Hey so I decided to keep at it! This fic will now be a bunch of oneshots featuring Eremika. I don't know how regular the updates will be, since I'm starting college, but hey. I'll try!


She was beautiful.

Garbed in white lace, a veil that draped over her ebony hair, a silky color that made her so peaceful, so elegant. And she was smiling. It was a small, nervous smile, but it lit up the room.

Eren felt his throat closing up.

She was beautiful. She was beautiful. She was beautiful.

The years of war had left her scarred but flawless. She was perfect, and for once in her life…happy.

She met his eyes, and she gave him a precious smile, a reserved smile.

And then she turned her eyes to the groom.

Jean Kirschtein.

And Eren lost her. He lost her all over again in that moment, as her gaze slipped from his and tunneled in on the man she loved for now and ever.

Armin sensed the way Eren slumped forward, and he tried to comfort him with a compassionate clap on the shoulder. But Eren only watched, numbly, as the girl he had known for more than a decade met another man at the end of the aisle.

He had once hated Jean, but over the years he'd discovered that the horse-faced jerk cared more about Mikasa than Eren could ever express. Jean would never love her as much as Eren did, but he could provide her with everything she needed.

He could be a husband. A father. A man who didn't look in the mirror and see a monster, or stay up all night remembering the bodies of fallen soldiers who all died because of him. He wasn't damaged. Not like Eren.

"…If anyone here has any reasons as to why these two should not be joined in Holy Matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace."

But Eren didn't speak.

He wouldn't ruin everything.

Mikasa deserved happiness. After all those years of blindly following him, loving him, and receiving nothing in return, she deserved something.

So Eren watched as Jean kissed her, and she kissed him, and they were married, and he was no one.


Then the day came for the final battle. After years of peace, the titan shifters made their final strike, their last blow to humanity. The day came when Jean was bleeding out, lying there in Eren's arms.

"Don't you fucking die, Jean," Eren said, pressing his hand to the chest wound. "What will Mikasa do without you?"

Jean winced, and more blood pooled in his mouth. "She'll be fine, Jaeger," his eyes lifted to meet Eren's. "She has you, doesn't she?"

Eren stared at him. He couldn't leave her. Jean was supposed to make it to the end. He was supposed to make her happy. That's what he'd convinced himself.

"No, she has you. She loves you, man," Eren said. "That's why you have to make it."

Jean shook his head and lifted his hand to jab Eren in the chest. "Take care of her. Don't fuck up this time."

Eren shook the dying man, trying to keep him from slipping away. "Jean!"

"It was always you, dumbass. From the very start…. Don't…fuck this up…"

And Jean's blazing eyes faded.


Eren didn't know what to do.

So he stood there awkwardly in the front of the house, staring at the cabin door. It was a cabin built on the coast, in a small district established by the corps. It had been Armin's idea, and Eren remembered their promise. A promise full of salty water and ocean breeze.

A small, black haired girl came running around the side of the yard, using her mother's old cloak as a cape.

When she took notice of the man at the gate she paused and smiled.

"Mama! Someone's here!"

Eren swallowed and entered the yard, crouching down to meet the child.

"What's your name, sweetie?" he asked.

"What's your name?"

He grinned. She was Jean's all right.

"Eren."

Her eyes lit with recognition. "Mine's Carla."

Eren's heart stalled.

Mikasa had realized she was pregnant just after Jean had died. She'd asked Eren to come and meet the child. But he couldn't will himself to visit.

He couldn't.

He found his words again. "That's a pretty name."

"I know!" she exclaimed, twirling in the green silk.

"Eren?"

That voice he knew anywhere.

Eren carefully met Mikasa's eyes. They were thoughtful, surprised, angry.

"Carla, go wash up for supper," Mikasa said, and the child groaned but obliged.

Eren didn't move. He stood frozen on the grass as Mikasa approached him. She had aged since he'd seen her last, dark circles under her eyes.

But she was still beautiful.

"You never wrote me back," she said, standing a few deliberate feet away.

"I know. I was…busy," he said.

"Too busy to write? Too busy to come by during Christmas or after the war?" she said, her voice rising. "After the wedding you distanced yourself. It was like you pretended I never existed. Then after Jean died…I needed you, Eren. Armin was here. But…why, why the hell weren't you?"

There were tears in her eyes.

Eren closed his so he wouldn't have to see.

"I was scared," he confessed. "Terrified."

"Of what?"

"Disappointing you. Jean. Everyone."

When he looked at her again, she was wiping her eyes. "That's stupid."

He choked out a laugh, eyes bleeding as well. "I know."

They stood there in the setting sun, black figures against a brilliant orange horizon.

"Eren, why do you always do this?" she asked, peering into his face.

He waited.

"Why do you always neglect your own happiness?"

He stepped forward and grabbed her hand. "I guess I feel like I don't deserve it." He shook his head, biting his lip to keep the words from spilling. "Like I don't deserve you, Mikasa."

She trembled in his touch. "Please. I'm an awful, damaged person, Eren. On my wedding day, I was half hoping you would stand up and declare your love for me," she laughed. "I waited for it, right up until the end of the ceremony."

Eren looked up at her, under his bangs.

"Am I too late?"

She inhaled sharply. Then slowly, she shook her head.

And he pulled her in by her hand, tentatively, before kissing her.

The kiss was soft, long, like a sip of youth. Then Mikasa fell into the kiss, crying, and Eren held her up, cupping the back of her head, eyes shut.

It was a kiss that said I'm sorry.

It was a kiss that said I'm yours.

It was a kiss that said, finally.


Sorry Jean. You can have Marco.