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cosmosorbitt · 19 days ago

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mutable ch4

thank u all sm for the support on the last chapter! see u all for ch5 :3

hange x fem reader

wc: 4123

tags: fluff, angst, modern

cross posted on ao3

chapter four - apple cider

call me at midnight

let’s give this thing a try

play apple cider by beabadoobee

September 2017

Being friends with Hange is a rollercoaster. It’s amiable, cozy, and above all, loving. They’re easy to be around, outgoing and never one to deem others below them.

You sit in their parked truck, the once sinful stench now providing a blanket of comfort. The windows are rolled down, the cool fall breeze blowing through the car, flowing between the locks of your hair.

Hange’s radio hums in the background as you scroll through your socials, feet pulled up on the seat and crunching against your chest. You rest your chin on your knees, mindlessly staring at your phone.

You turn your head to look at Hange, who is currently dropping a french fry into their open mouth. The scene compels a giggle out of you, and they snap their gaze to yours with a smile, mouth full.

“What’s so funny?” Hange teases with their mouth still full, the food obstructing their words slightly and slurring them.

“Nothing. Just you,” you jest back, a small smirk twitching at the corners of your lips. “Can I have a fry?” You hold your hand out to them.

“Say please.”

“Are you my mom?” you bark out with a laugh, the teasing banter coming naturally. Over the past month of knowing Hange, you’ve explored parts of them that you never would’ve been able to deduce on your own.

One: they like having control.

Hange snatches the bag of fries just out of your reach, teasing your hungry stomach.

“No, but she should’ve taught you better manners. Say please,” they jingle the bag back and forth, the same way an owner teases a puppy with a new toy.

You reach for the bag, but they move it further away, again just out of your reach. A huff of exasperation leaves your lungs, and you reach further over the middle console with another attempt of yanking the fries from their hands.

Two: Hange is very touchy.

They grab the hand once reaching for the bag, intertwining it with theirs and pushing you back into the passenger seat. Your heart drums in your ears, significantly faster than usual. Hange retracts their hand, caressing your cheek ever so slightly in the process.

“Say. Please.”

“Fine. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Hange Zoe.”

The sound of their full name makes them cackle. It’s crazed and energetic, like they’ve been holding it in for years at a time. They toss a fry into your hand, freeing you from their endless teasing.

Hange pats your shoulder gently, a sweet gesture in the form of an apology. Their hand lingers, squeezing your shoulder with a firm grip as if to announce its departure from your body.

You eat the fry whole, giving Hange a glare as you chew. They pick up a pack of cigarettes that sits in their cup holder, sliding one out between their lean fingers.

Three: Hange loves cigarettes.

They swipe a shabby lighter from their pocket, lighting up the end of the cigarette before taking a long drag and exhaling it out the window. You watch in awe, confidence oozing through them in an infectious manner. Your nose scrunches as the smell of nicotine and tobacco settles, the smoke disappearing in the wind with the smell plaguing the car.

Hange catches you staring at the glory that is their face. They chuckle, low and saccharine, it’s so quiet you nearly miss it. You snap your head in the other direction, the trees nearby quickly becoming much more enticing than their face.

“Do you want a smoke?”

The question catches you off guard, sending a wave of guilt over you. You let the quiet hang in the air for a moment as you ponder your response.

“No. Sorry,” you aren’t really sure why you’re apologizing. You shouldn’t feel guilty, just for rejecting something you’re fully aware is an abhorrent habit. Maybe you want to impress them, or even just make yourself seem cooler than you are.

But that’s not who you are.

“Suit yourself,” they mutter quietly, taking a long drag. You imagine the chemicals settling into their lungs, smoldering every inch that it touches into pure ash, leaving only a black chunk left. Disheartening is the only way to describe it, knowing that this is the way Hange chooses to destroy themself.

The breeze picks up, shaking the truck slightly in its wake. Hange stubs their cigarette and sets it into a trash bag sitting in the back seat before rolling up both windows. The burnt, acrid smell suffocates the car and you find yourself fighting a gag.

