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#spy x family au 🏡
ackerfics ¡ 1 year
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shall we hold hands and head home? — an anthology ft. levi ackerman and eren — masterlist
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right when you feel like drifting mindlessly in the abysmal mechanisms thrown by life, you finally find your purpose in an unlikely, always-scowling man and an adorable little green-eyed boy. questions like 'what's for dinner', 'can we stop by for some groceries and cleaning supplies', and 'do you wanna know about my day' have never felt so warm. saying thank you to these two people will never be enough. if possible, you'll throw all of your secrets out the window and live out this ridiculously hilarious and heartwarming comedy with them.
fuck no strings attached. you want to experience this warmth and domesticity for eternity.
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contents:
mission 1: how to have a genius child in less than a week
mission 2: how i met your father
mission 3: how to build a family
mission 4: processing file in log ...
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a spy x family au ft. you, levi ackerman, and eren !!
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ackerfics ¡ 1 year
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shall we hold hands and head home? — an anthology ft. levi ackerman and eren
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mission title: how i met your father (wc: 6.1k) | masterlist
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You have a problem.
“Eren, let’s review for the entrance examination!” you call from the living room, straightening your posture after putting a couple of books you borrowed from the library you’re working in (you got the job) on the coffee table.
Almost immediately, you hear a door slam shut. Specifically, the door to Eren’s room.
You sigh, putting your hands on your hips. “Eren, this is the fifth time you’re doing this now.” He doesn’t answer from behind his bedroom door. “Eren.” Again, there’s only silence. You purse your lips as you narrow your eyes at his door.
This has been going on for three days now and there are only less than five days to prepare for Eleutheria Private Academy’s entrance examination. The day after Eren moves in, you visit the nearby bank for a  withdrawal . The documents you received alongside the money contain the application forms, appointments for the examinations, and the test itself. The moment you read the first question, you instantly question whether this academy is right in the head for asking about how many hectares of land George owned or how many kilometers James trekked in five minutes with the proper direction. The questions are truly for the geniuses of this generation. It baffles you that at Eren’s age, you never had the proper education to solve or comprehend any of these. This is why you should try your hand at teaching Eren how to be a proper student. But that’s not as fruitful as you think when he’s scurrying away every time you say the word  study .
It’s like he’s a kitten. A terrified kitten. And this terrified kitten is peeking through the crack between his door right now. Green eyes narrow at you. You can’t even see it but you know he’s pouting.
“Eren, you have to prepare for the exam,” you coax. The crack between his door and the frame decreases and decreases by the second. You have no choice but to bribe him. You have enough money to spare anyway. Everything you received from your organization has led to this moment. “I’m going to buy you the limited edition  Super Spies  blanket  and  a Merry Meal of two cheeseburgers from the local fast food restaurant.” The crack becomes an open door. Eren is now looking at you like you’re responsible for the positions of the constellations in the sky.
“Pinky promise?” he asks, lifting his pinky in the air.
You smile. “Pinky promise.” He runs to you and loops your fingers together. You seal it with a gentle kiss on his thumb, something that has him beaming. “You have to make sure you have to do the end of your bargain.”
Eren nods, that adorable determined look plastered on his face.
“Now, let’s start with Mathematics.”
At the subject, Eren looks like he’s about to shit himself.
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Eren doesn’t like studying.
It triggers nightmares. It gives him chills and he freezes. When the scientists finished their experiments on him, they subjected him to rigorous examinations to maintain the maximum brain power needed for his abilities to occur. Every day for almost twelve hours, Eren was studying in a lab like a newly-bought pet in training. No matter how much he cried or had a tantrum, the scientists never batted an eyelash, including that bespectacled man who took part in his existence. After he escaped, he didn’t touch a single book in the orphanage, except for the times the old bat of a caretaker forced him to do so to appeal to the couples wanting to adopt him, which was quite a challenge because he would fight against it and it would lead to him getting a lashing or not getting adopted in the end. 
The marks on his back start itching as he listens to you drone about the basic operations of Mathematics. Addition and subtraction he can solve with ease. But multiplication and division? He might as well listen in on the other applicants’ thoughts while answering the exam. Now, you’re moving on to more complicated parts of Math. Eren’s left eye twitches when he sees shapes and bigger numbers jumbled in the problems. 
He sniffles at the one-hour mark.
“Eren?” you ask him in the middle of formulating a problem for him to answer.
His bottom lip wobbles in distress. “I can’t do this anymore!”
You gawk at him, your head bouncing between him, the wall clock, and the pile of books on the coffee table. You sigh, the sound encompassing all the incoming exhaustion leading up to the examination. “Eren, you promised, right?”
Eren looks up at you. “But this is hard, Mama!”
“I know it’s hard but you have to study to pass this test.”
“What if I just read—”
You slightly narrow your eyes at him. “Are you planning on cheating?”
Eren purses his lips shut. That’s a mistake; an act of desperation. He almost revealed his powerful weapon. He stays silent as you huff. 
I already have the list of answers from this exam thanks to Hange, maybe I should just let Eren memorize them , he hears from your mind.
Eren’s face morphs into a childish wonder. That’s right, you’re an awesome spy like the main character of the show he loves watching when you’re off running errands or doing what spies do. Maybe you infiltrated a secret base with top-notch security, specifically the hidden vaults of the academy he’s about to enter and suffer from, just to get the test papers and the answers. You’re so cool. Eren keeps on staring at your side profile until you have no choice but to glance at him from the corner of your eye. The both of you regard each other, one gaze filled with admiration while the other is painted in confusion. 
Then, he comes up with this brilliant idea. “I don’t want to study anymore,” he whines. He makes sure to take glances at you in an attempt to gauge your reaction. When you give him a blank stare, Eren keeps on lamenting his fate. “This is so so hard! I don’t think I’m going to pass!”
He hears a sigh. That catches his attention. “I suppose I have no choice but to do this. Eren, I hope you have room for more than one promise. You mustn’t tell anyone about this.” You fix him a stern stare, your pointer finger wagging in front of him. Eren prevents a grin from surfacing on his face. “What I’m about to do is something against my morals but since we have no time, we’re going to take a shortcut.” You take out an envelope with a stamp that says  do not touch . Eren wants to touch it. His eyes brighten at the document. “This,” you wave the envelope in the air, “is an important piece of paper and it has all the answers to your future. All you have to do is to memorize every single letter in here, Eren, and then we’ll be on our merry way. Do you understand?”
