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darlingkirstein · 2 months

Note

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.”

#eremika #eremika headcannon #fic writing #my writing #darlingkirstein asks #darlingkirstein fics #darlingkirstein prompts #darlingkirstein smut #eremika smut #1950s au #milkman eren au

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likesunsetorange · 1 month

Note

Hey I was just wondering what are some of your favorite eremika fics. I was hoping to get some that were multi chapter :)

OMG I LOVE THIS QUESTION!!!! linking my bookmarks on ao3 bc i have a bunch of favs in there and then here are some others i remember!! also my fic recs tag here on tumblr has so many by my amazing writer moots!!!

literally anything by dark_titanium she writes the funniest fucking fics and they’re so fun!!! switch is mc and a fandom fav too!!! she’s also here on tumblr and her tumblr is so fun @sunlightandsuffering !!!!

how to coexist by spoiler_arlert is probably one of my all time fav eremika fics and karsyn was actually one of my first friends i made in the fandom :’) i hope she comes back soon i miss her sm!!!

the promised princess by @dead-dolphins i could write an essay about how amazing this fic is like it’s truly novel quality and ro is so fucking talented like i’ve cried so many times reading tpp it’s literally so special to me like i literally adore it with my whole little heart!! i never really read fantasy but tpp made me adore the genre and im even starting asoiaf bc of it!!! i also just love ro so much and i always feel honored to be apart of helping with such an amazing fic!! even if it’s just smth as small as helping with grammar :’)

how to be by infintify is another one of my favs it’s lowkey super angsty and not a lot of people talk about it but it’s super super good!!!!

can’t get enough and the entire 5 star universe by @irememberthedark is my roman empire actually!!! i remember reading that fic before i joined the fandom or wrote dol like i read it sm times and i love that universe sm i tell kb that all the time 😭

touch by fenroargreyfront this is the first em fic i ever read!! it’s only four chapters but im convinced it was the perfect intro to eremika for me and why i love them so much!!!!

degrees of sleeplessness a teacher au!!!!!

a beginners guide to destroying the moon by @darlingkirstein angsty but the em relationship is super sweet and i’ve always loved the summary of it it lives rent free in my head!!!

i could list so many more but if you want any specific recs feel free to ask :))

#asks #vic’s recs #fic recs

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darlingkirstein · 1 month

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eremika in any sort of romcom setting hehe

i think this is romcom-y enough??? idk it's a silly little meet cute in fantastically cheesy unrealistic scenario so i think it fits the romcom vibe Teehee🩷 hope you enjoy my pookie wookie vic <3

actor au / fluffy / rated e for everyone / 3.6k

Mikasa toils over the counter, sifting through the different orders — many have rather well-renowned names attached — to decide which ones to tackle first. Being a barista proves more difficult than she initially imagined. All she needed was a simple job to help pay the rent; the coffee shop being on a movie studio lot has been an added bonus, a chance to mingle with stars.

And by mingle, she means floundering interactions with the latest growing stars with their persnickety drink orders, some quick to complain at the smallest errors. Whenever she gets the opportunity to see someone whose likeness is stamped on a poster in her room, Mikasa mangles all attempts at compliments. Trying to praise their work only culminates in rosy cheeks and baffled looks shot back in return.

Exhaling, she gets to work, going through the orders in a procession ascending from least complicated to most tedious. Everyone seems to want extra toppings these days, extra pumps of artificial syrups that turn their 'coffee' into little more than an excessively-priced milkshake. Whatever gets them through the day, she supposes. Making a movie is tricky work.

Mikasa understands this. Sorta. Or at least, she's attempting to. The acting jobs haven't exactly been falling into her lap, though basic probability encourages her that at least one of these countless auditions have to turn into something. She's desperate for anything — at one of her past attempts, an audition for a medicine commercial, the casting agent giggled midway through her delivery of some poorly-written script. The best Mikasa's ever gotten was being an extra for an episode of a new television show — which was promptly cancelled after a first season.

