels and a matching black silk top, hair pulled into something neat. Hange had looked at you like you were the only thing in the room when they saw you.

But that glow dimmed under the fluorescent lights of the rooftop lounge, where actors and producers sipped expensive drinks and discussed box office numbers like they were trading cards. You stuck by Hange’s side quietly, a gentle hand on their elbow when someone got too close, a soft smile when they pulled you closer.

And then someone—some co-star, you didn’t catch the name—slurred just loud enough, “She's the girlfriend? Huh. Thought she’d be… flashier.”

You froze.

Hange stiffened too, their laughter dying mid-sentence. But they didn’t respond—not to him, anyway. They just grabbed your hand tighter, led you to the balcony, and kissed your forehead without saying a word.

But you felt it—that subtle ache. That dissonance. That unspoken space where you didn’t belong.

The drive home was quiet.

They glanced at you a few times while steering through city lights, but you kept your gaze out the window, your expression unreadable.

“Y/N,” they said gently, once you were inside the apartment. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m always quiet,” you replied, slipping off your shoes.

“Okay. You’re quieter.”

You hesitated in the hallway. They walked up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist from behind, face buried against your shoulder. You loved when they did that. They always felt warm, even when you didn’t.

“I hate when people make you feel like you’re less,” they murmured. “You know that, right?”

You didn’t answer at first.

Then: “Sometimes I think you shine so brightly, you don’t notice how far away I am from the light.”

That made them pull back.

“What?”

You turned to face them. “I love you, Hange. I do. But this world… it’s yours. I’m not made for red carpets or flashing cameras or fake smiles. I just want a life that’s quiet. Safe. I want to be able to hold your hand without worrying if someone’s going to use it as clickbait.”

They looked stricken. “Is that how you feel?”

You nodded. “I just don’t want to be a weak point for you. Something the press can tear apart.”

“You’re not a weak point,” they said, voice firmer now. “You’re the only reason I survive that world.”

They didn’t say anything else that night.

But you woke the next morning to a note on the pillow.

“Taking a break from the circus. Come with me. -H.”

You found them at your favorite place—an old field just outside the city, tucked behind the hills, where no cell towers reached and the sky looked endless.

They were sitting on a blanket with a thermos of coffee and a half-burned candle in a mason jar.

No makeup. No cameras. Just Hange. Just you.

When you sat down beside them, they didn’t speak. Just leaned into you, shoulder to shoulder.

Then softly: “I’ve been doing this for years, Y/N. I know how fake it all can get. But I don’t want to lose myself in it. And I sure as hell don’t want to lose you to it.”

You stayed silent, watching the wind move through the grass like ocean waves.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you more,” they whispered. “I thought not hiding you was enough. But maybe what I needed to do was make the world see why I’m with you. Why it’s you, and not anyone else.”

You looked at them.

They turned their head slowly, brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Because you keep me real. You’re the only thing in my life that isn’t for show. You ground me. And I know you’re quiet and you like your peace—but you’re also the strongest person I know, Y/N. It takes strength to love someone in the spotlight when all you want is the shadows.”

Your eyes stung, but you blinked the tears away. “You’re not leaving the industry, are you?”

“No,” they admitted. “But I’m done pretending that world comes first.”

They kissed your hand. “You come first.”

In the months that followed, things didn’t magically get easier. The media still buzzed. Cameras still flashed. Rumors still circled.

But you saw a shift.

Hange started doing more interviews where they talked about balance. About keeping your feet on the ground. They said your name—clearly, proudly. They started rejecting events that weren’t worth your peace. They built a little distance between the star the world saw and the person you came home to.

And you?

You stopped trying to disappear.

You showed up to the premiere of their next movie— not in designer clothes or flashy jewelry, but in a sleek black dress with a high collar and minimal makeup. Your hair up. Poised. Elegant.

And when the photographers yelled your name, you didn’t flinch. You looked at Hange, and they were already looking at you.

They held out their hand.

And this time, you took it. Not behind the scenes.

But right there, under the lights. Together.

♡ taglist: oh shit i lowkey forgot. my bad gangalang, comment if you'd like a tag or if you asked to be tagged in the comments from my other hange fics hwehehe.

[zraiusxo]

hiii💝

could you write about hange being dragged dress shopping with their girlfriend, because of some wedding or nice event she has to go too. They definitely would be more then happy to watch their girlfriend try on a bunch of different dresses. Only thing is that they would be horrible at telling you what dress to get because they think all of them look so pretty on their girlfriend.

love ur stuff!

