#darlingkirstein headcannons

[darlingkirstein]

eremika — smut headcannon #1

this is what my brain cooks up at 4:30 am!

cw: cockwarming, somnophilia. 1.1k words.

Mikasa cuddles up beside him in bed, dressed only in one of his big t-shirts and a skimpy pair of panties — just asking for it, and she knows it.

She nestles her ass against his cock and does the tiniest wiggle, enough to get him hard. Eren groans underneath his breath. What a tease.

“Baby.” He whines, slipping a hand underneath her shirt to grope her tits. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” In such an innocent voice, she’s almost convincing in her ignorance— almost.

But her hips don’t cease to push against his boxers, generating an unbearable degree of heat. She’s killing him — Eren’s fingers dig deeper into her sensitive flesh, his nails leaving marks.

“You know damn well what I mean.” He sucks in a quick burst of air and bites down on his lip to keep from becoming a moaning mess. Eren knows that’s exactly what she wants from this.

Mikasa looks back over her shoulder — a big, pretty smile on her face. She can she the frustration in Eren’s eyes, so desperate and big, like a scorned, sad little puppy.

“I’m just getting comfy, Eren. Don’t get fussy.”

That look from her only makes matters worse — she’s so fucking gorgeous when she’s being coy. Her pretty pouting is sending dirty, dirty images to his head — thoughts of those pouty lips wrapped around his aching cock.

His mouth finds her nape. Out of his control, Eren’s hips push forward to meet her ass. He needs something, even if Mikasa won’t give it.

“C’mon — I wanna fuck you, baby. Wanna fuck you so bad. So hard— it fuckin’ hurts.”

Mikasa refuses to relent. Instead, she yawns. Reaching back, her fingers find his hair and play with it while she giggles drowsily.

“Too sleepy, handsome boy. So tired.”

Eren works hard to stop himself from audibly groaning at a wholly-inappropriate volume. He doesn’t know how many more nights of jerking off with Mikasa fast asleep beside him he has left.

His hands wander to touch her ass, rubbing as he fixated on her panties — an annoying cockblock.

Now he’s the one pouting.

“You can go to sleep, babe. I’ll, uh— take care of myself. I’ll be quiet about it. I’m good at that.”

Mikasa yawns again — he’s so desperate it’s making her grin, even while exhausted. She adjusts her upper half back against the mattress, head sinking deep into her comfy pillow.

And even though he’s behaving like a brat, she wants to make him just a little bit happy. Mikasa gets a fanciful idea, and it leaves her amused.

“Nah, don’t bother. Wanna try something?”

Immediately, Eren perks up. Men are so easy.

“Yes, please. Anything. Anything with you.”

She hooks a finger around her panties and tugs them done, just enough for her pretty cunt to be exposed. Still grinning, Mikasa reaches for Eren — her fingertips brush against his cock through the fabric, and he has to stop himself from jerking.

“Go ahead and put it in, Eren. I’ll keep you warm, yeah? Make you feel good while you sleep.”

The words go straight to his dick. “Really?”

“Really. C’mon — so sleepy, baby. Put it in.”

Embarrassingly fast, Eren gets his cock out and pushes in so easily — and he just about cries from relief when her pussy envelopes him. His mood changes in an instant; no longer solely focused on the aching sensation in his hips, the pain controlling his frustratingly-male thought process, Eren’s affectionate side comes out.

He hugs her waist and tugs her closer.

“Thank you, Mika. Feels so good. Go— Go to sleep, okay? Goodnight. I love you so much.”

She laughs. The change is so entertaining.

“Goodnight, baby boy. I love you. Dream about me, will you? A nice, dirty dream.”

It’s a perfect plan. Mikasa falls asleep almost immediately, so tired from a long day of work. Eren shuts his eyes, keeping his hips incredibly, impossibly still. The comfort Mikasa’s cunt gives him is indescribable — the sheer warmth is enough to leave him rambling.

Or, it would be a perfect plan.

Except — Eren can’t fall asleep. She feels too good, too good to even consider sleeping.

He lays there, staring ahead at the wall — after Mikasa turned out the light, the room was plunged into darkness. Eren can’t see a thing, not even all the things he wishes he can see. He can’t see his cock sitting pretty inside her cunt — can’t see the way it disappears, her ass hiding it.

That pisses him off.

It’s not the perfect solution Mikasa imagined.

He feels like squirming. It’s too much.

Eren lasts about twenty dreadfully-long, insomnia-filled minutes before he can’t take it.

Kissing her shoulder, his hips shift. He fucks her slow, trying to keep from waking her, but just enough to grant some relief. That tender pace doesn’t last long — it’s not enough. Selfishly, Eren takes her with a greater urgency, listening to the mattress creaking underneath him.

Whether it’s the pace or his whiny moans, Mikasa doesn’t stay asleep long. Just before she stirs, she hums quietly into her pillow, and her body moves into his desperate thrusts.

She awakens smiling. “Fuck, baby.“

Eren flushes a deep, deep shade of red. Humiliated at his own perversion, he ceases his thrusts and stumbles through an apology.

“Mika! Shit, I— I’m sorry, I— I couldn’t—”

Mikasa shakes her head, giggling.

“Shhh. Why’d you stop?”

“Well, you— you were asleep.”

She looks back at him, and even in the darkness, Eren can make out the outline of her face, her eyes practically gleaming with mischief.

“Oh, please. I knew you couldn’t make it the whole night. Just needed a little nap first.”

He isn’t sure how to respond. The blush only grows, and, shamefully, his cock twitches inside her. Those giggles drive him absolutely mad.

“You— you knew?”

Mikasa hugs both arms around his neck, arching her spine to ensure she can reach back that far. She touches his hair, already getting a little sweaty from his urgency— his untamed lust.

“Of course. Now, are you gonna fuck me or not? Felt so fucking good just now. Fuck me like that again, okay? Harder, actually. Give me more.”

Her voice, still half-clinging to sleep, has a soft edge to it — Eren savors the sound, and relishes in the thought of how good her drowsy moans will sound, right in his ears, nowhere else to go.

Mikasa’s little trick has his ears tinted pink.

Renewed with confidence, Eren grips her leg and pushes it forward, opening her up. His fingers dig into her supple thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave little baby bruises in the morning.

He doesn’t cover his moans as he fucks her warm cunt — fucks it rough, just like he wants.

Just like Mikasa planned.

[darlingkirstein]

im just curious about your headcanon for their job (for eremika and jeanpiku if that's alright)

this question has truly thrown me for such a giant loop because im super indecisive! so i thought instead of choosing one option, i could list a few plausible options for the characters! these are just the jobs that came to mind for some reason. im sure i could come up with others but this are the first that i decided on, and i tried to choose jobs that are a little more unorthodox to be unique 🩷

also sorry for how long this has taken ! i know you've been waiting for this for a while 🫶

Eremika

— Eren Jaeger!

Physical/recreational therapist: I can imagine him wanting to help people but not wanting to be a hospital doctor or anything like that. He seems like he'd be a pretty active guy so I think a job where he gets to help people and also move around and help clients move around and recover from injury would be both fulfilling and fun for him at the same time! Or even recreational therapy, getting to help people through different activities!

