Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy!
summary: Halloween just got real... freaky.
↳ I wrote this for halloween last year and kind of forgot about it till like a week ago—oops. since i refuse to let a calender control me happy halloween!! everyone is like 21-22 for the plot.. TRUST
↳ f!reader x butch cowboy hange
↳ wc: 9.8k
↳ cw: Hange is a freak, nsfw, kinda angsty at the end, kinda shitty writing ngl… mdni!!
“Whyyy did we decide to do this?”
You whined to your roommate over the loud music, your shared house now overflowing with intoxicated college kids in costumes.
Most of them were strangers, though a few familiar faces in the crowd gave you the slightest bit of hope that your place wouldn’t get completely trashed.
Armin — your roommate and best friend — stood in the kitchen archway, staring out into the chaos in sheer disbelief.
“Do we even know half of these fuckin' people?” He looked down at you, baffled, lighting his fourth cigarette of the night.
“I highly doubt it,” you muttered, annoyed with the situation you’d both put yourselves in.
The party itself wasn’t even your biggest concern.
The cleanup was.
And for such a small town, there were way too many damn people in your house.
You let out an exaggerated sigh. Might as well loosen up — being sober wasn’t helping. It was a party, after all.
Reaching behind your ear, you pulled out the joint you’d rolled that morning. Quietly, you placed it between your lips and sparked it. That’s when you felt it — something you hadn’t noticed before.
Someone was watching you.
You didn’t know from where — but you could feel it.
Exhaling smoke, you glanced up at Armin, who now leaned against the counter across from you. His attention had shifted back to the archway.
“Took you long enough!” he called out, extending a hand toward the unfamiliar faces weaving their way in from the living room.
Armin’s friends.
Armin had always kept you at arm’s length from his other friends, despite how close the two of you were.
You’d met them a handful of times over the years — at family barbecues, brief run-ins, holidays — but never long enough to form anything beyond surface-level greetings. Any time you tried to get closer, Armin made a big deal out of it.
You always assumed it was because, in a way, you were practically his sister.
The two of you were inseparable — so much so that your parents had practically let you live with his family throughout your teen years.
Calling Armin your safety blanket was putting it lightly. He was the reason his parents funded your figure skating in the first place. You owed so much to them — and to him. In a way they’re your family too.
Still, as much as he denied people’s constant teasing about hidden romantic feelings, even you had started to question it over the years.
Not that you’d ever admit it to him — but every partner you had seemed to get pushed out eventually, one way or another – always never good enough for you.
He always claimed it was because you didn’t need distractions. That a gold medal was the only thing that mattered.
Funny, considering he wasn’t the one out there skating.
The more your thoughts spiraled, the more you needed a drink. You sighed, hopping down from the kitchen island and throwing Armin a glance — one he didn’t return — before strolling over to the fridge.
You couldn’t help but feel... left out.
Sure, you had your own friends.
But something about the way Armin shielded you from his world made you feel like you were always missing something.
Eren was your only other close connection—your other roommate.
The three of you had known each other since diapers, and sometimes, you couldn’t help wishing Armin was more like him.
Eren was simple in the best way — loving and dependable. Exactly what a best friend should be.
Armin never got weird about Eren.
Probably because he was too busy trying to play wingman, always trying to push you two together — or so you told yourself.
You bent down in front of the freezer, letting the chilled air roll over your face as you half-heartedly surveyed your drink options.
Seconds passed… maybe minutes. It was hard to tell with the cold numbing your thoughts.
Then you felt it — the unmistakable presence of someone standing over you.
Startled, you glanced up, catching the vague outline of a figure reflected in the fridge door’s polished steel.
“You should really be more careful, pretty.”
A low, southern draw curled around your ears like smoke.
You jumped slightly, standing up a little too fast and spinning around.
“Excuse m—”
You were about to snap back — attitude already lacing your words — until you looked up.
Standing closely in front of you was someone taller, unfamiliar, and far too pretty to be ignored.
“Everyone here can see right up that little dress, darlin’. You really oughta be more aware of your surroundings.”
Their voice was smooth and smug, a slight tilt to their head accompanying the teasing smile on their face.
Your eyes widened in realization. All the blood in your body seemed to rush straight to your face.
God, how long had you been standing like that?
You glanced down at the frilly babydoll dress clinging to your frame, the hem barely skimming your thighs.
Embarrassed, your eyes slowly traveled back up to the androgynous stranger now looming in your space.
An unfamiliar face. Just what you needed.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied with a giggle, nudging the freezer door closed and offering them a drink with a dopey, flirtatious smile.
You brushed past them, heading back toward the counter you’d perched on earlier — the hem of your dress swaying with every step.
“So... you a real cowboy?” you asked over the music, eyes scanning their outfit.
Dark blue jeans, a black flannel unbuttoned and rolled at the sleeves, and a fitted white tank that clung to their lean body.
Their black cowboy boots had clearly seen dust and stirrups — the leather worn in a way that only came from real work.
You hopped back onto the counter, cracking open your drink and casually looking toward where Armin had been standing — now empty.
“Well, how’d you guess that, darlin’?” they replied, that thick southern draw as smooth as aged whiskey.
They leaned against the counter beside you, taking a swig from their drink.
You tilted your head at them, awestruck.
Dangerous.
“What can I say? I’ve got a good eye. No one I know would drop that much on a real silver belt buckle just for Halloween,” you teased, giggling as your gaze lingered — maybe too long — on the detailed buckle at their waist.
It gleamed like something old, something earned.
Placing your drink between your thighs, you lit your joint again and took a slow drag — your lips forming a soft “O” as you exhaled.
They watched you — the way your lips moved, the smoke curling around your pretty features.
You were intoxicating, maybe even more than the weed you’d been smoking all day. They’d never wanted something — someone — as badly as they did right then.
But before they could speak again, they noticed your gaze shifting — not directly at them, but slightly above.
You were looking at their hat.
A black cowboy hat, the base encircled with black onyx set in polished silver. The stones smooth like river glass, quiet and rich.