She finishes an affogato and a raspberry danish for Marilyn Lawrence, lounging around on her lunch break from shooting Saturn's Divinity. It apparently takes too much effort to acknowledge Mikasa's calls of her name, too preoccupied by whatever's on her phone to pay much attention.

"Marilyn!" Mikasa repeats, nervous for yet another celebrity interaction. Lawrence only just won a BAFTA for her performance in This Holy House.

With a scoff, the actress strolls to the counter, barely mouthing a thanks before sulking back to a table, carrying all her actress-y things with.

It's hard not to feel like pond scum when the upper echelons of the acting world are hardly willing to spare her simple pleasantries, yet alone anything resembling kindness. Mikasa brushes it off, moving onto the next order.

She just gets started before Marilyn returns.

"This isn't gluten-free, is it?" The spiteful manner in which she asks has Mikasa stammering even before she attempts to answer her question.

"I, uh— I actually don't know. Let me check."

Flustered, she ducks down, foraging for a paper or manual that lists the ingredients. This is something Mikasa knows she should remember, but this job has squeezed out so much of her brain capacity that little else remains.

"You really don't remember?" Marilyn laughs, and Mikasa can hear her continued click-clacking on the phone keyboard, probably complaining to a friend. "You could've killed me, y'know. People have this little thing called celiac. It's important."

Mikasa suspects that Marilyn Lawrence does not have Celiac disease, but she isn't willing to invite even more wrath. "I'm sorry, ma'am, you're—"

"Whatever. Just figure it out and fix it."

When Mikasa falls quiet to continue her search, she expects the frustration to simmer; it doesn't, and Marilyn continues to berate her, though most of her comments are utterly nonsensical. Mikasa's manager is nowhere to be found, useless for getting her out of this less-than-lovely situation.

Her savior comes in the form of a grey-haired gentleman in a suit, bewildered as he bursts through the door, scanning everyone inside — until his gaze falls on Mikasa. He smiles, cell phone pressed tightly against his ear. Though she cannot pin down his name, Mikasa recognizes him as some movie producer, a real big shot.

"You there! Barista! Come with me."

Stunned, Mikasa points to her chest. "Me?"

Marilyn scoffs again. "Uh, hello? What about me?"

The man ignores the Hollywood A-lister, brushing past her to reach the counter. "Yes, you. We need you. I'll explain when we get there. Come on."

Head in a tizzy, Mikasa cocks her head — squinting her eyes, unsure that she isn't fast asleep in the clutches of a dream. What did some movie executive want with some barista?

"I— I think you have the wrong person."

"Jesus, there's no time for this." He turns to the side, muttering harsh words into the phone. "Yeah— I found someone. Just give us a second."

He turns his attention back to Mikasa.

"Are you gonna come with or not? We need you."

At this point, Marilyn has surpassed the angry-scolding-stage and lands in stunned silence. Mikasa still doesn't know what she's needed for, but angering a Hollywood exec is a surefire way to get blacklisted from any future opportunities. They don't want any dead weight in a cast.

"Uh, yeah— No, I'll— I'll go. I'll go."

Opportunities like this are so rare. Mikasa gets so consumed by this fleeting chance that angering her boss isn't even a concern she consciously entertains. As the executive's eyes burn a hole through her head, she feels hypnotized to untie her apron, tossing it aside. It's tempting to pinch her arm, still convinced of a REM-induced trick, but before she can ponder it, Mikasa is crossing the counter, calling her co-worker's name.

The coffee shop's manager finally appears, and as Mikasa is whisked away by the executive's firm grasp, his protests join Marilyn's, though both go utterly unanswered as Mikasa jumps onto a golf cart waiting outside the doors.

It's hard not to feel like Cinderella climbing onto that pumpkin carriage, ready for the ball.