Small business owner: I can see him taking the charge and owning his own business, maybe with the help of his parents with a small investment to get it started. Mikasa might also help with this when she has spare time because she wants to support him! I'm thinking something that incorporates his love of cooking, like a bakery or food shop?

Stuntman/stunt coordinator: This one is more for fun but I love picturing him as a stunt man for movies. He would get a kick out of the thrill it gives him if he's actively participating or he'd find it satisfying to coordinate really interesting stunt work. Mikasa would always be fearful that he's gonna injure himself.

— Mikasa Ackerman!

Bookstore employee: I don't know why, but I think Mikasa would love working around a quiet environment with books. Getting to provide recommendations and organize the shelves makes her feel accomplished without over-stressing her. She loves reading so the employee discount is definitely a big benefit.

Speech-language pathologist: I'm biased here because this is what I'm studying! But I think Mikasa could thrive in this job! Getting to help people struggling with communication is really fulfilling and she gets to challenge herself to find creative solutions. I think she would love working with children, helping them fix their speech sounds, or even with adults, helping with different disorders.

Daycare owner/lead employee: I think a lot of us agree that even in our modern AUs, Mikasa didn't have the happiest childhood. So, I think she tries to make sure that other children have the best possible childhood around. She would be very attentive to all their needs because she's naturally great with kids. Eren would find this so endearing and it would really give me lots of baby fever when she comes home and talks about the kiddos.

Jeanpiku

— Jean Kirstein!

Gonna start off by saying that I feel like Jean initially settles for an office job because he feels like he has to be a big breadwinner and have a stable, high-paying job but it ends up making him rather miserable so he quits to pursue other jobs.

Art restoration: I know the idea of Jean being an artist is kinda overplayed since he only draws once but I am so attached to it. But here I'm specifically thinking of him restoring old/damaged paintings for museums or for people's personal collections. He probably finds comfort in seeing the pretty paintings come back to life after being so dull. He takes it super seriously since it's so technical so he's very proud of his work and the results!

Something in the restaurant/food industry: Jean loves cooking so much! He would want to share his cooking with others. He might work at a restaurant making good or maybe even as a cooking instructor? I think that even if his job isn't in the food industry that he still volunteers his time to cook for people in need because it's something he's passionate about.

Art therapist: In a similar vein to art restoration, I am imagining him as an art therapist, trying to help people with their struggles through various forms of art. It's probably therapeutic to him, so sharing that therapy with others is so sweet to me. I think would love to work with children especially, just getting to see them smile after they've gone through some rough things :)

— Pieck Finger!

Something in journalism: Pieck would get a kick out of writing small articles for different papers or magazines, or even in the newspaper (even if it's a dying medium). She gets to show a more creative side while making a living and she also gets to work from home which is great because she's kind of a homebody! She gets to be comfortable while writing her fun articles :)

Accent/dialect coach: This is also kind of a half-serious one like the stunt coordinator one for Eren. I feel like Pieck would be weirdly good at accents, like stupidly good. So she might have fun working with actors either in bigger shows/movies or in local theatre productions to change accents.

Editor: Another job that could be done from home, I think she would like editing people's books or articles or anything to make them better. She finds it fun and satisfying to correct mistakes and make suggestions, and it's so fun because she can work on stuff from her bedroom if she so desired. Maybe she both writes and edits and just switches off depending on the day/helping out her writer friends by editing their work for them.

[darlingkirstein]

hiiii just wanna know what's your hc about em and jp love language:))

hi anon!! this is such a fun question, thanks for asking!! :)) this is for modern au because that’s the verse that i predominantly write!

EREMIKA

— Eren Jaeger:

Expressing:

I think Eren sometimes struggles to voice his affection, so he loves expressing love through physical touch — he loves cuddling and holding hands and kissing Mikasa, especially since she sometimes struggles with words, too. There's nothing he likes more than slow dancing in the kitchen and keeping Mikasa close against his chest, and ending the night with their limbs tangled together as they cuddle is the best way to sleep, no need for any melatonin supplements.

Receiving:

He loves receiving touch from Mikasa as much as he loves giving it, feeling so loved — but spending quality time with her is also so important to Eren. He likes his other friends, but getting personal time with Mikasa relaxes him. Eren feels most loved when, while rambling about something random, like the quality of the latest horror film in theaters or an awkward encounter at work, Mikasa listens attentively. Eye contact is super important for Eren; looking into her eyes and sensing her genuine desire to spend time with him turns his cheeks red. The best is when Mikasa initiates plans to go out to a new restaurant or to the movies — where they'll obviously be holding hands the entire time.

— Mikasa Ackerman:

Expressing:

Quality time is the easiest way for Mikasa to be affectionate with Eren — she's a very good listener, and Eren loves to talk. Making sure Eren knows he’s being cared for and appreciated when they’re together is feels good for Mikasa. When they’re together, Mikasa’s phone is stashed, ignoring any notifications to ensure that not even a second of their time together is wasted. Though she wasn’t the biggest fan of touch before Eren, she’s learned to appreciate physical touch as well. It makes her happy to see how Eren lights up when her palms hold his cheeks between them or how he blushes when she kisses his forehead, so touch comes easy to Mikasa when they’re together.

Receiving:

She's an introvert, so she always asks to stay inside their apartment. The quiet apartment helps keep her calm, as crowds tend to make her uncomfortable — so sitting on the couch to rewatch her favorite movie for the hundredth time is her idea of a perfect date night. She’s also particularly fond of Eren’s compliments for her, especially when he gets flustered as they leave his mouth. Watching him learn to flirt and discover her favorite pet names makes her heart flutter; Eren’s voice is a great source of comfort for her — especially since they’re so often cuddling, so Eren feels comfortable being sappy when they’re close.

JEANPIKU

— Jean Kirstein:

Expressing:

Just like Eren, Jean thrives off physical touch — probably even more than Eren does. He’s obsessed with clinging to Pieck in all scenarios: cuddling in bed, hanging out with friends, riding public transportation, and every other chance they can have to be attached. Beyond that, Jean insists on doing whatever acts of service Pieck most benefit from around the apartment — taking care of her any need and doing any chore. Cooking is another way he expresses his love; he’ll make whatever dinner, lunch, or breakfast Pieck requests, something he learned from his mother. He’s the perfect househusband, and he’s almost obsessive with how attentive he is to Pieck’s needs, making sure she’s eating, showering, and as content as possible.

Receiving:

If expressing physical touch is nice, receiving it is damn near heavenly for him. Nothing feels better than Pieck’s fingers in his hair or her arms spooning him and cuddling. He becomes a big baby in Pieck’s grasp, unwilling to leave her arms when he’s in them. Being touched and caressed and kissed makes him feel unconditionally loved. It’s so important to him that he struggles to sleep unless he’s sleeping tangled up with her. Jean also needs words of affirmation — he’s an overthinker, more anxious than he’d like, but Pieck expertly reassures him. Receiving praise, comfort, and validation makes him feel better and more confident in himself.

— Pieck Finger:

Expressing:

Of course she loves kissing Jean and snuggling up to him. But Pieck’s strength tends to be her words, her ability to express herself eloquently. She loves boosting his confidence through compliments and praise, but teasing Jean is another way for her to show love — unconventional as it seems. She likes seeing the way he blushes when she’s playfully making fun of him for being such a baby around her. Her clever tongue expresses so much affection hidden behind jokes. Both Pieck and Jean love taking care of each other — being able to trust Jean and being able to repay him for his generosity makes it easy to express affection. She’s so loving when he drinks more than he can handle, taking care of him at his goofiest moments.