The onyx gleamed under the kitchen light, twinkling like extra sets of eyes, pulling you in—while the silver setting spoke softly of quiet wealth.
It was the kind of piece that turned heads — not just because it was beautiful, but because it made you wonder what someone did to earn it.
You were lost in it for a second, until your eyes slowly returned to their face.
They were licking their lips, still watching you — curious.
A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, as much as one could with a party raging in the background.
Their eyes never left you — studying the way you suddenly looked flustered, even though they hadn’t said a word.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of their mouth.
Like they knew something you didn’t.
The conversation unraveled quietly between glances — tension building like static, not sharp, but slow and warm. The kind that raised goosebumps on your arms.
Excitement.
Curiosity flowed between you as you exchanged glances—a silent game of cat and mouse, subtle, electric, and inviting.
To both your surprise, you were the first to crack the ice.
“So, you from around here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” you asked, trying to mask the fact that you’d been staring a little too long—something they had quietly noticed.
Your confidence started to waver the moment they shifted from leaning on the counter, turning to you to get a better look at your face – something they also took notice of.
“I’ve lived here all my life,” they said, that same smug look still playing on their lips. “But I seem to know everyone here... except you.”
Their hat cast just enough shadow to catch the light from the dim kitchen overhead, making it hard to tell if they were amused or intrigued — certainly both.
“Yeah, well, Armin made good and damn sure I didn’t have any distractions from skating,” you replied with a small smile, shaking your head. “Starting to see just what he meant.”
Holding eye contact with the hot stranger in front of you was suddenly proving to be a lot harder than you expected.
You shifted slightly on the counter, taking another slow hit from your joint.
“Arlert? He’s... cute.”
They laughed, shaking their head — but the sound faded as realization slowly crept in. The wheels turning behind their eyes as they looked back at you, really looked.
They knew who you were now.
Armin had always made it painfully clear you were off-limits to everyone, and seeing you up close, it suddenly made perfect sense.
Everyone had assumed it was because he wanted you for himself — and now, standing this close, they were beginning to think everyone had been right.
Before they could say anything, they noticed the way your eyes drifted back to their hat — your gaze low, glassy, completely unfazed by the mention of Armin.
Not that you cared. You knew exactly how Armin was when it came to you. Unbearable— suffocating at times.
Your gaze fell back on them — big brown eyes glistening, that sweet smile spreading across your face like you hadn’t just stirred something dangerous.
You tried to focus, tried not to embarrass yourself. But your brain was moving a mile a minute from the weed and the drinks.
Unfortunately, your mouth moved faster.
“Your hat is so pretty. I wish I had one,” you mumbled with a frown — and the second the words left your lips, a fierce blush crept up your face.
You realized too late you'd said it out loud, not just in your head.
Your heart pounded in your ears, loud enough that you swore they could hear it too.
They looked at you with the faintest crease in their brow, caught somewhere between confusion and amusement.
And then — much to your relief — a low chuckle slipped from their lips. Tilting their head, they watched as you went through every stage of internal panic. Pitiful. Adorable.
“You could try this one if you’d like, darlin’. I don’t bite.”
Their voice was sweet, almost gentle — a stark contrast to the teasing look on their face.
They reached up and took off their hat, revealing long brown hair and a face so effortlessly pretty it made your chest ache.
The warm kitchen lights caught just right, casting a golden glow across their features, like something holy.
They reached out and smoothed your hair with one hand, fingers lingering in your strands before gently placing the hat on your head, adjusting it just slightly.
You were, without question, the cutest thing they’d ever seen.
A wicked smile tugged at their lips — one that sent heat pooling low in your stomach.
“Do I look pretty?” you asked, your voice soft, almost breathless.
You tugged at the hem of your dress absentmindedly, trying your best to subtly press your thighs together.
They caught it. Of course they did.
“Oh, baby,” they murmured, eyes darkening, “you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
You felt like you were melting — their praise going in one ear and straight between your legs.
“You think so?” you asked sweetly, teeth grazing your bottom lip.
They tilted their head, drinking in the sight of you — your little outfit, now perfectly crowned with their hat.
“Mhm. You’re a real cowgirl now, darlin’.”
Your heart nearly stopped as their hand found your thigh, slow and deliberate. They leaned in, lips hovering just shy of your ear.
“You know what they say…” they whispered, voice dripping in honey and something sinister. “You wear a cowboy’s hat, you gotta ride the cowboy.”
There it was — that saccharine tone delivering the filth you’d silently been praying to hear.
Their voice was all sugar, but the look they gave you as they pulled back was pure fire.
The heat of their hand on your thigh was intoxicating — or maybe it was just the weed. Either way, you were already far gone.
If you weren’t so distracted, you might’ve noticed that same hand slowly creeping up beneath your dress, fingers toying with the hem of your lace bloomers.
You gazed up at them coyly, still playing with the frills of your dress, doing your best to hide the blush rising on your cheeks beneath the shade of their hat — now perched proudly atop your silky red hair.
“Really? I had no idea,” you purred, batting your lashes, the picture of faux innocence.
Before either of you could say another word, you made the next move.
You snubbed out your neglected joint and hopped down from the counter with a little bounce, flashing them a teasing smile as you stepped close — just close enough for your voice to land like a secret between the two of you.
Fingers curling around the front of their shirt, you tugged them down to your level.
“Want another drink, darlin’?” you asked sweetly, drawing out your accent just enough to make both of you laugh.
You pulled away just as quickly, your expression soft and playful — innocence worn like perfume.
Now it was their turn to be caught off guard, though they masked it well.
They watched you carefully, studying your pretty face, the way you thought you had the upper hand.
How cute.
There was something unreadable in their eyes as you turned away, hips swaying, frills bouncing with every step as you sauntered across the now-empty kitchen — their hat slipping low over your bangs, casting shadows across your mischievous smile.
You bent over the freezer, searching for something cold, your matching bloomers riding up just enough to be criminal.
You looked back over your shoulder with a knowing glance — and it nearly knocked the breath out of them.
A picture-perfect moment they wished they could frame.
This is gonna be a long night.
You’d both learned quite a few things over the past hour.
