A cosy eremika chistmas drabble, inspired by this fanart.
For the record, it had been Eren’s idea from the beginning. As it usually was when something cheesy, mildly embarrassing, and deeply sincere was involved.
Willow Yeager—also known as the calmest and most beautiful baby in the universe, according to her very reasonable and not-at-all biased parents—had reached that dangerous age where Christmas stopped being decoration and started being an event. At four years old, she no longer let things slide past her unnoticed. She stared at lights until she had to be carried away. She waved at inflatable snowmen like they might wave back. She asked why songs were louder this time of year and why people smiled more in grocery stores.
Eren clocked all of it. And once Eren clocked something, it was already too late.
“I am going to be Santa,” he announced to his wife over breakfast, mouth full of toast, like he was sharing a perfectly normal thought.
Mikasa paused mid-sip. “You are going to choke and die if you keep talking with food in your mouth, my love.”
“I am serious.”
She lowered the cup slowly. “I know. That is what worries me.”
“For Willow,” he added, pointing with the toast for emphasis. “She is ready.”
Willow perked up immediately. “Santa?”
“Not right now,” Mikasa said sharply, kicking Eren under the table.
“Ow—why?”
“She does not need details at breakfast.”
“She asked!”
“She heard the word ‘Santa’. That is on you.”
The decision was apparently irreversible, because the day before christmas, a massive box arrived. Eren dragged it inside with such effort that Willow thought it was a new piece of furniture and tried to sit on it.
“Do not open that here, Eren,” Mikasa said, already reaching out to steady Willow’s eager hands as the little girl bounced on her feet, eyes fixed on the package that had just come through the door.
Eren snorted. “Oh, so now you support my plan?”
“I have supported you from the beginning, my love,” Mikasa replied calmly. “But I cannot let you ruin the whole day beforehand.”
Willow frowned at the box. “Is it for me, mama?”
“No,” Mikasa said instantly.
“Yes,” Eren said at the exact same time.
Mikasa turned slowly. “Excuse me?”
“Yes,” he corrected himself, squatting down in front of Willow. “But it is a later present, sweet girl.”
“How much later, papa?” Willow demanded.
“Later-later.”
Mikasa rolled her eyes and scooped the little girl up before her husband could mess everything up. “Go wash your hands. Santa does not visit children with sticky fingers.”
That worked. Willow ran off at full speed.
The second she was out of sight, Mikasa pointed at the box. “Bedroom. Now.”
“Bossy,” Eren said fondly, dragging it down the hall anyway.
That night, after dinner, a very serious debate about whether Santa preferred milk and cookies or beer, and Willow finally tucked into bed, Eren cracked the box open like he had been waiting his entire life for that moment.
The costume was… a lot.
A thick red coat, a wide belt, boots, gloves, and a beard that looked like it could legally count as a small animal.
Mikasa stared. “You bought the professional Santa.”
“I wanted to commit,” Eren said.
“You look like you are about to rob a mall.”
He rolled his eyes, offended. “Help me put it on.”
The coat went on first. It was heavy, warm, and made him look even broader than usual. He tugged at the sleeves, then turned to face her, clearly waiting for feedback.
“Well?” he asked. “Be honest.”
“You look like Santa who flirts with mums,” she said flatly.
He grinned at her, his green eyes ogling her body covered in a thin, purple nightgown. “Excellent.”
The beard came next. The moment it was tied, Eren grimaced. “Oh,” he said immediately. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“It itches.”
“I warned you.”
“It is actively attacking my face!”
Mikasa stepped closer, fixed the hat, then kissed him without thinking.
Instant regret.
She pulled back, frowning. “Eren. Your beard is itchy.”
“I know.”
“You knew and still let me do that.”
He smiled, hands sliding to her waist. “You did not have to.”
“And yet you did not stop me.”
“Never.”
Mikasa sighed, then kissed him again anyway, slower, clearly adjusting, fingers curling into the coat. He hummed, smug and delighted.
“You are enjoying this far too much, Santa,” she murmured.
“Of course,” he replied. “This is my season.”
She laughed softly, forehead resting against his chest.
And then—
“Mama…”
They froze like teenagers caught misbehaving on the couch (which, to be fair, had happened once, but that is a story for another time).
Mikasa turned first.
“Mama,” Willow mumbled, rubbing her face. “Why are you kissing Santa?”
Oh. Oh damn.
Mikasa’s brain did that thing where every thought tried to speak at once and none of them made it past her mouth. She opened it anyway. Closed it. Looked at Eren.
Eren, for his part, went completely still. Not heroic still. More like, ‘if I do not move, perhaps I will become furniture still.’ Ridiculous, truly.
Meanwhile, Willow swayed in the doorway, eyes barely open, hair flattened on one side, clearly operating on muscle memory alone. She was not awake-awake. She was the kind of awake that wandered into rooms and forgot why halfway through a sentence.