♡ no warnings. pure fluff. not proofread.

Hange Zoë Oneshot ♡ Dress to Impress (and to impress Hange Zoë)

Hange really wasn't the type you typically dragged into a boutique lined with crystal chandeliers and velvet armchairs. They were more at work in a dirty lab coat, safety goggles pushed up into their messy brown hair, sleeves rolled up with something smudged somewhere on their tan skin. But when you tugged them by the hand into the sparkling store, looking up at them with that look, there was exactly zero chance they were going to say no.

“We’re just looking,” you said sweetly, already making a beeline for a rack of elegant gowns that shimmered under the soft lighting.

Hange followed, wide-eyed, their hands shoved into their jacket pockets like they had no idea what to do with them. They looked around as if someone might stop them at any moment and say, Excuse me, sir, you're too chaotic for this establishment.

But instead, a smiling attendant greeted you both, offering you a glass of champagne and complimenting your taste.

"Oooh, fancy," Hange muttered under their breath, grinning as they accepted a flute glass half-filled with champagne with one hand and sneaked their other into yours, their thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Are you sure I’m allowed in here? I feel like I’m gonna spill something just by breathing."

You rolled your eyes affectionately and dragged them deeper into the store. "Behave, and you might even get to pick a dress for me to try on."

At that, Hange lit up like a kid being offered a tray of cookies.

The next hour quickly turned into chaos — but the best kind.

You tried on dress after dress while Hange lounged dramatically in a gold-trimmed chair outside the dressing room, looking like the least serious royal guard ever. They kept nearly dropping their champagne glass every time you stepped out.

First, you tried a sleek, floor-length black dress with a slit up the side. Hange’s mouth literally dropped open. They didn’t even say anything for a second — just stared.

“So?” you prompted, turning slowly so they could see the back.

"Uhhh," Hange blinked rapidly. "Holy shit. You look like you're about to assassinate someone important at a gala. In the best way."

You laughed. "Assassinate or impress?"

"Both," they said reverently, hand pressed over their heart.

But when you went back in and emerged wearing a blush pink gown that made you look like you'd floated out of a fairytale, Hange gave the exact same reaction — minus the assassination comment.

"Okay, wait, this one," they said, leaning forward eagerly, "you look like a... like a princess who also secretly knows how to swordfight. God, you're beautiful."

A small sigh slipped past your red-stained lips, placing your hands on your hips. "You can't say that about every dress."

"But I can," Hange said, utterly unrepentant. "Because it's true!"

The attendant giggled nearby and whispered that it was adorable how smitten they were. You agreed — internally, anyway.

The worst (best) part was that every time you tried on something new, Hange had some over-the-top compliment ready. A deep emerald satin number? "You’re the goddess of the forests and nature, obviously." A silver sequined one? "If the stars fell out of the sky, they’d land right on you." A simple, elegant navy blue dress? "You just invented the color blue. Before you wore that dress, it didn’t even exist properly."

"You're no help at all," you complained, laughing so hard you almost tripped over the hem of the next dress.

Hange clutched their chest, looking wounded. "I am so much help! I'm boosting morale!"

Eventually, after trying on at least a dozen gowns — and gathering a small audience of amused staff and customers who were definitely eavesdropping on Hange’s commentary — you stood in front of the mirror in a deep red satin dress that hugged you perfectly, pooling elegantly around your feet. The color made your skin glow, your eyes bright, your smile radiant.

You turned, facing Hange, prepared for another ridiculous metaphor.

But this time, Hange was quiet.

Really quiet.

They sat forward in the chair, elbows on knees, mouth slightly open, glasses sliding down their nose, eyes absolutely devouring the sight of you.

"Well?" you teased, twirling a little, sending the fabric swirling around you like liquid fire.

"I- I..." Hange pushed their glasses up hastily, cheeks turning red under the bright store lights. "You're gonna kill me."

You laughed heartily, heart hammering, cheeks warming too. "Is that your official review?"

"That’s my official plea for mercy," Hange said, standing up and walking slowly toward you. They brushed their fingers lightly over your hand where it rested at your side. "Wear this one. Please."

You grinned and leaned in just a little. "So... out of all the ones I tried on, this one?"

They nodded fervently. "This one. 100% scientifically verified by yours truly."