First, the stranger’s name — Hange. You thought it was cute. Fitting, even.
Despite their rugged exterior and silver tongue, they were… surprisingly eccentric. Sharp-witted, a little unhinged, and completely unapologetic.
The scar over their left eye? Earned working on their ranch. The roughness of their hands? Proof enough that they were, in fact, a real cowboy.
Since they already knew your name, your introduction was kind of unnecessary.
They, however, learned you were dressed as Strawberry Shortcake — a detail that clicked for them watching you make your slow, frilly walk toward the freezer earlier.
A mini gingham babydoll dress, trimmed in frills and ribbons, complete with a strawberry-printed apron that left very little to the imagination.
Your deep cherry-red hair had been carefully styled, decorated with delicate red and pink lace ribbons — now flattened beneath their hat.
They noticed the scar just above your right brow, a faint line from when you’d face-planted on the ice as a beginner skater – something you detailed to them earlier.
Gently, Hange had traced it with a finger, listening as you rambled on — your words spilling in every direction thanks to your third, maybe fourth drink.
Not that they minded. For once, they didn’t have to do all the talking.
They watched with interest as the thin ribbon strap of your dress began sliding down your shoulder, something you were blissfully unaware of as you snubbed out the last of the cigarette you’d been sharing.
Quietly, Hange reached over and slid the strap back into place, their fingers dragging a subtle trail of heat across your skin. A small, careful smile tugged at their lips as they shifted closer — painfully close.
The scent of vanilla and tobacco clung to them, warm and heady, curling around your nose like a promise.
And just as you leaned in to close the gap, they pulled back ever so slightly — enough to make you frown in frustration.
So eager already.
“You gotta earn it, baby.”
Their lips ghosted over yours, making you shudder — your thighs squeezing together so tightly it felt like they might catch fire.
A pathetic sound slipped from your parted lips — just loud enough for them to hear.
You’d never had to beg for anything in your life… and yet here you were, nearly in tears over a complete stranger.
You managed a faint, “Please,” your glossy eyes doing most of the pleading.
For a moment, a flicker of faux pity crossed their face. Then they leaned in, closing the space between you.
The taste of tobacco, vanilla chapstick, and alcohol swirled through your mouth — intoxicating and warm.
Not nearly long enough.
A soft whine escaped you when they pulled away.
They chuckled at your expression, shaking their head.
“Not good enough.”
Their hand drifted to your hip, rubbing slow, coaxing circles into your skin. The look on their face was almost endearing — almost.
All their teasing had you half-melted already.
So much for Southern hospitality.
And that’s how you ended up here.
Whoever said cryin’ won’t get you nowhere was a damn liar.
You begged — until your voice cracked, until your eyes shimmered, until Hange heard exactly what they wanted.
All it took was one more impatient little please, just loud enough for someone outside the kitchen to hear, before they finally gave in —letting you practically drag them up the stairs.
As soon as you crossed the threshold of your bedroom the atmosphere changed – you found yourself between Hange and the cold surface of the door, slightly arching away from it.
In one swift motion you reached for the door handle behind you and click went the lock.
Not one word was exchanged before the gap between your faces closed once more, this time more heated and needy than the kitchen.
Hange swiftly lifted you as though you weigh nothing, not even breaking the kiss. Taking a few steps before gently sitting down on the bed, pulling you down into their lap.
Their wandering hands quickly slipped under the fabric of your dress. Gently and carefully, they rub little circles in your hips – a soft whimper escaping your lips at the contact.
You clung to them as they slowly kissed down your neck, their hands beginning to roam around the rest of your body – squeezing and touching wherever they pleased.
Their lips roughly latched onto your neck – wet and warm, biting and sucking leaving nicely calculated bruises.
Their soft lips take away from the pain; making you forget that visible marks were most likely going to get you into some trouble later.
When you desperately ground your hips down into their lap, the thin fabric of your bloomers was the only thing separating you from them – you were more receptive than they had imagined.
A sharp gasp spewed from your lips when you slid forward, your core brushing into their belt buckle a bit. Hange chuckled lowly, nipping at your collarbone – their hands making their way back to your hips.
One of their hands snaked between the two of you, carefully they rubbed tight calculated circles over your clothed cunt – ones that sent shivers down your spine.
For a split-second Hange pulled away, gauging your reaction – a crooked smile on their face as they watched you slowly unravel above them; your big brown eyes pooling with tears as you stared back at them.
Their other hand found the back of your neck, pulling you down into a rough kiss – perfectly needy on both ends. Mercilessly pushing you down into their calloused hand, earning more pretty noises out of you.
Carefully as to not pop the bubble the two of you had created, Hange pulled you down with them as they laid back into the mattress of your cloudlike bed.
They moved their free hand to your hip once more, guiding you slowly back and forth against their rough hand – feeling everything through your flimsy bloomers, including the nice big wet spot that had formed.
You moaned softly against their mouth; this time your hands were the ones wandering – or trying to at least.
Hange was beginning to grow tired of the fabric that was separating them from their prize – you.
They swiftly pushed you forward, lifting you off them slightly – a pathetic whine bubbled from the back of your throat.
Snaking their arms under you, they hooked their fingers under the hem of your damp shorts before looking up at you.
They smiled another saccharine smile, one that was warm and endearing – eyes saying something completely different; something that would have worried you had you not been out of your mind right now.
“May I?” Hange asked sweetly, tugging at the fabric before letting it go with a snap!
You nodded way more eager than you intended – but again that was not enough for Hange.
They sighed, looking back at you with a teasing, taunting expression.
“Come on, baby, I know you were raised better than that. Answer me.”
Any clever rebuttal you’d had died in your throat as you met their gaze – almost daring you to try it.
You bit your lip, a small crease forming between your brows, tears threatening to spill over your lashes—a quiet plea barely escaping your lips.
You needed this. You needed them.
“Oh darlin’, you must not want it as bad as I thought,” they teased, laughing softly.
You shook your head desperately, trying to summon the courage to say the words they wanted to hear. An amused smile played on their face as they waited patiently.
You stared back pitifully, struggling to find the right words. In that moment, they were the headlights, and you were the deer caught in their beam.