“It stinks,” you utter, attempting to wipe the smell out of your nose with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Tastes better than it smells, I’ll tell you that.”

You can’t even imagine what cigarettes would taste like if the campfire aroma is the only description to go off of. Flavored cigarettes are fairly common, but you know Hange likes everything raw and unfiltered, just like their actions.

“What does it taste like?”

“I’ll show you.”

Without a second thought, Hange’s left hand grasps your cheek, and you can feel their lips press against your own. Their lips are slightly chapped, but you can relish the nicotine on them. The taste is bitter, far too similar to black coffee for your liking.

The kiss concludes just as quickly as it started, a simple peck to prove that you’re more than just friends. You aren’t sure whether it’s the nicotine or Hange’s lips, but it’s addicting nonetheless.

“Did you like it?”

“Which part?” you giggle breathlessly, the scene beforehand replaying itself in your mind.

—————————

play i crave for you by :of the wand and the moon:

The beginnings of fall surround you as Hange’s truck streaks down the barren road. Every single hue of red, orange, and yellow decorates the trees as a couple straggling leaves fall to the concrete ground.

Hange’s kiss remains on your lips. While it isn’t there physically, the memory of plump flesh pressing against your own loiters in your brain. Certainly not the best scenario to have your first kiss with Hange, but if you had to choose, you’d do it all over again.

Their sweetness, their confidence, the way their head tilts to the side and reels you in like a new catch at the lake. Butterflies fester in your stomach, snagging against every single nerve in your body.

You look back at Hange, and a heat rises to your face, undoubtedly red. You just kissed Hange. You felt their face centimeters from your own as your lips melded into one, the world disappeared around you.

You got to experience that feeling.

The sight of your house sends a wave of disappointment into your blood, having to tear yourself away from Hange for the night. Hange’s truck skirts to a stop in your dirt driveway, kicking up dust and debris behind it. You sit, unmoving for a moment as a single thought becomes clearer in your mind.

“Do you want to come in?”

A river of words rush from your mouth before you can stop them, the aching need to be closer to Hange swallowing you whole. They turn their head to you, the only sound present is a rustle of the leaves blowing outside. Hange gives you the softest smile before turning off their ignition.

“Yeah.”

The world goes quiet again, just the two of you admiring each other as if there is nothing more beautiful in the world than your love. It’s stunning, a taste of the euphoria that comes with being friends with Hange.

With loving Hange.

Leaves crunch beneath your feet as you slip out of the passenger seat and shut the door. Hange follows quickly behind you, skipping up to your front door as you unlock it. You allow them in first, closing the door and locking it behind you.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve had a friend over, let alone a crush. It’s frightening, stepping into new territory with a heart full of fear. You walk into the kitchen, your floorboards creaking with every step of the way. The kitchen has a soft glow from the afternoon light, basking everything in a golden hue.

“Do you want a water?” you ask as you open the cupboard to grab a glass.

“I’m fine,” they reply quietly, taking in their newfound surroundings.

You hold the glass under the sink, filling it up with water and taking a small sip to ease your nerves. You gesture for Hange to follow you up the stairs. It’s a lonesome hallway with three doors, one with the guest bedroom, a bathroom, and your own room. Nervousness builds inside of you as you open the door to your room, the buzz of your old fan filling the silence.

Your glass of water is set upon your nightstand, and you take a seat on your covers. The comfort of being in your own bed is a calming touch that aids in leaving your nerves behind.

Hange eyes the guitar in the corner of your room, a flash of excitement filling their features.

“Do you play?”

“Not really, it’s my mom’s,” you admit lowly. You want to lie, to prove that you’re just as amazing as Hange makes you out to be, but you would feel guilty.

“Okay, I’ll play, and you sing.”

Their offer strikes fear in you. Singing in a group is fine, it’s easy and you’re able to get your emotions out while not being the exact center of attention.

