i can’t help but reread “best kept secret and your biggest mistake”. + the band hange drabble. theyre amazing, I would love to see more on those. no pressure, take care of yourself. thank you❤️
ohhh those are my favorite ones too :) i love love love taking inspiration from music, specially emo/metal/rock and whatever. it makes me very happy. band hange might gain its own fic soon heheh <3
i hope you are taking care of yourself too, dear. thank you for reading my stuff and taking a moment to talk to me about it :)
I write and I was wondering if you think its normal to be at the same time proud, but also cringe at rereading what you wrote?
i completely forgot to look at my inbox for the past like 4 months or so??? sorry for the delay lolzies
but yeah it’s completely normal (for me at least). specially when it comes to dialogue. i always get myself thinking “is this how people talk?”
i feel like an alien writing a play about humans lmao. feeling cringe about your own art, although it is very common, is also something that doesn’t reflect your worth as a person/artist.
you should be proud, always. creation is the most beautiful thing a human can do. (i say this as a human and not an alien i promise)
best kept secret and your biggest mistake | hange zoe x reader
summary: your relationship with eren is a facade, and hange is your secret lover. they wish it was more than that, but they’ll take what you’ll give them. (inspired by nobody puts baby in the corner - fall out boy)
cw: smut, 18+ ONLY. angst, cheating, drinking, sex under influence of alcohol, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, praise. afab!reader, they/them pronouns for hange zoe. the characters are flawed and reader has a personality.
Parties have never been Hange’s scene.
Not in a superiority complex way – at least that’s what they like to think – it’s just that people aren’t really Hange’s thing. Although the consumption of alcohol has become an increasing habit in their life, the noise and social interaction are the worst parts of attending parties, they figure.
“Tch, can’t believe we’re being dragged to this shit.” Levi comments, rolling his eyes at his own boyfriend. The short man always seems to be stressed or annoyed, but this time it feels genuine. When it comes to his partner, though, it never lasts long – not really. “This is your fault, Erwin.”
Erwin Smith, ever the social butterfly and recognizable persona, is able to fluctuate through almost every social group in Mitras. Which is precisely the reason why they are entering Zeke Yeager’s birthday party, crossing the threshold of a luxurious two story house — Hange wonders if the guy isn’t a bit too old to throw parties like this anyway, but hey: it’s free alcohol.
“Sorry eyebrows, gonna have to agree with your boyfriend.”
Erwin snorts at Hange’s words and Levi simply huffs in agreement. A typical conversation so far. The living room is crowded, the atmosphere pumps a generic pop song, and Hange already wants to leave. There are so many people Hange recognizes, realizing that they will have to greet most of them in order to be polite. They look around, scanning the room for something they know will hurt them.
You.
“Don’t be so pessimistic, Levi.” The blond says, placing a hand on the brunette’s shoulder. The gesture is suggestive, something only lovers could share. “You’ll have fun, I’ll make sure of it.”
Hange scoffs at the scene before them, with a roll of their eyes and a bitter taste on their tongue.
“Ew, get a room, you guys are fucking disgusting.” They say, face contorting with faux discomfort. “I’m getting a drink.”
-
There’s a golden locket hanging from your neck, a collar as heavy as prison. The photo inside, blurry and bright, is of your boyfriend — which was an anniversary gift from last year, or something. The both of you are always breaking up anyway, so Hange doesn’t fully understand what the point of celebrating an anniversary really is. The jewelry doesn’t fool anyone when it comes to deceiving the mess that is your relationship. It isn’t like a necklace would make them forget how he treats you.
As if it would make you look away from his affair with Mikasa Ackerman.
Hange can’t help but eye it, as it gleams viciously, almost as if inviting them to destroy it. Instead, they take another swing from the sweaty beer bottle in their hand.
Everything about you is more complicated than it should be. Someone like you shouldn’t be dating Eren Yeager of all people — he’s petty, childish, the embodiment of everything you’re not. You are no saint either, however being with someone like Yeager is something that Hange takes as a personal offense.
This is bullshit. All of it.
“Gonna grab another beer. Want one?” Levi says, the baritone voice is somehow louder than the music that plays from somewhere in the living room.
“Sure.”
It has been an hour or so since they have arrived, and Hange is a few beers deep in
Your boyfriend has a hand on your thigh, marking his territory just in case anyone dares to look at you with lust in their eyes. Hange fights the urge to punch him. This is bullshit. All of it.
You mutter something to Eren, lips close to his jaw, pressing a kiss to it after you are finished speaking. Hange assumes it is something about wanting another drink. They wonder if your boy toy knows what you like, at all. For starters, you prefer silver — why would he gift you a locket that is fucking gold?
-
Hange decides to go upstairs in order to escape from the hell that is this party, unable to watch that circus any longer. The house is crowded, causing the atmosphere to feel even worse. It’s almost claustrophobic.
And, for some unknown reason, your friends are into that.
The bathroom — third door on the right — is thankfully empty. It is clean, too: no signs of drunken regret in the form of vomit.
The luxurious bathroom is covered in marble with gold adjacents, from floor to ceiling. There is an enormous bathtub on the end of it. Hange if the Yeagers ran out of money when renovating the house: the bathroom is all marble but there isn’t fucking decent lighting.
Hange locks the door, back pressed against it. They let out a sigh, something from deep in their lungs and even deeper in their heart. They adjust the thick oval glasses on the bridge of their nose, feeling emotionally exhausted after watching you play pretend with Eren.
“Fuck.” They mutter shortly before splashing their face with cold water, feeling droplets fall down their neck. It refreshes them, sure, but the sinking feeling in their stomach is still there.
Objectively speaking, Hange knows it doesn’t have anything to do with them, or they are – the whole situation is entirely your fault. You are the one who is – allegedly – in a happy, committed relationship. Hange was merely caught in the crossfire of your desires. The jealousy that bubbles in their stomach every time they have to witness you kiss him is your fault.
But they can’t bring themself to hate you for it.
-
After all, is it greedy to want both of them?
You dream of dark, charcoal eyes only to wake up to an ocean gaze staring at you. It is confusing, complicated. You wish you were not pulling and pushing, stuck in between two different worlds.
The party was becoming too much for you – too much noise, too many people. You go upstairs, to the second floor of the house, needing to get away from everything and everyone. Wondering if there is an option — begging for a sign from God — to escape all of this, your hand grabs the doorknob of the bathroom, only for it to twist magically.
And, on the other side of it, is Hange Zoe. Dimly illuminated, the first few buttons of their shirt undone, tanned skin glowing — almost reflecting, luring you in.
“Oh.” Is all you can come up with.
Standing face to face with the truth isn’t funny — or easy — in the slightest. The sight of Hange before you feels like the universe is taunting you with the possibility of a life you could have.
“Hi.” They greet you, voice as buttery as you remember.
You are overwhelmed with flashbacks of car seats, foggy windows, whispered sweet nothings. The ghost of Hange’s mouth still sends chills down your spine.
And, here you are — red solo cup in hand, filled halfway with a nasty drink your own boyfriend made for you, apparently unable to know the basics of your likes and dislikes. The golden locket around your neck is so heavy, so heavy you almost drop to the ground and as your skin turns blue.
“Hey.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Hange is a few inches from you, and you can breathe in their scent, as it intoxicates your lungs. They smell of cologne, and a subtle undertone of cigarettes. You want to ask, since last time you talked they had quit the poisonous habit – it’s as awkward as it is already, though.
You haven’t seen them in a month, since the last time you got back together with Eren. Hange took the message when you started ignoring their texts, and posted a picture with him again on your social media. Still, they don’t understand why.
“How long are you planning on avoiding me?” They ask, shoulder leaning against the door frame. Because fuck this — fuck all of this. Fuck Eren Yeager and his superiority complex, and how he has the only thing Hange has ever truly wanted.
You.
Considering your options, you realize you have the chance to play dumb and pretend you don’t know what they are talking about. Except, this is Hange, who knows you better than anyone else in this world — who knows your soul and brain and heart like the palm of their hand.
“Hange,” the sound of their name tastes unbelievably sour on your tongue. “You know. You know it’s complicated.”
They know this – at least that’s what they tell themself. Hange does their best to understand you, to feel empathy about your situation. Your relationship is obviously unhealthy, maintaining you in a chokehold. Eren always has a short leash around your neck – in the form of a gold necklace, mainly. He is always around, always with an arm snaked around your waist or a hand on your shoulder. Well, except when he sneaks around to cheat on you with Mikasa.
“Is it?” Their words make your heart beat heavily against its organic cage, begging to be freed from its confines. “You say that every time, yet you won’t leave him. I thought you had a bit more self-respect than that, to be honest. You don’t seem like the person I met anymore. Not at all.”
They take a step towards you, bringing themself unbelievably close.
“What happened to you, huh? Little Eren made you his pet?”
Their words drip with venom, poisonous and ready to kill. They want to hurt you as badly as you hurt them, but truly, they would not be able to do so. Hange is all bark, and no bite. You, on the other hand…
“Fuck you. Fuck you from even saying that.” There are stubborn tears threatening to spill from your eyes, a mixture of anger and plead.
Hange knows they might have gone too far, their words intended to stab you in the heart and apparently they did. Alcohol doesn’t suit their anger issues, after all.