“Go ahead, baby. I’m waitin’.”
Teasingly, Hange traced the waistband of your shorts, their blunt nails grazing your hot skin. Hot was an understatement—wherever they touched felt like it was on fire, and you could hardly bear it anymore.
Meekly you finally spit out the words you were trying to say.
“Please — I mean — you may. Please, I need you, please,” your gaze silently pleading with them along with the words you managed to finally get out.
Knitted brows and glossy eyes was enough they supposed.
You’d never begged like this before—not for anything, and certainly never been this needy for someone you’d only just met.
Fortunately for you, the person beneath you was more than willing to give everything they had.
A satisfied hum came from below you – a rush of cold air hitting you as Hange wasted no time helping you discard your shorts from above them.
Your knees planted on either side of their head, giving them a view they’ll positively never forget.
They paused for a moment, gazing up at the thin lace fabric of your thong practically already exposing you — wanting to bury their nose in your sweet scent.
Without a second thought they ripped straight through the flimsy fabric, not giving you time to protest before they shoved it in their pocket — hands moving right back to your hips.
They took a good look at your wet cunt, awestruck — wickedly they smiled up at you, gripping your hips a bit more bruisingly than before.
A chuckle left their throat— their hand moved over your thigh removing their foggy glasses throwing them somewhere in the bed.
“Alright, cowgirl—show me what you’ve got!”
Hange gave your hips a firm squeeze—fully pulling you down onto their face before you could get any semblance of a sentence together.
They moan at your taste, pleased at how easily they got you in such a state – vibrations coursing straight through you.
“Taste’ so fuckin good baby,” Hange mumbled into your heat— your cunt welcoming them like a warm embrace.
Your hand quickly found their hair —pulling gently so as not to hurt them.
“ohmygod !” You choked out— their tongue quickly finding all the places you need them.
Strings of muffled moans and praises slipped between your folds as you gently rocked your hips.
Calloused fingertips dug into your sides when they felt you try to lift off their face a bit – not giving you room to let up, hovering was not an option they were willing to give you anyways.
If they were to die right now, they'd do so happily.
The way you tasted consumed them—like sweet cherry pie after a long day. Their tongue finds your entrance every so often, coaxing more of your juices into their mouth.
Needily you rock your hips; beginning to fully fuck their face— the tension in your stomach building further when you hear a muffled chuckle from below you.
Your hips stuttered – feeling Hange’s nose bumping into your pulsing clit as they guided your hips back and forth across their face.
A broken whimper pushed from the back of your throat— fat tears spilling over your waterline.
“Ah fuck!”
Your hips find a nice rhythm with the steady hands moving you — without a second wasted they pull another pretty sound from your throat when their tongue finds your dripping hole.
You moved your hand from Hange’s hair — adjusting the hat perched atop your head so it wouldn’t fall off.
You’re a real cowgirl now. They said so themself.
Shamelessly you rolled your hips as they fucked you with their tongue — riding their face like your life depended on it. One hand keeping the hat on your head, the other planted behind you as you leaned back slightly.
Looking over, the mirror of your vanity gave you a full view of the lewd scene.
You looked like a complete mess—tear stains mingled with streaked mascara down your face, your lipstick faded, and your cherry red hair clinging to your cheeks.
But you didn’t care, not with the way Hange was making you feel—touching you in ways your own hands, or anyone else’s, never could.
You desperately try to find focus, anything to keep from cumming so fast – Hange's nose rubbing against your clit every time they bounced you made it impossible to focus on anything else.
The way this looked — the way they felt, it was all slowly becoming too much.
Trying not to break you moved upright again, grabbing at the fingers digging into your right hip giving you something to hold on to; they clasped their hand with yours – a perverse sense of comfort.
You threw your head back, grinding into their nose a bit harder this time – jaw going slack, they had you seeing stars.
Your grip on their hand tightened, a broken whimper of their name followed – firmly they squeezed your hand back.
The movement in your hips began getting sloppier, using their face as though it was second nature; they fit where you needed them, like they were made just for you.
You were close – dangerously close; Hange knew it too.
The way your hips stuttered every time your slit swiped across their face was enough to tell them that; losing the rhythm you found in the song playing on the other side of the door.
You missing Kiss Land is definitely going to raise some eyebrows later.
You tried your best to lift off Hange's face but their grip on your hip is unwavering — instead they push you dangerously closer to the edge; their tongue making tight calculated figure eights around your sensitive clit.
So close – so, so close.
Your hips spluttering with every movement — every sloppy kiss and suck Hange gave you just to get you a bit closer to where you wanted to be.
The white-hot feeling began to creep through your insides; begging to spill through your body. Your teary-eyed gaze crept downward, the sight of Hange between your thighs almost sending you over the edge alone.
“God- fuck!” you choked out — your bone breaking grip on Hange’s hand tightened following another rough suck on your sensitive clit.
You bit back a cry when they gazed back up at you — gasping when they pushed you forward again with their free hand.
Your palms planted firmly into the mattress now, hot tears teetering the edge of your waterline.
Hange didn’t give them time to spill, their hand left yours to give you support as you slightly hovered above their face—now giving them a beautiful view of your wet cunt.
Swiftly their other hand crept under you giving your neglected clit a few gentle circles before plunging a slick covered finger into your warm wet embrace.
A quiet curse left their lips— now knuckle deep in your cunt, slow paced and steady.
A quiet gasp left your lips as they added another—quickening their even pace.
“Come on baby, let it out,” their sweet voice rang through your ears, like an angel—from below.
Quickly the intense white-hot feeling began bleeding through your body with full force, like the earth itself were shifting on its axis.
“Ah, I can’t – I can’t.”
Your cries only pushed Hange more.
“Yes you can cowgirl – come on give it to me.” they teased, their fingers brushing just the spot they were looking for.
The lewd squelching of your pussy music to their ears as they listened to you unravel above them — strings of curses never heard before falling from your lips.
Hange now desperately began pushing you to your release — they couldn’t wait another second; hastily pushing your pulsing clit back to their plush lips – licking and sucking harshly, coaxing you to your orgasm.