Music is a sacred art, one to be learned and practiced to a tee without mistakes. A coping mechanism that allows for the release of all emotions that maturate inside of your body, a feeling that makes you feel complete. Music isn’t meant to change on the fly, it’s supposed to stay the same. To perform the same in front of everyone, to unleash your writing onto the audience to prove that you’re worthy, to show what you’ve done to give the final blow of the chorus.

“I can’t sing.”

“You’re in choir,” they refute, their voice challenging, egging you on to prove that they’re right. A moment of unease and silence passes as they settle on the bed, creaking slightly from the added weight.

“Fine, but you have to sing with me.”

They smirk at their victory, testing the tuning of the acoustic with a single strum.

play anyone else but you by michael cera and elliot page

The opening chords are messy and rushed, but you recognize the song immediately as Anyone Else But You. It’s soft and simplistic, an homage to the first moments you spent together.

When you were nothing but friends.

They start the song with a honeyed deep voice, their eyes locking onto yours with an admiration that can rival Romeo himself.

“You’re a part time lover and a full time friend.”

Their singing creates a smile that crosses your face, sweet and genuine. Your previous fear is gone, descended below into the ground and replaced with an undying love, a love reserved for Hange.

“Don’t see what anyone else can see in anyone else, but you.”

The lyrics hold you captive, keeping you in place as Hange only continues the song, giving you a small nod of reassurance as the melody flows from your lungs.

“We sure are cute for two ugly people.”

Their smile is infectious, sweeping your nervous grin to a more confident one.

“Don’t see what anyone else can see in anyone else, but you.”

It’s a shared intimate moment. Love and adoration pouring out from each orifice of both of your bodies, everlasting to each other. They fumble a chord when switching to another, but they keep playing after a slight curse. It’s not practiced, it’s not routine, it’s new. It’s an art that Hange creates with their hands to demonstrate their true feelings to you, to humbly express the love that erupts from their heart.

Hange chimes in to harmonize with you, the contrast of voices designing an alluring dissonance that fills the air.

“Now I’m in love with how you feel.”

“I don’t see what anyone can see in anyone else.”

“But you.”

Hange stops strumming abruptly, clearing the smile from your face just as it had begun to grow in size. They place the guitar gently on the floor before looking directly at you. The same admiration from before is clear, intriguing and pleasing all the while.

“I want you to be my girlfriend, Y/N.”

All other aspects of your life disappear, their statement crashing over you with a wave of joy. Everything fades around you, the guitar, the room, the sky, the only thing remaining is you and Hange, sitting on your bed together.

“I do too.”

Just as quickly as before, Hange cups your face and leans in. Their lips flush against your own, an experimental kiss. The force knocks you backwards on the bed, finding yourself lying back as they crawl over you with the same confidence they always possess.

Your hands navigate to their own cheeks, reeling them closer until you both pull away, desperate for air. Your breaths are mingling, and Hange rests their forehead against your own. You smell the remnants of their cigarette on their lips, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Hange Zoe just asked you out, officially.

“You are fucking incredible,” they huff, still gasping for air.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you chuckle quietly, carding your fingers through their messy ponytail. Hange pecks the apple of your cheek, just as tender as the first time you shared a kiss.

—————————

play see you later, i’m gone by robert lester folsom

Hange lies below you, your head resting upon their chest. The steady beat of their heart lulls you into a peaceful trance, not quite asleep, but not fully awake either. Faint smells of cigarette smoke still lingers on them, but you inhale it without hesitation.

Thump, thump, thump.

Hange’s hands entertain themselves in your hair, combing through it and scratching your scalp occasionally. Your phone next to you plays music quietly while Hange mindlessly scrolls on their own. It’s uncomplicated, a simple love that you’ve yearned for finally finding its way to your heart.

It’s an unexpected, divergent experience. Changing with the seasons the same way water crashes into the shoreline. Hange is your partner, someone to spend time together with an added touch of intimacy and romance.

Thump, thump, thump.

You begin to realize that all the previous nervousness was excitement. A similar feeling that’s easy to mix up, but now excitement is the only emotion that brews within you.

