zraiusxo

[zraiusxo]

Love this sm <3

[zraiusxo]

“the grudge” | ran haitani x reader

one-shot 𓂃⋆.˚

synopsis: she was always the reckless one. the black sheep—and he was her sister’s perfect husband. until one night turned into a habit. and now, she’s not just stealing kisses. she’s after everything her sister treasures most.

characters: ran haitani, fem!reader

warnings: smut (18+), explicit sexual content, noncon, dubcon, infidelity, slight somnophilia, manipulation, intoxication, degradation, rough sex, breeding kink implication, slapping, spitting, choking, face-fucking, cumplay, creampie, cigarette use, emotionally toxic dynamics, cheating, small age gap (implied), coercion, emotional manipulation, substance use, explicit language.

notes: a month of hiatus, and idk if this is a good fic for a comeback. as usual, lmk ur thoughts! i fucking love unhinged ran haitani. and as always, the apperance is bonten ran haitani—cause he’s chef’s kiss MWA <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

it was past midnight when ran haitani woke up, the buzz of sleep fading as he stared at the ceiling. the room was quiet—his wife curled up beside him, breathing steady, peaceful.

it was his birthday.

earlier, she’d cooked dinner like she always did, even baked a cake for him. sweet, thoughtful, soft. the kind of wife who folded his laundry and left notes in his lunchbox. ran loves her. really, he does.

but sometimes… he misses the thrill of it all.

the chaos. the mess. the wildness.

he dragged himself out of bed and padded down the stairs, sighing as he reached the kitchen. opening the fridge, he grabbed a beer and leaned against the counter.

this was the life he chose. he knew that. but god, some nights it felt suffocating.

he took a slow sip, then stilled at the sound of shuffling—unsteady footsteps coming from the front.

he turned his head just as the lights flicked on.

y/n.

drunk. maybe even high. stumbling across the living room like her legs barely remembered how to walk.

ran’s jaw tensed as he watched her make her way to the staircase, pausing halfway, touching her head with a quiet curse.

“fuck…” she muttered, wincing.

he sighed. again with this.

he crossed the room and reached out. “here. let me help you.”

y/n didn’t argue. she slung her arm around his neck without hesitation, his hand firm around her waist as he guided her upstairs. her body was warm. too warm. pressed up against him like she had no idea what boundaries were—or maybe she did, and just didn’t care.

when they reached her room, ran opened the door and gently laid her down on the bed.

he stayed for a moment. just sat there, breathing, watching.

she was out of it—hair messy, eyes heavy-lidded, skin glowing under the soft light. she looked exactly like the kind of girls he used to chase before his life got quiet.

and she was wearing next to nothing.

tiny shorts. a crop top that barely covered anything.

and then—she started pulling it off.

his throat went dry.

the thin top hit the floor, leaving her in a laced bra that hugged her breasts too perfectly. his eyes dragged over her body, heat coiling low in his stomach.

his cock pressed against his sweats, painfully hard. he palmed it, trying to get a grip.

he shouldn’t want this. not her. not like this.

but y/n…

she was the kind of girl any man would want. beautiful. bold. sinfully tempting.

and ran haitani was no exception.

he needed to take care of the problem.

ran looked down at the bulge pressing tight against his sweats, throbbing with every breath he took. just a taste. that’s all. not like he was gonna fuck her.

just a taste.

that wouldn’t count as betrayal, right?

he slowly leaned forward, careful not to wake her—like she wasn’t already passed out in front of him, drunk and vulnerable, dressed in next to nothing.

he reached for her shorts, slowly unzipping them, tugging them down her thighs.

just a taste. that’s it. he swore. he was gonna leave after this.

her panties were next. he pulled them to the side and pressed his tongue against her cunt.

nothing.

she didn’t react at first. eyes still closed.

so he did it again.

again.

until he was licking her like he needed it to survive—like she was the only thing that could bring him back to life.

“ugh…”

that small sound—barely audible—was enough for ran to lose whatever restraint he had left.

he peeled the panties off completely, grabbed her thighs, and pulled her close to his face.

he devoured her.

licking, sucking, moaning into her cunt like he’d forgotten everything else in the world.

his tongue fucked her deep, messy and unrelenting. her body trembled, a moaning mess under him.

and then—

y/n’s eyes fluttered open.

she saw him. between her legs. ran haitani. her sister’s husband.

fuck, it turned her on even more.

finally. finally, something of her sister’s she could take.

the perfect, sweet sister everyone adored. the one who always did everything right. while she was the mess. the disappointment. the girl no one wanted around.

but right now? right now, she had the one thing that mattered most.

her sister’s husband.

maybe they were right. maybe she was evil.

fine. let her be.

she grabbed a fistful of ran’s hair and grinded herself on his mouth, moaning loud, needy, desperate.

“fuck!!”

he pulled away and quickly leaned over her, covering her mouth with his hand.

“shh…” he hissed. “you have to be quiet or we’re gonna stop this.”

he pulled his hand back—but y/n pushed it away without hesitation, glaring at him—defiant.

“i don’t fucking care. i want her to hear how good you are fucking me.”

his cock twitched at her words.

drunk. high. but not stupid.

she knew exactly what she was doing.

she wanted this. wanted him. wanted to ruin everything.

ran stared at her, eyes dark. “you’re evil.”

“and you like evil girls,” y/n smirked. “stop pretending to be a good fucking husband. it doesn’t suit you.”

before he could speak, she grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him—hungry, raw, reckless.

it was messy. spit and moans and teeth clashing.

god, this was what he missed.

not gentle touches or quiet, careful sex.

this.

she pulled away, breathless, and ran slid his hand back between her legs. his fingers slipped inside her with ease—two of them, fast and deep.

“fuck—” y/n moaned, her back arching.

ran pressed his lips to her neck, sucking, licking, biting like he couldn’t get enough of her skin.

she was coming undone beneath him, high and overstimulated.

“ran—shit—i’m cumming—”

“yes!! yes!!” she cried out, gripping his shoulders as her body tightened, shaking through her orgasm.

he pulled his fingers out and brought them to his lips, sucking her off of them while staring her down.

y/n bit her lip, cheeks flushed.

how the hell did he end up with someone like her sister?

she sat up and pulled him into another kiss, grinding against him as she climbed into his lap.

his hands gripped her waist, guiding her hips as they moved in sync, all heat and tension and desperation.

it was obsession—burning hot and all-consuming.

they kissed like they needed each other to breathe.

y/n pulled back, lips swollen, and whispered, “happy birthday, ran.”

he chuckled darkly, still holding her tight. “thought you forgot.”

she rolled her eyes. “i knew my sister would make some lovey-dovey shit for you tonight. i had to leave the house for a while.”

then she leaned close, lips brushing his ear.

“i’ll show you what a real birthday present looks like.”

she palmed his cock through his sweats, slow and teasing, watching it twitch under her touch.

then—smooth, bold—y/n pulled his pants down. his cock sprang free, thick and heavy, and she couldn’t help but lick her lips.

she yanked his shirt off next, and god—those tattoos, that lean muscle, the way he looked like sin wrapped in skin.

he should’ve never been with her sister. he belonged with someone like her.

ran couldn’t even think straight anymore. it’s been too long since he felt something this good.

he stood abruptly, grabbing her hair and forcing her onto her knees like it was second nature.

no warning.

he shoved his cock into her mouth with a low groan, one hand tangled in her hair, the other braced on his hip.

“fuck…”

her mouth was hot, wet, perfect—and the way she sucked him? like she was born for this.

like she’d done it a hundred times just for him.

ran lost control fast, his hips starting to move on their own, fucking her mouth with zero shame.

“such a fucking slut,” he growled, slapping her cheek lightly, eyes dark. “letting me use your mouth like this, huh?”