“Yes!” It’s not even a second and he immediately answers. He vibrates in his seat as you raise an eyebrow at him. Maybe he shouldn’t have answered that quickly. Oh, well.
“Here you go.”
Eren takes the envelope from your hands and stares at it. All he has to do is to memorize the answers. That should be easy enough.
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It’s the day of the exam and Eren doesn’t remember anything from that blessed envelope.
His eyes are shaking in nervousness. His forehead is breaking into a cold sweat. His hands are trembling to the point that he can’t hold the pencil properly. All your efforts of making him look presentable as possible went in vain when Eren looks like he was about to combust and launch himself from the window of the examination room. It’s on the fourth floor of a large Victorian building. His shaggy hair is messier than usual with all the scratching he did just to lessen this funny feeling in his stomach that’s stirring the breakfast you made earlier in the morning. Eren clutches his tummy with a scrunched face. It’s alright that he feels this way because the other applicants look way worse than him. Others are murmuring prayers under their breath, something along the lines of asking a woman named Ymir for guidance (who is that?), while some are already apologizing to their parents.
Eren doesn’t want to apologize yet. He has to finish this test first.
“D-Do you want some ointment?” A timid voice comes from beside Eren.
He turns to the voice and sees a blond boy handing him a tin of aromatic salve. “What?” Eren dumbly asks.
The boy lifts the tin. “Ointment.” At Eren’s intense gaze, he looks down at the long desk connecting their two seats. He starts fiddling with the tin container. It doesn’t help that Eren looks angry when he’s nervous. “M-My Dad gave this to me before I entered the building. He said that it helped my older siblings when they took their exams, too. He told me to open it when I feel too  o-overwhelmed  with the exam.” He pronounces the big word carefully and tentatively. “Y-You look like you need it.”
Eren tilts his head, regarding the tin container as if it’s an unknown flying object in his favorite show. It’s a mystery waiting to be solved. He watches as the blond boy twists the cap and almost immediately, Eren gets a whiff of something minty, fruity, and soothing all at the same time. His shoulders relax and he inhales a good portion of the air surrounding them. How can this measly item make all the butterflies in his tummy vanish? Maybe he should tell you to buy something similar, one with a container filled with stickers of his favorite cartoon characters. Eren doesn’t realize it but he’s starting to lean closer to the blond boy’s side, his nose adorably twitching the more he nears the tin container of ointment.
“Here,” the blond boy pushes it to his face.
Eren backs away when a cooling glob touches the tip of his nose.
The boy jumps as well, panicking that he probably scared off his possibly new friend. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that!”
Still, Eren looks at him with his tiny hands over his nose. His eyes narrow at the questionable thing that shines underneath the streaming lights of the examination venue. It’s shiny though, he gives it that.
“I’m sorry!” the boy continues to plead.
Eren glances away from the now teary-eyed boy. Great, he made someone cry. Now, if you catch any wind of this,  he’s  the one crying while going home. He’s never seen you mad. Frustrated, yes, but never angry that has him tucking his tail between his legs. And seeing as he never wants you to be mad at him, Eren tries to stop this boy’s tears by reaching out his hand, palm up, all the while still not looking at him straight in the eye. “The ointment.” Eren pouts. “Can I have some?”
The blond boy sniffles, his blue eyes glistening with tears. “A-Are you sure?”
Eren nods, almost a huff coming out of his mouth.
The boy wipes the tears from his face and flashes him a brilliant smile. It makes Eren squint. It’s too bright. Not as bright as your smile, though. You have the most beautiful smile in his little mind and he doesn’t squint at the sight of it. In fact, he basks in every fiber of your being. The boy says something and it brings Eren back to reality. “You have to apply it near your nose so that the scent can stay until the exam is over.” The blond boy takes a good dollop of the ointment and smears it on Eren’s hand.
Eren follows his instructions and even makes an invisible mustache around his mouth. “I’m going to tell Mama to buy this,” he says, determined to make you buy this.
“I’m glad you like it!”
“Eren.”
“Huh?”
“Eren. That’s my name. What’s yours?” Eren peeks through his eyelashes.
The boy beams. “Armin. My name’s Armin.”
A small hand waits for another. “Wanna be my friend, Armin?”
Now, the lone palm has someone intertwining with it in a handshake. “Yeah! I hope we pass this together, Eren! That way we can be classmates.”
Eren doesn’t expect to have a friend for this exam. But one thing’s for sure, he’s thankful that he was directed to this seat because Armin knows all the answers to the questions. At least that’s what he thinks. After seeing the test papers, Eren wants to go home the next minute. He knows all the answers to this but the nervousness plaguing him minutes before the start of the exam flicks the memorized letters out of his head. So, he tries reading everyone’s mind all at once. It gives him a headache but still, he perseveres. He strains himself but all he can hear is a jumbled mess of children crying in their heads. Until Armin starts mentally narrating his calculations. Visibly, Eren brightens in his seat and vigorously writes on the test paper, the lead of his mechanical pencil a pleasant sound to his ears. 
Wait for a second, there’s no 10 in the choices!  Armin thinks out loud.
Oh. Now, Eren’s in trouble.
Maybe praying to this girl named Ymir can help him survive this.
He wants to go home and bury himself in cuddles with you. But just like how you have a mission, he has a mission, too. Eren shuts down his mind-reading abilities and starts writing from his memory. It’s a steady flow onward.
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You have your hands entwined underneath your chin as you sit in one of the chairs of the ‘waiting room’. With how this area of the academy is constructed, you’d think it belongs to a hospital. The chairs line up the hallway and you’re one of the parents who are praying to some unknown deity just to have your kid pass the exam. You know Eren can do this. Aside from making him memorize the answer sheet, you tutored him in between breaks of memorization just to jog his intellectual and technical reasoning. You still don’t have the heart to break free from your morals of straying from the path of shortcuts. It’s how you achieved where you are right now. You hope Eren took note of that philosophy while you two were studying.