Mikasa's heart races. She tries guessing what possibly awaits her at the end of this ride. Some secret meeting? An agent, excited to tell her that they've been monitoring her auditions and love what they see? All options feel like a pipe dream.

They arrive at an outdoor filming set, and Mikasa wonders over the absolute chaos going on, the cameramen adjusting their equipment, the mousy-haired director shouting commands through his microphone, guiding the team. She recognizes from the lovey-dovey set design that this must be for Before Affection Retires.

"Hey," the executive barks, snapping his fingers, breaking her free from her daze. "Go over to that trailer. Get in costume and then get back here."

Costume? Mikasa is dazed. She can't produce any discernible response, tumbling out of the cart, speedwalking toward the right trailer. She's never done something requiring a costume, only her plain-old, regular street clothes, blending in easily in the background. This is all new.

Before she knows it, Mikasa is donned in a pretty dress that stops just below her knees, its color somewhere between plum and maroon, the shoulders flowy and graceful. The makeup process was even more foreign — Mikasa's daily makeup routine is simplistic to the core, but the stylist here wanted her eyelashes to pop, seductive and primed for romance. A curling iron turns her hair into bouncy, bombshell waves.

She feels so unlike herself, but adrenaline sends her speeding back for the scene of the action, toward the director still barking out commands.

"You!" He cries, pointing. "Get over here! We're starting a shoot in five minutes. Get a script."

Mikasa wonders if every movie set is this hostile, or if everyone here is just having a bad day. One page from the script gets pressed against her chest, along with one order. "Memorize this."

But before she can begin, a frazzled assistant debriefs her on the whole debacle, leading her to the side and gesturing around wildly.

"You know what you're doing? Can you act?"

Mikasa blinks. "Uh, yeah? I can, yeah."

It's clear that answer doesn't instill a whole lot of confidence in the assistant, but regardless, there's apparently no time to waste on nonsense.

"Diana Baldwin is a no show. There's no time in the schedule to skip her scenes today. You'll be filling in for her for the kiss scene. Got all that?"

Diana Baldwin? That's who I'm filling in for?

There's no time to be starstruck. "Got it. Yup."

"Alright, good. You'll say the lines, and they'll do the ADR in post production. You're just a stand-in. That's it. Don't expect overnight fame, yeah?"

Mikasa nods fervently, still so confused. "No fame. That's— I'm no— Why am I here?"

The question comes out without thinking, but that thought hasn't left her mind since the coffee shop, never able to ask in the swirl of chaos.

"You look like her from the back. Same height, same build. The editors can work their magic."

She'll be little more than a green screen, but the thrill of being on a big movie set, stepping in for an actress she's long admired, is worth it.

"Where do I go? Do I— How much time?"

"Three minutes. Get studying."

Mikasa sends herself into a corner to study, scanning the swoonworthy dialogue for the upcoming scene. A big scene. Important, crucial as the romantic climax for a major Hollywood production, and it depends on her.

The words sink in slowly, as best as they can. The last thing Mikasa wants is to earn a director's ire by flubbing the script to a laughable degree. She prepares herself to be flirty, desirable.

"You! Get ready to shoot."

Mikasa scoots into the filming area, finding the mark on the grass guiding her position. As she assumes the position provided by the script, glancing absentmindedly toward the side, she catches glimpses of camera operators approaching, microphones getting closer.

"Action!"

As directed, Mikasa tilts her eyes upward — finally catching a view at her co-star. Damn near jeopardizing the sanctity of the shoot, she struggles hard to keep her jaw from dropping.

Eren Jaeger. A total heartthrob. Mikasa's harbored a subtle (not really) crush on him for the last few years, just when he began his ascent into Hollywood relevancy. She's seen most of his movies, praising multiple as her favorites. God, Mikasa knows she'll even watch the less-than-savory options, the ones without glowing reviews — independent films with tiny budgets and screenwriters that need fine tuning. She has his films ranked by her favorites, but even that is a difficult list to maintain. Though his social media presence isn't huge, Mikasa keeps up with him.

