The warm, golden light of the late afternoon streamed through the kitchen window, casting long shadows across the wooden table where stacks of freshly baked cookies sat cooling. The air was thick with the sweet aroma of butter and sugar, mingling with the faint scent of flour that dusted the countertops. You stood by the sink, her hands submerged in soapy water as she scrubbed a mixing bowl, her dark hair pulled back into a loose bun. She glanced over her shoulder at the scene unfolding behind her: Levi Ackerman, her husband and the father of their only child, meticulously slicing a cookie with the precision of a soldier on a battlefield. Beside him stood their son, Mingi , a small boy with wide, curious eyes and a mop of dark hair that mirrored his father’s, tugging gently at Levi’s sleeve.

“Papa, can I try?” Mingi's voice was a soft plea, his small fingers brushing against the rough fabric of Levi’s shirt. His apron, slightly too big for his frame, hung loosely around his shoulders, the straps tied in a clumsy knot by you earlier that morning.

Levi paused, his sharp gray eyes narrowing as he considered the request. The knife hovered over the cookie, its blade glinting in the sunlight. “You’ll have to be careful, brat,” he said, his tone stern but laced with an unmistakable tenderness. “These are for the festival tomorrow, and I’m not letting you ruin them with your clumsy hands.”

Mingi's face lit up, a grin spreading across his cheeks. “I’ll be super careful, I promise! Like a soldier!” He stood a little straighter, mimicking the rigid posture Levi often adopted when training the recruits back in the day.

You chuckled softly, turning her head to hide her amusement as she rinsed the bowl. “He’s got your determination, Levi,” she called out, her voice warm and teasing. “Maybe he’ll be slicing cookies for the Survey Corps one day.”

Levi snorted, handing the knife to Mingi with a cautious grip. “Over my dead body. He’s staying out of that mess. Now, hold it like this—” He guided Mingi's small hand, positioning his fingers properly around the handle. “And don’t rush. Precision matters, even with cookies.”

Mingi nodded solemnly, his tongue peeking out in concentration as he mimicked Levi’s steady movements. The first slice was uneven, crumbs scattering across the table, but Levi didn’t reprimand him. Instead, he placed a steadying hand on Mingi's shoulder, his expression softening. “Not bad for a first try. Again.”

You watched them, her heart swelling with a quiet pride. It had been years since the chaos of the Titans, since Levi had hung up his blades and settled into this quieter life with her. The scars on his hands told stories of battles she could only imagine, but here, in this kitchen, he was a different man—a father, a husband, a baker of all things. She dried her hands on a towel and stepped closer, leaning against the counter to observe.

“Looks like you two have this under control,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Should I leave the festival preparations to you?”

Levi shot her a sidelong glance, his lips twitching into a rare half-smile. “Don’t get any ideas, woman. You’re the one who insisted on making these damn cookies. I’m just here to make sure they don’t look like a Titan stepped on them.”

Mingi giggled, the sound bright and infectious. “Mama’s cookies are the best! Even better than Papa’s!”

“Hey!” Levi feigned offense, ruffling Mingi's hair with a mock scowl. “Watch it, kid. I’ve been practicing my technique.”

You laughed, stepping forward to join them. She knelt beside Mingi , placing a gentle hand on his back. “Well, I think we make a pretty good team. What do you say we finish these together? The festival starts at dawn, and we still need to pack them up.”

Mingi nodded eagerly, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Can we bring extra for Mikasa and Armin? They’ll be there, right?”

“Of course,” You replied, smiling at the thought of their old friends. “I’m sure they’d love some. Maybe we can even convince your favorite person Hange to try one.