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Pairing: videographer!Christina Koch x camgirl!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Tags/Warnings: Strangers to business partners, slow burn, mutual attraction, bisexual panic, camgirl industry, solo play, light banter, fluff, lingering tension, masterbation, mild angst
Summary: Upgrading to cinematic quality was supposed to strictly be a business decision. But when the chemistry through the lens becomes too loud for subscribers to ignore, a fan's custom request forces a choice: keep things professional, or let the woman holding the camera step into the frame.
w.c: 4.4k
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You were currently sprawled on your couch, staring blankly at the ceiling of your living room. It had been 48 hours since the shoot with Christina, and the waiting was slowly driving you crazy. Every vibration of your phone over the last two days had made your chest tighten, your brain instantly jumping to the worst-case scenarios. What if she hated the footage she shot? What if she thought it was a mess? What if she regretted taking the gig?
You shifted, pulling a throw pillow tight against your chest as the afternoon light began to angle through the window, throwing long shadows across the floor.
Then the sharp chime of a notification cut through the quiet of your apartment.
Your phone screen lit up on the coffee table. You reached for it so fast you nearly dropped it as you brought it closer to your face. The first notification was a message from Christina along with a secure file-sharing link.
Christina: ‘Files synced and rendered. First rough cut attached. Let me know if you want any timeline adjustments before the final export.’
You stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the link. The message was short, practical, and utterly devoid of any personal chatter. It showed her professional detachment you would never guess she had spent the last few hours staring at high-definition footage of you in your most intimate and vulnerable moments.
With your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs, you sat up, swung your legs off the couch, and went to grab your laptop. If you were going to watch this, you weren't going to do it on a tiny phone screen; you wanted to see every single pixel of her work in the best quality possible.
Your fingers were slightly trembling as you quickly synced your laptop to your messaging app. You clicked the secure link, authorizing the download of the massive uncompressed file in stunning 2160p HD quality.
A file that crisp was heavy, and you could hear your laptop’s internal fan kick on, a low whirring sound that seemed to match the buzzing energy in your own veins as you watched the progress bar slowly creep forward. A 30 minute clip of raw, high quality footage took time to process, and the agonizing wait only made the air in your living room feel thicker.
When the download finally completed with a soft digital chime the media player popped open.
You froze.
The preview thumbnail of the video instantly made your heart skip a beat, the breath catching tight in your throat. It was an incredibly intimate, high-definition capture of you lying back on the pink sheets with two fingers parted inside yourself, your other hand gently holding open your outer lips to reveal your slick, dark pink center.
The clarity of the image was staggering. Every soft curve, the delicate texture of your skin, and the glistening contrast of your wetness under the studio lights were captured in high quality. Seeing yourself displayed so beautifully, and so incredibly exposed through her professional lens, made your face instantly burn with a sudden, dizzying rush of heat.
You pressed play, the room falling completely silent as you watched the footage unfold. The camera quality was immaculate, it felt entirely different from anything you had ever produced yourself. The lens captured every microscopic detail of your skin like the goosebumped flush rising along your arms, the subtle twitch of your thighs as you adjusted on the bed, and the way the pastel pink lace cast intricate shadows across your stomach.
The panning was incredibly smooth while it tracked your movements with a slow-motion rhythm that made your pulse start to race all over again. You looked radiant, exposed, and completely captivating.
You watched yourself sink into the performance, your breath hitching on screen just as it was hitching now in real life.
Then, the video transitioned to the middle of the solo set, and you braced yourself. You finally got to the part where you had lost your grip and the heavy dildo slipping, making direct contact with the camera lens. Through the laptop speakers the heavy thunk of the silicone striking the lens hood echoed clearly in the quiet room.
The camera wobbled slightly after the impact. The microphone of the camera also picked up on a small sound, a quiet and low chuckle slipping from the back of Christina’s throat.
A sudden wave of heat washed over your neck as you relived the moment. During the actual shoot, you had been absolutely terrified that she would sound pissed off that your dildo had hit her expensive camera even if it was an accident. You had spent the last two days stressing over whether you’d ruined a professional relationship before it even started.
But hearing that unguarded laugh through your headphones changed everything. It wasn’t angry at all. It was warm, expressing her amusement as the scene broke its rigid professional frame for just a second. In that fleeting moment, the boundary between hired videographer and performer broke slightly leaving behind a glimpse of the real Christina. You couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever purposefully let you see that side of her.
While watching the unedited footage unfold on your laptop screen, a simmering warmth pooled low in your stomach. Without even realizing it, your hands acted on pure instinct, sliding down your sides and slipping beneath the waistband of your pajama pants. The rough texture of the fabric pressed tight against your skin as the pads of your fingers began to rub slow, rhythmic circles over your clit, right through the thin material of your panties.
The heat building between your legs made your breath hitch. Unable to stand the barrier any longer, you hooked your fingers into the elastic, pulling down your shorts and panties in one fluid motion to push them down past your thighs.