“Tell me to step away. Tell me to fuck off and I will. I’ll go downstairs and pretend I haven’t even seen you.”
You know they would do it, in case you requested — or better, ordered. These days, you wonder if there is anything Hange wouldn’t do for you. There’s a brief moment of silence, voices echoing from the party downstairs, music pumping through the walls.
They move closer, so close, until their forehead is pressed against yours.
“Hange.” You mumble their name like a confirmation, like a warning. What it implicates sits heavy in your stomach.
It is messy, you don’t know who moves first, however your lips end up moving against theirs, with a synchrony that should be long forgotten.
The disgusting liquid that you were once holding ends up splattered on the floor. Your drink of gin, that tasted like kerosene, stands out on the marble floor. Someone would have to take care of it, but not right now. Not now, that your tongues are intertwined. Hange tastes like beer, and you probably taste like something similar.
And just like that, Eren Yeager’s empire falls, right into Hange’s hands.
They grab your waist, moving you towards the dimly lit bathroom, in order to give a bit of privacy. Smoothly, Hange closes the door and presses your back against it, the rage of Hange burning from deep in their heart — you can feel it on your bones, in your marrow. You know this isn’t a hate fuck, but it isn’t making love either.
No, this is way more intense, as they press open mouthed kisses on the warm skin of your throat. They notice you still wear the same perfume they once complimented, and they can’t help but think it’s because of them. Hange can’t help but wonder about the impact they have in your life, or if they have any at all.
They whisper something that sounds like your name, and it sounds so different from how your boyfriend says you. In this very moment, with Hange gripping your hips tightly, canine teeth grazing the side of your neck, you feel no empathy for Eren. You feel no regret at all, and if that makes you an asshole, then so be it. Being a goody two shoes, a people pleaser, has never gotten you anywhere.
“Fuck, I’ve missed this.” Hange confesses, as they pull your skirt up, guiding you to lay in the empty bathtub, on the other corner of the bathroom.
“I know. I missed you too.” You reply in the form of something in between a whisper and a moan. It's not what they said at all, but you know they mean it anyways.
Your tits are exposed, bra tossed somewhere on the ground. Your skirt is a puddle around your waist, panties moved to the side — the sight of your glossy cunt exposed to Hange, as they offer you a smile that isn’t nothing short of wolfish.
“Aw princess, your cunt is so wet already. So messy.” The condescending tone drips from their voice like honey, much like the wetness that drips from you.
Biting their tongue, they fight the urge to ask, is it all for me?
They take a moment to appreciate your body, fingers dancing along your soft skin, occasionally running through scars, unevenness, and a birthmark. Details they want to remember for the rest of their life, but would much rather be reminded of those every chance they get to see you strip for them.
“Please.” You whimper, as your hips buckle.
They shush you, fingers lightly grazing your pussy, teasing you through your wetness.
“I know, baby. I’ll give it to you, I promise. Just be good for me, yeah?” They say, pressing kisses under your year, on your neck, towards your collarbone. “Think you can do it?”
You whimper in agreement. They’ll take it
“Gotta be quiet, or someone might notice.”
Digits find themselves playing with your cunt, spreading your inner lips apart as Hange presses a single finger against your entrance, touching you just enough to drive you crazy. It sends a white hot feeling through your body.
Given Hange’s history, that means something. Even if it didn’t, the praise would still make your body sing underneath them. It’s hard to properly explain the effect they have on you.
Their experienced fingers finally find their way inside you, as a thumb rubs against your clit. It’s magical, it’s heaven. If you could choose to die like this, you would.
This right here should make Hange feel bad, overtaken by a sense of regret at least, but they can’t. Not when you look this good, moaning and whimpering and begging. You have a boyfriend, and they couldn’t care less.
Their fingers start pumping in and out of you, slowly at first, but growing in speed. Hange knows just how you like it, they right amount of pressure to press on your clit, and curling their fingers inside of your cunt.
“Fuck, ohmygod.” You pant, dignity long forgotten. It’s shameless, you are horny like a fucking teenager, but it feels so good. “It’s so good.”
Hange swallows another moan from you, mouth pressed to yours messily, a mixture of tongue and teeth and spit.
“Gonna let me taste you, baby?” They ask, not showing you any mercy, already lowering their body in between your legs. “You have no idea how much I missed this pretty pussy.”
“Please, please.” You whisper in response. “Need it, Hans. C’mon.”
They smile wickedly at you.
“Know you do.”
And then, finally — finally, they press open mouthed kisses on your inner thighs, careful to not leave any marks. If there isn’t any proof of your crimes against Eren, then he can’t hold it against you. This is how it works.
You want all they can give you, unable to quit them.
Tiny explosions spread through your entire body, as you grind your hips against Hange’s greedy mouth. Now, this is greed — the overwhelming lust, the need to make you theirs.
The bubble of warmth on your lower abdomen only grows, threatening to pop at any given second.
The way Hange takes care of you with subtle touches, making it clear that they pay attention to your every reaction brings a bittersweet taste to your tongue. The contrast between them and your boyfriend is even clearer, starkly obvious. This is too intense: a mixture of passion for your lover and regret for your relationship. Somehow, it feels similar to falling in love.
Your hands find home in Hange’s dark hair, like they have many times before. For some unknown reason, this time is bittersweet – perhaps, the emotions, the touches that are so fresh on your body, send you into sensory overload. Tears escape from your eyes, like a broken dam.
Your mind is a mess, and so is your body – wetness clings to your inner thighs, a thin layer of sweat covering your entire body.
Their name falls from your lips like a mantra, as if your body is solely devoted to Hange – no one, not even Eren, is capable of earning such a reaction from you
You are so close – your hands pull on Hange’s hair lightly, just enough for them to moan into your cunt. Their teeth lightly graze your clit, sucking it like their life depends on it. The Earth stutters on its axis as you come, the bubble of warmth on your lower abdomen finally exploding, creating a mess out of you. Your legs tremble in pleasure, as Hange carries you through your height.
It is quiet for a while, only your heavy breathing and the bass of music bumping from downstairs creating noise around you. Hange helps you get dressed, adjusting their hair and glasses shortly after. It isn’t silent, however wordless – an old choreography you have smoothly executed many times before.
But, really, what is Hange supposed to say? See you next time? Can’t wait to do this again? Is this-
“I’ll leave him.” You mutter, while fixing your makeup in front of the mirror, attempting to clean it in the dim light. You look at them through the mirror, fixing your smudged eyeliner as you do so. It is still unclear if your boyfriend knows about your escapades with Hange, but you make sure to return to him as impeccably as you arrived to them. Maybe it’s better this way.
They scoff once again. You sound like a broken record at this point, and they are tired of believing you.
“I will-”
“Yeah, you said that last time.”
You sigh, turning around to look where they stand behind you, with a shoulder pressed against the door. Supporting your body against the sink, your gaze falls to the ground.
“I mean it. I’ll leave him. I don’t know when, or how, but I will.”
Hange sighs.
“Alright.” They turn to you, one last time before opening the door. “But you gotta do this for you, not for me.”
With that, Hange leaves you – you wonder if this is what they felt after the countless times you were the one to leave them.
no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin | mikasa ackerman x reader
a/n: *comes back after 4 months as if nothing happened* well, hello. this is yet another gay fanfic with a hozier lyric as its title. enjoy.
summary, cw: 1.7k. morning sex, fingering, grinding, so many metaphors. can be read as canonverse.
The love you hold for her in your heart is heavy, and unspeakably sick. It weighs on your guts, sinking like an anchor. It has been described as poison, a venom strong enough to kill someone. It has also been described as nothing more than teenage angst, mixed with confusion.
But you know. You know what it is, without having to speak of it.
The sunshine shyly enters the room, peeking through the curtains as if to not disturb such a moment.
Mikasa looks peaceful. Even in her sleep, her skin is warm and inviting — your fingertips dance along her arms, leaving goosebumps behind. The light gently illuminates her features, and you curse yourself for comparing her to a sacred image yet again.
“Morning” your goddess speaks, voice hoarse from the lack of use in the past hours. Her moonlight eyes flutter open, meeting yours in a loving gaze.
“Morning, my love” you mutter. “How did you sleep?”
Her hands peek from under the blankets, finding your naked shoulders and bringing you closer to her bare body.
“Well… had a dream about you. About us, actually.” Ackerman places a leg over your waist, her warmth against your skin making you flustered.
“Yeah?” You question, arms snaking around her slim figure. Mikasa’s breasts press against yours, and she sighs at the contact.
“Yeah, we lived on a farm. Somewhere in the countryside, with a few cats. And a kid. It was so peaceful.”
Her words float between the two of you, dancing in your mind as your brain paints a picture — freshly baked bread, a kid that looks like you or maybe her, a couple of cats running through the living room… home.
“Can’t wait to make that come true.” You mumble, pressing your lips against her skin, leaving light feathered kisses.
“Can’t wait for that, either.” your partner places a hand on the back of your neck, gently laying your head on the fluffy pillow below you. The way she looks at you tells you everything you need to know.
This is a dance you have performed many times before, a routine you have established in the quiet, early mornings. It’s silent, nothing but the sound of your breathing and the birds chirping outside.
Mikasa gets on top of you, throwing the blanket that once covered your bodies on the edge of the bed — there are a few love bites adorning her pale skin, from the devotion you showed her the night before.