And now she gets to kiss him.

He wears an outfit so casually suave, a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, the first couple buttons undone for an alluring effect. His shoulder-length hair is something you'd seen on a 1990s teen pop culture magazine, harkening to the age of 'effortless' hairstyles, so swooshy. Mikasa chooses Eren over a young Leonardo DiCaprio any day of the week without hesitation.

The lines nearly slip from Mikasa's memory. She's supposed to be flirty with Eren Jaeger; now, her tasks feels all the more insurmountable to live up to, the standards raised to their highest level.

As Eren approaches, he grins. Mikasa has to remind herself that it's the character he's smiling so pretty at, not her. Some fake girl. Not her.

The tragedy of that causes her to almost miss her first line, but she pulls it together. "You came?"

"Obviously," he replies, laughing, his palms immediately cupping her cheeks. Mikasa's glad the camera isn't focused on her face — which has turned a humiliating shade of red. "You didn't think I'd really leave you behind, did you?"

Mikasa swallows. What was the line? She exhales, as propositioned, smiling, mustering up as much desperation in her tone as she can. "I don't know." This young actress has never been this nervous. "You seemed like you were in a pretty big hurry."

Here comes the most swoonworthy dialogue, the part that'll send Mikasa into cardiac arrest. Eren, or whatever his character's name is, draws her closer, their noses rubbing together. The cameras are almost intrusive now — just like they've always been in her screen tests, her daunting auditions, the technology recording her failure.

At Eren's advancing touches, Mikasa recalls another direction from the script — touch him. She nervously rests her shaky fingers on his waist, clutching his shirt. Eren Jaeger's shirt. His smell is intoxicating this close, subtle but unbelievably attractive. Potent. He continues.

"No. Never. C'mon, El. Can't leave you. You know I can't leave you. Don't give a damn about all that."

Without context, Mikasa has no idea what all that even means, but it's irrelevant. Eren has his hands grasping her face, ready to confess his deepest feelings. She swallows hard, clearing her throat.

"Don't make promises you can't keep. You'll wanna leave again. I can't keep you here."

Her delivery has a shakier quality to it than a professional actress might have, but Mikasa's just proud of herself for not melting to a puddle.

Eren, formidable in his role, just as strong as he looks on the silver screen, pushes her back until they've stumbled into the stone railing behind them — a totally improved move that catches Mikasa off guard, her breath hitching.

Before she can process anything, his lips are latched onto hers, hungrily, his character so desperate to prove his affections to this El girl. He tastes just as good as he has in Mikasa's most shameful dreams, the ones where she gets to do exactly what she's doing now, standing tall as Eren's co-star, the recipient of all his perfectly-acted kisses across an excessive number of takes.

Happy to indulge in this fantasy, Mikasa loses herself in the scene, determined to live up to the expectations placed onto her. She clutches onto Eren, brave enough to engage her mouth, providing her own energy to the kiss. Good God. I'm kissing Eren Jaeger. This is all real.

"Not going anywhere," Eren mewls, too convincing in his 'acting', slipping into this character with so little effort. His hands find Mikasa's thighs, squeezing as she's hoisted into his strong arms, legs with no destination but to wrap around his waist. "I need you. I need you."

Mikasa can't contain herself. Her poor heart is close to giving out, and her stomach flips and clenches and every tumultuous sensation between. She forgets this is a movie, on a set, surrounded by strangers watching them kiss.

One more line. "Stay here. Stay with me, please."

"I will, you goddamn, gorgeous idiot. I'm here."

They kiss longer — so much longer — until the immersion is decimated by the director calling cut, leaving Mikasa in the unfortunate reality where Eren swiftly drops her down to her feet. Through the megaphone, the director praises them — before asserting that they would return for a second, precautionary take.