Hange’s hand travels down to your back, smoothing the wrinkles in your shirt and rubbing soft circles into your spine. A sigh retires from your lips, and Hange grabs a blanket to pull over your bodies.

Thump, thump, thump.

Your body itches to be closer, even closer than it already is. To mush into a singular being filled with every bit of adoration that seeps from both of your bodies. To feel every inch of their skin on yours, to relish in every molecule that makes up their body together with yours.

It’s pathetic, but your love is irrefutable.

Your head moves slightly, opening your eyes properly to look into Hange’s. They’re already looking at you, a soft smile gracing their features.

Looking into Hange’s eyes is like looking into a mug of coffee. Bittersweet, but warm and addictive nonetheless. Their newfound gentleness with you is virtuous, a pleasurable warmth wrapping around your heart.

“You’re very pretty,” they remark with a grin.

“You’re very handsome,” you counter with a similar expression.

Their hands stop on your back, closing in on your hair again as their slender fingers slip through the threads. It’s comforting, and you find yourself leaning into the touch like a puppy.

You ponder on the similie, the interchangeable similarities of you and a dog is uncanny. The undying loyalty, the peculiar sense of smell, the necessity to be close to someone. Most of all, the hatred for change.

Lying in Hange’s arms is different, the first person you’ve ever had the satisfaction of sharing intimacies with. Soft kisses to the top of your head, and the same impulse to be ever closer to the other. It’s innocent, the purest form of love that sweeps you off of your feet and into the unknown world of relationships.

The change in your life you’ve vowed to be disgusting, is now welcomed in the form of Hange. Hange is the change that you’re growing to love, to watch the love inside of you bloom into a fully grown plant whose roots intertwine with theirs.

Their love is sweet and full, filling your body up to the brim with pure adoration. Tobacco still stains their shirt with its smell, but you can’t find yourself bothering to care. A soft smile appears on their lips, and the warmth transfers from their gaze to yours.

Hange takes their phone and flashes you with their camera, leaving you disoriented.

“What was that for?” you giggle.

“For when I’m missing you.”

Hange’s voice is quiet and sweet, singing melodies into your ears as an orchestra. Their voice always has this specific tone to it whenever they’re around you, softer and more approachable. The soft spot that only gives way for you.

—————————

November 2025

Hange crumples into your arms, your bodies merging into each other’s rigid edges. The ache of their previous absence from your life haunts you, taunting you with a wiggling finger. Their sobs subside, leaving a hollow body lying limp in your arms.

You’re perfect.

Words you once admit freely now stutter in your throat, a silence falling over the room only shattered by their wheezes. The same smell of burnt paper reeks, clinging to their hair and clothes. Searing pain flutters in your chest, an ache to be seen and bleeding onto them. Your body retracts from Hange’s, leaving nothing but warmth upon their skin. A shared breath that you’ll never remember, the taste of tobacco loitering on your tongue, just the way you remember it.

You’ve given Hange years to ripen, to grow themself into someone that they no longer are. Parts of them are still the same, the shaggy hair framing their face, the oval glasses, the hooked nose that you dream about in slumber.

You know in your heart they’re different. Even from the first moments of your relationship, it was different. Something changed inside of them, you aren’t sure of the catalyst, but the product still shakes you to this day.

You bite your lip just to feel something, your face feels numb, like a mask. If you open your mouth, you’re sure that your true thoughts would spill freely onto the velvet couch.

Hange’s ego is floored, sinking to the ground with a pathetic whistle. Someone you would spend every single second with now sits in front of you, eye shifting up to meet your own. Something familiar leaks from their eyes, one you’ve only seen years ago.

Longing.

play anything by adrianne lenker

You want to hate Hange. To crush them between your fingers and watch the crimson flood from them. Revenge would be so sickly sweet, but reminiscing on the gentle way their hands used to caress your cheek causes a lump to form in your throat.

You still love them. Your own personal galaxy would curve simply to grace their shoulder, to smell the familiar musk of cigarettes and cinnamon that reeks off of them. It’s cruel, having been able to taste their love and their lips just for it to be ripped from your hands. Your brain thrives off of the dopamine Hange feeds you, spoonful by spoonful.