Instinctively, you open your legs, offering your flesh to her. It’s a ritual you know a little too well now, after countless loving nights with Mikasa. She offers you a smile in return, a pink tint blossoming on her face and neck.
Her knees sink onto the bed, on each side of your left thigh. You grab a couple of pillows, placing them under your lower back.
“I love how you look beneath me.” She says, all breathy and worked up. “All mine”
“All yours, Mikasa.” You whisper, looking up at your goddess through heavy eyelids.
Despite her guidance, you know where this is going: it isn’t your go-to position, or often dynamic. No, this is saved for mornings like these: lazy, slow, sacred.
She touches you, then — a couple of digits tracing your inner thighs, feeling your bare flesh beneath her touch. Mikasa fights the need to lick her teeth at the sight of such a feast, mouth watering at the thought of you. You sigh at her touch, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to drown in your lover’s presence.
Her touch is inviting, soft and delicate. It makes pride bloom on your chest, knowing you’re the only one who gets to witness this side of Mikasa Ackerman. The cold glare and the demanded respect that comes with it is saved for others – for outsiders.
She leaves open mouthed kisses on your neck, savoring the soft skin. Her fingers move slowly, rubbing circles on your clit. Sunshine stutters on her pale skin as the wind enters your room briefly, curtains dancing in the air.
Your hands find the natural curve of her back, palms tracing her skin before finding a solid grip on her waist. The feeling of her soft flesh is enough to make your heart pound strongly .
“I love you like this.” She mutters, and you hum in response. “So pretty.”
Heat pools on your cheeks at the praise, giving her something between a smile and an open mouthed kiss, tongues dancing against each other.
As you explore more of her body, moaning at her touch as you do so, your fingers eventually end up between her legs. Her pussy is warm, wet and undeniably delicious.
She moans against your mouth as you gather her juices on your fingertips, bringing it up to your mouth and tasting them. Mikasa kisses you messily, as you return your hand to its home on her inner thighs.
It’s a mutual play — playing with each other’s cunts, making a mess of the safety heaven of your bed, whining at the touch of your loved one. It’s intoxicating, enticing as a whole. If this isn’t what paradise looks like, then you would rather go to hell.
“I love you.” It escapes your lips, a sound strained by a moan. “So fucking much, Mikasa.”
She sighs, eyes fluttering open as she looks into yours, sweaty forehead glued to your own.
“I love you, I love you.” She says it like a mantra, as if it’s all she’s ever known — and all she ever will.
There isn’t a single thing that indicates where your body ends and hers begin. You are tangled, becoming one, melting each other and turning into something sick and twisted, yet lovely.
Her fingers move with delicacy, yet in a swift way that creates a hot white feeling on your lower abdomen. Yours move in a different rhythm against her pussy, yet chasing the same thing.
In between sweet nothings and moans, the room becomes an echo chamber of your love. Truly, you take pity on the rest of the world, the ones who can’t witness Mikasa Ackerman like this. Pale skin flushed, marked by your lust and teeth, eyes blown out by pleasure and looking into yours, entranced. What fools, you think to yourself. It must be a terrible life without loving like this — all consuming, incredibly sick.
“You're mine.” She whispers against the shell of your ear, words sounding like a promise with an undertone of threat. “Only mine. No one else’s.”
At this moment, you forget how to breathe, or think. It’s as if your body is entranced by her spell, becoming a mere puppet as she tugs on the strings — or leash — of your heart.
With her, you discovered that both wolves and girls have sharp teeth. This disease isn’t one sided: whether it spread from her to you or the other way around, Mikasa feels this yearn clawing at her soul, leaving its marks behind.
“All yours.” You breathe into her mouth, before covering hers once again. “And you are mine too.”
You have come to learn that, in between women, there’s no fear. There is no metaphorical barrier that separates you, no holding back and no censoring yourselves. The blood and destruction left behind is just proof of how much.
Ackerman moves her body against yours as if it’s the only thing she has ever known, as if it’s nature, an instinct. It’s stronger than her, and definitely stronger than you. Whatever pulls you together — God, nature, sickness — can never be fought against.
The white hot feeling traveling through your veins only grows, the bubble of pleasure on your lower stomach threatening to explode at any second now.
With her free hand, your lover massages her own breasts, sighing at the feeling. It doesn’t take long, however, for her hand to be replaced by yours. Somehow, it makes you even needier. Her tits have always been your weak spot, anyway — and, by the way Mikasa smiles down at you, she’s completely aware of her actions.
Your movements become quicker, although sloppier. You grind your hips, she moves against you. Everything aches with need and desperation.
Her love takes your body by storm, every single nerve ending spasming, as the Earth stutters on its axis.
She comes undone on top of you, legs shaking and pussy squirting her juices all over you. It’s messy, just the way you like it.
“Yeah, baby. Cum for me, I got you.” you whisper while she finishes. “So good.”
Mikasa blushes at your words, the last aftershocks of her orgasm making her shudder.
“And what about you, sweetheart?” She asks, switching the atmosphere you tried to steal from her — there’s no taming a force like Mikasa Ackerman, after all. “You’re not gonna cum for me?”
Your breath hitches on the back of your throat. To the naked eye, it doesn’t seem like a threat — oh, but it is. She is going to destroy you.
Mikasa removes her digits from your cunt, your sticky mess lingering in her fingers. Slowly, awfully slowly, she brings them to her mouth, tasting you.
“God, I could eat your pussy all day long.” She confesses, and you feel yourself slipping even more, feeling smaller and more helpless under her. “But I know this isn’t what you truly want.”
Your lover giggles, shining her teeth at you.
She switches her position, placing her thigh right against your pussy, your puffy and needy clit pressing against her. The feeling of the warmth of her skin against yours is enough to send you straight into madness.
“Yeah, that’s it” She whispers as you grind your hips against hers, movements sloppy and a bit pathetic if you do say so. That’s how Mikasa likes it, and you are unable to give her anything else than her wants and needs.
Eventually, you come undone – hard, your body convulsing in ecstasy, eyes almost rolling into your skull and heart beating fast against its organic cage. Her lips, the ones you call home, leave light kisses on your face and neck, as your body still moves uncontrollably with the aftershocks of your climax.
The both of you don’t dare to move after you settle on the bed – limbs tangled with each other’s, hand in hand, slowly breathing. The calmness comes over you, slowly. You drift to sleep again.
no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin | mikasa ackerman x reader
a/n: *comes back after 4 months as if nothing happened* well, hello. this is yet another gay fanfic with a hozier lyric as its title. enjoy.
summary, cw: 1.7k. morning sex, fingering, grinding, so many metaphors. can be read as canonverse.
The love you hold for her in your heart is heavy, and unspeakably sick. It weighs on your guts, sinking like an anchor. It has been described as poison, a venom strong enough to kill someone. It has also been described as nothing more than teenage angst, mixed with confusion.
But you know. You know what it is, without having to speak of it.
The sunshine shyly enters the room, peeking through the curtains as if to not disturb such a moment.
Mikasa looks peaceful. Even in her sleep, her skin is warm and inviting — your fingertips dance along her arms, leaving goosebumps behind. The light gently illuminates her features, and you curse yourself for comparing her to a sacred image yet again.
“Morning” your goddess speaks, voice hoarse from the lack of use in the past hours. Her moonlight eyes flutter open, meeting yours in a loving gaze.
“Morning, my love” you mutter. “How did you sleep?”
Her hands peek from under the blankets, finding your naked shoulders and bringing you closer to her bare body.
“Well… had a dream about you. About us, actually.” Ackerman places a leg over your waist, her warmth against your skin making you flustered.
“Yeah?” You question, arms snaking around her slim figure. Mikasa’s breasts press against yours, and she sighs at the contact.
“Yeah, we lived on a farm. Somewhere in the countryside, with a few cats. And a kid. It was so peaceful.”
Her words float between the two of you, dancing in your mind as your brain paints a picture — freshly baked bread, a kid that looks like you or maybe her, a couple of cats running through the living room… home.
“Can’t wait to make that come true.” You mumble, pressing your lips against her skin, leaving light feathered kisses.
“Can’t wait for that, either.” your partner places a hand on the back of your neck, gently laying your head on the fluffy pillow below you. The way she looks at you tells you everything you need to know.
This is a dance you have performed many times before, a routine you have established in the quiet, early mornings. It’s silent, nothing but the sound of your breathing and the birds chirping outside.
Mikasa gets on top of you, throwing the blanket that once covered your bodies on the edge of the bed — there are a few love bites adorning her pale skin, from the devotion you showed her the night before.
Instinctively, you open your legs, offering your flesh to her. It’s a ritual you know a little too well now, after countless loving nights with Mikasa. She offers you a smile in return, a pink tint blossoming on her face and neck.
Her knees sink onto the bed, on each side of your left thigh. You grab a couple of pillows, placing them under your lower back.
“I love how you look beneath me.” She says, all breathy and worked up. “All mine”
“All yours, Mikasa.” You whisper, looking up at your goddess through heavy eyelids.
Despite her guidance, you know where this is going: it isn’t your go-to position, or often dynamic. No, this is saved for mornings like these: lazy, slow, sacred.
She touches you, then — a couple of digits tracing your inner thighs, feeling your bare flesh beneath her touch. Mikasa fights the need to lick her teeth at the sight of such a feast, mouth watering at the thought of you. You sigh at her touch, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to drown in your lover’s presence.