Fingers still steadily bullying your tight hole, repeatedly touching that velvety spot inside you that made your head spin.
They were fucking your pussy like they’d never see you again, and by all means they were not going to let that happen.
Unconsciously you fucked their mouth, trying to match the rhythm of their fingers working their way in and out of you.
By this point, your brain was practically mush — if they asked your own name, you couldn’t have told them even if you wanted to.
“Please– Hange!”
Your broken cry only made them chuckle — pulling their face away from your wet cunt, they paused. Their fingers still at a steady pace pulling you closer and closer to breaking.
“Aw, you always this polite?”
The faux pity in their tone left you certain of the smug expression on their face. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to disappoint them — god knows what that might do to you now.
You whined a paltry yes; your arms almost collapsing beneath you when Hange planted a sloppy kiss to your throbbing clit.
“You ain’t gotta ask baby, go ahead.” they averred; fingers curving tastefully inside you.
Hange’s mouth found you again, like it was meant to be there — licking a fat stripe up your slit before their lips wrapped around your clit again.
Slender fingers hammering you into release from below.
A nervous laugh bubbled up from your throat, breaking through a string of cries and pleas — your hips beginning to stammer uncontrollably.
With one more thrust of their fingers the earth finally shattered beneath you.
“Hange!!!”
Their name rippled from the back of your throat like a hymn—a burn unlike any you’d ever felt before, coursing through your body with an almost biblical intensity.
You dropped to your elbows, your cries now muffled by the plush mattress beneath you.
Another breathy, anxious laugh slipped out – that was, right before a gush that nobody has ever been able to give you graced Hange’s face as they fucked you through your orgasm – shamelessly drinking in everything they could get out of you.
“god, y’ made a fuckin mess baby”
Breathlessly, they licked you clean – not wasting a single drop of your sweet release. Your body, mere centimeters from their face, now shaking – still stuffed full of their rough fingers.
The hand that had held you suspended now traced circles into the soft skin of your thigh, attempting to soothe your trembling body.
The tenderness of their touch felt worlds apart from the wild ride they had just taken you on.
Hungrily they finished cleaning you with their mouth – before sliding from underneath you breathlessly. The loss of contact earning a low whimper from your throat – too fucked out to even form a sentence.
They quickly got up, shedding their boots to climb fully onto the bed with you — there's that southern hospitality.
Gentle hands found your still-twitching body, guiding you to your pillows and laying you down with a soft touch, stroking your hair as they did.
“What’d I tell ya? You’re a real cowgirl now,” they laughed, tending to you with a tenderness that felt second nature, despite having only met two hours ago.
They kept stroking your hair, their free hand tracing soft circles on the skin of your lower back.
Slowly, your breath began to steady—their scent wrapping around you, a comfort you hadn’t known you needed after such intimacy.
As you lay there, nestled against their chest, a thought crossed your mind—you could get used to this, having someone.
Lucky for you, Hange was thinking the exact same thing.
As of now, letting Armin isolate you was a thing of the past.
“This might sound insane, but... do you maybe want to stay? Even just for a little while?” You chuckled, still catching your breath, your face pressed into their chest. For a beat, Hange didn’t respond, making you lift your head in nervous anticipation.
Their nonchalant expression only deepened your anxiety—utterly unreadable, with a slight squint in their eyes.
The hand that had been stroking your hair now propped up their head, eyes locked on yours.
Then, suddenly, the tension broke. They laughed.
“God, you should see the look on your face—priceless! I think... I can barely see you right now!”
They giggled again, their amused grin a sharp contrast to the nervous expression still etched on your face—brows furrowed, lips slightly frowning.
“That’s not funny! Oh my god!” You shook your head, your anxious expression barely faltering.
“No, it’s hilarious. There’s a difference!” They laughed, poking the space between your brows with their index finger.
“But yeah, after that... I figured it was pretty much a given. I'm a real gentleman baby, remember?” They pinched your cheek, effortlessly wiping the pout off your face.
Given how taunting they were just moments ago, the contrast was striking—how easily they now cared for you after only a few hours together. It felt more genuine than anything you’d experienced, ever.
Their grin widened as you lightly slapped their chest playfully, finally releasing a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding.
“Don’t go pouting at me again, darlin’. You just found out how that ends.” They laughed, planting a soft kiss on your forehead before leaning back and pulling you down to rest against their chest.
A comfortable silence settled between you, and for a moment, you forgot you should’ve probably gotten up to remove your makeup and get ready for the night—since you two definitely weren’t going back out there—until your thoughts drifted elsewhere.
You lingered on the thought for a moment, the silence stretching between you, before you suddenly broke it.
“Soooo... may I return the favor?” you asked, looking up at Hange with a sweet smile.
They stared back at you for a moment, uncertainty flickering in their eyes—before a grin slowly spread across their face.
“Wow, somebody’s got manners now,” they teased playfully at your sudden boldness.
“Oh, come on—please, don’t make me work for it. It’s only fair!” you said, a sudden need creeping back into your body like a slow-burning fire. Your hand slid down toward Hange’s stomach almost eagerly.
“Well... since you asked so nicely…”
The rest of the night blurred together—sex, sleep, and then more sex.
The next morning, when you woke up, the light of dawn leaking through the cracks in your blackout curtains only added to the pounding in your head, amplifying the ache in your body.
The events of the night before replayed in your mind, and despite the blaring headache, you groaned in blissful recollection.
You gently shifted, hoping to get up to close the curtains fully and get some more sleep— as if on queue Hange groaned, tightening the arm they had wrapped around your torso.
“Sneakin’ out on me already? We just finished.” Hange mumbled, their voice muffled by your hair.
You giggled, but quickly winced, holding your head—laughing even hurt.
“This is my house, dumbass,” you half-whispered, mindful of your headache and trying not to trigger theirs.
“I’m just getting up to close the curtains so we can get some proper sleep, baby.” You murmured, gently stroking their hand that was draped over you with your thumb.
Another groan from Hange followed your statement as you lifted their arm off you to get up.