“you’re really the opposite of your sister.”

he gave her hair another tug, making her look up at him with teary eyes and ruined makeup.

“gonna fuck you every day now,” he said through gritted teeth. “gonna ruin this filthy mouth every time i need to get off.”

her life had already been a mess before this. y/n had been crashing at their place ever since she got kicked out of her parents’ house—drinking, partying, failing classes while her sister played the perfect role: quiet, graceful, top of her class, married right after college.

they were two years apart. but a world of difference.

and now, y/n was on her knees in the house her sister gave her—getting fucked in the mouth by the same man her sister loved.

and ran?

maybe their parents were right about him all along.

he was still the reckless bastard he used to be. no amount of marriage or clean slates could change that.

and it showed in the way he shoved his cock down y/n’s throat over and over again, spit and precum dripping down her chin, smearing across her chest.

her makeup was wrecked. but to ran, she looked like a fucking dream.

a dirty, dangerous dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

he spit on her. rubbed his cock across her cheeks. watched her tongue follow his every move like a desperate little thing.

“gonna cum,” he warned, voice hoarse.

he pulled out, gripped the base of his cock, and pumped it while she pressed her tits together, tongue out, ready to take it.

“fuck…” he muttered under his breath.

she looked too sexy—like a fucking pornstar in lingerie.

he came hard.

white streaks hit her face, her tongue, even her bra-covered tits.

but y/n wasn’t done.

she fondled her chest, sliding his cock between her soft breasts, using the push of her bra to squeeze them together.

ran’s head fell back. overstimulated. shivering.

“fuck this girl,” he thought.

it was too much.

he pulled away and laughed breathlessly, shaking his head. “enough,” he muttered. “you’re too fucking naughty.”

he leaned down and kissed her forehead while she was still on her knees.

“gonna go back to my room now. thanks for the present, baby.”

he turned to grab his pants—telling himself they didn’t actually fuck.

just got each other off. nothing more. it’s not cheating if there’s no sex, right?

but—

“we’re not done yet.”

her voice was soft. almost innocent.

ran turned back to her slowly.

“please, ran…” she stood up, eyes wide, playing the part of the sweet little sister.

“i need you.”

her hand slid down, guiding his to her soaked pussy.

“need you inside me. just a quick one…”

lies.

because it’s been nearly an hour now.

he’s balls-deep inside her, pounding her from behind while his wife—her sister—is asleep in the next room.

“ran… so good…”

she’s barely able to speak, voice cracking between gasps and moans.

face down, ass up.

his hand pressing her head into the mattress, her ass red and stinging from all the slaps.

wet, lewd noises filling the room with every thrust.

no shame.

no guilt.

just filth.

and it feels so fucking right.

one… two… even three rounds weren’t enough. they were still going at it like animals. every position. every angle. as if they’d been starving for each other for years.

right now, y/n was on top of ran, riding him like she owned him. her hips rolled slow and deep, greedy for every inch. ran groaned beneath her, hands all over her—palming her tits, fingers digging into her ass, lips dragging kisses down her neck.

“get off, y/n,” he warned, his voice strained. “i’m gonna cum—fuck.”

he tapped her thighs, trying to slow her down, but she only rolled her eyes at him.

stubborn little brat.

ran chuckled, breathless, trying to catch her mouth in a kiss, but y/n had other plans. she was pumping his cock with her hand, teasing him, getting him right to the edge—and the second she felt his body start to shudder, she slammed herself back down onto him.

“fuck—y/n,” ran growled, head falling back.

his hips bucked up on instinct, thrusting into her heat as he came inside her—no stopping it now. the way she clenched around him made his vision blur. the grip he had on her waist was bruising, but she loved it. she bounced through his orgasm, chasing her own, and within seconds, she was crying out too, cunt fluttering around his cock.

ran collapsed into her chest, sweaty and out of breath, his head resting against her shoulder while her arms wrapped around him.

she stroked his purple hair lazily, smirking like she just won the biggest prize of her life.

they stayed like that for a moment, basking in the filth and the afterglow.

“fuck, your parents were really right about you, huh?” ran muttered against her skin, still trying to breathe. “you’re a bad fucking girl.”

“just living up to their expectations,” y/n replied with a cocky grin, her eyes locked on his plump, kiss-bruised lips.

and because she couldn’t help herself, she leaned in and kissed him again—sloppy, slow, like they hadn’t just broken every boundary that existed.

after a few more minutes of making out, y/n finally pulled off of him and sat beside him on the bed, her thighs sticky with his cum.

“you got a cigarette?” ran asked, voice gravelly.

“mhm,” she nodded.

she leaned over to grab one from the bedside table, tossing him a lighter too. her tits swung slightly with the movement, and ran’s eyes followed them like he was hypnotized.

“mind if i smoke here?” he asked, already bringing the cigarette to his lips.

“i smoke here all the time. no big deal.”

she lit it for him, then dropped the lighter back on the table.

ran took a long drag, exhaled slow. it’s been so long since he last smoked. he quit when he got serious with his wife. but old habits die hard, and tonight, everything came back with a vengeance.

y/n climbed back into bed and laid her head on his chest, arms curling around his waist.

he was a little thrown off by the sudden clinginess. this was different. this was softer.

but still, he didn’t push her away.

instead, he gently brushed the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear like he cared. and maybe he did. maybe just a little.

he smoked in silence, her holding onto him like he was hers.

and in her head, that’s exactly what he was.

she’d wanted him first. way back when she was a freshman, and he was a junior. they ran in the same circles. she saw him before her sister ever did. it was her who crushed on him first. it was her who wanted him. it was supposed to be her.

so now, it only made sense that she was the one wrapped around him like this.

she earned him. finally.

when ran finished his cigarette, he stubbed it out in the ashtray, then gently tapped her arms. “gotta go back now, princess.”

but y/n just held him tighter and shook her head.

he laughed quietly. “she’s gonna notice if i’m not there when she wakes up.”

“so?” y/n muttered, face buried against his chest. “let her. i don’t give a fuck about her feelings.”

typical y/n.

ran leaned down and kissed her temple. “i’ll make it up to you, okay?”

she rolled her eyes.

“i’ll see you in the morning.”

he kissed her once more, soft but short, then stood up and started pulling his clothes back on—like they hadn’t just committed the filthiest fucking sin in that bed.

like he didn’t just cum inside the wrong woman.

and still—he didn’t regret a thing.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

her morning was ruined the second she stepped into the kitchen.

there they were—her sister and ran—cuddled up, laughing, exchanging sweet little kisses like the man who was sucking her clit and fucking her brains out last night wasn’t sitting there acting like a picture-perfect husband.

y/n rolled her eyes.

disgusting.

she headed to the fridge, grabbed a water bottle, and slammed the door shut hard—just to make sure they knew she was there.

“woah, good morning, moody girl,” her sister teased, unbothered as she hopped off ran’s lap. she walked toward the kitchen counter, placing a bowl in front of y/n. “made you soup. figured you were drunk again last night, huh? what time did you even get home?”

too kind. always so kind.

“none of your business,” y/n muttered, barely sparing a glance, walking right past the breakfast her sister made and disappearing down the hallway.

her sister just sighed.

she always tried. always gave her love, her patience, her care. and y/n always shoved it back in her face. maybe that’s why it hurt more—because her sister never gave her a reason to hate her. but y/n did anyway.

ran watched it all. his wife’s disappointment. y/n’s attitude. he stood up and gently reached for her.

“i’ll talk to her,” he said.

she nodded, believing him. like she always did.

but that’s not what happened.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“told you i’d be back in the morning,” ran whispered into y/n’s ear as he buried himself deep inside her.

y/n’s leg was hooked over his shoulder, her pussy slick and tight around him. ran angled himself just right, hitting her spot with every thrust—deep and deliberate.

