Chapter Text
She always made sure that Eren ate every scrap of food on his plate, and then anything extra she could get her hands on. It wasn't unusual for her to turn up at his bunk, in the middle of the thrice accursed night, with an extra portion or two of potatoes or bread or, occasionally, meat. And usually he, despite his achingly full stomach, simply didn't have the motivation to fight her.
"Damn that Mikasa!" Eren exclaimed one morning, twisting this way and that to examine himself in front of the mirror. "Armin! Come look at this!"
He and the small blonde were the only two boys still in the barracks, Eren because of his little predicament and Armin because of his anti-morning attitude. The blonde poked his ruffled head out from under his blankets, trying to blink away enough sleep to see what his friend was squawking about.
"What is it-" a yawn "- Eren?"
"She's doing this on purpose, I just know she is," the brunette fumed, and Armin half hopped, half slithered down from his bunk, still rubbing his eyes.
"What has Mikasa done now?" he asked tiredly, and then looked Eren thoroughly up and down. His brow furrowed. "You have been keeping up with the daily drills, right, Eren?"
The brunette let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the extra padding around his hips and groaning. He twisted again, one hand tracing the curve of his backside, more plush than it arguably should have been.
"This," he growled, gesturing, "is what Mikasa is doing. I've got her figured out, Armin, that little... I've got her all figured out."
Understanding dawned in the blonde's eyes. "Oh."
"All the extra helpings," Eren ranted, running his hands along his soft stomach, "forcing food down my throat constantly... it's sabotage, is what it is! Well, I won't put up with it anymore!"
“I think you’re overreacting, Eren,” the blonde said gently, laying one hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Mikasa just… cares a little bit too much. A couple of extra laps and you’ll have no problem.”
Eren sighed irritatedly, but couldn’t argue with his reasonable friend. “... Maybe you’re right. Alright, fine… I’ll just… fine, I’ll just skip breakfast and go running this morning, then. Try to keep Mikasa from freaking out when I’m not there for her to cram toast down my throat, okay?”
Grimacing at the prospect, Armin nodded. “I’ll try my best.”
------
Mikasa was beyond furious by the time the rest of the 104th joined Eren in morning laps. The boy was already sweating and out of breath from his early morning exercise as his classmates began their first lap.
“You weren’t at breakfast this morning.”
Eren huffed crossly, aware that Mikasa was jogging intentionally slowly to keep pace with him. “I figured… I’d get in… a little extra… running…” he panted, and then grinned wryly. “Can’t… get soft… you know…? Gotta keep in shape… if I’m gonna… kill all the titans…”
Mikasa’s eyes flashed, and Eren tried to convince himself that he was imagining the devious look in them. “True. But you also have to eat to keep your strength up. I won’t tolerate it if you start skipping meals to train.”
Eren rolled his eyes, shaking sweaty hair out of his eyes. “Fine… fine. I get it, Mikasa.”
------
Eren was starving by the time lunchtime rolled around, and his stomach kept growling embarrassingly as they filed into the mess hall. Mikasa sat beside him, as per usual, watching as he wolfed his bread and stew.
“Here, Eren. Have mine.”
For a moment, Eren flashed back to his theory from earlier that morning. But the extra running that morning had made him unusually hungry, and the meager rations just hadn’t satisfied him.
“Just this once,” he told her gruffly, and then tucked into the second bowl of stew.
Halfway through the second loaf of bread, though, he realized that his appetite may have gotten the better of him. His stomach was no longer growling with hunger, but in objection to the amount of food he was forcing into it. Mikasa, noticing his hesitation, took the bread from his hands and then gripped his chin firmly with one hand, forcing the food into his mouth.
“Mika-!” he tried to protest, but was smothered by the bread.
“Finish it, Eren,” the girl insisted calmly, shoving the food farther back into his throat until he was forced to bite off a chunk and swallow it, lest he be choked. Before he could react, the remainder of the bread was following it. “That extra exercise this morning took a toll on you. You need to replenish your strength.”
Swallowing the last of the bread with an effort, Eren grunted in discomfort. “Damn it, Mikasa…” he muttered. “I finished my own damn food… you didn’t have to make me eat yours, too.”
“You were the one who said you wanted it,” the girl said with a shrug, then turned to where Armin was sitting beside her (trying hard to ignore the whole thing) and swiped a chunk of bread casually off his plate for herself.
------
Very few recruits dreaded diner time.
Eren was quickly becoming one of those rarities.
“Eren, you’ve hardly touched your food.”
The brunette knew that it was a useless battle, and he was, after all, a bit hungry. So he gave in and gulped down the food on his plate, mouthful by mouthful, even though he felt he shouldn’t after the huge lunch that he had eaten. Armin ate quickly, too, keeping a casual eye on Mikasa.
“There,” he huffed, putting his fork down on his empty plate. “All gone. Happy, Mikasa?”
The girl narrowed his eyes, then looked away and shrugged. “For now.”
Eren tried not to be nervous about that response, but soon enough supper time was over. All the recruits headed off to their respective barracks, most too tired from the day’s training to engage in any late-night shenanigans, and Eren crawled into his bunk beneath Armin for some needed rest. But it seemed like only a matter of moments from when he drifted off to when he was woken, not by the dawn light or the chatter of his classmates, but by the sudden weight on the edge of his bed.
“Wha...?” He barely had time to murmur the sleepy question before a spoonful of stew was pushed into his mouth. He coughed and spluttered, swallowing out of reflex as he bolted upright.
“You didn’t eat nearly enough for dinner tonight.”
“Mika-!” Eren began to protest, but was cut off by another spoonful of stew. Gagging, he tried to spit it out at her, but she kept the spoon pressed firmly to the back of his throat until he had swallowed.
“Eat,” the girl insisted, and forwent the spoon in favor of grabbing a handful of his hair, tipping his head back slightly and holding the bowl of stew to his lips. “This is for your own good.”
But that time, Eren had given up. He didn’t fight it as she made him drink the whole bowl of broth and overcooked vegetables, all of it sliding into his already full stomach. Only when the bowl was empty could he breathe again, and he gasped for breath and wiped furiously at the broth that had dribbled down his chin.
“Mika… sa…” he panted, shaking his head slightly. “I’m… really full, now… okay…?”
The girl’s eyes flashed in the dark, and she placed one hand firmly on his stomach. Eren squeaked in surprise, then moaned slightly as she pressed down on the overfull organ.
“You don’t feel full,” she said critically, and Eren whimpered slightly.
“Believe me, Mikasa, I am,” he insisted, only to find a baked potato crammed into his open mouth. “Mmf!”
“You’ll eat the rest of your dinner,” Mikasa said sternly, waiting just until he had swallowed to stuff the rest of the potato into his mouth. “I won’t tolerate any less.”
“Mika-mmf!” Again his objections were stifled by another bite, and again Eren decided that it simply wasn’t worth the argument. He chewed without complaint, and then swallowed. Each bite was an effort to get down his throat, and his stomach felt full to the point of pain.
After three potatoes, Mikasa felt his stomach again. This time there was a distinct bulge to it, and Eren moaned loudly with discomfort as she pressed with her fingers.
"There," she said, seeming satisfied. "Now you feel full." Then she laid him down, tucked him in, and kissed his forehead by way of good night. "Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning for breakfast."