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taureandiaries · 4 months

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kiss of death — part i

and here i present the ballerina/mafioso au. it's a slow start but i always like having a setup. anyway, eren's a mafia underboss along with his brother zeke. grisha is the boss and women are kept out of the family business. thanks @likesunsetorange for reading this over and also enabling me! 💕

eremika. 2.5k. explicit.

“And what do you mean you won’t be joining us for dinner?”

Eren glances at his father for a little assistance. His mother’s voice is low, something dangerous stirring behind the calm. At this point, Eren would rather be in enemy territory, without a gun, than deal with Carla Jaeger.

“It’s last minute but a business associate's daughter has a ballet recital and he’s treating us to dinner after. Sorry, mom. Can I take a raincheck?

The key to a good lie is a half-truth. He does, in fact, have to attend a ballet tonight. Not with a business associate but his mother isn’t to know that under any circumstances. He worries for a moment because his mother is quiet. Too quiet, in fact.

“Always with the rainchecks,” she mumbles, shaking her head. She glares at him for two seconds, narrowing her eyes before sighing, conceding defeat.

When he was younger, he had a tell. His ears would turn red and his mother had a habit of pinching them whenever she would catch him in one. But adulthood has turned him into a seasoned liar.

“And you couldn’t handle this because…?” Carla glares at her husband, who sits on the sofa cross-legged, reading a newspaper. Grisha Jaeger is afraid of no one. Except, maybe, his wife.

“I’m close to retirement, dear. The boys are grown now, it’s time they got involved in matters of the family business. If I keep doing it, they’ll never learn anything. And I’m not getting any younger.

Zeke, who stands a few feet away, snorts quietly. Grisha’s “fragile old man” shtick would be laughable to anyone but his wife. Carla shakes her head. Again, a sigh of defeat as her husband gives her those weary eyes. Eren has to bite his tongue to keep the laugh from escaping.

“Eren’s hardly around anymore,” she says, shaking her head. “Can I at least have a meal with my boy once a week?”

He can’t say no to her.

“Of course, mom.”

She sits back in her chair, teacup in hand. She mourns time lost with her son but unbeknownst to her, she is living comfortably because of all this. And to keep all this, he has to break yet another promise to his mother.

“I need to head out now,” he tells everyone, with Grisha and Zeke nodding and Carla sighing.

“Who is going with you?”

“Armin and Floch,” he answers. At the mention of Floch’s name, he sees her face pinch a little. No, he’s not having this conversation again. She’s made her distaste for that young man abundantly clear. He doesn’t want to stick around to hear her ask his father, yet again, why he keeps him around.

“Bye,” he says and he’s out the door before his mother can get another word in.

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

The fresh air fills his lungs as he closes the door behind him. His mother still doesn’t suspect a thing and that’s how he wants to keep it. It’s a dirty, grimy world that only the men of the family are privy to. If she really knew what the real family business was…

He doesn’t want to even entertain that idea. These are the rules. They exist for a reason. And he stopped feeling bad about lying to her years ago. It’s a lesson that’s been beaten into him since he was sixteen years old.

Eren slides into the front seat of the car. Floch is driving and Armin takes his place in the backseat. Neither man makes an effort to converse with each other and that’s fine. Their bickering is a source of Eren’s frayed nerves too often.

“Ackerman soldiers were spotted frequenting the ballet, huh?” Eren asks. It’s a rhetorical question.

“Quite a few of them actually,” Floch responds, his eyes glued to the road.

“It’s because one of their own is this year’s prima ballerina,” Armin adds. “A large number of them are said to be in attendance this evening.”

“Frequent the ballet, Arlert? How do you even know that?” Floch asks.

Eren stays quiet as he glances at Armin’s unamused expression in the rearview mirror. Thankfully, he’s not the explosive type.

“Well, if you must know, knowing about different things helps me navigate and infiltrate a number of different circles. You might want to culture yourself a little more, Floch.”