Receiving:

Pieck sometimes struggles to take care of herself. She doesn’t mean to forget to have breakfast, or to pack lunch for work, or any of the million tasks she has to remember. Thankfully, Jean remembers — and he goes above and beyond to make sure she’s okay. His dedication to acts of service eases her mental burden and makes it easier for her to devote more attention back onto Jean, so it’s a win for everyone. She struggles to admit how much she loves how he takes care of her — sometimes it’s a little embarrassing, but mostly, she can’t help but feel so appreciated and loved by Jean whenever he insists on doing the laundry or washing her hair.

[darlingkirstein]

jeanpiku — whump headcannon!

Jean refuses to admit he's as sick as he is; Pieck has to deal with the consequences when he faints. comfort / light whump / request for @zuzusexytiems

Jean's got a fever; he's just too damn stubborn to accept the severity.

There's a glass of water beside his bed, but he insists to Pieck (multiple times) that fluids aren't necessary. Even water lacks any appetizing appeal — Jean decides he's just going to laze around and let his immune system endure the worst of it.

"You really should drink, Jean." Fingers in his sweaty hair, Pieck cuddles close — not seeming to fear the whole horrifically contagious thing. "C'mon. For me?"

As much as pleasing Pieck pleases him, Jean shakes his head — eyes still fixated on the television playing the latest episode of Jeopardy.

“Don't need it, baby. I'm fine, okay? Just fine, don't you worry."

She sighs. He's been hearing that sigh all day. "I can't force you. Just don't complain when you're miserable later, goofy."

Jean won't allow Pieck to realize that he is rather miserable. No position grants him any comfort, Pieck's cuddling only bringing minimal benefits — as if the raging headache isn't enough; usually, one tiny touch from Pieck is plenty to bring him a smile. Still, being fussed over is not on his agenda for today — it's just a little cold, he convinces himself, nothing I can't handle.

She holds him against her chest. Jean clings to her, cheek pressed against her clothes. Being underneath their sweltering mattress feels a little suffocating, but Pieck's cold-blooded, and Jean understands that she needs it to be comfortable — despite his discomfort.

Keeping his eyes open is a struggle; whichever disease ravages his insides, it's making his limbs heavy, and his chest as well. He tries to concentrate on anything else, anything — Pieck's gentle fingers, the aroma of her body's natural fragrance, the Jeopardy contestant making an unfortunate blunder that costs him the lead. As embarrassing as that mistake is, Jean wonders if it's any bit as embarrassing as sweating all over his girlfriend's t-shirt.

As Pieck kisses his temple ceaselessly, Jean's hands feel her skin, her soft, beautiful, welcoming skin that's a perfectly normal temperature. All sorts of weird tingling sensations run through his head, his extremities, his everything. Still, Jean pushes past convincingly.

Or, he thinks he's convincing.

"Jean," Pieck whispers, lips lingering against his forehead. It's obvious she's trying hard to stifle laughter. "You're shivering like crazy. You need to sleep, sweetheart. It'll help you feel better. Please?"

He just clings closer — enjoying the benefits of Pieck's warmth and enduring the drawbacks of too much warmth, the most unpleasant experience Jean can say he's found himself in.

"No, no. Told you, babe. I'm totally fine."

Pieck scoffs, scratching his scalp. "Fine. Uhuh. You're helpless."

For a little while, Jean thinks he's right — as one contestant is crowned Jeopardy champion, he smiles, gloating at the fact that he knew the answer while one poor soul missed out. Finally, there's a distraction big enough to make him forget about his illness.

Until he can forget no longer. The dizziness consumes him.

"Baby?" His speech slurs. "Don't feel good."

Lightheaded as all hell, Jean's eyes fall shut — Pieck's been so adamant about him sleeping, but as he loses consciousness, Jean doubts that this was part of his girlfriend's intentions.

He wakes up to Pieck hovering over him, shaking his shoulders. Barely a few blinks pass before he's on the recieving end of a lecture.

"Jesus, Jean. You scared the hell out of me."

Dazed, he reaches out for her — unable to decide if passing out improved or worsened his condition. All he knows is that there’s a pretty girl that’s worried about him, so worried that she’s glowering down at him with some potency.

“What happened?” He murmurs, throat dry.

“You fainted, babe. I thought you were asleep, but I know you’re not that heavy of a sleeper.”

Jean blushes; she’s right. Suddenly, he can’t stop the scarlet from spreading across his sweat-drenched cheeks, a colorful display of his supreme humiliation — trying to act like a real tough guy backfired far too easily for his liking.

“Fainted?” Jean asks, coy nature glazed over his half-lidded eyes. “I actually fainted? Really?”

“Yes, you gorgeous idiot. I tried warning you.”

He’s so embarrassed he wants to crawl into his own skin and hide forever, hide away from Pieck’s (admittedly very attractive) cocked-eyebrow, eyes-glaring expression, hide from the shame. The hardest part is his inability to discern whether his girlfriend’s frustration is genuine — he’s far too dazed from the whole passing out endeavor to make a reasonable judgement call.

Pieck sighs. “I started panicking and Googled what to do when someone faints. It says to drink fruit juice — so you don’t have a choice this time.”

Before he can register what’s happening, Jean is assisted into a propped up position, a glass of orange juice not-so-gently thrust into his hand.

Quietly, Jean sips, careful not to speak. He feels like he’s back in class again, under the scornful eye of an exasperated school teacher disappointed in their students. Not wanting to incur any more of Pieck’s annoyance, he forces the liquid down his throat — and to his delight, the juice helps to stabilize his condition, the dizziness fading into nothing, a threat no more.

She sits by his side, palm resting on his leg, thumb swiping back and forth over skin. Not annoyed? Jean can’t possibly tell. His eyes find Pieck’s, and her stern expression softens into a soft, almost undetectable smile.

Though the lightheadedness passes, a twisty-turn sensation replaces it in his stomach. Like a dog with its tail stuck between its legs, Jean grapples with the shame of a forthcoming I-told-you-so no doubt mere seconds from leaving Pieck’s mouth. She’s right, she’s always right.

So, he dons his most apologetic face imaginable, puppy dog eyes brandished with an unmistakable pout dragging the corners of his lips down. Just for dramatic effect, Jean doesn’t bother attempting to stop the chills ransacking his body — maybe they can work to garner forgiveness?

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Voice so gentle, his eyes do most of the pleading. “Baby, I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to scare you, I just—”

Unable to stay upset for long, Pieck crumbles. She scoots closer, close enough to cup his face and press her lips to his too-warm skin in every capacity. Her mouth forgives his cheekbones, his forehead, his nose, his still-pouting lips.

“It’s okay,” she smiles, sighing. “I forgive you this time. Just don’t do that again, alright?”

He’s tempted to ask, Do what? However, Jean is far smart enough to realize that Pieck isn’t commanding him to never pass out again; she’s covertly requesting that he heed her thoughtful advice just a little bit closer next time.

Jean blushes. “Promise. Was stupid.”