“just gotta fuck that nasty attitude outta you, huh?” he growled, leaning in to slam into her harder. y/n clawed at the sheets, barely able to breathe through the pace he set.

“you fuck me so good… ugh, ran—”

“yeah?” he smirked. “you like getting ruined by your sister’s husband?”

y/n nodded desperately, mouth open, completely gone. she didn’t care anymore. about anything.

ran pulled out suddenly and flipped her on her stomach, pressing her flat to the bed. he slammed back in with a grunt, lips grazing her shoulder, then biting down as y/n cried out from the pressure.

“harder, ran, please!” she begged, eyes wet with tears.

he obliged. used her like a toy—slamming his hips into her, grabbing her wrists, pushing her into the mattress.

when she came, it was without warning—her body seizing up, legs shaking uncontrollably. ran felt it, loved it, and kept going.

he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her up so she was against his chest. y/n didn’t even resist. she let him do anything. everything.

his hand found her throat. his other hand rubbed her clit, overstimulating her while he pounded into her from behind.

“g-gonna cum again—” she choked out, crying now.

“good,” he muttered, slamming harder, faster. “fucking take it.”

he kissed her cheek, messy and open-mouthed, before groaning against her ear and spilling inside her again. not a drop spared. he stayed inside her, twitching, hips jerking involuntarily.

he laid her back down gently, pulled out slow. his cum spilled out of her ruined cunt and onto the sheets.

he kissed down her spine. across every bruise and mark he left.

they didn’t stop.

it happened again. and again. and again.

days turned to weeks. weeks to months. and still, his wife had no idea.

or maybe she did. but she was too kind, too naive to admit it.

until one morning—

“y/n… where’d you get that necklace?”

fuck.

y/n froze.

the necklace. she found it in ran’s car one night. tried it on. never gave it back.

“ah… this?” she said coolly. “my boyfriend gave it to me. why?”

and then—

her sister lit up.

eyes wide. soft little gasp. “oh? you have a boyfriend?!”

she looked genuinely happy. like she’d been waiting for that moment. like she believed—hoped—y/n had found someone who loved her.

“finally!” her sister smiled. “why didn’t you tell me sooner? oh my god, i wanna meet him.”

“i’ll bring him here soon,” y/n said casually, sipping her coffee like it wasn’t laced with venom.

her sister smiled, totally unaware. she had no idea the boyfriend y/n kept mentioning was her own husband.

“okay!” she chirped. “also—can you ask him where he got that necklace? we have the same one. ran gave it to me. i think i lost mine though, so i might have to drag him back there to get a new one.”

she laughed.

and y/n didn’t say a word.

because she wasn’t giving it back.

and she took her cruelty further.

she took photos of herself on ran’s phone—covered in his cum, fingers between her legs in front of the camera. made sure her face wasn’t visible. but the intent was crystal clear.

when it didn’t work, she went deeper.

she changed ran’s lockscreen to one of the pics. didn’t even care if it started a war.

his wife found it. of course she did.

they fought. argued. she cried. but still—she didn’t leave.

because she trusted him. too much.

too forgiving.

too fucking soft.

and that was the curse, wasn’t it?

her sister’s kindness was the very thing that broke y/n. the comparisons, the pressure, the perfection.

and now—she was gonna return the favor.

soon, she was going to break her too.

piece by piece.

starting with the one thing her sister cherished most—

ran haitani.

[zraiusxo]

Happy birthday to my fav dilf

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

ꜰᴇᴡ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀꜱᴋ ꜰᴏʀ

♡ He would defo hate when people ask him about his age

♡ He might also hate mid night calls or wishes as it ruins his sleep

♡ If he was real He would most likely would be influencer

♡ In Bonten au everyone used to tease him or call him ulc or gramps

[zraiusxo]

happy birthday daddy

── .✦ we don't have to rush when you're alone with me

starboy (bonten's version)

track 01. starboy (feat. daft punk)

track 02. party monster

track 04. reminder † hajime kokonoi

track 11. a lonely night

track 14. ordinary life

track 16. all i know (feat. future)

track 17. die for you

[ ❚❚ ] track 18. i feel it coming (feat. daft punk) † ran haitani

🔖 @ljubimaya | © aryomengrande 2025

[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]

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]

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]

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]

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

[zraiusxo]

yo. ran haitani x fem!reader? i would love to see you write something toxic lol, cause you seem so innocent, you always write fluff, you can't write smut. totally understand why you can't write smut though cause you're so cute! but i wanna see u write something REALLY toxic and angsty. i'm thinking they're both bonten executives! you can decide the rest. anyways, you can just ignore this if it's not to your liking!

♡ warnings: smut mdni, argument leading to smut, rough sex, emotionally charged angry sex, creampie, ran's unhealthy attachment and obsession towards her, power dynamics, degrading language, vulgar language, non-graphic physical aggression, violence, graphic depictions of killings murder, praise, pussy eating, hair-pulling, mentions of drugs, dirty talk, dark humor and casual profanity throughout, organized crime activities. read with caution.

Ran Haitani Oneshot ♡

Bonten didn't need order. It needed fear. And she was its sharpest blade.

She who stood at the center of corpses was undoubtedly beautiful.

But Y/N wasn't beautiful like a flower. She was beautiful like the fucking guillotine.

Mikey didn’t assign her missions. He pointed at problems, and she handled them. She walks the corridors of Bonten like a whispered rumor— unhurrying, untouchable, and dripping in something heavier than danger.

Her presence doesn’t announce itself. It settles. Like silence after a gunshot.

And it always begins with the click of her heels.

Click. Clack. Click.

Sharp, slow and commanding. They aren't just heels. They’re punctuation marks at the end of someone’s sentence.

You were death in a woman's body. The expensive linen of your two-piece suit, matte black and clean-cut, was damp with someone else’s life leaking into the lining, left daringly bare beneath— no silk, no lace, no camisole. Just bare skin laced with something lethal coursing beneath.

Your lipstick never smudged. Blood never touches your lips, but the red kisses everything else. You never wore your scars on your sleeves. You wore blood instead—always someone else’s, never yours.

Your silhouette is a contradiction— because it’s not just what you do.

It’s what you are.

—

Bonten’s lounge always smelled like expensive leather and liquor-soaked silence.

The elevator doors opened with a quiet chime, spilling you into the glass-and-chrome quiet of Bonten headquarters.

It was late— midnight at least— but no one in this place really slept.

You walked in without a word, sharp eyes flicking briefly across the lounge.

It was sleek. Silent, most nights. A slow jazz track usually drifted from the bar’s speaker system— Koko’s doing. The floor to ceiling windows overlooked Tokyo’s bleeding lights, casting sharp, fractured reflections across the black marble floor. The glass walls looked out over Tokyo like they were daring the city to try something.

High above the mess of sirens and neon, this place was still. Like a throne room built by criminals.

Deceptively civilized.

Like them.

The night had that slow, familiar rhythm. Music low, ice clinking against glass, Sanzu muttering something about which knife cuts best, and Koko looking like he’d rather be left alone with his ledger and a bottle of Yamazaki.

Kakucho, usually silent, gave me a nod from where he sat in the bar. Subtle. Respectful, as always. Takeomi was near the back, a cigarette in between his ring and index finger— half-asleep.

Rindou sat comfortably on the wide velvet couch nursing his third drink, shoes kicked off, legs curled under him. Sanzu was stretched out on the rug like a lazy stray, tossing his knife in the air and humming something tuneless with his shirt half-unbuttoned, grinning wildly with pupils blown from whatever the hell he’d taken tonight.

“Well, shit. The room just got colder." he lifted his head first to glance at me, tossing the knife in the air before catching it by the handle.

I sat on the edge of the long velvet couch, slipping a cigarette in between my lips, the red of my lipstick tainting the white.

That’s usually all I had to be— present. In Bonten, silence spoke just as loud as the violence did.