Carefully, you sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, making sure not to move too quickly. You pulled some ibuprofen from the bedside table for the two of you to take.
As you opened the bottle, you noticed the carafe by the bed, usually filled with water, was completely empty.
Fuck.
Groaning, you pushed yourself upright. Your first step — and every wobbly one after — felt like walking on Jell-O fresh out of the fridge.
As quickly as you could manage, you waddled to the window, fully closing the blinds and curtains.
Almost instantly, the dim darkness soothed your pounding head.
When you turned around, the sight before you left you breathless—Hange’s toned, sleeping body wrapped in your sheets. Even their wild hair looked beautiful, almost godly.
“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies,” Hange said, startling you, not even bothering to open their eyes.
They reached out, motioning for you to come back to bed, completely unfazed by the fact that you’d been watching them sleep.
"I need to grab some water – we're fresh out, and honestly, I feel like someone just kicked my head in and beat me... with a bat," you muttered, scanning the bed for shorts, or any clothes for that matter.
Unsurprisingly, there were no clothes to be found. Only Hange's discarded glasses were left behind.
You plucked them from the bed placing them on the bedside table, surprised they weren’t in pieces, considering you two were fucking like jack rabbits all night.
You shuffled over to your drawers, tugged on a pair of black sleep shorts, and padded toward the bed, only to spot Hange’s flannel from last night crumpled on the floor like it was daring you to reach for it.
Bending to grab it sent a twinge through your legs, and you caught yourself on the bedframe.
From the bed, Hange’s chuckle rang out at the sound of your struggle.
You shot them a glare — not that it mattered; without their glasses, you might as well have been glaring at a wall.
“Need some help?” Hange giggled – propping their head up with their hand.
“or should I get you a cane?”
“and let you play nurse?” you shook your head, smiling. “Careful you might talk yourself into a job.”
Their mouth curved slow.
“Darlin’, I already took the job last night. And trust me — I passed the interview with flying colors.”
You rolled your eyes. “Pretty sure you bribed the interviewer.”
“Oh, I did more than that,” they said, grin widening.
They sat up with a lazy stretch, shoulders rolling like a satisfied cat. Swinging their legs over the side of the bed, they rubbed at their eyes, the sheets sliding low enough to bare their chest.
Heat curled low in your stomach before you could stop it.
You sighed and slipped into their flannel, the fabric still warm with their scent.
You shuffled forward until you were standing between their knees.
Their hands wasted no time, hooking into your hips and tugging you closer with an impatient pull.
“I’m thinking you might need a pelvic exam — put those hips through a lot last night,” they teased, eyes squinting in a playful smile.
“Well, cowboy, you can’t even see me. Pretty sure that’s a liability,” you teased with a grin.
“Good thing you don’t have insurance,” Hange murmured, their voice low and amused.
“Don’t worry—I’m great with my hands. Promise.” Their thumbs kneaded into the soft curve of your hips, coaxing you closer, the heat between you impossible to ignore.
You giggled under your breath — almost falling for it. “I have to get water, remember? It’s early, and there's always still strays from the party lurking around. Gotta make it down there before they start rising from the dead.”
A low, unsatisfied grumble rumbled from Hange — stepping out of their warmth suddenly felt wrong.
You turned away, waddling toward the closet just a few feet off, your joints feeling like they were being held together with paper clips.
Ice time on Monday was going to be brutal.
Carefully, you pulled out a large Titan Athletics t-shirt you were sure would fit them, along with a pair of gray sweats you’d stolen from Reiner ages ago.
You tossed the bundle their way, laughing when the shirt smacked them square in the face — completely forgetting their less-than-stellar eyesight.
“I’ll be back quick, promise,” you said with a grin. “Unless, of course, you’d like to join me?”
Limping— more than walking— back to your side of the bed, you grabbed the bedside carafe and Hange’s glasses.
You paused to watch as they slipped on the shirt you’d tossed over, completely forgetting you’d cut the neck out of it.
The wide collar dipped low, skimming their collarbones and cascading over their breasts in a way that was almost unfair.
Despite their broad shoulders and toned biceps, the shirt still hung cutely oversized on them as they stood up to slip on the grey sweats.
“I’ll go with you —gotta piss first though, god,” Hange muttered, their voice pitched slightly higher, probably from the lingering ache as they pulled on the equally oversized sweatpants.
You handed them their glasses, then wandered over to kick the stray clothes you’d both abandoned hours ago away from the bathroom door beside your closet.
Honestly, it was a miracle neither of you had tripped during your trips earlier.
“I’ll head down first—assuming you remember how to get to the kitchen,” you teased with a giggle, stepping aside as they passed.
You caught the slight wince when they flicked on the bathroom light.
Poor thing.
You shuffled to your bedroom door as quickly as your sore legs would allow, unlocking it with a click.
The moment you swung it open, the smell hit you like a sucker punch—booze, weed, and sweat all tangled in the air.
Stepping out of the warm atmosphere you and Hange had built into the sticky hallway flooring made you wince.
With a sigh, you turned right toward the staircase, silently cursing yourself for choosing the upstairs bedroom just because it was bigger.
You hobbled down the stairs, wincing with every step but silently grateful your stomach wasn’t betraying on the way down.
At the bottom, you casually stepped over a body sprawled out at the last step, sleeping so peacefully you almost felt bad for not tossing a blanket over them… almost.
A few more steps brought you to the kitchen archway. You peeked around the corner, doing a silent little victory dance when you saw it was empty—well, empty-ish.
Just a few random guys and Reiner, still in his god awful Dracula costume, sprawled out on the dining room floor.
You snorted. Hockey players… nature’s proof that you really can sleep anywhere – like oversized housecats.
You strolled into the dimly lit kitchen, the only light spilling in from the window—now heavily guarded by Reiner and his loyal disciples.
You’d have to grab your phone later and snap a picture before they woke up; this kind of blackmail material didn’t come around often.
Careful not to disturb the sleeping horde, you tiptoed your way to the fridge.
You set the carafe on the counter and swung open the fridge, instantly abandoning the idea of filling it when you spotted the stash of untouched water bottles you’d bought for the rager still sitting there.