She grins, snuggling close. “Not sure who you’re trying to impress, baby. I didn’t fall in love with you because you’re some macho tough guy.”

“I like impressing you,” he admits, the flush in his cheeks nearly as hot as his forehead’s temperature. “Don’t get to do it very often.”

The laughter from Pieck’s lips reassures Jean that, even when he’s driving her up the wall or infuriating her with another silly decision, his girlfriend can’t shake her soft spot for him.

“Well, you can impress me by drinking water and getting some rest. You need it, okay? Sleep.”

“I can try,” he relents, smiling. “For you.”

“I’ll help, I promise.” Beside her, Pieck gestures to a cold compress waiting to deliver some much-needed comfort to his aching head. “Just tell me what you need to feel good, baby. That’s all.”

With the secret now utterly uncontained, Jean loses all will to play a game of pretend. He’s free to whine about all tender physical woes, to make small requests — small enough to avoid feeling like a selfish asshole ordering Pieck around.

There’s a laundry list of things to ask for: a lighter blanket, the fan turned on, less clothing (and not for any fun reason), maybe even medication for the throbbing in his head refusing to retreat.

Nothing fun, that’s for sure. He opts for a recovery tactic he’s sure to be far more effective.

“You,” Jean confesses, looking right into Pieck’s eyes, heart quickening its tempo. “Just need you.”

[darlingkirstein]

thank you for answering my ask 😭 i felt butterflies as i read them tbh!! hihi since we're in a modern au setting here, do you think they'd have kids or planning to?

your prompts are so fun!! im so delighted to provide my headcannons!! tw: pregnancy

— EREMIKA:

I think they would absolutely want children, probably multiple — but not too many. Neither of them had siblings as children, so I think the idea of a small family appeals to them. I see one or two children in their future. Having children, for them, is such a natural progression of their love for one another that it’s a no-brainer. They get almost giddy discussing it — and the closer the time comes, Eren’s mentioning it frequently, dropping so many not-so-subtle hints to Mikasa. She gladly welcomes them, whispering hushed dreams of children against his skin as they cuddle.

Finding out about Mikasa’s pregnancy would be the happiest moment of Eren’s life — and she’s equally as elated to see his excitement. He’s gonna go full protective paternal instinct mode and be almost annoyingly attentive to Mikasa. He’s cooking everything for her (he’ll redo meals if a smell or texture or taste bothers her), brushing her hair, keeping a really close hold on her to make sure she won’t trip or fall or anything. Protecting their baby becomes his biggest mission in life. Since he’s so big on tactile contact, I think Eren would be really keen on touching Mikasa’s stomach constantly and kissing her belly to try and get the baby to kick. He’s definitely also saying stupid things to her stomach in the hopes of communicating.

Mikasa’s super hormonal — and she feels guilty when she takes it out on someone that’s just doing what he can to support her. I think, when pregnant, Mikasa gets more touchy and clingy, wanting to cuddle whenever possible. Her muscles ache, so Eren’s massages are so relieving that she probably bursts into tears. She’s just so connected to him and appreciative of all he does and hugs him so much, even as that gets more difficult to do as her belly swells.

I think they both want a daughter — and that’s what their first baby is, a little girl squealing the moment she enters the world. Eren tries to keep it together but he cries when he holds his daughter for the first time — and he’s instantly FaceTiming Carla to show off. his cute little baby. Their daughter is the perfect genetic blend of the two, almost freakishly great at borrowing from the features of both parents. Nobody could ever question who the parents are — it’s etched into her tiny strands of hair that’ll turn into dark tufts, her nose, her eyes, everywhere.

He calls his daughter his little ‘peanut’. That’s always been my favorite headcannon about Eren’s terms of endearment for his daughter. Mikasa has to practically beg for her daughter because Eren’s constantly holding her and doesn’t want to relinquish precious daddy-daughter snuggling time. I think that the peanut nickname lingers even after she’s grown up.

They both probably spoil their daughter (and any future children they may have): going on fun vacations, going for frequent mini-trips around town, doing all sorts of fun stuff. Eren is most guilty of spoiling — something their daughter may start to take advantage of in her teenage years until Mikasa notices the credit card bill piling up.

I can imagine many nights ending in family game night or movie night, anything where they get to relax together — falling asleep on the couch, their daughter snuggled between them, her head on Eren’s chest and legs across Mikasa’s lap.

In terms of parenting:

Eren’s the chill parent — not totally permissive but certainly lax. Being his daughter’s best friend is something he actively seeks, so they spend a lot of time together, getting ice cream or going shopping. They probably coordinate to “prank” mommy, becoming a scheming duo full of mischief and good humor.

Mikasa has to wrangle some control over the household since Eren’s the biggest people pleaser ever for his daughter. So, she’s the one handling discipline — but that doesn’t mean she’s strict or mean whatsoever. I think the relationship Mikasa has with her daughter is a more subdued, intimate kind. Her daughter confides in her about manners id girlhood and the female experience that her father is quite frankly clueless about. Mikasa gives really great advice about relationships, boys, and also shares her own insecurities to make sure her daughter feels seen and heard.

— JEANPIKU:

Honestly, in the earlier stages of their relationship/marriage, I think that they would find the idea of children off-putting. They like their routine and the life they’ve built between the two of them — wouldn’t a tiny human screw things up? They’re both focused on their jobs and their hobbies and friends. Kids aren’t a priority, and frankly, Jean’s a little terrified of being a dad.

I think this changes when one of his friends (honestly, let’s say Eremika) has a child and invites people over to meet the baby. Something shifts in Jean — as well as Pieck, but it hits Jean hard. Eren hands his daughter over to Jean (who’s frantically worried about dropping her or somehow screwing up); when he calms down and looks into those tiny eyes, he’s in love. Pieck can’t help but feel the same way watching her husband take care of a little baby — it’s doing weird things to her inside, making her heart melt. Seeing Jean being so tender with someone else’s baby makes her imagine how he’d act around a child of his own, and that’s when they start discussing it earnestly. Baby fever strikes hard; everytime they see a mom with baby in a stroller walking down the street, they turn to each other, pouting.

I think Pieck would be intimidated by pregnancy — whether it’s her smaller stature or just general anxiety, she’s nervous when she takes that test and sees those two lines sealing the deal. It’s not that she doesn’t want a child — she does, wants a family with Jean — but she’s worried about everything, worried about being a good mom, worried about how these next nine months will go. Thankfully, she’s got a great support system in Jean — it’s just a shame that he’s pretty much equally as terrified as she is the moment reality hits and his career as a dad is forthcoming. He does his best to stay calm for Pieck, though, since he knows her job in all this is far tougher.

Their fears are compounded by a little complication — at an early stage check-up with the doctor, they’re told that they’re having twins. That wasn’t part of the plan at all! It takes a lot of restraint not to freak out in the moment, but at home, the anxieties fly free. It all culminates in then reassuring each other that everything’s gonna be okay and that they’ll be okay.

Jean tends to be a little neurotic about any changes in Pieck’s condition. She’ll text him saying she’s super bloated or that the baby hasn’t kicked in an hour and suddenly he’s leaving work early to go check on her — just a total mess — and Pieck teases him when it turns out to be nothing at all, while he’s left blushing and embarrassed with a boss who’s getting sick of all these premature departures for false alarms. He spends his time reading parenting books and Googling ways to be a supportive husband throughout the pregnancy. He satisfies all her cravings and tends to her emotions — even when, on the inside, he feels like that episode of Community where Troy walks into the apartment aflame, horrified at the sight ahead of him.