"Hey," Eren starts, his regular, out-of-character tone somehow so different from his voice during shooting. He's more relaxed. Mikasa's used to this voice from all the interviews she's seen.

"Hi." She keeps her eyes averted, too flustered to even dare looking at him after that. He's famous. She's a nobody, wannabe actress that's stuck working a part-time throwaway job. Still, her awkward smile seems to endear her to him.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry for surprising you like that. Felt like it might help the scene." He sounds pleased with himself for concocting the idea. "I didn't hurt you or anything, did I?"

As if he couldn't get anymore perfect. He's a massive sweetheart, too, not some prima donna.

"No— not at all. It was— it was clever."

"You think so? I worried it might be too much."

She's unsure how to reassure him of the move's success without exposing her gigantic crush.

"I think the women watching will be happy."

Eren laughs and it's sublimely charming. "Well, then I'm happy with it. You're all hard to please."

Behind her back, Mikasa fidgets with her fingers, cracking her knuckles like crazy — anything to relieve the what-is-happening-right-now energy coursing through her bloodstream and incapable of exiting any of her brain's fixated thinking.

"Ah, well— I doubt you could disappoint them."

Instantly, she wants to slam her palm so hard into her forehead that it sends her flying. He doesn't need another weirdo fangirl. I've seen the comments on his Instagram. There's enough of those already. If he's annoyed, Eren conceals that frustration with ease, accepting the vote of confidence with a gracious simper.

"Thanks." He exhales deeply, finding his place beside her against the railing. "Are you an actress? How'd you get wrapped up in all this?"

Calling herself an actress in Eren's presence seems rather reductive of his talent. Mikasa shrugs, biting the inside of her cheeks. "Sorta? Not really. I'm— I'm trying to be, at least."

Eren smiles. "Have I seen anything you've done?"

He's much easier to talk to than someone like Marilyn Lawrence. He's more— more human.

"If you watched Avalon Harbor, you might've caught me in the background for a second. I think it was at 36:20, if you feel like double checking."

Pathetic as it sounds, her jokes makes Eren snort, and Mikasa considers that a win. "You know what, I'll have to give it a rewatch sometime."

A different production assistant brings them bottles of water while they wait to reconvene. There's a painful silence between them — a silence that Mikasa wishes to fill with a million questions about his acting, his roles, his journey from child clothes model to big screen cash cow.

Somehow, though, he's equally interested in her.

"So, Ms. Avalon Harbor, you didn't really answer my question. Where'd they find you?"

Mikasa sighs. Now he'll really know I'm a loser.

"The coffee shop down the street. I work there."

He laughs again. "I— I didn't expect that one."

Just as she's about to attempt another joke, anything to hear his pretty laugh again, the director cuts their conversation short, summoning the cast and crew back into position.

"It was nice to chat with you— Wait, what's your name? Just realized I have no idea."

She swallows, lump building in her throat. You're about to be on a first name basis. "Mikasa."

"Eren," he replies, a formality more than anything. "Maybe we'll get to work together again one day."

Don't get your hopes up, she tells herself. "I'm happy to just be in the audience, really."

He smiles as he backpedals back to his starting position, and that smile lingers on Mikasa's brain all the way until the director calls action.

Returning to her barista job after the previous day's events is harder than she anticipates. Getting a taste of a real actresses' life didn't quench that dream — it only thickened her thirst to be on more movie sets, to experience the thrill of producing something from nothing, to turn a script into a visual manifestation for audiences.

Kissing Eren Jaeger played a big part, obviously.

It's hard to keep her mind off their scenes while cleaning the counter during a lull in customers. Her eyes fixate onto the speckles hidden into the quartz countertop, utterly lost in a daydream, replaying the kiss in her head just like she's rewatched some of Eren's movies on repeat.

A gentle voice cuts through her folly.

"What do you recommend? I can't decide."