Your bare fingers made direct contact with your smooth skin. You let out a soft, shaky exhale as you kept your eyes glued to the high-definition video of yourself on screen so beautifully exposed for your viewers.
You felt your walls clench tight around emptiness and let out a frustrated groan as your hips bucked up off the couch. The aching pulse between your legs was unbearable, demanding far more than just clitoral stimulation but your limbs felt heavy.
You were far too lazy to get up off the couch, walk down the hall, and rummage through your nightstand for whatever toy you could grab first. You needed relief now.
Impatience winning out over preparation, you slid two dry fingers down your slick center and plunged them straight into your pulsing hole.
A sharp gasp was caught in your chest. The initial friction of your un-lubricated fingers stretching against your tight and sensitive entrance was so intense. You sank them in deep, the tight squeeze of your pelvic muscles wrapping around your own fingers while your mind stayed completely locked on the image of Christina standing over you, watching your every movement with that unblinking, heavy gaze.
You tried shaking off the image, biting down hard on your lower lip as a sharp wave of guilt shot through the haze. You couldn’t and shouldn’t be thinking about someone you worked with professionally in that sense. She was a freelancer off Craigslist who had treated you with nothing but ironclad respect. Crossing that line in your head felt dangerous.
But your brain had entirely different ideas.
Your body completely overruled your logic. Your hand didn’t stop its furious pace, if anything, the forbidden thought only made your hips roll into your fingers that were knuckle deep into your clenching hole.
No matter how hard you tried to push it away, your mind kept greedily replacing your own hand with Christina’s. You pictured those long fingers working you open with precision, her dark eyes tracking every shudder of your chest. The fantasy mutated, growing darker and heavier until you were imagining her taking complete control, using a strap on, stepping between your open thighs and pinning you to the mattress. The thought of her professional composure shattering into raw, possessive intent as she drove a strap on deep inside you sent a violent, breathless shiver straight down your spine.
Your body writhed against the couch cushions and completely surrendered to the pleasure. The mere imagination of Christina doing those dangerous things to you was enough to snap the final thread of your control, sending you crashing right over the edge.
The silence of your empty apartment was completely shattered by the sound of your own loud, unrestrained moans echoing off the walls as a violent orgasm hit you.
You tried to keep plunging your fingers in and out of yourself, eager to ride out every last ripple of the high, but your walls were clamping down so hard that the friction quickly turned into breathless overstimulation. Whimpering softly, you dragged your dripping fingers out and collapsed back against the pillows, lying completely motionless as waves of heat slowly dissipated down your thighs.
While you lay there, flushed and catching your breath, the video on your laptop reached its peak.
Your heavy gaze flicked over to the glowing screen just in time to watch yourself hit your climax on video, bucking against the dildo. On screen, your past self collapsed back against the bed in the exact same tangled, breathless position you were currently lying in on the couch, an exact mirror image of your real-world release.
Reaching out with a trembling hand, you pressed the spacebar to pause the clip. You stared at the frozen frame, a slow, satisfied smirk tugging at your lips despite your exhaustion.
The lighting was art, the edit was seamless, and the heat was unmistakable. This video was going to do absolute numbers on your page.
After finally catching your breath, you pushed yourself off the couch and headed to the bathroom to clean yourself up. The cool water against your skin pulled you back down to reality, though the memory of the fantasy still hummed under your surface.
Once refreshed, you settled back on the couch, in front of your laptop with a warm drink, ready to finish up the final polish. Most of the editing was already done so now you had your own branding to slap on. You opened your video editor and slapped your pornstar handle into the bottom corner as a clean watermark to protect against leaks and stolen footage. Then, you added the signature animated intro, a cute cartoon version of you that you had commissioned months ago when your page first started gaining serious traction and drawing in steady traffic.
You didn’t even bother waiting to cut a promotional teaser for your other socials. You were too impatient. You wanted your loyal subscribers, the ones who tipped generously and bought every custom, to see right away that the era of blurry phone clips on static tripods was officially over. From now on, your page was strictly high-budget. You put a custom price on the video, a price significantly higher than your usual videos since it was a much better quality shoot.
Before hitting the final publish button, you pulled up your chat with Christina and typed out a quick note: “Thanks for the great footage! Just added my branding and uploading it now.”
You initiated the upload, watching the progress bar tick up to 100%. Then your phone dinged instantly with her reply: “No worries :) glad you like how it turned out!”
Seeing the little smiley face break through her usual professional demeanor gave your chest a warm flutter. Typing back before you could overthink the breach of professionalism, you sent: “Looking forward to working with you again soon.”
As the video finished processing and finally went live, an anxious wave of restless energy hit you. You couldn’t stop yourself from hitting refresh every few seconds, watching the view counter begin its steady and satisfying climb. You had enabled push notifications for your page, meaning thousands of your most dedicated subscribers were getting a direct ping on their phones right now, alerting them to the new drop.
Unable to sit still, you paced the length of your living room floor, your phone clutched tight in your hand as you waited for the first wave of feedback. Ten minutes felt like an eternity but slowly the notification bell at the top of your screen began to light up like a Christmas tree.