“Thought you weren’t coming tonight,” Rindou said from across the couch, lifting his glass at me as I flicked my lighter to light the cigarette.

“I had to finish what you left behind,” I inhaled softly, the smoke curling around my lashes.

He chuckled before bringing his glass to his lips, not offended. “Tough crowd.”

“You’re not crowd,” I murmured, puffing out the smoke with parted lips. “You’re family.”

He almost choked— caught off guard as he looked around as if to confirm what he had heard.

“She says shit like that, and people still call me the unhinged one.” Sanzu asked with a snicker, resting his head against the cushion lazily.

"Cause you are fuckin' unhinged, crazy fucker." Rindou remarked matter-of-factly.

Koko snorted behind the bar, lifting his head from his tablet. “That almost sounded like affection.”

I let a small smile curl at the corner of my lips, blowing out smoke to the side. “Don’t get used to it.”

Ran chuckled. He was lounging with his sleeves rolled up against the muscle of his tattooed arms, two top buttons of his shirt undone just enough to remind me of the tattoo snaking down his chest.

Always so casual, like he hadn’t broken bones this morning and smiled through it. “You ever get tired of keeping the knife so sharp?” He leaned forward.

I tilted my head to the side slightly, my sharp eyes narrowing. “You ever get tired of pretending you’re not already bleeding?”

That made Takeomi chuckle— low, weary, like it hurt to find things funny these days.

That shut him up for a second. His smile slipped, barely. Then came a shrug. “Maybe I just like the pain.”

Rindou laughed under his breath, eyes flicking from his older brother— then to me. “You two need to fuck or kill each other. Pick one.”

Mochi raised an eyebrow slightly, amused. He didn't have much to say tonight, guess he wasn't in the mood to.

“Alright,” Koko stood up from his seat in the bar, spreading a map across the table.

“Mikey wants a presence at the Osaka port drop on Friday. We’re expecting heat. We need someone who can negotiate if needed, but also has the authority to shut things down if they smell wrong.”

No one said anything. It was silence. Then—

“I’ll handle it,” I said.

Rindou nodded like that made sense. Sanzu whistled low. Koko didn’t look surprised— he looked relieved, actually. “You’ll be point, then. I’ll send you the revised intel once they finish surveillance.”

“Alright,” I replied, glancing at the map Kokonoi had laid across the table. “Tell them not to rely on cameras and to use thermal drones.”

Ran tilted his head to the side slightly, a smug grin on his lips. “You’re always three steps ahead.”

My gaze narrowed, a small scoff leaving my lips. “Only because the rest of you are always two behind.”

A pause. Then Ran laughed— not cruel, not provoked. Just amused. “Touché.”

—

The lock clicked like a gunshot when I stepped into the lounge, door slamming hard enough to break the frame. My heels clicked against the black marble floor, and it echoed against the walls like a death march.

I knew even before I walked into that building, before the deal collapsed under my feet, before the cops swarmed the alley exit like fucking vultures— that this wasn’t an accident.

This was Ran fucking Haitani.

And that motherfucker was already here, of course he was.

Sitting in a manspread with his shirt half-unbuttoned as he leaned back in my chair like he owned the fucking place, cigarette burning lazy between his lips, visibly unbothered. He always made himself comfortable in places he shouldn’t.

Ran glanced at my figure slowly, blowing out the smoke sideways. “You mad?”

There was only silence as I slipped the bloody gloves off my fingers, dropping it onto the floor with a splat.

He laughed. "Fuck, you are mad."

“You think this is funny?” My sharp eyes pierced through his, tilting my head to the side menacingly.

“Funny? Nah,” he calmly said, not breaking eye contact.

“I think it’s hot.”

He stood then. Taller than me, infuriatingly so. That usual smirk was still there, but it was edgy now. Or maybe turned on. With Ran, it was always hard to tell.

“You left me.” I whispered, lower now. Flat. The quiet kind of angry.

“I knew you’d make it out.”

He stepped in front of me. Too close. His rough fingers brushed the curve of my waist. I slapped it away.

“You let me burn.”

Ran's lips twitched, his smirk lopsided now. "But you made it out, didn't you darling?

“I nearly didn't.” You retorted.

“But you did.” He countered.

That line. That calm.

Like it made everything okay. Like the near-capture, the blood still drying on the hem of my pants, the way I had to jump through three back alleys and lie low in some kid’s fucking basement for an hour before the cops cleared out— like it was fine.

I moved before I realized it.

My fist cracked against his jaw, and his head snapped sideways with the force of it.

His pupils blew wide. His hand came up to cradle his jaw, tongue flicking along the inside of his cheek. “Fuck,” he mumbled breathily,

Then a chuckle erupted from his lips. “That was hot.”

Deep and low. That awful, sexy, obscene sound that made me want to rip his throat out and kiss it after.

I hated him. Hated that I could smell his perfume and that it made my knees want to buckle. Hated that his voice slithered into my skin and that my insides clenched when he got close.

“Kill yourself."

He snapped. One shove, and my back hit the wall. He pressed his leg in between my thighs, placing a hand on my lower back. "Keep running that fucking mouth. See where it gets you."

“You planned it,” I groaned as my back hit the cool concrete, looking up at his taller stature with a glare. “You leaked intel. You fucked the entry time. You wanted it to go wrong.”

Ran didn't answer, only staring down at me with dark, half-lidded purple eyes.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful when you’re furious.”

“Get off me, you fucking psycho." I shoved him back. He only slammed me harder back into the wall, placing his rough hands on my hips.

"Takes one to love one.”

“I don’t love you.”

“I do.”

“Fuck you.”

“You will.”

He kissed me, hard and unforgiving, lips slick as he sucked on my lips, hard like his life fucking depended on it. I bit him hard enough to draw blood, licking it up as the red dripped down his chin, then sucking on where I bit him.

His groan shot straight through me— raw, feral. And he pressed harder, lips crashing against mine like punishment and prayer. I fought back. Dragging my nails down his chest. Feeling his muscles tense under my fingertips. Grinding my hips against his. Teeth against tongue.

He loved it. Sick fuck.

He spun me around, grabbed me by my waist, and dragged me backwards towards the counter. A gun case and bullets slid of the edge as he bent me over, slipping his hand inside my pants to cup my pussy, his middle finger gathering the slick dripping down from my pulsating hole.

“You're insane—”

“And you’re wet,” he said, pressing two long fingers against my warm cunt, pulsing in response.

“Fuck you.” I bit back a gasp, feeling myself getting wetter, cheeks getting hotter.

“You keep saying that,” he muttered with a smirk, pressing his weight down on my back. “But all I hear is please.”

His hands were everywhere, cupping my tits, feeling the inside of my thighs, groping my ass. Clothes came off mid make-out session. My top hit the floor first. Then my pants. His rings left cold trails on my thighs as he shoved them open.

“No fucking underwear,” he muttered against my neck, slapping my ass harshly, causing me to bite my lower lip harder. “Fucking knew it.”

He got on his knees and kissed the inside of my thigh, slow and deliberate— and when his mouth found the tattoo there, the black Bonten insignia inked where only someone like him would ever see it, he smiled sinisterly.

Then kissed it. Like he was praying to it. A kiss so soft it was offensive. Sacreligious.

“Ran—”

“Shut up.”

“I think I’ll die with this image burned into my fucking skull,” he muttered, dick twitching in his pants, breath warm against my pussy.

Then his mouth was on me.

His tongue moved in perfect rhythm— rough, then slow. Circling around my clit, then sucked on it. My knees buckled, and he held my ass in a firm grip, groaning against my cunt like it hurt to stop.

“Fuck, you taste mad,” he grinned against me, groping the plushy part of my ass tighter, slick dripping from my hole like honey. “Pussy's just as mean as your mouth.”