Mikasa reacted on instinct. She crossed the room and scooped Willow up before gravity could make any decisions of its own. Willow immediately melted against her, cheek pressed to her mama’s shoulder, the question already losing importance.
“Shh,” Mikasa murmured, rubbing her back. “You look so tired, baby. Let’s go back to bed.”
Willow hummed, fingers curling into her mama’s shirt. “Santa was… red,” she mumbled, words slurring together.
“Yes,” Mikasa said seriously. “Very red.”
Behind them, Santa remained frozen, beard slightly crooked, arms still half-raised like he had been caught mid-crime.
Willow cracked one eye open just long enough to squint in Santa’s general direction. She did not focus. She did not analyse. She simply accepted the information and filed it away.
“Mama kisses… everything,” she decided.
Mikasa bit the inside of her cheek. “That is true. Now let us go back to bed.”
Willow nodded against her shoulder, already slipping again. “Night.”
She was asleep before Mikasa reached the hallway. When she returned to the bedroom, Santa was still there. Same spot. Same posture.
“You can move now,” she whispered.
Eren finally exhaled, hands dropping to his sides. “Oh, god. I saw my life end.”
“She did not even know what she was saying,” Mikasa said, amused now. “She thought Santa was a colour.”
“That is comforting.”
She stepped closer, fixing his hat again without thinking. “You really look ridiculous.”
“You kissed me anyway.”
“I was distracted.”
“Twice.”
She smiled despite herself, leaning in just enough to press a kiss to his cheek, careful of the beard. “Next time,” Mikasa said softly, “Santa waits until everyone is deep asleep.”
Eren grinned, arms slipping around his wife’s waist. “Still worth it.”
A cosy eremika chistmas drabble, inspired by this fanart.
For the record, it had been Eren’s idea from the beginning. As it usually was when something cheesy, mildly embarrassing, and deeply sincere was involved.
Willow Yeager—also known as the calmest and most beautiful baby in the universe, according to her very reasonable and not-at-all biased parents—had reached that dangerous age where Christmas stopped being decoration and started being an event. At four years old, she no longer let things slide past her unnoticed. She stared at lights until she had to be carried away. She waved at inflatable snowmen like they might wave back. She asked why songs were louder this time of year and why people smiled more in grocery stores.
Eren clocked all of it. And once Eren clocked something, it was already too late.
“I am going to be Santa,” he announced to his wife over breakfast, mouth full of toast, like he was sharing a perfectly normal thought.
Mikasa paused mid-sip. “You are going to choke and die if you keep talking with food in your mouth, my love.”
“I am serious.”
She lowered the cup slowly. “I know. That is what worries me.”
“For Willow,” he added, pointing with the toast for emphasis. “She is ready.”
Willow perked up immediately. “Santa?”
“Not right now,” Mikasa said sharply, kicking Eren under the table.
“Ow—why?”
“She does not need details at breakfast.”
“She asked!”
“She heard the word ‘Santa’. That is on you.”
The decision was apparently irreversible, because the day before christmas, a massive box arrived. Eren dragged it inside with such effort that Willow thought it was a new piece of furniture and tried to sit on it.
“Do not open that here, Eren,” Mikasa said, already reaching out to steady Willow’s eager hands as the little girl bounced on her feet, eyes fixed on the package that had just come through the door.
Eren snorted. “Oh, so now you support my plan?”
“I have supported you from the beginning, my love,” Mikasa replied calmly. “But I cannot let you ruin the whole day beforehand.”
Willow frowned at the box. “Is it for me, mama?”
“No,” Mikasa said instantly.
“Yes,” Eren said at the exact same time.
Mikasa turned slowly. “Excuse me?”
“Yes,” he corrected himself, squatting down in front of Willow. “But it is a later present, sweet girl.”
“How much later, papa?” Willow demanded.
“Later-later.”
Mikasa rolled her eyes and scooped the little girl up before her husband could mess everything up. “Go wash your hands. Santa does not visit children with sticky fingers.”
That worked. Willow ran off at full speed.
The second she was out of sight, Mikasa pointed at the box. “Bedroom. Now.”
“Bossy,” Eren said fondly, dragging it down the hall anyway.
That night, after dinner, a very serious debate about whether Santa preferred milk and cookies or beer, and Willow finally tucked into bed, Eren cracked the box open like he had been waiting his entire life for that moment.
The costume was… a lot.
A thick red coat, a wide belt, boots, gloves, and a beard that looked like it could legally count as a small animal.
Mikasa stared. “You bought the professional Santa.”
“I wanted to commit,” Eren said.
“You look like you are about to rob a mall.”
He rolled his eyes, offended. “Help me put it on.”
The coat went on first. It was heavy, warm, and made him look even broader than usual. He tugged at the sleeves, then turned to face her, clearly waiting for feedback.
“Well?” he asked. “Be honest.”
“You look like Santa who flirts with mums,” she said flatly.