Breathing a sigh of relief, you dropped onto the edge of the couch to scroll through the comment section.
The initial reaction was pure, unfiltered awe. Your fans were immediately blown away by the massive leap in quality:
“Holy shit, the lighting in this is insane??”
“You look like an actual movie star, what the hell 😭❤️”
“The angles in this shoot are incredible, worth every single penny.”
As you scrolled further, a few longer, more in depth comments began to pop up and your heart skipped a beat. Your audience wasn’t just enjoying the video , they were dissecting it, immediately noticing that you weren’t working alone anymore.
“Wait, who shot this?? The panning is way too smooth for a tripod tracking setting.”
“Did you hire a pro for this one? The chemistry through the lens is fucking crazy.”
“Okay but the way you’re looking past the camera in some of these shots... you look so beautifully distracted. Who was in the room with you?? 👀”
A flush of heat crept up your neck as you read that last line. They could see it. Even through a screen your subscribers could pick up on the silent crackling dynamic between you and the beautiful woman holding the camera.
By the next morning, the analytics were off the charts.
When you opened your creator dashboard, the numbers were unlike anything you’d seen on a single drop. The video had exploded into a massive success. Not only had your loyal regulars left glowing reviews and generous tips, but the sheer production value had drawn in a wave of brand-new subscribers who were more than willing to pay the premium price tag.
You sat at your kitchen counter, staring at the profit margins with a grin, but your mind kept wandering right back to the woman who made it happen. You didn’t just want another shoot where you were both rushed and separated by a camera lens. You wanted a real opportunity to sit down across from her, look her in the eye, and discuss things properly and possibly get to know her.
Grabbing your phone, you typed out a message. You were tempted to take a casual route, but out of respect for her work and the nature of your partnership, you made sure to keep a professional tone.
“The video is a massive hit. Subscribers are losing their minds over the quality. Are you free to grab a coffee or a drink tomorrow? I want to look over the analytics with you, discuss a recurring shooting schedule, and talk about working out an improved pay rate for your work.”
Barely 5 minutes passed before your phone chimed with her reply. True to form, Christina responded within a few minutes:
“That’s fantastic news. I’m free tomorrow afternoon. Let’s go to the same café as last time.”
Looking at the notification, your pulse did a quick, familiar flutter. The same café where it had all started as a quiet, uncertain Craigslist deal, only this time, you were walking in as successful partners with an intense, unspoken dynamic pulling you together.
So that’s where you found yourself the next day. Pushing open the heavy glass door of the café, the familiar rich scent of roasted coffee beans and warm pastries hit you, bringing back an instant wave of memory from your very first meeting.
You spotted her almost immediately. Christina was sitting at a small wooden table near the back window and was bathed in the soft afternoon light. As you walked closer your eyes dropped to the table and noticed two cups of coffee on the table. You frowned as you approached, not expecting her to get you anything to drink.
“Hey” you said softly, pulling out the chair.
Christina looked up from her screen, her features immediately softening into a warm smile. “Hey. I got us both a drink, hope you like it” she said and gently pushed your cup of coffee towards you as you sat across from her.
You picked up the cup and took a slow sip. It was a latte, still warm and was made just the way you liked it. You paused, holding the cup between your hands, wondering how on earth she could have known that was your go-to. But before you could even ask, Christina caught the quiet confusion on your face and gave you your answer.
“I saw a mug on your drying rack the other day that said ‘Latte Lover,’” Christina said with a light shrug.
A quiet blush warmed your cheeks. She wasn’t wrong, far from it actually. It was a cheesy mug a friend had gotten you as a secret santa joke years ago, left out by the sink after your morning routine. The fact that she had picked up on such a tiny detail in your apartment and used it to order your go-to drink caused a flutter through your chest.
“Well thanks for that” you said, genuinely impressed by how she picked up on such a small detail. “Anyway, back to why we’re actually here for” you said and pulled out your phone, bringing up your creator dashboard to show her the damage. You scrolled to the analytics, showing her the skyrocketing view counts, the huge jump in subscriber tips and the comment section under the recent post.
“Look at this,” you said, sliding your phone across the table toward her.
You scrolled past some surface-level praise about the video quality and pointed straight toward a specific cluster of comments. Christina leaned in, her dark eyes scanning the screen as you highlighted the ones that had made your own breath catch the night before:
“Wait, who shot this? The panning is so smooth.”
“Did you hire a pro? The chemistry with the person behind the lens is crazy.”
“The way you’re looking past the camera in some shots... you look so beautifully distracted.”
Sitting across from her in the noisy café, watching her read the exact lines your fans had written about the unspoken energy between you, the air at the table suddenly felt thick with tension.
Christina’s eyes stayed locked on your phone screen, scanning the comments your fans had written. For a split second, that ironclad professional composure completely shattered. The guarded distance she maintained so effortlessly melted away, replaced by a slow, faint smile that tugged at the corner of her lips.