I bit back a moan— angry and breathless— reaching down to grab his hair, yanking his face closer to my wet cunt. He groaned into it, nose pressed against me, tongue flicking up and inside until I was grinding down on him shamelessly.

He let me ride his face like that. Let me chase my high.

I came on his mouth, muffling my moans against the back of my hand, fingers clawing at his scalp. Ran swallowed every drop of it, greedy fuck.

And he barely gave me time to breathe before he tugged his belt loose with one hand and shoved his pants down just enough to free his cock— hard, flushed, already leaking precum.

“Look at me baby,” he ordered, grabbing a fistful of my hair and turning my head around.

His cock was hard. Thick. Veiny. “You want this?” he asked with a shit-eating grin playing on his lips. “Say it.”

“Die.”

Without warning, he slammed his cock into me, immediately feeling the tight squeeze of my gummy cunt.

I gasped— sharp and shocked— as he bottomed out in one harsh thrust. “You’re dripping.”

His pace was brutal. Fast. He gripped my hips so tightly I knew I’d bruise. “Say it,” he growled into my ear, fucking me deeper, faster, each stroke knocking the breath out from my lungs.

“Fucking hate you—” My lips parted, moaning the words out.

“Yeah?” He pulled his whole length out and thrusted it all back in harder, eliciting a low whine from me. “Don't lie.”

He slipped his index and ring finger in between his lips to wet it, pulled out to reach around and rubbed circles on my clit as he pounded into me. My eyes rolled back my head, letting myself get fucked dumb by none other than Ran Haitani.

“You hate this too, huh, slut?” he snarled, hips slamming against my ass, cock stretching me open. Pounding me so hard my back arched off his chest and I couldn’t breathe.

His hand wrapped around my throat again, pressure perfect. Head thrown back in a cacophony of moans. And I clenched tighter around his twitching cock, sweat beading at my spine, the slap of his hips against my ass echoing off the walls.

“Ran, oh— fuckkk..”

“You want me to stop?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He knew.

He angled his thrusts just right, hitting the spot that made me see stars. His fingers were rough on my clit— fast, merciless, no rhythm, just filthy friction. He sucked purple marks onto my skin, fucked me like he was trying to break something.

“I hate you,” I said, but my hushed moans cut halfway through my words.

He chuckled against my ear, breathing heavily. “You’re lying again.”

I was.

Because my legs were shaking. Because I could feel it curling low in my stomach— tight, electric, unbearable. My body was betraying me, grinding back against him even though my mind screamed not to give him the satisfaction. The pleasure felt too much, overpowering the hatred I had built up for him.

“You’re close, ain't you baby?” he breathed, his voice thick and low.

I didn’t answer, only letting out a choked moan.

His cock slammed into me again— deep, brutal, right where it hit me hardest— and that was it.

My walls clenched hard around his cock, trembling, shuddering, vision going white around the edges. And still, he didn’t stop. He fucked me through it. Watched my back arch of his chest. Watched my knees buckle.

“Fuck, that's it.” he groaned. “Come on my cock darling, just like that.” My legs shook so bad he had to hold me up. He followed, groaning low into my ear, spilling inside me like he owned the right.

I hated him as I came around him. As my body clenched and spasmed and left me breathless. I hated how deep he reached. How good he felt. How every thrust knocked the breath out from my lungs and made me want to come on his cock again just to spite him.

I hated that it was his voice whispering low into my ear that tipped me over. I hated that it felt like falling into fire—

And that I wanted to burn again.

♡ a/n: thank you for requesting me anon, i appreciate it. i'm glad to have seen more tokyo revengers requests in my inbox hwehe. but consider this a practice fic for writing smut. not the best, but i hope it's not too bad!

[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]

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]

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]

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]

Part 4 for "A Game of Composure" please. :) I forgot how beautiful works like these are even without smut, I appreciate your writing so much, it's so novel worthy! Made me realize that fanfictions don't need smut to be well written and interesting. You're so underrated, I'm actually so shocked you're not getting hundreds of likes yet. But I wish you the best of luck, I know you're gonna get there some day! <3

♡ aww thank you so much anon! thank you for the kind words. i appreciate it a lot and it motivates me to keep writing! though i started writing on impulse whenever i got high, now i find it enjoyable thanks to you all. hope you like this one, enjoy! :3 ♡ tags: @isolde-zoe @hangesdeadcomrades @owo-teabag @morphids @primaddona-girl ♡ comment if you'd like a tag on my hange fics! also if you haven't yet, read the parts before this. ^^

A Game of Composure ,, Older Hange Zoë x Younger Fem!reader (4)

The evening unraveled like silk, steady and sumptuous, but Hange’s mind was a flurry of static. They hadn’t taken their eyes off Y/N since the moment she entered the room, dressed like some velvet vision in black, drawing men to her like moth to a flame. And even now, after the subtle claim they made by sending the curious businessman away—Hange remained coiled tight beneath the measured veneer.

But Y/N didn’t make it easy.

She never did.

She remained by Hange’s side, yes, but she didn’t hang onto them like a trophy on her arm. She spoke to others when addressed, she smiled at compliments—though never too widely—and she tilted her head and nodded when someone shared a story, that perfectly bored expression feigned just enough to pass as polite. Her elegance wasn’t an affect; it was a natural consequence of her self-possession. It was why Hange couldn’t look away.

They stood together near a stretch of the hall where the chandeliers dimmed to a gentle amber. Soft music floated through the space, and the press of bodies in formalwear moved like a gentle tide, each cluster of conversation shifting rhythmically.

Erwin passed by at one point, giving Hange and Y/N a subtle nod and a ghost of a smile before disappearing again into his own web of connections.

“I’d ask if you’re enjoying yourself,” Hange murmured under their breath, breaking the silence between them, “but you’ve never struck me as the type to do anything so… mundane.”

Y/N didn’t look up at Hange who stared down at her with an intense gaze, instead watching the banquet hall over the rim of her wine glass. “And you’ve never struck me as the type to get possessive.”

Hange’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not possessive.”

She turned towards them, that same maddening calm on her face. “You sent away a man who asked to speak to me. That’s a strange way to spell ‘possessive.’”

Hange leaned against the marble counter lining the wall, arms crossing loosely. “He didn’t want to speak to you. He wanted to flatter you into pretending he was interesting.”

“And you think you’re the exception?” Y/N asked with a raised brow.

“I know I am.”

That earned them a small laugh from her—low and brief, but genuine.

“You’re bold tonight, Doctor.”

“I had a month to think.”

Y/N set her glass down with a quiet clink. Her voice softened just enough to be heard beneath the music. “So did I.”

They didn’t speak for a moment. Hange watched her profile—sharp, serene, achingly young and yet composed in a way most their age never learned to be.

Y/N’s expression gave nothing away, but her hands—slim fingers brushing over the rim of her glass—were too still, too measured.

"You know," Hange began, their voice lower now, "you play this game better than most seasoned politicians."

Y/N’s lips quirked. "I imagine that’s meant to be a compliment."

“It is. It just makes me wonder what you’re hiding under all that control."

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze lifted to the massive chandelier above them, crystals refracting specks of light across her face like fragments of stained glass. When she finally spoke, her voice was composed but deliberate.

“I grew up around individuals who thought power was something to be taken. I learned early on that power isn’t seized—it’s given. And people give it to the ones who don’t ask for it. They give it to the quiet ones. The ones who never seem to need anything.” She started.

Her sharp piercing eyes turned to Hange, tilting her head to the side slightly. “But wanting, that’s a different thing.”

That made Hange pause.

The answer was unexpected. Not because it was eloquent—Y/N was always that—but because it rang with something they rarely heard from her: honesty.

A revelation wrapped in velvet. Hange hummed, observing her again, but this time differently. As if the mask had slipped, even for a moment.