The bell rings, signaling the end of a five-hour exam.
Children crying fills the silence of the waiting room. The doors to consecutive rooms burst open to small pitter-patters of shoes leading the owners to their parents. What the hell? Surely Eren didn’t cry inside his examination room.
You stand from your chair and crane your neck to find that shaggy head of brown hair. After a couple of minutes, you see Eren walking behind a group of rowdy children pushing each other. He doesn’t hold that usual annoyed expression he has when you two go out to the business district. Instead, Eren has his head down, his appearance looking more disgruntled than earlier. Did he battle something in there? You can’t help but think. Like he can feel your gaze, he slowly looks up from the patterned floor. The expression on his face upon seeing you sends a flurry of dopamine inside your body and the next thing you know, a small body clutches your leg in the tightest hug a little kid can achieve. “How was it, Eren?” You gently pull him from your leg before lifting him in the air so that you can carry him in your arms. It baffles you that at six years old, Eren can still be carried like this. He really is too small for his age. 
Eren nuzzles himself into the crook of your neck and you catch a familiar scent of an ointment you smell in passing whenever you are with Mike in the headquarters. The big bear of a man briefly mentioned that it’s the rage in the continent after it was patented by someone working in the business district of Liberio, the zone of Eldian people residing in the heart of Marley. “I finished it, Mama.”
Pride settles in your chest. Your hand runs through his hair, fixing the unruly strands popping in different directions. “That’s great, Eren. You’re so amazing like that spy character you very much like.”
He giggles. “I am, aren’t I?”
“Yes, you are.”
From across the hallway, you spot a head of blonde hair done in an elaborate bun, and an expensive dress adorning her figure. She is greeted by a boy sharing the same features as her. Blue eyes that are as beautiful as the sky, are the features only the Tyburs wear with dignity. Suddenly, the little boy points in your direction, the girl following his finger to you and Eren. You look down at Eren who swivels his head from your neck. “Did you make a friend, Eren?” you ask, still staring at the child in your arms. You try not to psychoanalyze the actions of Willy Tybur’s children. Hange once told you that you can be intense when you’re observing someone. Better lay low for now. With the way Eren kicks his legs in the air, you conclude that he did make a friend before the exam started. 
Eren and the little boy exchange waves at each other before the former looks at you with stars in his eyes. “Yeah! His name is Armin. He’s the one who let me use this ointment. Do I smell nice, Mama?”
You heed his question and playfully inhale the area where he’s ticklish the most, right behind his ear. His giggles are a manifestation of seraphs; it makes you smile. “You do, Eren. How about we buy some of that ointment to help you in the future?”
He beams at your suggestion, nodding like a bobblehead charm.
“Okay then.”
Armin A. Tybur. The youngest in the Tybur family and the reason why it’s highly encouraged for you to put a child in this year’s academy admissions. According to the file given to you, Armin is a six-year-old prodigy who is expected to sweep the academy off its feet. Despite having no appearances in public, the maids and tutors working in the Tybur estate mentioned that the little boy started learning how to read when he was only two years old. He even wowed his family by expressing highly advanced emotional intelligence when normal people couldn’t even begin to understand emotions as adults. The Tyburs already placed their bets that the boy won’t have friends while attending an institution that’s open to the general public (in other words, those who have money and wits).
Yet here’s your child befriending such a genius recluse on the day of the examination no less. Eren can be the key to understanding more of the Tyburs than you originally thought. At first, you planned to be closer to the Tyburs by being a part of the parent organizations but with this opportunity in your arms, you’re presented with something that puts Eren on a much more purposeful path.
“How about some ice cream on the way home, Eren?” you propose.
“Really?!”
“Really.”
“I want the new flavors, Mama!”
“Anything you want, Eren.”
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The mail always comes at seven in the morning.
You open them at nine after your morning routine has settled you in a fresher mindset and a new set of clothes.
On the table a week after the examinations is a plate of breakfast, a glass of juice, a cup of caffeinated tea, and the mail that has been delivered hours before. Eren is happily gobbling spoonfuls of chocolate chip waffles into his mouth as if it’s his last day on Earth and you’re occasionally taking sips of your preferred flavor of tea as your eyes trail on the envelopes with various stamps. You recognize a few of them containing codes that only the Wings of Freedom formulated for any undetected letter sending but your eyes unconsciously move to an intricate piece of scented paper with a wax candle for a seal.
The seal says  Eleutheria Private Academy  in elegant, cursive letters.
Your breath hitches. The result of the entrance exam is here. You take a quick peek at the little boy oblivious to today’s mail. You try calming yourself down — taking a deep breath while closing your eyes. It’s such a waste to open such an expensive letter but you hardly care now that it carries the fate of your mission. It doesn’t even crinkle at your hold. The seal pops off from the paper and the scent of something floral drifts inside the dining room.
Eren now stares at you. “What’s that, Mama?”
You internally cringe. “The result, Eren.”
The boy gulps down his waffles.
You’re acting as if you’re the one who took the exam. You gingerly take the folded letter from the envelope. The floral theme of this piece of paper mocks you. You faintly hear Eren jump down from his seat in front of you, his small footsteps nearing you until he’s leaning on your knees. “Are you ready, Eren?” He nods at your question with wobbly lips. You nod back before opening the letter.
“Good day!
We are so happy to inform you that your child, Eren Jaeger, passed the written—”
“Oh, my God!” you shriek. “You passed!”
Your mission is still on the go.
Without thinking twice about it, you lift Eren in the air like that cartoon he previously watched, the one where the monkey presents the lion cub to all of the savannahs to see and marvel. You’re the monkey and Eren’s your lion cub. The pride you felt during the entrance examination doesn’t compare to the pride you feel right now. It’s all-encompassing. You can take on any villain right now. The rush inside your veins pushes you to plant kisses all over Eren’s face, his giggles coloring the dining area with the most vibrant hues and shades known to humanity. It’s contagious and it has you laughing along with him. You dance with him in this imaginary tune, your journey leading you to the couch inside the living room. The laughter coming from the two of you dies down a couple of minutes later.
“Did I do good, Mama?” Eren asks you against your chest.