Oh, here they go.

“So, one of their own, huh? Old Kenny’s extorting ballet companies now?” Eren snorts. “His niece wanted to become a ballerina so good ole Uncle Kenny made it happen? Never took him to be such a fucking softie.”

No, actually, if that is the case, it’ll be easier to get under the old fucker’s skin.

“Actually, I hear Mikasa Ackerman is a once in a generation talent. And just in case, tonight’s performance is a ballet called Giselle. It’s about a young woman who falls in love with a nobleman and when they can’t be together she dies of heartbreak but that’s not where it ends—”

“I don’t care, Armin,” Eren cuts him off. “I don’t care about ballet or the girl. We’re going there for one reason and one reason only — to watch the Ackerman’s every move. Everything else is worthless and irrelevant.”

He hears Armin sink back into his seat, sighing.

Eren does his best not to twist his face in annoyance. A ballet of all places. He never thought he’d be caught dead at one of those…

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

Kenny Ackerman is nowhere to be seen. Naturally, his old ass couldn’t be bothered to show up anywhere someone could see him. Levi Ackerman, however, is seated in the very front row. Armin manages to get them balcony seats so they can see everything.

It’s the most boring observation ever because the Ackerman associates and soldiers are just seated there.

This is why soldiers and lower level soldiers are sent to do this crap. Now he has to sit through a two hour long ballet and pretend to know what’s going on.

Occasionally, the man to Levi’s right will lean over and whisper something to his ear. He simply nods, giving nothing away.

“What are they saying?” Floch mutters to himself, squinting as if to read the lips.

Armin, meanwhile, is observing their surroundings. It’s entirely possible that they’ve been spotted.

“None here,” he assures Eren after a while.

Before he can say anything, the theater lights dim.

Eren knows jackshit about ballet. He doesn’t care to know what’s going on. The arts, the gentler things in life, were things he never cared to become acquainted with. So when the lights dim and the sound of violins fill the theater, he groans. He hears a lady gasp and jump behind him and he can’t help but scoff. It’s nothing compared to the sound of gunfire, bones breaking, or knives cutting through skin.

The Ackerman party, however, stops talking. Their eyes are glued to the stage and, unwillingly, Eren turns his attention to the stage. The whole production is colorful. Too colorful. It’s an eyesore.

He has no idea what’s going on. There are several dancers on stage at the beginning and then it’s just two guys. No one’s talking, obviously, it’s a ballet not a play. Armin’s probably watching completely enthralled, but he’s not impressed. He leans back in his chair, bored out of his mind as he watches them prance around the stage.

He’d never willingly show up to these things. But, when his father received word of a large gathering of Ackerman, of course he had to show up for it.

If the Ackerman are here, he needs to keep an eye on all of their activities. They might be here for the girl, but that’s immaterial for Eren.

He doesn’t care about ballet.

He doesn’t care for the girl—

His thoughts come to a screeching halt when a young woman appears on the stage. She looks around, and prances around the stage. And just like that, Eren is drawn right into the performance.

She’s graceful, her movements are so natural, so effortless. It’s like she belongs up there. Whatever she’s doing — whoever she’s playing — she embodies the role perfectly.

If he knows nothing else about ballet, he knows this much.

“That’s Mikasa Ackerman,” Armin leans in to whisper in his ear. “This year’s prima ballerina.”

He doesn’t know what the hell is going on but it gets sad pretty quickly, he assumes. He hears sniffling behind and near him. Floch looks endlessly bored and Armin, as predicted, is really into the performance.

Eren is focused on his dancer.

If he could compare her face to anything, it would be the moon. It is the illuminated beauty in the dark of the night and even from here, her eyes light up like the millions of stars. Only hers are brighter.

It goes on for two hours, which Eren decides is not long enough. He’ll watch her perform all day and night if that’s what it takes.