Her touch is inviting, soft and delicate. It makes pride bloom on your chest, knowing you’re the only one who gets to witness this side of Mikasa Ackerman. The cold glare and the demanded respect that comes with it is saved for others – for outsiders.
She leaves open mouthed kisses on your neck, savoring the soft skin. Her fingers move slowly, rubbing circles on your clit. Sunshine stutters on her pale skin as the wind enters your room briefly, curtains dancing in the air.
Your hands find the natural curve of her back, palms tracing her skin before finding a solid grip on her waist. The feeling of her soft flesh is enough to make your heart pound strongly .
“I love you like this.” She mutters, and you hum in response. “So pretty.”
Heat pools on your cheeks at the praise, giving her something between a smile and an open mouthed kiss, tongues dancing against each other.
As you explore more of her body, moaning at her touch as you do so, your fingers eventually end up between her legs. Her pussy is warm, wet and undeniably delicious.
She moans against your mouth as you gather her juices on your fingertips, bringing it up to your mouth and tasting them. Mikasa kisses you messily, as you return your hand to its home on her inner thighs.
It’s a mutual play — playing with each other’s cunts, making a mess of the safety heaven of your bed, whining at the touch of your loved one. It’s intoxicating, enticing as a whole. If this isn’t what paradise looks like, then you would rather go to hell.
“I love you.” It escapes your lips, a sound strained by a moan. “So fucking much, Mikasa.”
She sighs, eyes fluttering open as she looks into yours, sweaty forehead glued to your own.
“I love you, I love you.” She says it like a mantra, as if it’s all she’s ever known — and all she ever will.
There isn’t a single thing that indicates where your body ends and hers begin. You are tangled, becoming one, melting each other and turning into something sick and twisted, yet lovely.
Her fingers move with delicacy, yet in a swift way that creates a hot white feeling on your lower abdomen. Yours move in a different rhythm against her pussy, yet chasing the same thing.
In between sweet nothings and moans, the room becomes an echo chamber of your love. Truly, you take pity on the rest of the world, the ones who can’t witness Mikasa Ackerman like this. Pale skin flushed, marked by your lust and teeth, eyes blown out by pleasure and looking into yours, entranced. What fools, you think to yourself. It must be a terrible life without loving like this — all consuming, incredibly sick.
“You're mine.” She whispers against the shell of your ear, words sounding like a promise with an undertone of threat. “Only mine. No one else’s.”
At this moment, you forget how to breathe, or think. It’s as if your body is entranced by her spell, becoming a mere puppet as she tugs on the strings — or leash — of your heart.
With her, you discovered that both wolves and girls have sharp teeth. This disease isn’t one sided: whether it spread from her to you or the other way around, Mikasa feels this yearn clawing at her soul, leaving its marks behind.
“All yours.” You breathe into her mouth, before covering hers once again. “And you are mine too.”
You have come to learn that, in between women, there’s no fear. There is no metaphorical barrier that separates you, no holding back and no censoring yourselves. The blood and destruction left behind is just proof of how much.
Ackerman moves her body against yours as if it’s the only thing she has ever known, as if it’s nature, an instinct. It’s stronger than her, and definitely stronger than you. Whatever pulls you together — God, nature, sickness — can never be fought against.
The white hot feeling traveling through your veins only grows, the bubble of pleasure on your lower stomach threatening to explode at any second now.
With her free hand, your lover massages her own breasts, sighing at the feeling. It doesn’t take long, however, for her hand to be replaced by yours. Somehow, it makes you even needier. Her tits have always been your weak spot, anyway — and, by the way Mikasa smiles down at you, she’s completely aware of her actions.
Your movements become quicker, although sloppier. You grind your hips, she moves against you. Everything aches with need and desperation.
Her love takes your body by storm, every single nerve ending spasming, as the Earth stutters on its axis.
She comes undone on top of you, legs shaking and pussy squirting her juices all over you. It’s messy, just the way you like it.
“Yeah, baby. Cum for me, I got you.” you whisper while she finishes. “So good.”
Mikasa blushes at your words, the last aftershocks of her orgasm making her shudder.
“And what about you, sweetheart?” She asks, switching the atmosphere you tried to steal from her — there’s no taming a force like Mikasa Ackerman, after all. “You’re not gonna cum for me?”
Your breath hitches on the back of your throat. To the naked eye, it doesn’t seem like a threat — oh, but it is. She is going to destroy you.
Mikasa removes her digits from your cunt, your sticky mess lingering in her fingers. Slowly, awfully slowly, she brings them to her mouth, tasting you.
“God, I could eat your pussy all day long.” She confesses, and you feel yourself slipping even more, feeling smaller and more helpless under her. “But I know this isn’t what you truly want.”
Your lover giggles, shining her teeth at you.
She switches her position, placing her thigh right against your pussy, your puffy and needy clit pressing against her. The feeling of the warmth of her skin against yours is enough to send you straight into madness.
“Yeah, that’s it” She whispers as you grind your hips against hers, movements sloppy and a bit pathetic if you do say so. That’s how Mikasa likes it, and you are unable to give her anything else than her wants and needs.
Eventually, you come undone – hard, your body convulsing in ecstasy, eyes almost rolling into your skull and heart beating fast against its organic cage. Her lips, the ones you call home, leave light kisses on your face and neck, as your body still moves uncontrollably with the aftershocks of your climax.
The both of you don’t dare to move after you settle on the bed – limbs tangled with each other’s, hand in hand, slowly breathing. The calmness comes over you, slowly. You drift to sleep again.
no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin | mikasa ackerman x reader
a/n: *comes back after 4 months as if nothing happened* well, hello. this is yet another gay fanfic with a hozier lyric as its title. enjoy.
summary, cw: 1.7k. morning sex, fingering, grinding, so many metaphors. can be read as canonverse.
The love you hold for her in your heart is heavy, and unspeakably sick. It weighs on your guts, sinking like an anchor. It has been described as poison, a venom strong enough to kill someone. It has also been described as nothing more than teenage angst, mixed with confusion.
But you know. You know what it is, without having to speak of it.
The sunshine shyly enters the room, peeking through the curtains as if to not disturb such a moment.
Mikasa looks peaceful. Even in her sleep, her skin is warm and inviting — your fingertips dance along her arms, leaving goosebumps behind. The light gently illuminates her features, and you curse yourself for comparing her to a sacred image yet again.
“Morning” your goddess speaks, voice hoarse from the lack of use in the past hours. Her moonlight eyes flutter open, meeting yours in a loving gaze.
“Morning, my love” you mutter. “How did you sleep?”
Her hands peek from under the blankets, finding your naked shoulders and bringing you closer to her bare body.
“Well… had a dream about you. About us, actually.” Ackerman places a leg over your waist, her warmth against your skin making you flustered.
“Yeah?” You question, arms snaking around her slim figure. Mikasa’s breasts press against yours, and she sighs at the contact.
“Yeah, we lived on a farm. Somewhere in the countryside, with a few cats. And a kid. It was so peaceful.”
Her words float between the two of you, dancing in your mind as your brain paints a picture — freshly baked bread, a kid that looks like you or maybe her, a couple of cats running through the living room… home.
“Can’t wait to make that come true.” You mumble, pressing your lips against her skin, leaving light feathered kisses.
“Can’t wait for that, either.” your partner places a hand on the back of your neck, gently laying your head on the fluffy pillow below you. The way she looks at you tells you everything you need to know.
This is a dance you have performed many times before, a routine you have established in the quiet, early mornings. It’s silent, nothing but the sound of your breathing and the birds chirping outside.
Mikasa gets on top of you, throwing the blanket that once covered your bodies on the edge of the bed — there are a few love bites adorning her pale skin, from the devotion you showed her the night before.
Instinctively, you open your legs, offering your flesh to her. It’s a ritual you know a little too well now, after countless loving nights with Mikasa. She offers you a smile in return, a pink tint blossoming on her face and neck.
Her knees sink onto the bed, on each side of your left thigh. You grab a couple of pillows, placing them under your lower back.
“I love how you look beneath me.” She says, all breathy and worked up. “All mine”
“All yours, Mikasa.” You whisper, looking up at your goddess through heavy eyelids.
Despite her guidance, you know where this is going: it isn’t your go-to position, or often dynamic. No, this is saved for mornings like these: lazy, slow, sacred.
She touches you, then — a couple of digits tracing your inner thighs, feeling your bare flesh beneath her touch. Mikasa fights the need to lick her teeth at the sight of such a feast, mouth watering at the thought of you. You sigh at her touch, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to drown in your lover’s presence.
Her touch is inviting, soft and delicate. It makes pride bloom on your chest, knowing you’re the only one who gets to witness this side of Mikasa Ackerman. The cold glare and the demanded respect that comes with it is saved for others – for outsiders.
She leaves open mouthed kisses on your neck, savoring the soft skin. Her fingers move slowly, rubbing circles on your clit. Sunshine stutters on her pale skin as the wind enters your room briefly, curtains dancing in the air.
Your hands find the natural curve of her back, palms tracing her skin before finding a solid grip on her waist. The feeling of her soft flesh is enough to make your heart pound strongly .
“I love you like this.” She mutters, and you hum in response. “So pretty.”