You happily hum, hugging him close to your heart. “You did  very well , Eren.”
Eren giggles, nuzzling more into you.
As he relishes in your warmth, you finish reading the letter in your hands.
“The second phase of the admissions is a mandatory family interview. Both parents  must  attend with the applicant. Absolutely no exceptions. Failure to meet this condition will amount to immediate termination of the application.”
Fuck.
Eren flinches in your hold.
“Why?!” you whine. “Why do they need both parents?!” It’s unbecoming of you to whine.
Eren lifts himself from you. “But I don’t have a Papa!”
“That’s the problem — there is no Papa.”
Where will you find someone who will stand in as your husband?
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Levi finds himself in a predicament.
Once a dweller of the ‘Underground City’, the most dangerous place in the continent, it’s befuddling to know that he never leaves any traces of himself after a kill. This is why, as an assassin, nobody has ever uncovered his tracks except for the type of wounds he inflicted on his targets. When one sees holes in the chest right above the heart, that’s the work of Midnight. After his tenth kill he realizes that murdering people undetected runs in the family, only this time, he has an edge compared to his uncle who is literally called The Ripper in Marley and her neighboring cities. Levi kills people who are threats to the government or threats to the clients who hire his services even if those who hire him aren’t ideal citizens, to begin with. He doesn’t even like the lifeless eyes staring at him when he digs his stiletto knives into their chests. He does this to purge humanity of the miasma plaguing its core.
If he wants to continue this gig of his, he has to prove to the government that he’s not a spy. Because right now, he stares from the window of his other job in the City Hall. An Eldian employee of thirty years of age is being dragged by the authorities for being an unmarried man. The man’s screams are piercing and the whispers that follow are ruthless. This is what Marley does to Eldians who reach the age of thirty with no house or family to come home to. They think that by being married under their laws, one pledges their life to the cause and vision of the nation, that there’s no reason for them to betray Marley. Levi thinks it’s bullshit.
“Poor man,” a coworker whispers. “Well, it can’t be helped. It’s better to be wary instead of letting  them  run around here.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
Marleyans.
Levi rolls his eyes and goes back to his desk in one of the large offices.
“Levi!” An irrelevant human being calls for him.
“What?”
The man leans over his divider. “You’re still unmarried, right, and you’re what thirty-five?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Yeesh, you look older,” the man grimaces. “Better hurry up and find a dame or else you’re the next coworker to be tortured by the Military Police.”
You don’t have to say that again . Levi rolls the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows and starts typing whatever document their manager ordered him to do. On better days, Levi would have stabbed that stingy manager in the chest but seeing as he poses this law-abiding citizen with a penchant for tea and hand sanitizers, he chooses to type whatever shit this is. The man continues droning about whoever he finds attractive these days and who he’s planning on marrying but Levi doesn’t listen one bit.
On second thought, maybe finding someone to pose as his wife would be the best solution. Then again, it’s also a win-win situation when this country hunts down all the bachelors and bachelorettes they have their sights on. Preferably, he wants someone who can comply with whatever condition he throws on the table or someone who’s not that noticeable for his coworkers to suspect. Before he can prevent his mouth from opening, he says the stupidest thing he ever said in his lifetime.
“I’m actually married.”
“What?! For real?”
“I heard that! Dom, you owe me fifty bucks!”
“God damn it!”
Now, Levi starts digging his grave for the sake of his other, more important career and life.
This is all he can think about until he’s on his night job.
Bodies surround him in this presidential suite booked by one of the mafia leaders working on the surface. Someone gurgles their blood, clearly alive despite the wounds, and Levi throws his stiletto knife right in the middle of his forehead without looking. It hits its target and the gurgling dies down. Hours before, this suite is bouncing with sound waves of a random Bossanova song. Women are sitting on every bastard’s lap and money is thrown everywhere without care. Now, the women are safely escorted out but not before Levi pushes a specific nerve to make them forget what happened on this night. The bastards create this painting on the suite’s floor, another one of Midnight’s masterpieces. It’s an elaborate abstract one entailing the dirty deeds of humanity — the perfect shade of red splattered on a dark canvas, with no light for days on end. 
Levi sighs, his head tilting to the ceiling. He realizes that there are rips on his black suit. Great, he should visit the tailor shop by his apartment first thing in the morning. For now, it’s another sleepless night of never regretting where he is right now. He’ll put the wife-hunting on tomorrow as well.
The grandfather clock of the suit rings through the room.
Midnight welcomes another day and it’s tomorrow already.
“I fucking hate the world.”
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“ Midnight ?”
“Yes?”
“ I have a  client  for you. ”
“...”
“ He goes by the name Lobov and he wants a man named Erwin Smith dead .”
The line goes dead. The  dealer  is always like this — cutting to the chase, considering no questions. He dials another number as soon as the call is dropped.
“Farlan, I need you to look into someone.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Erwin Smith.”
Keyboard clacks reverberate from the other side of the call.
“Hmm. Are you sure he’s a real person?”
“Why would I ask for you to look into him when he’s not?”
“Okay, okay, geez.” Another round of keyboard clacking. “Wow, his files are locked in the database.”
“Who are the people in his close circle?”
Farlan whistles. “Are you going through the “ getting close to subordinates to take down someone”  route? Damn, okay.” It takes him a minute. “I found something. Belladonna.”
“What?”
“Someone named Belladonna is his closest ally. Get close to her and you’ll be closer to your target.”
“Belladonna, huh?”
“She’s a spy of Eldia, Levi. Be careful.”
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One would think you’re too excited to put Eren in this private academy. With his application still in processing, you’re already taking him to the tailor shop to have his uniform fitted. You’re one pretentious, confident mother who fully trusts her son to further explore his academic prowess in a place full of prodigies and children of those who treat money like passing interests. 
“Your son is an adorable one, madam,” the owner of the tailor shop gushes as she takes Eren’s measurement. The little boy is trying so hard to make himself taller by standing on his tippy toes. 
You chuckle, leaning on the countertop and watching your son do the most ridiculous faces. “He is. He’s so excited to go to this school that he can’t wait to have his uniform already.”
“Eleutheria Private Academy, huh?” The tailor stands up to write down the measurements on a piece of paper that has the design of the uniform, a detailed piece with the insignia and all. “That’s one fancy school. Your son must be a genius.”