When the curtains close and everyone stands up to clap, he cannot bring himself to do so. His beautiful dancer is no longer in front of him and he finds no reason to celebrate that.

“Well, that was uneventful,” Floch mutters disappointingly. “I thought they might actually try something. I thought we might actually gain an advantage over them.”

Oh, right, they had a job to do.

“Floch, if you thought they were coming to a ballet, which by the way one of their own is performing at, to try and pull something you’ve set your expectations way too high.”

“Yeah, well if you haven’t noticed, this is our territory—”

“—technically, no it’s not.”

“What? Are you secretly on their side, Arlert? Because it sounds to me like you are.”

“Would you two shut up?” Eren growls, prompting the two of them to shut their mouths. “Armin, is she set to be in any more shows?”

“I can check but if she’s the prima ballerina, you can bet on it.”

Well, he is a betting man. And he always wins.

“Then we’ll keep coming back. Sooner or later, they’ll start conducting business around here. We should watch for that.”

He receives no protest. He does his best to keep a poker face but as he exits the theater, the corners of his turn up slightly…

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

“So?” Grisha asks, closing the door behind him. Eren and Zeke stand side by side as Grisha walks back to his desk, settling down and making himself comfortable before Eren allows himself to answer.

“Nothing special. The Ackerman girl is part of the ballet, so they were serving as glorified bodyguards. The three of us watched them the whole time and nothing happened.”

Disappointing news to say the least. So much for this being a golden opportunity to strike against the Ackerman. As always, they manage to elude them by doing absolutely nothing.

“Even so, continue to watch the ballet,” Grisha instructs. “One evening will tell us nothing. And if the girl is part of the ballet, well they’ll frequent that theater. Perhaps, old Kenny Ackerman might show up.”

Fat chance.

“And Zeke,” he turns to his eldest son. “Are the girls of any use?”

“Nope,” his brother answers. “The men don’t frequent brothels. In fact, the girls haven’t heard of either of them.”

“Damn it!” his father curses, pounding the table with his fists. The whole thing is a little over dramatic in Eren’s opinion.

Weaker men cower before Grisha Jaeger. He is someone that you don’t want to piss off. In all fairness, the Jaegers in general are people you don’t want to piss off. The two brothers are the only ones immune to their father’s fear tactics. Though, he is certainly not just talk. He wouldn’t be in this position otherwise.

“It is decided then,” Grisha mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Reiss and the Tyburs agree that this cannot continue.”

There is a tenuous peace between the families. Initially, each family controlled a third of the island and conflicts broke out through the generations. Eren’s grandfather realized there were more benefits to keeping these families as allies than enemies. Though tenuous is the best way to describe whatever alliance they had going.

“And what does that mean?” Zeke questions.

Grisha responds with a small smile.

“I won’t keep you as you two have more work to do. I have arranged it. Zeke, you are to marry Rod Reiss’ eldest daughter, Frieda. And Eren, you are to marry Willy Tybur’s younger sister, Lara. You are to meet with them, court them, and the official engagement will be two months from today. It is done. You two will honor it.”

What century was this?

“What the fuck, old man?” Eren growls and two pairs of eyes are on him.

“What was that?” his father asks, daring him to repeat it.

“You just sold us to the Reiss and Tyburs? You just want us to go along with it? What the fuck?”

Grisha’s not used to having his authority questioned. Sometimes Eren is going to whine but usually he doesn’t have an issue doing his father’s bidding. Extort the local jeweler? No problem. Take care of a guy and dispose of his corpse? Done. Spy on a couple of low level Ackerman associates? He can do that in his sleep.

Marriage though? Fuck no. That was different. That is something sacred and just for him.

“You don’t have a choice. You’re going to go through with this, Eren. I’ve given you way too much freedom. You’re marrying Lara Tybur. End of discussion. You have dinner reservations tomorrow night at 8 pm. Make sure you’re not late and I’ll know if you two fuck this up. Now get the hell out of my office.”