Her gaze flicked up from the phone screen to meet yours, holding your eyes with a heavy intensity that made the surrounding noise of the café completely fade into the background.
“They noticed” she murmured softly, her voice dropped to a huskier register. Gosh, you couldn’t help but think that made her sound so hot.
The silence stretched between you, thick and charged, before she caught herself. With a subtle inhale, the professional mask slid back into place, but it wasn’t as rigid now.
Christina maintained steady eye contact, her dark eyes flashing with something unsaid as she leaned back in her chair.
“Well,” she said, her tone crisp once more, though a lingering trace of warmth remained underneath. “If they like the distraction... we should probably give them a lot more of it. Let’s lock in a schedule for the rest of the month.”
Your heart skipped a beat at that. She was willing to set up a schedule to meet for more shoots? Once the excitement over the comments settled, you leaned across the table, ready to talk about the financial aspect of this arrangement.
“Since the subscriber count is blowing up and the revenue is already higher than my last three drops combined” you began, tapping the screen of your phone where the dashboard numbers glowed “we need to talk about updating your rate. I don’t want to just pay you a flat, one-off fee per shoot, it doesn’t sound fair.”
Christina tilted her head, resting her jaw lightly against her hand as she gave you her full attention. “I’m listening” she said, leaning closer.
“I want to set up a guaranteed base rate for every session,” you explained, your voice steady and confident. “Plus a percentage of the royalties on every single video we shoot together. As long as the video keeps making money on my page, a piece of that comes straight to you.”
Christina’s eyebrows raised slightly, a look of respect flickered across her features. “That’s generous” she said, impressed you would even do that for her.
“It’s fair” you countered while holding her gaze. “Your work is the reason I can charge a premium price now. If my audience is paying for cinematic quality, you deserve a cut of the long-term profits. But in exchange...” You paused, leaning in just a fraction closer. “I want guaranteed priority on your calendar. At least two shoots a month” you countered.
A slow, contemplative smile touched her lips. Without taking her eyes off yours, she reached into her bag and pulled out a physical copy of her standard freelance contract she kept in her bag, and unscrewed the cap of a sleek black pen.
“I already had a contract amendment drafted, since everything was going so well” she admitted quietly, sliding the paper over to you alongside the pen. “Though your terms are better than the ones I was going to ask for”
You took the pen, your fingers briefly brushing against hers, the accidental touch sent a sudden jolt straight up your arm and made you shiver. You gathered yourself and quickly wrote in the agreed royalty percentage, signed your handle and legal name at the bottom, and pushed it back across the small rounded table. Christina picked up the pen and added her signature in one smooth motion.
When she finished, she capped the pen and extended her hand across the table to shake your hand. “To a very lucrative partnership” she said, her voice low and grounded.
You slid your hand into hers. Her grip was firm, warm and strong, her bicep flexing under the sleeve of her shirt. Her fingers closed around yours for a second longer than a standard handshake required.
This wasn’t just a one-time lucky Craigslist find anymore. By signing that paper, you hadn’t just secured a videographer, you had officially tied yourself to this woman for weeks and months to come.
After your meeting, you said your goodbyes and pushed open the heavy glass door of the café, stepping out into the cool afternoon air.
As you walked down the sidewalk, the paper copy of the freshly signed contract tucked safely inside your bag, a giddy laugh bubbled up in your chest. The deal was locked in. Christina was officially yours for the foreseeable future. Well not in that way but still.
As the adrenaline of the negotiation began to fade, the sheer reality of what you had just committed to settled deep into your bones.
‘Now I have to do that all over again’, you thought, your face warming at the memory of her dark eyes scanning your body under those studio lights. Your next meeting cannot come fast enough.
The anticipation hung heavy over the next couple of days, making the weekend feel like an agonizing crawl. You both had come to an agreement, after consulting each of your schedules, of having your next shoot on Tuesday.
By Sunday night, the quiet of your apartment felt twice as loud. You were curled up on the couch in an oversized sweater, the glow of your laptop illuminating the room as you reviewed outfit ideas for the upcoming shoot.
Around 11:15 PM, your phone screen lit up on the coffee table.
Christina: ‘Hey. Working on the shot list for Tuesday. Do you prefer warmer key lights like last time, or should we experiment with a moody, cooler tone for the opening sequence?’
A soft, genuine smile touched your lips. You picked up your phone, pulling your legs up to your chest. There was something strangely intimate about texting her so late at night, even if she was, keeping things focused on production details.
You: ‘The warm lights were amazing, but I’m open to cooler tones if you think it fits the mood better. You’re the one with the vision.’
Christina: ‘I just capture what’s already there. We could try cooler tones for the intro, shifting to warm once the scene builds.’
Her response left your chest doing a familiar flutter. You stared at the words “I just capture what’s already there” and tried not to overanalyze the quiet weight behind them.