Startled, Mikasa gets ready to issue so many apologies for being so ditzy, so inattentive. The last thing she needs is a customer complaint.

When she catches the man's eyes, she's even more startled to see Eren standing there.

"Oh! It's you, I— I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"No need to apologize. Did I scare you?"

Behind Eren, some customers look up from their coffees to gawk at him — the penalty that comes with achieving some stardom (and the unfortunate consequences of being blessed with unnaturally beautiful cheekbones).

Mikasa laughs, flustered. Her cheeks give away just how unprepared she is for this encounter.

"A little, yeah. Thought I was gonna get an earful."

"Nope. Just wanted to stop by and see you."

See me? It's too good to be true.

"Uh, you did?" Mikasa chides herself. This flirting isn't very good, considering that their tongues were practically wrapped together just yesterday.

Eren leans across the counter, gushing his voice to avoid any pesky eavesdropping.

"Sure did. You're a fun co-star. That's rare these days. Plus, you're a pretty good kisser, too."

Instantly, Mikasa's hand covers her face, the redness flushed across her features too much to bear — Eren Jaeger likes my kissing. Me.

Undisturbed by her inability to accept his compliments with any decorum, Eren continues, glancing quickly at the clock on the wall.

"Do you have a break coming up? I'm done for the day. Thought we could go for a walk. If you want."

It's starting to dawn on her how quickly her life has been rocketed off its predicted trajectory because of a resemblance to another actress.

Is he actually asking me out? She hasn't felt this giddy in— well, since his last movie came out.

"I'm off in ten minutes, actually. I'd— I'd love to."

"Great. Then it's settled. I'll take you on a tour."

A lackluster shift becomes the second-best she's ever worked, just trailing behind yesterday's. She smiles so brightly, hard enough to hurt her cheeks, straining the muscles that she usually saves for pretending to tolerate customers.

"Do you still want that recommendation? I can make something for you while you wait."

He grins, amused. "Oh no, I don't like coffee. Just needed something cute to get your attention."

Unwilling to let her get the last laugh, Eren sticks a bill into the tip jar and slinks off to one of the tables, smiling at her from hidden his hand.

Mikasa blushes.

He might be a good actor, but he's just as terrible at hiding a crush as I am.

— (Hope you enjoyed reading! It would be so fun to imagine how they'll spend their walk and how their little courtship would develop into a relationship 🩷 eremika wholesome moment was very fun to write after so much angst!)

#darlingkirstein asks #eremika #my writing #actor au

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darlingkirstein · 1 month

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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.

#eremika #jeanpiku #darlingkirstein asks #darlingkirstein headcannons #eremika headcannon #jeanpiku headcannon

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darlingkirstein · 8 days

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🐝 half baked

my mind went to three very different places:

1. Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman, both talented chefs, are selected to compete on Top Chef of Paradis, a lucrative cooking show promising copious prize money and a guaranteed spot in the culinary business. As the completion progresses, the two become the competition favorites — driving a wedge through the obvious love connection budding between them.

2. It was Eren's dream to open a bakery — always has been. Now, the business is floundering, sitting on a street corner in a dwindling small town. The stifled income is putting a strain on his marriage to his high school sweetheart Mikasa — and Eren decides he has to make a miracle happen to convince his apprehensive wife that this dream is still worth believing in.

3. The sexual tension between Eren and Mikasa, friends and mutual crushes for God knows how long, snaps when Mikasa suggests they try getting high together for the first time. Eren obliges, and a night of laughter and unrestrained touches culminates when their sober desires finally become reality.

#darlingkirstein asks #darlingkirstein prompts

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darlingkirstein · 2 months

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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.

#eremika #darlingkirstein asks #jeanpiku #attack on titan #darlingkirstein headcannons #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #jean kirstein #pieck finger

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darlingkirstein · 2 months

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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 asks #darlingkirstein headcannons #eremika headcannon #eremika #jeanpiku #jeanpiku headcannon

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