As the door closes behind the two of them, Eren is prepared to stomp down the hall but Zeke’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Careful, Eren,” he warns. “Step out of line and the old man isn’t going to hesitate to give you the kiss of death.”

Eren scowls, “And when did you become the obedient son? ”

“You didn’t seem to have an issue when he decided that you’d join the family business. You don’t have an issue doing his dirty work. But you draw the line at marriage. Interesting. Is there someone?”

“Fuck off, Zeke! It’s entirely fucking different and you know it! Does there have to be someone? And you’re one to talk! Pieck Finger is it?”

“Watch it, Eren,” Zeke warns him, all amusement vanishing from his face.

“Hit a nerve? Does the old man already know? Is that why you’re so okay with going along with it?”

Zeke narrows his eyes, “I suggest you keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told.”

“Whatever. I’m tired.”

He stomps off. Zeke might be okay with this, but he definitely isn’t. He’ll do anything for this family but this was too much! And without even consulting the two of them. Shouldn’t he have a say in who he marries?

As he silently rages, images of Mikasa Ackerman moving gracefully around the stage flood his mind. And all the rage dissipates into thin air…

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taureandiaries · 4 months

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kiss of death — part i

eremika. 2.5k. explicit.

“And what do you mean you won’t be joining us for dinner?”

“It’s last minute but a business associate's daughter has a ballet recital and he’s treating us to dinner after. Sorry, mom. Can I take a raincheck?

“Always with the rainchecks,” she mumbles, shaking her head. She glares at him for two seconds, narrowing her eyes before sighing, conceding defeat.

When he was younger, he had a tell. His ears would turn red and his mother had a habit of pinching them whenever she would catch him in one. But adulthood has turned him into a seasoned liar.

“And you couldn’t handle this because…?” Carla glares at her husband, who sits on the sofa cross-legged, reading a newspaper. Grisha Jaeger is afraid of no one. Except, maybe, his wife.

“Eren’s hardly around anymore,” she says, shaking her head. “Can I at least have a meal with my boy once a week?”

He can’t say no to her.

“Of course, mom.”

“I need to head out now,” he tells everyone, with Grisha and Zeke nodding and Carla sighing.

“Who is going with you?”

“Bye,” he says and he’s out the door before his mother can get another word in.

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

“Ackerman soldiers were spotted frequenting the ballet, huh?” Eren asks. It’s a rhetorical question.

“Quite a few of them actually,” Floch responds, his eyes glued to the road.

“It’s because one of their own is this year’s prima ballerina,” Armin adds. “A large number of them are said to be in attendance this evening.”

“Frequent the ballet, Arlert? How do you even know that?” Floch asks.

Eren stays quiet as he glances at Armin’s unamused expression in the rearview mirror. Thankfully, he’s not the explosive type.

“Well, if you must know, knowing about different things helps me navigate and infiltrate a number of different circles. You might want to culture yourself a little more, Floch.”

Oh, here they go.

No, actually, if that is the case, it’ll be easier to get under the old fucker’s skin.

He hears Armin sink back into his seat, sighing.

Eren does his best not to twist his face in annoyance. A ballet of all places. He never thought he’d be caught dead at one of those…

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

It’s the most boring observation ever because the Ackerman associates and soldiers are just seated there.

This is why soldiers and lower level soldiers are sent to do this crap. Now he has to sit through a two hour long ballet and pretend to know what’s going on.

Occasionally, the man to Levi’s right will lean over and whisper something to his ear. He simply nods, giving nothing away.

“What are they saying?” Floch mutters to himself, squinting as if to read the lips.

Armin, meanwhile, is observing their surroundings. It’s entirely possible that they’ve been spotted.

“None here,” he assures Eren after a while.

Before he can say anything, the theater lights dim.

He’d never willingly show up to these things. But, when his father received word of a large gathering of Ackerman, of course he had to show up for it.