Jackpot.
Curiosity got the better of you, and you cracked open the freezer—only to find every last drop of booze completely wiped out.
Not even a sad half-melted ice pop left behind. Wow… does nobody care about their health?
You slammed the freezer shut and snagged four water bottles from the fridge, nudging the door closed with your hip.
When you turned around, everything in your hands nearly went flying as a startled yelp escaped you.
“Eren—what the hell, man?” you whisper-yelled, clutching the bottles like they were lost treasure.
He stood in the opposite archway looking thoroughly disgruntled, his long hair a tangled mess and his shirt nowhere to be found.
Fake blood flaking from his mouth and chest — something you didn't even wanna question.
Combined with his bleary green eyes, he looked less like a party guest and more like a cryptid you’d catch on grainy security footage at 3 a.m.
“Sorry—didn’t mean to scare you,” he grumbled, trudging past you to the fridge you’d just raided.
He yanked out a water bottle and chugged it like it was the first drink he’d had in years.
“Hey, do you have your phone on you?” you asked with a giggle, tilting your head toward the pile of comatose hockey players in the dining room.
Eren glanced over mid-swig, brow furrowing. “Why?”
“Why do you think genius? Look at them,” you said, grinning like a lunatic.
He swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirked.
“Fine. Worst angles only. Though you already took gold for ‘most wrecked’ last night.”
“I didn’t even see you last night, Jaeger,” you said, brow raised.
“I know you didn’t,” he replied, crouching to get an unflattering close-up of Reiner’s drooling face, “but I saw you drag a very familiar cowboy up the stairs while I was grabbing a drink. And you missed Kiss Land, by the way. Tragic. I even played it twice for you.”
He didn’t even look up as he kept snapping photos, each one somehow worse than the last.
You swallowed, hard.
“Relax — I’m not your stalker. The only person who loses sleep over what you do is Armin. I didn’t tell him, but… pretty sure he’ll catch up eventually,” Eren said with a smirk.
“Yeah, well, after the night I had... I’m done letting him isolate me under the guise of ‘keeping me focused.’ He’s my best friend, not my coach… or my fuckin' boyfriend,” you huffed, annoyance bleeding into your tone.
“Uh-huh. Tell him that. I’ll have popcorn ready.” Eren said dryly, thumbing through the heinous photos he’d just taken—photos you knew he was definitely posting to the university gossip page.
“Honestly, I’m proud of you—managing to get laid in this house without Armin finding out is a fucking Olympic sport." Eren chuckled, shaking his head.
"You know how many times he’s grilled me about girls? I’m starting to think he’s in love with me too.”
He freezes mid-scroll. “Not—fuck, I didn’t mean—”
“You knew?” Your voice spikes.
Your eyes went wide. “Wait—so the possessiveness, the gatekeeping, the whole judging my partners thing… was exactly what I thought? And you just… sat on that? Seriously?”
A laugh — half-disbelieving, half-exasperated — slipped out of you. Your fingers curled around the counter’s edge, knuckles blanching.
Eren shifted his weight, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Unreal. You’re telling me you just put that together?”
Eren chuckled, the sound half-sympathetic, half-mocking.
“It was not exactly subtle to anyone but you, brainiac. You’re smart—usually. But this? Yeah, everyone else figured it out ages ago. You were the only one in the dark, dude.”
From behind Eren, a groggy southern draw slipped into the air, light and mocking.
“So it wasn’t just a rumor, huh?”
You turned toward the voice and found Hange leaning in the kitchen archway, glasses slightly askew and hair messily framing their face.
You’d completely forgotten they’d said they were coming down.
“How did you not see it?” Eren asked, scrolling on his phone again, his casual tone making it clear you should’ve figured it out a long time ago.
“From the day the three of us moved in here, it only got worse. I might take pucks to the face professionally, but I’m not blind twin,” Eren said, a smirk tugging at his lips as he recalled the first party you all threw in this house.
“Remember that first party? Armin lost it when that girl left your room. Full lecture—even after you said you just gave her clothes ‘cause you spilled your drink on her. Which, by the way, turned out to be true,” Eren said, shooting a glance at Hange.
“He was drunk. He apologized,” you muttered, your gaze flicking between Eren and Hange—both of them sharing a look you couldn’t quite read.
“Yeah? And how many times has he run the same play since?” Eren said bluntly, the air in the kitchen tightening.
“If you keep letting him get away with it, it’s only gonna get worse. You’ve got sectionals coming, and trust me—it’s not because of anything he did.”
A warm hand settled on your back—you hadn’t even noticed Hange slip away from the archway.
They stayed quiet, offering only a small, knowing smile and a light squeeze to your shoulder, careful not to overstep given you’d met less than twelve hours ago.
“Look I hope im not overstepping but he’s got a point – and god forbid he says anything to me about it because i will hogtie his ass.” Hange said lightly — their threat nicely coated in their sweet tone.
“I'll buy the rope myself if I have to,” Eren said, eyes lighting up like he’d just found a new hobby.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind that,” you sighed, cracking open a bottle of water from the counter.
“Wouldn’t mind what?”
The air in the kitchen went still.
Eren immediately buried himself in his phone, while Hange arched a brow and adjusted their crooked glasses.
You froze for half a beat before turning toward the source of that precise, cutting voice—unmistakably Armin’s.
Even hungover, he was surgical. Calculated.
“Well, why’d we stop talking? Eren?” Armin’s tone was cold—too cold—making it clear he’d heard everything.
The weight in your chest doubled. Hange’s warm hand pressed lightly at your lower back—a steady anchor – unspoken comfort.
“We weren’t talking about anything important—just a party recap,” Eren said, oozing nonchalance as he tapped post on the photos of Reiner’s sleeping costume reveal.
“Interesting.”
Armin strolled past the three of you, grabbing a mug from the cabinet before heading straight for the coffee maker.
His eyes flicked to Hange’s hand on your back—the first thing he noticed when he walked by.
“So, where’d you get off to last night? Couldn’t find you anywhere.” His passive-aggressive tone made it clear—a storm was already crackling in the air around you.