Heat pools on your cheeks at the praise, giving her something between a smile and an open mouthed kiss, tongues dancing against each other.
As you explore more of her body, moaning at her touch as you do so, your fingers eventually end up between her legs. Her pussy is warm, wet and undeniably delicious.
She moans against your mouth as you gather her juices on your fingertips, bringing it up to your mouth and tasting them. Mikasa kisses you messily, as you return your hand to its home on her inner thighs.
It’s a mutual play — playing with each other’s cunts, making a mess of the safety heaven of your bed, whining at the touch of your loved one. It’s intoxicating, enticing as a whole. If this isn’t what paradise looks like, then you would rather go to hell.
“I love you.” It escapes your lips, a sound strained by a moan. “So fucking much, Mikasa.”
She sighs, eyes fluttering open as she looks into yours, sweaty forehead glued to your own.
“I love you, I love you.” She says it like a mantra, as if it’s all she’s ever known — and all she ever will.
There isn’t a single thing that indicates where your body ends and hers begin. You are tangled, becoming one, melting each other and turning into something sick and twisted, yet lovely.
Her fingers move with delicacy, yet in a swift way that creates a hot white feeling on your lower abdomen. Yours move in a different rhythm against her pussy, yet chasing the same thing.
In between sweet nothings and moans, the room becomes an echo chamber of your love. Truly, you take pity on the rest of the world, the ones who can’t witness Mikasa Ackerman like this. Pale skin flushed, marked by your lust and teeth, eyes blown out by pleasure and looking into yours, entranced. What fools, you think to yourself. It must be a terrible life without loving like this — all consuming, incredibly sick.
“You're mine.” She whispers against the shell of your ear, words sounding like a promise with an undertone of threat. “Only mine. No one else’s.”
At this moment, you forget how to breathe, or think. It’s as if your body is entranced by her spell, becoming a mere puppet as she tugs on the strings — or leash — of your heart.
With her, you discovered that both wolves and girls have sharp teeth. This disease isn’t one sided: whether it spread from her to you or the other way around, Mikasa feels this yearn clawing at her soul, leaving its marks behind.
“All yours.” You breathe into her mouth, before covering hers once again. “And you are mine too.”
You have come to learn that, in between women, there’s no fear. There is no metaphorical barrier that separates you, no holding back and no censoring yourselves. The blood and destruction left behind is just proof of how much.
Ackerman moves her body against yours as if it’s the only thing she has ever known, as if it’s nature, an instinct. It’s stronger than her, and definitely stronger than you. Whatever pulls you together — God, nature, sickness — can never be fought against.
The white hot feeling traveling through your veins only grows, the bubble of pleasure on your lower stomach threatening to explode at any second now.
With her free hand, your lover massages her own breasts, sighing at the feeling. It doesn’t take long, however, for her hand to be replaced by yours. Somehow, it makes you even needier. Her tits have always been your weak spot, anyway — and, by the way Mikasa smiles down at you, she’s completely aware of her actions.
Your movements become quicker, although sloppier. You grind your hips, she moves against you. Everything aches with need and desperation.
Her love takes your body by storm, every single nerve ending spasming, as the Earth stutters on its axis.
She comes undone on top of you, legs shaking and pussy squirting her juices all over you. It’s messy, just the way you like it.
“Yeah, baby. Cum for me, I got you.” you whisper while she finishes. “So good.”
Mikasa blushes at your words, the last aftershocks of her orgasm making her shudder.
“And what about you, sweetheart?” She asks, switching the atmosphere you tried to steal from her — there’s no taming a force like Mikasa Ackerman, after all. “You’re not gonna cum for me?”
Your breath hitches on the back of your throat. To the naked eye, it doesn’t seem like a threat — oh, but it is. She is going to destroy you.
Mikasa removes her digits from your cunt, your sticky mess lingering in her fingers. Slowly, awfully slowly, she brings them to her mouth, tasting you.
“God, I could eat your pussy all day long.” She confesses, and you feel yourself slipping even more, feeling smaller and more helpless under her. “But I know this isn’t what you truly want.”
Your lover giggles, shining her teeth at you.
She switches her position, placing her thigh right against your pussy, your puffy and needy clit pressing against her. The feeling of the warmth of her skin against yours is enough to send you straight into madness.
“Yeah, that’s it” She whispers as you grind your hips against hers, movements sloppy and a bit pathetic if you do say so. That’s how Mikasa likes it, and you are unable to give her anything else than her wants and needs.
Eventually, you come undone – hard, your body convulsing in ecstasy, eyes almost rolling into your skull and heart beating fast against its organic cage. Her lips, the ones you call home, leave light kisses on your face and neck, as your body still moves uncontrollably with the aftershocks of your climax.
The both of you don’t dare to move after you settle on the bed – limbs tangled with each other’s, hand in hand, slowly breathing. The calmness comes over you, slowly. You drift to sleep again.
no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin | mikasa ackerman x reader
a/n: *comes back after 4 months as if nothing happened* well, hello. this is yet another gay fanfic with a hozier lyric as its title. enjoy.
summary, cw: 1.7k. morning sex, fingering, grinding, so many metaphors. can be read as canonverse.
The love you hold for her in your heart is heavy, and unspeakably sick. It weighs on your guts, sinking like an anchor. It has been described as poison, a venom strong enough to kill someone. It has also been described as nothing more than teenage angst, mixed with confusion.
But you know. You know what it is, without having to speak of it.
The sunshine shyly enters the room, peeking through the curtains as if to not disturb such a moment.
Mikasa looks peaceful. Even in her sleep, her skin is warm and inviting — your fingertips dance along her arms, leaving goosebumps behind. The light gently illuminates her features, and you curse yourself for comparing her to a sacred image yet again.
“Morning” your goddess speaks, voice hoarse from the lack of use in the past hours. Her moonlight eyes flutter open, meeting yours in a loving gaze.
“Morning, my love” you mutter. “How did you sleep?”
Her hands peek from under the blankets, finding your naked shoulders and bringing you closer to her bare body.
“Well… had a dream about you. About us, actually.” Ackerman places a leg over your waist, her warmth against your skin making you flustered.
“Yeah?” You question, arms snaking around her slim figure. Mikasa’s breasts press against yours, and she sighs at the contact.
“Yeah, we lived on a farm. Somewhere in the countryside, with a few cats. And a kid. It was so peaceful.”
Her words float between the two of you, dancing in your mind as your brain paints a picture — freshly baked bread, a kid that looks like you or maybe her, a couple of cats running through the living room… home.
“Can’t wait to make that come true.” You mumble, pressing your lips against her skin, leaving light feathered kisses.
“Can’t wait for that, either.” your partner places a hand on the back of your neck, gently laying your head on the fluffy pillow below you. The way she looks at you tells you everything you need to know.
This is a dance you have performed many times before, a routine you have established in the quiet, early mornings. It’s silent, nothing but the sound of your breathing and the birds chirping outside.
Mikasa gets on top of you, throwing the blanket that once covered your bodies on the edge of the bed — there are a few love bites adorning her pale skin, from the devotion you showed her the night before.
Instinctively, you open your legs, offering your flesh to her. It’s a ritual you know a little too well now, after countless loving nights with Mikasa. She offers you a smile in return, a pink tint blossoming on her face and neck.
Her knees sink onto the bed, on each side of your left thigh. You grab a couple of pillows, placing them under your lower back.
“I love how you look beneath me.” She says, all breathy and worked up. “All mine”
“All yours, Mikasa.” You whisper, looking up at your goddess through heavy eyelids.
Despite her guidance, you know where this is going: it isn’t your go-to position, or often dynamic. No, this is saved for mornings like these: lazy, slow, sacred.
She touches you, then — a couple of digits tracing your inner thighs, feeling your bare flesh beneath her touch. Mikasa fights the need to lick her teeth at the sight of such a feast, mouth watering at the thought of you. You sigh at her touch, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to drown in your lover’s presence.
Her touch is inviting, soft and delicate. It makes pride bloom on your chest, knowing you’re the only one who gets to witness this side of Mikasa Ackerman. The cold glare and the demanded respect that comes with it is saved for others – for outsiders.
She leaves open mouthed kisses on your neck, savoring the soft skin. Her fingers move slowly, rubbing circles on your clit. Sunshine stutters on her pale skin as the wind enters your room briefly, curtains dancing in the air.
Your hands find the natural curve of her back, palms tracing her skin before finding a solid grip on her waist. The feeling of her soft flesh is enough to make your heart pound strongly .
“I love you like this.” She mutters, and you hum in response. “So pretty.”
Heat pools on your cheeks at the praise, giving her something between a smile and an open mouthed kiss, tongues dancing against each other.
As you explore more of her body, moaning at her touch as you do so, your fingers eventually end up between her legs. Her pussy is warm, wet and undeniably delicious.
She moans against your mouth as you gather her juices on your fingertips, bringing it up to your mouth and tasting them. Mikasa kisses you messily, as you return your hand to its home on her inner thighs.
It’s a mutual play — playing with each other’s cunts, making a mess of the safety heaven of your bed, whining at the touch of your loved one. It’s intoxicating, enticing as a whole. If this isn’t what paradise looks like, then you would rather go to hell.
“I love you.” It escapes your lips, a sound strained by a moan. “So fucking much, Mikasa.”
She sighs, eyes fluttering open as she looks into yours, sweaty forehead glued to your own.