You know in the Sims, when the mom starts going into labor and the dad starts jumping up and down screaming in panic? That’s Jean. His nerves are peaked when they’re on the way to the hospital to have the babies, and they only get worse in the delivery room. He’s gripping Pieck’s hand so tight she has to snap at him to loosen up. Watching her scream in pain makes him borderline nauseous, but the last thing he wants to do is make childbirth about him.

Each of them holds one of the babies after they’re born — a girl in Jean’s arms and a boy in Pieck’s. The fear is palpable, both thinking something along the lines of, I can’t screw this up, I can’t hurt these sweet, adorable creatures that have become everything to me the moment they arrived. Jean and Pieck look into each other’s eyes — and they both smile, taking deep breaths of relief. They did it. They made it this far.

As they grow up, the twins unconsciously begin to favor one parent — and the same happens with Jean and Pieck, loving both with their whole beings but drawn to one.

Jean loves nobody in the world more than his daughter — maybe Pieck, naturally, but he falls head over heels for his carbon copy, the girl with the blonde hair and propensity for pouting. He struggles to know what to say to her or how they should bond, but once it clicks, it clicks. He’s fiercely protective of her — any whiff of trouble at school and he’s anxious to hear the details, to figure out how he can best handle it. Nobody hurts his girl — and Pieck has to convince her husband that not every boy in the world has the worst intentions when his little girl is old enough to start dating. It’s not that he doesn’t trust her — she’s smart as hell and Jean knows it — he doesn’t trust the male sex, and the thought of someone hurting his daughter festers as anxieties in his chest, anxieties he learns to endure.

Pieck and their son have a fun bond. She loosens the reins on him rather heavily, giving him the freedom to explore and make stupid mistakes — a couple scrapped knees and broken bones are part of growing up, and they happen. She doesn’t get angry with him easily, the soft spot so prominent. He loves his mom dearly — until he starts being interested in girls, and Pieck’s overly interested in the gossip and who he’s got a crush on, to his grand annoyance. She means well, just trying to show investment in his life — and to make sure he knows there’s always someone available to talk to at home besides his father.

I could ramble on longer about the dynamics between Jean and his son and Pieck and their daughter, or more about Eremika, but I think I’ve already said enough! I love talking about these headcannons, thank you so much for asking these questions — if you have anything else, I’d love to talk about my thoughts. These ships are so dear to me :))

[darlingkirstein]

Consider The Following:

AU where Jean is a washed-up actor, struggling with being typecast and only being offered unoriginal action films, while Eren is his trusted stuntman that's been working with him on every single movie since they became friends. Mikasa is the director just trying to keep her movie afloat while her disaster of a lead threatens to collapse the whole thing with his constant theatrics — she lets it slide because she's fond of his stunt guy, the only one capable of appeasing his best friend.

(Think Once Upon A Time In Hollywood-style)

[darlingkirstein]

hello!! my name is mar (they/them)!

i’m a 21-year-old grad student living in the us, and im a multifandom multishipper!

here are the medias i enjoy most:

— aot, jjba, destiny, resident evil, etc.

• i love films, mostly horror/drama! also love playing video games!!

i write for the aot fandom in the form of various au’s set in modern universe; my main ships are eremika and jeanpiku!!! no discourse on this account — i don’t like engaging in that negativity.

this account is 18+ — nsfw/dark themes will occasionally feature!

send me asks/questions/comments!

you can also send me prompts for writing! i can do short little fics/headcannons (sfw/nsfw).

find me on other platforms! : twitter / ao3

masterthread of works

[darlingkirstein]

Hi, Mar! I saw you're taking prompts. What about bored 1950s housewife Mikasa and Milkman Eren? 🫢

Housewife Mikasa/Milkman Eren (1950s AU)

wc: 4.8k / nsfw / cheating thank you for the request! hope you enjoy :) i’ll probably be posting this to ao3 as well!

Her husband kisses her cheek — a kiss lacking any desired affection, more a routine obligation than anything else — as she hovers over the countertop, flattening the pie crust over the pan. She’s been requested (instructed, more precisely) to make one of her “famous” blueberry pies for a little gathering between the neighbors. They’re her husband’s favorite — and he jokes that he’ll be a real wet rag if he doesn’t get a taste.

“Off to work,” He grumbles, his glance lazily lingering on her fingers as she works the crust around the delicate edges. “Smells good.”

There’s no smell. I haven’t even started baking.

Still, Mikasa forces a pleasant smile — flashing her prettiest doe eyes up at him.

“Just for you, dear. It’ll be ready for the party.”

“You’re a doll.” He pats her waist, simpering. For a moment, there’s a return to the man Mikasa married years ago — the loving, fun, sweet man who courted her with trips to the cinema.

Mikasa allows foolish hope get the best of her.

“If it makes you happy—”

He squashes her hankering before it can properly take root. “You know what would make me happy? If you wore that gorgeous red dress. You know, that one that I can’t get enough of?”

It takes great strain to prevent her smile from floundering. She doesn’t want to displease him — even if he hardly sees her as anything more valuable than a manifestation of his most casually-depraved fantasies. A piece of meat, worth nothing more than to gawk at instead of compliment, fondle instead of pleasure.

Mikasa nods. “I’ll do that. Run along now.”

He’s out the door quick. Across the street, the neighbor’s yappy little mutt barks up a storm; children laugh as they play games. The summer heat provides such a wonderful atmosphere for frivolity, good restful fun, but none of that luxury is afforded to Mikasa. She knows she’ll spend her day tending to the chores. Baking, so much baking — and dusting every last crevice in their home. It’ll need to be spotless for the party. All the other wives judge her handiwork, Mikasa knows this, even if they’re too gentle to tell. They’ll judge her cooking, too. Comparing recipes and weighing the benefit of certain seasonings is far more competitive than she’d like it to be.

She gets to work. Toiling and toiling. The minutes drain quickly, never enough time in the day to accomplish everything she wishes. With one task completed, Mikasa remembers three more to take its place — an endless, most tedious cycle.

The days bleed together. Chores, making meals, and dull conversations with her husband — nothing to set them apart, nothing to deem it a life worth living for the decades to come. As she cleans, she wonders if things will ever go back to the way they were before — or if some miracle can swoop in to offer a fresh new existence.

A knock on the door interrupts her dusting.

She’s happy for any moment of respite. Opening the door, Mikasa is greeted by a handsome man — a very handsome man, indeed — who holds a basket filled with jars of fresh milk. He’s new; their precious milkman was a crotchety middle-aged gentleman who— well, wasn’t much of a gentleman, lacking any way with pleasantries.

This one’s much easier on the eyes.

He took off his hat and tipped it her direction. “Morning, miss. I’ve got a delivery for you.”

Mikasa notices his smile first, his pretty teeth — but it’s impossible to ignore the rest of him, hair so reminiscent of James Dean, an actor she harbors private affections for, hidden from her husband. Under the sunlight, the green in his eyes truly shimmers. He looks like something right out of a Vogue cover — and Mikasa’s smitten. Somehow, this man manages to make the milkman uniform look dignified, alluring even.