Without Hange, your body doesn’t feel whole, and the opportunity to experience their love fully again presents itself to you. You aren’t made for anyone to hold. Anyone except Hange.

Resolve crumples to ash in your veins, and your head rests upon their shoulder. Their smell is still the same, that same musk with a wave of warmth and comfort.

Hange lays their own head on top of yours, and the tears you’ve fought so hard to restrain flood from your eyes. A choked sob escapes from you, but you feel so fucking good. Closure that was never received finally hits you full force. Part of your brain wonders if they feel the same love that you still do. Yearning for the sweet touch of each other’s lips to feed your hunger for happiness.

You don’t want to feed your own delusions, living off of the lies that they so delicately spread to your bones. Hange admitted to missing you, but were they simply craving the attention that you supply to them forever more? While Hange definitely changed, you know that they aren’t like that. They always have a reason, one way or another.

Feeling Hange next to you, touching their skin to yours willingly, you finally feel alive for the first time in years. You feel the air fill your lungs, the dingy light kissing your skin, it’s enough for you. Enough is everything. Enough is feeling Hange, your love still too prominent for them not to notice.

“I wish we could try again,” they whisper. A cold reminder that what love is left can never be kindled with a fire again. You loved them too much, too closely. Knowing Hange and you are never meant to work out.

I wish.

But you do too. You wish on every shooting star, every loose eyelash, and every birthday since that day. You wish for their love to suffocate you the same way it did. To feel the overwhelming desire of being ever closer, to love every part of them again.

It’s gone.

Shriveled into the dead flowers they bought you, flaky petals sitting on your nightstand with the only moisture being your tears. Feeling their breath on the top of your head is now grotesque, nausea fluttering throughout your body.

“Why?” you mutter, the question slipping from your lips before you can even process it.

“Why, what?”

You falter. The words straggle in your throat, stuck between wanting to speak every single thought that crosses your mind, or protecting yourself. Protecting yourself from the pain of hurting yourself for the love you know still festers inside of you.

“Why can’t we try again?”

You can hear Hange’s breath hitch, the hesitance crystal clear.

“It’s complicated.”

“Then why tell me you miss me?” You spit, anger once again flowing into your veins.

Hange pauses, picking up their resting head from yours to look at you. A scowl from your face stares dead at them, icy and cold.

“I’m not lying. It’s complicated, Y/N,” Hange breathes out, trying to keep your frustration at bay.

“So, what? You just hurt me over and over. That’s all you fucking do. And now you’re trying to hurt me again,” you cry. It’s the truth that you’ve pined to tell them, to finally squish the ego that they’ve retained.

Hange’s eye narrows at you, their brows knitting into an unreadable expression. They seem angry, but sympathetic in the way that their eye twitches ever so slightly.

“You don’t get it,” they choke out, bottling up the vexation that floods through them.

“Then tell me. Tell me so I get it. Because right now, I don’t. I don’t understand what you’re doing,” you reply, softer this time.

“It’s a stupid explanation.”

“I don’t care.”

Hange sighs, taking a breath to compose themselves.

“I hurt people. I don’t know why, I don’t want to, but I do. I hurt people all the time, and every time I try to fix it, I just hurt them again. I hate myself for it. I left you that night because I knew I was just going to hurt you again. Because every time I wanted to help you, I fucked it up royally and caused you to hurt even more. I couldn’t hurt you anymore.”

You’re stunned, it’s the truth. The disgustingly honest truth. Hange’s right. They do hurt people. They hurt you. But you know now, they wanted it to be better for you. To let you love yourself before you could love them.

“I still want to be your friend, more than anything.”

“Hange, I don’t know—“

“Please, Y/N.”

Your hands shake in your lap. You’re terrified, terrified that they’ll only hurt you. You can’t deny them, they pull you in every time, every interaction, you’re still theirs.

“Okay.”

mutable | chapter four

#hange zoe #ao3 #attack on titan #hange x reader #hanji zoe

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