Now or never.
You couldn’t keep folding under Armin’s weight. It was time to stand your ground.
The words that followed seemed like anything but.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” you teased, a giggle slipping out—though your eyes told a different story, daring him to test the waters.
Both Eren and Hange blinked, caught off guard by your sudden playfulness in the face of Armin’s sharpness.
Eren, more than anyone, knew you were about to light a fire under Armin’s ass if he dared embarrass you in front of Hange.
Armin’s jaw flexed, the faintest tick betraying the smile he fought to keep.
“Careful,” he said lightly, though the warning in his tone was unmistakable. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about you.”
You scoffed. He’s gotta be fucking joking.
“Excuse me?” Your voice was firm, and Hange’s hand — once gently rubbing your back — curled into the fabric of your shirt, as if ready to hold you back.
“I mean, people who care about their reputation usually don’t fuck random strangers and then play house the next morning.”
His tone was deceptively casual, but the jealousy bleeding through was impossible to miss.
“But that’s just me, I guess.”
For a moment, you were speechless — heat rising in your chest as the air between you snapped and hummed like a live wire.
The comment made Eren look up from his phone, disbelief flashing across his face.
“Armin don't be fuckin' rude, we have guests. And let’s not pretend you’re some saint,” he said, the easygoing tone gone from his voice.
“Oh, come on, Eren—you’re always babying her. That’s why she runs to you crying every time we disagree. You don’t know what’s best for her,” Armin said, each word dripping with poison.
He turned, leaning back against the counter, and took a slow swig of coffee before letting his gaze slide to Hange.
“And now that you’re here,” he added coolly, “looks like she’s got someone else to whine to… until you run out on her, of course. Presumably today, since you’re just a hookup.” Armin scoffed.
“What are you talking about? We’re going on a date later, aren’t we, darlin’?” Hange glanced at you, mischief written all over their face.
Just to twist the knife, they leaned in and pressed a light kiss to your temple. A coy smile on your face when you gazed at Armin.
Armin’s grip on his mug tightened, knuckles blanching as the coffee inside trembled with the force.
“A date,” he repeated, voice cracking. The muscle in his jaw jumped as he forced a thin smile.
“Right. I’m sure that’ll last.”
Eren didn’t even blink – his mouth curling into a sly smile.
“That's crazy from a guy who’s never been on one,” Eren said lazily.
“If you spent less time worrying about who Y/N has in her bed, maybe you’d get laid too.”
He glanced just long enough to get under Armin’s skin. “Besides, they've got wayyy better odds than you—they totally fucked last night, and she’s... actually interested in them.”
The last line landed like a twist of a knife.
Armin scoffed. “You’re full of shit, Jaeger.”
His mug hit the counter harder than necessary, coffee sloshing over the rim. “You think I don’t see what’s going on here?”
Hange sighed, shaking their head with a low chuckle. “I’m guessing you’re gonna tell us anyway, huh?”
If looks could kill, Armin would already be in pieces on the floor—you’d never thought he’d stoop this low.
Especially after a fresh hangover — he was giving you more of a headache than the alcohol.
You’d knew that if anything would send Hange running for the hills, it’d be Armin. Yet when you looked at them, they were just as furious as you and Eren.
Their hand, still firmly gripping the back of the flannel you were wearing, was a silent tell of exactly how angry they were at his antics towards you.
Before Armin could get another insult out, you cut in—aiming to end this before it spiraled any further.
“You know what? No. I’m not doing this with you, Armin,” you said, sharp and steady.
“I had a great night—clearly most of us did.” You gestured toward the hockey boys still sprawled on the floor like a fleet of lazy house cats.
Then to Eren — who, without a doubt, did something nefarious last night.
“I’m not apologizing for who I chose to give myself to, and I sure as hell won’t let you insult them in my presence.”
You snatched the water you’d pillaged from the fridge off the counter with one hand, Hange’s arm with the other, and made for the kitchen archway without looking back.
“You are my friend—not my coach, not my manager, and you sure as hell ain’t my fucking boyfriend, Armin,” you shot over your shoulder, stopping just under the arch.
“When you come to your senses and stop being a possessive dick, I’ll be here. Until then, excuse me—I’ve got a hot cowboy to ride and a date to get ready for, you rude son of a bitch.”
It was silent for a beat — the low hum of the fridge suddenly amplified with the tension.
A low whistle cut through the room—Reiner, half-buried in his costume on the floor.
“Hell yeah, get some!,” he grumbled — voice groggy, tugging the cape over his head like a blanket before rolling back into the darkness of the dining room table.
Eren grinned like he’d just watched someone get dropped in a quick draw.
“Damn twin… tell us how you really feel.”
He gave Armin one last look—equal parts pity and disgust—before shaking his head with a low laugh and heading for his room.
Armin stayed frozen in the kitchen, simmering.
This wasn’t over.
For you, though, it was.
The moment you stepped into the room, the air changed—quieter, heavier.
The warm solitude you and Hange had shared before the storm still lingered, but the energy felt different now.
You shut the door behind you and leaned against it for half a beat before locking it, the click feeling like drawing a final line between you and the shitshow outside.
“I’m sorry about hi—”
Your words never finished.
Hange’s mouth found yours before the apology could even form, warm and certain, the kiss gentle enough to soothe but deep enough to erase Armin from your mind entirely.
The tension in your shoulders melted, replaced by something slower, heavier, coiling low in your stomach.
When they pulled back, they didn’t step away.
Their smile was all heat wrapped in mischief, hands still firm at your hips, thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles that made your pulse speed up.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, darlin’,” they said, tilting their head just slightly, eyes locked on yours like they could see straight through you.
“I just remember you’ve got a cowboy to ride… and a date to get ready for.”
They leaned in until your back brushed the cool wood of the door, the faint smell of coffee, smoke and the essence of the night you two shared clung to them curling into your senses.
One thumb slid higher, grazing your hipbone in a way that felt almost accidental—except it wasn’t.
“Probably best we start with the first one.”
© myplague | don't copy, steal, or translate any of my work