She flattens her dress, embarrassed by the flour stains coating the front and all the wrinkles ruining the elegance of the fabric.

“Good morning.” The beam on her lips is uncontrollable; she can’t remember the last time her husband made her smile like this. “I very much appreciate you, sir. You’re kind to knock.”

“This hot sun could spoil the milk.” His eyes find the stains on her dress, as she fears. “You look like a busy lady. I sure am sorry if I’m intruding.”

She steps outside, not thinking clearly. “No, no! You haven’t done a thing. It’s quite nice to have a visitor. It gets lonely around here sometimes.”

He grins. Mikasa tucks her hands behind her back, trying to conceal her wedding ring.

“Lonely? Don’t you have a husband, ma’am?”

She blushes. Caught. Mikasa’s heart beats faster than she’d like — full of shame. What would the other wives think if they saw her? The last thing she needs is to be called filthy names, accused of terrible, terrible crimes. That doesn’t stop her from swooning as the milkman smiles.

“Ah— I do. He just works so long. I have the house all to myself. The record player’s dull company.”

“No children?”

Mikasa shakes her head — another point of shame. All the other women already started their families; some had another child on the way. Her husband showed little interest in love-making. Whenever he returned home from work, he complained about being too tired — only seeking a warm meal in his belly and a funny show on the television to fall asleep to. When the fancy did strike him, it was a quick affair, far more beneficial for his pleasure than hers — almost animalistic. He whispers no tender phrases nor any amorous praises into her ear when he’s inside her — only hardened grunts, none too appealing for Mikasa.

“No, sir. Just the two of us here.”

Just as he opens his mouth to answer, the oven inside alerts her to the pie finishing its baking. Her head swings in the sound’s direction — dreading the result the noise might have on the pleasant conversation being shared.

“That’s my pie. I better check on it.”

He unsheathes a jar from the basket and presents it to her. “Well, you’ll see me again tomorrow, ma’am. Could you save me a slice of that pie?”

Mikasa’s fingers wrap around the jar, though her eyes don’t stray from his. She smiles her prettiest smile — this one authentic, nothing forced about it in the slightest — and nods. If her mornings consisted of this man at her doorstep, that’s a routine she favors getting acclimated to.

“Are you sure you don’t want something fresh?”

“No, ma’am. Wouldn’t want to impose.”

Hugging the jar to her chest, Mikasa flushes. She wonders how obvious the scarlet appears across her cheeks. “You’re a rather thoughtful man.”

“Well, ma’am — forgive me for saying this, but you’re a rather pretty lady. My momma taught me that pretty ladies deserve good manners.”

Mikasa has to drag her gaze away, turning her face to conceal the enjoyment in her features. Her stomach twists into little tangles; this is what she’s been missing ever since getting married. How long has it been since her husband made her feel like a woman worthy of love, worthy of some grandiose affection? Far too long, those fleeting moments all but forgotten. Mikasa toys with the chance, whatever minuscule chance exists, that the gorgeous milkman can grant her the attention she yearns to so richly acquire.

“You’re a handsome man yourself.” She cannot — doesn’t want to — control her words, forbidden and sinful as they are. A quick glance informs her he’s a bachelor, no ring wrapped around his finger, no woman waiting for him back home.

For a moment, Mikasa thinks something might happen, but the man only accepts her compliment with a fond twitch of a grin.

“I best be off to the next house. You take care, ma’am. Don’t work yourself too hard, now.”

Too flustered to conjure a proper response, all Mikasa manages is a little wave of her fingers before he’s heading down the driveway.

One thing comes to her, however.

She calls after him. “Mister! What’s your name?”

He turns, adjusting his hat back atop his hair. “Eren. Do I get the treat of knowing yours?”

“Mikasa.” She gives it up fervently, not-so-secretly yearning to hear her name from his lips.

“You’ve got a gorgeous name, miss. Seems everything about you is something special.”

He’s back on his merry way in a flash, off to deliver milk to the Thompsons. Eren, she repeats to herself over and over. Already, Mikasa counts down to the following day — when she’ll get the satisfaction of watching him sample her pie.

As routine demands, Eren returns to Mikasa’s house right on schedule the day after.

He raps on her door and waits patiently — that patience swiftly rewarded with the sight of Mikasa, even more beautiful than yesterday. Her hair, curled above her shoulders, frames her lovely face charmingly. The red lipstick coating her mouth draws Eren in without hesitation. Today, no flour coats her clothes — her chosen dress, spotless and practically wrinkle-free, gives her such a delightful appearance. Eren grins.

“You look like you’re in good spirits today.”

“Much better,” she admits. “My husband phoned me just now. He’ll be staying late at the office.”

One eyebrow cocks. “That’s why you’re happy?”

“Oh, no — I wouldn’t be a very good wife if I didn’t like having my husband around, would I?”

Eren stifles a grin — clever, clever girl. He takes a step closer to the door, closer to Mikasa.

“I think any man could count himself lucky to have someone like you for a wife, Mikasa.”

Watching her attempt to hide the thrill his words provided her gives Eren an equal thrill of his own — he chides himself for not taking this job sooner, for missing out on the gem of Mikasa’s flirtatious gazes for months and months.

“I saved you some pie, like you asked.” She pauses, looking back. Eren’s heart quickens, his expectations growing. “Would you like to come inside for a sample? I’d cherish your opinion.”

“It wouldn’t be very polite of me to refuse a girl’s invitation, don’t you think? I’ll happily get a taste.”

Already, Eren’s favorite part of Mikasa is how easily she flusters, her pale skin revealing all too simply her internal feelings so poorly hidden. His words, so intentionally veering toward something less-then-chaste, strike her deep — Eren watches Mikasa fidget with her fingers before guiding him inside their home — another man’s home.

“Here.” She gestures to the kitchen island, to a slice of pie and a fork to accompany it. “I made a plate just for you — hid it from my husband.”

The milk deliveries for the day are abandoned beside just inside the home’s entrance — he hopes nobody complains of his tardiness, but more pressing matters require his attention. Offered a seat at the island, Eren takes it gladly.

“This is very generous of you, Mikasa. Are you such an angel to every stranger at your door?”

“No,” she tells him, fetching a new milk jar from his basket and unstoppering it to fill a glass for him. “Just the ones I like. The handsome ones that say all the sweetest things to me.”

Grinning, Eren severs a tiny piece from the pie and pops it in his mouth — instantly hit with the blueberry flavor and the savory crust. Mikasa, half distracted as she wipes away some crumbs from the countertops, glances back.

“Well? Do you like it? I tried something different with the filling this time. Do you think it’s okay?”

He swallows, instantly returning for another bite.

“It’s perfect, Mikasa. You’re inhuman.”

“Inhuman? Is that a compliment?”

“I mean you’re too good to explain. It’s not everyday you meet a knockout girl who knows her way around a man’s appetites.”

She set aside her cleaning cloth. Returning to Eren’s proximity, her smile gives hints into a more playful side — blossoming from the adorable shyness permeating her actions during their monumental introduction.

“Do I know your appetites, sir?”

Her innocence entices him, his heart fluttering. Does she realize how beautiful she looks when her eyes are all beady and curious, watching their subject with a gaze imbedded with coquetry.

Suddenly, he’s the one who’s flustered.