I wouldn’t say that , you silently laugh. You don’t notice Eren swivel his head toward you with a scandalized look on his face. As you open your mouth to retort something practiced, you feel a chill down your spine, your blood running cold in your veins. You inhale a sharp breath, the weight of the gun lodged in the thigh strap beneath your skirt creates this foreboding urge inside you to shoot someone. The door doesn’t ring but a person is walking in front of you, sliding past your senses in a completely predatory-like way, as if they’re a creature of the night. You turn to the person standing beside you, waiting for the tailor to accommodate him in the store. What the fuck?
Levi Ackerman .
A man nearing his thirties and has yet to be married. He’s one of the people on the list of probable marriage partners Hange gave you the night before. His file is too empty for him to be called a citizen of Marley. The only things you know about him are that he’s unmarried, an Eldian, and that he works for the City Hall under the Taxes Department. Oh, and he has no historical background. The more you stare at him in the corner of your eyes, the more he seems suspicious. How did someone like him get past the strict security of Marley? Is he a person of importance behind that office worker facade? You narrow your eyes at his appearance. Black hair neatly styled on his head, a three-piece suit with no creases, muscles straining against the material of his clothes — he’s actually attractive. There’s not a single flaw found in him. His side profile is otherworldly and makes him appear like a sculpture made by the finest artist of the century. He puts all the muses for the perfectly-proportioned man to shame.
Silver irises meet yours.
Your face burns now that you’re caught staring at this man.
“Is there something you need from me?” His voice is blunt and takes no shit. It’s almost intimidating the way he trails his eyes from the top of your head down to the toes of your shoes. “I don’t appreciate the staring.”
You fix your panicking mental state. “No, I just found you handsome, that’s why.”
His eyes widen a little. He fully turns to you. God, did the deities take time in making him? “You find me attractive?” He’s not even skeptical. You nod at his question because it’s the truth. “So—”
“Mama!”
Oh, yeah. Eren.
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The man you’re talking to is the one Eren saw when he held your hand for the first time. This future of yours that he got a glimpse of is within a golden hour, lights down low and slow songs serenading the kitchen of a much cozier home. Sizzles coming from a frying pan brought the scent of a multitude of savory smells that had Eren wishing he could have a taste of the food being prepared in this vision of his. The two of you are not alone though. The black-haired man staring at you right now also stared at you in his vision, eyes softer and riddled with an overflowing efflux of love and adoration that remained superior to the present. The man was holding you close to him as you were humming along to the tune of one love song, his more muscular build swaying you to the melody. And Eren was sitting on his shoulders, looking over to watch you stir vegetables and meat, his tiny hands holding Levi's ears in a tight yet harmless grip. It was a picture-perfect family worthy of being placed in a museum.
There’s no doubt about it — Eren has to put you two together so that the future will be met.
Shit, she has a kid? Did Belladonna marry someone? How will I go about this situation now? But she’s the one Erwin Smith trusts the most. Fuck. This is the kind of thing that exposes me as an assassin. I can’t exactly terminate her now.
Eren gasps. This man is dangerous. An assassin and he’s after you? Not on Eren’s watch. But the vision didn’t show any sign of this behavior at all. 
He grasps your leg tighter, his viridian eyes glaring at the man that’s supposed to be his father. He doesn’t know if he should trust this man that easily yet.
Fathers are cursed anyway.
“ I’m your father, Eren, so do as I say! Stay still and let me inject this so you could be the one who saves us all! ”
Eren shakes his head free of that memory. This is no time to dwell in the past.  You’re  the one who saved him from that path and you’re happy with this man in your future.
“Oh, Eren, are you finished with letting the kind lady take your measurements?” You lean down and pat his head, something that he nuzzles into. It never fails to make him feel warm.  So cute , he reads your thoughts. 
“Yeah!” he cheers. He loses his smile and looks up at the angry-looking man staring down at him with furrowed brows. Eren uses his so-called cuteness to hide the fact that he just read something life-threatening from this man’s mind. He tilts his head to ask, “Who’s this, Mama?”
You don’t answer the question. Instead, you turn your head to the man standing in front of you with his hands inside his pockets, expectantly waiting for him to say his name. “I believe he hasn’t introduced himself to us yet, Eren.”
“My apologies. My name is Levi.”
“Okay, Mister Levi.” Eren emerges from behind your skirt. The way he stares at Eren can be adorable but you recognize that look anywhere. It’s the same one he had when he was wiping his face from tears as he was memorizing the answer key to Eleutheria’s entrance exam. You saw it when he was trying to imitate the fighting scenes in his favorite shows. During the times Eren is trying to make himself stronger and older than he is, he has that look on his face. Your first meeting with him was there. When you saw him for the first time, it was blazing, and right now, his eyes hold the summer sun. Levi doesn’t even have time to respond because Eren opens his mouth to say, “Be my Papa!”
Maybe having this man as his new father will be the key to preventing you from getting killed, all the while becoming the best son there is. After all, Levi looked so bewitched and besotted with you in the future. Eren will make everything come true.
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shall we hold hands and head home? — an anthology ft. levi ackerman and eren
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mission title: how to have a genius child in less than a week (wc: 4.3k) | masterlist
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“Belladonna, congratulations. Your mission is a success. The reward will be deposited in your account in a short while. We, the Wings of Freedom, thank you for your service yet again.”
An explosion erupts behind you as you slam the door of your car.
You sigh, rolling your shoulders and letting out a satisfied hum once some of the joints popped. With all the running around and fighting you did for the day, your entire body is screaming for you to book a hotel and let yourself sink in the plush mattress of one king-sized bed, disguising make-up gone from your face and shoulder free of secret missions. You take off the wig that’s expertly done around your head, alongside the cap hiding your real identity, tossing it on the backseat without a second glance. Your hair tumbles on your shoulders, its familiarity giving you a momentary period of peace, which was broken when the burning warehouse opened to a flurry of flaming, angered suited men. Already anticipating their arrival, you rev the car’s engine, disappearing into the twilight, and leaving behind curses of a devil stopping all corrupt wrongdoings in this territory.