“I love you, I love you.” She says it like a mantra, as if it’s all she’s ever known — and all she ever will.
There isn’t a single thing that indicates where your body ends and hers begin. You are tangled, becoming one, melting each other and turning into something sick and twisted, yet lovely.
Her fingers move with delicacy, yet in a swift way that creates a hot white feeling on your lower abdomen. Yours move in a different rhythm against her pussy, yet chasing the same thing.
In between sweet nothings and moans, the room becomes an echo chamber of your love. Truly, you take pity on the rest of the world, the ones who can’t witness Mikasa Ackerman like this. Pale skin flushed, marked by your lust and teeth, eyes blown out by pleasure and looking into yours, entranced. What fools, you think to yourself. It must be a terrible life without loving like this — all consuming, incredibly sick.
“You're mine.” She whispers against the shell of your ear, words sounding like a promise with an undertone of threat. “Only mine. No one else’s.”
At this moment, you forget how to breathe, or think. It’s as if your body is entranced by her spell, becoming a mere puppet as she tugs on the strings — or leash — of your heart.
With her, you discovered that both wolves and girls have sharp teeth. This disease isn’t one sided: whether it spread from her to you or the other way around, Mikasa feels this yearn clawing at her soul, leaving its marks behind.
“All yours.” You breathe into her mouth, before covering hers once again. “And you are mine too.”
You have come to learn that, in between women, there’s no fear. There is no metaphorical barrier that separates you, no holding back and no censoring yourselves. The blood and destruction left behind is just proof of how much.
Ackerman moves her body against yours as if it’s the only thing she has ever known, as if it’s nature, an instinct. It’s stronger than her, and definitely stronger than you. Whatever pulls you together — God, nature, sickness — can never be fought against.
The white hot feeling traveling through your veins only grows, the bubble of pleasure on your lower stomach threatening to explode at any second now.
With her free hand, your lover massages her own breasts, sighing at the feeling. It doesn’t take long, however, for her hand to be replaced by yours. Somehow, it makes you even needier. Her tits have always been your weak spot, anyway — and, by the way Mikasa smiles down at you, she’s completely aware of her actions.
Your movements become quicker, although sloppier. You grind your hips, she moves against you. Everything aches with need and desperation.
Her love takes your body by storm, every single nerve ending spasming, as the Earth stutters on its axis.
She comes undone on top of you, legs shaking and pussy squirting her juices all over you. It’s messy, just the way you like it.
“Yeah, baby. Cum for me, I got you.” you whisper while she finishes. “So good.”
Mikasa blushes at your words, the last aftershocks of her orgasm making her shudder.
“And what about you, sweetheart?” She asks, switching the atmosphere you tried to steal from her — there’s no taming a force like Mikasa Ackerman, after all. “You’re not gonna cum for me?”
Your breath hitches on the back of your throat. To the naked eye, it doesn’t seem like a threat — oh, but it is. She is going to destroy you.
Mikasa removes her digits from your cunt, your sticky mess lingering in her fingers. Slowly, awfully slowly, she brings them to her mouth, tasting you.
“God, I could eat your pussy all day long.” She confesses, and you feel yourself slipping even more, feeling smaller and more helpless under her. “But I know this isn’t what you truly want.”
Your lover giggles, shining her teeth at you.
She switches her position, placing her thigh right against your pussy, your puffy and needy clit pressing against her. The feeling of the warmth of her skin against yours is enough to send you straight into madness.
“Yeah, that’s it” She whispers as you grind your hips against hers, movements sloppy and a bit pathetic if you do say so. That’s how Mikasa likes it, and you are unable to give her anything else than her wants and needs.
Eventually, you come undone – hard, your body convulsing in ecstasy, eyes almost rolling into your skull and heart beating fast against its organic cage. Her lips, the ones you call home, leave light kisses on your face and neck, as your body still moves uncontrollably with the aftershocks of your climax.
The both of you don’t dare to move after you settle on the bed – limbs tangled with each other’s, hand in hand, slowly breathing. The calmness comes over you, slowly. You drift to sleep again.
no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin | mikasa ackerman x reader
a/n: *comes back after 4 months as if nothing happened* well, hello. this is yet another gay fanfic with a hozier lyric as its title. enjoy.
summary, cw: 1.7k. morning sex, fingering, grinding, so many metaphors. can be read as canonverse.
The love you hold for her in your heart is heavy, and unspeakably sick. It weighs on your guts, sinking like an anchor. It has been described as poison, a venom strong enough to kill someone. It has also been described as nothing more than teenage angst, mixed with confusion.
But you know. You know what it is, without having to speak of it.
The sunshine shyly enters the room, peeking through the curtains as if to not disturb such a moment.
Mikasa looks peaceful. Even in her sleep, her skin is warm and inviting — your fingertips dance along her arms, leaving goosebumps behind. The light gently illuminates her features, and you curse yourself for comparing her to a sacred image yet again.
“Morning” your goddess speaks, voice hoarse from the lack of use in the past hours. Her moonlight eyes flutter open, meeting yours in a loving gaze.
“Morning, my love” you mutter. “How did you sleep?”
Her hands peek from under the blankets, finding your naked shoulders and bringing you closer to her bare body.
“Well… had a dream about you. About us, actually.” Ackerman places a leg over your waist, her warmth against your skin making you flustered.
“Yeah?” You question, arms snaking around her slim figure. Mikasa’s breasts press against yours, and she sighs at the contact.
“Yeah, we lived on a farm. Somewhere in the countryside, with a few cats. And a kid. It was so peaceful.”
Her words float between the two of you, dancing in your mind as your brain paints a picture — freshly baked bread, a kid that looks like you or maybe her, a couple of cats running through the living room… home.
“Can’t wait to make that come true.” You mumble, pressing your lips against her skin, leaving light feathered kisses.
“Can’t wait for that, either.” your partner places a hand on the back of your neck, gently laying your head on the fluffy pillow below you. The way she looks at you tells you everything you need to know.
This is a dance you have performed many times before, a routine you have established in the quiet, early mornings. It’s silent, nothing but the sound of your breathing and the birds chirping outside.
Mikasa gets on top of you, throwing the blanket that once covered your bodies on the edge of the bed — there are a few love bites adorning her pale skin, from the devotion you showed her the night before.
Instinctively, you open your legs, offering your flesh to her. It’s a ritual you know a little too well now, after countless loving nights with Mikasa. She offers you a smile in return, a pink tint blossoming on her face and neck.
Her knees sink onto the bed, on each side of your left thigh. You grab a couple of pillows, placing them under your lower back.
“I love how you look beneath me.” She says, all breathy and worked up. “All mine”
“All yours, Mikasa.” You whisper, looking up at your goddess through heavy eyelids.
Despite her guidance, you know where this is going: it isn’t your go-to position, or often dynamic. No, this is saved for mornings like these: lazy, slow, sacred.
She touches you, then — a couple of digits tracing your inner thighs, feeling your bare flesh beneath her touch. Mikasa fights the need to lick her teeth at the sight of such a feast, mouth watering at the thought of you. You sigh at her touch, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to drown in your lover’s presence.
Her touch is inviting, soft and delicate. It makes pride bloom on your chest, knowing you’re the only one who gets to witness this side of Mikasa Ackerman. The cold glare and the demanded respect that comes with it is saved for others – for outsiders.
She leaves open mouthed kisses on your neck, savoring the soft skin. Her fingers move slowly, rubbing circles on your clit. Sunshine stutters on her pale skin as the wind enters your room briefly, curtains dancing in the air.
Your hands find the natural curve of her back, palms tracing her skin before finding a solid grip on her waist. The feeling of her soft flesh is enough to make your heart pound strongly .
“I love you like this.” She mutters, and you hum in response. “So pretty.”
Heat pools on your cheeks at the praise, giving her something between a smile and an open mouthed kiss, tongues dancing against each other.
As you explore more of her body, moaning at her touch as you do so, your fingers eventually end up between her legs. Her pussy is warm, wet and undeniably delicious.
She moans against your mouth as you gather her juices on your fingertips, bringing it up to your mouth and tasting them. Mikasa kisses you messily, as you return your hand to its home on her inner thighs.
It’s a mutual play — playing with each other’s cunts, making a mess of the safety heaven of your bed, whining at the touch of your loved one. It’s intoxicating, enticing as a whole. If this isn’t what paradise looks like, then you would rather go to hell.
“I love you.” It escapes your lips, a sound strained by a moan. “So fucking much, Mikasa.”
She sighs, eyes fluttering open as she looks into yours, sweaty forehead glued to your own.
“I love you, I love you.” She says it like a mantra, as if it’s all she’s ever known — and all she ever will.
There isn’t a single thing that indicates where your body ends and hers begin. You are tangled, becoming one, melting each other and turning into something sick and twisted, yet lovely.
Her fingers move with delicacy, yet in a swift way that creates a hot white feeling on your lower abdomen. Yours move in a different rhythm against her pussy, yet chasing the same thing.
In between sweet nothings and moans, the room becomes an echo chamber of your love. Truly, you take pity on the rest of the world, the ones who can’t witness Mikasa Ackerman like this. Pale skin flushed, marked by your lust and teeth, eyes blown out by pleasure and looking into yours, entranced. What fools, you think to yourself. It must be a terrible life without loving like this — all consuming, incredibly sick.