“I certainly think you might.”

Mikasa comes closer — taking a seat at the island, resting against the counter. Eren suspects she doesn’t get much time for leisure like this — his mother, back in his youth, spent so much time in the kitchen her fingers were rubbed raw, not a life befitting a beautiful woman like Mikasa.

She smiles; her voice softens.

“Maybe tomorrow I can give you a whole pie.”

Sticking his fork into the filling, Eren bites his bottom lip, suppressing a smirk.

“That’s too much to ask for.”

“Oh, it’s not too bad.” Mikasa has mastered the art of looking coy, yet poised. “Besides, who else will make you a pie? You’re not married.”

The way she says it sounds like a challenge.

“I suppose you’re right. I’ve been missing out.”

She laughs, and it’s not the same rehearsed laughter he hears from all his friend’s wives, the one out on for show — it’s a real laugh, free of discipline and regulation, all free-flowing.

“So — why aren’t you married?”

Eren sighs and scoops more pie into his mouth, indulging in its sublime sweetness.

“All the pretty girls have husbands already. That, or they don’t fancy marrying the milkman.”

Mikasa looks back to the counter, her fingers coming to her teeth, nails bitten. For a moment, Eren worries he’s upset her — but he sees her stifling more laughter, too amused for her own good. Sideways glances come his way; she reminds him of the gals back in high school, waiting to be asked for the prom.

“Tell me about your husband,” he continues.

She looks at him, confused. “Why?”

“Well, you don’t seem too happy with him.” The image of her hiding her ring hasn’t left Eren — he’s not nearly as ashamed as he probably should be when he hopes to win her over, his gorgeous client in the gorgeous dress, with the lovely laugh.

“He’s not much of a romantic anymore. He likes my cooking and my outfits, but that feels like all I’m good for these days. That, and—”

She cuts herself off, blushing hard.

“And?”

“Nothing I should say out loud.”

Mikasa’s little more than a stranger, but Eren’s so drawn to her, drawn to everything about her. She’s the best-looking woman this side of the Equator, with a honeyed smile just as saccharine as her personality. Her husband, he attests, is the biggest fool on either side of the Equator.

“He really oughta treat you better.”

Something shifts in her gaze, Eren sees it. Mikasa leans closer, grabbing his wrist. There’s a desperation present in her eyes — one he surmises has been festering for quite some time. Is he the first man to pay her a compliment?

When she speaks again, it’s hushed, like she’s afraid of any eavesdroppers — spies for her husband, maybe. “How would you treat me?”

Eren flushes, swallowing hard. He looks into those eyes, those pleading pupils — and cups her cheek, thumbs rubbing over her skin.

He can’t properly comprehend what he’s doing. Her wedding ring tickles his wrist, the metal so cold against his skin, but her skin feels so warm, warm enough to tempt him further. Grinning, Eren’s face inches closer to hers, close enough to smell the perfume clinging to her neck.

“Right, Mikasa. I’d treat you right.”

Mikasa swallows. Butterflies dance around in her stomach, fighting for a way out. It’s wrong, she tries to convince herself, but the words feel like such a blatant lie — how could something wrong feel so painfully good, so inexplicably wanted?

His touch feels damn near electric. “You would?”

“Yes, ma’am. Would you like me to show you?”

Mikasa’s chest clenches, but it’s a nice clench — mostly. She knows there’s no turning back after this, but by God’s glory, she needs it, needs Eren. Her lips ache in anticipation, watching his hover before her face, patiently stalling to latch on.

She nods, holding his free hand tight. “Yes, sir— I mean— I’d like that very much, Eren.”

Eren smiles. With his fingers, he draws her face closer until their mouths meet. His kiss isn’t aggressive — it’s slow and measured, so patient. Mikasa fights the urge to weep; she can’t remember the last time her husband kissed her like this, kissed her like he truly loved her. Within her chest, her heart runs at an uncontrollable pace, threatening to leap right out.

Mikasa tries to control her kiss — the last thing she wants is to scare him off by being overzealous, too opportunistic with his affections. It’s difficult — each second with his mouth on hers pumps such good feelings through her body, leaving her damn near drunk on the impact.

She tastes the pie on his lips — her pie. Somehow, that makes Mikasa even giddier. She vows to make him a hundred pies if he’ll reward each slice with kisses like this one.

Mikasa feels the wetness building between her thighs — ending the total drought she’s endured under her husband’s dominion. It’s a girlish feeling, being so besotted with a handsome, handsome man again. It should cause her shame, Mikasa knows, but it doesn’t, not in the slightest. The only shame surrounding her is the shame that she hasn’t sought this out sooner.

None of the neighbors had husbands nearly as gorgeous as Eren. Her husband, even in his best days, couldn’t hold a candle to him.

“My husband— He’ll be gone for a while,” Mikasa whines between kisses. “Will you stay with me?”

Eren’s grip on her face tightens. He feels his warm exhales against her mouth, eyes fixated on the way he smirks like he’s won a lottery ticket.

“As long as you’d like, miss.”

Mikasa wants his body closer, wants more of his warmth, too spoiled to accept it only against her tongue. She takes his mouth again, claiming it in another enthusiastic kiss — but her tempted hands wander south, playing with the hem of her dress’ skirt, tugging it up her thighs.

“Touch me,” Mikasa pleads. “Please, mister.”

He smiles against her kiss. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ll beg you if I must. Oh, touch me.”

His palm finds a place on her thigh, fingers locked around, pressing into her soft flesh. “Sweetheart,” Eren calls her, and oh, how she swoons. “You don’t have to beg me for nothing. Let me help.”

Eren’s fingers hide underneath her dress and ever swiftly find the source of her ache, slipping inside. Mikasa’s body recoils — overwhelmed by little more than one tender touch — and her fingers wrap around his wrist to keep him lodged there.

His mouth finds her neck. It’s been so long since Mikasa’s received any attention on her neck.

“There, oh, right there,” she moans, eyes squeezing shut. Eren rubs her slowly — and she’s left guessing whether he does it to tease her or because he’s such a gentleman.

He falls silent, so focused on pleasuring her. Deft fingers make a bigger mess of her wetness, drenching his fingertips in her sweet liquid, while his lips threaten tender bruises against her skin.

“Be careful,” Mikasa whispers, smiling. “My husband might see— he’ll get suspicious.”

Eren grins; attentive sucks become light kiss against her throat. “Maybe he should, Mikasa — maybe he’ll learn his lesson and treat you right.”

She shakes her head. “He’s never been this good to me. Never. Oh, don’t stop — please, don’t.”

Never straying from his task, Eren teases her sex for as long as he can. His mouth switches between her sensitive, markable flesh and her soft, welcoming lips, but his fingers never leave her cunt — far too absorbed in their mission to even think about quitting. Mikasa tries to remember a past memory where she felt this good, this tended to, but no memory comes.

Dizzy, intoxicated by his touch, she gets greedy.

“The bedroom— let’s go there, Eren. Please?”

“Your room?” Eren stills his fingers. “Are you asking me what I think you’re asking, miss?”

Any prior embarrassment she may have felt making this request vanished long ago — unbridled by shame, too bloated with unquenchable lust, Mikasa is breathless.

“Make love to me. I miss it, I miss it so much. Make love to me, sir. Remind me what it’s like.”