“I see,” Hange said, their tone more serious now. “So you let people see what they want to see.”

“I let people think they see something,” she corrected.

“And what do you think I see?” Hange asked.

Y/N turned toward them, her sharp eyes calm but unreadable. “I think you want to see what’s underneath. I think you’re smart enough to know it’ll take time. And arrogant enough to think I’ll let you.”

For once, Hange didn’t have a clever response ready. The air between them felt charged, thick with something heavier than flirtation.

“And if I’m patient?” they asked eventually.

“Then you might just see what they don’t,” she countered. “But you’ll have to stop sending men away like some territorial animal.”

Hange chuckled, shoulders relaxing. "Noted."

Before anything else could be said, an unwelcomed voice cut in.

“Miss L/N.”

They turned to see Marie approaching.

Of course.

She looked pristine as ever—her emerald green gown tight across the bodice, her jewelry understated but expensive. Her smile was far too polite.

“I was surprised to see you again,” Marie said, eyes flitting briefly toward Hange before settling back on Y/N with a challenging look in her eyes.

Y/N’s expression remained cool, meeting Marie's gaze with equal intensity. “Yes, I was invited.”

Marie’s voice lowered slightly, just enough to come off as intimidating but loud enough for Hange to hear. “Well. I’m sure your… presence is always appreciated. Especially by the older crowd.”

A small hum vibrated against Y/N's red-stained lips, but didn’t rise to it. “It seems so. Though I’m sure you don’t have to rely on insinuation to be remembered.”

Marie blinked.

A faint smile tugged at Hange’s lips, but they said nothing. This was Y/N’s fight, and she wielded silence like a blade.

Marie continued, undeterred. “You know, some of us worked very hard to build our place here. Years of study, internships, research. Not everyone has the luxury of just… being interesting because they’re young.”

Hange’s jaw tightened. Y/N didn’t flinch.

“That’s true,” Y/N replied calmly. “But not everyone can make people listen without shouting. I suppose we all use what we have.”

There was a beat of silence. Marie’s smile tightened, but she gave a small nod before turning away, heels clicking with restrained fury.

Hange exhaled slowly. “That was brutal.”

“I was being polite,” Y/N said, picking up her glass again.

“You were being surgical.”

Y/N glanced at them. “You don’t like her.”

“She doesn’t like you.”

“I noticed.”

“And the age thing?” Hange asked.

“I expected that too.” She glanced up at them, her gaze sharp but curious. “Does it bother you?”

“Not in the way she hopes.”

Y/N smirked, bringing the wine glass to her already red-stained lips. “Good.”

They stood like that for a while, letting the sounds of the banquet drift around them.

“So,” Hange said at last, voice gentler now. “When this is over, would you let me take you somewhere quieter? Just the two of us. No flattery. No businessmen. No Marie.”

Y/N looked up at them, the smile on her lips slowly fading. “Ask me again when I’m not surrounded by men in thousand-dollar suits.”

Hange chuckled softly. “Got that.”

But the promise hung in the air. And neither of them planned to let it go.

♡ not my favorite because it was super rushed due to me being too busy with my finals and other personal things to come up with something better, had to get high just to write this. can't function without it at this point. but i promise it'll get better! pinky promise. :3

[zraiusxo]

any kind of draken x female reader please i'm so fucking hungry, there are barely any fics of him anymore. :(

♡ hai there anon! for sure, i love ken too! thought i'd make a fic for this first before writing any other hange ones, thought it'd be nice to switch it up for a little while. don't expect this to be super good though, i'm so sorry if there are any mistakes. made this on impulse. hope you like it though! :3

Ken "Draken" Ryuguji x Fem!reader

The engine of her bike roared beneath her as she rode through the streets of downtown Tokyo, the neon lights painting streaks of bright color across her exposed arms. The customized Kawasaki Ninja beneath her was like herself—sleek, powerful, and dangerous. Her father had called it a death trap. Her brother had helped her build it.

The cool night air rushed against her skin, raising goosebumps along her bare shoulders. Unlike most riders who opted for protective gear, she preferred the freedom of feeling the wind against her body—her black sleeveless undershirt clinging to her curves, ripped black denim short-shorts exposing the long lines of her legs. Gold hoop earrings caught the city lights as they swung with each turn, matching the delicate gold necklace around her neck—a gift from her brother, Kazutora, on her birthday.

She pulled to a stop at a red light, the vibrations of the idling engine traveling up through her body. That's when she felt it—the weight of someone's gaze, heavy and intense. Turning her helmeted head slightly, her sharp gaze caught sight of him across the intersection.

Even in the dim evening light, there was no mistaking Draken. His imposing figure sat atop a massive motorcycle, his blonde braided hair cascading down his back, the dragon tattoo on the side of his head partially visible even at this distance. Their eyes met through her open visor—a single charged second that sent electricity coursing through her veins. His gaze traveled down, taking in her exposed shoulders, the curve of her waist, the expanse of bare thigh resting against her motorcycle before returning to her face with unmistakable interest.

The light flashed green.

She looked away first, twisting the throttle and launching herself forward. The front wheel briefly lifted off the ground as she shot down the road, weaving between cars with practiced precision. In her rearview mirror, she caught a glimpse of movement—Draken's form following in her wake.

A small smile spread across her face beneath her helmet, red-stained lips curving into a dangerous smirk. She hadn't expected to encounter Ken Ryuguji tonight, especially not alone. As the vice-commander of Toman, he was naturally her older brother's enemy. Kazutora, her brother, and Shuji Hanma who were high-ranking individuals in Valhalla would kill her if they knew she was even in this part of town. They used to be good friends till Kazutora... did something fucking crazy that got him in juvie for 2 damn years. She met him once when Kazutora brought her along at their hangout years ago, but she didn't bother to talk to any of her older brother's friends. Only staring back at them with a narrowed gaze when they were looking.

"Let's see what you've got, Dragon Boy," she mumbled under her breath, increasing her speed as she turned sharply down a side street, riding towards the quieter industrial district where she could really open up the throttle.

The sound of his engine grew closer. He was faster than she expected for someone on such a large bike. She glanced back with a sharp gaze, seeing his determined expression as he gained on her. There was something exhilarating about being chased by him—the thrill of danger. But that was the thing about her, she liked danger. Her brother had told her stories about Draken's loyalty, his strength, his uncompromising sense of honor. Nothing about how handsome he was, though.

The buildings around them grew sparse as they reached the outskirts, where empty streets stretched before them like ribbons of possibility. This was her territory—not in terms of gang affiliation, but in spirit. These were the roads where she came to be alone, to feel the freedom that only came with speed and solitude.

But tonight, she wasn't alone. The thundering engine behind her assured that.

She smirked beneath her helmet, leaning low over her handlebars and twisting the throttle even further. Her bike responded instantly, surging forward with a howl of mechanical power. The wind tore at her hair where it escaped beneath her helmet, the world blurring around her as adrenaline flooded her system.

Draken matched her pace, pulling alongside her now rather than behind. Side by side, they rode down the empty stretch of road, neither willing to back down. Y/N turned her head to the side slightly to glance at him, finding his dark eyes already locked on her. Even through her visor, the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. There was hunger there, provocation, and something else—something that made her pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with speed.

After a kilometer of neck-and-neck racing, she spotted the abandoned lot ahead—a former parking area for a now-defunct factory. She veered suddenly, cutting across his path and into the lot, her tires skidding slightly on the loose gravel. She brought her bike to a controlled stop, kicking down the stand and removing her helmet in one fluid motion.

Her hair tumbled free, her locks catching the moonlight as she shook it out. She could feel his eyes on her as he pulled in behind her, the rumble of his engine cutting off abruptly. The silence that followed was thick with tension.