“You're mine.” She whispers against the shell of your ear, words sounding like a promise with an undertone of threat. “Only mine. No one else’s.”
At this moment, you forget how to breathe, or think. It’s as if your body is entranced by her spell, becoming a mere puppet as she tugs on the strings — or leash — of your heart.
With her, you discovered that both wolves and girls have sharp teeth. This disease isn’t one sided: whether it spread from her to you or the other way around, Mikasa feels this yearn clawing at her soul, leaving its marks behind.
“All yours.” You breathe into her mouth, before covering hers once again. “And you are mine too.”
You have come to learn that, in between women, there’s no fear. There is no metaphorical barrier that separates you, no holding back and no censoring yourselves. The blood and destruction left behind is just proof of how much.
Ackerman moves her body against yours as if it’s the only thing she has ever known, as if it’s nature, an instinct. It’s stronger than her, and definitely stronger than you. Whatever pulls you together — God, nature, sickness — can never be fought against.
The white hot feeling traveling through your veins only grows, the bubble of pleasure on your lower stomach threatening to explode at any second now.
With her free hand, your lover massages her own breasts, sighing at the feeling. It doesn’t take long, however, for her hand to be replaced by yours. Somehow, it makes you even needier. Her tits have always been your weak spot, anyway — and, by the way Mikasa smiles down at you, she’s completely aware of her actions.
Your movements become quicker, although sloppier. You grind your hips, she moves against you. Everything aches with need and desperation.
Her love takes your body by storm, every single nerve ending spasming, as the Earth stutters on its axis.
She comes undone on top of you, legs shaking and pussy squirting her juices all over you. It’s messy, just the way you like it.
“Yeah, baby. Cum for me, I got you.” you whisper while she finishes. “So good.”
Mikasa blushes at your words, the last aftershocks of her orgasm making her shudder.
“And what about you, sweetheart?” She asks, switching the atmosphere you tried to steal from her — there’s no taming a force like Mikasa Ackerman, after all. “You’re not gonna cum for me?”
Your breath hitches on the back of your throat. To the naked eye, it doesn’t seem like a threat — oh, but it is. She is going to destroy you.
Mikasa removes her digits from your cunt, your sticky mess lingering in her fingers. Slowly, awfully slowly, she brings them to her mouth, tasting you.
“God, I could eat your pussy all day long.” She confesses, and you feel yourself slipping even more, feeling smaller and more helpless under her. “But I know this isn’t what you truly want.”
Your lover giggles, shining her teeth at you.
She switches her position, placing her thigh right against your pussy, your puffy and needy clit pressing against her. The feeling of the warmth of her skin against yours is enough to send you straight into madness.
“Yeah, that’s it” She whispers as you grind your hips against hers, movements sloppy and a bit pathetic if you do say so. That’s how Mikasa likes it, and you are unable to give her anything else than her wants and needs.
Eventually, you come undone – hard, your body convulsing in ecstasy, eyes almost rolling into your skull and heart beating fast against its organic cage. Her lips, the ones you call home, leave light kisses on your face and neck, as your body still moves uncontrollably with the aftershocks of your climax.
The both of you don’t dare to move after you settle on the bed – limbs tangled with each other’s, hand in hand, slowly breathing. The calmness comes over you, slowly. You drift to sleep again.
best kept secret and your biggest mistake | hange zoe x reader
summary: your relationship with eren is a facade, and hange is your secret lover. they wish it was more than that, but they’ll take what you’ll give them. (inspired by nobody puts baby in the corner - fall out boy)
cw: smut, 18+ ONLY. angst, cheating, drinking, sex under influence of alcohol, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, praise. afab!reader, they/them pronouns for hange zoe. the characters are flawed and reader has a personality.
Parties have never been Hange’s scene.
Not in a superiority complex way – at least that’s what they like to think – it’s just that people aren’t really Hange’s thing. Although the consumption of alcohol has become an increasing habit in their life, the noise and social interaction are the worst parts of attending parties, they figure.
“Tch, can’t believe we’re being dragged to this shit.” Levi comments, rolling his eyes at his own boyfriend. The short man always seems to be stressed or annoyed, but this time it feels genuine. When it comes to his partner, though, it never lasts long – not really. “This is your fault, Erwin.”
Erwin Smith, ever the social butterfly and recognizable persona, is able to fluctuate through almost every social group in Mitras. Which is precisely the reason why they are entering Zeke Yeager’s birthday party, crossing the threshold of a luxurious two story house — Hange wonders if the guy isn’t a bit too old to throw parties like this anyway, but hey: it’s free alcohol.
“Sorry eyebrows, gonna have to agree with your boyfriend.”
Erwin snorts at Hange’s words and Levi simply huffs in agreement. A typical conversation so far. The living room is crowded, the atmosphere pumps a generic pop song, and Hange already wants to leave. There are so many people Hange recognizes, realizing that they will have to greet most of them in order to be polite. They look around, scanning the room for something they know will hurt them.
You.
“Don’t be so pessimistic, Levi.” The blond says, placing a hand on the brunette’s shoulder. The gesture is suggestive, something only lovers could share. “You’ll have fun, I’ll make sure of it.”
Hange scoffs at the scene before them, with a roll of their eyes and a bitter taste on their tongue.
“Ew, get a room, you guys are fucking disgusting.” They say, face contorting with faux discomfort. “I’m getting a drink.”
-
There’s a golden locket hanging from your neck, a collar as heavy as prison. The photo inside, blurry and bright, is of your boyfriend — which was an anniversary gift from last year, or something. The both of you are always breaking up anyway, so Hange doesn’t fully understand what the point of celebrating an anniversary really is. The jewelry doesn’t fool anyone when it comes to deceiving the mess that is your relationship. It isn’t like a necklace would make them forget how he treats you.
As if it would make you look away from his affair with Mikasa Ackerman.
Hange can’t help but eye it, as it gleams viciously, almost as if inviting them to destroy it. Instead, they take another swing from the sweaty beer bottle in their hand.
Everything about you is more complicated than it should be. Someone like you shouldn’t be dating Eren Yeager of all people — he’s petty, childish, the embodiment of everything you’re not. You are no saint either, however being with someone like Yeager is something that Hange takes as a personal offense.
This is bullshit. All of it.
“Gonna grab another beer. Want one?” Levi says, the baritone voice is somehow louder than the music that plays from somewhere in the living room.
“Sure.”
It has been an hour or so since they have arrived, and Hange is a few beers deep in
Your boyfriend has a hand on your thigh, marking his territory just in case anyone dares to look at you with lust in their eyes. Hange fights the urge to punch him. This is bullshit. All of it.
You mutter something to Eren, lips close to his jaw, pressing a kiss to it after you are finished speaking. Hange assumes it is something about wanting another drink. They wonder if your boy toy knows what you like, at all. For starters, you prefer silver — why would he gift you a locket that is fucking gold?
-
Hange decides to go upstairs in order to escape from the hell that is this party, unable to watch that circus any longer. The house is crowded, causing the atmosphere to feel even worse. It’s almost claustrophobic.
And, for some unknown reason, your friends are into that.
The bathroom — third door on the right — is thankfully empty. It is clean, too: no signs of drunken regret in the form of vomit.
The luxurious bathroom is covered in marble with gold adjacents, from floor to ceiling. There is an enormous bathtub on the end of it. Hange if the Yeagers ran out of money when renovating the house: the bathroom is all marble but there isn’t fucking decent lighting.
Hange locks the door, back pressed against it. They let out a sigh, something from deep in their lungs and even deeper in their heart. They adjust the thick oval glasses on the bridge of their nose, feeling emotionally exhausted after watching you play pretend with Eren.
“Fuck.” They mutter shortly before splashing their face with cold water, feeling droplets fall down their neck. It refreshes them, sure, but the sinking feeling in their stomach is still there.
Objectively speaking, Hange knows it doesn’t have anything to do with them, or they are – the whole situation is entirely your fault. You are the one who is – allegedly – in a happy, committed relationship. Hange was merely caught in the crossfire of your desires. The jealousy that bubbles in their stomach every time they have to witness you kiss him is your fault.
But they can’t bring themself to hate you for it.
-
After all, is it greedy to want both of them?
You dream of dark, charcoal eyes only to wake up to an ocean gaze staring at you. It is confusing, complicated. You wish you were not pulling and pushing, stuck in between two different worlds.
The party was becoming too much for you – too much noise, too many people. You go upstairs, to the second floor of the house, needing to get away from everything and everyone. Wondering if there is an option — begging for a sign from God — to escape all of this, your hand grabs the doorknob of the bathroom, only for it to twist magically.
And, on the other side of it, is Hange Zoe. Dimly illuminated, the first few buttons of their shirt undone, tanned skin glowing — almost reflecting, luring you in.
“Oh.” Is all you can come up with.
Standing face to face with the truth isn’t funny — or easy — in the slightest. The sight of Hange before you feels like the universe is taunting you with the possibility of a life you could have.
“Hi.” They greet you, voice as buttery as you remember.
You are overwhelmed with flashbacks of car seats, foggy windows, whispered sweet nothings. The ghost of Hange’s mouth still sends chills down your spine.
And, here you are — red solo cup in hand, filled halfway with a nasty drink your own boyfriend made for you, apparently unable to know the basics of your likes and dislikes. The golden locket around your neck is so heavy, so heavy you almost drop to the ground and as your skin turns blue.