Seeking a distraction from your own racing thoughts, you logged into your creator dashboard to check the comments and income your content was generating. Tucked right at the top was a highlighted notification from your “Custom Requests” toolbar, a premium feature reserved strictly for your highest-tier subscribers who paid a heavy fee to pitch custom concepts.
Curious, you tapped to open the message. ‘Hopefully this request wouldn’t be a weird one like that one time’ you thought.
@User_8921: “Just watched the new video. Incredible work. But I couldn’t help but notice the chemistry with whoever was holding the lens... Would you ever consider taking a request where the person behind the camera steps in? Even just their hands? Willing to pay extra.”
Your thumb froze over the screen, your breath hitching in your throat.
Your fans weren’t settling with just watching the tension between you and Christina during the shoot from your one-sided point of view, they wanted to actually witness the dynamic break.
Your heart hammered a rapid rhythm against your ribs as you stared at the proposition. It was unprofessional. It was reckless. It crossed every single boundary you had just carefully put in place at the café table two days ago.
And yet, fueled by the memory of her warm hands during the handshake and the view of her bicep whenever she flexed, you did the unthinkable.
Instead of declining the request or ignoring it, you took a screenshot of the fan’s message. You switched back over to your text thread with Christina, attached the image, and typed out a single, audacious line before your courage could fail you.
You: ‘[Image Attached]’
You: ‘So... my subscribers are getting creative with their requests for Tuesday. Thoughts?’
You held your breath, watching the small screen in intense silence. For a few agonizing seconds, nothing happened.
Then, two little gray typing bubbles appeared. Would this become a huge mistake…
pairing: modern au amab!hange zoe x fem!reader mini series
chapter summary: after coming home from "bring your child to work day," hange has a sudden, overwhelming fixation on building a family with you.
tags: 18+ (mdni), nonbinary amab hange, they/them pronouns for hange, female reader, domestic fluff, no use of y/n, breeding kink, mating press, breast play, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, praise kink, daddy kink, not proofread
word count: 1.3k words
status : in progress!
m.list
The air in the apartment was quiet, broken only by the low hum of the fridge and the steady sizzle of minced garlic hitting hot oil in the pan. You were standing by the stove wearing a shirt that Hange owned and soft shorts, casually stirring a pot of pasta sauce, enjoying the rare, peaceful lull after a long day. The warm kitchen overhead light cast a cozy glow across the counter, the rich aroma of crushed tomatoes, basil, and garlic filling the room.
The front door unlocked with a heavy, familiar click.
Hange stepped inside, kicking off their shoes with a tired groan and tossing their jacket onto the chair by the entryway. But instead of their usual loud, energetic burst through the door, there was a warm, hyper-focused look in their eyes—locking onto you the second they rounded the corner into the kitchen.
"You're home early," you smiled, looking over your shoulder.
Without saying a word, Hange walked straight over, wrapping their arms tightly around your waist from behind and burying their face into the crook of your neck. They took a deep, heavy breath, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right over your pulse point.
"God, I missed you," Hange murmured, their voice low, raspy, and thick against your skin. "I couldn't focus on a single thing all afternoon."
"Rough day at the office?" you asked, leaning back into their chest and melting into their solid warmth.
"No... just insanely distracting," Hange chuckled softly, the vibration running straight through their chest and into your back. Their hands pressed firm against your hips, thumbs tugging idly at the waistband of your shorts. "It was 'Bring Your Child to Work Day' today. Kids were everywhere. Moblit spent half his shift panicking because a toddler almost spilled juice all over his keyboard, and Historia brought her little girl.”
Hange pulled back just enough to look down at you, their eyes shining with something deep, tender, and helpless. They tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, long fingers lingering on your cheekbone.
"I spent all day looking at them and thinking about us," Hange admitted, their voice dropping to an honest, breathless whisper. "I couldn't stop thinking about coming home to a house full of our kids. A real, chaotic, gorgeous family. I want that with you so fucking bad."
Truth was, Hange’s mind had been completely in the gutter all afternoon. Beyond the sweet, domestic idea of raising a kid together, watching everyone else's chaotic home lives had triggered a train of thought that had made it impossible for them to sit still at their desk.
Hange had spent hours staring at their monitor, completely unbothered by emails, vivid scenes flashing through their mind of what your body would look like carrying their baby. They had envisioned the warm flush settling over your skin, your hips getting softer and rounder, and your breasts getting swollen, ridiculously full, and heavy in their hands as your body changed. The raw, possessive thought of you growing round with their child—completely filled, marked, and remade by them—had left them aching with a desperate, heavy heat that had been building up all day long.
Before you could even answer, Hange’s hands slid straight under the hem of your shirt, long fingers gliding up over your bare stomach to cup your breasts directly.
"Hange- wait, the food-" you gasped softly as the sudden chill of their metal wedding band pressed flat against your warm, bare skin, making your breath hitch right as their wide palms took your weight with a rough, needy friction.
"Forget the food, baby," Hange growled softly against your ear, nipping your lobe while their thumbs flicked over your hardening nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. "Turn it off."