While driving, you push a button on your earpiece. “Belladonna here. There was an attempted pursuit. I’m sorry for not answering right away.”
There’s a crackle in your earpiece. You can faintly hear a “Hange, no!”
You side-eye the device in your earlobe, patiently waiting for those in the Headquarters to finally talk their piece. You blend in with the traffic as you do so.
“Belle!” A loud, exuberant voice greets your hearing.
Already used to it, you only chuckle at the enthusiasm laced in between the syllables of your preferred alias. “Hello, Hange.”
“Heard the mission is a success!” Hange, the head of your organization’s technological department is one vibrant character. Having joined a few months before you, you gradually developed this sense of camaraderie with them first. It has been years since then and never did you two feel any distance wedge in your relationship, not even the literal distance separating you two because of missions that might take months to finish. Having their voice after this excruciating one makes you feel like you can easily breathe now. Your musings are cut off when you hear their next words, “Head to the train station for the next instructions, Belle. This call might be short-lived but know that you can always contact me with the phone I gave you.” They sigh. “Man, Erwin never lets you take a break, huh?”
You snicker, stopping the car at an alleyway entrance. You stretch to the backseat and take out a bag of your necessities. Thank God for the tinted windows because without any delayed second, you take off the disguise you don and hastily put on an ankle-length dress, white-heeled sandals, and a wide-brimmed hat. The car door behind you makes a loud bang, your heels leading you to the train station. You once again place an inconspicuous hand on your ear, your hair perfectly hiding the earpiece from view. “Tell me about it.”
“Well, then. See you in about a few months, Belle!”
You lightly laugh. You wordlessly thank the employee giving you your ticket. “See you when I see you.” Nothing follows. You discreetly take off the earpiece from your right ear and slide it inside one of the pockets of your bag.
“Extra! Extra! Read all about it!”
A teenage boy with light brown hair passes newspapers to a couple of hurrying passengers running after their trains. Even with the mild cursing, the boy continues to give the people folded newspapers without asking for anything in return. You walk towards him and hand him a couple of coins. In a flash, the boy’s eyes light up at the sight of you. He expertly takes one of the newspapers resting idly at the side of the pile and hands it to you. “Thank you for your purchase, miss!” With that, he scurries off and proceeds to market his newspapers to some passengers.
One of the recruits in your organization is a promising spy already. He’s one of the interns running around trying to keep up with Hange’s jittering nature. You keep a smile on your face as you board your train. Despite the heaviness of your job, there are still moments that you wish are longer than necessary. You only want to see Erwin slouching inside his office after losing a bet to one of the veterans, Hange hissing at everyone when they’re being told to take a bath, or Mike spritzing himself with his new perfume by spraying it in the air and walking through the mist. It might be a difficult job being a spy but you can’t deny that it has brought you an immense amount of experience to last a thousand lifetimes.
The downside to everything is your loss of identity.
You’ve long since abandoned your past the moment you were suggested to join the Wings of Freedom by Erwin. It didn’t even matter because you never remembered the family who brought you into the world. All you know are so many faces standing in the position of a mother and father. Which is why you chose the moniker, Belladonna. You don’t want to associate with the many houses that forced you to call them home, even the people who gave you your name. It’s sad because Hange constantly reminds you that your name is beautiful. Too bad it only gives you fever dreams of a woman caressing your head or a man lifting you in the air in glee.
Having enough of the idle musings, you cross your legs and open the newspaper the teenage boy gave you earlier.
“A pleasant day to you, Belladonna. You saved another plot from arising. We can’t afford a coup d’etat happening when we have another looming threat around the horizon. As much as we want you to enjoy a peaceful vacation on a private island, this next threat needs to be taken care of immediately.” You furrow your eyebrows at that. A picture of a long-haired man in the newspaper catches your attention. “Your next target is Willy Tybur, the true ruling force of Marley and the mastermind behind the new era of war between their nation and the entirety of Eldia. It is advised that you shall get close to him and probe into any seditious activities he may commit.” You figure that you might have to seduce another married man into submission and ruin. It’s what you do most of the time, given the fact that you’re a woman with the necessary skills to bring a man down to his knees.
“But to do that, you have to marry someone and have a child.”
You bristle, “What the fuck?!” You cough behind a dainty hand when multiple eyes flicker in your direction. “I’m sorry.” Hardening your internal resolve, you continue reading.
“There have been no reported public appearances surrounding Willy Tybur and his family. However, according to our intel, he has been attending meetings at an elite private academy ever since his first child. These meetings are for the most influential political leaders, nobles, and conglomerate owners from around the continent. Provided with that information, you are again expected to enroll your child in this school. Do keep in mind that it is a prestigious academy for gifted students. I regret to inform you that the deadline for admissions for this academy is next week.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” You can’t help but exclaim. By now, you don’t care if you garner more curious eyes from around the train. You prevent a groan of exasperation from coming out of your mouth. You can seduce married men any day but to find a child in less than a week and be convincing enough to be their mother? You have limits.
“We call this mission operation Walls. This is the key to putting a stop to the century war we have suffered from Marley. Not only do we get peace, but we will also be free from their belittlement. You and your fellow agents have become the pillar of this continent — heroes behind the curtains. You may not receive any medals nor get your name published in any newspaper like the one you’re reading right now, but always remember that every mission that has led to this point is for the betterment and hope of humanity.”
Another role to play that you never know how. The mothers you have in passing weren’t exactly ideal in any sense. You have a feeling that this mission is going to be something challenging, one that will test everything you’ve learned from being a spy.
For the first time in your career, you start thinking if you can do it — break multiple hearts.
The thought of it doesn’t sit right in your stomach and chest.
Cheers from children on the train resonate as the urban view comes in the windows. You follow their bright eyes to the sparkling city of Marley, her towering buildings gleaming against the sight of a brand-new dawn. You don’t share the excitement. Entering this city makes your stomach churn. In just a few minutes, your new mission will start and it may be the best or worst one yet. And you’re not ready for it.