If the Ackerman are here, he needs to keep an eye on all of their activities. They might be here for the girl, but that’s immaterial for Eren.

He doesn’t care about ballet.

He doesn’t care for the girl—

His thoughts come to a screeching halt when a young woman appears on the stage. She looks around, and prances around the stage. And just like that, Eren is drawn right into the performance.

She’s graceful, her movements are so natural, so effortless. It’s like she belongs up there. Whatever she’s doing — whoever she’s playing — she embodies the role perfectly.

If he knows nothing else about ballet, he knows this much.

“That’s Mikasa Ackerman,” Armin leans in to whisper in his ear. “This year’s prima ballerina.”

Eren is focused on his dancer.

It goes on for two hours, which Eren decides is not long enough. He’ll watch her perform all day and night if that’s what it takes.

When the curtains close and everyone stands up to clap, he cannot bring himself to do so. His beautiful dancer is no longer in front of him and he finds no reason to celebrate that.

“Well, that was uneventful,” Floch mutters disappointingly. “I thought they might actually try something. I thought we might actually gain an advantage over them.”

Oh, right, they had a job to do.

“Floch, if you thought they were coming to a ballet, which by the way one of their own is performing at, to try and pull something you’ve set your expectations way too high.”

“Yeah, well if you haven’t noticed, this is our territory—”

“—technically, no it’s not.”

“What? Are you secretly on their side, Arlert? Because it sounds to me like you are.”

“Would you two shut up?” Eren growls, prompting the two of them to shut their mouths. “Armin, is she set to be in any more shows?”

“I can check but if she’s the prima ballerina, you can bet on it.”

Well, he is a betting man. And he always wins.

“Then we’ll keep coming back. Sooner or later, they’ll start conducting business around here. We should watch for that.”

He receives no protest. He does his best to keep a poker face but as he exits the theater, the corners of his turn up slightly…

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

“Nothing special. The Ackerman girl is part of the ballet, so they were serving as glorified bodyguards. The three of us watched them the whole time and nothing happened.”

Disappointing news to say the least. So much for this being a golden opportunity to strike against the Ackerman. As always, they manage to elude them by doing absolutely nothing.

Fat chance.

“And Zeke,” he turns to his eldest son. “Are the girls of any use?”

“Nope,” his brother answers. “The men don’t frequent brothels. In fact, the girls haven’t heard of either of them.”

“Damn it!” his father curses, pounding the table with his fists. The whole thing is a little over dramatic in Eren’s opinion.

“It is decided then,” Grisha mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Reiss and the Tyburs agree that this cannot continue.”

“And what does that mean?” Zeke questions.

Grisha responds with a small smile.

What century was this?

“What the fuck, old man?” Eren growls and two pairs of eyes are on him.

“What was that?” his father asks, daring him to repeat it.

“You just sold us to the Reiss and Tyburs? You just want us to go along with it? What the fuck?”

Marriage though? Fuck no. That was different. That is something sacred and just for him.

As the door closes behind the two of them, Eren is prepared to stomp down the hall but Zeke’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Careful, Eren,” he warns. “Step out of line and the old man isn’t going to hesitate to give you the kiss of death.”

Eren scowls, “And when did you become the obedient son? ”

“Fuck off, Zeke! It’s entirely fucking different and you know it! Does there have to be someone? And you’re one to talk! Pieck Finger is it?”

“Watch it, Eren,” Zeke warns him, all amusement vanishing from his face.

“Hit a nerve? Does the old man already know? Is that why you’re so okay with going along with it?”

Zeke narrows his eyes, “I suggest you keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told.”

“Whatever. I’m tired.”