She turned her body to face him, one hand on her hip, chin tilted upward in defiance. Her lashes, long and dark, framed her sharp eyes that held his gaze without wavering. The gold of her earrings caught the moonlight, drawing attention to the elegant line of her neck, the delicate jut of her collarbones above her sleeveless top.

"You always chase after girls who don't want to get caught, Draken?" she called out, her voice carrying across the empty lot with an echo.

He dismounted slowly, his impressive height becoming even more apparent as he approached her with slow yet long strides. The moonlight cast harsh shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the serious set of his mouth. His dragon tattoo seemed almost alive in the shifting shadows, curling along the side of his head like a living creature.

"Only when they ride into Toman territory looking for trouble," he replied, his deep voice sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. "Long time no see., Kazutora's sister. I've heard about you."

She raised a curious brow, shifting her weight to one hip in a way that accentuated her figure as she looked up at his taller stature, a small smirk stretching into red-stained lips. "All bad things, I assume?"

"Mostly warnings to stay away," he admitted, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. His sharp eyes made another journey down her body, lingering on the exposed skin of her legs before returning to her face. "Heard you're as unpredictable as your brother, but twice as dangerous."

She tried to stifle a chuckle, until she couldn't, laughing heartily as she threw her head back slightly. "Sure. You say that after chasing me down the damn streets."

"I recognized your bike," Draken said, his eyes moving to the custom paint job on her Kawasaki. "The midnight blue with gold accents. Mikey noticed it parked outside a ramen shop in Shinjuku last week. Said we should keep an eye out for it."

He stepped closer, close enough now that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. The height difference between them was substantial—her frame transcended by his towering 6'3. It should have made her feel intimidated. Instead, it sent a thrill of something else entirely through her system.

"Ah, Mikey," a small scoff slipped past her lips, her expression hardening slightly. "My brother has a lot to say about him."

"Bet he does." Draken's eyes moved over her face with careful attention, lingering on her lips for a second too long before meeting her sharp gaze once more. "You don't look much like Kazutora."

"Thank the gods for small mercies," she replied dryly.

Something that might have been a smile tugged at his lips. "What you doing in our territory? Your brother know you're here?"

She tilted her head to the side slightly, meeting his gaze with the same intensity. "I go where I want, Draken. I'm not officially Valhalla. Just Kazutora's sister."

"There's no 'just' about being Kazutora's sister," he countered, crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. The movement stretched the fabric of his Tokkō-fuku across his shoulders, emphasizing the power contained in his frame. "Especially not now, with things as tense as they are."

She took a small step closer, closing the distance between them even further. From this proximity, she could smell him—a heady mix of leather, motor oil, and something distinctly masculine. "Is that concern I hear, Dragon Boy?"

His expression remained serious, but something flickered in his sharp eyes—a brief flash of heat quickly controlled. "I'm concerned about unnecessary fighting. If one of our more... enthusiastic members saw you instead of me, this conversation would be very different."

"I can handle myself," she said, her voice dropping lower. "I grew up with my jackass of a damn brother. Learned how to kick ass before I learned to ride."

"I don't doubt it," Draken replied, his gaze traveling to her bare shoulders, noting the subtle definition of muscle beneath her smooth skin. "But numbers have a way of overwhelming even the strongest fighters."

The tension between them shifted, becoming something more charged, more dangerous. They were standing too close now—close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Neither made a move to step back.

"Why did you follow me tonight, Draken?" she asked, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "The truth."

He considered her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Curiosity, at first," he finally said, his voice lower than before.

"Then..." He paused, a heat entering his gaze that made her breath catch. "Then it became something else."

"And now that you've got me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draken's large hand moved before she could react, coming up to brush a strand of hair from her face with surprising gentleness. The casual touch making her fingers twitch. "Have I?" he asked, his voice a rumble that she felt more than heard.

She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how dangerous this had become. This wasn't just about rival gangs anymore. This was about the unmistakable pull between them—a magnetism that defied loyalties and common sense.

"Kazutora would fucking kill you if he knew you were this close to me," she said, not moving away despite her threatening words.

"That damn psycho tried to kill me before," Draken replied with grim humor. "But I'm still alive now, aren't I?"

His fingers still lingered near her face, not quite touching but close enough that she could feel the heat of them against her skin. The restraint in the gesture somehow made it more intimate than if he'd grabbed her outright—a predator holding back, testing boundaries.

A small scoff slipped past her red-stained lips, her sharp gaze locked on his. "You trying to play with me?"

Draken's expression grew serious once more, narrowing his gaze at her. "I don't play games," he said simply. "Not with things that matter."

The implication that she might be something that mattered had her rolling her eyes. "We're naturally enemies if you think about it," she reminded him, though the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

"Are we?" he challenged. "Or are we just people caught on opposite sides of someone else's war?"

The question struck her with unexpected force. How many times had she wondered the same thing? How many times had she questioned her loyalty to a brother whose rage and vengeance consumed everything around him?

"It's not that simple," she said, her voice quieter now.

"It could be," Draken replied smoothly, his eyes never leaving hers as her gaze wavered slightly. "For tonight, at least."

She should walk away. She should get on her bike and ride as far from him as possible. She should remember her loyalty to her brother, to Valhalla.

Instead, she found herself swaying slightly towards him, drawn by the gravity of his presence.

Draken noticed. Of course he noticed. His plump lips ghosted over hers as he leaned down slightly as his warm palm came in contact with her cheek. "Tell me to stop," he said, his voice rough. "Tell me this is a mistake."

She could have. She should have. But as she looked into his eyes, seeing the conflict there that mirrored her own, all she could think was that some mistakes were worth making.

"I can't," she whispered against his lips, parting slightly with the admission.

It was all the permission he needed. Draken closed the remaining distance between them, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding. His large hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer.

She responded instantly, her hands gripping the front of his Tokkō-fuku. The kiss deepened Draken tilted his head to the side slightly, a clash of restraint that left her breathless. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her body against his.

She pulled away first for air, both breathing heavily against each other's lips. She stared up at him with a half-lidded gaze, red-stained lips parted and slightly swollen from Draken's kiss, his eyes dark with the realization of what they'd just done—and what it meant.

"Fuck," Draken cursed under his breath heavily, his eyes darker now, pupils dilated with desire.

The distant sound of motorcycles—several of them—broke the moment. Both of them tensed, heads turning toward the source of the noise. The engines were still far off, but getting closer.

"Toman?" she asked him, already knowing the answer.

Draken scoffed, reluctantly releasing his arm around her waist as he recognized the sound of the familiar engines. "Mikey and the others. Looking for me, probably."

The reality of their situation came crashing back. If they were discovered together like this, the consequences would be fucking fatal—not just for them, but for the fragile peace that currently existed between their gangs.

"Go." Draken said, his deep voice regaining its commanding edge. "Now. Take the back road out of here." She bit her swollen lower lip, mounting on her bike swiftly. "You?" "I'll be fine." He replied, stepping back as she reached for her helmet.

Before she could put it over her head, Draken was beside her again, his large hand gently grasping her wrist. "When can I see you again?" he asked, the question both surprising and thrilling her.

She hesitated. The rational part of her brain screamed that there should be no "again"—that this had already gone far beyond what was safe or sensible. But the part of her that had felt more alive in his arms than she had in years had a different answer.

"The old bridge at the edge of the industrial district," she said, looking up his taller stature. "Two nights from now. Midnight."

Draken nodded, his fingers gently squeezing her wrist before releasing it. "I'll be there."

"If you're followed—" she began.

"I won't be," he cut her off with absolute certainty.

She put on her helmet, the visor still up so she could meet his sharp eyes with a narrowed gaze. "This is insane, you know that, right?"

A rare smile crossed his features, transforming his usually stern face into something that made her heart flutter. "Some of the best things in life are."

The motorcycle engines were growing louder now. Time was running out.