You kissed the corner of their mouth lightly — just enough to leave them a little dazed— before disappearing back into the dressing room, hiding your grin.

Behind you, you heard them mutter:

"Best. Field trip. Ever."

♡ a/n: i saw this. such a cute idea. i kept my eye on your request but oh i've just been so busy. thanks for requesting anon! reply if you'd like a tag on all my hange posts! since i keep seeing the same people comment and like. i appreciate you sweethearts, thank you! xo

[zraiusxo]

omg omgggg i always see your notes in a lot of Hange fics, and Im sososoo glad you're writing!! 💟

May I request a college au where reader is a reserved, quiet, and really kind freshman art student (kinda like fluttershy) and Hange is a charming chemical engineering student. Reader's friends warn her that Hange is in the cof of playboys and stuff who don't take things seriously. And Hange knows this but they fell in love with the reader and came to truly love her so they want to prove themself but they have this fear of commitment due to past unsuccessful relationships. Maybe a bit of angst plss 🙏🙏 tytyyyyy no pressure to write this, I'm just happy to see your fics here!! 💟

♡ no warnings. not proofread. fluff.

Hange Zoë Oneshot♡ Sketching Chemistry

The buzz of Paradis University’s courtyard was an ever-present hum — sneakers on concrete, chatter between classes, the clink of coffee cups at the nearby benches. Spring was barely clinging to the air, and early afternoon sunlight slanted across the fine arts building, where you often sat cross-legged in the grass with a sketchbook balanced delicately on your knees.

You were a vision of quiet, almost intimidating beauty: dark sweaters, pressed skirts, the sharp edges of your style softened only by the worn-in leather of your sketchbook. Most people in your university knew you in passing as a pretty freshman art student, always with a pencil tucked behind your ear, always lost in some far-off thought.

You weren’t naïve — just resolute. You knew your world, knew what you wanted, and didn’t offer your company lightly.

It was at one of Sasha’s notorious "pizza on the lawn" Fridays that you first really noticed Hange Zoë.

They were laughing hardly with Miche, who was half-laying on the grass in a dark green shirt with his drink spilled all over his jeans, cursing under his breath. Hange wore a white tank top that showed off their tan and toned arms dusted in a few tattoos, cargo pants tucked carelessly into scuffed boots. Their glasses caught the sun every time they tilted their head to speak, and it felt like Hange’s whole presence glowed with reckless, unfiltered charm.

It wasn’t the way they looked that caught you. It was the way they listened.

Eyes lit up with genuine attention, mouth half-quirked in some secret amusement even when they weren’t speaking. They made every person around them feel important, like the center of the universe for a moment.

You lowered your sharp eyes back to your sketchbook.

Dangerous, you thought.

And as if summoned by your glance, Sasha plopped down next to you with a fresh plate of pizza.

“Careful around Hange,” she said, voice muffled by a mouthful of cheese. “They’re part of Miche’s group. Y'know— full of heartbreakers. Ya know the drill.”

You raised an eyebrow, barely reacting, fingers holding the pencil that were still tracing gentle lines across the paper.

Connie, sprawling out on Sasha’s other side, chimed in with a snort, “Miche, Erwin, Levi — they’re all tight. Real smooth, real shiny, until you realize they’re allergic to, like, anything serious.”

You listened without looking up.

“Hange’s probably the most charming of all of them, though,” Sasha added thoughtfully. “Smart as hell. Chemical engineering, I think. Popular too. But commitment?” She let out a dramatic pfffft. “Forget it.”

A hum vibrated against your rosy lips noncommittally. You didn’t need a warning. You’d learned long ago that you didn’t offer your heart to anyone who hadn’t already bled for it.

It started slow.

A week later, you found Hange on the second floor of the library, tucked into the engineering section with a battered laptop open and papers strewn across two desks. They looked frustrated, brow furrowed, one hand raking through messy brown hair.

When they caught you glancing over (your studio class was doing a project involving chemical pigments, and you were half-lost yourself), Hange grinned.

“Hey! Art genius. Help a desperate nerd out?”

You blinked, long eyelashes fluttering, wary.

“I’m not a genius,” you said flatly, adjusting the strap of your leather bag. “And I’m not sure why you’d need help with art.”

Hange shrugged, unapologetic. “Genius recognizes genius, you know? Plus, you seem way more organized than me.”

You almost smiled— almost— before turning to the shelf, swiftly plucking out the textbook you needed.