As he silently rages, images of Mikasa Ackerman moving gracefully around the stage flood his mind. And all the rage dissipates into thin air…

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taureandiaries · 5 months

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First official posters of Alicent Hightower and Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen HOUSE OF THE DRAGON | SEASON 2

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taureandiaries · 5 months

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i do, i do, i do

eremika | rated m | 8.8k words | fic cover by @dead-dolphins

i. i found you at last

read here ✧･ﾟ:*

“You know what, you’re right. You’re a great wedding planner, and I’m a great baker. We would make a pretty great team don’t you think?”

"So you’re saying we should be business partners?”

“Something like that,” he grinned. Mikasa felt like this was one of those things that could either go extremely well or absolutely terrible.

“So do we have a deal then, 'partner'?”

She placed her smaller hand in his, grasping it to shake, the smile on her face matching his. “Of course, 'partner'.”

a wedding planner enlists the help of a local baker, resulting in a partnership between the two (and perhaps something more)

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taureandiaries · 5 months

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i do, i do, i do

eremika | rated m | 8.8k words | fic cover by @dead-dolphins

i. i found you at last

read here ✧･ﾟ:*

“You know what, you’re right. You’re a great wedding planner, and I’m a great baker. We would make a pretty great team don’t you think?”

"So you’re saying we should be business partners?”

“Something like that,” he grinned. Mikasa felt like this was one of those things that could either go extremely well or absolutely terrible.

“So do we have a deal then, 'partner'?”

She placed her smaller hand in his, grasping it to shake, the smile on her face matching his. “Of course, 'partner'.”

a wedding planner enlists the help of a local baker, resulting in a partnership between the two (and perhaps something more)

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taureandiaries · 5 months

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💔

Insta | Twitter -> blustock_

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taureandiaries · 6 months

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managing creative envy

Just like in other areas of our lives, it's easy to be jealous of others when we create in fandom spaces and post online - the online aspect of fandom just offers more opportunities for it. Hits, kudos, comments, reblogs. Whatever unit of measurement you look at, there's always some number out there ready to tell you who's "better" and who's "worse" at whatever creative endeavor you engage in.

Except that none of those numbers actually gauge skill or quality.

When we're jealous of those numbers, what we actually wish we had isn't bigger numbers, it's attention. Reassurance. Excitement. Community. Whether the number is 5 or 5000, that's what it represents. We want those things and that other person has more of them, and so we end up jealous.

To manage that jealousy, we need to understand what we need and then find ways to get it. It might not come from posting on AO3, but maybe it comes from a local writer's group. Maybe there's someone in your life that you wish cared a little more about your "silly stories" and took you more seriously when you spoke about writing. Maybe what's missing isn't related to writing at all and it's more about having someone who cares about you and thinks you're important.

But numbers are just one thing to be jealous of. Perhaps the envy is instead because of another person's abilities. They come up with such interest plots! They have such fun ideas! They always have the perfect words, the singing phrases. For them it's easy, and for me it's just impossible!

Whether it's easy for them or not isn't what's making us envious, though. It's not about them and their abilities at all. It's about feeling like our own skills are lacking. The envy comes in because that person has what we want and don't yet have.

If we want to get past this type of envy, we need to refocus our energy away from being sad or angry or hopeless because another person is able to do something. Focus instead on celebrating the things we already do well. Take the time to notice improvements. Identify specific things we want to do better, and figure out how to learn. Remember, asking for help is always an option - and it might even lead to that feeling of community that might be lacking too.

Emotions are information that we need to take the time to interpret. Take the time to reflect on what's causing it. Find the thing that's missing from your experience and then figure out how to fill the gap.

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taureandiaries · 6 months

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Pls if mikasa tried to wash him like that he’d just pull her into the tub night gown and all 😭 his little wife sputtering at him hitting his chest when she resurfaces and he’s laughing at her

Presses so many soft kisses on her face promising to make it up to her before he strips her of her soaked gown

You are the lucky one, here you have a small drabble:

TPP Drabble

His days always started in the early hours of the morning, well before the nightingales sang with their melodic songs, and well before the cooks embarked on the intermittent task of kindling the fires and tending to the pots to nourish the entire fortified city. But such was the expectation placed upon him, and it was his duty to fulfill it. He wasn't just an ordinary man; he was the highest-ranking lord in the north. Thousands of people depended on him, and hence, an additional minute in bed was a heavenly grace momentarily suspended in time.