"Go," Draken urged, stepping back as he leaned against his bike. "I'll find you in two days." Before she left, her gaze flickered towards his lipstick stained lips. "Red lipstick. Dead giveaway." His fingers twitched, wiping the gloss off his lips with a small smirk on his plump lips with his thumb, ears turning red as he scoffed.

Her sharp eyes stared into his underneath long eyelashes for one final moment before she lowered the visor of her helmet. The bike roared to life beneath her as she twisted the throttle, riding away at full speed.

She could still taste him, still feel the lingering press of his hand against her waist. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was thrilling.

But Draken wasn’t just some thrill, some game to be played in the dark. He was something more, something dangerous—not just because of who he was, but because of what he made her feel. She should have stopped whatever the fuck this was before it spiraled off into control.

But she wouldn’t.

Because when Draken looked at her like that—with danger, with trouble, with something she couldn’t quite name? She knew she had already made her choice. This wasn’t just a dangerous game anymore. This was a collision course. And she had no intention of hitting the brakes.

♡ hi you've reached the end! thank you so much for reading, i loved writing this and i love draken. he's my absolute fav! i'm so happy i finally got a tokyorev request, i've been waiting to get one. how did you know draken's my fav? that's so cool! i hope you enjoyed reading. see you on the next fic. :3

[zraiusxo]

♡ hi! i'm so sorry this took so long, i've just been super busy with this week's finals i completely forgot! but, thanks for waiting so patiently, I'll be tending to the other requests soon. ^^

♡ if you want a tag for the next part, just comment asking for a tag :p

A Game of Composure ,, Older Hange Zoë x Younger Fem!reader (3)

The invitation arrived in an elegant envelope, the kind embossed with gold lettering and weighty enough to suggest importance.

Y/N L/N had expected it. Erwin Smith was nothing if not persistent in his networking endeavors, and his belief in her potential as a future lawyer meant he was always seeking ways to broaden her circle of influence.

This time, it was a formal business banquet—an opportunity to forge connections with the city’s most powerful legal and corporate figures.

This was Y/N's opportunity to meet powerful people. This was her chance to brand herself as a law student with an undeniably bright future ahead of her in high society. She couldn't afford to waste this.

—

The banquet hall was a vision of opulence—high ceilings adorned with chandeliers, crisp white tablecloths, and the quiet hum of classical music beneath the murmur of sophisticated conversation.

Waiters weaved through the guests, silver trays balancing glasses of champagne and finely arranged hors d’oeuvres.

Y/N made her entrance purposefully, pairs of curious eyes flickering onto her figure upon getting a whiff of her intoxicating perfume, turning heads as she stepped forward.

She was dressed in an elegantly fitted black dress, sleek in its simplicity yet commanding in its effect. The fabric sculpted her figure with refined precision, the halter neckline lending an air of sophistication while the open-back design added an edge of quiet seduction.

Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she moved through the crowd, posture effortless, her gaze sharp.

And, as expected, she drew attention.

Men—businessmen, corporate lawyers, high-ranking executives—took notice almost immediately. Some subtle, others obvious. It was something she was used to. Power attracted power, after all, and she had long since learned how to navigate it.

She accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter, offering a polite nod to Erwin, who had already begun introducing her to influential figures. He smirked knowingly, pleased at the effect she had on the room.

What she didn’t expect, however, was the pair of menacing dark brown eyes watching her from across the banquet.

—

Hange Zoë had no business being irritated. They were aware of this.

It had been a month—thirty-two days, to be exact—since they last spoke. And in that time, they had found themselves thinking about Y/N more than they cared to admit. About her charming wit, her confidence, the way she wielded intelligence like a finely honed blade.

And now, here she was. Stunning, composed, effortlessly in command of every man’s attention in the room.

Hange swirled their drink absent-mindedly, watching from the shadows of polite conversation as yet another businessman leaned in toward Y/N, clearly enraptured.

They had never seen her in this particular setting before—among those who sought to impress rather than challenge her. It was… frustrating.

She was entertaining them, but not engaged.

Hange could see it in the way her lips curled at the corners, polite but impersonal.

In the way she nodded, listening but unimpressed.

It was the same mask she wore at intellectual gatherings, the same calculated presence she used to disarm people.

It was infuriating that these men thought they were captivating her.

And perhaps, most infuriating of all, was the possibility that one of them actually might.

—

“Doll face.”

Y/N turned at the familiar voice, her expression shifting only slightly before she took a sip of her wine. “Dr. Zoë,” she greeted smoothly. “I wasn’t aware you’d be attending.”

Hange tilted their head, expression unreadable. “Neither were you, it seems.”

She didn’t respond immediately, instead letting her gaze flicker over them. Hange had dressed formally—atypical, but undeniably striking.

Their suit was sharp, tailored, but still slightly disheveled in the way only they could pull off. A loosened tie, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the veins along their forearms. The glasses they wore only added to the effect.

Y/N raised a brow. “You clean up well.”

“Funny,” Hange said, voice low, “I was about to say the same about you.”

She hummed. “What stopped you?”

Hange took a sip of their drink, gaze lingering. “Too many people have already told you tonight. Didn’t want to add to the noise.”

Y/N hummed. “And yet, here you are. Contributing.”

Hange exhaled a quiet laugh. “Touché.”

—

The businessmen who had been speaking to Y/N lingered nearby, clearly hesitant to leave. Hange noted them with mild disdain before turning back to her.

“I didn’t realize businessmen were your type.”

Y/N’s red-stained lips twitched, the corners of her lips lifting. “I wasn’t aware I had a type.”

Hange leaned in slightly, just enough to invade her space. “You certainly have their attention.”

“Do I?” she murmured, looking up at them despite wearing heels. “And here I thought you weren’t one to notice these things.”

Hange’s gaze darkened, unnoticeable behind their thick rimmed glasses, but it was impossible to miss the way their voice dropped an octave. “I notice a lot of things.”

The air between them thickened, charged. Y/N tilted her head, watching them closely with piercing eyes. “You sound… irritated.”

Hange exhaled sharply, stepping even closer. Their voice was lower now, rougher. “It’s fascinating.”

“What is?”

“The way you command attention. The way you pretend you don’t enjoy it.”

Y/N held their gaze. “And what makes you think I’m pretending?”

Hange’s fingers brushed her wrist lightly—a fleeting touch, deliberate. “Because you’re not interested in them.”

She let the silence stretch, parting her lips a second too long before finally speaking. “And who,” she murmured, “do you think I am interested in?”

Hange smirked, slow and knowing. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Before she could respond, the businessman from earlier returned, clearing his throat. “Miss L/N, I was wondering if you’d like to—”

“I’m afraid she’s occupied,” Hange interrupted smoothly, not even glancing at him.

Y/N arched a brow but said nothing as the man hesitated, watching the blonde-haired man begrudgingly excused himself.

Hange turned back to her, satisfaction evident in their brown eyes. “Much better.”

Y/N exhaled a quiet laugh. “Was that necessary?”

“Absolutely.”

She studied them with narrowed eyes, watching their gaze drift down her form before quickly flickering back up to her eyes. “Are you jealous, Dr. Zoë?”

Hange didn’t blink. “Very.”

Y/N chuckled—slow and knowing.

“Well then,” she murmured, finishing her wine without breaking eye contact, “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

Hange chuckled, shaking their head in an attempt to hide the red that crept up their cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” she echoed their words from earlier.

Hange sighed, a rueful grin pulling at their lips. “God help me.”

And then, for the first time that evening, Y/N allowed herself a genuine smile.

Because, despite everything, she had missed them too.

♡ you've reached the end! thanks so much for reading, i appreciate the comments you left on my precious post! this was super rushed but i hope you enjoy reading this, thank you. :3

♡ oh forgot to say but i'll try to continue this as soon as i have time to spare. :'>