You reached back with a trembling hand to slap the burner off, letting out a low moan as Hange pulled your bra cups down, popping your breasts completely free. They kneaded your chest greedy and firm, rolling your erect nipples between their fingers until you were squirming hard against them, your heels lifting slightly off the floor.
"Fuck, you're already so sensitive," Hange breathed, voice raspy and scalding against your neck. "Imagine how you're gonna feel when you're carrying our baby. When these get even bigger... heavier... spilling over my hands every night..."
"Hange, you're crazy..." you managed to breathe out, gasping as their thumbs pressed extra hard against your aching peaks.
"Crazy for you," Hange shot back instantly, a low, wicked chuckle vibrating against your collarbone. "Crazy about putting a baby in this gorgeous body."
You whimpered, your thighs involuntarily pressing together as a slick heat bloomed between your legs. Hange felt you shudder and grinned against your skin. Grabbing your waist with effortless strength, they turned you around and lifted you straight onto the edge of the kitchen counter, right next to the cutting board.
The sudden height difference put you right at eye level, the sweet, emotional mood instantly snapping into pure, thick tension.
Hange reached out, rucking your shirt up all the way over your head and tossing it onto the floor, stepping right between your knees. "Look at you," they muttered, dark eyes drinking in the sight of you before leaning down to bury their face right in your chest. "So fucking pretty like this."
They took one hardened nipple into their mouth, swirling their wet tongue around the tip before sucking deep. You cried out, hands flying into their messy hair to hold them close while Hange pulled with a firm, steady rhythm. They moved back and forth between your breasts, sucking, teasing, and pinching until both peaks were dark, swollen, and aching, leaving you breathless and restless.
"Hange... please... it's too much," you sobbed softly, your head falling back against the kitchen cabinets.
"Tell me you want it," Hange demanded softly against your wet skin, their breath hot and heavy against your chest. "Say it."
"I want you... god, Hange, please-"
"Not yet," Hange muttered, sliding a hand down your thigh, rucking your shorts out of the way, and yanking your underwear down to the floor in one smooth, aggressive pull.
"Screw it," Hange groaned against your inner thigh, pressing a searing, open-mouthed kiss over your bare skin before pulling your legs wide. "I need to taste how bad you want this."
Hange dropped to their knees between your thighs and didn't waste a second. They dived right in, taking you into their mouth with pure, unhinged devotion. Their tongue worked you over in deep, heavy strokes, pairing a relentless pressure over your sweet spot with low, dirty hums that vibrated straight through your core. Hange kept playing with your bare breasts while they ate you out, pinching your sensitive peaks every time their tongue lapped up your slick, eating you out so greedily that your hips bucked helplessly off the counter.
"You taste so good," Hange purred against your dripping heat, pausing only to look up at you through messy bangs, eyes dark with lust. "So wet for me already..."
As Hange worshipped you with their mouth, a wave of profound love washed over them, grounding the wild, frantic heat of the moment. Holding you like this always brought back a rush of tiny, permanent memories that proved you were the only person made for them. They remembered that night three winters ago when you stayed up until four in the morning making terrible instant coffee just to sit with Hange while they finished a grant proposal, never once complaining. They remembered the soft, sleepy smile you gave them last month on a rainy Sunday morning, bedhead messy, pulling Hange down into the sheets just to snuggle for five more minutes. Every little piece of you—your patience, your laughter, the way you grounded their chaotic world—was the real reason Hange wanted this so badly. You weren't just the person they loved; you were the only person they could ever see starting a family with.
Just as you were sobbing their name on the edge of a wrecked climax, Hange stood up, breathing hard, eyes dark, blown-out, and completely consumed. Gathering you up in one swift motion, Hange carried you straight down the hall, uncaring of the trail of clothes left behind, and threw you down onto the mattress in the center of the bedroom.
With your clothes long discarded on the floor, they pinned your legs up toward your chest. Exposed like that, with your knees folded clear back against your torso, Hange stripped out of their pants—not even bothering to reach for the nightstand or look for a condom. There wasn't an ounce of hesitation in them; just the intent of their confession hanging heavy in the room over you.
"Look at me," Hange panted, aligning themselves right at your entrance, eyes burning down into yours with fierce, possessive adoration. "Look at me, sweetheart. I want to fill you up."
"Do it," you begged, whimpering as their bare tip nudged against your dripping entrance. "Fill me up, Hange."
Hange shoved forward, sinking all the way inside you in one heavy, continuous, agonizingly deep push.
You let out a sharp gasp, nails digging right into their shoulders. The angle was insanely deep, stretching you so wide you couldn't breathe, the sudden fullness knocking the air straight from your lungs. Hange didn't wait—they leaned down, capturing your mouth in a hard, messy kiss, tasting you on their tongue while their hand reached down to squeeze your breast in time with their heavy thrusts.