His hand falls away from her cunt; whatever momentary emptiness that triggers is forgotten when Eren lifts her from her chair and asks for guidance in finding the master bedroom.

Inside, Eren rests her atop her sheets. Her legs spread naturally for him, dress skirt falling without struggle, inviting him in for a taste. She looks to her left — on the bedside table, their wedding photograph greets her. Mikasa gets an unwomanly glee out of her husband having premium seating to see another man do his job.

She watches Eren smile like a kid in a candy shop — not the leer he husband throws her way when he’s finally in the mood to get relief, but a grin of determination, determination to make her happy.

He pushes her dress further up her body, far enough for him to lower his mouth to her stomach, kissing her belly. The knots haven’t left, only growing stronger — Eren’s lips tend to the least cultivated parts of her body with great care. Mikasa writhes against the ticklish sensation, smiling graciously. Heaven’s finally answered all her silent prayers, her hidden desires, a gift for her years of devotion to faulty matrimony.

Above all else, Eren’s eyes make her feel best — in the midst of his tender kisses, his gaze finds her happily. That attention, that focus — Mikasa doesn’t need to tilt her gaze to recognize how stained her panties have become.

His fingers hook around them, but he tugs them away slowly, tediously slow, leaving a trail of sweet kisses down her midsection as the air finally hits her cunt with a shiver. Mouth teasing the skin around her sex, Eren smiles, letting all the little hairs tickle between his nose and chin.

“Mikasa, darling,” he starts, softly. “Does your husband ever do this for you? Ever?”

“Never.” Darling — much better than doll.

Nearly too dazed to properly focus, Mikasa swears that Eren’s eyes narrow, brows furrowing. He says nothing more before his tongue presses against her sweet flesh, drinking up her wetness like lemonade on a day hot as this one.

Her legs tighten around him, tight enough to knock the milkman’s hat right off his head. Fingers meddling in his pretty hair, Mikasa guides his mouth to the parts of her aching the loudest, but Eren needs little instruction.

Mikasa wonders how she tastes; her husband’s mouth never sampled her cunt, only his fingers, if she could consider herself lucky enough on those evenings to be given even that much.

Eren’s hands press her thighs into the mattress; Mikasa’s back arches, driving her cunt further into his mouth, utterly inescapable. Whimpers fall off her tongue just as easily as his tongue edges her closer and closer to fruition — the knots in her stomach tighten, so tight it’s damn near painful. Every slow lick he gifts her feels like salvation, too joyfully sinful to dare divulging at the confessional. It’s a treat to her ears as much as it is to her eyes and her sex; Eren’s mouth enjoys her without restraint, loud enough for Mikasa to hear every lick, every suck, every gasp for air.

The longer he licks, the more impatient she grows to have the rest of Eren, too.

“Eren,” she yelps, hips wild in their movements. “Mister— Please, make love to me. Take me.”

He softens, determination melting to a mellow simpler. After his tongue laps up one last sample of her wetness, Eren rises — off comes his uniform top, revealing a simple, far more comfortable undershirt. He tries taking off his pants, but the inconvenience seems to burden him, and the garments only make it around his thighs before he’s climbing on top of her.

Mikasa welcomes him into her arms — her legs wrap around him, keeping him close. The summer weather makes the room so humid; sweat clings to his skin, passing onto her pretty dress. Another chore adds to the pile, but she’ll do whatever extra laundry is required to enjoy this.

Eren kisses her hungrily, with desire, though a different desire from her husband’s. The man she married claims her as his property, his little maid — Eren strives to please, to pamper, to redeem. Her lipstick smudges around the corners, the residue swapping to his lips. Mikasa blushes; between her cunt’s wetness and the ruby-red lipstick, she’s left a real impression on his face.

Eren breaks their kiss, panting. Rustling around. Mikasa knows he’s fumbling around to get his cock out. “How long’s it been, sweetheart?”

“Since what?” She blinks, staring woozily.

“Since your husband made love to you.”

It’s not a number Mikasa struggles to recall. “Two months— Two months, nearly three.”

He scoffs, clicking his tongue. “I’ll fix that, okay?”

Before she’s able to convey her appreciation in any meaningful manner, Eren carefully sheathes himself inside her cunt, submerging inch by inch until his hips are properly introduced to hers.

Her husband prefers to take her from behind. Mikasa’s much more partial to Eren’s approach.

His thrusts are slow, gentle. Mikasa’s fingernails grip his back, pressing him even closer. He smells of sweat— and of her, and Mikasa revels in the aroma. Eren’s cock quenches a thirst she’s been suffering from for too long; the fullness in her cunt has been a source of fantastical daydreams, private, unladylike yearnings — all realized, in her husband’s bed, under his utter obliviousness.

Mikasa whimpers and moans for Eren so easily. Each thrust brings a wave of pleasure that she couldn’t dream of containing in her throat.

Eren grins with every sound she makes. “He’s a goddamn fool, darling,” he mutters. “A fool.”

“I know,” Mikasa whines back. “I know.”

His pace grows — never too much, but enough to push Mikasa close to the brink swiftly. His mouth grants affections at every opportunity; Mikasa’s lips, her collarbone, her neck, the top of her cleavage (the part that teases him most), even the lobes of her ears receive his benevolence.

Euphoria. His cock travels deep inside. The moment Eren reaches down and presses his palm against her belly, Mikasa loses control — her stomach and all its tangles start to unravel, the tension building, building — and culminating in a cascade of relief that washes over her as she drenches his cock in still more of her wetness.

Eren groans; his release takes longer. Mikasa cries out as he takes her, truly takes her, his thrusts taking care of her sopping wet cunt. The sounds alone are nearly enough to grant her another round of pleasure — but Mikasa clings to him, her dress crinkling and rustling as his thrusts grow stronger, so strong until the fullness abandons her entirely, the loss accompanied by Eren’s baritone, beautiful moans, drawn out as he paints her belly with strings of sheet white.

Though Mikasa doesn’t dare voice it, she almost longs for some of Eren’s release to linger inside her cunt, long enough to sprout. Better your child than his, she thinks, blushing at the shame.

Their breathing falls in tandem.

“Do you feel better now, Mikasa?” His voice is hushed now, too, thumb stroking her chin.

Rendered speechless, she nods.

Grinning, Eren kisses her — and again, and for a third time, the longest. To her disappointment, he’s up too soon after, redressing, fixing his hair. Mikasa frowns, forcing herself up to her elbows.

“I wish you wouldn’t have to go.”

“I know — but if I don’t deliver the milk on time, I’ll be fired. And if I’m fired,” he pauses, looking down at the ground as he smiles. “Well, then I won’t have any excuse to pay you more visits.”

Mikasa blushes. She knows he’s right.

“Remember,” she coos, biting her lip. “I’ll make you a whole pie tomorrow. My thanks.”

Eren finishes dressing — but he can’t wipe the grin off his face as he returns for one final kiss.

“My favorite’s cherry. But I still don’t know if it’ll taste nearly as good as you do, darling.”

[darlingkirstein]

https://www.tumblr.com/darlingkirstein/744825283753934848/jeanpiku-whump-headcannon?source=share

ngl im a sucker for this 😌

thank you for reading 🥹 more to come in the jeanpiku whump realm and beyond!!