“Hey.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Hange is a few inches from you, and you can breathe in their scent, as it intoxicates your lungs. They smell of cologne, and a subtle undertone of cigarettes. You want to ask, since last time you talked they had quit the poisonous habit – it’s as awkward as it is already, though.
You haven’t seen them in a month, since the last time you got back together with Eren. Hange took the message when you started ignoring their texts, and posted a picture with him again on your social media. Still, they don’t understand why.
“How long are you planning on avoiding me?” They ask, shoulder leaning against the door frame. Because fuck this — fuck all of this. Fuck Eren Yeager and his superiority complex, and how he has the only thing Hange has ever truly wanted.
You.
Considering your options, you realize you have the chance to play dumb and pretend you don’t know what they are talking about. Except, this is Hange, who knows you better than anyone else in this world — who knows your soul and brain and heart like the palm of their hand.
“Hange,” the sound of their name tastes unbelievably sour on your tongue. “You know. You know it’s complicated.”
They know this – at least that’s what they tell themself. Hange does their best to understand you, to feel empathy about your situation. Your relationship is obviously unhealthy, maintaining you in a chokehold. Eren always has a short leash around your neck – in the form of a gold necklace, mainly. He is always around, always with an arm snaked around your waist or a hand on your shoulder. Well, except when he sneaks around to cheat on you with Mikasa.
“Is it?” Their words make your heart beat heavily against its organic cage, begging to be freed from its confines. “You say that every time, yet you won’t leave him. I thought you had a bit more self-respect than that, to be honest. You don’t seem like the person I met anymore. Not at all.”
They take a step towards you, bringing themself unbelievably close.
“What happened to you, huh? Little Eren made you his pet?”
Their words drip with venom, poisonous and ready to kill. They want to hurt you as badly as you hurt them, but truly, they would not be able to do so. Hange is all bark, and no bite. You, on the other hand…
“Fuck you. Fuck you from even saying that.” There are stubborn tears threatening to spill from your eyes, a mixture of anger and plead.
Hange knows they might have gone too far, their words intended to stab you in the heart and apparently they did. Alcohol doesn’t suit their anger issues, after all.
“Tell me to step away. Tell me to fuck off and I will. I’ll go downstairs and pretend I haven’t even seen you.”
You know they would do it, in case you requested — or better, ordered. These days, you wonder if there is anything Hange wouldn’t do for you. There’s a brief moment of silence, voices echoing from the party downstairs, music pumping through the walls.
They move closer, so close, until their forehead is pressed against yours.
“Hange.” You mumble their name like a confirmation, like a warning. What it implicates sits heavy in your stomach.
It is messy, you don’t know who moves first, however your lips end up moving against theirs, with a synchrony that should be long forgotten.
The disgusting liquid that you were once holding ends up splattered on the floor. Your drink of gin, that tasted like kerosene, stands out on the marble floor. Someone would have to take care of it, but not right now. Not now, that your tongues are intertwined. Hange tastes like beer, and you probably taste like something similar.
And just like that, Eren Yeager’s empire falls, right into Hange’s hands.
They grab your waist, moving you towards the dimly lit bathroom, in order to give a bit of privacy. Smoothly, Hange closes the door and presses your back against it, the rage of Hange burning from deep in their heart — you can feel it on your bones, in your marrow. You know this isn’t a hate fuck, but it isn’t making love either.
No, this is way more intense, as they press open mouthed kisses on the warm skin of your throat. They notice you still wear the same perfume they once complimented, and they can’t help but think it’s because of them. Hange can’t help but wonder about the impact they have in your life, or if they have any at all.
They whisper something that sounds like your name, and it sounds so different from how your boyfriend says you. In this very moment, with Hange gripping your hips tightly, canine teeth grazing the side of your neck, you feel no empathy for Eren. You feel no regret at all, and if that makes you an asshole, then so be it. Being a goody two shoes, a people pleaser, has never gotten you anywhere.
“Fuck, I’ve missed this.” Hange confesses, as they pull your skirt up, guiding you to lay in the empty bathtub, on the other corner of the bathroom.
“I know. I missed you too.” You reply in the form of something in between a whisper and a moan. It's not what they said at all, but you know they mean it anyways.
Your tits are exposed, bra tossed somewhere on the ground. Your skirt is a puddle around your waist, panties moved to the side — the sight of your glossy cunt exposed to Hange, as they offer you a smile that isn’t nothing short of wolfish.
“Aw princess, your cunt is so wet already. So messy.” The condescending tone drips from their voice like honey, much like the wetness that drips from you.
Biting their tongue, they fight the urge to ask, is it all for me?
They take a moment to appreciate your body, fingers dancing along your soft skin, occasionally running through scars, unevenness, and a birthmark. Details they want to remember for the rest of their life, but would much rather be reminded of those every chance they get to see you strip for them.
“Please.” You whimper, as your hips buckle.
They shush you, fingers lightly grazing your pussy, teasing you through your wetness.
“I know, baby. I’ll give it to you, I promise. Just be good for me, yeah?” They say, pressing kisses under your year, on your neck, towards your collarbone. “Think you can do it?”
You whimper in agreement. They’ll take it
“Gotta be quiet, or someone might notice.”
Digits find themselves playing with your cunt, spreading your inner lips apart as Hange presses a single finger against your entrance, touching you just enough to drive you crazy. It sends a white hot feeling through your body.
Given Hange’s history, that means something. Even if it didn’t, the praise would still make your body sing underneath them. It’s hard to properly explain the effect they have on you.
Their experienced fingers finally find their way inside you, as a thumb rubs against your clit. It’s magical, it’s heaven. If you could choose to die like this, you would.
This right here should make Hange feel bad, overtaken by a sense of regret at least, but they can’t. Not when you look this good, moaning and whimpering and begging. You have a boyfriend, and they couldn’t care less.
Their fingers start pumping in and out of you, slowly at first, but growing in speed. Hange knows just how you like it, they right amount of pressure to press on your clit, and curling their fingers inside of your cunt.
“Fuck, ohmygod.” You pant, dignity long forgotten. It’s shameless, you are horny like a fucking teenager, but it feels so good. “It’s so good.”
Hange swallows another moan from you, mouth pressed to yours messily, a mixture of tongue and teeth and spit.
“Gonna let me taste you, baby?” They ask, not showing you any mercy, already lowering their body in between your legs. “You have no idea how much I missed this pretty pussy.”
“Please, please.” You whisper in response. “Need it, Hans. C’mon.”
They smile wickedly at you.
“Know you do.”
And then, finally — finally, they press open mouthed kisses on your inner thighs, careful to not leave any marks. If there isn’t any proof of your crimes against Eren, then he can’t hold it against you. This is how it works.
You want all they can give you, unable to quit them.
Tiny explosions spread through your entire body, as you grind your hips against Hange’s greedy mouth. Now, this is greed — the overwhelming lust, the need to make you theirs.
The bubble of warmth on your lower abdomen only grows, threatening to pop at any given second.
The way Hange takes care of you with subtle touches, making it clear that they pay attention to your every reaction brings a bittersweet taste to your tongue. The contrast between them and your boyfriend is even clearer, starkly obvious. This is too intense: a mixture of passion for your lover and regret for your relationship. Somehow, it feels similar to falling in love.
Your hands find home in Hange’s dark hair, like they have many times before. For some unknown reason, this time is bittersweet – perhaps, the emotions, the touches that are so fresh on your body, send you into sensory overload. Tears escape from your eyes, like a broken dam.
Your mind is a mess, and so is your body – wetness clings to your inner thighs, a thin layer of sweat covering your entire body.
Their name falls from your lips like a mantra, as if your body is solely devoted to Hange – no one, not even Eren, is capable of earning such a reaction from you
You are so close – your hands pull on Hange’s hair lightly, just enough for them to moan into your cunt. Their teeth lightly graze your clit, sucking it like their life depends on it. The Earth stutters on its axis as you come, the bubble of warmth on your lower abdomen finally exploding, creating a mess out of you. Your legs tremble in pleasure, as Hange carries you through your height.
It is quiet for a while, only your heavy breathing and the bass of music bumping from downstairs creating noise around you. Hange helps you get dressed, adjusting their hair and glasses shortly after. It isn’t silent, however wordless – an old choreography you have smoothly executed many times before.
But, really, what is Hange supposed to say? See you next time? Can’t wait to do this again? Is this-
“I’ll leave him.” You mutter, while fixing your makeup in front of the mirror, attempting to clean it in the dim light. You look at them through the mirror, fixing your smudged eyeliner as you do so. It is still unclear if your boyfriend knows about your escapades with Hange, but you make sure to return to him as impeccably as you arrived to them. Maybe it’s better this way.
They scoff once again. You sound like a broken record at this point, and they are tired of believing you.
“I will-”
“Yeah, you said that last time.”
You sigh, turning around to look where they stand behind you, with a shoulder pressed against the door. Supporting your body against the sink, your gaze falls to the ground.
“I mean it. I’ll leave him. I don’t know when, or how, but I will.”
Hange sighs.
“Alright.” They turn to you, one last time before opening the door. “But you gotta do this for you, not for me.”
With that, Hange leaves you – you wonder if this is what they felt after the countless times you were the one to leave them.
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