Even in the haze of deep, bruising pleasure, Hange’s heart swelled to near-bursting. Sliding into you raw felt like coming home. They thought back to the very first time you ever said 'I love you'—stumbled out over dim sum in a crowded diner, flushed and embarrassed, while Hange had almost choked on a dumpling from sheer joy. They thought about how, out of everyone in the world, you were the only one who truly accepted all of Hange's weirdness, who looked at their brilliant, chaotic mind and chose to love every single piece of it. That overwhelming gratitude poured directly into every sharp, heavy drive of their hips.
"Fuck... you feel so tight around me," Hange groaned into your neck, picking up the pace until the headboard was slamming rhythmically against the wall. "Tell me you're mine. Tell me I'm making a baby with you right now."
"You are," you whimpered, panting heavily as the deep, direct thrusts drove you out of your mind. "I'm yours, Hange, all yours..."
"Hange... fuck... Hange, please-" you whimpered, the unbearable depth, the friction, and the constant touch on your chest driving you completely crazy.
You threw your head back against the mattress, completely overwhelmed as your body tightened around them. "Please, daddy-"
The word had barely left your lips before Hange froze for a fraction of a second, dark eyes snapping wide with a sudden, wild fire.
"God, say that again," Hange growled, a dark, dangerous smirk breaking across their face.
"Please, daddy... fuck me," you gasped out, completely breathless.
Before you could even finish the sentence, the title completely shattered whatever restraint Hange had left. They snapped, picking up the pace into a brutal, relentless rhythm. Every thrust hit impossibly deeper, pounding into you raw and fast enough to make the bedframe creak and knock the breath right out of your lungs. Hange kept your legs pinned high, staring right into your eyes with a crazy, possessive intensity every single time they buried themselves to the hilt.
"That's it, good girl," Hange groaned, kissing your jaw, your neck, your lips, refusing to slow down for a second as they drove you straight over the edge. "Take it all. Let me put a baby in you. Take every drop."
That was the absolute end of you. The dirty talk paired with the deep angle, their hands on your chest, and the sheer intensity fueled by that one word shattered your control completely, sending you flying off the edge as your inner walls squeezed tight around them in violent, frantic spasms.
Watching you ruined under them broke Hange’s last thread of restraint. With a low, guttural growl of your name, Hange pounded in one last time, driving as deep as physically possible and pumping completely raw inside you, pouring themselves into you until you were full to the absolute brim.
Sweaty and breathless, Hange slowly collapsed over you, keeping their weight slightly off on their elbows while staying plugged deep inside. They buried their face in the warm crook of your neck, arms wrapping tightly around your waist as both of your heartbeats hammered together in the quiet room.
Hange pressed a few messy, lazy kisses along your throat, their big, warm hand sliding down from your overstimulated chest to rest heavy and possessive over the flat expanse of your stomach.
"We're gonna make such a mess of a family," Hange murmured with a smirk against your skin. "And I can't wait."
a/n: first attempt at writing smut lmk how it is 😭 also requests are open for one shots and other fic ideas!
Imagine being between two powerful women, yeah well... Guess what?
You lay in the dark room, only in the baby blue lingerie Hange had bought for you earlier that year.
—"Open up, darling."
You hear Hange's warm voice, almost comforting in a way, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘶𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴.
Then you feel another presence beside you, Pieck, she started caressing your body lazily. Her soft black eyes roaming over your body in a way that made your clit twitch with arousal.
You spread your legs like Hange had said. The wet spot on your panties was more than visible.
Hange chuckles.
—"Mm, for me? Really?"
Pieck's cold hands caressed down your bust, her nails grazing gently over the underside of your breasts. Just then, you feel something hard resting on your cunt. Hange had connected a pink dildo on her strap-on.
—"H - Hange... It's too big... "
You whimper softly, your voice ringing out the room as Hange pushes its tip in slowly
—"You can take it, my love..."
Pieck whispers in your ear as she turns your face to kiss you. Her tongue goes deep into your mouth and you cant help but moan into her lips.
Hange starts thrusting into you, your walls clenching around the strap-on. You writhe helplessly, grinding against her.
Her thrusts start going harder, the tip of the dildo hitting against your cervix as your eyes roll back. Her skilled hand moves down to rub your clit mercilessly. You could feel your orgasm close, your walls fluttering against the plastic.
—"You don't get to cum unless I say so, darling... "
Hange then slows down, you whine breathlessly. Pieck's hands roam your body downwards her hand starts stroking your clit, switching Hange's hand with hers, playing with it lazily.
You can't help it anymore as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave.
—"Guess we have to start again, don't we?"
Hange's lips curl into a teasing smirk. Pieck's lips curl too, but into a comforting smile.
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apologizing to hange with no clothes to see their reaction (suggestive)
inspo
You've been trying to stir up a random fight with your significant other all day, the one thing that made Hange finally tick was when you "deleted" the main file for the research they were working on.
You didn't actually delete them, you had it transferred to your back-up harddrive but they don't need to know that.
The entire morning, Hange ignored you. They were stuck to their chair, desperately trying to find a way to salvage that research file you'd deleted. By lunch time, you peek into the office and see them with a new word file, already typing away a new draft of their research probably.
