em 🦢

headcanons on how the attack on titan women eat pussy ╱ mdni, fingering, oral sex, spitting, squirting, mentions of pee, orgasm denial, overstimulation, pussy slaps, facefucking ˚.✦

MIKASA ACKERMAN

She's so calm about it, she approaches your pussy with soft kisses and vibrations low on her throat, knowing exactly how to tease you

She listens to you, the sounds you make, the little whines and how your breath changes depending on where she touches you

It takes her a good ten minutes before she actually eats you out, before that she's kissing your thighs, marking them good and making you as wet as possible for her.

Then she laughs when her fingers slip easily.

When she gets serious, she can be rough, scissoring hard and fast with one hand and abusing your clit with her tongue, not caring about you trying to squirm away because her free hand is enough to keep you in place.

She also loves overstimulating you, going orgasm after orgasm, barely letting you breath. She's obsessed with how boneless and easy to handle you become after the third orgasm, letting her do whatever she wants to you.

She might give you a few pussy slaps after cumming as a reward or as way of keeping you awake.

and also agree that isa briones not being nominated is weird as fuck

and this one

there’s a few photos of them from elsewhere, ones where they’re both trying to dodge the camera in their teenage insistence that they don’t want their picture taken

until one night, she’s not even sure why she does it, she searches for her best friend’s house on google maps and clicks on street view, just to see something familiar, a place she used to be happy. clicks through to early years, to before the house was sold after she died, to when familiar cars sat on the driveway

zooms in when she notices it, on the front porch she can just about see, with blurred faces, a trinity and her best friend frozen in time, more than a decade ago, sat on the swing on the front porch, heads staring down at something in their laps, pressed so closed together

and she screenshots it a half dozen times in a panic, as if google might delete it immediately now she’s seen it. and only then does she allow herself to look again.

she doesn’t even know what they would’ve been talking about, they spent so many hours on that porch. the new owners tore down the porch it doesn’t even exist anymore.

hi @merpinglilac my most trustworthy soldier. your mohantos.

Trinity Santos knows herself. Sort of. She made an effort to when she was younger, then decided that she hated most of what she found, so she simply stopped there.

Out of sight, out of mind.

That’s the motto she’s been following for years. Out of sight, out of mind. If there’s a problem, solve it. She knows there isn’t anyone that can help her. She knows there isn’t anyone she can rely on.

Out of sight, out of mind.

The current issue is Samira. More specifically, the feeling Trinity gets when she’s around Samira. It’s not a crush! Nothing like that, no, Santos knows what a crush feels like. What she feels is more like… gratitude. Gratitude and bashfulness. And curiosity. And admiration. Some anxiety. A bit of annoyance.

It’s certainly not a crush, certainly, certainly, no. It’s- it’s not. Trinity was just conflicted! Her basic ‘thanks’ to Samira’s assurance on that first day keeps replaying in her mind—it could’ve been more sincere, softer, more appreciative. Trinity should’ve given her a high five or something, maybe have offered to buy her lunch for it.

“No,” she mutters to herself bitterly, forcing the thought away.

Right, no. That’s lame. Lame and not reflective of how Trinity feels.

Besides, they’ve been working together for months now! More than months! How the hell is she supposed to blurt out gratitude half a year overdue? Slip into it like, ‘Hey Mohan! Remember when you caught our drugged up superior insulting a third of my life’s effort, and you stared into my eyes with your big baby doe eyed ones and-’

“Dr. Santos,” a gentle but confused voice snaps the R2 from her spiral.

Speak of the angel and she shall descend.

“Hey… you.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Santos needs to bash her head into a wall. She sighs and wheels back from the computer to turn to the other doctor, already exasperated with her social blunders. What is wrong with her today? “What’s up?”

Mohan, ever the caring, offers Santos a brief but small smile. “You were making faces at the chart. Something the matter?”

“Oh! No, no, I’m- m’all good, really.”

“Yeah? You look constipated, Santos. Seriously, I can share some tips—I had my share of sleepless nights too, alright?”

And then Samira does that thing with her face.

Her eyes droop. Soften. Her brows tilt. Her lips tug, then curl up, and one side of her cheek rises a little more, and the divot that appears beside her lips is one Trinity finds herself stuck on.

“Sure,” is what Santos settles on, tongue thick behind her teeth and gaze heavy. She can feel warmth along her neck when her head dips. “Yeah, I’ll… yeah. Text me the uh, text me your recommendations?”

When Mohan walks away, Trinity knocks her palm to the side of her head.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

It’s a crush.