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It’s the first time you ever used your birth name for a mission. It’s a suggestion brought up by Erwin. At first, you expressed your distaste but seeing as this is a new world, he lays out the benefits of using your real name, one that you never disclosed even to the foster families taking you in. All they knew was to call you terms of endearment that never reached your heart. Besides, the only people who truly know your identity are the higher-ups in the Wings of Freedom. Nobody would ever expect that the heartless Belladonna has a name like the one given to you. Even Hange told you it doesn’t match you at all.
[Name]. A woman who moved to the city looking for new beginnings. An applicant for the position of librarian in the main center of knowledge known around Marley, possibly even the entire continent. This is your new life now. The mask that you will wear for the next few months. However, this mask requires a false surname. Jaeger. Hunter. Fitting for a person like you. 
The apartment that you’re looking for needs to fit a family of three. It is presented in front of you in one complex in the middle of the city. Its windows, covering half of the wall, are overlooking the bustling cityscape of Marley that never rests even as the clock strikes twelve. There are five rooms in total, not including the main bathroom. The living room is spacious and sleek enough for the perfect balance of comfort and aesthetics. There are even potted plants sprinkled here and there for a bit of greenery. It is already furnished, something that you appreciated from the realtor you struck up a conversation with when you first stepped foot inside the city. After all, you paid more than necessary to have this offer.
“Then, you will need to sign here, ma’am,” the realtor touring you politely hands you a clipboard of important documents. You read through them with a quick eye. Deeming it unsuspicious, you sign your name in an elegant scrawl. You exchange smiles with the realtor as a sign of gratitude. He claps in glee, “This is a wonderful start for your family. Do you have a son or daughter, perchance?”
With your eyes crinkling at the corner, you bestow him a smile that renders him gawking. “Yes, actually. I’m picking up my child from a babysitting company around here since I finally have a place to call home now. I’m sure my sweet angel will love it here.”
The realtor beams. “Glad to be doing business with you, ma’am! May you and your family enjoy your new beginnings here in Marley!”
“Thank you for the warm welcome,” you reply with a hand over your heart.
The first item in the agenda, check.
The next one will be picking a child to foster from an orphanage.
The one Hange suggested to you over the phone is a dilapidated, poor excuse of an orphanage. One of the gates is hanging by its hinges while you enter the premises. Not a single patch of grass is seen around the building. The location is hidden from the main square of the city, which roughly took you nearly an hour to reach via a taxi. It explains why the orphanage looks like it’s begging to be shut down by the authorities.
You ring the doorbell, the shrill sound making you cringe. The door opens to an angry-looking old woman hunching over with her cane as her support. You try smiling to alleviate the tense atmosphere but it only makes the old woman even angrier if that's possible. “Good morning, I’d like to adopt a child from here.” Your face gains a sheen of sympathy. “I read somewhere that this specific orphanage is low on making adoptions. It pains me to think that the children here don't have a home for so long. You see, my husband and I have been trying and—”
“Blah, blah, blah,” the old woman spits.
“Pardon?”
She sneers at you, “Enough with that talk. You wanna adopt here? Just take whichever brat you can find and take them away, for all I care.”
You blink, “What?”
Before you can even add to it, the old woman turns around and hobbles into the main hallway, never bothering to check if you’re following her. You narrow your eyes and let yourself in the orphanage, brimmed hat now tucked in your arm.
The sight of the interior pinches your heart in the slightest way possible. You remind yourself that this is a mission but you can’t help but take pity on the children still sitting here and waiting to get adopted. They’re asking their friends who you are, pointing at your dress and heels like they’re a relic from a near-distant future.
But despite the unkempt situation, this is the perfect opportunity for you to start a faux family from scratch. This orphanage is one of those in the city that’s neglected by the public. Adopting a child without much background is the only way to go if you want to fully pass the image of a mother. Not even the best spies in the Wings of Freedom can impersonate such a role. The Wings of Freedom doesn’t accept recruits below the age of fifteen after all. It’s one of the feats of your organization that you deeply respect. Children need all the imagination and wonder they need before going into the real world. If they grow up too fast, it will ruin them in the long run. You, yourself, are a witness to it by looking in every piece of looking glass. 
You perk up to get the old woman’s attention, “Excuse me. I’d like to have a child that’s adept in reading and writing.”
The old woman indignantly scoffs. “If that’s the case, I know the perfect brat for you.” She pounds her cane on the hardwood floor. “Eren, get over here!”
A boy with puffy cheeks and vibrant viridian eyes looked up from building a skyscraper with the building blocks surrounding him. You raise your eyebrows at the number of bandages plastered on his body. They’re everywhere on his knees and hands and some on his face. He’s dressed in an ensemble of a gray loose shirt messily tucked in a pair of dark brown shorts. His hair flops over his forehead, moving even when he tilts his head to stare at you and making him look—
Adorable, you think unconsciously.
Eren’s little shoulders jump, his ears and cheeks blooming with a shade of vermillion. You bite your lip to prevent a chuckle from coming out. His wide eyes become half-lidded and his bottom lip juts out in a pout at the sight of you hiding your smile with your hand. Then, the little boy’s eyes flicker to the old lady and his almost shy demeanor morphs into something angry. You choose to keep that observation to yourself for now. Once this boy is within the comforts of your new apartment will you slowly coax him to open up. At such a young age, he looks like he hates the world right now.
“Greet the woman, Eren!” The old woman snaps.
Eren looks to the side, the pout still present on his lips. “Hello.” His voice is so tiny that you have to slightly lean forward to hear it.
You smile at him. “How old are you, Eren?” You have to ask him. He looks like he’s younger than the cut-off age of the private academy you need to infiltrate. If he’s younger, then you have to find another child—
“Six!”
You blink. “Yes?”
“I’m six years old!” Eren shouts with bright eyes staring intently at you.
“You’re six?” The old woman voices out. “Since when?”
But he’s shorter than the others here, you muse in your head.
Eren’s fluffy face scrunches in determination, standing on his tip-toes.
You breathe out a light laugh. You lose the smile and glance at the old caretaker. “Can he read and write?”
Hearing your question, Eren runs back to where he’s playing with his building blocks and takes out a folded newspaper from a random table. To get it, he jumps; a sight that proves to be amusing to you. Still holding that fiery expression on his face, he runs back to you and points at the crossword puzzle at the back. You raise your eyebrows. This kid really does pull all the surprises for today. He beckons you to follow him with a small yet firm hand around yours.