You don't bother them.
Actually, you take the silence and relish in your tv series as you cuddled up in your shared bed, taking the time to finish a new season whilst they lock themselves away in the office.
Dinner's always Hange's task so it wasn't a shock to you when you hear two stiff knocks on the bedroom door. Their figure disappearing before you could even get a glimpse of them in all their furious glory.
One thing about Hange, when they're mad, they'll only call you once for something before they go back to ignoring you.
So you quickly run into the bathroom, not wanting to risk any chance of them checking up on you. Giggling to yourself as you take off every piece of clothing you had on. Fixing your hair as well just to make sure everything could be seen clearly.
Hange had their back to you, broad shoulders disrupting your view as their hands busy with the take-out they had ordered for dinner.
Clearing your throat, you hoped Hange would turn around and see you already but they don't.
You saunter over behind them, placing your palm in the table and leaning your weight to the side.
"Hange, baby, look—I'm sorry," you put on your best apologetic voice, "I shouldn't have deleted your file. I didn't know it was your main file, baby."
Hange doesn't look at you. They don't even move from where they stood, continuing on rummaging with the paper containers on the table. You don't think they could even see you from their peripheral vision. That's probably how angry they are.
You tap their shoulder, once, twice—they don't look at you.
"Hangeee, I'm sorry, okay? I really didn't mean to," you pout at them, affectionately grabbing their bicep to try and get them to look at you.
They mumble something under their breath.
"Baby?" You coo, feeling giddy when you notice their head turn to your direction just slightly. "Baby, c'mon... talk to me," you step back, holding your hands together behind you, arching your back for them.
The moment Hange moves their head, you know for a fact that they just saw you in corner of their eye because then they're looking twice at you. Then a third time. The surprise on their features so obvious as they keep on looking at the take-out then at you.
"What..." Hange turns their body, mouth wide open as their brown eyes scanned you from head to toe. The gears turning in their head.
You pout apologetically, making sure to jut out your lips and look at them with those round puppy dog eyes you know they have a weakness for. You flex your shoulders back even more, making it so your bare breasts jiggle just a little bit. Your nipples already hard from the cold air conditioning.
Watching them try and form a coherent thought was the best thing you saw all day. How their mouth opened then closed, or how it shuddered every time Hange tried to utter a word or two.
You unclasp your hands, putting them in front of you to squeeze your chest together. Their wide eyes stayed glued to your tits, throat bobbing uncontrollably.
"I'm really sorry, baby..." you draw out your words, slowly walking towards them until the two of you are barely a feet apart. Their gaze shifting from you to your tits, down to the center of your legs.
"Talk to me, Hange. Please. I feel really bad about deleting it," you say, batting your eyelashes, "Do you forgive me?"
"W-what—Uhm, are we... uh—were we uhm—ehem," they clear their throat, brushing their hands through their hair before covering their mouth, shamelessly looking at every naked part of you. "I uh, hah, w-was there something we were... y'know, fighting about?"
They scratch their head. "Sorry, kinda—kinda forgot. Busy all day. Yeah, busy," Hange lifts their hands to your hips, only you don't let them. You step back, still whining about how apologetic you are for deleting their file.
"Oh, baby, it's fine, I promise," they blow off a breath dramatically. Still making a move to hold you. "Can't even remember what we were fighting about. Probably my fault, who cares."
"But I deleted it!" You exclaim, finally letting them put their hands on your bare hips.
Hange bites their lips, their chest rising then falling in heavy movements. They lock eyes with you, the earlier shock on their face was now gone.
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some of these fics contain nsfw or wholesome content. please read the warnings before consuming. I am not responsible for your media consumption.
will update this post as I go along.
submitting requests ; requests can be read here
the whole gaang °❀.ೃ࿔*
jealous type ⸝⸝
⋆˚꩜｡ 𝑡𝑜𝑝ℎ 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑓𝑜𝑛𝑔
long fics
mouth cleansing — 18+ nsfw 4.3k
⤷ you come home after a date with a man that toph knows is no good for you. when you lie and tell her you slept with him, best believe that toph is going to fight back.
quick reads
i can't see, so let me feel you. ⸝⸝ the chain ⸝⸝ jealous ⸝⸝ tough skin ⸝⸝ needy ⸝⸝ beefy toph smut headcanons ⸝⸝ yandere!toph ⸝⸝ my bookworm ⸝⸝ "give me a lot of earthbenders, okay?" ⸝⸝ headlock ⸝⸝ soft!toph headcanons ⸝⸝ softdom girlcock!toph ⸝⸝ attention ⸝⸝ modern!toph headcanons ⸝⸝ clingy!toph ⸝⸝ ass grabbing ⸝⸝ tits ⸝⸝ hard in public ⸝⸝ abs ⸝⸝ your puppy ⸝⸝ gf headcanons
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✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I just want a pretty girl to grab my hair and press my head against the pillow, while they put the strap in me from behind and tell me how beautiful I look for them.
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