He grinned at her, his green eyes ogling her body covered in a thin, purple nightgown. “Excellent.”
The beard came next. The moment it was tied, Eren grimaced. “Oh,” he said immediately. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“It itches.”
“I warned you.”
“It is actively attacking my face!”
Mikasa stepped closer, fixed the hat, then kissed him without thinking.
Instant regret.
She pulled back, frowning. “Eren. Your beard is itchy.”
“I know.”
“You knew and still let me do that.”
He smiled, hands sliding to her waist. “You did not have to.”
“And yet you did not stop me.”
“Never.”
Mikasa sighed, then kissed him again anyway, slower, clearly adjusting, fingers curling into the coat. He hummed, smug and delighted.
“You are enjoying this far too much, Santa,” she murmured.
“Of course,” he replied. “This is my season.”
She laughed softly, forehead resting against his chest.
And then—
“Mama…”
They froze like teenagers caught misbehaving on the couch (which, to be fair, had happened once, but that is a story for another time).
Mikasa turned first.
“Mama,” Willow mumbled, rubbing her face. “Why are you kissing Santa?”
Oh. Oh damn.
Mikasa’s brain did that thing where every thought tried to speak at once and none of them made it past her mouth. She opened it anyway. Closed it. Looked at Eren.
Eren, for his part, went completely still. Not heroic still. More like, ‘if I do not move, perhaps I will become furniture still.’ Ridiculous, truly.
Meanwhile, Willow swayed in the doorway, eyes barely open, hair flattened on one side, clearly operating on muscle memory alone. She was not awake-awake. She was the kind of awake that wandered into rooms and forgot why halfway through a sentence.
Mikasa reacted on instinct. She crossed the room and scooped Willow up before gravity could make any decisions of its own. Willow immediately melted against her, cheek pressed to her mama’s shoulder, the question already losing importance.
“Shh,” Mikasa murmured, rubbing her back. “You look so tired, baby. Let’s go back to bed.”
Willow hummed, fingers curling into her mama’s shirt. “Santa was… red,” she mumbled, words slurring together.
“Yes,” Mikasa said seriously. “Very red.”
Behind them, Santa remained frozen, beard slightly crooked, arms still half-raised like he had been caught mid-crime.
Willow cracked one eye open just long enough to squint in Santa’s general direction. She did not focus. She did not analyse. She simply accepted the information and filed it away.
“Mama kisses… everything,” she decided.
Mikasa bit the inside of her cheek. “That is true. Now let us go back to bed.”
Willow nodded against her shoulder, already slipping again. “Night.”
She was asleep before Mikasa reached the hallway. When she returned to the bedroom, Santa was still there. Same spot. Same posture.
“You can move now,” she whispered.
Eren finally exhaled, hands dropping to his sides. “Oh, god. I saw my life end.”
“She did not even know what she was saying,” Mikasa said, amused now. “She thought Santa was a colour.”
“That is comforting.”
She stepped closer, fixing his hat again without thinking. “You really look ridiculous.”
“You kissed me anyway.”
“I was distracted.”
“Twice.”
She smiled despite herself, leaning in just enough to press a kiss to his cheek, careful of the beard. “Next time,” Mikasa said softly, “Santa waits until everyone is deep asleep.”
Eren grinned, arms slipping around his wife’s waist. “Still worth it.”
look at this incredible caprice-inspired art by the incredibly talented @sumiensp commissioned by my wonderful best friend @delkasa ILY SO SO MUCH this is the sweetest gift anyone has ever gotten me🥹❤️
Synopsis: In which Eren ends up as the handyman Mikasa hires after her big move to a new apartment. What starts as him fixing her botched repairs slowly turns into him sneakily loosening a few pipes in her bathroom (ever the opportunist, he is). Translation: he just wants to be near this cute girl, even if that means fixing her whole apartment for free.
Tags/contents: Modern settings, strangers to friends to lovers, denial of feelings (again I know, but it's not a slow burn), fluff so much fluff and smut, manbun!eren is so fvcking sweet and charming, mikasa is so adorable and a cutie patootie
➷ rated e | +12k words
➷ praise, breeding, slow & patient foreplay.
➷ Eremika Smut Week 2024, day 4. @emsmutweek
Summary:
“I need a child,” she states bluntly. “My husband is unable to provide one, so I’m compelled to explore other options. I, um…” Mikasa’s voice wavers for a moment, but she clears her throat, summoning her strength. “I wish for you to father a child with me.”
Eren interrupts, his voice laced with an undercurrent of menace. “So you would have me as your whore?”
The rawness of his words strikes her like a frigid wind, stealing the breath from her lungs. Naturally, he would think of this as a calamity to his chivalry; surely, in this moment of humiliation, he feels no shame in hurling insults her way.
The Crown Princess is desperate for an heir, and who better to fulfil this need than her devoted Dark Knight?
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