For a moment, he stiffens, his eyes becoming wider as he stares at you. If possible, his eyes glow a brighter shade of green. His face holds a mixture of awe, admiration, bewilderment, and gratitude. It confuses you. Tears start brimming his bottom eyelids the more seconds tick down the hourglass. It’s almost like he’s seeing you in a completely different light from when he first saw you earlier.
“Hey, little one, are you alright?” you ask him.
Eren vehemently shakes his head. He lowers his face, his hair hiding his eyes.
Without answering your question, he pulls you to the table. He plops on one of the chairs before gesturing to you and the chair beside him. He’s telling you to sit by him and watch what he’s capable of doing. The pencil in his grip stays stationary, his head facing the paper. You can tell he’s waiting for you to plant your bottom on the chair. The moment you do so, he slightly flinches. This kid is jumpy, you surmise. Whatever is happening inside the orphanage must have made him scared at every little sound. You lean over the newspaper in front of you two.
It’s a simple crossword puzzle. You list down the answers in your head, courtesy of being homeschooled in one of your foster homes back in the day and the intense education you had to endure in the Wings of Freedom in place of a regular high school and university. As you mentally answer, you notice that Eren got everything correct, almost like he’s following what you’re thinking.
You hit the million-dollar prize.
Eren is a genius.
You turn to the caretaker after he finishes the crossword puzzle with the word onomatopoeia. “Is there any paperwork I have to sign—”
“You can take the brat.”
What an unpleasant treatment. It doesn’t faze you that Eren perks up at the words. It seems like he’s waiting his entire life to get out of this desolate place. You can’t guarantee a life of rainbows and sunshine for this little kid but at least he can get a taste of the outside world after being cooped up in here. With the way his eyes light up at the prospect of being adopted, he’s almost like a songbird in a cage. Then again, he’s only a part of your mission. With his help, humanity can prosper without discrimination, injustice, and prejudice.
You can even call him Humanity’s Hope.
You place a gentle hand on his shaggy hair. “Is this okay with you?”
Eren peeks from the tips of his hair and grins. “Yeah!”
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Humanity’s Hope.
Eren can’t believe what he heard from the pretty woman’s mind. He’s Humanity’s Hope? It’s enough to make him jump for joy. This is exactly what he read in the storybooks lying around the orphanage, ones that depict heroes of great gallantry and chivalry that not even the mightiest of beasts can defeat. He wants to be strong like them, to break free from the chains wrapping around his neck from all the years of being an experiment and being a wandering soul jumping from family to family. 
At the age of four, he managed to escape the clutches of an organization experimenting on children for an ultimate weapon to be used against a nation of great threat. These children would then be disguised as their age and infiltrate the nation. Children were never that dangerous after all. Eren was one of the best experiments there was in that organization. A boy was born within the facility; his birth became the opportunity the scientists wanted. He was a product of a night of debauchery between a scientist and a staff member — a mistake to anyone inside the organization. As punishment to the woman who was responsible for his birth, he was taken from her and given doses of drugs in a span of two years until he could read minds and see the future of only Eldian people. He was going to be the one to bring down Marley to her knees. Until he escaped.
Even to this day, he has dreams of a bespectacled man holding a large syringe over his veins while he struggles against the binds around his limbs. These nightmares were the reasons for the lashes on his back, with the caretaker telling him to stop disrupting the peace around the orphanage. 
Now, his freedom comes within this pretty woman beckoning him to walk beside her with an outstretched hand.
“Okay, little one.”
“Eren,” he supplies, still looking up at the pretty woman.
“Okay, Eren.”
Eren puffs his little chest in pride.
“You’ll be my child from now on, alright?” You, the pretty woman, tell him, looking him straight in the eye. “As far as anyone else is concerned, you have always been my son. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” the little boy nods.
You smile at him, a genuine display of expression on your face. You inch his chubby cheek. “You are going to address me as your mother. Is that alright with you?”
Eren never had a mother. Or he doesn’t remember one, that is. There’s a blurry image of a brown-haired woman in his head whenever that word is thrown here and there but other than that, he’s always alone. This can be his chance at having one. He takes a step forward and reaches his hand to cling onto your little finger. He tilts his head, saying, “Mama.”
You chuckle. “I guess Mama’s fine. From now on, you’re going to be Eren Jaeger.”
“Jaeger,” Eren mumbles. He doesn’t have a last name either. 
“Do you like it? That’s my surname, you see.”
It takes him a couple of seconds to answer, his face glowing with happiness. “Yeah, I like it!”
“That’s great!” You hold his hand properly this time. “Are you ready to see your new home, Eren?”
“Home?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
The word is foreign. The entire journey back to your apartment complex, Eren keeps on mulling over the term. Home. The orphanage isn’t one, that he’s sure of. It’s filled with nasty old women and boisterous kids around his age. It’s not filled with the urge to smile the moment one wakes up because breakfast is wafting from the kitchen nor is it filled with the need to tell someone what went on in one’s day. The houses he’s adopted into were never homes as well. They’re only a reminder that Eren isn’t needed even though he was picked to stand the role of a son. Because ever since he was born, he was branded an outsider, an anomaly in the eyes of many. Sometimes, he was told that he was too intense when playing or too angry with the adults who acted as if they cared for him.
The stairs that lead to your apartment feel like a second to little Eren. Once you open the door to your flat, Eren swears he sees a glimpse of heaven.
“Welcome home, Eren,” you cheer.
Gawking with wide eyes and an open mouth, Eren slowly trails inside the apartment on his little feet. It’s not even that warm but it is marvelous in his eyes. He turns around to face you.
“I’m home, Mama!”
I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?
Eren stops short at the thought coming from your mind. You’re going to regret adopting him? But you’re smiling at him right now. That’s it! Eren makes a determined face. He’s going to make you not regret adopting him. He’s going to be a good boy and make you happy because you’re his mother now. Eren runs towards you, who are still standing by the doorway. You look at him in surprise but you let yourself be pulled by him.
Once you’re inside the apartment as well, Eren beams, “You’re home now, too, Mama!”
It's going to be a comedy from here on out.
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