Yet, after facing the most arduous and fatiguing day, everything was consistently rewarded upon his return to her, to his wife.

Mikasa seemed to always dance on her tiptoes upon his return. She would smile every time he crossed the threshold of their chambers, abandoning whatever occupied her attention to run to him, pulling him into her arms and enveloping him in the tenderness that only she could provide. If it happened to be a day earmarked for just the two of them, she would heve dinner served, and then she would attend to him with meticulous care—little fingers tracing over his face and delicate kisses gracing the edge of his jaw.

The only time she would refrain from performing her whimsical fairy dance was when he returned covered in mud and filth—something that happened that very night.

"You stink," she remarked, halting a few paces from him, her nose crinkling.

"What's the matter, my love? Haven't you grown accustomed to my stinky smell yet?" he retorted in feigned disdain, shedding his sable cloak.

"I've grown accustomed to the scent of wet Greystorm, not to whatever that is."

"The wolf had a playdate with the cattle, my love. I apologize for not being presentable."

Mikasa laughed, playfully placing her hands behind her back. "You need a bath, my lord," she teased, leaning towards him. "Urgently."

And so, despite his protests and attempts to elude the bathing in Shiganshina's underground facilities, she managed to get him into a copper bathtub—her copper bathtub.

"This is awfully small for me, Mikasa," he remarked once he was inside, his feet bunched up, stomach clenching. He felt like a giant in a bathtub designed for her, not for him. "I should have gone to the Godswood ponds at least."

"No way!" she exclaimed, clad only in her half-transparent nightgown, as she prepared her oils to rub his back. "You're going to have a decent bath, Eren."

"I could have bathed in my bathroom, you know?" he countered, emphasizing the "me."

"Don't get me wrong, I love that tub, but it takes a while to fill," she explained, kneeling down and approaching him. "This is more practical."

And stil bloody small for me, he tought feeling his balls curl up, but he said no more.

Mikasa began with his ritual of love, diligently rubbing his back with a porifera sponge, carefully washing his hair, all the while humming a tune. Over time, he had grown accustomed to being cared for in this manner—tenderly accepting the care of a beautiful girl who appeared content to give and receive such affection in return. Yet, at times, he couldn't shake the feeling of being a doll, a ragdoll tended to by willowy fingers. When such thoughts crept in, he sought ways to seek a semblance of revenge—a harmless revenge, of course.

"Are you having fun, my little wife?" he inquired when the confinement of his body in that infernally small tub became too much.

"Huh? Why do you ask?" she replied, but that was all Eren needed to flick some water at her.

With splashing sounds and a sudden movement, he seized her side and drew her into the tub, partially soaking her dress and hair.

"Eren, no!" she shouted, frowning. "You made a mess, look at this!"

He couldn't help but laugh, a loud chuckle bouncing off the walls.

"That's what you get for using your husband as a toy, see?" he remarked before planting a hearty kiss on her cheek. "Don't be angry, it's just water, my love."

"I already took my bath!" Mikasa pouted, her wet dress clinging to her figure as she shot Eren a playful glare. "You're impossible, Eren. I was trying to make sure you're perfectly clean, and this is how you repay me?"

He grinned mischievously, enjoying the banter. "Well, a little water never hurt anyone. Besides, you started it by treating me like a porcelain doll."

"I wasn't doing that!"

"Yes you were."

"No!"

Leaning in, Eren whispered, "Admit it, you enjoy these little games as much as I do." He traced a finger along her cheek, wiping away a droplet of water.

She sighed, giving in to the infectious laughter in the air. "Maybe just a little, my lord."

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