Hange watched you like you were a riddle they wanted to spend the next ten years solving.

Hange started appearing everywhere after that.

At your favorite study spot near the quad, lounging nearby with a mechanical pencil tucked behind their ear.

At the campus café, scribbling equations into a grimy notebook while you nursed your favorite iced coffee.

At Mikasa’s casual hangouts, where they’d somehow maneuver to sit near you — not so close that it would be obvious, but enough that you’d feel the hum of their presence like a low electrical current.

They were patient with you, to a degree you didn’t expect.

No flirtatious touch. No crude jokes like Miche might've made. Just conversation, bright and winding, questions about your art, your inspirations, your favorite late-night snacks when deadlines loomed.

You wanted to resist.

You knew what your friends had said. You knew better.

But Hange made it hard to maintain your careful distance.

There was an earnestness to them— a way they leaned in when you spoke, like your words were the most important thing they'd hear that day.

And yet, you noticed the cracks.

You saw the way Hange would sometimes falter mid-laugh, a flash of something tight and scared in their eyes.

You heard the way Levi would caution them gently, "Don't screw this up," he'd mutter under his breath, more warning than joke— not that he was the type to joke around anyway, when Hange lingered too long around you.

You realized, slowly, that Hange wasn’t like the others because they didn’t want to be.

They had been before— careless, breezy, easily moving on from one shiny thing to the next. They had loved and been left. Left and been hated. Somewhere along the line, love had become synonymous with failure to them.

Commitment terrified Hange.

Not because they didn’t feel enough.

But because they felt too much.

One late night, under the soft pool of light from the streetlamps near the empty art building, Hange finally said it.

"I’m scared, you know." Their voice was low, almost hoarse, as they stuffed their hands into the pockets of their jacket. "Not of you. Just... of ruining things. Of wanting something too badly and then watching it die."

You closed your sketchbook slowly.

The night was cool against your skin. You could hear your own breathing.

“I don’t need a promise from you,” you said softly, the words steady despite the ache in your chest. "I just need honesty."

Hange looked at you like you were the first kindness they hadn’t had to earn.

A beat of silence stretched between you, golden and fragile.

"I’m trying," they said finally. "Really trying. I... don’t want to lose you before I even have you."

You reached out— slow, deliberate— and took their larger and much rougher hand in yours, your soft skin brushing against their callouses.

It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t forgiveness for things they hadn’t done yet.

It was an invitation.

And Hange, for once in their reckless life, stepped forward instead of running away.

You studied late into the nights at the café. Hange dragged you into impromptu ramen runs at 2 AM. Mikasa rolled her eyes but smiled whenever she caught you both tucked together on the quad, your sketchbook balanced on Hange’s knees while you argued about color theory versus chemical structure.

And little by little, against all odds, Hange Zoë— an infamous charmer, secret romantic, brilliant disaster— started building a home in your heart.

And for once, they stayed.

♡ a/n: i have sooo many hange college au reqs, send help.

[zraiusxo]

♡ hi there! i'm zaraius, but you can call me zar or zara. i'm 18 and i'm bisexual. :3

♡ i'm new here and i mainly write for hange zoë from attack on titan!

♡ i usually write for fem!reader, but it can vary depending on your request ofcourse. :D

♡ i usually write fluff and slight angst if you squint really hard, i'm working on trying to improve my smut writing skills. so for those who wish to request smut, please wait until then. :'>

♡ i don't exclusively write for hange, feel free to request me anything! i am familiar with most animes, especially attack on titan, my hero academia, tokyo revengers, jujutsu kaisen and many more. though it might take some time since i often research about the character's personality and behavior before writing. i am always open to different requests! ^^

♡ i won't always get your request done before the week ends as i have other things to do, but i usually get it done in 2-3 days! + i mostly write oneshots. :p

♡ please don't request me anything weird like gore or pedophilia ;w; ♡ i'm very busy as of the moment due to personal reasons. please understand that i might only get to accommodate 1 request per week. i'll be active by may-july!

♡ that's all, lovelots! mwa (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

[zraiusxo]

you are feeding us hange zoe girliesss, i love all your works so much 𖹭

𖹭 aw hi! it's so nice to see messages like these in my inbox! i don't really care about the likes cause i started my blog on impulse one night after reading a hange fic and decided i wanted to make one too, just want to feed the starving hange zoe girls who've been deprived of any new hange fics as much as i can! xo